#i love her for her heart unfailingly wanting not to go dark but my girl i think you should. hard.

[yashley]

fearne’s entire existence occurring for the expectation of being exploited, her childhood she spent alone as a prized possession of a hag, her heart being dropped by the shrugging parents she loved unfailingly, and all of the threads of fate fearne turns away from because she feels she doesn’t have an important role to play, this experience happening isn’t for HER to be a part of, she’s still someone’s accessory to use when needed and put promptly away and she smiles her feigned smile and accept that. and then for her to be told that yeah she’s a disappointment? that they had her and all had their way with her life and she suffered alone and still tried to earn their love, still tried to be enough, but she doesn’t actually matter at all? she needs to start dropping bodies

[themetaphorgirl]

I hope you’re doing okay today Darling!!

I’ve been craving a soft Aaron and Spencer Drabble, I’m not even sure of the circumstances but just Spencer absolutely refusing everyone any sort of interaction or affection, he just want to be with his bubba, only wants him to cuddle him, carry him, all that fun stuff - maybe it’s at like a weird stage in the future where Spencer is acknowledging Alex and James getting together and wanting to give Alex some space so his focus just moves to Aaron in the meantime?? But also Aaron low-key loves it… idk, do with that what you will!!

Sending love always! 💙

This blended with wanting to write some Hotchley, so please enjoy this very squishy and sweet drabble.

----------

Being invited to the Lincoln House Saturday movie night was a huge deal. 

It wasn’t like Aaron’s friends didn’t approve of her or anything- Haley knew they liked her, and she and Penelope were definitely friends. But there was a specific kind of closeness that the nine of them shared, an inner circle that she didn’t belong to. And that was okay. 

(Also, if she was honest, Aaron’s twin sister made her a little nervous. Alex was unfailingly kind and nice, but Haley couldn’t help but feel intimidated by a girl with straight As, fluency in multiple languages, and a ballet scholarship. And she knew that Alex would not hesitate if she did anything at all to break Aaron’s heart.)

But she had caught Aaron’s eye in the hallway during a passing period on Friday, and he had crossed through the crowd to catch up to her. “Hi,” she said, a little breathless, hugging her books to her chest. 

“Hey, I was hoping I would run into you,” he said. 

He said something else but she didn’t quite catch it. She was too busy staring at him. Aaron was beautiful, with his serious dark eyes and his high sharp cheekbones and the cut line of his jaw. His hair was swept back from his forehead, not a strand out of place, and his uniform fit him perfectly. 

“Oh, yeah,” she said, hoping she answered him correctly and wondering if he would ever feel as thunderstruck looking at her as she did when she looked at him. 

“Yeah, it’s my turn to pick the movie for movie night this Saturday, and Penelope suggested I ask you to come hang out with us,” Aaron said. “We’ll probably start around four o’clock. Would that be okay?”

“Yes!” she said. “I mean…yes, yeah, that sounds like fun.”

“Great,” he said, and when he smiled at her his eyes lit up. “You can text me if you need to. Or Penelope, uh…you have her number too, right?”

“Yeah, I do, don’t worry,” she said. 

“Hey, Hotch, I have a question for you!” a kid in a red Lincoln tie called, and Aaron walked away, his expression falling back in serious lines. Haley resisted the urge to sigh dreamily. It wasn’t a date, but she was going to spend more time with him, at least. 

She tried on half a dozen outfits before she decided on exactly what she was going to wear. “Aren’t you just hanging out with the angry Lincoln kid and his weirdo friends?” Harper said as she lounged on her bed and scrolled idly through TikTok. “You really don’t have to dress up.”

“I’m not dressing up, I just want to look nice,” Haley objected. “And Aaron isn’t angry. He’s just…serious.”

Harper snorted. “Could’ve fooled me,” she said. “He looks like the human version of a thundercloud. I think his face would crack if he smiled.”

“He’s nothing like that, he’s so sweet,” Haley said. She looked herself up and down in the mirror. “This is cute but not trying too hard, right?”

“Yeah, you like fine,” Harper said. She glanced over her shoulder. “Somebody’s texting you.” Haley picked it up and smiled. “Ooh, what’s that face for?”

“Aaron wants to meet me early at the Honeybean for a coffee run,” she said. “I’m going to go right now?”

“Oh, an actual date?”

“No, no, we’re just hanging out,” Haley said. She spritzed on her favorite perfume and immediately second guessed herself, maybe it was too much. “And I won’t say no to getting coffee with a cute boy.”

“He’s not that cute, he’s just tall!” Harper called after as she left the room. Haley rolled her eyes. Aaron was cute, she’d heard the other girls in theatre club talking about him. But Harper was right, he was always so serious and solemn. She wondered what it would take to get him out of his shell.

It was a chilly day, on the verge of drizzling, and she regretted not grabbing a jacket on the way out. I’ll get a hot coffee and that’ll fix it, she thought. Her heart skipped a beat as she opened the door to the coffee shop. Be cool, Brooks. You’re just hanging out with Aaron and his friends. 

She caught sight of him immediately. His dark hair was unstyled, falling soft and floppy over his forehead, and he was dressed in jeans and a dark blue zipup hoodie she’d seen him wear to rehearsals. But to her surprise, he wasn’t alone. 

“Hi!” Aaron said, his eyes lighting up. 

“Hi!” Spencer echoed happily. He held Aaron’s hand and smiled up at her. 

“Sorry, he just really wanted to come with me,” Aaron said, absently running his hand over Spencer’s tousled hair. 

“No, no, it’s fine!” Haley said. “Hi, Spencer.”

“We’ve been sent to pick up everyone’s coffee orders,” Spencer informed her. “Emily hasn’t had caffeine yet today and there’s a distinct chance she might murder Dave without it.”

“Well, we can’t have that,” Haley laughed. 

She stood next to Aaron in line, close enough to smell the spicy clean scent of his body wash. “So are you going to auditions for the black box show?” she asked. 

“Oh, I don’t know,” he said. “One musical might be enough for me.”

“Oh, no, you have to!” she said. “You were so good. And I could totally see you in this show.”

His ears turned faintly pink as he ducked his head, almost shy. “I think you’re just desperate for more guys to audition,” he said. 

She elbowed him lightly. “I mean, yeah, but also you’re really talented,” she teased. 

Spencer tugged on the hem of Aaron’s hoodie. “Hotch, I can’t see what’s in the case,” he said. “Could you pick me up, please?”

Aaron picked him up easily and set him on his hip. “Better?” he asked. 

“Yes, thank you,” Spencer said. He wrapped his arms around Aaron’s neck. “Can we get something for Alex?”

Aaron laughed. “Yeah, I think we can do that, if you see something you think she’d like,” he said. 

Haley smiled at the sight of them. She still wasn’t exactly sure how Aaron’s family worked- she was starting to get the sneaking suspicion that neither Alex nor Spencer were actually related to him- but he was clearly fond of the little boy, and Spencer clearly adored him. They were so sweet. 

“Hi, you ready to order?” the barista at the register asked. 

Aaron dug his phone out of his pocket. “Yeah, hi,” he said. He balanced Spencer comfortably on his hip as he pulled up his list. “I need a large cold brew with light iced, nothing in it, and a large strawberry green tea…”

He wasn’t kidding when he said he’d been sent on the coffee run; he ordered half a dozen drinks as he read off his list. “Bubba, can we get Birdy a coffee cake? She likes those,” Spencer said. 

“Yeah, of course,” Aaron said. He bounced him lightly. “And do you want a cake pop?”

“Yes, thank you!” Spencer said.

Aaron turned to Haley. “What would you like?” he asked. 

She blinked. “Oh!” she said. “Oh, you don’t need to get me anything.”

He smiled at her, the corners of his eyes crinkling up. “But I want to,” he said. He leaned closer, lowering his voice conspiratorially. “Besides, Emily sent me with her black Amex, so the sky’s the limit.”

“Oh, well, in that case,” she laughed. “A hot caramel macchiato, please.” 

“Did you know that in Italian macchiato means ‘stained milk’?” Spencer said. 

“No, I actually didn’t,” Haley said. 

Aaron set Spencer down carefully. “Here, Bug, you can carry these,” he said, handing him the snacks. He brushed his dark hair back from his eyes, almost nervously. “Do you mind helping me carry these?”

She nodded and he held out one of the drink carriers. Her fingertips trailed over his as she took it. “Thanks,” she said, and he smiled at her, a little bashfully. 

“We should, um…we should probably go,” Aaron said. “We need to get the movies started.”

“Movies, plural?”

“We’re going to watch the Indiana Jones trilogy!” Spencer piped up. “I’m excited. I’m not well-versed in pop culture but I like Stephen Spielberg’s works so far.”

“Oh, really?” Haley said. She was never sure what was going to come out of Spencer’s mouth next, but she did have a mental list of questions a mile long. “What’s been your favorite so far?”

“Jaws, I think.”

“Jaws gave you nightmares,” Aaron pointed out, holding the door open with his hip as they walked out of the shop. 

“So did ET!” Spencer objected. “And everyone promised me it was a kid’s movie!”

“ET gave me nightmares when I was a kid too,” Haley said. “The scene when he’s all wrinkled up and dying? Terrifying.”

Aaron laughed. She smiled up at him, and this time when she brushed her hand against his their fingers intertwined, just long enough for him to squeeze and then let go. “I was scared of Snow White,” he admitted. “When I was like three. The whole hag thing.”

“When the film premiered in 1937, movie theaters kept having to replace their seats because kids were getting so scared of the evil queen that they would wet their pants,” Spencer said. 

“I didn’t get that scared,” Aaron said wryly. He glanced up at the rapidly darkening sky. “Jesus, it’s going to pour today, isn’t it?”

Spencer slipped his hand into Aaron’s. “It never rains like this in Las Vegas,” he said. 

“You’ll get used to it, Bug,” Aaron said, squeezing his hand. “For now let’s just get back to Lincoln, okay?”

The rain held off just long enough for them to make it into the lobby; Haley shook a couple of raindrops from her hair. She has never actually been inside Lincoln House before, and she tried not to make her gawking too obvious as they climbed the stairs. Everyone knew Lincoln was for the “troubled kids,” kids that were on the edge of getting expelled from their own schools but had some kind of exceptional academic or athletic or artistic talent that made them desirable enough to St. Thaddeus to offer them a scholarship. The building certainly didn’t look as nice and and new as her own dorm did- the paint was peeling in places and the architecture was shabby and outdated- but there was a kind of warmth and coziness to it, especially when they made it to the common room. 

“Hotch, thank god, I need caffeine,” a girl in ripped jeans and a vintage tee shirt said. Haley had seen her around multiple times before; she had never seen her in correct dress code once. “Which one’s mine?”

“Jesus, Emily, give us a second,” Hotch said. He set his drink carrier down on the table and took Haley’s from her. “Everybody can figure out their own.”

Spencer zipped over to where Alex was sitting and held out one of the paper packets as the rest of the kids swarmed the drinks, bickering as they searched through them. “Aaron said we could get you a coffee cake,” he said. 

Alex beamed at him. “Thank you, dearest,” she said, leaning over to kiss his cheek.

“I got a cake pop!” he said happily. 

A tall boy with soft sandy brown hair leaned over the back of the couch and held out a cup for Alex. “Chai latte?” he said. Alex tilted her head back to be kissed and he happily obliged before handing her the cup. Haley hid a smile. She’d heard the rumors, but they were cute to see in person. 

“Who ordered a macchiato?” JJ called. “None of us ever get macchiatos.”

Haley raised her hand. “That’s mine,” she said, and half the assembled group whipped around to look at her. 

“Oh damn, Haley, when did you get here?” Derek said, grinning at her. 

“I came with Aaron,” she said. 

Penelope made a face. “Who’s Aaron…oh! Hotch!” she said. “I always forget he has a first name.”

“He, um, he asked me to help him with the coffee run,” she said. She glanced around; he wasn’t in the common room and she felt a little awkward. “He invited me for movie night.”

“Oh yeah, we know,” the girl in the ripped jeans said, smirking. Alex shot her a look from across the room and she shrugged. 

“Okay, I’m here, we can start now,” Aaron said as he walked back into the room. He had changed from his jeans to a pair of joggers, and he held a stack of DVDs in his hand. Penelope zipped over to take it from him. “Everybody’s met Haley, right?”

“No, no, not everybody,” Penelope said as she popped the first disc into the DVD player. 

Aaron pointed them out. “That’s Emily, that’s Dave, that’s James,” he said. “You know Penelope and Derek, I think you’ve met JJ…and you definitely know Alex and Spencer.”

JJ handed Haley her coffee. “Hopefully we don’t scare you off,” she said. 

“What do you mean? We’re delightful,” Dave said dryly from behind his laptop. 

“Okay, I’ve got it, movie’s starting,” Penelope announced. She found her spot on the floor between Spencer and JJ; the younger kids had made a nest of blankets and pillows. “Everybody find a place to sit.”

Haley glanced around. Aaron beckoned to her; he’d claimed a seat on the couch and there was enough space for her. She sat down gingerly next to him and smiled. 

Rain started tapping against the windows ten minutes into the movie, and pouring hard by thirty. She sipped her coffee and scooted herself a little closer to Aaron’s warmth, as close as she dared. Snuggling would probably be too bold, but she wouldn’t be mad at all if it happened. 

Spencer scrambled up from the floor. “Bubba, I’m cold,” he said. 

“You want my hoodie?” Aaron asked. He unzipped it, and as he pulled it up it rucked up the hem of his shirt, just enough for Haley to catch a little glimpse of his stomach. “There. Better?”

“Yes, thank you,” Spencer beamed. The hoodie hung down to his knobby little knees. “Can I sit next to you?”

Aaron blinked. “Uh…you don’t want to sit with the girls?” he asked. 

Alex sat up a little; she had been leaning back against James and skimming a book while the movie played. “You can come sit with me,” she said. 

“No, thank you, I want to sit with Bubba,” Spencer said, clambering up to Aaron’s other side. Aaron glanced over at her, almost apologetically. But it was so cute, she couldn’t be put out. Spencer tucked himself against Aaron’s side, his knees drawn up to his chest, and Aaron draped an arm around him. 

“Okay, I’m ordering pizza, last call for any special requests,” Dave announced. Derek sat up eagerly. “I’m not ordering a whole pizza just for you, Morgan. Haley, anything you’d like? We’re getting cheese, pepperoni, sausage…and Hawaiian, because Penelope makes wild choices.”

“Hawaiian pizza is delicious,” Penelope announced. 

“I’m good, those all sound great,” Haley laughed. 

Aaron leaned closer to her. “Oh, watch this, this is my favorite part of the first movie,” he whispered in her ear. 

Haley shivered happily. He was close enough that his breath could warm her skin, and she hoped she didn’t actually blush. 

So far, though, movie night was going well. Aaron’s friends were fun, they bantered and bickered with each other and commented on what was happening in the movie. She just wished she could have a little more one on one time with Aaron, but she couldn’t blame him for being distracted by his little brother. The storm was getting louder and louder outside, and Spencer was leaning heavily into the protection of Aaron’s side. 

“Pizza’s here!” Dave announced as the credits started to roll, and immediately the nine of them were up and moving like a well oiled machine, setting out plates and napkins and drinks. Haley got up too, even though she wasn’t sure what she should be doing. 

Alex handed her a plate. “Having fun?” she asked. 

“Oh! Yes, I’m having a great time,” Haley said. 

Alex smiled at her. The older girl was more dressed-down than Haley had ever seen her; her long red hair was pulled back in a messy ponytail and she wore leggings and an oversized flannel shirt that Haley suspected belonged to her new boyfriend. “Aaron has been so excited,” she said. “We’ve been telling him he should invite you for ages, but he’s been nervous.”

“Really?” Haley said. 

“Really, but you didn’t hear it from me,” Alex said. “Sorry about Spencer, though. He’s been having a little trouble adjusting to James and I dating and he’s been a little clingy with Aaron lately.”

“No, it’s fine, it’s adorable,” Haley said. “It’s really cute that they’re so close.”

Heavy footsteps thundered up the stairs. “Jesus, those stairs suck,” Dave panted. “Okay, come get your pizza.” Derek bounded past him. “Quick, somebody stop Derek before he takes a whole one for himself!”

“And everybody go quick so we can start the next movie, I want to know what happens,” Emily said.

Haley got herself a piece and sat back down; Aaron took his seat next to her with a plastic to go container of salad. “Aren’t you hungry?” Haley asked. 

“No, just not much of a pizza guy,” Aaron said, dumping a truly insane amount of ranch dressing over the salad. “What did you think of the first movie?”

“It’s great, I can’t believe it’s taken me this long to watch them,” she said. 

Aaron grinned, one corner of his mouth tilting up more than the other. “They’re my favorites,” he confessed. “I’ve seen them a million times and I never get sick of them.”

She leaned closer to him, her arm bumping up against his. “That’s how I am with Cinderella, I’ve seen it so many times I could probably quote it in my sleep,” she said. 

Suddenly Spencer popped up and they jumped apart. “Did you know Cinderella’s glass slipper is probably a mistranslation? The original French text actually indicated it was a fur slipper,” he said. 

“I didn’t know that, that’s so interesting,” Haley said. 

Alex leaned forward from her seat. “Spencer, do you want to come sit with me?” she asked. 

“No, thank you,” he said, climbing in between Penelope and JJ in their blanket nest again. 

Emily stood up, wiping pizza sauce off her chin. “All right, let’s start the second one, let’s go,” she announced. 

The second movie was definitely a little more intense than the first. It wasn’t like Saw 5 or anything, but it was still more than she usually liked to watch…but on the other hand, when she jumped and squeaked in surprise at what was happening on the screen, Aaron wrapped an arm around her shoulders. 

She tried to play it cool but she had a feeling she was failing miserably. They both sat stiffly for a bit, but eventually she relaxed against him and he did too, his hand curling around her shoulder and his thumb rubbing her upper arm lightly. 

It didn’t last. 

Spencer scrambled to his feet as Penelope and JJ shrieked at the screen. “Aaron, can I sit with you?” he asked, glancing briefly back over his shoulder at the TV and immediately turning back. “It’s scary. I don’t think I like it.”

“Yeah, yeah, c’mere,” Aaron said. Haley missed the warm weight of his arm, but Aaron picked up his little brother and settled him on his lap. “You’re okay, Bug. It’s just a movie, you’re safe.”

“It’s scary,” Spencer mumbled into his chest. 

Haley couldn’t possibly be mad that they were interrupted. Aaron held Spencer on his lap for the rest of the movie, patting his back and talking to him softly during the scariest bits. It was so sweet. Most boys she knew hated their little brothers, but Aaron was so kind and so gentle. 

By the time they finished the second movie Derek had brought out a massive bag of candy to pass around, and Spencer was yawning heavily. “Bug, go get your pajamas on,” Alex said. “You look like you’re about to fall asleep.”

“I’m not tired,” he whined, nuzzling his cheek against Aaron’s chest. 

Aaron kissed the top of his head and set him on his feet. “Birdy’s right,” he said. 

Spencer rolled his eyes. “I’m going to stay awake, you know,” he said, but he headed down the hall. 

“My money’s on him falling asleep before Sean Connery shows up,” Derek said. 

“How do you know he’s in it?” Emily said. 

“I roomed with Hotch last year, he watches these movies on repeat.”

Haley raised an eyebrow at Aaron, her lips quirking up. He shrugged. “I wasn’t lying, I’ve seen these a lot,” he said, half laughing. 

Spencer made it back just as the third movie started, dressed in his pajamas with a soft ivory colored blanket clutched in his hand, and he made a beeline for Aaron. He lifted him back into his lap and snuggled him close, wrapping the blanket around him. It didn’t take long for the little boy to drop off, his breathing slowing down and deepening. Aaron rocked him a little absently as he slept, patting his hip. 

By the time the movie finished all the kids were a little sleepy, and Spencer was out like a light in Aaron’s arms. “Oh, those were fucking great,” Emily said. “I can see why Hotchner is obsessed with them.”

“Yeah, they’re just so long,” Penelope yawned. 

Alex got up from James’s side. “Here, I’ll put him to bed,” she told Aaron. “You should walk Haley back.”

“Are you sure?” Aaron said. “I can always just-“ But Spencer had woken up just enough to stretch his arms towards Alex, and she picked him up easily. “All right, well…I’ll be back soon.” He turned to Haley. “Are you ready?”

“Yeah, it’s pretty late,” she said. “Bye everybody, thanks for letting me join.”

They said goodbye in a happy flurry, with plenty of offers for her to come back any time. That was encouraging, she knew enough that if they didn’t like her they wouldn’t ask her back. 

The rain had stopped but the night was damp and cool, the cobblestones slick under her shoes. She slipped a little and Aaron grabbed her hand, and after the initial shock they kept walking hand-in-hand. 

“Thanks for coming over,” Aaron said. “Sorry Spencer was taking so much of my attention.”

“No, it’s fine, he’s so cute,” Haley said. “It’s sweet to watch you two. He loves you so much.”

Aaron smiled. “Yeah?” he said. “I hope so.”

He walked her to the front door and reluctantly let go of her hand. “That was a lot of fun,” she said. 

“Yeah, it, uh…it was,” he said, ducking his head as if he was suddenly shy. 

Before she could talk herself out of it, she raised herself up on tiptoes, squeezed his arm to brace herself, and kissed his cheek. “Goodnight, Aaron,” she said. 

Even in the dim light she could see him turning red. “Goodnight, Haley,” he said, his voice squeaking a little as he smiled at her dopily. She squeezed his arm one last time and then ran inside, her heart skipping excited little beats. 

[shadamyheadcanons]

Headcanon #262

Cross-posted on AO3.

I felt inspired by this glorious twitter thread where Cindy Robinson (Amy’s VA, for those who don’t know) advocated for shadamy over sonamy because Amy “does quite like a bad boy.” Cindy knows what’s up.

--

“But Joy and Maurice are made for each other!”

“Hmph. She’d be much happier with Jack.”

Rouge poked her head into the living room and spotted Shadow and Amy lounging on the couch. She looked over their heads at the TV and groaned when she saw a familiar set of credits scrolling by. “Don’t tell me you two are watching that god-awful soap opera again.”

“Hey! As Mobius Turns is a beautiful love story!” Amy insisted.

Shadow snorted quietly. “Only if you’re looking at Joy and Jack.”

Rouge sighed, already tired. “What are you getting out of this, Omega?”

Omega straightened up in the armchair next to them, clearly excited. “THIS SHOW HOSTS A VARIETY OF CLASSIC, OVERUSED TROPES. I AM ENRICHING MY DATABASE WITH CULTURAL LITERACY.”

“Yeah? So what do the tropes say about this little debate?” Rouge asked, nodding to Shadow and Amy.

“MAURICE IS QUICK-WITTED, ALTRUISTIC, AND FEARS COMMITMENT. JOY HAS A SHORT TEMPER, BUT SHE IS OTHERWISE UNFAILINGLY KIND AND SEES THE BEST IN OTHERS. JACK EXEMPLIFIED THE ‘JERK WITH A HEART OF GOLD’ TROPE IN THE FIRST TWO SEASONS, BUT HIS CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT HAS SINCE SET HIM ON THE RIGHT TRACK.”

“Hah! Too easy. Shadow’s right,” Rouge declared.

“Hmph. Naturally.”

Amy gaped. “What?! No way!”

Rouge leaned over the back of the couch between Shadow and Amy and held up a finger to stop her. “Sorry, Amy, it’s just nature. A good girl can’t resist a reformed bad boy for too long.” Shadow snickered.

Amy puffed out her cheeks in irritation. “But she’s had a crush on Maurice since season one!”

Rouge winked and smiled knowingly. “You’ll understand someday.” Amy cocked her head in confusion. Shadow frowned, apparently not quite getting it either. Rouge sighed. “I’ll be back in a bit when you two are done bickering like a married couple. That show lost me when they added that weird interspecies relationsh--”

“We don’t talk about season six!” Amy snapped.

“You’re just mad because Maurice was dating--”

“We don’t talk about season six!”

Rouge laughed good-naturedly and left the room. Amy returned to the topic at hand.

“Joy and Jack wouldn’t date each other. They’re just close friends!”

“For now.”

Amy crossed her arms. “And what makes you think that’s going to change?”

“Because of how they’ve already changed each other.” She looked skeptical, so he explained further. “The way Joy never gave up on Jack really turned things around for him. He doesn’t just have feelings for her, he also loves and admires her for her kindness. He wants to be like her.”

Most would consider his tone and analysis too serious for a soap opera, but Amy naturally matched his intensity. “Well, we all know he likes her, but why would she like him back? How did he change her?”

“Season nine, episode thirteen,” he countered immediately, clearly prepared. “She kept overextending herself for people who didn’t treat her right. She never would have put her foot down and set the healthy boundaries she needed without his blunt intervention. She had to learn to be kind to herself, too. She needs someone like Jack in her life.”

Amy just stared for a moment, completely at a loss for words. She pursed her lips and frowned, then hesitantly replied, “Well...that’s...a friendship can do that, too!”

“BUT AMY, JACK IS A FINE SPECIMEN OF A MAN, A TOTAL DREAMBOAT. HE IS THE LIVING EMBODIMENT OF ‘TALL, DARK, AND HANDSOME.’ TOTAL BOYFRIEND MATERIAL.”

Amy just stared at Omega, then burst out laughing. Shadow held a hand up to his forehead and sighed. “Omega. You need to stop spending time on those internet forums.”

“BUT THEY ARE FASCINATING!”

Shadow ignored him and turned back to Amy. “You know what I think?”

“What?”

“I think you saw how Joy looked at Maurice in season one, fell in love with the idea of them together, and now you won’t consider any of the newer, better options she has.”

“I--!”

Amy’s protests fell flat at his blunt assertion. Her eyes were wide. A smirk slowly spread across Shadow’s face when it was clear he’d seen right through her.

Amy pressed her lips together and frowned. Instead of trying to argue, she picked up the remote from the coffee table in front of her. “W-we’ll see! The next episode will prove me right for sure!”

“Oh, no,” Shadow protested with a laugh. “We’ve seen enough for one day. We should pick it up tomorrow.”

“Whaaat? But the next episode is the finale!” she whined.

“We just watched seven episodes in a row. You were already planning on stopping by tomorrow anyway, right?”

“C’mon, it’s just one more!”

“Tomorrow.”

She pouted, then lit up and smiled endearingly, fluttering her eyelashes. “But I’m your guest! Shouldn’t the guest get a say?”

Shadow’s expression went flat at her blatant attempt to charm him. “You visit multiple times a week. I don’t think the ‘guest’ benefits apply when you spend half your time at our place. Here, let me--”

He reached for the remote in her hands, only for her to snatch it away. Her grin turned mischievous. He tried again, but she evaded his grasp once more.

“Are we really doing this?” He tried to sound exasperated, but he couldn’t keep the humor out of his voice.

“We won’t have to if we watch just one more episode~!” she sang, giggling.

Shadow growled, but he was already grinning at the game. He could’ve outsped her movements easily when they were younger, but the swiftness she’d spent years developing made it a challenge. “You know I won’t give up that easily, don’t you?”

He grabbed onto her wrist to try and hold it still, only for her to break away easily with her often underestimated arm strength. “Aren’t you supposed to be a gentleman?”

“Who accused me of that?”

The two of them laughed as they grappled for the remote. He grabbed onto her forearm again. She yanked it back too quickly and lost her balance, making her fall backwards onto the couch cushions. Undaunted, Shadow followed her, too into the competition to worry about much else. She held the remote behind her back while fighting him off with her free arm. It was her non-dominant arm this time, though, so Shadow successfully took her hand and held it aside. She wriggled evasively into the corner, but he still slipped his hand underneath her and searched around, only to meet nothing but her empty hand. She grinned smugly.

“Where the hell...?” He leaned down to keep up his search, confused. “Is it between the couch cushions?”

“No--!” Her back arched, and a quiet ‘eep!’ interrupted her proud boasting.

Shadow stopped fumbling and lifted his head to look up at Amy. Her cheeks were bright red, and her eyes were wide. Shadow frowned in confusion.

“What are you two--oo, what’s this?” Both hedgehogs jumped at Rouge’s intrigued tone as she walked back into the room.

Shadow looked back down at their position, as well as his hands--one of which was holding Amy’s, while the other was now wrapped around her waist--and his ears turned red in panic and embarrassment. He scrambled back upright and scooted a few feet away from her, feeling a little colder.

And less comfortable, his brain quietly pointed out.

“I know I said you’d understand someday, Amy, but I didn’t expect it to be so soon!” Rouge continued. “And right in front of Omega, too?” She sucked in air through her teeth, giving them a sly smirk.

“We were fighting!”

Rouge just stared, unfazed by Amy’s frantic rebuttal, then muttered to Omega, “If that’s fighting, then Knuckles and I fight all the time.”

“WHY? ARE THE TWO OF YOU HAVING PROBLEMS IN YOUR RELATIONSHIP?”

“Nevermind,” Rouge said, shaking her head. “So what were you two ‘fighting’ over?”

“The remote!” Amy blurted.

There was a pause while Rouge looked between the two. “So where is it?” she teased, sounding unconvinced.

Shadow turned his accusing glare toward Amy. She smiled awkwardly, embarrassed. “Uh...hammerspace?”

All three of them just stared at her. Shadow gaped. “You put it where?!”

To make a long story short, they watched the finale.

--

“Oh, Jack...I never knew how much I needed you until now!”

“My dearest Joy, it is I who needs you! You kept me from making the greatest mistake of my life, but it would be a far worse mistake to waste this opportunity.”

“What opportunity, Jack? Whatever do you mean?”

“Joy, my love...can I kiss you?”

“Oh, Jack, I thought you’d never ask!”

Soon after that, the soap opera’s credits rolled for the last time. Omega clapped, his metal hands making an unpleasant clanging sound. Rouge rolled her eyes. “I’m glad I’m not lactose intolerant. I almost choked on all that cheesiness.” She made an exaggerated gagging noise.

“Hmph. Just as I suspected,” Shadow bragged.

“MY CONDOLENCES, AMY. DID YOU FIND THE ENDING UNPLEASANT TO WATCH?”

Amy had been staring wide-eyed off into space. At Omega’s question, she flinched and looked back up. “No! It’s fine!” she answered, tone frantic.

Everyone else stared at her in surprise. “BUT YOU CLAIMED TO BE ON TEAM MAURICE THIRTY-TWO MINUTES AGO. HOW DID YOU JUMP SHIP SO QUICKLY?” he asked, confused.

“I DIDN’T!” she snapped immediately, then retreated into herself. “I mean...the ending was...good. Or...for what it was, I mean! It could’ve been worse!” she stammered, fumbling for the right words. “But...she did wind up with the wrong guy! She still should’ve been with J--I mean Maurice!” Shadow and Rouge were snickering. She glanced rapidly between the two of them. “I...I, uh...” She trailed off, then lit up. “I found the remote!” she declared, her expression tight with panic. “So, um...I’ll see you tomorrow!”

Before they could stop her, she dashed out of the house. Rouge and Shadow burst out laughing while Omega looked between them, still confused.

--

Some time after Shadow and Amy started dating, she admitted that was the day her feelings started shifting toward him and away from Sonic. When Shadow asked specifically what tipped the scales, Amy merely said it was a combination of factors and changed the subject, visibly embarrassed.

--

((Psst--see that “long story short” bit? You can read the full scene here.))

[dangermousie]

1. That’s quite a kiss for a proper, serious historical. But then I suppose you don’t hire a Taiwanese star if you want really bad kissing.

2. Vic Chou was my first ever drama crush as he was the ML of my first ever drama Mars (still one of my all time faves.) Back in 2006, before some tumblr users were probably even born, I read the manga, wanted to see if there was an anime and discovered there was a live action instead. I found it and the rest is history. If someone told 2006 me that 15 years later I’d be swooning over him as a future Song emperor...eh why not?

3. I find it interesting how they stick a somewhat cliche fairy tale romance into a pretty serious period drama only to turn it inside out in a very dark way. If this wasn’t a situation where we know Liu Er eventually becomes Dowager Empress and dies of old age, I’d be up for the narrative contained in the first episode because it has such a lovely dark tinge. I am not even talking about the fact that Zhao Heng is love’s young dream to her but not a great husband to his actual wife - she has just given birth to a son and heir and secured him a place as the Crown Prince and while he is unfailingly proper and polite to her, he has zero warmth towards her or hesitation to bring a new wife in when she’s barely recovered from childbirth. (Though it’s probably a very realistic set-up when he and his official wife were an arranged marriage; propriety is the most you can expect - to wish for love and warmth, let alone monogamy, is a pipe dream.)  No, I am talking how it’s sort of a fairy tale set up. She is a peasant girl who fishes out a bona fide royal prince out of the river.

And not just any royal prince, but a gorgeous one to boot (I have never found someone who looks like that in a river, dammit!)

And she, a peasant girl from Shu (and one that already gave birth too though I believe miscarried, but definitely no pristine high born virgin) wins his heart.

And he brings her with him to the capital and not just that but literally asks the Emperor for the permission to make her a wife.

And is loving and devoted and sweet and spends all his free time with her.

Sure, he already has an official wife (and possibly concubines) but it’s a polygamous society so Liu Er has seriously hit the fairy tale jackpot. I did crack up like mad when he tells her this though:

“Yeah, we will be together forever. You, me, my wife, and all my concubines.”

Anyway, so far this is basically Song Dynasty Cinderella. Except his child gets stabbed in her care and of course the Emperor condemns her to death and despite the Prince’s pleading she is given a cup of poisonous wine and that’s the end for her (or not since we know it’s ep 1.) Because a peasant girl with no family or backing would not walk into a happy fairy tale with a handsome prince but get tripped by one of a million dangers in the capital...and I love that.

The pacing of ep 1 was all over the place btw. I know this is 61 eps but I am wondering if it was cut down even further from 70 or 80 and they just cut down in the beginning. Because we are thrown in medias res which is fine even if my knowledge of the Song Dynasty is basically wikipedia-based; if this was a show set in medieval Russia or England or France of Italy, I wouldn’t be as lost as I am. The medias res thing I actually like. But also the amount of stuff ep 1 cowers is something we normally get a dozen eps for - we get the earthquake, the Emperor picking a Crown Prince, the secret that the Emperor killed his brother, our ML going to walk, getting caught in an earthquake, being presumed dead, being saved, falling for FL, bringing her back, his baby being assassinated and FL drinking poisoned wine. I mean - that’s more plot than entire actual dramas have! The actors are all excellent, the cinematography is beautiful, and honestly even one ep and with such a pace I already see them as fully living and breathing people which is very impressive, but it feels like a survey course or maybe a Cliffs’ Notes version. I really hope this is sort of the prologue and the pace calms down - otherwise they are gonna be able to cover the entire Song Dynasty in 61 eps with room left over.

[amaltheaz]

dystopian au + heroic sacrifice? 😈 (feel free to get as angsty as you want 😉💜)

I don't know why I keep doing this to our girls whenever you prompt me angsty things. I AM SO SORRY 😂 but also sorry not sorry because you asked for as angsty as I want and apparently, this is it lmao

I hope this was satisfactory because oof, I am so rusty. Love you! 😂😘

---

21. Dystopian AU

68. Heroic Sacrifice AU

Warning: Major character death

===

“You’re an idiot.”

Kara lets out a laugh that breaks abruptly into a string of coughs that makes the entirety of her body shake and tremble in Lena’s arms. The kind of coughing that has Kara’s body painfully arching up and struggling to find a break, a reprieve to somehow catch her breath, the kind that tears and twists Lena’s heart to hear it. The kind that scares her. Finally Kara settles back down, breathing out a rattling, wheezing chuckle. “You’re welcome.”

They're running, or they're trying to anyway. It's hard to run when you're bearing the weight of an injured Kryptonian along with your own. But they're running as fast as they can, towards the open portal. It won't be staying open for much longer and there’s still an army that's been chasing them down for god knows how long now, not that far behind.

They're close—so fucking close to the portal when Kara’s knees seem to buckle and they both fall to the ground.

“Fuck, Kara,” Lena grunts at the unexpected drop and being not at all ready to carry both their weight. She grabs harshly at Kara’s shoulders. It's useless to pick her up like that but Lena isn't thinking as rationally as she should. Too bogged down by concern and desperation to get the hell out of this shithole. A quick glance to Kara’s stomach tells Lena that her wound is much more severe now and she feels a pang of regret, guilt at not having thought of at least slowing down the bleed. She thought they’d have more time than this. Lena tears a long strip of her shirt, a poor gauze substitute as she presses it to Kara’s stomach. Her heart lurches violently at the sound of Kara’s whimper. “Why did you do that?” she asks, softly enough that she knows Kara can't hear her and she can't blame her. Lena can't hear much of anything past the wild pounding of her heart. Kara’s eyes are closed but she is thankfully still breathing but she’s wheezing too hard and too quickly and Lena doesn't even want to think about what that could mean for her. “Why did you do that, Kara?” she asks again, louder this time for Kara to hear her.

Blue eyes open and Lena wonders just how much pain Kara is really in right now. Even with what she can see now, she can tell that Kara is doing her best to not make Lena worry more. “I’m sorry,” Kara replies, her voice cracking at the end. Her face scrunches as she tries her best to take a deep breath before her sad gaze meets Lena’s once again. “I—I made a promise… to always protect you. I know my word doesn't mean anything to you anymore but the world needs you."

“Screw the world!” she growls angrily, barely keeping herself from pounding her fist to the solid ground in guilty frustration. “What about me?” With one hand on the wound, with the other Lena grabs at Kara’s shoulder, desperately wanting to touch some part of her, to keep hold of her as if it’ll make everything stop, just for a second. They have wasted so much time not talking and here they are with too many things unsaid between them. “What about me, huh? Fuck you, Kara.”

And before she can even apologize for her outburst, Kara wheezes out a hoarse chuckle. “Hey now, I could be dead in a minute. Do you really want that to be the last words I ever hear you say to me?”

There are so many things that Lena could say, so many more things that she wants to say to Kara. But Lena has always been defiant and so she refuses to give up, to surrender. “You are not dying. I’m not letting you.”

“I’m sorry, sweetheart, but my insides bleeding out of my body kind of beg to differ.”

Lena curses loudly, pressing both hands even firmer down on the wound and trying to ignore the dark red that coats her skin. She feels Kara’s hands on hers and Lena takes morbid note of how calm and gentle Kara's touch is despite the fact that her whole body is shivering underneath her hands. Lena thinks about how even now, even on the edge of unimaginable pain, Kara remains so unfailingly gentle with her. She feels Kara grasping onto her hands, as if to pull them away but Lena doesn't let her. She’s already shaking her head at Kara’s actions, knowing exactly what's going to come out of Kara’s mouth.

“Lena, you need to let me go,” Kara whispers, so softly that it tears at something inside of her. Lena keeps shaking her head, steadfastly keeping her hands on the wound and willing the blood to just stop flowing out. “I can hear them—they're coming closer now. The portal is going to close soon and you can’t carry me on your own.”

“Shut up, shut up, shut up,” she mutters angrily, looking around them in hopes of finding something to aid them. Kara's hands squeeze around hers once again.

“Lena, please. You need to save yourself. For once in your life, listen to what I’m telling you to do.”

She finally looks straight into Kara's blue eyes and god, they're just so blue right now and Lena wants to ignore how watery they look. That knowing, defeated look. She hates seeing it. "Shut up! I am not leaving you here and you can't make me.”

Kara doesn't say a word back. She simply stares into Lena’s eyes as if she’s searching for something. The thoughtful furrow that knits between her eyebrows is so deep and prominent that Lena wishes she has a hand free to gently smooth it out with her thumb. She has always loved that goddamn crinkle. Eventually Kara breathes in a deep, crackling sigh, as if coming to a determined resolution. “Okay, okay, then we need to go now.”

Hope bursts and explodes like fireworks in her chest as she watches Kara somehow finds the strength to push herself up. “I’ve got you,” she promises, draping Kara’s arm over her shoulder before they start the final trek to the portal.

“I know you do,” Kara replies, her breathing coming out slow and ragged though somehow she still manages to give Lena that tender, crooked smile that had her fall so recklessly in love all those years ago. “I love you, you know that, right?”

Lena thinks about saying it back, thinks about finally saying the words that she has kept so closely guarded after all this time. But she simply nods, thinking instead of their time once they’ve crossed the portal. “Save that for when we get home,” she hurriedly tells Kara as they’re finally standing at the portal. She can hear the rush of the soldiers closing in behind them, close enough that she knows they’ll start shooting soon. “Ready?”

Instead of an answer, Kara kisses her.

---

Lena gasps when Kara pulls away from the kiss.

She feels immediately guilty at the spot of blood that tints the corner of Lena’s mouth. From their kiss, she tastes the coppery iron of her blood, the salt of her sweat and their mingled tears but underneath it all, she tastes Lena. That’s all she could ever want.

That's all she needs.

She gives Lena a weak smile. Her heart aches at how pretty Lena looks as the light of the portal illuminates her face. Lena has always been the most beautiful thing Kara has ever seen. She should know, after all. She's been to twelve different planets.

“You’re my favorite,” she whispers softly, lifting her blood-soaked hand to brush her thumb reverently over Lena’s cheek before moving down to squeeze around her shoulder.

With every last bit of her strength, Kara pushes Lena through the portal and when the bright light disappears, Kara shoots a flare of heat vision. As the device bursts into fire and smoke, secure in the knowledge that Lena is safe, Kara finally lets herself collapse, the red of her blood drenching the ground beneath her.

As Kara's eyes close, she can still hear Lena screaming, crying out her name.

[buriednurbckyrd]

The Breakup Box (2)

Bucky became more and more touchy-feely in the following week.  Not that Steve was complaining, he loved the fact that they were free to express their bond with more than a casual pat on the back or fleeting hug.  But a definite aura of sadness accompanied the extra physical contact.  It wasn't just that he was feeling more affectionate; they were both missing Y/N's presence.  Sam's comment about the two of them following her around like puppies may have rankled, but it wasn't too far from the truth.  

The attachment between them had formed so quickly, maybe even instantly.  She was magnetic.  Charming, quick witted, and unfailingly kind.  But never a pushover, she could be tough as nails when the occasion called for it.  She'd gone toe to toe with General Ross more than once to defend both of them.  The animosity he harbored for Bucky and Steve was well known and he never made an attempt to hide it.  No one bad mouthed her team in her earshot, no matter how high ranking.  How could they not adore her?  Loyal to the bone, generous with her time and affection, and a force to be reckoned with in and out of the field.  

But she was avoiding them.  For reasons they couldn't comprehend.

“I miss her Steve.”  Bucky murmured in the dim early morning light of their bedroom.  Steve brushed his hair back from his face, fingers caught in Bucky's dark locks.  

“I do too,” he sighed.  “I don't understand why she won't talk to us.”  It hurt. Knowing she was hurting but wouldn't let them comfort her.  

“I keep wracking my brain, trying to figure out if I did something.”  Bucky pulled away from Steve's sleepy embrace and sat up.  

“Buck, we've been over this.  Everything was normal before she spent the weekend with that guy and he broke up with her.  It's nothing you or I did.”  He pressed a gentle kiss to Bucky's shoulder before he got out of bed to dress for his morning run.  

“I can't stand this!”  Bucky sprang out of bed and paced the room like an ill tempered big cat.  “She has no problem being around anyone else but the second she sees us, bam!  Gone.”  

“You think it's any easier for me?”  Steve shot back, pulling on a tshirt. “Because it's not!  Every time she refuses to meet my eye, or practically trips over her own feet to get out of a room because I happen to be in it feels like a slap.”  He clenched his fists and breathed through the urge to punch the wall.  Giving into that hot flash of anger wouldn't help anything, he was better than that.  “I just want it to be like it was.”  He finally said, relaxing his hands and letting out a long breath.  “I miss our girl too.”  

'Our girl'.  How many times had they called her that?  Too many to count, but it still sent a funny little flutter off in both of their stomachs.  It was usually a comfort, but that morning it was a dull ache.  

“I'm sorry,” Bucky said quietly.  “I didn't...I know it's hard for you too.”  He dropped his forehead against Steve's back, his hands both metal and flesh soothed over his stomach.  “I don't want to argue with you.”  Steve caught the vibranium fingers and gave them a gentle squeeze.  

“I know.  And I think it's time we stop letting her run away.  I've been trying to be patient, trying to let her come to us but I'm starting to think that isn't going to happen.  Something is stopping her, and I want to know why.  I know she's going through something but we can't let this continue.”  

…

She wanted a fight.  She wanted brutal, desperate, and bloody. It would be the only satisfying outlet for the pain.  And she cursed herself for those toxic thoughts, so she settled for a punching bag.  Focused on the movement, she blocked out the memories that had haunted her for the past week.  Sweat ran down her face and stung her eyes but she ignored it.  Her muscles were fatigued but she pushed on.  She needed to eat, needed a break, but still she continued.  

Y/N wasn't a fool.  She wasn't careless or hard-hearted.  Of course she had seen the way her actions were hurting Bucky and Steve.  They were her best friends, and she wanted to pull them closer even as she held them at a distance.  Tears mixed with sweat.  It would be so much easier if she didn't lean on them so much.  If she didn't need them so much.  She screamed in frustration and kicked the heavy bag.  A sharp pain jolted up to her hip and she fell back onto the mat with a hiss.  

“Yeah, you're done.”  An impatient voice reached her ears.  She looked up and saw Sam stalking over to her with a towel and a bottle of water.

“I didn't know you were in here.”  She winced and rubbed her thigh.  

“Not surprised, that was some pity party you were throwing for yourself.” He thrust the water into her hand.  “Drink.”  He snapped.  She unscrewed the top and drank even as she scowled at him.  “Stop pouting.  Are you actually hurt?  Do I need to get you over to medical?”  He crossed his arms and looked her up and down.  

“No, it's fine.”  She bent and straightened her leg to test it. “Just tired.”  She caught the towel she threw at her and dabbed her face.  “If you're so annoyed at me you can leave.”  

“Knock it off.  It isn't cute anymore.”  He sat down next to her on the floor.  “Look,” his voice softened.  “I know you've been having a rough time.  Maybe you haven't said anything about what happened, but I don't think my guess was too far from the truth.”  She took another sip of water and nodded.  “I figured.  And I didn't come in here to yell at you, I think you've been beating up on yourself enough, I don't need to pile on.”  

“It's my fault.”  Her throat felt so tight, she could barely say the words.  

“What's your fault?”  He asked calmly.  She didn't speak for several minutes, but he just sat beside her quietly, waiting.  

“Everything,” she finally said.  “What happened,” the tears spilled over again. “Steve and Bucky.  I know they're upset.”  She wiped at her eyes.  “I didn't mean to hurt anyone, Sam.”

“Of course you didn't.”  He patted her hand.  “You aren't a malicious person, Y/N.  No one thinks you are.”  

“God,” she let out a humorless laugh.  “Stop being nice to me, I don't deserve it.  I've been a complete fuck up.”  

“Hey, that's my friend you're smack talking.”  

“Stop it,” she finally faced him, her eyes blazing.  “I know I'm being an idiot!  That's part of the problem!  Knowing you're the shit head but you can't help it.”  Sam leaned back on his hands.  

“Well that's nonsense.”  He told her.  “No, you just be quiet for a minute.”  He cut her off before she could begin her next tirade. “You know what the problem is.  If you know that, then you know the solution.  It's not that you can't help it, it's that you don't want to fix it.”

“What? Of course I want to fix it!”  She shot to her feet.  

“Then do it.”  He stood up and gripped her shoulders.  “I've been watching you punish yourself for a damn week, and it's enough.”  He gave her a little shake.  “You're an intelligent woman, Y/N.  Stop avoiding the issue and face it, whatever it is.  It won't go away until you do.”  

“You don't understand,” more tears came.  “I could ruin everything. Even worse than it is now.” Sam saw the fear in her eyes so he chose his next words with care.  

“But this can't go on, honey,” he said gently.  “What happens next time we all get sent out with a job to do?  Whatever's hanging over your head, it's gotta be dealt with.  You know what a lack of communication can lead to in the field.”  She was quiet again, and then let out a long sigh after a few minutes.  Sam knew he'd finally gotten through to her.  

“You're right.  I'll handle it.  Try to fix it.”  

“I have all the faith in the world.”

…

The anxiety built up into a solid iron ball in her stomach as she stood under the steaming water in her shower.  Her conversation with Sam replayed in her head and her cheeks burned with shame.  How had things gotten to this point?  When did she start lying to herself and the most important people in her life?  She stepped out of the shower and dried off.  

No more.  She pressed a hand against her rolling stomach and took a deep breath.  It was time to get dressed and face the music.  Whatever happened...at least it wouldn't be hanging over her anymore.  Looking in the mirror and running her fingers through her damp hair, she gave herself a pep talk.  She was nervous, but determined.  

Mind made up, she left the bathroom to go find Steve and Bucky.  Only she didn't have far to go, the two men were sitting on her bed waiting for her.  

“Y/N,” Steve said, the two of them standing up.  “We need to talk.”

next

[maatryoshkaa]

young god | chapter 10

chapters: | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11| 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | epilogue |

word count: 3.9k

warnings: 

description: finding momentary refuge in a cafe across town, Han Jisung is holding onto his facade by a thread, and a talk with Detective Bang Chan -- and Police Captain Kim Woojin -- leaves him more shaken than ever before. Things have changed, time is running out, and a sudden turn of events leads Jisung all the way back to your doorstep.

watch the trailer here!

10| dead end

Han Jisung sat facing the windows of a cafe whose name he neither remembered nor cared for, absently stirring a cup of coffee that had gone cold an hour ago.

From the moment he’d stepped out of your apartment, his feet hadn’t stopped propelling him in the opposite direction, actively putting as much distance between him and you as possible. This coffee shop -- the Third Eye, or something along those lines -- was far enough on the other side of town for Jisung to walk in, order the first thing on the menu, and plant himself down by the window seats.

If only he could get you out of his mind.

Every time he blinked, he saw the silhouette of your fearful, blood-drained face burning into his eyelids -- the warm laughter that had been stirred in his chest from making pancakes now felt like an ice burn, leaving his rib cage aching, raw, and cold. 

Lies, lies, lies.

That’s all they were, really: those tender, precious moments didn’t belong to him, not really. No, he scowled -- they were stolen, they belonged to who he was supposed to be. Who you thought he was, who you wanted him to be. After all, there was no way you would still love him if you knew who he really was. He saw it in your faltering smiles, the nervous laughter filling the cracks in your conversations; he heard it when you called him that night, voice impossibly small and begging him to stay safe from the -- the killer.

To stay safe from himself.

Jisung let his head fall in his hands, fingers violently raking through his hair as he stared blankly through the window. How long was he going to keep this up? No -- how long could he keep this up? He was on bought time, and every stupid slip-up he made was a sufficiently painful reminder of this bitter truth. The memory of the middle-aged man, his rough grey hands and milky-white pupils, made the hair at the back of Jisung’s neck stand up. Somewhere, shambling through the streets of the town, his last victim was still alive.

And one living witness, Jisung thought, was one too much. 

The cafe was fairly busy, but Jisung could still hear the incessant ticking of the clock on the wall. It made his skin crawl. It was a constant reminder that his time with you was running out -- and that no matter how hard he tried, how much he wanted his own facade to be real, it was too late. 

Too much damage had already been done.

“Who’d you kill, Han Jisung?” Chan’s familiar voice nearly sent Jisung falling from his chair, his flailing arms knocking the coffee cup precariously close to the edge of the table. He looked up at the stern-eyed detective in utter shock, mouth falling slack like a fish out of water. Kill? Chan couldn’t know, could he? But then again, the lockdown--

Before Jisung could will his mouth to move again, the detective broke into his signature wide grin, clapping the younger boy on the back. “The look on your face, mate—you look like you’ve just murdered someone and can’t figure out where to bury the body. Loosen up.” Chan was laughing, and Jisung finally unfroze, a wave of relief making his entire body go weak. Chan held out a cup of something with a dollop of cream on top, motioning for Jisung to take it. It was warm in Jisung’s hands, and when he sipped it shakily, the thick, sweet taste of caramel flooded onto his tongue. “What’s this?”

Chan clicked his tongue, shaking his head at the cold cup of coffee Jisung had left untouched. “Caramel frappe. Since when have you drunk coffee? You’ve always had a bigger sweet tooth than most little kids.” Coming from anyone else, the words might have sounded condescending, but the detective’s tone was warm and fond — almost fatherlike. He took a swig of Jisung’s bitter drink instead, studying the younger’s expression with a look of concern. “What’s bothering you?”

Jisung’s mind raced. What was bothering him? Why did his head pound, his chest feel unbearably tight; why did he feel so...sad? 

He glanced at Chan, whose eyebrows were still raised slightly, eyes blinking in confusion.

Why did everyone look at him like that? Like he was a puzzle they could never figure out, no matter how hard they tried.

“Ah, that look. I know.” Chan broke the long silence right before it got stifling, snapping his fingers with the comical flourish of a character in a sitcom. “It’s written all over you face.” He leaned in closer to Jisung, dark eyes glittering with mischief. “Which pretty girl stole Han Jisung’s heart, hm? Go on, tell Detective Bang—he’s seen them all. A cute freshman? Or another hot health sci major?” When Jisung only gave a halfhearted smile, Chan’s teasing expression softened. “Ah,” he breathed, leaning back and nodding sagely. “Y/N?”

Jisung turned away, wincing. The sound of your name made his ears ring. He felt the detective chuckle and sit down next to him, warm eyes studying the younger boy worriedly. “Relationship problems?”

“No, it’s--it’s a me problem,” Jisung mumbled, fingers anxiously tapping the frappe cup. “I keep having these headaches, and I just—I don’t know. I’ve never felt like this before.”

Pushing the coffee aside and humming in thought, Chan asked gently, “Felt like what?”

Jisung gestured vaguely before giving up and propping his head up with both hands. “Like—like I’ve become someone else? Every time I see her, my mind goes...blank. When she smiles, when she talks, I get all nervous, and whenever I’m with her, I—” he caught himself, the words ringing in his head. Whenever I’m with her, I start to remember everything. “Just—I don’t know, Chan.”

Chan gave a low whistle. “That’s love, mate.” He chuckled. “You’re serious about this one, aren’t you?”

“I don’t deserve her.” The words came tumbling from Jisung’s lips before he could stop them, and he cursed himself silently. “She could do so much better, I’m not--”

“Everyone deserves to be loved,” Chan interrupted slowly, and his sudden, soft tone made Jisung turn to look at him in surprise. The detective’s eyes were slightly narrowed, focused on the younger boy’s face. He looked like was examining a case file, Jisung realised — as if Chan had already sensed that there was something deeper, beyond what Jisung was telling him. Still, something in his expression remained unmistakably brotherlike; there was something about Chan that always seemed so comforting: his crinkling, droopy eyes, maybe, or the unfailingly kind smile on his lips.

If Chan noticed Jisung’s sudden loss of words, the detective didn’t mention it. “Everyone deserves to be loved, and you’re no different. There isn’t much that’ll change that — not a few mistakes, not a few imperfections…” Chan paused, as if thinking, then added, “And not a few of Hwang Hyunjin’s comments. You’re a good kid, Han Jisung, even if you don’t believe it yourself.”

Jisung looked away, a painful lump in his throat. Something ached in his chest, like an old wound left to fester — too familiar, too dangerous. “How do you know that?” He asked in a small voice.

He saw Chan smile faintly out of the corner of his eye. “Intuition?” The detective laughed. “I’ve known you since high school, ‘sung. You don’t open up a lot, granted — but deep down, you’ve got a good heart. Y/N’s lucky to have you, and you’re lucky to have her. So why this, all of a sudden?”

Before Jisung could reply, something caught his eye. On the other side of the window, a stone’s throw down the street, was a woman and her young son. The mother’s face was alight with amusement, the toddler teetering a few steps before his father swept him up into his arms. The little boy shrieked with laughter — laughter that Jisung couldn’t hear from the other side of the glass — as his father lifted him onto his shoulders.

“What’s wrong?” Chan’s eyes followed his gaze. The boy’s hands were held above his head triumphantly, like a king on his trusty steed, his father holding onto his legs firmly. Jisung slowly shook his head, staring after them. Something unpleasant burned in his chest — like poison, or a lost memory.

“They...look happy.”

The words seemed to hang in the air. Chan looked at him sideways for a long moment before he finally said, “You and Minho...grew up in the children’s home, right?”

Jisung gave a small nod. Around them, the shop was abuzz with the conversations of customers and the bustle of baristas making drinks, but it all sounded as if he were underwater—slipping further and further away with every tick of the clock on the wall. A sudden nudge to his shoulder made him jolt, and he looked up to see Chan grinning again, arms held open. 

“Hey, now, no more moping. Here—how’s about I pick you up?”

Jisung’s mouth dropped open and the blond detective burst out laughing. Jisung felt his own smile tug involuntarily at his lips, the tension in his chest lightening slightly. 

“Tell you what,” Chan continued, his tone serious but his eyes sparkling with playfulness, “I might not be able to carry you on my shoulders, but I have been told that I give some sick piggyback rides.”

As if on cue, the cafe’s doors swung open, a familiar man in black police gear making his way towards the counter. “Woojin!” Chan called out, waving him over. “Ah—Woojin can definitely pick you up,” he told Jisung, “he’s got more gains than me, I’m afraid. Police Captain Kim Woojin!”

A couple of heads turned in their direction and the older man shot Chan a look. “I didn’t expect to see you here. What are you two up to?”

Chan cleared his throat. “I have important orders for you. Captain Kim Woojin, would you please carry Jisung on your shoulders?”

Jisung opened his mouth to protest, expecting the stoic police chief to sigh deeply and walk back to the counter. Instead, Woojin’s questioning eyes flickered outside the window, where the toddler was still clinging to his father—and the next thing Jisung knew, the police chief’s arms hoisted him up onto his own back. Yelping, Jisung immediately tensed and flailed his arms before clinging onto Woojin for dear life. The police chief was laughing, he realised with a jolt— and Chan, too. Jisung felt his own incredulous smile form on his face, a tentative laugh breaking the tension in his chest. Woojin had always seemed like Chan’s polar opposite— stern and austere, what with his leading the police force with an iron grip— but in this moment, he looked younger, more boyish. Jisung could see how they had become such good friends in the first place.

Woojin carefully let Jisung slide down from his shoulders and back onto the ground, turning around to place a hand on the younger’s shoulder. As his warm, concerned eyes flickered across his face, Jisung felt a bittersweet feeling flare across his chest. “You okay, kid?” 

He brought himself to nod, the smile feeling stiffer than a mask on his face. “Th-thanks. I’ve got to get going— my next class starts in twenty.” He felt both their eyes on him as he swung his bag over his shoulder, Woojin nodding before migrating back to the counter to order his coffee. Jisung waved at Chan, throwing on the most convincing smile he could muster, but just as he turned and pushed the cafe doors open, he felt the detective’s hand clasping his shoulder.

With a pounding heartbeat that had leapt to his throat, Jisung turned to face Chan, the detective’s eyes darkened and serious. After a long moment, Chan finally said softly, “You know I’m here for you, right, ‘sung? Anything bothering you at all, you talk to me or Woojin anytime. We’re still high school friends before detectives or police.”

Stunned, Jisung could only give a jerking nod again before stumbling out of the cafe doors, breaking into a brisk walk. He could feel the detective’s eyes boring into his back before he turned the corner, fingers shaking. What was it about Bang Chan, or even Kim Woojin, that made his chest ache? The warm, genuinely concerned eyes, the firm yet gentle words — it was almost fatherlike.

Well.

Was that what fathers were like? Jisung wasn’t too sure. 

He wouldn’t know; his father had never been like that.

Jisung’s fingers reached into his back pocket, fishing for his phone—and frowned when he found them both empty. Patting all his pockets frantically, his head spun, trying to remember where he could have left it— the cafe? A class?— before it dawned on him.

He’d left his phone on your couch.

Cursing, Jisung paced back and forth—he had gotten up and left so suddenly; he could still imagine your hurt and confused face behind his eyelids. Still, it had been a couple of hours— nearing dinnertime. He nodded slowly— you wouldn’t suspect a thing. He’d apologize and leave, and both of you would pretend that this morning had never happened. Everything would go back to normal.

Right?

Feeling uneasy, he turned on his heel and headed for your apartment.

────────

Your fingers hovered above your phone the same way they had on your first blind date, although your heart was pounding for an entirely different reason now. 

Why? Had been the first word you’d managed to punch out, before shaking your head and frantically deleting it. 

Who are you? Had been the second, which you had erased just as promptly. Now, the white screen was burning into your eyes, your head spinning with questions but your fingers unable to form the right ones.

Taking a shaky breath, you carefully typed a third message.

You: You forgot your phone at my place, so I returned it to your dorm. When you see this, please call me. I|

You felt a wave of hysteria bubble in your throat and you shoved it back down.

You: I need to talk to you about something.

Send.

Stay calm. Stay calm. The ground seemed to be shifting beneath you, threatening to cave in at any moment now—from the therapy session to Jisung’s dorms, from the record shop all the way to the rooftop of the hospital. The moment you had slammed the door to Minho’s office, your legs hadn’t stopped propelling you far, far away from the hospital building. Only when you were back in your apartment again did they finally give way and you hit the ground, back sliding against your front door as you buried your face in your hands.

You were going to stay calm. There were so many possibilities—that’s right, you had always been taught that there were variables to every case study, different perspectives and hidden circumstances—you couldn’t immediately assume the worst, right? Your mind babbled on and on—Jeongin, Minho, murderer, murderers—until you felt like banging your head against the wall just to make the torrent of thoughts stop. 

The curtains were drawn, casting grey shadows over your entire apartment. You were still gripping Jeongin’s cassette tape—the tape with his voice on it—in your hand. You were about to conjure up the strength to drag yourself into the living room and attempt to clear your thoughts when the doorbell rang, the sudden, high-pitched sound piercing through your chest like a gunshot. For a moment you stayed rooted in place, head stiffly turning to face the door.

Standing shakily, your fingers slipped around the doorknob. They fumbled for several moments before you finally managed to pull the door open, and you nearly slammed it back shut when you found yourself face-to-face with Han Jisung.

“Hey,” he said, voice as soft as it had ever been, smooth and sweet as honey. Your fingers tightened their grip around the doorknob, but a small breath betrayed your lips, the smallest sigh of relief. A part of you still clinging onto the possibility that this wasn’t happening, that something, somewhere along the way had been misunderstood, and that was what kept you from tearing your eyes away from his face, from pushing him away and locking the door.

“You...did you get my text?” Your voice cracked slightly, raw from disuse, and you quickly cleared your throat. Jisung blinked at you, puzzled.

“I...no, I don’t have my phone. I thought I’d left it here, but I—I guess I probably left it in class—”

“You did leave it here,” you interrupted, and Jisung, who had begun turning to leave, jerked his head back. “You left it, and I returned it to your dorm.”

His face grew unfathomable, like a cloud passing over a sunny pasture, darkened eyes studying your face. “Thank...you,” he finally managed. One of his hands raised slightly, as if meaning to touch the side of your face, but stopped when you flinched away. “I—I’ll get going, then, I...” He trailed off suddenly, eyes falling on the tapes you were holding.

You could feel your fingers trembling violently and clenched them, the plastic grooves in the tape digging into your palms, and you forced yourself to lift your gaze to Jisung’s face. Voice barely above a whisper, you asked, “What were you doing that night?”

He didn’t need to ask what night you were talking about. Instead, his dark eyes were cast to the floorboards as he replied without missing a beat, “I was in my dorm, studying for finals.”

Your heart twisted as if someone had plunged a knife into your chest. For what seemed like an eternity, all you could hear was your own short, ragged breathing and heartbeat thudding in your ears, louder and louder and infinitely louder until the words that had been clawing away in your throat and what was left of your composure finally burst. 

“Then why—” you tried to steady yourself, but your breath caught in your throat, all rational thought, all previous reason disintegrating, the world as you knew it crashing to pieces at your feet. The words were tumbling from your mouth now, like beads falling from a snapped necklace. “Why is your voice on Jeongin’s tape? Why is there blood on the shirt you were wearing yesterday, why did you lie about your limp, why are your hands always bruised or cut and w-why do you always smell like smoke a-and g-gasoline—”

Jisung took a step forward, hands outstretched again—it was almost like it was instinctive, as if his first impulse was to pull you into his arms, to wipe the hot tears that had begun welling in your eyes and threatening to spill onto your cheeks—but you took two staggering steps back in response, shaking your head frantically. 

“Minho t-told me,” you choked out, “Minho—he wouldn’t tell me much, but Han Jisung—” the sound of his name made Jisung flinch, jaw clenching. “I wanted so badly to believe that it was all a mistake, that none of it was real—but you k-k—” The ugly word caught in your throat like a bitter pill, and with a wince you spat it out. “You killed that man, didn’t you?”

Dead silence fell between you, the weight of your words quickly turning sour. Jisung’s eyes were still boring into the floorboards beneath your feet, pupils bottomless black pools. Your own gaze darted wildly, small details jumping out at you— his fists shaking, knuckles bruised and white; he was biting into his lip so hard a drop of scarlet blood was staining his teeth. All your worst suspicions, the thoughts that had been whispering at the back of your head all this time were burning in your throat like bile—bitter like venom, demanding to be thrown up before it ate away at you from the inside.

“The crime scene, the morgue, the park—and yesterday, the lockdown—this entire time, it was you? Answer me, Jisung —” You tried to grab his arm, to make him face you—but you had no strength left in your hands, your fingers feebly grasping at his jacket instead. “How much of what you said was real? What part of us was ever real?”

The words had barely left your mouth before Jisung’s eyes suddenly shot up to meet your gaze. Through your blurry veil of tears and the dizzying haze of hysteria you had worked up, you didn’t even register him leaning in until you felt his cool hand clasping over your trembling ones, until Jisung closed the infinite distance between the two of you and pressed his lips to yours. 

For a fleeting second you felt your heart stop and you stiffened, his touch sending electric currents searing through your skin—but you couldn’t move away, no, this time, you didn’t want to move away. Because Jisung wasn’t kissing you to shut you up, to hurt you—he was kissing you with a softness that brought tears to your eyes. He was kissing you like it was the last thing he would ever feel, a dangerous balance between intensity and a genuine sincerity and the only thing you knew for sure was that it felt so, so right. With every touch, there was an unspoken promise, a reassurance; a silent you can tell me to stop, you can push me away, you can tell me to go, and that was what made you pull him in closer, your shaking fingers tangling in his hair as one of Jisung’s hands gently cupped your face while the other found your waist—before a bittersweet feeling suddenly tore through your chest and you pushed him away. It was like you had ripped yourself awake from a dream, the taste of Jisung and something faintly sweet—caramel?—still lingering on your lips. Your eyes stung, and when you looked up at Jisung you saw that his cheeks were shining with tears—his, or your own, you weren’t quite sure anymore. 

“I can show you what happened,” he breathed, eyes clouded and voice flat. “I have—a camcorder, there are memory cards, I can—”

“I don’t want you to show me,” you interrupted, surprising yourself with how steady your voice sounded. Raw and scratchy and high-pitched, yes, but steady nonetheless. “I want you to tell me. I want to hear it from you, in your own words, Jisung.”

He stared at you for a long moment before his gaze drifted behind you. The living room. “Come in,” you said softly, and lead him over to the sofa. Knees feeling weak, you collapsed onto the seat, Jisung sinking into the couch across from you. The peach roses he had brought you on your first date sat between the two of you, their petals withered and sunken. You tore your gaze from their drooping heads, fixing it instead on the boy in front of you. Hours ago, you remembered with a detached pang, this had been a therapy session, with Jisung avoiding your eyes, and your notebook in your lap. Now, you were empty handed—you had set Jeongin’s cassettes on the table—but Jisung was still looking away.

You heard him draw a shuddering breath before his dark eyes locked on yours, and it was as if something had shattered behind them — the last wall he had built around himself, or simply a fragment of his heart—and words finally freefell from his lips.

[anextraordinarymuse]

Any final thoughts you'd like to share before the big season finale on Sunday?

Oh certainly, my darling anon ... I always have thoughts. Thank you for asking  =)

Now that we are at the end of it I can say that I didn’t hate season 8 - but I didn’t truly enjoy it either. I have an anxiety disorder, and let me tell you what: this season gave me anxiety more often than not. Like full on, racing heart, couldn’t sleep, anxiety. When I started watching this show years ago one of my favorite things about it was how easy it was to watch. You knew that everything would end too perfectly and that it was kinda cheesy because of that, but that’s what made it so enjoyable for me. It didn’t upset me like other tv shows, it wasn’t frustrating or grim or dark or edgy ... it was peaceful.

This season wasn’t like that for me. I know why they went the route they did, and I appreciate it from a storytelling standpoint. They went a direction that this show doesn’t often go: they humanized Elizabeth and explored sides of her we don’t really see; they stretched and tested Rosemary and Elizabeth’s friendship; they gave us a real and wonderfully portrayed snapshot of what it was like to be a child caught in the middle of adult decisions (Allie). But it was honestly hard to watch. I don’t know why it triggered my anxiety so badly, but that’s anxiety for you.

BUT! There were so many things about this season that I love. Now, I have loved Nathan Grant since the moment he was introduced. But this season did amazing things for his growth and character. For me, Nathan and Allie owned this season. Getting to explore their relationship more and learn more about both of them was an absolute gift. Watching them love and support one another unconditionally through their struggles was ... well, it was my favorite. This was one of my favorite moments of the season:

There is nothing I don’t love about this, but there’s a soft spot in my heart for the way he just tosses his hat away to catch Allie. I am so glad that they gave Nathan and Allie each other, and I truly think the show is better off with them.

Now, I know some people didn’t care for it, but another thing I am so glad they gave us was the tension and unhappiness between Allie and Elizabeth. That was such an important angle to show, because Nathan and Elizabeth aren’t the only ones that were affected by their relationship struggles. I mentioned before that Elizabeth overstepped her bounds as just Allie’s teacher long ago, and they really showed that this season. She hasn’t been just a teacher to that little girl for a long time now: she is the only maternal figure that Allie has, and for Allie to suddenly lose that for reasons that she doesn’t understand ... that’s going to be hard. And Allie isn’t just any kid: she’s a kid whose mother died and father abandoned her, so for Elizabeth to just suddenly back out of the role she’d been filling for a year or two at that point must have been mildly traumatizing. As we (kind of) saw, Allie had no idea what happened or why Elizabeth made the choices she did: it just seemed like she suddenly didn’t care about them, and that triggered Allie’s fear of abandonment. They showed us that several times throughout this season with Allie’s fear that Nathan would go to jail and be taken from her, and her request for Nathan to just promise that he would never leave her at the adoption ceremony. I also loved that they had Nathan tell Elizabeth outright that Allie was the reason that he wasn’t being more demonstrative in his love for her - because doing so would be harder on Allie, and Nathan cares for that little girl more than he does his own happiness. Plus, it was cathartic to see someone get to be upset with Elizabeth since both Lucas and Nathan were so patient and understanding all season.

I’ll admit that at first I was not thrilled about what the Fort Clay secret turned out to be. After seeing what they did with that storyline though, and knowing that Erin and Kevin were the ones that pushed so hard to explore it, I have to say that it turned out really well. I like what they did with it, and I do think that it did great things for Nathan’s character. It could have done the opposite if it had been handled differently, so I’m glad that they explored it the way they did. I also think it was an interesting way to explain Nathan’s awkwardness and hesitation from earlier seasons (although I never minded his awkwardness because I thought it was kind of cute and endearing). It’s been fun though to see Nathan shed that uncertainty this season and show us how steadfast and determined he is - I enjoy the push and pull of those two sides of him. 

Something else that I have totally loved seeing is the flip flop of Nathan and Elizabeth’s personalities. Well, maybe flip-flop isn’t the right description. What I mean is, in season 7 Elizabeth is the certain one, the one who does all of the pursuing (as I’ve outlined in a previous post) and Nathan is the one who struggles to meet her where she is despite how clearly he wants to; in season 8 we’ve seen the exact opposite. Nathan is the certain one and while I won’t say that he’s been pursuing her, exactly, he hasn’t not been pursuing her either. This is one of the things that I enjoy the most about their relationship (and one of the things that assures me that they are endgame): this is how the best relationships really are. You and your partner support one another no matter how difficult that is, or how difficult they make it. When your partner is unsure, you reassure them; when they are afraid you help them face that fear when they’re ready, or protect them as necessary; when they feel like giving up you give them the strength to carry on. In season 7 we saw Nathan trying to pull away from Elizabeth and put distance between them, and Elizabeth was having none of that. She pushed him, and called him out, and argued with him; in season 8 Elizabeth put a whole ass other person between her and Nathan, and Nathan still isn’t having it. He has pushed her, and called her out, and argued with her. 

This is how we know that Nathan and Elizabeth are the real deal, and that theirs is the great love story. This is what real love is: two people who should give up on one another - who have very understandable reasons for doing so - and just keep choosing not to. I know that all of the romances want us to think that true love is big gestures and fancy words and over the top things, and sometimes it is - but that’s not what makes it last. Just like Lucas and Lee said, love is an act of will; a choice. The emotion will only carry you so far. At some point, it becomes less about what you feel and more about what you choose. The best relationships, the ones that last, have both: choice and emotion. 

And that’s finally where we’ve found Elizabeth: at that intersection of choice and emotion. The emotion has been there for a long time, but she has spent the whole season unable or unwilling to make the choice. It has been frustrating to watch, but it’s realistic and I do appreciate that they’ve explored that struggle even if I didn’t always enjoy watching it. 

And while the triangle has given me anxiety, I have never believed that Elizabeth would choose anyone but Nathan. I own the seasons on Amazon Prime, and any time I re-watch anything from seasons 6 or 7 it is always unfailingly clear what story they were telling. They capitalized on the triangle because it gave them the ratings they wanted, which is ultimately a good thing because it means that we’ll get another season - a season full of Nathan and Elizabeth navigating life as a couple. Finally. And no matter how exhausting it was to live through season 8, the reward is that we’ll get to see them doing just that, and I am so excited for that! Because look at this

I am STILL dying over this. Happy, playful, in love Nathan? Me and my ovaries cannot. 

So, while I do have some anxiety going into the finale it’s not because I doubt who Elizabeth will choose - it’s because I don’t know how they’ll make it all happen in just one hour, and I have high hopes for how it all plays out. 

But I am as certain now as I have always been that Elizabeth will choose Nathan. And I truly hope that we’ll get not only a season 9 but a season 10, because I think Nathan and Elizabeth have a lot of stories left to tell and I am 1000% invested in watching them.

So, I think the finale will be excellent, and I’m excited to watch it! 

[musette22]

Dancing Queens

Dancing Queens

Pairing: Chris Evans x Sebastian Stan (Evanstan)

Words: 3.3k

Rating: Teen and up

Warnings: Outsiders POV

A/N: So I was writing an Evanstan AU and then I got one of those pesky ideas and I wrote a different Evanstan fic in an afternoon. I don’t why my brain does what it does sometimes 🤷🏻‍♀️ Anyway, this is just something super self-indulgent and fun because I just LOVE to think of all the different ways in which Chris and Seb could’ve have gotten together (or could get together in the future), and also I love meddling friends and a tad of voyeurism. So yeah. Hope you enjoy this, and the Evanstan AU should be with you soon, too! ❤️❤️

Read on AO3

***********************************************

Twenty-two months.

It's been twenty-two months since Chris met Sebastian, and Sebastian met Chris, and the two of them fell arse over teakettle for each other. Since then, these absolute fools have been driving Hayley up the wall with their mooning, constantly making goo-goo eyes, laughing too loudly at each other’s jokes, desperately dating one pretty girl after another, only for things to fizzle out again and again because, obviously, their hearts aren’t in it. Their hearts, very clearly, belong to each other. Everyone with eyes can see that.

Well. Everyone with eyes, except for Chris and Sebastian themselves, it seems.

Tonight’s no different. The club where the wrap party for Captain America: The Winter Soldier is held is thrumming with life: people everywhere, some casually dressed, some in outfits that make Hayley, who’s not opposed to showing a bit of cleavage herself and who certainly isn’t religious, feel the urge to run to the nearest church to find a confessional booth. Lights are strobing, music is booming, liquor is flowing. Normally, Hayley would be dancing on a table at this point, or trying to get Sam Jackson to do an impromptu striptease, or doing belly shots off Hemsworth’s quite frankly spectacular abs.

Tonight, though, she’s on a mission. A mission seemingly impossible, but when Hayley sets her mind to something, she won’t rest until she succeeds. For a long time, she figured that Chris and Sebastian would simply sort themselves out at some point. No two people flirt that obviously and constantly with each other without it ever turning into either an awkward one night stand or a marriage. But clearly, neither of these things has occurred yet, or else these two pillocks would’ve stopped making such pathetic heart eyes at each other by now. It’s getting a little ridiculous.

Something needs to be done, and it seems Hayley is the one who needs to do it. Well, ultimately, it’s Chris and Sebastian who need to do it – do it lots and lots of times, preferably – but she’s accepted that she’s going to have to help them get there.

Right now, Chris – beer in hand – is telling Anthony some story that involves wildly waving his hands around and almost sloshing his beer all over himself, while Sebastian looks at him like he’s the greatest thing since sliced bread, laughing so hard he needs to hold on to Anthony for support. Truly, he couldn’t look any more smitten if he tried. Meanwhile, Anthony is looking between Chris and Sebastian with an expression of amused exasperation. Hayley feels for him. She’s been in his position plenty of times herself.

Right, then. To the rescue. Downing what’s left of her glass of red, Hayley puts the empty glass down on the nearest table and starts making her way through the throng towards where the guys are stationed.

“Hello, boys,” she greets them, doing a little twirl followed by a tah-dah gesture. “Missed me?”

She’s hailed enthusiastically, hugs all round and another twirl under Anthony’s raised right arm, before everyone starts clinking their drinks together again like inebriated people tend to do.

“Where’s your drink?” Chris shouts, louder than the volume of the music warrants, when he notices she’s not holding a glass for him to clink.

He’s clearly tipsy, if not a little drunk, all expansive gestures and slightly slurred words. Chris is always handsome and wonderful, but Hayley finds that he’s rarely as charming as when he’s had a bit to drink. The alcohol lowers his already low inhibitions further, rendering him even more affectionate and handsy than he usually is. Though he’d never be handsy in a pervy way. Mostly, Chris just wants to be close to people, preferably by enveloping them in a bear hug that will unfailingly last for longer than is strictly appropriate. The man loves to cuddle. That’s why it always pains Hayley to watch him struggle not to throw himself at Sebastian every time he gets a little tipsy. Somehow, despite the beer taking away almost all of his filter and sense of personal boundaries, he always retains a proper distance from Sebastian. At most, he lets their arms brush one too many times, or he reaches out to squeeze Sebastian’s shoulder when he laughs. But it’s not enough. It’s glaringly obvious how desperately Chris wants to be closer. He’s practically gagging for it, and it’s getting to the point where Hayley herself feels parched just from being around that much thirstiness.

Sebastian is only a little better. He’s more skilled at hiding his true emotions, better at pretending he likes Chris a normal amount, especially in professional settings. But more often than not, he does eventually slip up. He’ll giggle like a school boy with a crush at something Chris says, start to blush when Chris praises his acting skills, gaze at him adoringly when Chris is regaling everyone with some bonkers anecdote or other.

Quite frankly, it’s nothing short of a miracle that these boys haven’t figured out how they feel about each other yet, because Hayley’s sure pretty much everyone else has. It’s an open secret, if you will.

In response to his question, Hayley leans up to kiss Chris’s bearded cheek. “I don’t want a drink, I want to dance!”

Grabbing Chris’s free hand, she tugs him along behind her. “Come on, Christopher, show a girl what those hips can do.”

Mackie wolf whistles, taking the beer that Chris hastily hands him as he follows Hayley onto the dance floor.

Chris rises to the challenge as she knew he would. That boy has a competitive streak a mile wide – he reminds her of herself in that regard. It’s one reason why they would never work, even if they seem compatible at first glance. Way too similar.

Almost instantly, Chris’s hands drop to her waist, firmly settling on the curve of her hips while she starts to move them. They don’t go easy – that’s not the point of this, after all. Hayley winds her arms around Chris’s neck and presses herself up against him. Chris is a fantastic mover, even when he’s drunk, and dancing with him certainly isn’t a hardship. Still, Hayley can’t enjoy it the way she normally would, because her mind is elsewhere.

It’s a few meters to her right, in fact, where Sebastian, clad in dark skinny jeans and a white, v-neck shirt that’s almost see-through, is leaning against the wall. Watching them.

Oh god, the poor sod looks miserable already. He’s trying to hide it, of course, smiling through the pain, but the way he starts worrying his lower lip a few minutes in, averting his eyes only for them to dart back to their undulating hips, as if he’s compelled to make himself suffer… It’s clear as can be that Sebastian’s jealous to the point where he would probably quite like to strangle her, even if he also adores her.

Hayley dances with Chris a little while longer, just until the second song turns into the third, and then she figures she’s done enough. She pushes away from Chris, slapping him playfully on the chest.

“Good effort, my love,” she decides, before she cocks her head and adds, “But I think I’d like to dance with Sebastian, now. I’m keen to find out if I can tease out that pretty blush of his, what do you say?”

Chris’s eyes widen a fraction, but she doesn’t wait for a reply, instead turning on her heel and striding back towards Anthony and Sebastian.

“Alright, handsome,” she says, taking Sebastian by the hand. “You’re up.”

Sebastian splutters something about how he doesn’t really dance, but Hayley ignores him, pulling him along behind her. She knows Sebastian’s just sulking, because she’s seen him bust some serious (if not particularly graceful) moves over the years. He dances, alright. Granted, he isn’t as good of a dancer as Chris, but he’s light on his feet and he holds his booze better than Chris does.

Pressing in close immediately, she rests her hands on his biceps as his settle automatically on her waist. For a moment before she starts to move, she looks up at him, forcing him to look her in the eye.

“Hey, cheer up, grumpy cat.” She goes cross eyed. “Dance with me. Let’s show these Yanks how us European kids do it, eh?”

That gets Sebastian smiling again, that lovely, gorgeous smile of his that’s melting hearts all over the planet, if her friends who are more up to date on the latest celebrity gossip are to be believed. Hayley herself isn’t immune to it either, but while Sebastian certainly has his sassy side, deep down, he’s just too sweet for her. She’d bulldozer all over him, and they both know it. They’re much better as friends.

It’s fun, dancing with Sebastian, especially once he starts to really get into it. They make a striking pair, Hayley’s pretty sure. Two winsome brunettes, spinning and grinding on the dance floor, are sure to turn more than a few heads.

And sure enough, when Hayley darts a look over Sebastian’s shoulder towards the wall, Christopher Robert Evans is practically salivating. He’s staring at them so intently he’s nearly crushing his long-forgotten beer bottle between his hands, eyes so dark they almost seem black in the dim lighting. The seams of his too-tight, black t-shirt are straining with how tensely he's holding himself, and what’s more, Hayley is pretty sure things are beginning to stir inside those washed jeans of his.

She giggles, hiding her face in Sebastian’s neck.

“What’s so funny?” Sebastian sounds a bit bemused.

“Oh, just… men are stupid.”

“Hey,” he says, but there’s no heat behind it.

Hayley pulls back enough to look at him, placatingly patting his cheek. “It’s alright, love, at least you’re pretty.”

Predictably, Sebastian rolls his eyes in a poor attempt to hide the way the comment makes him blush. Good lord, the man has the biggest praise kink she’s ever seen in her life. Yet another reason why he and Chris are perfect for each other; Hayley’s pretty sure Chris would never shut up given the chance to praise Sebastian freely. Already, Chris can’t seem to help but call him sweet and talented and amazing every time he’s asked even the simplest question about his co-star.

Hayley deliberately steers them back towards the others a little, enough to make sure Chris can hear her when she calls out to him, “Oi, Christopher, do me a favour and come here for a second, will you?”

Chris starts, shaking himself out of his reverie. “What, me?”

“Yes, you.” Hayley clicks her fingers. “Come one, chop chop.”

Believing this to be his cue to leave, Sebastian lets go of her, trying to step back, but Hayley just grabs him tighter. “Oh no, I’m not done with you yet, pretty boy.”

“But-” Sebastian says, but Hayley shushes him with a finger to his lips.

“Sshhh. Trust me, okay?”

Sebastian’s eyes narrow slightly in confusion, but he doesn’t pull away. Hmm. Hayley always suspected he’d be good at following orders. She turns a bit, grabbing a handful of Chris’s shirt and pulling him closer, slotting him in behind her.

“Come on, boys,” she challenges, tilting her head up to look at each of them in turn. “Grant this old lady her dying wish of getting to dance with two handsome men at once, won’t you?”

“I’m a year older than you,” Chris protests – the big lug.

Hayley shrugs. “Yes, well, you know perfectly well a woman’s lifespan in Hollywood is significantly shorter than a man’s. Enough talking, now’s the time for dancing.”

She starts to move again, swaying her hips from side to side to the music and forcing them both to move with her. With her right hand, she feels behind her, finding Chris’s hand and placing it on her hip – where Sebastian’s hand is also resting. Their fingers touch, Sebastian’s left hand to Chris’s right, and Chris makes to pull away, but Hayley tightens her grip and doesn’t let him escape. Once it seems like Chris has stopped trying to resist, she switches to her left side to do the same thing, basically leaving the boys to hold hands on top of her hips.

“That’s it,” she nods approvingly. “Just follow my lead.”

Neither man says a word, both of them ostensibly focusing their attention on her, but in reality, Hayley is certain the only thing they’re aware of his how close to each other they’re dancing and where their hands are touching. She can feel the tension in both of them, feel their hearts beating fast where their chests are pressed to her back and front.  

They’re not exactly dancing now, more of a slow grind that Hayley is pretty sure some of the women in their vicinity are shooting her jealous looks for, but she doesn’t give a flying fuck. All Hayley cares about in that moment is her mission, of which the crucial stage is coming up right...

Now.

In a smooth, calculated move, Hayley twists out from between Chris and Sebastian, causing them to stumble and fall forward – right into each other.

“Oh,” Sebastian blurts, hands coming up to brace himself. On Chris’s chest.

They both freeze, eyes growing wide in surprise but unable to look away; the proverbial deer in the headlights.

Before they have a chance to snap out of their shock and do something undoubtedly stupid that will endanger her entire mission, Hayley quickly grabs their shoulders and gives them a firm squeeze, effectively pushing them closer together.

“Very good, just keep dancing now. Atta boy.” And with a final pat, she’s gone.

Of course, she doesn’t go far, just stepping back far enough so that she’s out of their space but still close enough to have a clear view of what happens next.

Sebastian’s hands are still on Chris’s chest, one on each defined pectoral, while Chris’s raised hands are hovering awkwardly at the level of Sebastian’s midriff. They’re not moving, but they’re not moving away either, which Hayley counts as a tentative win. Skittishly, Sebastian averts his eyes to stare at a point somewhere over Chris’s right shoulder, and it’s all very awkward, until eventually, Chris cautiously lowers his arms, resting his hands lightly on either side of Sebastian’s waist.

At the touch, Sebastian visible exhales, as if he’d been holding his breath this entire time. In turn, Chris’s shoulders relax infinitesimally once he realizes Sebastian isn’t shoving him off. One of them, she’s not sure who, slowly starts to move again; just the slightest movement from side to side, but it’s enough to make Hayley clap her hands together in glee.

Slowly but surely, Chris and Sebastian start to sway together, finding a rhythm and sticking to it, almost perfectly in sync. They don’t speak, clearly terrified to do something that will break the spell, and it’s so ridiculously cute that Hayley has to fight the urge to squee.

While Sebastian is still studying that elusive spot on the far wall, Chris is watching Sebastian, looking completely enraptured. God, he’s so in love, it’s almost painful to watch. Hayley prays this won’t fall apart at the last minute, because Chris would be absolutely devastated and go all kicked puppy on them and that would be too much even for her to handle. Finally, her prayers are answered. It takes a while for Sebastian to gather his courage, but then he turns his head a fraction, and meets Chris’s eyes.

Hayley could swear she can feel the electricity crackling between them, can almost hear the sound of those pieces finally clicking into place. It’s quite possibly the most satisfying thing she’s ever witnessed.

The air around them changes, slows down, becomes thick and charged as they look deeply into each other’s eyes. All the while, they’re still moving together, Chris’s hands now gripping Sebastian’s waist more firmly as Sebastian’s hands slowly slide around to clutch at Chris’s shoulders. Chris pulls Sebastian’s hips forwards, flush with his own, and Hayley sees how Sebastian’s fingers dig into the meat of Chris’s shoulders. When Chris leans in a hair’s breadth, Sebastian responds in kind until their foreheads are touching, their noses bumping together, breathing the same air.

Chris murmurs something Hayley can’t make out, probably some sort of endearment, and then he's moving in, eyes closing as their lips meet for the very first time.

Hayley doesn’t even try stop the sound of pure joy that escapes her. She punches the air, whirling on the spot and almost bumping into Anthony. Anthony, who is beaming, grinning from ear to ear.

“You did it!” he yells, holding up his hand for Hayley to high five, which she does with feeling.

“I fucking did it!” Elated, she throws her arms around Antony’s shoulders and lets him spin her around. “Wait, wait,” she says as she’s put back on her feet again. “I need to see the rest.”

She turns back to the dance floor, just in time to see Chris lift his right hand to the side of Sebastian’s face. His big palm cradles Sebastian’s jaw as his thumb swipes almost tenderly back and forth over his cheekbone. Both of them have closed their eyes and they’ve all but stopped moving, too caught up in the kiss to have any attention to spare for dancing. Hayley can’t blame them. They’re stunning, getting lost in each other after nearly two years of helpless pining. It’s a sight she doesn’t think she’ll forget any time soon.

As she’s watching, the kiss deepens. Someone opens their mouth, the other follows suit, and suddenly there’s tongues – tongues and slick lips, hungry mouths devouring each other as if they’ve been starving for years and are finally, finally being fed.

Chris has got a tight hold of Sebastian and doesn’t look like he’s planning on letting him go anytime soon, but fortunately, Sebastian doesn’t look like he minds. In fact, he’s slowly sliding his hands down Chris’s wide back, lower and lower until they find his ass and he squeezes. Hayley can almost hear the growl Chris lets out at that, the way his fingers tighten in Sebastian’s hair, making him gasp for air.  

“Whoa,” Anthony mutters next to her, “I feel like I’m seein’ some things I’m not supposed be seein’.”

Hayley’s never been a prude, far from it, but even she starts to feel a little voyeuristic. She hums. “Might be time for them to move it off the dance floor, at least.”

She wades into the crowd until she reaches the tangled mess of limbs formerly known as Chris and Sebastian, tapping them on the shoulder to try and get their attention.

“My darlings, I am ecstatic that you’ve finally come to your senses, but you might want to move this somewhere a little more private, eh?”

Neither Chris nor Sebastian really responds, which, kind of rude, but okay, she’ll let it slide just this once. Drawing the line at actually poking her nose into their business, Hayley starts to gently push at them until they finally get the hint.

“What’s – huh?” Chris finally lifts his head, giving her a dazed look.

“Just going to take you somewhere a little less public,” Hayley assures him. “See that corner over there? It has your names written all over it.”

“Fuck,” Sebastian mutters, blinking out of his trance. “Yeah, come on, quick.” He takes Chris’s hand, entwining their fingers, and starts to pull him towards the designated corner.

“Okay, then,” Hayley says brightly. “I guess my job here is done. Have fun, boys. Oh, and be safe, yeah?”

With that, she lets them go, fondly watching them stumble to their destination, where they immediately resume their lip locking. And hip locking. It takes approximately five seconds before Chris is sliding a hand down Sebastian’s thigh, lifting his leg so that he can slot their groins together more effectively and grind against him while enthusiastically continuing to suck face.

Reluctantly, Hayley turns around, smiling to herself.

Mission complete.

Now, where's Anthony? She rather thinks she owes him a dance.

Read on AO3

[cartoonfangirl1218]

Anniversary

Happy Birthday @pizza-n-sunshine! Its a day early here but over there, it’s your birthday! I hope you have a wonderful time with your family and friends and perhaps some Pan dulce while you’re at it. You’ve been such a wonderful friend, a leader almost as you created such beautiful fanfics that undoubtedly brought a smile to my face or occasionally pulled at my heart. You’ve helped host and edit one of the most rocking podcasts, and what’s more. You’ve been unfailingly kind, open hearted and sweet to everyone looking to squeal their hearts out over this wonderful show. An era may be over, but your magic within and your light will always shine so bright. Enjoy!  Elena took a deep breath and peeked from the corner of her eye. Mateo was sitting silently, crossed legged and breathing deeply to the sounds of Flo singing around the courtyard, sniffing the flowers and generally dancing with delight over the bright sunny day.

Or more likely Mateo was meditating in spite of Flo's cheerful singing. 

The fluffy alpacamundi was truly adorable and sweet, she had been a manifestation of all of Elena's happiness after all, but meditative and staying quiet were never one of her key traits. 

Speaking of manifesting Elena's happiness. 

She peeked out of the corner of her eye at Mateo's blissful face. It seemed he reached his peace. Elena felt the familiar flutter in her stomach even though she had been lucky enough to see his face every day for the past six years now. But she could never get enough of it. 

The crookedness of his lips when he felt a bit uncomfortable that made her heart go out to him, but as adorkably endearing. The soft brown curls that Elena loved running her fingers through, mussing it a bit, making him look untamed. Which reminded her of his eyes. 

His beautiful expressive hazel eyes and how his feelings shone out of them clear as the sun. The mischievous twinkle, the wicked glint at night, the tenderness....Ah the tenderness she loved. For even though she was a strong queen, she prided herself on the fact, she was able to let go around him, and for that she was grateful. 

He would never see it as a weakness or see her as less weak. He just held her, and she reveled in that affection. Yes, he was also a manifestation of happiness.

 Not that she created him. But he brought her happiness all the same. 

Which is why on this bright spring day, she was enjoying this morning by having a day off and meditating with him. Well that and one other reason. It happened to be their one year anniversary.

She hadn't been expecting a parade or a bouquet of flowers, she wasn't so high-maintenance, but a little something. 

She would have preferred a day with no work, no other people. Just her and Mateo curled up in some little concealed part of the garden, enjoying each other's company. And perhaps more. 

In fact, that had been what she expected when Mateo arrived at her door, asking her if she wanted to go out to the garden. 

When they got to the far corner of the garden with its apricot mallow flowers. It was a secluded spot, mainly because it seemed that there was not much to look at but the sparse hills. Which was true during the daytime, but at night, with its simple view, it made the sunset all the more stunning and vivid. In fact it reminded her a bit of Mateo. 

How people saw him as a somewhat shy and dorky wizard, even he saw himself as that, doubting his skills and abilities. But Elena just knew ever since he helped free her from her amulet that there was a spark, a royal master wizard in him that just needed to believe in himself. Seemingly plain at first glance, but at the right moment, he could take your breath away. 

So with all these clues, she waited for him to magic up a blanket, perhaps a picnic of her favorite pan dulce treats and enjoy their alone time.

Instead Mateo said that he had wanted to do some meditation outside since it was so nice out. He sat down, patted the spot next to her and closed her eyes. So she played along even attempting to do a downward dog while he was in a perfectly content butterfly pose. And it had been like this for the past 10 minutes. Either he was really good at holding out the surprise or he really didn't know what it was. 

Nothing new going on here, no smile or Happy anniversary.

Elena shook her head. What was wrong with her? This is what she wanted after all. Alone time with Mateo. Which was even more solitary now that Flo was gone, bored by their inaction.

But still...a little acknowledgement would have been nice. After all, for her the moment they gave into their feelings had been like an unexpected bolt of lightning, a feeling of shock after the Coronation ceremony. 

She had thought finally being crowned queen, surrounded by her family and friends, had been cathartic enough. But when she found the words to tell Mateo her intense feelings and Mateo return them in turn, a new catharsis came.   Everything fitting into place. A moment of completeness. 

She had somewhat realized her feelings months before. It had been during the first few days after Naomi's departure. She had felt lost without her best friend.

She always treasured the blonde's company, and she hadn't wanted to stand in the way of her dreams, but she hadn't been expecting such feelings of abandonment and loneliness. 

Mateo had seen her wandering the hallways, nostalgically looking at their picture together and did what he did best. He listened, he sympathesized, he gave her comfort like no one else could. There was something about that understanding look, the soft feel of his wool rub that made her feel safe, like everything would be okay in the end. There was no judgement, just love. Maybe that had been running undercurrent in her mind. 

For when Mateo reminded her that between the three of them, and Isabel's inventions, Avalor would be well-protected and he and Gabe might not be able to do girl-talk. they would take over the other best friend activities, something rang false. 

When he assured her that Naomi would come back to her true home after she sailed the seven seas, that this was no different than if it had been Gabe leaving on a guard search or Mateo travelling to find some new spells.

She didn't know what it was but the idea of Mateo leaving struck more deep than the sadness she felt at Naomi's departure. The thought of Mateo leaving for an indefinite amount of time, no idea when or if he would come back was like the ground opening up under her. Being stuck back in the amulet. Without Mateo by her side, she would lose her biggest source of comfort. Her biggest sharer of puns. He helped calm her, reminding her of her mother's song. Being with Mateo was like being with someone who was perfectly attuned with her feelings. They could share a look and know exactly what the other was thinking. He was more than a friend. He was... 

That's when it hit her. 

But she just smiled at Mateo and nodded, leaning into the crook of his neck, all the while trying to calm her fluttering heart and focus on jaquins and pan dulce in hopes of keeping the thoughts at bay. 

She had done a good job of it. Mateo had been so surprised when she admitted her feelings for him. But then after Naomi had left there had been many things to distract her. The coming darkness, her lying cousin, malvagos, planning Chloe's party, her own coronation coming up. 

She got swept up in the bustle of life and tried her best to ignore the feelings of warmth and happiness that Mateo's smile gave her. She had to wait. She had to wait till she was ready. 

That came after the day after Coronation. 

She had been more than ready to start the day. Even though it wasn't royal queen behavior, she had run down the hall, as eager as she had at 16. And she ran right into Mateo. 

He had smiled and teased her, "Someone's excited to do paperwork." They had held each other's arms a bit too long. They laughed and had looked longer into each other's eyes than a best friend should.

And she plunged, "Mateo, how are... I mean.. I'm gad we danced. But I had really wanted to have that first dance with you." He blushed and sheepishly rubbed his neck, "It;s fine. Francisco has been there for you for so long.." 

“Yes, but you have been with me too." Elena interrupted, feeling that she had to blurt everything now even if her tongue was slower than the words speeding in her head, "No matter what. And.. I will be there for you no matter what too." "Of course, Elena, I never doubted that." 

“And I love you. I think I really love you." 

The emotions across Mateo's face were brief yet distinct. Confusion, disbelief, shock, happiness. His voice wavered because despite his gleeful face, he still couldn't believe his ears, "You do?" 

 “Yes." Elena inhaled, feeling the weight, the nervous flutter dissipated even if he might reject her. 

Though she doubted it from his glowing features.  "I-I do too." Mateo whispered, still unsure so much like the young wizard she had encouraged to find the magic within than the confident man he was now. 

They smiled, Elena felt like her face would split wide open. Mateo smiled at her and it made her smile more which made him smile that sweet crooked smile.

They kissed, starting a bit hesitant, a bit awkward, but then their lips touched and once more completeness enveloped her. That and warmth and fireworks. It was a world unto her own and she was floating in his arms. 

Her mind was at once blank, only feeling Mateo's touch and spinning with questions in a freefall. She also felt a sense of imbalance at Mateo's admittance. When she realized her feelings she hadn't been sure that Mateo liked her in that way. 

He had said they were friends, kept assuring he would always be there for her, that's what friends did. But to realize that Mateo had been hiding feelings too.

She wondered when it started. She had her answers soon enough after they stopped kissing. Embarrassingly caught by Senora Torrez and Flo's knowing smiles. 

They talked long into the night after a busy day of work that she hadn't been able to concentrate as she should have. She had been embarrassed to find out that Mateo realized his feelings long before her and that she had remained perfectly oblivious. Mateo told her that it was fine, she had more important things going on then and he had thought she wouldn't feel the same way for a simple wizard like him. 

She reminded him that he was not a simple wizard, he was so much more than that and she believed he was capable of great things. They talked about the depths of their feelings, how they had always felt a connection. Elena even mentioned how it transcended dreams like her nightmare universe where Esteban reigned. 

No matter what was more than a saying between then. It was an oath, a promise they'd never break. They'd always be there for each other. 

The slight annoyance that Mateo was not remembering what day it was faded away at the thought of their saying. 

“Stop it, Elena" she scolded herself, "He has a lot of other things on his mind.” With teaching Olivia and his other apprentices, and advising Gabe's magic squadron, and helping rebuild alliances and dealing with complaints. He must need this meditation time in order to relax. 

She certainly knew he needed sleep from staying up all night perfecting spells and preparing potions, his mind constantly racing to find more knowledge. Though she must admit she found the result of his lack of sleep- his spontaneous cat naps around the palace- adorable. 

Not everything is going to be focused on their relationship. He was going to get distracted and forget once and a while. That didn't matter. She knew he loves her. She glanced at Mateo again, he looked so peaceful. A small smile on his lips, his head bowed in concentration. 

How times have changed. 

She never thought once she became queen that everything would be fine. There were still minor attacks from villagers awakening a sleeping magical creature mixed with the more mundane, and politically-tricky kingdom negotiations. 

But it was nowhere near the life or death battles against shades and malvagos, and battling her own intense emotions reflected through her magic powers. She was confident now, she knew how to rule and balance her own feelings with the greater picture for the good of the kingdom. 

It was certainly a different time from when she was first released from her amulet. She chuckled at how impatient and overconfident she had been, with no clue of how much she was about to learn and experience.

Oh and now she, the Queen of Avalor, was the girlfriend of the Master Royal wizard. 

Mateo was her soul mate. A boy with many talents, but the biggest one was his heart and bravery despite all that he had been through. 

He had grown the most over the years they've together from studying in the darkness of the basement, hiding his chispa from Shuriki's forces to facing his own insecurities to staring down the most dangerous malvagos the Everrealm had known. 

Elena shook her head. She was going to forget all that special anniversary nonsense. She was happy enough being with him, and seeing him happy.

She got up, and kissed the top of his head, 'I'm going to go tell Armando to bring some pan dulce for us. Yoga works up an appetite.

“Especially if it's Ixlan's extreme yoga." Mateo smiled. 

Elena laughed and stopped by the fountain seeing Flo splashing around with the birds. "Flo can you tell Armando to bring some pan dulces to the far end of the garden." 

"Oo pan dulce! Can I eat some!? Can I eat some?!" Flo pleaded. 

"Of course you can." Elena promised. "Yipee!" Flo called, racing off to find Armando. 

Elena walked back and saw Mateo frantically setting up a blanket as flower bouquets and garlands levitating in the air. 

“You remembered?" Elena gasped, running to hug Mateo from behind, causing the petals to fall down, petals spinning around them as they crashed. 

"Heh, I was hoping to surprise you, but you wouldn't close your eyes for meditation." Mateo said, his crooked smile bringing out his laugh lines, "I know you wanted to spend the day together but I thought I'd make it a little bit magical." He motioned to the formerly levitating objects and she giggled at his pun. 

“I love it!" Elena beamed, and kissed him, savoring the the taste of his lips, how he was almost hesitant at first, probably from surprise, but then it deepened, filled with longing as all her senses went on overdrive, intoxicated by the touch of Mateo, his taste, his warmth. Everything, it left her breathless. But she had one present to give him first before she forgot... 

"I got you something too," she frantically reached into her belt where she had clumsily tied her present next to her scepter but had hoped that he wouldn't have noticed. 

They had said they wouldn't get gifts but she had broken the promise anyway. Her gift was an old spellbook she had found in her father's office, now hers. King Raul had been close with Alacazar, very interested in magic works as much as science. The spellbook was Alacazar's when he had first been named royal wizard, scrawled with Alacazar's and Raul's personal notes, and she thought it would be fitting that Mateo should have it as the Master Royal Wizard.

 She added her own touch of putting the words, "Bravery,' "Discipline," "Courage," and "Love" in classical Maruvian thanks to Naomi's help.

"Wow!" Mateo inhaled, reverently gliding his hands on the smooth cover, "Thank you, Elena."

"I love you." "I love you too." Mateo replied and pulled her closer for another kiss. 

"Whatcha doing?" Flo sing-songed, leaping onto Elena's shoulder with a roguish smile, causing the two to reluctantly pull apart to see Armando's fluster face as he left a plate of pan dulce on the discarded blanket. 

“So shall we start the meditation again?" Elena teased, snuggling close to Mateo's side, popping a pan dulce in her mouth as Flo eagerly chowed down.

"Elena!" Mateo cried indignantly, "It's our anniversary, this isn't no ordinary day."

Elena laughed as she recalled her thoughts minutes ago, "What do you suggest?'

"I know the perfect way to clear our minds" Mateo smiled and leaned for another blissful kiss.

[celestialnocturnes]

a day in a woman’s life

trigger warning: sexual abuse

as if the vexing sound of the alarm clock separating you from the sweet peace of sleep wasn’t enough, you find yourself waking up to a disgusting pool of red stain on your bed. ah, the monthly visitor has come, you whisper disappointedly. the day’s off already off to a bad start and you can’t even get up because of your excruciating cramps.

you must have been used to battling with the monthly enemy that after a few seconds of struggle, you found yourself walking towards the bathroom now ready to start the day. as you undress yourself and stare at your reflection, your imperfections begin to make fun of you. those stretch marks, those hairy armpits, those belly fats, and oh god that obnoxious figure. times are different now. magazines tell you to embrace your flaws and love your body. say, was it supposed to be revolutionary? what if i don’t love my body, you ask? does that make me any less of a person, of a woman? the reflection doesn’t answer back. then again, they’re all just a bunch of hypocrites.

the bath seemed to freshen up your perspective, until you see that there’s only two pieces of sanitary napkin left on your drawer. make a mental note to stop by the convenience store to buy a pack, you said. it’s not much of an expense, but taking into consideration all the money you’ve spent for buying those sanitary napkins the moment you first bled until your menopause, that sums up to a lot. the government should follow scotland’s initiative of giving free period products to women, but hey what about the pink tax that contributes to their illicit profits? you scoff at the thought as you put on your underwear.

maybe i should switch to tampon? the thought enters your mind and maybe it is time to consider that. it’s funny, though. corporations would lecture us for minimizing our carbon footprints when they are bigger culprits than we are. oh well, that’s a complaint for another time.

the weather was scorching hot, so you opted for a light wear. the combination is as follows: shorts dark enough to mask possible leakages, a cropped top that boosted your confidence when you tried it on the cramped fitting room, and white sneakers that unfailingly match any outfit. if you were staying at home right now, your parents would definitely ridicule you for wearing that “slutty” outfit. good thing you’re staying on a dormitory, otherwise you’d hear your mom’s endless lectures on how the outside is brimming with lustful and dangerous men.

she wasn’t wrong, though.

as you were on your way to the jeepney terminal, men along the streets feasted on the sight of your legs. to shorten the agony, you quickened your pace and eventually turned it into a sprint. it was an exercise grounded on the wrong motivation, but at least you caught the jeep before it got full.

that ride wasn’t a safe haven, you realize.

it was the same thing again. oh what you would do to avoid their frightening gaze. i should’ve brought a shawl, or a jacket you said to yourself. but come on, it’s not sensible to bring those items on a weather like this. what do you expect, though? being a woman comes a seemingly infinite number of precautionary measures.

at last, you arrived on time for your class. your friend would gossip about her new crush and both of you would look at his pictures. he’s kind of cute. oh, when would you have a crush, you thought. good thing the prof arrived before you dwell on that pointless musing. it would be nice to see a charming face, though.

the day was going well so far, ignoring the occasional strikes of pain from your cramps. when classes are finally over, you join your friends who seem to be engrossed in a secret conversation. you ask them what was going on and the news terrified you. you’ve heard this sort of thing before, but it’s different when it occurs to someone you truly care about.

apparently, one of your friends has been harassed. she was keeping it for months and finally decided to speak up about it. he physically assaulted her and took advantage of her drunkenness. what’s even worse was that it was done by someone within the campus. the place that was supposed to hone safety for its stakeholders no longer felt like a safe zone. honestly, when will it ever get better?

you’re all curious about the sanction, but realistically speaking, will justice even be served? sooner or later, everyone will forget about this. he might be suspended, sure, but when he comes back, there’s no guarantee that things will magically turn alright. some would probably even dismiss what he’d done for flirting. girls are so overreacting they would say. it’s scary to think that things and comments like that are normal when they are so, so far from that.

heard about what happened. is there anything i can do? you text your friend. she replies that she’s okay and that she needs some time alone. understandable. you would do the same thing too if you were on her shoes.

to take your mind off that heart-crushing news, you decide to watch an episode of a popular sitcom, only to find a main character being “funny” for his countless sexist jokes and borderline creepy attempts to sleep with women. what a shallow take on personality.

you’re done for the day, what with your classes, your social interactions, that news, and your period being fully functional energy drainers. you take a quick dinner and go back to your dorm. once again, you ran as fast as you could the moment you got off the jeep. your mom would be happy to know that you got back to your dormitory on time, because it’s at nighttime when men outside get even worse. what a nightmare being the one to adjust for their indecency as persons.

just when you’re ready to change into comfortable clothes and study your lessons for tomorrow’s classes, you realize two things. you need to wash your stained underwear and bed sheet. plus, you forgot stopping by the convenience store. oh dear, so much for being a woman! 

-------

happy women’s history month to my fellow women out there! i can’t fathom the strength we hold, but it’s incredible to hold such power isn’t it? too bad we had to endure so many unnecessary things because of this society. i’ve wanted to write an entry on being a woman and inject some of my thoughts on it so i hope this does justice even though it seems like a full rant on having period. anw, let’s smash the patriarchy, one day at a time!

[batmanisagatewaydrug]

You mentioned before that Jason is Selina’s favorite bat child. Why is that and where do the others fall on the spectrum of being likable to Selina?

g o d thank you for this opportunity to revisit something that I didn’t get to do before my old blog got deleted.

(this is... not going to answer the second question, fyi. it might not even strictly answer the first one. but.)

the new Robin likes her. 

the new Robin, who looks so much like the old one that it nearly gave Selina a heart attack the first time she saw him. same mop of black hair, same scrap of a mask, same green pixie boots and bare legs that the night air had bedecked with goose bumps. little Dickie hasn’t looked like that in years, of course; she’s watched him grow up, practically a man now, in his own mind at least. she’s heard he’s in a new city, using a new name, leaving all this Robin stuff behind.

so who is this?

a new ward, the Bat says, and that’s all she’s going to get by way of explanation. it’s all she needs. the man wears hope poorly, like it doesn’t fit right and he’s ashamed of owning it in the first place, but she always notices when he does. he’s excited about this, wants so badly for it to work. he’s lonely; this isn’t news.

the new kid, whoever he is, he’s already taken a shine to her. whenever she bumps into the Dynamic Duo he seems genuinely happy to see her, calls her “ma’am” and “miss” and even “Miss Catwoman.” unfailingly polite, no matter the circumstances - “evening, ma’am” as he crashes through a skylight hot on her trail, “it’s cold tonight, isn’t it, miss?” as they huddle under the same gargoyle to keep out of the rain, “heya, Miss Catwoman” when she finds herself handcuffed in the Batmobile in the least fun way. 

she pokes around, biding her time, grabbing snippets of information where she can. Jason Todd, straight out of Crime Alley, acting like he was raised right when he most certainly wasn’t. it makes sense, doesn’t it? she knows kids like him, grew up around kids like him, was a kid like him growing up in Alleytown. scrappy, struggling, smart in a way that only leads to trouble.

she can see it, even from a distance, the conflict brewing across the months and years. no matter how happy he is to play the part and wear the mask, Jason is different than Dick and Bruce. no rich parents or cheerful circus folks to shelter this one; he has his own ideas about how the world is and what will work. he won’t be content to chase down the superstitious, cowardly lot, not forever. he wants change, something more permanent than sending people off to prisons that never seem to hold for more than a few months.  

it’s not his fault, but the boy has disaster looming over him. Selina’s not sure Bruce can see it, is even less sure he’d understand it. there are nights she checks in on her girls, the women working the dark street corners, and finds Jason is already there, swapping stories with the teenage prostitutes. he doesn’t look so much like Dick anymore; puberty has hit him hard and made him taller, wider, a brick shithouse of a boy compared to his acrobatic big brother. he still greets her with a cheery hey, Miss Kyle. just keeping an eye on things.

Bruce let him in on that little secret, and he’s been insufferable about it ever since. she isn’t mad, can’t be mad, when she knows he’s made a habit of this. keeping an eye on things means keeping an eye on men, making sure the girls are safe and getting paid fairly, distracting any of Gotham’s finest if they come knocking. she wonders if the Bat knows he’s here, how much Jason tells him, how accountable they are to each other. she knows so little about their interior lives, exactly enough to be worried.

and wouldn’t you know it - now he’s dead.

he’s dead, and Bruce is a mess, and Selina can’t figure out what happened, he was just alive, didn’t she just see him, he didn’t deserve this, just a boy, a good kid, a good kid no matter what anyone says. wasn’t he just telling her about his essay for his English class, about the symbolism of seasons in A Separate Peace? he was so excited about that paper; did he ever get to hand it in? before he died, before the Joker killed him, the Joker who’s been in and out of Arkham more times than anyone can count, the Joker who shot Batgirl earlier that very year, the Joker who sort of proves the point, doesn’t he? maybe Jason was right, maybe the Bat’s not doing enough.

but he keeps going like he always does; within a year there’s yet another Robin, and then another Batgirl, and a Spoiler too. must be crowded in the Batcave. 

all of Gotham’s getting smaller, it seems. there’s a new name, a new mask, a Red Hood. she hears snippets and whispers about him, something something, duffel bag full of heads, etc. the Bat’s already hunting him down, but Selina’s got her own sources, her own back alleys of information. he’s rough, this Red Hood, but she’s heard his ideas somewhere before. he’s not trying to topple Gotham’s drug trade, only control, keep it away from kids and schools. and the working girls say he’s never anything but courteous when they cross his path.

Selina finds him in exactly the kind of safe house Bruce would have taught him to set up, with the exception of the wall full of guns. mask discarded, face beaten bloody. whoever he was fighting tonight, they won. she doesn’t ask if it was the Bat or Nightwing or one of the new sidekicks; she doesn’t say anything at all until he does.

hey, Selina, he says, like he’s been expecting her all this time, and she wonders if she should have tried to track him down sooner. 

what happened to Miss Kyle? she asks, and he grins (split lip and a missing tooth; if Bruce did this she’s going to skin him). 

sorry, my bad. heya, Miss Kyle. he moves an inch, clutches at his ribs, hisses through the pain. how’ve you been?

they’re not allies, exactly. she’s not aiding and abetting anything; she’s not taking sides but when the chips are down she is, nominally, on Bruce’s. but she checks in on him sometimes, and never flinches when she comes home and finds him groaning on her couch. 

sorry, Selina, this was closer-

I understand, Jason. don’t touch any of my leftovers in the fridge, but the pantry is up for grabs. don’t get blood on my linens. try to be gone by morning.

I was never here.

and then somehow, impossible, he’s on speaking terms with the family again. more or less. usually. except when he does something, or Bruce does something, or they both do, and they’re too stubborn to do anything about it but start a fight and do some things they’ll both regret. she’s in too deep at this point to pretend that she’s not invested - ten years? eighty? hard to say, the way they blur, she sometimes wonders how accurately she’s remembering her own implausible life, but she’s certain that she loves Bruce. loves him but doesn’t have to like every part of him, lets him know exactly what she thinks about him feuding with his own children.

Jason still shows up on her couch sometimes. and she still hears about him from time to time, from a new wave of girls. Holly couldn’t stop talking about him the other day, said he helped her out when a prospective client turned mean and then walked her home, even split some Chinese takeout. Selina tries to thank him for it later and he shrugs it off, says he’s always happy to do Batman’s job for him. 

Selina doesn’t play favorites. she tries to keep to the edges of the latest Bat-nonsense, has enough of her own problems to be dealing with. but the old Robin likes her, and she likes him back. he needs a little more than all the others. 

[alphacrone]

for it’s better to burn out than to fade out of sight (3/?)

rating: T pairings: Yuki & Tohru (platonic), Tohru/Kyo, Yuki/Machi, other canon pairings & friendships summary: In the end, it wasn’t sadness Yuki felt, when Tohru Honda had her memories erased. No, it was anger. And anger he could work with.

<< read previous chapter || read next chapter >>

iii.  now my heart’s a frozen lake where streams used to flow

***

“Do you think wave-girl seduced him?” 

Yuki paused at the mention of Hanajima. They were barely more than acquaintances, but Yuki didn’t like the tone the girls in the classroom were using. He leaned back against the wall and continued to listen. 

“Ew, no way! But he seems close to that Honda girl…” 

They were talking about Tohru? Yuki’s blood began to boil. 

“How could someone so plain attract Prince Yuki like that! He deserves someone beautiful and utterly perfect .” 

“Seriously. Do you think she...you know...with him?” 

One of the girls gasped. “Don’t say something like that. The Prince wouldn’t do that with just anyone .” 

Under his blind anger at these girls’ insults of Tohru, Yuki wondered just how they could make such assumptions about him . How could they know what would attract him? How could they know he wasn’t hooking up with anyone willing? Who were they to assume his own thoughts and feelings? 

But...well, even if they didn’t have the right to think they knew him, how could they even begin to know him? Yuki was a creature of ice and snow, cold and hardened against the world. His heart was frozen solid, buried deep and far, far away from the light of day. He’d never let anyone close, really, only Hatsuharu on occasion.

And then, Tohru had appeared in his life. From the moment he’d found her in the woods, he knew what Prometheus felt gazing upon fire for the first time. Yuki wanted to steal this light for himself, keep her safe and far away from harm, but to be a Sohma was to be dangerous. It would be wise to leave her behind and retreat behind his walls, but Yuki was tired. He was tired of loneliness and tired of the cold, tired of watching the world pass by like a movie he couldn’t pause. 

And Tohru was bright, and Tohru was warm, and Tohru was so unfailingly kind and loving, it made Yuki’s heart ache. What would happen to his heart of ice in the face of these new flames in his chest? Would he extinguish her light? Or would he thaw?

Yuki was a creature of snow and ice; would there be anything left of him when he melted? 

***

Yuki wasn’t sure what he expected from Hanajima’s house when she invited him to study after school, but the normalcy of it did surprise him. He supposed it would be foolish to think she lived in some spooky, European mansion in the middle of the neighborhood, but against the backdrop of the average house she seemed more startling, like ink against a stark canvas.

“Hope you’re better at history than we are, Prince,” Uotani said, pushing hair from her face as they approached the front door. “I’m great at remembering formulas for math, but I can’t remember dates for shit.” 

“Uo’s a math genius!” Tohru called over her shoulder, bouncing a little. “She can do really complicated equations in her head!” 

“Eh, math’s just easy,” Uo said with a shrug. “Once you get how it works. Remembering dates and names for things that happened before I was born is confusing.” 

Tohru blushed, but didn’t seem too embarrassed when she said, “I think it’s all confusing. But I like learning about the past. So many people have lived so many lives, it’s really interesting.” 

Hanajima opened the front door and softly called, “I’m home.” The other girls parrotted her, and all three kicked off their shoes with a familiar ease. Yuki knelt down to remove his own as an older woman replied, “Welcome home!” 

Uotani cast a grin at Tohru. “Well, if I’m a math genius, Tohru’s a home ec genius. Our girl can cook and sew like nobody’s business.” 

“I kno-” Yuki caught himself before he could reveal he had, in fact, spent a few weeks eating Tohru’s cooking for every meal. “I see.” 

“O-oh, it’s nothing,” Tohru sputtered, waving her hands around. Hanajima and Uo led them upstairs to Hanajima’s room, both smirking at Tohru as her face grew pink. “Cooking isn’t anything special like math.” 

“I think it’s really special,” Yuki said honestly, readjusting his grip on his school bag. “I’m awful at cooking and cleaning. Most of my meals are take-out.” Of the three men in the house, only Kyo could cook, and he adamantly refused to cook for anyone but himself. After Shigure’s last attempt at cooking, he and Yuki had gone back to take-out and microwaveable meals. 

Hanajima’s room was much like the rest of her house—unnervingly normal—but at least here there were touches of her darkness. The dark bedspread and curtains at least hinted at the macabre aesthetic of Kaibara High’s resident witch. 

“O-oh, really?” Tohru said, sitting down at the small table across from the bed. “I’m sure you’re not awful.” 

“Oh, no, I am,” Yuki laughed, sitting down next to her. “I burn everything.” 

“Well, look at that,” Uotani teased, flopping down on Tohru’s other side. “Prince Yuki has a fault . Alert the fangirls, they’ll lose their shit.” 

“All men are fallible,” Hanajima said evenly, dark eyes boring into Yuki. “To be perfect is to be inhuman.” 

Yuki swallowed roughly. “I’m not sure what you’re talking about, but I guarantee I am incredibly fallible.” 

With a snort, Uotani pulled out her notebook and reached around Tohru’s to softly smack Yuki with it. “We’re just giving you a hard time, Yun-Yun.” 

“Yun-Yun?” Nobody called him that, except for Kagura when she wanted something. 

“Uh, yeah,” Uotani said with a shrug. “I bet that’s what Kyoko would’ve called you.” 

“Who?” 

“Kyoko,” Hanajima said softly. “Tohru’s mom.” 

“Oh.” There was a thick pause. Technically, everyone knew now that Torhu was an orphan, but Yuki wasn’t sure how many people knew how recently her mother had died. “Was she...a fan of giving people nicknames?” 

All three girls smiled. “Yes, she was,” Tohru said fondly. “She’s why Uo and Hana go by Uo and Hana.”

“And she would absolutely love to tease you,” Uo said. “A little pretty boy like you wouldn’t have stood a chance.” 

“She sounds...fun,” Yuki said. 

“She was,” Uo agreed. 

“Who’s this? I didn’t know you had more friends, Saki.” 

Yuki turned to see a miniature Hanajima. Though his hair was short and his uniform that of the nearby middle school, the boy in the doorway looked exactly like his sister. 

“Don’t be rude, Megumi,” Hanajima scolded lightly. “This is Yuki Sohma, our classmate. He’s going to use his status to gain us top academic scores.” 

There was an uncomfortable silence, before Uotani laughed and said, “Prince Yuki is here to study with us.” 

Tohru smiled at the boy. “Sohma, this is Megumi, Hana’s little brother.”

“Nice to meet you,” Yuki offered, but Megumi said nothing as he studied Yuki’s face. 

“You have an unusual energy,” Megumi eventually said, face impassive. “Shall we have snacks?” 

“Go get some rice crackers, kid,” Uo said. “You can join us if you study too.” 

“Do you need help, Megumi?” Tohru asked. “I can help make tea.” 

“Grandmother is already making some for you,” Megumi said. “I’ll see if she has any rice crackers.” He stood and left without fanfare, leaving Yuki feeling more stressed than he had earlier. What a strange boy . 

“Love that kid,” Uotani said with a chuckle. “He talks like a old man.” 

“When I was staying here, he’d offer to read me bedtime stories,” Tohru said. “It was very sweet, but funny coming from a little boy.” 

“He’s an odd one,” Hanajima agreed. “I’m not sure where he gets it from…” 

Yuki and Uotani exchanged a bemused look. “Alright, history,” Uotani said. “Someone quiz me.” 

“I will!” Tohru grabbed her flashcards and held one up for Uotani. Yuki opened his own notes and tried to focus on them, but was quickly interrupted by Megumi returning with snacks and tea. The girls all cooed over him and told him to join them, so he silently squeezed in between his sister and Yuki, making no real effort to study as the high schoolers returned to their work. 

“So, uh, Megumi,” Yuki said after a few minutes of Tohru and Uotani’s excited flashcard quizzing. “Do you also, uh...see waves?” 

Megumi raised an eyebrow, but his expression did not change. “No. Saki controls waves.”

“Ah.” Yuki cleared his throat, unsure if he should continue talking. 

“I, however, have studied the ancient art of curses,” Megumi continued, voice high and monotone. “All I need to curse a victim is their name.” 

Yuki wondered if that was supposed to be a threat. Not that it mattered; he was already cursed. 

“What do your curses do?” He asked, resting his hand in his palm. He glanced to the right, but  Tohru was thoroughly absorbed in her flashcards, cheering every time Uotani got an answer correct. 

“It depends,” Megumi said, not breaking eye contact. “Sometimes it renders the victim ill or in pain. Sometimes it causes them bad luck. Sometimes it makes them the target of negative energies.” 

“What about...transformations?” Yuki asked, tapping his pencil against the table. “Can you curse someone to turn into an animal?” 

“What, like a toad?” The boy looked unimpressed. “I’m not a witch.” 

“I didn’t mean to imply you were,” Yuki backpedaled, holding his hands up in surrender. “It’s just...an interesting concept, don’t you think?” 

Megumi tilted his head. “I suppose. To trap an enemy in a foreign vessel is a cruel torture.” 

“But you’ve never…?” 

“No.” Yuki felt his heart drop. “But it is a curious idea.” 

It had been foolish to put any sort of expectations in this child Yuki had known for less than an hour. But just having someone outside his own family discuss curses so casually had sparked hope deep inside him. 

Could there be others like him out there? Could this curse be broken? Could this curse be inflicted on someone else, a new family of unwitting monsters? 

“Sohma!” 

Tohru’s voice broke Yuki from his spiralling thoughts. She was smiling—she was always smiling—and pointed to one of her flashcards. “Can you help us with this one? The textbook gives two different dates for this, and we don’t know which is correct.” 

Yuki took a deep breath and nodded, scooting over to look at the flashcards. He supposed it didn’t matter, really, if Megumi held the truth to his...hereditary affliction.  For now, it was enough to sit by Tohru Honda and bask in her warmth. 

***

Classes were over but Yuki had promised to help the class president with some budgeting, so he bid Tohru, Hanajima, and Uotani goodbye and headed towards the student council room, already dreading Takei-senpai’s overbearing nature. 

As he crossed the walkway overlooking the school gate, Yuki noticed Tohru and Hanajima waving Uotani off as she sprinted off to get to her job on time. Tohru was laughing, swinging Hanajima’s hand as they meandered down the stairs at a slower pace. Yuki couldn’t help but smile at the scene, watching his friends—friends?—look so happy and carefree. 

He turned to continue his return to the classroom when he noticed a boy standing a few yards away, eyes trained where Yuki’s had just been. 

The kid was dark-haired and slouched against the wall, a couple file folders clutched loosely in his hand. He frowned, still watching Tohru and Hanajima. Yuki glanced at the girls again, noticing that Hanajima had separated from Tohru and Tohru now walked alone. Still, the boy’s gaze followed her, frown increasing, turning almost vicious. 

It was that angry frown, Yuki would later claim, that spurred him into action. Crossing the walkway quickly and silently, Yuki dipped between the boy’s line of sight and Tohru, blocking her from view. The boy startled, blinking in surprise. 

“Leave Tohru Honda alone,” Yuki hissed. “Whatever you want with her, drop it.” 

The guy held his hands up. “Hey, hey, calm down, I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

“You were watching her,” Yuki said, poking the boy in the chest angrily. “Leave her alone.” 

“I wasn’t planning on starting shit,” the boy said. “Seriously, calm down, I’m not gonna hit on your girlfriend.” 

“She’s not- Just- What do you want with her?” Yuki crossed his arm over his chest, face growing warm. 

“Not that it’s any of your business,” the guy said with a smirk. “But she and I have a past.” He shouldered past Yuki, turning to add, “Don’t worry about it, Yuki Sohma. I’m not gonna talk to her.” 

Before Yuki could respond, he winked and sauntered away, waving as if they’d just had a normal, casual conversation. Yuki sighed and glanced back out to where Tohru had been. She was gone, predictably, but a small part of him felt disappointed by her absence. 

You’ll see her tomorrow , a small voice told him. This isn’t like before. She’s still here. 

Yuki couldn’t stop the chill that ran down his spine. She was still here, for now. And Yuki would do whatever it took to keep her there, away from the clutches of the Sohma family and its curse. 

[msbluebell]

I would love to see a Teenhood friends au for Dimileth where a very hungry 17/18 year old Byleth finds her next meal in a form of a big delicious wild moose in the forest of Faerghus... chasing a young blonde releasing the least manliest scream she’s ever heard. (Bonus: Whenever Dimitri somehow gets in trouble, Byleth will always just so happen to be there to save the day.)

Right, Byleth is roughly about 3-4 years older than Dimitri in game. So if Byleth is about 17/18 than Dimitri is about 14/15…which isn’t that long after Duscar. So, with F!Byleth in mind let’s go!

Jeralt’s Mercenary Company is most likely in Faerghus for a job. Being a mercenary band that travels and all, I don’t see why else they’d be anywhere. So, yeah, they’re probably there for work. Maybe Jeralt didn’t want Byleth involved in a discussion, or maybe it’s her turn to hunt, or maybe she just wanted to do something practical while they were stopped. Either way, she’s out in the woods alone instead of with a hunting party.

I imagine Faerghus to be a lot like Canada/Norway, or maybe the North from GOT, or maybe Skyrim, with big trees that can grow thick as houses, and lots of cold. Faerghus is probably infamous for thick animals. Boars, moose, wolves big as horses, snow lions that can blend into the white background during the winters. Byleth isn’t worried though, she didn’t go too far into the woods, she has a weapon, and if something happens she can call the mercenaries. She doesn’t expect anything to go wrong, though.

She doesn’t expect to see a boy being chased by a moose either.

She’s hasn’t found prey yet when she hears a large snap, like a branch being broken. Then the cry of a moose, followed by a panicked scream. Suddenly there’s a boy breaking through the treeline, screaming, moose on his trail. He sees her and shouts at her to run, motioning for her to move before the beast catches them.

The thing about moose are that they’re big. Larger than horses, and twice as mean, with antlers that could skewer a man easily. If Byleth could feel emotions (this is before Sothis wakes, so she and Byleth’s ability to feel rests deep in her non-beating heart) she’s probably panic and run like the boy said.

She doesn’t.

Instead, she raises her bow and shoots straight for the breasts, only moving out of the way when her arrow strikes, letting it hit a thick tree before his finally stops moving.

All is quite for a moment. The boy has stopped running, his breathing heavy. He’s watching, wide eyed. Byleth doesn’t say anything, she just moves to skin the animal for her party.

After a moment the boy moves forward, tentatively, and thanks her for her help.

He explains that he’s from a noble family of this land (”My name is…Dima…I’m a noble from the capital”). He was somehow separated from his hunting party while bonding with his uncle two days ago. He had some experience hunting, so was trying to make his way back to the road and head back to the capital, when he accidentally ran afoul with that moose.

Byleth studies the boy. He’s wearing clothing expected of Faerghus nobility. They’re ripped, and tattered, but it’s easy to see see the blue clothes used to be fine and embroidered, with fine fur lining. She can’t find an emblem or insignia, but she has no reason to disbelieve him.

He looks hopeful, then, asking if she’s heading to the capital, and if so maybe they could go together? It’s a long walk, after all, and it will be less lonely if they’re together.

Byleth explains that she’s with her father and his mercenaries, but they are heading towards the capital, and she doesn’t see any reason why he can’t ask for permission to come along. It’s a few days walk to the capital on foot, and it seems more practical to let him come along.

The boy looks even more hopeful at the suggestion, and moves to help Byleth with the moose.

He’s…very strong for someone his age and stature. He can lift up the whole body by himself. It gives Byleth pause, but she doesn’t say anything and simply leads the boy back to her company.

Her father is very concerned about the random boy with unbelievable strength. He questions the boy thoroughly, about why he was out there, and how he got lost, and how he ended up here, anything he can think of until he runs out of things to ask. Dima is nothing but patient, honest, and unfailingly polite the entire exchange, and Jeralt can find no reason to not let the boy tag along. 

Dima sticks by her side during the trip, trying to make conversation. It’s logical, she’s the closest in age to him, and he met her first, so he gravitates towards her. She answers questions to the best of her ability, but she has never been the best conversationalist. Dima doesn’t seem to mind, though, which is different to the unnerved reaction most have. She thinks he is a little unnerved, but too polite to hide it. Still, he seems to want to speak with her the most despite it, so he’s her constant company those next few days.

(Dimitri, for his part, knows better than to trust a group of strangers with his identity. He’s the prince, after all, and he’s learned the hard way that people want his head. He has nightmares about it. But still…he’s a young boy, and this is the first girl he’s talked to (that’s not Ingrid or a noble’s daughter trying to marry him) a long time, and she’s very pretty, even if she doesn’t smile or make an expression. She’s still impressive though, and he’s grateful that she saved his life.)

They fall into an easy companionship over those few days. Byleth doesn’t talk much, but Dima seems to think that just means she’s a good listener. He talks a bit, tells her recollections about some friends of his, and how he has a friend that’s quiet like her, named Dedue, that is probably very worried about him. Dedue wasn’t allowed on this trip. It was just he, his uncle, and a few guards. His uncle, he explains, will probably be angry he was separated. She listens, occasionally speaks to remind him she’s listening, gives the occasional observation. It’s easy. 

Sometimes her father glaces back and looks almost happy. Because she doesn’t normally speak to people within her own age range. He must be proud, maybe.

“Thank you for listening.” Dima says the day before they arrive to the capital. He’s red cheeked, and playing with something in his hands, “I don’t…my uncle doesn’t let me our of…our home…often. It’s usually just me and Dedue, so I don’t have many friends. I’m glad…I’m glad to have met you.”

She nods and hums in agreement. She thinks she’s made her first friend.

He hands her the thing he was playing with. It’s a type of flat stone with a run craved into the side. It’s a simple thing, the type anyone would have, but he looks so earnest when he hands it to her. He asks her to remember him, and she promises she will.

The next day, upon walking up to the capital’s gates, the guards start immediately yelling that Prince Dimitri has returned. It’s chaos. Bells are ringing, guards are flooding the gate. A man with dark hair flies through the crowd and swoops Dima…Dimitri, in a giant hug and rocks him back and forth like he’ll never let go again. There’s a dark skinned boy tall as she is that races forward and starts fussing. Dimitri is gone before her father even gets a word in.

They’re escorted to the palace, where the King Regent, a stern looking man that looks like he’s never stopped frowning in his life, personally give them a reward for returning Dimitri safe and sound. He gives them a few bags of gold and tells them to be out of the city by nightfall.

Byleth doesn’t think she’ll ever see Dima…Dimitri…again, but she keeps the rune anyway.

A few years later, she wakes up from a dream about a war, and a girl on a throne, to a bandit attack. She sees a familiar face there.

[dishonoredrpg]

Congratulations, NAY! You’ve been accepted for the role of THE LOVERS with the faceclaim of ASHLEY MOORE. Admin Cas: I think we can all agree that The Lovers is a difficult concept to pin down. It’s a task in itself to balance the devotion they have for The World, her world, while not sacrificing who they are at their core. But, Nay, you were certainly up to the task. There’s something so lovely about Prudence, so beautiful and admirable, but something hungry. So much of her life revolves around The World, but that does not mean that Prudence doesn’t have a story of her own to live out. I particularly enjoyed the way you likened her story unfolding to a caterpillar grows into its chrysalis; to become a butterfly or moth, either is possible. I can’t wait to see what you do with her!

Please review the CHECKLIST and send your blog in within 24 hours.

Out-of-Character.

NAME: nay 

PRONOUNS: she / her

AGE: twenty-two

TIMEZONE, ACTIVITY LEVEL: gmt + 5 ; and i’d say my activity ( especially with quarantine, still ) is at a 7/10. lately, i have been trying to write every day, and that means at least a reply every day – even if posted through queue after being written on a better writing day. 

ANYTHING ELSE?: i wrote this way too quickly, because i suck at being patient and didn’t want to wait a week to turn in an app, so forgive me for the sinful typos committed in my haste! this definitely isn’t as polished as i wish it were. also? there are possibly too many insect-facts in this and if that shit squicks you, i am so sorry.

In-Character.

SKELETON: the lovers

K E Y W O R D S 

UPRIGHT: love, harmony, relationships, values alignment, choices

REVERSED: self-love, disharmony, imbalance, misalignment of values

| source: x

NAME: prudence “prue” luna lockhart

→ ETYMOLOGY ;

P R U D E N C E / “intelligence; discretion, foresight; wisdom to see what is suitable or profitable;” also one of the four cardinal virtues, "wisdom to see what is virtuous;" from Old French prudence (13th Century) and directly from Latin prudentia “a foreseeing, foresight, sagacity, practical judgment,” contraction of providentia “foresight” (see providence). Secondary sense of “wisdom” (late 14th Century) is preserved in jurisprudence.

L U N A / “the moon,” especially personified in the Roman goddess answered to Greek Selene; also, an alchemical name for “silver”; from Latin luna “moon, goddess of the moon,” from PIE *leuksna- (source, also: of Old Church Slavonic luna “moon,” Old Prussian lauxnos “stars,” Middle Irish luan “light, moon”), suffixed form of root *leuk- “light, brightness.” The luna moth (1841, American English) so-called for the crescent-shaped eye-spots on its wings.

L O C K H A R T / Scottish: of uncertain origin, probably from a Germanic personal name composed of the elements loc 'lock', 'bolt' + hard 'hardy', 'brave', 'strong'. English: occupational name for a herdsman in charge of a sheep or cattlefold, from Old English loc 'enclosure', 'fold' + hierde 'herd(er)'.

| sources: x & x

FACECLAIM: zendaya coleman ( or ashley moore or natali litvinova — in order of preference! )

AGE: three-&-twenty for zendaya / four-&-twenty for ashley or natali

→ BIRTHDATE: fantasy-equivalent of july 8th; the most cancer baby there ever was!

DETAILS: it took me forever to find a skeleton that made me feel the enduring love i’ve been searching for beyond the ability to see a story, and as it always, unfailingly, tends to happen for the rare occasion where i opt for a softer character, it caught me completely off-guard. initially, surveying the tags, i was leaning towards the skeletons of the wheel of fortune, the hierophant, the devil, the hermit – all of whom, in my opinion, are characters who have been shaped by a darkness, be it inherent or inflicted, that’s rendered them with shadows or edges. with the lovers, that’s not the case. they are tender: like a paramour’s kiss, or a bruise, or an overripe peach you can sink your fingers into. and maybe it’s my unflinching desire to subvert the stereotypical presumption of what it is to be soft, the fragility noted in their skeleton does not translate to weakness or meekness to me; i enjoy that they are both tender, and possess the ability to be chaotic, and manipulative, and impulsive and desperate and vindictive and defensive. what i love most about this particular skeleton is the sheer humanness of them.

that, and their love for THE WORLD. for a moment there, that was definitely what drew me to them; this idea of love as religion had my mind reeling like a siken poem, rhapsodising about a love so powerful, it can alter a person. this is partially because i am the most hopeful and shameless of romantics, and partially because love, its nuances, and its powers and vulnerabilities genuinely, deeply interest me. however, working my way deeper into this application-form, that changed.

it is the love that the lovers — or prue, to me, now — holds for THE WORLD is one that attracted me. it is her own potential for growth that’s kept me in her clutches, besotted, wishing to tell her story. hers is a tale, i believe, of metamorphosis: a question i posed in a later section, as well as what lurks in my mind, is whether that metamorphosis is one that leads to a moth or a butterfly. did you know it is moths who come from cocoons, but butterflies who come from a chrysalis? moths, who are drawn to light. butterflies, who drink nectar, also help spread the seeds to grow more of the flowers. both which come from a caterpillar, whose first meal is typically the egg they come from. what i enjoy is the ambivalence that presents itself — or, as i like to call it: potential. there are several directions that prue’s story could go in, several choices that could define her, and it’s all up in the air until it isn’t anymore.

i wish i could tell you that my EUREKA! moment wasn’t insect-research, but i can’t, because that would be a lie. i’m not even sorry. 

BACKGROUND: 

☉ CONTENT WARNING(s): infant death, stillbirth, body horror imagery, insects

come, dear reader, won’t you settle in? let me spin you a tale—a tangled web of one, indeed—about a girl who smells sweet as white roses and is as satiny to touch as her gossamer-thin garments. this girl is just a girl; she has never been the girl. even so, this story is her story, and though she is not equipped to be the heroine of a story, or so she believes, she is the heart of this one. like a heart, she is swollen with the fullness of blood: thus, let me etch this tale into parchment with the blood of love, in crimson-ink of metallic-reek. 

it comes in three parts: a beginning, a middle, an ending; it is for you, dear reader, to decide which is which. 

let us anoint this tale the title of METAMORPHOSIS –

✧✧✧

i. THE EGG ;

before there is the girl, there is a man and a woman who live in faerûn by the sahrnian sea, bound together by a contract that is decidedly not the forest-fire love faerie-tales herald. yet that is not to say that love never comes, just because love comes after. when it does, it is a calm love, a steady one; a love that has never cost one to lose one’s mind, and has been grown, meticulously, over the passage of time and the trials and tribulations have littered the path of a match made by those who are older and have witnessed so much more life than them. it is not for years that the woman feels nature stirring within her body’s vessel, and when it does, it is with the undying bestowing upon her a gift that makes up lost time. 

when the girl comes, she comes from a belly more full than most. it makes sense that it is so, for there were meant to be two of them: a boy, and a girl. one might suppose that, in the end, there still were, yet only one in the way it mattered. 

( you decide, dear reader: which is which? ) 

she is born — and it is days, and days, before her time. no matter, a name still awaits her. prudence, they call her. pierce, he would have been.

from the beginning, she emerges from the ruddy cave of her mother’s womb incomplete. a greyish pallor remains where life ought to be warming her skin; it is as if he leeched enough life from her for him to choke on, and she siphoned her brother’s death through the connection only womb-mates share – and this is what she will hear in later years, when she asks about him. 

she will wish she hadn’t.

✧✧✧

ii. THE CATERPILLAR ;

( when you feel unforgiving, dear reader, remember: it is a caterpillar’s job to eat; without an abundance of consumption, it cannot survive. it is this abundance of consumption that allows for the production of silk. it is this same abundance of consumption that is its undoing. )

years do not care if one is ready to bear them; they come, when they must, as they must. and so comes to pass the childhood that tries to swallow prudence lockhart whole, over and over and over –

as an infant, blood is filtered out of her body and fresh blood poured into her veins. it helps, some. it does not help enough, yet there is nothing more to be done; her parents must take her home, and pray to the undying god for the rest. they pray, and pray, and pray, as two people of noble blood and lucrative business-dealings rarely stoop to, for lack of need to need it.

as a child, prue is still a frail slip of a thing, with bones jutting out against taut bronze flesh in protest. fill yourself up, her mother pleads. you must survive, beloved. she offers her savory meals and sweet decadence twice, and anything she takes a suggestion of a liking to just as many times more — and it works; it takes time, but work it does, and prue’s cheeks round some and at times flush rosily, some weakness giving way to the minute miracles that are her tardy signs of life. it is not much, but it is enough, isn’t it? it is to the mother who has warred for her existence. who still combats for prue’s survival. 

when does the girl begin to feel that it might be her that her mother is fighting, when every frustration about her lessness, her inherent lessness, begins to steal the breath from prue’s lungs – for is it not her who is all poetry & rot, wisp-thin & about as flimsy? her heart fills with hot, vital blood then: it beats loud and clear as a belltower’s toll, cutting through all else with the potency of its truth. this is as much as i am, she beseeches in turn, as her mother had once done, except not, for graceless tears roll down her cheeks in impassioned rivulets and the voice that thickens with feeling.

how will you survive the world, beloved? her mother implores.

i might not, prue knows. i might not, she accepts.

it is the caterpillar’s destiny to unbecome –

✧✧✧

iii. THE CHRYSALIS ;

– unbecoming takes time.

it takes long enough that both mother and daughter grow used to it, initially, and then around it, ultimately. 

there is, after-all, the distraction of warfare engrained in the backbone of their precious faerûn. there is the journey to tyrholm, the settling into the dregs of hightown – not quite lowtown-bound, and not-quite-not. it fazes her parents to not be profound upper-echelons of society; her father, a man used to running the business inherited by the men in the lockhart family, and her mother, who had spent all of her time worrying for prudence and never had to about wealth. but prue, for her part, is accustomed to the notion of not-quite-right / not-quite-enough; the feeling might not be home, per se, and yet she recognises the walls of the house all the same – could walk its rooms in the dark, if she had to.

it is circumstance that calls the lockharts to castle tyrholm. 

it tears at her parents: her father believes in not squandering opportunity, and her mother would rather squander anything but prudence. even THE EMPRESS sees it, does she not, when she cants prudence’s head and observes her fragility? the king’s reputation precedes itself; would a heart as true and innocent as hers survive a court like his? within minutes, it is too late to ponder it any longer. within minutes, it is no longer a choice, but a deal already struck. just like a match: it cannot be unstruck. one can endeavour to douse a fire, but it is not the same as un-starting it.

for a time, the castle is one more place prue does not feel she belongs; it is alright, she tells herself. you are alright, she says – because her mother is no longer by her side telling her anymore, is she? silken thread ensnares the girl when THE WORLD knocks on her door one evening; it is lilly-white, the radiance of their smile. prue does not understand why, then; she is nothing exceptional, she flounders for the right thing to do, and even then, she gets it wrong so much more often than she ever gets it right. perhaps, she will never understand why – why they are so kind, why they make her feel seen, why… 

and still, this once, there is no question of whether it is enough. they are more than enough.

for the first time in her life, prue discovers what it is to be warm.

✧✧✧

tell me, dear reader – is this a butterfly’s or moth’s metamorphosis?

PLOT IDEAS: 

❂ “love, for you, / is larger than the usual romantic love. it’s like religion. it’s terrifying.” – richard siken  

see, i told you: siken’s poetry reeling through my mind. religion is a really interesting ideology to link the notion of love to, because there are so many boundaries one crosses in the name of faith. at times, we call it the lesser evil. other times, we say it’s letting the end justify the means. we’re all trying to be holy. 

this is where i want to start discussing potential plots for prue — but i want to, first, preface it by saying that though THE WORLD is very much at the centre of her story, it is because prue’s unparalleled love for them is central to her life-story; i treat it like an experiment, where prue is the dependent variable and her love for THE WORLD is the independent variable that incites action & reaction, placed in different situations. it is, that said, the most potent of variables, and can hardly be called controlled, despite how desperately prue herself attempts to keep it to the corner-alcove they hide the truth of their love in. this love is not a selfish love; it is strong, and all-consuming, and maddening – more than a soldier’s swearing fealty to a kingdom, it is the most devout of prophets bowing their head at the altar of the divine deity they put their faith in. that’s pretty intense stuff, right? i want to see what it elicits.

this can be a double-edged sword, and in fact, i’d be rooting for it to be. on one hand, i want to explore how this love has made prue strong. i want to see how it has made her braver, and more resilient. i want to explore that she took THE EMPRESS deeming her fragile-seeming, and how she’s donned it as armour, because it is that same delicacy that has made THE WORLD love them. i want to explore it through interactions with the royal family foremost — THE WORLD, of course, but THE EMPRESS, THE EMPEROR, THE CHARIOT, and if it works out, maybe even septimus himself. it’s rare for prue to not let things slip, and roll off her back, but that is when it comes to her. her love for THE WORLD makes her want to protect them, fiercely; it lights a fire in her soul that has never been lit before. and fire? yes, it warms – but oh, it burns, too, doesn’t it? it has the power to ruin. and i don’t want to limit that exploration to just the royal family; i want to explore it with the animosity-potential between her and TEMPERANCE as well, but that’s one plot i’ll talk more about further down. 

there are little ideas floating around in my head that i would love to explore with the respective players, but i could imagine a friendship between prue ( probably due to her sweet-tooth luring her, too often, to the kitchens ) with THE HANGED MAN – and to explore a bond, that could further be complicated, potentially, by prue not being able to talk about what she and THE WORLD share. or, more chaotically: for her to share it, and for THE HANGED MAN to let it slip to THE DEVIL? how far would prue go to protect this? and would she, if it presented the opportunity for the future where she and her love get to be together is pushed closer by it? how selfless is her love? how powerful would fear be against it?

i’m honestly just a firm believer that, when our backs are against the wall, that’s when we find out who we really are. and that’s the main storyline i want to explore with prue, more than anything else, because i think that she has never been pushed to that edge and, because of it, she’s never copped up to her own identity. she met and fell in love with THE WORLD at such a young age, so quickly and wholly, that it has shaped so much of what her ideal self is. i want to see how her ideal self would differ from the reality of her. and i want to see her confront it.

❂ “you are going to break your promise. i understand. and i hold my hands over the ears of my heart, so that i will not hate you.” – catherynne m. valente

very recently, someone put forth an idea to me: love is a promise. that’s what i want to talk about here. there’s a sense i got — both from the lovers’ skeleton, and THE WORLD’s — that both of them know that there is a time-limit on their relationship. or, at the very least, whatever room there is for prue in their future, it isn’t a room where they share the bed. but i also get a sense that they know it, and neither of them talk about it. i think a part of prue feels like the amount of good that THE WORLD has brought her will last her a lifetime, and i think that isn’t true, so much as she’s hoping it is? i want to see the two of them talk about it. i want to see prue wanting them to fight her love. i want prue to admit she wants to be chosen over duty, or a marriage with someone who isn’t her, or fear, and i want to see what something like that would do to their relationship. or hell, i want someone who has power over THE WORLD, like THE EMPEROR, or THE EMPRESS, or THE CHARIOT or THE HIGH PRIESTESS to find out about the true nature of their relationship and force that choice once they even start talking about, so the situation can force their hands even if they don’t force one another’s.

there’s so much between the two of them i want to dissect and play with, it apparently needed to separate quotations. oops?

❂ “all things truly wicked start from innocence.” – ernest hemingway 

we all have the occasional ( or perhaps more, no judgement! ) propensity for wickedness. i feel really passionately about softer people not being safe from cravings for chaotic behaviour, even if they might, in prue’s case, justify it through the innocence of intention. a lot of her initial effusion is of a heady amalgamation of sweetness and delicacy; i want to see her display a dash of something that takes leave from that, and surprises even herself. now, though not at all set-in-stone and totally up to be discussed with the respective player, i could easily see it rearing its head in the dynamic between herself and TEMPERANCE. how many times will she be shooed away from a room with a beautiful woman and the love of prue’s life? it terrifies prue, the idea that THE WORLD will slip out of her fingers like the sands of time, so much sooner than she is ready for. i’m curious: would there be a moment where she would not leave? where she would make the nature of their relationship known? would she ever snap back, or continue to smile tenderly, bow her head, and listen?

i’m also dying to explore the potential plot brewing between the lovers and DEATH. part of this is a total shot in the dark, so bear with me, but – imagine this: there is a darkness in them that tugs at the darkness in her; they are hungry, and she is a starving-thing, and what a pairing they could make. imagine prue venturing into lowtown with them, and for the alternative reality DEATH’s hunger dangles that could open a door to an actual future with THE WORLD? i want there to be temptation — towards darkness and chaos, yes, because i am a sucker for moral ambiguity, but also for the loyalist that prue is to be lured by the revolt. 

❂ “you cut up a thing that’s alive and beautiful to find out how it’s alive and why it’s beautiful, and before you know it, it’s neither of those things, and you’re standing there with blood on your face and tears in your sight and only the terrible ache of guilt to show for it.” – clive barker

it is difficult for even me, as i delve into prue’s psyche, to be a wordsmith adept enough to encapsulate the sheer magnitude of her love for her lover. let me tell you this, though: it is love that is devout enough that prue would sacrifice herself before it. she would shirk what she believes she knows of herself to fight for THE WORLD. but there is little in the universe free of the shackles of consequence. it feels inevitable to me that, at some point, sooner or later, prue will commit an action or reaction in the name of love — and then, she will have to live with it. it’s even better to me for her to go beyond her limits for this love that is everything to her, and then find herself turning to them to sacrifice for her as freely as she does them… and for them to, perhaps, not be able to. or perhaps, for it to turn prue into a person she herself can no longer recognise. there was a part of me that wanted to already cook something up, and to toss it into the writing sample portion, but i decided otherwise. if i get to write this character, i want to start in a place that is different, and develop my way towards a darker pasture, so to speak.

a darker pasture, however, is where i want her to at least visit. in a setting such as this one, i don’t think it can be helped, truthfully.

❂ “each friend represents a world in us, a world not born until they arrive, and it is only by this meeting that a new world is born.” – anaïs nin

while i was trying to knit this application together into one whole piece, a recurring concern for me has been that i want this character to have its own story, and the lines of that can get awfully blurry when the character is one the feels as intensely as prue lockhart does. she is such a hypersensitive creature; more than anything, it is her interactions that penetrate her, and alter her, and cause the discord between the sides that are wont to tug at her, who stands in the most Lawful Neutral of spots. i’ve decided to lean into it, though, because i genuinely believe that it poses an intriguing dichotomy between her inherent nature and the nurture that moulds it beyond the obvious, magnitudinal parental hand in it. that said, there are actual several different potential connections i want to toy with here. ( one of which is THE HANGED MAN, but i already mentioned that above, and didn’t want to be repetitive! )

THE MAGICIAN / listen, prue is so used to being the Softest. but this little baby is even softer than her, and every time they flinch, she just wants to help. she tries, at every turn, to be kind and i really want to see her become a friend / confidant for them? maybe learn about their magic. to maybe give them a secret of her own back ;) gal pals, gimme. i need something wholesome; it can’t all be agony & ecstasy, god damn it.

WHEEL OF FORTUNE / it is pure coincidence that throws the two of them together as often as it does. but prue is the sort to believe the best in people, and is never too arrogant to admit where she’s been wrong. this bond is where her feelings towards magic first begins to see development, and i am so, so, so interested in toying with it. even more so when you throw in their bond with THE EMPEROR — does faze prue a little — and his relationship with THE WORLD in there. such potential for growth and drama.

DEVIL / for years, every time prue has seen them, she has walked in the other direction. otherworldliness is unnatural enough as it is, but the proof of what they can do scars them with evidence of it – and so, out of genuine fear, she’s evaded them. and yet, coincidental interactions with the WHEEL OF FORTUNE has made prue think twice. a look at the haunting in their eyes has made her think thrice. i want to play with that dynamic!!!

THE MOON / hers is the only magic that does not scare prue, i think. it is the only one she is not too intimidated to ask questions about, because she truly is extremely curious when she takes an interest in something, and a lifetime of listening in the background has given prue a taste for stories. i feel like she could bring out something adventurous and wild within prue? a part which prue never got to explore, because she grew up with a very, very cautious mother who kept a very close eye on her and treated her like glass because prue really does look fragile. i want a bond to make her feel stronger!

THE STAR / if there is one thing that prue has grown up to be, it is a true romantic. it makes him something of a kindred spirit; something in her could reach out to something in him, creating a kindred bond that makes her feel seen in a way that only THE WORLD has ever given her.

THE TOWER / because she was raised right by it, the sea is where prue feels most at home, and she always has. i could see there being something about THE TOWER’s stories making her feel warm inside, and thus, her braving a friendship with them. i think she could use the wisdom of someone older? and there’s just something about them that made prue shyly scuff her toe at the ground, like – an oliver twist moment of, “can i have more, please?”

THE FOOL / stories talk about princes and princesses. the dragon’s fire, the nobel steed. prue looks at him, and she wonders: where are the stories about them? the princess’ lover, and the king’s soldier – those who fight for the crown, without wearing it. it could make for such an unlikely bond, but such an intriguing one, i think? i got the idea, and i just could not shake it. humour me!

and 0f course, there is potential with literally every other character, too, but i honestly ran out of time before i could come up with something for them too. i’m down to flesh it out~

❂ “we grow. it hurts at first.” – sylvia plath 

at the start of her story, prue starts off as a fragile underdog. she turns blossoms into a lover, and it turns her fiercer – which is not the same thing as being fierce, but it’s a start. what i want for her — what any writer wants for their muses, i reckon — is growth. i want prue, who has grown up sheltered and protected, to experience pain and hardship. i want her experiences to call into question what she thinks she knows, flip it on its head, and make her think. i want her to think, and to change her mind, and to change it again. i want her to confront her fears, and her uncomfortable truths, and to experience all the tempestuous emotions she’s spent her entire life keeping at bay, having convinced herself they could shatter her. i want her to unearth her endurance, to test its limits. i want to explore her undoings and remakings. what i enjoy most about her is the volatility of her that most would not see coming, because volatile and tempestuous and emotional is what she is. she is all heart, all the time, everywhere. can you imagine how visceral that has to make every experience?

imagine the potential for growth if she let herself just feel all of it. if she opened herself up, and let the universe rush in, instead of walking on eggshells as she does. just imagine. that’s what i want for her.

CHARACTER DEATH: i could, of course, see prue meeting an end. in fact, there are a couple of circumstances that could make it deliciously poetic, even.

Writing Sample.

They match each other: step for step; right, then left –

Hardly anyone turns to look at the two of them anymore. The two of them, making their way down the hall, with their dark heads leaned close together, like two plants growing towards one another when the sun leaves them for too long. It might be more peculiar to see them apart. There is a strange pride that twists a corner of Prue’s mouth at the unshakeable knowledge of the fact – a hint of tremendous pride at the small, precious claim THE WORLD makes with the statement of their proximity. It is everything to her, and perhaps it is what lends to the smoothness of her gait as they move past the portrait-eyes that scrutinise it, as if they await another of the many stumbles they’ve already witnessed. Prue floats beside them.

Her heart is gone, long-since pressed into the palm of their hand. Does it weigh them down? She could pretend it is why she keeps their fingers curled into the crook of her elbow, helping them carry the heaviness of the heart she’s given away to them; Prue holds fast to that touch with her own hand covering their fingers, unwilling to give up those four pressure-points that burn her flesh through the silk of her sleeve for anything, enough to shield it with the dome of her palm.

“ – Prudence?”

Their hand flinches at the same time as Prue’s grip on their fingers tightens. As if a chill blew in, and froze the marrow in her bones, the girl stills in place. It is not because she recognises the voice. It is because she ought to have done, for what the cant of her head finds is a woman whose gaze mirrors her own: amber-warm, almond-shaped. It is her same mouth that speaks the syllables of a variation of her names that does not belong to her, not as Prue does.

“Mama –” she says, her voice so quiet, she fears it might not reach her.

She is too far away now. Even mere footsteps away, she is too far.   

Extras.

✦ INSPIRATIONS → anne shirley cuthbert – from anne of green gables; tiana – from princess & the frog; missandei of naath – from game of thrones; margaery tyrell / house tyrell – from a song of ice & fire;  madame lebedeva – from deathless; effie trinket – from the hunger games series; jack pearson – from this is us; patroclus – from the song of achilles; 

✦ INSPIRATION TAG → here;

✦ PINTEREST BOARD → here.

[itsclydebitches]

The RWBY/It Crossover That Absolutely No One Asked For But You’re Getting Anyway

Ozpin - The “gifted child” who is already sick of that shit, both because of the bullying he’s gotten for it at school (what middle schooler uses his vocabulary and dresses in a suit?) and because it has given his parents another reason to ignore him. You’re basically a functioning adult! The Losers are Ozpin’s first group of friends outside of his little sister Salem, gone missing one day and now re-appearing in his basement, pale like she drowned, with strange black veins threading over her skin... Though they all silently think of him as the leader once the horror begins, he discourages that whenever possible. He’s done with being the odd one out. 

Qrow - Qrow “Trashmouth” Branwen. Twin brother of Raven who also disappeared around the same time as Salem, though only Qrow knows that’s because she finally hitch-hiked out of their fucked up town. He hasn’t heard from her since. Unfailingly annoying and loyal in turns, Qrow’s nickname is only partly because of his foul-mouthed tendencies. The group decided he needed another, proper nickname after he quietly told them that he and Raven would like to be known by those names indefinitely now, regardless of what’s on any birth certificates. The Losers respect that. Devoted to Ozpin in particular, Qrow often uses his status as the (presumed) local bad boy to keep others off his friends’ backs. 

James - Coming from the only Jewish family for miles around, James has his own share of problems, thanks. Lately, with his bar mitzvah approaching, he’s found his adoration of science is somewhat at odds with his faith, especially when so much is riding on him continuing tradition. Quieter and more reserved than the others, James was inwardly pleased to make a friend in Ozpin, the only one around capable of keeping up with his theories---even if they disagree 99% of the time. When all the horror starts, it’s James who is the most resistant to it, first through sheer disbelief, then later through confidence in his own sense of what is and is not reality. It’s often his mental fortitude that gets them out of tight spots. 

Bart - Manic almost to the point of being obnoxious (some Losers would lovingly argue that there’s no ‘almost’), Bart has ADHD according to a couple online quizzes he took with Glynda. That’s the best they can do with no money, no resources, and no one else who cares. It’s fine though. They make do. With an intense passion for all things history, Bart is more than happy to start researching the town once Ozpin brings it up. A good thing too, considering that he’s probably the only one capable of working through that many massive, dry tomes. Find him in the library and you’ll be startled by the contrast: a vibrant look that includes dyed green hair and a bright yellow shirt paired with the most studious of attitudes. Researching something he loves is the only time when Bart keeps still. 

Peter - A stocky, boisterous boy, Peter longs for nothing more than to be the hero of his own story. Even if he really doesn’t look the part. Or seemingly have any heroic skills. And sometimes freezes when things get messy. None of that matters because he’s going to succeed one day, dammit. Fake it till you make it! Practically attached at the hip to Bart, the two make an unlikely---but as others quickly learn---unstoppable pair. Contrasting James’ skepticism, when Ozpin first told them about seeing an evil looking Salem in his house, Peter immediately pulled an ax out from under his bed and demanded to know where he was needed. Oh, the ax? He just had it for... reasons. 

Tai - Kind-hearted almost to a fault, Tai took Raven’s bedroom when she left in order to escape his own parents. He’ll take indifference over his previous living arrangement any day. Though more than once Qrow has tried to talk to him about the broken school supplies and badly hidden bruises, Tai never offers anything except a smile. It’s the same for all of them, all the time, and whenever his back is turned the Losers share glances among each other, wondering when he’ll finally break. Not if, but when. Not that it matters because they all intend to be there when it happens, determined to show Tai that he’s allowed to be something other than that constantly cheerful, helpful version of himself. 

Glynda - The one girl of the group and no, she’s never going to let you forget it. Also the real leader if we’re getting right down to it. Glynda had no intention of making friends with six other boys, especially when she already has an entirely undeserved reputation as the town slut. Why not embrace it then? The Losers lose their collective shit the day she walks up in a new purple skirt, black boots, and white top, all of them stolen from the store where the manager dared touch her. The persona isn’t at all what she’d intended---like Ozpin and James, Glynda is somewhat introverted---but then she had no intention of fighting whatever was hiding in those sewers either. Something dark and otherworldly, capable of transforming into a massive bird, a boar, sometimes a vaguely human-like shape...  Glynda hates that version most of all. 

Fun plot points after the time jump include: 

Qrow losing his goddamn mind as he remembers that he’s been in love with Ozpin for over thirty fucking years and what pRECISELY is he supposed to do with that information NOW? 

Ozpin is also panicking, he’s just quiet about it 

The awful realization that this Grimm thing beneath the town feeds on/grows stronger through negative emotions so lol that’s a bit not good when the seven of us are all such a mess 

Oh hi Tai great to see you again quick question WHY DID YOU BRING YOUR TWO YOUNG DAUGHTERS TO THE MURDER TOWN? 

Hey Tai second question what do you mean you went and had a kid with my long-lost sister 

Whole side plot involving Ruby and Yang meeting Weiss and Blake who grew up here. Cue culture clash and the kids helping the adults out on their messed up adventure 

Blake: “You won’t believe me if I tell you... no one does... it’s just too horrible...” Yang: “Oh you mean the supernatural entity that wants to devour you and frequently finds its way across the town via the sewers? Yeah. Dad filled us in on the drive up.” 

James takes all of .5 seconds to start bickering with Oz again, mostly on how to handle the situation. The Losers know they’re really back together once the shouting starts

Bart greets Glynda with an enthusiastic “I finally got diagnosed and you would not believe---I need you to sit, honey, this is gonna take a while” speech and she’s so happy to do it

Peter still has his ax. It comes in handy