#whatever it is/they are it's ALL OVERWHELMING and buries like anything interesting about this song musically

[musicrunsthroughmysoul]

I totally, definitely, really want to dislike this song. I hate the way it's sung (are you Joan Jett? No? Then STAHP, PLEASE. I am actually saying Joan Jett could cover this well, btw, and also make it sound far, FAR more interesting than this), but the inspiration for it is so interesting, and dare I say it, the lyrics are the least bad on basically the whole album? I feel like it has substance that the rest of the album could not summon if you buried it in the dirt and poured water on it (and exposed it to sunshine, etc.).

I mean, is it just me, or is almost any song that a cishet white man writes about a woman from her point of view guaranteed to be more interesting than almost anything else he writes (seemingly ever)? I'd love for that not to be true, but I personally find that to be true a lot. And maybe that's why I can't fully permit myself to hate this song, as much as it bugs me (vocally, mostly, although musically I think it could be better, too - it sounds pretty disjointed), because it intrigues me more than it bugs me. I am definitely self-conscious about admitting that, though, but oh well.

[strangeradventuresofp]

protect you (geralt x reader)

warnings : language !

requested by : @wellfuckmyexistence​ -  I know you are probs swamped with requests! But I would be hella interested in seeing you write some Geralt X Reader stuff! Maybe reader is also a Witcher? Maybe some cuddles? Maybe some angst? Some arguing??? Idk anything really tbh!

a/n : i tried to do all lol maybe this was too adventurous. i loved writing this! i had so much fun!! thank you so much, i hope you enjoy this<3333

“No, don’t you fucking dare ignore me!” You spat with clenched fists.

The feelings you felt at this moment couldn’t be determined. Your heart felt as if it were shattering in your chest, like fine crystal china breaking, tiny fragments remaining that were finer that dust. It felt like your heart had been punctured a million times over by thousands of tiny pins; it stings at first, but now it leaves you numb – not even remotely painful, just numb. Your entire body ached with such an overwhelming vigour. For the first time in your life you had felt exhausted. And it terrified you.

Being a witcher surely had it perks, enhanced agility, healing abilities, augmented strength. But it also came with a huge stigma, that was completely untrue. ‘Witchers can’t feel emotion’. Boy, if you had a coin for every time you had heard those words. It frustrated you beyond frustration. Sure, you were pretty much created to be soulless beasts, but that wasn’t the case. You were still a human, only with these superhuman abilities. You hated that you were looked down upon to be entirely emotionless. If anything, you thought that you felt emotions more. Especially the strong ones. Arousal, anger. Love. And that was exactly what had happened.

Geralt of Rivia, perhaps one of, if not the, most famous witchers about. He was easily distinguishable. His pale face and white hair made it obvious to tell that it was him. You had met him in an inn one night.

Apparently, you had caused a ruckus, which you didn’t. It was a perfectly normal reaction to a drunk stranger grabbing your arse. Needless to say, he was up against the wall with a knife against his neck within the same second. It gave you so much satisfaction to watch him squirm and hear him plead for his life, all the while hearing the others in the bar shouting foul things to you. You had heard worse, so you didn’t exactly care. That was when this huge man stood up from his solitary corner and made his way over to you. He leant into your ear, words rumbling from his chest.

“Let him go.” He commanded and you chuckled.

“And what if I don’t? You’re gonna stop me, are you?”

“Let him go.” He repeated, more demanding this time. Rolling your eyes, you forced your knife further against his throat before letting go. The man scampered off and you turned to face whoever the deep voice belonged to with a scowl.

When your eyes landed on him, you recognised him immediately, but you refused to acknowledge that you knew him. He looked confused, stepped back a little as if to get a better look of you.

“If you want to stare, why don’t we get a room?” You teased, a smirk pulling at your lips.

His face didn’t falter. “You’re a witcher.”

“Lucky guess. What do you want?” He looked at you, puzzled. “I doubt you came up to me to save me from a situation that I clearly wasn’t struggling in. So, I’ll ask you again. What do you want?”

“So hostile.” Geralt took a lock of your hair between his fingers before flicking it from your shoulder. A small smirk washed over his lips and you found yourself staring. It wasn’t long after that that you were pinned against the wall by his frame, his face in your neck and his fingers fumbling to get your clothes off of your body.

From that moment, you had travelled with him and Jaskier, the bard that named himself Geralt’s companion. It was nice. You enjoyed Geralt’s company, despite him being a complete brood most of the time. It was nice to have someone understand your struggles and how fucked up you were. You were both turned against your will. It felt good to have someone understand that. As for Jaskier, he was kind to you. You had told him many times that you liked his voice. He often invited you to sing with him, since you had admitted that you often sang to help yourself through witcher training. It led to him subtly changing the words to one of the songs he sang on your adventures; ‘Toss a coin to your witchers, O Valley of Plenty.’

You and Geralt had a very complicated relationship. There were feelings involved on your side and distant ones on his. He had shared your bed many nights, much to the complaint of Jaskier. You understood him and he understood you better than you knew yourselves. You loved him.

One night, after sharing your bed in an inn, he had disappeared into thin air. Neither you nor Jaskier had the slightest idea of where he went. A terrible feeling started to grow in your stomach the longer he did not return to you. Many nights you and Jaskier ate alone. You were not yourself. Jaskier noticed.

“Y/N—”

“I have this awful feeling, Jask, in my stomach. It feels like knots are being tied with my insides. I don’t know what it means; I have never felt it before.”

He let out a small laugh. “You’re worried for him.”

“I am not.” You urged with a scowl. But when you thought about it, the feeling began the morning you had woke up and not found him. You searched outside for Roach, but she was nowhere to be found either. It grew more every day that Geralt didn’t come back.

Now, he had returned, and you were angry. Angry was an understatement. It took everything in you not to bury your knife into his chest the moment he stepped through the inn door.

You slammed the door shut, enclosing the both of you inside the room that you had been living in for months on end. “Where did you go?”

“None of your business.”

“Where the hell did you go?” The poison in your voice would’ve made any other flinch. It pissed you off how Geralt didn’t seem to take you seriously when you were angry. He lay on the bed, just looking at you. Your eyebrows drew further together.

“I can’t believe I told you I loved you.” He avoided your gaze. And in that moment, suddenly everything made sense. The morning that you had awoken to find him missing, the night before you had tiredly let it slip that you loved him. “Is that why?

Did you even plan on coming back?” Quite quickly your eyes were pooling with tears, threatening to fall if he ignored you once more. The tremor in your voice was something that caught his attention and he sat up, looking at you with concerned eyes.

“It was a temporary trip. I came back.” Geralt showed no other indication of his feelings.

“I’m so stupid.” Your breathing was raggedy as you buried your head in your hands, begging for your tears to stay put.

“Witchers can’t feel.” A lie. Why was he trying to lie to you? He didn’t even know himself.

“Come on, Geralt. You and me both know that’s horseshit.” When he didn’t respond, you took the initiative and moved to the bedside table, snatching your knife from it and a small sack of money. Spinning around, you swung the door open, rushing down the inn stairs. You heard him call out your name, but you ignored him. As you tossed the money to the innkeeper, you opened the door that led you outside. Quickly, you mounted your horse, grabbing the reigns.

You felt a hand on your knee.

“Y/N, are you okay?”

“I’m fine, Jask. I can’t stay here anymore, not with that brooding prick about. I’m sorry.”

“But Y/N—”

“I hope we meet again, Jask. You’re a good friend. One which I don’t deserve.” You gave him a half smile before riding off out of the village. Jaskier called your name with a frown as you set off.

~~~

You were a few days ride out of whatever village you were staying in before. It was dark. You unsure of what day it was exactly, and whether it was night or early morning. There was a fire to keep you warm and your cloak, but you used it as a pillow. You had tried the first night to sleep without something to support your head but woke up with a crick in your neck. Supposedly, spending months in an inn that had pillows had meant that you had built quite a tolerance to having one. In complete honest, you had no idea where you were. But you were away from Geralt of Rivia, and that was all that mattered. It was not easy to let the one you loved go, just like it is not easy to fall in love in the first place. This was something you had yet to learn, for Geralt was the first that you had ever truly loved. Sure, you had had harmless flings, but they are harmless. They mean nothing. It was supposed to be the same with him. It turned out to be a lot more harmful to your feelings that it had meant to be.

A snap in the wood behind you captured your attention from your thoughts and you stood, placing your hand firmly on the hilt of your knife on your belt, facing the danger.

“Who’s there?” You cautioned, teeth gritting whilst your eyes adjusted to the darkness beyond the trees. You waited. When you heard another noise to the left of you, you grabbed the lurking body, pushing it hard against a tree. At least you thought you did. The cold of the tree gave you goosebumps up your back and you blinked, attempting the make out the face of the shadow that held its blade against your throat. You stuck your chin up, giving them more access to the skin of your neck. If they were going to cut your throat, they best do it well.

But they released you.

“Shouldn’t you know better than to try to attack me?” The familiar voice made your heart ache.

“I didn’t know it was you.” Pushing his body further away from yours, you sat back down beside the fire, warming your hands by it and rubbing them together. You felt his eyes on you. “If you’re going to just stare at me, fuck off.” Just as you finished your sentence, you shivered. You let out a breath.

Suddenly a pair of large, strong hands wrapped themselves around your figure and pulled you back against a warm, firm object. You could feel his breath against your skin, and you frowned.

“Why did you come looking for me?”

“I was worried.” He said, and your heart fluttered in your chest, though your scowl deepened.

“I am the only female to have ever survived becoming a witcher, and you were worried for me?”

“Hm.” He mumbled.

You sighed deeply. “I can’t keep doing this.”

“Doing what?”

“Being near you. Indulging in my fantasies.” A small chuckle left your lips. “I can’t be around you, Geralt. Not while I still care about you.”

He huffed. “I care about you.” Your heart skipped a beat and your breath hitched in your throat. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, pulling you closer into his chest, his arms firmly wrapped around you, as if he would never let you go.

“But, if that’s true, then why—”

“It was dangerous. I couldn’t risk you getting hurt.”

“So instead you left me for months on end after I admitted that I loved you?”

“I was protecting you.”

“You needn’t protect me, Geralt. Don’t you know this by now? I can hold my own. Stop trying to protect me.”

“Never.” A deep chuckle rumbled in his chest and you smiled. You were still angry at him, obviously, who wouldn’t be? “…Do you still…?”

“Do I still, what?” He cleared his throat awkwardly. You chuckled. “It’s not easy to fall in love. It’s harder to fall out of love.” Spinning yourself around in his arms, you looked at him.

“I love you.”

“Say it again.”

“I love you, Geralt of Rivia.” He hummed contently at your confession and slid his hand to the back of your neck. He pulled you forward, and you found that his lips were on yours. It wasn’t like the other times that you had shared kisses. This one had an innocence to it. You were being authentically unapologetically yourselves and you were happy to accept each other like that. Like lovers. You were in love with each other.

The two of you spent the night in the forest, cuddled against each other by the fire. And Jaskier was stuck at the inn, with no knowledge of where either of you were.

masterlist

[rosheendubh]

WIP...art-manipulation as visual inspiration for The Elegy of Dead Kingdoms...(crossover of StarWars/revamped Thrawn trilogy, FireFly/Serenity, and the Keltiad...also, spoof SpaceOpera-RockOpera featuring anyone from David Bowie, to LED Zepplin, NewOrder, U2, Ah-Ha...etc)...

~Background

~ At the impetus of River Tam, and the Operative, the Serenity’s renegade crew defies transit laws prohibiting unauthorized access to the wormhole connecting Terran space with the quadrant of the Republic Alliance and the Galactic Empire. Having only a fragmented record mentioning a lone survivor from a planetary massacre, the crew track rumors of a psionically gifted orphan said to have come from the Terran Fringe system of New Celtica, possessing the ability of manipulating the molecular structure of organic matter. An exile once in the service of Palpatine, whose skill of biokinesis Thrawn covets to stabilize the unpredictable violence of his cloned hybrids. A woman with adversaries on both sides of the wormhole, winning a Jedi to her cause, and determined to discover the key to a secret kept hidden for a thousand years. A buried legend of Old Terra, Earth That Was, that may be the last defense between the ancient darkness wakened by Thrawn‘s pursuit of absolute dominion, and the destruction of all life throughout the galaxy...(queue *cinematic drama music*)...

Somewhere between the battle of the Dark Force fleet, and Wayland, MonMontha offers a last ditch effort at negotiation with Thrawn. Imperial forces victorious in recent campaigns, have pushed back the RepublicAlliance to their InnerPlanetary systems. Rogue genetic scientists from the Terran quadrant, refusing to abandon their research after the PAX Hydrochlorate failure on Miranda, found a ready market amid trans-conduit Imperial war-profiteers, for their newest discovery. An archaic protogenome derived from dark-matter structures, endowing hybridized Reaver clones with real-time tissue regenerative capacity. These clones now render Thrawn’s army nearly indestructible. The scene above is merely my toying with a concept of the ethereal, and formidable River Tam crossing paths with the illustrious brilliance embodied in the GrandAdmiral Thrawn...

~scene~

On Coruscant, during Monmontha’s attempt at negotiating a peace, Rhyanon ferch Garowen (alluded to above) blatantly rejects Thrawn‘s coercive effort at bringing her to his side during a dinner banquet. B/c of this act of arrogance, Thrawn vows no mercy in the progression of his campaign, conquering and converting sector upon sector into a dark matter/anti-matter morass which becomes dubbed The Dimensional Rift, despite the valiant efforts of the Republic Alliance squadrons, directed by LukeSkywalker, and allies, to fend off the onslaught of Thrawn’s Dreadnaught fleet.

Before all that though, with the evening following the dinner still at hand, Thrawn abides by the Old Republic etiquette of host and guest, honoring civil diplomacy amongst enemies. A requisite social diversion-music or a dance-ensuing in the Palace reception hall holds no interest to him in Rhyanon’s absence. Preferring solitude, he meanders out to a balcony overlooking Coruscant’s expanse of lights, twinkling ladders of motion, reaching up to the lower atmosphere. And here, she follows after him minutes later, floating between shadows, a specter of innocence and dangerous beauty.

She pauses beneath a statue of some nameless goddess, a figure of Victory or Life, a pretension of lesser cultures. Weaker nations seeking hope in empty icons. The girl, young woman really, by the standards of human chronology, offers an entirely different contemplation.

From the sofa where he’s seated, viewing her from across the fountain, Thrawn appreciates the lithe symmetry of her form, a subtle disguise of strength and grace. Dangerous beauty. “You’re very like her, River Tam. A work of art, a living masterpiece,” he comments.

For as young as she is, not more than 20 years surely, she carries herself with a remarkable serenity. Stepping lightly around the other sofa, she leans her hip against the cushioned neck rest. Barely flickering an eyelid, she focuses luminous dark eyes on him, shining through the mottled patterns of light scattered between them.

Her voice resembles her figure, light and flowing. “A failed experiment, you mean, Mitth’raw’nuruodo.” Flawlessly, she speaks his name, though he knows they weren’t introduced at any point previous to this moment. ”I was supposed to be like them—the researchers were trying to make me like them. One of your chimeric hybrids.”

“Ah, the one who got away,“ he muses. Something at that stirs a flicker in her dark gaze. “Yes, little Albatross, I read the classified reports of your Core Parliament. About your brother, the escape. An elegant devising. And a lesson as to the deficiencies of private-contract security.“

Tension firms a line between her brows, hardens her expression as she glances away from him for a moment. “It wouldn’t have mattered.“

His derision comes out as a short, barking laugh. “Why? Because your escape resulted more from the incompetence of poorly trained guards than the alleged skill of your brigand crew mates?

Her attention swings back to him, conviction firm in her words. “No. Because my brother watches out for me. He protects me. And he loves me.”

Thrawn says nothing, stoic against her emotion, such a human flaw. Rubbing his thumb and middle finger together, of the hand draped eloquently off the arm-wrest, he continues sizing up this most intriguing amalgam of softness and mettle.

”Love is a weakness,” satisfaction grim in his tone, picking at a piece of this puzzle embodied by River Tam. Toying with it, testing how she’ll react. “It causes distraction from the warrior’s path. Makes them vulnerable to fear. And you, little Albatross, were foremost, molded as a weapon. A living masterpiece of perfection.”

Her lids slant, head tipped to the side slightly. “I dream about them still. The other test subjects. The Reavers. The dreams used to frighten me. They were worse when the scientists would be administering some new cocktail. They’re not as bad as they used to be, since Miranda. But their voices—I...hear them-“a frown ghosting over her features”-though I’ve learned to hush them.”

”I think you hear a lot more than that, River Tam.”

Challenge broods in a strange magnetism between them. ”So do you,” she says mildly, sending a wary shiver over his skin. How she knows about inoculating himself with the protogenome he can’t begin—

-of course he can. She’s a mind-reader, a telepath. What can’t she pick out of the whirl of thought composing humanoid psyches if she’s so determined?

His awareness smolders like embers in a breeze, open to the Shadow’s primordial sequences merged into his own cells. Enhancing perception, layers of reality peeled back when he channels this infernal heat coursing through his blood. Vision, smell, sound, his mind branching like light off a faceted diamond, reflecting images in a 1000 different plains. And Thrawn, glorying in the draught of fractured darkness.

River’s eyes glint in guarded scrutiny, attuned, perhaps to the whisper of power subsumed by Thrawn’s cultivated urbanity. Wandering over to where he’s seated, she lowers herself next to him on the couch. Her mind brushes against his like leaves floating upon a watery surface, remaining on the periphery without venturing into the depths.

“Chiis physiology-Stamina, strength, resilience against extremes of physical exposure. Superior reflexes and intellect inherent to your species, allowing adaptive advantages over the millennia. A robust psychology keeping you from succumbing to the deterioration of sensory assimilation, the way your clones eventually will. A perfect medium for channeling the Shadow.”

Thrawn wonders where she’s going with her exposition. She bears the full weight of his scorching gaze with nary a flinch. The fey-like curiosity alive across her youthful grace causes a rare unease, unused to be so unabashedly studied. He holds himself still, tensing at the light pressure of her hand taking his out of his lap, wrapping delicate fingers over a wrist corded by muscle.

”Everyone has a weakness,” she says. “Even you.”

Anger snarls beneath the surface of his poise, a broiling red froth that must have blazed up in his gaze. ”Whatever you think you see child, you take liberties of interpretation,” speaking in cold, controlled wrath before which she pales, breathing deep to collect herself. The pressure of her touch on his wrist, though, remains steady.

Her hand, slender fingers resting atop his own, no suggestion of anything other than gentleness. His own hand, larger, stronger, a grip that could crack her bones with minimal exertion. Strangle the air from her lungs, twist her fragile neck like silken twine. Tangling the rich brown waves of her hair in his grasp, forcing her head back till her spine might snap, plundering her mouth as he would plunder her body. Raze her mind till she was left a weeping pile of bruised limbs and torn clothes, cowering on the chill marble floor, her thighs bleeding like the rags of her mind.

Unperturbed, she shares every image coalesced in his thoughts. Each portrait of violence fading into the recess of darkness where the Shadow brews and twists like smoke above the infernal hells. As well, he’s viewed the record of her encounter with the Reavers after Miranda. Like Rhyanon, she would fight him with a skill capable of delaying the ultimate conquest. This wisp of a child, scarcely into womanhood, moving like sand and water, a song of death captured in every leap and twist. Every dive and slash as she wound a choreography of slaughter against an entire pack of beastial invaders. The outcome inevitably in his favor, if for no other reason than the greater strength of his sheer physicality would overwhelm, exhaust her eventually, compared to human anatomic inadequacy.

“A matter of minutes, to take you. An act of utility, really--to break you. Make you beg for a mercy that would never come.“

Her eyebrow crooks up, scolding or skepticism. “But you wouldn’t do that, any of those things.”

Her patient humoring isn’t what he anticipated. ”What makes you think so?” he asks out of mere speculation, momentarily forgetting the antagonizing subtlety guiding their conversation.

”Because you‘ve seen what I am. The weapon, not the woman. And,“ she says, sighing with an almost child-like assurance, looking out to the far horizon, “because seduction isn’t your weakness. She is.”

Damn the girl, for gut-punching through his composure with such guileless effort. His gaze follows hers, tracking the aerial traffic dotting Coruscant’s night skies in a flickering menagerie. He concentrates on keeping his breathing even, stilling his mind, as he considers his reply. The silhouettes of soaring towers outlined by shimmering lights blot out the sky, the glow which would normally be visible on a less metropolitan planet, of satellites in orbit, and stars far beyond.

”One word,” he says finally. “She could have changed the tide of this war for the Republic with one word.“

She turns, a searching intensity in her deep gaze. Seeing too much within him. “So could you, change the tide of this war for Republic,” she says softly, giving a gentle squeeze of his wrist.

Impatient and irritated with the poignancy in her tone, Thrawn shakes her hand off. “She has no idea, the fate to which she’s condemned the galaxy,” he tells her with a hard look, rising off the sofa. He looms over her, eyes burning across her face, so that for the first time, she shudders away from the brewing wrath. He marvels again, the steel disguised beneath the seeming delicacy of her body. Her sandeled feet tucked beneath her on the sofa, the fabric of her dress, simple design of polyfiber cotton, drapes fine curves of breast, hip, and thigh.

Despite her attention fastened upon the night horizon, nothing of intimidation colors her posture, but sadness tinges the turned-down line of her lips. He bows his head to her before heading back to the reception hall lying through a corridor adjoined to the balcony. A salute, a parting to conceal his remorse of the lost fate she chooses with her friends and allies.

“And you, little Albatross,“ he rasps in dire promise, the epithet snaring her surprised glance up at him. “You have no idea what’s coming. None of you do.”

A wasted masterpiece of living art, dangerous beauty.

—

Watching him stride away into the dim hall, the Grand Admiral’s disappointment aches like an overstrained joint. Bothersome, but eventually fading unless exacerbated. In his absence, the darkness hovers about her, the balcony esconsed, now, in transient quiet. Illusory peace.

Alive, so alive, the hum of myriad thoughts, voices, hopes, griefs—the gambit composing sentient life throughout the city. The planet. Her mind-reading truly can’t extend with any precision beyond the palace, but a general hum always persists in the background of her consciousness. The sound of living beings. A vibration silenced forever upon Miranda.

That silence had almost broken her sanity more than any experimentation. As scientists sought to harness innate hyper-sensory perception with neurochemical alterations, subjecting her to an intensive programming, molding her mind-body duplex into prime mental and physical conditioning. In the process, she was often torn, battered, abused, and tortured, her mind confused, shifting between lucidity and dissociation and nightmare. But never breaking.

The sound of death, of nothing. Emptiness like a vacuum, no thought, or feeling. Miranda had almost broken her. Miranda, it turned out, opened the road to a recovery of herself. What she is, what she’s meant to be? No one seems to know. At least not since Simon rescued her from the illicit lab which had been her prison. Hyper-awareness, sensory adepts, psychic traits expressed amongst humans were hardly uncommon through the Terran quadrant, both Core and Fringe systems. Posited by some scientists as a natural development of sentient consciousness, induced by interstellar travel over the centuries.

Among these foreign systems across the wormhole, peoples attributed such gifts to some metaphysical energy field. The Force. Light and Dark. The association, to River’s thinking, paradoxical for a property endemic to all beings, carrying no inherent morality until determined by the intent of the wielder. Perhaps she just didn’t quite grasp its intricacies as yet, conceding that nuances of intuition, emotion, passive reception, meditation still often eluded her. The Force embedded such concepts, rather than the more actualized focus of psychic traits held by the majority of systems native to the Terran quadrant.

What she is. What she‘s meant to be—*a weapon, a work of art*. *No*, she answers her own query, the feeling of defiance liberating. *A failed experiment. The one who got away.*

”And you forget,“ she whispers to the attentive night. “I can still hear them in my head. All the time. Just like you do, Mitt’raw’nuruodo.”

Miranda is not what Thrawn has in mind, that sort of emptiness. He wants something more. Under Imperium’s auspices, subjugating and assimilating one star system after another, spreading this corruption of time and reality, bleeding the Dark Entity’s ravenous, primordial substance like an oil-slick settling into the sinkholes of what had been viable Star-systems. Seeding these tortured hybrids cloned of Reavers, and whatever other mutated derangements of horror will fuse and divide in an incubator. With his enhanced soldiers, their minds a racket of incessant savagery, submission to Thrawn throughout the galaxy seems inevitable. Especially now that Intel, and Republic specialists working with Rhyanon, recently confirmed the adaptive capacity of certain hybrids to infect other living creatures with their intracellular genetic material.

They’ll never be completely hushed, even in the deepest caverns of her own mind. Reavers. The chimeric hybrids. They howl, writhe, snarl, and scream in agony beyond their comprehension. But the havoc of their consciouses, keeping the hybrids contained as a utilizable resource requires increasing concentrations of sedatives, hyponotics, and psychogenic pharmaceuticals.

She can feel their echo within Thrawn, too. Not of the violence, but his craving the Shadow’s power. It’s why he covets Rhyanon-her abilities of biologic manipulation, transforming the very backbone molecules of life. Healing, rejuvenating, reconstructing, restoring from disease, infection, deterioration and decay. Thirsting for the surcease she could provide, balancing the Dark Entity’s immersion of his own constitution. A living masterpiece, the kind of gifted elegance Thrawn desired, Rhyanon, like River, was another one who’d gotten away. Another failed experiment. Another dangerous beauty.

Rhyanon loathes him. Holding her captive on his flagship under the influence of cortical inhibitors, and hallucinogens. Trying to force her into stabilizing the synaptic connections of higher brain function in his hybrids. Dampening their insanity as the cloned offspring reached maturity. Coercing her in other ways as well, while she resisted the influence of intoxicants deluging her system. That was why she rejected his play at truce earlier during the dinner, an offer to join him voluntarily. That. And the fact she and the Jedi were patently lovers. A circumstance exacerbating the already furious enmity between the Grand Admiral and Luke.

Rhyanon would use those same graces of biokinesis to tear him apart one atom at a time, despite the danger of inducing her own body’s destruction. The price of biopsionic talents, a check limiting the potential for abuse of that power over life and death. Unfortunate, in that Rhyanon’s ability, synergized with the particular strengths shared between their small group of Force-wielders and sensory adepts, offers the only potential counter against Thrawn’s growing influence.

Finding some way of battling this Dark Matter entity. This Abaddon, commanding elemental forces dating from the universe’s origins. A being capable of destroying multiple star-systems if they resist its Seeding. They’d all seen what happened on Namsonis 4 in the aftermath of losing the majority of Dreadnaughts. A desperate evacuation. A world wrenched apart like a ball of mud crushed in a fist. A solar system facing a monstrous dehiscence of time and space, heart of chaos, blowing a hole through the core of a sun, and incinerating the other 6 planets spared Namsonis’s fate. Hours later, a festering wound across the void of black, rocky debris and ionized gas discharges the last traces of a star system no longer existing between tomorrows.

Contrary to the stillness in which she sits, River’s thoughts spin countless strands in the spreading web of her mind, her fingers running absently along the ridge of her collarbone. Picturing simultaneous star-maps, envisioning parallel scenarios of navigation vectors, battle engagements, the stratified calculations worked in trans-dimensional matrices. Always hearing the Reavers seething in the recess of her soul.

Finally, arriving at some conclusion, she reveals to the passing night, ”I do know exactly what’s to come.” And maybe, maybe there’s a chance. One distant, improbable-verging on impossible-chance they have of subverting this menace before it reaches the Terran quadrant.

[fandom-necromancer]

Getting lost together

This was prompted by a lovely anon! I hope you enjoy, this one is fluffy XD

Fandom: Detroit become human | Ship: Reed900

‘Nines, that was the last bag, come on! We’re going to be late!’ Gavin closed the trunk of his car and looked over to where Nines was standing right between the house and the car. ‘Tina will look after the cats alright, she loves the little beasts, don’t worry’, he tried to comfort him, opening the car door and leaning against it. ‘We’ll come back, and they are at least a kilo heavier’, he joked. Nines straightened his back, but avoided his eyes as he walked towards the car. ‘Hey, what’s wrong?’, the Detective asked softly. ‘I thought you looked forward to this.’ ‘I do!’, Nines quickly replied. ‘It’s just my first time leaving Detroit. I… I’m not sure what awaits me.’ ‘That’s what travelling is about’, Gavin explained and stepped past the door to take his hand. ‘Don’t worry. You will love it.’ ‘I hope so’, he mumbled far too insecure for a war machine and entered the car.

Gavin sat down too, leaning over to press a kiss to Nines’ cheek and start the engine afterwards. ‘Come on. Let’s go on a road trip!’ He handed Nines a case full of music CDs and gestured him to choose one. ‘Passenger decides the music’, he explained and started pulling out of their driveway. The android frowned at the disks, contemplating whether he should tell Gavin he could always just connect to the car and play whatever song he wanted. But he guessed this was part of the experience, so he pulled out one of them without researching band names or titles written on it. ‘Excellent choice’, Gavin cheered as the first heavy guitar riffs came up. Nines couldn’t really say something to that as he had no idea what else he could have picked, but seeing Gavin grin and drum his fingers on the steering wheel he found he didn’t really care if it made his human happy.

They drove through the streets and Nines traced their route with his GPS. He got increasingly worried as they made it onto the highway and finally left Detroit. ‘All good, love?’, Gavin asked, seeing the red flashing LED. ‘Yes, just… I lost connection to an android network.’ ‘That means?’, the man asked concerned. ‘My scans won’t be as effective anymore as I can only detect what I see. I can’t supplement it with information from the internet or databanks.’ ‘Should we turn around?’ Nines thought about it. It was their first vacation since the revolution as work had kept them busy with anti-android crimes, retaliations and the rising Red-Ice trades. He had looked forwards to it and still did. He would spend time with his human somewhere neither of them had been before, just the two of them. What about that wasn’t exciting? ‘No. It’s just weird loosing a function you never paid much attention to.’ ‘I can imagine’, Gavin hummed, unsure what to say. ‘I guess that at least makes us equal?’, Nines contemplated. ‘Neither of us knows Providence. It’s a new place for you and I have no way of acquiring more information than you could.’ ‘Heh, a full-on human experience, then?’ ‘You could say so.’

They drove down the road and the longer they were on their way, the less worried Nines became. If anything, partially loosing his scanning abilities made it even more interesting. He simply couldn’t know some things and others passed too fast to get even a little bit of information. ‘How do you live like this?’, Nines couldn’t help but ask as he could see buildings to his right that might have belonged to a town called Sweaburg, but could as well be something entirely else. ‘How do you live, seeing things and having no idea what something is?’ Gavin laughed. ‘Learning to ignore what isn’t important, I guess? I mean, do I have to know everything to survive. And it can make it all the more interesting if you do find out someday. You can always learn something new, even if you lived your whole life in just one city.’ Nines frowned and tried to understand. ‘I mean, isn’t it boring knowing everything? What about curiosity and the joy of discovery?’ The android had to nod to that. ‘That’s why I like our work this much. And I’m starting to like this new perspective, too.’

He found himself smiling as he watched the world pass by, details appearing and disappearing before his programs could even try to gather information. He had become a passive onlooker and it was a weirdly relaxing experience when at the same time his eyes darted from one fixing point to the next trying to take in everything at once. Gavin found he had a difficult time concentrating on the road when Nines sat in the passenger seat almost pressing his nose to the glass like a school child on their first but ride. Sometimes he wished he could take photos like the android could, just to remember this sight forever.

They had to stop for gas soon and Nines took over for the rest of the ten-hour ride. Gavin, understandably exhausted, had tried to stay awake, but when they were an hour away from their destination, he was peacefully sleeping leaned against the door. Only as Nines left the highway and had to stop at a red light, the man woke up again. ‘Oh, we’re already there?’, he asked and sat up. ‘Sorry, I’m just really tired.’ ‘Our hotel is just down the road. Then you can sleep properly.’ ‘Nah, I planned to go take a look at the city first!’ ‘Gavin, I doubt we will get anything else done. And it’s supposed to be a vacation.’ ‘Okay, I’ll take a short nap then and afterwards we go for a walk in the evening, but that’s the only compromise I’m willing to accept.’ Nines sighed. ‘Fine.’

They checked in to their hotel and went to their room to stow away their luggage. Gavin’s nap ended up being longer than expected and with an amused huff, Nines slipped under the blanket too to join his human in this unknown place.

-

Maybe it had been the night spent in stasis, but when Nines rose to see Gavin in the light of the rising sun in this foreign room, he could barely contain the happiness that he felt. No deadline, no case that had to be solved, no clear mission to follow. Just himself and Gavin in a city neither of them knew; time reset to a new schedule counting down the days of their vacation. It was almost… liberating.

He snuggled closer to Gavin and wallowed in his warmth. The human grinned and turned around, still sleepy but slowly waking up. ‘Morning, Nines.’ ‘Morning darling.’ Gavin buried his head in his shoulder. ‘Jeez, Nines, if you keep this up I’ll never leave the bed.’ ‘We can do that if you want’, the android murmured, kissing the top of his head. ‘Nah. Let’s get ready for breakfast and then go see the city. I have something special planned for tonight and you can’t research it! It will truly be a surprise.’ ‘I can still do normal research via the internet, Gavin. Just slower.’ ‘Don’t you dare’, Gavin laughed, pointing his finger at his nose, before standing up and getting ready for the day.

After leaving the hotel, they walked through the streets without any real plan in mind. Nines followed Gavin, who seemed to take random turns and stopped at random places. Watching the people around them and the different sorts of buildings, Nines was quickly feeling weirdly at home. In the afternoon they stopped at a park near the river and Gavin got himself something to eat at the many food carts around. They sat down at a bench right at the riverfront and enjoyed the sunny day. ‘This is perfect’, Nines couldn’t help but voice the content he felt at watching the water lazily pass by, a few ducks swimming on it. A few joggers passed them, faces without names for the first time in Nines’ short life. ‘Got over that lack of information?’, Gavin asked, mouth still half full of the hot dog. ‘I’m actually considering shutting off that program completely when not on the job’, he shrugged. ‘You were right it is more interesting to not know and wonder. If I really need to know something, I can always switch it on again.’ ‘Nice. Good to know it’s not too bad for you.’ Nines looked down on Gavin and put his arm around him. ‘It’s never around you.’ ‘Aw you damn romantic android. I would hate you if I didn’t love you.’ ‘Sure.’ Nines looked out over the river and cocked his head. ‘Gavin, what did you wanted to show me?’ ‘In the evening, love. Has to be dark for it. Patience.’

At least time passed quickly with the human around to guide him around town. As the sun set, they returned to a different part of the river. Nines frowned, as he saw several people blocking his view on the water. ‘Gavin, what-‘ ‘Shh, come on, follow me. I looked this up beforehand, there should be a good spot over here.’ Gavin took his hand and pushed through the crowd, not even thinking of apologising. Pulling Nines right to the front, the android was indeed blown-away. In all his preconstructions, he hadn’t expected this: Several bonfires were lit on the water and lit up the walls in soft orange and hot white yellow. Music played and the masses stood and watched as people tended to the fires and gondolas passed through the flames. ‘Gavin, what is this?’, he asked in surprise. ‘They call it Waterfire. A festival that began as art is now celebrated annually. ‘Thought it would be something fun to be part of. Do you like it?’ Nines couldn’t pull his eyes away from the reflections on the water, the thousands of people at the shore and the flickering fires cracking on the surface of the water. The smell of burning wood filled the air and managed to overpower the different smells from the food stands. ‘Gavin, I… I never experienced something similar. Can we… Does this stretch the whole river? Can we see all of it? Can we ride one of the gondolas? I… For how long did they celebrate this? Why-‘ Gavin’s loving smile made him stop, feeling awkward for asking so many questions and letting his excitement overwhelm him. But Gavin only rose to his toes and pulled Nines head down into a kiss. ‘For you? Everything.’

[remywrites5]

Happy Birthday, Fel!

It’s not still @casualmaraudering ‘s birthday where she is but it still is where I am so I’m counting it! Just something short a sweet (because some friends don’t bother to tell you that their birthday is coming up so you have to scramble to write a thing! Anyway - hope you like it and Happy Birthday!!!)  ****  Remus had imagined that his university years would be spent making lots of friends and finally getting himself a boyfriend. Instead, it had consisted of a lot of homework, a lot of crying, one friend, named Regulus Black, and no boyfriend to speak of. Remus had found himself crushing on Regulus just a bit, until he learned that Regulus was aroace, and therefore completely uninterested in Remus as anything other than a friend. It hadn’t taken Remus long to get over his crush, after all, it was barely a crush to begin with.

           Remus and Regulus were sitting across from each other, working on their group project for their art history class, or at least pretending to do so in between sending each other memes.

“Oi, you wanker!”

           Remus glanced up in surprise and caught Regulus cringing. Regulus’ shoulders hunched forward, as if he were trying to make himself invisible. Remus blinked a few times, caught off guard by Regulus’ reaction, and looked around for the source of the voice.

           Someone was approaching their table, bounding over like an overexcited puppy, a big grin on his face. He looked exactly like Regulus, except his hair was a bit longer, his face a bit softer, where as Regulus was all sharp angles.

           Remus was about to ask Reg if he was okay when the stranger dropped into the chair next to Reg and put his arm around him. “Didn’t you hear me calling you?”

           “Of course I did,” Regulus said bitterly. “Why do you think I was hiding?”

           “That’s mean.”

           Regulus sighed. “What do you want, Sirius?”

           Sirius grinned and pulled Regulus closer, nearly choking him. “Well, first I want you to introduce me to the hot pink-haired boy across from you.”

           Regulus shoved Sirius’ arm away. “Remus Lupin, this is my idiot twin brother, Sirius.”

           “Oi, don’t introduce me like that!” Sirius said, scandalized. “I never see you around campus and this is how you behave?”

           “We’re in different departments,” Regulus reminded his brother. “I don’t have much reason to visit the foreign language department. Also, I avoid you at all costs.”

           “Rude,” Sirius said, shaking his head in disbelief. “I was going to buy you a coffee, too.”

           “Only if you buy one for Remus too.” Regulus stipulated, gesturing towards Remus. Remus froze as suddenly both brothers’ attention focused on him. It really was unfair that people could be that attractive. Remus felt heat rising to his cheeks at the unwavering glances.

           “Hi,” Remus said, giving a little wave and then immediately regretting it. He felt so unbelievably stupid.

           “Hello,” Sirius practically purred, leaning forward and resting his chin in his hand.

           “It’s – uh – nice to meet you,” Remus said, glancing away. “Regulus never mentioned having a twin brother.”

           “What?” Sirius shouted, turning towards his brother accusingly. “How have you never mentioned me?”

           “Because you’re embarrassing,” Regulus responded, kicking at Sirius under the table. “Now go get our coffees.”

           “Fine,” Sirius said, gracefully standing up. He pulled his long, dark hair up into a ponytail and grinned. Remus pretended it wasn’t doing things to him. It was very nearly an insurmountable task.  “Only because I am such an awesome brother.”

           “Don’t get ahead of yourself there,” Regulus told him, typing something on the keyboard of his laptop.

           Sirius glared at him for a moment and then quickly reached over and smashed a few of the keys, ruining whatever it was that Regulus was typing.

           “You’re so childish!” Regulus said, jamming his finger on the backspace key.

           Sirius laughed and walked over to Remus’ side of the table. “So what kind of coffee do you like?”

           Remus played with one of his curls nervously. “Uh, anything mocha is fine, but you really don’t have to – “

           “Nah, I got you,” Sirius said, nudging Remus with his elbow. “Be right back!”

                                                                       ***

           Remus didn’t think much of his bizarre run-in with Regulus’ brother. After all, it was a large campus, they were unlikely to meet each other again. Remus wasn’t about to go crazy over some guy he barely knew, especially when he figured Reg would have a problem with it. Remus wasn’t about to risk his one friend on some guy who probably wasn’t interested in the first place.

           There was an LGBTQ+ dance that Remus was determined to attend on campus. His goal of finally getting a boyfriend hadn’t changed, and since he barely socialized with anyone except Reg, this felt like the perfect opportunity to meet someone. Regulus had refused to go with Remus, so Remus was stuck going on his own. It was taking all of his courage to walk through the door by himself. He clutched the ticket he’d bought in his hand like a lifeline and tried to calm his nerves.

           “Hey,” Someone whispered behind Remus, their breath on Remus’ ear, making him shiver. Remus turned his head and came face to face with none other than Sirius Black. Remus swallowed thickly and took a quick step away.

           “Hi Sirius,” Remus said, gripping his ticket even tighter. “Are you going to the dance as well?”

           “It’s worse than that,” Sirius said with a lazy grin. “I actually helped organize it.”

           “Wow,” Remus said, impressed. “That’s amazing.”

           Sirius chuckled and scratched the back of his neck. “Is it? I was mostly roped into it by my friend, Marlene.”

           “I think it’s great,” Remus said, smiling encouragingly. “I’ve been meaning to become more involved in club stuff.”

           “Well, we meet every Thursday in you’re free,” Sirius said, slipping his hands into the pockets of his trousers. He looked stylish in a black suit, perfectly tailored, his red tie undone around his neck and a few buttons undone on his shirt. Remus felt silly standing next to him, wearing his nicest pair of jeans and a green cardigan. He probably should have put more effort into his appearance for something like this.

           “I’ll definitely come when I can,” Remus promised, tugging on one of his curls nervously.

           “Hey, dance with me,” Sirius said, grabbing Remus by the arm and leading him into the activities hall where the dance was taking place.

           “W-wait, I didn’t give them my ticket!” Remus said in a panic as Sirius led him past the ticket booth. The person at the table merely gave Sirius a nod as they walked inside.

           “Don’t mind that,” Sirius said, sliding his hand down Remus’ arm to clasp his hand instead. “I’ll make sure they get it.”

           “Sirius!” Remus said, his face bright red. “I – I’m not much of a dancer.”

           “Don’t worry,” Sirius told him, pulling Remus in close and wrapping his arms around his waist. “It’s a slow one.”

           Remus had no choice but to put his arms around Sirius’ neck and get close to him. It was so overwhelming that Remus was scared he might die. Their eyes kept meeting and Remus couldn’t handle that much eye contact. So instead, he buried his face against Sirius’ neck and pretended he was fine. It may have been a bit intimate, but it was better than looking up at those intoxicating grey eyes. At least like this Remus felt like he could still form coherent thoughts.

           “This feels more like we’re hugging than dancing,” Sirius teased as they swayed together to the music. “Why won’t you look at me?”

           “Can’t.” Remus mumbled, squeezing Sirius tighter.

           “Why not?”

           “I’m worried.”

           “About?”

           “Doing something stupid,” Remus answered, hoping against hope that Sirius wouldn’t question him further. Sirius chuckled and pressed his nose against Remus’ hair. It felt nice, being held by Sirius in such a way. Remus wouldn’t mind staying there for a while longer. He felt his eyes slip shut of their own volition.

           “What if I do something stupid?”

           “Hmm?” Remus hummed, nuzzling his face against Sirius’ throat. “I won’t mind.”

           “Don’t hate me, okay?”

           “Why would I –“

           Sirius placed his finger under Remus’ chin and tilted his face up. Remus then lost any and all train of thought as Sirius pressed their lips together, his mind going fuzzy like it was full off cotton. It was gentle and undemanding, a simple press of lips against lips, and a moment later it was done. Sirius pulled back and let his thumb tenderly caress Remus’ cheek.

           “I’m sorry.”

           “What for?” Remus asked, his stomach dropping. He wondered if Sirius already regretted it. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to handle that. “D-did I do it wrong?”

           Sirius chuckled. “Of course not. I shouldn’t have sprung that on you. I just really have wanted to do that since I met you.”

           “Why?”

           Sirius shrugged. “You’re kind of adorable.”

           Remus scowled at him. “No, I’m not.”

           Sirius laughed and shook his head. “Even when you’re angry you’re cute as fuck. Your nose gets all scrunched up. I really like that.”

           “W-we don’t even really know each other that well.” Remus reasoned, taking a step back to put some distance between himself and Sirius. “We’ve only met once. This is ridiculous. You’re being ridiculous.”

           “Sometimes you just know, right?”

           Remus felt his jaw drop. “Regulus – “

           “Will get over it. Don’t use him as an excuse,” Sirius said, frowning slightly. He looked kind of upset and Remus felt bad for having brought it up. Sirius ran his fingers through his hair and then exhaled loudly. “He doesn’t hate me as much as he pretends to.”

           The song had changed to a pop song Remus vaguely recognized, but Sirius and Remus remained slow dancing. It was kind of nice, like being in their own little world. “I don’t know what to say. I’m not even sure what you’re asking me.”

           “How about a date?”

           “Okay,” Remus said, tucking his head back under Sirius’ chin. He liked being close to Sirius, it was somehow both exhilarating and extremely comforting at the same time. “When?”

           “How about now? Spend the rest of the dance with me.”

           Remus smiled against Sirius’ neck and pressed a soft kiss to the corner of his jaw. “I think I can handle that.”

                                                                       ***

           It was well past midnight and Sirius was walking Remus back to his dormitory. Their hands were laced together, swinging between them as they walked. They’d spent the rest of the dance talking and dancing, occasionally kissing. Just thinking about it made Remus’ toes curl in his shoes. He’d had his first date with a boy. A boy that he had kissed. There was going to be more dates and more kissing. His stomach was twisted into knots just thinking about it.

           “Remus?” Sirius said, stopping just outside Remus’ building.

           “Yeah?”

           “I kind of don’t want to say good night to you,” Sirius confessed, giving Remus’ hand a small squeeze.

           Remus felt his face go bright red, heating up in complete embarrassment. “I-I’m sorry, I’m not ready for – “

           “Oh god no!” Sirius said quickly, waving his free hand around to dispel Remus’ thoughts. “I didn’t mean that. I meant that I just wanted to spend more time with you.”

           “Oh,” Remus said, thinking it over. He found that he felt the same way. Spending time with Sirius was easy, effortless, and even though Remus felt nervous around him, he didn’t feel like that was a bad thing. “I have an idea.”

           They stopped by Remus’ dorm so that Remus could quickly fill a thermos with hot chocolate and grab one of his spare blankets. He then led Sirius up to the rooftop, where people had put some sofas. It was a popular spot for people to come up and smoke or drink as long as they didn’t get caught.

           They sat side by side on one of the sofas and Remus put the blanket around them to share. They passed the thermos back and forth as they continued to talk. The more Remus watched Sirius, the more differences he could spot between Sirius and Regulus. It had taken Remus a long time to get Regulus to open up to him and agree to be his friend. Sirius was so open and friendly in contrast, things seemed to go so smoothly with him. Regulus was dry and sarcastic, while Sirius was more genuinely funny, making Remus snort more than a few times.

           Before Remus knew it, the sun was peeking over the tops of the trees. Sirius stood up and stretched, raising his arms high over his head. He then turned and held out a hand to Remus. “One more dance?” he requested with a small smile. “While the sun comes up?”

           “We don’t have any music,” Remus informed him, but stood up all the same.

           Sirius slid his hand into his pocket and pulled out his phone. He then grabbed his airpods out of the case and put one in each of their ears. Remus waited patiently as Sirius scrolled through his phone, looking for the right song. Like Real People Do by Hozier began to play in Remus’ left ear and Remus found himself falling back into Sirius’ arms. The slow and soft melody felt perfect to the quiet of the early morning.

           Eventually they stopped dancing, too wrapped up in kissing each other to remember to move their feet.

           There, in the chill of an early September morning, Remus discovered what it felt like to fall for Sirius Black.

[elsanna-shenanigans]

April Contest Submission #3: Prism of White

Words: ca. 5,200 Setting: Modern AU Lemon: No CW: none

Light filtered through the window casting the room in a golden glow. Papers lay crumpled and torn on the coffee table and the floor beneath. Anna tossed her sketchbook on the table and threw her pencil next to it. Weeks passed and she still didn’t have another good idea for her next art piece. Her hands grasped a pillow on the couch beside her. Her freckled face buried in the soft cushion, a muffled groan joining the white-noise of the television in the background.

Art had been a passion of hers ever since her stubby toddler fingers first grasped that pack of cheap crayons. Her parents laid scrap paper out in front of her at the kitchen table. The adults left the room shortly after thinking little Anna would be occupied for a little more than five minutes.  Overjoyed with all the colors in the box, now strewn over the table some rolling to the floor, little Anna picked up the green and began to scribble in swirls and loops like any child does. Her mother came back ten minutes later to check on her and grab a cup of afternoon coffee. A gasp tore from her throat and her blue eyes widened at the site. The walls had been little Anna’s first canvas.

She laughed at the memory, the sound muffled by the pillow still pressed against her face. The scolding she received after that event lost to the feeling of joy at the colors swirling around her. Back then art had been carefree and fun. Now the blank pages in her sketchbook mocked her with that textured whiteness.

Twenty-one years of sketching, painting, throwing color on canvas’ of varying degrees, making a life out of it. A dream come true. One that would have been impossible if not from the support of her friends and family. One person in particular. Elsa.

Little Elsa could light up Anna’s world by merely stepping into the room. She used to be so very timid and quiet, often opting to hide in the corner with a book than engage with the other kids her age. Anna managed to pull her into their little games anyway.

As the two grew older their interests diverged slightly. They both found joy in the arts, joining in theater at school for fun, playing and listening to music (although their tastes differed vastly at times), and studying the history behind all forms of art. A bond formed and kept them close even when one started painting and sketching while the other used words to color with.

A writer’s search history and an artist’s eye left plenty for friends to laugh and grow concerned about.

Anna lifted her head from the pillow feeling someone fiddle with her twin braids. She smiled already knowing who it was behind her.

“What are you so distressed about?” Elsa hummed out sweetly. Her  eyes swept over the paper littered around and the discarded sketchbook. “Can’t think of a good idea?”

Anna groaned again and buried her head back in the pillow. Her reply came muffled and she knew Elsa wouldn’t be able to understand a word of it. This problem she had wasn’t that much of a big deal. Anna knew that. Every artist had periods where they couldn’t draw. An artblock as she so affectionately called it. But this felt different. She had ideas. The vision of what she wanted to draw sat crystal clear in her mind’s eye, but when she picked up the pencil each stroke on the page felt weighted. She knew what she wanted to put on the paper. She hated each stroke she made and the finished result. Weeks of this and the stress of not creating made her head spin. The ride she had been on had stopped with her sitting upside down unable to do anything.

The couch dipped beside her as Elsa sat down. Pale hands pulled the pillow Anna was secretly hoping would suffocate her until freckled cheeks and a pouty lip were visible. Anna whined and reached out for the cushion. Elsa held it out of reach ignoring the dark spot where Anna drooled on it.

“Ah-Ah,” Elsa wagged her finger. Anna’s shoulder slumped forward in despair. “You can get the pillow back and resume your little, um , whatever you were doing after you tell me what’s wrong.”

Sea-green eyes lowered to the open sketchbook, a frown settled on her lips. “I - I hate everything I make and it’s driving me crazy.”

Elsa set the pillow aside and shuffled closer to Anna. She gave her knee a reassuring squeeze and gently asked, “Is it one of your artblocks?”

Anna shook her head, braids swaying. “No, this is different. I know what I want to draw, I have the motivation to draw, but I can’t seem to like what I make. I hate the finished result, even if it looks how I wanted.” Her eyes glistened with frustrated tears, “It’s been like this for weeks and I’m going insane trying to fix it.”

Elsa cupped her cheek, running her thumb soothingly over the skin. Anna nuzzled into her palm, eyes fluttering shut at the coolness of her skin. “Anna,” she opened her eyes to see an amused smirk dancing on pink lips, a glint of humor dancing in blue eyes, “is this your first burnout?”

Her whole body stilled at the question. Burnout had been something she knew her artist friends over the internet talked about. How it could hit someone suddenly or slowly creep on through the years. The former could usually be seen coming and dealt with by short breaks, but the latter often crippled careers as it snuck in through the cracks undetected and infected everything slowly like a poison. Anna gasped lightly at the realization.

The ride she had been on for the majority of her adult life (granted it had only been 3 years since she graduated high school) was fast paced and constantly moving. She did not stop or get off, only urging it to move faster and faster. The need to create and improve outweighed any thought or concern the stress her body and mind were put under. She ignored all the signs, the warnings people told her to look for and now the stress had crushed her.

“What am I gonna do?” Her voice came out broken and unsure. Burnout was a completely foreign field for her. There was no map for her, no field guide to help her navigate through this problem. People mention taking breaks and stepping away from art for awhile to recharge, but that seemed impossible. How could Anna stop creating, when all she wanted to do was create?

“Is this new project for a client?” Elsa noticed the distress on Anna’s face and dropped her hand down from her cheek to grasp shaking ones.

“No, it’s one I plan to sell, or have prints made for my shop.”

Elsa nodded, “Okay. And do you have any client work lined up for the month?”

Anna answered in the negative. She had started a new system for her works where certain months she decided not to take on any client work. It was an attempt not to be too overwhelmed working on custom pieces that allowed her the freedom to work on her own as well. The system worked fairly well until this burnout happened. At least it happened now instead of when she had to work on pieces for clients.

“Okay, okay we can definitely work with this,” she breathed out a plan already forming in her mind. She knew Anna wouldn’t take a break willingly, that wasn’t her style. She would draw and paint until her hands fell off and even then she’d learn to use her feet instead. Nothing would stop her, not even the end of the world. The complete opposite of Elsa who procrastinated her own projects till motivation was high or the deadline approached. She often wondered how they never drove each other crazy doing things so differently. Instead of finding a reason she just blamed it on love. It was better not to question it anyway.

“Anna,” she turned and faced the younger woman determinedly, prepared for protestation, “do you trust me?”

Anna cocked an eyebrow and smirked. “Of course I do, silly. It’s part of why I married you.”

Elsa smiled and held her tongue to keep from commenting. That experience would be one she would never forget. She at her wife, eyes bright and said,

“Then you’ll understand what I’m about to do.”

Anna’s gut twisted in apprehension. She trusted Elsa with her life, but the twinkle in pale blue eyes told her not all of this would be a pleasant experience.

—-

“Anna, what color is the sky?”

From her position in the passenger seat of the car Anna scowled, her eyes screwed shut in a desperate attempt to fall back asleep. Elsa refused to let her in on the plan the day before, only telling her to pack a days worth of clothes and food and then promptly took all her art supplies and locked them inside a large chest. She never quite figured out why they had a large empty chest lying around and when she asked Elsa the older girl shrugged saying something about secrets.

“What.” Anna grumbled confused at the question and irritated at being woken up at three in the morning and rushed out of the house.

Elsa glanced at her from the driver’s seat. “What color is the sky?” She turned her attention back to the road, very much awake and relaxed. The half empty cup of coffee sitting in the cup holder helped.

“What kind of question is that? The sky is blue!” Anna twisted over and leaned her head on the window, arms folded across her chest.  Elsa still had yet to tell her where they were going and only mentioned a three hour car ride. That left plenty of time for her to catch up on sleep if her wife would let her.

“No, not - “ Elsa laughed at herself, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I meant what color is the sky right now?”

Anna cracked one eye open and grimaced at the passing street light that blinded her. “Black,” she stated matter-of-factly. Elsa hummed a smile on her face. She let Anna sleep the rest of the way, picking up and sipping her coffee. The low songs of the radio filling the silence in a quiet peace. She didn’t care for the station, but it was one of Anna’s favorites. The little things would make the difference on this trip.

Barely any time had passed, that’s what it felt like to Anna anyway, before a hand on her shoulder gently shook her awake. “What is it now,” she sighed tiredly and shuffled further into the car door. When she agreed to whatever Elsa had planned, losing sleep hadn’t even crossed her mind. She knew she was being unfair to her wife. Elsa only wanted to help. The stress of her burnout had taken its toll without consent and Anna wanted nothing more than to curl up in a corner and sulk. Sleep was the closest she could get right now, but the woman driving had other plans.

“What color is the sky now,” she asked eagerly. Her pale hand fell away and gripped the steering wheel again.

Anna squinted at the light outside. The night had faded to be greeted by the light of the sun just peeking over the horizon. Reds and oranges bled into pale blue as the orb of yellow and white ascended slowly. Any other day the she might have appreciated seeing the sunrise, she might have stared at the way the light shone and glistened along Elsa’s skin, bathing her in rays of gold. But it only annoyed her at having the same question asked in place of sleep. Still she answered,

“Red.”

Her eyes closed again with the plan to catch more sleep. Elsa didn’t bother her after that. She sipped her fresh cup of coffee, having stopped for gas before the sunrise. Anna grumbled under her breath adjusting to get comfortable in her seat again. Pink lips turned up at the corner in amusement. Anna may be grumpy beyond belief this morning and she knew it was her doing. The outcome of this trip will be worth it. Elsa knew it, could feel it in her bones. She could only hope Anna didn’t throw her in the lake as payback when they got there.

Elsa smirked watching, pulling out a pair of sunglasses and slipping them on. The day was only beginning. The coffee singed her tongue as she took another sip.

If Anna did throw her in the lake, she made sure to have plenty of jokes ready.

Gravel crunched under the tires as the car pulled off the main road. The road itself wasn’t too bad in terms of a drive. Anna woke up quietly glancing around at the trees and greenery around them. She said nothing to tell Elsa she was awake and continued to stare out the window. The sight felt familiar, she knew this place but couldn’t quite care enough to place it. Sleep still clouded mind and even if it was Wednesday she liked to sleep in late and stay up late instead. This whole early to bed and early to rise business wasn’t for her.

A light chuckle from her left told Anna all she needed to know. “There’s hot chocolate for you since you’re not the biggest fan of coffee.” Elsa never took her eyes off the road and merely motioned to the cup holder between them.

“Thanks.” Anna took the cup nearly dropping it. No protective sleeve saved her from burning fingers, not even the paper cup itself. “Geez, why’s it so hot!” She glared at her sister.

“Didn’t know how long you were going to stay asleep so I asked them to make it extra hot.”

“Extra hot,” Anna guffawed, “This cup feels like it came straight out of Orodruin itself! You could have got me a protective sleeve for it or something!”

“I didn’t know how long you were going to sleep!” Anna folded her arms at Elsa’s response, “Besides, you always get annoyed at the sleeves opting to burn your fingers anyway.”

“Yes, but the cups are never that hot!”

Elsa only smiled.

The car slowed and stopped with a slight jolt. Anna hadn’t touched her drink again still waiting for it to cool down from Mount Doom level temperatures. She figured out why this place had seemed so familiar. Her parents used to take her camping out here toward the end of summer, always running around the lake and sometimes taking a ferry over to the small island.

“I grabbed us a backcountry permit if you wanted to stay away from the normal campsites.” Elsa held up the piece of paper before tucking it into her jacket pocket. Anna hummed her agreement and stretched in her seat.

“I’m gonna find the bathroom then we can hike to wherever.” She ducked out of the car, breathing in the fresh air. A warm feeling of nostalgia washed over her at the familiar sight. She hadn’t come back to this park in years. Anna walked across the parking lot toward the public restroom. Coming back to the lake hadn’t even crossed her mind. It’s almost sad really. To forget about a place she once loved so deeply, have it take up a corner of her mind as a memory she kept but never thought about.

She turned the faucet off and shook stray water drops from her hands, wiping the remaining wetness on her jeans. Anna never trusted the automatic air dryers.

When she arrived back to the car, Anna bit back a bark of laughter. Elsa had strapped each and every pack and bag to herself and looked overloaded, but all too eager like a puppy. She smiled broadly at Anna and handed her the much cooler cup, “Come on, let’s go! I know of the perfect spot!”

Anna took the cup, her shoulders shaking as she held in her laughter.

“Wait, Elsa. Let me carry some things.” Elsa paused mid-step and tilted her head. All the coffee had gone to her brain in the most adorable way. “How did you even manage to hold all the bags, even mine?” Anna pointedly looked at the deep green duffle bag with a bright orange patch on the side.

“I played a lot of tetris as a kid.” She shrugged but gave Anna two of the bags anyway.

Anna adjusted the strap of a bag on her shoulder. “Alright, now show me this perfect spot.”

The blonde grinned and grabbed Anna’s hand practically dragging her along toward the trail and into the bush. Anna could only keep up and pray her hot chocolate didn��t spill.

—-

Anna had to admit the spot Elsa had picked was perfect. A little spot hidden behind dense shrubbery. Well off the path and if someone did make it this far the thorn bushes were certainly a discouragement. She knew she’d be picking the sharp thorns out of her clothes for a while and if it weren’t for the view and the feeling of peace she’d make Elsa do it without a second thought. Anna’s had her second thought and is still intent on making Elsa do the work.

“Nice view, right?” Elsa wiped the dirt off her hands stepping over to Anna. She had finished setting up the tent and decided to see what was keeping her wife. The view itself looked over the entirety of the lake and the mountains surrounding it.  The trees swayed in the breeze.

“It’s beautiful.” Anna tucked a piece of hair back into place. Elsa stepped up beside her. They stared at the scene in silence. A sense of peace forming around them. Anna closed her eyes listening to the birds singing in the trees and the wind rustling the branches. The smell of the air and the sun on her skin eased the tension in her shoulders she didn’t realize had been there. Anna felt free like she could step off the overlook and just fly. Elsa smiled at the content look on her face.

“Anna,” the red-head hummed and turned to face her, “what color is the sky?”

The question had her sighing exasperatedly. How many times would she ask that damned question. It didn’t make sense. She had answered it twice already. Inhaling deeply, Anna decided not to let this ruin the moment. She looked up at the sky, fluffy clouds dotting the expansive space.

“Blue. It’s blue.”

Elsa made no comment. Anna would have yelled at her but the pure love in pale blue eyes killed the thought before it formed. She found herself smiling back and shaking her head lightly. “You’re lucky I love you so much.”

Elsa chuckled, “I know. Now come on, let’s go exploring a bit.”

Anna followed eagerly. Exploring she could do.

—-

Night life in the forest seemed impossibly loud compared to the day. Anna didn’t mind much. She found the noise comforting in a way. All the little life coming out with the safety of darkness. Comfortable now that the sun has gone and they can hide in the shadows of the night. She could understand it. The night offered a sort of peace the day could not. She loved the sun, loved the hustle and bustle of day life, but the night hit differently. She closed her eyes, a soft smile on her lips. The day’s activities replayed in her mind’s eye.

After running around, revisiting old trails and memories and making some new ones, the two women sat around a little fire. Anna made Elsa pick out all the thorns and burrs while she roasted marshmallows. While Elsa didn’t agree with s’mores before dinner she let it slide this once.

They relaxed after that, Anna rigged a stick with fishing gear and went fishing. She didn’t catch anything. She came back soaking wet and Elsa only raised a brow. She changed into some dry clothes and sat by the fire to get warm. Elsa turned from her book then, a cheeky grin on her face and said,

“You know I love it when you -” Anna smacked her before she should finish.

Now they lay peacefully staring up at the stars.

“Anna,” Elsa started in the quiet. Anna hummed in acknowledgment before her mind jump started back to nearly every quiet moment previously,

“You better not ask me what color the sky is or I swear to god you will find yourself at the bottom of the lake!”

The crickets chirped.

“What hue doth the heavens above appears to thine viewing orbs?”

Anna laughed. She laughed loud and hard. She knew Elsa would find a way to rephrase the question the second she threatened her, but she never expected her to phrase it like that. She rolled onto her side and clutched her stomach from the force of her laughter. “I-I can’t -” she wheezed, tears pricking the corners of her eyes, “I can’t breath.”

“You should have let me ask the question normal then.” The cheekiness in her voice had Anna swatting blindly behind her. Her hand connected with nothing but air.

“Fine, this is the last time I’m answering that stupid question,” Anna finally said after she stopped laughing and caught her breath. She rolled back to look at the sky and exhaled deeply a smile on her face, “Black, the sky is black.”

“Wrong.”

Anna propped herself up on her elbow. Wrong. The first response back to her answers and it was to tell her, Anna, that she answered wrong.

“What, how can I be wrong? Are you seeing the same sky I’m seeing?” Anna grit her teeth ready to fully argue her point.

“No, no calm down, feisty pants. Right now you could argue it’s black, or a very deep blue.”

“Then how am I wrong?!”

Elsa kept her gaze on the sky. “I asked you three four times today what color the sky was. Only two of the answers were the same. Can you explain that?” “The sky changes colors, you numpty.”

“So what color is the sky then if it changes?”

Anna didn’t have an answer to that. Elsa turned to face her, the moonlight making her blue eyes glow in the night.

“What color do you say the sky is then,” Anna asked, moving closer to Elsa. The night breeze had a bit of a chill, but she didn’t feel like getting a jacket. Her arm brushed against her wife’s.

“If you asked me what color the sky is, anytime of day or night, I’d tell you it’s white. I know it’s crazy, but think about it. In general people say the sky is blue, but it’s not always blue. You said it yourself, the sky changes colors, so why is it blue then?” She raised a hand and traced along various constellations as she spoke. “Is it because that’s the color we see it as mostly. Blue during the day? The history behind it is actually fascinating, but I won’t go into that. But the sky can be any color depending on when you look. Black, dark blue, orange and red, yellow and pink, purple and light blue, even green. The sky isn’t just one color or one shade. It’s all of them all the time, we just only see what the light shows us. That’s why I say it’s white. White reflects all colors, the sky cycles through the colors based on a bunch of scientific stuff that I’m a bit too tired to get into. I didn’t really prepare to get into that bit anyway.” she laughed at herself.

Anna lay in silence. She never really thought about it like that.

“But why white, why not black?”

Elsa sucked in a small breath before answering, “Black is the absence of colors. If the sky was black that’s all we’d see. A black hole sucking the colors away and leaving nothing behind but darkness. That’s why it’s white and not black.”

“Geez, that took a depressing turn.”

Elsa hummed and entwined her fingers with Anna’s. “Think of it as a prism. The sun shines through and casts the colors fresh and new through the day.”

“A blank canvas.” Anna found herself mumbling aloud. A blank canvas to be painted each day in the same ways that vastly differed if you looked hard enough. The subtle hues shifting day to day, the contrast of reds and oranges against purples and blues. All of it spinning endlessly in a cycle, a prism of color splattered across a canvas of white that never is seen as white.

The two remained watching the stars for a bit longer. The little dots of color splattered across the dark sky. Almost a reverse of my freckles. Anna mused to herself. The crisp air raised goosebumps on her arms.

Anna went to sleep that night, snuggled in her wife’s arms, feeling so refreshed and full of love she thought it might overflow. And it did. Her emotions flowed over in little drops that ran down her cheeks and she whispered over and over how much she loved Elsa. In turn with each ‘I love you’ a kiss was placed on her head, her cheek, her lips, and her body squeezed a bit tighter.

The white sky, painted with the color of night, left them to rest peacefully. The moon watching over them.

The trunk slammed shut and all the bags and trash were loaded in. Not nearly as neatly as before but as long as it wasn’t falling out Anna didn’t care. She awoke buzzing with renewed energy ready and eager to get back to work. Her burnout long forgotten. The three hour car ride didn’t seem so long even though Anna sat wide awake the entire trip. Elsa would probably need a day to recover from the amount of talking Anna did in that small time. Maybe a new book and quiet day in a coffee shop or a day spent curled up in her bed with nothing but mindless games to entertain herself with. Anna made a note to thank Elsa for forcing her out for a day, whatever she wanted.

Anna went to work the moment she stepped through the doorway. Pencil marks flew across the page in hurried fashion almost as if the vision would fade before she could get it down. Supplies were strewn out over the kitchen table and counter tops as Anna fell into what Elsa called ‘The detonation zone’. It was a mess, but also the time and place where Anna seemed to get the most work done.

Guess I’m not cooking. Elsa thought and picked up the phone. She was kinda in the mood for pizza anyway.

Pale blue eyes watched from where she leaned against the wall as the blur of auburn worked in a frenzy. Her movements were both hurried and agonizingly slow to preserve the details in a way only Anna managed to do. A mesmerizing sight she could watch for hours if not for the delivery man ringing her doorbell.

She made sure Anna knew of the food sitting in the living room.

“Okay, thank you!” Came the reply from the kitchen. Elsa chuckled and shook her head taking her own slice or two of pizza. She disappeared into their shared room for the rest of the evening. The one day trip seemed to have worked in Anna’s favor. Elsa made the mental note to schedule more day trips once in a while.

Time ticked by and Anna didn’t even notice. The pizza had gone cold and the sunlight faded away. The brush in her hand was set in the water cup for the last time.

“There.” Anna sat back finished. She smiled at the creation in front of her leaving it to dry as her stomach made known it’s need for food. The clock read late into the night, or early into the morning, depending on how you look at it. Maybe setting an alarm for food and breaks would be a good idea in the future. She decided it’d be worth a shot if only to save her from a stiff back at the end of the day.

Her paint stained hands grabbed a cold slice of pizza and promptly inhaled it followed by three more. The kitchen sat in a disastrous mess and the urge to put off cleaning up until the morning hit hard. Anna considered cleaning up the worst part about doing art. Elsa would likely clean up for her in the morning since she always woke up first. Anna knew that and decided not to let that happen. As much as Elsa said she didn’t mind and that’s what she signed up for by marrying her, Anna wouldn’t have it. Not after what she’d done for her the past day, or really since they first-started dating.

Anna turned the faucet on, warm water cleaning her stained hands, and she began the cleanup.

It wasn’t until around four in the morning that she finally headed to bed. The bedroom door creaked softly. Elsa snored softly, curled on her side snuggling a pillow. The sight made Anna fall in love with her all over again. Anna would never get tired of seeing her wife in such a peaceful and vulnerable state. Gently, she climbed into bed beside her.

“I love you.” she whispered and kissed Elsa’s cheek. Elsa let go of the pillow at the contact and fully snuggled against her wife. Anna wrapped her arms around her and kissed her softly again.

“I love you so much.”

Elsa woke to gentle rays of sun dancing across her face. Untangling herself from Anna she stepped outside of the room. She paused halfway closing the door and looked on fondly at the sleeping mess of her wife.

The kitchen was spotless, save for the canvas resting on the table. Even the sink was clean, supplies neatly drying on the rack where they were supposed to be. A smile graced her lips.

The coffee pot sputtered to life as it began brewing. It was only nine o’clock and Anna likely wouldn’t be up for another few hours. Being your own bosses had their perks. The brown liquid steamed as she poured it into a plain ceramic mug. The rich scent very much welcome this morning.

Anna would always scold her for drinking too much coffee. The thought brought another smile to her face. She really loved Anna and all that came with her.

Coffee in hand Elsa approached the canvas on the kitchen table. She made sure to stay for enough back that if something drastic happened her coffee would not stain the creation. She rounded the table and the sight made her pause. The colors and detail splattered across it showed just how much that camping trip had meant to her.

“Oh Anna,” her eyes lined with overflowing emotions as she took in the painting. “You’re still full of surprises.”

[jiaraendgame]

Manipulation — Part One

Summary: Why Rafe Cameron took an interest in a Pogue is unknown, but a year later a bad decision has a good outcome when a golden boy from the Cut makes an unwavering impression on this lost girl.

Warnings: Angst, sad, drug use/abuse, swearing, underage drinking, peer pressure. (I think that’s it?? If I missed anything for the warnings let me know)

Word Count: 3k+

A/N: This is a song fic based on Manipulation by Beartooth.

***Part one is all Rafe x Reader flashback. Part two is where JJ comes in. Oh and there is like a 2.2 second scene with Platonic!JB x Reader in this part.***

This is my first time writing for OBX and in general posting fanfiction for the world to see. So apologies cause it’s definitely trash. I just want to say a BIG thank you for the few people here who encouraged me to write and have fun. Also a BIG thanks to my best friend and beta reader @john-benderr for hyping me up and always supporting me and my silly antics. Hope you guys don’t hate it, I tried my best. Let me know what you think???

Gif credit: @toesure

I hesitated, got lost again

You saw me as wounded prey

I was a wreck, I was a bloody mess

And you couldn't look away

The Boneyard designated party destination here in the Outer Banks. The ultimate summer hang-out spot for some guaranteed wild moments. Even if you could point out every Kook, Touron, or us Pogues from the Cut, it was usually a good time. You never know what’s gonna happen on any given night, but you are sure to find people from all walks of life on this island congregating and partying. This is where you found yourself tonight, at a kegger ready to forget the responsibilities you held at least just for the night. The air was warm, and the party's noise swam through your ears, drowning out any reservation you usually have for yourself. You wanted to drown in this wave of overwhelming senses. The crackles from the fire, the music you swayed to, the sounds of people mingling and cheering, it swallowed you whole as you finished off another cup of bitter liquid. Was this your third or fourth cup from the keg? You don’t really remember anymore, but nor do you care. All that mattered is you were loosening the jaw you had tightened all day and was forgetting about the pressures you were facing at home. Nothing here mattered more than being free.

At this point, you had more than a buzz going on, but nothing was stopping your fun just yet. You clumsily weaved in and out of people working your way back to the keg ready for another round. You usually never drank alone, but tonight you weren’t in the mood for friends. At least that’s what you told yourself. In actuality, everyone you hit up to come tonight ghosted you or had some lame excuse as to why they couldn’t come. So you bravely chose to go as a one-woman show ready to conquer the party on your own. Never thinking that this night would lead you down a rabbit hole, you would never be prepared for. Stumbling forward lost in your thoughts, you slur your words to the tall and tan brown-haired boy with his button down shirt half-open handing out drinks from the keg.

“Hey man, hand me a refill, yeah?” Your sloppy words spill out of your mouth, letters all jumbled together barely coherent to the untrained ear.

The brown-haired boy looked at you a tinge of concern in his eyes as you were visibly wasted and clearly on your own tonight. You don’t know why it mattered. It’s not like everyone else wasn’t just as sloshed as you were.

“Uh, you sure you can handle another one, you look… well, you look pretty faded.” 

The boy’s sentiment meant well, but it did nothing but annoy you. Why did everyone think they had to take care of you? Don’t they know you are beyond capable of doing so yourself? You work your ass off to keep everything in line, you can cut loose every once and awhile. Your inner voice of reason started to rear its ugly head, briefly reminding you how utterly irresponsible you were being. Listen to the boy, go home. You don’t need this. Stop acting so tough you aren’t that strong. It’s okay to feel the way you do. Quit while you’re ahead.

Quickly shoving the paranoia that began to rise in your chest, you knew if you could still feel the panic, then you weren’t drunk enough. Looking back at the boy, he was still eyeing you hesitantly when you finally sharpened your tongue and spoke again.

“Please, I know how to handle myself, pretty boy. I’m just living a little is all.” The attitude in your voice is far from pleasant.

Why were you so rude to the kind boy who clearly was watching out for your well-being? You should have listened to him. You shouldn’t have drunk this next cup. Maybe it was just the catalyst for the events that proceeded to perspire.

“Listen just… just gimme a refill, and I’ll be on my way. Don’t you worry your pretty little head about me. I can handle myself, I swear.” While you wanted to sound sure of yourself and maybe even a bit assertive, you could tell he didn’t take you seriously at all.

Your amplified brash persona needed work clearly as it fooled no one while you were blurring the lines of reality and fantasy with each drink you took. The boy looks at you, and the small line starting to form behind you. He sighs to the side as he fills a cup with the amber liquid, finally obliging to your commands to avoid further conflict. While handing you the cup, he speaks once more before you swivel on your heels.

“ Hey, listen... if you need someone to bring you home later or whatever, just come find me. The names John B.”

You stood there bewildered for a moment, unsure why someone would have concern over you. You were just a drunk partygoer at the beach for some fun, why did it seem like you were so different than the others around you? You could take care of yourself you always have, but regardless it was a kind gesture. You felt a pit in your gut for being rude to him moments ago. You couldn’t answer him, you just looked in his eyes and shook your head with a softened smile. Hoping he would understand, you appreciated his offer.

New drink in hand, you stumbled to a clear spot on the beach and plopped yourself down into the ground. Removing your sandals, you buried your toes in the soft sand closing your eyes, taking a swig of your drink. You felt the air on your skin as you leaned your head back. A new sense of calm washed over your body as you faded into the scenery. Sip by sip, you felt all your grievances escape your mind. Nothing would stop you from releasing your mind tonight even if it tried to crawl it’s way back up the hole you shoved it down. If each sip of liquid kept the beasts at bay for just a moment, the tranquility you felt was worth every bit of hell you’d wake up to tomorrow.

You broke me down

So you could take me out

Lost in thought, you lay your body back into the sand, staring up at the stars in a dazed state. Not noticing the pair of eyes that have been watching you for quite some time. From a distance, a seemingly put-together boy traced his eyes along your body. Staring at every curve, every feature, watching every action you took, he knew he had to talk to you. What better time to make a move when you were finally alone, away from the hustle and bustle of the kegger and laying out on the beach staring up at the sky. 

He’s been keeping an eye on you all night, watching you get more faded with each sip of every drink you took. Alone at a party, you don’t see that often around here. Everyone always pairs up fast, even if you did arrive alone. You well, you were different. Something about you drew this clean-cut boy to you, and he wasn’t quite sure why. Something about your solitude reminded him of something he couldn’t quite place a finger on. Or maybe it was how he watched you spiral, falling with no safety net beneath you. He decided tonight he would be the safety net, he would catch you, even if you didn’t ask.

“Hello, beautiful…” A voice speaks out, startling you as your eyes crash open. A light chuckle passes the boy’s lips at your shock. 

“Sorry, darling, didn’t mean to startle you.” He smiles, flashing his gorgeous white teeth at you. “I saw you over here alone and thought you could use some company.”

You blink a few times, trying to focus your blurred vision. A boy whose outline was hazy hovers over you, still smiling that bright smile. However, something felt underlying off about his sheer confidence. It wasn’t much longer until you put two and two together. The boy in the salmon-colored polo shirt and the khaki shorts that stared into your eyes was the infamous Kook prince himself, Rafe Cameron.

Any other day of the week, you’d loathe the boy in front of you, he always caused trouble for anyone who came from the Cut. He bathed in his arrogance and condescending words. So why has the prince of Kooks wandered his way over to you was the million-dollar question. One that you’re not sure you’ll ever get the answer to.

You lifted yourself into a sitting position and still have yet to speak a word to the polished boy in front of you. He speaks once more, trying to pry words from your mouth with every smooth sentence he spoke.

“Aw come now, a gorgeous face like that shouldn’t be scowling by her lonesome. Let me join you, they always say misery loves company.” The tip of the boy’s tongue brushes his top lip as a sly smirk pricks the side of his mouth.

You cock your eyebrow up, but still, motion for the boy to sit next to you. You didn’t think you were scowling, but the more you focused your mind, it became clear you weren’t suppressing any of the facial expressions you thought you were. The alcohol tore down your mask a little more than you would have liked. 

You finally spoke to the boy poised next to you, studying the side of your face. “Who says I’m miserable, what if I just want the company?”

A chuckle passes his lips, he knew he had his hooks in you now. You turn and face Rafe, knowing full well that engaging with him is a terrible idea, but sometimes you craved a little danger in your life. Danger, like getting involved with a Kook named Rafe Cameron, would entail. If it distracted you even just for the night then why not go all out, he was looking rather charming tonight.

“Ah, well, aren’t we all a little miserable? I mean, no one’s perfect, right?” His breathy words cause the curiosity inside you to rise. 

Was the always well kept and confident Rafe Cameron telling you he and his Kook lifestyle wasn’t perfect? 

 It had to be the alcohol talking. It’s burning through your veins, making you actually consider speaking to someone so deviously pristine. Part of you believed it was to forget your troubles, the other part wondered what lies beneath the surface of the self-proclaimed prince. The more you gazed at him, the more sweetness you saw, but it wasn’t just that. There was something else about Rafe that you couldn’t quite put your finger on, but maybe you two had more in common than you thought.

“Please, Rafe, don’t give me your pity party parade. People like you don’t know real misery.”

“On the contrary little dove, he who you see before you has many layers, my rips, and tears, however, are patched up and easily hidden. Yours, however… well, yours are prominent and hanging by threads.”

Ouch. There is the haughty personality that you knew would peek out eventually. The sting of his words appeared on your face as he tries to console the wounds he inflicted.

“Everyone is tattered and worn little dove; it’s how you patch those tears that matter.”

“What are you getting at here, Rafe? Cause it seems to me, despite how sweet you think your sentiment is, you just don’t know how to truly console someone you see as lesser than you.” You want to keep your annoyance you have with Rafe, but with each comment and... and that nickname, he cracks your shell a little bit more.

“I don’t believe you are less than me beautiful, I just…” He sighs. “You’re right, I’m not good at consoling others.” He pauses briefly before he continues, knowing he has to bring himself down a level or he won’t get anywhere with you.

“How’s this then… how about instead of talking we just keep each other company? You don’t even have to speak to me if you don’t want to, though I’d prefer it if you did.” A small wink is shot your way.

“We aren’t just gonna sit here in silence Rafe, I don’t want that kind of company.”

“Well… then how about we ditch the sand and trade it in for something a little more… luxurious?”

There it was, the danger you felt. An offer from Rafe Cameron to go, god, knows where to do god knows what. It excited you, the unknown world of Rafe. You hesitated, unsure if you were ready to fully plunge yourself into forbidden territory, but there it was again. The panic rising in your chest, the thoughts and stress you wanted to escape creeping up again, threatening to attack if you let them linger too long. With that, you took your red cup and downed the remainder of its contents, pushing back your burdens once more. 

Looking into Rafe’s eyes, there was a sparkle of chaos hidden deep within his soft gaze. It made you weak, it made you yearn for something more than this party at the Boneyard. With that, your decision was made. You gave him a smile and shook your head, trying to contain the eagerness you suddenly felt.

This is isolation

Kept in the dark and waiting

You're wearing the crown of kingdoms I created

Now I can't escape it

All of the light is fading

Rafe was up in seconds, extending his hand down to you; an almost menacing smirk overtook his face. As you clasp your hand into his and you’re brought to your feet, you stumble into his side, gripping tighter to keep your balance. Rafe was quick to slide his free arm around your waist, steadying you.

“I got you little dove, lean on me. I won’t let you fall.”

His sweet like honey words swallowed you now. A flush of red kisses your cheeks. Was it his promise to not let you fall or was it the nickname he spoke to you that made your head swirl more than the alcohol ever could, you weren’t sure, but you wished the feeling wouldn’t stop.

It wasn’t long before you were in Rafe’s car and driving who knows where, but what you did know was the excitement you felt was overwhelming your fear. 

“Where are we going?”

“I’m going to show you what a real party is like, beautiful.”

The compliments he kept spewing towards you, a simple Pogue girl, was astonishing. You never believed a Kook like Rafe would see you as anything but a “dirty Pogue.”

“Can I ask a question?” You turn your head towards the boy.

“Of course, little dove. Anything.” He places his free hand on your bare thigh and a light squeeze follows it.

The shiver sent down your spine, tantalized your thoughts. You no longer could think straight. He glances over to you, a smirk once more gracing his lips.

“Why little dove? I- I mean, why are you calling me that?”

“Well, I thought that was obvious, darling? You know my name, but I still have yet to learn yours.”

Your face drops at the realization that you never indeed introduced yourself to Rafe. Of course, you knew who he was, everyone knew who he was, but you? You were no one. Of course, he didn’t know your name.

“O-oh my god, I’m sorry I didn’t even realize I didn’t... uhh,” you chuckle nervously at your idiocy. “The names (Y/N).” You spit out between nervous breaths and awkward giggles. The alcohol was still strong in your system.

A light, almost innocent laugh passes his lips, looking over to you. “It’s okay (Y/N), I don’t mind giving a beautiful girl a nickname that suits her.” He winks. “In fact, I think you’re stuck with little dove from now on… if you don’t mind, of course.”

You hadn’t realized the car had come to a stop in front of a vast mansion. The architecture was beautiful and symmetric with white pillars on the outside. Perfectly kept flowered hedges and trimmed grass graces the front yard. It was like a picture, pristine and undamaged.

“I-I don’t mind no… not at all.” You smile sheepishly towards the boy as he turns the key and shuts the ignition off.

“Well, here we are… are you ready for a real party?” He asks, stepping out and quickly meeting you at the passenger side. Opening the door, he offers you his hand once more.

Taking his hand, you lean once more on his side, steadying your balance. Unsure where the night is about to guide you. Despite the pristine image outside the house once in the door, the whole feeling has changed. There were Kooks everywhere, and to say you felt a little out of place was an understatement. Loud music blared through the open rooms filled with people drinking, smoking, laughing, and smiling. Much like at the Boneyard, but the atmosphere was entirely different. 

Rafe sensed your new-found hesitation, but he wasn’t about to let you slip away. Not when he finally had you where he wanted. Pulling you closer to his side, he whispers into your ear—his warm breath causing you to gasp slightly at his now lower smooth tone.

“Relax… you can trust me.”

All you could do was shake your head. You weren't quite sure how this boy made you so weak at the knees, but you wanted to believe him, so you did.

He paraded you through the party, introducing you to the skeptical Kooks whose eyeballs felt like daggers in your chest. Their disdain and judgment of you unspoken with you wrapped around Rafe’s side.

Finally, on the last stop of the tour de la Cameron, he brought you through a room that outlooked towards the pool area. He brings you up towards a smaller group of people. Two of which you recognized as Rafe’s loyal posse. Topper and Kelce.

“Hey what’s up my man, where have you been all night?”

They exchange greetings and eyeball his new hip attachment IE you. They look over to Rafe with enigmatic smiles spread across their face, but before they could say anything to you, the boy spoke.

“Boys this is (Y/N), she came to experience what real luxury is like. So I expect her to be treated like the best guest of honor she is.”

Topper and Kelce share a glance and shrug off the ideas of Rafe, bringing a Pogue to their side of the island. They figured he had other intentions behind his new side piece. 

“Right well welcome (Y/N) I hope you’re ready for some real fun.” The boys gleamed their fakest grins towards you.

Rafe pulls you over and sits you down next to him, a clear glass table in front of you. The other two boys sit across from you. After a seemingly relaxed conversation, he claps his hands together and lets out an excited laugh.

“Alright, boys, the real fun begins.” Looking over to you, he releases your hand that you’ve been holding and pulls out a small plastic baggy with a white substance inside. He makes quick work of the substance cutting out four clean and tight lines onto the table. Rolling a dollar bill into a cylinder, he passes it over to Kelce. 

The muscular boy leans towards the table cylinder in hand against one nostril while he plugs the other. In one swift movement, the white powder was gone, and he passed the bill over to Topper. He quickly follows suit. Both the boys cheer out a sudden burst of euphoria that rattles their bodies. Looking on to Rafe as he was up next.

You pulled at his arm in shock at the site you’re seeing unravel in front of your eyes. He could see the worry written all over you.

“Don’t worry darling, a little blow never hurt anyone.” He pats your head, running his hand down your hair, and leans over and plants a kiss onto your cheek.

The sudden physical affection made you swoon as you bite your lower lip, still looking at him with concern in your eyes.

“I-I don’t know about this, Rafe.”

“Shhh, just watch it’ll be fine.”

He lowers his abdomen down with haste cleaner and faster than the previous boys; the powder is gone. Almost as if he’s done this regularly. Maybe Rafe Cameron wasn’t lying to you earlier. Perhaps he really was hiding an unseen misery. Your heart suddenly ached for the boy as he leaned up and pinched his nostrils a few times, sniffing back the remnants of the content he just consumed.

“It’s your turn beautiful. This will clear out all that misery from earlier, I promise.” He extends the rolled-up bill to you, his eyes darting down your body, trying to read your response.

You don’t speak. You just stare at him, and the boys across from you obnoxiously chuckle.

“Come on (Y/N) you’re a Pogue you should be used to this shit on the Cut.”

“Where’s your courage, girl?”

The boys tease as Rafe shoots them a glare, silencing them immediately. You reach out your hand shakily towards the rolled-up bill. Questioning why you’re even considering this. His words from earlier echo in your head, ‘you can trust me.’

“It’s easy, I promise I’ll even help you. Trust me, you’ll feel like you’re on top of the world. Once you’re there, the real party begins.”

“I-I’m scared.” You whisper to Rafe as he pulls you closer.

“No reason to be scared sweetheart, I got you. Remember, I won’t let you fall.” His hand cups the side of your face. His eyes looking deep into yours so soft and sweet as he's gently stroking your cheek with his thumb.

You take a deep breath, reminding yourself you wanted to live a little. You wanted this freedom, this danger. So it was now or never. You leaned down as Rafe bends to help you. The boy pressed one of your nostrils closed and instructed you to snort in fast and move down the line. You shake your head, confirming to him you were ready.

“Come on, little dove… let’s fly.” These were the last words you remember hearing as you snorted your first line of blow. Rafe cooing to you as you faded out. 

This isn't trust

This is manipulation

Taglist: @pit-zuh 

(Tbh I wanted to tag a few other mututals but I’m nervous so sorry!)

Part Two coming soon-ish?

[heart-of-tempered-steel]

𝙞𝙩 𝙩𝙖𝙠𝙚𝙨 𝙖 𝙡𝙤𝙩 𝙩𝙤 𝙠𝙣𝙤𝙬 𝙨𝙤𝙢𝙚𝙤𝙣𝙚 // {fred weasley x ofc} preview

As soon as his gaze slid down from her slender shoulders to her neatly folded hands, he saw it.

Her hands, he mused, were small and delicate looking and usually when they were at rest when she sits, are folded neatly one atop of the other. Like bird wings.

Now, her hands were anything but resting. They were slightly fluttering.

As if something ruffled their feathers.

Summary: Fred starts to see through the cracks on the mask she wears and realizes that it wasn’t just a mask... but a full suit of armor as well.

Pairing: Fred Weasley x Seri Waldren (OFC)

**Additional Note**: Face claim for Seri is Lee Ji Eun as Jang Man Wol

Warnings: Almost none except for a bit of slightly one-sided angst with a hint of enemies to friends to lovers as well as an ofc (but PLEASE give this a chance before scrolling past!!! I really worked so hard to get everything in place here! 🥺)

His eyes are a deep hazel like his twin.

However, Seri thinks to herself, staring at his side profile as he faced the fireplace, the flames casting a warm glow over his features, that in this light at least, they held a hint of mahogany in them. With the way that the light was catching in his eyes, she can see that it brought out the dark red undertone in them. She gives him a once over—steady gaze tracing his features from his hair to his eyes.

Orange.

Red.

Brown.

Like the fallen leaves that drift with the autumn breeze.

And before she thinks better of it, she is pulled into a memory.

Like the forest floor at that time when the sun was setting and its dying rays peeked through the canopy to shade everything a warm copper and bronze—the earthy smell of dirt with a hint of petrichor from last week’s rainfall; laughter echoing through flying swirls of leaves, recently scattered from a pile.

Mug of hot cider, freshly made, warming you up inside and out. Its warmth spreading from your fingertips to your head as its heady aroma of apple and cinnamon wafts up to your nose and fills you.

Pairs of strong yet gentle arms holding you—comforting you. A melody, sweet and tender as the arms you’re held by, drifts into your ears and lulls you with its lullaby.

Soft wool tickling your cheek as you nestle yourself further into the warm embrace, letting the song carry you over into a peaceful slumber. Here, you are content.

You are safe.

You are not alone.

You are loved.

And just like that, she is consumed. The sudden onslaught of the memory hurtling towards her like a tornado of broken glass, pieces of what was once a precious and tender reminiscence, now in shatters. Jagged, sharp edges were simultaneously slashing, ripping, and embedding themselves into her heart; threatening to shred through every soft layer of tissue to raw and bloody scraps.

She nearly recoils from the emotions that was all at once churning and burning her from within, fighting to keep the tempest within her contained. If she does not get a hold of herself…  

She. Will. Fall. Apart.

Seri instantly turns away from Fred and lets her hair fall to the side of her face like a black curtain between them as she attempts to silently reign in her tumultuous emotions.

Her companion hears a barely suppressed, sharp intake of breath and turns his attention to her. He finds her face turned away, seemingly focusing on a spot just off to the side of the fireplace. Or at least he assumes she was staring at a spot. Her long black hair effectively blocking off his view of her face.

Her figure was stock still except for the slow and methodical breaths he can see her quietly forcing herself to take. She still held the same posture on the carpet as when he came by the fireplace to sit next to her. Back straight, legs tidily folded underneath to accommodate for the sleeping gown she was wearing underneath her silk robe, and hands resting on top of her lap.

That was where Fred found the slight difference in the way she was holding herself. As soon as his gaze slid down from her slender shoulders to her neatly folded hands, he saw it. 

Her hands, he mused, were small and delicate looking and usually when they were at rest when she sits, are folded neatly one atop of the other. Like bird wings.

Now, her hands were anything but resting. 

They were slightly fluttering.

As if something ruffled their feathers. 

One hand still lay on top of the other but the other hand beneath was tightly curled into a fist. Its tightened grip causing her hands to faintly tremble. He had an inkling that if the other hand on top was removed, he would see the white knuckles she was making as she dug her manicured nails into the palm of her hand.

It lasted for only a moment and it was gone as soon as he saw it. As if she could feel his gaze on her, she took in a last deep breath and slowly unfurled her hand back to how it was. But it only took that one passing moment for Fred to know... that something was wrong.

“You alright, princess?”, he let out in a soft voice, his tone laced with concern.

She felt it.

Yes, she could tell he was worried over her. And not just because she was a born empath. No. She didn’t need to rely on that part of her to know that. His voice was—so gentle and soothing. Yet, it held such an intriguing blend of both boldness and apprehension to it that it didn’t want to make her pin the person who was asking under a glare of disdain. Usually, with the kind of rumors and reputation that garnered around her, there were mostly only two types of people in her life who would ask about her well-being with feigned compassion: reporters and suitors from highborn pure-blood families like hers.

One wanted to use her to stamp their name on the cover page of every magazine and newspaper.

The other wanted her hand in marriage for her wealth and, out of their archaic and medieval beliefs, to secure the continuation of their family’s pure-blood lineage.             

But both were attracted to her by their uninhibited ambition.

Both wanted a piece of her to claim for themselves.

The empath part of her can sense an oily power-hungry leech like that from a mile away, eyes closed.

Although now, the empath in her was sensing something entirely different from the red head beside her.

There was concern, yes. But there was also sincerity… genuine sincerity for her and—

Oh.

There it was. Buried beneath a bundle of his nervousness and the abrupt need to reach out to her...

Kindness.

It was kindness…

 And no. It wasn’t the pitiful kind of kindness that would be offered to her with condolences every time her parents’ deaths were brought up in every one of her mandatory but rare social outings. This kindness that she was sensing from him was pure and so unrestrained that it took her aback. Maybe even perturbed her a bit.

She was sensing this from the young man. The very same young man, who, along with his twin, would set off pranks to soak up the chaos they ensued. Resulting disruptive inconvenience and bodily harm to others be damned. Unapologetic and destructive, the two laid waste with their antics on and off the school grounds. Fred Weasley, one of the loud, cocky, and rambunctious devil duo pranksters of Hogwarts…

Was sitting next to her worrying about her well-being.

And Morrigan knows, with the kind of tempestuous and vitriolic relationship that they started off with—almost a week after she transferred from Ilvermorny, she’d never thought that he’d show her, let alone be capable to have this side of him. Perhaps, it was a good thing that she was already sitting down because reconciling these two sides of him was leaving her a tad disoriented.

Despite that… she lets herself welcome the feeling. She lowers her defenses a bit, letting its tendrils wrap around her senses in a warm cocoon. His earnest need to ease her out of whatever unsettled her—so honest and guileless, centers her while it melts away and soothes any residual pain that the painful memory left in her heart.

So different.

A/N: *tenatively pokes her head into the fandom* hey there! 👋 I hoped you enjoyed this “little” preview of my upcoming fred weasley drabble! I’m a newly minted fan so I wasn’t sure how my fic would fare among you older and OG fans so I decided to just post a snippet of it and see how many of you would be interested in my little project. tbh I wasn’t that into the harry potter fandom for most of my life. I did ofc watched the films when I was younger and ended up with a Daniel Radcliffe crush tht lasted up until I became a Hiddlestoner.

But other than tht I didn’t really consider myself as a potterhead.... until one rerun marathon film series drew me back into its clutches and not only got me to start reading the books but also gave me a newfound appreciation and love for the Weasley twins (especially Fred 😉). the twins deserved a better ending than tht btw. heck. almost half of the characters were done dirty by the end of the series 👀

Anyway, I didn’t expect to fall so hard for the twins considering the massive crush my 9 year old self had w/ harry potter lol. those sneaky twins really have a way of worming themselves into your heart without you ever noticing it! Now, it’s been almost two months since watching the movies and I’m still overwhelmed with all the feels about those two 😩. so this fic/drabble was sort of a cathartic release of all my pent up emotions for them. tbh this just started off with me just wanting to describe the aesthetics Fred was giving me but well... all my feelings spilled out. oops 😬

the title is based on a great song that I stumbled on YouTube called “It Takes A Lot to Know a Man” by Damien Rice and I think it fits the dilemma of Fred and Seri finding out that there’s more than what the eye can see with each other. but that’s enough of my rambling for now 😅. If u made it all the way here, congratulations! And thank you for checking out my fic! I really do appreciate the time you spend reading this as well as any feedback you can give 🙏 (the more detailed the better!) Please reblog/like if you enjoyed this as well! I really appreciate it if you could share this with some of ur friends/mutuals it really makes all the sleepless nights working on this worth it!

Also let me know if there are any grammar errors too (bc I’m def sure there are some floating up there) I’m more of a fanfic reader than a writer so this was a BEAST to get out for me!

P.S. I’m also planning to have a self-insert/reader imagine version of this and any future drabbles of this series in the future since I know how some people feel about ocs 👀

Taglist: @firewhisky-kisses @yourssuccubus (who expressed great support in helping me write this! Thanks, u two ❤️ I hope it was worth the wait!

[hms-chill]

Shall I Stay? Would it be a Sin?

Summary: Henry wakes up in Paris, in the middle of the first night he's spent with Alex, and realizes he should go.

Henry's not sure what wakes him up, but for a few glorious moments, everything feels perfect. The bed is soft and warm around him, and gentle music drifts up from a busker on the street below. It's warm for March, so they'd left a window open for some fresh air, and a soft breeze is playing with the gauzy curtains. And best of all, when he turns his head a bit, he can see Alex Claremont-Diaz's arm draped across him. Henry rolls over a bit, slowly, trying his hardest to preserve this moment for as long as he can. If he wakes Alex, or if he wakes himself up too much, the spell will be broken, but he can't help risking it. He wants to see Alex.

When he sees Alex's face, blissed out and relaxed in sleep, he feels something lodge itself in his throat. He knows, suddenly and with crystal clarity, that this is a terrible mistake. He can't have this; he knows that. Ever since they first met at the Olympics, he's known that even just a friendship with Alex would be a bad idea. Something like this, whatever they have now, has to be catastrophically worse. But still. It can't hurt too much, just this once. That's what he tells himself, at least, as he reaches out a hand to gently brush a hair out of Alex's face. Just this once, here, away from the reporters and the cameras and everything else, lying next to Alex can't be too bad. Even if it cuts him down to his very core to be this close to a life he can never have, well, at least he can feel the warmth before he melts the wax on his wings.

Henry doesn't often let himself think about the future. For as long as he's been able to think about it realistically, it's looked bleak, and he hasn't exactly wanted to dwell on a lifetime of loneliness. But looking at Alex now, face smushed against a pillow, he lets himself imagine a future like this. He knows it's impossible, and probably stupid to dream about, but it's the middle of the night, and they're in Paris, so he lets his mind wander. He dreams of nights spent like this, with Alex content and asleep beside him. He dreams of quiet moments when he can just look at Alex, with no reporters to take pictures or prying strangers to ask questions. He dreams of a life where he can just be with Alex, no armor or closet or anything else to hide them. In the wee hours of a Parisian morning, he lets himself dream about it, and he wants it so badly it hurts.

He knows he shouldn't think like this, knows he can't have any of it. Not with anyone, but certainly not with Alex. He shouldn't even be here now; every second he's in this hotel is a greater chance they'll be discovered. He's risking a scandal every moment he spends with Alex's arm around him, Alex's breath on his neck and Alex's legs tangled with his. He knows what he's risking, knows he should go, and yet. He looks at Alex, snoring lightly against the pillow, and he knows in a heartbeat that if his was the only fate at risk, he would stay here forever. He would be happily disowned and discredited, would dance as the tabloids dragged him through the muck if it meant one more breath like this.

But it's in that breath that he thinks about how many other lives he's risking. There's Bea; she'll defend him and get wrapped up in anything she isn't already dragged into. There are the lives of other queer folks, who will see everything that happens to him if he's discovered like this. And on Alex's side, there's his whole family, and Ellen Claremont's entire administration. If the first son of the United States is found in bed with the Prince of England, well. Henry doesn't want to imagine what it would do to the upcoming presidential race. He knows what the Republican Party is capable of, and he knows what they'll say if anyone finds him here with Alex. Henry was raised in this fishbowl of scrutiny; he knows how far people can twist things. With eight months to the election, this could be rewritten into whatever the Republicans need to push Ellen out of office.

It's that thought that motivates him to gently start to extract himself from Alex. He'd risk everything he has for another moment together, but this is too big. It's bigger than either of them, and maybe even bigger than the two of them put together. Still, for just a split second longer, he lets himself look at Alex. He lets himself study Alex's face, the way it relaxes in sleep, the little snores and littler smile on his lips. He's beautiful, and Henry feels that lump in his throat again. He should go, but he's never known what's good for him, always wanted just a bit more than he can have. So, slowly, trying to savor the moment as much as he can, he brushes Alex's hair aside and leans forward to kiss his forehead. One last kiss, one last moment to pretend he can have this, and then he's sliding out of bed, already looking for his pants when a hand closes around his wrist.

It's Alex's hand; he knows even before he looks at it. Still, he lets his eyes take their time traveling up the arm to find Alex's face. Alex is clearly barely awake, blinking up at him with a frown that wasn't there a moment before. He looks so confused, and so tired, that it nearly makes Henry get back into bed, risks be damned.

"Where're you going?"

"I... I thought I'd..." Every excuse dies on Henry's tongue as he looks at Alex, who makes a disapproving noise as he tugs Henry's hand closer and presses a kiss to each of his knuckles.

"Stay? You're warm, baby."

The lump in Henry's throat threatens to overwhelm him suddenly. He vaguely processes that his knees are going to give out, and the only place to sit is the bed, so he lets himself fall back into it, Sisyphus's bolder tumbling back down before he even got close to the top of the hill. Alex tugs him closer,  pulling him back under the blankets before nuzzling into his neck. As much as he knows he shouldn't, knows this isn't real, Henry holds him a little closer. He kisses the place where Alex's ear meets his face, earning an appreciative hum as Alex falls asleep again. He's tucked up against Henry now, too close for Henry to leave even if he could bring himself to try.

For now, all he can do is bury his face in Alex's hair and try not to cry. There's so much hair; he's pretty sure he swallows a few strands as he breathes it in. But burying them in Alex's hair is the only thing he can think to do with the emotions that threaten to overwhelm him.

It has been five years and eight months since anyone has called him 'baby'. He can't remember the last time he heard the word, though he must have heard it some time in that span, but the last time it was directed at him was just before his dad's funeral. He'd cried in the car on their way there, and his mum had taken his face in her hands and wiped his tears. She'd pulled him into a hug, and she'd called him her baby then, voice choked with tears of her own. Just like always, she'd promised him that she would be there and it would all be okay.

It wasn't. Nothing has been okay since, and his mum hasn't called him her baby, either. No one has called him 'baby' since. Bea doesn't use the term, Pez doesn't know it, and he'd made Shaan put it on a list of things that fake girlfriends weren't allowed to say to him. Alex doesn't know what it means, either; he can't. He can't know Henry's history with the word. As he lies there in the darkness, Henry tries his hardest to remind himself that from Alex's mouth, 'baby' is just another pet name. It isn't the unconditional promise of fierce love he'd grown up with.

But even from Alex, that 'baby' has to mean something. Tonight, it's a request, a vulnerability. It had asked Henry to stay, and to trust that Alex and their teams and whatever forces of the universe might be looking out for them will be enough to protect them. It asked Henry to trust whatever this thing between them is, and while it left him a choice, it's a choice between Dickens and Austen. He could leave this warm bed to traipse through Paris back to his own hotel, disheveled and miserable, or he could lean into a man who's let down his guard and trusted him to stay. As he lets himself sink back into the moment with Alex, letting himself put his fear off until the morning, he recognizes the busker's song just long enough to murmur the last lines into Alex's hair. It feels like a confession and a prayer and a declaration all rolled into one, like something monumentally bigger than the eight little words hummed into a sleeping boy's ear. He feels something inside him shift as he sings, and he knows that he's in too deep. He knows that when it gets to be too much and Alex leaves, when this all blows up in his face or comes crashing down around him, it will take a part of him with it. But he'll take whatever he can get, so for now, he leans in closer and lets himself believe he can have something like a relationship here. He sings gently, Alex's breath tickling his neck as the breeze carries the last few notes through the window, and his heart is so full he thinks it might explode.

"... I can't help falling in love with you."

On AO3

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[the-cat-at-the-theatre-door]

Gus and Skimbleshanks for the character ask!

All of them?? Oh, gee, okay um...

I'll tell you what - I'll answer all of them for Gus for now, and then perhaps answer them all for Skimble in the future (depending on interest level).

Alright, let’s see...

Gus

Already answered 6, 7, 8, 9, and 10 here!

1. Something this character is truly proud of

Gus is extremely proud of his accomplishments throughout his life, and extremely proud of how he worked up from nothing to get where he is - and he will humbly boast about these accomplishments until the cows come home, ask anyone in his proximity.

But, if I may take a moment to be as sappy as a possibly can, what Gus is *most* proud of is his legacy - aka, his children and his grandchildren. Though he never thought he’d be the nurturing type, and he still really isn’t, there is not a soul alive that has come into contact with Gus the Theatre Cat that does not know of his son and daughter, and later, his group of grandkittens. That’s why he’s always lamenting at the young ones that they “think they’re smart” when they do the bare minimum when he *knows* that they’re able to accomplish more than that.

2.Who they want to please the most.

Gus is, quite literally, a crowd pleaser. He’s a showman, so of course he is. He wants to please his audience, his director, his fellow castmates...all at once. He is also very proud when he manages to please his fellow cats or people in his family - for making a name for himself, for getting somewhere, for reaching such prominence as just a *cat* for crying out loud. He’s made it, and that makes him feel happier than anything else considering where he started.

When kittens tell him that they want to be like him someday, he positively beams.

3. Who depends on them.

His children depended on him for the longest time, but he kinda blew it with that one for a good chunk of their lives - and by the time he had started to come around, they were already independent, and it’s one of his biggest regrets that he didn’t come around sooner.

Nowadays, no one really depends on Gus for physical things or favours, but there are many members of the tribe that depend on him to listen and to talk to them. Gus has a way of spinning situations simply so that they make sense, an eccentric conversation style that is both pleasant and distracting, and is able to read the room *extremely* easily. It’s a little spooky how easily Gus can pick up on a situation, with very little conversation, and how smoothly he can transition conversation/interaction style if necessary. Gus can be rather blunt and honest to a fault, but you’d be hard-pressed to find better life advice than from him.

(If we go with my Gus and Bella are siblings, theory, she used to depend on him a lot when they were young, since their parents also weren’t around much - what goes around and all that - to protect her and watch her)

4. What they would do if they had one month to live

Well...I mean...what is he doing now?

Sorry. A younger Gus would have said he would press on with whatever he was doing at the time. He’d want to be back in the pub with his friends, late into the night. He’d love to get a final dramatic monologue in, a final curtain call; die doing what he loves instead of caught up in a bed.

Now, well, Gus is well aware - somewhere in the back of his mind - that he’s not going to live a long time. He knows the end is nearing. All he really wants is quiet - after a life lived out loud, if he could just collect himself enough to sort everything out one thing at a time, and quietly work through each day he would be grateful. Bored to death, perhaps, but grateful.

He’d like to maybe see Bella again, before he goes.

5. A cherished personal belonging.

The blanket Gus began to wear around his shoulders used to be where his wife and children slept and where his grandchildren currently play, and it has a whole cacophony of different scents attached to it. He hates being parted with it. When things get overwhelming for him, he buries himself in it, curling himself under a literal blanket of familiarity - even if he isn’t quite sure *why* it’s familiar.

11. This character’s favorite piece or pieces of clothing.

He has a pair of gloves that his wife also made for him that Jelly has patched over the years because they’ve worn thin. She ended up having to cut the fingers off and hem them when they became more hole than glove.

He also has a scarf given to him by one of the theatre patrons from an earlier show of his - a little girl with her mother who was only truly fascinated with the cat on stage, and didn’t understand why they didn’t give him a costume as well. She was helping by giving him hers.

12. How they sleep.

He snores and mutters in his sleep, to the point where he seems to have entire conversations with himself. He’s also rather fitful. The kittens are wary of sleeping anywhere near him, since he has been known to jerk awake suddenly and kick out in alarm (and doesn’t he feel guilty the few times that *has* caught a few of them in the ribs or the legs)

13. What kind of parent they would be.

Well he *is* one, and the answer to that question would be not a *great* one, but not a *bad* one either. Gus is a fun parent, a loving parent, a proud parent, but he isn’t the best parental figure. He isn’t so great with discipline, nor is he great for showing up to anything on time.

I’d say Gus’ strength as a parent came from his unfailing willingness to go along with whatever scenario his children would cook up - from pirates to knights and princesses to aliens - Gus was always willing to jump into the game should they invite him to play with them. And you know he threw his entire self into it, too.

14. How they did in school

Gus would have a been a “graduated from Juilliard” kinda guy, if the timeline matched up - or if he could have afforded it.

As it stands, he didn’t really finish school. Not necessarily out of any inability to do so, but a complete and total lack of interest. He held odd jobs mostly, to support his family, which led him to quietly quitting school. He figured anything he wanted to learn would be just as good coming from direct experience or working under a mentor than a formal education - and it got him where he is today, so all in all not bad.

15. What cologne or perfume they would use

There is a very specific one that my grandfather uses that smells exactly like something Gus would wear - it’s that standard older gentleman scent - kind of like...Aqua Velva but softer - that is slightly on the pricy side, but not ridiculously so. He doesn’t bathe in it, but he uses it religiously.

He *used* to dip into a Chanel perfume that one of his actress friends gave to him after one of their shows wrapped, that he *kinda* thought just smelled a lot like lightly spicy rubbing alcohol but felt it polite to at least...use it - when that finally ran out and he curiously checked on its price...he never even looked at it again.

(”Ridiculous...I may as well douse myself in a bottle of gin it’ll give off the same effect!”)

16. Their sexuality

Gus is bisexual and biromantic, with a preference for Queens, but he’s had several trysts with Toms as well. He was quite the paramour in his younger days.

17. What they’d sing at karaoke

Gus finds karaoke to be absolutely *dreadful* in that he legitimately does not see the fun in it OR its purpose.  And that’s coming from a cat whose whole job it is to perform.

So count him out of that. He’ll monologue on the spot for you, though, if he is so inclined.

18. Special talents they have

Gus used to be extremely good at remembering people’s names - even after just one introduction or overhearing it once (Jelly gets that from him).

He's very good at patter songs and tongue twisters. He also used to delight his kits by speeding through the alphabet backwards.

He can clock a person's personality within literally seconds of knowing them - and he's usually right.

He plays piano and was the one who taught Jelly to play. He can’t so much anymore with his shaking hands.

19. When they feel safest

Gus feels safest in the light when he's able to see everything. He never got stage fright, per say, but would get waves of nerves when he was directly in a spotlight - with the rest of the stage dark around him...like he was being swallowed. He would get nervous to move out of it - the lighting techs needed to be *very* on the ball if the director called for a total blackout (he only really trusted two of them).

20. Household chore they hate the most

Cooking. 100%. Can't stand it. Does not know how the oven works. Cannot adjust to picky palettes well. Definitely a take out dad.

21. Their fondest childhood memory

(Sibling AU) When Gus and Grizabella were children, they put on “Cinderella” (which Bella insisted would be changed to “Cinderbella” because of course. Gus goes along with it because *whatever fine his mother told him that he was the big brother and had to be nice to her*) as one of their very first collaborative plays together - they were around 8 and 6 respectively. They had already put on dozens of little skits and read-throughs and imaginary games, and they loved doing it.

Bella *refused* to be anyone other than Cinderella and Gus refused to play the prince (because it meant he had to *kiss his sister yuck*), so instead it was really “Staring Grizabella as Cinderella and Asparagus as *literally every other part except for Prince Charming*.- they spent hours trying to figure out how the quick changes would work, and making script changes, and hanging sheets behind them for curtains, and Bella glued together a tiny little suit for her teddy bear who would play the prince instead.

All in all, it went about as well as they could have expected - a bit of a disaster. They put it on for their father, who watched with tired eyes and a patient smile, and applauded enthusiastically at the end - and they both decided right then and there that that was what they would do for the rest of their lives.

He considers that his first stage credit.

22. How they spend their money.

Honestly, Gus’ money spending habits are very strange. He will buy himself a new car *once* and then run the thing into the ground until it physically can’t run anymore, won't buy new clothes until you can see through the old ones, will *always* weasel his way out of paying for alcohol at a bar (he has *many* tricks up his sleeve for this one), and he will refuse to spend his money on other frivolous things, but you bet your dollar that he is literally always shelling out money to his grandchildren just because - saying it would be their little secret, and one time bought a bird house because it "spoke to him" but never bothered to hang it up or actually use it.

23. What kind of alcohol they drink

Well, he used to be a “whatever I am given I will drink and I will probably drink *too much*” kind of guy, but since cutting back he’ll moreso partake in brandy or gin, but only in very small doses.

24. What they wish they could change about themselves

There are several things that Gus wishes he could change from the past, but the one thing he wishes he could truly change about himself in the present is how much of a burden he feels he’s become to the others (he's not but he feels that way). Gus is a proud cat, he will admit that. And with that pride comes mourning of his own independence.

Sometimes, when Jelly is helping him do things - like button up his coat or helping him to eat - he just looks at her forlornly and murmurs “My poor dear. You shouldn’t have to do any of this.”

He also wishes that there wasn’t a period of time that his familial relationships were so strained because of him putting his career first, but he can’t really change that so much as try his best to make up for it.

25. What other people wish they could change about them

Gus has the tendency to be a little...let’s say *long-winded*. And a little hypercritical. He holds himself to a high - near-impossible - standard, so he also has a bad habit of holding others to that same standard.

[lefaystrent]

Yes hi. Do you have anything on Analogince? Hcs, fics, art? I just got dragged into that hell and I plan to stay there forever

I don’t think I’ve ever writtenanything for them, but here’s some headcanons.

Also this got loooong and I still didn’twrite out all my thoughts, but it’s 1 in the morning so I’m going to cut it hereand hopefully add more later. ^_^

Roman is the one who brings themtogether as friends at first.

If it was up to Virgil and Logan,they’d stay inside all day and not socialize with the rest of the world.

So much to do, so many possible confrontationsto avoid, better to avoid the trouble.

But Roman has a way of moving people.

He throws their schedules upside downand gets them to come out of their shells in ways they didn’t know possible.

And somehow they don’t hate it.

Roman is bright, idealistic, andpassionate. Sensitive as he is strong.

He’s like a puppy ready to take onthe world.

Logan and Virgil silently agreethat they must protect the puppy. He’s cute but kinda dumb.

Logan and Virgil aren’t quite sure whyRoman’s so insistent on being around them. They think he’ll get boredeventually.

Roman never gets bored. He actually thinksthey’re really cool and he just wants to impress them.

Logan and Roman share a passion forwriting. They can sit and talk for hours about ideas and phrases and metaphors.

Roman writes his own stories. It’s a bigdeal for him to share his writing and open himself to criticism.

Roman shares his work with them.

Logan becomes the editor he never knew heneeded.

Logan has a way of correcting thelogistics of Roman’s writing without tearing him down.

Virgil doesn’t contribute much to thoseconversations, but he likes listening to them a lot.

Whenever Roman asks Virgil for storyideas, Virgil’s go to is, “Make a meteor crash down,” or something of the sort.

Virgil mostly bonds with Roman over music.

They have a lot of similar tastes andfavorite bands.

Roman’s a big musical fan, but Virgil’snever really listened to any musicals.

Roman gets Virgil into musicals. Virgildoesn’t tell him he’s succeeded at first.

Roman catches Virgil humming, “Michael inthe Bathroom,” one day and squeals loudly in glee.

“Oh my god, Be More Chill? When didthis happen? We have so much to talk about!!!”

Logan doesn’t care for most of the musicaltalk.

UNTIL HAMILTON IS DISCOVERED.

“So do you like it?” Roman asks, on theedge of his seat as Logan listens to some of the songs.

Logan fucking loves it.

He goes into full history rants and howwell blended the story is for a modern medium and THE LYRICS!!

It’s one of the first times the othersrealize just how passionate of a person Logan can be.

When he’s interested in something, he’sinvested with his entire soul.

In the beginning Logan held off fromshowing this side of himself, not wanting to scare off the other two.

But more and more he’ll get this excitedgleam in his eyes and just go off about a subject.

He makes even the most mundane topicssound new and worthwhile.

A lot of times he’ll cut himself off.

“Oh, my apologies. I’m probably boringyou.”

Roman and Virgil quickly shake theirheads.

“No! Please continue! You’re hot—I mean,you’re not boring us!”

Virgil especially likes listening to Logantalk.

He’s never heard a more calming tone.There’s just something incredibly safe about his voice.

Or maybe that’s just Logan in general,smart and dependable as he is.

Regardless, Virgil will close his eyessometimes while listening to Logan.

He’ll call Logan when he’s feelinganxious.

“Talk about anything,” Virgil willrequest.

After a pause, Logan will respond with, “Haveyou heard about *insert random subject here*.”

Sometimes Virgil relaxes so much that hefalls asleep listening to him.

Speaking of voices, Virgil loves Roman’svoice too.

His usual voice is okay, a bit too loudmaybe but rich and deep.

But then one day Virgil hears him sing.

Roman goes into song, and Virgil immediatelystops whatever he’s doing and stares.

Roman eventually notices the slightlystartled stare. He stops with a smirk. “Impressed, Hot Topic?”

And Virgil hasn’t regained quite enoughsense to respond with the usual banter. Instead, he just nods in wonder,looking at Roman in a newfound light.

The honest response does things to Roman.

It’s only fair. That voice does plenty toVirgil.

Virgil’s always been a sucker for prettyvoices.

But a cute guy with a voice like an angel?

Virgil is very gay and very doomed.

Virgil is the first to fall for the othersin a romantic sense.

He keeps it to himself of course. Ofcourse he couldn’t be normal and just crush on one of them. Fate was cruel anddemanded it be both of them.

And of course neither of them wouldreciprocate. Better to just repress that shit and move on like nothinghappened.

Roman was always kinda low-key into theothers, but for all that he presents himself as the romantic, he’s incredibly apprehensivewhen it comes to romance for himself.

He’s got a lot of deep-rooted insecuritiesburied in there. He doesn’t know if he’s ready to dig all that up.

So he does his best to distance hisconscious mind from going in that direction, even while his heartsubconsciously falls slowly over time.

Logan simply never pictured himself in anykind of romantic context.

He just never thought about it is all,never felt a particular want for it.

But then stuff starts happening betweenhim and the other two.

One time Virgil’s close to having a panicattack, and Logan grounds him by taking his hand.

“I want you to squeeze my hand Virgil. Don’tworry, you will not hurt me.”

And it’s enough contact to keep Virgilconnected yet small enough not to overwhelm him.

It helps immensely.

Logan sees this and starts using thismethod frequently. Not just when Virgil’s super anxious.

They’re in a somewhat crowded store andVirgil fidgets slightly? Logan holds his hand.

They’re sitting together on the couch andVirgil’s stressed trying to formulate a business email? Logan holds his hand.

Virgil is confused and gay.

Virgil does not bring attention to thehand holding, only panics internally because WHY IS LOGAN SUDDENLY HOLDING HISHAND ALL THE TIME?

Virgil doesn’t let go of his hand eitherthough.

And then with Roman, Roman is veryphysically affectionate.

Roman will often come up from behind anddrape himself over Logan.

“Speeeeecs, I’m hungry. Feed me.”

Logan thought he was annoyed by the breachin personal space at first.

But more and more Logan starts realizingthat he’s more annoyed when Roman doesn’t breach his personal space.

Roman hasn’t hugged him or thrown an armcasually over his shoulder in a while?

Logan will look at Roman more, eyessquinted, trying to figure him out and then himself out and wondering why he’sso bothered.

Logan eventually concludes that he likesbeing physically close with Roman.

When Roman takes too long to initiateaffection, Logan does it for him.

Logan will pointedly sit down right besideRoman and lean against him.

“Watchya doing, Microsoft Nerd?” Roman asks,blinking at the not-at-all subtle approach Logan’s taking.

Logan doesn’t look at him, choosing toopen a book. “I’m getting comfortable to read, isn’t it obvious?”

For some reason Roman gets a little shywhen the others initiate affection.

Roman has long since been used to havingto be the one to initiate things.

It’s kinda…really nice, not to have to askfor things.

The three of them start becoming very comfortablewith physical affection.

Roman will often lay his head in Virgil’slap, and Virgil will scratch at his hair while scrolling on his phone.

Roman melts under the touch.

It’s one of the few times he’s evercompletely silent. He’s always burning with the urge to move, to create!

In these moments, he can happily soak inthe peace.

Logan feels warm and content when he seesthe two of them like that.

Considering that in addition to all ofthese other signs, Logan has an epiphany moment.

He is attracted to the other tworomantically.

It’s a fairly shocking realization forsomeone who’s never experienced such a thing before.

Logan takes it in stride though.

He starts listing out the pros of them allbeing together.

The three of them work better togetherthan alone, he concludes.

With that in mind, Logan approaches theother two and asks them out.

[mydemimonde]

‘muse’ ch. 6 | matt (bbtl)

CHAPTER 6

“I don’t know what came over me” Mia confessed to her friend Javed. Both were at the living room in Mia’s house, drinking some tea. After her outburst that afternoon, she locked herself up in her room, she didn’t want to talk to anyone. But her mother told her Javed was waiting for her outside, and had no choice but to go downstairs and see what was going on.

“Matt looked really hurt and confused. He didn’t say a word after what you told him, he went straight to his house” he stated with a brooding look. “Is everything okay?”

Now Mia felt bad. Really bad. “It’s just… my emotions accumulated and I exploded” he looked at her, curiously. “Oh, I forgot to tell you. When you left the party the other night, I went upstairs and accidentally walked into Matt and Emma making out.” She sighed. “They were about to have sex”

“Oh” he stood there, not knowing what to respond.

“That’s not the worst. Yesterday he took me to the store and made me pick a necklace. I thought it was for me, but it was for…”

“For Emma” he gave her a sorry look, his friend nodded and looked down.

“I know I over reacted, that was shitty” she covered her face with her hands, frustrated.

“Hey, you said it yourself, your emotions piled up” she lifted her head and he continued his statement. “You have the right to feel sad. You know I’ll be here, always”

She smiled and leaned forward, hugging him. “Thank you so much, J”

“Anytime”

“So, are you coming tomorrow for lunch?”

“Absolutely, I wouldn’t miss it for anything in the world. Should I bring something?”

“Just your presence” both lads laughed. Javed looked at his watch. “You have to go, right?”

“Yes, mum needs help with the sewing. I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?” both got on his feet and Mia walked him to the door.

“See you J, send my regards to your mum”

“Will do”

Once she got her pyjamas on, Mia grabbed her book and sat on her bed. She tried to read, but couldn’t concentrate, her mind was elsewhere. Maybe she was too rude to Matt. Poor guy, he was so shocked and hurt when Mia snapped at him. It wasn’t his fault, it was her ability to hide and bury her emotions so deep, and then combusting when she’s overwhelmed.

She put the book down on her desk and walked towards the window. There, she had a view of the street and Matt’s house. Especially the living room and his bedroom. There he was, sitting on his bed with his guitar. She couldn’t hear from the distance, but she was sure it was a beautiful tune. It seemed like he was writing a song, because from time to time he would stop playing to grab a pencil and start writing on a paper.

Mia stared at him for a while, she noticed his sadness. Eventually, he placed his guitar aside, turned off the lights and went to bed. She closed the window and went to sleep as well.

- - - - - - -

There was a knock on the door, and Oliver opened it. “Well, hello Javed!”

“Hello Mr Bradley” he answered with a polite smile and tone.

“I told you to call me Oliver, no matter how much time has passed” he patted his back and closed the door. “You’re part of the family”

“Thanks Oliver”

They all sat on the table and Susie came from the kitchen with lunch. “I hope you enjoy this” she put the dish in the middle of the table and told them to help themselves.

“Is this your special recipe you would cook when we were children?” asked Javed after eating the first bite of it.

“Yes!” she sat on the other corner of the table, facing her husband. She looked at the empty chair next to Javed. “It’s a shame Matt couldn’t come”

Mia chew on her salad and nodded. Nellie frowned. “What happened?” she noticed Mia and Javed exchanging looks. “Did you have a fight?”

“No, not at all” declared Mia quickly, almost with her mouth full. What a professional liar. “He had another… event going on”

Oliver hummed. “I miss that lad. Hope next time he joins”

Mia just nodded in silence, focusing on filling her glass of water.

They talked about many things during lunch, Javed listened with interest at everything the family did over the past six years in Liverpool. Then, he told them about the struggles he and his family had everyday with money, especially now that his older sister’s wedding day was getting closer. The Bradleys just listened to him.

“Well, if you need help with anything just tell us. In fact, there’s a vacancy where I work, you can tell your father” Javed’s face lit up at Oliver’s words. “No experience needed”

“Really? Thank you so much”

Once lunch was finished, Mia and Javed helped Susie to wash the dishes, not without splashing water and playing around. The day was beautiful with the sun shining, they wouldn’t let the last day of holidays go to waste. They took their bikes and went cycling.

“What do you want to do after finishing school, J?”

“I want to go to college, Manchester, but my dad won’t let me. He wants me to stay here in this hole, so I don’t know”

“You will get into college, you’re so smart and resilient, you can do whatever you set your mind to” Mia loved his friend so much and hated when he teared himself down. “I know it’s hard to rebel against your parents, especially against your dad. But don’t let him decide your future”

Her words of encouragement made his eyes soften and his heart fill with joy. “Thanks Mia. And what do you want to do after school?”

She pursed her lips to the side, thinking. “I really want to get out of here. I’m not saying that I don’t like Luton, because I grew up here, but… I want to see the world; you know what I mean?”

“A hundred percent”

“I want to move to another place. I want to go to college and become a writer. Or an artist, I’m not quite sure yet. All I’m sure about is that I long to go to college”

“And we will” they smiled at each other.

They cycled for hours, until the sun started to set. They were parking their bikes when they heard a voice coming from behind them.

“Hi…”

It was Matt. They turned to look at him. “Hello mate” Javed greeted him, Mia started playing with the hem of her shirt, uneased.

“I saw you earlier. Why didn’t you tell me you were having lunch?” his blue eyes were full of hurt.

Javed looked at his friend, confused. “You didn’t tell him?”

Mia blinked. “Uhm…” she glanced at Matt, who was now feeling betrayed. “I was… I was going to tell you. But then you told me today was Emma’s birthday, so…” her voice lowered at the last words.

“I could’ve come anyways, the party wasn’t gonna start until tonight” Matt looked puzzled. Mia’s mouth opened, but she couldn’t form any words. She didn’t know what to say. He lowered his head and bit his lower lip. “Okay, I get it” his shoulders dropped and he backed away.

“Matt, wait” Mia went after him and grabbed his arm, but he let go of her grip.

“What do you want?” his voice cracked with a mix of anger and sadness. “Ever since you got here you’ve been acting strange. I thought we were gonna be friends like the old times, but you’ve been treating me like shit, or trying to avoid me” his eyes began to fill with tears.

Mia, you absolute idiot. Look what you’ve done.

He looked away, avoiding her eyes. “Look, if you don’t wanna be friends anymore, just tell me and I’ll understand. Because this…” he gulped “this is hurting me”

Matt turned around and went inside his house, leaving a speechless Mia behind.

- - - - - - -

Three days passed since the last day of holidays. Three days since Matt’s angry words at Mia. Three days since Mia realized she truly acted like an insensitive bitch towards Matt. He didn’t deserve that treatment; he deserved an explanation. But she had no idea what to say.

Sorry for being an asshole Matt, I was being a bitch because I don’t know how to express myself and control my emotions, I’m jealous of Emma because she’s pretty and hot and she has you wrapped around her finger, and all I can do is watch both of you from a distance and suffer in silence.

She sighed and grabbed her books. Literature lessons ended and now it was time to go home. Miss Clyde was an incredible literature teacher, but made them work very hard. Mia liked that kind of pressure though; it made her focus and make her best effort.

“How was Literature?” asked a panting Javed, who came running from Biology class.

“Very interesting. We discussed about Mary Shelley today. How was Biology?”

“Ugh, disgusting. We dissected a frog today” she pretended to vomit. “I know, Miss Wallis loved it though” he started looking inside his bag, frantically.

“What’s with the rush?” she watched how some of the books threatened to fall from the bag, and helped him look for whatever he was looking.

“Mia, I just had my eyes opened. And ears”

She giggled. “What are you talking about?”

“The boss. Bruce freaking Springsteen” he handed over the cassettes.

“What?” she took them and examined them.

“He’s just… amazing. It’s like he knows what’s going through in my brain, his songs speak to me on another level”

On the way home Javed talked to Mia about his new idol, agreeing on everything he said. Ever since her mother listened to him, she started to enjoy his music.

A few steps close to their homes, they saw Matt coming out of his friend’s car. Mia stared at him.

“I think it’s time to talk to him” Javed spoke and noticed how she was doubting his idea. “You can’t avoid him forever”

“I know. But I literally have no idea what to say”

“Saying ‘I’m sorry’ would be a good start” she slowly nodded. He sighed. “I hate being in the middle”

“I’m sorry for putting you in this position, you don’t deserve this” she patted his back.

“He’s the one who doesn’t deserve this. He deserves an explanation” he always said the right words. He was a great adviser.

“Yes, you’re right”. She saw how Matt laughed at something his friend said, then he said goodbye to them. When he lifted his head and saw Mia and Javed, he quickly looked away and went inside his home.

“Well, I better be going. I need to finish an essay, see you around” he ruffled her hair and she giggled.

She stood there, thinking about what to do. What Javed said was true, Matt deserved an explanation. She sighed and headed towards his house.

Here we go.

- - - - - - -

tag list: @blueeyedheizer​

[ohnomybreadsticks]

It is Sunday fam! Time for another prompt!! And this time it’s Calanthe/Eist, because my brain literally would not stop thinking about them all week. I hope you enjoy some ridiculous modern AU enemies to ??

Rating: G, ~1.8K, Calanthe/Eist (Witcher)

Prompt: “On a scale of 1 to "murderous", how mad would you be if...”

---

Calanthe had always thought that customers were supposed to be the annoying part of running a business. That, or accountants. Either way, she just really hadn’t expected the biggest thorn in her side to be a rival business owner. Competition was something she thrived on - she delighted in getting the upper hand over her rivals and showing them her ability to control the market. Therefore it stood to reason that any competitor would simply be an interesting aside to her actual job, not something that had her grimacing at the sound of his name being announced. 

Eist Tuirseach, the man who owned half of the boating industry (the good half, as he’d be quick to remark with a chuckle), was currently on his way into her office. And Calanthe wished in this moment that she wasn’t too old and dignified to slither under her desk and hope that she could hide until he went away. Not that she’d ever give a man the satisfaction of knowing she wanted to avoid him. That would inflate his pathetic little ego far too much, and she wasn’t about to do that. So instead, Calanthe sat at her desk and went over reports from last week as she heard the door to her office open, not even needing to look up to recognize Eist’s footfalls. 

Okay, when had that become a thing she recognized?

The problem with Eist wasn’t that he was bloodthirsty or cutthroat. Calanthe’s first business partner had been those things and much more, and she had outlasted him. She had no trouble in disguising her iron will long enough to lull men like that into a sense of false security, at which point they could be dispatched of. He wasn’t simpering either, crawling up to her seat and kissing at her feet in an attempt to disguise just how much he truly despised her. Those kind of men were almost worse to deal with, but Calanthe had no problem doing it. 

No, the problem with Eist was that he was infuriatingly nice. How he managed to survive in the high stakes world of business by being nice was absolutely beyond Calanthe. She had only ever seen hints of his true strength behind all the kind small talk and smiles, and that was somehow infuriatingly tantalizing. Not that she wanted to understand Eist. Understanding him wouldn’t undo how much of a headache he was, and boy was this man a headache. 

Every time he came to her office to discuss something it was the same song and dance. He’d wait patiently until she was finished with her work, even if they could both see it wasn’t actually work and just paperwork she was shuffling around on her desk to make herself seem busy. And then, when she finally lifted her head to ask what he wanted, he’d smile and make some sort of ridiculous small talk. Calanthe would grit her teeth and follow him through a meandering conversation about some lake or other he’d visited, or what she thought about the new restaurant down the street. Spoiler alert, she had no opinion, because she didn’t have time to eat out all the time.

Then, finally, Calanthe would manage to pin Eist down about what he wanted in a business sense, and they’d have a brief and fruitful conversation. That was the worst part, discussing business with Eist was easy and satisfying. He knew what he wanted, he usually had a good idea of what she was willing to give him, and he knew when to press and when to back down. They worked well together, although Calanthe would rather have eaten her own planner than admit it. The worst part was yet to come, after all.

Today, like every time Eist visited her office on business, he finished up their business conversation and leaned forward in his chair with a smile on his face. Calanthe mentally braced. 

“On a scale of 1 to "murderous", how mad would you be if I invited you out to dinner with me tonight?” Eist asked, the same question he had been asking ever since the very first meeting they had ever had. The first few times, it had caught Calanthe off guard, but now it was just another ritual in their little dance. Which was definitely not something she enjoyed because of the familiarity. Absolutely not. 

“Very murderous. You do know my day is very busy, Eist. I’d hate to have to cancel a board meeting just to work time into my schedule to kill you.” Calanthe replied, like always.

And Eist just laughed, the sound soft and offensively fond as he pushed his chair back and stood up. “Ah well, I would hate to inconvenience you in such a way, so I won’t bother asking.” He teased, eyes twinkling with more mirth than Calanthe thought was altogether appropriate for a business owner. With one last little wave and another smile, Eist was gone, leaving Calanthe to nurse her own annoyance at being interrupted and subjected to such a ridiculous little exchange. 

Didn’t Eist know he didn’t have a chance?

He must have known, but that apparently wasn’t going to stop him. This went on for months, then a year, then more months after that. Eist would ask the same question, Calanthe would give some variation on the same answer, and they would part ways. Every time she wished that they could just dispense of it altogether, and stop wasting each other’s time. Little did she know, she was about to have said wish granted.

It happened on a day that was already doing its damndest to compete for ‘Worst Day Ever’ in Calanthe’s books. She was on the cusp of acquiring a particularly fantastic piece of property, but her daughter had decided that now was the best time to reveal that she was in love with some hippy environmentalist, and that the property was actually some kind of nature preserve. It was infuriating, to say the least, and Calanthe’s nerves were on the verge of snapping from the tension of watching her daughter on TV denouncing the actions of her own mother’s company. Ridiculous. Absolutely unfair, since everything Calanthe did was to make sure Pavetta never needed to scratch and claw her way through the world the way she had. 

Everything was going so perfectly wrong that Calanthe didn’t even think before answering her phone with a snapped “What do you want?” Her headache only intensified as Eist’s calm voice answered her back from the other side of the line. Perfect. Just great. Here was another person with an opinion on her life, and a man no less. 

“I wanted to call and see if you were doing alright” Eist said, “There’s been so much media coverage about your daughter today, and the property...I can only imagine it’s been hell figuring out how to back out of the contract.”

“I’m not backing out of the contract.” Calanthe growled, her anger only rising as Eist assumed she was going to bow to some group of nature conservationists who didn’t know her or her business.

“...Calanthe.” Eist said softly, his voice saying her name burning into her brain like a brand, “I’m sure there are better ways to do this. As...well, allow me to urge you to reconsider. This is clearly important to your daughter, not to mention that it’s the right thing to do. Why don’t I come to your office, you can explain to me what’s happening, and we can look at it together.”

There were so many things rushing through Calanthe’s mind at that moment that she barely knew how to answer. Eventually she managed to spit out “How dare you lecture me on my own business! How dare you tell me what’s right! I don’t want to see you anywhere near my office ever again or I’ll have you arrested for harassment, Mister Tuirseach.” The emphasis on his last name was a cruel final stab, something she hadn’t done since they’d first been introduced.

Eist was silent on the other end of the line for a good minute or so before he replied. “I see. I’ve overstepped, I apologize. I meant what I said, but I can see my presence isn’t wanted. Good luck, Ms. Riannon.”

The silence that overwhelmed the office after Eist hung up was so overwhelming that Calanthe indulged in the childish urge to bury her face in her arms on top of the desk. Ridiculous, upsetting, terrible man! How dare he speak to her like they were more than business partners! Like he knew anything about her. 

Like...they had been having pleasant personal conversations with each other for years now. Like she had told him about her relationship with her daughter, and her worries over the reputation of her company. 

‘We can look at it together’ he had said.

Like they were equals. Fuck. 

Calanthe had always sworn that men couldn’t be trusted because they’d never see you as an equal, but Eist had apparently been proving her wrong for the past year at least. He had called because he was worried about her, clearly, and he had instantly assumed she was going to do the ‘right thing’, not whatever cutthroat or bitchy move the media had set her up for. As much as Calanthe hated to admit it, she had been wrong to lash out at him. Gross. She had always taught Pavetta that an apology wasn’t a weakness though, which was how she found herself standing in the lobby of the Skellige corporation, waiting impatiently for Eist to emerge from his office.

He looked worried when he arrived, and closed off in a way she’d never seen him before. The smile was still there, but it was guarded. Hurt. Calanthe grit her teeth the way she always did when he first approached. This time though, she was the one to speak first, meeting Eist’s eyes boldly despite her nerves.

“On a scale of 1 to "murderous", how mad would you be if I invited you out to dinner with me tonight?” Calanthe asked, leaving the ‘As an apology for snapping over the phone.’ unsaid.

And there it was, that fond smile that she had grown so accustomed to, beaming out across Eist’s face. “I believe I’ll need to look up the word that’s the opposite of ‘murderous’” he said with a chuckle, “Does ‘delighted’ work for you? Or perhaps ‘pleasantly surprised’?” Calanthe simply rolled her eyes and held out her arm for him to take. Which, much to her pleasant surprise, he took without any comment.

“I’m less concerned with words than actions, Eist.” She said simply, and from the way he pressed their shoulders together as they walked, she knew he felt the same.

[mahalkitajohnnysuh]

The Dream Synopsis

Sometimes, you write with a goal in mind, and then it ends up in a way you didn’t expect it to. Does anyone have a similar, if not the same, experience? 

Let me know through the comments! 

Anyway, here’s Johnny looking like he stepped out of my dream in this GIF. 

Mahal ko kayong lahat! :) 

–––

Summary: This was supposed to be a sweet and fluffy Johnny and Essie piece, but then I don’t know why I had to include hurt and angsty Mark into the mix.

POV: 3rd person here. 

Word count: 1,300 + words 

Warning: I never go all the way yet with Johnny and Essie, but this is the closest thing we’ll get to them getting it on for now. 

Recommended listening: I’m going to include the song that shares the same title below. If you must know, and if it isn’t obvious enough with the previous song recommendations, I’m a big Alex Turner fan.

–––

It was during their off-days that Johnny cherished his time with Essie the most.

He loved lazy weekend afternoons, with the curtains gently moving because of the cool breeze. He and Essie would be on the couch, listening to a curated playlist either one of them made or a record of their choosing. Jaehyun gifted them a record player like his, which delighted the girl.

They usually talked about anything and everything while they were on the sofa. Most of the time, Essie would be lying on top of Johnny’s lap, raising her arms in the air to illustrate her point. Sometimes, he would lean his head against her shoulder and then bury his face in her chest when he wanted to cuddle further.

Their hands were always over and around each other, making them a giggly, tangled mess. They would be more so when they had drinks on the coffee table – coffee for Johnny and beer for Essie. They loved how each other tasted when they kissed. Essie became more tolerant of bitter tastes while Johnny became desensitized to the stench of alcohol.

In one of those ideal moments, he talked to her about his recent dream. “I was playing the piano at an empty theater, wearing the usual velvet suits they make us wear. And I was told that it was a full house,” his eyes never left her face as he shared his story.

“Maybe the organizer was a ghost, and a bunch of dead people were there watching your performance,” she replied after a moment, a smile forming on her face.

“Isn’t that creepy, baby? I mean, what the heck? Why would I dream of dead people?” He sat up, shaking his head a little. He ran his hands through his hair, which seemed to help him compose himself.

Essie watched him fuss about his hair still with the same dopey smile on her face. The little things he did always made her heart feel warm and fuzzy, as cheesy as it sounds. She was extremely lucky to call him hers, which she hoped he felt the same way.

The guy didn’t notice the look of adoration on his girlfriend’s face as he cleared his throat, staring into the space ahead. “Sorry, baby, am I boring you with my story? It must be torture when I talk about my dreams…” he mumbled, tucking his head into his chin with shame.

“No, not at all! I find it fascinating, really.” The girl shifted from her position and moved closer to him. “Talking about dreams is interesting. You can interpret them in a million ways.”

When he noticed that her eyes twinkled even in the dim light of the living room, he couldn’t help but pull her closer to him and kiss her.

She responded to his action with no hesitation, hooking her arms around his neck immediately. They forgot about their world around them as they kissed.

However, they forgot that they still had a housemate who can come in whatever time he pleases.

As the couple made out with gusto, Mark Lee entered their apartment and dropped his bag on the floor. The thud it made didn’t bother Johnny and Essie, as the couple was intent on sucking each other’s faces until they were tired.

Unfortunately, it wasn’t time yet for them to stop. Essie started moaning as Johnny’s hands went down her bottom, cupping it with all his might. It made the guy grunt at how sexy that sounded, and both exchanged small (and dirty) nothings to each other.

Mark couldn’t believe what he was seeing. He wanted to sneak into his room as quietly as possible but he couldn’t keep his eyes away from the couple.

Deep inside, he felt a bit of hurt resurface. He liked Essie more than a noona. He admitted his feelings to her before, yet she politely declined him.

“Maybe it’s not the time yet, Marky. Maybe in another lifetime. But just so you know, I love you as a friend and as the little brother I never had,” those were her famous words that took him some time to recuperate from, and now the pain was back momentarily.

As he was rooted in spot watching his hyung and noona about to get it on, something inside him snapped. He walked away as silently as he could, his eyes downcast. He would watch some funny videos on YouTube to help him erase this image.

But Mark being Mark, he stubbed his toe on the dining table. “Shit,” he hissed in pain, slowly reaching his hand to soothe his toe.

The sound he made got the attention of the couple who were now looking at him.

“Oh, Mark,” Johnny started, gently prying Essie off him. “I thought you’d be back tomorrow morning.”

“Uh, flight was early. Decided to come home immediately. I missed my bed.” The young guy’s answers were clipped despite sounding like his usual self. Essie picked up on this and frowned.

“Sorry you had to see that, Marky…” she said softly, now standing up.

“No, it’s fine. You’re a couple now anyways. Making out is something couples do all the time,” he chuckled before he stepped out of the dining room completely.

Silence hung in the air for a moment until Johnny coughed. “Wow, that was a bit awkward,” he started, looking at his girlfriend.

Essie sighed, plopping back on the couch. “I know. I think he’s not yet over, you know…”

It was the guy’s turn to sigh. “I think so too, baby. But give it time. He’ll be over it.”

“You think so?” She looked up at him in worry, her eyes turning glassy with tears.

“Yeah, I do,” he sat closer to her, “and I don’t want to lose him too. He’s both the little brother we never had.”

“I find it a bit unfair that many people are affected with our relationship, and in a not-so-good way,” Essie huffed, wiping the tears that formed in the corner of her eyes.

“I know, baby. But that’s just the way it is, I guess?” Johnny leaned back on the couch, “You can’t win them all. We’re both good-looking people who click so well. And we’re friendly to everyone. We can’t help but make people fall for us.” This got the girl chuckling, who was now leaning back on the sofa as well.

“I never expected that I’ll be liked this much,” she said softly, her eyes looking at the space in front of her. It was a realization that never seemed to sink into her mind, considering how plain and normal she looked.

“Well, baby, you are wrong about that. Turns out that you’re almost everyone’s type,” he eyed her from head to toe, earning a thwack on his shoulder.

“Don’t say that!” She looked away to cover her reddening face. “I don’t know. I am flattered, but at the same time, I don’t deserve this.”

“Aw, come on!” Johnny tilted her face to look at him, and his heart ached when he saw tears coming out of her warm face. “You deserve all the love, my darling. But you can’t give it to everyone, especially if you’re looking for a partner. And I’m the happiest person to be the recipient of that special kind of love.”

Essie broke down into tears, which Johnny kissed away from her face.

“I love you, Essie Park. Please know that. Nothing can change that.”

Although his words came to her, she was at a loss on what to say. She was overwhelmed with her realization and his confession.

“Oh, John…” she mumbled, burying her face on his chest.

He held her in his arms as she wept, but his mind was thinking if she loved him as much as he did.

–––

FIN

[dearmrsawyer]

Self Care Tag List

Le @candybarrnerd tagged me to do this soo long ago i’m so sorry but thank you for tagging me!!

🌿 Favorite comfort food: Mmm either mashed potato or i love chopping potatoes into little cubes, frying them up with a little salt and sometimes some lemon juice! til they’re nice and crispy. and towards the end i chuck in a can of (drained) corn kernels. It’s something my mum did a lot growing up, i love it. Um no other components necessary lol, just a plate of potato thank you

🌼Favorite alcohol (or hot drink): I don’t drink alcohol and my favourite hot drink is peppermint tea with a generous teaspoon of sugar

🌷Favorite relaxing activity: Any chance i get to lay a blanket down on the grass in my backyard and read under the sun. Usually Sawyer will join me

🌸Favorite fluffy/feel good fic: anything by @1000-directions @dinoflangellate and @magicalrocketships, or the mockingbird series by ont. not everything is strictly fluffy but its all feel good to me. i’ve reread everything 400 times and there’s no stopping me. 

🌻Favorite calming scent: when i bury my face in my cat. its hard to describe the smell of your pet, they’re like people, they just smell a certain way and its familiar and soothing. 

🌺Favorite relaxing or uplifting song: oh those are very different things! i think relaxing music for me is instrumental stuff, soundtracks. i don’t find music with lyrics particularly relaxing, no matter the vibe. like i’m always ~~feeling~~ something so hyping up any emotion is not really relaxing lol. uplifting, the majority of Louis Tomlinson’s debut album Walls :)

🌵Favorite white noise: rain i think. i’m not big on white noise but it is always really nice to listen to the rain outside. 

🍄Favorite book to get lost in: i don’t tend to reread books because i feel immense pressure to get to all the books i haven’t read!!! (it is so interesting that i don’t feel that pressure with fic, like sure i am super super keen to read the many fics i have marked to read, but i don’t feel PRESSURE to read one of those rather than reread a fic i know and love!) but thinking about books i’d want to reread, to get swept up in the emotional experience again, DEFINITELY any of Cassandra Clare’s series. i know she’s got a dodgy fandom history but UGH the emotions. truly the pinnacle experience of YA reading for me

💐Favorite chill out tv show: ohh... i consider most tv i watched chill out tv. The only shows that wouldn’t be chill out tv are things like Lost, which is a very important emotional experience and must only be rewatched with the utmost attention and investment. but all the shows i watch would be considered family entertainment so it all lends itself to chilled out rewatching. and i do that a lot. if i have to pick something, Stargate SG-1 and Atlantis are really wonderful feel-good chill tv

🌹The best advice you’ve ever had: gosh its so hard to recall any advice when asked this question D: well, i have obviously received advice since then but back in my senior year of highschool i had mentoring sessions with my maths teacher. the sessions weren’t maths focused, they were more like general advice/support with whatever you were struggling with. and i remember her telling me that when i’m overwhelmed by the amount of work i have, to break it down into smaller components and focus on the pieces instead of the whole. i’m sure i would’ve figured this out eventually lol but i think she was the first person to tell me that. and that’s how i operate every single day! whether its a work day or a me day, every single day is a list, and everything on that list is broken down into its own list, everything i do (no matter how big or small) is a tick on the list. Thanks Ms Macci!

Okay i would like to tag @silveredsound @nightwideopen @1000-directions @queerindeed @astorytotellyourfriends

[talldarkandroguesome]

30th of Midyear, Tirdas

I was so frightened when I went to meet with Qau-dar and his spouses. My fear nearly rivaled that of when I was brought before Almalexia for judgement. Almalexia would have at most, attempted to end my life. This... This was far more uncertain.

Yet I returned to the tent and faced my fears.

I entered and things were more casual than when I had left. I suppose they had the time to discuss what I had said and reach a conclusion.

And so they told me they would like to discuss the expectations of the marriage. They wanted to tell me what they expected and preferred and to check how I felt about the same.

I relaxed a little, still unsure as to what they would have me agree to.

Qau-dar explained that he had already told his spouses that I was interested in having many partners, not only one, using his same tea cup in a set versus shoe in a pair analogy. I confirmed that that was indeed my preference, but only in so much as would not be uncomfortable for them.

They explained that in general they were amenable to this, but with a few caveats. 

The first was that I let them know of any long-term arrangements I find myself in.

I agreed and immediately disclosed my relationship with Nabine to ensure that I was upfront and honest right away. I even mentioned that we had a child, Kuna together, just so that it would not be of any surprise to anyone later on should Nabine and I reconcile.

The spouses explained to me that children I had could be recognized as a part of the family and clan, though it would be up to the Clanmother to decide for sure.

Qau-dar teased me that it was a good thing mer can have so few children, lest I soon bring in more children to their family than Min-Daro. We all had a good laugh at that. When the joke was fully translated for her, Min-Daro laughed and then told me that as an older spouse I better not try anything because she was watching me.

I put my hands up to placate her and told her that as the junior-most spouse I would never dream of it. I assured her I would do whatever it was she said and that they should instruct him on anything else he should do as the junior-most spouse.

Qau-dar laughed and told me not to give them any ideas.

S’Fair reassured me that there was nothing to do  since we were all equal, other than to show respect to Ko’Aahni as the eldest spouse. After all, he added, when Qau-dar went senile, she would be in charge.

Qau-dar responded that Ko’Aahni was already in charge. Min-Daro leaned in conspiratorially and whispered, “or so we let her think”.

Everyone laughed again, except for Ko’Aahni who hissed at the rest of us and then flopped down into Qau-dar’s lap and buried her face in his leg.

I thanked them for their insight and asked they be patient with me while I learned my role.

Min-Daro told me to not be wound so tightly because it was a marriage of equality, not a political relationship. I felt instantly embarrassed about my earlier misunderstanding and felt heat rising to my cheeks. S’Fair told Min-Daro to stop teasing me. He bumped my shoulder with his and told me that we might be the junior spouses, but if we worked together we could take her.

I told him that I did not know any of them, other than Qau-dar, well enough to be plotting such tactics.

Ko’Aahni picked her head up and said such was the point of marriage. And explained how she had not known Qau-dar at all when they were wed.

Then each of them talked about what it was like when they first met Qau-dar. How much each of them know of the others. They joked with one another so easily when making sure each of the others was telling the story properly.

It put me well at ease as we moved onto the rest of our conversation.

The second condition they gave me for our marriage, was that I not get involved with anyone within the Clan. That I could readily agree to. I did not wish to jeopardize the relationship. And I had plenty of people within those who had come with me to Elsweyr that I know I can easily avoid an intimacies with other members of the Clan.

The last stipulation they had for me was that I let them know if I fathered any other children. The easiest of the three for me to agree to.

Ko’Aahni and S’Fair also asked that whenever I was with another partner, I make sure to take a cure disease potion afterwards. I laughed and told that they should have no fear, for it was already a standard practice for me. And they thanked me. I should have known the healers would be most concerned with health. Yet I was pleased to see such acceptance of not only their needs and mine, but of the fact that I might have a different set of desires. I was so glad to find a culture that did not vilify the type of desires I have. No judgement, just an appeal for compromise between all parties.

It was almost uncomfortable to feel so accepted. I kept finding myself looking for clues of deception, though I know in my mind they are not seeking to do such a thing. So long has acceptance been a mode of betrayal, that it no longer is easy for me to feel comfortable in that feeling. It is something I must work on learning to feel safe in.

When we had finished with discussing the marriage expectations, Qau-dar began to sing a song about goats. It had a simple call and response and I joined in. Next, S’Fair sang a humorous song about an old man traveling around. Then Ko’Aahni sang a song about the delights of warm sun and sand and good food and family. Everyone had surprisingly good voices and I like to think we would make a very good chorus, this family.

I had heard Min-Daro perform before and I was eager to hear what she would sing. I should not have.

She began singing a song about what type of person one should seek for marriage. It was very clear, as she sung of various traits of my character or appearance. I believe one of the lines was, look for one with dark sing and a good voice.

Even had I not believed that it was about me, the way she stared me in the eyes as she sung left no doubt whatsoever.

Soon the rest of Qau-dar’s spouse... my spouse, joined in. S’Fair claimed I tried hard and was true. Ko’Aahni complimented me on my dark hair and easy laugh.

Bloody Qau-dar had to go and sing of my heart that was loyal and compare my eyes to deep rubies. I could feel my face heating up and everyone had a good laugh at my expense.

Qau-dar then sang about ears that could turn warm and purple before he decided to have mercy and made sing a verse to the rest of his spouses as well. It was well appreciated.

I chose to sing an old call and response love song, since I could hardly contain such emotion deep in my chest.

In the end, everyone was together in a pile upon the sleeping cushions, limbs and tails entwined. I cannot reconcile how loving and affectionate their marriage is. Even more so, that I am a part of it.

I fell asleep so easily and so deeply. I could not even say what I dreamed of. But to wake up to see Qau-dar in my arms again, it was overwhelming. I kissed his cheek as I got up. I could not resist.

All in all, I do not know how to accept how well things have turned around. I can only soak in as much of this feeling for as long as I can.