#i would NOT put it pass them to stoop low enough to do this to us

[othercrossee]

Toya bd is the same day as my presentation

[semisgroupie]

finding a middle ground

jotaro kujo x fem. reader x noriaki kakyoin

wc: 3.7k

warnings: college au!, modern au!, dubcon (kakyoin plans this out and both are hesitant before agreeing), threesome, oral sex (f! and m!receiving), facial, cum eating, multiple orgasms, unprotected sex, creampie, praise, rough sex, jotaro is mean to reader but softens at the end, kakyoin is a mastermind

synopsis: sometimes you need a third party to help you solve unnecessary tension

a/n: this is a commission piece that I wrote for @jctaro!! cherry my love thank you for trusting me with this idea and being my first ever commission!!!

Jotaro Kujo is the biggest asshole on campus—well, to you he is. You don’t know what sparked it between you two but there was no possible chance for you two to get along whenever you were near each other. Which was quite often since you had to fulfill the same requirements he did for his major.

It was honestly quite childish but neither of you could just put whatever aside to get along. Whenever he saw you, he would mutter something under his breath or send a nasty glare your way. You would do the same back to him, pointing out whenever he messed up in class (which was a rare occasion). Sometimes the glares would turn into longing glances on both ends but nothing to really dwell on. It was always a back and forth, a tit for tat, just nonstop. It was even worse when you both got paired for a project, the name calling and the taunting in private escalated to new levels. But it was never anything to take to heart.

Today, you were sitting in your biostatistics class listening to your professor describe what was needed for your upcoming midterm, focusing as they went over what topics you should study and what the grading procedure was. The class was passing by pretty quickly and once you were dismissed you gathered your things and started making your way to the door. You walked out of the classroom and stopped on the side to find your phone to see if any of your friends were free to hang out while you had a break between classes. You were interrupted when you heard someone clear their throat. You looked up and saw green eyes glaring down at you. “Sorry Kujo, I don’t have the time to set up a private study session for you, not like you’d benefit from it anyway.” You fixed your bag over your shoulder and crossed your arms over your chest as he scoffed.

“What makes you think that I’d ever want help from you? And is there a change of plans for the test this time? Didn’t have enough room in your schedule to blow the dean?” You rolled your eyes at his words and sighed, he would often insult things like your intelligence or bring things up like this to try to get under your skin. “Or did he find someone younger and prettier to focus his time on? Is that what it is? He must have found a pretty little freshman and got tired of your loose holes. Too much cock will do that to you.” Your eyes widened at his words and you were taken aback. He never stooped this low before.

“You’re being a dick, Kujo.” You adjusted your bag again and he just raised an eyebrow, “It’s not my fault that you’re just not interesting to anyone anymore, tell you what. I’ll get you a paper bag and you can decorate it all pretty so when someone is desperate enough for some pussy, they can just cover your face and use you.” Tears brimmed your eyes as he spoke and you quickly blinked them away, “fuck you, Jotaro.” You pushed past him and made your way out of the building your class was in, the tears you were trying to hold back finally spilled out.

Jotaro, on the other hand, stood there and watched you leave. He walked out of the building and the only thing that filled his mind was how hurt you looked. He didn’t want to go that far but you were there and you were just at the right place, at the wrong time. He combed his fingers through his hair and cursed himself as he made his way to his next class. He knew he should have apologized because that’s not how his mother raised him but distance would probably be the best thing for you.

After the encounter with Jotaro, you made your way to one of the dorm halls and went straight to one of the rooms, knocking on the decorated door. “It’s me, please tell me you’re here.” The door quickly opened and you buried your face into the chest of the man who lived in the dorm room. “Noriaki, I hate him. I hate him so much, he’s such an asshole. I hate him, I hate him, I hate him.” Your words were muffled by his chest and Kakyoin wrapped his arms around you tighter. He kept you close to him as he walked with you inside of his dorm and shut the door behind you both. “Hey, what happened?” He led you to the couch in his room and helped you sit down, you moved back to lift your head from his chest and sniffled. “That bastard called me a slut and just kept digging more and more. He said I blew the dean for my grades and so many other things. I hate him.” You felt the tears brim your eyes again and he lifted his hand to wipe at your eyes. “Don’t cry anymore, I just want you to forget about him and today. How about we order some food and then you can stay here while we watch some of your favorite movies? It’ll help you get your mind off the day and I hope it’ll make you forget about what happened with him.” You nodded and leaned in to rest your head against him, while mumbling, “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Kakyoin had known you and Jotaro for years which meant that he also knew that you two couldn’t stand each other. He heard of all of the name calling, bickering, just all of it. He was the middle ground, always calming either one of you down after a heated encounter. He was honestly starting to get tired of hearing everything going on between you two, he knew that you two wouldn’t mend things on your own and he had to get involved in his own way. He could see right through everything and he knew that there was something lingering whenever you two went at each other’s throats. Neither one of you would admit it but he just had to get the ball rolling. That way he could also get his payment for being a therapist for the both of you.

As the days passed, Kakyoin was getting his plan ready for action. In a week everyone on his floor would be gone for an art gallery exhibit for some extra credit. He didn’t need to go because the professor he was an assistant for already excused him. Kakyoin had reached out to you and Jotaro, inviting you both over to hangout and spend the day together. It was something you both quickly agreed to because 1) finals were beyond stressful and 2) neither of you knew that the other would be coming. Ever since that day you and Jotaro avoided each other like the plague and deep down you both missed each other.

Finally the day came and Kakyoin was finishing with setting his dorm room up when you came and knocked on his door. He opened the door and let you in. “So, what do you have planned for today?” He wrapped an arm around you and led you to the couch, “I was thinking that we could just do something a little different today. We always order some food and watch movies until you fall asleep but I think we need a little change of pace.” You furrowed your eyebrows and looked up at him, you opened your mouth to question him but you were interrupted by Kakyoin’s door opening. There stood Jotaro and his cerulean eyes instantly found you.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Jotaro’s deep voice boomed through the room as he stepped in and shut the door behind him. “I could ask you the same thing, Kujo. But for the record, Noriaki invited me over.” You crossed your arms over your chest and glared at him, “he invited me over too.” He raised an eyebrow and both of your eyes went to the redhead with a wide smile on his face. Both of your expressions were the same, waiting for him to answer the questions that haven’t been asked. Kakyoin looked at you both and sighed, “I just think that this was the best way to get you two to talk things out like normal people. Just hear me out. You both have been avoiding each other and ever since you two met you’ve had this animosity towards each other for no reason. Jotaro crossed a line and he’s more than aware of that. You were hurt and I think that with some talking and action then you two could be civil.”

You looked at Kakyoin and then looked at Jotaro before sighing. He wasn’t wrong, you two haven’t even thought about talking things through or trying to figure out what caused a rift between you both. “Fine, but if he says something out of line then I’m leaving.” Kakyoin nodded before looking over at Jotaro who just nodded. The silent agreement was enough for Kakyoin to continue. The redhead moved behind you and placed his hands on your shoulders, gently rubbing them as he looked at the raven haired male. “Jotaro, I think you should apologize to her. What you said to her was beyond offensive, humiliating and just rude. Even you admitted to me that you crossed the line.”

Jotaro looked at his friend then looked at you, “I’m sorry.” He mumbled the words and you rolled your eyes, scoffing. Just as you opened your mouth to say something, Kakyoin beat you to the punch. “You call that an apology, Jotaro? You could be more heartfelt and honestly, I don’t think words are enough. Words are what got us into this mess in the first place, maybe some actions could help mend the wounds you caused her.” His hands moved along your shoulders and toyed with the thin straps of your dress before sliding his hands along your body, touching and caressing all of your curves. You were in shock to say the least, but Kakyoin’s hands felt so good. You couldn’t deny that Kakyoin was attractive and you have had unsavory thoughts about him, along with the dark haired male who watched his friends hands along your body. “Don’t you think she’s beautiful? But her body just feels so tense, I think the best way to apologize is to help her destress.” Jotaro licked his dry lips and watched how rough Kakyoin’s hands moved along your body, he heard the mewls and whimpers that escape your lips and he couldn’t help but groan.

Kakyoin leaned in close to your ear and you could hear the smirk grow along his lips, “tell Jotaro how he should apologize to you, tell him that he should make you cum over and over until you forget about all the harsh things he has said to you.” You couldn’t say something like that, especially to Jotaro, you hated his guts, right? But as you opened your mouth to say something, one of Kakyoin’s hands moved to your chest and started to grope your breasts and the other hand moved to lift the skirt of your dress to your hips. He moved one of his legs to kick your legs open to spread them for the man in front of you both. “Don’t you see how wet she is? She’s practically soaking through her panties and you’re just standing there. You could be touching her, indulging in her. But don’t you want more? You just need to let him know.” He continued to grope and caress your body and you looked at Jotaro with half lidded eyes. “Jotaro…please.”

Just with that, Jotaro moved from his position and took a few long strides to get closer to you. He moved one hand up and hesitated for a moment before placing it on your hip, he looked down at the wet spot on your panties then looked into your eyes before looking at Kakyoin. “What do you gain from all of this? This was a disagreement between two people, not the three of us. And why are you still touching her?” He raised an eyebrow and his grip on your hip tightened a little as Kakyoin’s hands slowed down. “I’ve been the middle man this whole time, making sure you two just stick with throwing verbal jabs at each other. I mean if I leave you two alone, who knows what could happen? Plus, it's not up to you. My dear, do you mind if I join in?” You turned your head to look at Kakyoin and nodded, “I want you with us, please Noriaki.” Kakyoin pulled you closer to him and started leading you to his bed, Jotaro following close behind.

Just as you three reached the foot of the bed, clothes were taken off and strewn all over the floor. Kakyoin got on the bed and leaned back against the headboard and ushered you to lean back against him, he put his arms around you and reached down to spread your legs. Jotaro got on the bed and leaned in between your legs. His cerulean eyes trailed along your pussy, seeing how wet you were for both of the men in the room. Jotaro licked his lips and leaned in close to lick up your slit. He groaned at the taste and placed his hands on your inner thighs as he started to lick and suck your cunt like it was his last meal. Your back arched and you brought one hand down to Jotaro’s hair, threading your fingers through the soft, dark strands as he dipped his tongue inside you.

Kakyoin moved one hand to your chin and tilted your head up to look at him. Moans and whines left your lips as you looked into his eyes. “You just look so pretty when he’s eating your pussy. The way your body moves and writhes is a sin that we are blessed enough to indulge in.” He leaned in close and pressed his lips against yours. Kissing you passionately as Jotaro loudly slurped and sucked on your pussy. Your legs started to quiver and shake around his head as he kept your thighs spread for him. Jotaro moved one hand up to rub your clit with his thumb and dipped his tongue in and out of your messy cunt. You had never felt this good before, none of your toys could bring you the pleasure that he’s bringing you now. You broke the kiss with Kakyoin and your chest started to rise and fall quickly.

“Gonna cum!” Kakyoin moved his hands to your breasts and started pulling on your nipples while he started to trail kisses along your neck and shoulder. “Cum, make a mess all over his face, pretty girl. Soak him in your juices until you can’t anymore. It’s what you deserve.” You arched your back and threw your head back against Kakyoin’s chest and cried out as your orgasm hit you. Your body trembled and Jotaro held your legs open as he drank all your juices, slurping even louder. He continued to drink you all in until Kakyoin moved one of his hands down to Jotaro’s forehead and started pushing him back. Jotaro looked at you both and your juices covered his lips and chin. “What happened?” Kakyoin chuckled and shook his head, “I want a taste too, stop being so greedy, Jotaro.”

Jotaro licked his lips and pulled back from you. Kakyoin gently moved you up from his chest and helped position you on all fours before moving behind you. Jotaro moved in front of your face and your eyes widened when you saw his cock. It was massive just like him, thick in all the right places and it looked so heavy. You were practically drooling at the sight and Jotaro wrapped his hand around it, stroking it a few times. “Let’s see if you can do more than just bitch and whine with this pretty mouth of yours.” You looked up at him and narrowed your eyes as Kakyoin’s hands moved along your ass, spreading you for him as he spit on your sensitive pussy. “Fuck you, Kujo.” He laughed and gripped the base of his cock, tapping it against your lips, “you will soon. Now open up.”

Kakyoin leaned in and started licking along your slit then wrapped his lips around your sensitive clit. Your mouth fell open and Jotaro took advantage of your open mouth and pushed his cock inside. Jotaro threw his head back and placed his hands on either side of your head as he started thrusting. He set a rough and hard pace, each time he thrusted his cock hit the back of your throat causing you to gag each time. He didn’t relent, no matter how many times you gagged it was just more pleasurable for him. Kakyoin held you open and ate you out with the same fervor as Jotaro. Your body trembled and you moaned around Jotaro’s cock, giving the raven haired male even more pleasure. “You taste so fucking sweet, I can’t get enough of your taste.” Kakyoin rasped out and continued to eat you out like a man starved. You were already sensitive from your first orgasm and you already started to feel the knot tighten in your stomach. Kakyoin moved his hand to your entrance and pushed two fingers inside you, curling them to press right against your g spot as he suckled on your clit.

You brought your hands up to Jotaro’s thick thighs and dug your nails into them as you reached your second orgasm of the day. Your body trembled violently and you cried out around Jotaro’s cock as you drenched Kakyoin’s face in your juices. Jotaro pulled out of your mouth and pumped his cock a few more times and thick ropes of his cum landed on your face. He grunted and his hand continued to move up and down his thick length. A few more ropes landed on your face and you opened your eyes to look at him, a smirk grew on your lips. “Wow, didn’t think you would cum quickly like a virgin, Kujo. Was that your first blowjob?” He grabbed a napkin and cleaned off some of his cum from your face and tossed it in the trash bin.

“Shut up, I’m not done yet.” He wasn’t wrong, his cock was still rock hard and bobbed as he moved off the bed. Kakyoin gave your pussy one last kiss then moved in front of your face. His cock was big but not as thick as Jotaro’s so it would give your jaw some relief for a moment. Jotaro gripped your hip with one hand and gripped his cock with the other then he slammed into you. You cried out his name out loudly and looked back to glare at him, “shut up, this was what you wanted.” He held your hips tightly and started drilling into you, if felt like his cock was splitting you in half in the best way possible. Moans and whines left your lips and you looked up at Kakyoin before sticking your tongue out for him.

“So pretty begging for cock like that. Fuck.” Kakyoin bit his lip and slowly pushed his cock into your mouth. You started sucking and you started bobbing your head up and down his length. He was much gentler than Jotaro, giving you time to get adjusted to his length. “Look at that, you’re such a good girl. Sucking so good like that, think you’re ready for more? For me to be a little rougher?” You nodded as best as you could and Kakyoin placed one hand on your head and started thrusting. He moved in sync with Jotaro, every time Jotaro slammed into you Kakyoin pulled his cock out only to the tip then when Jotaro only had the tip inside of you, Kakyoin buried himself down your throat.

You were beyond sensitive from all the orgasms and the way Jotaro hit all your sensitive spots was just driving you closer and closer to the edge. Jotaro’s hips continued to snap into yours as he fucked you relentlessly. Your eyes rolled back and you cried out around Kakyoin’s cock as your orgasm ripped through you. Jotaro held your hips tighter as he continued to snap his hips into yours almost animalistically. Kakyoin continued to thrust into your mouth and held your head in place as he started to cum, “don’t waste a drop. Swallow it all, pretty girl. Just swallow it all.” You greedily swallowed around his cock as he continued to pump his cum into you. Soon Jotaro followed, he pressed his hips against yours and started to fill you with hot, sticky ropes of cum. Kakyoin pulled out of your mouth and you dropped your head against the bed as Jotaro continued to fill you up.

Kakyoin got off the bed to grab water and grab a rag to clean you off with and Jotaro slowly pulled out of you and helped you rest against the bed completely. He laid beside you and pulled you closer to him. “, I just wanted to apologize for how I’ve been treating you. I crossed the line that day and that wasn’t called for, none of it was called for. I did a lot of fucked up things and said a lot of fucked up things, you didn’t deserve that.” Kakyoin walked over to you two with a wide grin on his face and handed the water bottle in his hand to you then started to wipe you down with the wet rag in his other hand.

“You’re welcome.” He spoke as he continued to wipe you down and both you and Jotaro looked at Kakyoin with furrowed eyebrows. “My plan, if I didn’t think this through then you two would still be on no speaking terms and I would be the one to try to convince you two separately to try to work it out or just get over it.” He shrugged and Jotaro shook his head, “I’m not too sure about that. I think we’ll need a few more sessions of this to really make sure everything is mended.” You smiled and nodded, “that I can agree with.”

taglist: @enchantedforest-network

[someonexsomeone]

Stardrinker

Title: Stardrinker

Author: SomeonexSomeone

Word Count: 2.5k

Pairing: Sirius Black x bestfriend!reader, minor James Potter x Slytherin Pureblood np!reader

Summary: Sirius is your best friend, but James...James is your sun.

Warnings: angst, mentions of suicide, mentions of traditional values and arranged marriages, happy ending

Authors Note: hello again! This is kinda a prequel kinda a companion piece to Suneater. Originally I wrote Suneater from readers POV but i am a sucker for the male pov in romances because idk i want to be loved and devoted or whatever so here is what Suneater almost was, with some minor additions

if you or anyone you know needs help, please call 988 (USA) or contact your local hotline. You are loved, you are needed.

Companion piece: Suneater

Sirius is one of your best friends. Well, maybe best friend wasn’t the best way to put it. Sirius was the light of your life, the reason you were able to hold out for as long as you did, a comfort in the dreary place you called home. He was the one who kept you company at stuffy Pureblood events, dressed in clothes that only fit if you stayed as still as possible. He was the one who gave you reassuring looks from across the room as your parents paraded you around the room, sickly fake smiles on their faces that would drop the moment you returned back home. He made those parties somewhat enjoyable as he mocked those around him with little to no tack behind their backs, easily slipping into rehearsed conversation when they looked towards him again. He was the one who would cut into your dances as much as he could, even if customs looked down on him for doing so, just to make sure you didn’t end up in the arms of a Pureblood twice your age, the type who would grab at your hips in a possessive way and allude to buying you from your parents (because, let’s be honest, being on the marriage market in your circle was nearly the same as being cattle put up for auction). 

He was the bane of your existence when you were younger. Your parents had always pursued the best course to elevate the family status, jumping from family to family, pledging their loyalty to the highest bidder until they found something better, turning their back without another word. It was obvious, to everyone else around, that your family’s loyalty was like holding water, but with their seemingly random ways of knowing exactly when to jump ship, you were able to keep your head above water with minimal problems. You’ve had more marriage arrangements than most, paraded around every party your parents could make their way into, forced into hundreds of different robes until you could barely remember what any of them looked like. 

The Ancient and Noble House of Black was one of the many families your parents tried to cozy up to. It was, to your relief, they were much too confident in themselves to stoop so low as to interact beyond pleasantries with your parents, but it happened frequently enough that you and Sirius came to know each other's faces. Two scared children, standing stiff as a board beside their parents, flicking eyes to judge the other silently. By the time Sirius had decided he wanted to distance himself from his parents, you had already spent too many years glaring at each other to have anything beyond acknowledgement of the others existence.

It was why, when you parents not so subtly berated you at a summer function, you were mortified it was Sirius who found you. The summer before your first year, before the only bit of freedom you ever dared to have, it was no wonder you got a little cocky. The scoff was nothing, easily passed up as a sneeze or a cough, but your parents were furious, hurling hate at you as soon as they got you alone. Your arm still stung from where they had dragged you, wanting to get as much distance from the party as possible to not embarrass them even more, and your eyes burned with unshed tears. You were eleven.

Sirius found you that night, curled up on the floor only minutes after your parents were done with you. They commanded you to remain in the room for the rest of the night, staying far away from any other potential allies, and to hide the disarray they left you in. He rushed into the room without a care to look around, out of breath as if he’d been running, closing the door with a soft click, obviously trying to get some privacy. He leaned against it for a moment, taking a deep lungful of air, before turning. He stopped still when he saw you on the floor.

Neither said a word. Sirius stayed frozen for far too long, eyes flickering between you and the rest of the room, obviously at a loss for what to do. You tried to scooch away from him, but the pain was too much to hide, and a whimper escaped your lips. It was then that Sirius noticed the small drip of blood from your nose, a sign of something he knew all too well. With a pitying look, one you met with a hateful glare, he approached, hand fumbling with the handkerchief from his pocket. You flinched when he reached down, but he only held your chin gently, whipping the blood from your upper lip. He left without another word.

It was a miracle you were able to make it home that night without any further incident. Your parents cooled down, none the wiser to Sirius’s intervention, and prepped you for the next party. The Black’s were there too, of course, but you were far too embarrassed to look Sirius in the eye. But he simply gave you a soft smile and tilt to his head, keeping his pleasantries boring and impersonal. You were surprised, and suspicious. 

That is, until Sirius showed up at the last party of the summer with a slight limp and the smallest bit of blood still on his nostril, that understanding overcame you, and you gave him the subtlest of nods, passing a napkin over with the twitch of your nose. From then on, an unspoken pact formed between the two of you.

No words were exchanged during the school year. With Sirius entering Gryffindor, a fact you were both pleased with - a true escape from the pureblood nonsense - and devastated by - you were hoping to have an ally -, it was hard to justify talking to him. Winter and Summers were the only times you were able to sneak a small conversation here and there, but, for someone who loved the sound of their own voice, Sirius was surprisingly good at having a whole conversation with you with just his eyes. It was ridiculous, but for whatever reason, you began to trust Sirius Black.

It was why, during one of the worst moments of  your life, you were glad it was him who found you.

Sirius was there when  you were on the verge jumping off the balcony that summer night, your parents just having informed you they promised you to a man who could have been your grandfather. The man had leered at you when they left you alone, forcing himself onto you, grabbing everything that would eventually, legally, be his to possess. When you screamed, brandishing your wand, even though it had been drilled into your mind never to pull your wand on a Pureblood of higher status, the man laughed, a vile laugh that made your bones shake, and told you to get all the attitude out of your body before you walked down the aisle; he would not tolerate anything after that. The moment he stepped out, leaving you with nothing but the night air, you unconsciously turned to look at the stars. It was something of comfort, to find a constant like the stars. You took a moment, memorizing them one last time, before climbing up, the least graceful thing you had done in who knows however many years. Your uneven heels rocked you back and forth, a melancholy waltz, before you tipped forward.

Sirius’ hands clasped around your legs before you could fall, using his momentum to pull you back onto him and the solid ground. Your arms scraped painfully against the stone balcony, tearing through the delicate gloves on your hands and shredding your fine clothes, but Sirius’ body took most of the brunt of your fall. You could barely hear him over the ringing in your ears, too shocked at the fact that you were alive, that you didn’t fall, didn’t crash into the floor below like you so wanted, too overwhelmed to hear him yelling at you, wondering what you were thinking by standing on the ledge like that. Yelling at you for almost taking your life. Your gloves slowly dotted red, then black, as your tears joined to create the most unusual canvas of dotted pain. Suddenly it was too hard to breathe, to let out anything but a wail of despair, enough to render even the great Sirius, the man who always had something to say, to say nothing at all.

He did the only thing he could think of, the only thing he ever wanted anyone to do for him. He grabbed you and held you tight as you sobbed into his arms, begging not to be the one to save your family from ruin, begging to just let everything burn to the ground, setting your body alight so there would be nothing left to touch. 

He held you there until the morning light started to peak over the horizon, letting you cry until there was nothing but dry heaves left, until you were too weak to do more than finally let yourself completely rely on him to keep you propped up. Quietly and gently, more than you had ever been afforded before, he helped you stand, flooing the two of you back to your house. Your parents were already fast asleep, too high on the success of setting you up with a match that would bring riches to your decaying family once more to really care where you went. They knew, just as you did, there was nowhere for you to go but the path they made just for you. Sirius shooed away the only remaining awake House Elf to draw you a bath.

“I find that it helps,” he whispered, voice low in order to not bring any unwanted attention. “Hot water does wonders for shaky nerves.” 

He moved with practiced ease, steps so quiet you could barely hear the squeak of shiny dragonhide shoes, voice clear was quiet. It was in that moment that you realized he was just like you, trapped in a home that weighed so heavily you could do nothing but let it mold you or crush you, where punishment was more common than gratitude. You noticed the telltale shake of his hands, the same ones you had, the same ones many of your fellow Slytherin’s had - the ones that came from prolonged and constant exposure to punishment curses. 

But the smile he gave you that night was nothing but warmth, a rarity in your inner circle. He helped you with your outer layer of clothes, mindful of the way all your strength seemed to have disappeared, turning his head away to give you the illusion of privacy. When he gave you a tight lipped smile, bowing the way so many Purebloods were taught to do on their departure, you panicked, grabbing onto his arm so tightly you nails dug into his skin.

“No, please,” you begged. Tomorrow, you would be proud. Tomorrow, you would hold yourself up once more as you always did, no sign of insecurity to be seen. But today? Today, you had already wasted your will and composure. What was one more unrealistic wish? “Don’t leave me. I…I can’t-”

“Woah! Okay, okay. I won’t leave. I’m right here.” He flushed when you disrobed in front of him, but didn’t let go of your hand, helping you into the steaming bath. The two of you stayed in silence, either too scared to speak or too ashamed, but never letting go. When it was clear you were too overwhelmed to clean yourself, he used his free hand to run a gentle lather over your exposed skin, too delicate to do anything but provide the smallest amount of additional comfort. You fell asleep that night, warmed to your core, at ease for the first time in years.

And when he appeared at the party the following day, his usual smirk gone, in too much pain to do anything but whisper the punishment his parents saw fit to give him after staying out past curfew, it was all too easy to offer the same comfort.

You were there to have an escape from the countless Mother’s trying for his hand, and he was there to deter any more conversations with your fiance. He jostled you jokingly if he caught you in the hallways in between classes, and you always made sure to swing by the Gryffindor table on the way to your own to pinch him in return. On bad days, you seeked each other out, thankfully not needing the bath as neither of your parents could touch you while safe within the walls of Hogwarts. Instead you snuck into the kitchen, snacking on sweet things and improper treats, the kind which you’d never find back home. 

Sirius spoke of his friends often, of the comfort they brought him, of the promises they’d kept to always make him feel wanted. Remus was his love, you were his heart, and James…James was his light. He always spoke of James with such awe, reaching his hands out like he was cupping the summer sun in his hands in the only way he could describe his best friend. James made him laugh, made him feel like the cruelty of the world was just a shadow rather than a looming cloud, and made every tomorrow feel joyous rather than dreadful. Even though he had to return him every summer, James was there to hold his hand until he got there, and was the reason Sirius wasn’t being crushed under the pressure of defying his family. Your heart stung when Sirius talked about James, wanting to be that person for him, but with your darkness, there was nothing so bright you could do. If James was Sirius’s sun, and Remus his moon, you were happy to be his stars. Always there, but never the focus.

And then you met James, and everything Sirius said made sense.

The night James confessed to you, it was as if your world was suddenly lit by beaming rays of light when all you ever had were torches. Once the story started, you couldn’t stop. It was the first time, the only time, when you felt you truly had someone who would listen when you spoke your horrible truth, to someone who would actually care what happened to you. Your dormmates knew, but their stories were too alike to your own to be needed to be said aloud. Sirius was there, he was always there, but James…James was new. James was unpredictable, and brash, and quick tempered, and an idiot, but he was also warm. So very warm, that it felt like being gazed upon by the sun when you met eyes. His touch did far more to help than laying outside on a summer day, and when you’re with him, it felt, for the first time, that not everything was tainted by darkness. Even Sirius, your most beloved friend, was no stranger to it. 

So, when James pulled you into his warm hug, the kind that promised things would be okay, even if you were sure it never would be, you latched on, and never let go.

______________________________________________________________

masterlist  l hogwarts masterlist

[sdyd]

𝑀. the secrets of life ... sentence starters from valentine wolfe's 2018 album, the haunting of mary shelley. feel free to change tense / pronouns !

you'll see me soon, or nevermore.

how slowly time passes here.

I am as fixed as fate.

I can't stop, or turn back now.

I've left too much unsaid.

I am your voice in the dark.

I have no friend.

they will try to cut you up.

they will put you back together wrong. so very, very wrong.

a vessel can have many purposes.

decoration lends a purpose

hold on to my voice at night.

you can be remade.

revel in the decadence as they wallow in their ignorance.

you will have all the knowledge they foolishly squandered away.

you won't ever be alone again.

you can hear her anguished cries.

your compassion makes you perfect, so perfect.

I know what you seek.

I know why you cry.

I know your breaking heart.

I know how you'll die.

[ name ] was as a daughter.

we thought that your compassion made you perfect.

the shadowed window pane offers a ghostly glimpse into your paradise of domestic bliss.

where is my place in this ?

I am an endless wanderer upon this land, a maker's thoughtless touch.

why am I so alone ?

you never stooped so low.

chase away my fears.

my tears must burn with rage.

lashing out in anger, my soul is fractured fragments.

this haunted world is littered with the ghosts of the past.

everywhere I turn there’s a part of me in all of them.

there’s so much of you in all of me.

but I don’t fit.

then sorrow shall follow behind me as my bridal train.

It’s a mystery I never understood.

it's not your story to tell.

she never knew her mother.

her voice was always there.

If only the good doctor had taken better care to imbue their new creation with a mother’s love.

what horrors might have been averted !

this author knew her subject well.

all men hate the wretched, how then must I be hated.

your actions have wronged me, I must have revenge.

I am miserable beyond all living things.

make me happy, I shall again be virtuous.

what flows out must pour back in.

I will be with you on your wedding night.

I will glut myself on your shrieks.

I will revel in your misery.

I bear a hell within me, I will loose it all upon you

you will learn to dread misfortune, you will learn the agony.

I will work at your destruction, I will desolate your heart.

the death knell shall be rung, each toll a stake into your heart.

in the halls of silence, electric genius cursed me.

I remember when I wondered : what if no one had to die ?

no more farewells.

you will never have to die.

it was not what I'd intended.

I was only ever meant to live alone until the end.

death is now a welcome guest.

the pages turn, the book never ends.

the story grows cold inside my head.

I only ever wanted to help.

the echo of you will never be enough, as long as the black veil separates us.

even stretched on your grave, I’m not close enough.

the reaper is a friend.

death's kiss is a gift.

you took from me, my agency.

now I'm just a whisper in a shadow.

I am leaving this world behind.

do not search for me in heaven.

they were atypical in their custom and belief.

yet, I am bound to them.

they would slander and decry that which they don’t understand.

ignorance will lead to fear, especially if it runs unchecked.

the only way to fight the dark is by lighting up the truth.

never once back away from what lies beyond.

your lies can't hurt me now.

[ceruleanmusings]

the impression that i get - mickames

i've had the basis of this dialogue exchange in my head for ages but couldn't figure out what fic to put it in and where or how until i decided to just take it out and make it its own scene instead of trying to shoe-horn it in somewhere else. i was going to wait and post this on james' canon birthday in two days but i got impatient. i need the fluff. this is set in season 2. @raging-violets @partiallypearl @witchofinterest @myloveforhergoeson

“You’re still here?” James asked, leaning against the door frame to Kelly’s office. Feet crossed at angles, hands shoved in pockets, arm pressed against the wood from forearm, backpack hanging off the crook of his bent elbow. The perfect pose of nonchalance—practiced nonchalance because he had to always have everything regarding his appearance on point.

Mickey glanced at him from around Kelly’s laptop on her standing desk. It was the slight crease to her brow that made him realize his mistake.

It was Wednesday.

He knew that.

He knew she knew he knew that.

She always stayed behind to help Kelly with her administrative work on Wednesdays. It usually amounted to taking messages or ignoring calls Kelly didn’t want to deal with or translating meeting notes or updating contact information for potential talent recruitment.

“You’re still here,” she commented, still looking at him but clicking at something on the screen. “Didn’t you finish laying down tracks a few hours ago?”

He did, indeed. Getting songs done in one take wasn’t hard for him but he wanted to make sure they had more than one perfect track to use. It was always good to have options, wasn’t it? “Gustavo wanted me to get some new headshots done.”

The crease smoothed out and was replaced with the tiniest of smiles pulling back the corner of her mouth. Anyone else might not have noticed but he for sure did. He’d spend enough time looking at her. He had all her micro expressions memorized.

“He wasn’t a fan of Hot Janitor or Hot Librarian?”

“No!” James rolled his eyes and stood straight. Clearly Gustavo didn’t know what he was talking about. “I, for one, think he’s just jealous.”

“Well, he has a few things to choose from on that front.”

He didn’t have a chance to dig more into that comment because her attention too quickly moved back to the screen. All mirth left her face and a deep concentration took over as she hid behind the screen once more. He twisted his mouth to the side. That wasn’t how he planned this encounter to go. He had to keep it going.

“What’re you doing?” He stepped further into the room, his steps halting and tentative. It wasn’t that he thought Kelly would stoop so low to have shock pads on the floors of her office but, well, Gustavo had some interesting ways to corral them that he wouldn’t entirely put past the staff of Rocque Records to be a little unique themselves.

“Uncle Gustavo wants his audition tapes organized.” She sighed and rubbed an eye. “Thing is it’s already sorted and named by date, but he wants folders in folders and some arbitrary system that makes sense to no one else but him.” She lifted a piece of paper that had what looked to be chicken scratch scribbled all over it.

James nodded. “Sounds like Gustavo alright.”

She hummed and slapped the paper back down on the desk. A few loose Starburst wrappers—pinks and reds—flew off the desk. “Thankfully it’s only for the last year so it’s not too much but…”

Last year? James’ ears perked up. That meant his audition had to be in there somewhere. Had she seen it? Studying her face gave him no answers. She had a way of keeping everything locked up tight. And with her concentration thrown on top of it, chipping away would have to be delicate.

“Didyouwatchmine?”

Being delicate wasn’t his strong suit.

Something crossed her face, a sort of careful contemplation mixed with that made every second pass like an eternity. “Yes,” she finally answered. The simple word nearly knocked him over. Or maybe it was the gust of relief wooshing out of him that made him take a step back. Made him take stock of the reality of the conversation they were having. She’d seen his audition. She had thoughts about his audition. He needed to know what they were.

"And?" The question burst out of him, his body nearly vibrating with anticipation.

"And I thought you were good.” She shrugged, shuffled papers again, and put them in the small metal basket marked OUT with a small white label. Oh. Good. Not great or fantastic or anything. Just good. But “good” was better than nothing wasn’t it? He could take good. “And then you stage-dived onto security.” She pointed at the screen as if to remind him.

“Yeah, well, Kendall needed my help." James shrugged. “He had my back. I needed to have his.”

That look came back to her face. Her mouth twisted to the side and, for second, he didn’t think she’d say anything but, after a small shake of her head, she continued, ”…For the record, I thought Uncle Gustavo was crazy not to initially pick you.”

“Really?” He for sure thought so, especially following up with his crazy idea that James had no talent. But to hear someone else say it to him, for her to say it to him, he had to make sure he wasn’t dreaming.

A light flush came to her cheeks and she cleared her throat. “…But it all worked out in the end. For the best, I think. You belong here.” She flashed a small smile and he may as well have burst into a thousand pieces. He wasn’t hard to please: some pie, a compliment or two, maybe tell him they were proud of him, someone acknowledging his talents and his efforts, and he was good to go. But this…

She’d said that to him before; in fact he remembered it was the very first thing she’d ever said to him, and it meant as much now as it did then, nearly a year ago. She had to have said that on purpose, right?

“Hey, how’s it goin’?” James nearly groaned when Kelly came into her office. She had to notice she was ruining the moment, right? Because there definitely was a moment and he wasn’t making it up. He wouldn’t come crashing back down to reality like that if there hadn’t been one. The little wings on his feet must’ve melted.

“Almost done,” Mickey replied though the weariness in her words clued James in she didn’t actually believe it. But it was probably what Kelly wanted to hear. “Are you ready to go?”

Kelly grimaced. “That’s the thing. We had another meeting called; it’s going to take some time. You should probably grab a bus and head home.” Mickey groaned. “I’m sorry but those pesky things called child labor laws have my hands tied.”

“You’re not even paying me.”

Kelly gestured with her ever-present clipboard. “And that makes it worse.” Her eyes slid over to James. “You should be going too.” Walking past him, Kelly moved to her desk, pausing only to give a brief glance at the scattered candy wrappers on the floor before reaching for a drawer. It slid open with a few squeaks and she removed her purse, then her wallet, then some money. “Here,” she said, pressing it into Mickey’s palm, “I won’t be too late. If I am, you girls can order a pizza.”

Mickey clicked her tongue and pocketed the money. “You say that like you’re doing us a favor, but you just don’t want to do the dishes if we make dinner.

“Two things can be true at once,” Kelly replied and then kissed her cheek. Kelly was back out of the room in a flurry, sucking the past ease out behind her in her fast-moving wake. Awkwardness settled in. Mickey shifted her weight from foot to foot before she went around turning off the computer, checking the drawers of Kelly’s desk and filing cabinets, closing the blinds, watering some plants he thought was fake, turning on a desk lamp, to turn off the overhead lights, grab her bag, and lock the door. James watched it all with curious eyes. He’d seen enough rom-coms—enjoyed them, devoured them, studied them—to know The Stall. But was it for his benefit?

“I’ll wait with you,” he said when she gave him a look, turning away from the door. “I’m heading in the same direction anyway.” She couldn’t argue that. Kelly did tell him to leave too, after all. She played with the keys in her hands, they jingled and jangled in her twitchy grip, and she nodded.

She still swung them in restless fingers when the bus drove up five minutes later. It was drowned out by the loud hiss as the bus settled and the doors opened. People gathered and bunched up, waiting to board after others got off. James swung his bag to the front digging in it as the line moved forward. Mickey boarded and he stepped back, still rooting around, giving space to others.

Finally, he found a few crumpled bills at the bottom of his bag—the leftovers of his per diem from the week—and dropped it in the collection container at the front of the bus. He quickly navigated his way past the rows at the front until he reached Mickey’s and dropped into the empty seat next to her. She froze, earbuds dangling from fingers halfway to her ears to stare at him.

“James?”

“Yes?” He settled his bag on his lap and stretched one leg out into the aisle. He forgot how close the seats could be.

“You don’t live this way.”

The bus rocked with new passengers boarding. “I know.”

“You’re going in the opposite direction.”

“For now.” She blinked. “You don’t like the bus.” She blinked again. Hmm. Maybe he needed to be a bit more obvious. “I’ll just ride it with you this way and take one back to the Palm Woods.”

It took for the bus doors to close and another hiss to be release as the bus pulled away for her to speak again. “You didn’t have to do that.”

He shrugged. “No big deal.” Her hands slowly lowered back to her lap, earbuds rolling between her twisting fingers. His skin burned beneath her scrutinizing gaze. Okay, he had to change the subject. Lighten the mood. Find a safe topic to talk about. And what better, safter, topic than himself? “So! My audition really must have stood out!”

“…Among others.”

“Did I make a lasting impression?” He bumped her shoulder with his own as he asked, smoothing over his question, downplaying it even though it was filled with sincerity. He wanted to know. Needed to know, even.

“You’ve made a few.” In the past? Recently? Right now? What. Did. That. Mean? His answer came a second later, like an afterthought, "Your first impression was great.”

Awesome! Upgraded from good to great!

“Your second, not so much.”

A record scratched in his head "....Huh?"

The bus rattled and shook as they moved over a bump. Her nerves seemed to shake out her thoughts along with it. "Aunt Kelly would send some of the auditions to us. Usually the bad ones so we could laugh about them. Yours was really good. I actually had Mel call them to yell at them for me for how wrong Gustavo was.”

His mind whirled, slow to catch back up from that jarring hit. He hadn’t been rattled that hard since the hockey state semi-finals in freshman year when he had a cheapshot from behind into the plexiglass. Like then, it took a bit for him to reorient himself. So that meant… “…You’ve seen my audition before.”

“Yes. You, um, how can I put this?” She paused and he waited, held his breath, didn’t make a sound. He wanted to be sure he caught every word. She always chose them so carefully. “You had this…soul? To the song. I haven’t heard anyone else sing it like you did. Like you were deeply feeling the words and what he was saying. Which…only made me believe it. You know?”

“Oh.” He should’ve been able to come up with something better but his brain glitched as he took on the new information.

 “After Kelly told us the news Gustavo was making a boy band? I, um, was hoping to meet you at some point. Especially after the song you chose.” He gaped at her and shrugged. “Which is why I was so confused that the James from the audition was so different from the James I met at the Palm Woods.”

“Oh.” He really needed to find something better to say. Sorry didn’t even come close. But how could he explain just what he felt when he first saw her? It was like he was struck by lightning, like everything he’d done in his life had brought him to that moment. Like he had an answer to a question he didn’t know existed or he’d been trying to find.

So he chased that feeling, that experience, and her by extension. And he messed it all up.

Boy, was he a giant turd.

Still… “…How’m I doing now?”

“…They say, third time’s the charm, right?” She bumped his shoulder with his, smiling softly. The sight of it made his shoulders drop and his breath ease. She held out one of her earbuds, gesturing to his ear. “I still have some bad auditions saved if you want to watch them.”

“Um, yeah!”

He pressed the earbud into his ear and leaned close, heads resting against each other’s while she pressed play.

[tricks-n-illusions]

Angela@Silas: "Do you just like to spend your little time torturing and murdering ghosts? How dare you do that to literal spirits of children? They can't hurt you, they've already suffered enough pain from passing and you just spend time killing them again? What do you have to gain from it other than some sort of sadistic satisfaction?"

Angela's comment quickly broke the fox out of whatever sad stupor he was previously in. Did she just say what he thought she said...? He didn't imagine that did he?

How dare someone reduce him to THAT kind of person. Silas gave a sinister grin as he leaned back, he clearly was not in the mood to be judged and so wrongly accused.

He finally let out a sigh as his illusion dissipated. "If you think I'm the type of person to hurt a child. You're fuckin' mistaken. I'm not someone who hurts children," He spat out his words, there was clearly hurt behind them. "I would never stoop so low to use them for my own personal gain, that's disgusting." "I-..." His voice shook as he glanced back to Angela, he looked as if he wanted to retreat away from such horrid accusations, but he stood his ground. "I know what it's like being a helpless child at the mercy of a sick and twisted adult. I know far too fucking well what it's like for an adult to take advantage of my innocence for their own personal desires. I would never do that to a child. I would never even dream of hurting a child." He began a low growl as he threw her a glare.

"That spirit wasn't a child moron." He huffed out in a fit of rage, he didn't enjoy being accused of such horrible things and he certainly wasn't going to be nice to the person who just did so. "That spirit's older than me, than even you and that's saying something cause you look ancient." He laughed giving a sneer.

"What if I do get some sadistic little gain from hurting ghost-types hm~?" She wanted to assume the worst about him, he might as well lean into it. "And killing them?"

"Little ghosts don't really put up much of a fight you know?" he laughed as he circled around the dragon.

Silas was quick to stop in his tracks. That sounded really weird, Ew. There had to be a better-sounding word than that. "Ummm..." He tapped his claw in thought, "How about..."

[ . . . ]

"I don't know the fuckin' right word alright?!" He shouted, "I just like killing stupid little ghosts, Isn't that pretty obvious? Huh?" "Maybe I do get some 'sadistic satisfaction' out of it, maybe I don't. Does it really look like I know the reason why I did that? Hm?!" Silas was really starting to get tired of people poking at him. "Look dumbfuck. I don't know why I do the shit I do okay. I ain't some all-knowing, self-aware deity. I'm a dumb fox. Get used to it or pack your shit and leave. Cause it ain't changing anytime soon."

[nsewell]

Sending three because of Ava/Nat indulgence, feel free to take as few as many as you like: 8, 29, 40

8. sunbathing, 29. sweat, 40. pet

Brazil, 1976; Ava comes back from reconnaissance to find the long breadth of Nat in a Caravaggio spread on the private balcony of their suite. The weather is mild, a sweet, tepid spot between two extremes, but bearably warm for the sensitive skin of a vampire. It’s a relief from the Nordic climate the Agency has kept them in for the past four months and her companion is taking advantage of it and the rare lull between missions - sunbathing in a drawstring one piece that flatters the cutting line of her broad shoulders. There’s a drape of sheer fabric around her hips and Nat will tell her later that it’s a sarong, when Ava goes to take it off her. For now, she’s turned on her side in a lounge chair with a book beneath her palms that she’s giving her undivided attention.

Nat belongs here in the sun and afternoon air, in defiance of the legends that confine their kind to cold and shadow. She seeks it out often enough and she’s never said anything but Ava thinks it’s because she’d had enough of the latter, in the cloistered life that had come before.

“Is that a new bathing costume?” Ava asks as she stands in the doorway, arms crossed and her sunglasses pulled down; behind their shade she’s admiring all the open planes of her.

Nat smiles at her over her shoulder without surprise, and says in her most patient voice, “They’re called swimsuits now.”

“Seems a needless expense.” For someone who doesn’t like to swim is the addendum that Ava leaves off. She doesn’t need to say it. The unspoken dialogue between them has flowed seamlessly since their fifth or so decade together.

“You don’t like it?” Nat rolls to her stomach and pets down the toweled space beside her in invitation and Ava accepts willingly, settling her muscled weight. “I thought it was a fitting gift to myself. I haven’t bought one since the fifties and styles have changed.”

Ava has never bought a ‘swimsuit’ so she wouldn’t pretend to know. Her sports bra and athletic briefs have always served their utilitarian purpose, and before that, nudity had been a nonissue when bathing in streams and lakes. She doesn’t swim for leisure.

“I didn’t say that,” Ava replies, and after some deliberation, stoops and presses her mouth to the tawny skin between Nat’s shoulder blades that will never accumulate sweat or burn in the harsh rays. Her lips are instantly warmed. Nat sighs contentedly and shifts closer until her back is pressed against Ava’s chest, where she lingers. “I only find it unnecessary,” Ava tells the divots of her spine.

“Ah, I see,” Nat muses, flipping a page in her book with the attention they both know she’s abandoned. “So you would prefer it off of me?”

Ava blanches, sits up straight and then stares down at Nat who is looking back with those attractive, downturned eyes of hers rather too innocently. “You seem very intent on putting words in my mouth today,” Ava tells her, straight faced.

Nat’s back tremors with a low, resonant chuckle. She reaches to brush the sunglasses up and over the tight crown of Ava’s hairline and Ava allows her to anchor her touch there, stroking the hard knot at the base of her head. “Only because you seem to fall short of them. They’re not wrong words are they?”

Ava raises a thick brow and nearly almost laughs. “No. You know me too well.”

Then, Morgan’s voice from the adjacent balcony, and were they not so taken with each other they really would have noticed her sooner; if not from the cigarette smell then by the grey plumes she sends to the breeze: “Just how many words do you need to make the pass that it would look nicer on your floor? For fucks sake.”

[jaewrotethis]

20- Nightmares...

What happened on this day was impacting enough to take over my night. My dreams consumed with what I’ve felt today. I send myself to my bed sooner than the rest. Pan became just another boy in the room full of boys after leaving me on the balcony of the big front room. I couldn’t care, though. I was too determined to think over everything that happened today. I wanted to be alone to pick my brain apart, my day apart. So to my room I go, turning away from the front room and into the dark, maze hallways.

Alright, do the thing. I tell the second voice in my head, since she managed to navigate through the halls this morning.

You do it.

How.

Just think about the room.

I close my eyes at the dark hallway.

Stay relaxed.

I breathe out and I picture my torn blankets, my ripped sheet. The broken dresser and fluff mess of the entire room. The cold and forever opened window directly across the entrance and the smaller door to its right. Another breath and then I open my eyes to the room given to me. I stand in front of the open door. The room I so ungratefully tore to shreds sitting quietly behind the threshold. I walk in slowly, trying to find a sense of home or maybe comfort, trying to convince myself that this is mine. Over to the mattress, away from the forever open window that leaks a cold, cold air to flush my room, I walk.

I stop to put the lamp back where it belongs, on my night stand then walk the room to replace everything back where it should be. I put all the drawers back into the beaten apart dresser and the trunk back into the closet. I pick up what’s left of the pillows that were gifted to me and put them on the head of the mattress. Then the ripped sheets and the torn open quilts. I make the bed with the pieces left over and crawl inside of it. Having to curl up to be covered completely by the ripped quilts.

The bed is cozy, it’s warm. I lay for hours, the night crawling on and on, longer and longer as I just think of my entire day. Too much to recall to sleep, too much to go over to drift off. I wish I could write down the stops my train of thought kept making and riding passed before I forget any of it. From waking up to fuzzy bugs all the way to fighting pirates and then ending the night on a new note with Pan. A note of him possibly saving me, though he’s done it about four times today I’m nearly certain it’s all set up. There’s so much, too much to keep track of.

Did Pan plan every last event?

Did he make sure I had no weapon on the pirate ship so he could give me one when I needed it most?

Could he have really shown me how to fly just so he could catch me from falling to my death?

Or was it just so he could take it away and give it back whenever he says so?

Did he make sure to save me from the Mermaids to mess with my head?

Was the whole Slightly thing just abuse or did Pan set that up?

Why would he set up something so fucked?

Is it because I denied his help of flight after the Treasure Hunt?

Is he really that petty?

Would he really stoop so low?

When sleep did come, it was not welcomed.

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

Again, I’m flying. Over the mountains of Neverland I can see every valley and spring and forest that I saw earlier today. Still so vivid in my memory, I won’t ever forget my first flight over Neverland. I fly free, no Pan under me to keep me airborne, just me and my happiness. The sun is warm on my skin, I feel like I belong somewhere, finally. I couldn’t stop smiling even if I wanted to.

I fly the route that I was taken on today as it’s so fresh in my mind still. Over the Dark Forest that surrounds the hideout and onward to the valleys beyond. Over soft grasses and hidden lagoons. It’s just when I’m approaching the mountains furthest from it all, behind all the valleys, that the magically blue sky has a gray cloud growing. A mean looking storm that was so far away earlier, now in front of me. I can’t seem to stop advancing towards the gray storm forming in the mountains, seeping into the sky like ink in water. My faith dwindles. And as I’ve learned, doubt cannot be planted when flying. Just one shift, just one little second of uncertainty and I’m falling from the sky. The storm growing, casting nighttime and nightmares over the island.

I try, oh how hard I try, to stay lifted. Up and down I go as the belief comes and goes. Coming when I remember how the happy faith felt just a moment ago and going just a second after as I feel the fear of how I almost just fell. Until I’m crashing to the forest floor, somehow now underneath me, valley and mountains gone.

It’s dark. The trees are black. The rain is light but cold. I suddenly know exactly why I need to get up and run. So, I’m running through the forest under the dripping canopy that streams the smallest bits of moonlight every few feet. I’m sprinting through bushes, branches, shrubs. Getting nicked by thorns and scrapped by wood, tripping over roots and stumbling through plants but I can’t stop running. If I let him run faster than me, if I let him close the distance he’ll end my life, I know he will. Blood begins dripping off my neck, down my chest with the searing pain of them being created.

I breathe in rhythm as I sprint. Fresh painful woulds lay deep on the back of my neck and along the bottom of my skull. My temples also cut open, leaking out my crimson blood. It burns painfully but there is no time to stop and clean wounds. The wind yanks my hair behind me as I run my open vest flapping along with it. I push through bushes, and slap through water. My mud stained boots dig into the soil underneath me, kicking up dirt with each step that I push behind me, arms out to pull myself forward, anything to get away, to keep running, to go fast, go further. My legs feel like led, my lungs are burning for air. My body suddenly is exhausted and tired, I’m drained. My own weight is too heavy to go on anymore. I’m out of stream, I can’t run any longer. My breathing harsh and my blood pounding in my ears, I rear right, skidding in the dirt around a sharp turn of a cliff.

My legs skid under me making me hit the ground, palms first. I push myself back up to my feet before I can lose precious seconds. I’m running not much longer, but so much faster before I burst through thick bushes. I jump through thick, tall, green stacks of plant before realizing there is no floor on the other side. The bushes sit on the top of the steep hill I am now tumbling down. Big rocks dig into my back, they slam into my arms, into my legs as I yelp and grunt to each one in angry pain. My sides roll over the sharp jungle floor that cuts, ripping my skin. My head tucked into my chest, knees slamming into dirt, I try using my arms to shield my head.

Finally the earth decides to show mercy with a flattened clearing. Ramming hard into a stump stops my agonizing fall as it flips me over. The pain is tricky. It strikes my spine and bites my fresh bruises. With each second that ticks by the pain cuts my skin then disappears to the shock trying to take over, only the shock fails and the pain returns stronger and deeper to the bone. My lungs vibrate inside my chest as the wind has been knocked from me, stunning me on the floor momentarily.

Flat on my back I stare up at the dark forest, panting and coughing once my breath finds me again, my vision a blur. The world is tipsy. I shake my head, grabbing at it to try and stop the new headache that rolls pain down my body. I hear a holler in the darkness from up above. Beyond the hill I fell from. A deep call of a certain someone in search of the one that isn’t at his command. Fear pins my heart to my chest. Pure terror floods my veins and adrenaline pumps my cells to sit me up, ignoring the throbbing pain in all my bruised muscles that ache to relax. The hollering growing louder. He’s getting closer. I need more distance.

“You can not hide! You’re exposed everywhere you go!”

My eyes wide, the sweat beading my forehead with the dripping blood as his words successfully frighten me. With each word my nerves spike higher and leap in my skin. What if he’s right? What if I don’t away, if I physically can’t get away? How much actual pain and torture could he cause, how much worse can it be than what’s already been horribly done? Out of breath and shaking with fear I force myself to stand up. My eyes dart around for his figure, or a hiding spot, or a weapon, or better yet, someone who will help me. A twig snaps behind me just as I’m fully standing, wobbly and riddled with weakening pain. I spin round, whipping my wet hair out of my face. Darkness engulfs the trees that surround me. A black smoke coming in. Another twig snaps. It’s too quiet. The wind stopped, the trees gone quiet, even the rain is gone. I hold my breath, turning in a circle, searching in the dark smoke clouding in, closer and closer, erasing most of the forest from view.

“Why run?”

Two small words spoken in my ear. I jump, choking on a scream. My heart pounds, matching my rapid breath and I can barely see his silhouette in the dark. He’s right in front of me, standing tall and broad. Not a single breath missing, not tired, worn, or even breaking a sweat. I know that demonic smirk is plastered on his face. I gasp turning to run but two strong hands dig into my shoulders. I yelp as I’m yanked back and thrown to the floor. I trip on my feet. I am tired. I can’t fight anymore. Dirt finds its way into my skin, opening new cuts on my hands. A groan whining from me but I’m only trying to see straight, to find any relief in any of the many aching pains.

“I told you. You aren’t capable of hiding from me. You are not able to defend yourself,” he snatches me up and throws me at a tree, like a toy.

I hit the ground, gasping and crying out but I bite my lip immediately. I regret the sounds of pain. Each noise of fear and pain I make gives him pride. And if he’s going to kill me, he won’t have the satisfaction of breaking me. I won’t let him have it. Though it seems like he knows this and has made his own personal game of trying to snatch it from me anyway. And I know I can’t let him win. So though I’m shaking with fear and critical pain I’m channeling any strength left to hide it from him. I crawl away, suddenly dressed back in my white asylum clothes, Lost Boy attire gone.

“You’re helpless, weak, and worthless,” his hands grab my shirt at both shoulders and yanks me at himself. Then Pan introduces a new type of fear to the game when he says, “I ought to let the boys have at you,” and throws me once more on the floor roughly near the bushes that peak through the black smoke.

Exiting the bushes comes Slightly. His face evil and yearning for a certain type of pleasure. Slightly reaches for me with ghostly hands in the dark and I can’t help the shriek scratching from my throat. I’m crawling backwards, away from the bushes when from behind Slightly, more boys emerge from the shrubs, the same look on their faces, the same evil hands trying to grab me.

“Scared, little Jane. Pathetic girl on my island, why are you still living?” I hear Pan’s cold voice behind me.

Pan’s hands grab my shoulders again, pulling me swiftly and so fast I don’t feel my body being slammed into the ground until it’s already happened. I gasp for air as he drags me. He pulls me in the wet dirt. I panic and kick, clawing at his hands.

“No! Let me go! Let go!” I thrash and pull away, trying so hard to get on my feet but he’s stronger, hes always so much stronger.

He yanks me hard making me cry out again and shoves me in front of him. I have no control over where my feet land and where my body is being sent, I can’t stop him from shoving me into a small cage that sits in the dirt.

“No, please! No, no, no! Let me go!” I fight him but his fist connects with my chin and I’m sent flying back against the wooden bars.

I’m jammed into the cage as he tries slamming the door shut, but I jump forward to grab the bars. I push on the door with everything left in me. I’m just barely stopping it from closing all the way but it’s really just him dragging it out. A mean smirk on his face, like he enjoys watching me try so hard for something he can so easily end with an effortless thrust of his arms. My teeth chatter with panic, I don’t want to die. If the door shuts and the click rings out, indicating it’s locked, all hope is lost. The door cannot close. I cannot die locked up.

“Pan, please! Please, don’t do this! Don’t lock me in-”

“If you want out so badly, get it done yourself,” he says harshly. “But we both know you’re too weak to fight for your fate. You’ll stay locked in here until you’re dead.” He spits.

“No,” I whimper, still pushing the door.

He leans in so our faces are close, having complete control of the indecisive door..

“Yes.” is his last word.

Then his arms thrust forward, forcing the door shut all the way. A satisfying click rings out in the exact moment the dark scene is snatched away.

- - -

“Jane! Open the door!”

What?

My eyes open to a yellow blur. I squint, making sense of the ceiling above me. There’s hard pounding at the door. My heart seems to have the same speed as it did in the dream and it’s making my body shiver and shake through a rapid pulse. My brow is damp and so is my back and neck. I breathe out, convincing myself that it was only a dream and I’m not in danger right now, I’m not locked away and I’m allowed to be alive..for the time being.

“Jane!” the door handle quivers roughly, “Open up!”

I shake my head, wiping my cheeks of tears and brow of sweat before swinging my feet over the bed. I fall to the door with sleep swimming behind my eyes and shuffle with the lock before swinging it open. K stands outside my door. His shirt is sweaty, and wet around the collar. His face is red like he’s been running for a while and his eyes are wide with concern. One hand placed on the door frame.

“Are you okay? What’s going on in here?” he speaks rushed and steps to look inside my room. I back up, to let him have a look but my distracted eyes drift to the door.

“I didn’t lock it...” I whisper.

“What?” he urges.

“I-I, I’m not sure,” I touch the back of my neck, looking down and biting my lip.

“Are you alright?”

I nod my head quickly, “Fine. I’m fine. Sorry-I-it, I don’t...”

“What happened? You were screaming, like you were being murdered, what did you do?” he steps inside now.

I back up again, I grab at my hair. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean-I mean, I’m sorry I woke you,” I say, still trying to calm my heart. I move around him to look down the hall, hoping I didn’t wake any others.

“What happened?” he asks me from inside my room.

“Did I wake anyone else?” I ask as I finish scoping the hall.

A door four down opens up and on instinct I jump back inside my room, bumping into K but I don’t care. I close the door, feeling fear bubble up again in my chest and turn straight into hyperventilating. K looks at me oddly. My wide eyes meet his and he goes to place his hands on my shoulders but pulls back himself when I glitch away.

“Jane. Breathe.” he says, trying to gain my focus.

I hold his stare and obey, inhaling deeply, then exhaling. It works as I feel the prickles of panic begin to disappear.

“I-It was-uh, just a nightmare. I didn’t mean to wake you, I-”

“You already said that,” he smiles.

I breathe out harshly, “Did I wake anyone else?”

“Calm down, would you?” he widens his smile. “I was up training, you didn’t wake me.”

I listen to him again and I breathe deeply through my nose. He waits patiently for me to find my relax as I’m replaying the convincing in my head;

I’m not in danger I’m allowed to be alive right now. There’s a door right there, I’m not locked up.

It’s alright. I’m fine.

“Nightmares are common here. What was it?” he asks me.

I shake my head. “I shouldn’t have woke you, I’m alright, really,” I go to open the door but he backs away from it.

“What was it?”

He stares at me with a soft look like he knows what I fear, like he has the same fears. He seems to drop some sort of wall and some how I know it’s something I’ve forgotten how to do. I can feel himself letting any restraint go and opening up to be vulnerable. Even more so, he is daring me to join him. His arms open up to me, challenging me to be as vulnerable as he is, to share any fear, to allow any comfort.

And then, I can’t stop my feet walking to him or my arms opening for him, I don’t want to stop them. I reach over his head and embrace him in a deep hug. I’m stiff at the foreign contact but then it’s just too easy to relax into him. He feels really warm and he smells like damp forest.

For a moment, I’m not in Neverland. I’m in a different place, a place I haven’t been to in so long or might’ve even forgotten it existed. It’s a warm place, a place I don’t think I want to ever leave. He holds me in this hug until I feel ready to pull away and when I do, it’s nothing but comfortable silence as I walk to the bed. I lead him, somehow knowing he won’t move unless I move him in my room. My eyes glaze over to my torn blankets thrown on the floor again, and the lamp that was once on my night stand beside them.

I clear my throat and sit with him on my bed, “I, I don’t want to remember...”

“We all get nightmares,” he tells me.

I exhale, “There was, I mean... it was too dark,”

He waits.

“It was Pan. What do you think happened?” I say harsher than I meant. I drop my head, exhaling.

“Even more common. It was a dream. It wasn’t real.” he assures me.

I look at him. I find a want inside of me to scoot closer to him, so I do. He doesn’t flinch or stiffen or feel uncomfortable in any way so I relax even more by resting my head on his shoulder. Such new contact and an experience I’ve never had before, it warms my insides. As if some normality finally found me.

“He is real, K, and he’s in the next room,”

K stays quiet for a moment, “What did he do?” he asks finally.

“What he always does. Brings fear, plays mind games on a power high. Makes it impossible to feel any sort of strength, then expects my soul in return,” I spit.

“We know a different guy,” he defends the master of my nightmares.

“He hurts, K,” I say, knowing he can’t deny that.

It’s quiet for a long time as the night creeps on. I begin to feel my eyes drifting close with a heavy sleep. No longer wishing to remain in the pity party, I get up and walk to the head of the bed. I crawl inside of my torn sheets and get comfortable. I want to ask him to continue the contact. A concept so odd to me, I can’t find how to do it.

Just ask.

I bite my lip, searching so hard for the words to say.

Just do it.

I inhale, feeling dizzy from such an unknown request.

Say it. Just say it.

I open my mouth to speak, but my tongue goes dry.

Just say it!

“You don’t have to leave,” I finally spit out.

He looks at me from the edge of the bed, “Jane. Pan, um, wouldn’t, I mean there’s a, type of...”

I stare at him, understanding that of course Pan still has control, but also so saddened by his rejection of my plead for more comfort. A plead that was so, so hard to put out there. It’s only more anger towards Pan. As if he thinks he has some sick claim over me that stops any type of comfort I might find in his camp.

“Right,” I barely whisper and turn the other way.

Try one more time.

I hear him get up off the bed.

Just one more time.

“K,” I stop him.

“Yeah?”

“...I won’t tell, if you don’t,”

I hear him exhale and I know I did it, I took control back.

He crawls onto the mattress with me, beside me. Such contact as laying with someone is an entire mystery to me, something I’ve never ever felt before. Never have I ever felt such closeness with any person. The asylum was too hectic to get cozy with the girls and before that my life was too...unstable to bask in boys’ arms. Something inside of me tells me to be afraid, but it’s not loud enough. The yearn for comfort is so much louder. K doesn’t get into the covers with me, he lays on top of the messed up blankets, on the edge of the bed. I turn to face him, testing my own waters. Seeing what feels like too much, and what is not enough. He seems so calm, as if he could fall asleep at any second. It assures my decision to ask him to stay with me. He isn’t the slightest bit interested in doing anything that would be at me. He is only here because it’s what I want, what I asked for. And if he is so calm and collected sharing a bed with me, than I can be to. It only assures me even more when he lets me curl on him as I please, not moving a single inch unless I do it for him. He doesn’t make any move to get closer to me, only lets me get as close I feel comfortable with. It’s nearly perfect.

“Thanks, K,” I whisper to him. “Goodnight,” he whispers back.

I wipe my cheek of the small tear left over from the nightmare. I feel my smile and get even cozier against his chest. I nudge his arm with my shoulder so he knows he can close the cuddle. He obeys and wraps his arm around me when I settle. I’ve never felt so comforted. It’s ecstasy. He is so warm. He doesn’t smell bad but of moss and wet wood. I find the label for the place I’ve never been to. It’s safety. For the first time, in a very, very long, I feel completely safe. Nothing else but safeness, not even stress. No fear, no anxiousness. I’m safe in this bed, beside my friend. I close my eyes and remain lying with my friend until sleep engulfs us both.

I should’ve known Pan would destroy the only comfort, the only safety I had. For the next morning, K was taken away by Pan’s orders. All because I had a bad dream.

[polizwrites]

A Close Call

This is a slightly belated fill for @whumptober #2: Delirum prompt as well as my @halloweenhorrorbingo  Dealing with Extreme Cold,  @buckybarnesbingo  Cold, @warmandfluffybingocards Huddling for warmth and  @stuckyversebingo  Last Resort squares.   

Fandom: MCU/Marvel Rating: Teen Pairing:  Bucky Barnes/Steve Rogers Tags: pre-war, shrimpy!Steve Rogers, pining!Bucky Barnes, hypothermia, mutual pining.   Word Count: 817 words

The cold was seeping into Bucky’s bones, and he knew Steve had to be even worse off. He’d told him to stay inside, that he could run their route this morning just fine by himself.   Considering how much snow had fallen in the city overnight,  he figured no one expected their paper on time anyways.    

But Steve was stubborn as a mule, insisting that if they split the route, they’d both get done faster and could spend the rest of the day listening to the radio, curled up on the couch under every blanket they owned.  “Besides, as long as I keep moving, I’ll stay warm enough,”  he argued, jaw jutting out as he pulled another sweater down over his head.  

“Fine,” Bucky shot back.  “But I’m carrying the papers for every stop south of York street.”

“That’s way more than half, Buck!” Steve protested.  

“Is that so?” Bucky grinned, pulling his scarf up over his nose and cheeks as they headed out into the weather.  

Neither of them had counted on the bitter wind blowing in straight off the  ocean,  howling its way up through  Brighton Beach and Coney Island  to Vinegar Hill, sending needles of icy sleet into their faces.  The sidewalks were slick and treacherous,  especially when wearing boots with soles worn smooth from use; Steve had nearly fallen twice already. 

As they slung newspapers onto the stoops of their subscribers,  Bucky found himself wishing he’d made another pot of coffee and left it sitting on a burner turned down to low; sure, it would have been bitter as sin by the time they got back, but it would at least have been hot.   At least there was another can of chicken noodle soup in the cupboard; that would be easy to heat up.   

He turned to share his plans with Steve, only to see his companion standing in the middle of the sidewalk, a confused look on his face as he held a newspaper in one mittened hand.   “Buck?  Did we do this street already?”    

“Yeah. We just passed the bakery.” 

“Oh.  I guess I missed it.  I’m so tired all of a sudden. Lemme just rest here for a little bit.”  Steve sat down on a snow-covered bench,  wrapped his arms around himself and started to shiver.   

Bucky didn’t like the looks of that at all.    “C’mon, Steve.  Let’s head home. We can get the rest of these done later.”   He tucked a hand under Steve’s armpits to nudge him to his feet, planning out the quickest way back to their apartment.  

By the time they were through their front door, Steve’s teeth were chattering uncontrollably, and he couldn’t seem to catch his breath.   Bucky thumped on the radiators, hoping to  get some hot water flowing, but no such luck. 

He racked his brain for another way to warm Steve back up; the only thing he could think of was an old Boy Scout trick.  “Okay, strip down to your skivvies and get in bed. I’ll join you in a moment after I put some soup on.” 

“ ‘kay,” Steve mumbled, fumbling with the buttons on his coat.  The fact that he didn’t protest gave Bucky pause, even as his traitorous heart skipped a beat.   He hurried over to their kitchenette, lighting the stove burner and setting out a pot before rummaging in the cupboard .  He nicked a finger on the sharp lid of the soup can before dumping its contents in the pot, adding water and setting it on the stove.    

Bucky turned around to see Steve slumped over on the couch, still mostly dressed.   “Stevie?” 

He slowly raised his head as Bucky approached.  “ M’ fingers ‘re all tingly. Can’t figure out why.” 

“C’mon, pal.”  Bucky pulled Steve to his feet and half-carried him to the bedroom, sitting him on his bed and helping him remove his clothes as Steve weakly protested. 

“ ‘M cold.” 

“I know.  Just trust me.”   Once he’d gotten Steve down to his undershirt and boxers,  Bucky got him to lay down and pulled the covers over him.   He then quickly stripped down, grabbed the blankets off his own bed and tossed them on top before crawling in next to his friend. 

Steve’s skin was cool and clammy as Bucky pulled him close.   “I’m not tryin’ to get fresh, Steve, promise.” It wasn’t quite a lie; he’d never take advantage of anyone - much less his best friend - like this.    

“Thas’ a dirty shame.” Steve slurred as he tucked his face into the crook of Bucky’s neck.   “Feels so good t’ finally be in your arms.” Bucky stilled as a pair of chilly lips pressed against  his jaw. “Could stay here forever with you.” 

“You’re delirious, Steve.”  Bucky rasped out, scarcely believing his ears. 

“Pro’bly,” Steve sighed.  “Lemme dream a bit more, ‘kay?” 

“Sure.”  Bucky brushed a kiss against Steve’s forehead;  he’d check on the soup in a little while.  

[strayfoxxchan]

Coffee Break Pairing: Han Jisung x f!reader (Y/N) Genre: Fluff, Soulmate AU Content Warning: None A/N: Sister requested I write this one for her. It's a little silly, but enjoy it! Let me know if y'all want more.

I can’t believe it’s already been a month, you think to yourself, your feet on autopilot as you stroll along the streets of Seoul. It was a hard decision to leave your life behind in your home country, using your life’s savings to pursue your dream career, but the idealist in you knows it was the right choice for the sake of your own happiness. The days you aren’t holed up in your cubicle or working from a cafe are spent exploring, doing all the things a tourist would do when visiting a new place; there was the National Museum, Gwangjang Market, Bukchon Hanok Village, all things you had put on your bucket list to see years ago while you were still at university. For as much as there was to do in Seoul, however, there were only a few days a week you could spend seeing the sights. Most days were spent in the cubicle or finding nearby cafes to work in. 

Most people would expect that pursuing your passion would be fun and exciting, but you couldn’t deny that you had been lonely and a little more depressed than usual. It was hard, harder than you had imagined it would be. You’ve been so busy with work and travel, that you simply haven’t had the time to go out and meet new friends, and you’ve been kicking yourself for that. These things come with time. Lately, your only saving grace has been music. Throwing your headphones on and drowning out the worries that have plagued you over the last few weeks has kept your energy high despite the overwhelming loneliness of a new city. 

진짜로 수고했다 이제 꽃길만 걷자  The songs pumping through her headphones seem to bookend the thoughts you’ve been having. You’ve done a good job, now let’s walk along the flowery path. You decide to take Han Jisung’s words to heart. You HAVE done a good job; you landed a job at the Webtoon office, working in communications and translation. You’ve learned a whole new language in only a few years. You chose a path and you made it happen. Now wasn’t the time for stormy thoughts or suffering in loneliness.

(A/N: I am well aware the Webtoon office is far away from JYPE but this is what my sister wanted. JUST PRETEND.)

You often hit up Starbucks in the mornings on days when you would normally have worked from home. You sometimes couldn’t focus on working in your small, dark apartment. It’s close to the JYPE building, and the irony of listening to Stray Kids while walking passed it isn’t lost on you. It seems a little silly, given your age, but on some occasions, the thought of a happenstance meeting with one of them does float through your mind. Daydreams never hurt anyone, but she would never stoop so low as the gaggle of young girls who spent their mornings waiting in front, photocards and albums in hand waiting to be signed. You scoot through the crowd, bowing your head slightly and smiling awkwardly as you push through to the cafe entrance.

You order the same drink every day: a white mocha with oat milk, and an extra shot of espresso. The baristas are starting to recognize you, some even putting in your order before you make it to the register. Your usual spot by the window is open, and you pull your laptop and charger from your bag before settling in. You turn the music up on your iPhone and get into the zone. It hasn’t even been an hour before a wave of fatigue hits you like a punch in the gut, stretching your arms over your head and squeezing your eyes shut to get the blood flowing through your tired bones. Mid stretch, your eyes reopen, and you feel a shock to your system. Han Jisung, whose voice you were just listening to, has walked in. You gasp loudly, attempting to cover the sound with a spluttering cough, covering your face as you do so. 

Celebrity sightings were fairly commonplace in your hometown of Los Angeles. You’d held enough retail and restaurant jobs that sightings didn’t necessarily shock you anymore, and for the most part, you were more than able to deal with them as you would any customer. But you weren’t in LA anymore, you weren’t in a customer service job, and this wasn’t just a celebrity, he was your bias. You could feel the heat creeping into your cheeks, attempting with every fiber of your being to continue as normal… But you catch yourself staring more than once. And, to your horror, he’s noticed. 

Jisung makes his way toward you, the baristas apparently working on his drink. He bends at the waist, but you’ve zoned out, so he waves his hand in front of your face. It takes a moment before you come back to reality with a strange yelp. He giggles at you with his signature wide, toothy grin. “Sorry! Are you okay?”

You slap your cheeks a few times. “Uh, yeah! Fine! Just a little tired, that’s all,” you leave your hands where they are in a vain attempt to cover the flush rising in your face. 

Jisung glances over at your nearly untouched, lukewarm coffee, and pushes it toward you. “You should finish this, it seems like you need it.”

“Uh, yeah, thanks,” you look down at your drink as he begins to walk away.

He stops and turns to face you again. “See you around!”

As he leaves the cafe, you hurriedly pack your things to leave, no longer able to bare the chagrin of the moment. Out of every interaction you had ever imagined, this was not the way you expected things to turn out. You had turned into a puddle rather than looking cool and sexy the way you had in your mind. It’s simply not processing as you flag down a taxi and head back to your apartment. In fact, it still doesn’t process and only serves to haunt you for the rest of the day. Around midnight, when you know your sister has woken up for work in the US, you call her, recounting every painful detail to her. All she does is laugh at you, but you kind of expected that. It doesn’t help matters at all, and that night, you hardly sleep. 

You had planned to go back to the usual Starbucks this morning, but under the circumstances, it’s only natural you would hesitate. Still, you had fallen into a routine you enjoyed and after several ponderous moments, you decide to go anyway. The weather today was beautiful and perfect for a walk. 

The usual gaggle of school girls in front of the towering entertainment company had gone already, so the walk to the coffee shop was more relaxing than usual. You walk in to order your coffee and turn around to meander your way to your usual spot, which happens to be taken. The figure waves you down as you set your path to finding a new spot. The bespectacled man wearing a mask and basket hat scoots over to the next chair to allow you to sit down. “Thanks,” you mumble to the stranger, pulling your laptop and charging cable out to get back into the zone.

“Hi Noona,” he says, pulling his mask down slightly and winking at you. 

Your eyes widen, and you bow your head to him, nearly smashing it on the cafe’s bar table. Han Jisung sits beside you with a very large iced americano in his hand, toothy grin and all.

“Someone was sitting in your spot earlier, but when they left I decided to save it for you!” He says quickly. His Korean is so fast you barely managed to catch what he says. “I know, I’m a pretty nice guy,” he says in English with a bizarre accent that sounds somewhere between British, Australian, and American. He squeezes his eyes shut, smiling wide and looking all too proud of himself. “This is your usual spot, right?”

“Uh… yeah, I…” you start before trailing off. You resolve to be a bit more confident this time. It’s not every day you get to talk to your bias one-on-one. “Yeah, I sit here every day.” You smile at him with what you hope looks more self-assured than you feel. “Thank you for saving it for me. My name is Y/N,” you hold out a hand for a handshake.

“You have a pretty name! Han Jisung,” he says, shaking your hand vigorously. 

“I know,” you blurt out, not thinking quite clearly. You clap your hand over your mouth, “sorry, I just mean that it’s nice to meet you in person.” Flustered, you let his hand go and raise it to brush some hair away from your face.

“Ohhh, STAY?” He says, smiling from ear to ear. “Where are you from? What are you doing here?”

You take a few moments to tell him that you grew up in LA and moved here to work at Naver Webtoon. The two of you chat for a bit about the perks of reading various webtoons before they release in America, and about his time spent in LA for tours and media recording. 

Your shyness seems to melt away the longer the two of you talk. He may be world-famous, but he seems so… normal and down to earth. Chatting with him is more relaxing than awkward, though you do have to actively work to suspend your disbelief and your crippling social anxiety.

“I’m sorry,” he waves his hand to your laptop which has sat untouched for nearly an hour. “Am I keeping you from your work?”

“No, no, not at all,” you wave your own hand at it dismissively. “I am sure I am keeping you from yours,” you look pointedly at the phone sitting face down on the table. It’s been vibrating over and over for the better part of the last 15 minutes. No doubt this was one of the members trying to figure out where Jisung had vanished.

“It’s nice to have a little break to feel normal every once in a while,” he smiles warmly at you. “I enjoyed talking with you this morning. You’re right though, I should get going,” he stands up, moving the mask back up over his chin and nose. “Then, I’ll leave first,” he bows slightly to you, and you nod your head in response. He heads toward the door, turns to wave at you once more, and exits.

You lean your head back, a gusty sigh escaping your lips. It’s been a long time since you’ve had a conversation with anyone other than your coworkers or late-night phone calls with your sister in the US. You did have to admit that you were feeling much less stressed after spending time with Jisung, but it was time to buckle down and get some work done on these translations. 

Hours pass as you concentrate on your work. You wave down the baristas a few times, needing help with some localizations; there were idioms and references that would be lost on an English-speaking audience that needed some explanation from people who knew them. As always, they were more than willing to give their input and always did so with a helpful smile. Looking down at the tiny digital clock on your laptop, you realize it’s gotten late. The sun is just starting to duck under the horizon of the towering buildings ahead of you, and you decide it's time to pack up and get going. 

Your stomach starts to growl as you begin your walk home, so you decide to take a stroll through Olympic Park. There was a teokbokki tent there run by the sweetest ajumma that she liked to eat at every once in a while. This tent in particular was a little out of the way, so it was generally pretty quiet around this time of the evening. When you arrive to order her food, there is only one other group sitting down to eat. You place your order and take a seat on the opposite side with your back to them, allowing them their privacy. 

“Twice in one day?” A voice exclaims from behind you, and you hear movement from the other side of the tent before a figure plops down beside you. “Noona!” Jisung exclaims.

The other two figures make their way over, joining their brother. Chris Bang and Seo Changbin sit opposite you on the table. “You know her?” Chris says to Jisung, a quizzical expression on his face. 

Changbin stares for a moment before his eyes widen. “Is this the pretty cafe noo–”

Jisun kicks Changbin in the shin under the table. He doesn’t bother to hide it. Chris looks confused and seems to be entirely out of the loop in this matter. Your expression mirrors that of Chris. 

Jisung clears his throat. “Ah, Hyung, this is Y/N, I met her the other day at the Starbucks by the company,” his full cheeks flush lightly and he blinks his eyes rapidly.

You suddenly become very self-conscious, looking around behind you.

“Don’t worry,” Chris says in accented English. “This place is usually pretty safe for us around this time. There are not many people around here, yeah?” He flattens his lips together in a reassuring wolf-chan smile. You could see what your sister saw in him. You couldn’t wait to brag about this. Your sister was going to be thoroughly jealous.

As you all stuff teok into your mouths, the three producers seem to ask you a thousand questions about yourself, your family, and your work. Jisung looks like he’s absorbing the information like a sponge. You talk about your favorite songs, and other music you enjoy, and you ask them just as many questions as they do. The sun has vanished from the sky and darkened to reveal pinprick stars above. Your sister would be waking up soon and you didn’t want to miss the short period before she would have to clock in for work and inevitably be stuck in a two-hour meeting, so you stand to excuse yourself.

“Oh, are you walking home?” Chris asks. “Why don’t we walk you home?” Chris looks pointedly at Jisung, raising his brows to his hairline.

“Yeah, we can walk you home!” Jisung blurts. 3RACHA stands up from the table, waving to the ajumma who waves back with a smile. They dawn their disguises (hats and masks were pretty effective at night, you realize at that moment), and the four of you make your way out of the park together.

Conversation ping pongs between the small pack, the boys talking to each other, and then to you, and so on. As you approach your apartment building, you look to the three and say “Ah, this is me, I’ll go first!”

They all stop in their tracks, voices trailing off.

“This is… also us?” Changbin says incredulously. 

The door attendant waves at you, and bows to the men standing beside you before pulling the door open. The expression of bewilderment hasn’t left their faces yet. You walk to the elevator, and enter, pressing the button for your floor. “Which floor are you going to?”

Chris answers you, bemused. “You just pressed it.”

The ride up to the floor is quiet, the four of you completely dumbstruck. As you arrive at your floor, you pull your key out and unlock the door beside the elevator door, and the boys continue on a few more doors down. You exchange glances, bows, and goodnights before entering your respective homes. You poke your head out, and you see Jisung do the same, waving at you before shutting the door.

Now you really needed to call your sister. She was going to lose it.

Your sister answers the phone, yawning. “Dude, you called me before my alarm went off. This better be important, I really needed that extra hour.”

You explain the situation to your sister, and she doesn’t respond for a long time. “Are you still awake?” You grumble at her.

“I am… processing. Literally what the fuck? Did you like, not give my number to Bang Chan? I’m feeling really betrayed right now. Did you at least ask him to rerelease Alchemistry?”

“That’s all you got out of this? Are you fucking kidding me?” You growl at her.”I’m literally losing my mind right now! They’re going to think I’m a stalker!”

Once she gets over the ultimate betrayal of her sister, the two of you calmly discuss where to go next. The only advice she can give you is to just get close to them and show that you can be trusted. There’s nothing else she can offer you that would make you feel any better. It was a weird situation to be sure. As the conversation comes to a close, she offers you one last question: “What would you do… if he fell for you?”

“I don’t know.” The question lingers in your head long after you hang up the phone. At some point, you stop entertaining the thought. It wasn’t going to happen, and you were okay with that.

The next morning was a Saturday. The weekend— finally. You decide this weekend is not a good time for any more excitement, at that, it would be better just to relax at home for once. Tourist attractions would be there next weekend, and she wasn’t in a rush. Instead, you decided enough is enough and you can no longer subsist on ramyeon alone. You throw on some baggy, comfy clothes, and decided to ditch your contacts in favor of glasses. You grab your purse, and head to the elevator to head out. You flit your eyes about the hallway in an attempt to ensure you’re not being followed and no one sees you leave. A door opens down the hallway, and you feel your whole body freeze. 

“Noona! Where are you going?” Jisung skips toward you and stands to wait for the elevator as well.

“Where are you going?” She blurts out in response.

The two pause, and at the same time, both exclaim “groceries!”

“Wow, we can go together! Won’t that be so fun?” He says in his silly English accent. “Look how cute you are!” He says, tugging on the sleeve of your baby pink sweatshirt.

You cross your arms and pout, embarrassment written across your face. The elevator door opens and the two of you enter together.

You could almost hear a crow fly past in the awkward silence of the descent to the first floor. The silence is broken suddenly as Jisung slams his hand on the elevator’s stop button. The lights dim slightly and the elevator halts between floors.

“Han,” you say incredulously. “What are you doing?”

“Noona, you don’t have to be shy around me. Don’t you like me too?” You hesitate to respond, eyes glued to the floor. He leans down to meet you at eye level. “Noona, look at me, you like me, right?”

You look up into his big eyes and realize he’s much closer to your face than you thought. “I just don’t want you to feel like I’m stalking you. I promise you I’m not following you on purpose!” 

“I mean, I’m following you on purpose,” he stands up straight, scratching his head. “I never go to that Starbucks anymore except to see you.” He looks up at the ceiling, pursing his lips and puffing out his cheeks. He couldn’t look more like an overgrown quokka if he tried.

You can’t help but smirk at this. “I do like you, Jisung. I’m just a shy person, don’t take it personally.” 

“Well,” he starts, putting an arm around your shoulders. “You’ll get used to me. You can’t really avoid me since I live down the hall.” He dawns on his idol disguise before pressing the STOP button again, bringing the elevator back to life. “Let’s get some food!”

[bsaka7]

Pierresteban... mermaid.... au...not!fic. W/ @leclercenjoyer... From these gifs... proof i can be trope-y...in the right mood...

it starts when they're kids. pierre is the fifth son of a family of hardworking fisherman. he knows there will be no inheritance for him. his third brother is joining the church and everyone is hoping pierre can do well enough at school to do that too! because the oldest son will inherit the fishing boat and he already has a girl who he might marry. they live in a little house near the outskirts of town the closest to the sea and when the sea rages they can watch the wall of water crash against the rocks from the back stoop.

of course. this pierre loves the water like everyone in his family, loves to be out at sea. when the tide is out, pierre goes down to the seashore and digs through the tide pools. one day he comes upon a cove that he swears he has never seen before and he has explored this whole shore even though he is only seven. the sun is not yet low in the sky so he ducks in to explore and there splashing in the pool is....baby (well. 6yrs old) este!! who is so scrawny.

este is a mermaid obv there some vague and bastardized mythology behind all of this but we're ignoring that for now. he's the only child of a hardworking mermaid couple etc he loves to dive and race and swim with schools of fish he's also intrigued by land and he's more adventurous than he should be... u guys know the vibe.

pierre spends the whole rest of the spring ducking into the cove and the days are only getting longer. and then summer when hes on the boat with his father and brothers he's always searching and searching for este, thinking he sees him out over the crests of the waves. they are the best of friends and pierre cannot tell anyone except for his best friend charles who lives on the other side of town and his father is...idk?? the pastor??? they aren't catholics he can have kids. and charles understands pierre at school and they compete in every subject but he doesn't understand the sea. anyway. Pierre and esteban can only meet when pierre comes to the sea...seperate worlds so close yet so far. when times are hard times are hard for them both bc they both depend on the sea for their life etc...

[scene where pierre sneaks out in the little rowboat to meet este and gets in trouble]

they grow up and then they DRIFT as you would expect because pierre is getting older and he has to get a scholarship now to the university or else he has to find a girl to marry or smth but he doesnt WANT to because hes too young and anywhere theres always esteban. and esteban is busy with his own life in the sea he's growing up and hoping to fulfill some exploration role but he's a long shot at it... They're starting to resent each other for missing meetings.

pierre goes inland for GOOD to go to school when hes like sixteen and he sees esteban one winter day home for christmas break and the sea is churning and esteban barely even looks at him. and it sucks!!! and no one knows how even felt...

but he comes back for the whole summer when hes older and his parents have passed away. he's back to help his brother put their things in order and because he's the baby and he loved them. and he spends a lot of time looking out at the sea and maybe once has to take the boat out by himself and there's esteban, skipping alongside the boat, who looks like he's finally grown into his skin.

Pierre anchors and climbs out of his boat into the shallow warm water and pierre can swim but not strongly anymore and he's weak from the city air. pierre can feel este's tail against his legs and they're clutching each other and esteban is laughing and its -- its like they're kids again but its BETTER because they know who they are better. esteban is the one to kiss pierre and pierre kisses BACK and then eventually he has to go home and he's so giddy and joyful that his brother and his wife are making faces at each other. pierre just plays with the kids and the dog in front of the fireplace. they're so happy to see him like this. and he goes out and sees esteban again and again that summer, before idk he starts some job at the law firm in the city and learns about estebans life in the sea. when he's in town all he does is miss esteban. there's a girl he's supposed to marry maybe but he never asks for her hand in marriage so she marries someone else and charles settles down in the capital

of COURSE since this is a mock fairytale he has to come back to that town he grew up in. he's not meant to be a fisherman but maybe he takes over the shop after the keeper falls too ill, and he's good at that too. he has money stashed away from his work in the city and he's dressed a little different. maybe he starts donating books to the school. and he goes out to the cove -- their cove -- in the evenings, just to remember.

eventually esteban is there too. and pierre's feet are bare and in the water, and esteban lays up against the rock and listens to pierre read and then tells him his own stories of the sea. its not quite a happy ending because they can never be together and pierre is getting older and getting lonely. and esteban at home in the sea his family has always thought he wanted everything too badly, the exploring job he got and then lost, to know what it's like on land.

after so many years of wondering, and fights back and forth, and missing each other, straddling that space between land and sea, pierre asks if its true. that mermaids can leave the sea but cannot speak until they find their true love (little mermaid #baller). esteban tells him some tale and the answer is: yes.

pierre asks him if he's willing to try it and esteban disappears for months. and the town watches pierre fade away sadder and sadder. his brother tells him they can take on the shop if he wants to go back to the city but pierre just shakes his head. eventually he takes a boat out, a tiny dinghy and goes out to the sea to search for esteban because he can't. leave it like this. again. he can tell esteban they can go back to like it was. they don't have to fight.

but of course theres a STORM the wind whipping and pierre is cold and his mouth is caked with salt, his boat falling apart at the seams. eventually he capsizes and is clinging to whats left of the hull and then a wave sucks him under and he loses it and he's sputtering and he thinks hes going to die. who is there bringing him to the surface but esteban? esteban who heard his cry and swum as fast as he could from his home. esteban who loves him.

pierre is unconcious as esteban swims him back to the cove. and hes like coughing weakly and esteban is wrapped around him because he's not warm and his tail is scaly but hes warmer than the water and that has to be good enough right? and pierre is like. "este?" and esteban is like. "right here." and he's not going to apologize because he never apologizes. but pierre looks at him and it feels like forgiveness. PIERRE apologizes instead right there and says he's sorry for asking and esteban says. i couldn't lose my family forever. i couldn't lose my voice. and pierre is like. okay.

things go back to normal. pierre's shop never runs out of sugar again and his prices are always just a little too low like he's been blessed by something. and he sees esteban in the cove no matter the wind and the weather. And then... I think eventually esteban DOES decide to trust pierre enough to come to land to give it all up even though he shouldn't have to.

Esteban steps out of the water and pierre is mad at him because esteban never said he'd be so tall and then they KISS and esteban can SPEAK because they both wanted each other to be enough but never thought it would be the truth enough to try until now. and of course esteban has to put on pierre's clothes which are all too short and everyone is confused about this new man with a soft voice and a lilting accent. pierre says he's from the city but everyone can tell he's from the sea. he works the boat with pierre's brother and charles comes to visit and teaches him to write in their language, and not the language of the sea.

They're both a kind of happy that can't be explained, moody and changing and sometimes frightening. esteban stays with pierre in the room above the shop even though it's too small for both of them. and no one quite understands but they accept it, even when pierre and esteban fight loud enough that the whole town can hear it, even when esteban disappears for a week and pierre say it's to the city but everyone wonders if the stories are true. and esteban is visiting home.

THE END.

[leebrontide]

Secondhand Origin Stories, Chapter 6

Here's this week's chapter! Reblogs welcome!

For those of you just joining us, I'm posting a chapter a week of my free near future scifi/low neon cyberpunk YA/NA novel, Secondhand Origin Stories, which has been described as

"-a character driven, compelling story full of family, queerness, corruption, brain altering nanites, secretly teen parenting AIs, and taking aspects of the superhero genre to their very human and rarely-explored natural conclusions."

For content warnings and more, check here:

You can follow along by following #SHOSweekly

Chapter 6

By the time Opal checked her phone, she was about four blocks from the plaza, and she had six missed calls and five missed texts. But she hadn't heard any alerts!

Aldis: Where you at? I can't see you on the platform.

Aldis: The bus came and went already, where are you?!

Aldis: Opal?

Aldis: Come on, baby cousin. Say something. Lemme know you’re OK.

Mom: Missed Call (5)

Auntie: Girl, call your mom she’s texting half of Chicago.

Mom: Aldis says he can't find you and you're not answering. Is something wrong? What happened? Where are you?

Opal sat on the nearest stoop, exhausted. Ugh. The tower must have jammed her signal. She sent a group text: I'm OK! Sorry, I didn't realize the APB building was signal jamming! I'm totally fine.

Mom: Don't DO that. Are you trying to kill me?

Aldis: On my way to the Plaza. STAY PUT.

Dangit. She wheeled her luggage around and headed back towards the Plaza as fast as she could amidst the now-bustling foot traffic.

By the time she got back to the plaza, the roads and sidewalks were crowded, but people were mostly avoiding the plaza. They almost seemed not to want to look at it. And the security was way more overt. They were different guards from earlier, which she was thankful for. This time, she headed right towards the huge front entrance, on the opposite side from the rubble and the van of new armed and uniformed men. 

She waited in a spot she hoped would be conspicuous enough for Aldis to see her. She sure felt conspicuous. Everyone around her was wearing the kind of seamless printed suit you got when you had the money for scanned measurements. The foot traffic was also almost all white, even though this was Chicago for Pete’s sake. Lots of people glanced at her as they passed, sizing her up-- some curious, others warily. See how good you look after riding a bus all night then getting beat on by a superhero and having your dreams crushed and then revived. Opal wanted a nap so bad.

Aldis's truck arrived pretty quickly, and he hastily parked it in a no-parking zone, flicking on his hazards. He pointed at her menacingly, but he had smile dimples that always gave him away. "You are trouble. 100% trouble. I thought I was gonna have a heart attack." Opal was out here trying to be a superhero, and everyone was worried about her sitting at a bus stop.

Well, she had almost gotten shot, though. Christ.

She gestured to the single-tower palace of medicine, marketing, and bureaucracy behind her. "Well, good location for it."

"You better not give me so much trouble working for me. Don't think I won't fire you because you’re my cousin."

"You won't, though,” she sing-songed.

"Don't push your luck," he admonished, giving her a tight hug. She returned it. It felt good to have someone she knew was really, truly on her side, here. He looked over her shoulder as he withdrew, looking at the tower. "You get your appointment done, then? Or just booked."

"Neither." Checking in with the APB when you traveled wasn't technically mandatory for an altered, but they were warned repeatedly that if they didn't, the clinic side of things “may not be prepared" for them if they needed medical attention. "You and Capricorn and all your guys live here, so they should be fine with Detroit altereds. I'll do it the next time I come over here."

"Well where've you been, then?"

Suddenly, she felt like everything that had happened would just burst out of her chest. She didn't even know how to sort her feelings about everything today. She leaned in, dropping her voice low. "I've been upstairs. Upstairs upstairs." He looked at her, questioningly. "The Sentinels. I met the Sentinels. And their kids." She felt a tired smile tug at her lips. "Capricorn made me pancakes and sausages." 

Aldis was shocked, but also appropriately impressed. "You work fast. How the hell did you manage that?"

"Can I tell you on the way?" Seriously, she wanted a nap.

"Hop in."

A key and a bright blue polo t-shirt with a SuperMovers logo were sitting on the passenger side door. The more down-to-earth side of her new Chicago life.

She told Aldis the story, even the humiliating defeat part. She hesitated over how to describe the family she'd met, and just decided to go light on the details. She tried not to snap to judgments about people. 

"Well, I think even your mom will forgive you for being MIA for Capricorn to cook you breakfast. Oh, but don't say it like that. Makes it sound dirty."

"I thought he was gay?"

"Hell if I know. Superheroes is your thing. You wanna know who’s who in pro wrestling, I got you. Superheroes, not so much."

They passed into an industrial area full of warehouses and trucks. Opal's mind was too full for her to pay much attention. She managed some small talk about how Aldis's crew was doing. Mostly guys from back home who she at least sort of knew, who came out with Aldis to help him start his company where there were a lot fewer altereds to compete with.

Eventually, he pulled up to a brick and cinderblock building pretty much like the rest of the brick and cinderblock buildings, but with SuperMovers trucks and vans around. A couple of guys built like male versions of Opal were just coming up to the building. She waved, smiling, and the ones that knew her grinned and waved back.

She'd thought they were going to an apartment, but she could fill out her new employee paperwork first and not complain. She followed him up some stairs and a walkway leading over the ground floor garage spaces. The office at the top was the first thing today that turned out to be exactly what Opal expected. Mismatched, beat-up sofas, a couple bulky desks, an old file cabinet, a humming fridge, and a much-abused dartboard, all interspersed with flattened cardboard boxes and occasional pop cans. 

"OK, so here's the office. You show up here at least half an hour before we've got to move out. If you need time off for superhero junk, just let me know." He closed the door, grinning broadly, like he had some marvelous secret.

She followed him down the hallway lined with doors on both sides. "So, one of the many services we offer is short-term storage for our moving clients." He unlocked a door, gesturing for Opal to look inside. The room contained a manor house’s worth of high-end furniture, stacked to fit and covered in tarps and plastic. Boxes with words like "Holiday dishes" lined the walls. "Sometimes people need to get out of their old place before they can get into the new one. So we hold onto their stuff in the meantime."

He shut the door, walking backwards down the hallway. If he didn’t get to his point soon, his head might split open from all that grinning. "But sometimes, we take on special clients. Our VIPs. They're so special they don't even have to pay."

"Why're you all working without pay?"

"The guys get paid, just the company doesn't. You and your dad aren't the only do-gooders around here. From day one, we've made some time to move people getting out of abusive situations. We move them out, and whatever asshole is doing the abusing doesn't want to mess with us. They get out safe without the cost of moving. We've got agreements with local shelters and everything."

Opal felt pride in her cousin welling up. "I didn't know that. That's really decent, Aldis."

He puffed up proudly. "Your dad inspired it. I wanted to do what he can't, right now."

Opal's eyes pricked with tears. He hugged her again. "Right now, that includes helping you out. Come on. Lemme show you."

She wiped her eyes and followed him to the far end of the hall, where he unlocked another door and flung it open with a flourish. "Ta-da! Welcome to the VIP suite. I warned you it wasn't the Ritz, but you really can't get a better commute."

Inside, a corner storage room with big windows was set up like a studio apartment. There were four beds pushed against the walls, a couple dressers, two couches slightly younger-looking than the ones in the office, a card table and chairs, one bathroom, and a little kitchenette. Opal walked in.

The floor was cracked cement, and the walls were whitewashed cinderblock that did look a little like prison, but there were posters left up on the walls, a stained floral rug on the floor, a few homey touches. There seemed to be dishes in the cabinets. There were boxes everywhere, some folded, some not. It was definitely a place meant for transitions. Aldis continued, "All the stuff in here was left by someone we've moved, or donated by one of the guys. We can't charge rent, but nobody bothers us if someone crashes here for a little while, while they get on their feet, keep their kids with them. It's got a security system on the building, it's on a bus line, and right now, it's all yours."

This time, Opal hugged Aldis. This space felt right. Temporary, but right. A gift from family who’d already made his dreams come true and was already helping people-- helping people in her dad’s name. “I love it. Thank you.”

* * *

Yael lay on xyr bed, head hanging off the foot of it, staring at the wall upside-down. Xyr room was a jigsaw of memories and interests. One sunny yellow wall, one denim blue, one an unapologetic green, and the last was a dark gray that matched xyr exoskeleton. Xe’d painted that one xyrself, on impulse. Xe was pretty sure xe’d done it for some kind of complicated psychological reasons, but xe tried not to think about it too hard. Papa never stopped Yael from doing whatever xe wanted with xyr room, but xe knew he hated that wall.

Xe’d covered most of the gray wall with family photos-- a huge collage starting at the center and spiraling out. But the corner by xyr bed was covered in xyr own drawings. Mostly semi-recent designs for a superhero uniform for xyr. Most of them featured oven mitts, because drawing hands was hard, and feet that went off the edge of the page, because feet were stupid and never looked right. Xe usually didn’t bother with a face.

Skittles was still missing. It’d been days. She could be dead by now, for all Yael knew. What kind of superhero couldn’t even defend a hamster?

At least Issac seemed to be on the road to some kind of recovery. He was awake enough to want his data back. That had to be a good sign. 

What kind of superhero gave illegal altering tech back to someone who wasn’t supposed to have it?

The same kind who had let xyr brother fall off a building and had to somehow make it up to him. 

 And the kind who beat up a perfectly nice superhero-hopeful just because xe was told to. Ugh.

Yael pushed xyrself up and went to the hamster hutch. Xe put a hand in, but xe must have been too tense. They shot away from xyr hand, not wanting to be picked up. Xe reminded xyrself that hamsters, while adorable, were not smart, and couldn’t hold grudges just because you’d failed to save one of them. And xe still might find Skittles.

Yael needed to talk to someone who would understand. Xe pulled xyr hand out of the largest tank in Hamster Town and yelled down the hall. “Papa!” 

No answer.

“Paaaaaaaapaaaa!” 

He was in the living-room, sitting with his elbows braced on his knees, staring down at the floor tiles. Xe stopped short. “Papa?”

He sat up, and drastically fumbled an attempt at a smile. “Yes, Dove?”

“What’s wrong?”

“Come. Come sit down.” 

Yael stepped over the back of the couch, and sat next to him at its bend. He looked like he would rather be anywhere in the world but here. “We need to talk about what happened this morning.”

“You didn’t look mad when we were talking to Melissa.”

“I’m not mad. But the officers involved contacted me. They told me-- what you did.”

“Opal isn’t mad--”

“The silver, Yael,” he interrupted, more harshly. “And shape changing. In public. In the street, where anyone could have seen you.”

“I was protecting Jamie!” Yael interrupted.

His jaw tightened. “You don’t need--” he faltered for a second-- “that. For a simple fight. We’ve trained you better than that. And that girl was a foot and a half smaller than you. Do you realize what she must have thought?”

Yael didn’t look strikingly like Ezekiel or Miriam. Xe’d seen enough pictures to know that. 

But the exoskeleton…before Yael, that power had been Ezekiel's, alone. 

But even with it active, Yael’s face was visible. Nobody paying any attention could mistake xyr for xyr birth-father.

Was that what papa meant? It almost had to be.

Which made this the closest he’d ever come to discussing Yael’s origin in front of xyr. The realization made xyr cautious-- if xe stepped carefully, xe might be able to lure him into an honest discussion about xyr birthparents, and how Yael ended up living with him. “What would she have thought?”

He started to answer before snapping his mouth shut. “We can’t know. But it wouldn’t have been anything good.”

This was stupid. Yael needed him right now. For a real, honest conversation, about heroism, and identity, and how to navigate xyr failures. And he couldn’t even own up to events from 17 years ago. “Say it,” xe challenged.

He hesitated again. “Say what?”

Oh for the love of all that was holy. “Say what you’re so afraid she was thinking.”

He stood. Actually took half a step away from Yael. “Just don’t do it again.”

Was he…afraid of xyr? He couldn’t be. He raised xyr.

Could he be so afraid of Ezekiel that he couldn’t even say his name? But Ezekiel was dead! There was no reason to be afraid of a dead man!

A test. “Say ‘Ezekiel’”.

Papa recoiled. “What? Don’t bring my brother into it. He has nothing to do with this.”

Yael narrowed xyr eyes, baffled, trying hard not to jump to the obvious conclusion. “You can’t possibly think I don’t know. Everyone knows. It’s not hard to figure out. Opal probably did.”

Yael had never seen anyone look so trapped. He didn’t even answer. Just stared.

Was it that bad? Yael knew that having come from supervillains might cause problems for xyr someday. Nodiah had confirmed that. But xe’d never thought it could be so bad that Papa, who knew xyr, would consider it unspeakably awful. Xe’d always just figured that it hurt him to talk about. That it was sad, to him. But this didn’t look like that. 

While Jamie’s parents were arming her, Yael's father couldn’t even name the people who’d made xyr. While Jamie’s parents claimed Jamie’s genes, he was so horrified by Yael's DNA, he couldn’t even speak.

If that was what he thought of xyr DNA, what did he think of Yael xyrself?

Yael needed to get away from him. “Coward,” xe growled. 

Xe vaulted over the back of the couch, and got behind a door xe could slam as quickly as possible. 

* * *

Issac didn’t know where to go. He couldn’t go home. Mom would be there. He couldn’t go to the lab; Dad was there. The courtyard could contain anyone at any time. Possibly including random girls, it would seem. His secret hideaway had been relocated 24 stories lower at full speed.

He wanted to be alone. To freak out without anyone noticing. To not have to worry about whether he was making any noise or not.

The pool! Dad was the only one who used it daily. And since he knew where Dad was, that area should be safe. Echo-y, but if nobody was there to hear, it wouldn’t matter. He didn’t think he could accidentally make noise anyone would hear in the training room all the way from the pool, especially since it was on the same level as the lab, and Dad’s noxious noise would drown out anything. 

He slipped down the hall as fast as he could manage and ducked into the pool’s room. It was warm, humid, and felt good on his skin. He sank down gratefully onto a deck chair, which settled down his knees a little. But that minute bit of relaxation just seemed to loosen his hold on himself. 

He pressed a hand over his mouth, focusing on the cuts and bruises to try and give his thoughts a wide berth. It’d be safe to make noise here, but he still didn’t want to. His chest seized for a moment, forcing air from his lungs. A sob. He squeezed his eyes shut.

He tried to tell himself he was overreacting. Sure, dad had probably been avoiding him and apparently didn’t know how to talk to Issac anymore. But he’d given Issac the contacts, right? He was still trying to help Issac out.

Jenna had left when she couldn’t fit in anymore. Cut off contact with everyone. Could Issac still fit in, here?

Sure. Sure he could. Issac wasn’t significantly brain damaged. He wasn’t breaking furniture or ripping up floor tiles or anything. He was just deaf. He just had to show them he was still functional. And now he had contacts to help him do that!

He opened the case, squinting at the liquid inside. He’d never worn contacts before. Jamie had worn correctives for a while. Issac couldn’t even stand to watch her put them on. It was so gross. 

Well, it was less than anyone else in his family had been through to improve themselves. He stuck a finger in the liquid, cooler and a little more viscous than water, and dug around, trying to detect the sliver of tech inside. It worked, and he fished it out carefully. He squinted at it. Ugh. 

OK, how had Jamie done this? He remembered her looking up at the ceiling, so he did that. He was getting fond of looking at ceilings. They were so uneventful. Then…holding his eyelids open. OK. OK, he could do that. 

Mostly. As soon as he touched his eyelid, he felt it rebelling, trying to close. His body didn’t seem to want to obey any of his commands lately. He pushed ahead.

Then, just…put it on, very gently. 

He lifted his finger up, and reached--

Nononononononono.

Issac lowered his finger. Tingling, crawling feelings chased each other up and down his spine and arms. This was so gross. 

No. He had to make this work. He couldn’t use the tablet forever. He had to show what he could do.

He tried again.

He tried a third time, and actually ended up standing up and wrenching his knee, as if that would get him away from his own stupid fingertip. Or maybe just because that horrible crawling sensation had gotten into his legs, and demanded movement. All his instincts were telling him no. After all, he was already deaf-- what if he poked his own eye out? How would that look to everybody? Don’t leave Issac alone, he can’t be trusted with his own sensory organs. 

He made another noise, one of pure frustration. 

There was a movement at the corner of his vision, and he turned, startled. It was Drew, eyebrows raised questioningly, clearly worried. He was dressed in workout clothes, a little damp with sweat. He’d been working out. Issac’s noise couldn’t have been that loud, could it?

Issac realized too late that there were tears on his face, and too much speed to his lungs. 

Drew looked him up and down. He noticed the contact container, and pointed at it, looking more questioningly. Issac nodded. Yes. Yes, he was upset because of these stupid unnatural chunks of plastic he was being expected to jam onto his eyeballs.

Drew waved him over to the patio chair again, picking up the case, then sitting down himself. He left Issac room to join him on the long leg rests. Issac did, his shoulders drawn up in twin knots. 

Drew started by putting his hand on Issac’s shoulder. It helped more than it should have. He took the contact Issac had and put it back in the container, pulling out the other one from the case. He motioned Issac to hold his own eyelids, which, while gross, was better than someone else touching his eyes. 

Drew was a persevering sort of person. He tried all of four times to get the damn contact in. 

After the fourth, Issac ducked his head. The corners of his mouth were pulling, out of his control, and his chest was going tight, as if it was gearing up for another noise he couldn’t hear or help making.

Drew shifted. He put the contact back in the case. His hand shimmered a slight green of disappointment. Issac closed his eyes. 

Then he felt Drew take his hand and turn it over. Issac knew what the object Drew put in his hand was, even before he opened his eyes. A phone. In particular, Drew’s phone. But it had the tablet’s same translation software running. 

DREW: Let’s try this.

Isaac’s shoulders dropped. This was humiliating, but at least nothing was going to be put directly onto his cornea. He nodded a tiny bit.

DREW: Martin said you wanted to see me. Was it just to help with the contacts?

Of course Martin would call for help. And he had a ton of sensors in the pool area. Shit, Issac needed to talk to Martin. Get the rest of his sensors back up. At least he could fix one of them. That would make him feel better. Less guilty, at least. 

Issac just nodded. It seemed like the safest course. 

Issac wasn’t expecting the hug, and it was kind of clammy, since Drew had been working out, but he tentatively returned it anyway. It was nice to close his eyes for a minute and still have someone feel real and present with him. He let his head rest on Drew’s shoulder a bit longer than he should have.

Then that awful, sniveling urge came back, harder than before. Issac retreated into his own personal space again, before he embarrassed himself further. Drew left his hand on Issac’s shoulder.

DREW: Don’t freak yourself out too bad, OK kiddo? Lots of deaf people get by in this world just fine. And you come from a long line of smart, adaptive people. It’s nothing you can’t handle.

It helped more than it should have. Finally, a clear vote of confidence. Issac had no idea how true it was that deaf people got by just fine. He’d never properly met a deaf person before. They were absent from the spheres he occupied. But Drew’s support, and his faith in Issac’s ability to adapt, seemed sincere. Something of his relief must have shown on his face. Drew smiled back. 

DREW: Now gimme my phone back. You’ve got like a stack of tablets at your place. 

Issac handed it back. Some of the brain fog he’d been putting down to concussion had cleared away. Which probably meant it was more anxiety than anything. Maybe Issac really could handle this.

* * *

Jamie sat back, looking at the small piles of Jenna’s things she’d finished dusting and cleaning. She’d sorted them into what she thought should go to whom. For Mom, a watercolor painting of the lake that needed a new frame, but was, by itself, intact. For Drew, an enameled cast-iron pot that showed no sign at all that it’d fallen off a building. For Yael, a handful of unbroken wooden Christmas ornaments xe’d smiled at, shaped like Arctic animals playing musical instruments. For Issac, a collection of Issac Asimov stories that was beat up long before the attack. For Solomon, a gardening trowel, and for Jamie, an MIT hoodie. There were just a few things left in the pile. Mostly photos that were probably not worth saving, since they could just reprint them.

 She picked up the last really worthwhile object. The deck of Star Trek playing cards seemed a little shabby compared with the rest of the mementos, but Dad had loved family poker nights once upon a time, so maybe he would like it? She’d salvaged a few poker chips to go along with it. Not nearly enough for a game, but maybe enough for a memory. 

Jamie missed family poker nights. They always started with arguments about whose deck to use, since they all had themed ones. When they were really little, Jamie had usually been on her dad’s “team.” She’d argued for Vikings, even though she herself didn’t care about Minnesota sports. Issac had always gotten stuck between Mom’s Star Wars and Jenna’s Star Trek. Jamie smiled at the memory, tempted to keep the deck for herself.

She pulled back the edge of her sleeve a little, looking at the gauntlet. She kicked her feet a little, then stilled them. She shouldn’t act childish in the face of a gift like this. She knew she wasn’t supposed to wear it indoors. It wasn’t like she was in danger, here. But it was like she could just strap her parents’ faith in her onto her wrist, and that was nice. Bizarre, but nice. 

So Dad didn’t want her to drink coffee, but high-end weaponry was OK? Weirdo.

She almost wondered if she was taking advantage of something here. Mom kept staring into space for hours on end. Dad’s eyes looked wrong. Should she ignore that, just because she liked the outcome? She was still mad he’d disappeared for three days when he should’ve been there for Issac. And at how rude he was to Opal. And how he hardly ever looked Jamie in the eye.

Jamie had a big, garish, carnival-sized stuffed narwhal sitting next to her huge white bean bag chair. She’d had that narwhal for ten years, and for all the times she’d gone through her things to get rid of stuff she’d outgrown, she’d still kept it. Mom hated the thing. They’d tried to clean it, but it was stained even before Jamie’d gotten it. She and her dad had “rescued” it from a tree after someone had thrown it out of a high-rise window. Dad had flown her up to the high branches and let her climb onto one so she could reach it. Just because, at six, she’d been upset to see it laying there abandoned with a storm on the way. He’d even stitched up a tear in one of the seams for her. It was probably the cheapest piece of junk in the building. 

She flicked its horn. So flying her three stories up right before a thunderstorm was OK. But not coffee. He really didn’t make any sense. It was like there was two of him. One was the doofy, indulgent Dad of her memories who let her play bad hands for him, who would let her take a risk if she wanted to. Then there was the stiff, distant jerk who always looked over Jamie’s head. Who cussed at Yael today. 

She wasn’t sure which one of them had given her the gauntlet. She hadn’t seen doofy Dad in a while, though. 

Jamie’d always thought that she was the one who’d changed. That she’d gotten older, come to understand her position more, and that that was what had changed her relationship with her dad. But what if that wasn’t the case? 

She piled everything but the hoodie into the pot, and focused on a feeling of accomplishment. At least today was going better than the other days since the attack. People were moving and talking again, and maybe Jamie had helped someone else a little bit, too.

She propped the painting against Mom’s bedroom door, and was pleased to find Issac’s room empty. She put the book on his bed. Mom was zoning out watching TV; Jamie snuck past her. The courtyard was full of construction noise, but they kept it all out of the way and invisible from the public eye. That had to be massively less efficient, but it kept the courtyard private, which was apparently a big deal right now. She put the other mementos in front of everyone's front doors, including Dad’s, and paused.

Just to be sure, she tried the handle to Dad’s apartment. It opened, just like it always had. Maybe the lock had been a glitch in the MARTIN system. Maybe Dad hadn’t realized she and Issac couldn’t get in to see him. She let herself in, but didn’t see Dad. She reminded herself she was always allowed in here, and went to the kitchen. She wasn’t doing anything wrong. She opened the fridge.

Well, that was one theory gone. Dad didn’t mind the occasional wine or beer. But if he was stockpiling enough to get an altered drunk, there’d be cans or bottles around. His fridge was full up, but there was no alcohol inside. Same with the recycling-- no bottles or beer cans.

There was a neat little pile of cereal on the counter. 

Hamster bait. 

Maybe her old dad was on his way back after all.

She slipped back into the courtyard, and found a new mystery. There was a narrow door between two of the elevators in the central hub. And it was ajar.

Once she got to the doorway, she could hear Issac. “I really am sorry.” A pause. “Hey, I have a concussion, OK? Neither of us is at his best, here.”

Jamie poked her head in, and sure enough, Issac was sitting with his back to her, and a tablet plugged into an open maintenance hatch. A second tablet sat next to it, with the translation software open. Issac talking to hardware was not even a little new. Mom did the same thing. Sometimes at high volumes. “Hi. What do you want?”

Jamie hesitated. “Me?”

Jamie could only see a sliver of Issac’s face as he glanced down at the tablet, but the following small raise and shake of his head looked like an eye roll even from behind. “Yes, you. What are you doing in the maintenance hub?” His voice sounded scratchy, and kind of painful.

“I saw the door open.” This felt so much more natural. “I don’t think you’re supposed to be doing that.”

“Do you want the security systems up and working again?” He didn’t sound angry, or upset. 

Jamie sat down on the low-pile carpet behind him. “It doesn’t hurt your head?”

“I’m taking a lot of breaks,” Issac answered. “It’s not too bad. I’ll go to bed after.” It made sense he’d fix the break he’d made, even if he wasn’t feeling well. 

She drew her knees up, and rested her arms and chin on them. “That’s bad post-concussion aftercare,” she remarked.

This time he glanced back at her, but once he saw she was just commenting, not lecturing, he went back to his tablet. “I know. But it needs doing. Those idiots downstairs don’t know what they’re doing. I had to hook the tablet up physically to undo all the crap they messed up. Tch.”

She let him work quietly for a while. Even the back of his neck was bruised. But healing. If it’d been one of the team, the bruises would be gone by now. 

“Who was that girl this morning? With my drive?”

“Her name’s Opal. She was helping us pick up Jenna's stuff. I put a book in your room. There was enough left for everybody to get something.”

He turned to look at her, intrigued. “What book?” 

“Some Asimov stories.” He turned back to read her answer. He looked uncomfortable.

This time he didn’t look back up from his tablet when talking to her. “She’s not dead. You shouldn’t give away her stuff.”

Well, that was gratitude for you. “It has to go somewhere. She’s not coming back for it.”

Something about the tiny, out-of-the-way, isolated space seemed more private than other rooms. Seemed to have some kind of effect on her brother. “Do you miss her?”

Jamie’s brow furrowed. She would have shoved him over if he wasn’t still all banged up. What a stupid question. “Of course. I was just thinking about family poker nights.”

He paused. “Heh. I forgot about those.”

“Hey Issac, what do you think is going on with Dad?”

“You mean this morning? I don’t know. He looked drunk.”

“There’s no alcohol in his kitchen. And I’ve never seen Dad get drunk before. Why would be he drunk at six in the morning?”

“No idea. But as long as it’s just one time, it doesn’t matter.”

“I guess.”

He tinkered for a while. He was going slowly, she could tell that much. “Hey, Jamie?”

“Yeah?”

“Did Dad come over while I was asleep the last couple days?”

She almost lied for him. Her fingers went to the gift Dad and Mom had given her, and her mind went to the little pile of cereal. But Issac deserved honesty. “No.”

Issac’s hands stopped. He sat silently for a long minute. “I think LodeStar: Leader of the Sentinels is having trouble dealing with having a son who’s...” He gestured loosely at his ears. “That’s probably why he was drinking.”

Jamie put her head on her knees. It was as good an answer as anything else. It made more sense than what Mom had told her, at least. Except... “But wasn’t he weird before today? I mean, didn’t he used to be different?”

He scowled down at her words, fingers moving on the keyboard. “What? God, I don’t know. I have a concussion, don’t make me try to remember junk like that.”

“You’re fiddling with the world’s most advanced security system,” she pointed out.

He scowled in earnest this time. He didn’t stop typing, but his movements turned into angry single-finger jabs at the screen. “What, do you think our dad’s on drugs or something? Don’t be stupid.”

No help whatsoever. She let him fiddle for a while. He kept rubbing his eyes and shifting around, trying to be comfortable with a bruised-up body. So he thought Dad couldn’t handle Issac being deaf. “Yael and I are taking ASL lessons,” she offered.

He didn’t say anything. Just kept typing.

She tried again. “You want to come, too? Opal’s nice.”

Pause. “Are those ideas related?”

“She’s teaching us.”

“Why’s an altered even know ASL?”

“A bunch of her family are deaf. So, do you want to come, too? We could do it together.”

“I don’t know. Maybe. Quit bugging me.”

Jamie sighed, settling back against the wall. She let a few minutes go by. “Hey, Issac?” He glanced down, returning a noncommittal noise. “If I warn you ahead of time, can you shower before cute girls come over?”

He looked back, checking her tone, then threw a stylus at her with a smirk. 

She was pretty sure he’d be OK.

[erismourn]

hi hello. last november for nanowrimo I tried to write a bit every day, and the result was the beginnings of the novel formerly known as "those boughs that bend." I hated the first draft a lot so I rewrote what I had, but in my hubris, starting from scratch made me put the wip down for months on end. now it is november again, and I am trying to poke away at the revised draft.

I was initially posting it on ao3, but something about doing that with nonfandom stuff makes me deeply uncomfortable. so I'm posting what I'm working on here instead.

so behold: "an augur for the waning star" chapter 1

synopsis: Things are becoming stranger for Seona Sewynn. Every day, her powers grow more difficult to use. A knight - a human knight - washes up on the doorstep of her lonely wayhouse in the depths of the Worldsweald. She brings tales of stranger things still; the earth splitting open, strange blue light granting impossible strength to her enemies. Neither Seona nor her unexpected house guest know what to make of these bizarre occurrences, and in attempting to find out, they will learn much more than they bargained for about the world, its nature, and its end.

Late autumn rain fell in heavy sheets across the wayhouse’s clay tile roof. The damp was already working its way into the house, despite Seona’s best efforts to keep it away. Rarely was it possible for walls to hold nature completely at bay. She reached for an additional log for the fire, stooping herself low and tightening her shawl to trap some of the heat closer to her. It was to be a long, cold night.

When she lifted her head, she was surprised to hear the sound of birdsong over the chorus of tinkling rain hitting the rooftop. Something had disturbed them. Late evening like this, they should have been roosting. A predator, perhaps. Maybe even a guest. She pricked her ears; it was always good practice to listen to the birds.

A rider comes! sang the birds, all at once. A rider! A rider!

Seona frowned. Human riders never came this deep into the Worldsweald. They knew better than to trespass so far into amddaer territory. Perhaps the birds had misunderstood.

She cast her inner ears out wide and listened for the creature that bore the rider. She sensed a frantic energy, a mind driven to mania by fear. It must have been a horse. For beasts that had mostly been domesticated, horses were far more dramatic than any wild animal when they were frightened.

My equine friend, she said in her inner voice, what ails you?

She dies!

The horse’s cry burst into her mind, so loud her head throbbed. She uselessly threw up her hands to cover her ears. 

She dies! She dies!

When she recovered enough to think, she gathered that the horse must have been talking about its rider. A human rider, most likely. Amddaer didn’t ride animals – or, at least, they had no need to do so in order to cross great distances like humans did.

Your rider? She asked, trying to keep her voice level.

She’s hurt! She dies!

She would get no answers from this animal while it was so panicked. If she wanted to find out why this strange horse had gotten so deep into amddaer land with its rider on its back, she would have to call it to her.

She didn’t want to risk bringing a human into her house. Humans weren’t supposed to come here. Her people had reached an understanding with those that lived near the borders of the great forest, but that didn’t mean they were allowed to come into it. However, as a keeper of a wayhouse, it was her duty to aid all those passing through her sect of the Weald, amddaer or otherwise.

(And, she didn’t know if she could live with herself if she knowingly let someone die.)

Follow my voice, she said to the horse. I will take care of your rider. Come to me.

She received a response that was only frightened noise, but at least it was acknowledgement. All she could do now was prepare her household and hope the horse and its rider could make their way to her in this dreadful weather. She set out to dress one of the spare cots with bedding and prepare her medical supplies in the event that this horse’s rider was, in fact, dying, as the beast had claimed.

Some time later, the thundering of equine hooves reached her ears. Seona tied her shawl over her head and shoulders to keep the worst of the rain from soaking her and stepped out onto the stoop. She called to the horse again, instructing it to come to the lantern light in the distance. It appeared in the wet darkness, kicking up mud and grass in its panic. A humanoid form slumped onto its neck, barely keeping hold of the reins.

As the horse came to a halt, whickering frantically, the person on its back began to slide to the ground. Seona rushed forward, barely reaching them in time to catch the falling rider. Her efforts were thwarted by the rider’s considerable bulk. Seona’s grip wasn’t strong enough to keep them upright, and they tumbled to the ground, taking Seona with them. She gasped as cold mud soaked through her clothes. She muttered a curse so foul it would have made her elders blush and attempted to haul herself to her feet before she became one with the soil.

So sorry, she heard the horse say.

Not your fault, she replied. Even her inner voice was a little winded from the fall. You have no hands with which to steady them. What happened?

She dies, said the horse again. She was shot. We ran here.

Seona looked down at the rider, splayed on her back in the muck. Best to get her inside before trying to assess anything. She wouldn’t be able to make any observations in this dim light and rain. The rider grunted softly as Seona sat her upright. Good – she was still alive. Now to get her inside.

With nobody around to help her, and the rider incapable of standing, she would have to think of a way to bring her into her house on her own, and she would have to do so fast. The rain would be no good for either of them. She could try the rider in by herself, but she would be fighting against the weight of a waterlogged warrior much taller than her, equipped with mail and leather armour. No – it would be better to use her abilities to aid her. They had sapped her of her strength moreso than usual of late, so she had avoided using them. A literal life-or-death situation seemed an appropriate time to use them.

She closed her eyes and focused on the sound of the rain. With a deep breath, she held out her hands and bid the earth aid her. She tapped into the web beneath the soil, urging the creepers and vines of the earth to bend to the shapes she needed. Thick clematis stalks poked through the mud, seeking the form they had been asked to embody. Seona’s ears rung. The roots cradled the limp rider, lifting her above the mud.

She could feel the plants exacting their toll. They would not be able to do what Seona asked without taking some of her energy in return. But she needed them for a little longer.

Drawing from what she had left, Seona bit into her lip and furrowed her brow, nudging the plants towards her door. With the croaks and groans of fibre-on-fibre, the clematis pushed the rider along, carrying her as though a river might carry a hunk of driftwood. Gentle, lulling. The roots crawled into Seona’s home, and gently deposited the rider onto the floor.

Seona let go and doubled over, panting. She worried for herself. Her powers had been dwindling. Just last year, she would have been able to do something like this with ease. She had never heard of something like this before – an amddaer losing their ability to work with nature. She must have been sick. Or maybe, she had been away from her Wealdskine for too long. They had always warned her that bad things would happen if she left.

Enough of that, she told herself. With a deep breath, she went inside.

She took in the human rider on her floor. A handsome woman, smeared with mud, wearing armour with emblems she didn’t recognize the origins of. A falling star, a set of cupped hands. Embedded in her chest was the shaft of an arrow, its tail end missing. A wound to the heart. The fact that this human had survived long enough to get here was nothing short of a miracle.

Your rider is strong, she said to the horse. What happened to her?

We were far from other humans, said the horse. I don’t know how they hit her. So far away... and we ran, and ran, and came here.

A battle, then.

No. No fighting. They hit her from so far...

Strange for someone to shoot unprovoked like that, but was no matter to her now. She would find out the full story later, once the human was well enough to speak to her. For now, she had a life to save.

Take shelter under the pergola, my friend. I will tend to your rider.

Thank you, said the horse. He dipped his head. Thank you.

What should I call you?

Thalion, the horse replied.

Thalion it is, then. Eat as you please, but stay away from the plants beneath the window. They are poison.

Thank you...

She nodded to the horse and closed her front door. Time to go to work.

Seona had rudimentary medical knowledge, but she was no healer. This injury, though small, was above her skill level. If the circumstances had been different, she would have deferred a case like this to her mother, or another trusted healer. She had no choice now but to try her best.

Her heart beat dull in her chest. She would have to do this, or this person would die.

She had sewn wounds closed before. She could start with remembering what supplies and techniques she had to do for something like that. Figuring out the details could come later.

First, she would have to get both of them out of their horrid wet and muddy clothes. Then came moving the rider into the spare cot, for the plants could not help her within a set of walls without destroying said walls. Then she would make preparations for surgery, and pray to the gods for help.

You can do this, she told herself. When Sadare broke his arm, you stayed calm and used what you knew. You can do the same now.

She knelt and began to excavate the human from her attire. Figuring out the various buttons and belts and clasps while minding the wound was difficult work, but she managed it in a somewhat timely fashion. She set aside a sword and several knives from the rider’s kit in the process. When the human was down to her undergarments, Seona changed out of her own clothing, opting for something clean and dry to wear while she moved her patient. Once in a dry shirt and petticoat, she restrained her mane of wet hair with a scarf and bent to lift the human. She would be considerably lighter without the bulk of her clothing, but she was still much taller and broader than Seona. Lifting her was going to be an awkward affair.

Heaving, she gripped the human under her arms and pulled her to the cot she set up earlier. The human made a wet little sound when Seona hauled her limp form into the sheets. Her brows were furrowed, her lips twisted into a pained grimace. The expression quickly faded to something horrifyingly blank and empty. Urgency rushed through her suddenly.

“Hold on,” she said quietly, desperately, and hurried off to prepare supplies.

The lavender, sage, and feverfew sputtered wildly in the fire when she threw it in. A sign the gods were listening, hopefully. She set a pot of water above the hearth to boil and collected her needles and bandages. Her past attempts at organizing her home yielded easy access to her copper cup and a handful of smooth pebbles from the closest river. She grabbed a long tapered candle and whisked outside, throwing a dry shawl over her head and shoulders.

Under the cautious observation of Thalion, she knelt on the flagstone paving just outside her door. The rain jingled a faint tune as it filled her copper cup. She laid the pebbles next to it, and placed the candle between them. She placed her palms flat against the cool stones and closed her eyes.

“You who moves the waters, I have someone here who is in need of your aid. She is mortally wounded, and I fear I cannot save her on my own.” Her ears started to ring. They were listening. “As the rain heals the earth, I ask for the help of the water to heal this... this rider. Help me save her, so that she might return to the great cycle.”

She waited, eyes closed and breathing shallow. For a long moment, there was nothing but silence, interrupted by the sounds of rain. Then, an audible click.

She opened her eyes. Flame danced along the candle’s wick, unbothered by the evening’s downpour. Relief washed over her in a great wave, drawing a smile to her face. She whispered a quick thanks and hurried inside with her supplies carefully balanced in her arms.

The rider was mercifully still breathing when she returned indoors, but that did nothing to assure her that she had much time left. Hopefully, her prayer would have already started the healing process within her charge’s body, but even that might not save her, at least not until that arrow was removed. She resumed collecting what she would need – bandages, tinctures, poultice components, boiled needles and towels. She hauled a chair up by the bedside, then another to use as a table for her supplies. She placed a sprig of mint between her own lips to grind down on when she needed to focus.

Hands shaking, she leaned over the rider and looked at the site of the injury. The wound was jagged as a thistle. All the riding on horseback must have jostled the arrow around, ripping the skin. Miraculously, though, the arrow hadn’t punctured too far into the rider’s chest. That armour must have done its work to slow it down. It appeared as though it had slotted right between a pair of ribs, dodging the bone. And judging by the sound of the rider’s breathing, though it was laboured, it hadn’t punctured a lung, either.

“The grace of the gods seems to follow you, rider,” she muttered around her mint, reaching for a damp towel to wipe some of the dried blood away. The woman’s chest and shoulders were covered in scars; signs of a life lived in combat.

She would have to remove the arrow before she could do anything else, and from there, she had to work quickly to staunch the bleeding. She got to her feet and braced one hand against the woman’s chest so that the arrow was between her thumb and forefinger. With the other hand, she gripped the arrow as tight as she could.

“Sorry for this,” she whispered.

She yanked hard on the arrow. There was a wet crunch, and the rider cried out. Seona scrambled to reach for bandages. When she turned back, the rider’s eyes were open. Her pupils were pinpricks.

Seona froze. The rider looked at her, searching her for the answer to some question she couldn’t vocalize. The candle flickered wildly in her periphery.

“It’s okay,” she blurted, for lack of anything else to say. “You’re safe here.”

That seemed to appease her. She fell unconscious again. It only occurred to Seona moments later that the woman probably hadn’t understood a word she said, and she had probably been more scared than reassured by a strange woman spouting gibberish at her.

No matter for now. She leaned over and pressed on the wound, soaking thick crimson into the bandages. The wound was still bleeding profusely, even with the aid of a god invoked to speed its healing. The rider seemed to settle, though, while she waited for the bulk of the bleeding to stop. She couldn’t tell if it was the kind of stillness that meant rest, or the kind that meant she was fading away. She could only hope it wasn’t the latter.

With the bleeding staunched, she set to work cleaning the wound with chamomile and witch hazel. She cleaned methodically, rolling the mint between her teeth. The repetition calmed her a little. Her hands trembled less as she continued to clean. After, she threaded a needle with sinew and pulled the wound shut with a few methodical stitches. A poultice of herbs that would calm and disinfect was secured to the rider’s chest with as much diligence as Seona could muster. When she finished, she leaned back into her chair, exhausted.

Everything took so much energy lately. One use of her abilities had drained her in ways she’d never felt, and a single small surgery had nearly wiped the last reserves of her energy. Was she ill? Or just... weak?

She signed loudly. She couldn’t dwell on that. There was still work to be done.

She willed herself to her feet and cleaned up the aftermath of the surgery, leaving the cup of rainwater and the still-burning candle on the table by the bedside. She piled the used bandages somewhere out of the way; she would deal with them in the morning. Now, all she wanted to do was ensure the horse had shelter, go to bed, and hope the rider survived the night.

Thalion lifted his head when Seona wandered outside. She lives?

She does, Seona replied, for now.

She stepped up to the pergola he sheltered under and placed a hand on it. She urged the vines that wound around the wood to grow a little thicker, to knit together and form a makeshift shelter. Thalion whickered gratefully as she shook off the ringing in her ears.

I apologize for having nowhere proper for you to rest, she said. Amddaer don’t ride horses.

I understand. I have been in worse. Thank you for thinking of me. Sometimes the humans don’t.

Does your rider?

She does, he said, and his inner voice was so earnest Seona felt it in her chest. She cares for me.

I am glad to hear it. Seona reached up and patted his neck. It was damp from the rain. Let me get those wet rags off you. I will dry them inside.

Thalion whuffled. With wobbly arms, Seona removed his tack and the thoroughly soaked blankets underneath and brought it indoors to dry. She returned with a dry blanket to drape over Thalion’s back.

I need to rest now, but I will keep an eye on your rider. I have prayed for her safety, and the gods answered, so there is hope for her yet.

Thank you. An appreciative rumble. You are kind, cousin.

I help when I can. Rest well.

She gave Thalion one last pat on the neck before retiring. Barely awake by then, she stumbled over to the rider, who appeared to be sleeping peacefully. She barely felt the burn of the wick when she doused the candle with her fingertips. With one great summons of energy, she wobbled over to her bed and collapsed, asleep by the time her head hit the pillow.

[metaphorsmybeloved]

Bain is dead and gone. The crew never found their navigator after the Dentist started experimenting on him, despite unearthing files and devices and emails.

Though there was no corpse to bury, the Dentist made it clear that he would never be found. How would the PAYDAY gang go on without their leader? With vengeance, of course. They barely escape by the skin of their teeth; scathed but alive. Houston teaches them to disappear, Joy painting over their footprints as they travel to a different state.

The contract broker was the one who came up with ideas. They would all pitch in to help with the execution, but the planning was all his. He was irreplaceable, they had just figured it out too late.

On their 10th anniversary, the crew decided to do something crazy, like old times. A heist that required everything to go perfectly well, one complete with disguises for a banquet.

Dallas could do it easily, the pretending. The new identities went a long way in distancing himself, a comfortable disconnect. He was confident in his ability to make up stories, enough to where he’d walk into a jewelry store to legally buy a ring that fit him.

The bell rung as Dallas walked through the front door, past the metal detectors, without breaking a sweat. A man stood behind the counter, closing his laptop to greet him. Dallas noted the other’s appearance—long hair, blue eyes—before looking down at golden bands, counting up their value.

“Welcome to Precious Things, how can I help you?” the worker asked, making Dallas do a double-take. He sounded like someone he knew, probably in passing.

“Yeah, was just looking for a ring for myself,” the criminal responded, putting his hand on the glass. Without a care in the world, the cashier grabbed it to inspect his fingers.

“Ten… no, ten and a half,” he quickly muttered to himself, belatedly realizing what he was doing. Dallas watched the man fumble, awkwardly shifting into a handshake.

“Sorry, it’s just that we haven’t had much business recently,” Dallas blinks a few times, firmly returning the gesture with a “don’t worry about it.”

The man behind the counter stoops down to pick up a plain, golden band, still holding on as he slid it onto Dallas’ left ring finger. He guessed that the other must’ve known from where he was looking.

“Guys usually like silver, though I was always a fan of gold, myself.” he seemed distracted, yet still lifted his eyes up to meet the customer’s gaze. Blue like the sky outside the window, and blue like the diamonds below.

“What, without even asking me out?” Dallas smiled, the other man’s social inadequacy loosening his muscles.

The worker chuckled at that, a low yet soft sound.

“Yeah, guess that was kinda rude,” he cleared his throat as he introduced himself, “you can call me Nathan, if you’d like.”

[apoeticdiary]

How can people be so cold? To just drop me like that out of nowhere, invalidating all the memories, telling me you had never even felt anything from the beginning. That hurt more than anything anyone has ever said to me before. How are people like that? A few minutes before making future plans with me. Fuck you, truly. I'm so unbelievably hurt. And to be so cold and expressionless while doing it? Kicking me out minutes after telling me that? Telling me I know it sucks, but bye? That's the part that truly hurt. To end things and make me leave within minutes of me thinking that everything was okay. Your fucking cold expressions and nonchalant attitude of what you were doing to me. That really proved I never meant anything to you, even though I asked you time after time after time again.

I gave you the power by begging for you, and all that did was made you put me beneath you. You never saw me as an equal. You always saw me as less. Never again will I stoop so low. Next time someone does this to me, I will ask for an explanation, and then respectfully walk away with dignity.

I cannot believe you just dropped me like that, making all of those dates seem like they meant nothing to you. Like I was just there to help you pass a Wednesday night. To end things by telling me I never mattered and I'm not exciting enough for you and you would never be able to see a future with me. My heart sank so low that night and it is still sunken now. Wow, truly fuck you. Never again will I ever chase a man, or let a man make me feel so low and worthless. Never again. And if that means not even dating, then so be it.

I'm so so hurt. And will never be able to trust anyone ever again. And it will never be right. Because honestly, karma never gets people like you. People that hurt people. It doesn't get them at all. And you can continue to go live your happy life without me. Whatever. Fuck you, and everything else too.

[yourmoonmomma]

hi Alex, how are you? It’s breakup anon. firstly, a huge happy belated birthday 🥺🩷 I hope you had an amazing day, I wish you all the happiness and love for the year ahead!

my ex won’t return my stuff, and we were supposed to have a closure conversation yesterday in person. He didn’t show up so I had a self care day instead. It was really difficult not to cry in public though. I’m getting really tired of replaying all the events, I’m not upset that we’re not together, I’m hurt by what happened and how much I put up with..I have a lot of people telling me “it’s just a breakup move on”. Firstly, I don’t have a large social circle, i live in a rural area and I wfh. secondly, this goes deeper than just a breakup… things happened that have really messed me up. Of course I don’t share these details with anyone other than my best friend but therapy doesn’t seem to be helping either. My boundaries, self respect and trust all gone :(

I lost even more self respect by messaging him again yesterday and today. I asked if he was showing up and that I needed my stuff back. Silence. Today I messaged him the “closure” which was just a long ass paragraph detailing how I felt about the relationship. Stupid I know. I feel ridiculous :( idk if he’ll even read them but I’ve blocked and deleted him number now. I feel so dumb for stooping so low and continuously messaging him when he held his position and kept silent.

Hi! I'm doing alright, on day 2 of feeling okay, if not good. Let's hope it lasts a few more days! Thank you for the birthday wishes <33

I'm sorry to hear you've been having such a rough time! I'd ask how you are in return, but I think it goes without saying <33

You are grieving, lovebug. It sounds like you're grieving a lot of different things too; him, perhaps a loss of self-identity, the time that has passed, even those feelings of humiliation & lack of self-respect can lead to your grieving your past self perhaps. Grief is difficult and hard, and there's no easy or right way to handle it. And nobody seems to talk about the grief that comes with breakups. But it IS there and it hurts. Please know that it is okay to not be able to move on. As you said, there's a lot more to this situation than people realize! You are allowed to grieve and be angry or hurt or sad for as long as you need to be. And even if there wasn't more going on, and it was "just a breakup"... That's still a breakup!! You are losing a person you loved. In your case, it sounds like you are losing a person you loved, "despite" how small you made yourself for him (I could be assuming there of course so I'm sorry if I'm wrong!). If I'm reading your message properly, you're likely feeling that "I did whatever you wanted/became the person you wanted, and you still couldn't love me back/stay with me." feeling, and with that comes anger and confusion and shame and potentially feeling not good enough for anyone again. AGAIN I could be wrong with these assumptions, I'm so sorry if I'm accidentally putting thoughts into your head that weren't there before!! But speaking from personal experience, I know I've definitely felt that way before. And if that IS how you're feeling, know those feelings of inadequacy are lying to you. You are good enough. It will take time to discover who you are again, and learn to be okay, but you have time. There is no rush to healing (even if we wish there was sometimes). Feel your emotions, you're allowed <3

Do you mind me asking why you feel therapy isn't working? I'd love to talk about that more, if you wanted! I'm a huge advocate for therapy haha!

I'm sorry he isn't returning your stuff. I don't know where you live, but I have heard of people calling non-emergency police lines to have an escort to get their possessions back. I don't know if that's an option for you or not, but wanted to make you aware of it! Your therapist may also have some ideas for you <33

Lastly, you are NOT stupid for what you've done. I would have done the same. I have done the same. I am INCREDIBLY proud of you for blocking him (and I will not judge you if that changes by the next time you reach out!). You are hurting. The things you do when you are hurting are not stupid. It is you trying to cope. No one can fault your for that.

(Oh also I want to have an anon name for you, and I'll use breakup anon for now, but is there any other identifier you want to use? I know OUR connection started because of this breakup, but this breakup is NOT what defines you & I hate to diminish you just to that!)