#can smoothly transition into my head voice

[dreamstar-moonlight]

WHAT?!?!?!?!

Another random poll because they are fun and tumblr has given me too much power and I love looking at data.

Masc / fem here does not indicate gender; I just wanted it to be easier to understand for non-music people. If your range spans more than one of these, first of all I fear you but just pick whichever you prefer to sing in.

If you don't know your vocal range, you can test it here!

[cece693]

Secretary (Hannibal Lecter x GN! Reader)

Summary: Hannibal told Crawford that his secretary was 'pre-dispositioned by romantic whims' and traveled to the United Kingdom. However, it's rarely as simple as that.

tags: reader is Hannibal's ex-secretary, possible Stockholm syndrome, no established relationship, Hannibal being himself, kidnapping

You've been doing everything right—not disturbing Dr. Lecter unless absolutely necessary, keeping his records meticulously filed, and, with much reluctance, keeping Mr. Chilton occupied whenever he threatened to storm into Dr. Lecter’s current session to demand more of his time. Your job wasn’t easy, but you excelled at it, surpassing even Dr. Lecter’s expectations. Perhaps that should have been your cue to quit.

But you didn’t. And now, standing in the center of this impeccably furnished home—with its locked doors and an alarm system ready to blare at the slightest escape attempt—you understood the truth. Dr. Lecter would never truly let you go. He might grant you the illusion of freedom, but he would always keep tabs on you. Because, at the end of the day, he found you interesting. So much so that he didn’t kill you outright when you finally saw him for who he really was.

It had been an accident. You weren’t like the other secretaries who snooped and whispered about his peculiarities. You didn’t eavesdrop. You were just…there at the wrong moment. Gathering your belongings after a late evening at the office, you opened the door to leave, only to be greeted by Dr. Lecter standing outside. He was composed, as always. But then you noticed it—the splatter of blood decorating the bottom of his suit sleeve. Your eyes weren't quick enough to look away, and in that split second, you saw his expression change, just the barest flicker as he crossed his arms behind his back and straightened his posture.

"Ah," he had said, tilting his head slightly as if you were a particularly intriguing puzzle piece that had just fallen into place. "It appears I've caught you at an inopportune moment. I trust you’ll keep what you've seen to yourself?" His eyes were not asking. They were demanding. You swallowed hard, barely managing to nod.

"Yes, Dr. Lecter," you stammered. "Of course." He smiled then, a small curve of his lips that made your stomach drop.

"Good," he replied smoothly, stepping closer until you could feel the warmth radiating from his body. "It's always refreshing to know who values their… position."

That had been the end of it. Or so you thought. Days turned into weeks, and you convinced yourself you had been imagining things, that perhaps you had misread the situation. But then came the gradual transition: the dinners you were "invited" to, the unspoken requirement to be available whenever Dr. Lecter saw fit. And finally, the inevitable—this place. His home.

Back to the present, you hear the front door click open, the soft thud of polished shoes on the wooden floor. Your heart jumps to your throat, but you force yourself to remain still as Dr. Lecter enters, his eyes immediately locking onto you with an unsettling intensity.

“There you are,” he greets, as if he were a husband returning to his spouse after a long day. “I trust you’ve been keeping yourself entertained?”

You manage a small nod, not trusting your voice to remain steady. "Yes," you reply, clearing your throat. "I…tidied up."

"Wonderful." He removes his coat with precise movements, placing it on the coat rack before turning to you, his gaze predatory yet casual. "Today was most eventful," he begins conversationally, crossing the room toward you with a grace that should make you feel comforted, but instead sets every nerve on edge. "One of my patients had quite the breakthrough. It’s fascinating, really, how easily one can guide a mind to certain…realizations."

He pauses just in front of you, his hand reaching up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear in an unsettlingly intimate gesture. "You’ve always had such a strong mind," he murmurs. "That’s why I like you. And why I believe our arrangement will work out perfectly. Don't you agree?"

You swallow, searching for words that will appease him without sealing your fate even tighter. "Of course." you say carefully, hoping the neutrality of your response will satisfy him. He smiles again, that chillingly serene smile that never quite reaches his eyes.

"Good," he purrs. "Now, why don't you join me in the kitchen? I believe a little conversation over dinner would do us both well. After all," he pauses, his gaze darkening, "what's a home without a bit of warmth and companionship?" With a gesture, he beckons you toward the hallway, and you follow, each step a reminder of the delicate balance you must now maintain in this life you never chose.

[michaelsfavgirl]

not like the movies

Pairing: Michael Jackson x fem!reader

Synopsis: it's a cliché love story isn't it? The global superstar and a die hard fan who manages to catch her idol's attention during a concert. it's that simple, right?....right?

Warning: none

Word Count: 2.1k

Requested: yes/no

Author’s Note: I changed the req a bit, put a little twist on this trope to make it more interesting. I hope you like it. :)

Links: navigation | masterlist | taglist

“Is the mic working tonight?" Michael asks Frank DiLeo, his manager. his eyes sparkle with mischief as they walk towards the wings, closer to the stage.

Frank chuckles, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "God, Mike, You'll never let us live that down, will you?"

Michael throws his head back in laughter, recalling a not-so-distant memory when the crew accidentally messed with the tech. “You guys cut off my mic during she’s out of my life! I had to fake cry to trick the fans into thinking all that was a part of the show.”

Frank, shaking his head in slight embarrassment, adds, "We learned our lesson that night. It won't happen again."

"Of course, it won't. Or else, I’ll cut your check in half.” Michael says with a small grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. As much as Frank likes to have some form of authority over Michael as his manager he’s still not the one who calls the shots. 

Frank's expression shifts from amusement to a momentary flicker of concern. "You wouldn't..." he says as his voice trembles. 

Michael bursts into laughter, the carefree sound echoing through the backstage corridors. "Just kidding, Frank. Can't you take a joke?"

Relieved, Frank lets out a chuckle, feigning a scowl. "You know, you give me a heart attack every time you say something like that."

Michael, still grinning, pats Frank on the back. "Come on, you know I wouldn't mess with your money."

As he sees his manager’s face relax Michael can’t help but tease him again. "Or would I?" he says as he leans down slightly to Frank’s height, watching Frank's face momentarily shift from relief to uncertainty again. Before he can respond, Michael strides onto the stage, leaving Frank bemused, with his jaw on the floor. 

As Michael smoothly transitions between his iconic songs, the energy in the stadium is electric. The sea of fans undulates with excitement, but amid the frenzy, his attention is inexplicably drawn to a girl in the front row. 

The second his eyes land on her he feels like he’s in a trance of some sort. There's an allure about her, something that tugs at the edges of Michael's consciousness. It's not just the way she sways to the beat or how her eyes light up with each note; it's an inexplicable connection that he can't shake off. Lost in the spell of her presence, he fumbles the lyrics of a verse, drawing giggles from the audience. 

Michael Jackson, the perfectionist, is momentarily thrown off, a rare slip in his otherwise flawless performance.

Shaking his head to clear the distraction, he attempts to refocus. Yet, as the music continues, his gaze involuntarily drifts back to her. It's a puzzle, a mystery that unravels with each passing song. Why does she captivate him so? Why does she stand out in a crowd that's usually a sea of screaming adoration?

The realization dawns on him—she's different. Amidst the fervor of fans who've camped out for days, who've screamed themselves hoarse, in contrast she remains remarkably composed. She’s not crying, screaming, or fainting. Her demeanor is an enigma. It's not that she's unaffected; on the contrary, she radiates genuine enjoyment, but there's a serenity to her reactions that sets her apart.

Michael can't help but wonder. He knows the type of fans who are usually in the front row. They tend to be the wildest, most infatuated with him, having created an imaginary world in their heads where they’re in a romantic relationship with him. 

But her? She doesn't seem like that at all. 

How strange.

As he moves from one hit to another, the questions linger in his mind. His eyes continue to find her in the crowd, drawn to her like a moth to a flame. There's an intrigue. He thought he knew his fans inside out—their dedication, their unbridled passion. Yet, she challenges his assumptions.

Midway through his performance, Michael decides to playfully engage with the mysterious woman in the front row. He winks at her, not once but a few times, expecting a typical fan reaction—screams, swoons, or at the very least, a blush. To his surprise, all he receives in return is a serene smile. Just a smile.

The bewilderment creeps into Michael's expression. What's going on here? Is she immune to his legendary charm or something? Huh, he’d never in a million years admit it, but he feels his ego deflate a little. 

Refusing to be discouraged, he takes it up a notch. He points directly at her, a playful challenge in his eyes. Surely, this will elicit a different response right? But no, she remains composed, smiling and silently mouthing the lyrics. This is unheard of for Michael, and he can't shake off the perplexity. 

Jesus, what is she doing to him?

Unable to wait any longer, during a break where the band continues to play to give Michael a moment to breathe, he rushes backstage to his manager, Frank. He grabs onto Frank's shoulders tightly which surprises him. 

“Look, you see that girl over there? No, not her, on the left, her. Bring her to me after the show, okay?” The urgency in his voice is palpable as he hastily says, instructing Frank to bring the mysterious woman to his dressing room after the show. Frank, usually the composed one, is taken aback by his client's sudden insistence.

"What's gotten into you, Michael?" Frank asks, trying to make sense of the unusual request.

Michael, in no mood for delays, shakes Frank's shoulders, emphasizing the urgency. "Just get her here, Frank. It's important. You got that?"

Frank, still a bit shocked by the unexpected outburst, manages to nod in agreement. He watches as Michael walks away, leaving him to process what’s just happened.

The final notes of the last song resonate through the stadium as Michael wraps up his performance. The crowd roars with applause, and Michael, still riding the high of the show, takes a moment to thank his fans. "Thank you, I love you all," he declares, his eyes scanning the audience one last time. 

In that fleeting moment, his gaze lingers on the mysterious woman in the front row. Without giving it another thought, Michael dashes backstage, not even sparing a moment for his manager, Frank Dileo. He quickly instructs Frank to bring the woman to his dressing room and disappears, leaving Frank with his jaw on the floor.

After a refreshing shower, Michael reenters his dressing room, his mind buzzing with anticipation, heart beating unbelievably fast. And there she is, the enchanting woman who has captured his attention. Her back is turned to him as she admires the tour costumes on the rack, gently tracing the metal pieces with her fingers. Before Michael can utter a word, she turns around, her eyes meeting his. 

With the most angelic smile, she introduces herself shyly, “oh, uh, hello, i’m y/n. Someone told me to come to your dressing room, I swear I'm not a crazy fan.” As her sweet, slightly trembling voice fills the room, Michael feels a sensation akin to his legs turning into jelly. 

“I know don’t worry” he reassures her with a gentle smile, trying to keep his excitement in check. 

“I asked them to bring you here”

“Oh…do you often bring your fans here?” she asks with a little smile on her face, teasing him. 

Michael's eyes widen slightly, realizing how his previous statement sounded. “No, no, I’m not like that.” He defends himself. 

“Please y/n take a seat.” he gestures to the cozy couch. Her name feels familiar on his tongue, unfortunately, he cannot remember from where so he lets the thought go.

Casual banter flows initially, words revolving around music, the pulsating rhythm of the crowd, and the enchanting atmosphere that wraps around every live performance. Michael can't help but be drawn to the woman's composure, a serenity that stands out amid the usual fervor of his adoring fans.

As the conversation meanders through the afterglow of the show, the woman pivots with a sudden turn, shifting gears towards more personal territory. "How do you deal with all the relentless media during the tour?" Her question hangs in the air, curiosity etched in her eyes.

A contemplative sigh escapes Michael's lips, the weight of the question temporarily lifting from his shoulders. "It can be daunting," he begins, "But the music, the fans, that's what keeps me going."

Her eyes linger on his face, searching for something more profound beneath the surface. Unsatisfied with his somewhat evasive response, she persists, "But what specifically bothers you? There must be something that digs deeper."

Michael hesitates, a brief moment of vulnerability flickering in his eyes before he decides to share, "The…the rumors about me bleaching my skin. It's hurtful, and it affects me more than people realize."

“Do you though?” 

His eyes furrow, a mix of annoyance and anger flickering across his face. The probing nature of her questions stirs a cautious wariness within him.

She notices this and leans in, "You're so misunderstood, I just want to know the real you."

Silence hangs between them for a moment. Michael, caught in the whirlwind of emotions, contemplates the woman before him. Is she just a genuine fan seeking connection, or does she harbor ulterior motives beneath her calm exterior?

Gazing into her eyes, his hungry desire to be vulnerable and open his heart to some outweighs his concern. "No," he responds firmly, the word resonating with a quiet strength. "I don't bleach my skin. The rumors are just that—rumors."

Nodding in compassion she gently lays her warm palm on top of his in a soothing manner, this makes michaels senses spike. 

"I hope I haven't crossed any boundaries," she offers apologetically, her eyes reflecting a genuine concern for a split second.

He looks at her with a hint of confusion, not quite grasping what she means. "No, no it’s…fine." he says.

Taking a moment to choose her words carefully, she ventures into more personal territory. "I mean, after what happened... Do you feel lonely on tour?" The cryptic nature of her question leaves Michael momentarily puzzled.

"What do you mean, 'after what happened'?" he inquires, eyebrows furrowing inquisitively.

She takes a deep breath, her gaze steady. "In the media, you know the whole Brooke Shields turning down your proposal. It must be difficult for you."

Michael's sigh echoes through the room as he dispels the misconception. "Brooke never never said no because I never proposed," he states, a touch of exasperation in his voice. "That was just a story she made up to get attention for her new movie."

As Michael clarifies the misinformation, the woman subtly slips her hand into her handbag, a movement that goes unnoticed by him. Maintaining an air of compassion, she continues, "It must be tough for you, dealing with the constant scrutiny."

"Yeah, it gets hard sometimes," he admits, a weight apparent in his words. "She’s been leeching off me, leading me on since we met." he says and feels guilt creeping up on him, but he’s been bottling up his emotions for so long he can’t help but vent.

Her expression remains composed, her eyes attentive. "I’m sorry you have to go through that Michael," she commiserates, though the glint in her eyes suggests a hidden agenda.

Michael, relieved to share his burden, continues, "I just want someone who's genuine, can’t you understand that girl? Someone who understands me for me, not for the image they've built in their mind."

As the admission hangs in the air, the woman's hand tightens around an object in her bag, a subtle signal of her concealed intentions. 

After a conversation, well, more like Michael opening his heart while she nodded, the peculiar woman stands up abruptly and straightens the creases on her clothes. She grabs the doorknob and turns to face him.

“I hope you won’t be too surprised when you see yourself in the papers tomorrow morning Mr. Jackson” she says with one foot out the door.

Michael cocks his head to the side and hums in confusion, why is she speaking so formally all of a sudden. “What do you mean?” 

“Haven’t you read that article about Princess Diana?” 

Before Michael can open his mouth she’s already left the room and shut the door behind her. 

Panicking slightly he rushes to the coffee table and gets a hold of the newspaper from last week. He swiftly flips through the pages until he stumbles upon the tabloid junk he’d read on a plane half asleep. The title reads:

“IS PRINCESS DIANA A MASTER MANIPULATOR?”

          — By y/n y/l

Fuck, she’s a journalist. He  should’ve guessed from the get go. She was a little odd but he brushed it off as her being shy and awkward, and now look at what he’s gotten himself into. 

© michaelsfavgirl 2024

Taglist: @heartss444mj @yeriminist @yeaiamme2 @helloaugustmoon @cinnamoncunt @theladyofmylife @minekarina @kionaaa @theskinniestjackson-denny @youronlyonenini

[wannaeatramyeon]

Ryuhei Kuroda x Reader: Moon and Tide

F!Reader. Colleagues to Lovers. Mitsuki leaves, Ryuhei has some realisations.

Ryuhei experiences his first heartbreak at nineteen.

(In truth, his heart had broken time and time again with his unrequited love. Each time that Mitsuki dismisses him, each time he saw her with Shiba Inu.

But each time he used to see her, he also fell in love all over again too.)

.

.

Shortly after Sinu Han leaves, Mitsuki also departs.

"What?!" Ryuhei slams both fists down on the boardroom table, "Then I quit." 

"Haven't you harassed her enough? She obviously doesn't want you to follow." Samuel Seo gazes over the top of his glasses, smirk on his face and relishing the blonde's distress.

"Watch your mouth." Ryuhei snarls, low and menacing, a clear warning as any.

"Samuel is right," Eugene is calm, voice even. "Please respect Mitsuki's wishes this one time." Unlike all the other times you've ignored her boundaries does not need to be said.

The room stills at his words. The chairman has spoken, although it does nothing to dissipate the tension. The air hangs heavy. Like an elastic band stretched taut, to its limits. 

Samuel observes Mandeok tensing and Ryuhei’s nostrils flaring, and he wonders who will break first.

Ryuhei's eyes flit around the room. The silence, lack of support, from Kenta or even yourself is damning.

"Fuck you," he hisses. Leaving, not wanting to be here a second longer.

The door slams, reverberating off the walls.

"My apologies for Ryuhei's interruptions," Eugene gestures to you, "In Mitsuki's absence, Y/N will take on her duties and title."

You give a curt nod to the rest of the room, acknowledging your promotion, but your eyes stay glued to Ryuhei's empty seat.

.

.

To both of your surprise, you're the first one to reach out.

(You like to think it’s you fulfilling your new duties as president. The alliance, the uncomplicated relationship you always had with Ryuhei helped too.)

Gently knocking on his room door, calling his name. The voice, the tone, the pitch pulls him out of his mood. Briefly, for a second, before he realises the two of you sound nothing alike.

"Go away," 

He watches you respond by jiggling the handle aggressively. So much so that the entire door shakes then a second later - it opens with you striding in.

"That's handy," Ryuhei, lying in bed, glances over at you rearranging the pins back into your hair, "And a complete invasion of my privacy."

"Like you ever cared about anyone's privacy,"

Right. Another jab about Mitsuki. One that he used to take on the chin because it's true, he's not ashamed. He pines after her openly, certain that everyone in 2A would have heard of his antics by now, if not the whole of Workers.

Tonight is a different story. It's less the wound being raw and tender and more Ryuhei is missing an entire limb.

How can she leave without saying goodbye?

He misses her.

Ryuhei throws the covers over his head.

The message is clear though not enough to drive you out or to muffle your voice.

"You have 3 days to get yourself together, then I need you by my side."

Fuck off he wants to say. But what's the point anymore? 

"I have negotiations that could go wrong. I need all the manpower I can get my hands on."

Like you wouldn't be able to handle it by yourself, a small voice in his brain retorts.

Whatever. This, Workers, everything has all been a complete waste of his time.

.

.

Ryuhei was officially Mitsuki's bodyguard, and it makes sense that his duties now extend to you.

Everything else thus far has transitioned smoothly, except your current dilemma: how do you deal with a bodyguard that doesn't want to guard you?

After the three days, you barge in at the crack of dawn and try to wrestle him out of bed. Out of the room that stinks of despair and depression.

A one sided obsession that has run its course, ended in the best way it could. You don't voice these thoughts out loud.

Ryuhei is a dead weight in your arms, childish and insolent and completely unhelpful. 

He's a grown man. There's little you can do.

Your lips crease thin with fury but no words spill forth.

You leave without him.

.

.

It's a full week later that Ryuhei musters up enough energy to crawl out of bed, throwing on something half presentable to stretch his legs.

Wandering the corridors, guilt creeps over him when he sees you talking to Kenta, right arm bandaged and in a sling.

Kenta nods at his friend's reappearance, you ignore him completely.

Well. He supposes he deserves that.

.

.

Seeing you kick starts a little change. 

Not a lot, enough to get Ryuhei out of bed every day and put up an appearance of semi-normality. Key word: semi.

He slumps over a desk half the time, willing away the hours by fiddling with the edges of papers and documents, heart aching.

(A small part of him, maybe the most pathetic part, wants to doodle Mitsuki's name over and over.)

Other times he takes to training with a ferocity that surprises himself.

The only moments he feels anything other than a hollowness is when he's by your side. Eyes constantly attracted to your broken arm. 

Steel pins, Kenta had mentioned, face grim as he clicks his lighter, adding that it was only thanks to your quick thinking the executives of Workers made it out alive.

Huh, it was that bad?

.

.

The guilt builds, claws under his skin and at his conscience. Could have sworn you were ambidextrous except now he watches you struggle with your dominant hand out of action. 

He's not sure if it's out of stubbornness or forgetfulness that you have used chopsticks all week. Albeit your dexterity has vastly improved since Monday, watching you is nothing short of exasperating.

Ryuhei’s peace offering comes in the form of a spoon.

You've barely exchanged words since that day where you tried to hoist him out of bed. Only on a needs-must basis. Terse and to the point.

You were thoroughly pissed off and everyone knew it.

Righteous in your anger at first. You had explicitly said that you needed all hands on deck, implicitly asked for his help and frustrated he couldn't separate his personal feelings enough to do his job when there are lives at stake. Over the past couple weeks, your ire has reduced, cooled until he is now nothing but a thorn in your side.

"Go on, just take it," The thorn in your side holds out the utensil.

You ignore him.

"Or else I could just feed you?" He offers, a hint of mischief returning to his eyes.

Ryuhei huffs when you tell him he can try if he wants a broken arm to match yours.

.

.

Inch by inch, you thaw.

Would have thawed quicker if Ryuhei lessened his efforts to get back into your good graces, causing headaches and extra work more often than not.

Still, he tries. Following you around, part bodyguard, part puppy. You appreciate it in hindsight. It’s almost cute.

Little by little, he also regains the bounce in his step.

.

.

Ryuhei tries once to contact Mitsuki.

She says she has no plans to return or to see him again.

She doesn't offer anything else.

He stays silent the whole time.

.

.

Some may consider that a form of closure, Ryuhei isn’t sure. Things at least get slightly easier after that.

Once an all encompassing searing pain, the hurt and heartbreak eventually settles and dulls into a throb.

Normalcy becomes less of a facade.

Ryuhei flips off Eugene in earnest, tells Samuel Seo to eat shit with sincerity, struts 2A with his confident gait once more.

"Nomen," you nudge him lightly with your shoulder. Even with your mask on, he can hear the smile in your voice. "It's good to have you back."

"Yeah," he agrees. It is good to be back.

.

.

Not everything is smooth sailing, however.

In his more melodramatic moments, in which there are many, Ryuhei vows never to love again, endure a lifetime of chastity, promising to never so much as gaze at another woman.

You snort at the declarations.

"What?" He snaps and you pointedly return his gaze as he remains indignant, "You don't count."

You let that particular one slide but- "Who's going to sleep with you anyway, you're a pathetic asshole."

"A very handsome pathetic asshole," he corrects.

"Hmm." Yet you don't disagree.

It's only later that day, stuck in another godforsaken meeting with you and Eugene, when boredom strikes and his mind wanders that Ryuhei realises that you didn't refute his claim.

He watches you, head tilted and eyebrows furrowed.

Huh.

.

.

Ryuhei doesn't care about you, not like he cares about Mitsuki. Though he doesn't care about anyone the same way he cares (cared?) about her.

It's not personal.

His relationship with you has always been easy, flirtatious without intent. 

Sharp words and double entendres litter your conversations. Fun during the better moments, aggravating during others. Skin deep, superficial. He doesn't know you beyond the limits of your words, not really, and the experience is mutual.

Others have commented on your strength and character before. Formidable. A force to be reckoned with.

Even more have taken note of your looks, a common water cooler topic. 

To Ryuhei, you're like the moon. Sure you're nice to look at. Yet when Mitsuki is the stars and beyond; dazzling, glittering with untold adventures, how can anyone possibly compare?

.

.

(In the end, absence makes the heart grow fonder. Though not in the way Ryuhei expects.)

.

.

He carries out his new bodyguard tasks without complaint. 

It only made sense with your arm out of commission, and him technically and almost literally being your right hand man, that he carries your bag, your coffee too. Really, whatever you need.

What’s more, he now knows you take your coffee exactly like him. Quadruple shot, milky and disgustingly sweet.

Spends more time scrolling on your phone than a president probably should.

Hate sitting with your back to the door. And in meetings where there are no other options, Ryuhei makes sure to position himself opposite instead of being next to you. Himself sat where you would have preferred. One eye on any potential dangers and the exit route, giving a reassuring, roguish smile that eases your worries.

Bags under your eyes naturally mean a poor night’s sleep. Bags under your eyes and hair in a ponytail means you do not want to be here today. Something you would never voice out loud, but Ryuhei can read you anyway. 

On those days, he makes sure he’s always one step ahead and extra considerate. He’s not completely altruistic, he also doesn’t want to be shouted at again.

.

.

The emptiness still comes and goes, catches him out when he least expects it. Usually he feels Mitsuki’s absence more than remembers her presence.

Ryuhei notices you a bit more too, these days. Ever since your offhand agreement.

The way you say his name is nothing like how she used to. The way you look at him is nothing like how she used to. 

It’s actually warmer.

.

.

“You fucking idiot,” your tone is a complete contrast to your gentle hands, now completely healed and bandaging up his instead.

Ryuhei pouts with mock hurt and you roll your eyes. You will not give him sympathy, not for this.

(A yelp diverted your attention earlier today, and you rushed to find Kenta holding his lighter and Ryuhei cradling his own hand, wincing in pain.

You took one look at the two guilty faces and realised that the blonde moron wanted to learn how to set his finger alight like Kenta without hurting himself.

Ryuhei is one thing, but you expected better from Kenta. You turn to him, disappointment painted on your face and tell him exactly that.

“What about me!” Ryuhei had the audacity to pipe up. You roughly snatched his wrist and dragged him away.)

“Don’t set yourself on fire again,” you punctuate each word by sharply jabbing him in the chest with your finger.

Ryuhei flutters his eyelashes at you in a way he thinks must be quite charming and endearing. Who knows where the hell he got that idea from. You’re tempted to gouge out his eyes more than anything.

Somehow, you manage to resist. You also refrain from rolling your eyes at him again.

(You worry if you do that anymore, they might get permanently stuck and never return back to normal.)

.

.

Ryuhei studies his injured hand. Lying in bed, other hand behind his head, holding it up into the direct path of the silver moonlight cutting through the darkness.

He moves it, angles it this way and that. Letting the highlights and shadows illuminate your neat handiwork.

Something about this makes him feel funny. A little light headed.

He can’t recall the last time anyone touched him so kindly. Can’t recall anyone ever taking care of him when he’s been hurt before.

If he squints and looks at the neat little knot just right, he can almost see a heart shape.

.

.

It’s odd.

Were you always this flirtatious? Was he always this coquettish with you?

Did you always return his taunts with such a sparkle in your eyes?

When did you start having so many inside jokes, your own moments snickering together?

And it’s like he can finally see you. No longer subjected to his previous tunnel vision, he finally understands what everyone has been saying.

You’re much more stunning than Ryuhei remembers.

He also doesn’t remember your smile making him feel this way before.

Lastly, he remembers saying ‘you don’t count’. His words have come back to bite him.

.

.

Ryuhei wakes up at his usual time on a Wednesday.

It’s a nothing special sort of day.

Slinks out of his bed like he usually does, goes about his day as he usually does, teases you with intention and a quickened pulse. Which… ok, that one is new.

All in all. It’s fine. It’s an unremarkable Wednesday.

Except the dull ache in his chest, one he has had to endure for the last few months, isn't there anymore.

.

.

There’s a different type of guilt at play.

First-

When you’re used to something for years and years, it takes time to break out of a habit. For the first time, Ryuhei begins to see his attachment to Mitsuki as the unhealthy obsession that it is. 

He’s not fully ready to pick this apart just yet.

Second-

How do you separate a rebound from something real? That you’re not just a replacement, a new person to pass the time?

And that idea, that you’re a replacement for anything, shocks him. It’s unimaginable to think of you as a passing fancy because you deserve so much better.

That really should have given him an inkling. 

On the other hand. When Ryuhei has only surrounded his love life with the one red flag, and himself being the other red flag too… he has a lot to learn.

.

.

Unfortunately you did get one thing right: Ryuhei is pathetic. His baseline personality is an absolute simp. 

Maybe it would have been different if his informative years played out differently. Alas.

Alone, he tries to dissect his thoughts and feelings. In your company, he is much more simple. Constantly wanting to capture your attention, which you give easily and with minimal conditions. 

Ryuhei can now read you like the back of his hand, knows your preferences so well that he’s able to anticipate your needs before they develop into needs. Wants, at best. Perhaps not even that.

And when other people look at you, the desire shown easily on their face that he has tried to tamper down, his possessiveness and jealousy flares.

Unsubtle shoulder barges and sneers are thrown in their direction.

But Ryuhei is nothing if not patient. He supposes it won’t be so bad if you turn him down and you’re happy with someone else.

He’s used to that.

Giving you the opportunity to turn him down though, he’s not sure yet how to go about.

.

.

Conveniently, an opportunity does arise.

Celebrating the new Fifth Affiliates, Eugene had said, showing his face at the gathering for about ten minutes before leaving. 

Then the two newbies, who Ryuhei doesn’t bother to get the names of because he sure as hell doesn’t want to know anyone with tacky ‘H’ tattoos (on their forehead and neck for crying out loud!), leave shortly after.

Ryuhei also considers it a small victory when Samuel Seo departs, after a very witty verbal sparring to see who can tell each other to fuck off in increasingly creative ways.

“You’re so fucking juvenile,” you sigh, though you begrudgingly admit that you were impressed throughout that display.

“At least I got the last word in,” Ryuhei grins, giving the finger to Samuel’s retreating back.

The room empties out at a quicker rate now that the non-mandatory, completely optional (if you want to keep your job) gathering is devoid of the more severe senior management.

No more than another 30 minutes pass and only you and Ryuhei remain. Two small figures in an oversized room, full of empty tables but one.

Ryuhei rests one elbow on the table, propping up his head and looks at you with a cocky smile.

“Remember when I said I’m never going to gaze at anyone ever again? That was a lie.”

“Really.” You deadpan, resisting once more the urge to roll your eyes. It might be the most difficult thing you have ever had to do.

“I lied when I said you don’t count too.”

Ryuhei, for all his flaws, has only ever been forthright with his emotions. In his own roundabout and very sex-pest way with Mitsuki, though he did confess in the end. As for right now, well, he has learned his lesson.

You give him a response he didn’t expect.

“I think you should spend more time on your own first.”

.

.

Ryuhei is immediately placed on a leave of absence the next day.

You explain clearly to him as he sits opposite, his very official letter scrunched in his fist and feeling extremely petulant, that while you do like him, he needs some distance to everything.

He only hears the first part. You like him? You? Like? Him? The words swim round and round in his mind.

“Ryuhei,” you snap your fingers and him out of his daze.

“Then what’s the problem?” he whines.

“Don’t make me into another Mitsuki,” Ryuhei opens his mouth to argue that he won’t, there is no way- 

“Ryuhei,” you repeat his name again in an authoritative tone that leaves no room for argument. Echoing your words from yesterday. “You need to spend more time on your own. This is non negotiable.”

.

.

Ryuhei sulks like there is no tomorrow.

Tries to manifest you outside his door but to no avail. He doesn’t see you at all.

That just about surmises his first week.

.

.

The week after, he thinks about you. How strange that you started as colleagues, almost friends first. How well he actually knows you.

Now months after Mitsuki has left, Ryuhei can only piece together fragments of her.

Even still, he had never seen the whole picture. He never knew her in her entirety, only the portrait he painted.

What becomes exceedingly clear is his one sided behaviour.

.

.

The fog, the rose tinted glasses fully lifts in the fourth week.

.

.

The sixth week he carefully pries open the past.

Gently picks apart what he wasn’t ready to before.

Moments of self reflection are painful, embarrassing. If the earth could open up and swallow him whole, he would gladly take it.

He still feels something for Mitsuki, though pertaining more to the remorse and shame side rather than anything else.

In an ideal world, he would seek her out and offer an apology for his past behaviour. However, in the real world, that only helps to alleviate his own conscience. 

He has already reached out once before and she has given her answer.

Nothing else from Ryuhei now would benefit either party.

.

.

Two full months later, Ryuhei sees you once again at work.

Your smile still makes his heart flutter and brain short wire.

Except he can now see you as a whole person, all your flaws and faults too. What he used to ignore with Mitsuki, blinded by his obsession. 

His feelings for you don't change.

.

.

Ryuhei wonders when he started to like you.

Thinks his heart liked you before his brain even realised. When the time is right, he needs to apologise for how long it took him to fully catch up.

.

.

He remembers thinking of you as the moon once, paling in comparison to the stars and the great beyond. 

That wasn’t quite fair. Wasn't accurate at all.

If you are the celestial body, luminous and hung high in the heavens by the gods themselves, then Ryuhei considers himself the tide.

He understands now, with its lunar radiance, there is nothing that comes close.

Quite simply: 月が綺麗ですね

(The moon is beautiful, isn't it?)

.

.

At twenty, Ryuhei experiences real love.

Experiences what it truly means to love and to be loved.

[mc-lukanette]

Ladybug stood on a rooftop, dazed, staring up as the magical ladybugs flew up into the sky and dispersed into nothingness. It hadn't even been a year, yet she'd lost track of all the akuma she'd found.

All the time she'd lost.

Dropping her gaze to the roof under her feet, she wondered how many times she'd jumped across it. The rooftops of Paris had all blended together in her mind, which had long since stopped seeing them as buildings or shops so much as something to step across to get wherever she needed to go, or an object to throw her yoyo at to swing somewhere.

Down below, a crowd was cheering for her and Chat Noir. Their faces were hard to see with her vision occasionally blurring, but she felt they were grateful, at least, and the distance was the only reason why no one saw the tiredness in her eyes. Chat Noir, though he stood right there next to her, was simply too busy putting on a good smile to the cameras to see the way she swayed like she was about to fall over.

That's what she told herself, anyway. Besides, heroes didn't get tired, they didn't need breaks, and they certainly didn't demand sympathy from those around them. They were meant to serve as a higher being, perfect in the eyes of the public.

That was all.

As Ladybug raised a hand to give a smile and wave with energy she didn't have, a group of screams rang out.

"Oh no, i-it's another akuma!"

"Quick, everybody, run!"

"M'lady, look out!"

Everything happened so fast. It was hard to catch up and understand where the horror was directed to, but she turned around under the assumption of a sneak attack. Chat's hand came into contact with her shoulder at the same time, the motion of which indicated that he was about to shove her out of the way.

Instead, she saw a flash of teal and Chat was catapulted back onto one of the rooftops a few buildings away. She couldn't even call out his name before something thick and smooth wrapped around her and brought her to the ground, the air leaving her lungs from the shock. She looked down, noting the snake-like scales, and wriggled, but the grip was tight enough that it was hard to get her arms out.

Strangely, it wasn't so tight that it hurt. Maybe there was an opening somewhere?

"Ha." A smooth, strangely mellow voice spoke, preceding a few delicate, harp-like notes. "That joke Hawk Moth made it too easy."

Twisting her head any which way she could to see the source, Ladybug looked up to see the start of the snake tail she was wrapped in, connected to a seemingly male human body like naga in mythology. The boy - not looking that much older than her - wore a bodysuit matching his snake tail, transitioning so smoothly that it was hard to tell where the torso ended and the tail began. Darker teal lines snaked - quite appropriate given the theming - up his arms, all the way to the hood on his head.

The hood cast a shadow over his face, but she could still see the teal mask, the lower corners jutting down sharply into points to imitate fangs. Had she not been in the process of being restrained by him at the time, she may have complimented his style.

A lyre was clutched in one of his hands, explaining the music she'd heard earlier, and he played a few more notes over the cries of the few people who remained below. "You can call me Hoodstrum. I seek the most valuable things in the world and have had my sights set on this beautiful bug for a while now."

"Get in line!" Chat yelled out from afar. "That's my partner you're taking!"

Ladybug rolled her eyes, genuinely unable to tell if this was more about her being kidnapped or two boys fighting over a girl. "This is not the time, Chat Noir!"

Hoodstrum clicked his tongue, unimpressed by Chat's retort, then raised his free hand behind him in a fist. Slowly, his fingers curled open, and with them what Ladybug could only describe as the fabric of dimensions. A portal was opening at his command, more than large enough for the two of them and shaped like a snake's mouth opening wide. She couldn't see what awaited on the other side either, only colors zipping from side-to-side like lightning bolts.

Were they going to hurt?

"They always say that you don't know what you have 'til it's gone." Plucking one string at a time in a slow, taunting motion, Hoodstrum continued, "But don't worry. I'll be sure to put her in a nice little terrarium."

Chat called out for her again, followed by the sound of his boots against the rooftops, but it was too late. Ladybug felt the tail tighten briefly before throwing her, her world spinning as her surroundings blurred into nothing discernible. The sounds of Chat Noir, the crowd, and Paris itself faded in an instant and she braced for impact, her body curling in on itself to protect anything vital from the rough landing.

Only then to feel the impact against something marshmallow soft and pillow-y.

"Uh—?" Ladybug's body unconsciously relaxed at the unexpected sensation, then tensed again when she recognized what must be a trap. The ground below her would be unstable and hard to move around on, giving Hoodstrum the advantage as he floated above it.

Pushing herself up and fighting against the struggle for balance, her fists flew up into her fighting stance. Her eyes searched viciously for any sort of advantages she could have in this boy's lair, such as a defensive spot under the coffee table, the TV to smash over his head, the fridge in the other room to....

wait.

Ladybug blinked, staring at the weirdly normal living room she was in. The floor was a smooth, gray vinyl and the walls were black, curving into an equally black ceiling. The TV stand housed a couple of well taken care of gaming systems, and the coffee table had a deck of cards stacked neatly atop it. There was an opening with an arc shape in one of the walls leading into the kitchen, an electric kettle on the counter emitting steam and even a clear jar of sweets nearby.

Also, was that a bean bag chair near the couch?

She couldn't see any sign of a front door, but there was a hallway that she could only guess led to a bathroom and bedroom or something similar. Point being, this was not a lair, and certainly not a terrarium in the sinister way Hoodstrum had spoken it. Under her feet as well, there was no deception or trap to be caught in, but actual pillows that she'd landed on.

She had to admit at that point that she was officially, utterly confused.

At that moment, Hoodstrum's voice called out from behind her, "I'm glad I aimed right. I would've felt terrible if I missed the pillows."

Ladybug spun around to face him, but stumbled on the uneven surface. That one was her own fault and she went for the obvious solution of stepping outside of the "pillow zone" while Hoodstrum casually slithered past her, the portal behind him long gone. She watched, waiting for him to suddenly turn and pounce at her, yet he laid himself on the couch instead, looking totally vulnerable to any and all attacks.

"Um," Ladybug began, raising a hand to point around the room, "am I missing something?"

He tossed her a smile, stretching his arms before propping himself back up into a sitting position. The long snake tail made it awkward, but he didn't appear bothered by it. "Sorry. This is my first time doing this for someone."

The phrase 'doing this for someone' implied that it was to her own benefit, only making her more confused.

He explained before she could ask any further, "I'm not a villain. I'm part of a group against the Order of the Guardians."

"The Order of the Guardians?" she asked warily. "But how aren't you a villain then?"

He leaned against the backrest, unbothered by the half-accusation. "We don't want to harm anyone; they do. Before the accident, they took kids in even if those kids didn't want it, and starved them as part of their training."

Ladybug bit her lower lip, already eerily familiar with that story. That's what Master Fu had gone through before Feast happened.

Hoodstrum, staring at her with a wealth of emotional intelligence, seemed to know that she understood that already. "They wiped themselves out because they didn't care about anything but their rules. The first one of us knew that and ran away with some of their miraculouses."

At that, her gaze dropped, scanning his body over to search for something she hadn't thought to before. On his wrist, she noted, was a bangle designed like an ouroboros. "Is that what you're wearing?"

"You're learning the notes fast," he complimented with a nod. He raised his arm out to her in a silent offer, adding, "The snake was one of the ones they got away with."

Though still hesitant, she couldn't detect anything suspicious in his posture. One step at a time, she slowly made her way towards the couch until she was within arm's length of him. Taking hold of his forearm and hand, she examined the supposed snake miraculous in question.

It was bizarre. In her limited experience with the miraculouses Master Fu had, it definitely looked like a miraculous: it was an accessory to wear and his bodysuit had remnants of what she might expect, but something wasn't quite right. While the design of the miraculouses was done who knows how long ago, Hoodstrum's appeared modern as if made recently, or perhaps refurbished.

Looking upon her thoughtful expression approvingly, he told her, "I don't know everything, but the miraculouses they stole got taken all over to other people; people who could make them better with the times." He glanced down at it. "Think of it like a record of an old song compared to the music we have now. It's always changing, and we're finding new ways to play and record it."

"So that's why you have other powers," Ladybug deduced, recalling the portal he had opened. She wanted to leave it there, but the nagging voice in the back of her head refused to let go of the scale-covered elephant in the room. "...But the tail? And fangs?"

He grinned, inadvertently showing off the fangs in question. Closing his eyes, he took a deep, steadying breath...

and started to detransform.

She yelped, recoiling from the bright light. Her calves bumped into the coffee table, but she remained standing and instinctively covered her eyes in thought of seeing someone's civilian identity.

She could hear Hoodstrum chuckle, but a different voice was the one who spoke up. "It's fine to look, Ladybug. My holder trusts you."

"N-nggh, but why?" she whined from behind her hands.

She got no answer, but the permission had made her too curious. She lowered her hands first, then opened one eye at a time until she could fully take him in. Rather than the half-human, half-snake she had seen earlier, Hoodstrum looked entirely normal, if a little bit punk. His black pants were torn at the knees, under his denim jacket was a thick midnight blue hoodie - the hood of which had been put down to reveal fluffy black hair with blue highlights - and his white shirt had rips as well as—

"Is that Jagged Stone?" she blurted out, staring at the logo across the chest of the shirt.

"Yeah," he admitted, "he's my favorite singer."

"Mine t—" She clammed up, remembering that she wasn't Marinette right now. Hoodstrum had such a calm, amicable tone when speaking that it felt like talking with a friend rather than a stranger. Was this somehow part of catching her off-guard?

The voice from earlier, as she soon discovered, belonged to a snake-looking kwami flying beside him. He chimed into the conversation, explaining, "Gaining our features are a side-effect of the modern miraculouses. They might be inconvenient for our holders, but it's the price they're willing to pay for our will."

"Will?" Ladybug repeated for clarification.

Hoodstrum raised his wrist again, showing the disguised form of the miraculous. "I can't transform if Sass doesn't want to."

Sass crossed his legs, his long tail curling around them. "The modern miraculouses keep us from being used without our consent, or if we think it might put our holder in danger. It gives us more power in the bond we share and our holders are happy to take the consequence of that."

It was a lot of information at once, but she tried to follow as best as she could. The idea that kwamis weren't slaves to whoever had their hands on their miraculouses sounded almost fantastical, making her think of poor Nooroo under Hawk Moth. "You didn't have to detransform to prove that though."

"I know," Hoodstrum said. He got up from the couch to stand in front of her, gesturing to himself. "But I want to earn your trust if I can, so you don't feel uncomfortable here."

"Here?" Ladybug took another look around, reminded of the situation that led them to this moment, and raised a finger. "Wait, yeah! Why am I here? Where is here? And I thought you kidnapped me!"

He shook his head. "I'll take you back whenever you want. This—" He outstretched an arm to the rest of the room. "—is for you, and anyone like you."

She brought a hand to her mouth, brows drawn together in thought. "I don't get it."

Sass flew up, lounging lazily on Hoodstrum's shoulder, and "pointed" at her with his paw. "You're exhausted. That much is obvious in everything we saw."

Her eyes widened. They noticed? Had it been that obvious to these two that didn't know her? "That...that's normal."

"It's not," Hoodstrum argued with a frown. "Whoever your guardian is, he chose a cat who loves the job. He could've done the same for your miraculous too."

Sass clicked his tongue in a way not unlike what Hoodstrum had done towards Chat. "That's typical of guardians: never ask, just choose."

Ladybug swallowed, wanting to defend Master Fu but unable to. It was true, she hadn't wanted to be Ladybug, and in fact had to when the holder she had intended to replace herself with got trapped behind a car. There were so many times that she thought about giving up or lamented how overwhelmed it made her feel, but she hadn't wanted to question a decision made by someone who seemed so much older and wiser than her.

"So you brought only me here because of that," she concluded, "but... to do what?"

Hoodstrum and Sass exchanged glances that were a mix between concerned and amused, as if the answer were obvious and it was worrying that she didn't understand.

Simultaneously, they looked at her and simply said, "To rest."

"R—" She would have staggered back if the coffee table wasn't in the way, so she opted to wave her arms about in disbelief. "Rest? What? That's it?"

Hoodstrum turned away, moving to walk around the room. Sass remained hovering where he'd been, observing Hoodstrum's movements alongside Ladybug.

"I wanted to talk to you sooner, but I was still learning how to use my miraculous." He knelt down to the TV stand, feeling around for dust. He only stood back up when he was satisfied it was clean. "This place hasn't been needed in so long too. Me and my family tried to update it to make you comfortable, but it took a while."

Sass cleared his throat, Ladybug turning to him as he added on, "You could call this a pocket dimension inside our world. Here, time moves at one-sixth the speed as it does outside. Luka is hoping to make it better than that one day."

Ladybug almost didn't register that Sass had just used Hoodstrum's civilian name, her mind whirling thinking about the massive time bomb that had just dropped on her. One-sixth of the time meant that one hour in Paris was six hours here, and one day was six days, yet Luka didn't think that was good enough? That was already so much!

Even the idea of it being a pocket dimension, she could tell it was the truth. When she listened closely, she couldn't hear a thing that she wasn't aware of in the room: no birds chirping, no cars driving by, and no people chatting idly. Only the sound of her own breathing and Luka's footsteps filled the space.

It was just the three of them - four if one counted her growing disbelief at this point - all by themselves.

Luka continued the mini tour of the space as if none of this was particularly amazing; to him, who had experience preparing all this in the first place, maybe it wasn't. He wandered into the kitchen next, opening one of the cupboards to reveal a whole variety of tiny snack bags in just about any color she could imagine.

"I don't know what kind of food you like," he began, opening the fridge with his other hand to show her the fruits, milk, and such, "so we got whatever we could. I can give the rest to my friends, so you don't have to eat all of it."

Ladybug couldn't say anything, at a complete loss for words. Not moving her eyes from Luka, she went around the coffee table to follow him into the kitchen. Tearing her eyes from him to look at the food - the food for her - was difficult, because she didn't understand even after having it all explained to her.

It wasn't him alone who'd done all this, as he'd openly said, but he'd taken on the primary role. He brought her here, blindly trusted her to the point of letting her know his civilian identity, and for what? So she could rest?

Why?

"That act you put on..." she started to say, because she was certain now that it was an act.

"I needed a way to talk to you without accidentally seeing your identity," he confirmed. Looking off to the side, not wholly innocently, he admitted, "And I meant what I said about value: maybe they'll learn to care about you if they think they could've lost you."

"They care," she claimed weakly; an instinctive defense of the people she worked hard to protect.

She felt a small breeze to her side, Sass flying past her and into the fridge. He pulled a single hard-boiled egg from inside, then shut the door with his tail and flew over next to Luka. Taking a big bite of the egg's top, he almost looked like someone with a giant egg-shaped glass of alcohol.

"Ladybug," he said with patience she suddenly felt she didn't deserve, "We've seen the Face-to-Face interview."

She cringed at the memory instantly, her cheeks growing pink from embarrassment. Of course she recalled that: the interview with Nadja Chamack where she and the audience seemed to care for nothing more than whether Ladybug and Chat Noir were dating. Any time she tried to change the subject or tell the truth, she would be ignored or shot down.

Even Chat himself brushed it off as the price of being a star. Maybe then, the people did care, but only so far as to whether she could save them and get together with who they wanted her to.

She just hadn't wanted to acknowledge it.

Luka, meanwhile, had been ready for it. He'd made himself their bad guy so that he could offer her this. Guilt tore at her stomach, telling her how much she didn't deserve this.

"I...I have school," she tried.

"Tomorrow's Sunday," Luka supplied easily.

"My parents will wonder where I am."

"You can tell them you're staying with a friend."

"If Hawk Moth attacks while I'm here..."

"We can still get alerts. You'll know."

They really planned it all out. They had an answer for all of her questions and, as she'd already calculated earlier, she'd have six whole days to do whatever she wished even if she stayed there just for one Sunday. It was as Luka said: this was for her.

"...What's the catch?"

Luka smiled sadly at her, at the idea that they would require some sort of payment. There's a three step distance between the two of them and he closes that gap by two, his hands taking hold of hers and squeezing them reassuringly. It hadn't even occurred to her that he hadn't touched her until now, beyond what it took to bring her here. He'd let her get closer to touch him, but it was only when he felt she needed it that he gave it to her.

"No catch. We just want you to enjoy yourself. I'll give you my number and you can call me on your yoyo whenever you want me to bring you here. If you want to quit being Ladybug, we'll help you do that too, but you can still come." He squeezed her hands once more. "I saw you, I wanted to help you, it's that simple. It's not a favor, it's a reward."

She looked up at him. She'd noticed, but hadn't really thought about the fact, that his eyes had been green as Hoodstrum. When he was Luka, they were instead a deep, soothing blue.

She liked the blue, even more than the green.

Staring down at the hands holding hers, Ladybug curled her fingers inwards to squeeze him back. Unable to make excuses to get out of relaxing any longer - a thought she knew should give her much to self-reflect on in her future - she gave in and wondered aloud, "Can we do stuff together too?"

Luka beamed, more than happy to do just that.

[moon-huny]

Stole the Moon - Chapter Two

CW: My content is not for anyone under 18. Some sharp objects in this chapter. Mild language. Some coercion and, whats this, sexual frustration? You're still kidnapped so, mentions of imprisonment.

Word Count: 2.7K

Summary: Finally feeling generous, Buggy calls for his right hand man to bring you above deck. Can he smoothly transition into his plan, or do you have other ideas?

A/N: I know I already said it in an update post, but thank you all so much for reading and interacting with my work. And for all the new followers! It truly means a lot.

I am going to rip the bandaid off now. No clown smut in this chapter. I know, I know, okay, I'm sorry. This is meant to be a slow burn people, we need some push and pull before we get to the push and pull, ya know? That being said, there will be some nasty nasty in chapter three, I can promise you that. Okay, that's all, enjoy.

masterlist ✧˖°

previous • next

Days passed and you hadn’t received a visit.

Every evening, a small bowl filled with enough food to keep you alive is passed through the bars along with a small tin cup of watery tasting alcohol. Nobody spoke to you, nobody lit the candles when you ran out of matches, nobody offered you even a passing glance. You were left entirely alone in the darkened hull of a gaudy ship sailing to god knows where.

Maybe he forgot about you. What use could you provide to a man like that? You began to question what it was he even needed you for. What could you possibly know about the sea that he didn't know? You’d tried so hard to remember, hoping something, anything, would come to your mind.

You thought about the map. The one he spread out for you to see that night. You recalled the waiting look in his eyes, hoping you’d recognize it. Nothing. You replayed the moment again in your head, his broad gloved hands smoothing across the fabric of the map. What did the map look like again? All you could think about was the flex of his hand. The way his eyes had flicked up to look at you, under a strong brow and peering through long lashes.

Your memory wandered back to the moment when you were closest to him. When he had you caged against the wall, the heat of his body radiating off of him, hot breath ghosting over your lips. The way his knee pressed ever so deliciously to your –

You gasp, in shock and disgust at your own thoughts. “Oh, absolutely not,” you say aloud. The loneliness was getting to you.

You went to the port hole. In your time down here you’d searched the entire cell for anything you could use to escape. After coming up empty handed, you took it upon yourself to do some… redecorating.

You’d made the bed more comfortable with some fabric you’d found, and stacked the empty cargo into a more comfortable variation so you could look out the small round window. Climbing atop the sturdy mound of boxes and barrels, you looked out across the velvet waves. The crescent moon shone brightly, its reflection causing the gentle water to sparkle and flicker, as though tea candles were floating and bobbing on the surface.

A tear rolled down your cheek, another, and soon you were crying with too little energy to sob. That's when you thought you heard someone walking gently above you on the deck of the ship, humming a tune. It was different from the sea shanties you normally heard during the day, this melody sounded more like a lullaby.

The song was haunting, and yet, hearing another person, knowing somebody was sharing this moment with you in the moonlight, lightened the weight on your chest. Your crying stopped, the comfort taking over your exhausted frame as you leaned against the wall by the window listening to the voice pull you into the warmth of sleep.

Unknown to you, the vocalist leaning against the railing of the ship was devising a plan. A miserable plan to ruin you and lead you to a hell you wouldn’t recognize until it was too late – a sly smirk spreading across his red painted lips.

///

Buggy was spread out across his throne-like chair. The captain’s quarters were decorated like a big top circus tent – red and white fabric ballooned across the ceiling of the small room. The space was filled with gold and treasure of every kind. The desk was cluttered with navigation tools and maps.

“Cabaji, I’d like for you to retrieve our guest now,” his voice dripped with a sinister undertone. He barely paid any attention to the man before him, instead staring at a dainty silver necklace wrapped around his hand.

“Captain, I don’t think that’s such a good idea.” Cabaji wavered before his ringleader. The chief of staff knew what you had the potential to do, he knew what you were and it was only a matter of time before you figured it out too.

“I didn’t ask you to think,” his head fell to the side finally regarding the swordsman. “I asked you to go. GET. THAT. BRAT!”

“Yes, captain.” Turning about-face with a sigh, Cabaji made his way down to your cell.

///

Hearing footsteps this early in the morning was unusual. Unusual enough to cause you to bolt upright in bed. Through the darkened hallway – the morning light not quite reaching the lower decks of the ship yet – your eyes adjusted enough to see a recognizable swordsman stalking toward you through the shadows.

You sprang from the bed, your eyes not once leaving the taller man’s form. Standing in the middle of your room, you made your best attempt to question him before he could reach your cell door.

“It’s a bit early,” your voice wavered, a look of uncertainty on your face. “What do you want?” You questioned hoping that the increase in volume would make you sound more confident, it didn’t.

He unlocked the door and threw it open. “Get out, you’re coming with me.”

“Like hell, where is the clown? What are you planning on doing with me?”

This was the first time anyone had spoken to you in days. This was perhaps the only moment you might have to get some answers.

Cabaji sighed with frustration, he wanted nothing more than to sling you over his shoulder, carry you to the captain’s quarters and save everyone a lot of time, and yet, he recalled the final words Buggy said before sending him on this errand.

“And Cabaji, … don’t touch her.”

He wasn’t one to question Buggy’s orders but, on a crew that was so rarely regulated outside of performance, Cabaji had to wonder what the order was for.

“Come. Now.” You gave the green haired man a hesitant look.

“If I don’t?”

“Then I can only imagine Buggy will let you rot down here.”

Spending another moment alone might kill you, especially in the sensory deprivation chamber that was this room.

“Lead the way,” a weak response. Cabaji turned, leaving the door open.

At first you couldn't make your legs move. The idea that you could walk out, just step beyond the threshold of iron and rust and rot. Yet, you did, slowly at first then all at once speeding up to catch the stoic man.

Climbing up onto the deck in the morning light was reward in and of itself. The sun was just finishing its rise, gracing your skin, warming your face and causing you to squint.

“This way,” Cabaji called after you. He made his way toward an ornate door at the stern of the ship. He peeled the doors open, walked in, and stood to the side as you followed behind him.

His eyes scanned your appearance and, after consideration, displayed a distasteful look. You could have assumed you weren’t looking your best, being locked up on a pirate ship wasn’t exactly a spa retreat. The braid you had your hair in was full of tangled knots you had tried again and again to brush, your skin was dull, reflecting your time in the dark and your clothing could hardly be considered appropriate.

“He’ll speak with you soon,” said the swordsman. “Whenever he decides to collect himself,” and he slipped out behind you, shutting the doors.

Standing alone in the den of a predator, you naturally did what any prey would do, you began to inspect.

The room was beautiful – if not a little cliche for the circumstance – the big top theme was not lost on you. Though the room was small, something about the leading lines of the tent-like structure above you made the space feel larger.

On one end of the room, large draping curtains separated his bedroom from the rest of the office. The large wood carved bed dressed up with colorful weighted fabrics called to your aching body. Weeks of sleeping on a plank had taken its toll on you.

There was a large desk in the center with several detailed maps displayed across it. A small gleaming dagger staked into the mahogany kept a stack of papers in place. After looking around the room and seeing no one, you pulled the jeweled blade from the wood opting to carry it by your side just out of sight.

Behind the desk, a large chair with a circus motif. Golden lions wearing collars perched on the armrests, the crushed red velvet of the seat complimented the gold and ruby circus tent adorning the back.

As you reached out to touch the gorgeously detailed piece, a voice from behind startled you.

“It’s just as comfortable as it looks, ya know,” said Buggy. “Go ahead, have a seat.”

He was standing at the entrance. How did you not hear him come in? You both stood opposite one another in the room. A space between you that was comfortable and one you would normally prefer to keep, but you would rather have revenge. Holding the small knife behind your back, you stood stone still, hands becoming clammy and heart rate picking up.

“S’matter?” he said. “You look terrified.” Mock concern, his specialty.

“What do you want?” quiet, just above a whisper, it was like your voice had floated from your lips. The pillowy softness of your words drew him closer.

He made his way around the desk to you. Your eyes never leaving one anothers. He pulled the silver necklace from his coat pocket. He looked more relaxed without the garish captain's hat and the arsenal of weapons he usually kept draped on his person.

“I wanted to return something.” Your eyes glanced over at his hand holding a beautiful silver necklace. A dainty spiga chain wrapped around his fingers, but the real draw was the antique pendant encasing a gorgeous moonstone. You recognized it immediately. It belonged to someone close to you, but her face was blurry in your mind.

“I’ve never seen that before,” you said, hoping you hid your emotions enough to not draw intrigue.

“Oh? Because, I remember it looking gorgeous on you.” His eyes flicked down to where your arms crossed behind your back. Your breath stopped, squeezing the handle of the dagger hoping he wouldn’t ask.

“Put it on me then,” you say, fast enough to draw his attention away from your nefarious little friend. You spun around quickly to move the dagger in front of you, hiding it against your inner arm where your limbs crossed over your stomach.

The blue haired man smiled a sly smile. He stepped toward you, your back to him was not ideal but, as far as you knew, you still had the element of surprise on your side.

His hand came up to gently move your hair out of the way. His gloved fingertips just lightly brushing along the top of your back and over your shoulder, pushing your braid to the side. You tried to steady your breathing, feeling nervousness rising to your chest knowing what you were about to do.

His arms came up over your head to rest the pendant across your chest. As he brought the clasp together at your nape, he didn’t miss his chance to lightly drag his knuckles against the soft skin on either side of your neck. Clipping the silver together, his touch lingered for a moment.

By the way you reacted to such featherlight touches, Buggy knew Cabaji did exactly as he’d asked. Nobody was to touch you. Your hunger to connect with another person had to be fed by him and him only. If this was to work, he’d have to consume your every thought.

Right now, however, you were poisoning the butterflies in your stomach and focusing on executing your impromptu plan. In one swift motion, you spun to face the man behind you. His arms dropped to the side. His face contorted into one of anger, eyes narrowing at you. The dagger pressed into his jugular, a forceful stab is all it would take to kill him.

“Hands where I can see em, clown,” you spit.

His face pulled into a worried expression. Eyebrows furrowing together, eyes pleading, he swallowed a lump in his throat. You admit, you felt powerful. He began drawing his arms upward in order to bring his hands to the sides of head. You swore your peripheral vision was playing tricks on you.

You whipped your gaze to verify that what you were seeing was true. Both of his arms ended in stumps. Your eyes widened and you affixed your terrified gaze back onto the man.

“Nice try, sweetheart!” and punctuated his remark with a wink.

It all happened so fast, two cotton clad hands flew in from behind you and gripped your wrists. The strength of them hauling you back and pulling your arms up above your head. You looked up and confirmed your fears.

Indeed, Buggy’s disembodied hands were pulling you upward just enough so you were forced to balance on the tips of your toes. You dangled in front of him, chest heaving in panic. You let out various little feral sounds attempting to struggle out of the binding grip he had on you. Until, out of pure vexation, you let out a scream.

“Ooo, geez, honey please,” he said, frowning and squinting his eyes closed. “Little too loud for the morning, okay? Let’s maybe dial it back a bit.”

“I’LL FUCKING KILL YOU!”

“Yeah, well doll, you missed that chance didn’t ya?”

You let out another few struggling grunts and then another scream.

His eyes rolled, “We done? ... Wanna do one more? Ya know, when women are screaming in my room it’s usually after cumming a third time.”

You just stared at him dumbfounded. You couldn’t believe what you were hearing. The comment itself just about slapped you across the face enough to shut you up. He knew it too.

When he clocked that most of your fight had left your body from exhaustion, he made himself at home in your personal space yet again. Feeling his presence so close felt claustrophobic. His eyes scanned you. The weight of his gaze was enough to have you withering, his hands still holding you up.

“This dress is all wrong for you,” he said. “How about you get cleaned up, hmm?” the stump of his arm came up under your chin to lift your eyes to him. “I can’t have an exhausted dinner guest, you’d be asleep by dessert!” Then at a hushed volume, “and I prefer a conscious final course.”

Making a disgusted face at that last comment, what he was offering didn’t sound so bad. The things you would do right now for a bath, a chance to brush your hair, to clean the grime from your nails, to rest. The watercolor green eyes of the man before you softened, as if he knew what you were thinking.

“Alright then … I’ll leave you to it,” he finally dropped you as his hands found their normal resting place on his body. At the snap of his fingers, two young women opened the doors and came rushing in, immediately crowding you.

“Ladies, do you think you can help our guest get more comfortable?” he asked them as he backed up and began to take his leave.

They both stood before you, arms crossed with disapproving looks on their faces. Their outfits were perfect mirror images of each other, same for the makeup. Their hair was cut short, each movement they made caused their tight coils to bounce. The height and overall measurements of the two women were exactly alike as well.

Their only difference was their skin, hair and eye color. The red-haired woman had a pink tinge to her tawny skin – an obvious sunburn from being at sea – and bright blue eyes. The woman on the right had clearly added too much blush atop her natural sepia coloring in order to match her partner’s reddened condition, the hair framing her face was a smooth onyx color, her eyes a warm amber shade.

They turned to face him in perfect unison, “We can try.” They both said.

“Greaaat.” he replied, clearly off put by their synchronization. “Well then, doll, I’ll see you at dinner this evening.”

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚

taglist: @tokoyamisstuff @mommymilkerfanclub @chaoticqueen33 @tootoomanycats

taglist is open.

[campgender]

i was scrolling your “life is in your home too” tag, which I love btw, and saw a post about how you learned to be a good dom from experienced expert doms by reading how they dom and some of their best scenes, do you think you could point me in the direction of some resources for me to study that too? thanks in advance, if not, thanks anyway!

(post referenced is here - link 1)

first of all tysm for this ask (+ your incredibly kind follow-up), it was a delight to receive + i’ve been wanting an excuse to talk about a lot of this for a while so i very much appreciate the interest!

as always please keep in mind that i am Just Some Fem, nothing is universal including when it comes to D/s & i can only speak to what works for me. i try to focus on starting points rather than specifics but ultimately my advice will always be limited by what i needed to hear & wasn’t told, which may not be what’s helpful for a different person. with that being said, here’s some suggestions!

i’ve posted a previous reading list (link 2) with relevant recs; particularly the practicality + sex writing sections have the kind of thing you’re looking for. specifically, The New Topping Book (2003) is a solid starting point; i definitely have my issues with it (haven’t read it recently enough to recall many specifics but i have the sense of general pervasive racism & ableism) but it did a good job at making me think & i appreciate the supportive tone they were going for

another book added to my tbr since then is Coming to Power (link 3), released by SAMOIS in 1983

other authors whose sex writing has been influential in my life: Sandra Cisneros, Natalie Diaz, Joan Nestle, Judy Grahn

the fic At The End of His Rope by Letterblade (link 4) is genuinely some of my favorite sex writing of all time & accomplishes the incredibly impressive feat of representing a broad array of dom styles & changes over time in the same piece

my “impurity culture” tag (link 5) houses the building blocks of my sexual ethic

i’ve found many of those foundations by poking around the incredible bodies of work original & archived @newsmutproject @woman-loving @gatheringbones

for me, studying sex is the same as studying poetry – reading for craft is a different process than for pleasure (not that there isn’t a great deal of pleasure to be found in such practice, especially for sadists – perhaps that’s why as a child i never resonated with Billy Collins’ “Introduction to Poetry,” like i love tying poems to chairs & beating them idk what to tell you). so, keeping in mind that these are suggestions not requirements, here’s how i read for + work on craft:

there is no such thing as too much journaling. this can take whatever form you prefer – voice memo, discord message to yourself, the noble notes app, your own personal sexy red string corkboard, a vast & stunning array of other approaches i can’t even begin to imagine. i personally have an elaborate web of spreadsheets & google docs lmao. what matters is developing a collection of ideas you want to play with + a practice of continually reflecting on past experiences.

pay attention to structure, not just content. find a scene you think is disjointed and pick at the seams, brainstorm better transitions. then find a scene that flows so smoothly it carries you with it and figure out what makes it work.

rewrite a scene you’re drawn to or affected by to suit your own preferences. i first did this when i couldn’t shake “Interlude 3” (link 6) from my head after reading The New Topping Book; you can read my variation on the theme here (link 7) if you’re interested.

write or think through a scene fantasy you have from negotiation to aftercare. obviously it’s very difficult if not impossible to fully script a scene in advance; the purpose isn’t planning something you’ll later do but rather getting used to coming up with ideas to get from one disparate moment / act to the next.

revisit a scene you’ve read, written, thought about, etc and list the physical & mental acts that are required / expected of the sub (eg, kneeling for 10 minutes; making eye contact; counting to 30, etc). then rework the scene for a sub who has the same interests & goals who cannot do 20% (or 50%, or any) of these acts.

revisit a previous scene and list the places where you think a sub might safeword & why. then rework it with the sub safewording somewhere that isn’t any of these places.

i also recommend keeping in mind that like… for me, reading about ethical sex can often be a very distressing process for the same reason that it’s liberating: because it proves that things i’ve experienced are not the way sex has to be. i’ll tell this story in its fullness one day but the first time i read S/HE by Minnie Bruce Pratt i literally had a flashback to events i’d repressed for years, it was devastating, i’m so grateful for it. hell, in the process of compiling resources for this post i cried twice editing this quote (link 8) because between reading that book the first time & now someone did “respond with scorn or ridicule” when i safeworded. so i would really encourage folks to approach this kind of work with as much grace & comfort for yourself as you can muster or borrow – if it’s really fucking hard, you’re not alone in that, & it’s okay to take your time + pace yourself + seek support.

your + others’ interest is definitely motivating me to actually write posts i’ve been tossing around for months so thank you again & feel free to keep an eye out for more shut-in sex tips in my new “tomorrow sexting will be good again” tag. would love to hear your thoughts on any of this post / these or other books / whatever really lol. wishing you all the best & i hope today is kind to you! 💓

[nocturne-overtures]

𝑵𝒆𝒘 𝑻𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔

𓆩⟡𓆪Summary: You decide today's the day you try a bit of role reversal in the bedroom. It takes some...encouragement, but you don't think your boyfriends are opposed to trying a few new things if it feels this good

𓆩⟡𓆪Pairing: Fem! Reader/ Jackson Wang (Got7)/ Johnny Suh (NCT127)/Lee Jooheon (Monsta X)

𓆩⟡𓆪Genres/Aus: Non-Idolverse, Fluff, Romance, Humor, Smut, Polyamorous Relationship

𓆩⟡𓆪Tws: Swearing, Light Anxieties

𓆩⟡𓆪Sws: Role Reversal, Switch Idol, Switch Reader, Hickies, Hair Pulling, Praise Kink, Teasing, Handjobs, Cunnilingus, Blowjob, Riding, Unprotected Sex, Creampie

𓆩⟡𓆪Rating: Explicit/Mature (18+)

𓆩⟡𓆪WC: 3.3k

𓆩⟡𓆪A/n: *crawls out of hell with an upload finally* the following is one of the commissions from the lovely and every paitient @jacksons-goddess-gaia I hope you enjoy it as I get back into the swing of things mwah

𓆩⟡𓆪AO3| Taglist Form (Please make sure your urls are updated and able to actually be tagged) | Commission Sheet𓆩⟡𓆪

𓆩⟡𓆪Network Ping- @kwritersworld | @k-vanity |⟡𓆪

𓆩⟡𓆪©nocturne-overtures. do not repost, translate, or use my works𓆩⟡𓆪

★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★

"They’ll never let me do something like this. I’m going walk in there and they’re gonna be like; ‘haha! Just kidding, bend over kitten.’”

Jooheon watched you pace back and forth in front of your shared home, puffs of vapor leaving his lips as the occasional snowflake fell into his hair. In his hand, a bag is steadily collecting a small pile of snow the longer you two stand outside in the chill of November. 

“For someone who challenged them to let you take charge this time, you're freaking out more than expected.” His voice is even, but you can see his lips twitch up as you whirl around to face him, indignant. 

“You’re supposed to have my side!” 

“Why? It’s not as hard as you’re making it out to be. Just say you’re nervous.” 

You feel the heat of embarrassment creep up to your ears as you huff and unlock the front door, finally stomping inside. Jooheon could tease, sure. He’d taken charge and let himself be taken care of countless times in this relationship, more than anyone else. To him, this was second nature. 

As you toe off your shoes and shrug off your jacket, you begin thinking back to how these thoughts came to be. It started with a show the four of you were watching. It was cheesy and quite a predictable drama. The pushover of the main pairing had been insulted by some side characters only for that to devolve into some misunderstanding argument between them and their partner which ended up in the roles being the same as they always were. 

Heaven’s forbid one of those dramas change up the status quota and have a switch couple, right? 

So, like the genius you were, as Jackson was making a comment on the location of the shot in the drama and Johnny was laughing at the ridiculousness of the whole conflict, you spoke. 

“I bet I could take charge next time and not immediately fold like Yu Han here.” You proudly state while tossing a piece of popcorn in your mouth. The conversation around you seemed to fizzle out instantly and it took you a bit longer than you cared to admit to notice the three pairs of eyes locked onto you. 

Lifting your gaze, you blink. 

“....what?”

“Are you saying that’s what you want to do?” Jackson inquired. You replay the last thing you said in your head and sit with your lips parted. Johnny cocks his head from his spot on the loveseat, running his fingers through Jooheon’s hair. 

“How about the next time we fool around, we let Y/N take charge, then?”

None of them look like they’re mocking you for the suggestion, but the idea itself makes a mixed sense of anxiety and excitement float through your veins. 

So, of course, you went to the internet to try and figure out how to smoothly transition into the position switch. 

And, naturally, that ended up in you being more stressed out than ever. Some of them were endearing stories of success, while there was also a fair share of failure stories of someone ruining the mood or accidentally injuring their partner during play and it all made you way more nervous. 

Jooheon put his hand on the small of your back, kissing your cheek before he looked into your eyes. 

“It’s okay. Just take your time. None of us are going to laugh at you or something if you don’t find that it comes easily to you.” 

You smile at him and take his hand, raising your voice to call into the home. 

“We’re home!” 

The sound of a door opening and closing somewhere catches your attention. Johnny emerges from down the hall, hair tousled and a wide smile on his face as Jackson pushes past him, face ablaze as he muttered something about someone not having any self-restraint. 

You can see the fresh dark red marks along his throat that told you everything you needed to know about what they had been doing.

“Took you guys a bit to get back home. Was the drive alright?” Jackson inquired, straightening out and smiling when he spotted the two of you dusting snowflakes out of your hair. Johnny turned on his heel, jogging down the hall to go get some towels to help you dry off. 

“It was alright. Had to drive a bit slow but we got everything we needed.” You inform him, making your way to the kitchen. Johnny stops you, putting a towel over your hair and rigorously ruffling your hair while laughing at your shrieks of protest. 

“You gotta dry off properly babe.” He grins, laughing as you swat at his pectoral the moment he let you go. 

Jooheon had an easier time, humming as Jackson helped dry his bright orange hair. He was rewarded with a kiss before Jackson shook his head and pointed towards the bedroom. 

“Change, both of you. I will not have you both getting pneumonia.” 

You and Jooheon march off to the bedroom, neither of you keen on trying to argue with Jackson knowing he was 1000% right. Jooheon glanced at you once the door closed, pulling his shirt over his head. 

“Are you going to do it tonight?” He inquired. You bite your lip, fingers fidgeting with the hem of your shirt. 

It’s not that hard. 

Jooheon sees the anxiety that’s taken hold of you and comes closer, kissing the top of your head and sending you a dimpled smile. 

“There’s no rush, you know that, right? We’re not going anywhere.” His smile melts your heart a bit, and you nod, taking a calming breath. Jooheon stayed to ensure you were alright before leaving first in his fresh clothes.

You head out not too long after, wearing several articles of clothing from them.

Johnny’s button up, Jackson’s t-shirt, and Jooheon’s basketball shorts, the drawstring tied extra tight so it stayed on your hips. 

When you come back, you walk up to Johnny, tugging at the waistband of his sweatpants. He looked down at you and blinked before he saw you subtly pucker your lips. A smile stretched across his lips and he leaned over, kissing you slow and deep.  There’s something about the way he slots against you that makes you want to buckle on instinct. Not just him, all three of them. You wanted to push past this feeling and be able to give them the same sensation. 

Your mind wanders, and so do your hands, tracing over Johnny’s muscles, pressing yourself to him as you pushed back, giving slight challenge in this kiss. Johnny let out a muffled hum, hands finding their way to your waist, kneading. 

Your body is flush against his, and you lose yourself in the kiss, mind wandering, thinking of all the ways they’d gotten you completely turned out for them. Every touch, every kiss, every chuckle, how could you do the same for them-

“Mmph-’

Your eyes crack open halfway, and you look up, locking eyes with Johnny. 

That was a whimper. 

Your mind focuses and you take inventory of the situation. He’s panting, looking at you in surprise, his lips swollen, red from where you had bit him, and your hand was tangled in his hair, pulling him enough to make him tilt his head back. 

Your lips part, and you almost apologize, but you stop short seeing the look on his face. 

Dazed, flustered .

You hold his gaze, and there's a pleasant tingle that runs up and down your spine as you tilt your head slightly. Johnny moved to speak, but you experimentally push your weight against him ever so slightly, tugging his hair. 

“Tilt your head for me.”

He doesn’t hesitate, his Adam’s apple bobbing as your lips brush along it. His breathing is shallow, and you can feel he’s stirring slightly against your thigh as you try to lean more into the feeling that had gripped you. 

“ Good. Just like that. Good boy.”

Johnny’s knees actually buckled for you, and he looked at you out of the corner of his eye, letting out a shuddering breath. You can tell the words had their intended purpose as you hear him let out a small, off-guard chuckle before he murmured a breathy ‘ fuck’ . 

“You two gonna dry hump in the kitchen or get something to eat?” Jackson inquired, curiously looking at the two of you. You bite the inside of your cheek to keep back the whine of disappointment at being interrupted, but instead, you push off of the counter behind Johnny, smiling and running your hand down his body, over the telltale bulge in his pants for a brief moment before making your way over to the dining room. 

“Coming~”

Jackson glances between you and Johnny curiously and blinks at the flustered mess you’d made of your boyfriend. Jooheon smiled at you as you sat down, subtly nodding. 

‘You did it’.

You smile and sit beside him, listening to your boys as they begin to recap and talk about their day. Normally you were just as chatty as they were, but you spend your time watching them subtly. Johnny’s blush had only slightly gone down, but he had kept casting glances at you, subtly touching his neck every now and again. 

You catch him one of these times, smiling and blowing him a small kiss before you turn your attention to Jooheon, hooking your ankle against his and tugging slightly. 

The move made him stop mid-sentence, but he caught your eye and cleared his throat, continuing and not resisting the move and letting you tug a bit further, spreading his legs apart. You smile around the rim of your water glass, setting it down and listening more, your hand finding its way to his thigh, squeezing and kneading.  Jooheon took it in stride, though you can see red creep up to the tip of his ears as your hand inches higher, squeezing and kneading the toned muscle there. He kept his eyes on Jackson and Johnny across the table, but at this point, you’re sure both of them knew what you were up to. 

Especially after you make eye contact with Jackson while you squeeze and stroke Jooheon through the sweatpants. Jooheon jolted beside you before letting out a needy groan, spreading his legs and pressing into your hand. 

You remember past experiences, personal experiences, even the filthy novels and audios you indulge yourself in, and you find yourself speaking while holding Jackson’s gaze. 

“ Sit still.” 

Jooheon shuddered and planted his ass flat into the chair, biting on his chopstick with an audible ‘clank’ as he forced down his usual bratty challenging sass. As much as he liked to do so with the other two, he knew it took a lot for you to build the confidence to take control like this. He wanted to see how far you'd go and didn't want you to lose confidence in the middle of it.

“Yes ma’am.” was his response instead. Your lips curled up and you turned your head, kissing the underside of his jaw as a reward. 

Jackson looked between the two of you, brows up in interest before he wiped his mouth, cocking his head to the side. 

“What should we do next?” the question is open-ended, but he’s staring directly at you. He’s picked up on the vibes of the night and you smile, the last of your lingering anxieties melting away as you realize you were a lot more comfortable with this than you originally gave yourself credit for. 

“Jackson, come with me. I need a shower. Johnny, Jooheon, we should get ready for bed.” You stand, gathering your dishes and casting a glance over your shoulder. 

“Make sure everything is ready for us. We wouldn’t want to be cold this evening.” 

The youngest duo of the three men perk and look at one another, smiling and nodding, darting past you to put their dishes away. You set yours aside and turn to Jackson, reaching down to hook your fingers into his, pulling him toward the bathroom.

In no time, you have him against the shower wall, placing biting kisses along his soaked skin as you grab and stroke his cock in slow, methodical strokes. 

Jackson kept his eyes on you, nearly mirroring Jooheon earlier and bucking into your hand, but you push down on him, eyes flicking up and pinning him with a heated gaze. He finds himself speaking before he can think, throbbing in your hand. 

“I’m sorry, I’ll be good.”

You smile, your face flushed but that sweet, powerful tingle of electricity runs up and down your spine. 

“Good, I’m going to take care of all three of you tonight.” You whisper against his damp skin, feeling your confidence swell now that all three of them had responded well to your actions and what you had been trying to do all night. 

You carry that with you into the bedroom, where you find both Jooheon and Johnny rutting against one another, throbbing and nearly ready to cum already as they traded feverish kisses. You watch them for a moment before biting your thumbnail, cocking your head to the side. 

“I sure hope you two weren’t intending on cumming without me telling you to.” Your voice is cheery, bubbly, but has an underlying warning in it. Both of them stop short, looking at you while panting. 

“S-sorry, Y/n.” Jooheon licked his lips, eyeing the towel barely clinging to your body while Johnny ran a hand through his hair, remembering the sensation of you tugging it earlier. He decided to push back a bit. 

“You took a while to come back. Tell me what you want.” He smiled, eyes glinting. Jooheon glanced at him and Jackson looked at the side of your face, ready to step in at any time if the challenge made you lose confidence. 

His worries were unwarranted as your lip quirks, making your way over to him and smiling. You grab a pillow from the bed, one of the longer ones, and drop it to the floor at your feet.

“On the floor. Get on your knees.”

Johnny stared at you with a spark of chaos in his eyes, but he slowly peeled himself off of Jooheon, kneeling before you. You make your way over to him, standing in front of him and grabbing a fistful of his hair once more. A loving look crosses your face as hold each other’s gaze. 

“You know what to do if it’s too much or I go too far, yes?” You question tenderly. Johnny smiled and nodded, raising his chin to kiss your wrist, right over your pulse. He can probably feel how hard your heart is pounding at this moment, but he doesn’t comment on it. 

“Yes, ma’am.” He nodded. You don’t respond, raising your leg and planting it over his shoulder, pulling his face directly into your pussy, holding him still as you look up at Jooheon and Jackson. 

“Come here. I have something for you two to do.” 

The four of you fall into a rhythm, with Johnny’s tongue buried between your folds and both Jackson and Jooheon’s cocks in your hands as you traded sloppy kisses with them. You alternate between slow strokes and quickened ones, a purr and a giggle falling from your lips as you break the kiss, hovering just shy of Jooheon’s lips. 

“You sound pretty like this, you know.” You praise him softly, gripping and pulling Johnny’s hair as you feel him change pace.

“Ah, ah. Slow down.” 

He shuddered and nodded, spreading his knees apart, his cock standing tall against his abs as he greedily ate you out. You hum and moan breathlessly, letting him know how much you are enjoying it.

“M-More…please more…” Jooheon shuddered, fingers trembling along your skin. Jackson nodded from beside him, his precum dribbling down your fingers. You smile, nodding your chin towards the bed. 

“Come on, we’re getting to the best part. You all are doing so well for me.” you praise.

A bit of shuffling about later and you’re seated in Jooheon’s lap, riding him while Johnny greedily licked and kissed at the mess being made of your pussy and his cock. Jackson stood on the bed, holding his arms behind his back as he watched you alternate between teasing kisses and deep, throaty swallows, all while holding smoldering eye contact with him. 

“T-Thank you, thank you, please-” Jooheon groans, his cock curving just right. It was almost enough to turn your mind off, almost enough to flip the switch back, but you hold firm, clenching tight and smiling around Jackson’s cock before pulling off with a wet pop. 

Jackson whined in complaint as you caressed Johnny’s face until he noticed you wanted him to lift up. When he does, you kiss him deep and slow, tasting you and Jooheon on Johnny’s tongue before turning his head to Jackson, smiling sweetly as you whisper in his ear. 

“Be a good puppy and hold onto this for me, okay? Keep it nice and warm for me.”

“Fuck,” Johnny let out a breathy laugh and nodded, leaning in to swallow down Jackoson’s cock, his tongue curling against the underside. You press your back against Jooheon’s back, rolling and grinding your hips as he rocked his own up into you, balls slapping against your ass. 

“Thank y-you, Yn~ Fuck, it feels so good, thank you for, ah- taking care of us” Jooheon keens, eyes fluttering as he throbbed inside of you. You feel a wave of pride wash over you as you clench around him. You were sure he had been close to cumming inside of you, but he stilled his hips, sending you a pleading look over your shoulder. 

“Please, can I cum inside? I did well, right?” He pants, practically begging as your ass jiggles every time it made contact with his thighs. You run your fingers into his hair, pulling and leaving dark hickies along his neck as you still your hips. 

“If you want to cum so bad, go ahead. Get yourself off. Milk yourself for me so the other two can see.” 

You keep your lips against his neck, moaning in delight as you feel his hands land on your hips, a whimper of need leaving his lips as he sped up, thrusting into you and chasing his orgasm with near pleading desperation in his voice. 

You close your eyes, listening to the wet sound as goosebumps rise up along with sweat and precum running down your skin. Had you had looked behind you, you would have noticed Johnny had been pushed down fully onto Jackson’s cock, throat squeezing and constricting his cock as both he and Jackson watched you and Jooheon mere feet away. 

“Y/n! Fuck! Yes yes yes, thank you! Fuck!” He whimpered in need and finally pressed deep, throbbing, and trembling as he came inside of you. You moan, gripping him like a vice as you cum shortly after, hearing the sound get even sloppier as he milked every drop inside of you. 

You push his chest when he’s finished and spent, rolling your hips slowly and smiling with a glint in his eye as you look back at Jackson and Johnny. 

Both of them have their eyes locked onto your pussy and the messy creampie Jooheon had left behind. When you still yourself, they glance up, meeting your fervent gaze. 

You’re unsure where this strong wave of confidence came from after the earlier anxieties, but now that you’d let it wash over you, there was no stopping you now. 

You raise your hips, sighing in displeasure when Jooheon’s half-hard cock falls out of you, messy and covered in both your and his juices. You roll over onto your back, spreading your legs and rubbing your pussy, not minding the mess at all. Your next words cause both of them to surge forward eagerly;

“Well? Who’s next ?”

☆○o。Tag 　List　。o○☆

@jacksons-goddess-gaia @kimnamshiks @atiny-dazzlinglight @angel0taiyo @gettin-a-lil-hanse @dreamyinception-world @yunhofingers @violetwinters @babiebumm @seomisaho @drunk-on-hwa @twistedsiren @shymexican

[twiishaa]

twisha’s merry christmas event! doing a christmas musical with tsukasa tenma

tsukasa x fem!reader, hurt/comfort ! the troupe were one member short for their spectacular christmas special. luckily, you were literally half asleep and completely out of it when tsukasa asked you. now, you, with one nativity in preschool under your belt, are the lead in aforementioned spectacular christmas special. oh god...

there were 10 minutes till the curtains rose. you knew there were barely any audience, since it was christmas day, but still, your nerves were going absolutely haywire. tsukasa, your boyfriend, and the one who got you involved in this, saw you and tried to calm you down.

“there’s only like, 3 rows of people outside! it’ll be fine! and look, if you mess something up, it doesn’t matter, it’ll be part of the comedy!”

you took a deep breath, then turned to look at tsukasa. “thanks tsukasa, I think I just need to warm up my voice a little now,” you said, going further backstage.

—

this whole.. extravaganza started maybe.. a week ago? when the phoenix wonderland troupe were planning their christmas musical, the spectacular christmas special. as they were doing casting, they realised they were one role short; which wouldn’t  be a problem, but in this case it was—they were missing a member to play the lead role. which was when tsukasa suggested he could ask you.

“hey babe…” tsukasa started, setting his bag down on his desk.

“oh, hi tsukasa,” you said, lifting your head from the desk. the night before you had pulled an all-nighter to finish a project, so you were very much out of it, running on 2 hours of sleep and caffeine.

“so, for our troupe, we need someone to play a main part…” tsukasa was treading on cautious ground.

“you guys need help? sure, I can do that,” you replied groggily, obviously not getting what he said.

well- it was obvious now, but to a panicked tsukasa a week ago, it was plain evidence you would play their lead role. “really? thank you!” he exclaimed. “rehearsals start today afterschool, i’ll give you your lines then,” tsukasa finished, sitting down at homeroom started.

—

it was only at that first rehearsal it fully sank in what your role was.

but it was too late, everything had been planned around the fact you were the main lead.  during the next few days, you were a little bit more on edge than usual, and at rehearsals, you started slipping up a bit more. seeing this, tsukasa knew something was up.

so, one day, when you two were walking home, he decided to bring it up.

“[name],” he began, looking at you walking next to him.

“hmm?” you replied, eyes wandering off around you.

“is the role too much for you? we can always swap it around,” tsukasa asked gently. you glanced at him. of course he noticed something. over the few months you two had been dating for, you came to realise that despite his extroverted demeanour, your boyfrienf was a very emotional person.

you could feel tears beginning to form in your eyes. “it’s nothing, it’s just…” tsukasa placed a comforting hand around your shoulder, pulling you closer to him as you continued walkng.

“I just feel like im letting you guys down, you know… i literally did ONE nativity in primary school. and you guys have like, tons of experience..”

after hearing that, tsukasa shook his head. “that doesn’t matter. we’re not doing  this to be the best, we’re doing it to have fun—it doesn’t matter if youre the worst or the best, what matters is if you have fun!” you smiled at his response.

“thank you.”

—

after that, rehearsals went smoothly, and you were really beginning to get into your role. by the time show day came around, you were perfect.

—

the final song of the show finished, the chords rang out, transitioning into an applause from the audience. as all of you lined up to take a bow, tsukasa nudged your shoulder, gave you a bright smile and a thumbs up.

god, you couldn’t take him seriously in that reindeer suit.

taglist @hearts4hansol @catientie

note i am never writing a fic again bye

[presleyhearted]

Yours Truly - Chapter 13: People and Promises.

・❥・pairing: Elvis x original female character

・❥・genre: slow burn, mystery, angst, fluff.

・❥・wc: 5.1k

・❥・summary: In which a 21-year-old girl suddenly finds herself having consecutive dreams of a particular rock ‘n’ roll star whom she has never met and who died 45 years ago.

・❥・ ratings & warnings: SFW. none.

chapter index | prev | chapter 13.5

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

"For a long time, she held a special place in my heart. I kept this special place just for her, like a 'reserved' sign on a quiet corner table in a restaurant." - Haruki Murakami.

NOVA

THE HOURS PASSED by in fruitful conversation with Great Aunt Odette. It fluctuated between earnest expressions and sentences, to ignition of laughter that centered around silliness of memories past. I was grateful that after unearthing my secret to someone, to her, she did not push me further with questions. It didn't mean she brushed off my confession, nor showed any signs of dubiety towards it. It was like I kept a firm, tightly secured room and I let her inside. By opening the door for her, she encouraged a breath of fresh air to travel into the room of my mind. That is and always will be the magic of Auntie Dottie - you know she believes you, you just do, no matter how incredulous you may seem. And if she doesn't, you'll know too. But in the aftermath, she prevents your mind from racing into a spiral of thoughts - she is flitting in getting a burst of laughter or two out of you, smoothly transitioning both topic and mood to lighter subjects. 

"It's disgraceful that it's already half four." Auntie Dottie shakes her head, looking down at the watch wrapped around her pale wrist. 

"I know." I sigh, "Sorry that I've got to go." 

She chuckles, "Oh, hush child. This is the true antagonist of all, " She gestures at her watch, "Time."

And I know that she purposely used literature terminology. 

"The invisible enemy you can't defeat. " I chuckle.

She nods, "No, you cannot. . . but you can run against it." Her lips slide into a wide smile, the type of smile that evokes a sense of secrecy. This, paired with a twinkle in her eyes - a look that has surpassed my childhood. 

Auntie Dottie steps forward and wraps her arms around me, a bundle of warmth swims around my body. It's a while before she parts from the hug, and when she does, she remains in her place. Her hands cup my cheeks, amidst the rising coldness of the autumn wind. 

"You are always running, Nova. I do not think you have realized it, hm?" 

I say nothing, unable to detect what exactly she is saying. Instead, I shake my head. 

"When you stumble upon a question, don't you chase for those answers? I believe you do. I also believe. . . that is no different from searching and embracing the newness in life. You chase knowledge quite ardently, why not chase life? However, yes, certainty is sparse when you do that. But you'll know, that when the parallels of time and life do meet one day, you can be certain that you know you did all you can." 

I release a deep breath that I didn't acknowledge to be holding. Auntie Dottie releases her hold of my cheeks and takes a step back. She tilts her head at me with a knowing smile on her face. At that moment, my parents' words flood my mind, but the thought quickly speeds past me as Great Aunt Odette speaks again. 

"If you remain in the mundane, in the expected - it leaves no room for magic. " Her voice reduces to a whisper at the end, "And well, you and I both know that there is a part of you that still wants to chase a little bit of magic." 

Her eyes flit over to the hardbound cover of literature that I am holding in my right hand. 

Peter Pan and Wendy. 

The very book that was once forever lost in the corners of my childhood mind. 

I am at a loss for words, but I know myself well enough that her words will be circling my mind for a number of days. 

"Thank you, Auntie Dottie. " 

She nods and with another gust of wind, assembling the rustling of auburn leaves on the ground, Auntie Dottie's smile turns into a smirk. 

"Well, dear, you best go now. The clock is ticking." She says. 

・‥...━━━━━━━☆☆━━━━━━━...‥・

The journey back to the city was filled with the quick darkening of the sky, making me miss summer skies. I had my playlist playing quietly in the background as I drove, just enough to keep me company. But not at a volume that shuts out my thoughts. 

None of what I rehearsed to say actually made the cut. The drive to Great Aunt Odette this morning involved practicing the multiple ways in which I could tell her about the situation. Nonetheless, the fact still stands that I have finally revealed it to someone. Hearing your own thoughts in your head, and actually omitting them into sentences? Both are vastly different. I'm glad that I did, albeit how nervous I was, it gave me this immense relief. Of course, it wasn't surprising that Great Aunt Odette listened, but for her to wholeheartedly believe me? I guess, I wasn't quite ready for that and for the feeling of relief that it brought. 

Even more so, a walk down memory lane - the book. The book that she explained was basically my favorite thing in the world as a kid. That was an unexpected part of my visit, but then again, I should've seen it coming - seeing as Great Aunt Odette's forte is the unexpected. 

I suppose I can't quite believe that I didn't remember that book. Sure I was a kid, but It wasn't like I was three years old, making me inevitably forget about it. Why can't I recall it? I suppose I'll blame it on the ladder of growing up, and the stresses that slowly creep into one as one enters adulthood. To blame it on time. 

Time. 

Great Aunt Odette's words regarding it, and its correlation with life - I was at a loss for words. She knows me all too well. I knew that there was an inevitable end for everyone, but hearing how she explained it woke me up more. The realization that time will pass, this life will end before I know it and that will be it. A terrifying concept that makes me shake my head, as I grip the steering wheel. 

It lies in the question of; if it ends today, am I okay with that? Am I content with how I lived?

Not entirely. 

・‥...━━━━━━━☆☆━━━━━━━...‥・

After two hours, the driving finally came to an end. I turn off the ignition, grab my small purse and the book, and walk up to the entrance of the building. I was in no mood to climb two flights of stairs, as my body craved the comfort of my bed after the hours-long drive. But with the building's elevator under maintenance, I had no choice. 

As I insert the key and swing the door open, I am immediately greeted by the exclamation of my roommate slash friend. He appears in the doorway at lightning speed it seems. 

"Oh my fucking God."

"Hey." I let out a yawn, "Oh gosh, I'm so tired." 

"No shit, Nova. You just drove for TWO hours? Well, actually FOUR hours. But still, holy shit?" He exclaims in disbelief, grinning brightly at me.

I walk to the living room and place my stuff on the table, as I flop my body onto the couch. 

"Yeah, I did."

"You hear that Lottie?" He says to the phone in his hand, as he faces the screen to me. 

"Oh! Hi, Lottie!" I say, waving at her despite the exhaustion slowly taking over me. 

"Nova Katerina Sinclair, I am in complete shock." She laughs. 

I look at both of them quizzically, "At my driving?"

"No, you idiot!" Charlotte replies, shaking her head at my confusion. 

"Then what?"

"When you texted me saying that you'll be visiting your Great Aunt, and won't be able to meet me for lunch. . . I shit you not, I thought your phone was stolen." Luke raises his hands in defense, emphasizing his points.

"What?" I let out a laugh, "What are you on about?"

"Then imagine my reaction when Luke told me about it." Charlotte chimes in. 

"Guys, I still don't get it."

"It's just- it's so unbelievable. When did you make the decision to go?"

I shrug, "This morning. Spur of the moment decision." 

Luke turns the phone screen to himself, eyes wide, and returns it back to face me. 

"It just sounded so un-Nova of you."

I had to laugh, "Un-Nova?"

"Yeah. You don't just go somewhere just because. You literally have a whole damn color-coded calendar for fuck's sake!" Luke says, dramatically. 

"Oh." The realization settles in me, they found that unusual. Was it really that out of character?

"Then I asked Luke to make sure it wasn't an emergency because that would explain your sudden spontaneity. But when he said that you messaged nothing of the sort, I was like, " Charlotte's eyes widen as she retells the situation, "Well, holy fucking shit."

"I didn't even. . . " I shrug, "I don't know, I just felt like it." 

"Are you sure you are Nova?" 

Luke looks up at the ceiling with his hands in the air, "Has the Earth just shifted its fucking axis?" 

I laugh at his dramatics, "Is it really that big of a deal guys?" 

"Yes!" They reply simultaneously. 

"Bad or good?"

"Definitely good."

"It's fucking fantastic, bestie."

・‥...━━━━━━━☆☆━━━━━━━...‥・

After much interrogation from Charlotte and Luke, I was finally able to settle down into my bed. Their shock at my actions didn't phase out quickly, even if I retold the entire ordeal in detail. Well, of course, leaving out the part about the actual reason I decided to visit Great Aunt Odette. I love them to death, but revealing that whole situation - revealing him - that's absolutely out of the question. 

I glance at the clock opposite my bed, reading the time : 8:45PM. 

Some say that is far too early to be going to sleep, which even I can agree with. I normally find myself drifting off to sleep at 10.30PM most nights, purely because of assignments and how I can't seem to completely escape my thoughts. It's like a thousand sealed vaults in my mind all suddenly opening at the same time, and endlessly overlapping one another. It's when I then tend to believe that the mind, and the brain are independent of each other. The brain generates knowledge and helps you process through the essential, practical things of life. The mind on the other hand, that's where all your deepest thoughts wander in. The mind houses the thoughts that is centred around yourself. Constantly editing and rewinding how you were before, right now, and in the future. It's the source of both reflection and destruction. 

The mind is a maze that you can so easily get yourself lost in, and I am all too familiar with that. Except for this time, where the fatigue of my physical body has fortunately pulled me into a slumber before any overthinking can generate. My eyes were heavy with tiredness, I felt this lift slowly as I shut them. 

"Woah, so pretty!"

"She's just like a princess!"

"Oh. I know! She's like snow white!"

"Shh. . . we might wake her up."

"But she's been asleep for so long-"

"What if you need to kiss her, Mister Elvis?"

Voices. I hear multiple voices, which only makes me open my eyes in curiosity. I seem to be lying down, with the blue sky right above me. My head turns in all directions, as I find the owners of the voices. A few children surround me, but their chatter seems to have come to a stop at the sight of my opened eyes. 

"Lookin' for me?" A familiar voice catches my senses, as I turn around to my right to see him a few feet away. He stands facing me, but the left side of his body leaning against a tree with his arms crossed over his chest. His foot so casually crossed over the other, as I saw that lopsided grin prominent on his face. 

I don't fail to notice that it's another version of himself that he's showing me. His hair was still stark black but with very noticeable sideburns accompanying it. Definitely 1970s. He wears a black shirt with a floral design, black pants, and boots. It's always interesting to see how he appears to me in each dream, but one thing I'm certain about - Elvis Presley was unapologetically fashionable. 

Elvis quirks an eyebrow at me, no doubt awaiting my response. I just hope he didn't notice that I stared for a while, well, only because I was curious about his attire. An attire that I am well aware of has a few buttons opened at the front, clearly exposing his tanned chest. 

I find myself clearing my throat. 

"And what if I wasn't?" I say jokingly, as I feel an uncontrollable smile pull at my lips. 

He chuckles quietly to himself and nods. Elvis takes a few steps before he is right beside me, as the children part to give him space. He takes a glance at the children and releases a dramatic sigh, "Well, kids, it looks like we have a liar among us." 

I gasp, "Elvis!" 

They giggle. 

Elvis laughs, "Yes, honey?" 

I push off my hands, sitting myself up. It appears that I am wearing a short, white summer dress with roses adorning the design. In my previous dream, it was the colder season, which is far from the outfit that I seem to be wearing at this moment. But then again, the sky is blue and clear, and the chilling bite of the cold appears to be absent. So, I guess it's summer now in this dream? 

"Oh, look! Miss Nova, you and Mister Elvis have flowers on your clothes!" One of the children, the girl with a beautiful, dark complexion alerts me in glee. Her finger pointed enthusiastically at my attire and Elvis.' 

My eyes cast over his shirt and my dress, and evidently, we seem to both be wearing a floral design. My cheeks heat up unexpectedly. 

I exchanged a look with him, which he returns with a proud smirk, "Why, I believe you're right, lil' Dorothy." 

"But mine looks better, right?" I ask, smiling at the girl, whose name I know now is Dorothy. 

She nods vigorously with a cheeky smile. 

"Ouch," Elvis says. 

"B-But yours looks nice too Mister Elvis!" Dorothy quickly sputters out.

"Thank you, sweetheart."

"I think you look cool, Mister Elvis." One of the boys, with sandy blonde hair and crystal blue eyes, says encouragingly. 

"I appreciate it, Ollie." He smiles, patting the boy on the head. 

Elvis throws me a triumphant grin, "Oh, how the tables have turned." 

"You're unbelievable." 

Unbelievably gorgeous. 

My brain echoes a thought, in which I furiously shake my head noticing my cheeks heat up. 

Elvis swiftly pulls the conversation into properly introducing me to the children. There are four of them in total, two boys and two girls. I would guess they are around five or six years old, but that's just judging by their heights. Nonetheless, if I believe that Elvis is real and he's appearing from the afterlife, then that must only mean one thing - these children are those of the afterlife too. All of them died young. I feel my eyes water the slightest bit, which I quickly shake off. My sadness at the thought can't be displayed, not with the children's happy smiles as they chatter excitedly. 

"Dorothy, Ollie, Maisie, and Alfie!" I say, pointing at them one by one, learning their names. 

"Yay!" They cheer in glee. They run up to me and wrap their arms around me, well, more like my legs because of their height. I am taken aback and laugh, finding myself bending down a little to wrap my arms around them as best as I can. Not even a minute later, they are chattering amongst themselves, still not letting go of me though.

I look up, feeling his eyes on me. Elvis' eyes pierce through mine, his tongue smoothly swipes over his lips as he mouths words to me. 

I arch an eyebrow in confusion. 

He chuckles and mouths it again but with more exaggeration. 

"I've missed you." He mouths. 

Oh. Oh. 

Wait. . . did I interpret that correctly? 

It's really only been twenty-four hours. 

Suddenly, I feel the need to blame the sun for the sudden heat that I feel bleed on my skin. That would've been simple if it weren't for a slight skip that I feel in my chest. . . because that certainly cannot be the sun's doing. 

I tilt my head at him, "Really?" I mouth back, smiling. 

He doesn't say anything back like I thought he would. Instead, he strides forward until he's right behind me. Effectively finding a space, despite the bunch of kids that surround me. 

His chest is pressed to my back, a fact that only escalates the thump I feel in my heart. My breath seems to be trapped in my throat. His hands brush slightly against my shoulder, as he takes a lock of my hair and tucks it behind my ear. 

I feel his breath tickle my cheek as he leans in to whisper, "Always." 

・‥...━━━━━━━☆☆━━━━━━━...‥・

Not too long later, I found myself sitting down on a field of grass with the children in a circle. I sat with the girls and the boys sat with Elvis. So, technically, not a circle as they sat quite a few feet away from us. The children insisted on a girls versus boys team. Upon hearing this, I expected to be playing a sport. But instead, here we are, making friendship bracelets. 

"This is really fun, " I admit to them honestly, "I haven't done this in so long." 

A box full of a variety of beads, elastic bands, and sticker sheets sat on the grass. I smile at Dorothy and Maisie, as I loop some beads through the elastic band in my hand - starting a new bracelet. It reminded me so much of my childhood, how during breaks in elementary school, we'd all be crowding around the craft area to find ourselves what we needed to make DIY 'friendship' bracelets. 

"It's my favorite thing in the entire world, Miss Nova!" Maisie says enthusiastically, as she leans over to a few shiny beads from the box. 

I chuckle, "I see that. I'm guessing your favorite color is pink?" I gesture towards the three finished pink-colored bracelets, which mirror the same color as her dress and shoes. 

She nods, smiling widely "Yes. Yes."

So adorable and so young. They didn't deserve to leave the world so young, with so much joy and life they never got to live. 

I feel a tug on the skirt of my dress, I turn my head to see Dorothy. 

"You okay, sweetie?"

"What is your favorite color, Miss Nova?" She asks, her hazel eyes awaiting my response. 

"Hm. . . um, I guess red. Yeah, I like red." 

"Okay! I'll make you a red one!" Dorothy replies, taking a handful of red beads, stickers, and an elastic band from the box. 

It's quiet for a while, in which I find myself taking a curious glance at Elvis and the boys. It seems that each boy is holding each of his arms, as they fit the bracelets on his wrist. It also appears that he has several bracelets on either arm, which I couldn't help but chuckle at the boys' enthusiasm. 

"Can I tell you something, Miss Nova?" Maisie asks me, as I turn to face her finding her tilting her orange-braided hair at me. Adorable. 

"Of course." I smile. 

"It's nice to have another girl to make bracelets with us, " She then pauses to release a sad sigh, "Because it has only been me and Dorothy." 

"I am happy to be here, Maisie." 

"Maisie's right," Dorothy jumps into the conversation, "It's really nice. It was nice when it was me and Maisie, because we are best friends forever. Mister Elvis is nice and makes bracelets with us, b-but he's a boy." She sighs. 

The braided girl nods agreeing with her friend's words, "Yeah, he's on the boys' team. We needed one more girl." 

I chuckle at how adorable they are, "Here I am." 

"Thank you, Miss Nova. For being on our team and for Mister Elvis." 

They nodded to each other. 

"Mister Elvis?" I repeat, not quite understand what the kids meant in the latter of their sentence. 

"Yes, for making him happy," Maisie replies cheerfully, as she ties the end of the newly-finished bracelet in her hands. 

"Oh, well-"

"He's happy when me, Maisie, Ollie, and Alfie see him. But when he's not looking," Dorothy pauses and whispers, "You promise to keep a secret?"

I accept the pinky promise, "I promise."

Dorothy then continues, but making sure to keep her voice lowered. 

"Sometimes we spy on him. We find a wall or a tree or a bus stop, and we hide. And he's not smiling no more. He's crying a lot, Miss Nova. And if he's not crying, he looks very sad. But now you're here, he smiles," Dorothy explains. 

"All the time," Maisie adds. 

My heart simultaneously crashes and mends at their words. It reminds me of Miss Esther's words to me at the cafe. How she described Elvis being 'very down' before I appeared. Now that the same words have come from more than one person, it almost makes me want to ask him about it. Not too directly, because I fear it's not something he wants to talk about. But I just feel this need to know what was it that made his emotions blend so easily with the dark of the night sky. For his eyes to cascade with tears so endlessly like the rush of a waterfall. I didn't need to know, but I want to know. I want to know what so desperately what hurt him enough for his emotions to slip out of the confines of his heart, and out into the open. 

But I know that will be easier said than done. Answering serious questions isn't exactly something that Elvis is fond of. It reminds me of the time when I asked him a series of questions, and he responded with only one word. But that didn't end well, with him being in a flood of tears. I don't want to cause that. I'll ask him eventually, but not now. . . just not now. 

"That's seven, Dorothy!" Maisie's voice snaps me out of my thoughts. 

"Oh, I know!" Dorothy claps her hands excitedly.

I look down and sure enough, the girls have made seven friendship bracelets combined. 

"Wow, that's a lot. You girls work fast." I say, clapping for them as they grin proudly at my compliment. 

"Thanks, Miss Nova. But not as many bracelets as Mister Elvis." Dorothy admitted. 

I glance over to Elvis and sure enough, friendship bracelets take up the entirety of his right arm. His sleeves rolled up. Elvis must've felt my eyes on him, as he looked up with a mock defeated look in his eyes. Those boys are really on their way to decorating his arms like the lights on a Christmas tree, and I can't help but laugh at the expression on his face. 

"Yeah, I can't exactly argue with that." 

"Not those bracelets, Miss Nova."

I turn away and face the girls. 

"Oh, then which ones?" I furrow my eyebrows. 

"You don't know?" Dorothy questions with a frown. 

Well, isn't that a million-dollar question? Seriously. 

I shake my head. 

"The ones he made for you," Maisie says casually as if it's the most obvious answer in the world. 

"For me?"

They both nod, as they use their fingers to count. No doubt counting how many bracelets Elvis made. . . for me. 

"Twelve. I-I think?" Maisie says, nodding with Dorothy. 

"Wow, that's um, that's definitely a lot." I chuckle.

"That's what we said too. People make friendship bracelets for people they care about. " Dorothy shrugs, "Mister Elvis made twelve for you. He must care about you like, I don't know, like a trillion times more." She chuckles, holding her fingers up as if she lost count. 

Every time I'm with him, in these dreams - I can never predict what will happen. The spontaneity of his character blended with the reserved nature of mine. That is a stark contrast. Each dream that I spent with him so far, has been full of experiences that I've never had before. All quite. . . grand and eventful. But this one right here, this unknown discovery, this small surprise - renders me speechless just the same.

No matter how uncertain I am about many things related to my dreams, I am certain about one thing. Nobody makes a dozen bracelets for a random girl. For a stranger. It brings me back to the question I asked him, a while ago, but feeling so long ago now:

Who am I to you, Elvis?

・‥...━━━━━━━☆☆━━━━━━━...‥・

After what felt like an hour, we said our goodbyes to the children. The time with them wasn't only filled with making friendship bracelets, but also playing along with their games of hide and seek, and games at the park. They were an adorable bunch, but soon enough, daylight turned into night. In which, we found the children had lost their energy, and were ready to close their eyes into a slumber.

Now, Elvis and I walked down a long stretch of rural road. The gravel released a 'crunch' sound each time my feet met the ground. On either side of the road, a row of cypress trees accompanied the landscape. A picturesque atmosphere of solitude and beauty, with the blanket of the night sky overlaying everything around us. 

"Elvis, no! That's horrible!" I gasp, hitting his arm playfully. 

Elvis simply laughs. He laughs and even though, I've heard him laugh quite a few times before - but I notice something different this time. Well, not anything new, but just something I've never noticed before. He has a kind of hiccup to his laugh, it's just so distinctly him. It's melodious, as it always is. To the point where I semi-forget what he just told me, and end up laughing along with him. 

He points at me, "But you're laughing, honey!"

"No! It's just- it's horrible!" I try desperately reinstating my disagreed expression. 

We were talking about what more was on my list, and what was the next thing. This then went down the topic of conversation around theme parks. Now, I think theme parks are great, they are wonderful. But definitely not a fan of. . . rollercoasters. In this case, Elvis tells me he has a story about rollercoasters. He tells me how he'll get on a rollercoaster with a friend, or a date, and just before halfway - he jumps out. Logically, whoever he's with, ends up screaming and thinking the worst has happened to him. But there he was, on the sidelines, all safe and laughing his ass off at their reaction. 

"It was hellavu lot of fun," He defends, shaking his head as he grins at the memory. 

"Well, It's clear that you and I have different definitions of fun."

"Just try it, honey."

I squint my eyes at him, "I, well-"

He puts his hands up in defense, "I promise. . . no surprises." He says, with a smirk on his lips. Elvis sure does love the unpredictable, almost crazy things that he comes up with - it makes it impossible to believe him when he says this. 

"No jumping?" 

He shakes his head, "Nope."

"Here, gimme your hand," He urges, and I do so. 

He takes my hand in his and intertwines our pinkies, "What do ya want me to promise?" Elvis questions, a pure smile wrapped on his face, all void of playfulness. 

"That if. . . if I go on a rollercoaster with you, or that matter whenever you're with me - you won't do something batshit crazy. If you do, because I swear if you do, I-I'll never-"

He cuts me off, "Speak to me again?"

"Recover, " I say, my tone quiet as I look away from his gaze. I know this is all a dream, but I also have to face the possibility of things treading beyond what I think a dream is and what it is not. 

I am aware that Elvis does not. . . physically exist in the real world anymore. But here, right now, with me he's very real. And as far as I am concerned, if I can control one thing - in this mayhem of dreams - it's his safety. 

I swallow as I try to find my voice again, "I don't want to see you hurt." 

I gain the strength to face his way again, and his mouth begins to form words - seems like he's figuring out how to say something. But he holds himself back, resulting in a simple nod, "Okay, I promise." He whispers, intertwining our pinkies together. 

I clear my throat, in an attempt to dissipate the tense atmosphere. Elvis doesn't let go of my hand, instead effectively intertwining our hands together. The warm press of his palm on mine, as he squeezes my hand in reassurance. He has held my hand before, but this time - it doesn't fall loosely. It's tighter, but not heavy and unbearable. There's more urgency and a sense of security in this one, like an invisible armor separating us from whatever treacherous obstacles we might encounter. 

The purest message of a promise. 

His gaze joins mine, as I look down at our joined hands. 

"I'll be right beside ya. No one's gonna be hurt. " Elvis says, softly. 

I nod. 

I clear my throat, "Right then, where are you taking me?" I smile curiously at him. 

And just like that, in a flash, his cool laid-back demeanor returns. 

Elvis bites down his bottom lip, as he slowly tugs onto my hand - walking a few steps before me, but nevertheless, still facing me. 

"Just one question, darlin'." 

"Which is?" 

"Do you trust me?" He asks, with a mischievous grin along with that beautiful twinkle in his blue eyes. 

"Always." I breathe out in reply, without a second of hesitation. And perhaps, it's a word that is so easy for me to slip out of my mouth - so easy to say to him. Almost as automatic as breathing in air. 

Elvis chuckles, swiftly planting a kiss on my knuckles and tugging me forward until my chest is pressed against his. I squeal at the action. 

"Let's go."

・‥...━━━━━━━☆☆━━━━━━━...‥・

taglist:

@literally-just-elvis-fics

@obsessedwithurlove

@simplyamberj

[fandomsandflyingstingrays]

Stepping Stones: Chapter 9

Vee walks into school on her first morning the same way she returned to the Isles: with Camila’s hand in one of hers and Luz’s in the other, the three of them shoulder-to-shoulder as they trudge through the snow to the enormous green doors.

“It looks bigger up close,” Vee whispers, and Luz squeezes her hand. 

“Make yourself taller,” she suggests, and Vee laughs a little, stretching out the legs of her human form until she’s as tall as Camila. It does make it less scary when Camila opens the door.

There’s a man waiting for them on the other side— taller than Vee and Camila both, with dark skin and bushy gray hair— and Vee quickly shrinks back to Luz’s height, praying he didn’t notice anything. It doesn’t seem like he did; he smiles when his eyes land on Vee, and he offers her his hand.

“You must be Vee. I’m Principal Hal. Welcome to Gravesfield High.”

Slowly, tentatively, Vee lets go of Luz’s hand to shake his. “Thanks.”

“We’ve enrolled you in all the same classes as Luz to make your transition easier. As long as there are no… disruptions, I think you’ll enjoy your time here.”

Principal Hal rubs a faint scar on his chin. Vee casts Luz a questioning look, and she mouths, tell you later.

Realizing the principal is waiting for an answer, Vee thanks him again, and he nods. “We’ve moved things around to give you a locker next to your sister’s, to make your adjustment easier. She can show you there so that you can put your things away before first bell, and then you two can head to your first class.”

Luz beams at the word sister, and even though Vee has had two sisters all her life, the word feels magical to her too. Sister meaning Luz. It’s sort of incredible.

“Thanks,” she says a third time. She feels a bit foolish repeating herself, but it seems to be what the principal wants to hear, because he gives her a nod. 

“Good to see you, Mrs. Noceda,” he adds to Camila, and disappears into a room marked Principal’s Office.

Camila turns to Vee, placing her hands on her shoulders. “I’ll have my phone on all day. Don’t hesitate to call if you need me, okay?”

“I won’t.”

“Good.” Camila pulls her in for a hug, kissing her head. “I love you. I’m so proud of you.”

Vee leans into the embrace, holding her tightly for a long moment. “I love you too, Mom.”

Even after two months, the word, more powerful even than sister, fills her with sparks of warmth. It took a few weeks after the adoption papers were finalized for her to stop stammering over it, and even though it comes out smoothly now, it still fills her with awe. That awe makes her brave enough to step back, squeezing Camila’s hands and giving her a smile.

She smiles back, then embraces Luz and heads for the door. “See you after school,” she calls, waving at them both.

They wave back, and then Luz turns to Vee. “All right, follow my lead. The crowds in these hallways can be dangerous, so you have to navigate carefully.”

“Got it,” Vee says, matching her solemn tone. Luz links her arm through Vee’s, leading her through a sea of kids, all of them laughing and shrieking, the sheer number of voices making Vee want to slam her hands over her ears. Thankfully, Luz leads them to a hallway that’s far less packed than some of the others, and she only has to nudge one person aside to get to her locker. 

She nods at the one beside it, the only cubicle without a lock already hanging from it. “That must be yours.”

She pulls her own locker open at the same time Vee does, and Vee’s stomach sinks a little as she glances between the two. Luz’s locker is crammed with books and crafts, photos and drawings, and Vee’s is an empty wall of gray.

Luz follows her gaze and smiles, reaching into her backpack. “I asked Willow to make copies of these in case you wanted to put them up,” she says, handing Vee an envelope, “and then I added a few more.”

They’re photos from Willow’s scrapbook: Vee, Luz, Willow, and Amity squinting at the TV during a late-night movie; Vee tickling a sleeping Willow’s forehead with a leaf as Luz and Amity muffle their laughter; Vee and Camila making empanadas; Vee making bunny ears over Luz’s head as Amity kisses her cheek and Hunter, Willow, and Gus beam at the camera; the whole group of them clinging to a raft, their faces ranging from excitement to terror; Vee, Willow, Gus, and Amity grinning in front of the map at the Gravesfield Historical Society. Below those are a few more recent pictures: Vee, Luz, and Hunter clutching gaming consoles and yelling incoherently; Vee and the gang from Cabin 7 sitting on the Nocedas’ porch and laughing at something on Masha’s phone; Vee arm-in-arm with her basilisk siblings on the day they all decided to try human form. Just looking at all those images, all the people she can now call family, makes the corners of Vee’s mouth turn up, and by the time she’s taped them all to the door and walls of her locker, she’s beaming.

“Looking good!” Luz says approvingly. “I can draw you some stuff later, if you want to—”

The bell cuts her off with an earsplitting ring. They exchange a look of horror and slam their lockers shut simultaneously, shoving their locks closed and running for the main hallway. It’s empty— they must have missed the warning bell entirely.

“It’s okay!” Luz gasps. “It’s not far!”

She sprints to the end of the hall with Vee on her heels, the two of them stopping in front of a door on the left. Luz pauses, glancing back at Vee.

“Ready?”

“As I’ll ever be.”

Luz nods and pulls the door open and Vee follows her inside the room. And now there are twenty human children and a full human adult, all staring at her with unblinking eyes, and she’s positive she has just made an enormous mistake. 

The adult— the teacher, he must be— recovers first. “Everyone,” he says, “this is Vee Noceda. She’s new to our class this semester.”

A wave of whispers like the hissing of a nest of snakes rises up from the assembled students. Vee swallows hard, nearly choking on her own dry tongue, and only Luz’s hand in hers keeps her from fleeing the scene. 

The teacher looks at her with pitying eyes. “Would you like to say anything more to introduce yourself?”

The only justification Vee can come up with for what she says is that the introduction played well with Camila. Camila’s face had warmed, and she’d spoken with a laugh in her voice, and that’s the reaction Vee wants from these kids— so she opens her mouth and says, “hello, fellow humans. Skin’s sure weird.”

The whispers die within a split second.

“There’s two of them,” a blonde girl in the front groans, and the class dissolves into laughter. Vee isn’t sure whether she should feel relieved or even worse, but at least they’re not looking at her like she’s as much of an outsider. 

One laugh in particular, more dry and knowing, gets her attention, and she follows it to find Masha cackling to themself in a desk at the back of the room. There’s two of them, Vee repeats in her head, and gives a snort of laughter of her own. If only that girl knew. 

The two desks next to Masha are empty, so Vee takes a seat in the one beside them, and Luz comes to sit on her other side. She glances at the teacher for approval, and he gives her a nod.

“All right,” he says, blissfully taking the focus off of her. “Before we get into the course outline, I’m going to give you all a test to see how much you remember.” The class groans, and he holds up a hand. “It’s nothing new, all stuff you learned last year, and multiple choice. You’ll survive.”

He starts passing out booklets and scantrons, and Vee’s heart rate picks up. She’s spent every spare moment of the last two months studying Human Realm curriculum— but while she was fascinated by the literature and history, math always tripped her up. There’s just so much of it, and so many ways of doing it, and there was no way to cram all that into her head. She studied what Luz said she’d need to know for grade ten and barely managed that much— how is she supposed to know everything these kids learned in grade nine?

The teacher lays the papers on her desk, and she flips through the booklet, nausea rising. This is it. They’ll wonder why she doesn’t remember any of this, and discover she’s an imposter, and put her in a zoo, or—

Tap. Taptaptap.

The sound is quiet, but it interrupts Vee’s spiral nonetheless. She glances at the desk to her right to see Masha, their eyes trained on their booklet, one manicured black nail tapping against their desk.

Tap. Taptaptap.

And suddenly Vee’s mind isn’t in the classroom but back in Cabin 7, lying on her bunk above Masha’s in the darkness after lights-out, tapping messages back and forth on the walls. It took exactly one week of camp lectures for Masha to decide they were dead boring, and another week of everyone in Cabin 7 gathering around their phone under a blanket and memorizing the dots and dashes on the screen to become fluent in a language they could converse in without any of the speakers getting them in trouble. Vee hasn’t used it in months, but that doesn’t mean she’s forgotten. 

Tap. Taptaptap.

Dash. Dot, dot, dot.

B.

Vee fills in the circle and taps out t-h-a-n-k-s. She glances over at Masha to find a smile on their lips.

They tap out the next answer, and Vee fills it in. It only takes half the class, but the teacher spends the other half droning on about everything they’re going to be learning, so she doesn’t get to actually talk with Masha until the bell rings and they can disappear into the stream of students heading for their next classes.

“Call me crazy,” Luz says, once they’re out of the teacher’s earshot, “but were you two talking using morse code?”

“I know, I know, cheating is wrong,” Masha says, waving a hand, “but I felt like these were special circumstances.”

“Are you kidding? That’s so cool!”

“Thanks,” Vee adds, glancing at Masha. “I really owe you one.”

“Why yes, you do, and I know exactly what I want.”

“Wait— no—“

“Come on, Vee! You have to show me at some point!”

Luz glances between them. “Show you what?”

Masha lowers their voice. “Her true form.”

“She hasn’t shown you yet?”

“She has shown you? Do you have any pictures?”

“Okay, okay!” Vee cries, throwing up her hands. “If you come over after school, I’ll show you.”

“Finally!” Masha bounces up and down, clapping their hands gleefully. “Okay, I should really get to Bio, but I’ll see you at lunch. Luz can show you where we eat.”

They press a kiss to Vee’s cheek and darts for the stairs. A wave of heat floods her face, and she trips, almost plowing into a line of students before Luz grabs the back of her shirt and pulls her into a blessedly empty bathroom. Vee catches her eye, expecting to see the excitement dancing in her stomach reflected in her face, but instead, Luz’s expression is carefully gentle. It calms the flush in Vee’s cheeks, leadens her limbs, and she leans against a wall.

“I know, I know. I should have shown them a while ago.”

“Vee, they clearly like you, and they really don’t seem like the type to be weirded out by much.”

“I know. It’s just… when you grow up surrounded either by people who are like you or afraid of you, when every teacher in every school teaches every kid that you’re a monster, when you can count every member of your kind on one hand because the rest were all hunted down— part of you always expects that you’ll make people afraid. I know Masha’s probably not like that, but there are so many other voices in my head, and they’re all louder than mine.”

Luz wraps her arms around Vee, leaning her head on hers. “That’s really tough, Vee. I know there’s nothing I can say to make it better, but for what it’s worth, I think you’re doing the right thing.” She steps back, squeezing Vee’s hands. “The only way to quiet those other voices down is to let other people talk back to them. Masha will. I know it.”

…

Camila drives them all home after school, but when they get to the house, Luz convinces her to go get pizza for dinner. She rolls down the window of the passenger seat just to give Vee an exaggerated wink as she and Masha get out of the back, and Vee shoves her head back into the car with the palm of her hand. The car drives away, and she unlocks the house with shaking hands. 

She follows Masha into the entryway. Closes the door behind her. What now? Does she offer them food first, or try to give some kind of disclaimer or—

If you don’t do it now, a voice in her head warns, sounding suspiciously like Luz, you never will.

And she changes. Just like that. 

Ta-da, she opens her mouth to say, or here I am, or I’m ready, but nothing comes out, and so Masha turns around and sees her without any warning, her mouth open with an explanation that’s never going to come. 

They don’t scream. That’s something.

But Vee can’t bear to see their expression shift, and her eyes dart to the floor, her heart slamming against her chest.

“Hey, Vee.”

Masha sounds casual, but they sounded casual when that slime-covered rat waddled into Cabin 7 in the middle of the night. Brace yourself, Vee—

“Do you want to go out with me?”

Surprise makes her nearly snap her neck with how fast she looks up. She expects them to be laughing, but their expression is bright, if a little nervous.

“What?”

“I mean, like, on a date.”

“No, no, I got that part. But— why?”

“Vee, you’re cool! In any form, you’re cool! I couldn’t care less what you look like. I like you because you’re you. Because you get flustered talking to people but will pick up spiders with your bare hands, because you’re so happy when you learn things it can make me enjoy learning about taxes, because you have enough power to drain the magic out of an evil emperor but have never once threatened someone who didn’t deserve it. That’s what I care about. And if you want me to care about you as my friend— great. We can just be that. But I feel, like, a lot for you, and I want you to know that, too.”

Vee’s chest is tight again, but for the first time all day, she’s not terrified— she’s so happy she feels like she could burst just by inhaling. She’s grinning so hard her face hurts, and yes, part of her wonders if Masha is creeped out by that expression on a basilisk’s face. But they’re beaming too, and Luz is right; that doubtful voice gets quieter and quieter under the onslaught of their attention.

“I’d like that,” Vee says quietly. “I really would.” Glancing over to the clock at the end of the hall, she adds, “we’ve got like an hour until dinner, and I’m sure Luz will stall our mom until then. We could go now, on a walk or something? I know that’s not the most romantic, but—“

“Anything with you will be romantic.” Masha nudges her, and Vee flushes, burying her head in her hands as Masha laughs.

“Is this okay?” They ask, wrapping an arm around her shoulders.

Vee wraps an arm around their waist, beaming into their shoulder. “It’s perfect.”

She returns to her human form, Masha’s hold on her easy no matter what shape she takes. Her hands are steady, this time, as she opens the door, and as they walk out hand-in-hand into the winter sun, she can’t recall why she was ever so afraid. 

[helicopriorc]

hey this might be kinda weird but i was looking through the tags of an older post and you mentioned you are/were a dj for a college radio station! i'm going to have a radio show for the first time this semester and was wondering if you had any tips or advice! :)

Oh hell yes! I've only been at a few years, but I can definitely chime in.

I currently run a show that focuses on the punk music in my local area and more broadly in my state, but I've also run a jazz night and done other general programming.

Tips from my personal experience:

- take deep breaths whenever possible, especially when you're about to go on-air, this will help keep your nerves down and give you something to focus anxious energy into instead of your voice

- take some time to practice any required on-air content (ad reads, weather, etc) before reading it live, that way you can make the mistakes early and figure out your breathing patterns

- if you're going for higher energy, sit further forward in your chair when speaking and try to start speaking right after a deep inhale

- try to get a grasp on your audience. either ask around the station or envision who your ideal listener is and build around that

- ask for feedback from fellow station staff and listeners if possible. feedback feels bad sometimes, but it's in your (and your listeners) best interest to listen to it and decide how to apply that to your show.

- don't sweat the small stuff. radio keeps going even after a mistake. figure out if there are specific procedures or ramifications for the mistake, but otherwise let it go. shake it off and move on because the audience cares about what they're listening to, but once it aired, it's no longer in your control and that's okay

- try listening to other radio with a critical ear. what do you like/dislike? what feels awkward? did they transition between songs smoothly? what mood are they giving out?

That's all I have off the top of my head, but the biggest thing is to have fun. I'm so serious too. Your audience can tell when you sound flat or tired, and when you're having fun and being engaged, it's a noticeable difference.

Good luck! My DMs are always open to chat about it more.

[tegerton]

Dude, duuuuuuuuuuuuuuude! Does anyone even remember me? Sorry for the very long hiatus, but I’m dipping my toes back into fanfic writing. Hopefully I’m not too rusty. What better way to come back with trying out an original story, that’s right this bad boy is coming from my head.

You can all thank @justsomerandomfanfic for waking me up. Seriously, thank you so much for liking my writing. It means the world (I thought my writing was pretty bad not gonna lie haha) but I am so glad I can make someone’s day with it! Apologies in advance. Please let me know if I should add any specific warnings! Hearts, reblogs, and comments are lovely!

I am going to try and attempt a GN reader x Eggsy (please let me know if I need to fix anything)

Eggsy x GN Reader

Word Count: A little over 1k

Warnings: Implied fighting and not so great friends (it’s not too bad tho)

It was supposed to be just a chill night out with some friends at a rather less crowded bar. Yeah it was anything but that. Once the words “Manners, maketh, man.” were thrown into the mix and all bets were off the table. Various objects like tables, chairs, and umbrellas went flying as their eyes scanned to find various things.

1. Find a safe exit (The front doors had been barricaded shut, but there’s got to be an emergency exit somewhere in this dump).

2. Stick with the people you know.

3. Get out.

After a few close attempts the group decided to book it for an exit that was in the back of the little kitchen in the bar. The friends left in a hurry not giving their final remaining friend a clear plan.

“Thanks guys! Thanks for not TELLING ME THE PLAN!” The tone was in the midst of transitioning from rather annoyed to fearing for their life. But rather than hearing screams and carious grunts the room was eerily silent. It’s at this moment that they realized someone just saw their outburst. Turning to face the one man army they noticed the umbrella that had been previously used to take out at least half of the patrons in the bar who are currently laying on the ground. “Put the umbrella down.” The rather well dressed man slowly followed orders as he gently placed his Kingsman umbrella onto the floor. “Now, unlock the doors.” With some loud clicking the entrance was now unlocked. “Ok I’m going to leave.” It was an agonizingly slow exit as they never turned their back on the stranger.

“Sorry I ruined your night out.” Once his accent came out their heart dropped just the tiniest bit, it didn’t help that he sheepishly scratched the back of his neck exposing a rather good physique in the muscles of his arms.

“No, do not try to play the cute guy card with me.” Their hands pressed onto their hips as the shortness of breath from the entire situation finally caught up. A strained sigh came over as the lights reflecting off the rainy pavements were not helping.

“The cute card?” His hands fixed his suit as he finally exited the bar smoothly opening the umbrella right over both of their heads. “I’d rather say I’m just charming in general.” His wink was met with a side eye. “Alright I kind of get the sense that maybe I did something wrong.”

“Hmmmm I’m not sure let me go ask someone in the bar if they know,” It was the fake walk back to the bar that made him chuckle. “Oh yeah that’s right, they’re all passed out!”

“Would it make you feel better if I said I was Batman or something?”

“Batman doesn’t fight crime dressed like Bruce Wayne.”

“Batman isn’t Bruce Wayne.” The seriousness in his voice just made the joke even better. Their eyes rolled with a smile as a well deserved slug was met on his shoulder. “Let’s start over,” He offered his hand for a shake. “Eggsy.”

“Eggsy?” The bridge of their nose scrunched up in thought. “I haven’t been in the UK that long but I will admit that’s the most unique name I’ve come across so far.”

“Well my real name is Gary but I go by Eggsy!” His face was beaming as he explained the story of his nickname. On the other hand the poor bystander was just wanting to go home.

“Yeah that’s really cool and all but I kind of need to get home.” It was their polite yet desperate grimace and the shuffling of feet that made Eggsy connect the dots. Maybe don’t go straight for someone you’re interested in right after making them think they were your next victim. The string of muttered curses that left his lips made it hard to not fall deeper into the surprisingly chill and trendy guy. “Y/N, forgot to tell you. That’s my name.” Finally learning the mystery person’s name gave Eggsy a little faith that he wasn’t a complete failure with charming someone.

“That has to be the weirdest name I’ve ever heard.”

“Oh shut up!” In what would be the weirdest of situations the two found light at the end of the tunnel, a blossoming friendship that Eggsy only dreamed would turn into something else only with time. “No but seriously I have work at 7AM, I need sleep.”

“Do you need a ride?” A part of Eggsy was holding onto hope that the offer would be accepted but he knew the chances were slim.

“As much fun as that sounds, I drove here.” Y/N held up their keys as they pressed the lock button a couple of times causing the car to beep back. “Thanks for the offer.” The night was cold as they rubbed their hands together. “I hope to never see you pissed off at a bar ever again.” A cheesy smile was plastered on their face as Eggsy’s face flushed slightly but due to the cold weather he was able to hide it.

“Yeah hopefully next time we meet, it isn’t like this.” Y/N’s head turned towards him as they laughed a bit.

“What do you want my number or something?” The laugh died fairly quickly as they noticed the look on his face.

“I mean, I wouldn’t be opposed.” He gently kicked a nearby rock. After a quick number exchange the two finally went their separate ways. Y/N noticed the number scribbled on the back of some business card as they slipped it over for further inspection.

“Kingsman?” Some store they had never heard of as they just got in their car and headed back to their apartment. Opening the door their roommate came barreling through giving them a hug.

“Oh my gosh, I was so worried when we lost you at the bar!” Y/N’s shoulders slumped into the hug.

“Yeah you guys were real worried alright.” The tone and sentiment were definitely called for especially since nobody even reached out to help. Not wanting to give it the light of day Y/N just went to their own little room and locked the door. That whole friends thing was for another day, but not now.

The next morning was uneventful as their shift went by with nothing really special happening. Not a bad day, not a good day, just a day. But hey at least the customer’s weren’t the absolute worst today.

“Can I clock out?” The manager slightly jumped in her seat not noticing their hire, engrossed in their emails.

“Oh yeah, thanks for your help.” And with the okay to leave it was a race to find somewhere to get food. With food on the brain, they almost passed something until a shiny golden logo caught their eye. It was the Kingsman store, Y/N took a peek through the window to see what exactly was being sold there but was met with Eggsy who sat across from another man dressed up just like him.

“No way.”

[sunshine-embry]

Because I need to yap part 2

Part 1: https://www.tumblr.com/sunshine-mari/757294549550891008/just-because-i-need-to-yap-about-my-opinions-3

I'm not going to explain what this is again 🙄

Halloween: I really like both versions of this song :)

The Broadway instrumental, specifically adding the saxophone is really cool to me :)

I don't like how the Broadway version combined the first chorus and second chorus and got rid of the Jeremy and Brooke conversation.

I really the part they added to the end, foreshadowing that Rich sets a fire (and burns down the house)

Do You Wanna Hang?: I think we can all agree this song is uncomfortable, and thus the following I'm about to say doesn't mean I support sexual harassment or like this song.

Don't kill me, but I actually kinda like this song?? I don't know how to describe it, but I kinda relate to it? (I have been sexually harassed before 😞)

Besides that, I actually really kinda like the conversation part they added in the middle. Idk why, I just do.

That's enough of that.

Michael In The Bathroom: It's kinda the same in both versions?? I mean, I kinda like the Broadway version better but idk why.

The Smartphone Hour (Rich Set A Fire): When I first listened to the Broadway version, I didn't really like it. I don't exactly remember why, but I think it was because of Broadway Jenna?

Now it is my preferred version. We love the smartphone hour girls <3 That's about it though.

The Pants Song: I fricken love the Broadway version. I think it might be because during the conversation between Michael and Jeremy's dad, a guitar cover of Michael In The Bathroom plays.

I just wish my vinyl of the Broadway cast of BMC (only during the pants song) didn't come completely scratched when I got it 😒

The Pitiful Children: Where do I even begin?

First, I really like the electric guitar added in the Broadway version at the beginning.

The new lyrics are fine. They go along with the story better, but I prefer the original lyrics.

Also JASON TAM'S SINGING VOICE IS SO FRICKIN GOOD WTF. (I just wish the voice he does matched better with it 😞)

The conversation between Jeremy and Jenna makes me laugh so hard wtf. ALSO, SPEAKING OF JENNA, THE RIFFS SHE DOES IS SO GOOD WTF LET ME HAVE THOSE VOCAL CHORDS.

Also you can hear Jeremy and The Squip during the last chorus singing together better in the Broadway version.

Also, I love the random addition of Rich in the end. It's so fricken funny for no reason, I'm literally laughing while thinking about it (no offense, it's just funny to my broken humor brain)

I think that's it?

The Play: Once again, this is just six minutes of talking 😔 (Also I never listened to the two river version, but shhh 🤫(I might make a separate post of all of the song references in this tho bcuz I am mentally unwell))

OH also btw I like how Christine's voice at the end smoothly transitions into a synth.

Voices In My Head: Can we all agree that all of the characters in BMC need to go to therapy 🤠

Anyway, the new lyrics in the second verse are fine. All of the changes are just fine. idc about the Broadway version that much, but I do like how Jeremy asks out Christine using bowling alley performance arts even though it sounds like he's saying it sooo quickly to fit in with the rythym 😭

What I DON'T like however, is that the beginning sounds sped up so I think I accidentally bumped the tune thing or whatever on my record player because that is the only way I listen to the Broadway version.

I also like how Rich's lisp is more pronounced.

Jerem'ys WOOHOO MAKES ME SO DAMN HAPPY WHAT?

The Squips sounds like a vaccum in the Broadway version

"You ready?" MY HEART CAN'T TAKE IT!! JUST TWO WORDS MAKES ME START CRYING WHAT THE HELL?!?!?!?!?!?!?!? /srs

I cry at the end every time

Ranking

Idk, a ranking of all the songs in both versions because this isn't long enough.

Two River Ver

Upgrade

Halloween

Do You Wanna Ride?

The Squip Song

Michael In The Bathroom

The Smartphone Hour

The Pitiful Children

Be More Chill Part 1

More Than Survive

I Love Play Rehersal

The Pants Song

Two-Player Gae

Be More Chill Part 2

More Than Survive Reprise

The Play

Voices In My Head

Do You Wanna Hang?

A Guy That I'd Kinda Be Into

Broadway Ver

Loser Geek Whatever

Upgrade

Sync Up

The Squip Song

The Smartphone Hour

I Love Play Rehersal

Michael In the Bathroom

Halloween

Do You Wanna Ride?

Do You Wanna Hang? (Again, I don't support sexual harassment. Read the blurb about it above for details why it's at number ten)

Be More Chill Part 1

The Pitiful Children

More Than Survive

The Pants Song

Be More Chill Part 2

Two Player Gae

The Play

Voices In My Head

A Guy That I'd Kinda Be Into

I you want me to go in depth about my opinions, maybe I will in the future, maybe I'll never bring this up again.

[helenadurazzo]

Welcome to one of my first big stories to be focused on Magic Awakened! In this story, Genna and her friends come to rescue her mother from a dark organization but arrive too late to spare her of any damage. Yet a mutual understanding emerges at the end once everything calms down.

⚠️TRIGGER WARNING⚠️

Magic always confused Eleanor and she tried her best to stay as far away as she could from it as the mother of a young witch could. Yet somehow here she was, getting pulled back into it by being a hostage for a supposed dark wizard organization. She tried to remain calm in the dark and eerie room with steady breathing but was not sure how long it would last her. She should have known better than to walk alone so late at night, yet there was always something so calming about being in the city with all the lights when it was dark out. Eleanor deeply hoped she didn’t worry anyone too much, she did not have many people left of her own blood in this world as she lost touch with her cousins, aunts, and uncles as she got older and more distant. Yet she always had the love of her life and as much as they disagreed, Genevieve was still her beloved daughter.

On of the people that was dressed in a white and black striped mask walked closed to the chair she was gently restrained to, “Don’t worry muggle.” He spoke as if she was a small child or pet using the term that wizards and witches had for the people without magic, “We are only here to help you and by helping you, we can help the rest of your kind.”

Eleanor figured it was wise to stay silent and staring at the dark ground when she could. After all, she didn’t want to get herself into an even worse situation. In fact, she felt for a second she might be able to achieve that, until she heard loud noises from outside causing everyone’s heads to suddenly turn.

Her daughter led a group that burst into the dark and quiet room, being able to recognize her immediately by her rage filled green eyes. Some of her friends looked familiar, such as the curly haired Sandy Durazzo, the boy with dark long red hair named Daniel, and the mysterious girl with platinum blonde locks known as Ivy. And then of course there was also her daughter’s boyfriend in the group, Colby Frey. Eleanor was not sure what comforted her more in these current days. That someone had found her in that moment, or that her daughter managed to find such loyal friends. After all, she knew how her little girl struggled with finding friends when she was younger as she remained loyal to the idea of fairytales and fantasy while everyone else transitioned into a more realistic view of the world. Yet Eleanor could never boast about having helped her, only feeling guilty.

“Let my mother go Gridley.” Genevieve commanded in a stern voice that seemed almost uncharacteristic for a teenager.

“No need for theatrics, I mean your mother no harm.” The man in the mask who spoke to her earlier - Gridley it seemed his name was - smoothly talked. “I just aim at assisting her.”

“You aim to do nothing of the sort!” Colby spat.

“And I should know.” Daniel added, “Especially after what you did to my sister!”

“You are mistaken.” Gridley continued, completely unfazed. “You see Miss Raleigh, I am simply helping NOTME, you should as well considering their goal is quite a noble one. You see, Magic is an extremely helpful tool and could help so many more people if the ministry was more open about it with muggles. Yet each time a muggle sees a magical event, obliviators rush in to make sure it’s forgotten and only leave behind a list in their archives of their victims. But with this artifact,”he claimed as he held something circular made of what looked like gold, “perhaps we can revive the truth that the obliviators stole.”

“Please, it’s not worth it.” Eleanor heard her daughter desperately plead, “Just let my mother go. This will not solve any of our current problems and will only harm everyone. There has to be a better way if this is what the world needs.”

“You and your little companions know that will never work, only harsh action will bring change.” The masked man hissed in a way that made Eleanor shudder. “Now watch and learn.” He finished as she aimed the golden artifact right at Eleanor, and unleashed its beam right towards her, and she started to lose herself not long after…

•••

“Come on Ellie!” A childish voice Eleanor had not heard in so long called out, “Radley’s surprise isn’t going to surprise itself you know.”

Eleanor’s green eyes widened as she saw the face of Evelyn, her twin sister, who she had not seen in so long. Her low pig tails were just how she remembered them, as were her bright eyes full of excitement. And the thought of their childhood friend Radley still being around was quite interesting to say the least. Eleanor almost thought she was still her adult self before she noticed that her hands were a child’s and figured the rest of her look was just like how she was when she much more innocent and happy. Yet in the present day, those days were far behind her.

“I’m coming.” Eleanor hesitantly replied, mentally noticed her voice had returned to its childlike state.

“That’s the spirit!” Evelyn cheered as she suddenly grabbed Eleanor by the hand and gently brought her towards where Radley stood with that confident smile on his face as they approached.

Radley’s face was just as Eleanor had remembered it, his face covered in fierce freckles and his messy rust colored hair was all over the place. He was a boy of their own age who Evelyn always was fascinated by. And although Eleanor was always a more quiet person, she did find his stories to be intriguing. Yet while Eleanor could not remember what memory this was - figuring it had to be one - some feeling swirling around inside her gave her a couple of ideas.

“There you two are!” He cheered, “You both are going to love this!”

“At least your parents having magical careers and do interesting things for work.” Evelyn commented, “Ours just sit around all day and talk about some boring business stuff.”

“Well adults in the wizarding world have boring jobs too.” Radley shrugged, “But those who work with creatures like mine are especially interesting. Now come on, you need to see this.”

“Aren’t your parents coming to show us this creature?” Eleanor commented, trying her best to play along as if she was an actress without a script.

“They would be boring about it if I did.” Radley insisted. “Trust me, I know what I am doing, don’t worry.”

“You heard him Ellie.” Evelyn added on to Radley’s energetic spirit. “Stop stalling.”

Eleanor hesitantly found herself following Evelyn and Radley who seemed to be quite unfazed and upbeat. Meanwhile Eleanor started feeling almost sick to her stomach, something telling her to run the other direction. And the sight in front of her made her suspicions feel accurate. Although she did have to admit, the slumbering black scaled draconic beast was quite fascinating from a distance.

Evelyn practically squealed, “Your parents care for dragons!? You never mentioned that. It’s so cool!”

“That’s the surprise!” Radley beamed.

“Well it’s certainly nice…” Eleanor started, “But perhaps we should head back, I figure these creatures must be fierce when they awaken.”

“Stop worrying El.” Radley cockily soothed her although it was certainly normal for him. “It’s no fun to see these dragons just when they are asleep. And besides, my parents care for dragons like this all the time, and they are always calm when they are around.”

“Rad is right.” Evelyn comforted her with a quick hug before turning to Radley, “Come on, show us!”

“Be ready to be amazed!” Radley introduced like a showman as he walked over to the dragon and to Eleanor’s shock, used his wand to cast some sort of spell that seemed to certainly awaken the dragon, yet not smoothly.

Eleanor’s green eyes widened as she immediately sensed what was about to happen next, feeling a strange case of deja vu. The dragon awoke with a start and sternly looked at the three of them with eyes full of fire accompanied by numerous grunting sounds. The dragon made numerous jerking motions of frustration as well and certainly was not pleased with their actions.

“Is that normal?” Eleanor stuttered.

“Don’t worry I can calm him down.” Radley assured his friends, trying to mask whatever feelings he had with confidence as he tried to approach the dragon, “Come here, it’s alright.”

The dragon did not seem quite convinced and proceeded to charge at them. It’s breath emitted burning flames that Eleanor felt right above her and Evelyn. The dragons claws slashed towards them and Eleanor’s first instinct was to run and hide behind a particularly large tree, losing her sister and Radley in the midst of the chaos. But the screams she heard and rushed footsteps did not give her anymore reassuring feelings and only proceeded to panic her more.

By the time Eleanor got the strength to peek from behind the tree, she noticed that the dragon was subdued by Radley’s parents and a couple of other people who seemed to appear out of thin air as well to assist. Her eyes darted around in an innocent hope to spot her sister and friend but her mind - aware of the present despite being in the body of a child during this sequence - knew the truth… they were gone… forever.

“Foolish children.” One of the people who wasn’t Radley’s parents muttered yet Eleanor heard him clearly, surprisingly, Eleanor learned that he managed to spot her alive and well seemingly earlier, “We are all lucky that one of the children is breathing and not burnt to a crisp.”

Memories started flooding back to her, both internally and in external depictions. She remembered how one of the the men who was dressed in dark clothes escorted her away from the field nearby Radley’s house where the dragon had resided. She remembered how he escorted her to a room and sit down in a chair, yet forgot the exact events of what happened after he pulled out his wand, only remembering the part when he took her back to her parents who, while grateful she was safe and sound, were grieving the loss of Evelyn. She remembered how she looked in the mirror after dressing in black for her sister’s funeral, forever seeing her sister’s face whenever she gazed in the mirror, even as each year continued to pass by.

She remembered how things started to turn for the better. How she met Andrew who tolerated her despite her pushing practically everyone else away in a means of coping. She recalled how he stayed by her side and never left during the funeral of her parents where she could hardly keep herself together. She remembered how he comforted her after the loss of their second born daughter, who only lived in the world for a couple of days. And she remembered how he would mediate any arguments Eleanor and her daughter initiated about the latter’s interest in fairytales and fantasies. She let her own past get in the way of her daughter’s happiness, something she hoped she would never do but found herself doing anyways. And now, all she wanted, was to hear her little girl’s voice.

•••

“Mum, Mum!” Eleanor vaguely heard her daughter’s familiar voice for the waking world try to get her attention by calling her name, “Wake up… please…”

Eleanor slowly opened up her green eyes. Her vision took a while to become clear but she could see the silhouette of her daughter right away. Her beautiful red hair and green eyes that showed concern and almost looked teary. Her little girl had always been so confident and daring and it was always quite startling whenever Eleanor saw her so upset or worried and this was no exception and Eleanor did her best to gather her strength to reassure her daughter, but doubt she was being very convincing at that point.

It took Eleanor a bit to realize that she was in a hospital bed at that time but she did manage to sit up on her own. She noticed the faces of some of the friends of her daughter but struggled with putting names to all of the individual faces. She did however recognize Sandy Durazzo just from her being around the longest out of the group. However, a good bit of her daughter’s friends quietly excused themselves leaving only Genna and Sandy themselves, along with her husband and Sandy’s aunt Helena, both of which she did not spot before.

“Are you alright El?” Her husband gently and soothingly asked in a manner that Eleanor always found as quite charming. “You had me worried there.”

“Yes.” Eleanor managed to find the strength to say, “I’ll be fine.” Although she was still unsure about the context of everything as her memory was fuzzy.

Suddenly, her daughter turned to Helena with urgency, “Are you sure that the crown is out of their hands.”

“Yes.” Helena assured her, “I have a good friend of mine who is in the auror office and returned the crown back to the ministry himself. They are planning on destroying it for good before another dark organization has a chance to claim it for their malicious purposes.”

Eleanor raised her eyebrow “Crown?”

Helena turned to her and began to clarify, “The Crown of Mneme. It’s an ancient magical artifact that used to be stored deep within one of the cursed vaults. The crown’s power has significantly changed after it was affected by the vault’s curse. I know full well because I saw it’s affects first hand, when R performed an experiment on Erika. When I heard what happened I came right over to make sure you were ok, I know it was quite traumatic for her as she was forced to live through her worst memories once again. And, additionally, I assume something like that can be quite jarring for a person with no connection to magic.”

Her description seemed to be extremely accurate although Eleanor hated to admit it and wish she did not have to. Repressing her darkest memories in silence had been her way to cope with her losses for so long, even though it did cause her to occasionally snap when moments that reminded her of that were brought to her attention. She tried to keep in her mess of internal emotions inside but figured the second she was left alone she would break, it’s what typically happened although Andrew always managed to be nearby to comfort her. Now, being forced to deal with her past head on made it clear to her that silence could not solve her problems forever, no matter how much she wished it to.

“I better be making my leave.” Eleanor vaguely heard Helena continue, “The healers did say you should have as much rest as possible and I would not want to intrude on that. And besides I do also need to catch up an old friend of mine on the recent events as he might be able to help.” Helena then turned to her niece, “I will be taking you to your father as well.”

“Yes Aunt Helena.” Sandy quietly obeyed before giving Eleanor’s daughter a quick hug of support and whispering something in her ear and then leaving the room right behind her aunt.

There was a few moments of silence before Eleanor watched Genevieve approach her bedside, “I am sorry for everything mother. I should have come sooner, I should have known they would do something like this. You are here because of me.”

“You did nothing wrong.” Eleanor soothed her daughter. “You must stop worrying about those you can’t control, we need to only worry about the present.” She then sighed, “but I must say, I haven’t been great to you either. The fact that you came for me at all despite me not really being there as I should be for you is something. But I aim to change it… immediately.”

Genevieve smiled faintly, “Thanks Mum.” She then embraced her before quietly claiming, “We will stop them soon, I don’t want to see anyone else get hurt.”

“I know you will.” Eleanor whispered back, “You are capable of so much and will do great things.”

“It’s good to see you two finally being on the same page.” Her husband heartwarmingly smiled.

“Yeah… it is.” Eleanor found the strength to smile as she gently stroked her daughter’s strawberry blonde hair, “I will be alright.” She assured her daughter, “I have been through a lot and I will get through this as well. You are just as tough as me, and remember that I am and always have been proud to call you my daughter.”

[racfoam]

I am so ashamed that I skipped over Lily, James and Snape in 1st Wizarding War AU, here is some scenes in no particular order (Harry is 24 in the fic, Lily and the Co are 18 in the first meeting scene)

Lily

Harry collided with something — no, someone. Momentarily, the colour of orange autumn leaves filled her sight. Both Harry and the person — a woman — groaned at the colission, stumbling back from each other.

Opening her eyes, Harry was met with vibrant green eyes. They were the colour of spring grass, fresh leaves. They held entire forests of trees within them. Momentarily, Harry thought she had collided with a mirror, because those were Harry’s eyes.

The heart stopped beating inside her chest as she gazed upon the face of a witch, with long beautiful red hair and emerald green eyes.

Somehow, someway, Harry managed to breathe in, ignoring the sudden flood of tears welling in her eyes the longer she stared at her mother.

“I’m sorry —” started Harry, her voice mixing with a gentle one's, one Harry knew from dreams and memories, one that refused to step aside for Voldemort, the same voice that encouraged Harry on the graveyard, the same voice that told her she would always be with her.

They both stopped, blinking, confused by the other's apology.

“Sorry about that,” said Harry quickly, waving her wand at Lily's books without saying a thing. They floated up and back into Lily's bag. “I usually don’t crash into people.”

Lily raised her eyebrows.

“I'm Harry,” Harry burst out before she could cower, internally wincing at the little squeak in her voice.

Lily peered at her. She was the same height as Harry. “Have we met before?”

Harry forced out a dry laugh. “No. I'd remember if I met a beautiful witch like you.”

Lily chuckled. “You remind me of my boyfriend. He makes silly one-liners, too.”

James

A voice coughed, loudly. Clearly, it intended to be heard. “Being a Chaser is better.”

Harry knew that voice, a confident, masculine tone. She froze up. She forgot how to breathe. Slowly, she turned her head to the table where it had come from.

Unruly, short black hair and rectangular spectacles behind which piercing brown eyes stared. A six-foot-one young man stood across from her.

James Potter offered an awkward smile.

“Sure, the Seeker gets the glory, but it's the Chasers that keep the game going to give the team the advantage. Ten points can make or break the game.”

Harry continued gaping like a fish out of the water.

“Sorry," he said, and Harry saw so much of herself in him. “I really like Quidditch. I ramble about it. Tend to do that a lot, actually, about the things I love, now that I think about it... Only my girlfriend can stop me when I start.”

“I ramble, too,” said Harry suddenly, her mouth faster than her brain. It was probably the silliest first words to say.

Then again, she inherited that trait from the wizard in front of her.

Snape

“Oh," said Harry, pausing at the sight of a young man beside Voldemort. The greasy hair falling down his head and curtaining his face gave it away. “Sorry. The doors were open...”

“Not at all, darling,” said Voldemort. “Severus and I were just finished with our discussion. Dare I say, you are right on time.”

Harry was impressed not to see Snape flinch at Voldemort's cold voice. Even this young, with only a year out of Hogwarts, Snape was clearly made of tougher stuff.

Voldemort appeared completely at ease despite the interruption, smoothly transitioning into introductions. “Severus, this is Harriet Potter. Harriet, this is Severus Snape. A promising young potioneer. He is only a year out of Hogwarts, but has already proven himself a very capable wizard.”

I bet... thought Harry, fighting back from frowning.

“Nice to meet you,” said Harry politely, offering a hand. Snape glanced to Voldemort, and upon the elder wizard's nod (like Voldemort was giving Snape permission), Snape shook Harry's hand quickly, then let it go, as if burned, like holding Harry's hand a moment longer would give him a deadly disease. His hands were certainly that of a potioneer.

“Honoured to meet you,” said Snape, and Harry was surprised by how respectful the drawling voice was.

“You may go, Severus.”

The chill of Voldemort’s voice would be enough to make anyone other than Harry and Aurors cower. Snape showed no signs of fear. Instead, he bowed his head to Voldemort, and swept away, out of the drawing room, closing the doors.

“Interesting kid,” said Harry thoughtfully.

“Severus is hardly a child,” said Voldemort. “He is the most mature of all the witches and wizards his age.”

Harry decided to drop the subject.