#truly does my affliction turn you on

[crepuscular-haze]

FINE ILL DO IT MYSELF (I needed this chorus on my dash because it’s been in my head on loop for days now)

[theoraeeken]

I saw a post a while ago about Tommy and Buck running into Buck's exes, but I'd be interested in them running into Tommy's exes (boyfriend and/or girlfriends)

i spent such a long time fleshing out an OC for this tiny little oneshot but i could not get this out of my head gfhdhsjjdf.

EDIT: okay this isn't tiny and maybe i got over excited.

bucktommy / rated t / prompt requests still open

-

"Tommy?"

Chim stops mid-sentence, hands still up in a gesture, and his mouth is a little open as he looks over Buck's shoulder, behind him. Hen and Eddie seem similarly afflicted. Confused, Buck turns around, and-

Woah.

Buck's not unfamiliar with attractive people - he works in an environment with a lot of hot, athletic people, who do insane, heroic things, and since discovering that he's playing equal time for both teams, the pool of people that are nice to look at has grown considerably. That's a given. But... woah.

Green. Very green eyes.

"Dan! Oh, shit, how long has it been?" Tommy grins, getting up quickly enough that his chair scrapes against the concrete.

Hen and Chimney are doing their freaky psychic parademic mind melding communication thing, which mostly involves a lot of eyebrow movement and head tilting, and Eddie is glancing from Dan to Buck like he's nervous. This was supposed to be a chill little brunch, a catch up between friends. It's nice, being able to bring his partner to brunch like this, the same way Hen brings Karen and Chim brings Maddie. He never brought Ali, or Taylor, or any of his girlfriends. For reasons he could never quite pinpoint, he never wanted to let his worlds collide like that.

But Tommy is already part of his world. He's got inside jokes with Chim and Hen that Buck still doesn't quite get. He brings his own stories about the job, and he can laugh at everyone elses without getting maudlin and worried the way any of Buck's exes would. Tommy is as much a part of Buck's world as Buck is of his.

Except, Tommy's world apparantly has other things in it. Like Dan. Dan with the very green eyes, and the black hair swept carelessly back off his face like he thinks he's a 90's movie star, a little grey peppered at his temples and a t-shirt that has to be at least two sizes too small. Dan with his arm around Tommy's shoulder, and a 1000 watt smile dangerously close to Tommy's mouth, like he's not 100% committed to pulling out of this extremely long hug.

"What are you doing in California? You miss the sunshine?" Tommy asks, his hand still very noticably on Dan's hip.

"Don't even say that, those Oregon winters are no joke," he huffs, "Nah, I'm down for my sister's wedding."

"Emily's getting married? What the hell, she was barely out of college last time I checked."

"Yeah, Tommy, that was six years ago," he laughs, "All grown up now, marrying some IT geek from San Diego. Don't know what he did to deserve her, but my balls have been well and truly threatened if I give him anymore shit."

They chat for another few minutes, completely oblivious to the audience they have, oblivious to the way that Buck's hands are clenching into fists under the table. Tommy's usually so poised, straight-backed, almost stoic. Even his humour is deadpan, but Buck relishes the moments where he can tease easy smiles and full body laughs and dorky jokes out of him. Dan and his pretty eyes seem to have that down pat, too.

"Uh, I feel like I've crashed a party here, Tom."

Tommy blinks, looking back over at their table.

"Shit, sorry," he says, "I should have said. These are the good folks of the 118 firehouse. You probably know Hen and Howie by reputation, and this is Karen and Maddie," Tommy indicates each of them in turn, and they give a wave, "That's Eddie, and this is my boyfriend, Evan."

He says is so casually, like it costs him nothing, and it drags a smile out him the way it always does. Boyfriend. Buck stands, offering a hand. There are still half-cresent marks on his palm from where he'd dug his nails in.

"Good to meet you, man."

"You too, Evan."

"Buck," he says reflexively, "People call me Buck."

"Sure," he says easily.

Tommy is staring at him, face unreadable, but he smiles anyway, polite, almost professional.

"This is Dan Archer, and he used to be the best damn EMT in California," he says, clapping him on the shoulder, "until he deserted us for the PFR."

"Portland, huh? That's a good department to work for, from what I hear," Hen grins, "You guys were trialling those new electric ambulances in 2019, right?"

"Oh, yeah," Dan laughs, "All green, baby. Not that it matters when you're pulling another hiker out the Cascades in mid-December, but for some reason no one wanted to put the funding into my caterpillar-tread gurneys idea."

Chim snorts, "Shit, that's a good one. We should start lobbying for that, Hen."

"Ain't that the truth," she mutters.

"I don't have that problem," Tommy says smugly. Dan punches him in the arm, "You wanna stick around? This place some amazing bruschetta."

The collective inhale the table takes is probably loud enough to hear across the street. Eddie puts his coffee down like he's worried he's going to have to do something that involves having both of his hands free, like restrain Buck.

"Nah, I'm just doing a coffee run, then I've got to get back to the pre-festivities festivities," Dan shrugs, apparantly oblivious, "And maybe buy a shotgun to clean somewhere in view of Samuel."

Tommy laughs, "Give 'em hell, Archer. And don't be a stranger."

"You neither, Kinard," he grins, "I'll take you up on that bruschetta before I head back North."

"You better."

Tommy sits back down, and puts a hand on Buck's thigh. Nothing salacious or suggestive, just the weight of his palm and the heat of his skin. Familiar. The group lapses back into the same kind of easy chatter that they had before. Maddie and Chim talking about something cute Jee had done last week. Hen recounts in detail the call out they got that ended with having to deep bleach the inside of the ambulance. Buck takes a hold of Tommy's wrist, feels his pulse against his fingers, a steady, paitent beat.

-

Tommy's mouth paints lines of heat against Buck's shoulders. He's on his stomach in Tommy's bed - their bed, really, with how often Buck is here these days - propped up on his elbows. There's a book open on the pillow in front of him, something he found on Tommy's bookshelf about the history of the American rail network. It's been open on the same page for the last ten minutes, Buck's eyes somewhere in the middle distance.

There's temptation here, in the form of Tommy's half naked body pressed up alongside his, the hand on his lower back, his mouth. But Buck's mind is going a mile a minute.

"Baby," Tommy murmers, lips pressed to the nape of his neck.

"How do you know him?"

Tommy stills, just a moment where he freezes, before he exhales.

"I don't know if I like you thinking about other men while I'm trying to seduce you."

"Well, he is a very handsome man," Buck mutters, before he can help himself.

Tommy snorts, "Seriously?"

"It's ridiculous," he grumbles, "He's a paramedic, not a model. What's he even-"

Tommy muffles his laughter into Buck's shoulder, his body shaking with it. It should irritate him, it should make him feel belittled and mocked, but the way Tommy curls over Buck's naked back, smudging kisses into his hair and muttering his name softens the blow.

"I'm being an idiot, aren't I?" he says flatly, and it just makes Tommy laugh harder.

"No, Evan, you're being jealous, and possessive, and very sweet," he says, indulgent. Tommy is always indulgent with him, and Buck aches with how much he doesn't deserve it, "I know there's no way for me to say this without it sounding sarcastic, but I really do think that you glaring daggers at my ex like you're thinking about burying him under a carpark is extremely attractive."

Buck huffs, "So, he is your ex."

"Yes, he's my ex," he says, trailing a finger down the dip of Buck's spine, "We dated for nearly a year, the first year I moved to Harbour. He was my first serious relationship after I came out."

Buck doesn't really know what to say to that. Tommy represents a whole lot of firsts to Buck. First kisses, first touches, first fucks. Not first ever, obviously, but a kind of first all their own. And maybe Buck is always going to be a too much, too fast kinda guy, but he can't imagine getting over that, getting over him. Not even after five, six years.

"It ended amiciably. He got the job offer from Portland. Captaincy. Dan's job is important to him, too important to pass it up. I understood that."

"Do you miss him?"

Tommy kisses his shoulder, "All the time. He's been a good friend to me over the years."

"Do you see him very often?"

"Handful of times, since he moved," Tommy smiles, curling his fingers into the hair at the back of Buck's neck, "Came down for Harris' retirement. Couple years ago, we met up while he visiting family. I went up to Portland last year, too."

"Oh?" Buck says, feigning indifference and probably missing it by a mile, "How was it?"

"It was great. Awesome city. Great hiking in the area, and the ceremony was beautiful."

"What ceremony?" Buck asks, jerking up.

"You would have cried," Tommy continues like he didn't even hear him, like he didn't almost just headbutted in Buck's eagerness tosit upright, "I bet you always cry at weddings, but you definitely would have cried at this one. I bawled like a baby."

Buck shoves at Tommy's chest playfully, and he bounces when his back hits the mattress, laughing again.

"What wedding?"

"Dan's wedding," Tommy grins, "to his husband, Jake. Who he loves very very much."

He groans, shoving his head into the pillow, but Tommy doesn'tlet him mope about it for very long. A strong pair of hands roll him flat onto his back, and Tommy wastes absolutely no time in covering his body with his own, pushing between his legs and kissing him halfway to stupid. Which doesn't bode well for Buck, who's pretty sure he was more than halfway there already.

"You're ridiculous," Tommy says fondly, pressing a kiss to Buck's cheek.

"I know," he sighs, "I'm sorry."

Tommy kisses him again, before propping himself upon his elbows, "We're gonna talk about this properly tomorrow, about you being this worried about me... leaving? Or being interested in other people? Whatever it is, okay? We're gonna talk about it, because I don't actually want you to be upset, Evan," he says softly, "but you don't need to apologise for being jealous. It's just an emotion."

"Not the best emotion on me, though," Buck sighs, "It's not even rational."

"Maybe," Tommy shrugs, "but I wasn't lying when I said I like it on you sometimes. I don't regret my relationship with Dan, so what's rational about me liking how much you wish you were the only one who has ever touched me?"

Tommy's got a talent for taking Buck's most ridiculous thoughts, his worst traits, the ugliest sides of him, and rearranging all the pieces so that they actually make sense. He's so steadying, like a hand on his back while he feels like he's constantly walking on a tightrope. All of it is like water off a duck's back to Tommy, even when it feels like Buck's about to drown in it.

"God, please just kiss me," Buck whispers, half because he wants to, he always wants to, and half because it minimises the risk of saying anything else stupid, like 'I hate your gorgeous hero of an ex just because he got to kiss you before I did', or 'I like myself better when I'm with you than I ever had before', or 'I love you', or 'please don't talk about weddings around me because I'm terrified of the images in my head right now and how good you look in a suit'.

"Yeah?" Tommy breathes, his mouth hovering just over Buck's, "You gonna be thinking about him again?"

"Thinking about who?" Buck mutters back, just to be a brat.

Tommy laughs, a gentle, soft little thing that's so, so fond, but he kisses him anyway.

[elfyelation]

𝐚 𝐧𝐞𝐰 𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐞 | oneshot

pairing—astarion x gn!reader summary—nightmares were nothing new to astarion, he’d been living one long before the tadpoles settled themselves inside your heads. now, however, it seemed there was something he feared even more than the possibility of returning to his former master… warnings—mentions of slavery, nightmares, indication of past abuse/trauma, mentions of astarion’s past, angst, some fluff word count—811 rating—teen

He tosses and turns in his sleep, another cruel nightmare tearing through his slumber.

You hear him mumble, hot sweat running across his creased brow, “No... M-master… please… No…”

His body is still trembling when his words trail off, the discomfort never leaving his face. His eyes squeeze themselves even tighter shut in a frail attempt to push the thoughts from his mind.

You were awake now, concern threading through your brow as you shushed him and ran a gentle hand over his cheek.

“Astarion? Astarion, wake up.” It is no use, your voice is but a distant echo — a whisper in the darkest depths of his mind. There is no way to free him, he is a prisoner of his own mind. All you can do is wait for him to open his eyes himself.

You sit up then, moving to pull his head into your lap. Quietly, you comb your fingers through his ice-white hair. His skin is hot to the touch as if he were stricken with a fever so foul it scorched from the depths of all hells.

Softly, you called out again, “Astarion.”

Still, he does nothing but stir, head rolling from side to side in agony.

Leaning down, you press a light kiss to his crumpled forehead and finally, his skin smooths out. It takes a moment but soon his eyes flicker open and look up at you with wide, startled eyes.

“It’s okay,” you remind him, continuing to run your fingers through his hair, “You’re with me, you’re safe.”

He smiles but it only lasts for a moment and his eyes close again as he readjusts to his surroundings. His hand reaches up to rub at the tense skin on his face and even he seems to be surprised by the heat he finds there. He was always cool to the touch, even on the warmest summer day. Another side effect of his foul affliction.

“It isn’t me I’m worried about,” he all but whispers, as if he is unsure whether he wants to show any more weakness in front of you.

Then he sits, lifting his head from its comfortable place in your lap, and turns to you. His eyes flicker over your body as if searching for wounds and he closes his eyes again as he takes in a deep breath. “You are safe, that is all that matters.”

When you involuntarily raise a brow in question, he sighs and returns to his charismatic persona. “I was dreaming of you, darling. Although that dream would not be my preferred scenario, I must admit.”

Still, you watched him, waiting until he was ready to tell you the full truth.

He knew what you were doing. He knew you too well. You did not need to say anything for him to know you were waiting for elaboration. He could confide in you, he knew that. It was just… difficult at times to speak it out loud.

He seemed to shrink as his eyes flitted away from you, glancing at the ground for a moment before he looked back up at you again.

“Cazador had captured you. Captured us both. Instead of hurting me, he was hurting you. He was hurting you to hurt me and I could do nothing but sit by helplessly as it happened.”

You reached out, placing a gentle hand on his cheek, and he leaned into your welcome touch.

“It was just a dream. I’m here and I’m safe. We’re safe. He can’t hurt you anymore. I won’t let him.”

Usually, he’d have laughed at your words and told you that you were a fool for thinking he was truly out of his former master’s reach. One day Cazador would find him for in his search he was relentless. He would not let even a single slave escape him, not while he still lived.

Someday Astarion would have to face the music but, until that day came he wanted to enjoy the time he had with you. And, after hearing you speak that way, sounding so sure of yourself, he found he wanted to believe it too. That you would be by his side when the day came and that the two of you would emerge victorious, standing over the vampire lord’s corpse.

Until then, he’d offer you an honest smile and wrap an arm around your waist, pulling you close to him as he pushed his lips to yours.

He wasn’t sure when he stopped being afraid for himself and rather became afraid of losing you but it was a small price to pay in comparison to the joy you brought him. You had given him a purpose in life. A purpose that was more than just survival. You had shown him what it was to truly love and for that, he would forever be in your greatest debt.

[fuckingstrange]

Undressing in the Dressing room

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WARNINGS: Semi-public sex, FOR MY CM KINK BINGO CARD, Spencer kind of forces himself to wait to cum, does that count as edging?, Fingering (s receiving), Having sex in the Ross "Dress for less" changing room, Married Spencer + Reader, Spencer doesnt speak a single line of dialog, beta-read by a dyslexic

WORDS: 667

PAIRING: Transgender!s.r. x m!reader

——————————————————————————————————————

Despite having lived with each other for a little over a year, you and Spencer rarely had the opportunity to have time alone together. It was either Cases that got in the way, Sometimes Spencer’s mom needed help so he had to fly to see her, every other time neither of you could find it in yourself to truly just enjoy each other's presence in the comfort of your own home.

This still isn't one of those times.

Because right now, you undo Spencer’s belt as quick as you can, not caring about the noise because you’ve currently got him pressed against the corner of the Ross Dressing Room. Within five seconds of being in there, you've got your hand down Spencer's pants, fingers prodding at his slickend entrance. He's already so worked up, it'll be easy to pretend like nothing happened once you walk out of there in five or six minutes.

One hand is occupied covering his mouth, the other busy starting to pump your fingers in and out of his tight hole, searching for that sweet spot. The expression Spencer makes is beautiful, nothing but drop-dead gorgeous in your eyes. The way he shudders and clenches around you when your fingers brush that sweet spot is a feeling like no other.

You tuck your head into his shoulder to hide your own noises, his body tenses up when someone walks by, an attendant knocking, interrupting by asking “Are you boys okay in there?” By the sound of her voice, you could tell it was the little lady that helped you find the changing room. You lift your head, taking no more than a second to respond.

“Yes, We're fine. We're just trying to decide whether or not we should buy this shirt when it's kind of tight.”

“Oh, I could go grab you a different size, Honey. It’s no problem.” The sweet old lady responds.

“Thank you, ma'am. Size Medium of the affliction button-up.” You finish up the conversation, jabbing Spencer's sweet spot with your ring and middle finger while swiping your thumb over his clit with every other word. Once you turn your head back to face him, his eyes are wide and full of tears, body trembling in a way that tells you he's using every ounce of strength he has to not cum with a stranger four feet away. You lean in close, lips brushing over the shell of his ear as you soothe him, telling him to let go once she walks away.

The lady checks on another customer in the dressing room across the hall before heading off to find that button-up you had requested, and it only takes one more gentle jab to have Spencer whimpering against your hand while he cums around your fingers, eyes rolling back while a few tears escape, which you immediately kiss away. You massage that sweet spot to help him ride the high, removing your thumb from his clit the same time you pull your fingers out.

You wipe the evidence from your fingers, helping Spencer redo his belt and fix his shirt. You kiss his cheek a couple of times, just to make sure he's calmed down. You open the dressing room door just as the lady walks up to it, without having a clue of what just happened she hands you the medium-sized shirt with a smile before helping you and Spencer to the cash register.

At the register, Spencer practically hides behind you while you pay for his new clothes. His arms are wrapped around your waist from behind, his head rested against the back of your neck, and his body pressed against the back of yours completely, not an inch of space. The lady hands you the bag with a smile, commenting “You and your husband are just the cutest.”

Both yours and Spencer’s eyes widen at that, though you simply thank her while glancing back at him. She must have seen the matching wedding bands you have.

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Bingo Card Contents: Praise Kink, Overstimulation, Multiple Orgasms, Pool/Bath/Jacuzzi, Mirrors, Masturbation, Oral Sex, Deepthroating, Body Worship, Topping from the Bottom, Aftercare, Caught in the act, Dry humping, Crying, Mutual Masturbation, Dirty Talk, Bed Sharing, Semi-Public sex, Partially Clothed, Premature Ejaculation, Hair Pulling, Begging, Phone Sex, Oral Fixation

[thegoddessweiwei]

So some news for the Beauty and the beast Radioapple story ! Dropping some design 👀👀👀 I dunno yet if I’ll make this accurate to show or in my style ! My pinup Angel series is really rough to work on but I feel like a very refined detailed rendered style would be so pretty for this comic! For now have these more show accurate little concept drawing ✍️ with some lore attached to it!

We got Lucifer as Belle ! A single Dad who love his daughter deeply, but ever since the death of his wife can’t help but stay home and make rubber ducks ! One that you can put on your shoulder like a little friend that never leave you! He just wanna see his daughter happy… he miss his wife dearly and used to go see the priest often to talk about his misery however, said priest began to imagine that Lucifer was simply smitten by his handsomeness. Now Lucifer try to avoid the man at all cost.

We got Alastor as the beast! He who was so arrogant and showed little care for others, mistreated his friend and was bitter. He was cursed by a witch (vox) who felt deeply offended after he refused the reciprocate a love confession. If he want to be free of this curse he need to find true love. Reality is vox wanted Alastor to be stuck in this monstrous form or beg for his forgiveness and accept his love because truly who would Alastor wanna date more then vox? However vox was mistaken for Alastor as no heart… or does he? Maybe for a short dead beat dad…

Adam as Gaston and lute as LeFou ! In this story Adam is the head priest of the village but being a priest never stopped him from engaging in debauchery in the confessional. However to whoever’s dare question his saintness, there will always be lute ready to defend him in the shadow… for who would dare speak about such a grand man like Adam ? Who proclaim he can make miracle like no one ever heard of. Adam however is smitten with the idea of bedding the sad Toy maker, because after all Adam is the dick master and no one can resist him! Right? Right ?

Angel Dust as Lumière! and Husk as BigBen! There where both servant whom worked at Alastor manor before his curse afflicted them all, ever since this witch vox came with his fellow sorcerer Velvette and Valentino, it never was the same. The mansion is slowly turning into a swamp and it seems their master is not inclined to find love. Angel think he just need a little push and a pretty face to smitten him! While husk always say the man can’t fall in love if he got no heart. If you need to shed light on matter of the heart Angel is always there ! And if you need someone to understand you without a word uttered then trust Husk !

[moonyasnow]

Moony's TWST Vampire AU

Part 7: Diasomnia

Heartslabyul Savannaclaw Octavinelle Scarabia Pomefiore Ignihyde Diasomnia (you are here) Extras

(listen I know what a massive contrast this is— it's just the only official art which shows the entire Dorm together)

Special warning for this part! It WILL contain Book 7 spoilers! Such as: Lilia's past, Malleus' parents, Sebek's grandfather, and some Silver stuff

This is NOT ORGANIZED lmao Literally just unfiltered thoughts and ideas, with some short writing snippets only sneaking in by accident. Literal brainrot stuff

Also some thoughts will absolutely be longer than others I wrote most of this in like 5 hours in one sitting

It will be in 8 parts. First the dorms, and then a final one for my thoughts on some side-characters' places in this AU

Basic Rules of the Vampire AU:

A vampire is unkillable until they turn someone. As such, vampires are rare, and usually created on accident.

Vampires can't die of starvation. They can sure try, and by god will it hurt, but it can't kill them.

Vampires can drink liquids that aren't blood, though they get no nutrients from it, but they cannot ingest food. If they try to eat normal food, they just throw it up, their bodies rejecting it entirely.

They can drink any blood that is not from another vampire.

Malleus

Malleus was one of the rare few to be BORN a vampire. It is theorized that his family is the one which all current vampires can trace their affliction back to. Though older than all turned vampires in this AU, with the exception of Lilia, he is still considered quite young as far as pureblooded vampires go. Millenia before modern times, there were many born vampire families, though they have all since perished. It just so happens that the Draconia bloodline had some unique power which made them able to grant some small part of their powers to others— hence why the turned vampires stemming from the Draconia bloodline are some of the few traces left of the race of born vampires as a whole.

Him being a pureblooded vampire, and the last of his ancient kind— which humans, through witch-hunts and crusades and pogroms, hunted to near-extinction— means that he is assured to be the last. For even if, by some miracle, he produces an heir— which would have to be with a human, as all turned vampires are well and truly dead, yet a human and vampire having a child is still difficult— that child would still only ever be half.

It is…a crushing weight, to have to live with.

An unspeakable sorrow, so much bigger than one vampire's, never mind a human's, life. An entire history, come to an end. Lost forever to the hands of time.

And Malleus isn't ready to face it. So he studies. He travels across the globe to any ancient settings he can find with any hint of having been touched by his kind. All in order to gain more information to compile. To be closer to the faceless kin he has lost. Chasing the ghosts of ancestors whose names he will never know, or if he does, never be able to properly pronounce, for their names were from long-since dead languages whom no one could possibly pronounce accurately, the modern equivalents having changed far too much to still sound the same.

He cannot stop to ask himself 'why'.

Because if he does, if he questions if his work matters, he will question if anything matters.

He grew up with Lilia's tales of his mother, of his father, his grandmother, grandfather… Tales of them are all he has. While he doesn't need to fear Lilia reaching the end of his un-life naturally in this AU, he is still aware the day could come.

Ironically for the man with the longest life left to live, he is the one who spends the most time running from oblivion.

On a more neutral note, as a born vampire, his taste in blood is a lot pickier than that of a turned vampire. Unlike turned vampires, who can subsist on basically any kind of blood, Malleus has to drink the blood of mortals. And even amongst them, he has a preference for blood type.

Lilia

Lilia is one of the oldest vampire-spawn in the world. Perhaps the oldest. He is almost two millennia old at this point. And he watched the last Draconia fall seven centuries ago. He was turned by Malleus' mother, Maleanor.

Though in a way, because of it, Lilia blames himself for her death. Maleanor could be killed because she had turned Lilia. Pureblooded vampires can still be killed after they have turned someone. Because it is, in essence, giving away a part of their power to another. If that turned vampire dies, all that power returns to the born vampire. But the same is also true in reverse— at least to some extent.

So, while he isn't as powerful as a born vampire like Malleus, he is very close to it.

With Lillia being so close to many mortals' stereotyped view of vampires, he often 'jokes' about being a vampire with people he runs into at the concerts he goes to.

He's the one of the 'old vampire guard' to be the most open to potentially positive interaction with mortals. It took time, especially considering mortals in the past hunted his closest friends and their families to their deaths. It took raising Malleus, and later Silver, for him to realize— as he, through them, realized just how innocent children are, and their parents' actions have nothing to do with them— that the current generation of mortals shouldn't be blamed for what their ancestors did.

As the mass hysteric fear of vampires has long since died out, and the vampires known to be living in the Coral Sea aren't viewed with as much hostility as vampires were back in in his day, he has hope that things can change.

And speaking of the old days...

Back when he was a fledgling, it was considered a massive honor to be a turned vampire. That meant you were considered someone trusted by a born vampire— born vampires had naturally risen to the top of the hierarchy at the time due to their sheer power when compared to other species of fae. Because a born vampire turning you still meant that you now had the power to kill them. It was a mark of close frienship, that the born vampire trusted you enough to share their power and near immortality with you, and to be vulnerable because of you.

There was no such thing as 'accidentally created' turned vampires, as born vampires possessed much greater control of their venom.

Also! Vampires are just one species of fae, which in this AU I have decided are rolled together of the in-game races which Malleus and his mother and grandmother, Baul and Raverne were.

Other types of fae, like the fairies who take over the NRC Greenhouse in the Fairy Gala event, as well as the dwarves from RSA, are still fae, but not vampires.

Silver

Silver is the last in an old lineage of vampire hunters. Think, the Belmonts, from the Castlevania series.

The lineage was believed to have been wiped out when Malleus' mother died, taking all known members of the family with her before she succumbed.

He's around 5 years younger than Sebek, at least physically speaking. Because, just like the 'didn't drink the last drop of poison' metaphor I used in Idia's part, Silver was somehow grazed by a vampire as a baby.

But instead of doing what it did to either Idia or Ortho, it just put him in the same death-like sleep as Ortho, however for much, much longer; hundreds of years. Though as he was a baby, he never noticed any of that time passing. And as stated in Ortho's part, as turning children just isn't done, no one is sure why such strange things do happen in the rare cases it's attempted.

And miraculously enough, he somehow managed to fight off the sickness that would have turned him.

It's unclear if this means he's now immune to whatever pathogen turns one into a vampire or not. Silver hopes that isn't the case; he wants to become a vampire when he's fully grown, so that he can have more time to spend with his family, who are all vampires— not to mention more power to protect them.

Lilia wants to continue the tradition from his youth, of turned vampires being highly respected due to the close bond with a born vampire— Briar Valley's rulers— that it implies.

Sebek

Sebek is one of the few half-vampires to ever exist.

Or, well, his mother is a half-vampire. He is thus 1/3d vampire. In terms of power, it's about on-par with a turned vampire.

But he, Sebek, of the once proud Zigvolt vampire lineage, is nothing like those fledglings. He was born a vampire, after all.

The day Silver is turned is one he fears subconsciously. For what would it mean, for a mere human, to come to be considered on par with the great Lilia? Sebek obviously knows Lilia wasn't born a vampire— he was turned. But he is old…ancient, even. He was there with the Draconias during the fall of their society. Not to mention And in a way…him not being a born vampire, yet still having so much status in what remain of the vampire courts of old, gives him hope that he, too, might one day be considered great. Not a 'half-spawn', who, he once heard his mother recount from the words of his great-grandfather, 'doomed the race.'

Oh yeah Baul is Sebek's mother's grandfather in this AU. Baul's child had Sebek's mother with a human, and she, in turn, had Sebek with a human father. I had to make it fit with the timeline while also keeping Baul as fully vampire. I don't make the rules (I literally do—)

But at that point, if his mother HAD had a child with another born vampire— before all but Malleus remained— it would probably have ended with a lot of inbreeding to try to keep their vampire blood 'pure'.

"Perhaps," Lilia had once suggested to him, "the born vampires of old's unwillingness to have children with humans is part of the reason why they have been all but wiped out. You only exist because you mother, and your mother's parent, made an exception to that widely excepted rule."

Sebek wasn't— and still isn't— quite ready to accept that yet. He grew up glorifying the old days of vampire-kind, rather than Malleus who simply wished to collect and preserve any knowledge left behind to know something, anything, of his ancestors. Sebek idealized it as what he should be.

[claymoresword]

I Choose Her | Chp: 16

Hermione Granger x Slytherin Fem!Reader

Summary: You are the daughter of two known death eaters from one of the oldest and richest families in the wizarding world. Are you truly prepared to give up everything you know for Hermione Granger?

Pairing: Hermione x Reader

Wordcount: 5.2k

Warnings: just a lot of fluff, draco malfoy & y/n, potential self harm references , plot heavy

Note: Hello! Yes it's finally here you're not dreaming... As always, endless thanks for your patience and support, knowing how much you guys love this fic is literally the only reason why I have kept this story going for so long. That being said, we're nearing the end now which is depressing but all we can do is savour the next couple of chapters before it all comes to an inevitable end :(

Anyway, this might be the longest chapter I've written so hopefully you enjoy this one!

Taglist: @gvrsto @aweidlich @xxsekhmet @arielj @poppyflower-22 @scarleigh1989 @smut-religiously777 @cocoyeehaw @blackbirdv98 @arcturusseer @iamcapitalgbicorn8287 @lonewalker17 @karasonromanoff @httphayn @bigbadsofty07 @cherryflavoredcoke @dumpsapphic @idontwannabehereatm @js-a-writer @baylegend6 @puta1 @t-wylia @raven-ss

Hermione stirs awake due to your sudden movements next to her. You continue clutching your arm, grimacing. 

Biting down hard on your tongue to avoid screaming out, and to redirect some of the pain in your arm elsewhere.

Since that day at Malfoy Manor, every new summon from the Dark Lord has been nearly unbearable to combat.

It seems the more you fought it, the more excruciating it got; torturing you into submission. 

"Hey– why are you awake?" Hermione mutters groggily as she sits up as well.

You don't reply, only staring down at the Dark Mark, it pulses visibly, you wince again.

"Fuck–" You hiss, shutting your eyes tightly. You focus all your energy on fighting the affliction.

Hermione's expression rapidly turns to one of realization and then worry.

"It's hurting again?" Hermione asks, but she doesn't expect a response amidst your visible agony.

You observed as she hovered her hand over the mark on your arm. Hermione utters the incantation, and soon enough you are able to catch your breath again, the once torturous pulsing now reduced to a dull ache.

Painful, but bearable.

Your other senses return and finally you catch the other woman's gaze, you flash her a smile in relief and gratitude.

"Thank you." You say above a whisper, the Gryffindor responds by leaning in, planting several kisses on your cheek before nuzzling her face into your neck, holding you close.

She clutches onto you desperately, and you hold onto her same.

"I just hate to see you in pain." Hermione mumbles against your shoulder, you lean back to look at her.

"It wasn't always this bad.. You know who– he's getting desperate. Just like Harry said, he knows we are close to defeating him." You state, assuredly.

Your attempt to steer the conversation fails, your hopeful sentiment does nothing to sway Hermione, if anything she appears more distressed.

Your girlfriend looks away, helpless. Your brows furrow at the sight.

"What is it, my love?" You ask and Hermione hesitates to respond.

After a prolonged moment, her eyes finally meet yours again.

"I don't know– it just seems like you are having to sacrifice a whole lot to be here with me." The Gryffindor admits, she plays with your fingers nervously.

"Don't say that." You sigh.

You catch the tears welling up in Hermione's eyes, it makes you ache.

"I'm not here out of obligation, I'm here because I want to be." You state earnestly, trying your best to squander her doubts.

Stubbornly, Hermione continues to allow her anxieties to get ahold of her.

"What if the other Death Eaters– if they find us again– what if they do something to you?" The other woman continues to spiral, and you shake your head in disapproval.

"Hermione, you're not going to talk me into abandoning you.. not now. Not after everything we've endured." You affirm.

"But–" The Gryffindor starts and you swiftly interject.

"I don't care if they threaten to skin me alive.. I'm not leaving you." You counter dismissively and Hermione lets out a huff of amusement, she rolls her eyes, albeit half-heartedly.

"That's not funny." She scolds, your girlfriend glares at you to the best of her ability.

It only makes your heart swell.

"It wasn't a joke." You quip, gently cupping her cheek with your hand. 

Hermione eyes flutter shut as she leans into your touch, she releases a deep breath, tilting her head to place a chaste kiss on your palm.

"Either way, it's my fault. I should've never gone to the initiation, I should've fought against it." You insist, this time Hermione shakes her head, she grabs your wrist firmly.

"You didn't have a choice." She counters, and after deliberating, you nod.

You were merely buying time, an attempt to throw your parents off your trail. You didn't have a choice.

"No I didn't–" You agree.

"But I do now– and I'm choosing you. That is all." You state and Hermione's tense expression softens at last.

She leans in to capture your lips with her own, kissing you deeply. Amidst your lip lock, your girlfriend moves to straddle you, her hand moves to the nape of your neck. Your own hands instinctively settle on Hermione's waist as she opens her mouth wider, inviting you to deepen the kiss.

As your tongue enters her mouth, you are allowed a fleeting moment of bliss before you feel another sharp pain, it courses through your arm, so sudden and unwelcomed that you are forced to break the kiss.

Hermione chases your lips for a moment before gathering herself, once again she appears concerned, but you school your expression, placing a chaste kiss on the corner of her mouth.

"Go back to sleep.. I need to get some air." You say, gently shoving your girlfriend off your lap.

Hermione takes the hint, but still, she sees right through you.

"What's wrong?" She asks as she settles on her side of the bed once more.

"Nothing. I just need to clear my head. I'll be right back, I promise." You reply, as convincingly as you can manage.

Hermione isn't satisfied with your response, but she decides not to push it further. 

She nods, loosening her grip on your sleeve.

You avoid eye contact as you plant a lingering kiss on her forehead, one Hermione can't help but melt into.

The Gryffindor has to fight the urge to force you to stay as you climb out of bed, stepping out of the tent.

═══════════════════════════════════════════

You wrap your arms around yourself as the cold breeze pierces through the midnight air, edged and ruthless.

The sharp sting that was once contained to your left arm has since spread throughout your entire body, your coat proving less than adequate to keep you even remotely warm. 

You quickly regret your decision to leave the comfort of Hermione's embrace. 

Just as you've decided on returning to the tent, a faint light in the distance catches your attention, and soon you make out a male figure in the shadows as it approaches you.

Quickly deducing that it couldn't be neither Harry nor Ron, as they were both asleep in their respective tents.

You instinctively fish out your wand from your pocket, you grip it tightly, prepared to use it if needed.

As you catch a glimpse of platinum hair, your face contorts in shock. The notes of his cologne envelops your senses, familiar and unmistakable, you don't get the opportunity to consider if your eyes were playing tricks on you.

"Draco? what–" You gape.

"Listen, I can't stay long." Your best friend interjects, halting directly in front of you.

Then, your body reacts before your mind can mitigate it. You lunge forward, practically jumping into his arms. 

Draco is stunned for a moment, until he finally embraces you just as tightly in return.

"How are you?" He asks as soon as you separate.

You scoff. It was an impossible question to answer, a bit silly frankly, but you knew Draco was merely asking out of genuine concern.

"I'm alright." You reply, you watch as he nods, chewing on his bottom lip.

"What about you?" You return the gesture and he chuckles, humorless.

Draco shrugs, avoiding an answer entirely.

"Things are getting really tense." He claims, lowering his voice to a whisper.

"Your parents have sent out a band of snatchers to look for you." Your best friend states and you aren't particularly shocked. 

"Of course they did." You comment through a long sigh.

Draco steps closer, even though you were seemingly entirely alone, the platinum haired man remains paranoid.

"Word has spread about you and Hermione, and– what you did to Bellatrix. I can't guarantee that the other Death Eaters won't harm you if they find you." Your best friend remarks. An uneasy feeling settles at the pit of your stomach, you fold your arms over your chest.

"You have to lay low– or just come back home, please, it's far too dangerous." He pleads.

"Draco, you know I can't do that." You respond with a scowl, but the man was insistent.

"If you come home, at the very least, your parents– they'll protect you." His attempts to convince you prove fruitless, Draco only grows increasingly desperate.

"You're going to get yourself killed. Out here– with them." He finally states plainly, gesturing to the tent behind you, and you can't find it in yourself to deny a plain truth.

"Maybe." You say, and you pause as Draco sets his jaw, somehow he is more worried than you are.

"But I can't leave her." You add and finally he scoffs.

"You are so stubborn." The platinum haired man hisses, but you don't take offense, only finding the irony in his words.

"You're one to talk." You retaliate, and Draco finally tears his eyes away.

Your best friend knows now that you've made up your mind, nothing he says in this moment will convince you otherwise.

"Then know this– The Dark Lord is planning an ambush on Hogwarts, any day now." Draco now basically whispering directly into your ear.

"Ambush? Why? Snape's headmaster now, Dumbledore's gone, isn't that what he wanted?" You lean back slightly, perplexed.

Draco shrugs but now he appears noticeably distressed, more than he was just a moment ago, the man checks your surroundings once more.

"I think he wants to take over, and leave people no choice but to join his cause. No doubt he will kill anyone who dares to go against him." Your best friend adds, and your mouth falls open slightly at the realization.

Voldermort was definitely getting desperate.

"Just promise me that you'll stay away." Draco reiterates sternly, but you don't reply, your gaze fixed on the darkness, far in the distance as you allow your mind to speculate.

"Y/n." Draco insists on a response, he snaps you out of your thoughts.

"It's up to Harry, really. Hermione will follow his lead, I have to as well." You finally say, and it's not the answer the man was hoping for, his head falls below his shoulders in defeat.

Just before you can conjure some version of an apology, Draco wraps his arms around you, once again. He hugs you in a way that lets you know how afraid he truly is, a crippling feeling you both shared. 

Things are entirely uncertain now. It is possible you may never see each other again.

"I really hope she's worth it." The man says as he releases you, and just as you open your mouth to respond, you hear a rustling from the tent behind you.

Draco flinches and your head snaps back to investigate the noise.

In just a fraction of a second, a sudden gust of air tickles the side of your face. The same side where Draco was standing just moments ago.

You no longer feel his presence, his cologne now a lingering scent. He's disapparated and frustratingly, you can't contain the tears prickling in your eyes.

However, you force yourself not to let them fall as Hermione soon peaks her head out of the tent, before taking a large step outside. 

You recognize your cardigan wrapped around her frame. 

"Y/n, who were you talking to?"

════════════════════════════════════════════

Harry and Ron narrow their gaze at you in disbelief, while Hermione kept her hand intertwined with yours.

The conversation with Draco had casted a shadow over you, sudden and nearly paralyzing. It seems you were grieving. 

You grieved the chance to go home and be with your family. Mainly you can't help but feel you've failed Draco in some way. 

It weighed on you, knocked you off your feet. Hermione senses this but she can only offer to hold your hand as you try to find your footing.

"What, you still don't trust me?" You scoff as The Chosen One and his best friend continued to stare at you with skepticism.

"No, not really.." Ron quips, and you don't care enough to grace him with a reaction, luckily for him, Harry finally speaks up.

"It's not that– why would Draco help us?" He ponders, no longer skeptical, just doubtful.

"Yeah, how do you know he's not setting us up? The Death Eaters might be on their way already." The ginger haired man is still convinced of your ulterior motives and you finally glower at him.

"Ron, if that were true they would've taken us already, you know that." Hermione chimes in before you, and you are thankful for it.

"In any case– we'll have to go back to Hogwarts anyway." Harry states, the one thing you were afraid he would utter.

You hold your head in your hands for a moment. As righteous and frustrating as he can be, of course Harry will always try to do the right thing.

That is the exact opposite of what you should do right now.

"And what? Offer yourself up as bait?" You taunt, but he is unfazed, certain of his decision.

"I can't just let them die." He asserts and you glance at Hermione, a look on her face that shows she is not exactly on your side, not this time.

"What exactly is your plan, Potter?" You relent.

"The Horcrux is hidden somewhere in the castle, we have to go there and locate it and kill it– and if Draco is right, if you know who marches on Hogwarts that means the snake will be with him, I can find the snake. I will kill it and we'll get a step closer to ending him, once and for all." The dark haired man declares with such conviction, but it does nothing to convince you.

The task will not be an easy one, there are bound to be consequences.

"Fine." Ron mutters in agreement.

Then Harry shifts his gaze to Hermione, "Alright." She nods in approval as well.

The scowl that covers your features only falters as you meet Hermione's expectant look.

You roll your eyes, it was three against one. It is not like you have much of a choice.

"Something tells me this is going to go horribly wrong.." You trail off.

"But alright."

════════════════════════════════════════════

You apparate into Hogsmeade, and the incessant screeching that pierces the evening air was deafening. It disorients the four of you, but you quickly gain your bearings as you spot the group of Death Eaters in the distance.

You, along with the golden trio, continue to use the darkness to your advantage. You disappear into the shadows, eventually crouching down behind a large table.

Soon the Death Eaters disperse into different directions, but a pair of them continue to head your way.

Heavy footsteps approach, the pair of men mutter something intelligible before they begin scanning through the area, looking underneath each table.

The four of you glance at each other, desperate for a way out. It was too late to disapparate, you were at all loss, you were about to get caught, again.

The sense of dread that overpowers you is only subdued as you feel Hermione clutching onto your arm.

You are graced with a fleeting moment of clarity, soon enough, an idea occurs to you.

You roll up your sleeves quickly, leaving your Dark Mark exposed.

Hermione observes your action silently, perplexed.

Then you begin to rise, but before your head can emerge into view, she harshly pulls you back down with a death grip on your collar.

She scowls.

"What are you doing?" She whispers, but her tone is sharp, vexed.

"Just trust me." You respond, providing no further explanation, you extract your wand quickly as you fight out of her hold as you stand up abruptly.

The pair of Death Eaters jumps slightly at the sight of you. You quickly realize that both men were unfamiliar to you; there is a chance they don't recognize you either.

You continue to push your luck, stepping out of the shadows. When the mark on your arm comes into view, their expressions grow less tense, and you release the breath you were holding.

It appears your luck has yet to run out. 

"He's not under here, I've just checked." You lie, and it doesn't take the men much convincing to take your word.

They give you a curt nod.

"You cover the rest of this side, we'll check over there." One of the Death Eaters orders, soon they both turn to walk in opposite directions, splitting up to cover more of the area.

You waited until they were out of view before crouching down again, but to your confusion, Hermione was nowhere to be found.

No trace of Harry and Ron either.

"Lumos." As you searched for them, you began trying to mentally uncover an explanation.

You wonder if they had perhaps apparated elsewhere, but you eventually decide against the possibility. Certain that your girlfriend wouldn't just leave you like that, at least not without some type of forewarning.

Soon, you are inching past a dark alley, rows of abandoned pubs and houses come into view, but no sign of the trio.

"Hermione–" You finally call out, frustrated.

They are hiding, somewhere.

As you near the seemingly abandoned Hog's Head pub, the door suddenly opens, and you are dragged in by the arm, the touch you immediately recognized.

You can't contain it as you beamed in relief as  you step inside,your girlfriend locks the door swiftly before dragging you further down a flight of stairs. 

Once you get to the bottom of the steps the Gryffindor finally turns to you. Your grin now reduced to an easy smirk as you stared at Hermione, merely gratified at the knowledge that she had no true plans to abandon you.

Then the other woman gazes at you knowingly, a tangible sense of devotion and deeply rooted trust, a feeling that tethers you to the other. 

The pair of you now certain that you could survive anything, as you will always have each other to rely on.

It moves your very spirit, the urge to act upon your desires overcomes your being and Hermione in turn, gives into her own. Soon you are both leaning in, as your lips crashed against Hermione's, she kisses you, despairingly and unafraid. She presses her body up against yours and you fall back against the wall behind you. 

"You need to stop taking risks like that, they could've recognized you." Hermione breathes out as your mouths separate, she runs her fingers through your hair.

You don't respond, merely scanning her delicate features with your eyes, you find yourself memorizing every freckle and crease. 

You thumb tracing over her bottom lip causing them to part slightly.

Then, you kiss her again, open mouthed and forceful. Hermione welcomes this, as she lets slip a faint noise of approval, your hand rests on the small of her back, pulling her impossibly closer.

Your plans to continue the kiss is ruined as you hear the harsh noise; the sound of someone clearing their throat.

Hermione pulls away first, then she looks away, sheepish.

Contrastingly you stare down the source of the interruption. Ron's disapproving stare has done nothing but vex you in the past, and this time it is no different.

"Sorry to interrupt, but we've got more important matters to deal with right now." The snide remark irritates you, but not as much as it might have once did as you recognized that he had a fair point.

Before you can retaliate, the swinging door leading into the kitchen opens, a man enters.

A man you quickly realized to have an uncanny resemblance to the previous headmaster of Hogwarts.

You observed as he set down a tray of bread and butterbeer. As Ron approaches the tray, Hermione does as well, dragging you along with her, but you kept your gaze on the man, squinting slightly, perplexed.

"Aberforth. Dumbledore's brother." Hermione finally leans in to whisper into your ear, providing you the answer to your question.

You take a single bite of the bread, nearly too tough to chew and almost impossible to swallow. 

You gently place it back onto the tray, as polite as you can manage, you force the tough piece of bread down your throat and ingest nothing else after that.

Hermione and Ron continue chewing eagerly, merely glad of the decent bit of sustenance.

Harry doesn't move; he continues watching the painting of a girl, mounted up on the wall.

You find yourself staring at it as well, finally you catch the figure blink, as if it just took notice of you. Her shoulders rose and fell ever so slightly as she breathed, but her expression remained stoic.

"Do you hear from the others much– from the Order?" Hermione asks, after swallowing the contents in her mouth.

Aberforth narrows his gaze.

"The Order's finished. 'You know who' has won, anyone who says otherwise is killing themselves." He states definitively, his pessimism isn't lost on any of you. 

"We need to get into Hogwarts tonight. Dumbledore gave us a job to do." Harry asserts, and Aberforth glances at him, almost amused.

"Did he now, Nice job? Easy?" The older man's condescension was beginning to make your head hurt.

Harry's patience stretches further than yours, as he manages a civil response.

"We've been hunting Horcruxes. We think the last one's inside the castle, but we'll need your help getting in." The chosen one states firm and unfazed.

Hermione quietly offers you her mug of butterbeer, you accept it gladly, taking a sip as the older man grants Harry an equally negative response.

"This is no job, my brother's given you. It's a suicide mission. Do yourself a favor, boy, go home. Live a little longer." 

"Dumbledore entrusted me to see this through." Harry's conviction doesn't falter even as he begins to grow agitated himself. 

"What makes you think you can trust him? What makes you think you can believe anything my brother told you? In all the time that you knew him, did he ever mention my name?" Aberforth taunts, the vitriol lacing his statements makes you grimace.

You glance at Hermione, she is sporting a similar look.

"Has he ever mentioned her?" The older man gestures to the painting.

Harry shrugs.

"Why should he–" He starts.

"Keep secrets? You tell me." Aberforth finishes for him.

"I trusted him." Harry insistent on not backing down.

"That's a boy's answer!" Aberforth barks.

"A boy who goes chasing Horcruxes on the word of a man who wouldn't even tell him where to start, you're lying!" The older man slurs, gesturing with a goblet still in hand.

Then, it finally occurred to you that the younger Dumbledore was drunk. At least drunk enough to take out his anger on the wrong person.

"Not just to me, that doesn't matter– to yourself as well. That's what a fool does. You don't strike me as a fool, Harry Potter, so I ask you again, there must be a reason." Aberforth continues, stepping closer the dark haired man. 

Perhaps an effort to intimidate, but miraculously, Harry manages to keep a level head as he holds the man's hard stare.

"I'm not interested in what happened between you and your brother, I don't care that you've given up. I trusted the man I knew. We need to get into the castle, tonight." The Chosen One declares, and Aberforth is visibly taken aback by Harry's response, and so are you.

Then, the long bearded man nods subtly to the painting above Harry. The four of you watched intently as the girl walked further into it, disappearing into the distance.

"Where have you sent her?" Ron asks.

"You'll see, soon enough." Aberforth mutters, he walks with his goblet, toward the exit.

"That's your sister Arianna, isn't it? She died very young, didn't she?" Hermione asks, gesturing to the now vacant painting.

Aberforth pauses to look at her.

"My brother sacrificed many things, Mr Potter, on his journey to find power. Including Arianna." Aberforth's reply, a final attempt to sway Harry, but his devotion to the former headmaster of Hogwarts remains.

"Thank you, Mr Dumbledore." Your girlfriend expresses earnestly, and the man only nods, dejected, soon disappearing through the doorway.

"He did save our lives twice, and kept an eye on us in that mirror." Hermione looks between you, Harry and Ron.

"That doesn't seem like someone who's given up." She says in a hushed tone, now looking directly at Harry.

He averts his gaze, mulling over his best friend's statement.

A prolonged silence hangs around you before the painting starts to shift and move, soon it opens outward like a door, revealing a dark passageway.

You catch movement in the shadows, your hand instinctively moves to wrap around Hermione's waist. Your girlfriend doesn't hesitate to step slightly closer to you, also acting on instinct.

The figure that emerges is not one you'd expect, you quickly recognize it to be Neville Longbottom.

You didn't know him well, beyond a few fleeting interactions at school in the past, but 

based on Harry's reaction, you considered his presence to be a welcomed one.

"Neville? You look–" The dark haired boy beams, and his friend interjects.

"Like hell I reckon." Neville quips.

"This is nothing, Seamus is worse." 

He grins, his gaze shifts between the golden trio, and when his eyes fall on you, he appears stunned, for a moment.

You decide to flash him a clipped smile, one he eventually returns.

"We best get a move on." The man finally gestures.

════════════════════════════════════════════

"I don't remember this on the Marauder's Map." Ron questions as the four of you follow Neville through the dingy passageway. 

You trailed closely next to Hermione, and Ron behind you.

"That's because it never existed until now, the other secret passages were sealed off before the start of the year. This is the only way in or out now." Neville explains, the light from his wand continues to barely illuminate the path ahead.

"The grounds are crawling with Death Eaters and Dementors." He remarks and suddenly you feel inclined once more to hide the Dark Mark beneath your sleeve.

Hermione catches your subtle action, but doesn't comment on it.

"How bad is it with Snape as Headmaster?" She asks instead, returning her attention ahead.

"Hardly ever see him. It's the Carrows you need to watch out for." Neville quips and your face contorts in disbelief.

"Carrows?" Harry asks.

"Yeah, they're in charge of discipline." His friend states.

"What? They put the Carrows in charge?" You gape, appalled.

"What is it? How horrible are they?" Hermione asks as she notices your reaction.

"I mean they're insane, fanatics– obsessed with blood purity. But last I heard, they were locked up in Azkaban." You admit and now Hermione's expression is nothing short of horrified.

You intertwined your fingers, an attempt to wordlessly reassure her.

"Well, they're out now." Neville states.

"Who do you think did this to me?" He adds, turning around for a moment to point at the deep gash on his face. 

Although his tone was lighthearted, you can't help but feel a twinge of remorse.

After a few more steps, the five of you halt behind a flat wall. You eventually make it out to be the back of a painting, similar to one at the pub.

Neville pushes it open, he pauses to address the crowd on the other side, and soon enough, he steps aside to reveal Harry.

The room suddenly erupts with claps and cheers as they welcome The Chosen One.

Hermione continued to hold your hand as you stepped out of the passageway and into the room, Ron following suit.

You receive a few stares as you emerge next to Hermione, but no one addresses you directly, not until Seamus catches sight of you.

"What is she doing here?" He jeers, as the cheering for Harry completely dies down. 

Now all eyes are definitely on you.

To your complete surprise, Ron is first to come to your defense.

"Back off alright, she's on our side." The ginger haired man says but Seamus is less than convinced.

"I'm sure that's what she wants us to believe. We've learnt well enough by now not to trust the word of any Slytherin." He spat as he stepped closer, and Seamus' attempt to intimidate you only works to amuse you.

You can't help the mocking smile that forms on your lips, and his scowl simply deepens at the sight.

"I say get her out of here." He announces, glancing around the room for any supporters of his idea.

"No!" Hermione interjects, she swiftly sets her body in between you and Seamus.

"We wouldn't be here without her help, Seamus you have no idea what you're on about." Ron defends you again, and this time you are truly bewildered.

Noticing he is outnumbered, Seamus relents.

"I've got my eye on you." He hands you the passing threat, and you tilt your head slightly.

"Is that supposed to frighten me?" You taunt, unfolding your arms, now you are prepared to go for your wand.

"Enough! None of this is going to help us defeat 'you know who'. We can't afford to fight amongst ourselves." Harry quickly shuts down the possibility. 

"Harry's right." Neville steps forward.

"So what's the plan?" He asks, and soon all attention is on Harry once more as everyone awaits his call.

"Okay, there's something hidden here in the castle, and it may help us defeat 'you know who'." He starts, his voice bounces off the stone walls as the room goes silent.

"Right. What is it?" Neville asks expectantly.

"We don't know." Harry responds truthfully and his friend glances at Saemus for a moment.

"Where is it?" He tries again and Harry shakes his head.

"We don't know that either." He repeats and the group standing before the four of you continue staring, deadpan.

You allow your head to droop, letting out a prolonged sigh.

"Look, I realize that's not much to go on." Harry starts.

"That's nothing to go on." Seamus interjects.

"I think it has something to do with Ravenclaw. Um, it'll be small, easily concealed." Harry recalls his visions.

"Anyone have any ideas?" He asks, the desperation in his voice was evident.

For a while it seems all hope was lost, until Luna finally speaks.

"Well there's Rowena Ravenclaw's lost diadem." She suggests.

"Bloody hell, there we go." Ron releases a breath of relief.

Now the deadpan gaze is shifted towards the platinum haired girl.

"Lost diadem of Ravenclaw, has anyone ever heard of it? It's quite famous." Luna adds.

"Yes, but Luna, it's lost, for centuries now, there isn't a person alive who's seen it." Cho chimes in from next to her.

"Excuse me, can someone please tell me what a bloody diadem is?" Ron pleads, and you let out a huff of amusement, against your better judgment.

Hermione finds the opportunity to glare at you.

"It's a sort of crown, you know, like a Tiara." Cho explains, but it gives none of you any clue of where to locate it.

Before the discussion can go any further, the main door opens, soon Ginny bursts in, she is stunned for a moment as she spots Harry.

"Harry." She gapes.

"Hello." The dark haired man responds, equally jarred.

Ron scoffs as his sister pays no attention to him.

"Five months she hasn't seen me, it's like I'm 'Frankie first year'.. I'm her brother." He remarks above a whisper, and you grin.

"Yes but she's got a lot of brothers doesn't she? There's only one Harry." You quip teasingly, earning a smile from Hermione.

The ginger haired man merely rolls his eyes.

"Shut up, Y/n." He huffs.

"What is it Ginny?" Seamus finally asks.

"Snape knows. He knows Harry was spotted in Hogsmeade." 

[lamemaster]

Marred Music (Chapter 2)

Genre: Drama & angst (hurt no comfort)

Pairing: Fingolfin x Maia Reader

Summary: When he looked up, however, another pair of golden eyes met his own, your eyes. Bright, sharp, and unblinking, they regarded him with an intensity that made him freeze. Startled, he let out a squeal unbecoming of his dignity and very ungracefully tumbled from the tree.

AN: Second part and the last one

Chapter 1| Chapter 2

Reader POV

“The sons of Finwë are destined to perform valiant deeds in the days to come. Their fate is woven into the very melody of Arda. That fate does not rest with you,” Mandos declares, his voice a commanding force that pins you to the spot, unyielding and absolute.

What began as a simple errand to the Halls of Mandos has transformed into a reckoning of your own truth. How he came to know of your tryst with Nolofinwe remains a mystery. Was it your brother who discovered it? Your lord Manwe? Or was it the Vala’s foresight?

Before you can summon the courage to speak, the Vala continues: “Your beloved will wed another elleth. His fate, and the fate of his children, is sealed. There is little you can alter. Should you attempt to change it by force, the consequences will ripple through many lives in the days to come.”

The overwhelming power of the Vala’s presence weighs down upon you, and your response is meek, your voice trembling: “Would harm come to him in my presence?”

“No one may know what is to come,” Mandos replies, his tone measured yet unyielding. “Yet, blurred lines of fate point to a future apart from you. Something that won't be certain with your presence next to him. A future shrouded in dark is out of our hands,” He pauses, his next words cold and resolute, echoing through the desolate halls. “It is not your fate to be with the second eldest of Finwë.”

You lower your gaze, unable to meet his piercing eyes. The rippling waves of the lake lap gently at your feet, their touch tender, almost reverent, as though the waters themselves mourn with you for what has been taken away.

“I understand,” you whisper, though your voice falters beneath the weight of the words. Fragile and hollow, they carry a sorrow that burrows deep into your soul, a void left by something Namo has stripped from you.

His decree must be obeyed, for it is for the betterment of Arda. Yet, the ache in your heart remains, an unrelenting pain that spills silently from your eyes, flowing like the waters at your feet.

Nolofinwe POV

Nolofinwe yearned for another meeting. He sought out every familiar nook and hidden haunt from the past, yet no matter where he ventured, he failed to catch a glimpse of you.

As a final resort, he turned to the kingdom of his uncle’s people. Perhaps there, among the branches of a great tree, you might be found tending to hatchlings in their parents’ absence, fulfilling your quiet duty.

Or so he had hoped.

But you were gone.

You, who once came at his first call, who crossed lands with such swiftness just to see him, now remained silent.

Had he erred? Had he hurt you in some way? Had someone else hurt you? 

Nolofinwe did not know.

Desperation drove him to seek Eonwe, the fair and noble herald of Manwe. Surely, Eonwe would provide him with answers, some clue to where you might be.

But even Eonwe was gone. The court of Manwe stood vacant of his presence. An absence so unprecedented, so unthinkable, that Nolofinwe was left stunned.

For the first time, he felt truly lost.

And then it came—the ache in his heart. It was unlike the debilitating sickness that afflicted other heartbroken elves. He did not crumble as his father had at the mere mention of Míriel. He did not waste away, nor lose his appetite, nor forget how to smile.

Yet, something lingered in his fea. A shadowed sorrow that remained hidden most days, only to surface at the edges of memory. It struck during feasts, at the sight of peaches, or when a song reminded him of you.

He thought of you every time he saw his elder brother. Birds stopping mid-flight would halt him in his path, their wings stirring a faint memory of you.

But after decades of waiting, Nolofinwe stopped. He stopped seeking. Stopped allowing your name to pass his lips. Stopped searching for Eonwe. Stopped loving you or so he told himself. And in the silence of that lie, he agreed to a marriage with Anaire.

He loved Anaire, he told himself. Truly, he did. Feanaro disagreed, of course, but Nolofinwe no longer sought his approval.

The Eldar wed in love, after all. His was a marriage of love, Nolofinwe insisted. A happy union that blessed him with his children.

Findekano, the most cheerful of toddlers. Turukano, the most responsible of young ones. Irsse, the wild and free-spirited daughter. And Arkano, the youngest and beloved of all.

He was happy. Nolofinwe truly was.

But just the sight of you unraveled him all over again. One fleeting glimpse, and he lost the strength to breathe. Perhaps it was partly due to the fatal wound Melkor had just dealt him but in truth, Nolofinwe no longer cared.

On the bloodied soil of Middle-earth, he saw you once more. A meeting so profound that only songs could hope to capture it. With your wings spread wide against the bleak sky, your descent carried a grace that made even the wind bow in reverence.

In that moment, he knew. He still loved you.

The ache he had buried for decades surged to the surface, and Nolofinwe—now Fingolfin, gasped, blood spilling from his lips.

“Do not move,” you whispered, your voice trembling with urgency. Your hands reached for him, drawing him into your arms with a gentleness so familiar, he barely felt the touch.

He struggled to form your name with his lips, but no sound emerged. His crushed throat refused him even this final plea.

Yet the words remained in his mind, pressing against yours in desperate thought.

“Forgive me. I love you still. I never stopped. I was wrong.”

In the trembling whispers of your healing chants, he catches the glimmer of your tears. Pearls that seem more noble than the Silmarils themselves.

“Let me take you back,” you murmur, your hand tenderly caressing his bloodied cheek. “Please, Nolo,” you beg, your lips trembling, the plea heavy with desperation.

With his broken body and a soul on the edge of departure, he hears the last of your prayers carried into the wind.

“You promised no hurt would come to him…” you whisper, a note of anguish bordering on madness, as you prepare to carry him to the camp, to his sons.

But his breaths falter, and his vision dims. He clings only to the final sight of your tear-streaked face, the anguish etched into every corner of your being.

In your arms, chieftain of the eagles, dies Nolofinwe, Fingolfin. The most noble of the line of Finwe.

Reader POV

You loved him in the blessed lands of Arda. You loved him from the distant shores of Middle-earth. Yet, that love had always been sweetly unfulfilled. From the glimpses you had stolen of his life, you saw your beloved at peace.

His adorable elflings bore so much of him. Their father’s steadfast heart and their gentle mother’s grace.

Namo had been right. Your absence had allowed Nolofinwe to flourish. And that knowledge, bittersweet as it was, had been enough to sustain you through the eternity of the Timeless Halls.

Your brother, however, had been different. Eonwe had protested your decision with a fervor you had never seen in him before. For the first time in his existence, he argued with your lord.

He had begged for you to remain in the Blessed Realm, his cries forlorn, his thoughts tangled in the pain of separation. But the years softened even Eonwe. Eventually, he found it easier to visit you in Middle-earth than to remain at odds with Manwë.

Those visits became your solace. Soaring together through the skies of Middle-earth, you found fleeting joy in the treasured moments shared with your brother.

And so you were content. Heeding Namo’s words, trusting the promise that your beloved’s joy would flourish without you, you found peace.

Until now.

Now, you held him in your arms, cradling what little remained of him. His broken body, fragile and bloodied, rested against you as your wings unfurled to shield him, as though they could still guard him from a fate long sealed.

“You were supposed to prosper,” you murmured, your voice trembling under the weight of your sorrow. “Namo said… next to her, you were supposed to live.”

Your words vanished into the void, unheard by the one who needed them most.

“What use was leaving?” you whispered bitterly, your tears falling unchecked. A sob escaped your lips, quiet yet suffused with anguish. “You absolute fool… How am I to exist after this sight?”

Bringing him to his sons became your labor, a task you bore with unyeilding sense of duty to him. Your pain was your repentance, for leaving him, for allowing him to endure such suffering, and for the heartbreak you could not undo.

To his eldest, the one who carried glimpses of his mother and so much of Nolofinwe’s spirit, you came bearing their father.

Years later, you heard that voice again. The voice of his bloodline accompanied by harp, calling out across time, summoning you. And you came. To Fingon for the rescue of Feanor’s eldest. 

Every time his descendants called, you answered. At every summon of his kin, you arrived, steadfast and unyielding. Yet, the weariness of time began to gnaw at your music, the weight of eternity dragging you down as you gave what little remained of yourself.

Yet, love failed to wither.

Because beyond time, beyond separation or union, beyond pain and pleasure- is where love lies. Far from where it can come to an end or fade away from existence.

[kidokear]

Spoilers for Murder Drones Ep 8.

What ride! I loved it. ^^

Although, there is this particular line from J that had been stuck in my mind since I watched the episode.

"You know there's no escape, even in death!"

Outstanding delivery aside (seriously, the VA killed it), The line itself (even on a surface level) shows how trapped these drones are, but I'd like to delve deeper here. There is something about it that makes the gears in my head turns and I want to drop the product here.

Here we go.

To start, I'd like to say that, of course, J would know that more than anyone. She died so many times during the show. There is even a J death count in the credit scene. If someone would feel like it's impossible to leave, it would be J because her experience showed her that something as final as death could not break the Solver's hold. (Following this line of thoughts can give us a wealth of information about J and her character! But that's for later)

Now, thinking about it, there are more than one way for the Solver to nullify (heh) death, and I think that makes it even more terrifying and, well, absolute. More so than death. It's not one blockage. There are layers.

For one, we know how difficult it is to kill a Solver afflicted drone. They regenerate so much, so quickly. Even when you take out a crucial part (like the head) or a good chunk of them, they'll come back. And when you do manage to damage them enough to the point that they can't just self-repair, if their core is intact you'll get the 'autorun Solver failsafe' where they'll mutate and turn into eldritch abomination that collect matter until it can repair the host back into the original stat, effectively bring them back to life (and we don't even know the level of awareness the host have during the matter collection process).

Second, even if there is no eldritch phase, they'll still live as a core (like Nori!), a body is not needed.

And if the core is destroyed? Not enough. Because there are backups. J's core was destroyed at the second episode, and oh look! she's back, and seemingly with her memories (on some level) intact from her previous run.

But there is more! Now, this part is mostly speculation and theories, so take it with a grain of salt. But there is a point, after Uzi ate the Solver core where the screen had red in it, and, some says, Doll's name flashed there. Now, I don't think Cyn kept a back up of Doll, and her core was eaten. So what does that mean? I think that could mean that any drone connected to the solver (or maybe eaten by it) would be saved in it's... data base? (not sure what to call it). So even if there is no core, no back up, a drone might not cease to exist and 'die' if it was connected to the solver, even passively. They could forever exist within the Solver itself, which mean that the only way to truly die is to erase the Solver and everything within it completely. which I'm not even sure is possible, considering it's nature of being a 'code mutation' with the possibility of popping up again (although, maybe the end of one strain of Solver could 'free' those within this strain. Or we could have a case of Halo's Flood where even when gone, the new one will carry what the old has, which is honestly horrifying and depressing).

And the patch won't safe you because it keep the primary host out, but not the Solver (and honestly, even if it blocks the Solver itself, I don't think a patch would be effective for long, I think it could pull a flu and mutate to bypass it).

All in all, the Solver is living up to it's name and is being one of my favorite cosmic/existential horrors, not just bending the laws of physics but life itself. A background hopelessness that become more and more prominent once you think about it.

Sorry if that was a mess. Like I said, I just wanted to word vomit my thoughts. XD

[mermaidgirl30]

✨Dancing With Fire Part 5: Hold me now✨

Masterlist

Pairing: Joel x fem! reader

Word Count: 13.2k

Summary: The pressure keeps building at the theater. You feel like you’re about to break, when all you wanted to do was dance in the first place. Will you push everyone away like you always do, will Joel step in and save the day like he always does, or will you lose everything you ever loved?

Tags: Angst, anxiety/depression, feelings, no explicit smut in this chapter, all the angst and feelings, protective! Joel, so much love

Rating: Explicit (18+ Only MDNI)

A/N: I’m sorry, I was really feeling all the angst for this chapter. And then Joel 🥹 Joel is just so perfect and soft and so sweet and he will do anything for sunshine 🥹 Please leave me comments and tell me what you think of this one, there’s nothing I love more. I truly love writing this story, and it hits home in a lot of places 😩 Also, this chapter was very long and could’ve been two but it’s okay 😅

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

“It’s like there’s cancer in my blood, it’s like there’s water in my lungs. And I can’t take another step, please, tell me I am not undone. It’s like there’s fire in my skin and I’m drowning from within. I can’t take another breath, please, tell me I am not undone.”

- “Pittsburgh” by The Amity Affliction

Monday rolled around as fast as a speeding train, crashing into you like a stony brick wall. It pulled at you, screaming your name as it called you back to the theater. Back to your hellish nightmare that you wanted to so desperately escape from. The night before it fed on your mind, slow and deadly, eating away at you like a rat chewing its way through a bundle of wires. What kept you calm and sane was Joel.

You ended up staying the entire weekend at his place, wrapped up in his warmth as he held you close to him every single night. And when he crowded your body, when he held you against his broad chest and grazed his calloused fingers against your skin gently, it brought you instant peace.

He was a wave of serenity, a cool cloud that covered you in warmth and protection. He was what kept you together, what kept you calm enough so you could breathe freely. And when his lips came down on yours and you breathed in his coffee scent, it nearly sent you over the edge. Every single time. He was perfect, nothing less than that. Your safe space, your everything.

“You ready to head out?” he asked as he finished the last of his coffee while you finalized putting the last bobby pin in your hair, smoothing out the flyaways from your face. You double checked that your eye liner was on point and nodded to yourself in the mirror.

“I’m ready as I’ll ever be,” you sighed, gathering your practice bag as you zipped up your lilac North Face jacket. Joel nodded and turned off the kitchen light, opening the door as he invited the cool autumn breeze in. You stepped over the frayed welcome mat, and then he shut the door and pulled the lock tight behind him.

You waited at the end of the stairs for him, looking out into the misty day of New York. It was dreary, cloudy, a cold day that weighed on your head like a dark cloud about to pour all its dread and lightning on you. But you already felt that, felt the heavy sensation dragging you down as you waited for it to end. You just wanted it to be over. Let it be over.

Joel pulled you out of your dark thoughts and put his hand on the small of your back, leading you down the street and towards the theater. You were quiet this morning, barely saying a word throughout breakfast, almost too anxious to eat. But Joel made sure you ate. He wouldn’t let you leave the house without something in your stomach. And you were so grateful for him. He was too kind, too caring, too good for you. But you couldn’t imagine sinking away from him. No. You wouldn’t imagine it. It was too painful, too fresh. You would be an absolute wreck without him.

He noticed the silence and the anxious thoughts running through your head, but he didn’t say anything. He just took your hand in his and squeezed, letting his calloused thumb brush over the back of your hand as it instantly eased you of any worries. It was kind of crazy how he could do that. That he could take all your worries and toss them aside as he filled you with sunshine and warmth with just a touch of his hand. And his voice. God, his voice. It was angelic, celestial, a sound that filled you with instant peace. And you’d never get enough of it, never get enough of him.

When you finally made it to the front of the theater, you stopped and caught a glimpse of the advertisement for the upcoming Swan Lake ballet. There you were, right on the front of the billiard in your white swan dress, gently smiling into the camera for all the world to see.

That didn’t feel like you anymore. You felt like the black swan now, the darker version of yourself. A broken, empty shell that sat hollow in the darkness. Your eyebrows furrowed together as you stared at that picture of the girl, the happy girl. The girl you used to be before you met Pierre. Before you were worked to death like a slave on that stage, brusied and ripped to shreds over and over again like an elephant in a cage at a fucked up circus. You felt the tears prick behind your eyes, felt everything come down inside you. It was like your walls were torn down, just like a building that was destroyed to shreds and knocked to mere ash and broken concrete.

You felt yourself slipping, felt your body start to shake until Joel grabbed your shoulders and turned you in his direction, knocking you out of your dark hole that you were spiraling into. “Hey, look at me,” he said urgently as his deep brown eyes searched yours, looking for any shroud of evidence that you were okay. But he knew you weren’t. He knew.

“Talk to me,” he gently demanded as his eyebrows pinched together and his eyes turned to a darker, more charcoal color that was muted and desperately seeking for you to grasp onto him.

“I…I…” you stuttered out, no words coming to your hollow mind, so you tried again. “I’m scared. Joel, I’m so scared,” you said shakily as you grabbed on to his button-up flannel shirt and dug your fingers into the smooth material, trying to get a grip on reality as fear tried to take over again. Your eyes were wide, and you could feel the sweat bead through your forehead and drip through your hair as your heartbeat raced against your chest chaotically.

“Hey, it’s okay. Look at me. Look at me,” he gently soothed as he cupped each side of your face and lifted your watery eyes to meet his. He looked carefully at you, his brown eyes searching for clarity underneath your clouds of grey waning down on you. “Just look at me. Breathe,” he eased out, letting out a long breath as he urged you to follow after him. You slowly followed his movements, focusing on deep breaths and slow inhales. He grounded you back to earth, back to where you could sort of breathe again, and the ringing ears gently died down. No more ocean sounds swishing around in your ears, it was just Joel’s voice now. Just Joel.

“There ya go, sunshine. Atta girl. Take a couple more deep breaths for me,” he instructed as he slowed your heart rate back to normal, letting all your anxiety come to an end as you focused on those caramel eyes swirling in front of you.

Just breathe, focus on Joel. Joel, Joel, Joel.

“Feel any better?” he asked as the pad of his thumb skimmed over your cheek, pulling you back together piece by little piece with just the touch of his rough skin against yours.

“Mhm,” you hummed out as you grabbed his wrist, wrapping your hand around it tightly as you coiled yourself around him, around his shielding wings from the cold, broken theater that sat in front of you like a haunted mausoleum with ghosts coming out of the walls, warning you to run away if you could.

“Good,” he answered as he continued grazing his thumb against you, calming your nerves gradually. “You’ve got this, baby. You go in there with your head held high and dance your heart out. You’re the swan. The majestic, beautiful star that is gonna absolutely kill it opening night. No one can take that away from you, no one can stop that shine that I see in you when you dance from the soul. You can do this, I believe in you,” he emphasized his last words as he stared intently at you with those honey flecked eyes that you loved.

Love, love, love. That’s what it was, that’s all you could see in him. Love. And you’d tell him how you really felt about him, just not now. Not in this vulnerable moment when you were almost torn to shreds by your insides fighting against you.

You can do this, I believe in you. The words rang through your head again and again as you processed just what he said to you. He believes in you. Joel does… Joel.

“I… Joel… thank you. For believing in me,” you whispered out, almost afraid to speak the words as the tears licked at the backs of your eyes, threatening to spill over if you got too emotional.

“You’re welcome, sunshine. Just remember, whatever you decide I’ll back you up. If you want to dance then dance. If you want to walk out that door today then I’ll gladly follow you out. I’ll go with you anywhere, all you have to do is ask,” he said with meaningful words and eyes that threatened to take you over the edge once more.

“Okay,” you nodded, gulping down any tears that threatened to spill. You had work to do. You needed to see this through. You wouldn’t give up, you’d never give up. “I need to get in there and change. They’re probably waiting for me,” you sighed as he dropped his hands from your face, letting you take a step back.

Before he let you go, he grabbed your wrist and pulled you into his broad chest, sinking his lips down on yours as he held the back of your head and pressed deeper into you, your lips lingering over his for a minute. You didn’t want to pull away, you never wanted to pull away. This was where you wanted to be. In his grasp, on his lips, wherever he was you wanted to go. Your safe space, your home.

You slowly pulled away and grazed your fingers through his scruff, catching a patch of grey before you dropped your fingers and headed toward the glass doors. “I’ll see you later,” you said faintly as you walked towards the entryway, back to hell as you called it lately.

“Knock ‘em dead, sunshine. I’ll be around if you need me.”

You took one more look at him before you disappeared behind big glass doors, away from his warm embrace. You sucked in a breath and waltzed into the auditorium with your head held high and your dignity intact as you made your way to the dressing room. To your small space where you could think before you got sucked into the drama of it all again.

The auditorium was cool, just like a gust of wind blew down your back and wrapped you in its cold claws that clamped down its jaws on you. You dragged your hand through the crimson velvet walls, feeling your way down the slope of the hardwood floors, planting yourself firmly down on the ground. Down to where you belong, down to where you have to be. You have to dance. You have to. But that was just what you had to do, not necessarily what you wanted to do.

You sighed as you made your way behind the draped stage curtains and ended up in your dressing room. The small room was filled with bright lights from the vanity that was left on. The pale pink wardrobe was sitting open exactly how you left it Friday, full of your sparkling costumes that you were meant to wear onstage.

The sleek black swan dress was staring at you, shrouding you with its black wings that called to you in a depraved, dark night song. The black threads twisted around your wrists, stuck you with its needles as it trapped you, succumbed you, doomed you. It called your name, screamed for you to cave in. Come to the dark, let me show you the way. This way, this way.

You peeled your eyes away and slammed the door shut, hearing the sound of it reverberate around the walls of the shallow room, drowning out the voices of the dark swan. You threw down your practice bag on the ground with a loud thump and tore off your too warm jacket. You were frustrated, torn, anxious from the room, anxious from the theater, anxious from the show. But the show must go on. It had to go on. With you.

You looked at yourself in the mirror, staring back at your reflection as swimming eyes came into focus. Your eyeliner was dark, eyeshadow shimmering black against your eyelids as the dark red lipstick stuck matted to your lips. You looked the part of the black swan, felt like her, too. She was a part of you now, even if you didn’t like it.

You signed away your life as soon as you scribbled your name on that contract. You sold your soul to the devil in dark red letters, sealing your fate to the hands of the show. You couldn’t escape, there was no escape. Not unless you wanted to deal with the consequences. Contracts were binding, there was no breaking them. Not unless you wanted to end your career as soon as it finally took off. There was no leaving this show. Not until it was done. Finished.

So you decided to put on a brave face. You held your chin high and tucked away any tears that tried to escape your red blurry eyes. It was time to get ready to dance. You could do this. You could do this. You pulled on your pointe shoes and laced the pink ribbons up nicely around your ankles, tying neat bows around your sheer tights. You smoothed out your rosy pink skirt and pulled up the black leotard that clung to your body like a suction cup. Time to dance. Time to dance. You took one more long look in the wide mirror and left the room, leaving your hollow thoughts in the empty tomb.

When you stepped out into the bright lights of the stage, Carlotta clapped her hands and shouted across the auditorium as her voice echoed around the theater. “Alright, let’s go! Black swan, you’re up. Take it from Act II,” she commanded as she took a seat and crossed her skinny arms across her bright red suit of the day.

You nodded and got into place. Deep breath, breathe. Joel’s calming voice entered your mind, and you relaxed against it, against his reminder. Breathe.

When the orchestra music blasted out of the speakers, you started the routine with your head held high and your arms graceful like a swan. You turned on your toes, leapt across the stage into an arabesque and focused on your movements. You made them sharp, clean, perfected your footwork as the routine went on. You were alone for this dance, one of your solo routines. You were fine alone, you weren’t caving inside when you didn’t have to dance with Pierre. This was fine, you were fine. That is until you saw him out of the corner of your eye.

You saw his sharp jaw, his icy glare, his slicked back locks of blonde, his chin jutting out as he watched you. It felt like a lion watching a gazelle. Ready to pounce, ready to attack. You could feel the weight of his gaze on you, feel the hunger that stirred in his chest, feel his drool leave his mouth as he watched you, hungered after you. And it made you sick to death.

You ended the routine with your chin held high and lips pursed together in a tight line, your arms stretched thin like they’d break off if you extended them anymore than they already were. You were on edge then, on a tight thin wire that was bound to snap if you made one wrong step.

“Good, beautifully done,” she said as she waved her hand around her face frantically. You sighed and relaxed your back as you stepped out of fifth position. “I’m going to have the other dancers run through their routines. After that, we’ll circle back and you’ll perform your duet with Pierre.”

Your jaw clenched as you fisted your fingers tightly against your flexed tendons. Your toes curled in on themselves as much as they could, and it felt like your leotard was squeezing your ribs, threatening to break into nothing but dust as your bones snapped in half. You didn’t realize you were standing there, staring wide-eyed until Carlotta snapped your name.

“Well, go on. Don’t just stand there, we have a schedule to follow!” she snapped. You nodded your head and flew off the stage, away from Pierre’s prying eyes.

You found an empty wooden bench backstage and sat down, pressing your fingers into the pit of your thighs as a way to calm yourself down. You’re fine, breathe. You’re okay. You took a deep breath and focused your mind on Joel. Joel, Joel, Joel. Your sweet redemption, your saving grace.

You closed your eyes for a couple of minutes until the harsh sound of laughter came across the back of the stage, at the bench opposite of you. You opened your eyes slowly and dug your nail beds into the tips of your knees, trying not to lose your focus. Breathe, breathe.

Pierre sat there with three of the ballet dancers crowded around him. All three women fawning over him and caressing his lengthy shoulders, flirting their way around him as they giggled and twirled their flyaways around their index finger. The sight made you sick. You knew damn well he had all three of them in his bed not long ago. He bragged about it, boasted about how proud he was to be such a stud. All you could do was roll your eyes and bite your tongue from all the things you wanted to say. He was such an asshole.

Cecilia sat next to him, hand lingering on his thigh as she whispered in his ear seductively. Her gaze straggling over to you occasionally as her bright green eyes narrowed over at you like a cat trying to claw her way into a fight. Her bleach blonde hair was held up in a tight bun, her pink lipgloss shining over her twisted mouth. Her skirts were always too short, her cleavage sticking out of her leotards. The fakest slut you’d ever seen before.

You hated her, truly hated her. She was nothing but trouble, always seeking out drama. And she tried so hard to press your nerves, tried to draw blood from you every time she opened her big mouth. But you never caved in, never reacted to her. That’s what she wanted, and you wouldn’t have any part of it.

Pierre whispered something in her ear, his hand reaching out and pulling her ear closer like he had a nasty secret to tell. She covered her mouth, and her eyes went wide. She whispered back to him and he nodded, icy eyes glazing over at you like you were caught in a trap of lies. They both looked at you, mouths pursing in snickers as their eyes narrowed. You couldn’t take it anymore, couldn’t stand it. Something snapped in you and hard.

“If you have something to say just say it to my face!” you hissed, eyes narrowing as your hands balled into fists beside your thighs. You’d had enough. Enough was enough.

Cecilia just smiled her fake smile and smirked at you. She was brewing something up under those fake eyelashes she had plastered to her eyes. You just knew it. She was always stirring up trouble. “Oh, I was just asking Pierre about your… what was he again? Maintenance man, I guess?” she snared her teeth at you and smirked, eyes locking on yours.

“He’s no concern of yours, Cecilia. Drop it,” you snapped, your teeth bared at her pathetic smile.

“Drop it? What for? You didn’t give us any juicy details. What’s he like, huh? When he fucks you…”

You pushed yourself off the bench and snarled at her, silencing her before she could finish her sentence. “Shut up! Just stop!” you screamed, face hot as you could feel your face become red and agitated underneath your building anger. Calm down, just calm down.

“Why don’t you make me, huh? Come on now, don’t be shy. Let me have it,” she egged on, trying to coax some violence out of you. That’s what she wanted, that’s what she always wanted. She wanted you out of the show so she could take your place. She could try all she wanted, but you wouldn’t dare let her have it. Not that conniving bitch. Not a chance.

You just stood in place, feet locked to the floor as your chest heaved against you, a thunder storm brewing inside your racing heart. She’s not worth it, she’s not worth it. You bit your tongue and held back what you really wanted to say. It wasn’t worth the risk, not at all.

She scoffed and rolled her eyes. “Didn’t think you had it in you, little swan,” she mocked as Pierre and her shared a laugh, cackling to each other in pure joy. It made you sick. They made you sick.

Pierre whispered something in her ear, and her eyes went wide in delight. She pursed her lips and giggled, nodding her head as she stared at you in victorious glee. They were planning something scandalous. You just knew by the way they were whispering and stealing glances at you.

You gulped as a sharp tug pulled at your insides. The way she was looking all mischievous and snarky had your vocal cords all tied up and scratchy. You knew she was up to no good, you knew. So when she snuck off the back of the stage and made her way to the front of the auditorium doors, you silently followed behind. Watching, waiting, wondering what the hell she was up to.

She went through the doors, and you watched them close with a bang. Slowly but carefully you opened the door seconds later, sliding around a hidden corner and peeking your head out of the shadows. When you caught sight of her, your heart stopped dead in your chest. Your pupils blew out as your head started spinning. She was walking up to Joel, sauntering up to him in a flirtatious way as she swayed her curvy hips from side to side, hiking her skirt up even more so her ass hung out of her tiny leotard.

She wouldn’t fucking dare. But she would, she would. Joel. Would Joel entertain her? Surely not. He wouldn’t… right?

You couldn’t move, couldn’t speak as your legs shook like melted jello underneath you. Your anxiety started racing, the loud ringing vibrating through your ear canals. Not now, not now! You shook your head and pulled your focus back to the empty foyer. The only two people standing there made the room feel smaller, made it feel like the walls were caving in around you. And you felt like you’d be crushed to nothing at any second.

You gripped the wall and tried not to black out from the room that was spinning. You couldn’t. Not yet. You had to see this. You had to be sure he wouldn’t betray you like that. He couldn’t, he wouldn’t. You knew him so well, probably better than anyone else now. He wouldn’t do that to you. He wouldn’t.

She cleared her throat and smiled sweetly at Joel as he was bent over, scaling the wall, looking intently at something he was fixing. His eyes shot up at her muffled breath and he slowly stood, his eyes furrowing together into question.

“Can I help you?” he asked in a confused tone, his eyes never straying down her body.

“You sure can,” she purred as she bit the end of her lower lip seductively, staring at him with big flirtatious eyes. You’d like to walk up to her and strangle her right about now. But you waited. You needed to see what he’d do. You just had to.

“Ummm, okay? Is somethin’ broken in the auditorium?” he asked as he scratched his head, his tone serious and face stonelike.

She shook her head. “No, nothing’s broken,” she giggled, twirling a loose curl around her index finger as she stuck out of her hip, jutting her breasts out more.

That fucking bitch. Your tongue tasted like pure venom, full of spite and fluid that ripped at your insides. You wanted to pull her to the ground and claw her eyes out. You hated her, you hated her.

“Then why are you talkin’ to me?” he asked with an irritated tone in his voice. He wasn’t playing her sick, twisted game. He was starting to catch on.

“You see, I’ve got these really tight hips and I would love to get them stretched out,” she purred, reaching out her long, spindly fingers to him. He stepped back out of her reach appalled.

“Sounds like a you problem. Should probably get that fixed yourself,” he spat, clenching his jaw as you saw irritation flash through his dark eyes.

“Come on. I know you want to. Help a girl out? Promise I’ll make it worth your while,” she giggled, grazing her hand against his forearm, right where the bundled veins gathered around his tan skin, lapping over his massive hands. The sight made you sick. You felt like you were about to spill your guts and vomit right on the polished floor. No, no, no.

He pulled out of her grasp and glared daggers into her eyes. “Don’t touch me,” he barked, moving his arm out of her reach. “Back off. Now leave. I have work to do.” He started to turn away, but she made a move again. Reaching out her dirty paws, she tried her luck again.

“Oh, come onnnnn. I mean. You’re kinda hot. Think you’d wanna…”

“Cecilia!” Your voice came out sharp, clipped, like a galant sword about to take her down. You stepped out of the shadows and stomped her way, moving in between the two of them so you could glare knives into her glowing eyes. “Don’t,” you warned, narrowing your eyes so tight that you could barely see her flashy smile that was beaming your way.

“Oh, don’t take it so hard, little swan,” she teased, smirking your way. “I was only having a little fun.” She crossed her arms and taunted you, her green eyes searing into your vision.

“Having fun?” you laughed, hatred clear in your tone. “You knew what you were doing. You fucking knew,” you snapped. It’s like your temper cracked in half and all your built up anger rose to your throat. It burned like fire, and you wanted to spit it back out at her and watch it burn her alive.

“Maybe I did know. Just wanted to see what would happen is all,” she sneered, her smirk returning in full force as she challenged you with her fake press-on pink nails and her balmy lip gloss that you wanted to wipe right off her face.

The more she stared and the more she smirked, the more heated you got. You were snarling with wide eyes and bared teeth. She gave you that mischievous smile and that was it. You were going to fucking kill her.

You jumped out at her with full force and let a loud roar rip through your chest as you let all your built up frustration let loose. She stepped back out of your reach, and Joel grabbed you around the waist before you could get to her. You tried to pull out of his tight hold, but his grasp was too strong. You weren’t going anywhere. He pulled you against his broad chest and tried to soothe you over.

“Hey, hey, hey, calm down. That’s what she wants. She wants to get a reaction out of you. She wants you to lash out at her,” Joel urged with a loud, gravely voice. His biceps pulled tight around you as he clung to you, making sure you didn’t do something you’d regret later. You tried once more to free yourself, but you gave up. He was right. This is what she wanted. She wanted to get you kicked out of the ballet. She wanted to ruin your life. And you wouldn’t let that happen.

“Cecilia, if you ever try anything like that again I’ll…”

She cut you off as she held up her fresh manicured hand, dusting it off on her black leotard as she smirked again. “You’ll do what? Go cry to Carlotta about it? Like she’ll do anything. The old hag can barely keep track of all her dancers,” she laughed out, a sinister smile spreading across her plump lips.

“Get the fuck out of here,” Joel growled, arms still pressed against your ribcage as he held you in place, your heart beating wildly against his forearm.

“No, I don’t think so,” she glared, her lips pressed in a tight line as if she were challenging you all over again. You’d had enough of her. You wanted her gone, now.

“Just leave me alone!” you shouted, tears licking at the backs of your eyes as you felt the frustration breaking inside you.

“No,” she said sharply, her pointe shoe stomping down as if to stand her ground. She was pathetic, a royal pain in your ass.

“Did you not hear what I said? I said get the fuck out of here. Now!” Joel barked, his eyes growing cold and sharp as he stared at her, demanding her to leave.

“No, I-”

Joel’s icy words shut her up quick. “If you don’t go back into that auditorium now and leave her alone, then I’m gonna have words with your instructor. You see, you kept pursuing me when I said to back off. You put your hands on me when I specifically told you no. That can be passed as sexual harassment. Do you really want me to go in there and lay out exactly what happened for Carlotta?”

Your eyes grew wide at what he was insinuating. That’d get her kicked out of the show. Unless Carlotta didn’t believe him or care. She probably wouldn’t care, but still. Oh my God.

Her scowl grew a mile long on her face as her green eyes became red and enraged. “You wouldn’t dare. You don’t have proof. You don’t have-”

“I have proof enough and I have a witness,” he said with bared teeth. She just crossed her arms over her chest and stared wide-eyed. “So I suggest you turn around and walk back through those doors and never try to mess with my girl or me again,” he growled possessively, his deep voice like knives as they cut into her.

She just scoffed and rolled her eyes. “Fine. Whatever. What makes her so fucking special though, huh?” she asked as she jutted her chin out and dragged her tongue across her top teeth.

“Everything,” he answered, his voice coming out not as harsh that time, but it was aggressive, unhesitant.

Everything? Oh. Your eyes went wide and your muscles relaxed against his hold. He thought everything was special about you? Oh. Oh my…

“Whatever. I’m out of here,” she spat as she turned around and walked back through the auditorium doors, watching them snap shut with a bang behind her.

You stood there for a minute, staring at the unmoving heavy door as it stood closed before you, waiting for your breath to catch again. Joel turned you around to face him and dropped his tight hold on you. “What the fuck was that all about? I mean, Christ. First Pierre, now her?” he asked with wild eyes, his hands digging into the pockets of his dark jeans as he sighed and shook his head.

“She likes to get a rise out of me. Pierre pushed her to do it. I saw them whispering in each other’s ears and stared at me the entire time. I just didn’t know what they were planning. I didn’t know they were going to bring you into the middle of all this,” you sputtered out as you threw your hands in the air and slapped them back down against your thighs as the clap sounded through the empty foyer with high ceilings and sky high windows as the sun beamed through them.

“She’s jus’ jealous of you, sweetheart. Seems like she wants to take everything that’s yours just because she can’t have it,” he acknowledged with bared teeth, his caramel eyes swirling with anger as he talked about her.

“Sounds about right,” you muttered, eyes focusing on the shiny white tile.

“Is everyone here just batshit crazy? Why can’t they jus’ leave you alone?” he snarled as his eyebrows furrowed, pushing back the locks of his tousled curls.

“Because that’d be too easy,” you said clipped, clenching your jaw around nothing.

“I’m gonna go in there right now and give them a piece of my mind,” he spat as he tried to push past you, but you got in front of him and held a hand to his broad chest to stop him.

“No, don’t. It’s fine. You’ve done enough. I’m the reason why you’re in the middle of all of this. Me. I don’t want you to be dragged into anymore drama. I already feel bad enough.” Your eyes locked on his as he held your stare and placed a hand gently down on yours that was still locked on his chest.

“Don’t feel bad, sweetheart. This wasn’t any of your doing. It was theirs,” he growled, flicking his eyes harshly to the closed auditorium doors as he looked back at you with softer features. “Let me take care of this.”

Let me take care of this. He always took care of you, always. You couldn’t let him take on anymore of the theater shit. It was on your shoulders, not his. And right now you felt like nothing but a massive burden that was weighing him down.

You froze in the spot you stood in and widened your eyes at the realization. Burden. You were being a burden to Joel. You didn’t want that. You didn’t fucking want to be a burden to anyone, especially not him. He was too good for you, he always took care of things. So when was it your turn to take those burdens from him? When was it time to stop piling problems on him that were all made from a company that was supposed to be your dream job?!

“No,” you stated harshly. He looked down at you and knit his eyebrows together, giving you those concerned molasses honey eyes that made you weak at the knees. Not those eyes. God, anything but those eyes. “Just, don’t do that.”

“Why not?” he asked as he guided his other hand down to your wrist, stroking his calloused thumb against the edge of your skin as he tried to soothe you over.

“Because…because…” You paused a moment and then whispered under your breath. “I’m a burden.”

“What did you say?” he asked with a shocked expression, eyes wide at what he thought you said.

“I’m being a burden, Joel,” you said louder, your voice echoing across the empty foyer walls and vibrating back to you as you looked at the polished floor, your eyes fading just a little.

“Hey, look at me.” He grabbed your chin and pulled your eyes up to his. His breathing came out more ragged and concentrated as he stared at you, brown eyes searing into yours. “Don’t you dare ever call yourself a burden again. You’re not one at all.”

You shook your head no, so he put his massive hands on your shoulders and focused right on you, never leaving your eyes. “Hey, c’mon. Talk to me. Tell me what you’re thinkin’,” he said more gently, one hand coming to cup your cheek as tears threatened to spill at any second.

You could feel the anxiety bubbling up inside you, could feel your insides screaming at you as they taunted you. Burden, burden, burden. That’s all you’ll ever be to him. You shook your head of the thoughts, but they kept coming, attacking unseen as they picked apart your mind. You’re no good for him. You’re a burden, you’re drama, you’re fragile. He doesn’t want that, he doesn’t need that.

You felt yourself start to tear apart piece by little piece. Every scrap of skin felt on fire as the voices of anxiety screamed at you. You couldn’t do this right now. You needed to get out of here. You needed to be alone, you needed to run.

You pulled away slowly from Joel, but he caught your wrist and found your glassy eyes as they stared past him, trying not to think of him because you were about to lose it. “Hey, sunshine. Baby,” he reached out and skimmed your jawline with the edge of his fingers. It felt like fire that just burned your skin raw. You couldn’t do this right now. You just couldn’t.

“Don’t,” you said quietly as you pulled again. His grip didn’t budge. He kept you locked to his hand.

“Don’t what? Talk to me. Please, baby. Let me in,” he pleaded as his eyes glazed over into pools of sadness.

Oh God, why did you have to see that.

“Please, Joel. Just let me go,” you begged, tears licking at your waterline as his face became a bit blurry.

“No. I’m not gonna let you go. Just talk to me,” he pressed, eyes searching yours for anything he could pick up on.

“I just, I…” You lost your words as the guilt started eating you alive. Burden, burden, burden. Your chest became tight, and it felt like you were being suffocated inside your tight leotard. The room felt like it was spinning as your eyesight went in and out, black vision to normal vision. It was awful how you were feeling. You were feeling everything at once and you were overstimulated and it was just too much. It was too much.

“Baby, please,” he begged. And when you looked back up at him it hit you like a thick brick wall. His watering eyes shot a hole right into the center of your chest. You could physically feel the pain throbbing around you as he looked at you with those longing, searching eyes. He looked so sad. So sad.

“Joel…I…” you pulled your hand from his, slowly. So painfully slow. And he let you this time. He didn’t try to stop you. When you grazed your fingers against his fingertips and finally dropped your hand from his warmth, the room went ice cold. And it felt like you lost him right then and there.

You bit your tongue and pulled yourself together just enough to walk towards the auditorium door, every step further from Joel feeling like straight glass cutting through your feet. It was painful, excruciating. But you needed to be alone. You needed to breathe. But it felt like you were drowning without his touch, suffocating on your own words as your mouth filled with water and took you down. The voices in your head were too loud, too much. You needed silence, you needed peace.

You put your hand on the cold metal handle, and before you went through the door Joel said your name slowly, a mere gentle whisper. And it sounded like a voice that was full of pain and suffering. You bit your bottom lip and worked up enough courage to look him in the eyes again. It was a mistake. God, it was a mistake. His jaw was clenched and his hands were in fists at his side, and his brown eyes looked like big puppy dog eyes. Staring at its owner as they left him all alone in an empty house, solely alone.

You felt a wet tear fall against your cheek and quickly wiped it off. Joel took a step forward when he saw you brush a tear away, but you held out a hand and stopped him. “Please, Joel. Just leave me alone. I need to…I need to go back in…”

“Stay,” he pleaded, a hushed whisper that glided across the room and brushed against the tip of your ear.

“I can’t…I have to go. Just, please. I…I need some air.” Before you looked back at him, you pushed the door open and ran through the shadows to your tiny dressing room, brushing up against the velvet walls as you nearly tripped up the stage steps and zoomed past all the dancers. When you reached your dressing room, you grabbed up your iPhone and sprinted out the side theater door.

You crashed through the metal door and flung yourself against the cold brick wall as you slowly melted into the ground, bringing the phone up to your face to unlock it. You quickly found your mom’s name in your contacts and pushed call. You needed to hear her soothing voice now. You needed your mom. You needed to know everything was going to be fine. But it wasn’t. It simply wasn’t.

You slumped your head against the hard bricks and listened to the dial tone as it repeatedly rang. Come on, pick up. Please, pick up. You needed familiarity, you needed comfort, you needed your mom.

On the seventh ring, she finally picked up and you blew out the breath you had been holding in. “Hi, sweetheart! It’s so good to hear from you. I wasn’t expecting you to call so early in the day. What’s up, sweetie? How is everything in New York? Are you having such an incredible time?” she asked excitedly as her high pitched voice filled the end of the line.

No, no it wasn’t fine. Nothing was fine. “Hey, mom,” you said in a shaky breath. “Everything is…well, it’s…” Your voice cut off as you choked back a sob.

“Hun, what’s wrong? Are you okay?” she asked in a worried rush of words. You could hear that protective mother instinct kick in, and it still didn’t bring you any peace.

“I’m…” your voice broke as you choked out a gasp. “No, I’m not okay,” you balled, tears breaking as they streamed down your face in a blur. You wiped at your eyes and saw the mascara and eyeliner rub off on your hand, forgetting you even had makeup on. You didn’t care if your makeup was ruined, you didn’t care if eyeliner was streaked under your eyes. You were broken, so very broken.

You didn’t get into the thick of it, but you told her enough. You told her what was bothering you and what was happening. You didn’t mention Joel, not once saying you met someone. The mere thought of him made you cry harder, and it felt like your heart actually shattered into a million pieces. Joel…

“Mom, I want to come home,” you cried into the phone speaker, tears sticking to your thick eyelashes as your vision was completely blurred over. You could hear her on the end of the line saying your name and calling you honey as she tried to calm you down. But it didn’t help. Nothing helped.

You stayed on the line with her for ten minutes and then decided it was time to hang up. You had to go back in. Carlotta would be looking for you right about now. So you said your goodbyes to your mom, and she assured you she’d be in touch later to check on you. When you hung up the phone, you pulled your camera up and cringed at the mess that was displayed in the screen. Black streaks smeared under your eyes. You looked exactly like the black swan, felt like the black swan. You were the black swan. You felt it in your hollow bones. You were weak, fragile, consumed by darkness, and you felt completely isolated and alone right now.

You wiped the smeared makeup away and sucked in the last tears that stung your eyes. You pulled yourself up from the cold ground and headed back inside to your demise. Your cage that liked to trap lone swans.

“There you are! Come on now. You’re up. Take your position, black swan. It’s time for your duet with Pierre,” Carlotta yelled as she clapped her hands and pointed at you to take your position.

As you got into position, you looked up at Pierre on the opposite side of the stage as you and watched his cruel smirk flash your way. All you felt was hollow and bruised inside. You had no more emotions to run through today. You were finished, dead inside like a tree that had just been ripped from its roots. Automatically dying on the spot.

When the music began, you ran through the routine like a puppet attached to a short string. There was no fighting, no bickering, just silence. You had no more words to speak today. You were battered and bruised, and there could be nothing else done. Absolutely nothing. You just wanted to go back to your apartment and go to sleep. Sleep away the pain of the day.

You went through the rest of rehearsal quietly, just doing as you were told. You didn’t argue with anyone, didn’t flinch when they said jump higher or spin tighter. You just did it without a fuss. Just like a robot would.

You could feel Joel’s dark eyes burning holes through your skull throughout the rest of practice. You didn’t look up, didn’t seek out his eyes. You just ignored the call. That drawn out reaching call that you longed to take.

Joel. Joel. Joel.

You wanted him. You wanted him so goddamn bad, but the voices were screaming at you that you weren't good enough for him. They were taunting you and screeching at you through your racing mind. You’re no good for him, you’re just a burden. He doesn’t want to be with a burden, he doesn’t want to be weighed down by you. Let him go, let him go.

You tossed the voices out of your head and silenced your mind. You couldn’t tell what was real and what wasn’t right now. Not with the anxiety pumping. Not with the mess you had to deal with today. So when practice finally got over, you slipped out the back and didn't seek out Joel. You just walked to your apartment alone, back to your lonely walls. But you didn’t want to be there. Not really. You wanted to go home. You needed to go back home.

Home. It was the only place you wanted to be right now. And that was away from New York. Away from it all.

When you finally reached your apartment and barged through the door, you took a long, hot shower and let the scalding water run down your back until you couldn’t feel anything. Your thoughts were numb, but they kept returning to Joel.

Joel, Joel, Joel.

You wanted him, needed him, but you couldn’t reach out. You didn’t have the energy, nor the strength. So after your shower, you just tucked yourself into the warm bed and let the cotton sheets envelop your tired body. You heard your phone buzz over and over again, the vibrations reaching all the way into your tight chest. But you just let it ring as it sat face down on your little sky blue nightstand, waiting for the light hum of the phone to go mute.

After endless minutes of diminishing buzzing and missed calls, you faded off into a deep sleep. Away from the pain, away from the racing anxiety, away from the deep black hole you were stuck in. And when you dreamed, you dreamed of white sandy beaches and shiny clear ocean water. You dreamed of home. That’s where you wanted to be, needed to be. So that’s where you’d go.

Joel barely got a wink of sleep that night. He was either pacing mindlessly around his house, staring at a blank phone screen or worrying sick about you as his mind raced frantically. You didn’t pick up the phone, wouldn’t look at him, didn’t say a word when you left the theater. And now all he could think was you were slipping away from him, just like the moment you gradually pulled away from his fingers as you walked back into the auditorium without a mere glance back at him. That’s what it felt like. Complete loss, like he was missing pieces of his beating heart that had your name scraped into the pumping veins in his chest.

The next morning he waited for you outside the theater doors, but you didn’t come. He kept glancing at his black military watch, but you were half an hour late. You were never late, and that made worry seep into his thick skull. He dialed your number, but it just rang endlessly and finally went to voicemail.

He hung up the phone and shoved it into the front pocket of his jeans, pushing the doors open as he raced into the auditorium. Maybe you snuck in from the side doors, maybe you got there earlier than he did. He was just wishful thinking, but it was better than thinking the alternative, that you weren’t coming.

Carlotta sat at the front of the auditorium like she usually did, lounging in a plush crimson seat as she yelled at the other dancers. “Where is my swan?!” she screamed as she threw her arms over her head, shaking her auburn ponytail in annoyance. The sound of her voice made Joel shake in rage as he fisted his hands at his sides and almost broke a blood vessel as he walked up to her with a deep snarl cut across his mouth.

“Have any of you heard from her?” she yelled at the dancers, but none of them shook their head yes. “We don’t have time for this! Let me check my phone.” She pulled her phone out and searched through her notifications. Her face turned to shock as she put a hand dramatically against her forehead. “Sick?! She’s sick! We don’t have time for sick days,” she whined, letting out a deep sigh of unapproval. It made Joel even more angry.

He walked up to her aggressively as he stomped his boots and halted right in front of her, glaring at her with dark, unfriendly eyes. She jumped in fright and put her hand on her chest as her long red fingernails dug into her pressed white dress. “Oh, you scared me! I didn’t see you standing there. Where is she? Have you heard from her?” she demanded as her red lips pursed together in a tight seal.

“I know as much as you do. I haven’t heard from her since yesterday. You said she told you she’s sick?” Joel asked with a raised brow.

“That’s what I just read,” she huffed, throwing her phone back in her Coach purse. “I don’t care if she’s sick. She needs to be here,” she demanded, her heels stomping into the polished floor.

“Jesus Christ, give her a break! She’s completely worn out. She’s overworked. Do you know how stressed she’s been lately?” he vocalized with a raised voice and a deep growl in his chest.

“Overworked? Stressed? She looks fine to me,” she said as she rolled her eyes and shook her head with agitation.

“That’s because you don’t check to see how she’s feeling! Maybe if you paid more attention to your dancers then you’d see she’s fucking drowning!” he yelled with his voice bouncing off the walls. All the dancers stopped what they were doing and focused in on the heated conversation going on. He didn’t care. All he cared about was getting his point across. Carlotta would listen to him, whether she wanted to or not.

Her eyes were wide-eyed as she stared up at him, her cheeks flushed as her mouth gaped open in surprise. “What are you talking about? Of course I pay attention to my dancers.”

He crossed his arms across the button-up denim shirt and clenched his jaw before he lost control of his growing temper. “Oh, really? Then you know everyone is against her in this theater? That Pierre and Cecilia won’t leave her alone for one goddamn day? You know that she’s been so fuckin’ stressed and anxious that she’s had continuous breakdowns about even being here? Because no one seems to care how she’s feelin’ but me!” His voice echoed around the auditorium as his flared eyes shot daggers right back at her. Her mouth opened wide as she looked like someone just turned on a dusty lightbulb inside her nonchalant mind. And that was good because maybe now she’d realize just what she did to you.

“I suggest you start treating your lead dancer with more respect and not working her to death. You’re gonna destroy her before she even gets to opening night. And as for your dancers, tell them to fuckin’ stop giving her a hard time. Especially Pierre and Cecilia. If you even halfway listened to her instead of being stuck in your own thick head, you would’ve noticed all the shit they were doing to her! So next time, listen to her when she’s desperately trying to get your attention and do something about the situation!”

Her eyes went wide as something snapped into place inside her. Her eyebrows furrowed together as she looked at the stage and back at Joel. Maybe he finally got her to open her eyes and hear what you were trying to tell her all along. Maybe he struck a nerve that opened up that empty mind of hers. She didn’t turn around when he started walking to the auditorium doors, but he heard her call Pierre and Cecilia’s voice impatiently. He didn’t wait to hear what was said, he just kept on walking out of that toxic room, leaving behind more drama that was ready to unfold.

Joel was tempted to run to her apartment, pound on the door until you opened up so he could crash his body into yours. He wanted you to know it was going to be okay. He needed you to know you weren’t alone and never would be. He needed you to know how goddamn much he cared about you. He needed you to know you were now his world and that he’d never let you go. Never, ever. But he kept himself from running to you. He just kept his distance for today. You’d reach out if you really needed him. You needed space, time. But he didn’t want to give that to you. He was selfish and wanted you all to himself. He wanted to make it all better, to take away all the pain.

He sighed and ran a hand through his wind blown curls and took a deep breath, focusing on slowing down his racing heart. One day, just one more day and then he’d go to you. If you weren’t here in the morning, he’d go find you. And when he did, he would never let you go again.

You kept your phone turned over most of the day, only clicking it on to let Carlotta know you wouldn’t be in today, that you were sick. You weren’t really sick though. You just needed a mental break, to think about what you were going to do. You needed time, you needed to get away. You needed a quiet mind, but you were screaming on the inside. Trying to claw your way out of your racing thoughts as you sat in your small vacant apartment, picking apart your mind.

All the missed calls and texts from Joel didn’t help you one bit. Six missed calls and three text messages since yesterday.

Where are you?

Are you alright?

Sunshine, talk to me. Please, let me know you’re alright.

The last one made you shiver with guilt and made your eyes burn with tears.

Joel, Joel, Joel. Fuck!

You crawled your way out of bed and forced yourself to eat some yogurt and get dressed, throwing on some yoga pants and a teal colored Florida hoodie.

You dragged your tired legs into the bathroom and switched the light on, squinting your eyes at the harsh yellow light that lit the room up in warm colors. You cringed at your swollen eyes and puffy lips as you spent hours crying into your pillow the night before. You washed your face and brushed your teeth as you let the minty taste wash down your throat, trying to bring some life back into your aching body. You brushed out your thick hair and threw on some eyeliner to deter the look of your puffed up eyes.

You couldn’t stay caged in this cold room anymore. You needed to get out. You needed to free your internal thoughts before you went crazy. So you grabbed your keys and phone and headed out the door, taking in the fresh air as you slipped into the cool autumn breeze. You walked for miles it seemed, only to end up sitting at a little park that overlooked a duck pond as water lilies sat scattered across the shimmering water.

You let your mind wonder as you sat there, focusing on keeping deep breaths and your head cleared. You lost track of time and forgot your phone was even in your pocket. You pulled it out and looked at the time. 5:00 pm and no new calls or texts. Only the ones you left unanswered from earlier.

Joel’s messages popped up again, and you couldn’t quite shake the guilt of leaving him waiting. He was probably worried sick about you, probably going stir crazy as he paced his house or the theater. Probably looked all over for you today, hoping he’d see you that morning. The guilt ate at your stomach, twisting it around into a bundle of yarn as it tugged at you, pulling you back into anxious thoughts.

Sunshine, talk to me. Please, let me know you’re alright.

Sunshine, sunshine, sunshine.

You squeezed your eyes tight as the name pulled at your heartstrings, eliciting feelings out of you that you wanted to keep down. You were bad for him, a burden, a sickness that would only infect him. But that wasn’t really true. It was your anxiety lying to you. It was the sharp tongued serpent that fed you lies and shot venom into your bloodstream. It was a disease that festered in your mind until you could do nothing but listen to the poison that consumed your mind. But this time you wouldn’t. No. You wouldn’t listen. You’d force them out if it was the last thing you did.

Sunshine, come back. Come back…

You swear you could hear his southern drawl calling you, singing you a gentle tune as his sweet voice tried guiding you back to him. Back to his arms. Back to where you felt most at home. And the more you stared at his name in your phone, the more you wanted him. The more you needed him.

A tightness in your chest squeezed at your insides as you ached for him. Every bone carving his name into the tendons as you physically, truly ached for him. You longed for him, burned for him. And you needed him. You needed him more than you needed air to breathe. He was your oxygen, your fresh air, your everything. And you lo…

You loved him.

And that’s when you ran. You ran as fast as your legs could carry you. You didn’t know how far it was from here, didn’t even care how long it’d take. But you’d continue running until you got to his doorstep, wouldn’t stop till you were back in his arms where you belonged.

You crossed the busy intersection as a taxi slammed on its horn, nearly missing you by a few feet. You didn't stop to apologize, you just kept going. You brushed shoulders and ran into strangers on the crowded sidewalk. Some yelled back at you, some stopped and stared, but you kept pressing on, not wasting a second until you were standing on his doorstep with him.

Your lungs felt like they were on fire, and you could feel your legs going numb underneath you. But you wouldn’t stop, not till you made it back to him. Your tears licked at the back of your eyes as you thought of the way you left him yesterday, letting your anxious thoughts get the best of you. You had made a mistake, that’s not what you wanted. You wanted him and only him, and you just hoped you weren’t too late. You prayed he’d welcome you back with open arms. You needed him, you needed him.

Joel, Joel, Joel. Your other half, your guiding light, the one that set your soul on fire. It was Joel, it was always Joel. “I’m coming, Joel. I’m coming back to you,” you whispered into the cold air as your throat caught fire.

You rounded the corner and instantly saw Joel’s Chevy sitting parked up against the curb. He’s here, he’s here. You could feel him as much as you could feel your racing heartbeat against your ribcage. You sprinted over to his concrete steps out of breath and climbed them, grasping the railing tight as you knelt over and caught your breath. Your breaths were shallow and ragged and it felt like you had gotten the wind knocked out of your body.

You gripped the railing tightly and your knuckles turned white as you stared at the large door ahead of you with the frayed welcome mat covering the front step. Joel. You imagined him pacing the floor unevenly as he stared at his phone, waiting for you to call back. The thought of it nearly took you out as you stumbled toward the front door.

After finally catching your breath, you gulped down some invisible liquid courage and nodded. This was it. This was the moment that would put your anxious thoughts to bed. You were about to find out if he really thought you were a burden or not.

You slowly lifted your arm and knocked twice on the sturdy door, making sure the force was just enough to be loud and sharp. You heard some rustling around in the house, and it didn’t take him long before he was unlocking the door and pulling it open frantically as his form came into view.

His eyes went wide, and he let out the loudest sigh you’d ever heard come out of his mouth, like he was relieved to see you. But behind his eyes looked a whole lot like pain. Behind those beautiful honey colored eyes. He said your name slowly, the southern accent getting stuck on your syllables as his voice came out smooth and silky against your name. The sound alone was enough to bring tears to your eyes. And you felt them then. You felt the wave of tears lick the backs of your eyes as they swelled up to your waterline, threatening to break at any moment.

You gulped and stared up into those mesmerizing brown eyes, feeling your bottom lip quiver as you tried to say something, anything. But you were frozen in place, your anxious thoughts coursing through you like a rush of pure adrenaline. You left him, you left him. Your fault, your fault.

“Joel, I… I’m so… I’m s-sorry, I…” Your composure broke in two as you felt the hot tears run down your face, blurring your vision so you could barely see his slack jaw and watering eyes.

“Oh, sunshine. Baby. C’mere,” he drawled as he crashed against your body and pulled you into his broad chest, enveloping his arms strongly against your back as one hand went to cradle the back of your head. You snaked your arms around him and crushed your face to his chest, letting the hot tears wash over his button-up denim shirt.

You cried harder, sinking as far into him as you could, and he just held onto you tighter as he rested his chin on the top of your head. “Shhh it’s okay, baby. I’ve got you. I’ve got you,” he cooed, digging his fingers through your hair as he held you as tight as he could.

He picked you up bridal style and carried you to the couch safely. Your muffled sobs got strangled as you buried yourself in his chest, and he just pulled you closer when he sat back against the velvet cushions. “S’alright now, you’re safe,” he soothed as he ran a hand through your locks, feeling a blanket of comfort cover you as he held you tightly in his arms.

You wiped hot tears from your eyes off on your hoodie and looked up at Joel with a quivering lip as you spoke slowly. “I… I’m sorry I didn’t call and that I ran out. I was just so… I was being a burden and…”

“Shhhh,” he whispered as he cupped your chin and wiped a falling tear away with the pad of his thumb, bringing it down your jaw as he trailed it slowly. “It’s okay, sweetheart. Ya don’t have to apologize. S’alright. And you’re not a burden. Not at all,” he said as he shook his head lightly, his eyes gazing down at yours with a look of serenity washing over you slowly.

“That’s how I feel though. Like I’m just a problem and…”

He put his index finger up against your faded chapstick and silenced you from finishing your sentence. “You’re not a problem, sweetheart. You were never the problem. Trust me when I say you’re not a burden. You’re so much more than that. So much,” he said gently as he grazed the tip of his finger against your bottom lip, pulling his eyes down to your lips as he contemplated his options. He looked back up into your eyes and smiled gently, letting his other hand graze your back as he soothed you, pulling you into that calm place that you wanted to be in again.

“You’re… you’re so good to me, Joel. I… I don’t deserve you,” you blubbered with tears stinging at the backs of your eyes, your vision going blurry again.

“No. It’s you I don’t deserve. You’re such an angel, my sweet girl,” he murmured with a soft kiss as he pressed his lips to your forehead and pulled you back into his chest, running his thick fingers down your hair and your back as you melted into his touch.

Joel. Joel. Joel. He was the one, he was the one.

He cradled you on his lap for a few minutes as he just held you, soothing you gently as he placed gentle kisses to the top of your head and ran his calloused fingers up and down your arms. It was like a piece of heaven that was made just for you.

You started shivering against him as the cold from outside returned in full force. You could feel it down to your bones as the adrenaline finally tapered off. Joel noticed immediately and reacted just like you knew he would.

“Hey, you alright? You’re shaking so much. You cold, sweetheart?” he asked with concern expanding across his honey eyes.

“Yeah, I guess I stayed out a lot longer than I thought. Didn’t realize how cold it was,” you said, shaking in his arms.

“Well, c’mon. Let’s get you in the tub. I’ll put on some warm water for you.” He moved you gently out of his lap and pulled you up with him, leading you into the lit up bathroom as the smell of lavender and bath soap filled the air.

He grabbed some fresh towels and placed a pile of clean clothes against the edge of the counter. Wasting no time, he started filling the large jetted tub with warm water as you heard the water rush to life from the pipes. He placed his hand in every few seconds to test the water temperature, and when it was to his liking he nodded.

“Alright, sunshine. Water’s all ready for ya. I’ll get out of your hair so you can relax a little.”

Before he passed you by, you reached out and grabbed his wrist, stopping him from moving any further. “Will you stay with me?” you asked quietly, not wanting him to leave you alone.

He slowly turned and looked at you with gentle eyes, his tan skin beaming against the fluorescent bathroom lights. “‘Course, sweetheart. Whatever you need,” he nodded, gently smiling down at you.

You quickly got undressed, throwing your clothes in a pile beneath the sink as you slipped into the tub, letting the hot water soothe your aching bones as you sat down into the steaming water.

Joel kept his distance, training his eyes on you as he watched you grab the plush washcloth and soak it under the water, grabbing the soap bar from the edge of the tub. Your eyes kept flicking up to his as he watched you while he leaned up against the sink, crossing his arms over his chest, breathing slowly as he kept his focus on you.

There was something in the way he was looking at you. Just a small tug in your chest that told you he really cared about you, that he wanted you to be okay. He was there to make sure you had everything you needed. But one thing was missing and that was him being in the tub with you.

You fluttered your eyelashes up at him as you shifted in the tub, feeling the warm water splash around your breasts. “Joel?” you asked shakily.

“Hmm?”

“Do you… will you come take a bath with me?” you asked nervously as you tugged a loose lock behind your ear as your eyes shot up to meet his.

His face relaxed into a small smile as he pulled off his watch and took a couple steps your way. “‘Course I will, baby. Scoot up for me.” He pulled his button-up off quickly. His jeans and briefs following next as he climbed into the tub behind you, pulling you close to his broad chest as he circled his arms around you and reached for your washcloth, lathering soap onto the damp material.

You relaxed into him as he washed your back gently, dragging the material over the length of you as you groaned at the feeling of his calloused hands and light touch all over you. You did the same for him, gliding the soapy washcloth over the wingspan of his back, pulling it down his muscled chest as you grazed your lips over his, sealing the distance as you climbed into his lap and let your body sink against him.

He held you close as his hand ran up and down your back in slow circles, placing tender kisses against your lips, your jawline, your neck. He was being so gentle with you, so soft, so… loving.

There was that word again. Love. God, you loved him. You loved him so painfully much. You could feel it in the room, feel it in the air, feel it on his breath as it crashed against yours when your lips slotted against his. You could feel it in his hands, feel it on the tip of his tongue, taste it in your mouth. It was like floating in air with a warm, gentle breeze blowing through your hair in the middle of a summer day. It was like fire. Hot, burning, passionate as it simmered through your body, unfaltering and never burning out. And you could feel it coming off him as well, that hot fire that was calling your name.

“Joel?” you asked quietly as you trailed your fingers through his patchy scruff, feeling your heart hammering against your chest as the blood rushed through your veins.

“Yeah?” he asked as he looked down into your face, those big doe eyes gazing back at you as the breath was taken from you. He was so beautiful, so devastatingly beautiful.

“I love you…” you whispered, hearing your voice echo around the room as he let out a gentle sigh, his eyes melting into syrup as he looked at you with pure love in his eyes. You’d never seen him look at you like that before. His face in pure bliss and contentment as he ran his calloused fingers against your jawline.

“Oh, sunshine. My sweet girl. I’ve loved you since the first day I met you,” he breathed out, his face beaming as he smiled down at you and let a soft chuckle out. “They always say a man knows when he’s found the one. I just had this feeling in the pit of my stomach. This aching feeling that pulled me toward you. And I’m so glad I listened to my gut because it was right. I knew all along.”

You choked back tears and looked up at him with the most sincere gaze you had ever given anyone before. This was real, this was really happening. He loved you, he loved you. You wrapped your arms around his neck and crashed your lips against his as you melted into him. The kiss was slow, soft, romantic. A kiss that was screaming love as it poured out of you and enveloped all of him. This was it. You were in love, and he loved you too. So, so much.

After the bath and your love confessions, he wrapped you in a warm towel and helped you dry off, getting all the beads of dripping water off your body. You pulled on one of his long red flannel shirts and crawled into his soft bed where he gathered you against his chest and brought the fleece blanket over the both of you. You slowly trailed your fingers over his bare chest, and he ran his fingers up and down your arm, showering you with warmth and tenderness. It was perfect, he was perfect.

“You know I was really worried about you today, sunshine,” he murmured, his voice coming off low. “When you didn’t show up to the theater and when you didn’t answer your phone. I thought something bad happened.” His grip on you tightened, and you could feel his chest sigh heavily as he continued stroking your arm.

“I’m sorry I worried you. I just couldn’t get myself to do anything or talk to anyone. My anxiety was screaming so loud that I couldn’t even hear my own thoughts in my head. All I know is how bad I wanted to run to you. And l’ll never stop apologizing for disappearing without a word. I wanted you so bad, Joel. So bad. I just… I just freaked out. I had a panic attack and…”

“Shhhh. S’okay, sweetheart. It’s all okay now. You’re safe and that’s all that matters.” He brushed his lips against the top of your head and entwined his fingers into yours as you closed your eyes and sank against his chest.

It was quiet for a few minutes until you spoke again. “I’m gonna go home this weekend. Just for a couple days. I called my mom yesterday and told her everything, and she bought me a plane ticket right after. Thought it was a good idea to get out of New York so I could clear my head.”

Joel shifted underneath you, and you looked up at him and saw a small smile spread across his beautiful face. “I think that’s a great idea, and it’ll be really good for you. I can drop ya off at the airport if you’d like,” he said as he trailed his fingers through your hair gently.

“I’d like nothing more,” you smiled. He returned it right back to you. “I wish I could take you with me,” you sighed.

He trailed the pad of his thumb against the backside of your hand and chuckled under his breath. “Maybe next time.”

You squeezed his hand and wrapped your other arm around his forearm as you pulled it toward you. “I’m definitely taking you next time,” you promised.

“I can’t wait.” His smile made his eyes crinkle, and it made your heart beat that much more for him.

“You know, I gave Carlotta a mouthful today,” he said with a clenched jaw as his voice came out gravely.

You lifted your head up and looked him in the eyes as you gulped down the lump in your throat. “You did?”

“Mhm. Think I knocked some sense into that oblivious brain of hers. Before I walked out of the auditorium, she was calling over those two fuckers,” he said with rage building in his throat.

“Oh,” was all you could say before you rested your head back against his chest as you tried to not let your mind wonder to Pierre and Cecilia. He must’ve felt the shift in your mood because he reached out and called your name softly.

“You know, there’s cameras set up in the auditorium. I know the security guy that runs them. I think I could get him to make me a copy of Pierre when he…” He gulped down some anger, and you could feel the growl audibly deep in his chest. “When he hit you and pushed you down,” he said with hatred in his voice. “If I can get my hands on that video, I’m gonna turn him in. Give Carlotta the real proof she needs to get rid of him.”

You gasped as you looked up at him with wide eyes, staring unbelievably at him at the words that just came from his mouth. “You think it’ll work? You think she’d actually kick him out?” you asked with shock falling from your lips.

“Maybe. It’s worth a shot, so I’m gonna try my best. Because if you choose to stay there for the next two months, I don’t want you suffering every day you’re there. I don’t wanna see the life taken from those pretty eyes of yours. I wanna see them shine, just like you always do. You shine as bright as Sirius does in the sky. Maybe even brighter than that star. You’re one of a kind, angel. And I want to see you sparkling.”

“Joel…” you whispered out, the look of love plastered all over your face. “You’re so… perfect. No one’s ever cared like you do…” You let your voice trail off, caught in a daze between love and complete bliss.

“And I’m gonna keep takin’ care of ya, sunshine. My perfect girl. My love.” He cupped your chin and brought his lips down on yours slowly as you sank into him, crawling on top of him so you could brush your fingers through his tousled curls.

He pulled back and smiled down at you. “Not even the galaxies in the sky could shine as bright as you, baby. You’re one of a kind. And I love you. I love you.”

You got lost in his words, in him. And the rest of the night was history as you both got completely wrapped up in the other. I love you’s passed back and forth the whole night until you finally passed out in his strong arms. Right where you belonged. Right where your heart beat for him the most.

Tags: @burntheedges @tuquoquebrute @joelalorian @dugiioh @akah565 @amyispxnk @itsokbbygrl-library @blueseastorm @pedrostories

[mirixmoya]

hello friends welcome to GRADING TORTURED POET SOCIETY SONGS BASED ON HOW EASILY I COULD TURN THEM INTO A HAYFFIE FIC (PART TWO) i hope u enjoy.

(you can find PART ONE here, for anyone interested!)

i. the black dog: 8/10. excellent directly-post-war hayffie song. captures a moment when they haven't quite re-connected yet, but they're both dying without eachother. "my longings stay unspoken, and i may never open up the way i did for you" "six weeks of breathing clean air, i still miss the smoke" is all very them. a really effective illustration of how the world feels like a different place in heartbreak, it's desolate and aching, which is all very very hayffie.

ii. imgonnagetyouback: 9/10. this song is bananas crazy, but so is effie. so it fits. it reeks of the turbulent, on-again-off-again, boundaryless, situationship parts of hayffie. once again, i think this could be a VERY good directly-post-war vibe. "i can tell when somebody still wants me" "you'll find that you were never not mine" "even if it's handcuffed, i'm leaving here with you" are all crazy thought processes which i can 100% imagine effie having.

iii. the albatross: 7/10. i know everyone is really stuck on this being a lucy gray / katniss / snow parallel song, but i see the hayffie vision! i think it would be a good song to juxtapose all of effie's relationships with capitol men against her relationship with haymitch. how is she made to behave by love? how does her fame + position loom over her relationships? effie is mythologized by the men in her life, almost made unreal by their perceptions of her, and it's haymitch who makes her real again. if any of that makes sense.

iv. chloe or sam or sophia or marcus: 8/10. EVERYONE HEAR ME OUT ON THIS ONE, but i have this vision of really angsty post-canon hayffie where they try to make a proper relationship work, they really do, but they just... can't. but there is an ache to this failure. a regret. they thought that they would always be able to come back to this, to eachother, but they discover that life is actually a series of closed doors. things change over time. they're forced to grieve this past version of their relationship that they simply don't have access to anymore. "you turned me into an idea of sorts, you needed me but you needed drugs (ALCOHOL) more" "could it be enough to just float in your orbit?" "if you want to break my cold, cold heart, say you loved me" ... yeah, the angst potential is endless.

v: how did it end?: 7/10. ONCE AGAIN, excellent bones for an angsty post-canon 'well, it didn't work out' hayffie vibe. good general thg imagery with "lost the game of chance, what are the chances?" + "the empathetic hunger descends" etc etc. "we were blind to unforeseen circumstances" very very them.

vi: so high school: 5/10. i feel like i could twist it to be hayffie if i tried really hard. like maybe a post-canon movie-verse traumaless fluff vibe where everything just falls into place. "no one's ever had me, not like you" is a very good line for hayffie tho.

vii: i hate it here: 8/10. excellent potential for a pre-canon / during-canon hayffie where effie uses their relationship as her refuge from the rest of the world, it's the only place she can truly be herself. the precocious child stuff, the debutant stuff, "i'm lonely but i'm good, i'm bitter but i swear i'm fine", all feels veryyy effie. this song would also be a good framework for effie being incapable of articulating her relationship with haymitch to other people, the magic of it is lost on them, it comes out clunky and awkward. but SHE knows it's real.

viii: thanK you aIMee: 2/10. not a hayffie song. but i feel like i could make it about effie & The Other Escorts if i really tried.

ix: i look in people's windows: 6/10. listen, this album is just an post-canon hayffie gold mine. "i had died the tiniest death" (the war) "i'm afflicted by the not knowing" (her relationship with haymitch) "what if your eyes looked up and met mine, one more time" (they can try again, can't they?). the anxious, almost neurotic ruminating is very effie to me.

x. the prophecy: 10/10. THE HAYFFIE SONG! if you saw the twitter edit before it got taken down, you KNOW. "don't want money, just someone who wants my company" "i'm so afraid i've sealed by fate" ... devastating. i think the illusions to prophecy & fate & this lack of control all play into her role in The Games really well. the idea that she's being punished for her sins by this lack of love. so much of effie is controlled and precise, i think the fact that this one thing (her relationship with haymitch) is sooo out of her control would drive her insane. perhaps insane enough to beg on her knees...

xi. cassandra: 4/10. not really hayffie focused, but good potential for one of my more politically focused fics. maybe the year of the 75th, leading right up to the rebellion. cinna & portia strike me as very cassandra-coded.

xii. peter: 1/10. not hayffie. maybe seneca & effie relationship study, but def not hayffie.

xiii. the bolter: 10/10. PERFECT EFFIE SONG! NO NOTES! SHE IS THE BOLTER! a precocious child with a "quite bewitching face" who is "splendidly selfish, charmingly helpless"??? welcome back effie trinket! the chorus is very hayffie to me. i'm thinking pre-canon early affair vibes. we get all the fun contrast between her relationship with haymitch and her relationship with the capitol "trophy hunters". the bridge could not be more effie if it tried, "hearts are hers for the breaking, there's an escape in escaping". she falls through the ice (the war) but don't worry folks, she comes out alive!

xiv. robin: 0/10. i genuinely have no idea what i could do with this song. sorry.

xv. the manuscript: 3/10. potential for post-canon living-happily-ever-after hayffie but with effie reflecting on her past relationships with capitol men. there's lots of illusions to grooming and the imprint that age-gap relationships leave behind that i think could really work.

[misscammiedawn]

Hi, I hope this is okay to ask. There seems to be so much misinformation and I am kind of… profoundly confused. Can someone have headmates and/or be a system without having DID? Are they the same or do these all mean different things?

Hello, anon.

DID is just a diagnosis based on clinical observation. It's not observable in any scans and will not show a stripe on a saliva test. It just means that a doctor who is qualified to do so has given you a diagnostic screening and believes that it is your diagnosis.

It's also a remarkably weird one as it's simultaneously a lifelong affliction born in childhood which never goes away, but the diagnostic criteria for it is no longer satisfied when treatment has reached a point of which the symptoms are managed.

I truly wish there were better advice for you than to explore what you need to explore in your own life and assess your access to mental health care and whether or not you feel it would benefit you. When we received our diagnosis it was in association with our ongoing care for emotional breakdowns that were crippling us and erratic life destroying issues with maintaining relationships and a stable sense of personal identity.

The question should be less "do I need DID to have a system" and more "do I benefit from being diagnosed and treated?" and I can't answer that for you. The best I am able to speak on this question is to say not to think about it. It's an unimportant question in the grand scheme of things.

My personal experience with dissociative disorders is that my condition was hidden from me for much of my life and diagnosed and treated as CPTSD for most of my life, BPD after my transition and finally recognized and treated as DID in recent years. I think coming out as transgender and realizing that persistent feeling of "I feel like I am playing the role of [legal name]" did not go away was a good signal. We had a reason to feel like that prior to transition. We did not afterwards.

My personal belief on the formation of my condition is that in early childhood our environment was not safe and stable and we were unable to create a stable personality based on applied patterns that a child between the ages of 0-6 use to achieve their needs (attention, nourishment, protection etc) and so with no stable "core" personality state we developed a number of personality states that we shifted through to meet our general survival needs based on environment and those in turn became the foundation for a system of "parts" who make up the whole of me.

What I described there is an understanding that was reached in therapy based on The Theory of Structural Dissociation, itself a controversial piece of text (one of the authors disbarred for mistreatment of patients).

That all in to say I can only speak to my personal experience and my personal understanding of DID, which is based on our evolving understanding of the topic both as a system ourselves, as students of the medical dogma being released and as a patient of our current therapist.

These views, opinions and perspectives may and can change on a dime. There are a disturbing number of clinicians who do not believe chronic dissociative disorders lead to plurality in any regard. There are those in support communities who believe the number of people who are undiagnosed but experience plurality is as high as 15% of the global population.

Frankly. I'm not qualified to speak to anyone's experience beyond my own. All I can do is put out what we see and hear and feel and hope that it provides comfort for anyone out there who is as lost to themselves as we were to ourselves.

So can a person experience plurality without it being DID? Does every person who experiences plurality without trauma actually have a repressed and unacknowledged backstory?

It's none of my damned business.

Every person has their own story and their own baggage, much of which lays beneath the surface. We cannot fully know the depths of The Other and that is a scary thing because it means that someone could look at a person's lived truth and reject it...

And so the answer is simply "I do not know."

I can't possibly know.

I just care about people and believe them when they say things.

[ultrainfinitepit]

Town of Puddle: Werewolves

Last updated 08/15/2023

Werewolves (or more generally, werecreatures) are a subset of shapeshifters who are differentiated from others by four key factors:

Werewolves have a humanoid form that is nearly indistinguishable from human.

Werewolves must always transform into their wereform during the night of the full moon. Wereforms vary, from humanoid or beast-like to dramatically monstrous. Many werewolves maintain control of their faculties during the transformation, making it more of an inconvenience than a threat. Some werewolves can transform at will at any other time.

Werewolves are weak to silver.

Werewolves are often immortal or extremely-long lived.

Werewolves are the most common werecreature, but there are many other types of werecreatures. Because werewolves are the most common of them, all werecreatures are often referred to as werewolves even if their beast form is not a wolf.

Werewolves all have a trait called “lycanthropy.” It is a curse, a magical affliction not a disease. Lycanthropy can most commonly be passed through a bite that draws blood, but there are other ways to pass it and it depends on the werecreature: similar to vampirism. 

There are many debated origins for werewolves, but they actually come from a single source. You may notice many werewolf traits are shared with vampires. This is because werewolves originate from vampires. 

The first werewolf was an ancient vampire Lycan: a child of Rapha and Asherah. After Rapha was killed, Asherah’s hold on reality and her kingdom began to wane. Lycan sought to take her place and make a new kingdom, one that would be entirely holy and free from what Lycan had come to see as Asherah’s evil demonic influence.

Filled with hubris and encouraged by their human followers, Lycan sought to make himself into something no longer vampire: human or greater than human, perhaps divine. The Cure that Lycan devised did indeed make him something else, but not a god: the first werewolf. It is said that Rapha, though dead and scattered into stardust, saw Lycan spurn Asherah his mother; saw Lycan seek to become a god; and cursed Lycan to be what he truly was: a monster with no control, a twisted wolf - unholy not because of his birth, but for turning against his family. While werewolves nowadays tend to maintain self-control in their beast forms, Lycan did not, and in fact was driven into a frenzy by Rapha’s curse. Lycan went after their followers and turned them all into werewolves, together they became the First Pack and scattered across the globe, spreading lycanthropy as they went. 

The members of the First Pack became legendary and were hunted by those seeking glory through the ages. None now remain, even Lycan was hunted down. But it is said Lycan’s immortality was twisted just as his body and mind were; and now his spirit lives on to spread lycanthropy and to turn any werecreature into a frenzied beast.

Perhaps if the Cure was discovered again, if used on any other without Lycan’s hubris it would indeed cure vampirism. But no one has yet rediscovered it, and no trace of that ancient recipe remains. Those who pursue it always seem to meet a grim end, as if Rapha strikes down any who tries.

Below are my Puddle werewolves.

Wash Whitlock is a former British naval officer, who now works for the Order and acts as Ariel’s keeper. In the course of his duties he accidentally became a wereotter. Wash has wisely decided he does not need to share this information with Order higher-ups, though his colleagues are well-aware and tease him incessantly. 

Nuniq is a member of Ariel’s crew. She is the ship’s doctor, and practices both magic and science for healing. She is a Greenland wereshark. For her family, being a wereshark is hereditary on the mother’s side but can skip generations, and only develops around puberty. Nuniq had to track down her great-grandmother for help, when she found out she was one. That journey inspired her to continue traveling and exploring. Nuniq is approaching eighty but doesn’t look that old thanks to her wereshark nature. Greenland sharks can live incredibly long.

Below are @wyrmzier's werewolves.

Ines Luna was a catholic nun who performed all of her duties wonderfully. She was chaste, pure, and kind. She worked as a school teacher at the adjacent all girls school. Despite her faithfulness and piety she harbored deep guilt over her lesbianism, and when she heard rumors of two of her students attempting to elope to be with each other she went out to guide them to the right path. But she did not find any students, just an ancient feral wolf who attacked her. She was saved in time by the angel Dame, but with her life still intact the curse rooted in her veins and she was turned into a werewolf. The curse proved unwieldy. Ines could barely control herself every full moon; she feared her own bloodthirst and a powerful heat edged on by the presence of her savior. Her convent grew fearful and ashamed and kicked her out. The church was all Ines knew, but again Dame saved her and they wed and lived happily ever after.

[dangermousie]

Oh, brother...aka keeping it in the (royal) family

I recently realized that for some reason “multiple brothers one girl” seems to be a popular category in costume dramas. I am not sure why such sharing is necessary in a polygamous society for fancy royals each of whom can get himself a whole harem, but I am not complaining that it appears any remake of the Hollywood classic “Seven Brides for Seven Brothers” would clearly be changed into “One Bride for Seven Brothers, and Some of the Brothers Spit Blood and Die” if it were a cdrama. Here are some of the dramas at issue. 

Liu Shi Shi appears to be the queen of this subgenre to such an extent that I am vaguely wondering if it’s in her contract. We are gonna start with THREE of her dramas:

Bu Bu Jing Xin - Liu Shi Shi has not one, not two, but THREE hot royal brothers, played by Nicky Wu, Kevin Cheng and Lin Gengxin, pine for her time-traveling self. Since this is an exquisite (no, seriously, it’s amazing) period piece about loss and longing, she ends up with none of them, instead of a hot vagely-’cesty gangbang as one might expect from that set-up.

Lost Love in Times - poor Liu Shi Shi, she’s a sexy witch having to pick between William Chan and his shady brother Joe Xu. To make it even trippier, the two actors look like each other, to really hammer the whole “siblings want her” theme.

The Imperial Doctress - why bust what’s not broken? It’s the true and tried Liu Shi Shi and hot royal brothers formula. She’s a doctor who spends most of her time practicing medicine, escaping barbarians and creating feminism, not noticing that as she pines for one royal brother played by Huang Xuan, another royal brother, played by infinitely hotter Wallace Huo, is pining for her.

Gong/Jade Palace Lock Heart - if Liu Shi Shi is the queen of that set up, Feng Shao Feng is the king, what with this and Military Seal, both of which star Yang Mi. Clearly, there are worse ways to make a career than stealing Yang Mi from a royal brother. Here, Yang Mi is a spunky time traveler in the middle of Kang Xi’s sons’ fight for the throne. She first falls for Four but ends up with Eight. In between, she offers to bang Four to save Eight as one does. Gives a whole new meaning to sharing is caring and “have you brought enough for the entire class?”

Legend of the Military Seal - Yang Mi and FSF strike again. FSF is madly in love with his brother’s wife, and since she’s not afflicted by blindness, she shares his feelings. Surprisingly, but delightfully, happy ending ensues. 

Who Rules the World - more like which brother rules awesome Zhao Lusi’s heart. Going by the rule of “hottest brother wins,” Yang Yang gets the girl in a drama that is pretty yum yum.

Colourful Bone - one hot seriously whumped out royal brother and one whiny immature one, oh who should the heroine pick? This drama stands for the proposition that you should protect and save abused people, especially if they are hot men, since they will always turn out to be an emperor in disguise. This drama btw is one giant kinkfest for yours truly.

The Eternal Love - you could make THREE whole seasons out of timetravel and brothers into the same girl, who knew.

Dreaming Back to the Qing Dynasty - if you’ve seen Gong or BBJX, you know the drill. Horde of queued brothers queueing for the heroine.

(Mine and all my brothers’, that is -Ed.)

Princess Jieyou - Yuan Hong narrowly escaped the curse of fancying his brother’s woman in BBJX, being about the only sibling not in love with LSS in that one. But clearly, you can’t fight fate and shortly thereafter he’s got to be a sister-in-law luster in a drama of his very own. He is a barbarian general who falls in love with a woman only to discover she’s to marry his brother. Angst and deliciousness and eventual happy ending (the husband fulfilled the uglier brother’s duty by eventually kicking the bucket.)

The Promise of Chang’an - if you want to watch brothers with the same woman but no happy ending, and have already watched BBJX, I present this recent drama where Cheng Yi gets to, as always, suffer beautifully watching the woman he loves marry his annoying brother. Pretty much everyone dies at the end of this one, going off to a great big threesome in the sky.

Twisted Fate of Love - will Sun Yi pick the delicate Tan Jianci or the sexy as fuck bastard that is Jin Han? Being a smart woman, she picks the latter and my hormones rejoice.

Go Princess Go - this is a drama that parodied every cliche there is, so why not brothers into one woman? Who is actually a man in a woman’s body making it even more delightful!

Ashes of Love - even being divine, with women from three separate realms available will seemingly not prevent love interests being a scarce resource leading to sibling love rivalry. Deng Lun and Luo Yunxi duke it out ostensibly for Yang Zi but in reality for who can suffer more prettily. Deng Lun might get the girl, but LYX wins the suffering crown, so it all more or less evens out.

Princess Silver - are siblings in love with the same woman not spicy enough for you? How about TWINS in love with the same woman? One awesome (Aarif Rahman) and one psychotic (Jing Chao) want our heroine and both marry her at one point. Only the awesome one gets to bang her though. (But the psychotic one gets to stick meathooks through his brother in compensation for not being able to stick...ummm...meathook through the heroine, so it’s all OK.)

Secret of the Three Kingdoms - and now we are gonna go REAL PERV! If twins are not enough for you, seekers of strong sensations, how about IDENTICAL twins? Ma Tianyu replaces his dead identical twin brother as the last Han emperor and gets to woo Wan Qian (whose plan it was in the first place.) At least she doesn’t need to get used to a new face?

We are gonna end here and not get into father and son sharing the same woman a la Empress of China.

(Congrats to Aarif Rahman for getting to bang both his brother’s and his father’s wives on screen. That is an interesting niche.)

[thal-ent]

(Jeanne belongs to @corneille-but-not-the-author , Balzac to @soupedepates , Swan to @noa-de-cajou and Serena to @hel-phoenyx )

There's a letter that stays unopen on his desk.

He knows who it's from, the seal of the oh so important Ordinn family stamped on the wax keeping it closed. He doesn't know why it's here, and none of his friends dared to ask why his good eye suddenly turned dark when faced with the familiar handwriting.

"To Joël Auguste Maxime Ordinn", followed by the adress of his humble potion shop. He doesn't know how she got that adress, why she suddenly decided to contact him again after decades. Why the use of names he didn't tell anyone after leaving the Republic. He does know he's looking at that letter like a mad man and his good arm is hurting from how much he's crushing it in his metal one.

He take the fine letter opener he bought years ago and cuts the top of the enveloppe, has half a mind to hope that if she contacts him, it better be because someone died.

"My dear and only son".

He wants to puke. The letter is put back on the desk with force and he thinks the sound makes Selena jumps, somewhere behind him. The scent of her perfume is still on everything she touches, even a simple letter destined to a son she didn't even look in the eyes when she told him to go. The dear is a bold lie that she has to know he wont believe in.

"I hope this letter finds you well. I am truly sorry for never contacting you sooner, hoever there is something you must know. Your father is on his death bed, afflicted by the greatest sickness of all that is age."

He stiffles a dry laugh. So, finally, his father is about to die. Maybe he's being vindicative in hoping that man is suffering, his gray hair the only touch of color left on his too old body. He was already too old when he had Joël, anyways. Swan looks at him weirdly, like they know that expression and they don't like it. But Swan also knows when it's best they stay silent, and now is one of those moments.

"He wishes to see you one last time, before his-"

He doesn't finish reading any more than that, barely sees the "best regards, your mother" at the end of the page as the dagger he found a lifetime ago in a palace sets fire to the paper.

Balzac comes to him, when the last of the ink is gone, and Joël simply sighs in relief. He softly pats the head of the bialakorn, his fur soothing the ache as Jeanne asks without a word how he's feeling. He simply smiles to her and grabs his cane, lighter than he was in years.

[mahayanapilgrim]

"Son, there are five things that are useless:

These five refer to what is not true Dharma: if you follow them they will lead you to ruin;

1) No Need to Say You are Interested in Dharma if You Have Not Turned Your Mind Away From Samsara;

Unless you feel deep down that samsara is a pit of burning coals, there is no point in saying "I practice the Dharma, I am meditating, I am deep in samadhi".

'Without this profound conviction, you can only go the opposite direction in Dharma. If your practice leads to you getting a good reputation, it will be completely in vain.

With this sort of attitude it is impossible to practice the Dharma properly. You will simply get involved in things like protecting your relatives and friends and getting rid of your enemies; your life will run counter to the Dharma.

Dharma and world activities are like fire and water. If you practice genuinely, you cannot help giving up worldly activities. On the other hand, if you devote yourself to worldly activities, you will never be able to practice the Dharma properly. So cultivate a deep desire to abandon the things of this world and a strong determination to practice Dharma.

To practice the genuine Dharma, you have to counter attachment to samsaric perceptions.

The root of our repeatedly taking birth in samsara is the alternating desire and loathing we have for the objects of the five senses- forms, tastes, smells, sounds, and physical sensations - together with perceptions our eight consciousnesses hold of these sense objects. When we feel attachment or conversely, aversion to the experiences of the five senses, we sow the seed for rebirth in

samsara...

2) No Need to Meditate on Emptiness if You Have Not Countered Attachment to the Things You Perceive

Meditation on emptiness implies a state like space. There is no occasion for thoughts like "|", "mine", "my body", "my mind", "my name", or "my belongings". This sort of clinging has no place in meditation on emptiness. So if you have thoughts about "my possessions" and so on, there is no way your meditation practice can be genuine.

One meditates on emptiness in order to release one's clinging, believing that things truly exists.

A genuine practitioner does not have this attachment to relatives and possessions, neither does he feel any aversion to enemies.

Unless you are free from this, emptiness is no more than some word - and it is quite useless.

3) No Need to Practice Mediation if You Don't Turn Your Mind Away From Desire

To say "I meditate" and at the same time still have an ordinary mind with desire and attachment will give no result.

Great meditators who end up getting sidetracked by village ceremonies risk dying as ordinary men.

Practioners who have mediated in mountain retreats for a few years are often taken by ordinary folk to be very advanced meditators, an many of them begin to believe the fools who speak of them as great meditators who have reached a high level of realization. They start accepting offerings and reverence from people, and they grow rich. They end up spending their time going from one ceremony to another and behaving in a completely worldly way. This is no use at all.

4) No Need for Fine Words if You Have Not Assimilated the Meaning Yourself.

There are many who are fooled by smart talk about the view, so hit the crucial point of the natural state.

To say things like "everything is void," "There is no such thing as good or bad, virtue or evil,"

"All perceptions are spontaneously liberated as the arise," or "Afflictive emotions are liberated as they arise," without having true confidence in such a view and actual stability in one's practice, is known as merely carrying on the view with ones lips. This is why Guru Rinpoche said to King Detsen, "my view is like space, but conduct must never slip toward the view, for if it does, it will be a wholly demonic view." He said that the view should be as high as possible but ones conduct should accord with the most basic of teachings. So it is important to get the crucial point and master the true nature of things through your own experience and not merely words. And regarding this there is;

5) No Need to Apply the Instructions if You Do Not Have Devotion

If you have great devotion, seeing the teacher as the Buddha himself, and maintain a lofty inner view while keeping your external conduct completely down to earth, all the qualities of experience and realization grow effortlessly.

Experiences and realization in fact come through the spontaneous devotion you have, so when they occur, they are truly due to the teacher's kindness..."

-Dilgo Khventse Rinpoche