#i wonder if there is gonna be a twist to World Dai Star; but maybe I'm just projecting Revue Starlight into it

[bitchinbarzal]

Breaking Point | B Faber

summary: after a brutal accident and years of silence. everything you tried to forget comes rushing back—and maybe, this time, you’ll get to choose each other again.

—

You weren’t supposed to fall in love with him. Not like this.

Not when you were supposed to be focused on early admissions interviews and med school scholarships. Not when you’d spent your whole life chasing perfection—grades, internships, summer programs. Not when your father had made it clear that nothing, nothing, should come before your future.

But Brock Faber was the exception to every rule.

He picked you up from the library with an energy drink and a bag of gummy bears. He walked you to class even when he had to sprint to practice afterward. He was steady, patient, and so damn proud of you that it made your chest ache.

Everyone told you it wouldn’t last. They said it was high school. Puppy love. But none of them saw the way he looked at you like you hung the stars. Or how it felt to have him press a kiss to your temple and say, “I’m your biggest fan, always.”

And then you started talking about taking a gap year. Just one. Just long enough to go where he was drafted, maybe do a pre-med program nearby. It wasn’t crazy. It wasn’t reckless.

But your dad didn’t see it that way.

“You’re throwing everything away for a boy who hits people with a stick for a living.”

He didn’t raise his voice. He never did. That somehow made it worse.

You stood your ground in the kitchen, trying to keep your hands from shaking. “He’s not a distraction. He supports me more than anyone.”

“He’s pulling you off course.”

“I chose this. I want to be with him.”

“And what happens when he’s halfway across the country and you’re stuck in some hotel room instead of a lecture hall?”

You swallowed hard. “He’s not asking me to give anything up.”

“No,” your dad said, folding his arms. “But maybe he should.”

You didn’t know about the conversation he had with Brock in the parking lot.

Didn’t know your dad waited by Brock’s truck after practice, leaning against the hood like he had every right in the world to interfere.

“If you care about her at all,” your father said, low and sharp, “you’ll let her go.”

You weren’t there to see Brock’s jaw clench or his fists curl at his sides. Weren’t there to hear the shake in his voice when he said, “I would never hurt her.”

“Then walk away,” your dad replied. “Before you do.”

He asked you to meet him at the overlook. The place you used to sit in the bed of his truck and talk about everything—college, the draft, what life would look like if you actually got to keep each other.

You could tell something was wrong the second you got there.

He didn’t look at you when he spoke. “I think we need to slow down.”

Your heart dropped. “What?”

“I don’t want to be the reason you don’t go to med school.”

You stared at him. “Brock, we’ve talked about this—”

“I don’t want you to give anything up for me.”

“You’re not!” Your voice cracked. “Why are you doing this?”

And then it just—erupted.

Ugly, desperate words, the kind you didn’t even know you were capable of saying to him. You’d never fought like this before. Not really. Not like this.

“You don’t get to decide what’s best for me,” you snapped, the tears already welling behind your eyes. “You don’t get to stand there and pretend like you’re being noble when what you’re really doing is running away.”

His face twisted, jaw clenched like he was holding back something that hurt. “I’m not running away.”

“You are. You’re scared. You’re scared because things are real now. Because I love you enough to stay, and that freaks you out—”

“I don’t want to ruin your life!” he burst out. “Is that what you want to hear? That every day, I wonder if I’m the reason you’re not gonna end up in some Ivy League lab, curing cancer or something?!”

You flinched like he hit you.

“Brock—” your voice cracked.

He looked at you then. Really looked at you. Eyes glassy, lips parted like he wanted to say something else. But instead, he whispered the one sentence that shattered everything.

“Maybe I’m not supposed to be in your future at all.”

The silence that followed was louder than the shouting.

You stood there for a beat too long, waiting—praying—for him to say he didn’t mean it. That it was just panic, or fear, or your father’s voice in his head. That he still loved you.

But he didn’t say anything else.

So you nodded, just once. A small, sharp motion.

And then you turned.

You didn’t even look back.

You slid into your car, hands trembling as you gripped the wheel. The second the engine roared to life, so did the tears. Hot, fast, blinding. You barely saw the road as you pulled away, white-knuckling your way down the winding hill, trying to breathe through the weight on your chest.

You don’t even remember turning onto the highway. You just remember the sound of your heartbeat in your ears, the way the world blurred around you.

And the way your phone buzzed in the cupholder—his name on the screen.

Too late.

You never saw the car coming.

You wake up to the sound of a heart monitor and the kind of pain that doesn’t have a name.

Your body doesn’t feel like yours. It’s heavy. Broken. Wrapped in wires and tubes. Your mouth is dry. Your chest aches. You can’t move your legs.

You panic. The machines panic with you.

The nurse rushes in. She’s calm. You are not.

“Sweetheart,” she says gently, her hands on your arm, “you’re okay. You’re in the hospital. You were in a car accident.”

You blink at her through tears and bloodshot eyes.

The days blur together.

Surgery. Recovery. More surgery. Pain meds that make the ceiling spin. Your mother’s soft reassurances. Your father’s silence. The room filled with flowers and cards—none of them signed Brock.

Your heart is broken long before you understand how badly your body is.

It takes two weeks before you’re told you’ll need to relearn how to walk. That there’s damage to your spine. That things may never be exactly the same.

It takes three before you ask again where Brock is.

Your sister won’t meet your eyes when she says, “He’s gone.”

Gone.

You find his text days later.

Your mom gives you your phone with shaking hands. Says she thought maybe you were ready. That maybe it would help.

There’s only one message from him.

I’m sorry. I love you. Please be okay.

You stare at it until your eyes blur. You go to reply—but the message doesn’t send.

Blocked.

You cry in physical therapy the first time you stand upright with help.

Not from the pain.

But because the last time you stood without help was the moment you walked away from him.

Summer comes. The draft hits the news.

“Brock Faber selected in the second round by the Los Angeles Kings.”

There’s footage of him at the table, hugging his family, shaking hands, smiling.

He looks happy. Like he made it.

You turn the TV off.

Months pass. Your hair grows back where they shaved it for surgery. Your body starts to feel like yours again. You learn how to balance, how to climb stairs, how to walk down the hallway without assistance.

But your heart? That never really heals.

Not from him.

Because no one told you he tried to come.

No one told you your dad found him in the hallway outside your room, holding flowers and shaking, eyes red like he hadn’t slept in days.

No one told you about the argument.

Or the ultimatum.

Or the way Brock left because he was just a seventeen-year-old boy with too much pressure on his back and too much love in his heart.

You don’t know that part.

All you know is he left.

And he never came back.

He didn’t sleep for two days after the accident.

He found out from your best friend—three frantic calls, her voice breaking apart with every word. Car crash. ICU. It’s bad.

He left his house without telling anyone. Drove straight to the hospital like the roads didn’t matter, like the world wasn’t spinning out from under him.

He didn’t make it past the third floor.

Your dad was waiting in the hallway.

“You’ve done enough, Brock.”

Mr. Perfect-Future. Mr. Everything’s-Planned. He said it without even raising his voice. Just stood there, blocking the door, arms crossed like he owned the pain on the other side.

“You being here doesn’t help her,” he added. “She needs space. Peace. A future that doesn’t have your name attached to it.”

“I love her.” Brock’s voice cracked. He didn’t care. “I need to see her.”

“She needed you not to be the reason she got behind the wheel in the first place.”

That one cut too deep.

Your dad didn’t even flinch. “If you care about her at all, you’ll walk away.”

He could have fought. He wanted to fight. Every part of him screamed to shove past the man and get to you—to apologize, to hold your hand, to tell you he didn’t mean any of it.

But he looked through the little window in the door and saw you unconscious. Pale. Tubes down your throat.

He saw your mom crying in the corner.

And for the first time in his life, Brock walked away from something he didn’t want to lose.

He didn’t go home.

He sat in his truck in the hospital parking lot until the sun came up.

He stared at your contact in his phone for over an hour.

Eventually, he just typed:

I’m sorry. I love you. Please be okay.

Then he blocked your number.

Because if you texted him back, he knew he wouldn’t survive it.

He got drafted six weeks later.

There’s a video of him online—smiling, hugging his dad, fist-bumping the GM like his life’s just begun.

But no one sees the part where he goes back to the hotel room and stares at the ceiling in the dark, wondering if you watched.

Wondering if you cried.

Wondering if he made the biggest mistake of his life.

He asks about you sometimes.

Not directly. Never directly.

Your sister posts graduation photos and he zooms in on your smile. Your best friend mentions “the hospital” once in a group of Instagram stories, and he watches them until they expire.

He doesn’t know if you’re happy.

But he knows you’re out there.

And somehow, that’s worse.

You finished physical therapy two weeks before move-in day.

You’d circled the date on your calendar for years—your first day of college. You were supposed to be packing a car full of notebooks and dorm decorations, making nervous playlists and arguing with your mom about how many towels to bring.

Instead, you sat in your childhood bedroom surrounded by medical bills and rejection letters.

Deferred.

You hadn’t recovered fast enough. And even if you had… your brain wasn’t ready. Your body had learned to walk again. Your heart hadn’t caught up.

So you stayed. One more year. On pause while the world kept moving.

And Brock? He moved.

You saw his name in the news again a month later. University of Minnesota.

Home ice. Close enough to sting.

He looked happy in the press photos. Stronger. Older. But not untouchable yet—not like he would be.

You watched his first game on mute in the dark, your knees pulled to your chest and your breath caught in your throat every time the announcers said his name.

You kept the score app on your phone. You never followed, but you always knew.

When he got drafted, you cried.

Not because he made it. You knew he would.

You just wished he still knew how proud you were.

The Wild picked him up in a trade just before his debut.

Home again. Full circle.

You weren’t even sure what made you do it���maybe it was the closure, or the nostalgia, or the piece of your heart that never really moved on—but you bought a ticket to the game.

Just one.

Section 108. Row 10.

You didn’t wear a jersey. Just a hoodie. Neutral. Unnoticeable.

But when the lights went down and the players took the ice, your eyes went straight to him. You hadn’t seen him in person in years, and yet your heart still found him like it always had.

He skated out with that calm focus he always carried, like nothing in the world could rattle him.

For a moment, he hesitated. Glanced up toward your section like something tugged at him.

You held your breath.

He didn’t see you.

And maybe that was safer.

You didn’t stay for the third period.

You walked out while he was on the bench, towel around his neck, laughing with teammates.

You didn’t know his sister saw you. Peyton. Two rows back, seated between her mom and her boyfriend.

She waited until after the game, back in the family section, when Brock came up still flushed from the win.

“I think I saw her.”

He froze. “What?”

Peyton shrugged, nervous. “I’m not sure. Just for a second. I thought—I thought it was her.”

He didn’t speak for a long time.

Then, quietly, he muttered, “She doesn’t care about me enough to be here.”

Peyton didn’t argue.

But when she looked at her camera roll later, there was a blurry photo she’d taken during warmups.

And in the background—just barely in frame—was you.

You never thought he’d walk through your hospital.

Not after everything. Not in this city. Not after all the distance you put between you and the person you used to be—the girl in love, the girl with a broken spine and a worse heartache.

You built something steady here. A life where no one knows the whole story. A place where you’re Doctor, not “the girl who got in that accident” or “Brock Faber’s high school girlfriend.”

But life doesn’t warn you before it cracks open.

And tonight—it does.

It’s supposed to be a normal shift. Friday night. Busy but manageable. You’ve got a headache building behind your eyes, and the vending machine ate your last dollar without mercy.

You’re reviewing vitals at the nurse’s station when you hear it.

“Uh—hey. He probably needs stitches.”

You don’t look up right away. That sentence is routine.

But the voice?

That voice cuts you in half.

You raise your head.

And the world stops.

He’s standing just inside the ER doors, a tall guy next to him holding a bloodied towel to his eyebrow. But you don’t see the teammate. You barely register the injury.

All you can see is Brock.

Older now. More muscle, sharper features. But still him.

Still Brock.

Still the boy you’ve spent years trying to forget and never quite managing to.

His gaze locks on yours like gravity—like he didn’t know where you were all this time but now that he does, he’s not letting go.

You can’t breathe.

You blink. Once. Twice. It doesn’t change.

He’s real.

He’s here.

“Room four,” you manage, your voice barely above a whisper. “A nurse will be in soon.”

You don’t wait for him to speak. You turn and walk away before your heart has the chance to give you away.

You make it as far as the back hallway before the sob rises in your throat, unshakable. You swallow it down like you’ve swallowed his name a thousand times.

He was never supposed to come back into your orbit.

But he just did.

You’re restocking gauze in the supply room—hands shaking, brain not working—when you feel it.

That quiet shift in the air. That feeling you used to know by heart.

He’s behind you.

You don’t turn.

“I didn’t know you were here,” he says, voice rough, like he’s speaking through years of dust and silence.

“I just moved back,” you say, keeping your back to him. “Out of state for med school. Residency brought me home.”

“Back to Minnesota?”

You nod. “I thought I could handle it this time.”

You don’t say what you really mean: I thought maybe you wouldn’t be here anymore.

But of course he is. Because he belongs here. And you were the one who ran.

“Why’d you leave?” he asks, even though you’re sure he already knows the answer.

You finally turn, heart hammering. “Because I couldn’t open my front door without seeing your name on a billboard. Because my dad watched every Wild game on TV with the volume all the way up. Because every time someone wore your jersey at Target, I wanted to scream.”

Brock swallows hard.

“I was proud of you,” you say, quieter now. “But I couldn’t be close to it. Not when I couldn’t tell you.”

There’s a long, aching silence. He’s standing there, just a few feet away, and yet it still feels like there’s an entire lifetime between you.

“I thought you were gone for good,” he admits. “That you wanted to be far from me.”

“I did,” you whisper. “But it never worked.”

The words hang there—honest, unpolished, bleeding. You hate how your voice cracks. You hate how he still makes your chest ache with just a look. You hate how badly you missed him, even when you told yourself you were fine.

He takes a step closer, cautious like you’re a wild animal and he’s not sure if you’ll let him pet you or bite.

“I never stopped thinking about you,” he says, soft but steady. “Even when I tried.”

You meet his eyes. You used to know them like your own reflection. And for a second, you see the boy you loved under all that grown-up weight and Wild hockey fame.

“Why didn’t you ever reach out?” you ask.

His lips part like he might lie—but then he just shakes his head. “Because I didn’t think I deserved to. I thought… maybe you built something better without me. And I didn’t want to wreck it.”

The breath you let out sounds too much like a sob. You turn away again—not to run, but because it’s too much, too fast.

“Everything reminded me of you,” you say quietly. “I’d walk past a rink and want to puke. I’d hear someone say your name and go numb. So I left. I ran as far as I could. And still, nothing worked.”

He nods, almost like he’s grateful. Not because you hurt—but because he wasn’t the only one who did.

“I saw you once,” you admit. “At your debut. I bought a single ticket. Didn’t tell anyone.”

His eyebrows raise, stunned. “You came?”

You nod. “I left after the second period.”

“I—I thought I imagined it. Peyton swore she saw you. I told her there was no way.”

Your lips twitch. “There was a way. I just… wasn’t brave enough.”

He steps forward again. You don’t stop him this time.

“You are now.”

You meet his gaze. “I think so.”

“Then let me try again.”

It’s not dramatic. Not a grand gesture. Just a quiet offering, handed to you with trembling hands and years of regret stitched into the seams.

You nod.

And for the first time in years, something inside you unclenches.

You meet him for coffee two days later.

You almost cancel twice.

The first time is when you catch yourself changing your outfit for the third time, hair up, hair down, sweater or hoodie or something nicer, your heart pounding like it’s senior prom instead of a Tuesday morning at a half-empty café.

The second time is when your dad calls out of nowhere, asking if you want to come over for dinner. You say no. You don’t explain why.

You owe yourself this.

Closure. Or something that looks like it.

But when you walk in and see Brock already at a table in the corner, baseball cap low, hands wrapped around a mug that’s too big for his palms, you know the truth:

This was never going to be just closure.

Not when your heart still recognizes him like a favorite song.

“You ordered already?” you ask, sliding into the seat across from him.

He looks up—and for a second, the whole world softens.

“I got your old order,” he says. “Medium vanilla oat milk latte. Two sugars. Please tell me you haven’t gone all espresso snob on me.”

You blink. Swallow. “I… still drink it like that.”

His smile is small but real. “Muscle memory.”

You wrap your hands around the warm to-go cup in front of you. His fingers are so close you can feel the heat of them across the table. You don’t touch. Not yet.

The conversation starts light. Safe.

Work. Hockey. Cities you’ve lived in. He talks about the Wild, about road games and hotel room dinners and how his sister still kicks his ass at Mario Kart when he visits home.

You tell him about your residency. Long nights. The way you sometimes leave the hospital so wired you forget how to sleep. You don’t tell him how many of those nights you used to lie awake wondering what would’ve happened if you’d stayed. If he’d come back.

But eventually, the surface breaks.

“I saw you on the ice that night,” you admit.

He glances at you, eyes sharp with surprise. “The game?”

You nod. “You skated out and looked straight at my section. I thought… maybe you saw me.”

He exhales slowly. “I thought I felt you.”

Silence.

“I’ve never been more proud of anyone in my life than I was watching you walk across that stage at graduation,” he says. “I saw the photo. You looked… unstoppable.”

You blink fast. “I wasn’t. But I wanted to be.”

“You are now.”

It comes out so sure, so certain, that you have to look away before the tears win.

“I hated you,” you whisper. “Not because you left. Because I understood why.”

He’s quiet for a long moment. Then he reaches out.

His pinky brushes against yours across the table. Barely there. Barely anything.

But you feel it in every nerve.

“I’d do everything differently now,” he says. “If you let me.”

You take a shaky breath. Let your pinky curl around his.

“I’m not seventeen anymore.”

His eyes meet yours. “Neither am I.”

And for the first time in years, the world doesn’t feel so broken.

It starts slow.

One message. Then another.

That night after coffee, he texts you when he gets home.

Got home safe. Thanks for meeting me today. You look good. Really good.

You don’t answer right away.

You type: You too.

Then delete it.

Then type: It was nice seeing you.

Then delete that too.

You settle on:

Thanks for the latte.

The next morning, he sends you a picture of Charlie, the golden retriever his family rescued a few years back.

Still hates baths. Still loves you.

You laugh out loud, alone in your kitchen, and text back before you can second-guess:

He always liked me more than you.

And just like that, it begins.

Late-night check-ins. Good luck before games. “Tell me something funny that happened at work” texts. Spotify playlists shared at 1am. Photos of his coffee. A selfie of your stethoscope wrapped around your neck. Casual. Harmless.

Except it’s not.

Because you feel yourself softening.

And you can tell—so is he.

Two weeks later, you go to another game.

This time, you tell him you’re coming.

He doesn’t say much beforehand. But when you check your phone after the final buzzer, there’s one message:

Outside, by the players’ lot. If you want.

You find him leaning against his car, suit back on.

Neither of you says anything right away.

Then, like it’s nothing, he says, “Wanna walk?”

You nod. And you do.

It’s freezing. Your breath fogs in the air between you. He offers you his glove—just one—and you take it, your fingers sliding into the warmth where his hand just was.

You don’t hold hands. But he bumps your arm with his shoulder once. You bump back.

You talk about dumb things. Childhood pets. Which teammate takes the longest showers. What coffee place you still haven’t tried. But the whole time, the real conversation is humming underneath.

We used to do this.

This still feels right.

Do you feel it too?

He walks you to your car, and you wait for him to kiss you.

But he doesn’t.

He just says, “Text me when you’re home?”

You nod. “Yeah. I will.”

He opens your door. You get in. He closes it gently.

You drive away wondering how it’s possible for your heart to hurt and heal at the same time.

A few days later, he picks you up after your shift.

You’re exhausted, but you said yes anyway because something in you needed to see him tonight. Not at a café. Not at the rink. Just… him.

You don’t even go anywhere.

He drives aimlessly with the windows cracked and music low. You talk. You laugh. You drift into silence that feels familiar, not awkward.

Eventually, he parks.

Just a random overlook you haven’t been to since high school.

Since that night.

You both recognize it the second you pull up—but neither of you says it.

He turns off the car, and you sit in the quiet for a beat too long.

Then you turn to him. “Why didn’t you ever date anyone after me?”

His mouth quirks, sad and a little amused. “Who says I didn’t?”

You raise an eyebrow. “Did you?”

He shakes his head. “No.”

You nod, like that answer makes sense. Because it does.

Then:

“You were my favorite chapter,” he says softly. “I didn’t want anyone else to feel like the ending.”

Your breath catches.

The space between you shrinks.

You’re both leaning in before you realize it. Slow, soft. Your nose grazes his. Your lips part—

And then your phone buzzes in your pocket.

The moment breaks.

You pull away, exhaling shakily, heart pounding.

He swallows hard. “I should get you home.”

You nod.

But in your heart, you know—

It’s only a matter of time.

It comes out one night, quiet and unplanned.

You’re sitting on his couch, legs tucked beneath you, flipping through old photos on your phone when he shifts beside you and says, almost too softly—

“I never stopped keeping tabs on you.”

You glance up.

He’s staring at his hands like they’re confessing something for him.

“I used to ask your sister how you were doing. And I followed your college’s Twitter account. When you matched with the hospital out of state, I saw it before anyone told me.”

Your heart stutters.

“I didn’t reach out,” he says, “because I thought you hated me. But I couldn’t stop… caring. I just wanted to know you were okay.”

You swallow hard, throat tight.

“Then why didn’t you ever tell me the truth?” you whisper. “Why didn’t you tell me what my dad said?”

Brock looks up, eyes suddenly sharp with guilt.

“I wanted to protect you,” he says. “I thought if I told you, you’d fight to stay. And you were already hurting. Your dad… he said I’d wreck everything. That if I stayed, I’d be the reason you didn’t recover.”

“And you believed him.”

The words come out like a slap.

He flinches. “I didn’t want to. But I was seventeen. And I’d already almost lost you.”

You stand.

You’re not angry. Not exactly.

You’re shattered all over again.

“Do you know what it felt like?” you ask, voice shaking. “Lying in that hospital bed, asking for you, waiting for you—and no one telling me you came?”

He doesn’t answer. His face is broken open, wide and full of regret.

“I thought I wasn’t enough for you,” you say. “I thought I ruined everything.”

“No,” he says, standing too. “No, it was never that. I thought I was the one ruining everything.”

You’re both standing too close and too far.

You press your hands to your eyes. “You should’ve let me choose.”

“I know,” he says.

You lower your hands. Your eyes meet. You both look wrecked.

“But I’m here now,” he says. “I’m here. And I swear I’ll never let anyone take that choice from you again.”

Silence.

Then, quietly: “I don’t know if I can fall in love with you again.”

He nods. “That’s okay.”

“But I think I already am.”

He nods again, lips trembling with something like hope.

It’s not fast. It’s not easy.

But it’s real.

Coffee becomes dinner. Dinner becomes a Sunday morning walk. His hoodie ends up in your laundry again. You bring him takeout after late practices. He texts you good luck before every shift. You kiss him once in the hallway outside your apartment and then don’t stop thinking about it for days.

And the next time your dad asks if you want to come by for dinner, you bring Brock.

Your dad doesn’t speak when he first sees him.

The room is too quiet. Your mom fidgets with the napkins. Your sister holds her breath.

But you don’t look away.

“Hi, sir,” Brock says, his voice steady. “Thanks for having me.”

Your dad doesn’t reply.

Later, when it’s just the two of you in the kitchen, your father sighs.

“You’ve changed.”

“I had to,” you reply. “You tried to make my decisions for me. And it broke something in me. But I put it back together. I did.”

He nods slowly.

“Do you love him?” he asks.

You smile, soft but sure. “I never stopped.”

He looks down at the counter.

And then, quietly, “He’s not a boy anymore.”

“No,” you say. “And I’m not your little girl, either.”

He nods again. And it’s not quite approval—but it’s no longer resistance.

It’s enough.

You’ve just finished a long shift. The kind that drags and hums and leaves your feet aching and your eyes barely open. The kind that used to end with silence and a cold apartment.

Now, it ends with him.

He’s waiting outside the hospital when you step through the doors. Same hoodie. Same baseball cap. Same boy who broke your heart—and then came back to build a new one with you.

Only now he’s not just Brock who used to love you.

He’s Brock who never stopped.

And the man standing in the golden haze of the setting sun isn’t a memory.

He’s yours.

“Rough day?” he asks, stepping forward as you reach him.

You nod, leaning into his chest, breathing in the scent of his cologne and laundry detergent and something warm you’ve never been able to name.

“Better now,” you murmur.

He wraps his arms around you, resting his chin on top of your head like he always does.

There’s a dog in the backseat—Charlie, older now, tail thumping against the window at the sight of you. There’s a takeout bag in Brock’s hand. Your favorite order. No onions.

“Let’s go home,” he says.

And it hits you:

You’re not running anymore.

You’re not waiting for him to show up.

You’re not wondering if it’ll all fall apart again.

You’re here.

You’re home.

And when he looks at you like that—like he still can’t believe you’re real—you know:

It was always going to be him.

[notyournecromancer]

I totally adore you and have always loved everything you’ve recommended on any platform. I’ve only read marauders fics though and not sure anything can top Jegulus and Wolfstar for me. But I’m curious what the Drarry fuss is about. Do you have any advice on where to start? Something to get me into the characters everyone loves, like Blaise, Theo etc. And then I’ll go down the AFTG and Raven Boys rabbit holes! And probably never sleep again. Or be productive. Etc. But I’ll be happy.

SWEET SUFFERING JESUS i cannot TELL YOU how happy this makes me. DRARRY RECS INCOMING BELOVED!

first and foremost, i simply must tell you of the journey that is Led by Light of a Star Sweetly Gleaming which is the most GLORIOUS wolfstar - hear me out, the sequel to this is a Drarry, called Pages of You . These are by the most wonderful writer @wolfpants - I won't embarrass them by emotionally leaking all over the internet but fucking hear me out, babe, you're gonna wanna read every drop of Drarry they have to offer. While you're having a stalk, go and check out Terrible People and Everybody Hates a Tourist.

Next up, another favourite of mine: Draco Malfoy and The Mirror of Ecidyrue. this badboy is good if you fancy a canon retelling with some fantastic twists and fixes thrown in. each year gets better than the last and I think its such an interesting take on the whole thing.

Alright, another FABULOUS one with such a good little twist: Way Down We Go by @xiaq - a phenomenal writer whose original works you should also absolutely check out. This fic actually has Harry as a Werewolf which I absolutely convinced myself was a plot twist until I later went back and read the tags and realised it was there the whole time. LOVE this one. so good. side note - the supporting cast? unrivalled.

Okay here we have What We Pretend We Can't See by gyzym. this was lovely - I thought the characterisations were really spot on for canon adjacent/continuation. adored this.

Now for something a touch more whimsical, may I present you something unlike anything else I've ever read ever in life? It's called Running on Air by Eleventy7 (they are on tumblr I believe but for the life of me I cannot find their @) anyway. this is just the most stunning thing. it sort of plays out like a movie in front of you while you read it. its gentle and clever and thoughtful and intricate and just one of the most creative stories I've ever crossed paths with. i challenge you not to fall in love.

Here we have Is This The Place by the most gorgeous writer @januaryfirstreads - I promise you you aren't going to find someone who loves drarry like this writer does. and its so clear in every word she writes. This one of her's is lovely, so soft and full of the love of these characters, it does them justice in the most beautiful way.

Alright, if you know wolfstar you probably know @brigid-faye - and if you don't, all you need to know is that I trust brigid with my life. one thing about brigid? these characters are gonna be treated so well its gonna be hard to let go of 'em. here's a drarry brigid wrote a while back, its all the things her writing always has. which is to say, nothing you wanna miss. It's called Breeze (Move Me).

Okay, if you're a Red White and Royal Blue fan, the one and only itsgivingcamp has a FABULOUS ONE which you can find here: it's called Red, Green and Toil Too . now, I may perhaps be biased, but I happen to prefer this to the original. but like I said, maybe biased. but also, correct.

Alright, some classics. I may have read some of these or started them/downloaded them but I fear I've rambled on long enough. so here's the failsafe drarry recs to lead you down the right track:

Dwelling by Aideomai

The Devil's White Knight by Orphan_Account

Harry Potter and the Welcome to the World of Grey by sobsicles

Chasing Dragons by The_Sinking_Ship

and lastly i'm going to do the cheekiest of little self recs. i have a multi chap drarry that will one day be finished called Cold Coffee and a banter-driven little Christmas-themed one-shot named The Weather Outside.

anyway, there are so many bloody more. drarry is the most wonderful thing. its also (in my opinion) so disgracefully canon that it's hard to escape once you get into it. (like hello? the train scene?) so I wish you the best of luck on this journey.

you just come and give me a shout when you're ready to yell about AFTG and The Raven Cycle. I am here ready & waiting!

love you bye xoxoxoxo

[twisted-wonderland-shenanigans]

Hey so I just found your account and omg?? it's literally so amazing 😭✋

Anyways-I was just looking through a bunch of the twist monster au headcannons/stories, and I thought of a scenario that could be done!

Basically the cast reacting to gender neutral or female reader/yuu acting stuff out in their book they are reading like poses, dialogue, just genuine reactions to the text itself

ex. Throwing the book across the room and them being genuinely concerned that something happened bc reader is just staring off into space or cursing but what actually happened was either a character died/did something embarrassing/the mc and love interest finally kiss

Anyways that's all I had in mind hope you have a good day/night! <3

Omg thank you! I’m so glad you’re enjoying the content! QvQ

Ah, books. Such a wonderful creation humans made to fill us with raw, pure emotion or shattering our hearts and souls into a million tiny pieces—only for us to read it again and again! Don’t you just love those moments as a reader? UvU

Except for cliffhangers. Readers have a love/hate relationship with it, writers adore cliffhangers! ÒvÓ

So, what happens if we take a bookreader!Yuu (they/them) and throw them into Twisted Monsterland where even the history books read like a world guide/omnibus to a game or TV series? Oh, and I took a bit of inspiration from a Disney princess comic and a Bill Watterson “Calvin and Hobbes” comic for two of these scenarios. 😂

/-----------/

“Jeez, you sure you’ve got enough books, Yuu?”

“The librarian wouldn’t let me check out more than ten at a time,” Yuu replied, their backpack and arms filled with thick books. “Wish I could’ve gotten ten more at least, but this’ll do for now.”

“Are you sure you can even read all those before next semester?” Deuce asked in concern. “Those look pretty…dense.”

“Oh, I’ll be done in a week. Maybe a week and a half if we get a lot of homework.”

“Funya?! You gotta be kidding me!” Grim said. “Can humans read that fast?”

“Not everyone. Some people are slow readers, but that’s okay since they enjoy it at their own pace while I enjoy it at mine. Only problem for me is choosing which one of these I want to read first!”

/Later that night/

“Yuu? It’s time to eat!” Grim called out. Silence greeted him as he stared at Yuu, who was sitting on the couch with their face practically buried in a book. Frowning, the chimera padded over to the couch and repeated, “Yuu! I’m hungry!”

Still the human didn’t seem to respond, their shoulders hunching as they turned the page.

“Yuu? Yuu!” Huffing, Grim crossed his arms as he glared up at them. “You’ve been reading for the past three hours! How much longer are you gonna read that book?”

“What’s going on, pal?” one of the ghosts asked as the trio appeared.

Gesturing his paws at Yuu, he said, “They’ve been reading ever since we got back from the library today, and now they’re not reactin’ to me. It’s dinner time and they haven’t made any food yet!”

Before anyone could even think of what to say, a loud, shrill squeal filled the dorm.

“Eeeeeee!!!” Yuu squealed, a huge grin on their face as they flopped to the side and kicked their legs like a nervous rabbit while holding the book against their chest. “Omg it happened, it happened!!”

“Mrah!? What?! What happened?!” Grim yelled, wings flared out defensively while his fur bristled. “Why are you yelling!”

“My new OTP!! They finally kissed!!” Yuu said, their eyes wide as they rocked from side to side. “They kissed!! Yes!! Yesyesyesyesyessssss!!!”

“OTP? What’s an OTP??” one of the other ghosts asked.

“It’s what we like to call the ‘one true pairing’ in a story,” Yuu explained, a positively giddy expression on their face with eyes shining brighter than the stars as they struck a dramatic pose. “It’s two characters who vibe with each other on a level that you just can’t help but want them to be together—and the author brought these two together!! Yeeeeeeeee, I’m so happy!!”

“And loud,” Grim grumbled, paws clamped over his ears. “Why are you standing like that?”

“It’s how the main character professed their love for the other!”

“…are all humans as weird as you?”

“Trust me, there are people out there that are way crazier in their excitement than I am right now.”

“Really?!”

“Oh yeah. Don’t even get me started on the fanfics people write.”

“Fan…fics?”

“Oh, you sweet summer child…”

/Two days later/

“Heeeey, lil’ Shrimpy~!”

“Mm…”

“Eh…? Hey, Shrimp…why are you ignorin’ us? It’s not very nice.”

“Now, now, Floyd. One mustn’t interrupt a reader when they’re indulging in such a riveting story.”

“Shh,” Yuu muttered, their brow furrowed as they hunched closer to the book. “I’m at the best part!”

Floyd frowned as he laid his head on his arms, the basilisk slumping against the table. “Man, this is lame,” he said. “You promised to come play basketball with me today!”

“Once I finish this part, we can go do whatever you want, okay, Floyd?”

Jade hummed in amusement as he said, “A rather daring proposition you just offered, Yuu.”

“We have to do a buncha reading for class anyway,” Floyd said with a bored expression. “And Crabby and Mackerel said you finished two other books already, so what’s the point of thi-”

“AAAAIIIIIEEEEE!!?!?” Yuu shrieked, leaping out of their chair as Jade and Floyd recoiled in shock. Before the twins could react, Yuu had ducked back into their chair and pressed the book even closer to their face than before.

“…lemmie see that,” Floyd said, leaning over the table to grab it.

“No, no! It’s fine, go do something else!” Yuu said all too quickly, sinking even lower and turning away from Floyd’s reaching claws. “I think I heard Riddle in the hallway.”

“Lemmie see it!”

“No! You can’t read it!” Yuu cried out, bolting away from the table holding the book tight to their chest.

“Get back here, Shrimpy!”

“Noooo!!”

“Oh my,” Jade uttered, eyes wide for a moment before he chuckled. “Perhaps I should look into this book when they’ve finished it.”

/The next day/

“Oh no…oooh noooooo, I hate this so much!”

“Then why are you reading it?” Jamil asked, the naga curled around them. “If you don’t like it, just take it back to the library.”

“I can’t! It’s soooooo good!” Yuu said, practically throwing themselves backwards onto Jamil’s snake half with the book pressed against their face.

“Eh? But wait, you just said you hated it,” Kalim said in confusion.

“I hate it, but I love it so much,” Yuu told them with a whine, their head now touching the floor on the other side of Jamil’s snake body yet still draped over him like a cat. “This book will ruin your heart and shatter your soul into a million pieces!...you should read it too!”

“Given how dramatic you’re being, it might not be wise,” Jamil said with a sigh.

“Read it!”

“It’s okay, Yuu. We can read together! It’ll be more fun that way!”

“Kalim, no. You still need to study for the next potions exam.”

“Augh, I need someone to talk about this story with so we can lament in solidarity!”

“…have you been taking lessons from Rook lately?”

/Three days later/

“Um…is Yuu okay? They’re looking a little…tense.”

It had been several days since Yuu borrowed a stack of books, and already they had gone through nearly half of their hoard. Between classes and on breaks or after finishing tests, it wasn’t hard for students to notice the lone human with their nose between the pages of one book after the other. Even the researchers had taken note of Yuu’s behavior in between tests, making note of their expressions and how their body changes with each scene depicting their emotions. It was noteworthy how they reacted when a character in the story did something “cringeworthy and stupid” (as Yuu would explain when asked), it looked as though the human had swallowed a lemon.

At the moment they were sitting in Heartslabyul, yet another book in their arms as they sat on one side of the lounge. Cater had taken progression snapshots of Yuu’s body slowly curling into itself, eyes steadily growing wider and wider to the point it looked as though they’d bolt away in panic.

“They’re fine,” Grim told Trey as he munched on a snack. “They’ve been like this since they got all those books. That’s the pose they had last time when their Ohteevee smooched or somethin’.”

“Oh, you mean ‘OTP’, Grimmy,” Cater corrected with a smile. “That’s so cute! Our human has an OTP already~!”

“I’ve heard of hitting the books, but this is ridiculous,” Ace commented with a sigh. “They’ve been reading so long that I forgot what half their face looks li-”

“GRAAAAH!!!!”

SLAM! Fwump!!

“Gyah!?” the boys yelped, everyone staring at Yuu as they sat on the couch with a dark scowl.

“Yo, what the heck? Why’d you throw the book like that?” Ace asked, pointing at the large tome on the other side of the couch now.

“Um…Yuu?” Deuce began when they didn’t respond. “Are…you okay?”

“……I’m mad,” came the response, Yuu’s expression growing more annoyed as they stared off into space.

“About what?” Riddle asked in surprise.

Yuu’s gaze turned to the discarded book, their expression as though they had been betrayed by a trusted friend as they said, “Because my favorite character died, and I refuse to read how the book ends when there’s literally two freaking pages left! That’s not enough space to bring them back in a satisfying way!!”

“Y…you’ve gotta be kidding me,” Ace grumbled with a sigh. “That big of a reaction just because a fictional character was killed off?”

“You weren’t there to see the struggles they went through! I saw them change from an annoying bully into a fully developed and vulnerable character who wanted to take charge of their life—and the author killed them off!” Jumping to their feet, Yuu marched towards Ace and Deuce’s room where they’d left their stuff and said, “Where’s my notebook? I need to fix this!”

“What are you gonna do?” Grim called out.

“Write a fanfic, because my scrunkly deserves to be happy!”

“Huh? Scrunkly??”

/Final day/

“Oh, Great Seven…what happened in your book this time?” Vil asked with a sigh.

Yuu sniffled as they tried to dry their tears, though it was difficult as more continued to flow down their cheeks. “I…I just finished my last book,” they said, their voice cracking a little with emotion as Grim pat their arm reassuringly.

“All ten books in a week?” Vil said in surprise. “That’s…impressive. Even so, why are you so upset? Was the story that horrible?”

“No…it…it…it was too good!” Yuu cried out, clutching the book so tight that their knuckles turned white as the tears flowed freely now.

“Ah…such pure, raw human emotion,” Rook crooned. “To express it so freely without fear…beaute!”

“Was the book really that good?” Epel asked.

“Yes!” Yuu wailed. “Now that it’s over, I…I don’t know what to do with myself now…”

Peering at the title, Vil gave a thoughtful hum and said, “Oh, that story. I hear there is supposed to be a spin-off book series. The first one should have released just the other day.”

“Really?!”

“Mrrr…now you’ve done it,” Grim grumbled with a sigh. “Here we go again.”

[revasserium]

anon request: why they call it falling x osamu miya

126. why they call it falling

osamu; 1,078 words; fluff and the most fleeting of suggestive themes; really just a character study on the miya twins + reader as a conduit for character dev

he has always had someone who knew exactly what he was thinking, exactly how he was feeling. because when god made twins (or so osamu thinks), they got really fucking lazy and probably just hit ctrl+v one too many times.

when he meets you for a first time, he wonders if this is what it felt like for a hurricane and a typhoon to finally learn about each other, the only difference between them being where they occur — only an entire ocean and half a world apart.

“i think… i met someone,” he says.

“i think… i’m done with volleyball after high school ends,” he says.

“i think you’re an idiot,” atsumu says.

“do you… think i’m an idiot?” osamu asks, sitting across from you on a summer evening, long after practice has been over, but the stickiness of the day still lingers on his skin. tsumu is still mad at him, but what else is new?

you regard him for a minute, pressing your lips into a soft, thin line as you stare out across the darkening horizon.

“no…” you say finally, looking down at your hands, loose in your lap. osamu looks down at his own hands, loose in his lap, his palms littered with calluses from all the hours of practice. all the hours of dreaming.

“i don’t think you’re an idiot.”

osamu smiles, nodding, “thanks…”

the truth is that it’s been way too long since he’s felt like the shadow of himself, or perhaps of someone else, and it’s been way too long since he’s really known what it felt like to do something with his whole entire soul and feel good about it. and that’s a kind of growing up too — so he learns — that’s a kind of changing.

“we wanted to be the best,” he admits, chuckling to himself, the thought of it now somehow ridiculous in a way that it’s never been to him before. he shakes his head and sighs, shaking our his bangs from his eyes as he casts his gaze up towards the first burgeoning stars.

“you still can — what’s stopping you?” you ask, your grin going lopsided in the way he likes. and when he looks back at you, he sees the world reflected in your eyes.

later that night, when he is making music of your body with his lips skimming a line along the sharp of your exposed collarbones, when his fingers are tugging you apart, when you are pushing back against him, pushing him back into the mattress of his own bed and atsumu is nowhere to be found (probably still sulking somewhere with the rest of the team), you pull back and smile at him — the lopsided smile he loves so much and he can’t help but lean up to kiss it from your lips.

and he feels it in his own body then, the years and years and years of his practice, the years and years and years of his hard work. him and his twin brother — the mirrored half of himself, the light to (perhaps) his shadow. ying and yang and all that slow, smooth jazz.

he grins too and kisses you. he kisses you hard and fast and he makes music of his own body then, too. because his body has long since been an instrument and he was born knowing how to play every single one of its notes.

“stay,” he says, after he’s had his fill of you, because a part of him knows that he’ll be just as hungry later.

“maybe,” you answer, even as you both hear his brother come home.

atsumu comes back to find both of you asleep, the sheets twisted over your very, very naked bodies. and a part of him wants to hate it but another part of him doesn’t. he can’t.

because this is what happens when a hurricane and a typhoon learn about each other for the very first time — they are so, so much the same thing, made different only by their times and places. but they are still just beating hearts and half-caught breaths — they are still just wind and rain and a tunnel between the sea and the never-ending sky.

“what are you gonna do?” atsumu asks, not looking at his twin.

osamu shrugs, “dunno… maybe i’ll make rice balls.”

“hn. you do make good riceballs.”

“i… i think i really like her, y’know.”

atsumu heaves a long, deep breath. he nods.

“yeah. i know.”

osamu grins, “right. of course you do.”

and the truth is that when god made twins, they probably hit ctrl+v one too many times, and they have always known things about each other that no one else will ever know or fully understand. like, the things that make them different, totally and inexplicably.

“he’s gonna be the best in the world,” osamu says, his eyes bright as twin stars as you sit next to him, the pair of you glued to the match on the tv screen. there’s an apron around samu’s waist and rice sticking to his fingers.

you almost laugh.

“he already is,” you say.

it takes three seconds of osamu to turn to you, his grin going lopsided as he watches you watch him.

“i — i think i love you.”

and you really do laugh this time.

“yeah. i know.”

osamu only rolls his eyes, goes back to pressing the musubi between his palms as the commercial break cuts to some curry commercial featuring an incredibly deadpanned kageyama. he packs the rice in tight and hands it to you.

“how’s it taste?”

you take your time savoring the flavor, grinning as you take another huge bite. the smile on osamu’s face spreads and spreads and spreads.

“like the best in the world,” you say, before shoving the whole thing into your mouth just to make osamu laugh.

“you’re… an idiot.”

you swallow hard and reach for a glass of water.

osamu catches your hand and presses his lips to the inside of your wrist, letting his lips linger there even as the commercial break ends.

“i know,” you say, nodding as you both turn back to the screen. the rice is warm and fresh and the nori is crispy and just the perfect amount of salty.

“yeah, i know."

[jazlynriddle-legacy]

Portrait Of The Pirate S Ch 1:

Summary:

Ominis struggles through each day, his family wants him to become exactly like his older siblings. Rich, powerful, selfish, and cruel adults. He refuses, if being kind and refusing to harm others for his own benefit means being a child, then he will be a child forever. He hears a sweet whisper from the window. Then come away with me, to Neverland. Come with me and become Peter Pan.

Warnings: Sebastian x Ominis! A Peter Pan AU starring Ominis Gaunt as Peter Pan and Sebastian Sallow as Captain S. Hook!

You can also read on AO3! (chapter specific warnings below)

Notes:

I'm gonna be straight, right off the bat, Ominis is gonna be a tad OOC in this one. In the sense that his history is different and that means he's not the same person from Hogwarts Legacy, no Potterverse magic because AU and all that, but I'll still keep him as Ominis at the core as I can.

This fic won't have an upload schedule because it's a side project, if I do upload, it'll probably be on weekends where my main series’ chapters aren't going up. Also, this chapter is super short because it's a prologue, the other chapters will be longer. Not toooo sure how many chapters there will be, but it's unlikely to go past ten. ...I think. x'D

In other news, my friend got me to play Mouthwashing, an absolutely amazing yet short 2hr game, and the Curly/Jimmy ship crashed into me like it was the Titanic, so I'm writing another fic for them too, fuck- OTL help-

Look, those gay assholes have almost the exact same dynamic as Sebastian and Ominis, just faaaar more twisted, fucked up, and toxically codependent, you cannot blame me.

Ominis strains his ears by his window, he must be hallucinating. There is no other explanation for why he would be hearing wings fluttering on the other side of the smooth glass, along with a voice. People can't fly. Against his better judgement, he unlatches the window, maybe it was someone who needed help? But who would be hanging outside his window at this height? His room was on the third floor!

A tinkle of music dances through the air, and his heart stops as the beating of little wings becomes undeniable. Wings, the tinkle of bells, a soft voice that felt like it spoke directly to his heart rather than his ears?

The word drifts into his mind, fairy. Like in the Braille fairytales his older brother oft mocked him for continuing to read, but what else could it be?

Hehe, would you like to see me? Go ahead, little one!

Her laugh is lovely to hear and at her invitation, he touches her with trembling fingers. She's beautiful. Little smooth wings attached to tiny shoulder blades, he imagined them shimmering with flecks of silver and starlight, like in the books. On the top of her head is an adorable bun of hair and she wears a dress that feels like the leaves of a tree.

She giggles and he feels embarrassed. My name is Anne! I heard your wish, you want to be a child forever.

“Ominis, Ominis Gaunt.” He answers politely and bites his lip, hope blooming in his chest. “Can you grant my wish?”

I can! She twirls on his palm, she's so small. Come with me. little one. There is a magical world waiting for you, a place where children never have to grow up.

There must be a catch, nothing is free, but at the same time, did any of his parents’ teachings apply here? This was a fairy. She must have felt the purity of his desire, this was his reward for holding strong, his escape, right?

“Alright.” Ominis nods firmly. “I'll come with you.”

He never sees the victorious grin that spreads across her face as she sprinkles dust over his blond head and guides him out through the window. Away from everything he has ever known.

Onwards, to Neverland.

The Mediterranean breeze that blows across his face and through his hair is like nothing he's ever felt before, and he takes deep breaths of the salty air. It's wonderful.

It had been terrifying at first - flying - but Anne had guided him carefully, warning him about obstacles and describing the environment to him. It takes belief, happy thoughts and a dash of fairy dust to fly, and the very thought of freedom was enough happiness to lift him off the ground without effort. With her guidance, he can dance through the air without fear.

It felt amazing, having someone who actually cared enough to tell him about the world around him, to describe for him the world he would never see. ‘Can you give me sight?’ He'd asked, and she had told him sadly that she couldn't, but that she would give him the next best thing, she would be his eyes.

Don't worry, no child of Neverland will ever hurt you. Neverland is for you, Peter Pan. She chirps happily into his heart, and he is comforted, though he still feels a little off about how she keeps calling him Peter Pan.

He'd asked why she wasn't using his name, and she'd shushed him, saying that it was part of the spell. If he was to be Peter Pan, the King of Neverland, he must discard his name, his history. He must not think it to himself, he must take up his title alone, he is King after all.

Over here, Peter! Anne calls and he follows eagerly.

She has already brought him to meet mermaids with lovely voices, and they'd sung to him, praising him and thanking him for coming. Neverland has been without a Peter Pan for too long.

The webbed hands of the mermaids had guided his fingers to caress their dry scales, feeling them soften under his touch, feeling the wrinkles fade from their faces, as they sang of the joy of being in the presence of Peter Pan and the healing his power could bring.

For Peter Pan is the source of Neverland's magic. His kindness, his love, his bright childlike soul bringing life to the land.

That is his role. He is now the benevolent King of Neverland, granting eternal youth and purging the evil of age.

He couldn’t be happier.

Here, his kindness is a gift, his gentleness and youth, a blessing.

The Indians too, were overjoyed to regain their vitality and virility. They could hunt again, they could run again. They'd cooked a magnificent feast for him, the delicious and mouthwatering roasted meats, fat dripping off the bone as he ate, danced and cheered along with them.

Now, full and fulfilled, he wonders as Anne guides him through the forest, where she will take him next. Are there more to heal? He feels rather sleepy though, and the sun's rays have cooled on his skin, signalling the coming of night.

Welcome home, Peter! Anne tinkles happily. There will be more to heal tomorrow, but tonight, you can meet your new friends and get some rest!

His heart picks up in excitement, friends? He hadn't any back home, most too scared of his family's reputation to befriend him. Anne has already given him so much. Purpose, love, power, and now she would give him friends too?

Come out lost kids! Anne calls out. Peter Pan has arrived!

“Peter! It's Peter Pan!” The cries of his new friends ring out and he smiles shyly.

“H- hi.” He blushes when he hears squeals of excitement in response.

“Hello, Peter! I'm Poppy, twelve years old!” A girl's voice comes from somewhere before him, she sounds gentle and sweet, and he feels like he'll get along with her well.

“Imelda. Thirteen.” Another girl, with a rather deadpan voice stated.

“And I’m Nellie! Eleven!” The next girl chimes in beside him.

“D- Duncan, um, also eleven.” A boy this time, though his voice feels a little irritating, for some reason.

“And I'm Garreth, ten!” This boy's voice sounds cheeky and mischievous, and Garreth grabs his hand, pulling him through the air. “Come on, I'll show you where we sleep!”

Pulled along by the boy, he thinks to himself with some discomfort. Ten to thirteen... At fifteen years old himself, that makes him the oldest.

That makes you their leader, Peter! Anne chirps beside him.

“You- you think I can?” He asks her nervously.

Of course! Anne giggles. You're Peter Pan, you can do anything!

He smiles, that's right, he's Peter Pan, he can do anything here.

Neverland is for him, after all.

The galleon rocked ever so slightly, swaying from side to side, as a young dark-skinned woman strode through the belly of the large ship. Arriving at a door with a simple hook engraved on its surface, along with a wooden block bearing the letter S, she knocked on the door and then waited.

“Come in.” The voice that came from inside was deep but still tinged with youth.

“Captain. Did you hear?” She asked as she opened the door.

“I don't need to, Natty. I can feel it. Peter Pan has returned to Neverland.” Hook gave her a thin smile, his voice bitter and dry.

“Will you win him over, Captain?” Natty asked, watching her leader with some concern as the young man sighed.

Despite looking barely just shy of twenty, the captain's expression always made her feel like he was over a hundred years old. As he should, Natty mused to herself, considering that Captain S. Hook has looked this way long before she was even born.

His brown windswept hair and freckled cheeks were barely visible in the dim candlelight, but his warm brown eyes caught the light just fine, and they were filled with longing and wistful sorrow as he gazed upon the small locket in his grasp. She knew whose image rested within the bronze metal and her heart clenched with a pang of pain.

It hurt, but she suppressed the urge to force it away. Pain was good, pain was a part of life. Of love, of loss and of age. It was a blessing that she would experience joy, then sorrow, and then peace when her time came. Only to be reborn and feel life's beauty all over again. A blessing that her kind and selfless captain can never have.

“I have to.” Hook breathed, closing the locket and placing a gentle kiss on its surface, his eyes burning with determination. “The Keeper asked me to. I have to save him... before he becomes Peter Pan.”

Hook turned to her, and the intensity in his dark eyes reminded Natty that, while he looks young, and while he is kind and selfless beyond reason, this is also the man who had killed his own lover. This is the man who has sworn to be the last Captain Hook.

“Ready the ship. We begin our attack on the barrier at dawn.”

Notes:

This is basically an Ominis who never met Sebastian or Anne, so despite being no less abused by his family, he's also more isolated and "sheltered", in the sense of being naïve, unaccustomed to socialisation, and unaware of the problems/lives of the commoners/poor. So, he's got a lot of Ominis’ prioritisation of his own self-image over others' well-being/happiness and his moral simplicity cranked up to eleven and less sense of typical social norms or what is “normal”. If you thought Heavy Is The Crown had a messed up Ominis, get a loada this. xP

Why do I keep fucking this boy up-

Also, despite this being a Peter Pan AU, I'm keeping Ominis 15 just because, well, any younger makes me really uncomfortable. Like, 15 is probably as low as I'd go with smut and... er, yeah, for obvious reasons.

Sebastian's older in this story in a literal sense, but you'll quickly see that that's debatable mentally, thanks to "growing up" in Neverland. They're both gonna be pretty messed up in this one. Which, if you know how the original Peter Pan was waaaaaay darker than Disney's and actually about how children can be 200% more cruel than adults, this will make sense.

Like, in the original book, it is implied that Peter straight up kills his Lost Boys whenever they accidentally "grow up". The book highlights how, while the type of cruelty children have can seem absurd to adults, they are still innocent because they do not grasp the gravity and weight of their actions nor the consequences. There is no malice behind children's cruelty because they don't care or know enough to intentionally hurt, nor do they understand responsibility/accountability enough to feel bad when they do.

A kid would casually kill their dog and then forget they had a dog to begin with, no guilt, no shame, because they neither care nor know to care. Children take cues from adults as to how to respond, what is normal and what isn’t, if they don’t get enough exposure to typical adults, they simply don’t develop typically. Doesn't make them evil, they're just kids.

Becoming an adult is about being able to feel empathy, caring about what other people feel and learning to reciprocate effort. That's why Wendy was considered as already growing up, because she realised that she was forgetting her parents and felt guilty for making them worry and wanted to go home to them.

At fifteen, Ominis is definitely dancing that line, even closer to entering adulthood then thirteen-year-old Wendy, but his childhood isn't nearly as warm as hers so, there will be... differences x3

However, if you don't have any familiarity with the original Peter Pan, that's great too! Since this barely draws anything more than some themes from the original book and is partially inspired by a Vocaloid song, (if you know it, congratulations, you know a fraction of the mysterious history of Neverland, but shhhhhh let's not spoil the fun for those who don't! If you don't know the song, don't worry, I'll tell you to go watch the MV on YouTube when the time is right).

So, throw out the original Peter Pan lore if you have it in your head. I will lay out the world building as we go, so strap in and enjoy the adventure! xD

And hopefully ya'll won't mind that Sebastian is going to be referred to as Hook for a significant portion of this fic, you'll see why next chapter x3

[digeethegenie]

The Absolutely Peachey Keen Cactaur Conductor vs the Lillikin of Light (Or is it Darkness?)

Day 26 - Zip Shadowbringers (5.0) - Shadowbringers Character spoilers for World of Final Fantasy, of all things

Another Time, Another Place

The arid sands of this new world fill my… Well... not my nostrils, I don't have those… however we sort smell things as I behold it's brick coloured magesty. In my Fifty-odd years of conducting I had never- well ok I had seen places like this quite a few times before, but would it be fair to this place to judge it on all the others has never seen?

And clearly suffered some sort of calamity.

Maybe even quite a few.

But that is not important! To me anyway. For I am the Suculentious, Studatious (and not at all Salacious) Cactaur Conductor! And, though cosmos spanning shinanigins that I am not at legal liberty to divolge, I am setting up the railway on The First.

You might be thinking, "But why?" but, I pose to you, dear reader, why NOT?

… What's a Y'shtola?

Anyway, your absolutly peachey-keen Cactor Conductor will-

= = =

"So that's the monster?"

Ryne nodded to Yujo as they looked on from their vantage point.

"It looks like a normal cactaur to me… That all sort of babble like that."

"They do?"

Yujo turned around to her Hume companion. "Oh… oh so it's 'actually' talking. Like, "in common", talking. That… That's not normal cactaur behaviour. Not that wearing a hat is normal behaviour for monsters."

Ryne simply aquessed to the lalafell's expertiese on the matter.

"Well, It's not doing anything wrong, so I suppose I'll just take a look and-"

= = =

"And do what, exactly, tiny Lillikin girl?" I ask the lillikin that stood before me. Slightly wierdly proportioned thing. Looked more like a sack of popotoes than the more cubioud head shaped lilikin that I know.

Both the lilikin and the tiny jiant girl jumped backwards, screaming like…Well… litle (and jiant) girls.

"When did?!" the lilikin asked, clutching her chest from the fright.

"It was just over there a moment ago!"

I let out a laugh. "You have just been witness to one of my many fantastic abilities, jiant girl! Conducting is but one of my many peachey-keen fascets!"

I watched as the two girls exchanged confused looks.

"What on the star is…"

"Peachy-keen?"

There's exactly no appreciation for the common slang of yester-year.

The lilikin is the first to recover. "Doesn't matter. You're here so you can explain yourself. What are you doing messing around with Twine's railway?"

Oh, are they on to me? Oh, that could be bad. The lady was kind of insistant that I didn't talk about that sort of thing to the locals.

I give them the most serious face I can muster. "I'm sorry, I can't divolge that information."

The lilikin had a look that kind of reminds me of that Reynn girl at her most zipped.

"Oh I don't no time for this." she said as she took up a fighting pose and lauched towards me.

"Zip!"

I hear her utter something in confusion before she takes another lunge at me.

"Zip-Zip!"

She stumbles a little. Her jiant companion asking if she was alright only seemed to make her even more zipped and even more like Reynn.

I wonder…

I let out a suculant laugh. "Ahaha! No one has ever catched me in my fifty years of Cactauring! Well, once, exactly once. I have been caught exactly once."

"It's gonna be twice when I get my hands on-!"

"Nope! Zip!"

= = =

Yujo growled in frustration as the cactaur dodged her as if it vanished the instant her fist would have made contact. It was like nothing she had ever fought before.

"Stand still and let me-"

"Not happening, zip!"

She twisted as she tried to keep her footing before a childish scream of frustration filled the Ahm Areg air.

= = =

Oh this is too easy. Tones of fun though. Nothing like giving the locals a good heart stoper and then giving them the run around.

Well, they'll get tired of this and surely walk off so with a few more dodges I should- wait why is the lilikin glowing?

= = =

"Behold! The fan that sunders all! Limit Breaking Mystic Art of the Luminary! Fan Dango!" Yujo's form suddenly split into several indicical pieces and all launged at the Cactaur.

= = =

"Oh… bother." I uttered as I saw a gaggle of Lilikin all lunge for from every direction.

[hansolen]

IVE FOUND THE ASK. (Lord I'm not the brightest bulb in this world)

Hihi HANNIE! Here are some questions for you ᕕ(ᐛ)ᕗ

★ your favourite aesthetic? And which aesthetic you associate yourself with?

★ a song you associate with each of your yumeships

★Do you have any wips at the current moment?

★favourite sweet treat?

★ what do you like about twisted wonderland ? And which house do you like the most (are they....called houses.....dorms...? Idk...)

★ what fandoms are you currently in?

Using this dog reaction meme everywhere because I love it.

HELLOOOOO CEECEE !!!!!!!! i am so sorry for answering this so late :( exam week has been grilling me and i wanted to sit and properly answer your lovely ask 🫶🫶🫶 since i finally got a 4 day holiday in between what better time than now !! (its 3am) ALSO YOU ARE THE BRIGHTEST STAR IN THE WORLD AND THATS ALL THAT MATTERS !!!! aaand i love the nickname hannie i always light up like :D when i read it I NEED TO THINK UP ONE FOR YOU TOO OMG gotta churn my brain juice 🧃 asap !!!!

★ your favourite aesthetic? and which aesthetic you associate yourself with?

-> my own personal aesthetic would be trinkets and earthy shades mixed with blood !! though maybe a little green sprinkled in there like moss growing on rocks !! with my trinket addiction comes overfilled books and overwritten messy notes <3 i think these small things together stir the potion that is: me !! i also love soft wavy curls and the sea/moon motifs ♡

★ a song you associate with each of your yumeships

-> this is such a good question because funnily enough i haven’t thought about songs specifically for any of my current selfships (stares wistfully at my playlists of my old f/os… will revisit those one day….)

jade leech - heart of chambers by beach house

jing yuan - take care by beach house

bonus! aventurine - i will by mitski (i’m not gonna lie, this song is for every one of my selfships ever…. it’s basically my In Love song i think)

★ do you have any wips at the current moment?

-> yess i do !!! though… i am struggling through them unfortunately 💔 writers block is heavy, i Want to write but suddenly theres a jam in the flow of ideas 😔💔

currently my main one is: cold stark gold - sacrifice!phainon x deity!reader :> a delicious dynamic (but they are torturing me 😞)

★ favourite sweet treat?

-> oughh thats a hard one…..i love rasmalai 🥹 so much… just typing its name made me so hungry LOL i also love nutella bomboloni but my favourite cafe closed recently 💔 it was the only one that sold it in my area 😞 i would love to know yours as well 🫶!! (so i can send it to you through the power of my mind)

★ what do you like about twisted wonderland ? and which house do you like the most (are they....called houses.....dorms...? Idk...)

-> i love jade leech. thats it 😔 (i hate him) jokes aside honestly the reason i love twst is probably nostalgia. i got into it couple years ago (i think 2021? then i left it in 2023…) suddenly woke up one random day on november 2024 and boom… it took over my life again. i love the world building twst has! it brings in such flawed characters (since they are all based off of disney villains) it makes for fun characters and dynamics that i enjoy playing with !!!

my favourite dorm is …octavinelle bahahah,, its basically like a capitalistic mafia dorm run by mers 😭 but theyre funny and pretty so i think it cancels out? 🙂‍↕️ though my self insert would likely be in diasomnia due to lore (and yess you are right !! they are called dorms)

★ what fandoms are you currently in?

-> this is a hard one… i think i am a little bit in every fandom ive ever been into ahahaha — i subtly keep up with everything (yes i am totally not going insane 🫡) though my main ones currently would be hsr and twst :0 genuinely though i’m everywhere …. Lurking even when i don’t post about it as much

thank you for such wonderful questions 🥹🥹 trust that i WILL be visiting your inbox soon with my bag full of questions 🧳🧳🧳 also i am wishing you best of luck for your exams 🥹🫂🫂 may we make it through this month 🥹🫶 sending you much love !!! hope you are taking good care of yourself ♡ turning into a capybara to hug you as we speak !!

[itsbellat]

Rainbow Hearts: My Journey of Love and Acceptance

Hey there, my fabulous readers! Today, I'm gonna spill the tea on a rollercoaster ride of emotions, heartbreak, and self-discovery. So, grab your tissues (and maybe a tub of ice cream) 'cause we're about to dive into my coming-out story. Buckle up, lovelies, 'cause it's gonna be a bumpy ride!

Picture this: high school drama, butterflies in my stomach, and a heart that beats to the rhythm of teenage crushes. I had this major crush on Sam, a classmate who made my heart do somersaults and my mind go all mushy. Little did I know, Sam was bi-curious, and things took a steamy turn when we found ourselves making out in my bedroom.

But, oh honey, plot twist incoming! Just when I thought my dreams were coming true, life pulled a fast one on me. One fateful day, while Sam and I were caught up in the heat of the moment, my dear ol' mom decided to make an unannounced entrance. Yeah, talk about the ultimate buzzkill! My mom's eyes widened, and her jaw practically hit the floor when she saw us locked in a passionate embrace.

Sam had to make a swift exit, leaving me alone with my mom and a million emotions swirling inside me. But let me tell you, my mom? She's an absolute queen. She looked me straight in the eyes and reassured me that she loved and supported me, no matter who I loved. I could see the worry in her eyes when she told me that my dad wouldn't understand, so we had to keep our little secret between us. Mama bear was ready to protect her cub, and I couldn't be more grateful for her love and acceptance.

Heartbreak, my friends, is a real kicker. In the aftermath of the Sam saga, I discovered that Sam had a crush on this blonde dude from our history class named Zack. Talk about a twist of fate that felt like a punch to the gut! It felt like someone had played a cruel joke on my heart, leaving it bruised and shattered.

But being the passionate soul that I am, I couldn't let my emotions fester inside me. So, I did what any writer with a heart on the mend would do—I poured my feelings into a love letter. You know, penning down all those raw emotions, the highs, the lows, the what-ifs, and the what-could-have-beens. It was like bleeding my heart onto paper, putting every ounce of my vulnerability into words.

Now, let me share with you a snippet from that heartfelt letter:

"Dear Sam,

There are a million thoughts swirling inside my head, like a tornado of emotions that I can't seem to tame. It's crazy how the mere thought of you can make my heart dance a wild salsa, and how your smile feels like a ray of sunshine on even the gloomiest days.

But, my love, fate has thrown a curveball that has left me spinning. Discovering your crush on Zack felt like a dagger through my heart, shattering the dreams I had woven around us. It's like watching my favorite rom-com, only to have the ending rewritten without me in it.

Yet, despite the ache, I want you to know that my heart still carries a flame for you. Maybe it's foolish, maybe it's reckless, but it's a fire that refuses to be extinguished. And if one day, when the stars align and the universe whispers its secrets, you find yourself wondering about what could have been, remember that my heart will always hold a special place just for you.

With love, Bella" After pouring my heart out into that love letter, I couldn't muster the courage to give it to Sam. Fear and doubt crept in, playing tricks on my mind. What if it was too late? What if it would only bring more pain? So, that heartfelt letter remained hidden, tucked away in a secret drawer, carrying the weight of unspoken words and unfulfilled dreams.

But here I am, sharing this intimate story with all of you in the vast expanse of the blogosphere. It's funny how time has a way of shifting perspectives and healing wounds. I've realized that sometimes, the act of writing about our experiences can be just as cathartic as sharing them with the world. My hidden treasure of emotions, unveiled and released into the universe. It's a testament to the journey of self-discovery, resilience, and finding solace in the power of words. Life may not always turn out the way we expect, but it's in those unexpected detours that we uncover our true strength.

And there you have it, my friends—a glimpse into the rollercoaster of emotions that was my coming-out story. Life has its twists and turns, and sometimes love takes us on unexpected detours. But through it all, I've learned that being true to yourself and finding acceptance in your own heart is the greatest love story of all. Now, let's raise a metaphorical glass and toast to vulnerability, to love's unpredictable dance, and to the beauty of embracing our authentic selves. Here's to you, dear readers, and to the courage it takes to share our stories, even when they bear the marks of bittersweet memories.

Stay fierce, stay fabulous, and keep embracing the beautiful chaos that is your journey. Love is a wild adventure, and I'm here cheering you on every step of the way!

XOXO, Bella

[mesmarique]

Yuri and Subtext in Spring 2023

Spring season is knocking at the door and the Yuri shipping in Spring 2023 will be unreal. I swear to Madoka.

There's at least two Yuris that are gonna hit us with full force, two at the very least subtext-heavy ones, and I'm sure the Uma Musume creators are gonna find a way to make it really gay in Road To The Top as well.

Here I list the shows (as far as I know, but in case there's gonna be last minute additions, I will edit this post accordingly) that are going to come out in April, as well as little side information, fun facts and my personal feelings about them:

Mobile Suit Gundam: The Witch From Mercury Season 2

This series is, like it says, a continuation of The Witch From Mercury which aired from October 2022 to January 2023, our protagonist is a shy girl from Mercury by the name of Suletta Mercury, who was thrown into a setting à la Revolutionary Girl Utena, with duels that determine who's going to marry President Delling's only daughter Miorine Rembran. I'm gonna keep the summary short here, because there's a lot of spoilers to beware of, but for the Yuri enthusiasts it's a show that should not be skipped over.

I personally really loved this show, it was very exciting to watch and the next cour promises a lot more than what we have already seen.

And the best thing is: You can watch all of it subbed on Youtube legally on the GundamInfo channel for free. The episodes are still being regionally unlocked, but a great portion of the world should be having standard access to most episodes by now, as well as the Prologue that is strongly recommended to watch before you get into the main series at all.

There is also a novel chapter set between the Prologue and Episode 1, which you're free to read anytime after watching the Prologue.

You are NOT required to have seen other Mobile Suit Gundam series' prior to this one, it's original and written by the author of the official Revolutionary Girl Utena novels (mind you, he is not the original creator of Utena!).

Season 2 is going to air from April 2023, every Sunday (presumably the first Sunday of the month, which is a 2nd. Oy, don't look at me like that, they did say it as cryptical as that! lmao). Edit #1: Set airing date is 9th of April!

Here you can watch an English subbed trailer for Season 1:

Edit #2: There is now a trailer for The Witch from Mercury Season 2 (it contains heavy spoilers for Season 1):

Birdie Wing: Golf Girls' Story Season 2

This show is produced by Bandai, like the series above. The first season aired from April to June 2022. This one is honestly quite a messy but entertaining show, with quite a few genres mixed into it. The lead characters in this one are also girls and have a very soul-matey connection to one another (They legitimately can't stop thinking about one another for 5 seconds, there is also a noticeable attraction going on).

It's best described as a wlw soap opera with golf and other themes (to keep it spoiler free).

Fun fact, this series offers quite a few winks at Gundam fans and I would not be surprised, if somehow The Witch From Mercury and Birdie Wing were to collaborate in one way or another to promote the respectively other series during Spring season.

And even if you don't enjoy golf as a sport, you might still enjoy this series. I personally loved it even more as a casual binge, but that's to each their own.

Season 2 is going to air from 1st of April 2023. Edit #2: it's April 7th, my bad

Here is a PV for Birdie Wing: Golf Lesbians' Story Season 2:

Yuri Is My Job

I'm a huge fan of the manga and I can say for sure: YES, Yuri is indeed their job, but also part of their private lives.

It is personally one of the better Yuri dramas that I have encountered over the recent years and if I had to compare it to anything, then I'd say it's like Citrus, if you take away the SA, make it more manipulative instead, as well as diving deeper into the characters feelings, thoughts and struggles that come with those. I can't say for sure how much of its greatness there will be displayed in just one cour, but regardless of it, I'm excited to see the adaptation.

The general setting is the one of a café from an in-universe fictional German all-girls academy, with very sapphic display of affection among the waitresses as part of a roleplay.

Season 1 is going to air from 6th of April 2023.

Here is an English subbed trailer for the anime:

World Dai Star

There is a rising trend of Takarazuka Revue anime, but why would I complain?

For those who don't know: Takarazuka Revue is an all-female musical theatre group based in Takarazuka, Japan, that perform any kind of roles regardless of gender. Because of that the "genre"(if you can call it such) itself has very sapphic undertones. Directly or indirectly influenced by Takarazuka Revue have been Roses of Versailles and Revolutionary Girl Utena, of which the former inspired Kageki Shoujo!! and the latter inspired The Witch From Mercury (so many crazy coincidences in the upcoming season, aren't there?) and Revue Starlight. To get back to this series:

It's not known a lot (or translated) what the story of World Dai Star is gonna be roughly about, but judging the media footage alone, its focus lies in the Takarazuka Revue performances and presumably to make it big in the world, if the title is anything to go by.

Season 1 is going to air from 9th of April 2023.

The most recent non-subbed PV for the show:

Uma Musume: Road To The Top

Uma Musume is back at it again, after two successful seasons, and other medias, here we have a brand new story that is gonna be directly released as an ONA (Original Net Animation), likely on this Youtube channel. It's not known how long it's gonna be, but its primary focus is a retelling of the late 90s/early 2000s era of Japanese horse racing with 3 new protagonists and I believe some reoccuring characters from either of the seasons before.

Uma Musume retells historical careers of Japanese race horses in a kemonomimi setting, and the passion of the work behind it is tangible. The emotions are captivating.

I had a hate-love relationship with Uma Musume Season 1, because it drifted away from the historical aspects here and there that it initially covered so greatly, but Season 2 reignited my love for it so strongly, that it became one of my favorite anime. A Season 3 is also in the works, which I'm excited for.

Now for the legitimacy of the Yuri in this one: No, it's not Yuri, but it offers enjoyable subtext. Season 2 is a great example for that. Uma Musume is about racing, which also leads to great rivalries. And we all know and love a good girls-rivalry story.

The ONA is going to release (whether one by one or fully remains to be seen, as its length is not known) from 16th of April 2023.

Non-subbed trailer for Uma Musume: Road To The Top (I'm already loving this animation, it's the same studio that produced Season 2 and it shows):

[daughterofthequeen]

Under the Stars

Parings: Steven Grant x gn!reader

Warnings: Episode 3 spoilers of Moon Knight(pretty sure everybody in this fandom at this point has watched the show but none the less), First time writer, Little Angst, Fluff, Layla(her beauty alone is a warning)

Summary: It has been hours since you’ve had Steven in your arms, but with everything that has been going on it might take even longer to have that sensation again. Well that’s what you thought until you get to see him again under the stars.

A/N: This is basically just a rewrite with my own little twist to it because after all these months I am still absolutely IN LOVE🤍with this scene. This is also my first time writing a fic so take it easy on me and I’m hoping you guys enjoy it.

———

After a long hot day in the desert, the sun has finally gone down. But the day turned night is not stress-free. After making it out of Moggart’s, you, Layla, and Marc are parked in a random spot in the desert with the material from the sarcophagus and tape on top of the hood of the car trying to figure out this confusing star map thing, which seems impossible without Steven. You’re helping as much as you can, but mainly tagging along for Steven and moral support and you wouldn’t take no for an answer. Call it crazy but you care about him just that much.

“Try that.” Says Marc handing a piece of material to Layla hoping it would be the correct piece to at least start the puzzle map.

“Maybe, actually,” Layla said while she taped the piece given to her to the piece she already had. You on the other hand had nothing, trying your best to stay awake and contribute for the world’s sake, and for yours, you didn’t need another annoyed glare from Marc and his attitude towards you.

“This one?” You said handing a piece you had to Layla.

“Uhhh no, anything else?”

“I’m not getting any whole constellations it’s just little pieces and fragments.” Marc slams his hands on the car hood in aggravation. Which woke you up pretty quickly, causing you to almost jump out of your skin, not expecting him to have such an outburst. “This is gonna take forever,” Marc mumbled out loud to himself but also loud enough for it to be directed at the two of you.

“Marc we need Steven. He understands all of this I really think it’s worth giving him a shot.” Layla suggests.

Marc looks up towards the top of the car roof like somebody or something was there to catch his attention, but when you looked up nothing was there. So you could only assume it was Khonshu(Layla explained everything on the plane ride to Cairo. Khonshu, Ammit, the magical white suits Marc and Steven wore, all of which helped a lot in keeping up with all the situations you’ve been in before getting on the plane and after.)

“Marc, we can’t wait. It’s ok just let go we don’t have time!”Layla raised her voice a little trying to be heard over Marc’s aggravated grunt and him ripping off the car's left-side mirror. “What are you doing?” Layla asks after Marc sighs in surrender and reaches across the car's hood to grab everything off and walks a few feet away from the front of the car. Layla looks over at you like you would have some insight into what was going on, but all you could do was shrug wondering the same things she was. After Marc stops walking he drops everything into the sand and holds up the mirror to talk into it. “Alright, go ahead you’re in.”

All you could see was the relaxing of his shoulders from the bright lights the car provided, but you knew that closed-stance anywhere, that was Steven, your Steven. “Cheers, thanks a lot. Alright. Yeah.” Steven says looking down and dropping to his knees in the soft sand and starts to work on the map that you guys spent what seems like forever trying to figure out. You looked over at Layla before moving to make sure it was ok with her before moving, no matter how bad it hurt to stay away from Steven, you wanted to be respectful, imagine if it was the other way around. She nodded in understanding and it took you less than a second to start moving. You were actually quite nervous. You don’t know why it’s only Steven you get butterflies every time you were around him, but these weren’t butterflies. This was fear. You were afraid. Afraid that after learning everything he did in the last few days he wouldn’t want you anymore. He had a wife. Who of which was the strongest, boldest, and most beautiful woman you have ever seen. How could you compete with her? And you were afraid Steven would be thinking the same way too. But here you were standing behind him unsure of what to do or say. So you just settled with his name.

“Steven?”

Steven did a double small double take to make sure it was indeed you, he was looking at. And when he was sure that it was you he stood up and sprinted the 2-3 feet that was between the two of you. How you missed staring into those big brown chocolate eyes of his and only seeing love and adoration in them. Instead of the cold hard ones full of annoyance you have had to deal with for a whole day now with Marc. But it wasn’t just annoyance behind his glare towards you. There was more, something softer, and kinder. Almost like the cold shoulder, he was giving you was a mask to throw you off of how he truly felt.

“Y/n” Steven breathed out and put his head on top of yours as he breathed in the smell of your shampoo. How he missed having you in his arms, and how you’ve missed having him in yours. You were there for him when no one else was and gave him a chance to love when no one else did. And he was not letting you go again, never, not unless you wanted him to. “You don’t know how much I’ve missed holding you.”

“Just as much as I missed holding you.” You said with a chuckle. You wanted to kiss him so badly but held back because of your respect for Layla and because of how overwhelmed Steven must be. “How are you feeling?”

“Whole of a lot better now that I’m back in control of my body and can actually touch you. It’s been crazy lately hasn’t it?” Steven leans back to look into your eyes, and when he looks at you it’s like he is seeing the beauty of the world for the first time like he is so in love with you that just one look would fix everything, and it does. He is too good and pure for this world and you hate he has to go threw all of this but that is the reason you came, for he wouldn’t have to go through it alone.

Steven rests his forehead on yours and closes his eyes with a deep breath, finally relaxing. Holding your hips a little tighter he opens his eyes to look directly into yours and he starts to slowly lean in, but no matter how much you want to you can’t, you know how it feels for the love of your life to be there in front of you but still completely out of reach, and Layla has been through enough of that.

“Wait, Steven.” You say as you lean your head back a little putting your hands on his chest lightly.

“What is it? What’s wrong?” As he frowns a little in confusion and worry.

“Nothing, I just-.” You drop your head, your shoes looking a lot more interesting all of a sudden.

“You don’t want to kiss me. That’s fine I-I just thought that actually, I don’t know what I thought, I’ve just missed you so much in the last few hours. I’m sorry I know you’re probably going through a lot at the moment that was inconsiderate of me, I’m sor-.”

“STEVEN!” You have to raise your voice just to be heard over his nervous rambling. “That is not what’s happening.” You say in another little chuckle. “I do want to kiss you, I want nothing more in the world right now, but. . . that wouldn’t be fair to Layla.” You look down again as you whisper the last part in sadness.

Steven frowns a little and nods in understanding glancing over at Layla. He then rests his forehead back on yours and uses his nose to rub against yours, wanting to get close to you in some kind of way. You smile at that, fluttering your eyes open, and return the gesture. You’re both in your own little world smiling until you hear Layla speak.

“Y/n”, she says a little louder than a whisper, which caused you to look over at her, to see her nod her head. You know she is telling you that it’s ok, to let go, and do what your heart so desperately desired. So giving her a look back that says “are you sure”, to double check. She nods again letting her lips turn up into a little grin of reassurance.

And with that, you turn your head back towards Steven and kiss him with every single ounce of love you had. Taking him by surprise he pauses in question. “It’s ok”, you say quietly and that was all he needed to kiss you back tenfold with an intensity you’ve never felt from him before, with your hands tangled in his luxurious hair that you loved so much, and him with one hand tight on your waist and the other softly on your cheek. You two kiss until all the breath in your lungs were gone before you both pulled back gasping for air.

“I love you.” You pause and look up into Steven's eyes. Neither one of you had been brave enough to cross that line of your relationship, but it seems that kiss gave Steven the boost he needed to let those three words out. And those three words coming from him made your heart burst into more admiration and love you have had for Steven than any other relationship you have been in. Smiling as big as you can on cloud 9 with tears starting to well up in your eyes, you say it back.

“I love you too.” Which triggered the same reaction for Steven. The both of you basking in the bliss a little longer until you pull back to peck Steven's lips two, three more times before you remind him about the map. This brings his focus back enough for him to grab your hand and call Layla over to start explaining everything about the map and how it was meant to be used.

You don’t know what the future holds, but you do know this, nothing is going to separate you from him, not again, not after being reunited under the stars.

[pearblossommina]

ToG Read-a-Long, Queen of Shadows, day 7

Ch 38

Learning Lysandra’s a shapeshifter is kind of cool, but also, all of a sudden I feel like I’m reading Crescent City

Hopefully they can free magic soon so she can transform into the fanged, clawed beast she once was.

Ch39

The interrogation of Stevan, even though he’s begging for death, gives me a lot of hope.

Aw my little heart, when they visit Sam’s grave. I never thought maybe Sam was her mate. (Personally I think it was Nehemia; but Sam was also loved by her once, and since she said she’s not interested in women, it makes more sense for it to have been him.) I wonder if in this world you can have more than one mate. If not, in some ways, it’s better to be human, since your heart can heal and you can fall in love as many times as you want.

I think I like falling in love more than being mates, anyway. It’s more meaningful, if you get to decide for yourself who you love, than leaving it up to fate or god or some cauldron.

Anyway. I’m really rooting for Aelin and Rowan to fall in love. I feel like they’re already 90% of the way there, and it’s not gonna take much, to push them over the edge

Ch40

Is spooky

Elide is a friend of Aelin’s too! The part where she was talking about dreaming of her one day coming to rescue her, y’all, this girl reads so gay, and I love her.

Ch41

I’m glad both of the boys are here and I’m glad Aedion wants to kill Arobynn but I want Aelin to be the one to do it. She deserves to brutally ruthlessly murder that man and it would be a very meaningful death for her.

I love how sexy she is in her dress

I love to see Rowan pining for her!

Ch42

Arobynn is a twisted mf

Flirting quietly with ROWAN ~ flirt flirt mind flirt~ you two! <3 will you please consummate. PLEASE

Ch43

She died her hair red to impersonate Arobynn, lol.

Ok, I hate him, but like, yeah, I guess it is kinda cool that he morphed her into a badass. What would she have become, if it weren’t for the assassin’s guild? (Still hate him tho)

OOOH that mother fucker

Ch44

I guess I fell for it, too. Man. The Valg commander getting his ring finger sliced off gave me a small bright moment of hope, and yeah, i was thinking about Dorian. But I guess I know that doesn’t work now, because he still seemed to be possessed by his demon even after losing the ring. Unless he was faking that, too?

Arobynn is such a SLEAZE.

“All this time i thought it would be a relief, a joy to end him. But all I feel is hollow. And tired.” Aw baby no

You should be dancing on his fucking grave

ALL SYSTEMS GO IT’S TIME TO GET ROMANTIC

“Don’t do that. Don’t - touch me like that.”

Rowan quit sending mixed signals, you’re centuries years old and she’s a fucking teenager, you have to spell it out or she’s gonna get her feelings hurt, boy. Don’t be rude. Just tell her you’re not ready/that you have reservations about bedding your Queen/that you want to feel a little safer in the world before you can initiate something romantic/whatever. Don’t you dare phrase it like that or she’s gonna think you’re not interested, YOU DUMMY

“A gift, she knew - a gift from the queen who had nothing else to give a no-name whore with a sad story.” Lysandra! Girl, don’t ever let me hear you using words like that about yourself again. Please be kind to yourself! There’s no shame in your profession and Aelin is not better than you just because she’s a queen. You are a star and I am rooting for you.

LET’S GO.

Murder that guy, show no mercy!!!!

[homesickhalfling]

I watched Bo's new special Inside today.

#spoilers #Inside #boburnham #howthefuckdoiputthisunderacutidontwannaruinpeoplesfeedswiththiscrap #idontknowhowhashtagswork

---

I felt anxiety before I watched it, almost like I knew it was going to hurt me.

And it did.

About halfway through i realized I had spent a lot of it literally hugging myself.

I sobbed after it was done. Sobbed.

Then I spent half an hour in the fetal position in silence in my room wondering what I was supposed to do now.

He articulated everything I had been feeling but running from for the past few years because I didn't want to acknowledge it or know how to say it, let alone fix it. ("There's that feeling again")

He proved that I was right when I had guessed that making this special would be a difficult regression for him and not good for his mental health. That he'd start questioning his life and his career.

It was hard to watch someone essentially record themselves having a breakdown over the course of a year. Even when he was trying to make me laugh I felt bad for doing it... yet I still laughed.

I feel partially responsible for his mental state. I participated. We all did. We gave him the likes, the views, the follows, the ticket sales. He was a child star and it fucked him up. There's a moment where he's sitting there watching one of his early YouTube videos and I just felt such pain for him. How horrible it must feel to live in the spotlight and be expected to make others happy ("dance you fucking monkey/ watch the skinny kid with the steadily declining mental health as he attempts to give you what he cannot give himself") and no one deserves to live their lives in that state.

He pointed out so expertly how the internet has spun wildly out of control and technology is too accessible and is ruining society. How everyone has to broadcast themselves and their opinions all the time. How kids grow up attached to tech that is rewiring their brains and development.

It was hard to watch. Of course he was funny, he made silly jokes and did silly dances and made fun of people and himself in poignant and catchy ways as he always does... but at the core of it all was this struggle of trying to make sense of a world that doesnt make any fucking sense. That is harmful in almost every way. And not wanting to participate in it anymore but having no way out.

He talked about wanting to kill himself, but not kill himself. I know that exact feeling. I have been saying it for months (maybe not out loud cause I don't want to alarm anyone but...) some days I just dont want to exist.

He talked about his anxiety, about feeling agoraphobia, about how the outside world is like a coal mine. And it's a perfect analogy.

He sang "congratulations" to Bezos. How many times have I said that exsxt thing to people? I say "Congratulations you won capitalism, good for you, now give us all your money."

He filmed himself turning 30. I turn 30 this year. It looked exactly how it feels. Scary. Lonely. Disappointing.

The ending hurt too. Its too real, too "meta". It's unavoidable and hurts to think about: He's come outside and "reentered" but all we are going to do is put him in the spotlight and laugh as he struggles with wanting anything but that. And yet he's releasing this fucking masterpiece... and like... are we not supposed to applaud him for it? It feels like a trap. Which I guess is exactly how he feels. Which just makes me appreciate his genius that much more for being able to convey that so perfectly.

He made me question everything (including my white woman instagram) because of course... what was I gonna do the second I finished watching? Post my opinion about it on social media. Like he said we all do. Like he asked us not to do. He's absolutely right that it's a pointless and empty validation thing that we all do and can't stop doing... and why? What purpose does it serve? ("Just perform for each other, all the time, for no reason")

I just kinda want to crawl in a hole and not participate in society. You know, like how I have always felt. Like my anxiety and depression have been telling me to do for years. That feeling I have to shove down every single morning before I get dressed and go to work. Pay bills. Socialize.

I dont know what to do now. I understand him not wanting to finish the special... because... then what? Just carry on like nothing happened? Go back to "normal"? Or go back to our isolation and wonder if/when things will ever get better for any of us?

Anyway... all of that being said... I think it's an important look in the mirror at where our society stands and what we have become. I think it's exactly what the world needs to hear right now even though it's hard. ("Look into my eyes don't shy away"). Bo is our mirror. A tortured, twisted, broken mirror for our tortured, twisted, and broken society.

And here I am... giving out my opinion that no one asked for or needed or cares about. Like the fucking hypocrite I am.

[yoonpobs]

bad boy good thing iv.

pairing: jeon jungkook x oc

genre: angst, smut, fluff, miscommunication (we hate her lol), pining

warnings: smut, jungkook is really an asshole, the angst hurts a lot tbh, unhealthy relationships (?)

words: 2, 105

summary: a series of drabbles where you're confused and jungkook's confusing

a glimpse into the past

Jungkook’s been to a total of two graduations his entire life—one was his middle school’s graduation that seemed more like a farewell party and his older brother’s college one. Now, he can say that he’s attended three. But he’s never felt like this—never felt dread to say a temporary goodbye to a face he’s been so accustomed to seeing.

Maybe that’s why he’s in such a sour mood as his peers hugged their seniors' goodbyes, smiles on their face while they engaged in chatter about the future. Jungkook’s always been hard on parting and today is no different. Especially with the constant reminders at every corner of the hallways, streams of red and blue painting the ceilings with a big fat ‘happy graduation to the seniors!’ Mocking him on his journey to his classes.

He almost wants to slap some sense into himself. Because why was he terrified for the beginning of a new chapter that wasn’t his story to tell? Why was he dreading the moment that the seniors collected their diplomas and walked off the stage; and out of his life?

But he doesn’t do that; because the fear is as addictive as the excitement he feels when he thinks of you. A conflicting and tortuous juxtaposition of the beautiful day for a valedictorian and her younger friend.

“Jungkook!” A voice calls, and when he turns he sees Taehyung barrelling towards him with two people trailing closely behind.

When Taehyung plummets into Jungkook’s chest with an oof, but all Jungkook can focus on; despite the ache in his chest, is you.

You’re so pretty. But that’s nothing new for Jungkook. However, you were smiling, soft and sweet like the person who stayed up during her finals to tutor Jungkook on math concepts and the same girl who supported him through his football trials in junior year.

But you were grown, and the robe was the testimony of your age and maturity—the level of intelligence that you possess only grew with time and now you were walking towards him with a sense of quiet assuredness that he’s always admired you for.

Jungkook’s sure he’s gaping but he’s never been able to control himself around you.

“Can you stop gawking at her already?” Taehyung complains, twisting the skin between Jungkook’s armpit in retaliation.

Jungkook burns but scowls at the older boy who simply snickers in response.

“I’m so glad you’re graduating.” Jungkook snaps.

Taehyung snorts, “If I go she goes.”

Jungkook purses his lips as he readies himself for another retort, but you arrive and the first thing he notices is how gentle you smell. His favourite scent in principle, a whiff of laundry detergent accompanied with the light floral perfume he remembers his mother gifting you for your birthday.

“You’re gonna miss us, aren’t you?” Is the first thing Jimin says when he greets the younger boy with a ruffle to his head.

Jungkook glowers in embarrassment as he tries to fight him off, and despite his shorter stature in height—Jimin was in fact, quite strong.

Regardless of his flustered state, you smile at him warmly and perhaps Jungkook is biased when it comes to you because he’s sure you’ve always smiled the same, but every tilt of your lips evoke an array of different feelings in Jungkook’s chest.

“The two of you are like dumb and dumber so no—not really. God knows he’s finally granted my wish for emancipation.” Jungkook grumbles.

Taehyung feigns offence with a hand to his chest, leaning his head against Jungkook’s shoulders while he rolls his eyes.

Then he remembers you, the girl who just smiles as the world will always do her good.

“But I’ll miss Noona, though.” He says, and he hopes the shakiness of his voice isn’t obvious. “She’s the only one that doesn’t tease me.”

You grin up at Jungkook, giggling when Jimin and Taehyung gape at the younger boy’s audacity.

“Yah. You call her Noona and not us Hyung?!” Taehyung screeches were loud enough for the group of you to wince at his loudness.

“Don’t forget that you would have never have met her if it weren’t for us, you brat.” Jimin reminds, though not maliciously.

Jungkook does thank the stars for them introducing him to you. Because he doubts otherwise you’d ever interact with him. You were always in your own bubble, tucked away in a safe space filled with your own sense of solace and comfort. And Jungkook admired that.

He liked being alone, but he never wanted to be lonely. You were a breath of fresh air when you taught him the lines between loneliness and being physically alone; and how you learnt to never conflate the two. You were independent and bright, but warm and welcoming—and Jungkook remembers that these feelings weren’t just a floor away anymore.

“Ignore them, Kook.” You sigh. “Gonna miss you too.”

Jungkook feels himself melt because you say it so sweetly and sincerely.

Taehyung and Jimin ruin his love-blurred lenses by gagging at your blatant display of affection towards the younger boy.

“The two of you are so gross.” Jimin groans, earning a nod from his other half.

You roll your eyes when all Jungkook does is flush at the insinuation.

“Unlike the two of you, we make the better and more rational pair.” You chastise. “Don’t we, Kook?”

And the nickname he’s grown to love though he has a love-hate relationship with it slips off your tongue and he finds himself agreeing with you.

“These two idiots are a quarter of a brain-cell combined on a good day,” Jungkook mutters.

You burst out into laughter, rubbing a calming hand onto his shoulder and he feels the dread come in. Because this was no longer something he could reach out to when you went to college.

“Whatever.” Jimin scoffs.

Then the PA system sounds, and the principal calls for the graduates to gather at the hall. And it represents all of Jungkook’s worries in an announcement and he’s not ready to let you go yet.

“That’s our call.” You declare, eyes darting to the other seniors who pull apart from their juniors to rush to the hall.

Jungkook’s eyes widen one last time before Jimin and Taehyung both wrap their arms around Jungkook tightly, murmuring a much more sincere and grateful remark than their previous chides. And he feels slightly bad that he can’t respond because his brain is far more focused on your lone figure, who eyes him with sad yet gentle eyes.

“You’ll come to our role call, right?” Jimin asks.

Jungkook gulps because all he can focus on is your face.

“Y-yeah. Course’.” He mumbles. He feels the need to say something—do something before people crowd you after it’s over. Jungkook would never stand a chance.

He seems rooted in his feet, Jimin and Taehyung already trailing off with their arms around each other and words of their future in the air. You smile at Jungkook—and it’s the same—but his hands reach out before he can think twice.

Jungkook grabs your wrist before you can leave, gulping to himself when you stare at him with wide eyes.

“You okay?” You ask softly.

No, he’s not, because his heart is beating so fast and he doesn’t want this day to come to an end.

“I-I’m okay.” He chokes, “I just—don’t you have a parting gift for me?” Jungkook blurts before he can rationalise what the fuck did he even mean.

But Jungkook just stares at you like a deer caught in the headlights while you tilt your head at him endearingly. He hopes that his pulse doesn’t emanate from his grasp, but your wrist is small, and it feels just right in his palm.

Your lips are twitching as a grin threatens itself on your expression, and he sees the mischief in your eyes that come out every once in a while.

“Aren’t you supposed to be giving me a gift, Jeon?” You tease, and Jungkook is so soft.

He snorts, a little glad that you didn’t point out his sudden grip on your wrist.

“But you’re leaving me.” He pouts.

You roll your eyes and take a step closer to him until you’re directly in front of him. And he sees your features up close and God—did he say you were pretty?—well because you’re even prettier up close and he loses all sense of thought when you’re smiling up at him with bright eyes.

“I’m always a call away.” You say softly, gently tugging at his hand; and it’s crazy to think that you were the same older girl that was usually timid reaching out to him in a way that was shy but so you.

Even with the chattering of other students, Jungkook only hears your subdued voice.

“It’s not the same.” Jungkook sighs, and he’s slightly aware that he was whining. But you don’t seem to be bothered.

“You’re probably going to forget about me.” You scoff and it’s light, but he can see the slight furrow of your brows. “You’re Jeon Jungkook. You’ll do great.” You add softly.

Jungkook purses his lips and wants to tell you that it wasn’t possible. You took up space in his life, both in school (well, not anymore) and in his mind. You and your wonderful mind.

“Says the valedictorian.” Jungkook huffs.

You pout, “You know that isn’t long-term. What if I just peak in high school and … you know …” You sigh, shaking your head, “I’m not outgoing like Jimin or a social butterfly like Taehyung. Neither am I as friendly and likeable like you are, Jungkook. I’m just … boring.”

Jungkook freezes because while he knew you were on the shier side; the louder than life tendencies you had were small but abundant. You didn’t need to speak louder than anyone in a room to get your points across, you were soft and empathetic and led people in organisations to see the good in the work they did.

Your genuine nature drew people in, even though you’d flush under attention and praise—and if Jungkook could—he’d scream it out to the world. But you were in front of him, and he figured that was enough.

“Don’t say that.” Jungkook snaps and his tone causes you to flinch as you stare at him with wide eyes, “Don’t … put yourself down like that. You’re great, _____. You’re intelligent and kind. Just because you’re different doesn’t mean you’re boring. There are situations in this world that need people like you. There are people that find comfort in a quiet soul because you’re introspective and thoughtful. People like …”

Jungkook exhales when you stare at him so earnestly, and his ears turn red. “People like me. We need people like you in our lives.”

Your mouth falls open as you blatantly stare at Jungkook with wide eyes; he’s on the border of being absolutely mortified and running away so he wouldn’t be the subject of your obvious ogling.

But then a soft smile makes its way onto your face, and you’re tugging Jungkook by the hand and into a warm hug.

Despite him being younger than you, he’s always been taller and bigger than you were. And it was a sense of security he felt in your presence rather than your physical entity that would never be replaced with anything else.

“You really grew up, huh?” You say, a giggle in your chest.

Jungkook rolls his eyes but accepts the way you rest your head on his chest. He’s never had you this close before, and he hates that it’s on the day he needs to say goodbye.

“I’ve always been this way.” Jungkook answers. He also thinks: I’ve always been here. For you.

“Thank you, Jungkook.” You say softly, pulling away even though Jungkook wants to keep you close.

“Anytime.” He smiles widely at you, and a classmate of yours calls your name as you turn to give them a nod of acknowledgement before you’re turning back to Jungkook with a cheeky smile on your face.

“Here’s your gift.” You inform him.

“I was kidding—”

And before you can respond, you’re placing both hands on his shoulder and on your tippy-toes to deliver a kiss to his cheek.

Jungkook is stunned and he isn’t able to process it fast enough. But you’re already offering him an equally flustered smile with the tip of your ears turning red before you’re waving shyly and tittering off to the hall.

Jungkook blinks, and a hand reaches to touch his cheek.

He looks up, and groans—because how the hell was he going to survive high school now?

[cordria]

Twin Cores - DP

Saw this headcanon on Tumblr… awhile ago? It stuck with me, and I ended up writing this, and now I can’t find it to give the person proper credit. Lemme know if anyone recognizes this idea and knows who came up with it. (heart) 

Was gonna do this idea for the Big Bang thing, but I forgot all about signing up. ;) Wonders. So I’ll just post it and come up with new ideas.

~2,700 words. 

--

Danny floated high above the clouds, up where the air was thin and cold and the stars sparkled brightly overhead. It was terribly late, and Danny knew he’d be paying for this at school tomorrow, but this was always the best part of his week. He couldn’t come up here all the time, but when he cound, he always found himself relaxing. Hands behind his head, he floated on his back, studying the stars.

He let out a breath through his lips and brought a hand forwards to massage his chest, closing his eyes. Yesterday had not been good day. An accident with some of his parents’ technology had completely ruined his day. For reasons Danny didn’t understand, his chest had felt overly full since. Almost like he needed to cough up something - which couldn’t be, because his ghost form didn’t have any real lungs to cough with. 

With a groan, Danny stretched and rolled his body through a bunch of sharp loop-the-loops and twists, hoping maybe he could work out the kink. Nothing. Hopefully it wouldn’t prevent him from getting a good night’s rest. He was exhausted.

He floated for a few minutes longer, watching the sky and hoping for a meteor or two, slowly turning the overfull feeling over in his mind. He pushed and prodded at the odd sensation, trying to come up with what in the world it could be. 

It had to relate to his parents’ invention. Unfortunately, the day was a fuzzy blur in Danny’s memory and if something in particular had happened to him, he wouldn’t be able to remember it on his own. All he could do on his own was a vague understanding of what had happened.

Getting zapped with one of the newer devices yesterday had resulted in Danny getting split - again. His ghost half had fallen captive to the hero-like obsession of his core, and had gone on a hero-spree. A memory of rescuing a cat from a tree in a very overblown, comic-like way surfaced and Danny buried his face in his hands, embarrassed for himself. “Ugh, I hope nobody videoed that. Or anything else,” he muttered.

His human half had wandered aimlessly through the day, not knowing what to do with no driving force behind everything he did. Vague memories of eating pizza and not noticing the ghost haunting the place next door until Sam pointed it out filtered through the shadows. 

From what he remembered, it hadn’t been a horrible sort of day for either half of him. His ghost half had been allowed to play with his obsession all day and his human half had gotten to just be… human. But he’d been split for much longer than ever before; Tucker and Sam were unable to work through how the strange invention worked. 

Danny didn’t remember being much help with the endeavour. In fact, he sort of remembered his human half stealing the device, passing it to his ghost half, and the thing getting placed on top of the school for the afternoon. Jazz finally got it using some of the newer modifications to the Fenton’s vehicle that allowed it to fly. 

By the time the three of them figured out how to reverse the effects, it was late in the evening on the second day - more than 36 hours since being split. Phantom had started to turn more and more ghost, losing more of his humanity each hour, delving deeper and deeper into this hero obsession. His eyes had turned more ghostly, teeth sharpening, fingers turning into claws. Even a cape had started to mist into view.

Danny slowly ran his tongue over his teeth - they were still a bit too sharp - and pulled his hands far enough away from his face to glance at his fingers. They weren’t claws, not like many ghosts had, but… his fingers no longer really looked human. The changes that had happened to his ghost form the last two days appeared to be permanent, even now that they were rejoined back together.

Danny… didn’t want to think about that. Not yet.

And his human half had started to go through changes as well. Danny vaguely remembered - towards the end of the escapade, when he’d convinced himself that he didn’t want to be rejoined with Phantom - trying to avoid everyone and ending up in a tree, floating in a very inhuman way. His totally human form regaining some of its ghost powers.

Danny mentally poked at the odd, full sensation in his chest again. Perhaps it was that his ghost powers had grown while he was separated. Phantom hadn’t been exactly a half-a-ghost when they’d been slammed back together. And Danny had been just a bit of ghost too. Perhaps now he was somehow 60% ghost and 50% human… and his body was trying to adjust to being too much ghost. 

His mind poked at the sensation in his chest just a bit too hard. Danny slammed his eyes shut tight as he felt the sensation of transformation travel through him - lightning sharp and aching into his phantom bones. Panic set in a second later. He couldn’t transform up here - there wasn’t enough oxygen for his human form to breathe. He’d pass out and fall to his death. 

He gasped and threw his arms out, instinctively trying to grab something even though he was on the edge of the atmosphere, as the transformation arced through his arms and legs. He kept his eyes closed as he fumbled for his ghost side. He needed to transform back fast. His human side would already be aching to breathe, desperate for oxygen after the last hour of being in ghost form.

But his ghost side… was… 

Danny opened his eyes as he realized he wasn’t falling. As he realized his ghost form wasn’t something to grab for, because he was still a ghost.

“But…” he whispered, startled and confused. He’d felt himself transform. There was no mistaking the sensation that had swept through him. He looked around, almost as if the answer would be written in the air next to him.

Then the stars caught his gaze. He froze, mouth falling open, as he stared up at the sky. There were more stars than before, the whole sky alight with points of light. And he knew them - with each star he focused his eyes on, he knew what that star was. How far away it was, what it’s name was, what kind of star it was… 

Delight sparkled inside him as he let his gaze drift across the heavens. Stars he didn’t even know existed seemed to soak into his skin, whispering all their secrets in his ears. “How…?” he breathed, twisting around and around and looking everywhere he could. “Why?”

His gaze snagged on the moon, crescent-shaped and gleaming. He almost felt like he was drowning in it’s glow, feeling everything about it. The ice hiding in its craters. The human-built machinery peppering its surface. The soft warmth still coiling in its dying core. He could just… go there. He could be there in about three seconds. He could just…

He threw up a hand, blocking the moon’s glow, blinking hard and pushing the thoughts out of his mind. “Holy shit,” he whispered, breathing hard, focusing on Earth, on human thoughts, on normalcy. “What is this?”

Then he saw his hand, thin fingers topped with sharp claws, glove missing. His forehead furrowed as he realized both his gloves were gone, as was the logo on his chest, and the white belt around his waist. A black shirt and black pants. His boots looked like his normal shoes, just moon-lit white. Actually, minus the claws and some color changes, he looked… like he had yesterday. “Uh… What is going on with me?” 

He could feel the pull of the stars overhead. He knew he could just lean back, put his arms behind his head, and float there, watching the sky forever. Just revel in space for all time. Instead, he kept his gaze down towards the tops of the clouds. 

At least the first step of what he should do now was clear. Whenever he was dealing with anything out of the ordinary, Sam and Tucker knew what to say. They’d help. He’d go home, grab his phone, and call them. 

Danny flew towards Amity Park-

-and suddenly drew to a stop. He twisted around, eyes wide, realizing that he’d somehow overshot his home by a dozen miles or more. “What the fuck?” he said. He’d only been flying for a moment - how was he all the way over here? “I…”

He licked his lips and tried again. He set his gaze on Amity Park and flew-

-right past Amity Park again. It was an eyeblink of time between one side of the city and the other. Danny hung in the air, confused and slightly annoyed. “What is going on?” he said. A new power, obviously - but one that had unfortunate timing. His fingers curled, the claws digging uncomfortably into his palms. “This is what I get for leaving my phone behind,” he groused. The phone wouldn’t have done well in the thin, cold atmosphere. Even if he’d have brought it with, there was no guarantee it would have still been working. 

“Are all my powers wonky?” Danny asked, raising his hand and pushing energy into his hand. Instead of a steady, gas-like glow, the energy sparkled and hissed, like he was holding onto an exploding firework. “Odd.”

His powers were working differently, so it was time to try using them differently. Time to change tactics. Instead of focusing on a direction, Danny focused his mind on a destination. He closed his eyes, picturing where exactly he wanted to end up. Opening his eyes and taking a deep breath, he tried to fly as slowly as possible.

The world seemed to blur and twist, glowing uncomfortably bright for the fraction of a second Danny allowed himself to be in motion. When the world settled back into place, Danny found himself hovering about ten feet off the ground, within the city of Amiry Park, only about a half-mile from his house. “That worked a lot better,” he said, rather pleased with himself.

Instead of chancing another attempt at flying, Danny figured he’d turn himself human. A ten foot drop wouldn’t be too bad, and he could walk home. It would be the least-tricky way to get home. He took a moment to worry that this new power would prevent him from turning human as easily as normal, but then slammed that idea shut and closed his eyes. 

Danny pushed his ghost form away, pulling at that warm and heavy feeling in his mind. There was a sparkling sensation in his mind, then the sharp pain that came with turning himself human again. He dropped, landing lightly on his toes, breathing a heavy sigh of relief that at least this was still normal. He bounced a few times, testing out a few basic powers - invisibility seemed to work like normal, as did phasing through things. He didn’t try floating, for fear of accidentally ending up two towns over and two hundred feet above the ground in human form.

He walked home, rubbing his chest at that strange, too-full sensation, and snuck in the back door. Despite the fact that all the lights were out, he kept himself invisible to avoid his parents. It was so far past curfew that Danny didn’t even want to think about the trouble he’d be in if they realized he was still out. 

His bedroom door was still locked. Danny phased through it, flipped on the lights, and dumped himself into his bed. “Ugh,” he groaned, feeling the drain of the last two days on his body. He glanced over at the clock. Just before two in the morning. Part of him wanted to just curl up in his bed and fall asleep, try to get a few hours of sleep before tackling school tomorrow. But too much of him had a tight ball of anxious curiosity.

He groaned as he rolled out of bed and stepped in front of his mirror. He looked awful. Dark rings under his eyes and a horrible, pale tone to his skin. He looked half dead. “On the positive side, nobody will question it if I want to stay home sick tomorrow,” he muttered. He shuddered and shifted his weight, closed his eyes, took a deep breath, then triggered the transformation.

His ghost form spread like lightning across his skin, slammed through his head, and settled into his chest like a cold ball of fire. He squeaked one eye open just a touch, not sure of what he was going to see. 

Phantom was peering back at him. Danny relaxed, letting his eyes open, and studied himself. From more than a few feet away, he looked absolutely normal. But up close, there were minor changes from the last few days. Teeth that were too pointy. Fingers that were a little more claw-like than normal. Hair that was more… smokey. Just a little. His mouth twisted, unsure of how he felt about the changes. “At least there’s no cape,” he murmured. “I’d look too much like Vlad with a cape.”

He squared his shoulders, set his teeth, and tried flying. He floated up and moved around his bedroom like normal. “So normal.” He caught sight of his claws and shivered. “Mostly.”

“Now…” He took a deep breath and jabbed hard at the over-full feeling in his chest. He was half-hoping nothing would happen. But light sparkled along his body, that tingling almost-painful sensation changing him in very subtle ways. His clothes changed from a jumpsuit to shirt and pants, his shoes looked like they would squeak on the floor as he walked. He was still glowing and transparent. “I’m… a different ghost?” He spread out his arms, feet firmly on the floor afraid to hover. “And I have like… superspeed.”

He took a very careful step forwards, peering closely at himself in the mirror. His eyes looked the same, with the normal green glow. His teeth were sharper, canines almost like little fangs. And… he leaned in, studying his freckles. They glowed, star-like, forming constellations across his skin. 

His mind veered off tangent, remembering the stars overhead, the glittering facts that swirled through his mind, the odd bubbling joy that came with even thinking about space. The freckles on his cheeks rearranged themselves into the constellation Draco, and sparks and speckles swirled into life across his clothes. A supernova that resolved itself into the stars overhead. Danny could trace the stars in his clothes, knew everything about each star. He was caught by the strongest urge to fly there. To zip through space to Alrakis, a binary star system eighty-eight light years away. It would only take him 221 years, 5 months, and 3 days…

Danny jerked himself out of his thoughts. He couldn’t fly for over two hundred years. He shuddered and blinked, settling back on his heels. The glowing freckles on his face settled down, his clothes faded back to black. The familiar sort of pitch-black of space. The sort of black Danny imagined the universe looked like before stars existed. “I have space powers now,” Danny realized, his voice slow and excited. “I have space powers! I’m a space ghost!”

Curious, Danny poked at that over-full feeling in his chest again. The world tingled and flashed, and he was back to his old self. Phantom, with the logo and the better posture and the weight of the world resting on his shoulders. “I’m two ghosts, somehow? Two ghosts… and a human...” Danny stared at himself in the mirror. “Or...” he rested his hand on his chest, feeling that strange overly-full feeling. “Or something…?”

Danny shook his head, not sure where to even begin processing that one. Then he turned himself human again, watching the world get dark as the ghost energy faded away. He scratched at his scalp, trundled over to his bed, and dropped into its softness. 

There wasn’t much he knew right then. The first was that space powers were the coolest power he could have gotten. And the second was that all this would be easier to process after a few hours of sleep and a large cup of caffeine. 

[lumosinlove]

Between Fifth and You

(cw in tags)

~

chapter one

“Olives or twist?”

Sirius had to watch the barkeep’s mouth to make out the words beneath the pounding music, which meant Sirius caught the way his eyes skittered across his face almost fearfully. The sheer amount of obsidian in this place probably did nothing to lighten his features. Not to mention, few people knew how to look him in the eye.

“Twist,” he said.

The man nodded and flipped the bottle of gin until it dipped into a shot glass, the glass into the ice. Sirius watched until he was stirring the bitters in and a hand appeared on his shoulder, lips to his neck.

“Burn this,” Saint said, and plucked at Sirius’ shirt sleeve, rubbing the black material between his fingers. Sirius raised an eyebrow as he turned. Saint’s own shirt was unbuttoned half way down his hard chest, light brown skin warm in the flashing club lights. “You’ve worn it too many times.”

“Hello to you, too,” Sirius said. “I like this shirt.”

“I liked it two months ago,” Saint replied. “It’s September now, your highness.”

Sirius scoffed as the bartender slid him his drink.

“You gonna tell everyone the sun did that?” Sirius took a clean sip of gin with one hand and stroked his other through Saint’s gold curls, only suddenly some of the slightly course strands were almost white.

Saint’s grin turned coy. “Isn’t it nice to have a mystery to think about?”

“Oh, yeah, do blonds have more fun?”

“You wouldn’t know.”

The music kicked up a beat that Sirius felt through his spine.

“Why do we always come here?” he leaned a hip against the bar. “We have an entire city.”

“Yeah, fuck the rest of the world, we have one whole city.”

Sirius rolled his eyes. “You know what I mean.”

Saint shook his head. “Because that’s what we do. You see that guy over there? I’ve taken him out four times. Couldn’t tell you his name. They couldn’t tell you mine.”

“Everyone knows your name, Saint.”

Saint grinned. “Maybe. But why do we go back to each other? Because we’re creatures of fucking habit.” Saint cocked his head, stole Sirius’ drink. “And what is this city but a bad, bad habit?”

Sirius’ blood cooled and he looked away.

What am I, Sirius? said the familiar voice from his memory. Am I easy? Am I safe? Do you want me, or am I just familiar now?

He closed his eyes against the memory of his reply.

Bad habit indeed.

XOXO

Spotted—a familiar face from the past. What has this train brought in? Thanks to a tip from @magicinthemaking, I bring you this picture of none other than Remus Lupin (and a certain Southern bell we know and love) under Grand Central’s stars. We missed you, Re—how was England? Or was it Europe?

The rumors can never seem to decide, but why the sudden change in plans to take his Junior year abroad? Here we were thinking he wanted nothing more than to stay.

I wonder how another certain star will feel about this sudden homecoming. And just in time for senior year’s Fall semester, too.

XOXO.

Remus adjusted his suitcase, glad he’d mailed so many of his things home. He’d been on U.S. soil for all of three hours, and he already missed Rome. He wanted to walk down the tiny staircase from his billet family’s apartment and get a cappuccino. He wanted to stand on the drain of the Pantheon and soak up the sheer history in the air.

He already wanted a break.

But he also wanted to see Julian. Sometimes it felt like the only thing pulling him back home was seeing his baby brother’s grin in real life rather than across a Facetime call.

“All good?”

Remus looked up at Leo. His blond hair was still bleached a bright blond from the Roman sun. Their program had ended in May, but Remus was glad they had stayed together. He hadn’t been looking for Leo—for someone to kiss for the first time in the rose garden at the top of the Aventine Hill while Leo told him about its past as a cemetery.

It’s footpaths are laid out like a Minorah, see? Leo had pointed out. To remember. 300 different types of roses isn’t enough. But I like to come here.

Remus thought it had been Leo’s love for history, and his respect, too, that had drawn him in. They both came from a world where the biggest thing most people cared about was what they’d wear to the next party, and who was bringing their next drink.

Remus hadn’t been able to believe his luck, as fragile as his heart was still.

“Yeah,” Remus nodded. “All good.”

But he wasn’t sure. They hadn’t been friends here, in the city, or at Hogwarts. It had been Rome. Remus didn’t know what their old lives would do to them. But he took Leo’s hand and watched the way Leo fingered the star he wore around his neck, the way he shot Remus his dimpled smile.

“Come on,” Remus said. “I want you to meet Julian.”

XOXO

Good morning Upper East Siders—Gossip Girl here. All trends point to Fall’s Hogwartsers coming back in Black—in more ways than one. Sirius Black’s got a baby brother on campus now, and after another wild summer for the Hogwarts College elite, count me in with the rest of them on wondering what to expect. Rumor is he’s not much like our favorite star.

“You don’t have to talk to me, you know.”

Sirius kept his eyes on his eggs and toast. “Your missing your tie. Mom said—”

“What do you care?” Regulus replied. “I hear when she used to make you wear one it usually ended up around some other guy’s neck by ten in the morning.”

“If you’re going to believe everything you read on Gossip Girl about me, then maybe I won’t talk to you.”

Regulus smirked. “So, you read it, too.” 

“Boys.”

Both brothers went back to their breakfasts.

“Good morning, mom,” Sirius said.

Walburga Black smiled with her painted lips, resting a hand on Sirius’ shoulder and bending to kiss his cheek.

“Don’t you both look handsome for your first day. Although that leather jacket has seen better days, Sirius. Do what you want for dinner, ask Chef, I don’t care. I’ll be at the House.”

The House. The House of Black, his mother’s million dollar fashion industry.

“Fine,” Regulus nodded, and rose. “I’ll take the first car.”

Sirius rolled his eyes again. “Really?”

Regulus just snatched up his backpack.

Saint, James, and Thomas were waiting for him on one of the courtyard tables when Sirius got out of the Escalade. It certainly felt like a first day of a semester. Saint’s neck dripped in gold necklaces—a story behind each one. Thomas, who had replaced his short braids with a closely shaved head, wore a white t-shirt and ripped up jean shorts, gold nose-ring glinting in the sun. James had evidently been helped out by Lily, as usual, a green, tight-fitting Henley shirt bunched up at his elbows. The two flanked Saint, who basked on top of the stone table, head tilted back to bare his throat in a way that made Sirius think of last night, in the back of the bar. He could see a purplish mark he had left there.

“You’re looking surprisingly chipper,” James said when Sirius reached Hogwarts’ courtyard.

Sirius raised an eyebrow, knowing he didn’t. “I’m not failing any classes yet, James.”

His friends went oddly silent. Sirius looked around at them, spreading his hands in confusion. Saint wouldn’t look at him, expression going oddly stoney. Thomas, finally, offered him his phone, biting his lip. Sirius took it.

His heart leapt to his throat. He didn’t even bother reading the Instagram caption. Remus loomed out at him from the phone screen.

“Leo Knut,” Saint said. “Who would have thought.”

Sirius cleared his throat and turned away from the picture—from Remus and Leo’s clasped hands.

“Why wouldn’t I be chipper?” he said again, and ignored their unconvinced expressions. “I’ve got class.”

Under his desk while he waited for the rest of the class to show, Sirius pulled out his phone and opened Instagram.

XOXO

Remus approached campus slowly. He felt like he didn’t know anyone anymore, even if he knew that wasn’t true. He thought he saw James from afar, but Lily and Kasey didn’t have class today.

Really, Remus didn’t know if he had many friends that weren’t…shared. That didn’t feel too close to home. Manhattan wasn’t that big of an island.

He looked down at his schedule he’d written out on his phone.

The 19th Century Novel - Hogsmeade R#302.

He made his way to the Hogsmeade building and climbed the spiral staircase quickly. It all felt too industrial, too metallic. At least he’d woken up with Leo, who still had the ancient air about him. He didn’t want that bubble to pop.

“Mr. Lupin,” Professor McGonagall beamed when he walked in, and Remus smiled, too at her familiar Scottish drawl. “It’s so very nice to have you back.”

“Hi, Professor. It’s good to be—”

But the words died on Remus’ tongue. He looked out at the small class—just twenty at this high level—and his heart, out of habit it seemed, had leapt at the sight of familiar dark hair.

Uh-oh. Looks like Pyramus and Thisbe are actually wishing for a wall between them this time.

Sirius’ hair was shorter than it had been at the end of sophomore year, the last time Remus had seen him. He wore a touch of a beard, too, just scruff, really, but it framed his silver eyes like darkness to the stars—two stars, which were zeroed in on Remus.

“Back,” Remus tried to recover, mouth dry. He sent McGonagall a shaky smile, and turned to find a seat, trying not to find those stars again.

He resisted the urge to close his eyes in defeat when he realized that there was only one left. He walked towards Sirius looking ahead and with his heart pounding. Leo. Leo making pancakes for him and Julian this morning. Leo making his little brother laugh. But he could smell the worn leather of Sirius’ jacket. He remembered the feel of it around his own shoulders. Are you cold, baby?

“All righty, then,” McGonagall stood from her chair and leaned against the front of her desk, looking down her spectacles at the attendance sheet. “Looks like we’re all here.”

XOXO

“Well?” Saint asked as Sirius took the joint from between his fingers.

“Sat down next to me,” Sirius said. “Didn’t say a fucking word.”

“Did you say a fucking word?” Saint raised his eyebrows.

Sirius blew out smoke. “No.”

“Well, all right, you fucking hypocrite.”

Sirius looked over at him from where they lay side by side, stretched out in the fading sunshine of Central Park. “I’m keeping this now.”

“No, you’re not. Did you pay for that? I don’t think so.”

Sirius scoffed. “Yeah, like this made a dent in the Montague treasuries.”

Saint laughed, tucking a palm behind his head. Sirius let his eyes linger on the strip of skin where his shirt rode up. He’d kissed that last night, too. It was nice with Saint. He’d been friends with him for longer than he could remember. Saint never looked for more. If Sirius snapped at him, he snapped back and then they laughed about it. Saint wandered through the world loving people freely. He kissed them, or he made them dinner, or he took them for long walks along the river. He showed them his favorite jazz club, or gave them the orgasm of their life, or read to them from his favorite books. He was New York in human form, accepting and inviting, living and breathing.

Sirius wished he was so trusting, even if trust seemed a funny word to apply to Saint.

No one ever got too close to either of them, except the other.

“What are you wearing to your mom’s fashion show?” Saint asked with his eyes closed. “It’s the event of the season.”

“Are you joking? The fittings started in July.”

“Mm, I love that,” Saint grinned, stretching. “Want to come help me decide what I’m wearing? We’re at the Plaza right now, you know that. You know my mother. If it’s not broken, break it. We’re renovating again. We can order champagne to the room.”

“Is that code for make out?”

“Partly. But I will be showing you my outfit choices.”

“Deal.”

XOXO

Remus made it back home seeing no one, but one of the butlers had an envelope with his name on it waiting for him.

“Thanks, Moody,” Remus murmured, but thought briefly about handing it right back to him.

He knew this invitation. He knew its black boarders and heavy stock. It came ever year.

It used to be something they had looked forward to.

The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black

invites you

TOUJOURS PUR

“Jesus,” Remus breathed, but took it up to his room, checking the time on the way. Julian would still be at school, his parents at work. This apartment was too big for the four of them, not to mention just Remus alone.

His suitcases still lay open and unpacked on his floor, and he kicked at one without looking up.

“So, did you just forget to mention that you were home?”

Remus spun towards his bed, only to find Lily sprawled across it and fiddling with an emerald on a chain.

“I had to find out from Gossip Girl?” Lily shook her head.

Remus slapped the invitation against his thigh. “Wow, wasn’t like that was a surprise present for you or anything.”

Lily smiled, red hair in a thick french braid. “I see green and I know it’s for me. What can I say?”

Remus huffed out a laugh, and she gave a small squeal and pushed off of the bed to wrap him in a hug.

“I’m so happy you’re home, Re.”

He let himself rest his chin in the crook of her neck for a moment. ‘Thanks, Lils.”

She pulled back, hands on his shoulders. “What, no, me too?”

“I am,” he said tentatively. “But I had fun in Rome.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Southern fun?”

“His name is Leo,” Remus said pointedly, then eyed the pile of garment bags piled high on the other side of his bed. “Are those…”

“Pour moi, et pour toi,” Lily patted his cheek. “We have a fashion show to go to, sweetheart.”

XOXO

What do we think, Courtiers? House of Black’s fashion show is the biggest event of the fall. But what on Earth does doe-eyed Remus Lupin have to do within that dark forest now?

Is he a Bambi, or still the wolf we knew?

You know you love me.

XOXO,

Gossip Girl

[navegandoaciegas]

Broken Wings

Pairing: Lee Bodecker x Reader

Summary: You’re a small town girl with big city dreams, set on leaving Knockemstiff and its sheriff behind for good. Lee would do anything to make sure you stay with him.

Warnings: smut, explicit language, consensual sex, slight breeding kink, unprotected vaginal sex, mentions of alcohol.

A/N: This is part 1. Part 2

I want to thank my baby @whateveriwant for your support, ily! I haven’t written anything in more than a month but it feels good to be back to it!!

Knockemstiff, 1957

The crisp air of the night hit your exposed legs when you swung them over the window sill, and a shiver ran down your spine as humidity seeped into your bones.

From your bedroom on the second floor, you could make out the shape of the Sheriff’s car hidden behind the line of trees near your father’s shed, and a bittersweet, faint smile spread on your painted lips. Fastening the clasp from the outside, you climbed down the drain pipes, savoring the thrill of it all one last time.

No more Knockestiff, sneaking out of your bedroom, shotgunning while he patrolled the streets, milkshakes and burgers propped on your things and Johnny Cash playing in the background, drowned by your giggles and his laughs. You wouldn’t get to call the sheriff yours anymore, and you would never spend another moment writhing in pleasure under his warm, soft body.

You loved Lee Bodecker in spite of everything he stood for, but not even the love of your life could keep you anchored to this town. Tomorrow you’d be far, far away, and God himself couldn’t stop you if he tried.

You’d promised your mother that you wouldn’t end up withering away with no chances and no future like she had. Like everyone who was touched by the curse of Knockemstiff did.

“Spread your wings and fly far, far away,” she’d hiccup between sobs each time you’d drag her limp body from the couch to her bed, the stench of alcohol and stale cigarettes oozing out of her skin, “my pretty little butterfly.”

Your mother would have sold her soul to the Devil to see you out of Knockemstiff.

A new beginning awaited you in New York. A job as a librarian, an apartment to share with one of your college girlfriends, a prospect, a future.

Hope, freedom, opportunities.

The pipe creaked under your weight, but you paid no mind to it. Moonshine would have knocked out cold anyone in the house by now.

Scurrying down the gravel road, you found Lee waiting for you, a smug smile on his clean shaven face and a brown paper bag in his arms.

“About damn time, dove. Been freezing my ass over here, waitin’ on ya.”

You flung yourself in his arms, knocking him back against the car’s hood, savoring the musky scent of his cologne one last time.

“Hello, Sheriff.”

His chest vibrated with a fond chuckle, and you looked up to him, trying to etch every line of his handsome face to your memory.

In another life, the adoration in his blue eyes would have changed your mind.

“Missed me?” he teased you, one arm snaking around your waist, holding you flush to his front. The other came up to your face, cradling your cheek in his palm.

You could feel his soft belly against you. His shirts fit tighter now than when you’d started dating, and his stomach was beginning to bulge over his belt buckle.

“More than you can imagine.” you sighed, offering him a weak smile.

Maybe he missed the melancholy in your voice, or maybe he’d made his peace with your mood swings long ago, because he didn’t comment on it, simply placing a soft kiss on your forehead and pushing you back, thrusting the bag in your arms.

“Let’s get inside dove. These streets ain’t gonna patrol ‘emselves.”

The inside of his car was always warm, and smelled like him.

He drove around while you fed him fries, and you talked until your mouths ran dry.

Guilt gripped your heart when he mentioned a future together.

You knew he’d picked a ring, voices spread fast in small towns. He wanted the white picket fence, a pretty housewife and kids.

You were selfish and cruel and revelled in his love and affection for months, knowing damn well you’d never give him what he desired most.

“You okay? You seem distracted.” he quipped, hand squeezing your thigh.

Your conscience screamed at you to talk to him, but your mouth stayed sealed. There were no words to make this easy on him, so you’d make it easier on yourself.

He’d hate you, at first, but he’d move on, find some other nice girl and settle down with her.

She’d be pretty, and good to him, and she’d love him for the rest of her days.

“I’m okay, you know me. My head’s always up ‘n the clouds. College,” you deepened your voice, mocking your father’s words, “makes ‘m kids airheads.”

His eyes crinkled when he laughed. You’d miss the sound.

“I know, my little dove’s always flying higher than the rest of this shitty town.”

It was bitter, really, that the one you loved the most was what kept you chained to the ground, where you didn’t belong.

You were meant for the sky, his little dove, your mother’s butterfly.

Spread your wings, you reminded yourself, and fly far, far away.

-

You swore time flew by faster when you spent it with Lee, and minutes melted into hours, slipping through your fingers.

You wished you had more.

When he pulled over to an all too familiar clearing in the woods, your body acted on its own accord, and you climbed in the back seat like you’d done most nights for months.

Those trees had seen you in all states of undress, fucked in the car or on the hood, on your knees, on your back, on your stomach, with his cock down your throat or in your cunt, his face between your legs or on the crook of your neck.

Everything made you melancholic, everything reminded you about what you were about to give up.

It was selfish, but you’d allow yourself to forget all about the future for the moment being.

Just you and Lee, just a moment longer before reality would inevitably hit you like a bucket of iced water.

You and the love of your life that you’d betray once morning came.

But in the dark, underneath the stars and the moon, he was still yours, and you were his.

“You’re so fuckin’ beautiful baby, God, I’m the luckiest man in the whole world.”

You ignored the guilt once again, and straddled his lap. Grabbing him by his tie, you slanted your mouth against his. He parted his lips with a sigh, resting his back against the seat.

“Fuck, dove, you’re so good to me.” he mumbled, calloused hands roaming over your body.

A moan escaped your lips when his strained cock rubbed against your flimsy undergarments, and you arched your back, seeking more friction to soothe your aching core.

Warmth pooled in your lower belly, and slick gathered in your panties.

You ran your fingers through his hair, and pulled him impossibly close to feel everything, his warmth and his scent, his soft body and his rough hands.

Teeth clattering, bruising touches, heaving chests. The windows were getting fogged up by your hot breaths, and the metal creaked and clattered under your weights.

Desperation and arousal clouded your mind, and you looked at him through half lidded eyes, hoping he couldn’t read into your soul.

“Lee, baby, I need to feel you, I need you inside me,” you whined, unbuttoning his shirt and tugging on his belt impatiently.

You were desperate to feel his cock inside you, to have his hands leave bruises and his mouth leave marks on your skin one last time. Be his, be one in the flesh, one last time.

“So eager, you’d think I was Paul Newman or somethin’,” he chuckled, kneading the flesh of your ass.

“Much better than Newman, Brando or whatever they worship in Hollywood now.” you panted through sloppy kisses, hand dipping inside his briefs, his weight heavy and hot against your palm.

He hissed through his teeth, eyes rolling to the back of his brain. “What are you butterin’ me up for, dove?”

A beautiful moan escaped his lips when you doubled your efforts, wrist twisting around the velvety skin of his shaft, working his sensitive tip.

“I don’t need flattery to get me anythin’ baby, just these hands and lips.”

You popped your lips to emphasize your point, and let your tongue run along his bottom lip, taking it between yours and sucking on it.

He lifted your shirt with a swift motion, and the growl that he let out when he didn’t find any bra sent a thrill through you, straight to your throbbing core.

He groped your tits, squeezing until the line between pleasure and pain became too blurred to distinguish. You gasped when he rolled and pinched your nipples between his fingers, and mewled when his mouth closed down on one of them.

His tongue swirled around the stiff bud, teeth barely grazing the delicate skin.

A shiver ran down your spine when you felt his hot breath against your neck, and in a blur you found yourself laying on your back, his body caging you in.

“Don’t forget about this pussy, baby, I’d do anything for it.”

Your giggles turned to cries once his hand found its way between your legs, his name falling from your lips like a prayer while he caressed the hair on your mound.

He beamed proudly, feeling the wet patch on your undergarments, and dipped in your folds, spreading the slick around your entrance, rubbing your clit with his thumb.

His lips tasted like candy and strawberry milkshake, and you savored them as long as you could while your tongue intertwined with his.

You laughed when he knocked his head on the door, and then his knees on the floorboard.

“Can’t wait till we have a bed.” He groaned, already breathless while he fumbled with his pants, shoving them down his legs in a hurry.

Sadness filled you again, because one day he’d have a big, comfortable bed, but you wouldn’t be the one warming it.

You blinked away the tears as you clung to his shoulders.

When he breached your entrance, you felt like the wind had been knocked out of you.

You’d never gotten used to the stretch of his girth, and you wondered if anyone else would ever feel this right inside you.

“Fuck,” he groaned, hips stilling once he’s sheathed himself inside you, “God, you’re so tight.”

You felt like you were bursting at the seams, your walls quivering around his cock.

He rolled his hips tentatively, observing your face for any signs of pain, and started pounding inside you once he’d found none.

The burn soon turned into a pleasant ache.

“I’m a lucky bastard,” he snarled, punctuating each word with a rough snap of his hips, “I can’t wait to have you all to myself, dove.”

He buried his face in the crook of your neck, and didn’t notice how your lips quivered, or the tears that streamed down your face. He kept thrusting inside you, moaning each time he would feel your walls gripping his cock tightly.

Damp skin slid over yours, filling the car with the lewd sounds of his balls slapping your ass, and his belly smacking against yours.

“I’m gonna put so many babies inside you, I can’t wait to see you all swollen with my child. Fuck-, I can’t wait to come home to you everyday, my pretty little wife.”

You let yourself revel in the image. A pleasant, safe one. One that didn’t belong to you, but that warmed your heart anyways.

When the pressure in your core became too much for you to bear, you began blabbering and begging him to give you that release only he had ever given you.

“Please Lee, I need to- need to cum, baby.”

You choked on your words and shrieked when his hand dipped between your bodies, and he began rubbing circles around your clit.

“Cum for me, dove, cum all over my cock, wanna feel you fall apart on me baby.” he growled, hips stuttering.

He swallowed your cries with a kiss as you came undone. Your whole body trembled when hot waves of pleasure shook your limbs, the tight coil in your cunt unravelling all at once, releasing the pressure inside you.

You throbbed and gushed around his cock, arching your back and digging your nails in the flesh of his back.

He kept pounding inside you, riding your aftermath and praising his good girl through shuddering breaths.

“Fuck, I’m close,” he whined, and you felt his movements become errantic and his cock swell inside you.

“Finish up outside,” you managed to wheeze out.

He grunted, but obeyed regardless.

Knocking you up before he got a preacher’s blessing wouldn’t look good on his resume if he was to ever be mayor. Otherwise you’d have had a child on your hip already, you suspected.

You winced when he pulled out, and stood on his shins, hovering over you, brows furrowed, sweat dripping down his forehead.

You brought your hand down to his cock, and you stoked him once, twice, running your thumb over his slit before his hips stuttered and he painted your stomach with his white, warm load.

He collapsed next to you, holding you tight in his arms and catching his breath.

“You’re gonna be all mine soon, dove,” he whispered in your ear, rubbing his nose against yours, “and I’m gonna fill your pussy up every night, I swear. No more pulling out ever again.”

-

Freedom tasted bittersweet.

Corn fields gave way to tarmac too soon, and before you realized it, you’d left Knockemstiff and your old life behind, in hope of a new, better one

You rested against the window, your head rattling on the screen with each bump on the road. The stench of stale cigarettes, moonshine breath first thing in the morning and sweat filled the packed bus, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to care.

The prospect of your future terrified you and thrilled you to no end.

You observed the cars speeding past the bus, and the streams of dried tears on your face in your reflection. Your mind swirled with thoughts, the images of Lee torturing you. Sighing to yourself, you clutched the handkerchief that the woman besides you had gently offered with a kind, knowing smile on her face.

Better forget all about him as soon as possible.

New beginnings were hard, but hope blossomed in your chest with each mile that went by. Besides, your mother’s smile when she’d waved you goodbye had given you all the strength you needed.

You let the gentle sway of the bus lull you to sleep.

She’d never looked so happy and beautiful, bathed in dawn’s warmth with her Sunday dress she’d worn to see her biggest wish come true.

Her butterfly had finally spread her wings.

-

Part 2 (hopefully coming out tomorrow)

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So what do you think is going to happen in the next chapter? 🤭

I hope you liked it! I haven’t written in so long, but I hope it’s good. Please leave some feedback if you can, and reblog!