#written in ages. i also spent an eternity turning the entire thing from past to present tense

[shehungthemoon]

peter x neal; in which i break my record for level of schmoop 🤍

Their first kiss is something epic, Hollywood worthy, rain pouring down and air ringing with angry, desperate words said before the inevitable crashing of lips. When Neal remembers it, he remembers it in wide, swooping camera shots and blue-toned filters.

They were epic, Neal thinks, in a subtle, quiet way that is so perfect and constant and understated that it really isn’t epic at all. 

So maybe they aren’t always epic, then, but they’re right , in the easy and simple way that Neal feels every time Peter brushes his fingers against his as they walk, or that he sees every time Peter smiles at him from across a room, unabashed and bright. It’s calmer, softer than anything Neal has ever known, and he loves it more than all of the fine wines and grand heists in the world.

[astarfornicks]

The first and only chapter of a fic i never finished -

This was a long time ago and I haven’t written in ages |

When I stepped outside that night, the air carried a hint of rebellion and a taste of freedom that lingered on my tongue. I was begging for a night away—away from my brothers and their square rules. I dig running away. I really do. The nights I'm sleepless or the nights I'm sleepy; it doesn’t matter. It feels the same nonetheless.

“Hey, Dallas.” I said, “Toss me a weed, will you?”

Dallas always hung around the park those days. Probably because I was there about every night.

He sat under the same tree every time, too. It was a routine.

“Ver, man, go home. It’s about the hundredth damn time you’ve been out here. You got people waiting for you on the other side.” Dallas huffed.

“I never heard anybody but me say they liked it on the East side. Not even y’all. It’s like my break, Dal. It’s rough. Everywhere. Not as good as you’d think in the West.” I uttered. “I think it’s time you start believing me when I say I like it here.”

After an eternity, Dallas caved and passed me a smoke. These nights were only two things: disgusting and freeing. Say to tell the two things apart now, and I wouldn’t know what to tell you.

I continued, “It’s almost six. Have you been here this entire time?”

“Got a few minutes of sleep on that very bench you’re on. Damn raccoons can’t keep their hands off me, man.”

I took a puff, chuckling a bit. Dallas was the man. People knew him all over town, and he sure was what he lived up to. Rowdy, criminal, and last of all, charming.

“Now, you better get back, Ronnie. West side is gonna freak when they find out you’re not there, man. Even worse, if you’re here.” Dallas said, “You got school, too.”

“And how come you don’t?” I spat back.

“Hey, you know.”

“Right, you don’t wanna go, is that it? And I'm stuck there.” I said, lifting, then dropping my arm in defeat.

Dallas chuckled, “You don’t wanna be like me, trust me. Now get!”

I laughed, smiling afterwards and turning my back. “Alright, alright, Dallas. I’m going.” Flinging the cigarette behind me, I asked him one more thing.

“Tomorrow, here, late?”

“You’re really something, Ver. See you.”

That meant yes.

I walked back to the West side in the early sun, hoping that the mere shadows of the trees would hide me from the eyes of anyone passing or watching me from some window.

I thought back to Dallas Winston. Before I got to know him, he was just some no-good hoodlum, a real greaser in my eyes. He was no better than any other criminal I’d seen. But as I spent more time with him, I realized there was more to Dallas than met the eye. He had that wild and rebellious spirit, always up to some mischief or another. His past ran deep in him. In some way that I didn’t want to admit, I also admired him in some sort of sense. Sharp and cool; who wouldn’t?

Still half lost in thought, I snuck into my bedroom window through a tree. As I could finally sit on my plush bed, I thought about my future long and hard. I was a girl with all the breaks. Money in the bank, top grades in school, what more could a gal like me ask for? It seemed like my destiny was carved in stone, clear as day for all to see.

I still had my cigarette in my hand and was itching for a smoke. Stepping away, sticking my head out my bedroom window, I took a slow, thoughtful drag from my cigarette. It was a tough life in this town. I had friends, some enemies, some people I loved more than anything.

No one more than Tommy, though. Tommy was my kid brother, only one year younger than me but a whole lot smarter. Both socially and academically, I’d say. He was there for me always, through thick and thin. He was fun, serious mostly, but fun. Tommy kind of grounded me like that—telling me what to do and how to do it, where to go and who to be with. It's just what he’d do, worrying about me and all that stuff. Things that I didn’t usually do on my own.

I had one older brother, but he was busy at college and I only got to see him during breaks. He was the rowdy kind, almost like me—nothing like Tommy—but I never got along with him as well. Opposites attract, people say. I didn’t care about that sort of stuff until Tommy started yapping on about it. Then I believed it, cause that was one of the only times I’d listened.

I closed my eyes and imagined a life; a life that was perfect and the one that was expected of me. It was nice, no doubt about it. I would’ve never got out of my thoughts if I didn’t hear someone holler my name from the street.

“Ver! Veronica!” I heard, with a waving Sherri looking straight at me. I hid my weed, wishing more than anything she hadn’t seen it. I was ashamed of my habit, just ‘cause I was raised not to do stuff like that.

“Hi, Cherry.” I said back, cracking a smile. Cherry was one of my good girl-friends, one I could really talk to sometimes when I needed an ear. She got the types of things I said for the most part—the things about life being tough and the real things out there in the world.

She squinted at me and smiled for a second before walking away. It was finally about time I started to walk to my bathroom to get ready. I curled my hair, did my makeup, and I was off to school—one place I dreaded like a prisoner facing his cell.

………………………..

I sat bothered and bored for most of the school day. Sure, I got good grades, but I didn’t do anything other than what they asked of me. Besides, if my grades slipped, I’d probably die from my parents before anything ever got to me. And I really wasn’t itching to experience any of that. Not one bit.

I stepped out of school with my other girl-friends, which included Cherry and a few other girls. Cherry and I ran tight, even in a crowd. I had my arm around her and she was leaning her head on my shoulder as we walked. She must’ve been real worn.

“Cherry, how would you like to catch a movie with me later?” I asked her.

“Oh, Ver, I’m not sure. I’ve got a whole lot of homework and you know how my parents are. They’re always complainin’ and I can’t stand it anymore.” She went on and on about her parents, as she always did. They were nothing but difficult people, the sort that grated on your nerves and had no business raising children.

“I’ll do it for you, Cherry. It’s time for you to get out. You could use some time out of there. Nothing big.”

“No, no, Ver. I ought to do it myself—really. I’ll ask my parents, too. It’s a Friday anyways.”

I nodded as I hugged her and watched her walk to her car. She was real pretty, a head-turner, a chick that had all the boys trailing behind her. And I would’ve said I was happy for her if I didn’t know she was dating Bob: some stuck up, deranged boy who jumped innocent kids and didn’t even care. I remember how disappointed I was the day she told me about him. I knew his type, his gang, and the kids he beat on.

I strolled towards the back of the school, where I always parked my car. It was a real nice red Thunderbird. My parents got it for me for my 16th birthday, and I’d treasured it ever since.

The moment I was about to drive off, I caught a few footsteps running behind me.

“Hey, baby. Nice car you got there,” the voice called out, dripping with a mischievous charm that I recognized all too well. When you’re all on your lonesome and have nothing to do, you can talk to Dallas—sometimes. Problems start when anything’s different. I glanced over my shoulder, catching a glimpse of him leaning casually against my car, a devilish grin playing on his lips.

“Bye, Dallas.” I replied, rolling my eyes.

“No good Soc.” I heard him mutter. Every time I thought he got past the fact, I was proven wrong.

I drove off, more upset and irritated by the situation than I wanted to be. Dallas Winston was a wild spirit, untamed and unapologetic. The world was his playground, and he played by his own rules. There was something about his reckless abandon, a charm that even I couldn't deny, that pulled me in.

I remembered the first time I met him. Coincidentally, it was also the first time I’d snuck out— and what I thought would’ve been my last. That time, I didn’t travel anywhere off of my turf. It was really Dallas who was out of his territory, trying to vandalize some guy’s car. I sat on our park’s bench; the one on the West side, I mean. Dallas was no one I cared about. He was a nobody to me, a hoodlum, and I would’ve had no idea I’d ever run into him. Hell, I really didn’t even know what he looked like.

Not until I’d been startled by some loud ruckus nearby. It should’ve been my cue to leave, but I don’t listen— not to anyone, not to myself, either. He’d been beaten. I could recall it vividly—the bruises on his face, the casual ease with which he settled down beside me. He asked for a smoke; in return, I had asked him what happened. I sure wished I was spared the details. Boy, were they gruesome.

When he got up, I posed him one last question: his name.

“Dallas. Dallas Winston.”

I sat there, dumbfounded and stunned, like I had just seen a ghost. I felt a surprising mix of curiosity and caution about him from that point on. Some things about Dallas I knew— I didn’t know a lot, but he always striked me as someone that no one really knew anything about. He had a rough past, grew up in New York, first had gotten arrested at ten; I heard that from talking to him. I also knew Dallas Winston always got what he wanted— everyone knew that.

[ptergwen]

web of lies

take a leap. if you start to fall, the net will appear to catch you.

photographer!peter x journalist!reader || masterlist

w/c: 7.1k

warnings: swearing, one drinking mention, descriptions of anxiety, and angst if ya squint

summary: peter can’t stop holding your hands, betty and ned are the modern day bonnie and clyde, ned is a terrible guy in the chair, the osborn’s are up to something, and mj hates you all

a/n: y’all i’m super excited about this series like i haven’t had an idea i’ve really loved in months? so it’s good to be back !!! there are tons of things i have planned and i can’t wait to share them with all of you hehe i really hope you enjoy part one <3 happy reading

to be honest, which is what you do best, you’ve had a thing for peter parker your whole time at the daily bugle. you actually almost told him once.

a couple months ago, peter walked you home on a night you worked overtime. he’d came in last minute to leave some pictures on your boss’s desk. no one else but you was there, hunched at your computer in the dim office lighting. peter was pleasantly surprised to see you, yet concerned for your well-being. you had to put your finishing touches on a story.

he didn’t feel comfortable letting you travel alone at that hour. so, he went with you when you were ready. his company was more than welcomed. you told peter about your article while you two sat on the subway. he’d listened intently, your head resting on his shoulder and his arm around you. he made sure you got to your apartment building alright as well.

“hey, peter?” you’d asked, halfway up the steps. he was waiting until you were inside and safe to leave. “hm? you good?” he’d smiled sort of expectantly. “yeah. i... i wanted to say...”

your words got caught in your throat when he gave you the softest puppy eyes you’ve ever seen. you couldn’t do it. for some reason, you were too scared to confess how you felt. “thanks again for walking me home,” you’d settled on. he’d seemed disappointed that was what you wanted to tell him. nevertheless, he said not to worry about it before taking off.

that one moment perfectly captures it all; how yours and peter’s narrative plays itself out.

—

“we’ve got an update on hydra v. the people!”

“those freaky giraffes escaped the zoo... again.”

“shoot one more spitball and it’ll be your last.”

“does anyone have an aspirin?”

welcome to the daily bugle, where the chaos never ends and the calm never starts. you’ll find new york’s finest writers, publishers, and creatives of all kind right here. that would include you. you’re one of the top journalists in the whole building, according to mr. norman osborn. he’s the brilliant and slightly insane man who runs this place.

although it’s rare for someone in your field, you were hired straight out of college. norman read a few pieces you’d written and loved them so much that he offered you a job. full time, full benefits, no questions asked. there was something special about the way you wove your words together. your writing had its own voice. a strong voice, one the paper was severely lacking.

you’ve been with the bugle for just over a year now. it’s not the quiet, nine to five gig you were initially expecting it to be. you’re each very unique individuals in your office, and there’s never a dull moment because of it. your coworkers can be found hosting debates on the riskiest topics or tackling each other for blueberry muffins, and that’s just a regular tuesday. the place is stranger than strange. but, it’s become home.

thanks to mr. osborn being so accommodating, you actually settled in rather quickly. another big help has been the friends you’ve made. your first was michelle jones, who prefers to be called mj. she’s a fellow journalist with a wickedly dark humor that trickles into her writing. if you had to describe her in one word, it would be blunt. mj is as real as it gets, and also eternally loyal. she keeps her circle small, so you’re honored you get to be in it.

mj sits right next to you, which means you’re always talking through your days. that’s due in part to the way your office is set up. there aren’t any cubicles, tables and swirly chairs taking up their space instead. norman heard it was more progressive, probably from his son harry.

harry is about your age, only a couple of years older. he hangs around quite a lot, but doesn’t do much with his time besides that. according to norman, he’s still seeking out his passion. he’s banking on him finding a suitable career at the bugle. he’d like to pass this all on to harry some day, hopefully sooner than later. either way, you don’t mind having harry here. he’s super funny and friendly with everyone.

there’s also ned leeds, who’s an editor and reviews most of your pieces. he’s sweeter than candy, even when he’s ripping your grammar to shreds. on the rare occasions you’re not discussing breaking news, you two talk about movies. ned is a film buff and gives you the best recommendations. you’re convinced he was a critic in his past life.

last but so from least is peter parker. he only works for the bugle part time, since he’s still in school. you both graduated from your respective colleges the same year. peter wants to get his masters degree, though. he’s a photographer who’s aspiring to be a cinematographer. him and ned have their passion for the industry in common, and that’s what makes them such great friends.

you learned this and more from the times you and peter have partnered up on stories. he’s one of your best friends not only at the bugle, but in your entire life. the many long nights you’ve spent collaborating have brought you close to each other. they consist of drinking and deep talks, along with some actual work. he takes the pictures, you do the writing. you’ve been told you make a lovely pair.

peter says it himself, too. you’d like to believe he means it as more than coworkers. he’s so caring, and smart, and pure, and peter. yeah, you like him an awful lot. you can hardly stand the feeling of it sometimes.

the fact that you you haven’t come clean already is ridiculous.

“goddamn. not again,” you mutter out. “em, you better come look at this. it’s bad.” mj wheels over to you in her chair with a puzzled look. her eyes follow yours, landing on your computer. “leeds just sent this? to everyone?” she questions, your reply a short hum. you’re both staring daggers at the email your screen displays.

ned is responsible for assigning each journalist their own topics to cover. he’s been lacking a bit recently, having you write up think pieces on fluffy things. in other words, stuff that no one cares about. he asked you to compare oat milk and almond milk just last week. you’d hoped this week would be better, but here you are.

“this is ass. who does he think we are, buzzfeed?” mj scoffs at her own words. the daily bugle prides itself on being a reliable news source, on paper and tv. you’re starting to stoop down to the low level of your competitors. “he assigned me some tiktok dance trend. i’m not writing a single word about that app.” she sets her elbows down on the table, head in her hands.

“aw, why not? grandma mj isn’t down with the kids?” you tease and click out of the upsetting email. “i don’t write for kids,” mj deadpans. she pushes her glasses up on her nose. “what’d you get?” “the evolution of memes,” you gloomily reply. you’re surprised norman has been approving these topics. then again, ned is the head editor. he can do whatever he wants regardless of approval.

mj glares over at the kitchen, where betty brant currently resides. she’s making two hot chocolates instead of her usual one. “i blame her,” mj mumbles to you. your eyebrows furrow. “dude, what? betty is an angel. she doesn’t even work in editing.” betty is the bugle’s highest rated anchorwoman. her and her news team are on people’s televisions every night.

“no, but she has been spending a generous amount of time with leeds,” mj grumbles. she’s admittedly very nosy. the upside is that she tells you any juicy office drama there is. “my theory is betty���s making him give us crap stories so she can report the good ones.” she glances over at you to see what you think. “no way. that can’t be allowed... or legal,” you laugh back.

as if on cue, ned appears next to betty in the kitchen. he takes the extra hot coco that’s piled high with whipped cream. betty tucks a sheet of paper into his suit pocket and kisses his cheek, then he’s gone. you can only gasp as you watch this unfold. what has she done to poor, clueless ned?

“not such an angel anymore, huh?” mj smirks in satisfaction. “suddenly, she has red horns and a pitchfork,” you bitterly agree with your tongue in your cheek. betty waves to you two on her way back to broadcasting. mj gives her a fake nice finger wave, you ignoring her. “we can’t sit back and let this happen, em. we have to do something,” you decide. “let’s tell norman.”

uninterested, mj takes off her glasses and starts to clean them. “like he’ll believe us. yeah, golden girl betty brant is sabotaging the writer’s room,” she rewords her previous statement to put its stupidity in perspective. you throw your hands up. “she is, though! we literally watched it happen!” mj puts her freshly wiped glasses back on and sighs.

“i doubt norman would care, y/n. every newspaper to ever exist is corrupt somehow.” your pessimistic old pal has a point. however, you’re not so willing to accept it. “why can’t we be the first one that isn’t?” you offer a small smile. mj snickers, wheeling back to her own computer. “those are words of the innocent.” she’s already tapping her fingers across the keyboard.

“i thought you weren’t doing the tiktok piece,” you say under your breath. you’re slightly pissed mj turned you down, since she’s the reason you know about betty’s meddling. “i’m not,” mj answers sharply. “i’m gonna email quentin and ask if we can change our topics. happy?” quentin beck is another editor in the building. he’s not bad, but he is intimidating. no one typically goes to him as their first option.

“i’m thrilled,” you confirm and grin at mj to emphasize it. “thanks for stepping up. you’re forgiven.” “i didn’t realize i had to be sorry,” mj notes, this time in a playful manor. she shakes her head as she begins writing. “you and your morals.”

what you value most in your career is honesty, under any circumstances. of course, the other daily bugle writers are the same. norman strictly prohibits clickbait and crazy headlines because that isn’t real news. you leave that to companies like buzzfeed. you’re honest in the sense that you say whatever has to be said, what everyone else is too afraid to. you’ll speak your truth no matter who tries to stop you.

it didn’t used to be that way. there’s some childhood trauma that remains deep in the back of your mind. you’ve left that behind you now, having over a decade to cope with it. hey, they say the past is in the past. what’s important is your takeaway, that you would never let yourself or anyone else be silenced from there on out. never again.

quentin ends up giving you the okay to write different stories. he lets you and mj choose choose your own because he’s got “better things to do” and you’re “big girls.” what a peach he is. mj goes with how capitalism is continuing to provoke global warming. she has something to say about every major world issue, and you admire the hell out of her for it.

you’re a bit stuck when it’s time to write your article. it’s terribly ironic because you pushed for this. you aren’t too worried, though. the city is crawling with material, so you’ll find what you’re looking for eventually. lucky for you, some much needed inspiration comes skipping out of the elevator.

“morning, peter,” you hear liz greet him at the front desk. she’s your floor’s receptionist. her wisdom and patience keep this place going. “hi, liz. how’s it going?” he asks. “things have been quiet... mostly. can i do anything for you?” liz peers up at him. peter sports a shy smile. “uh, yeah. mr. osborn wanted to see me?” “right. hang on.” she nods, dialing his office phone number.

it’s endearing how peter calls him mr. osborn, seeing as the rest of you go with norman. he’s probably the politest guy you’ve ever met.

grinning, liz puts down the phone. “you can go in whenever you’re ready. good luck!” peter laughs nervously and turns to leave. “thanks, you too.” his face falls when he realizes his mistake. “wait, i- i didn’t mean to say that. that was stupid. you’re not-“ “it’s fine, peter,” liz reassures him. his anxiety makes him trip over his words sometimes. that, and he’s a bit dorky in general. you find it rather adorable.

you also wonder what exactly he needs good luck for. he’s not even supposed to be working today, so your curiosity as to what’s going on has been piqued.

“um, i’m gonna go now. bye!” peter rushes off, his face tinted pink from the embarrassing encounter. you’re hoping he’ll stop and talk with you for a little while, but he heads straight to norman’s office. your whole body deflates at that. mj notices from her peripherals.

“what’s the matter? missing your hubby?” she coos, her words dripping in sarcasm. “no,” you lie. “i’m... i don’t know what to write about.” ok, there’s some truth. mj gives you a couple pats on the shoulder. “ask parker for help. you two work... well together. don’t you?” this must be the zillionth time you’ve heard that.

“we do,” you murmur and glance at norman’s closed door. peter is hidden behind it. “i just don’t wanna bug him. he has finals soon, and whatever norman is putting him up to. it’s my job, anyway.” mj pokes your arm. “those sound like excuses to me,” she concludes, still jabbing at you childishly. “you really just don’t wanna tell him you like-“

“can you keep it down?” you hiss, yanking your arm back. “he’s literally right over there.” peter stands up and shakes norman’s hand. you catch it through the blinds on his window. “y/n, you were drooling over his mere presence only minutes ago,” mj prefaces, a smile pulling at her lips. “you can handle three little words. i like you, that’s it. spit it out already.”

you’ll never admit this to mj, but she’s right. you lost your momentum after your first failed attempt to say the three little words. you’re still not sure what stopped you. you’d shared the details of that faithful night with her, and she’s been pushing you to try again since.

the door to norman’s office opens, and out walks peter. he’s beaming after their conversation, which seems like a good sign. harry passes peter on his way in to pay his dad a visit. he claps him on the shoulder, peter happily accepting before continuing his stride back into the main office. it takes a moment to register that he’s coming towards you.

you quickly set your focus back on your computer so he doesn’t think you’ve been watching him. even though, you definitely have.

“y/n!” peter calls your name. he’s on the opposite side of your table, in front of you. “peter!” you match his tone. “i was just dropping by. i thought i’d say hey while i’m here.” he’s still grinning. “what’re you doing?” he looks cute as ever in an oversized and cream colored sweater. his curls are slicked back with a tad too much product, cheeks rosy. you gaze up at him when he rests his arms on the table.

“pretending to be productive,” mj answers for you, pressing her lips together. peter cocks his head to the side. “pretending?” “ignore her. she’s being a shit stirrer today,” you explain. “like every other day,” he jokes, earning a laugh from you. mj just tuts and keeps writing. “talk about me like i’m not here,” she mumbles to herself, then gets back into her article.

“anyways, i thought you didn’t work today?” you ask to take the attention off yourself. also, because you’re curious. “oh! get this.” peter perks up even more, if that’s possible. he has energy like no other. “you know alex in broadcasting? betty’s camera guy?” “what about him?” you wonder. “he called in sick earlier this morning, with the flu or something.” he’s oddly excited to announce this. that prompts you to make a funny face.

biting back another smile, peter elaborates. “mr. osborn needed someone to fill in for him, so he picked me. i’ll be here all week.” it makes sense, since peter knows how to work a camera and does so wonderfully. you give him a celebratory push at his chest. “peter, that’s amazing! this is the perfect way to transition from pictures to film, right?” he’s nearing his finals at school, which consist of more movie-like projects. the news will be great practice.

then, he’s off to hollywood. you’ll put that out of your mind for now.

“exactly! i think it’ll be a good place to start. the pay isn’t bad either.” peter wiggles his eyebrows at you, you giggling once again. you do a lot of that when he’s around. that’s going to be more often now. “plus, i get to see you. everyone wins.” he squeezes your hand that was just on him. your heart begins to thump. “except alex,” you challenge, playing with his fingers. “but, for real. i’m happy you get to do this and that we’ll be spending more time together.”

“thanks, y/n/n. me too.” peter grins and leans over, taking a peek at your computer screen. there’s a blank word document on it. “you never told me what you’re up to,” he chuckles. “guess mj was right... nothing.” “i’m always right,” she chimes in from next to you. you look between the two of them with a scowl. “i haven’t found my story yet. i don’t know, this never happens.” peter nods as you share your dilemma. “no good ideas are coming to me,” you murmur.

“they will. you have a way of attracting things.” he licks his lower lip, your heart completely stopping this time. “well, i gotta go set up for rise and shine with betty brant.” he waves his hand like he’s presenting his words. that’s what betty calls her morning news segment. “be careful with her. she’s being really sketchy these days,” you warn peter, mj grunting in agreement.

confused, peter purses his lips. “really? ned says she’s a sweetheart. they’ve been going out for a while.” mj pops her head up and adjusts her glasses. “did ned also tell you she’s bribing him to give her all of our scoops?” she’s asking rhetorically because she already knows the answer. of course he didn’t. “it’s one thing to not like her. you’re just making things up now,” peter huffs.

mj kicks your foot under the table. “i told you no one would believe us. not even peter gullible parker.” “it’s benjamin,” he corrects her. “whatever,” she brushes it off, resuming her work.

peter does tend to be sort of naive, to only see the good in things when there’s plenty of bad. you’re the same in that way, unless you hang around mj for too long.

“is that true? betty’s stealing your stories?” peter turns to you and asks. you gesture to your screen. “i don’t have one, so you do the math.” he hums sympathetically. he’ll listen to you, never mj. “i’m sorry. thanks for telling me, y/n. i’ll watch out for her.” he bends his fingers to look like goggles, putting them around his eyes. you sigh lightheartedly.

“are you twenty two years old or twelve?” mj remarks, but not without a comeback from peter. “you’re, like, eighty five. worry about that.” they’ve had this type of banter for as long as you’ve known them. it’s equal parts amusing and exhausting. “don’t be late on your first day.” you snap peter out of it with a knowing smile. he returns it.

“i hope something crazy happens so you can write about it.” he’s walking backwards now, towards the elevator. “see you later, pete,” is all you say back, yet another laugh threatening to escape you. “see you. bye, michelle,” peter says just to bug her. “it’s mj,” she groans without looking up. he shrugs. “not so fun, is it?”

after peter is gone, you try to get back into work. or rather, you try to start your work. what he said about you having a way of attracting things keeps ringing in your head. was he flirting? no, he couldn’t have been. peter parker doesn’t flirt. words aren’t his strong suit, and you have countless memories that prove this to be true. earlier with liz, for example.

you’re probably reading way into this. peter was simply doing what any good friend would do and gave you advice.

it’s late in the afternoon when anything worth mentioning happens again. peter is still with betty, as far as you know. they’re probably preparing for the nighttime news now. all you’ve done since seeing him is nibble on snacks and bug mj, who’s almost done with her story despite your distractions. this is really bad, considering your deadline to submit is at the end of today.

you’ve never missed a deadline.

mj emails her work to quentin while you repeatedly bang your head on the table. she hits send before deciding to entertain you. “whatcha doing over there?” she cautiously prompts, powering off her computer. “trying to get an idea. i’m desperate, if you couldn’t tell.” your voice is muffled. “i could.” mj grabs your shoulders and pulls you back so you’re sitting up. you childishly pout.

“y/n, the only thing that’s gonna give you is brain damage,” mj says sternly, then softens her tone. “why don’t you ask for an extension? norman gives me them all the time.” whining, you slump down in your chair again. “yeah, but you’re you! we do things differently, have different expectations put on us.” she’s back to cold mj after you say that. “alright. at least i did something today besides pine over that little-“

mj’s insult for peter is interrupted by harry. “ladies, what’s shaking?” he comes up to you two with a the hint of smirk on his face. you manage a nod to acknowledge him. “oh, hey... harry,” mj unenthusiastically replies. she’s the one person who isn’t really a fan of him. “not much. y/n was just having a tantrum.” “she was not,” you dismiss her. “it’s work stuff. you know your dad.”

harry clicks his tongue in a teasing way. “yep, the grind never stops in this joint. boss man is...” he does the sign for cuckoo with his finger. you laugh a little at that. “in a good way,” you add on. mj only watches you two, blinking blankly. harry gives you a definitive pat on the back. “before i forget, he wants to see you.” that gets mj talking. “norman?” she questions. “your dad?” you choke out at the same time.

“who else? he said you two have to talk.” harry flashes you a weary smile. “have fun in there, old sport.” you’re too busy biting the skin off your bottom lip to respond. “mhm... she will,” mj speaks on your behalf. even she sounds worried. saluting you both, harry leaves to go pester your other colleagues. you’re completely and totally fucked.

“that’s it for me!” you grin sarcastically, freaked out by harry. “i’m fired, aren’t i? i’m definitely about to get fired, and it’s all because-“ “relax!” mj cuts off your rambling. she reaches down and grasps at your wrists. “get it together, y/l/n. you’re the best we have, okay? you aren’t going anywhere.” your grin becomes a frown. “then why does norman wanna talk to me? and, why don’t i have a story?”

mj always has the answers, but this time is the execption. she lets out a breath. “i don’t know. you’ll go find out and tell me what happens.” there’s no use protesting. you’re going to have to face whatever you’re about to at some point. “ok,” you give in, defeated. “i’ll be back soon, i hope.”

the walk to norman’s office feels like a walk of shame. mj can do nothing but sit back and observe it. if this ends the way you think it will, you’ll be collecting your things and won’t ever return. norman is a kind man, and he’s usually pretty understanding. he doesn’t mind the workplace shenanigans as long as you get your job done. unfortunately, you haven’t today.

you hear your boss’s booming voice when you approach his door. inhaling deep, you knock on it, and the room goes silent. “come in,” norman responds after a few seconds. mustering up a smile, you open the door to be met with your doom. “hi, am i interrupting something?” you check. “not at all! you’re just the person i wanted to see. sit, sit,” he beckons you over. he’s not using his angry voice, so maybe you’re in the clear. you enter the room as told.

you’re shocked to see a terrified peter is already in one of the chairs. he visibly relaxes a bit now that you’re here. what the hell is happening? whatever you were expecting, this was the last thing.

taking the armchair next to peter, you sit facing norman’s desk. you nudge his arm to get his attention. his big brown eyes lock with yours. “what’s going on?” you whisper. “no idea,” peter whispers back. the two of you turn to norman again when he claps his hands. he’s plopped down into his cushy leather seat.

“so,” he begins, gaze flicking from peter to you. “you kids know why you’re here?” “is it because i missed my deadline?” you blurt out. you’re once again a nervous wreck. peter doesn’t speak, just winces. “not that. although, i did hear from ned that you turned down his assignment.” norman flicks at a post-it on his desk. “i asked quentin for one instead. me and mj,” you explain, peter’s eyes going wide.

“you talked to quentin? that guy’s bad news,” he murmurs to you. “how so?” norman questions, since it’s his employee. “he- he, um,” peter clears his throat before answering, “he’s super critical, you know? hates all my pictures.” “i love your pictures,” you assure him, the corners of his lips turning up. “your style is so cool. yeah, though. quentin’s pretty bitter.”

considering this, norman drums his fingers on the desk. “i’ll look into that. but, that isn’t why you’re here. i’m letting you off the hook this time.” your whole demeanor changes and a huge weight lifts off of you. “really? you are?” “i have a scoop of my own that i want you to cover,” he continues, peter bumping your knee happily. a toothy grin takes over your face.

“since peter will be sticking around for a while, i want him to join you.” norman waits a beat in case you have any questions. it’s been a minute since you last worked together. peter laughs in disbelief. “you want me to take over for alex and do this?” norman nods proudly. “y/n will need the extra hands, if you have them.” “yes, sir. i do,” peter immediately confirms. “my last class is next thursday, so i have the time.”

“wait, so you’re almost done? that’s awesome!” you bump peter’s knee this time. “yup, all that’s left is finals... and studying.” he mindlessly takes your hand, lacing your fingers together. you’re enjoying his gentle touches. “thank you so much, norman. seriously, i appreciate this a lot,” you tell him and mean it. “hey, no problem,” he chuckles at your eagerness. you grip peter’s hand tighter.

“what’s the story?” “ah, yes. the most important part,” norman starts, peter sharing an excited look with you. “how familiar are you two with spider-man?” his excitement fades at the question posed. it’s unbeknownst to you, caught up in the moment. “uh, same as everyone else, i guess,” you casually reply. “how come?” “he’s your subject.” norman points at you both. “you’re gonna study him over these next few months.”

peter’s hand goes limp in yours, and he gulps hard, throat feeling dry. “you mean, like, an exposé?” “no, no. there will be no exposing,” norman clarifies. “i’m sure he wears the mask for a reason.” that settles peter only slightly. you’re not sure why he’s so tense all of a sudden. “what’s our aim here, then?” you steer the conversation.

“see what new york’s favorite hero gets up to every day, how his life is beyond the crime fighting,” norman further describes your task. peter exhales a shaky breath, shifting away from you in his seat. the golden sun hits his face and reveals a bead of sweat dripping down it. you stare at his figure in worry. “you okay, peter?” “fine. i’m just... hot,” he murmurs back. his sweater does look pretty heavy, so you concede.

getting back to norman’s story, you grimace at the idea. “do you really think people will want to read that? for lack of a better term, it sounds kind of...” you pause. “basic.” “i thought the same thing at first,” he surprisingly agrees with you. “harry pitched the idea to me this morning. you won’t believe it! the other night, he caught spider-man hanging outside his window.”

“harry... harry saw him?” peter squeaks out. he uses the wool material that feels like it’s swallowing him to dab at his forehead. “he stopped on his balcony. must have been pretty late, the kid’s a night owl,” norman says about his son. your face lights up as you listen to him. “he took some shots of spidey in action, when he swung off. i saw a few. they were pretty great.” he’s grinning at his son’s success.

“maybe he’ll get into photography with you, pete,” norman suggests. peter gives him a weak smile in return. “we’d be happy to have him.” he usually has a lot more to say about his career than that. his behavior is starting to genuinely concern you. “anyway,” norman gets back on topic, “it got me thinking. how much do we really know about this guy? we’re supposed to blindly put our trust in him?”

you’re beginning to see the appeal now. you’ve written your share of pieces on the avengers and their methods, tackling the same questions norman just asked you. spider-man shouldn’t be overlooked, especially when he operates so close to your home. this could be another revolutionary superhero story in the making. and, you get to bring peter along for the ride.

“you know what? this has a lot of potential,” you smile at norman, then peter. he has his phone in his lap, fingers flying across the screen. it must be something important. you’ll discuss with norman while he takes care of that. “we could make it a weekly thing, about spider-man’s adventures. find out what we can about the man behind the mask...” peter shoots up in his seat. “without taking it off,” you finish, putting his mind at ease.

“see, i knew you were gonna love it! it was a blessing in disguise, you missing that deadline.” norman bangs his fist on the table with a hearty laugh. “what do you say, peter? you still in?” peter slips his phone back in his pocket. his tongue pokes out to wet his lips. “oh, of course. i can’t wait to work with you, y/n/n,” he speaks in a monotone voice, adding on, “again.”

something is definitely bothering him, and it isn’t the weather.

“i gotta go. betty needs me upstairs, so,” peter moves to get up, his body stiff. you assume that’s who he was texting. “thank you again, mr. osborn.” he’s rushing out of the room just like that, until you call after him. “um, don’t you wanna set a time to meet up? so we can get started?” you reasonably ask. “i... i really gotta go. find me later,” peter tells you, giving you both a tight lipped smile and running off.

“the dynamic duo is back!” norman announces to you. you’re disappointed you can’t share that sentiment with peter.

he’s absolutely booking it down the stairs, not bothering to wait for the next elevator. this is bad. this is a nightmare.

peter went from having one of his best days in a while to the worst in not even a full round of work. today started off fine, and got better when norman promoted him. it got way better when you came along. he saw your smile that makes his insides tingle, heard your laugh that’s the prettiest sound to grace his ears, held your hand that he never wants let go.

things went a bit downhill after that. betty was pushy and yelled at him a lot, demanding he only film her good angles for the segment. you and mj weren’t wrong when you told him to be careful.

later on when he saw you again, everything was okay. he was physically shaking as brad told him mr. osborn requested to see him. brad is mr. osborn’s assistant. a try-hard for sure, but good at his job. why did mr. osborn call him in? did betty complain already?

they’d been sitting in mostly silence, save for small talk until you came knocking on the door. simply being next to you was enough to ground peter and his racing thoughts. it was enough, then it wasn’t.

the whole day had gone to shit after he found out you were going to be writing stories about his alter ego. not only that, but he was helping. during the pitch, he’d texted ned to meet him in the bathroom. he was really anxious and needed a friend who understood why.

ned accidentally found out peter is spider-man last year. it’s a long story that involves peter hiding from some bad guys in the building and ned shrieking so loud the lights flickered. they’re cool now that peter talked things through with him. his secret has been kept, from what he knows.

pushing open the men’s bathroom door, peter is a mixture of sweat and ragged breaths. he’s panting from his fast descent down the staircase. he takes in his disheveled appearance using one of the mirrors. his styled hair is now damp and undone, hands trembling and palms sweaty, chest heaving. here’s his daily reminder that anxiety is not cute. as if he didn’t know.

his stupid, gigantic freaking sweater is only making things worse. it’s suffocating him. no one else is in here, so peter pulls it over his head and tosses it to the ground. he’s got a t-shirt on underneath that happens to be black. what a convenient day for him to wear the hottest material there is.

peter splashes his face with some cold water next to try and cool himself down. that doesn’t do much for him. his face still feels like it’s on fire, but now it’s wet. he takes his hands through his mop of curls, backing away from the sink.

“fuck. fuck, fuck, fuck,” peter repeats to himself. he’s silent for a moment, then rage overcomes him. he kicks open a bathroom stall. “shit! i can’t do this. what am i supposed to-“

the door creeks open, so peter shuts up in case it isn’t ned. it thankfully is, and he wears a deep frown at the sight of his best friend. “dude, what happened? you look...” “terrible. i know,” peter finishes for him. he tugs at his locks in another attempt to tame them. ned approaches him carefully. “you’re not, like, dying... are you? because betty was telling me you have to-“ “of course you were with betty,” peter exhales in frustration. “no, ned. i’m not dying.”

in ned’s defense, the text he received was very alarming. all peter wrote was, ‘EMERGENCY. SOS.’

“i mean, yeah. it was my break.” ned sits on the ledge by the window, close to peter. “you do the same with y/n.” the mention of your name upsets peter all over again. he hides his face in his hands as ned watches. “if you’re not dying, then what’s the problem?” ned finally asks. “me and y/n...” peter removes his hands from his face, meeting ned’s worried eyes. “mr. osborn wants us to do a project together.”

“uh, peter? you’ve been saying how much you miss her forever, dude! you’re not excited?” ned snorts at him. he means well, but he has no clue what he’s talking about. “no. it’s supposed to be about spider-man,” peter answers angrily. this isn’t the support he was hoping for. realizing the severity of the situation, ned gets serious.

“oh... but, you’re still doing it?” he questions. “i didn’t have a choice,” peter scoffs out. “i can’t let either of them down.” “you’ll expose yourself!” ned escalates things further. “it’s not like that. we’re gonna follow spider-man around and post updates on him,” peter says, technically in the third person. he’s given an are you insane? look from ned.

“you are spider-man! and, no offense, but you’re not so good at hiding it,” ned refers to himself finding out. “how are you gonna be in two places at once?” damnit, peter hadn’t thought about that yet. he can’t be taking pictures of spider-man and swinging from building to building simultaneously. “i- i’ll figure it out,” peter stammers, unconvincingly.

ned looks him over in a disapproving way. “jeez. you’re really putting your life on the line for this girl-“ “woman,” peter interjects, not loving ned’s attitude towards you. “have some respect.” unfazed, ned gets up from the windowsill. “speaking of women, remember betty? you’re still on the clock,” he changes the subject. peter nearly forgot he has to go film her segment.

“i’ll head up to her now,” peter gives in. he scoops up his discarded sweater, not bothering to check his appearance again. ned follows behind him to the door. “we wrote her script together, you know,” he gladly informs peter, who already knows from you. “not really a flex,” peter mumbles his response. “peter, lighten up.” ned hits at his shoulder. the two of them exit the bathroom.

“you’ll figure this out later. i can always help.” he shoots him a sugary sweet smile. “thanks, ned. for talking with me and everything.” peter doesn’t smile back. they do a quick bro handshake, then they’re going their separate ways. “have a good show, dude!” ned yells back, to which he doesn’t get a response. peter doesn’t have it in him.

he allows himself to take the elevator back up to broadcasting. he’s so drained from the several anxiety attacks he endured. while peter waists for the elevator, he contemplates all the issues he’d better solve. it’s a relief to hear it ding because it brings him back to earth. that doesn’t last long because both you and betty are there when the door opens.

you’d each had the same idea, to find peter. unlike betty, your intentions were good. you asked liz if she saw peter leave. she told you he went downstairs, so you did also. betty was already in the elevator when it got to your stop. she was looking for him because, you guessed it, he had to record the news. the small space was filled with tension as you and betty occupied it.

“perfect. we’re going right back up,” betty beams, motioning for peter with her index finger. “hop in!” “coming,” peter does as told, going to stand between you and betty. she presses the button for your floor and theirs. the doors close. “pete?” you speak up, voice soft. “you kinda ran off earlier. i thought you were with betty.” “clearly, he wasn’t,” betty sneers.

you’re less concerned with her and more with peter. the sweater he looked so huggable in is now folded in his arms, his face splotchy and jaw clenched. he must have gotten triggered by something back in norman’s office.

“are you sure you’re okay? you... you can talk to me about it.” you take a step closer to peter, your doe eyes searching for his. he meets them with a tiny smile. at least, it’s real this time. “i’ll be fine, y/n/n. ‘s nice that you came to check on me, though.” “don’t mention it.” your arms loop around his neck and bring him into a hug. peter hugs you back by your middle, chin resting on your shoulder, breathing out in relief.

you keep your hands on his shoulders when you pull back. his stay on your sides, a lopsided grin now crossing his features. “spider-man...” you quirk an eyebrow. “how are you feeling about that?” “should be cool,” peter somehow maintains himself. “i’m mostly looking forward to doing it with you.”

listening in, betty joins the conversation. “what’s happening with spider-man? anything i should know?” her hand reaches into her bag and emerges with a notepad. does she ever think of her own content? “she’s nothing if not persistent,” you grumble to peter. chuckling, he pulls you into his chest. if he didn’t hold you back, you would’ve pounced on her.

“we’re gonna do a piece on him,” peter tells her. “you can’t copy or steal this one because it’s already been approved,” you contribute, smiling smugly as peter holds you tighter. betty is taken aback. “are you accusing me of stealing? who said i-“ “ned ratted on you... sorry,” peter says in a sing song voice. squealing, you jump away from him. “he did? we were right?”

“mj’s never wrong,” he reiterates. “mj knew about this? oh my god, i can’t believe her!” betty stomps her foot. “we got you on candid camera.” you make a clicking noise with your mouth. peter mimes taking a picture to back you up. “alright, alright. i won’t do it again,” betty mumbles, turning away from you two in annoyance.

“finally!” you hold up your hand for a high five, which peter gives you. “we really do make the best team,” he hums. your fingers intertwine with peter’s, and he lays his palm flat against yours. he prays extremely hard you don’t notice that it’s sweaty. you do, but you couldn’t care less.

“i was wondering when you’d wanna start our... research?” peter asks you, his lip between his teeth. “you were saying something earlier. maybe we could make a schedule.” “how elaborate of us that would be,” you tease. that earns a breathy laugh from peter. with a knowing smile, you put your free hand back on his shoulder.

“what are you doing tonight?”

-

peter parker taglist

@saturnpeter @tpwk-grande @itstaskeen @missyouhollnd @becicamina @dummiesshort @zspideyy @watchitimreadinghere @my-patronus-is-mabel-pines @dpaccione @karispotters11 @theofficialzivadavid @thehumanistsdiary @kelieah @aayaissaa @petersgroupie @annab-nana @tayyx @swtltlmrvlgrl @magicalxdaydream @haoluvver @kjune113 @captainamirica @marvel-dork98 @emmastarz @killingbxys @viriditie @misshale21 @veryholland @liliswifts @tommydarlings @rebelemilu @peterspideysense @cr-uelsummer @dreamy-clousds @quaksonhehe @quxxnxfhxll @blackbat2020 @babyblue19 @falconxbarnes @zachary-s @dirtytissuebox @dracoswhore007 @heavenlyholland @thsquad @etheralholland @dhtomholland @awh-lilies @tomshufflepuff @multifamdomfan12

-

if i forgot you please lmk!

[wildlyglittering]

A Love for all Seasons Part 1 (Winter)

I said that I would write a piece for Nessian Month to be posted each Sunday so here is the first!

I’d hoped to have this up earlier but hey ho. I ended up scrapping 8,000 words of something that I’d previously done and re-wrote this in a day. It’s barely edited so I can only apologise for dubious quality and numerous spelling errors. 

I asked for prompt requests and this one is based on ‘modern au, Nesta as a ballerina.’ You’ll probably see that it’s not entirely modern au because I just can’t write modern au - sorry!

I’ve decided to link all 4 prompts received together as a 4 part series. Not all other sections will be as long as this one. Probably. I mean, I’ve not written them yet so....

***

Velaris at Solmas was a magical time and Nesta wasn’t thinking metaphorically – Solmas was literally a magical time.

Solmas was a blend of both fae and human traditions and, as a time for celebration, this meant spirits were up and magical shields were down. Active magic rippled through the air as did the leakage from those who had magic but never used it.

No one truly remembered when the lines between fae and human’s merged and there was the possibility the fae had decided to adjust the truth in collective memory to make it seem like they had always been part of the city.

Perhaps they had. Perhaps they hadn’t. Not a human amongst them could tell and not a fae amongst them would.

As centuries passed, or decades - no one was quite sure after all, the fae evolved to blend in. They shed talons, claws and teeth, and moulted wings and shimmering skin.

That wasn’t to say a good deal of them didn’t have remnants of their previous lineage; there were still those who had wings and those who were always followed by a mist. Some slipped from human form like their flesh was a dress.

There wasn’t a fae who didn’t have some magic, however small. But then, so did Nesta and her sisters, Feyre and Elain.

At some point in their collective past, the fae decided they liked the humans and vice versa and so romantic liaisons were not an uncommon occurrence. Despite a few differences, both species were compatible and that was how magic managed to bleed into some human veins. As Feyre said, they were human but with ‘added spice’.  

Sometimes all that magic, especially at this heightened time of year, was damned irritating.

That morning Nesta had been in a café, reading her book when a lady biting into a gingerbread man had to stop on account of her baked good starting to scream.

Then, when she’d left to make her way to the ballet, she’d been caught in a snow flurry where the snowflakes took the form of small fairies and danced around her. She’d slapped them away, ignoring their outraged cries.

The walk which should have been ten minutes from her favourite café down into the theatre district ended up taking forty after some enchanted horses pulling sleighs decided to protest and caused a blockage across three streets, causing numerous detours.

When she finally reached the theatre, the peace of her day shattered, Nesta stormed into her dressing room and slammed the door. “Fucking fae.”

Nesta didn’t hate the fae. Technically, you couldn’t. Anytime anyone had a negative thought there was a haze which descended over people’s minds to remind them how much they loved the fae and how pleased they were to live beside them.

The magic in her blood meant the haze was a pithy little thing which Nesta mentally told to shove its pleasantries up its non-existent asshole leading it to drift away, pretending it wasn’t offended.

No, she didn’t hate them but she found them so inconvenient.

Nesta had settled at her dressing table when her door opened following a knock. A head peeked round, long ruby-red hair streaming downwards. One of the fae Nesta did like.

“Nesta?”

“I’m here.”

“Viviane said she’s going to turn a portion of the Sidra into an ice rink later, fancy coming? I might also take an ice-dive. Good for the pores!”

Gwyn, the production assistant at the Velaris City Ballet Company was fae but was classified as a water nymph. Nesta had only discovered this when they took a trip to Adriata the beach city the previous year for a ‘hot girl summer’ and she realised Gwyn had a set of gills accompanying her lungs.

Nesta met Gwyn’s eyes in the mirror and raised an eyebrow.

“What? I can’t help myself; you know that. I take it the ice-rink is a no?”

Nesta shook her head in response as she began on her hair but smiled. Despite herself she really did like Gwyn and Viviane, and a lot of the production company too even though the company was riddled with nepotism and bias.

Few humans managed to win a place in the ballet. Arts and creative pursuits were hard to break into when you were auditioning against fae. The only reason Nesta was as successful as she had been was because of that drop of magical blood.

She reached for the headdress resting next to her make-up. The Solmas production was The Nutcracker which their performance director, Eris had choreographed and screamed over for weeks.

“Tchaikovsky was a close, personal friend of mine,” he’d bragged. “He was fae of course, well – half-fae, but then no one can be perfect.”

Nesta had rolled her eyes and ignored Eris’ glare, not at all intimidated since they both discovered she immune to glamours and spells.

Nesta hadn’t been able to score the prima ballerina role for the production but then she hadn’t for years. How can a human compete with fae who spun in the air and flew on invisible, gossamer wings?

She’d auditioned for the role of Sugar Plum Fairy and wasn’t offered the position on account of the actual fairies also auditioning. If Nesta had managed to win the role then she wouldn’t have lasted a week before a surprise accident befell her, regardless of the amount of protection charms she wore.

The role she had won suited her fine, the dance being one of her favourites – the Illyrian dance. The steps weren’t complex but the performance was all about attitude and frankly, Nesta had that in spades.

When she’d been offered the dance, Gwyn took her aside in the corridor, a frown on her face. “Are you sure you want to perform this Nesta?”

“I know what you’re going to say, the dance should have gone to an Illyrian and you’re right – it should have. I’ve been trying to petition Eris for years now about Illyrian ballerinas but he’s always up to his typical high-fae purist bullshit.”

Gwyn had given a nervous laugh and looked around them, making sure Eris wouldn’t somehow leap out of the wall at the comment. It was a fair suspicion; he’d done it to performers before if they had any critique of him to say.

“Just do the dance cultural justice.”

Nesta swore she would.

On the scale of species hierarchy, full humans remained at the bottom. They were aging mortals with no magic and poor immune systems. The fae laughed themselves silly at the concept of chicken pox and the common cold. However, it didn’t mean every fae species was revered.

High fae like Eris were basically royalty while lesser fae were their middle-class cousins. Nymphs were considered useful and the majority of other fae fell someplace in between.

Illyrians were almost a side step from the hierarchy.

As a species they were immortal, eternally youthful and ripe with magic as powerful as some of the high fae. Some of their bodies were like machines with what they did with them and they would have been able to perform ballet for days on end without breaking.

They also had those vast jet-black wings which were terrifying and enthralling at the same time. It was a shame Illyrian Air didn’t do well, but then there were far too many customer service issues.

The only reason they weren’t on par with the high-fae (in the eyes of the high-fae) was that they weren’t elegant enough. They moved with a violence underneath the surface of their flesh like their blood was fire.

They also had complex histories which no one understood because Illyrians refused to discuss anything about Illyria and their heritage with anyone who wasn’t an Illyrian.

She once asked Feyre about them to be told Illyrians had spent their entire lifetimes being looked down upon by other fae so when those same fae demanded Illyrian secrets, they refused to comply.

Feyre had said, “Cassian told me, ‘Why should we give them anything when we have to fight for everything,’” and Nesta conceded he had a point. Possibly the only point Cassian had ever had but a point nonetheless.

Why was she thinking all this now? Why was she thinking of her baby sister’s stupid friends? She knew very well why.

Gwyn had stepped into Nesta’s dressing room. “Isn’t tonight when your sister and her friends are coming to the show?”

Yes, that was why.

Gwyn leant against the wall, in Nesta’s line of sight in the mirror and Nesta shrugged keeping her voice nonchalant. “Yes, unfortunately.”

It wasn’t unfortunate Feyre was coming, Feyre who loved anything to do with art and ballet but Nesta wasn’t looking forward to the rest. Rhys, Feyre’s half high-fae, half Illyrian boyfriend had all the arrogant superiority of the high-fae and the volatility of the Illyrians with none of the manners.

Nesta was painfully aware Rhys didn’t like her.

The rest of the group were also non-human with Feyre seemingly abandoning humans completely, preferring the exclusive company of Rhys circle of fae friends. Elain was the opposite, living outside the walls of the city in her cottage, wanting nothing to do with fae at all.

Feyre had told Rhys a bunch of stories from their childhood and Rhys didn’t quite comprehend how human sisters worked, didn’t quite comprehend how complex their relationship had been.

The spit of magic in their blood had made things all the more difficult as humans were not the best containers for magic. In Nesta’s eyes what made it worse were all the tattoos Feyre had inked into her skin; amplifiers mostly.

Anger had been born from Nesta’s worry and her worry was from her love.

Feyre understood the root cause of Nesta’s peevishness even if she didn’t like it but Rhys saw disapproval and returned it in kind.

At the thought of some of the attendees Nesta’s heart started doing something change, fluttering away like it was a bird trapped in a cage. She remembered when Ianthe, one of the ensemble, had shown them the pet bird she’d brought.

“Isn’t it lovely?” she’d said, her eyes glittering as her fingernails grew sharp. “Such a pretty pet for me to love.”

Nesta remembered the poor thing desperately trying to fly out of its cage, smashing its wings and beak against the bars.

Ianthe ended up eating it. She’d sobbed she hadn’t meant to but she hadn’t grabbed her protein bar that morning when she’d left her apartment and she was starving.

They couldn’t help it; it was in their nature to consume. The fae were like locusts that way, consuming land, lives, birds. Hearts.

Gwyn’s smile at Nesta’s response stretched into one which took up most of her face and Nesta refrained from shuddering. Nymph embodied the gentle and the harsh of their element. Water nymphs had the ability to be as tranquil and soft as summer rain or as vicious and deadly as a shark in deep water.

“Uh-huh. Will Cassian be attending?”

“I don’t know, probably.”

“Are you nervous about doing the Illyrian dance in front of Illyrians?”

Yes. Terrified.

“No,” she said, “I’ve done my research.”

Eris’ choreography for the dance was lazy and aggressive, rooted in his high-fae misperceptions of Illyrian culture. Nesta convinced Eris to let her put together her own steps and when he let her, not giving a damn about the dance, Nesta sought out the sole Illyrian choreographer in Velaris - a woman named Emerie.

At least the dance would contain authentic steps, she’d just never performed it in front of any Illyrians who weren’t Emerie before.

Gwyn’s grin was still wide.

“Oh, go away would you,” Nesta said with a scowl. “I need to focus before the matinee.”

Gwyn laughed at Nesta’s scowl and Nesta knew Gwyn understood Nesta’s words were harsh but her meaning wasn’t.

“Fine, fine. I’ll see you later, my little witchy dancer.”

Nesta glared at her friends departing back. I’m not a witch, she wanted to say, just a human whose great grandma caught the eye of a high-fae and had at it.

The matinee performance went well. Performances at the Velaris City Ballet Company always went well. The city made it so, drawing in an audience like moths to lamplight.

For all its splendour, Velaris was ancient and small. What was once a human village at the base of the mountains with the Sidra River running wild aside it, grew in population and glamour once the fae came pushing through the veil.

Human technology and fae magic combined to turn the place into something unique which rippled out to other human towns and dwellings but Velaris remained the first and the original.

While other cities grew, Velaris kept its quaintness. Old buildings built from red stone were covered with trailing ivy which bloomed with different flowers depending on the inhabitants’ moods. Rooms would change their size and shape according to the number of people within and wallpapers would shift when required to become something new. A piece of furniture could be a chaise longue in the morning and a mahogany dresser by nightfall.

Outside was no different. The cobbled side streets were slightly off kilter and you could look back, having walked up a steep street only to realise the path you’d walked was now heading a different direction and upwards, not down.

The ballet house was one of the oldest buildings and contained concentrated magic the way a bottle contained liquid. It also meant, much like liquid, if the bottle was shaken then there would be spillage.

Truth told; they’d had some difficulties with previous performances.

The first performance of Sleeping Beauty had left the majority of the audience passed out in their red velvet chairs while thickets of thorns grew up from the stage floor, encompassing the dancers. Nesta had to hack through several vines to reach her dressing room to grab her apartment keys.

The Snow Queen last Solmas followed suit. Viviane had been their prima ballerina that year and was in her utmost element. That had been the worst winter Velaris had ever experienced with uncharacteristic heavy snowfalls and biting frosts. The less said about the temporary missing children and ominous women in sleighs, the better.

Aside from when Eris turned actual rats into human sized dancers and the whole city was put into a three-day long lockdown while fae exterminators went to work, The Nutcracker was going fairly well.

Magic whirled the audience through each act and they heard and tasted and smelt everything being shown to them. Music would drift into their ears as performers danced fluidly across the stage. Some of the audience sobbed, overcome by the magic which sank into their skin.

The experience took some time to get used to if you were human. The first time Nesta had performed ballet in Velaris she was dizzy with nausea and slick with sweat. Now she even managed to use some of her own dormant abilities to counter the effects, or even to add in some of her own.

Before the evening performance began, her phone beeped with a message from Feyre.

Can’t wait to see you dance! Catch up with you afterwards!

Nesta groaned. She’d agreed to go for a drink at the in-house bar with Feyre and the rest but now she wished she was going straight home.

The stage melted away from the dance before hers into Nesta’s scenery as she waited in the wings for her cue. She eyed up the boxes, knowing Rhys had sponsored one for Feyre but didn’t have a clue which one.

The Illyrian dance had a sparse stage, to demonstrate the Illyrian steppes but the painted backdrop was one of Ramiel, the revered Illyrian mountain. Despite the sparsity, the set pulsed with a dry heat; the scent of crackling wood fire and spice filling the air, the sensation of warm winds tickling her skin.

When the music started, she danced on, determined to prove to Illyrian eyes in the audience she would do it justice.

Nesta drew on the same magic which ran in Feyre and Elain’s bones, the same magic Feyre had permanently etched on the surface of her skin. When Nesta leapt, she cast imaginary wings on her back which carried her further forward and higher. When she pirouetted, she was spinning on ice. Her arms were graceful and her legs sharp.

Nesta formed herself into a blade of dance as she undulated her hips and curved her spine. She swore the heat under her skin caused the air to burn around her.

She finished to rapturous applause and resisted eyeing up the boxes again although she wanted to know if any particular hands were clapping.

In the wings Gwyn was waiting and handed her a towel and Nesta realised she was glistening with sweat, droplets highlighting her cleavage.

“Very nice,” Gwyn said, clapping. “A small fire broke out in one of the stalls.”

Before Nesta said anything, Eris walked by with a low whistle. “Great performance, Nesta. I now have a raging boner.”

The women shrieked in disgust and Nesta threw her towel at him. “Animal.”

Eris grinned, “You know it” and his eyes shone as he caught the towel. Nesta made a mental note to ask Elain for more rowan to put around her dressing room door.

Nesta watched the rest of the performances from the wings until curtain close. Usually she never dawdled, always wanting to remove her costume and dress into civilian clothes as quick as possible but tonight she took her time, idly drawing out each minute until she couldn’t avoid her fate forever.

Audience members with children, fae or human often left first, clearing the way for those who wanted to remain behind in the theatre bar. When the fae discovered alcohol a new set of problems arose. Regardless of what species you were, once you were drunk you did stupid things.

The bar was below ground level and took up a vast amount of space. Overstuffed seating was positioned around tables in compartments, each draped with their own set of thick, crimson red curtains with gold tassels. If the occupants wanted privacy, then they had it.

Nesta shimmied past groups; fae, human and mixed, who laughed and clinked their champagne flutes, none recognising her as a dancer they’d watched earlier.

Feyre was likely to have a private booth booked along with the theatre box as Rhys had so much gold he likely melted it down and bathed in it. The last time Nesta met up with Feyre, her little sister had been wearing a diamond encrusted corset top.

Ahead of her stood two figures, both leaning against the open fronted bar and deep in conversation. Cassian and Azriel. No one was able to miss them even if they tried to blend in. Illyrians were known for their size and their wings and not exactly known for their love of ballet.

Almost as though he sensed her arrival, Cassian stopped talking and turned, strands of his black hair falling from his messy bun. Her eyes met his and she felt how she always did whenever they glanced at each other – a little bit anxious, a little bit horny and a little bit excited.

Nesta was worried if she opened her mouth, a thousand butterflies would float upwards from her stomach.

The look on his face, one she couldn’t place, slipped into something familiar as she drew nearer. Cassian smirked at her and followed it up with a slow, obvious glance from head to toe.

“Hello, Nesta.” He drawled his words, husky and deep. His voice was a baritone which always had her itching to dance across his words. Illyrian magic wasn’t the strongest but those who wielded it were.

What Illyrians wielded their magic for was anyone’s guess but if she had to, Nesta would have guessed it was for making panties drop if the turning heads of the crowd and little sighs was any indication.

There had been occasions where she too was driven with the need to show him more skin of hers then he deserved, to beg him to lay her down and cover her body in honey before licking it off with rasps of his tongue.

Must have been magic.

“Cassian,” she said with barely a nod and turned to his companion. “Azriel.”

Azriel nodded back a polite hello while Cassian leant against the bar directly facing her, wearing a grin as sharkish as Gwyn’s. She was like a lamb on the ground being circled by a taloned beast.

“Interesting performance.”

Azriel coughed at Cassian’s words, spluttering on the beer he was drinking and Nesta frowned, heat flooding her cheeks. Was he mocking her?

If he was, she wouldn’t give his smugly handsome self the satisfaction of getting to her and instead she ignored his words asking who else was here and where her sister was.

“Feyre, Rhys, Az and me. Amren came to watch the ballet but didn’t stay for drinks.”

“And where’s my sister and Rhys now?”

Cassian jerked his head over to the direction of the compartments. “They’re having a private ‘conversation’ behind closed curtains.”

Nesta’s face twisted in disgust. Fucking fae. Always fucking.

“Why didn’t Amren stay?”

“She never sticks around after The Nutcracker. Says it’s derogatory and insulting and she only comes to refill her well of rage.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, what was it she said Az? That the performances were brimming with cultural appropriation?”

The heat on Nesta’s cheeks turned into furnace. It wasn’t as though Cassian explicitly referred to Nesta’s performance but his words had to crawled under her skin. Feyre’s fae friends weren’t fans of Nesta’s, not after Rhys had spilled to them everything Feyre had told him.

For a group so ancient, they acted like spoilt human teenagers. Nesta would take the high road and try and find dignity in silence.

The bartender brought out another beer for Azriel and a glass of dark liquor for Cassian. A glass of wine from the Rosehall vineyard was handed to her and she was surprised someone had the foresight to order for her before she arrived, and with her favourite drink.

“Did you not like it then?” Nesta asked after taking a sip, her voice light. Azriel coughed again and this time Cassian shot him a glare, his rough-hewn face growing solemn before sliding into his more casual expression.

“There were some authentic Illyrian steps involved which is impressive. Didn’t realise old Eris had it in him.”

“It wasn’t Eris,” Nesta said, “It was me. I found an Illyrian choreographer in the city and she taught me some steps.”

Cassian’s face stilled for a moment, motionless like stone before letting out a roaring laugh which reverberated around the bar. The lesser fae behind him jumped and splashed his drink on the counter, quivering in fright.

“Well, that explains it!”

Nesta’s flesh prickled, her skin chilling in the overly warm bar. Goodness knows what she’d been dancing. Some dance of self-mockery probably. Her throat was burning and she didn’t understand whether she was upset because she thought Emerie liked her or upset because Cassian had seen.

Nesta’s fingers clenched the stem of the wine glass and she took a gulp of her drink, downing almost half as her hand wavered and her eyes watered. Cassian immediately stopped grinning.

“It was a beautiful dance,” Azriel said from her right and she turned to him, his face serious. “Other performances of The Nutcracker have the Illyrian dance as the violent, hostile war dance. Yours was the best one I’ve seen. Cassian liked it very much.”

Nesta whispered her thanks, looking between the Illyrians standing at either side of her who were now glaring at each other. She was out-flanked next to their bulk and she wished her sister was done doing whatever the hell she was doing so Nesta could say her hellos and goodbyes and get out of there.

“There’s only one Illyrian choreographer in this city,” Cassian said, his voice softer as his fingers trailed around his glass rim. “No other Illyrian would ever bother with this place.”

Nesta looked around the theatre at its gilded gold décor and red curtains but somehow knew Cassian was referring to Velaris as a whole. Illyrians never came to the city to visit, let alone live.

She glanced at him and found his smile was gentler and his hazel eyes, which always bordered on lascivious, were kinder somehow. Perhaps he hadn’t meant to mock her, perhaps he realised his raucous laughter had hurt.

He had no reason to care if he’d hurt her feelings and she shouldn’t have cared either but there had been a sting to his words which sunk deeper than she’d liked. She wasn’t opposed if he wanted to soothe over his words.

But she wasn’t about to let him know that. Instead, she fixed a bored expression onto her face. “Oh,” she said, looking into her glass as she swirled her wine around, “and who would that be?”

Cassian, still leaning against the bar, mirrored her by looking into his own glass before taking a sip.

“A friend of mine from the old country moved here a couple of years ago because her attempt at bringing ballet into the township was less than successful. You know her human name as Emerie.”

Cassian was still leaning against the bar, now looking into his own deep amber coloured liquid before taking a sip.

Nesta’s head snapped up to find Cassian now looking intently at her. “Yes, that’s her.”

“Figured,” Cassian said with a chuckle and took another long sip.

His mood seemed less jovial than before, more pensive and Nesta glanced around to discover Azriel had gone from her side. She looked around the crowds but didn’t see sight of him. How she lost an Illyrian of his stature she didn’t know but when she whipped her head around to the booth Cassian gestured towards earlier, the curtains were still closed.

She didn’t even have it in her to be irritated. The whole night was a wash-out and because of the stupid enchanted horse incident earlier closing streets, she was now adding additional time to her walk home.

“Well, then,” she said. “It’s been a long day and I’m tired; I have another two performances tomorrow and I want to head out and avoid any festive idiots.”

Cassian stood upright, alert and facing her, his glass sloshing the liquid violently as he placed it back onto the bar a little too hard. His wings flexed. “You haven’t seen Feyre yet.”

“If Feyre wanted to catch up with me then she wouldn’t be playing hide the fae penis with her boyfriend right now.” Her tone was sharp and she glared at Cassian. “It doesn’t take much to say a quick hello to your sister.”

Did Nesta care if Cassian thought her rude? Not a fucking bit. Despite Elain living an hour outside the city and Feyre only living on the other side, a journey which took less than a minute travelling by Winnow Express, Feyre was the sister Nesta saw the least.

“If she comes out at any point,” Nesta continued, “tell her I’ll call her.”

It wasn’t a lie when she said she was tired. Two performances a day took it out of her let alone when magic clung in the air at Solmas and let alone the fact that Nesta had used a tiny amount of her own as some kind of performance enhancer.

Whatever energy reserves she had was depleted, the glass of wine making her feel like she’d drank the entire bottle.

Nesta didn’t bother saying goodbye to Cassian, just left her empty glass on the counter and spun around.

Being a ballerina was on her side as she wove through the crowd and up into the foyer which was blissfully empty. Sadly, the world outside the doors was not so much and Nesta took a breath before wrapping herself in her stole.

The statues guarding the entrance waved her a goodbye, one with a human Santa hat adorning its head and the other with a fae garland wrapped around its waist. Nesta rolled her eyes. Human and fae decorations were put on everything so management could say they’d met their Equal Opportunities criteria.

Nesta stepped onto the pavement and looked down the street of the theatre district.

She couldn’t deny Velaris at night was beautiful.

History books stated the first fae who settled in the city were night dwellers and while they were able to survive in the sun, it was under the starlit sky where they thrived. So, the stories went that they made the night spectacular.

The ink black sky was painted with whorls of galaxies and splashed with stars. At first glance everything appeared white but when Nesta looked closer it was clear they were silver and gold and the purest, palest blue.

Feyre had once told her fae eyes saw more colours than humans and the stars were a multitude of colours – the rainbow and beyond. One of Feyre’s tattoos was designed to allow her to see what the fae saw.

The theatre district was still buzzing with humans and fae alike. Because of the nature of the city, it was usual for the streets to be filled until the early hours of the morning and after any performance in the theatre district there was no time for relaxing.

There was always residual magic left over from the ballet. The ballet theatre was the largest of the theatre buildings and so the magic started strongest at the end Nesta now stood before dissipating the further away you walked.

Snowflakes and flowers alike drifted down from the empty, cloudless sky. The Waltz of the Snowflakes and the Waltz of the Flowers often combatted against each other for prominence in their audience’s minds and refused to give in to each even after the show was done.

Thankfully, the Land of the Sweets didn’t involve themselves in this battle. They had done one performance many weeks ago and when chocolate rained from the sky it was delightful. Boiling hot coffee? Not so much.

Nesta navigated her way though the cobbles and crowds as petals landed in her hair and snowflakes melted on her eyelashes. She heaved a sigh of relief when she made it to the end past the gathered individuals who spilled out of the smaller theatres and theatre bars.

She turned left to go into a side street and stopped, almost tripping over her own feet.

Leaning against the wall, silhouetted against the streetlamps and fae lights was the hulking shape of an Illyrian.

“What are you-? How did you-?”

Cassian laughed as he used his elbow to propel himself from the wall and stride towards her. “What am I doing here and how did I get here so fast?”

“Well... yeah.”

“Wings,” he said, jabbing his thumbs in the direction behind him. “They come in useful from time to time. I thought I would fly you home.”

Nesta eyed up the wings behind him, remembering all the news reports of Illyrian Air. “No thank you, I like the walk.”

“Ok, then I’ll walk with you. Make sure you get home safe.”

She frowned. Nesta had lived in this city all her life and despite the occasional fae related incident which was brought on by personal vendetta, unavoidable prophecy from birth or magic spell gone wrong, Velaris was a safe place.  

It also helped that Nesta had that splash of fae blood herself and a glare which froze bones. Literally. There had been an incident with an ex-boyfriend but she’d filed an explanation with the police and it was never brought up again.  

“I’m fine,” she said. “I don’t need babysitting.”

“I know you don’t but I’d still like to walk you. Please.” The last word was said so softly she almost didn’t hear it but she caught the imploration.

Cassian stepped further into the light of a streetlamp, a few pale pink petals falling from his shoulders, desperation in his eyes.

Nesta sighed. “Fine, but I’m on the other side of the Sidra. The quickest route is over Mermaid Bridge.”

Cassian paused for a moment, “Mermaid Bridge? There won’t be any actual mermaids on it right?”

“Not at this time of year, the water’s too cold and they travel south.”

“Thank god, one of my ex’s was a mermaid. They are terrifying.”

Nesta shook her head, not able to imagine a creature of his size being scared of anything. They started walking in companionable silence. The further away from the city centre they strode, the more the crowds thinned.

Some shops remained open, including the café Nesta sat in earlier and groups had gathered around tables to laugh over mugs of frothy hot chocolate which overflowed with cream. Cinnamon, gingerbread, and candy cane scented the air.

As they walked, humans and fae alike paled when they crossed paths with Cassian and many darted out of his way. One lesser fae flattened himself against the red brick wall while another gave a quiet yelp and ran down an alley.

Nesta glanced up at Cassian but either he was pretending he didn’t notice the running onlookers or he didn’t care.

“What do you do?” she asked. She knew nothing about any of Feyre’s friends in any detail. “For that matter what do any of you do?”

Cassian laughed. “Rhys has a lot of inherited wealth, Amren trades precious stones – we think from the old dragon mines, and no one has a clue what Azriel does. I’m a bounty hunter.”

Oh.

“Caught anyone I’d have heard of?”

“Heard of the Tooth Fairy?”

Nesta grimaced, quickly swooping her tongue over her teeth. “Yes.”

“He was one of mine. So was the Bone Carver, the Weaver and Lanthys.”

Nesta’s eyebrows shot up. “Lanthys? The gold miner? What did he do? Wait, I don’t want to know. He asked me out once.”

Cassian glanced over at her; his own eyebrows raised. “Yeah? Did you say yes?”

Nesta pulled a face. “Good grief, no. He kept sending me telepathic dick pics. It’s bad enough being sent dick pics across dating apps.”

They approached Mermaid Bridge, which was, as Nesta said, devoid of the creature it was named for. Lights twinkled on the other side of the city, the residential side where Nesta lived. There were shrieks of delight further up the river in the dark and Nesta wondered if Gwyn was ice-diving next to Viviane’s ice rink.

Cassian coughed. “You’re on dating apps?”

“Not many, I thought I’d give them a go. My sisters are busy, I only have a few friends and I need something other than work in my life.”

“Yeah, I understand. ‘All work and no play’ make Cassian a dull boy too. The play part of life is fun,” he looked at her from the side of his eye and winked.

Nesta felt the blush spread across her cheeks and she willed it down with whatever force she had left. She wasn’t a virgin so she wasn’t about to start blushing like one.

They climbed the steps to the bridge and walked across. Of all the bridges which connected the two halves of the city, this was Gwyn’s favourite. Nesta’s human eyes couldn’t pick out the colours at night but in the day the railings glittered gold and shimmered with turquoise gems.

“Do you date?” The words slipped out before she stopped them. “You mentioned a mermaid ex so....”

Cassian’s laugh was more a breath and he started to smooth down non-existent knots in his hair. “Yes. Well...no. I did but work is busy and I’m sort of interested in someone and I guess until I purge them from my system, I’m not interested in anyone else.”

“How long have you been interested in them?”

“A while.”

“Why don’t you ask them out rather than eradicate them from your options?”

Nesta wanted to slap herself in the face. Or pitch herself off the bridge into the black, ice-cold water. Even as she was speaking, she wanted to not be but it was as though her mouth and mind had fallen out and no longer wanted anything to do with each other.

Cassian shrugged, “I guess. They just never struck me as someone interested in dating fae.”

They came to the end of the bridge and Nesta looked upwards at the sky. On this side of the river without the city lights, the stars were clearer to her eyes, more defined. One shot across the sky.

“You should go for it,” Nesta said, “you might be surprised.”

“Maybe,” Cassian sighed. “She’s kind of intimidating though.”

“You’re over six foot tall with massive wings and can use magic. I’m sure you’re more intimidating.”

“Me? Nah, I’m sure she thinks I’m an oversized bat.”

Nesta cringed. Those had been her words once a couple of years ago when she was first introduced to Feyre’s new friendship group and the Illyrian’s within. She didn’t think they’d heard her say it but then again, fae hearing was something exceptional along with fae sight.

The streets they walked were now quieter, the hustle and bustle of the inner-city gone. The chill settled in easier on this side of the river and Nesta knew she’d wake to frost across her window panes in the morning.

They were silent until they reached her apartment building, halfway up one of the steepest lanes. It was a small four storey which wasn’t spacious or modern but it gave her brilliant view across the river and Velaris and most importantly, it was hers.

“This is me,” she said, stopping outside the steps leading to the red entrance door. “Thank you for walking me back.” It was on the tip of her tongue to invite Cassian in for coffee but she held back.

He smiled, his eyes warm and shining. “Honestly it was my pleasure.” He leant forward, the sheer bulk of him covering Nesta and for a moment she thought he would kiss her but instead he took her slim fingered hand in his larger one and brought it up to his mouth, kissing the back of her hand.

“Goodnight,” he said, “I hope you have a good Solmas Day when it comes.”

Cassian was no ballet dancer but he sure moved like one, letting go of her hand and swivelling to face the direction they’d walked in from, marching down the slope of her street while Nesta stared at his retreating back.

He was clad in black and would have easily blended into his surroundings if not for the red jewels he wore at his wrists.

Nesta gaped down at the back of her hand, her mouth open. She still felt his lips, warm and soft, on her skin.

“Wait!”

Cassian turned back to face her, tilting his head.

“I’m sorry if my performance in the ballet was offensive.  I know Azriel said it was beautiful and that you liked it but if that was a lie to save my feelings, it’s ok. I went to Emerie because I wanted to make it authentic. I should have left it alone.”

Cassian smiled but it wasn’t mocking. He took a few steps back up the street towards her. “You know I said Emerie was a friend from the old country?”

Nesta nodded.

“She’s a really good friend. I like her a lot. She’s no nonsense with a great heart. I was trying to set her up with Rhys’ cousin Mor and in the process we got talking about dating and relationships and she asked if there was anyone, I was interested in. As it happens, I discovered this evening that she knows the person I was talking about. I’m sure she saw this as her opportunity to do some matchmaking of her own.”

“Oh,” Nesta said, her throat dry.

“Yeah. I also happened to tell her in one conversation I would be watching The Nutcracker this year on account of it being Solmas. So, there you go.”

The butterflies were flittering in Nesta’s stomach again and Cassian’s words were taking shape in her mind and building a story. “The steps Emerie taught me for the Illyrian dance – was that an invitation?”

Cassian’s smile stretched wide and he tilted his head back and laughed, the dark column of his throat shining in the starlight. “Oh yes, a very specific invitation. Emerie must have had the day of her life when she pieced everything together.”

The flittering in her stomach was now pooling in her chest. This type of conversation should have her fleeing up the steps and racing through the foyer until she threw herself into her cold bed to hide under the covers.

Nesta wanted to know what she’d inadvertently done without meaning to. Not that she minded whatever it was she’d done.

“What did I dance then, Cassian?” Her voice was lower than usual and rich like the overflowing cream in the café.

Cassian’s throat bobbed as he swallowed, his hazel eyes were almost black. “The dance you performed half naked on a heated stage was most definitely an invitation, Nesta.” He smiled at her again, soft like before but there was something behind it. Suddenly he was a wolf and she the lamb again. He was all claws and teeth and animal.

A shiver of anticipation ran through her. Her pulse beating in her throat, drawing Cassian’s eye.

“Oh, Nesta,” Cassian said, his voice almost a growl. “You performed an Illyrian dance of seduction.”

[smutandfluffohmy]

His Sweater #2

From: Smutandfluffohmy Pairings: George Weasley X Slytherin!Reader A/N: The time-line of events is altered for story telling purposes, something that will be very obvious if people want me to continue on with the story. I think this is the closest to slow burn I’ve gotten to in my entire fanfic career. Hope y’all can understand because asgyv my brain would rot if I tried to line it up with canon completely.

Read Part 1 here

I have no wand, no socks and I’m wearing a Gryffindors sweater. This could go south terribly fast and I’m hoping for any other cardinal direction. If all else fails I could always throw a punch and run to my bed.For the second time that morning I almost crashed into someone. Seriously an entire hallway but we are still walking on the same side.

Draco stared at me from my face to the sweater, I wish he would notice my bunny slippers too. I also wished he would’ve seen me earlier in my utter Slytherin colors pride.

“Interesting sweater y/l/n” Draco said breaking the silence, scrunching his eyebrows at me. I could feel the Slytherin pride sermon bubbling inside of him.

“Interesting ingredients Malfoy” I answered back. Ingredients to make draught of peace, I’m surprised he had the ingredients, I’m surprised he was nervous and I’m surprised he was going to do it with unkempt hair.

“This didn’t happen and we didn't see each other.” He stiffened, straightening his back the glass containers clinking together.

“Brilliant as always.” I smiled, nodding at him and he doing the same. I’m sure if someone was looking at us right now we looked comical with our overly formal head nods. Starting to walk past each other, both of us going to our destination and trying not to think much about the other on our walk there.

Me, George’s sweater and my bunny slippers were home free, all we had to do is get back to the dorms without bumping into anyone else. But I don't know if it’s my seniority over the kid or perhaps as Snape’s potions assistant I felt responsible or even because I was just worried that made me turn around “Draco.” I called out to him.

He stopped, turning to face me “Y/n.”

Perhaps I should tell him that it’s 7 drops of hellebore not 8, or maybe that it’s supposed to be stirred both counter and clock wise or how it has to simmer for exactly 7 minutes. “If it’s not silver don't drink it.” Was all I could say and by far the best advice I could give him.

“Dully noted.” He said giving me a tight lipped smile, almost forced as if I was forcing him to give me a smile. “Thanks.” he muttered underneath his breath, his tightlipped smile softening at the edges.

The walk back to the dorms was no longer nor shorter than the walk from. Tho I was a bit warmer on both the inside and the outside all thanks to George. Climbing the stairs down to the common room I felt tired and heavy.

I want to sleep.I wish I could sleep but I’m afraid if I fall asleep, I must just wake up to having found out this was all but a fleeting dream. Nothing more but a hot chocolate induced fever dream. 

Slipping off my slippers I walked to the edge of the carpet. Curling my toes I wondered if the shock of the coldness would wake me up, still I had to know. Stepping on the cold floor I didn’t wake up nor did I bolt up in bed.The cold floor lets me know that this was real, I was truly awake. But I don't think one knows the true lengths the mind would go to to make up a dream.

Tiptoeing into my dorm I changed into my clothes for the day, taking extra care to fold George’s sweater in a way that both said ‘I took care of it for you’ and ‘I didn’t spend half an hour overthinking this’. Perhaps I was putting too much pressure on folding techniques but I wasn’t about to be exposed by the way sleeves folded over. Getting my school bag ready I laid everything out on the bed.

“Potions.Herbology.Alchemy” I said touching each textbook, books I’ve carried around a hundred times.But I was afraid my lack of sleep would magically turn my Herbology book into a history of magic and I wouldn’t realize till I was standing in Professor Sprouts class.

I spent all of breakfast looking for George but there was absolutely no sign of him. Every time I thought I spotted his hair from across the dinning hall it was just Ron, twice it was just Ginny and once even an overly toasted plate of hash browns.

My first class was to help Snape. A couple of over brewed potions helped keep me on my toes and for that I was grateful.

Second was alchemy.Where nothing particularly interesting happened and had me periodically sticking my hand in my bag just to double,triple, quadruple check that George’s jumper didn’t grow legs and run away.

Third was Herbology. The class I was waiting for, finally a class with Gryffindors that the Weasley twins were in. Walking a bit too quickly and a bit too excitedly to class I wasn’t the first to get there.I blame it on the ever moving stairs. Professor Sprouts lesson dragged on too long for my liking or maybe it was the fact that I was drilling holes at the back that George’s head that made it all drag on.

“Mind the Mandrakes children.” Professor Sprout said with a wave of her hand leaving us to work. Perhaps it was age that made you think of anyone younger than you as children, but we were all very grown up thank you very much.

Leaning over the table I whispered “Psst George.”. No movement.

“George” I called out a bit louder but again no efforts to look back at me. Blimey perhaps it was just how tall he was that he couldn’t hear me from up there or maybe he was just that hard of hearing.

“Bloody hell Weasley I’m calling you.” I called out again poking him with my wand, surely he wasn't hard of hearing and touch desensitized enough to ignore me. Reaching closer in an attempt to tug at his robes my wand fell to the ground as a shrill screech filled the class.

“What?Sorry can’t hear anything over the Mandrake” George said turning to face me, shrugging his shoulders with the screaming Mandrake in his hands. Surely he wasn’t that much of an idiot to pull a Mandrake out of the pot and surely I wasn’t that much of an idiot to be smitten by the smile he flashed me when he did it.

Finally I ended my day just like it began. In Snape’s classroom, only now it was my class messing up potions not first years.

I wonder if it was something I said. Perhaps the carrot comment was too out of hand or maybe they bumped into Draco or maybe he was a bit crossed because he was in fact cold. Am I thinking too much into it? Did he see my sweater fold and thought it was too messy?

Before I knew it potions was dismissed and I still had George Weasleys sweater in my bag. Getting ready for the game my mind still wandered too far for me to get it back, putting on far too many Slytherin colors for it not to be comical. The Slytherin common room buzzed with anticipation and excitement with people laying one the floor writing banners for friends and people writing friends and crushes quidditch number on banners and faces and arms. 

Sitting on the stands with the game dragging on, I put my cold hands inside the neatly folded sweater that was hidden inside my robes. I wonder if there was a time limit? A countdown? Were we even half way through?Admittedly I don't know a bloody thing about Quidditch just like I didn’t know a bloody thing about another sport. 

Anticipation filled me, wondering when if at all out spirit section was going to mirror that of Gryffindor. Seconds felt eternal and I started to worry that they had been caught in the act. 

Before I could continue tormenting myself the colors around me changed from green and silver to reds and golds. 

Pansy Parkinson that was seated just behind me looked down to her robes horrified they’ve been turned. I almost felt bad for her and nearly reached over to tell her that red was unfortunately her color. The look on her face when her ‘Go Draco’ banner had been hexed to read ‘Go Harry’ was something you expected when someone tells you you’ve just stepped on hippogriff poo. 

Snape looked crossed at the entire Gryffindor house and even Godric Gryffindor  as if he himself planned this all out from beyond the grave to give Salazar Slytherin a last jab. I almost felt guilty looking at the face of my professor, a fleeting guilt but nonetheless guilt. Shouts around me cheering on Slytherin were abruptly replace with cheers for Gryffindor. 

Smiling looking up at the players my eyes darted around for a glimpse of George or even Fred, but they all looked the same in their uniform. 

“Go George!” I yelled over the loud burst of ‘Go Gryffindor’s that surrounded me.

“Go Fred!” I yelled out for good measure, adding it as to not make him feel left out tho I doubt they could hear me over all the commotion. But nevertheless I would know even if they didn’t.

The game came to an end as Harry reached up with the snitch grasped firmly in his hand. Grunts filled the Slytherin area, cursing at their changed clothes, cursed horns and now quidditch loss. I don’t know why everyone is upset this always happens at Gryffindor and Slytherin games, in fact at this point it seemed like a poorly written Quidditch plot. The fact that Harry always caught the snitch, if I didn't know any better I would have to say Harry and the golden snitch had a pact going on.

Around me people didn’t move instead they cursed and jabbed fingers at the Gryffindor tower. They must be really be crossed at Gryffindor to be standing around complaining under snow, or maybe their sheer hatred was keeping them warm. Getting up to leave because I wasn't neither cross nor warm to be standing around.

“Where are you going?” Christy asked me stopping her conversation over the horrid color combination Gryffindor had as if ours were any better.

“I need to go to the restroom. Besides I’m too cold to be standing here complaining.” I said walking away and she promptly went back to her conversation.

Walking down the Slytherin section, I made my way to the Gryffindor Quidditch player section. Somewhere I was highly banned from being in because I was neither a Gryffindor nor a quidditch player.

“I nearly fell off my broom hearing Slytherin chant for us.” Someone who I assumed was Harry said between laughter. A smile spread on my face thrilled I did in fact contribute to a great Weasley prank.

“Having them cheer for us was bloody brilliant! That had to be your best one yet!” Ron beamed at his brothers. Brilliant I got a stamp of approval not only from Harry Potter but from the small Weasley as well.

“Yea an awfully brilliant addition.” I said stepping into view.

The room felt silent and for I moment I wondered for what reason.They’ve just won shouldn't they be happy? So why do they have such long faces. Forgetting and simultaneously remembering that I in fact was that very reason, the walking Slytherin banner for the second time that day leaving people uncomfortable. Even without the silver and green perhaps something about me just reeked of Slytherin.

“You shouldn’t be in here Slytherin.” Ron said standing up to face me.The words held so much anger my mind wondered to see if I had ever caused any misfortune to the younger Weasley.

“I-I-I” My brain forgot all words or perhaps it had forgotten the ability to form any excuses. I didn’t expect a warm welcome but definitely not this much hostility.

“Going to tell Snape on us?” Harry said quirking his eyebrow at me, great I had the look of not only a Slytherin but a snitch as well. Perhaps it was the hair.

“Oi hold on that’s no way to talk to the lady of the hour.” George called out stepping from putting away his broom and jogging to stand next to me. A arm rested around my shoulder, I wonder how much of my red face I could blame on the snow.

Fred made his way to my other side, placing his hand on top of my head. “While it pains me to admit. Y/n was the one that came up with the horn bit.” He said ruffling my hair, George shifting the slightest bit closer to me. The amount of attention was too much for me and the bizarre looks on Harry and Rons face was enough to make me want to test my luck with the unforgiving blizzard forming outside. “Tho I do think I could've come up with it if I had some time.” Fred shrugged.

“Sure she did” Ron scoffed looking between his brothers to me.

“Cross my heart.” Fred said crossing his heart. 

“Then I take back my compliment.” Ron said, the brotherly hatred he had for his brother far outweighing any sort of imaginary feud he had going on with me.

“Can't do that it’s already gone to my head.” Fred shrugged earning a laugh from Harry and comments on how they had to start out sourcing their pranks now from Ron.

George lead me just outside as the conversation inside kept building with Fred insisting that it was his genius that rubbed off on me, as if I would let him rub anything near me.

“Who was it in the hallway by the way?” George whispered leaning against the door frame. The hall was too cold and I had to inch forward towards George to step just out of the cold winds reach.

I shrugged “Oh it was just Draco.” I said having to look up to meet George’s eyes, I wish I was a bit taller or that he didn’t hover over me as much as he did.

His face turning into disgust just for a split second at the mention of his name “Just Draco?”

Was it Slytherin or Draco that had this effect on people? Somehow I know he would be a nuisance  regardless of his house. “He’s not that bad.He could ease up on the hair dye but he’s actually pretty decent.” I said mindlessly but truthfully.  “Don’t tell him I said that.” I shook my head looking up at George already visualizing just how much bigger Draco’s head would get if he knew I thought he was anything above horrid.

“Blimey I don’t think I could hold it in, it might slip out during our daily conversation” George said laughing. I wonder if I could bottle up that laugh or if I could make him laugh again just enough to commit it to memory.

“What? Draco not conversing with people outside of Slytherin? This is so unlike him I must check to see if he is feeling well.” I said faking worry for the sometimes socially awkward Slytherin. 

 “I came by to give you back your sweater.” I said holding it out towards him. Perhaps this was the end of our short lived friendship, perhaps after this we will go back to hardly speaking and perhaps I will go back to staring at him longingly during Herbology.

“You should come celebrate with us.” George said completely ignoring his sweater, the way he danced around it made me wonder if I actually offered him his sweater or if my mind was playing tricks on me.

“A Slytherin? At a Gryffindor party? Oh but George what would the neighbors think?” I laughed clutching the front of my robes.

George laughed “I’ll take care of them, I’ve been told I’m quite scary.” he said. I wondered who told him such a lie or if he was even capable of being even remotely scary.

Shaking my head I tried my best not to sound too disappointed “Thank you but I suspect I’m going to have to help mend an entire teams egos.” I said offering him his sweater once more.

“Keep it.” He said pushing it towards me, his voice too soft and too gentle that I wondered if a stray quidditch ball didn’t knock me out mid game and I was now living out one of those muggle romance movies.

“Bu-”

“My arms hurt from all the bludger tossing, don’t think I could carry it all the way back.” He shrugged, I wonder how tired ones arms had to be not to be able to carry a sweater back.Maybe if I played Quidditch I would’ve understood. “Just give it back to me later.”

“George hurry up we need to start celebrating!” Fred shouted sticking his head out the door looking at his brother, I wonder if his arms were equally as tired. “You coming?” Fred said looking down at me, shaking my head I wished I could accept.

“ ‘fraid not gotta go and hear my entire house moan about Gryffindors all night.” Shrugging, I could already heard Pansys moans and feel Dracos side eye of disapproval. I wonder if they were moping around the Slytherin common room in Gryffindor robes or they were so extremely crossed that they figured out a way to un hexed the robes.

“Should’ve gotten sorted into Gryffindor instead.” George said earnestly, I wondered how different this day would've played out if I was sorted into Gryffindor my first year. Perhaps Ron and Harry wouldn't be that cross with me or perhaps they would’ve gotten something else to not like about me.

“I’ll make sure to send my complains to the sorting hat.” 

Fred pointed his finger at me “We got an end of year plan we’re going to need your opinion on.” he said smiling.

“See you later then?” George asked but I wish he would’ve stated, a promise sounded more hopeful than a question.

“I’ll keep an eye out.” I nodded seeing them walk away, deciding to wait a bit before I walked out. I suspect hateful tensions for Gryffindors from Slytherins are at an all time high right now and I truly don't want to get hexed in a weather like this.

“Bloody brilliant that one, wish I would've given her my sweater. Think she’ll take my jersey?” Fred said in a failed attempt at a whisper, something told me Fred Weasley was a terrible whisperer.  “Oi Y/N you still cold?” He called out towards me with his arms raised, waving them around as if I couldn't see the only other people in the hall.

“Shut up!” George said clapping his hands forcing Fred to keep walking.

“What I can’t worry about a girl’s warmth levels?” Fred said playfully shoving George.

[sweeethinny]

Skin

Harry wanted to be able to show Ginny, through his eyes, how beautiful she is, and how all this insecurity with her body after giving birth to James is not necessary.

Since he cannot do this, he tries in other ways.

this fic is part of The Harry and Ginuary Extravanganza :) I'm sorry for any mistake

* all of this was written while I was listening to Mac Miller album The Divine Feminine, if anyone wants to get in the mood :)

read bellow the cut or in AO3 :)

Harry had been away from home for almost a month, which seemed more like a painful and torturous eternity than anything else. He missed Ginny and little James, it was much worse than the whole situation that he, Ron, and Theo got into, camping close to a pack of werewolves, and chasing a killer who seemed almost as good at hiding which even made them doubt their abilities as Aurors.

Harry was tired, with some bruises, hungry, missing his son who had not even turned a year yet and probably had grown a lot, and his wife. Harry wanted more than ever to hug Ginny and feel her against him.

He also really wanted to take a decent shower and lie on a bed that wasn’t a camp mattress, because Harry was no longer so young to be able to sleep in a bed like that.

It was worth it, he told himself when he could finally apparate to his home, in peace that he could be with his family again, Robards is looking to retire, he will end up choosing me . Harry didn't quite believe it, but Ginny repeated it a lot every time he complained about the boss; 'One day you will be the boss and you will not need to work like that.'

It was what he expected.

Since he had been a father, Harry was always trying to escape these suicide missions, but he was not always able, and he just hoped that when he was promoted, he would be able to spend more time at home. He never wanted so much to work with the Auror bureaucracy and leave the field.

He still enjoyed the excitement, the chase, the adrenaline, but he was no longer willing to risk his life so much.

In addition to Ginny, there was now someone else who encouraged him, even more, to return home alive.

When Harry opened the door, the smell of home entered his nostrils, a smell he never really stopped to notice, but after a month away, he managed to recognize it.

The hallway light on the second floor was on, probably for James to wake up. Harry took off his boots, cloak, and most of his clothes, and walked around the house, smiling for the first time in a month, seeing James's toys on the living room floor, and some scattered around the dining room, and a divine smell from the room that looked like a turkey, came from the kitchen. Hoping that Ginny was already asleep, as well as James since it was past one in the morning, Harry stopped for a snack.

He didn't even bother to heat the food, eating as if he hadn't seen food for more than days, devouring the deliciously seasoned turkey leg, and alternating with the remaining farofa and baked potatoes. It was a little rude and disgusting, he knew, but Harry felt his stomach echo with hunger, forcing him to forget the etiquette.

After less than ten minutes, he was fed, tiptoeing up to the second floor, James's bedroom door was open, as usual, and Harry couldn't help wanting to see his son and entered the room, taking be careful not to wake him up, seeing him resting deeply in bed, wearing adorable dinosaur pajamas, which put him on completely and prevented him from being cold at night. He looked bigger, Harry noticed, and with more hair, he wanted to hold his son in his arms, hug him but was content to just kiss his slightly sweaty forehead. Harry checked that the window was locked, closed the curtains tightly, covered his son, and left the room.

A part of him was satisfied, James was safe, well, and tomorrow would probably jump on Harry as soon as he realized his father was back. James always went to their bed in the morning, just asked to sleep with them and slept for a few more hours, but whenever Harry spent a few days outside, the next morning when the little one realized that his father was back, it was as if sleep disappeared.

After a month away from James' warm hugs during the mornings when they slept together, Harry was not complaining.

But he was not yet complete, not when he had not yet seen Ginny.

She was probably asleep, he thought, it was late and the days must have been tiring now that she was back to training, and without him at home to help with James, things should have been going smoothly. But the light in their room was on, which Harry found strange.

Still trying not to make any noise, because maybe she just fell asleep without even realizing it, Harry approached, opening the door a little more and sticking his head into their room, looking around.

Harry had already seen Ginny in many ways, they had a son together, however, he was not prepared for that.

She was standing in front of her dressing table, evaluating herself in front of the mirror on the wall, taking small turns to try to see her back, and then turning and facing the mirror. Ginny did not seem to feel the cold that Harry was feeling, since she wore one of the smallest lingerie he had ever seen, still seeming to assess whether the piece was beautiful or not.

The light blue lace made her look even more beautiful, contrasting with the freckles that spread over her skin and the light tan she was getting now that she was back in training. The bra barely hid her nipples, temptingly drawing her breasts, and not having the same common cut as the others she wore, and instead, this one had a few more buttons and went down to the beginning of her ribs, already in translucent fabric. The lace itself was only on the straps and the front of the breasts, descending in a V to the middle of the other fabric, something that made it look even more beautiful.

Ginny kept her hands in front of her belly, the same way she did a month ago when they were going to have sex, or she ended up undressing next to him, and automatically hid her belly. Harry would always comment that she didn't need to hide from him, but Ginny insisted that she still didn't feel safe with her body.

‘Pregnancy changed me,’ She always said. 'You don't know what it's like to see your body change dramatically in a matter of months... Now I have stretch marks where I never thought I would.'

Harry thought it was silly, Ginny was beautiful anyway, and he was still a fool in love, with or without stretch marks.

The panties also had that translucent fabric with a light blue background, it was one of those that had a high waistband and that he knew Ginny preferred to wear recently, but this one he could still see her belly, and the lace only appeared again from the front, covering only what was necessary, while at the back, it was just a small piece of the other fabric, not making much of a point of hiding anything from it, which made Harry salivate.

His imagination would never live up to the perfection that she was, how beautiful her ass made him a little too obsessed, or how her breasts had also changed after pregnancy, and all of James's breastfeeding.

'Hmmm… maybe?' He heard her murmur to the reflection, again turning around in a way that she could still look at her back, running her hands behind her thighs as if she wanted to lift her ass a little further. What Harry thought was unnecessary.

'I thought it was more than perfect.' He finally manifested himself, leaning on the doorframe and feeling his erection grow and cause that pressure against his pants.

Ginny jumped up and pulled her robe in front of her, startled and looking at him with wide eyes, pink cheeks and looking like she had managed to hold back the scream in time. ‘Harry!’

'Yea, it's me.’ He smiled.

'Harry .' Ginny finally seemed to realize it was him there, after a month, and dropped the robe back, running towards him and throwing herself at him in much the same way as the sunny days of 1996, but this time, he picked her up and kissed her with much more hunger and passion than he did at the age of 16, carefully closing the door behind them and taking her to bed, numb with longing and lust.

It was so good to kiss her again, to get lost in the warmth and softness of her lips, her small, slightly callused hands touching him as if to make sure it was him there, going from hair to shoulders, to cheeks, chest. It was as if she also checked that he was okay, whole, without any damage.

'I missed you so much,' he murmured between her kiss, falling on the bed with Ginny on top of him, his hands roaming everywhere he reached, feeling entirely at peace.

'I thought it would take you longer.' She cried, holding his face in her hands and parting their lips so they could look at each other. The brown eyes that Harry thought about daily were staring at him as if they hadn't seen him in years, shining on the sides as if Ginny tried to hold on to her emotions, struggling to hold herself in front of him.

Harry recognized the effort, but he didn't think it was necessary. It was just the two of them there, Ginny didn't have to hide.

He ran his thumb over her cheek, wiping away the one tear that ran. 'I was so scared,' she whispered, like a secret she had been keeping for days.

'Me too,' Harry admitted, failing to divert his attention from her caramel eyes. 'I just wanted to go back to home and be with you.'

'James missed you, he wasn't so happy and today was the first day he agreed to sleep in his bed.' Ginny smiled and lifted her shoulders, her cheeks turning slightly pink. 'Maybe he knew that Daddy would be back.'

'I'm glad he predicted that I would come back,' Harry let his eyes roam over her body, and now more closely he was able to see how the bra fabric barely made an effort to cover her skin. It was too much of a temptation to bear, and Harry barely contained himself before touching them, feeling heaviness in his hands and the heat radiating through the lace, making his stomach drop and his mouth water. Harry had missed it so much.

'You liked it? I went out with the girls after a workout, and Genevieve made me buy it, but I still don't know if it looked good.' Ginny said, her voice a little shaky as if she were that 11-year-old girl who couldn't look at him without blushing, which made him look up from those breasts he was in love with, and look at her. Ginny was really blushing, the red that covered her cheeks was also running down her neck and bust. ‘The bra doesn’t have much support and I don’t know if it looked so beautiful, I mean, it’s a beautiful piece, but I don’t think it looked beautiful on me .’

'Ginny,' Harry interrupted, holding her chin, forcing her to look at him, the other hand coming down her side and holding her in place, already sensing that she was trying to extricate herself from him. ‘You look hot,’ he said. ‘I’m feeling like a teenager, about to come in my pants.’

She laughed, that laugh he loved to hear. 'I would be really upset if even after all this time it was still happening.'

'I have learned to hold on,' He smiled, still caressing her cheek, smiling lovingly at Ginny. 'You and beautiful. In all moments.'

'Even when I was all sweaty, giving birth to James?' Ginny asked, laughing sheepishly as she laced her fingers through his, her auburn hair falling like lava on either side of her face.

'Of course.' Harry didn't take his eyes off hers, wanting her to understand that he was being more than real there. He wanted her to be seen through his eyes, and then she would understand how beautiful she is. 'I think I came to love you even more, if that is possible, that day.'

'Awn Harry, don't be so dramatic, you spend only a month away and when you come back you are declaring yourself as a passionate poet.' She laughed, but he did not fail to notice how Ginny's cheeks got even more flushed and she turned her attention to the wall behind the headboard, as if she tried not to let him realize that it affected her.

'I really missed you, that's why.' Harry shrugged, caressing her cheek and bringing her amber eyes back down to his, laying her head against his hand. 'I hate to be away from you for a long time... my romantic mind comes up and I have a lot of time to think about how to declare myself to you.'

'I hate it too when you stay away,' Ginny smiled, allowing him to see her without all those walls she put up for protection.

'Did something happen while I was gone?' He stared at her, noticing how her shoulders tensed and then relaxed when Ginny sighed and lay on his chest, hugging him as she could, as she usually liked to do during the cold nights.

'Nothing too urgent...'

'Ginny…' Harry whispered, running his hands down her back, feeling the skin prickle.

'Rita made a very pertinent comment about me.' Harry felt her tense under his arms again, and kept silent waiting for Ginny to continue talking. Somehow they got a picture of me training only in a crop top, and apparently I should wear t-shirts like the other girls... something to do with my belly and stretch marks.. ' She sighed.

Harry wanted to go to the Prophet and shout some truths that had been stuck for years, in Rita's face. But he just preferred to tighten his grip around Ginny, and kiss the top of her head.

'You look beautiful in any outfit.' He said, trying to be as clear as possible. 'Rita and everyone else are just assholes who are too self-centered to look at their navel for a minute... You are the hottest woman, Ginny, and I don't say that just because we are married.'

'My body has changed a lot in the last year.' She lifted her face, resting her chin on his chest and looking at him, her brown eyes flashed. 'I don't think I'll ever have that body again and-'

'-And you are still beautiful.' The two faced each other. 'You gave birth to a child, Gin, this is incredible. Your body being able to do that is incredible. I will never get tired of saying that. ’Harry smiled. 'I wanted you to see yourself through my eyes, and see how beautiful you are, even with all those things that you insist on saying are defects and that you hate them.'

'Don't make me cry,' She sat on his lap again, fanning her eyes and looking up at the ceiling, her cheeks flushed and a lovely smile on her face, Harry couldn't help but laugh too, feeling incredibly lighter than hours ago, as if now all that tension had been reduced to dust and there was only peace left in his chest.

'About this lingerie... do you have any plans, or are you just experimenting...?' He went back to browsing Ginny's sculptural body, almost drooling over how her breasts looked in that piece, and the transparency of her panties, which ended up exactly where it started getting more interesting. Harry groaned when she moved and stood on top of his cock, closing his eyes with the sensation of the gods it caused.

'I would surprise you when you came back, I thought it would take another week, then I would buy some candles, and cut my hair... But you ruined my plans.' Ginny smiled, biting her bottom lip as if she knew it was driving him crazy. ‘I believe you want to take a shower?’

'I might want some company,' Harry said, holding Ginny firmly in his lap, getting up from the bed and listening to her scream in fright as he walked to the bathroom in their suite, no longer feeling the fatigue from before. 'You know how needy I am after returning from missions.’

'It's a valid request.' Ginny hugged his neck, hands clinging to his hair, as if he were the life jacket that prevented her from sinking. He felt that way about her too. 'I missed having someone in the bath with me… Someone who doesn't want to mess up the bathroom with water and foam.' Harry laughed, placing her sitting on the white marble countertop, watching her body shiver as she made contact with the cold stone, waving with the wand for the hot water to start filling the bathtub.

'I might want to make a bit of a mess,' he said, approaching and feeling her warm breath against his face, before Harry narrowed the distance and kissed her, hungry but still keeping control, leaving his hands on her thighs, keeping them far enough away for him to stay in the middle.

'I like this mess,' Ginny whispered, her eyes closed and her forehead against his, breathing hard, the sound of water being the only one to fill the room. 'I am happy that you came back. I missed you a lot.’

Harry nodded, closing his eyes to make sure it wasn't just a dream, opening them again then just to see Ginny there. 'I felt it too. I am miserable without you.’

[...]

Harry woke up much later with small hands pulling the blanket off them, and the unfortunate murmurs of a child who tried his best to climb up on the bed. He sighed, feeling happy to get back to that routine, but he didn't move, wanting James to find out for himself that Harry had come back. It was a good time.

One more sigh from a boy who seemed very irritated by his young age, and then he finally succeeded, almost removing all the cover from Ginny, crawling up a little sleepily, still holding that light yellow cloth he always carried, and scratching his eyes.

The sun hadn't even risen, leaving the room in that gloom of the few hours before finally dawn, but Harry could see when James opened his brown eyes and threw himself on top of him.

‘Daddy!’ James shouted, hugging his father as he managed, cold hands making the man shiver.

'Hi my love,' Harry murmured, happy, tired, and a little too sentimental, feeling his eyes prickle. 'Speak low, it is still very early and mummy is sleeping.' He put James under the covers, stroking his son's slightly sweaty head, kissing the boy's forehead. 'We are going to sleep some more, okay? The sun hasn't even appeared yet.’

'Daddy…' James murmured, and Harry waited to see what meaningless phrase his son would try to murmur now, but the boy just kept his icy hands touching his father's face, as if to make sure he was really there.

He could not wait to be able to do fewer and fewer missions that required him to stay away from home for a long time.

'Sleep honey, daddy is here,' Harry assured him, snuggling the boy into his embrace, feeling finally complete, watching Ginny turn towards them, sleeping soundly, and then James, who was preparing for it, little hands clutched the shirt that Harry was wearing, as if it were his cloth.

Harry felt like the happiest man in the world.

[howwelldoyouknowyourmoon]

Religious Trauma Syndrome: How Some Organized Religion Leads to Mental Health Problems

By Valerie Tarico

Marlene Winell interviewed March 25, 2013

At age sixteen I began what would be a four year struggle with bulimia. When the symptoms started, I turned in desperation to adults who knew more than I did about how to stop shameful behavior—my Bible study leader and a visiting youth minister.  “If you ask anything in faith, believing,” they said. “It will be done.” I knew they were quoting [3] the Word of God. We prayed together, and I went home confident that God had heard my prayers. But my horrible compulsions didn’t go away. By the fall of my sophomore year in college, I was desperate and depressed enough that I made a suicide attempt. The problem wasn’t just the bulimia. I was convinced by then that I was a complete spiritual failure. My college counseling department had offered to get me real help (which they later did). But to my mind, at that point, such help couldn’t fix the core problem: I was a failure in the eyes of God. It would be years before I understood that my inability to heal bulimia through the mechanisms offered by biblical Christianity was not a function of my own spiritual deficiency but deficiencies in Evangelical religion itself.  

Dr. Marlene Winell is a human development consultant in the San Francisco Area. She is also the daughter of Pentecostal missionaries. This combination has given her work an unusual focus. For the past twenty years she has counseled men and women in recovery from various forms of fundamentalist religion including the Assemblies of God denomination in which she was raised. Winell is the author of Leaving the Fold – A Guide for Former Fundamentalists and Others Leaving their Religion [4], written during her years of private practice in psychology. Over the years, Winell has provided assistance to clients whose religious experiences were even more damaging than mine. Some of them are people whose psychological symptoms weren’t just exacerbated by their religion, but actually caused by it.  

Two years ago, Winell made waves by formally labeling what she calls “Religious Trauma Syndrome” (RTS) and beginning to write and speak on the subject for professional audiences. When the British Association of Behavioral and Cognitive Psychologists published a series of articles on the topic, members of a Christian counseling association protested what they called excessive attention to a “relatively niche topic.” One commenter said, “A religion, faith or book cannot be abuse but the people interpreting can make anything abusive.”

Is toxic religion simply misinterpretation? What is religious trauma? Why does Winell believe religious trauma merits its own diagnostic label?

Let’s start this interview with the basics. What exactly is religious trauma syndrome?

Winell: Religious trauma syndrome (RTS) is a set of symptoms and characteristics that tend to go together and which are related to harmful experiences with religion. They are the result of two things: immersion in a controlling religion and the secondary impact of leaving a religious group. The RTS label provides a name and description that affected people often recognize immediately. Many other people are surprised by the idea of RTS, because in our culture it is generally assumed that religion is benign or good for you. Just like telling kids about Santa Claus and letting them work out their beliefs later, people see no harm in teaching religion to children.

But in reality, religious teachings and practices sometimes cause serious mental health damage. The public is somewhat familiar with sexual and physical abuse in a religious context. As Journalist Janet Heimlich has documented in, Breaking Their Will, Bible-based religious groups that emphasize patriarchal authority in family structure and use harsh parenting methods can be destructive.

But the problem isn’t just physical and sexual abuse. Emotional and mental treatment in authoritarian religious groups also can be damaging because of 1) toxic teachings like eternal damnation or original sin 2) religious practices or mindset, such as punishment, black and white thinking, or sexual guilt, and 3) neglect that prevents a person from having the information or opportunities to develop normally.

Can you give me an example of RTS from your consulting practice?

Winell: I can give you many. One of the symptom clusters is around fear and anxiety. People indoctrinated into fundamentalist Christianity as small children sometimes have memories of being terrified by images of hell and apocalypse before their brains could begin to make sense of such ideas. Some survivors, who I prefer to call “reclaimers,” [8] have flashbacks, panic attacks, or nightmares in adulthood even when they intellectually no longer believe the theology. One client of mine, who during the day functioned well as a professional, struggled with intense fear many nights. She said,

“I was afraid I was going to hell. I was afraid I was doing something really wrong. I was completely out of control. I sometimes would wake up in the night and start screaming, thrashing my arms, trying to rid myself of what I was feeling. I’d walk around the house trying to think and calm myself down, in the middle of the night, trying to do some self-talk, but I felt like it was just something that – the fear and anxiety was taking over my life.” Or consider this comment, which refers to a film [9] used by evangelicals to warn about the horrors of the “end times” for nonbelievers.

“I was taken to see the film “A Thief In The Night”. WOW.  I am in shock to learn that many other people suffered the same traumas I lived with because of this film. A few days or weeks after the film viewing, I came into the house and mom wasn’t there. I stood there screaming in terror. When I stopped screaming, I began making my plan: Who my Christian neighbors were, who’s house to break into to get money and food. I was 12 years old and was preparing for Armageddon alone.”

In addition to anxiety, RTS can include depression, cognitive difficulties, and problems with social functioning. In fundamentalist Christianity, the individual is considered depraved and in need of salvation. A core message is “You are bad and wrong and deserve to die.” (The wages of sin is death [10].) This gets taught to millions of children through organizations like Child Evangelism Fellowship [11] and there is a group organized [12]  to oppose their incursion into public schools.  I’ve had clients who remember being distraught when given a vivid bloody image of Jesus paying the ultimate price for their sins. Decades later they sit telling me that they can’t manage to find any self-worth.

“After twenty-seven years of trying to live a perfect life, I failed. . . I was ashamed of myself all day long. My mind battling with itself with no relief. . . I always believed everything that I was taught but I thought that I was not approved by God. I thought that basically I, too, would die at Armageddon.

“I’ve spent literally years injuring myself, cutting and burning my arms, taking overdoses and starving myself, to punish myself so that God doesn’t have to punish me. It’s taken me years to feel deserving of anything good.”

Born-again Christianity and devout Catholicism [13] tell people they are weak and dependent, calling on phrases like “lean not unto your own understanding [14]” or “trust and obey [11].” People who internalize these messages can suffer from learned helplessness. I’ll give you an example from a client who had little decision-making ability after living his entire life devoted to following the “will of God.” The words here don’t convey the depth of his despair.

“I have an awful time making decisions in general. Like I can’t, you know, wake up in the morning, “What am I going to do today?” Like I don’t even know where to start. You know all the things I thought I might be doing are gone and I’m not sure I should even try to have a career; essentially I babysit my four-year-old all day.”

Authoritarian religious groups are subcultures where conformity is required in order to belong. Thus if you dare to leave the religion, you risk losing your entire support system as well.

“I lost all my friends. I lost my close ties to family. Now I’m losing my country. I’ve lost so much because of this malignant religion and I am angry and sad to my very core. . . I have tried hard to make new friends, but I have failed miserably. . . I am very lonely.”

Leaving a religion, after total immersion, can cause a complete upheaval of a person’s construction of reality, including the self, other people, life, and the future. People unfamiliar with this situation, including therapists, have trouble appreciating the sheer terror it can create.

“My form of religion was very strongly entrenched and anchored deeply in my heart. It is hard to describe how fully my religion informed, infused, and influenced my entire worldview. My first steps out of fundamentalism were profoundly frightening and I had frequent thoughts of suicide. Now I’m way past that but I still haven’t quite found “my place in the universe.”

Even for a person who was not so entrenched, leaving one’s religion can be a stressful and significant transition.

Many people seem to walk away from their religion easily, without really looking back. What is different about the clientele you work with?

Winell: Religious groups that are highly controlling, teach fear about the world, and keep members sheltered and ill-equipped to function in society are harder to leave easily. The difficulty seems to be greater if the person was born and raised in the religion rather than joining as an adult convert. This is because they have no frame of reference – no other “self” or way of “being in the world.” A common personality type is a person who is deeply emotional and thoughtful and who tends to throw themselves wholeheartedly into their endeavors. “True believers” who then lose their faith feel more anger and depression and grief than those who simply went to church on Sunday.

Aren’t these just people who would be depressed, anxious, or obsessive anyways?

Winell: Not at all. If my observation is correct, these are people who are intense and involved and caring. They hang on to the religion longer than those who simply “walk away” because they try to make it work even when they have doubts. Sometimes this is out of fear, but often it is out of devotion. These are people for whom ethics, integrity and compassion matter a great deal. I find that when they get better and rebuild their lives, they are wonderfully creative and energetic about new things.

In your mind, how is RTS different from Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder?

Winell: RTS is a specific set of symptoms and characteristics that are connected with harmful religious experience, not just any trauma. This is crucial to understanding the condition and any kind of self-help or treatment. (More details about this can be found on my Journey Free [15] website and discussed in my talk [16] at the Texas Freethought Convention.)

Another difference is the social context, which is extremely different from other traumas or forms of abuse. When someone is recovering from domestic abuse, for example, other people understand and support the need to leave and recover. They don’t question it as a matter of interpretation, and they don’t send the person back for more. But this is exactly what happens to many former believers who seek counseling. If a provider doesn’t understand the source of the symptoms, he or she may send a client for pastoral counseling, or to AA, or even to another church. One reclaimer expressed her frustration this way:

“Include physically-abusive parents who quote “Spare the rod and spoil the child” as literally as you can imagine and you have one fucked-up soul: an unloved, rejected, traumatized toddler in the body of an adult. I’m simply a broken spirit in an empty shell. But wait...That’s not enough!? There’s also the expectation by everyone in society that we victims should celebrate this with our perpetrators every Christmas and Easter!!”

Just like disorders such as autism or bulimia, giving RTS a real name has important advantages. People who are suffering find that having a label for their experience helps them feel less alone and guilty. Some have written to me to express their relief:

“There’s actually a name for it! I was brainwashed from birth and wasted 25 years of my life serving Him! I’ve since been out of my religion for several years now, but I cannot shake the haunting fear of hell and feel absolutely doomed. I’m now socially inept, unemployable, and the only way I can have sex is to pay for it.”

Labeling RTS encourages professionals to study it more carefully, develop treatments, and offer training. Hopefully, we can even work on prevention.

What do you see as the difference between religion that causes trauma and religion that doesn’t?

Winell: Religion causes trauma when it is highly controlling and prevents people from thinking for themselves and trusting their own feelings. Groups that demand obedience and conformity produce fear, not love and growth. With constant judgment of self and others, people become alienated from themselves, each other, and the world. Religion in its worst forms causes separation.

Conversely, groups that connect people and promote self-knowledge and personal growth can be said to be healthy. The book, Healthy Religion [17], describes these traits. Such groups put high value on respecting differences, and members feel empowered as individuals.  They provide social support, a place for events and rites of passage, exchange of ideas, inspiration, opportunities for service, and connection to social causes. They encourage spiritual practices that promote health like meditation or principles for living like the golden rule. More and more, non-theists are asking [18] how they can create similar spiritual communities without the supernaturalism. An atheist congregation [19] in London launched this year and has received over 200 inquiries from people wanting to replicate their model.

Some people say that terms like “recovery from religion” and “religious trauma syndrome” are just atheist attempts to pathologize religious belief.

Winell: Mental health professionals have enough to do without going out looking for new pathology. I never set out looking for a “niche topic,” and certainly not religious trauma syndrome. I originally wrote a paper for a conference of the American Psychological Association and thought that would be the end of it. Since then, I have tried to move on to other things several times, but this work has simply grown.

In my opinion, we are simply, as a culture, becoming aware of religious trauma. More and more people are leaving religion, as seen by polls [20] showing that the “religiously unaffiliated” have increased in the last five years from just over 15% to just under 20% of all U.S. adults. It’s no wonder the internet is exploding with websites for former believers from all religions, providing forums [21] for people to support each other. The huge population of people “leaving the fold” includes a subset at risk for RTS, and more people are talking about it and seeking help.  For example, there are thousands of former Mormons [22], and I was asked to speak about RTS at an Exmormon Foundation conference.  I facilitate an international support group online called Release and Reclaim [23]  which has monthly conference calls. An organization called Recovery from Religion, [24] helps people start self-help meet-up groups

Saying that someone is trying to pathologize authoritarian religion is like saying someone pathologized eating disorders by naming them. Before that, they were healthy? No, before that we weren’t noticing. People were suffering, thought they were alone, and blamed themselves.  Professionals had no awareness or training. This is the situation of RTS today. Authoritarian religion is already pathological, and leaving a high-control group can be traumatic. People are already suffering. They need to be recognized and helped. _______________________________

Statistics update:

Numbers of American ‘nones’ continues to rise

October 18, 2019

By David Crary – Associated Press

The portion of Americans with no religious affiliation is rising significantly, in tandem with a sharp drop in the percentage that identifies as Christians, according to new data from the Pew Research Center. …

Pew says all categories of the religiously unaffiliated population – often referred to as the “nones” grew in magnitude. Self-described atheists now account for 4% of U.S. adults, up from 2% in 2009; agnostics account for 5%, up from 3% a decade ago; and 17% of Americans now describe their religion as “nothing in particular,” up from 12% in 2009.

https://www.csmonitor.com/USA/Society/2019/1018/Numbers-of-American-nones-continues-to-rise

_______________________________

Marlene Winell interviewed by Valerie Tarico on recovering from religious trauma Uploaded on January 31, 2011

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fIfABmbqSMA

24:12

On Moral Politics, a TV program with host Dr. Valerie Tarico, Marlene Winell describes the trauma that can result from harmful experiences with religious indoctrination. Dr. Winell explains that mental health issues are widespread and need to be understood just as we understand PTSD. There are steps to recovery, treatment modalities, and resources available as well. She now refers to this as RTS or Religious Trauma Syndrome. _______________________________

Links:
 
[3] https://www.biblestudyonjesuschrist.com/pog/ask1.htm 
[4] https://marlenewinell.net/leaving-fold-former 
[8] https://journeyfree.org/article/reclaimers/ 
[9] https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/A_Thief_in_the_Night_%28film%29 
[10] https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Romans+6%3A23&version=KJV 
[11] https://valerietarico.com/2011/02/04/our-public-schools-their-mission-field/ 
[12] http://www.intrinsicdignity.com/ 
[13] https://www.maryjohnson.co/an-unquenchable-thirst/ 
[14] https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Proverbs+3%3A5-6&version=KJV [15] https://journeyfree.org/category/uncategorized/ [16] https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3qrE4pMBlis 
[17] https://www.amazon.com/Healthy-Religion-Psychological-Guide-Mature/dp/1425924166 [18] https://www.humanistchaplaincy.org/ [19] https://www.christianpost.com/news/london-atheist-church-model-looking-to-expand-worldwide-91516 [20] https://www.pewforum.org/2012/10/09/nones-on-the-rise/ 
[21] https://new.exchristian.net/ 
[22] https://www.exmormon.org/ 
[23] https://journeyfree.org/group-forum/ [24] https://www.recoveringfromreligion.org/

_____________________________________

Get God’s Self-Appointed Messengers Out of Your Head

Valerie Tarico Which buzz phrases from your past are stuck in your brain? “God’s messengers” were all real complicated people with biases, blind spots, favorite foods and morning breath. They were not gods and they are not you. So how can you get them out of your head or at least reduce them to muffled background noise?

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ElfyYA420F0

[rokutouxei]

together through the fog

ikemen vampire: temptation through the dark theo van gogh / mc | 1770 | T

Born frailer than your average pureblood vampire, she's doomed to need fresh human blood—not just rouge—to survive. Drinking from them will cost more than just blood: and she doesn't want to make them pay that price, especially not the one she loves the most. What decisions are you free to make when you don't really have a choice—and how is Theo going to convince her that staying a little longer isn't so bad if he's with her?

chapter 1 of 3

One of the most important rules of being in the art dealership industry is to make good connections. No amount of great art at hand will amount to much if the dealer does not have the appropriate connections to get these art into the proper hands. Of course, wealthy patrons are always much appreciated, for the invasion of the new art into the eyes of the more conservative aristocracy is one way to usher in the new dawn, but there are other types of connections that have to be made—and that is, to those who are not only interested in the art, but are also willing to lend a hand in the sharing of this art to the rest of the world.

Theo has a lot of clients. In the handful of years he has spent in the industry, he has collected his fair share of interested patrons and sponsors for the artists. Favoritism is of no use in this world. But if one were to ask—it would be easy for him to say that his best, perhaps his favorite, client, was a Comtesse that lived at the outskirts of town.

Rich, born of old money, in a large mansion where she lives alone, besides perhaps her singular, nosy butler. They’ve known each other for a few years now, after having met when they were much younger, and they have become, to some degree, friendly with each other, not only with regards to his work. Make no mistake—she is not his friend for superficial reasons like appearance or wealth. It’s that she has a great eye for art—and a big heart for it as well.

“Theo! it’s been a while since you’ve come around.”

Her greeting comes instantly as the door to her study opens, Theo being ushered in by her butler, Sebastian. She’s sipping from a teacup in front of a fireplace, bundled up under blankets—even when it isn’t too cold outdoors yet.

“You know how the industry is,” he comments, as he settles on the seat across her, setting down the framed painting gently on the soft red carpet of her study. Once Theo’s own cup of coffee is poured, the butler leaves the room, the door closing with a silent click. Theo does not miss the expression on the butler’s face before he disappears. He turns back to his friend, gauging. “When I saw this piece I had an inkling that it would be to your taste.”

She chuckles, a little embarrassedly, putting down the teacup on its saucer. “Now, now. You make it seem like the kind of art I like is on the predictable side.”

“I wouldn’t say predictable, but you do have a taste.”

She nods. “Oh? I had not even noticed. Maybe you watch me a little too keenly, Theo.”

“Just for work,” he quips back with a friendly smile, as he uncovers the painting he has brought with him.

-

Theo was right—the painting is to her taste. It was a painting of a morning through the frame of a window, overlooking a snowy mountain. The gentle texture of the brushstrokes from the view outside made the snow falling seem so real, delicate and soft, and the thicker, rougher ones along the inside of the room made it feel closer, a little warmer. By a yet-unknown artist, of course, and she contemplates hanging it along the main hallway of the mansion, making sure it will catch the eye of anyone who will pass by, hoping it would spark something.

And then the dizziness returns.

There was no doubt Theo noticed her spacing out during their little conversation, but there is only so much she can do in hiding how unwell she’s been feeling. She had instantly sighed in relief when Theo was guided out of the room—as now she can clutch her head freely and whine a little in the throbbing inside of her skull.

But it’s okay. At least she has the paintings.

The one thing she can do.

It doesn’t matter if she isn’t going to last long, not anymore. But at least, if she can do something for the things she loves… maybe it will be worth it in the long run.

-

Theo has always had his wits around him, particularly in terms of being observant. While he’s not infallible, the little things generally do not escape him, and he makes sure he stows them away in the back of his head for safekeeping.

Theo was 25 when she first wrote to him about it

She wrote: How would you feel about it if I were a vampire?

This really didn’t surprise Theo as awfully as it ought to have. There was one particularly intriguing rumor that spread around town about her family. Whether or not the people knew, had a clue, or if it were just the result of their imagination, is beyond him, but there have always been rumors about her family being a family of vampires. Of course, it is easy to shrug off: the human imagination is an interesting thing, and with the rise of rational science throughout the past few centuries, vampiric lore has simply fallen out of favor. Besides, this kind of rumor is unsurprising when the area’s oldest and longest living aristocrat families live such a secretive, mysterious life outside of the rare social events they decide to engage in.

Theo had the same thought process, of course. He had written back rather amusedly, saying that even if she were a vampire, it would not change the fact that she was a good friend of his. No fang or lost blood will get in the way of my fondness towards you, he had written.

Fondness—fondness is too simple a word for what he feels towards her.

But what matters is that she had written back, in her small, delicate handwriting: Well, then it is my pleasure to tell you that I am.

That was just three years back, but it feels like a million years ago. He had not given it much thought then. He had not given it much thought as of late.

Until now.

Until today, really, sitting across her in her study watching her space out as the tiny sharp tips of fangs protruded out from where her lips can no longer hide them.

If she was not lying to him, then that’s alright.

But there was no denying that look of desperation hiding in her eyes, as she tries to focus on something else in the room other than him.

He turns before the mansion’s main door gets shut behind him, turning to the butler with seriousness in his eyes.

“Sebastian, I have a question I have to ask you.”

-

She had met Theo when he was much younger—he was 18 at the time. And she… Well, greater vampires age a little differently than humans do, but she must have looked about 16. Her parents had brought her to an exhibition that day. it was part of her training—much was needed for an eternally-living vampire to be able to fit into human society without standing out too much.

Her interest in art was another thing altogether, though.

While her parents had gone away to talk with their acquaintances and other friends in the gallery, she had decided to walk around to enjoy the paintings that were on display. She grew up surrounded in art—part of the privileges of being born into the aristocracy—and these weren’t new to her, but some of the paintings… felt different. They were painted in different ways, looked at things in different lights. They piqued her interest. She wanted to get to know them more and-

She met Theo.

Theo was one of the youngest art dealers present during the show, which had been overseen by the company he was working with. She is still not entirely sure what had drawn Theo to her at that time—perhaps it was their seeming-similarity in age—but that day, they had made good friends, talking about art and paintings and the life of an artist. She wasn’t an artist herself, but the discussions had made such an impact on her that afterwards—they had exchanged addresses, and promised to write to each other.

That now feels like a lifetime ago.

How long ago was that, even? Surely at least a decade past. Time is a fickle thing for creatures like her. A decade is no more than a human’s millisecond. In a few more centuries, she will have forgotten everything about this little life, maybe even this mansion in the outskirts of Paris. The oldest of her family have been alive longer than humans would expect.

But not her.

It seems… unnatural, but she was born sickly, frailer than your average vampire. On occasion, she catches what is perhaps the vampire equivalent of a flu—weakness, fatigue, body pains, fever, and dizziness. Of course, this is curable with a good drink of blood, as is most things for vampires like her, but there is a catch—drinking it fresh from the source is always the better option. She would need bottles and bottles of rouge to recover from one “flu”, but fresh blood—

Fresh blood is different.

Drawn straight out of the vein, still warm from flesh…

That would cure her in minutes.

Too bad she has gotten a little too fond of humans.

Ah, how can one not, when you spend most of your life watching them struggle to live when death knocks at their door so soon after their birth? Humans have a strength she cannot comprehend. One she wishes she had. So she’s sworn to never drink out of a human ever again; even if it is at the cost of her health. She can acquire all the rouge she needs to recover. She cannot replace a random human’s short meaningful life at the cost of eternity for her own convenience—and she does not have the heart to drain one into death, if to spare them from the curse of living throughout perpetuity.

Caught between a rock and a hard place, they say.

She clutches her chest as the coughs overtake her, so strongly she is thrown to her knees onto the ground. Her butler rushes to her aid, but does not make it before she collapses onto the floor with a thud.

She doesn’t want to drink from humans anymore. And especially—not from the one she loves the most. But maybe this time she doesn’t really have a choice.

[i-just-love-spop]

The Coffee Paradox

My first piece for the Glimbow Week Countdown! I’m running a Glimbow Week over at @glimbow-week-2020 in a couple of weeks, check out the account for more information!

Written for the Glimbow Week Countdown Prompt “cooking”, based off of a prompt request from @amozon28 that I got a while ago. She requested the prompt “The tea tastes weird.” “Might be because that's coffee.” for Glimbow. Sorry this took so long, hope you enjoy!

Summary: Bow and Glimmer have breakfast together on a calm morning after the war.

[Takes place a bit after the show.]

Heads up, there’s one or two very minor sex references, but nothing explicit, in general the fic is completely sfw.

Also, the fact that Glimmer gets eggs for breakfast is purely coincidental and has nothing in the slightest to do with @tippenfunkaport and the fact that her fic for this prompt made me sad and I had to cope with it somehow (seriously though go read her fic it’s really good)!

—

It was a calm morning in Bright Moon. The soft morning light shone through the curtains of the private kitchen that was attached to Glimmer’s bedroom but that she’d rarely ever used for a very long time.

Glimmer stood there, in the middle of the kitchen, taking in both the breath of fresh air from the window that Bow had apparently opened before he’d left the room to do – she wasn’t sure what he was doing, exactly, but at least he wasn’t in here anymore at the moment –, and the wonderful odor of the breakfast he’d made... warm pancakes, scrambled eggs and her favorite fruit juice were all waiting on the dining table for her. The smell alone was enough to made her mouth water.

‘Moons, how did I get so lucky?’

For a bit, Glimmer just stood at the window and took in the view of the world outside the castle that was slowly waking up. People were laughing, kids were playing in the fields and at the water, some even going for a morning swim. When looking at the world from up here, you could barely tell that there had been a war going on until very recently.

Sometimes Glimmer couldn’t help but think that an entire lifetime had passed between the end of the war and this morning, when I’m reality, it had barely been a few weeks.

There had been more peaceful mornings since the war was over. It felt weird... but the good kind of weird.

Sure, there was still work to do, but almost everyone seemed to sleep easier these days, and everyone deserved a couple of lazy mornings every now and again after everything they’d went through.

Heck, even Adora managed to sleep most nights now that Catra was with her. She even managed to sleep in, which was possibly the weirdest thing about this situation. ‘Adora’ and ‘sleeping in’ were about the last two words any of them would have ever put in the same sentence up until a couple of weeks ago.

...but she did now. And it made Bow and Glimmer incredibly happy to see that their friend was doing so much better after seeing her inability to relax in action for years prior.

As for the Queen of Bright Moon and her future King... they maybe didn’t get as much sleep as they used to since their first official date, but for good reasons only.

Bow had wanted their first kiss to be special, so he’d taken his girlfriend – she was his girlfriend now, the thought still made Glimmer feel all mushy inside – out on a starlight picnic as soon as they had the time.

That evening, everything had fallen into place.

Glimmer smiled at the memory.

‘We kissed, alright.’

And they’d done much more that night, and since then, and she couldn’t remember if she’d ever felt quite as happy in her life as she was feeling right now. Things were still far from perfect, of course... her mother’s absence had left a burning hole in her heart that she didn’t think anything would ever be able to make whole again, and there was also the looming guilt of the mistake she’d made that she would never be entirely able to forget... and trying to form a normal father-daughter-relationship with Micah after loosing him at such a young age and after she’d long come to terms with his supposed death wasn’t the easiest thing either – but as long as Bow was with her, she felt like she could take on the world, or maybe even the entire galaxy.

When she’d been younger, before discovering her powers and learning to control them, she’d envied her mother’s wings, her ability to fly. She’d long worked past these feelings... but now, when she was around Bow, she felt like she finally understood what it felt like to fly. She didn’t think she’d ever grow tired of the way his hand felt in hers or the way her heart skipped a beat every time he looked at her.

Sometimes she still had nightmares... but she was slowly starting to get them under control. Talking about it got easier as time went by – even though she knew it was never going to be easy –, and even when she wasn’t alright, Bow was there to hold her and kiss her and tell her she was safe with him.

Speaking of Bow...

“Morning, Love.” He hugged her from behind and gave her a kiss on the cheek as she turned around. “I hope I didn’t wake you when I got up earlier, but I felt like doing something special for you today.”

“Don’t worry.” She grinned. “I slept pretty well after our... exercise yesterday.“

Glimmer winked and kissed her boyfriend as his cheeks heated up.

For a moment, they just stood there, happily making out in the middle of the kitchen.

“We really can’t keep our hands off each other, huh?” He asked softly with the usual sweet smile in his face when they broke apart, and all she wanted to do was immediately pull him into another kiss because nope she definitely did not want to keep her hands off him, but he’d made breakfast and it was getting cold, so making out further would have to wait, because if they continued on like that, they’d be in the bedroom rather than the kitchen in what Glimmer guessed was approximately five minutes from now.

“I’m afraid we’ll have to, or the food you put so much effort into will end up being cold.” She chuckled and winked at him. “We‘ll continue this later.”

“As you wish.” He gave her another quick peck on the cheek, then pulled back a chair and gestured for her to sit down on it. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to leave you alone with all the food, I thought you were still asleep and wanted to take the opportunity to go outside and collect some of these before I woke you up.”

He sat down next to her and held a small bowl of strawberries in her direction. Her face lit up even more.

“Oh stars, I love you so much. You’re amazing. How did I get so lucky?”

Bow felt his heart flutter in his chest at the way her eyes lit up when she looked at him. Every morning that he woke up next to her, he wondered how exactly he’d taken so long to realize what Glimmer really meant to him when it was so blatantly obvious now that nobody in the galaxy could ever compare to her.

He’d missed her every second they’d been apart, and now that he’d found her again, he was planning on holding onto her for the rest of his life – if she’d let him.

“I love you, too,” He whispered softly, still every bit as mesmerized by how she looked as he had been the first time. Her hair sparkled brightly in the soft morning light, and Bow couldn’t help but think that his girlfriend was visibly as much of an angel as her mother had been. “We’re both incredibly lucky, Glim.”

She smiled softly at him, and her heart melted from the way he smiled back at her.

“Guess we are.“

Gosh, how much she’d longed for him to look at her like this over the last couple of years, despite refusing to admit it. And now they were a couple, and she couldn’t be happier.

—

The food tasted heavenly, and they had a really nice breakfast... for the most part.

Everything was really good – except for the coffee Glimmer had made while Bow had been outside gathering strawberries.

Bow winced a bit as he took the first sip, despite his best efforts to hide it out of politeness.

“Huh. This tea tastes a bit weird.”

He put the mug down. All his politeness wasn’t enough to get him to have another sip.

“Might be because that's coffee,” Glimmer replied and chuckled a bit.

Bow raised an eyebrow.

“That’s coffee?” He stared at her blankly for a moment when she nodded. “Glimmer, honey, I love you, but we really need to work on your cooking skills.”

He gave her a polite smile, already feeling bad because he didn’t like criticizing her when it came to stuff like that. She was trying, and he found it very sweet that she was, and a lot of the time, what she made came out fine – sometimes great, even – but this wasn’t one of those times.

It was weird, actually. She’d made coffee before. It wasn’t the greatest, but it wasn’t that terrible usually...

“Come on, it can’t be that ba-” Glimmer took a sip herself and oh by Etheria’s moons did she stand corrected. She had a hard time not spitting the ‘coffee’ – honestly whatever this really was had no right to be called that – across the table. She decided to just spit it back into the mug instead, and then spent several seconds wiping her tongue with a napkin. Anything to get the taste out of her mouth. “You swallowed that? I’m so sorry.” Glimmer winced and gave her boyfriend an apologetic look. “What did I do to that? Moons, this tastes...” She grimaced. “Okay, note to self, no more making coffee when I’m too tired to function.”

Bow chuckled and smiled at his girlfriend.

“So... before you’ve had coffee?”

He really should have known it was that. Glimmer had never been a morning person, after all.

‘Her sleepiness explains it, alright.’

She shrugged and then joined in on the laughing.

“Huh, yeah, I guess. Can’t make coffee if I’m tired, and can’t stop being tired without having coffee. Eternal coffee paradox,” She joked, making her boyfriend chuckle.

Sometimes she wondered if laughing at even your friend’s dumbest jokes should have been a dead giveaway that they were in love with each other.

“How about we stick to me making coffee in the morning in that case, then? Paradox solved,” Bow added, kissing her cheek.

“That... might be a good idea.”

Glimmer had gone back to her delicious pancakes

He didn’t mind. At all. To be quite honest, he actually loved spoiling his girlfriend. The way her face lit up over little things (like him bringing her coffee in the morning) was adorable, and if it made her happy, he would gladly keep doing it for the rest of their lives.

“In all seriousness, though... if you want to, I can show you a couple tricks when it comes to cooking? Just an idea, of course. Your usual cooking when you’re not sleep deprived is fine. I just thought cooking together might be nice.“

“I mean, it does sound nice...“ She took another bite of the scrambled egg, which was the only thing left on her plate. It had been a while since they’d done stuff as normal as cooking together. “But we don’t have time for that right now. There’s more important-” Glimmer started, then stopped herself mid-sentence.

Actually... there wasn’t. Sure, there was still towns in need of rebuilding, but most Etherians were doing a pretty good job taking care of their homes themselves, and while that of course didn’t mean the princesses didn’t still help wherever they could... it did mean that occasionally, they were able to take some time to themselves and do stuff like cooking together, or going on dates, or going for a swim in Mystacor, without half of Etheria falling back apart or getting attacked while they were gone.

“Huh... actually, I guess we could do that.” She put her hand on his, fingers intertwining in the middle of the table as she sighed softly. “I’m... still not used to not going to battle constantly.”

He ran his thumb over the palm of her hand gently and smiled at her softly.

“Takes some time getting used to, doesn’t it?” Bow sighed. “I think all of our heads are still in the war half the time, despite the fact that it ended. But it will get better, eventually. I just know it will. And until then, we’ll go every step of the way together, yeah?”

She squeezed his hand a little tighter and smiled at him.

“Yeah. Every step of the way.”

—

She’d come to figure out that she loved cooking with her boyfriend very soon.

[seriouslyblacklikemysoul]

An Ephemeral Eternity in Seven Parts - Steve Rogers x Reader

MASTERLIST Warnings: Gifs aren’t mine. My English. Also, last sentence - well, maybe it’s the start of something new.  Word Count~ 7k.  Part I Part II Part III Part IV Part V Part VI PART  VII

 The melancholic notes of the guitar accompanied her soft and broken voice in a song that reminded very much of a lamentation of her past, her present and her future.

 Everything she touched, begun to decay. Everyone she loved, had only ended up unloved, depressed, addicted or alone. It had made her wonder if she was the one; if she was the wolf dressed as the little red riding hood. What if everyone around her was simply a helpless sheep and to prowl for her next meal she clothed herself in love and kindness, only to poison those closest to her until they are damaged beyond repair. She could only ever ruin so many relationships before she understood that the devil lived inside of her making her a toxic landfill disguised in fake beautiful grass and flowers - she had never been afraid of the monster in her closet, she had always been terrified by the one she saw in the mirror.  She didn't remember which night it was - the one she left, like a thief, not making a sound, knowing that he heard her. It made her decision easier when he didn't even try to stop her. It was selfish - he had been badly broken too. She felt the failure calling out her name - she couldn't make it better for him because she was a mess. She had lost herself and she wasn't sure she wasn't sure she wanted to be found. And so she left. She took a few clothes with her and left.  She had no solid plan for her days ahead. She couldn't find a point to it. She had wandered aimlessly when she found herself in a small city that did not speak English. She had smiled painfully to herself. A stranger among strangers. 

Not long after her decision to stay there for a while, she had to find a way to earn some money in order to get by. The kind old lady, who had helped her with almost everything, seeing in her face the granddaughter she had lost just mere weeks before she turned up in her door - since she was one of the very few people who spoke English -  had offered her a job she thought it would suit her. There was a small place where those who stayed behind went to drink and listen to old and soft songs about loss, love and pain. They were missing a singer. She had thought why not.  Isabella had been nothing but kind and sweet, just like a real grandmother - not that she had met one.  "Grief is a deeply personal and solitary journey. No one can truly feel or understand your loss but you, even those who have experienced it themselves. But grief is also love, and for that reason it has a right to exist and be felt. It is the debt we owe our memories. It is the final way we love someone" she had soothed her after the first time she heard her sing. There was pain in her voice, even when she sung in Spanish. She had never believed it would cost her everything. Yet, it did. 

 Months flew by as she had fallen into a simple yet so human routine. Many handsome men had threw themselves to her but she had closed herself, letting no one in. She had lost people along the way. She had left others behind. She had cut them out of her life, sometimes uncertain if it was the right decision. Looking back, she had done things she might have regretted now. This quieter life she had now was closer to the one she had been dreaming the cold nights that she had been held by HYDRA or trained by Madam B. She couldn't sake the feeling that something was missing - she was different and she hadn't ever realized. The girl from her past wasn't the woman she had grown to be.  "Hay un hombre guapo buscándote, cariño" Isabella suddenly told her, making her slightly jump from the couch she had been seated for at least two hours, starring at the wall. Seeing her lost eyes, Isabella sat down next to her and took her hands in hers.  "Listen, cariño. Love transcends gender, age, political beliefs; it crosses borders. It’s literally the strongest motivator and force we have. It makes people do things they can’t explain. And it comes in all forms and it comes when you least expect it and it comes and it goes and it changes and people have spent years and wrote books and studied the stars trying to understand it. And sometimes it’s the boy you called over to get over,  the boy you were crying about and sometimes it’s the girl you grew up next door to your whole life and sometimes it’s a friend who saved your soul or a baby you didn’t expect. But it’s all around us in forms yet to be manifested- letters yet to be written, hands yet to be held. And all goodness stems from it and it literally changes the world. So even though it sometimes causes us pain and it drags us into situations we didn’t ask for, we can never close ourselves off to it or give up on it. We have to keep loving because it’s the closest thing we have to magic and without it we’re just a conscious pile of bones and life means nothing. Ve hacia el" and just like that, from the mouth of someone who used to be a stranger, the entire meaning of life and love and pain was summed up into a minute of hope. Isabella had lost her son and her granddaughter, everyone she ever loved and yet, there she was telling her to embrace life with its bad and its good. Tears she had no idea when they escaped, were running down her face. "Mi bella Isabella, gracias por tu sabiduría. Gracias por tu amor. But if I go to him, I'll leave you and I can't do that to you" she told her truthfully. Isabella just shook her head and smiled.  "I'll always be here. Go to him, cariño". She kissed her cheek and hugged her as tightly as she would love to be hugged. She had been everything she was missing.

 As the song went on, her eyes fell on him - he had just entered the place. And every memory she kept tacked away, came back rushing through her veins. In her head, she could hear Isabella's words but her heart just didn't want to get hurt again. She knew the moment he talked to her, she would succumb her entire being to his hands. 

War was the only dance he had ever known and she wished they could have had more time amid the chaos and fire and blood to show him that there could be another way. She fell in love with the way he saw the world, the way he saw her... She fell in the chasm of his soul and his light. She would gladly drown in the darker half of the sea to hold him in her arms for more than just that single night of peace. She had been aware that they had met and they had loved in a warzone and even though his kisses had melted away the gunfire, they still held echoes of the fire burning in him but she knew hers were the same. He had been worth the risk time and time again because with his hand burning into her skin, she had hope once more ... and the blood that had stained him couldn't take away his goodness and the stars that had betrayed him, didn't mean she forsaken her devotion. There had always been a rage built inside their souls, just like this love was worthy of burning empires down ... screams that follow them all the way home only to be quieted when she kissed the blood from his lips... and even when the universe will force them to part he will remain, echoing in her heart that only belonged to him. She knew that they were the ugly parts of the love story but she also knew they were the beautiful ones too. The song came to an end and she went to the table she held every night, the one far away from the lights and the people. Eyes never leaving his, she nodded for him to join her, as she poured herself a glass of red wine. He had never been so afraid of a moment and its impact. He had no idea what to say to her or how to be around her, when she poured and offered him another glass of wine.  "I didn't know you could sing" he told her before he hid his face in his hands, only to resurface as red as a tomato. She tried to swallow her laughter but failed.  "You're still not good with women, Steve" and just by saying his name, her heart places itself in his hands. He smiled brightly even though he had messed up his opening line, it had worked out. She was sipping her wine with a fondness he had never seen before. Maybe leaving was the best thing she had done - and he would be selfish to ask her back. Again. Not leaving her alone, to decide her own path. He needed her in a way he hadn't needed anyone since...  "I will come back Steve. But I need you to promise me that we will search and search over and over again for a way to undo this -and if we don't find one it will be because there isn't, not because we overlooked it" she told him boldly with her eyes a soft lilac color, as she looked over her shoulder, signaling to someone to approach them He was taken aback. He believed that she wouldn't even want to talk about what had happened. He had seen the way Bucky had looked at her before he... and he had already suspected his feelings towards her. Steve knew it had a great impact on her - not that it had been the only reason for her breakdown. After realizing her new powers she had refused to use them because they were the reason half of the planet was dead. He looked at her with a new found admiration - she was the bigger person.  "Of course. May I ask why?" he prepared himself to hear a reason he wouldn't like, instead, his heart broke a little bit more.  She smiled and stood up to give her sit to an old woman he had never seen before. It was the first time Steve saw this side of her.  "Isabella, este es Steve. Ese hombre guapo que me estaba buscando" she spoke in Spanish making him question if he knew her at all. Isabella took his hands into hers and looked at him just like his mother would have, which caused some tears to appear. They got to know each other and he realized that she had never felt the love of a family - and she craved it. When Isabella said her goodnight, having already invited him to spend the night in her house, she grew quiet. She knew he was waiting for an answer. "She is the reason why. She lost everything - her son, her granddaughter - and yet she hasn't lost hope. She told me to live life with everything that comes with it and embrace it because it's all we got.  She is the reason I am talking to you. She told me 'go to him' because love is the closest thing we have to magic and I couldn't just tell her I have magic running through my veins but couldn't save her family" she said with fire in her words and determination pouring over her. 

It felt wrong. Being back, felt wrong. She had followed him once again, but this time she hadn't found the people she had last time. She felt out of time – as if she didn’t belong. No one was waiting for her; Natasha was broken and Tony was nowhere near the place. Maybe she had been naïve for trusting him again; deep down she knew the only thing they had been left with was bitterness. She spent her days reading, training and trying out different things. Steve had an unhealthy need to fill Sam’s shoes as he had begun some group session. The irony was obvious to her; He was telling them, urging them to move on while he would never. She had seen as much in his eyes when they were talking about his past and the beginnings of his story – way before he became Captain America. There was one particular story he didn’t feel like sharing and she understood why – but also bothered her. She had kept her promise and had searched everything in order to find a way to undo this. She had spent days and nights looking for an answer. There had been times she felt so useless she wouldn’t get out of her room – nobody dared to disagree with her on those days. Slowly yet steadily, Steve and her grew distant and she felt as if they were miles apart even when they were sitting right next to each other. Being positive had never been one of her assets and that fake optimism Steve had, got on her nerves. Then again, maybe it was just his way of coping with the events. She had found herself longing to leave the base and go back to Isabella’s house more than enough times to realize that she never felt at home in the Avenger’s base. And the years flew by without even noticing it. The only thing new must had been the fact that she met Carol, a woman with many of her own powers and a life experience to match them. Other than that, Natasha had been obsessing over Clint – who had gone dark after his family disappearance. She could never say that all of those people had died – they had just dusted away. Which was the same and she had been fooling herself for a very long time. Steve had been the positive fucking little unicorn in front of others but he was so lost when they were alone. A raccoon was sending them emails with reports and Nebula wanted to get revenge a tad more than all of them combined.  She knew things were bound to be different, but she couldn’t recognize anything anymore. She had been drifted away from those around her because she didn’t feel a connection to them anymore – the only thing they had in common was anger. She had just made a cup of coffee when Steve walked in, finding Natasha on the verge of crying as he went on about the bright side, but Nat wasn’t having it. She just plopped down next to Natasha, smiling towards Steve without even bothering to listen to their conversation but her eye caught something. Something unexpected. “Oh! Hi. Hi! Is anyone home? This is Scott Lang. We met a few years ago, at the airport? In Germany? I got really big, and I had my mask on. You wouldn't recognize me” Scott Lang was rumbling on at their front gate. Before she could register their reactions, she had buzzed him in and left the room running towards him. “Have you ever studied Quantum Physics?” Scott asked them a moment later. “Only to make conversation” came a sarcastic answer by Natasha, which didn’t bring him down. “Alright. So... five years ago, right before Thanos, I was in a place called the Quantum Realm. The Quantum Realm is like its own microscopic universe. To get in there, you have to be incredibly small. Hope, she's my... She was my... She was supposed to pull me out. And then Thanos happened, and I got stuck in there” he said while he was struggling not to tell the entire truth about their relationship. “I'm sorry. That must've been a very long five years” Natasha sincerely told him only to be shocked when he replied the most unbelievable thing. “Yeah, but that's just it. It wasn't. For me, it was five hours”. Steve and Nat shared a quick bewildered glance, while she had figured it out, because she had indeed studied Quantum Physics. “See, the rules of the Quantum Realm aren't like they are up here. Everything is unpredictable. Is that anybody's sandwich? I'm starving” Scott said as he strode over to pick up Nat's sandwich, and bit into it. “Scott, what are you talking about?” Steve asked him confused and puzzled. “What he is saying is, time works differently in the Quantum Realm” she chimed in, gaining a strange look from Steve and a very impressed one from Scott. “The only problem is right now, we don't have a way to navigate it. But what if we did? I can't stop thinking about it. What if, we could somehow control the chaos, and we could navigate it? What if there was a way to enter the Quantum Realm at a certain point in time but then exit at another point in time? Like...” he went on. “Like before Thanos” she half-whispered. “Wait, are you two talking about a time machine?” Steve asked as he couldn’t believe his ears. “No. No, of course not. No, not a time machine. It's more like a... Yeah, a time machine. I know it's crazy. But I can't stop thinking about it. There's gotta be some way... There's gotta be...some w... it's crazy” his craziness was making her head dizzy. She knew they would have to talk to her father, sooner or later. She hoped it would be later but that was not gonna the case. “Scott, I get e-mails from a raccoon, so nothing sounds crazy anymore” Nat reassured him. “So who do we talk to about this?” Scott cut to the chase and everyone looked at her. 

They pulled over at his cabin and one by one got out of the car. Tony looked at them and she could tell that he was not looking forward to the discussion about to take place. He acknowledged her with a single hey, and so she decided to let them talk in peace while she was gazing at the lake from afar. "I know you got a lot on the line. You got a wife, a daughter. But I lost someone very important to me. A lot of people did. And now, now we have a chance to bring her back. To bring everyone back. And you're telling me that won't even... “ his voice got louder as he tried to sell his desperation to Tony. “That's right, Scott, I won't even. I got a kid” Tony simply told them, making her remark. “Yeah, now he’s got a kid” she retorted, making him realize what he had just said. As on cue, Morgan run to her dad, who picked her up. “Mommy told me to come and save you. And to tell to the pretty girl to stay a while” Morgan told him as she pointed at his other daughter. “Good job. I'm saved. I wish you'd come here to ask me something else. Anything else. Honestly, I... I missed you guys, it was... Oh, and table's set for six” he went on and informed them. “Tony, I get it. And I'm happy for you, I really am. But this is a second chance” Steve tried to reason with him but she already knew he wasn’t gonna give up just yet. He had to solve it on his own. “I got my second chance right here, Cap. I can't roll the dice again. If you don't talk shop, you can stay for lunch. And you should stay for a while” he concluded as he turned to face her. She smiled at him. She was going to stay a while and Steve saw it. It was hard to say goodbye but unfortunately it had become easier with the years. Steve, Nat and Scott were walking back to their car outside Tony's house as she was stepping inside, hugging Pepper. She could feel him slipping away from her life but she didn’t know how to keep him there – well, she didn’t even know if he wanted to be there anymore.

The day had been quiet, Pepper was an amazing mother and Tony was trying to be a great dad but he knew that he had failed once before, so he wasn’t hoping for much. They had lunch and she met Morgan a bit better. The kid was smart, but that didn’t come as a surprise, it was rather a given. “So how do you two know each other?” she asked suspiciously as she eyed her. Tony almost chocked but she kept her calm, as she was sipping a glass of wine. “We used to work together for a project, sweetie” she smoothly told her without raising any suspicion and even thought Tony felt relieved, Pepper shoot him an angry look, making him nod his head as if they made a promise. “You’re an Avenger!” Morgan exclaimed, excited with her new discovery. But before she could say a thing, Morgan begun asking questions – more questions than anyone before, leaving her stumped. “Honey, come on. Don’t bombard her with your questions. Wanna help me with dessert?” Pepper came to the rescue quickly and she couldn’t be more thankful. Silence fell and it was awkward because no one was going to break it first and Pepper knew as she said louldy "talk". Both of them rolled their eyes at that. "She is smart, that's from your side and she is beautiful - that's all Pepper" she commented shortly after. He almost laughed at her quick comeback.  "How are you? How are things back?" he asked her sincerely, trying to make up for all the lost time. She shook her head, not wanting to lie. Something he understood very well.  "Let me guess. You have been drifted away from people, especially Steve" he made a wild guess and he knew he was right. She stopped hiding her feelings. "Everything I thought I had is no longer. That's why I came here with them. They are asking you to be a hero and save the world. I just wanted to ask you a favor. A while back, I... I left and went -" "To a nice lady called Isabella, who lost her son and granddaughter" he finished her sentence for her, leaving her puzzled. "What? Did you really think I wasn't looking after you?" he asked her. "Well, you left to start a family and didn't even call, so... um. I should have" she concluded at last. He disagreed with her. She had stayed there, not to ask him to fight with them, but to help her find a way, because she knew that there was going to be o return for him and she wanted Morgan to have both of her parents and to feel loved. One of his daughters should. 

She was just watching him work from the couch as she was drinking a hot cup of tea. “Look at a mod inspiration, let me see what check out. So, recommend one last sim before we pack it in for the night” he gave orders to his computer. “Maybe in the shape of a mobius strip, inverted, don’t you think?” she commented as she took a look to the holographic experiment. He agreed with an impressed look. “Do as the lady suggests” he informed Friday. “Processing... “ “Give me that eigenvalue. That, particle factoring, and a spectral decomp. That will take a second” he had just stepped away, towards the couch but it was not to be. “And don't worry if it doesn't pan out. I'm just kinda –“ “Model rendered” Friday announced sending waves of bewilderments down her spine. Tony in a complete shock of amazement as the render came back as 99.987% successful, fell back ecstatic by this discovery. “Shit!” they both exclaimed at the same time. “Shit” Morgan giggled as she repeated the word they had just uttered. Tony took on the father roll quicker than she had thought as he nodded to her to take care of everything that had just been projected while he took Morgan away. They had solved time travel. They had actually found out how to go back in time. Her mind was blown away just by looking at it. As she was walking around the holographic model, Pepper came down the stairs looking for her. “You should rest honey. It’s late” she told her like a mother would. She smiled at her and waited for Tony to get back. “Maybe it’s not” she told her, leaving her puzzled. They both sat on the couch, Pepper reading a book and she was just thinking of the endless possibilities. People less lucky than her would get to see the sun again. Isabella’s family. Spider-kid, Wanda, Strange, Bucky. Oh Gods, Bucky. She had tried to forget about him and how much it had affected her. It had been one of the few failures of her life. “Not that it's a competition, but she loves me 3000. You were somewhere on the low 6 to 900 range” Tony announced as he joined them and got Pepper to scoff. “What are you reading?” he asked absentmindedly as she noticed. “Oh, it's just a book on composting” Pepper told him, making her long for a simple life once more. “What's new with composting?” he asked again without really wanting an answer. Before she could, he cut her off. “We figured it out, by the way” he blurred out, pointing at his daughter proudly. “You know, just so we're talking about the same thing –“ Pepper tried to catch up on their new discovery, very happy they were working together. “Time travel” he simply informed like it was nothing. “What? Wow... That's amazing, and... terrifying. Oh, that’s why you told me maybe it’s not late” she told him amazed as she turned to her still very much astonished. “We got really lucky” she commented and both of them agreed. “Yeah, I know” her father said a tad sad. “A lot of people didn't” Pepper softly nudged him. “No, I can't help everybody” he tried to be civilized and open for debate about it. “It sorta seems like you can. Both of you” his wife disagreed. “Not if I stop. I can put a pin in it right now, and stop” he insisted but they all new what was about to happen. “Tony, trying to get you to stop has been one of the few failures of my life” Pepper echoed her thought from moments ago. Tony smiled proudly about that very fact. “I sometimes feel I should put it in a locked box and drop it at the bottom of a lake... go to bed” he had almost given up on saying no. He wasn’t able to deny that she was right. “But would you be able to rest?” her soft voice pierced through his head. “And neither would you. I know that you left at some point because the memories were too much” she told her with honesty. She couldn’t believe how selfless Pepper was being about something so dangerous. “Come on, kiddo. It’s time to sleep. Tomorrow we are gonna go on a trip” Tony urged his daughter. She could get use to that. “Goodnight Pepper. Goodnight To-… dad” she finally told him, making him smile in pure happiness for the first time in a while.  

The whole world was changing and she had been a part of that very fact. Every plan, every strategy and every theory had been mapped out but she knew that sometimes, even the cleverest of minds can miss a point – so small that no one could have seen. Wanda was trying destroy Thanos, having cost everything to her, Scott and Hope were trying to kick start the engine of the van and everyone was trying to get the gauntlet as far away as possible, without it being very easy of a task. 

Pepper landed next to Okoye, followed by Mantis, Shuri, the Wasp, Gamora, Nebula and herself much to everyone else’s opinion – they all thought she was going to be right by Steve. Thanos' army charged while they helped Carol Danvers gey through the Outriders, Sakaarans and Chitauri. When Carol and she flew towards the van with the Gauntlet, Thanos, after being stopped by Pepper, Shuri and Hope, threw his double sword at the van, destroying it completely. He knocked Carol down and smacked Tony away as Thor arrived in an attempt to pin Thano’s arm down – Steve came rushing towards them, helping Thor but they were all overpowered. In a desperate attempt, when she saw Thanos picking up the gauntlet she punched him away. Thanos grabbed her by the arm and threw her away like she weighted nothing. Thanos put on the gauntlet, gamma radiation from the stones all over his body, as he tried to snap, but she arose again, and stopped his fingers from snapping, opening up his hand similar to what she had seen Steve doing in the other battle. She almost had him, forcing him onto his knees, as her powers were finally enough, she was ready to steal the stones herself. She knew she could take them on – she was part of them and they were part of her. But alas, he pulled the Power Stone out of the Gauntlet and used it in his free hand to hit her away, almost killing her in the prosses. Tony was looking at his daughter terrified and too scared to think of what might happen. He made one last attack on Thanos, having an entirely different plan on his mind. Thanos pushed him away, ending up right next to his older daughter. All it took was one look and she knew – before she could anything at all, everything was already over. “I am inevitable” Thanos snapped his fingers, but nothing happened. He saw that the stones were missing. “NO!” she screamed but Tony simply smiled at her. s except a metallic "clink." He sees the Infinity Stones are missing.

“And I– am– Iron Man”.

The cruelest thing that someone had done to her was first claim to love her more than anything in the world. That he had never seen anything as exquisite as her. That she was every star in the night sky. That he would never leave her. And then one day, out of the blue he did. He lulled her into a false sense of security, convincing her that this, this is the forever love she have been looking for. This is the kind of love she needed all this time, the kind of love she had craved and let her get comfortable in it because it would last. And then, one day, he walked away. He made her believe that there would never be another. And then one day, he forgot her. He simply left without warning after promising her eternity. How ephemeral it turned out to be... It had been years since he came back. Not him - not her Steve. Peggy's Steve. She had refused to meet him - she had refused to even look at him, or be in the same building. She felt betrayed. She had lost Natasha as she had sacrificed herself to get the fucking Soul Stone. She had lost her father and that felt on her - she still felt responsible. And then Steve had decided to leave her all alone to fight her demons after constantly reassuring her he loved her.  But he caught her by surprise, when he entered her office, as she was now in charge of everything her father once held - Morgan was too young and Pepper wanted some time off with her daughter. He knocked the door, waited for her to call him in and he entered. She had been facing the other way, on a phone call but the minute she turned and faced him, her phone fell on the floor and her heart skipped more beats than she could count. "Hello, Ms.. Stark. Do you have a minute for an old friend?" he was being polite as well as sarcastic but her mind had already imploded, so what the fuck? Gaining some of her confidence back, she raised an eyebrow and crossed her arms.  "We were never friends, Mr. Rogers" she fired coldly but he knew her better and she hated it. He looked at her and all it took was a moment. He too raised his eyebrow and walked towards her with absolutely no intention of leaving. Before she could register his acts, he had enveloped her in to his big hug and she felt so fucking angry - it still felt like home. Without even knowing it, she was crying with her head almost resting on his chest.  "It’s weird. It’s weird how you have the same face but you’re a completely different person. It’s weird how I have so many amazing memories with you but they died off as you’re a completely different person. It’s weird that I’m mourning over someone that is still alive because you’re a completely different person. It’s weird, you’re a completely different person. And I hate you for leaving me, but I can never really hate you because I love you" she told him as he sat them down to her couch. She left his arms to look at him. She lowered her walls and finally opened up to him again.  "If I could do it all again, I would stay up later. I would ask more questions, unashamed of how personal they were and not afraid that I wouldn’t like the answers. If I could start over with you, I wouldn’t doubt my instincts. I wouldn’t fear what people thought if I catered to your every whim and laughed at every stupid joke. If I could try again, I would embrace every moment of every fight and ask for everything I needed from you. I wouldn’t worry if I was too needy, too attached, too much of anything. I would be myself more. I would scream louder. I wouldn’t hesitated to tell you I love you, in every way, every day. If I could do it again, I would not love you in halting steps always looking for some sort of validation that I was stepping on solid ground. I would jump into you and if you didn’t catch me, then I would still be picking up the same broken pieces I am now" she sincerely told him. She had lost both her friend and her father, both of them in the name of salvation and then Steve choose to leave her and go back. She had refused to exist for a while because she couldn't function. As everything crumbled around her, she had looked for a something to hold on to, but those closest couldn’t hear her amidst their screaming matches. She looked for those who swore to be there during her weakest moment only to see the illusion fade away leaving only crossed fingers, emptiness, and disappointment. She was done searching for someone, when someone did appear.  Without even thinking about it, he wiped a single tear that ran across her cheek. He wasn't her Steve, but those eyes...  "I never believed that I would have felt the way you made me feel after all those years in the ice. I owe you everything. And repaying you in the way I did... I wouldn't have forgiven me if I were you. An apology won't help, I know. For what it’s worth, you will always hold a special place" he told her in tender way that reminded her of their story and more tears found their way out. And he wiped every single one of them. She could tell from the way he hugged her when he saw her. He had kept the silent promise he had made when she was too drunk to remember what she had asked of him. Years had passed since she allowed herself to see him again. After saying a polite hello, they hugged like friends did. But then he squeezed her a little tighter right before he let go. She had almost rested her head on his chest out of habit, because it suddenly felt just like old times. She had thought she'd never be in his embrace again but there they were. They both wanted to hold on tighter but they knew they were different now. But she could tell from the way he hugged her, from the way he held on just a little longer, that somewhere, deep down...  "I missed you too" she smiled at him, a strange but very much wanted feeling of relief washing over her heart. They both knew, no one could stop loving. Once you have loved someone honestly, truly, you will never be able to un-love them. You can only find someone you will love more. At that time, your old love will not feel so strong, but it will always be in your heart, it will never let you forget something that at some point along the way made you happy.  "You hold a special place in someone else's heart too, you know" he commented like a genie. Her eyebrow arched. "Stop playing matchmaker, you old wise owl" she mocked him. At least, she could start again. He still held her face in his hands, he still held a piece of her, he would always be her first love. The bigger the love, the harder the fall. They stayed like that until Bucky walked into her office, looking for her. He narrowed his eyes suspiciously when he saw Steve holding her but he reprimanded himself almost immediately. She saw the way Steve looked up at him and she knew he wanted some alone time him. Leaving his hands was harder than she thought, smiling at all times. "Don't be a stranger, Rogers" she bid him goodbye but his eyes told her this wasn't the last time they would see each other and she found solace. She passed Bucky in her way out, smiling brightly to him, making his eyes sparkle in hope. She had just left the room when she heard Steve being completely honest.

"She is different now. I was too much of a punk to see how beautiful she really was. Her heart was beautiful, she cared so much about me and I never understood why. I don't think I treated her the way she deserves to be treated - but you do. Don't look at me like that, Bucky. I am old, not blind. I can see the way you two look at each other. Back then, her love scared me, it was so intense. I almost forgot how enticing her smile was. She just wasted so many tears on someone like me and for that I will never forgive me" he told his friend but his mind was someplace else. She smiled to herself and finally left them alone. Whatever was to come, she would face it. Finding closure had never been about forgetting. It had never been about drowning out the voices of her past or about closing her heart to memories that used to make you happy. Finding closure meant accepting a situation for what it was and moving on. It was coming to terms with the way things were and knowing that she couldn't change what had happened, but could still find growth among the broken pieces.

 _____

“I am so glad I got my heart broken. It led me to you”. ____

Taglist: @accio-rogers @coffee-with-orion @stydia-4-ever​ @smilexcaptainx​ @elliee1497​

[sunshineandfangs]

The Long Way Home

Day Five (October 11th - Friday): Different Time Period

Klaus and Caroline in the 1920′s? Klaus and Caroline as Originals and their adventures throughout the centuries? Is Caroline sent to the past and has to deal with a Klaus from that time? Is Klaus sent to the future and sees himself with Caroline? Royalty AUs? Regency Era? So many possibilities!

This is always something I thought about so I decided to write the snapshot version. Some angst again, though not Klaroline related.

---

Caroline watched her fellow blonde from the shadows. She was beautiful and vibrant and so achingly young. Physically of course, Caroline did not look a single year older than the other girl. Both of them appearing an eternal seventeen. However, the discerning would note the differences in their eyes, their demeanor.

That girl didn’t walk with an edge of lethal grace, always one move away from being able to attack or defend. She didn’t carry a confidence built over ages, the kind one gains when they had to fight for their right to exist and came out on top. There wasn’t a weight in her eyes that came from the slow build of weariness, from that near constant fight.

So, the two of them could hardly be more different for all that they were once the same person. She supposed that’s what over a thousand years of separation did to a person.

---

To be quite truthful, Caroline almost didn’t return to Mystic Falls. The people, the events that had once been the entirety of her short life were now little more than vague memories. They were strangers with familiar faces, as if remembered from a dream. And she would be the strangest of them all, an entirely different person from who they knew.

The worst moments of this younger Caroline’s life were waking confused and hungry in a hospital. Her mind reeling from what felt like PMS on hyperdrive and then an influx of what couldn’t be memories. Almost dying a second time to her rapist and the pain of her friend’s rejection, for all that she hid it with snark and flippancy. All terrible things to befall anyone let alone a teenager.

But she had yet to experience the stunned horror of waking to a village being devoured by flame. Of having the rancid, acrid scent of burning corpses so thick in the air she could taste it in the smoke. Or the dawning realization of where she was, when she was. The denial that she had dearly wanted to sink into when she spotted a familiar river with no bridge, a waterfall surrounded by several dozens more trees.

And yet she had not been able to afford such a luxury as panic. Not when she realized she could not understand a word anyone spoke to her. When she had to use her superior strength and speed to fight off men that wanted to kill her, rape her, enslave her. And even those that may have had good intentions, but whom she still couldn’t understand. Everything felt like a threat when she was so lost and clueless.

The next blow came later. For it had truly broken her heart to feel relieved that compulsion transcended language barriers. To have to rely on a tool that once decimated her own mind just to survive, to have the chance to fit in and find a way home. 

Fortunately or unfortunately, desperation was a cruel but effective teacher. High school Spanish had been half-remembered vocabulary and grammar rules, a middling grasp on the written and spoken word. In comparison, the languages of the few settlers that remained came quickly. Even as she tried not to think about how one sounded vaguely Norwegian or Icelandic, how she suspected it was Old Norse. Or how the tongue of what she came to realize were the natives, didn’t have a modern equivalent to her knowledge.

Then, just as she was finding her feet, she learned the harshest lesson of them all. There was always something worse. Hope could not die faster than when a powerful witch confirmed all her worst fears. When they sensed the magic of their descendant in her ring and the magic of her monster in her blood. 

Ayana spoke to her just long enough to tear the last remnants of her denials to shreds. And then achingly remind her of home as familiar features twisted with familiar disdain. She had refused to aid an abomination, telling her instead to pray for a quick death.

Caroline harbored no shame for the way she fled in tears. Decades later she would feel only disgust that an adult would let prejudices blind them to the plight of a child. But she was proud of the way she rallied. How she determinedly moved from tribe to tribe across the ancient Americas, learning dozens of new languages and making both friends and enemies. Painstakingly building trust and learning of new magics all in the hopes of home.

It failed.

She spent weeks, months, filthy and near starving to travel across the sea to the Old World. To do it all again. To fail again.

It wasn’t until somewhere in her fifth century that Caroline stopped trying so hard. Such an idea would have once been unfathomable, but truly all she was doing was making herself miserable. Fighting so hard to return to people whose faces grew blurrier by the decade. To people whose mental labels were “best friend,” but who had been long supplanted in her mind by centuries of other companions. Some whom had long died and she had mourned. Some whom she had turned and met up with every so often. So, why look back when she could look forward?

Another five hundred years would see her “home” anyway.

---

Caroline witnessed the precise moment when her past self was whisked away in a storm of magical energy. She read the startelement and fear on her face and felt something in her own chest twist, not quite in pain but also not quite in happiness, knowing as she did exactly what that girl’s next thousand years would be like.

A thousand years, and she supposed this place still had an effect on her after all, for she didn’t immediately try to take the place of her other self. Instead, she lingered in the shadows, watched with another odd pang that no one made a fuss about her disappearance. 

They got a pass when she spotted Elijah in town. Though she had never personally met any of the Originals, wanting to stay well clear of their mess, she hardly lived under a rock. She knew who they were, knew their reputations. Even saw most of them from a distance once or twice. 

It wasn’t worth the energy to hold grudges against strangers for their prudence in priorities.

---

A few weeks later, Caroline found herself drinking in a bar. Not the Mystic Grill. Some other establishment she hadn’t bothered to remember the name of, one on the outskirts of Mystic Falls.

The alcohol burned as it raced down her throat, her glass emptying far quicker than she would like. She frowned down at it as she traced the rim with her finger, not sure how she should feel. Elena was sacrificed. Elena was resurrected. All without Caroline needing to lift a finger. Her involvement or rather lack thereof made her feel guilty. Or perhaps her lack of guilt made her feel guilty. Should she be feeling conflicted in the first place?

She had called them strangers with familiar faces. And...and it was true. She looked at them and felt a startling lack. Only the memory of a memory of their once importance elicited any emotion for them at all. So perhaps she should treat them like strangers. Build new bonds should their paths cross, but otherwise go about her own business.

Tension she hadn’t realized she had been holding left her shoulders. A weight she had long carried lifted as she, at last, truly let her past go. It only took another five hundred years…

“Caroline Forbes,” an accented voice mused behind her, startling her from her thoughts.

She turned, admonishing herself for her carelessness. When her eyes fell on the person behind her, his blonde curls and deceptive dimples, a true litany of internal curses rang in her head.

Always something worse.

He likely noticed the way her eyebrow twitched a fraction, but that was all the reaction she allowed to slip.

With a polite nod she returned his greeting, “Klaus.”

There was a curious expression on his face and he didn’t wait for an invitation to step closer, invading her space.

“I rather delighted in Katerina’s misery when she learned you had so thoroughly slipped the noose she had placed around your throat. I even had a fond thought or two for the baby vampire who managed to vex her so.”

He cocked his head as he looked at her, eyes dark and assessing. Humans might have thought his demeanor casual and friendly, but the predator that lived in her veins knew better.

“Yet somehow you’re not a baby vampire at all, are you, love?”

There was no point in lying. Not when he could surely feel her age as she could feel his.

“No,” she said simply.

He made a soft, contemplative noise. “Katerina is not nearly foolish enough to mistake a human for a vampire. So, however has this come to be, hm?”

Caroline didn’t bother to smother the light laugh that erupted from her chest. “It’s a long story.”

“I always have time to learn of curiosities, love.” Threats, she heard unspoken. “And this is a rather unique time for curiosities. Why don’t you join me for the summer?”

She knew it wasn’t a suggestion. And the only thing worse than being noticed by an Original is angering one. Besides, she could use the time away from Mystic Falls, the last remnants of her attachment left at the bottom of a shot glass.

With an easy shrug she stood from the bar stool, setting a few large bills on the wood.

“Lead the way.”

A smirk crawled across his face. One she didn’t flinch or cower from, and only lightly tensed when he guided her out with a hand to the small of her back.

“I rather think we shall have fun, you and I, love.”

---

So Caroline accidentally time traveled just after Elena was rescued post-masquerade. Therefore, due to time travel shenanigans with her arriving just as the Originals were leaving technically Caroline is older than them in vampire years lol. By a few weeks but still, that’s hilarious. Though she’s not stronger since I headcanon the Originals have more strength than normal vampires even when matched for age. Fights could still go either way though of course. She certainly closest in strength to them than any other vampire.

[malecsecretsanta]

Merry Christmas, @Secretphilosopherwitch!

I hope you have a wonderful holiday season and I cannot express how wonderful it was to write soulmate fluff for these two <3

Read on AO3

*****

My heart knew who it belonged to [long before I met him]

According to the records in the recesses of the New York Institute, the first documentation of a Shadowhunter with a soulmark was Jonathan Shadowhunter. The drawing of the mark was old and looked as if it’d been written on a scrap piece of paper, the name barely legible anymore, but Alec paid no mind to the age or legibility of the soulmark. The fact that there was proof of its existence, an unquestionable account of the phenomenon gave him hope.

Soulmates were a blessing from the angels, the markings on their skin just as revered as the runes they put on their bodies. If a Shadowhunter was lucky enough to have a soulmate, the mark would show up on a Nephilim’s eighteenth birthday and was celebrated with gusto. Family gatherings and sacred rituals where the Shadowhunter who’d been blessed had to swear an oath to uphold and cherish the soulmate that Raziel blessed them with.

And Alec prayed every night to be blessed with a soulmate. To have someone who was destined for him, who’d love him with their whole being. If he happened to pray harder for it not to be a girl, that would remain his secret, especially from his parents.

Growing up, Alec spent all his time training, trying to live up to his parents’ expectations. He’d push aside his own well-being, his own happiness, in hopes of getting a shred of pride from one of them. No matter how many times he’d tried and failed to reach their impossible standards, Alec refused to give up on earning their approval. And that meant squirreling away his sexuality like it was some heinous decision he had made.

No one wishes for life to be harder than it already is.

But soulmates could be the same gender, it was ridiculous to think that only men and women could be soulmates. Even the Clave wasn’t that blind, but for same sex soulmates, they were highly discouraged, if not forced, to keep their bond purely platonic. But Alec had still seen how his fellow Shadowhunters felt about those pairings. Like they were less, a bond Raziel had given them as an afterthought and not with all the care the typical soulmark was given.

So as hard as Alec prayed for his soulmate to be a man, he knew he couldn’t have it all. But that was enough for him. It had to be.

On the cusp of his eighteenth birthday, he anxiously awaited to see if he would get a soulmark. He knew he should’ve been asleep, birthday or not he had to be up bright and early to send out the next squads on patrol. It wouldn’t do him any favors to be exhausted. But he just couldn’t fall asleep, not when he was so close to possibly getting what he wanted.

He lazily traced his parabatai rune and hoped his anxiousness wasn’t being sent through his and Jace’s bond. At one point in time, Jace not being his soulmate would’ve devastated him, but his past crush had faded back to brotherly affection after they’d become parabatai and he was beyond thankful that it did. He felt enough shame for liking men, he didn’t need to add that into the mix.

He was broken from his musings by a knock on his door before Izzy stepped in with a bright smile. She knew how much Alec had been waiting for this day. “How you holding up, Big Bro?” Izzy asked, sitting on his bed.

Alec sat up and shrugged. “Just waiting,” Alec said.

His sister rolled her eyes and shoved his shoulder. “I could feel your anticipation from my room.”

“Wouldn’t you be?”

“Oh no doubt,” Izzy gave him a soft look, “But I know how much this means to you.”

He flushed and broke away from her gaze to stare at the clock. He had a minute left. “Do you think I’ll get one?” Alec asked, his voice so quiet he wondered if Izzy had even heard him. But he knew she had when he felt her arm snake around his shoulders.

“Alec, if ever there was someone who deserves a soulmark, it’d be you.” She said it so confidently, like Alec not getting a soulmark was unfathomable.

He went to respond in kind to Izzy, to tell her that she’d get one too, when he felt a heat blossom in his chest that stole the air from his lungs. The heat quickly traveled down his arms, not unlike a caress and Alec could do nothing but stare in amazement as his soulmark pigmented his arms. He might have heard Izzy gasp beside him but he was too focused on what he was seeing.

His soulmark was unlike any he’d ever seen before. It wasn’t a name and it wasn’t a design, but more of a swatch of blues that seemed to glitter against his arms. The blue lazily flowed around his runes and shifted along his skin as if it were alive.

And Alec loved it. He loved how warm the marks were, how they sent affection flickering down to his fingertips. How the blue caressed his skin with all the familiarity of eternity, like it couldn’t help but explore his skin with avid attention.

“Beautiful,” Alec muttered, tracing the mark with his fingers. Izzy broke his wonderment with a swipe of her thumb underneath his eye. He hadn’t even noticed he’d started crying. “Izzy, I have a soulmate.”

Izzy’s eyes were glistening with unshed tears, but her bright smile could’ve lit up the room. “You have a soulmate,” she repeated, turning her attention back to the marks on his arm. “I’ve never seen a soulmark like this.”

Perhaps Alec should’ve felt cheated that he didn’t have a name to go off of, but he honestly loved the swirls of blue that now decorated his skin. “Neither have I.” But that didn’t matter. Not when he knew for sure he had a soulmate, waiting for him to find and love with the ferocity of his entire being.

Even though he’d received his soulmark, it wasn’t as if Alec could just take as much time as he’d like to try and find them. And while he adored his mark, it did make finding his soulmate a much more daunting task since he didn’t have a name to go off of or a mark to match to someone else’s. But he never let himself lose hope, not about this.

Alec’s twenty-third birthday rolled around with still no leads on his soulmate. Maybe if he was anyone else, he’d feel hopeless at this point, but he was stubborn. He gave no room for his parents to even suggest him settling down with some girl. He had someone. Someone waiting for him just as he was waiting for them.

Somewhere.

And then this tiny, fiery haired mundane comes barreling into his life and he was suddenly captured in her whirlwind drama via Jace’s insistence. He admits to himself that he could stand to be a little kinder to the girl who fell into the Shadow World with all the finesse of a duckling, but suddenly the little spare time he had was going to her and her problems instead of his searches for his soulmate.

He tried to tell himself to calm down, to offer the help Jace expected him to give, but it was hard to tell himself that when his heart yearned for its soulmate. It was literally the one thing he truly wanted for himself and it seemed to be put on the back burner for this girl.

Until that one momentous meeting.

Back at Pandemonium once more, now with the necklace they were going to offer to the High Warlock of Brooklyn, Magnus Bane as incentive to return Clary’s memories. He left the transaction for the others to handle, instead checking the parameter for any suspicious activity.

Well, he would have been more attentive in his search if his soulmark didn’t start pulsing and wriggling on his arms. Sure the mark liked to dance across his skin, but it’d never done this before. It seemed to be responding to something. Or someone, Alec thought with wide eyes. He darted his eyes around the hordes of people dancing as if thinking his soulmate might spontaneously appear from the crowd.

Instead of his soulmate, he spotted a few suspicious characters weaving their way through the crowds. He edged after them, taking in all the details he could from where he was until he spotted a rune on both of the men’s throats.

The Circle had infiltrated the club.

He quickly notched an arrow and let it fly as he quickly headed back to where he’d left Jace, Izzy, and Clary. All around him chaos erupted, Downworlders fleeing the club as fast as they could, whether that was by portal or just supernatural speed. Alec did his best to keep his eyes peeled for any more of Valentine’s Shadowhunters. He’d put away his bow and switched to his seraph blade to allow for more maneuverability as he started making his way through the throngs of panicked clubbers.

With each step closer to his destination he felt the pulsing of his mark increase until it suddenly stopped just in time to see a portal close not far from the rest of his group. He stopped in his tracks. His soulmate… was a warlock? Or at least he could assume they were given the portal. He’d never even considered the thought of his soulmate being a Downworlder, but was that bad?

He didn’t have time to think on the subject, instead gathering everyone up and herding them as quickly as he could to the nearest exit.  “Come on, we need to get out of here,” he said over the panicking crowds of people who were still fleeing from the scene as fast as they could.

“But my memories.” Clary insisted.

Alec frowned and looked at the group. “You didn’t get her memories back?” He asked.

Jace rolled his eyes. “Kinda hard to do that when our meeting with Bane was interrupted before we could really get started,” Jace said with a shrug.

“Well if you didn’t get to finish your deal, where’s the necklace?”

Izzy winced and gave him a sheepish smile. “Magnus wanted to see the necklace to prove it was the real deal,” Izzy said.

He groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose. “So we not only didn’t get Clary’s memories back, but we also lost our only bargaining chip.”

“Hey, we can still talk to the guy,” Jace retorted, crossing his arms. “I doubt Magnus is going to just call our deal null before we get a chance to settle something.”

“And how do you plan to find him? He fled with the other warlocks.” And my soulmate, Alec wanted to say but held himself back. It wasn’t the right time to bring it up, especially if he was just getting his hopes up.

Jace shot him a mischievous grin and held up a button. “Lucky for us we can track him.” He motioned his hand over at Alec. “Come on, we’re going to have to use parabatai tracking to find him.”

Alec rolled his eyes but walked over and held his hand out for Jace to draw the rune before they clasped hands. He closed his eyes and concentrated on searching for Magnus’ location.

Near instantly, he felt the same tingling from his soulmark as before and felt almost giddy that tracking Magnus seemed to be what he needed to do to find his soulmate. All too soon Jace pulled away and the feeling vanished once more.

But he knew that he was going to have another chance to meet his soulmate. Whoever they were.

Fighting off the Circle members that had invaded the warehouse went about the same as any mission. Alec focused on saving anyone he could, firing arrow after arrow to take them down as he moved further into the building. And if he happened to be following the way his soulmark was trying to draw him, he didn’t have to admit that to anyone. Nothing was going to prevent him from finding his soulmate, not this time.

As he climbed up the stairs he came across a single man firing spells at the Circle members around him. It was magical to see a warlock in action, especially since he hadn’t seen many of the others he’d come across fighting. The man was almost unearthly in his grace and his magic just seemed to be an extension of his body. Which he supposed it was for warlocks.

He was almost so enraptured that he didn’t notice the Circle member coming up from the warlock’s blind spot, but he quickly fired an arrow to take care of the man at the same time the warlock took down the last of his opponents.

The warlock turned around to face him and Alec felt his breath hitch. He had always wondered what it’d be like to finally meet his soulmate, what the moment would feel like when they’d meet eyes, but all those wondering thoughts paled in comparison. As his eyes met the other man’s he felt like his world disappeared and his heart was caught in a mini supernova of longing and love. He felt warm and light like he’d sprouted the wings of his angelic heritage that had given him his marks.

And his marks, oh his marks. The tingling had settled into a pleasant buzz against his skin. He chanced a glance down at them and couldn’t fight the delighted smile that settled on his face when he saw that the blue swirls were making themselves into hearts before returning to their nonsensical pattern.

He turned his attention back to the warlock in front of him, the smile still firmly on his face. He recognized the face from the photos he’d seen earlier, but those pictures couldn’t do justice to the beauty that was Magnus Bane.

“Who are you?” Magnus asked, with a flirtatious air.

Alec felt his words flee at being addressed by his soulmate. His soulmate… He never thought he would get to find them. He must have been staring for too long because Magnus walked over to him. Maybe it should have been nerve racking to be so close to your soulmate, but all Alec felt was bliss as Magnus drew closer and closer.

He needed to say something, anything. “You’re beautiful,” Alec said softly. He hadn’t meant to say that, he’d meant to introduce himself like a normal person.

Magnus seemed to preen at the comment though, so Alec counted it as a win. “Well, aren’t you a charmer,” Magnus said with a smile of his own.

“I’m A-Alec.”

“Short for Alexander, I presume.”

Alec nodded his head. He didn’t know what he was supposed to do. Did Magnus know Alec was his soulmate? Was their bond just one-way? Would Magnus even care if Alec was his soulmate? All these questions kept running through his mind and he couldn’t concentrate. He didn’t know what to do. So he did the first thing that came to mind: he held out his hand.

Magnus stared at Alec’s hand with detached interest before clasping their hands together. Their hands fit perfectly together and they both watched in awe as Alec’s soulmark started to glow. Magnus Bane really was his soulmate.

Magnus let go of Alec’s hand and stared as his magic seemed to cling to the glowing marks. He let out a breathless little ‘oh,’ and looked back at Alec.

Neither said a word, as if believing if they tried to talk they’d break this wondrous moment. But Alec couldn’t stop himself for long.  

“I’ve waited for you my whole life,” He said, smiling at the other man. “From the very moment I found out about soulmates I’ve been waiting to meet you.” Feeling daring, he reached his hand out to cup Magnus’s cheek, rubbing his thumb lightly over a highlighted cheekbone. “You’re just as perfect as I imagined.” He shook his head, “No even more than I imagined.”

Magnus eyes looked glassy and he blinked his eyes to try and prevent the tears from falling. “I never dreamed I would get a soulmate,” he whispered. “Warlocks don’t get marks or anything of the sort telling us we have a soulmate, it’s just a feeling or a pull from our magic. Most don’t even dare to dream that even that is true.”

Magnus brought his own hand up to cup Alec’s neck and Alec leant into the touch. “We live long lives and thinking about missing our soulmates or losing them to time… I never bothered to look.”

Alec’s heart ached at the admission but he didn’t hold it against Magnus. “Good thing I bothered to look for the both of us.”

Magnus gave a watery chuckle. “A very good thing indeed.”

“And… are you disappointed?”

The warlock furrowed his brows and gave Alec a quick once over. “Surprised, that you’re a Shadowhunter, but disappointed?” Magnus smiled at him. “I don’t think anyone in their right mind would be disappointed to have you, Alexander.”

He knew that they couldn’t stay in their own little world for much longer but Alec felt like he could stay in this moment happily for the rest of his life. He knew they were going to have to talk about a lot of things and their relationship probably wouldn’t be smooth sailing, but Raziel if Alec thought it would all be worth it. Because Magnus Bane, High Warlock of Brooklyn, was his soulmate.

And Magnus would always be worth it.

Alec walked into their apartment with a happy smile as he took in the sight in-front of him. Little Max was creating little bubbles out of thin air while Magnus praised his use of magic. Their little blueberry was getting better with his magic every day.

Magnus turned his attention away from Max when he heard Alec set his bow down beside the door. “Look blueberry, Daddy’s home!” Magnus said, swooping their son up into his arms and making his way over to Alec.

The swirls of blue on Alec’s arms glowed softly before turning back to their glittery glory as Alec wrapped them both in his arms. “I’m home,” Alec sighed with a pleased hum. He reluctantly pulled away but it seemed Max had other ideas as he refused to let go of Alec’s shirt. “Hi Max, has Papa been teaching you more magic?”

Max giggled, nodding his head and babbling at him. He had learned a few words, but he wouldn’t start making clear sentences for a little while longer.

Alec grinned and looked at Magnus with a soft look. His husband was beautiful as ever, his tailored trousers following the long line of his legs and the plunging neckline of his shirt leaving little to the imagination. The assortment of necklaces had been exchanged for a thick cord of leather that sat a little below his collarbones and held the arrowhead Alec had given Magnus all those years ago.

“Rafe’s not with you?” Magnus asked, adjusting his hold on Max.

Alec shook his head. “He wanted to hang out with his Uncle Jace for a while, but he’ll be home in an hour or two.”

Magnus sighed, throwing his head back. “Oh Alexander, whatever shall we do? One of our son’s already doesn’t want to hang out with us.”

He snorted and bumped Magnus playfully. “Nah, he still loves us just as much as he always has.” He leaned over and pressed his lips against Magnus’s, relishing in the buzz of perfection that radiated through him. He ended their chaste kiss to lean his forehead against Magnus’s. “I love you,” he whispered.

Magnus smiled that wonderful smile that made the corners of his eyes wrinkle ever so slightly. “I love you too.”

Alec would’ve gone in for another kiss if Max hadn’t gotten impatient and started making bubbles appear between them. Alec stared wide-eyed at Magnus through the gathering of bubbles and couldn’t help but burst into laughter. Magnus was quick to join him, his head thrown back joyously.

He leaned down to Max and started planting kisses all over his son’s face. Max clapped his hands happily giving Alec his own version of a kiss on his cheek.

He never thought that having a soulmate would lead to this life he had, but he was right.

Loving Magnus Lightwood-Bane would always be worth it.

[jbuffyangel]

The New Eve: Arrow 7x16 Review (Star City 2040)

“Star City 2040” is a backdoor pilot and I loooooooooved it! GIMME.

Let’s dig in…

Mia, Felicity and William

The nice thing about backdoor pilots is if the episode is not announced as a backdoor pilot and the show isn’t picked up or doesn’t happen for some reason, then the episode can just be a regular episode. However, if the spin off does get picked up, then the audience will point to this “regular episode” as the one that launched the new show.

This is the situation we find ourselves in for “Star City 2040” and Mia Smoak. There’s no official word yet, but there’s been some buzz about a potential spin off centering on Katherine McNamara’s character and Beth Schwartz signed an overall development deal with the WB. Throw in this episode, add it all up and it spells

“Star City 2040” is setting up Mia’s backstory and the writers don’t waste any time. We open on Felicity delivering the PRINCESS THAT WAS PROMISED (yes that is her nickname) in the Olicity love cabin. Y’all I want the back story on this love cabin. How long did Oliver and Felicity stay there? How much sex did they have?  I’m only asking for the important details. For science.

There is a beautiful shot in the mirror as the camera pans into the room where Felicity is laboring. 

Source:  feilcityqueen

Oliver’s bent forehead is resting against Felicity’s head as she struggles to bring their daughter into the world. Labor and delivery is one of those deeply intimate moments in life no matter who is in the room with the mother. It’s such a simple yet profound moment of devotion from Oliver.  

Maybe it means even more because we know Oliver is missing in the future. Felicity is going to raise Mia entirely on her own, but in this time and place Oliver is here, witnessing the birth of their daughter. He is loving and supporting Felicity any way he can. In this moment she is not alone and they are in this together.

Source: oliverxfelicity

Facts. Your affection towards the man who impregnated you dramatically increases once labor and delivery is over. During delivery it may be a different story. For me it was weeks upon weeks of never ending pain, so by the time the doctors knocked me out for the c-section I was pretty much done with everyone.

Source: oliverxfelicity

Felicity squeezes Oliver’s hand tight, her wedding ring shining in the sun, as she pushes one final time. This image of them holding hands as she brings Mia into this world is a powerful symbol of where their story began and what their love created.

The reason we wear wedding rings is because they are an endless circles. The commitment we are making to our spouse is forever.  We wear our ring on our fourth finger of our left hand because the Romans believed the vein in this finger lead directly to a person’s heart.  Love is eternal.

Their daughter is entering the endless loop of love that resides within Oliver and Felicity’s relationship, the commitment they’ve made to each other and their children. 

Source: oliverxfelicity

Mia will always be wanted and adored. Oliver and Felicity’s marriage is forever and, as we’ll soon learn, there’s nothing they won’t do to keep their family safe.

Source: oliverxfelicity

This child represents so much of what Oliver believed he could never have. He was a lost soul who thought life was merely about survival and he didn't deserve one worth living for. Oliver couldn’t fathom being worthy of love let alone creating new life from that love. 

And yet he found himself hoping and dreaming.  Mia is the final piece of the Queen family and Oliver Queen puzzle. She is proof sometimes dreams come true.

Of course, Oliver and Felicity’s daughter is born in the morning with the sunlight brightly shining on them. 

It’s always the light. Oliver lost his innocence long ago, but this child is a new beginning. We can recapture what was lost because children open and fill places in our hearts we never knew existed. Mia shines her light the moment she was born. This is why children are a gift.

Felicity whispers a soft and perfect, “Hi,” as she welcomes her daughter to the world. As the tagline in the 7x16 promo said, “A hero’s legacy is born.”  This is how the story continues. What Oliver and Felicity built can live beyond them through Mia. She has her own hero’s journey to walk, but this is how the light never fades.  

Source: oliverxfelicity

We watch as Mia grows from a small child, to a tween 

Source: ebett

and finally into a young woman through a series of training scenes with NYSSA AL GHUL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 

Source: ebett

YASSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS!!!!!!! 

I screamed with delight over Nyssa training Mia. Do you believe Mia is a badass? Damn right you do because she was trained by the best. Nyssa trained Sara, who was under her tutelage with the League of Assassins for years. 

Mia spent even longer training with Nyssa than Sara did. She has something no other character on Arrow has, including Oliver. Mia was trained to fight almost as soon as she could walk.

Arrow has a bad habit of characters learning skill sets it took other characters (cough*Oliver/Sara*cough) years to learn in a few short months. I’m not just talking about L*urel. Thea and Roy were guilty of this treatment too. However, Oliver trained Roy and Malcolm trained Thea. It took a slightly smaller logic leap to believe those characters could get up to speed in a few months because of their instructors.

L*urel was a mess though. BOXING?

She went from barely being able to throw a bunch, falling off cars and incapable of handling one guy with a knife to taking down five assassins in a matter of a couple weeks. REALLY?

The only mildly believable explanation for her newly acquired skill set was Nyssa trained her OFF SCREEN. 

We watched more training with Mia than we ever saw with L*urel and it occurred in a believable time frame. Way to learn the lesson, Arrow writers. BRAVO.

Ready for some petty? I legit cackled, yes CACKLED, they went out of their way to bring back Katrina Law so Nyssa could train Mia. Katrina has another television show and just had a baby. One would think it’d be easier to use an actress already contracted with the show.  So many of the antis were convinced Bl*ck S*ren trained Mia or maybe even raised her. After all, Felicity and L*urel have a burgeoning friendship in Season 7, but noooooope! Classic.

I love the shot of Felicity holding a cup of coffee and watching little Mia intently as she trains with Nyssa in the backyard of the Olicity love cabin. 

Source:  hollandrooden

First, her hair is long again and swept up like it was in 2x08 and I LOVE THAT HAIR STYLE. 

Fair warning, Felicity’s hair is really important to me this episode. I’m bizarrely excited she grows it long again in the future.

Second, keeping Mia safe requires more than keeping her hidden. Felicity turning to Nyssa to train her daughter so Mia can protect herself is a direct result of everything she went through with William while Oliver was in prison. 

Witness protection wasn’t enough. The bad guys always find a way. When Diaz came for Felicity and William they barely escaped with their lives. Felicity gave as good as she got and saved William, but the only reason she survived was because A.R.G.U.S. showed up.

Felicity Smoak is a badass in many ways, but her fighting skills don’t compare to Oliver’s. That’s just facts. Felicity was never more acutely aware of this fact than when her husband sacrificed himself, went to prison, and left his family wide open for the wolves to feed on. 

Felicity can’t depend on the love cabin to keep her daughter safe anymore than she could depend on A.R.G.U.S. or Witness Protection. If Mia has to deal with all the dangerous consequences of being Oliver Queen’s daughter than her mother is going to make damn sure their daughter can fight like her father.

Source:  felicittysqueen

This might make me the stupidest person on the planet, but I was really jazzed when Nyssa broke out the bow and arrow. 

Source:  ebett

We haven’t seen Mia with a bow yet, so I wasn’t entirely sure what her choice of weaponry would be.  Listen, sometimes I don’t know stuff and am easily surprised by this show. It happens. 

Mia had to work her way up to the bow. She learned all the hand to hand combat first. I feel like it went in the opposite order for Oliver. Didn’t he learn the bow first from Yao Fei and then Slade taught him how to fight later? I need to rewatch Season 1… and maybe write some reviews (ducks as people throw things at me).

Honestly, Mia’s life with Felicity in the love cabin seems almost idyllic in many ways. I’m not saying Oliver missing is unimportant. Of course, he is a huge gaping wound, but when you think about all the ways the writers could have written a miserable childhood for this girl I was surprised by how regular it seemed. The character descriptions for Mia included a wildly unpleasant sounding past, but essentially she grows up in a small town and doesn’t ever venture into the city.

Neither does Felicity. She runs Smoak Tech from home because she is a mind blowing genius who can run can operate a multi billion dollar corporation from a forest.  

Felicity’s aging makeup is practically nonexistent 

Source:  felicitysmoakgifs

because if you came from the gene pool of the immortal Donna Smoak you’d look banging at fifty one too. 

Also, Felicity Smoak is the Queen of DCTV and as such it is mandatory she look amazing in any timeline.

How much do I love her hair let me count the ways? It has a very Moira Queen vibe and I dig that. 

I questioned if it was Emily’s real hair for a second, but @callistawolf assured me it’s a wig. So it is possible for Arrow to create good wigs. This might be one of the seven signs of the apocalypse. PREPARE YOUR SOULS.

Future Felicity is very… chill. There’s a reserve to her twenty years later. It’s almost a quiet calmness. Still waters run deep sort of vibe. There’s less babble and exuberant cheerfulness, but she’s still Felicity. 

Source:  lucyyh

She talks boys with her daughter, weaving in all the Wizard of Oz references, without missing a beat in her rapid fire delivery, but there’s a measured tone to it. This is older and, if possible, even wiser Felicity. Life has taken its toll, but it hasn’t stolen her light. Felicity is still our girl and she’s created some kind of happy life with Mia. No matter where Oliver is this is what he would want for his wife.

But Mia is getting antsy to spread her wings beyond the small town of Bloomfield as young women often do. If Oliver was the hero Felicity claims then why does she have to keep it secret? Why can’t she scream she’s Mia Queen from the mountain tops? Yeah, I wanna know that too. Unfortunately, we aren’t offered an answer other than Felicity ticking the “It’s complicated” box.

Source:  olicitygifs

Mia shatters a photo of Oliver and Felicity holding her as a newborn. One perfect, happy moment when life seemed limitless and their family felt complete captured on film and frozen forever. The arrow goes through the apple Mia was aiming for and straight through the glass picture frame. 

This photo constantly reminds Felicity what she’s fighting for, which is why it leads to the Overwatch lair. Extremely on brand Ms. Smoak. I totally fist pumped when the arrow short circuited the tech and revealed the secret door GoGo Gadjet style. The whole room has a very Dr. Claw vibe, except we know Felicity is not evil, so it’s more like Penny grew up and got herself a do-gooder lair once her uncle retired or something.

The screen savers on the two computer screens are photographs – one of Oliver dressed as the Green Arrow and the other of William with Felicity. The same photograph Oliver kept with him in prison at the beginning of the season. 

If you feared William was out of sight and out of mind think again. He was with her every moment of every day.  Everything Felicity lost and is fighting to get back encompassed in two photographs. Both are powerful images and we realize how much Mia doesn’t know about her mother.

I love the shot of Mia sitting down at the computer. She is sitting directly in the middle of the split between screens like a missing puzzle piece. The past meets the present and Mia is split between the seam. For the first time all members of the Queen family are represented in one room. The screens are connected and angled at a point. It almost looks like the photos and screens make the shape of an arrowhead and Mia is the shaft.

Mia tries to get into the system and immediately an image of old man Rene and resident Flash Forward bad buy Kevin Dale. We first met Dale in 7x10. Rene had a meeting with Dale to inform him the Canaries have “the plans” and questioned him about Felicity Smoak’s death. More on Rene later though.

The system starts to shut down and Felicity overrides the self destruct protocols. The cat is out of the proverbial bag and Felicity tells Mia she’s been trying to take down a corrupt company in the city as Overwatch. Except, she’s not Overwatch because there’s no team so it’s a totally different thing!

Yeah Mia ain’t buying that either.  She gets angry fast and furious style. There are multiple levels to Mia’s anger, which took me a couple viewings to understand because the writers were throwing so much information at us so quickly.

Bottom line is Mia feels betrayed. Oliver being a vigilante is the entire reason Mia was never able to go to a normal school or go anywhere outside Bloomfield. It’s also the reason she grew up without a father. Oliver wasn’t killed in a car crash. He isn’t living in Zurich with his new wife and family. Regardless of what happened to him we know it was vigilante related because that’s the show.

Now her mother, who is the only person in the world Mia loves, is engaging in the same type of behavior that cost Mia her father annnnnnd Felicity lied about it. 

Just switch hacking with snorting cocaine. It’s like Mia walked in on Felicity doing a line. Extremely dangerous behavior Mia thought her mother had left behind. She thinks Felicity is a vigilante junkie.

Source:  olicitygifs

Of course, we know different. We know being a hero is who Felicity truly is, but to Mia she’s just Mom and she feels betrayed. Felicity tries to explain the promise she made with Oliver, but she can’t really get into what she’s trying to save beyond “the city.” 

Listen, I get saving Star City is the entire mission of Arrow, but it doesn’t really pack the same punch as, “I’m trying to save the city so we can be reunited with your brother.” Am I right? Unfortunately, William is another secret Felicity is keeping from Mia. I am confident all of these decisions are to keep the kids safe, but the lies can’t stop the relationship between mother and daughter from cracking.

Mia cannot understand why the lies are necessary if being a vigilante is so honorable. She’s starting to believe the “propaganda” as Felicity calls it, which is more evidence that Oliver working with the police and the city accepting Team Arrow doesn’t last long. Eventually, the city turns against Oliver AGAIN. Ungrateful twats.

Mia is fed up with being kept on the sidelines while her mother plays vigilante. She feels like Felicity has lied for her entire life. Eh.  I mean… kind of? 

I love Mia but I’m automatically programmed to defend Felicity Megan Smoak at all costs. The writers needed Mia to separate from Felicity, run off to the city, and become a bitter and cynical soul to throw us off the Olicity baby scent. This scene doesn’t entirely work for me in terms of creating a wedge between mother and daughter. It feels a little bit like Mia throwing a temper tantrum, which hey happens with the youths sometimes. I had far less issues with this scene once the episode ended and I’ll explain why in a bit.

Just to play devil’s advocate with my own brain (cause it’s fun), Mia’s reaction isn’t any different than Tommy, Quentin or even Diggle’s when they found Oliver was The Hood. All three were spectacularly ticked off and did not view Oliver’s nightly extracurricular activity as a good thing. Of course, they all came around (some faster than others) and viewed Oliver as the hero he truly is.

Mia is struggling with what she sees and what she’s been told in the same way. She’s been told vigilantes are heroes by her mother, but everyone else is telling her vigilantes are to blame for all the misery.  It’s not a difficult to understand why Mia would start to believe vigilantism is to blame for everything wrong in her life too. Also, Felicity lied and her daughter is just ticked off about it.

She runs away from home and writes Felicity a letter that’s basically a neon sign blinking “MY HERO’S JOURNEY STARTS NOW.” We meet a rougher, darker and far more depressing Mia in Star City.

Source:  ebett

She chooses the name Blackstar because she wants to be erased. Whatever light we see in Mia isn’t really there. It’s already faded to black.

Yeesh, girl. You don’t need to be as broody as your old man. At least Mia hasn’t skinned anyone for practice, but she’s getting a tattoo and is generally pessimistic about life. Close enough. The cage fighting pays homage to Oliver’s Bratva initiation. The writers want to make sure we really see the parallels because OLIVER AND MIA ARE THE SAME.

In case you missed the Bratva parallel, they follow it up with two more. Mia is doing handstand push ups and she pulls her bow from the case just like Oliver did in the pilot. But they aren’t thinking about a spin off. Nope. Nothing to see here!

Source: mia-smoak-gifs

William and Mia join forces for another brother/sister team up. First up is scaling the wall to enter into The Glades undetected. 

Source:  ebett

I feel William on a spiritual level in this scene.

This polar-opposite-yet-so-much-in-common thing between Queen siblings is really working for me. Ben Lewis is hysterical and he’s the perfect funny man to Katherine McNamara’s straight man err woman. They are way more fun than Oliver and Thea. I say this as someone who deeply loves the OG Queen siblings, but we never quite found our way to fun with those two.

I also appreciate the begrudging mutual appreciation of one another’s skills. 

William marvels at Mia’s physicality while she is thoroughly impressed with whatever tech he’s cooked up. 

Source:  ebett

Yeah, I could do this for another eight years. Sign me up.

William finally gets annoyed with Mia’s whole anti vigilante shtick. Listen, my little lemon drop love child. You are on a vigilante show. You are the offspring of vigilantes. You are going to star in a vigilante show. It’s time to get on board with vigilantism, Mia. It’s in the blood baby. Listen to your big bro.

Felicity’s coordinates lead directly to Galaxy One. Their headquarters is in The Glades and they are one of the richest and most powerful companies in the world. It’s safe to assume this is the company Felicity was trying to expose as Overwatch. 

William and Mia assume Felicity is being held there and they are gonna break her out by going undercover. YASSS! Let’s do this 1x22 style. 

Where’s the elevator shaft?

William pretends to be a CEO while Mia is his executive assistant 

Source: felicitysmoakgifs

and this is such a feels inducing and hilarious callback to Season 2 Olicity my heart almost burst. William had Oliver’s smug arrogance and pragmatic thinking down cold while Mia adamantly refuses to be anyone’s assistant. Like mother like daughter! But someone needs to tell these kids a single cup of coffee is one of the main reasons their pine tree of a father realized he was falling in love with their mother.

William, as CEO, gets through the body scan just fine, but drops bombshell information on us. HIS NAME ISN’T CLAYTON ANYMORE. IT IS HARRIS. 

I know a lot of people have been concerned with the William side of things. If Oliver and Felicity went to such great lengths to keep Mia safe why did they leave William hanging with the grandparents in Central City?

Like I’ve been saying you don’t keep two precious jewels in one spot. It seems anywhere outside Star City was safe, which is why Felicity kept Mia in Bloomfield for her entire life. If we follow that same logic then William should be fairly safe in Central City or anywhere other than Star City. Perhaps, Oliver instructed the grandparents and William to change their last name. If Olicity is afraid enough for their baby to go into hiding and not tell anyone about her existence, I’m thinking requesting a name change for their son wouldn’t be too outside the realm of possibilities.

Connor shows up at just the right time and he’s done recon on the Galaxy One building. He thinks Felicity is being held on one of the sub levels, but they need the CEO’s DNA to get through security - Kevin Dale. And it all starts connecting.

As William works Dale he reveals the name of his company is Harris Consolidated. Immediately, I feel a flood of warm fuzzies as I remember the dynasty which made the Queen family their billions. But then it hits me.

OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH. (Yes. I type all my thoughts. I’m weird. )

William changed his name from Clayton to Harris. How much do you want to bet that when Arrow is all over William changes his last name to Queen? Perhaps he changes the name of his company to Queen Inc. It could be the reason we’ve seen the name Queen Inc. in The Flash’s future newspaper. 

All this time I thought Oliver would get the company back, but nope it’s William’s company.  I suppose Felicity and William could also merge their companies to form Queen Inc. when Arrow ends and Felicity wants to retire to Aruba with her husband. Of course I could be wrong, but the use of Consolidated in William’s company’s name feels more than just a nod to the past for me. 

As William flirts with Dale, so Mia can steal the necessary DNA, he explains the quick success of his company was due to an angel investor named City of Emerald’s Capital. I legit yelled, “It was Felicity, William,” but he couldn’t hear me. 

Source:  smoaktechs

I’m a tad disappointed a boy this bright hadn’t figured it out yet. Of course, Emerald City is a nod to Felicity’s love of the Wizard of Oz as Mia explains later, but also EMERALD = GREEN. She hung a sign out there kiddo. Pay attention.

Connor has some technology that can replicate a DNA signature and fool a full body scan. Yeah, I don’t really get it, but Connor says it works and where he goes so goes my nation. I’m sold buddy. Also, take of your shirt please while hero-ing. Why didn’t we put that in Joseph’s contract? Someone get me legal!

This feels like more technology Felicity invented and is somehow related to Archer. Diggle did say A.R.G.U.S. would love to get their hands on her technology. If the tech sounds awesome then it is safe to assume Felicity invented it.

Source:  smoaktechs

There’s some fun brother sister banter in the elevator because that’s the family way and Mia actually admits to caring about William. QUEEN SIBLINGS FOREVER.

After battling their way through some security goons the trio finally finds Felicity. It is such a great reveal.

Mia: Mom.

William: You are alive.

Felicity: I told you not to come!

Me:

QUEEN OF DCTV IS ALIVE AND IN THE FLASH FORWARDS.

Dear antis and annoying anons in my inbox insisting Felicity is dead,

These writers would rather write the show in the depths of hell while burning in eternal torment than kill Felicity Smoak.

Love,

Me

The Flash Forwards immediately felt 800% more hopeful with Felicity’s presence. God I missed her. The writers must never again keep her out of a timeline for sixteen episodes. It is just wrong and hurts my soul. There are only a few episodes left and I demand my goddess in all show timelines. I shall not be deprived of Felicity Smoak goodness any longer. Yes, I am saying this in my very best Scarlett O’Hara voice.

Of course, she gives the classic mom response which immediately ticks Mia off, but it is William’s reaction to Felicity that touched me the most. 

He hugs her and his forgiveness is almost immediate. 

Source:  felicittysqueen

William truly believed Felicity was dead (thanks for nothing Dinah), so whatever mistakes she made seem smaller in comparison. William is so much like her. He wears his heart on his sleeve and is guided by his compassion as much as intelligence. Felicity never forgot her son. She watched over him and has been fighting every day to be part of his life again. This hug is twenty years in the making.

Twenty years apart is awful. I agree Oliver and Felicity deserved to raise their children in peace together. But this is Arrow and the story is not going to end without a big sacrifice because there is always sacrifice in a hero’s story. Oliver hasn’t “deserved” any of the horrible things that have happened to him. That’s not really the point. 

The point is suffering can be redemptive. Good things can come from bad things happening. The upside is the really bad thing already happened. Oliver and Felicity have made their sacrifice, so there’s no way the future isn’t going to end happily for them.

I wasn’t sure how I would feel about the reunions in the future knowing this family has been separated for so long, but I found myself quite affected by William and Felicity’s hug. I didn’t have to live through the twenty years. They’ve been separated for a couple of episodes in terms of actual hours spent watching Arrow.  I don’t know if relieved is the right word, but as I watched Felicity and William reunite I thought, “Okay. They are together now. They can at least begin rebuilding whatever damage has been done to this family.”

Source: arrowdaily

As Mia watches her mother hug her brother there’s a mixture of feelings on her face. She is happy, angry and maybe even a little jealous. Mia can’t forgive as easily as William and I think part of her envies the way he can access all of his emotions so easily. Mia doesn’t know how to do that yet. It’s almost as if she shut down a part of her heart after her fight with Felicity because the betrayal hurt too much. Sound like someone we know?

Mia is furious Felicity wants to stay and dismantle the bombs because, once again, she is choosing being a vigilante over her family. 

Felicity doesn’t deny sacrificing her safety and her family for the greater good. That’s the job. 

Source:  felicitysmoakgifs

Being a hero is who Felicity Smoak is and selflessness requires sacrifice. She can’t shut that part of her down because she’d only be half alive. This isn’t just Oliver’s hero’s journey. It’s Felicity’s too.

Yes, Felicity is a mother, but her love for her children is not all she is. It’s okay Felicity has a purpose beyond her family because women are not just one thing. Fighting for Star City is what fuels Felicity and it is the life she chose. It’s why we love her. Felicity does what others can’t or refuse to do. It’s what makes her a hero.

William, as Felicity 2.0, chooses to help his mother stop the bombs. It is a team up worth waiting twenty years for. Not so long ago, Felicity was explaining to William what it was like loving a hero, the strength it requires and the sacrifice. 

As furious as young William was at Oliver for being the Green Arrow and being unable to provide the normal life he craved, he also understood who his father was. Oliver’s heroism is what William loves most about his father and what he hates most. It’s the same with Felicity.

Derek: You stood in front of a bullet for me. I know why you do all of it. It’s what I love about you.

Meredith: And what you hate about me.

Derek: Yeah.

I love these lines from Grey’s Anatomy so much, and I quote them often in these reviews, because it perfectly encapsulates what it is like to love a hero.  William and Mia love their parents very much, but it doesn’t mean loving them is easy.

Rene shows up to tell the team the bombs have already been moved off site. I thought it was weird how he used the phrase “impeccable genetics” when describing his daughter, but then I realized the writers wrote it so Felicity could use the same terminology when she dropped the bomb on Rene.

Source:  feilcityqueen

LINE. OF. THE. SEASON.

Felicity needs to destroy the brain of the bomb, which is the cube Dale was fidgeting with during the meeting with William. Rene gets the team into the masquerade party in The Glades where Dale will be.  Everyone wears a hooded cape and mask, which is a fun homage to Mia Dearden’s superhero suit in the comics.

Felicity and William track Dale

Source: ebett

and Mia zeroes in on him prepared to take him out all on her own. 

Source:  dcmultiverse

This is another one of those “this feels like a pilot” moments, because Mia’s fight with Dale and his goons is almost exactly like Oliver’s fight in Adam Hunt’s office in the Arrow pilot. 

They even turned the lights off. It’s a great scene and proves Mia is just as capable of taking down twenty guys just like Oliver Queen. Plus she gets to throw on her cape in a very superhero way at the end, which is just nifty.

Dale escapes so Team Arrow ditches the capes and a fight breaks out in order to find him. Mia zeroes in on Dale and Connor tosses her the bow.

Source:  felicittysqueen

The lights of the party stream behind her as she takes aim at Dale. Mia Smoak looks like a star and she’s anything but faded. 

Source:  mia-smoak-gifs

The light seems to stretch out infinitely as it guides the arrow along its path. She destroys the cube and stops the bombs from detonating just as the party fireworks explode in the night sky. 

Source:  lucyyh

Once again, Mia is illuminated like a star in the night sky and looks like the hero she is destined to be – just like her parents.

The bomb plot is foiled, but the team still needs to take down Galaxy One from the inside. Rene will continue to play patsy and has issued a dead or alive reward of ten million dollars to capture Arsenal, Bl*ck C*nary and The Calculator. Galaxy One’s plan was to remake Star City just like The Glades, so they could expand Archer globally which is like Skynet launching the nukes. We don’t want computer programs going global. It always ends badly in television shows and movies.

Felicity thanks William for holding on to the hozen and answering her prayer. 

Source:  feilcityqueen

It’s a little too much emotional family bonding and makes Mia uncomfortable, so she walks off in classic Felicity Smoak style 

Source:  felicitysmoakgifs

fueled by her Oliver Queen genetic broodiness. I love this kid.

Mia and Felicity have an outstanding mother and daughter scene where they hash out all their issues. Mia hated vigilantes because she hated her mother. She hated her mother because Felicity lied to her. But no matter how much Mia hated the lie, she also understood why Felicity did it.

It’s reminiscent of the hospital scene in 5x20 when Felicity forgave Oliver for lying about William. 

Felicity had to walk in Oliver’s shoes to understand his perspective (and vice versus), which is exactly what happened with Mia in “Star City 2040.” She walked in her mother’s heroic shoes. Mia finally understands the danger, responsibility and sacrifice this life requires, which is how she finally reaches compassion. 

Source:  oliverxfelicity

Because after everything her parents sacrificed, including a peaceful life with their children, the city turned their backs on vigilantes. Welcome to the Star City Is A Bunch of Ungrateful Twats Club Mia. Have another scotch, honey.

The break in Mia’s wall gives Felicity the opportunity to tell her what we’ve all thought and needs to be said. 

Mia Smoak is just like her dad – a stubborn, lethal, compassionate, badass with a heart of gold. Mia loves deeply and when she’s hurt it cuts just as deep, so she shuts down. But she cannot wall her heart off forever anymore than Oliver could because love is what fuels the fire in Mia. Her light is not extinguished. It shines brighter than she ever realized possible because of course it does. Mia is Oliver and Felicity’s girl.

Source: felicitysmoakgifs

As independent as Mia claims to be, she also yearns for what any child wants. We all want our parents to be proud of us. As much as Felicity wishes she could keep Mia away from this life and these choices, she also recognizes it is her daughter’s decision to make. At the end of the day, Mia stepped up. She is so much like both her parents. As Felicity and Mia find some healing between them, somehow it feels like Oliver is in the room with them too.

Quite frankly, I am floored they resolved the fissure in Felicity and Mia’s relationship so quickly. I was mentally prepared for Mia to hate her mother at least for all of Season 7 and perhaps well into Season 8. I love that I was wrong. This is the reason why I have fewer problems with their big fight. It may have felt rushed, but since it was resolved within the hour I’m bothered by it less. Now we get to watch Felicity, William and Mia become a united force and find a way together to bring Oliver back to the family he loves more than anything else.  

Maybe Oliver is dead and will be resurrected (although I really doubt the writers killed him at this point). Maybe Oliver is simply missing and cut off from his family. We may not know what happened or where he is, but we do know how this family will be reunited. Felicity told us tonight. It’s what she said to Oliver not so long ago, when they were first falling in love, and they often repeated it when whatever struggle they were facing seemed impossible.

“There’s always another way.”

The Yellow Brick Road and the Garden of Eden

There are many references to the Wizard of Oz because it is Felicity’s favorite story. Her Scarecrow remark to Roy in 3x19 wasn’t a toss away line. The reason Felicity Smoak loves the Wizard of Oz is because she loves heroes and that story is one of the great hero’s tales.  There are a lot of really important lessons in Wizard of Oz, which we can apply to “Star City 2040” and ultimately Oliver’s legacy.

The Glades/Star City is clearly Emerald City. The twist in Wizard of Oz isn’t when Dorothy kills the Wicked Witch of the West. It’s when she pulls back the curtain and discovers there is no wizard. There is no magic man granting wishes.

All the characters already had everything they needed deep inside their souls to be exactly who they wanted to be.  William, Connor, and Mia all have what it takes to be heroes even though they may not fully realize it. 

They need to tap into what’s already there just like Scarecrow, Tin Man and the Cowardly Lion did. Just like Felicity, Diggle, and Oliver.

Source:  lyricalarrow

The grass is not always greener on the other side, which Mia quickly discovers when she leaves Bloomfield for Star City. Dorothy realizes she had the power all along to go back home. She simply had to choose the people she loves. Mia makes the same choice as Dorothy when she forgives her mother and accepts what Felicity has been telling her about vigilantes is true.

The Yellow Brick Road is symbolism that lacks any real subtle because it’s literally the road Dorothy walks on her hero’s journey. It can’t get much clearer. Dorothy never wavers on the road. She is determined to find the Wizard so she can go home, despite all the trials and tribulations the Wicked Witch throws her way. Felicity is Mia’s home. She will always be home and Mia stopped at nothing to get her mother back.

Trust is another massive component to Dorothy’s story. She made friends in the unlikeliest of places and their success was truly a team effort. Each person had special gifts, which proved vital in the defeat of the Witch and ultimately the salvation of Emerald City. Mia is so much like Oliver and she is always ready to go it alone, however she couldn’t this time. She needed William and Connor to help save Felicity. And she will need the whole team to save Star City and her father too.

Honesty is freedom. Once Dorothy pulled back the curtain the Wizard was free of the lie. He no longer had to live behind the curtain hidden away. I view Oliver as the Wizard because what happened to him is shrouded in so much mystery. However, the Wizard is just a man who wants to return to his normal life like Dorothy does. The Wizard wants to be free of the curtain as much as he needs it. This is no different than Oliver needing the hood and wanting to be free of it someday.

Mia: I need to find out the truth about everything. About who our family really is. What I’m meant to do with my life. I can’t hold back anymore. I need to forge my own path.

Mia may mourn for what was lost like Oliver does, but she is at the beginning of her Yellow Brick Road whereas Oliver is at the end. Salvation for Star City is not the eradication of crime. There will always be another Wicked Witch. So, there must always be a hero lighting the road in the dark.

The gift Oliver Queen will give the citizens of Star City is hope. His legacy will live on when someone else chooses to become that hope.  And then Oliver will be free to find his happiness at the end of the Yellow Brick Road.

This brings me to Galaxy One being a front for Eden Corps, which is a supposedly defunct terrorist organization that nuked cities at some point. Since Dante funds terrorist organization I feel the Chart of Evil will ultimately connect from Dante to Eden Corps to Galaxy One. It’s all fruit of the same poison tree.

The name Eden is not coincidental. Mia shatters the family photo aiming for an apple. The arrow goes through the apple and directly into the family photograph, which opens Felicity’s secret lair. Eden is from the Garden of Eden or the paradise Adam and Eve lived in until they disobeyed God’s command. They ate the forbidden fruit from the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil after being tempted by the Devil. Adam and Eve’s eyes were opened and were cast out of paradise.

Galaxy One’s goal is to eradicate vigilantes and create a new world order with the Archer program. This new world is promised to be a paradise behind walls and Galaxy One/Eden Corps decide who lives or dies. It’s like extermination based on zip code rather than religion/ethnicity like the Nazis did in World War II. This biblical reference feels somewhat similar to Damien Darhk’s Genesis plan in Season 4. It is mass genocide in exchange for paradise. Not unlike Malcolm Merlyn’s Undertaking in Season 1. The ends justify the means to these villains.

No one can say with 100% accuracy what kind of fruit Adam and Eve ate, but the apple is the fruit most commonly depicted in popular culture. Mia shoots an arrow through the apple and it immediately launches her hero’s journey.  She discovers Felicity’s lair, they fight, and she leaves for Star City. Then she must enter The Glades to save her mother. Mia’s eyes are opened to the truth about her mother even though she doesn’t fully grasp what that truth means in the moment. She leaves her idyllic life in Bloomfield for the harsh reality of Star City.

Mia is essentially at a crossroads in “Star City 2040.” She can either continue alone as a fading star or she can embrace the truth of her past and let it lead her towards a righteous path. The greatest gift God gave us is free will. Every hero has to decide to be a hero at some point.

I often say superheroes are Christ like figures because of their pure hearts and willingness to sacrifice for others at the expense of their own happiness and/or lives. I’ve been teasingly calling Oliver Jesus this season because he is a fully realized superhero. We are witnessing an evolved Oliver who has grown leaps and bounds from the man we first met in the pilot.

Oliver no longer lives in a black and white world. He sees the grey and operates from a true sense of justice where killing has no real place. He lives openly as the Green Arrow, which means no more lies. Oliver has embraced his team and is leading from example. He is far more patient, understanding and accepting of others, particularly when it comes to opinions which differ from his. Oliver has accepted he deserves love and has embraced it. He’s living life fully as a husband, father, brother and friend. Most importantly, Oliver is trying to save his city by instilling hope and honor through his example. His light shines on the darkest corners of Star City.

Do you know what Jesus is also called? The New Adam. Christians believe Jesus Christ died for our sins and rose again in fulfillment of God’s promise that one day we’d be delivered from the sin Adam and Eve introduced into our world. Our souls are saved because God loved us so much that he sacrificed his only son. Jesus’ mother Mary is sometimes called the New Eve. She was born free of original sin and remained sinless until ascending body and soul to heaven.

But this a superhero story, so it’s not going to be an apples to apples comparison (HA! Get it?), particularly since this is coming from the CW and not the Vatican. However, the writers are using biblical symbolism for a reason. Star City has gone to hell in a hand basket without Oliver. Eden Corps is essentially the Devil and Star City needs their superhero-Christ-like-figure to deliver their souls from the eternal torment of hell. Cool right? Oliver is that deliverance. He is the Christ like figure. Oliver Queen is the New Adam.

Arrow is not stopping with Oliver Queen. Saving Star City will be a family effort. It’s impossible for Oliver to eradicate crime just like we can never truly eradicate the evil Adam and Eve’s sin allowed into the world. But there is promised salvation.

Oliver may save the city, but he cannot be the Green Arrow forever. He doesn’t want to be the Green Arrow forever. What Oliver wants more than anything is to hang up the hood and live his life in peace. However, in order to do that he needs someone to take up the mantle of Protector of Star City. There must be a new superhero waiting in the wings. Not the New Adam, but the New Eve like Dorothy in the Wizard of Oz.

Mia.

SmoakNHawke

DID Y’ALL HEAR THAT? IT’S THE SOUND OF MY SHIP SETTING SAIL! 

Connor gets Mia through security scan because he’s AGENT Hawke. Umm… say what? Honestly, I don’t know why I was so shocked by this. Both of his parents were A.R.G.U.S. agents, but I’m wildly excited and dumbfounded when any of these children pick up their parents’ tools of the trade. I AM JUST SO HAPPY FAM! I’m overwhelmed by the wealth of goodies.

Connor started working on credentials and clearance once he realized Mia and William would be heading directly into the belly of the whale. It’s 100% apparent Connor is going to be the planner in this group. He obtained a pass to Galaxy One as an agent for Knightwatch, which is the good version of A.R.G.U.S. It seems A.R.G.U.S. goes all evil no matter what timeline we’re in.  

The details on Connor and Knightwatch are fuzzy for a reason because the writers don’t want to fill all the blanks in the backdoor pilot. Then there’s no show. However, I think it’s safe to assume Knightwatch may be perceived as anti vigilante, otherwise why would the Galaxy One security guard release Mia into Connor’s custody? However, the reality may be Knightwatch is operating on some kind of undercover/double cross capacity.

Long story short – Connor is one of the good guys and he has a badge. So he’s hot and useful. Excellent.

He apologizes for not telling Mia the truth and she responds by slamming him up against a wall. 

Oh my friends, scenes like this are how ships are made. Get it girl. I was not expecting this line to come out of Mia’s mouth though -

Source:  mia-smoak-gifs

WHAT DID YOU SAY CHILD? DID YOU SAY “WAS ANY OF IT REAL?” MEANING Y’ALL WERE HOOKING UP? IS THAT THE REAL WE’RE DISCUSSING? JUST SO I AM CLEAR – REAL IS A EUPHEMISM FOR SEX?

SmoakNHawke is definitely a go and more importantly THEY’VE ALREADY HAD SEX. You could hear my screams for miles.

Yeah, I know we didn’t get to see anything YET. Listen cupcakes, this is what the spin-off is for. They’ll fill in the blanks. Arrow uses flashbacks and flash forwards. The probability is high the spin-off will too. I ain’t worried about it.

The backdoor pilot just gave us a canon ship to root for without a disastrous backstory like sleeping with sisters or foster siblings hooking up. I wasn’t expecting SmoakNHawke to happen this quickly. The OTA babies falling in love is a wonderful idea the fandom cooked up and I was sure the writers would either ignore completely like most of our good ideas or let it simmer for years on end. We just went from zero to sixty with one sentence. This is a moment to rejoice.

More importantly, if the spinoff doesn’t happen, and this is where the story ends for the Flash Forward characters too, then the writers made damn sure Mia and Connor were a thing before Arrow went off air. They understand the importance of Diggle’s son and Oliver’s daughter being together. It’s Christmas y’all. All we do is win.

Connor assures Mia “all of it” was real and I’m swooning. Felicity asks what Mia’s type is in a later scene and I yelled, “HER TYPE IS CONNOR HAWKE.”

As angry and hurt as Mia is, she still couldn’t let Connor get his ass beat and saves him from a couple of the security goons. I love this flip of gender dynamics.  Not that Olicity remain rooted in traditional roles, quite the contrary. However, it’s not all that often we see a female hero saving a male.

Mia is too angry with Felicity’s choices to help her with the bombs.  William leaves with their mother, but Connor stays with Mia. He is ride or die. If she wants to help then he’s there. If she wants to leave then he’s cool with that.

They have a pretty epic fight too. Mia can’t decide if she’s angrier about the lying or Connor believing she needed protection.

Mia defines whatever is between her and Connor as a relationship, so I feel they are more than just a hook up, but short of boyfriend and girlfriend. Connor is sorry he lied, but he’s not sorry he stuck around and kept an eye on Mia just like his father instructed because he truly cares about her.

“When you like someone, proximity is a good thing, regardless of how they feel about you." (Pacey Witter, Dawson’s Creek)

They sure fight like they are boyfriend and girlfriend. Connor gives a fairly epic speech about choosing to be a hero and learning how to selflessly share their superhero parents with the world. 

Connor didn’t like Diggle and Lyla choosing the city above their family time and again, but as he grew older it became something he admired in his parents. Their sacrifices only made Connor love them more.

Source:  oliverxfelicity

I’m curious about Connor’s backstory because he says he chose to be a superhero in training whereas it was more or less forced upon Mia. But today is the day she can make the choice for herself. If Mia walks out on Galaxy One then it is her decision. She can’t put the responsibility on Felicity this time.

Mia simply doesn’t trust Connor anymore and believes he has an ulterior motive just like Felicity and William. So, he uses a little reverse psychology. Mia walking away from danger is exactly what her mother wants and doing directly opposite of what Felicity wants is extremely appealing to Mia right now. God bless the rebellious youth. I swear Diggle must have discussed with Connor how to manage a Queen. This is straight out of the Yoda playbook.

Connor has to earn Mia’s trust back, but their story is just beginning and I cannot wait to see what happens next.

Roy, Dinah and Rene

Once again I am the least interested in Team Newbie. Yeah, they are still Newbies after twenty years. I wish I could be more positive about Roy, but he listened to Dinah’s nonsense about Felicity being evil and dead. It’s swell they are all happy Felicity is alive and one of the good guys, but none of them get any points because they believed the worst about their friend who has proven to be a spectacular human being time and again. Dinah’s first inclination should have been Felicity is pretending to be evil to infiltrate a Big Bad because DUH. Morons.

They decide to finally look into Felicity’s death in EPISODE 16 and discover the shock of all shocks, “The case files are a mess.” YEAH BECAUSE SHE ISN’T REALLY DEAD YOU DINKLE TWITS!

Rene confessing he knew about the bombs isn’t a shock because we knew he was in on some kind of plan in 7x10. Galaxy One can expand The Glades in a fraction of the time and he thought Star City would be evacuated before the bombs. Rene being the biggest dumbass to ever live isn’t a shock. That’s just a regular Arrow Monday.

Rene aligned himself with Galaxy because he liked feeling powerful and respected. He was no longer living in the shadow of Oliver Queen. Now he was the mayor who saved the city. Unfortunately, aligning with the Big Bad at any point requires a redemptive arc. It’s great Rene is working undercover with Team Arrow now, but I am not expecting him to survive Season 8.

Source: felicitysmoakgifs

Dinah is thrilled to see Felicity alive, but she is not overwhelmed with joy over seeing Dinah. Felicity almost looks distrustful as Dinah hugs her. At the very least she’s ticked off Dinah believed she went all evil. There’s definitely more to the story and everything is not one hundred percent between these two.

The only other piece which interests me is Roy’s rage issues. It’s not Mirakuru related, but it’s completely possible he took a dip in the Lazarus Pit and banished himself to Lian Yu because he couldn’t control the rage. The fact Nyssa is available to train Mia for several years means the Lazarus Pit mission was over. Thea is LOA trained and Oliver’s sister. She would have been Felicity’s first choice to train their daughter, but instead it was Nyssa. This does not bode well for Thea’s fate. Everyone mentally prepare. Thea is dead.

Stray Thoughts…

It’s like Mia was tailor made for us. I will never tire of Arrow sticking it to comic book fans with lines like this. Yes, that’s right folks. The non comic book couple is canon on the TV show and they spawned a non comic book character to carry on the Green Arrow’s legacy. Suck it.  Source:  oliverxfelicity

It’s a little odd Mia’s first question wasn’t, “Hey! Who is the kid in the photo?” but given the potential canyon sized plot holes this storyline could have I’ll let it slide.

Itty bitty Mia was played by Bam’s daughter. I was wondering where you find a mini ninja and of course she is BABY BAM. Source: ebett

Clary Fray was a pretty physical role on Shadowhunters, but Katherine has really had to step it up as Mia and she’s doing a fantastic job with the stunts. She’s no Stephen, but he’s insane so we won’t grade her on that level of madness.

Oliver’s Yao Fei box keeps showing up everywhere. First it’s on Lian Yu and William digs it up. Now it’s in the backyard of the Olicity love cabin. This thing gets more miles than Delta.

WHAT DOES THE KEY TATTOO MEAN?

Where the friggin frack is Bloomfield? I’m sure there’s some comic book explanation.

The pairing of Mia and Connor romantically makes me smile because I always said Diggle was Oliver’s first wife. Hehehehe.

“Oh good now there are two of you.” William is Felicity 2.0 officially. It’s canon now.

Felicity’s mask was sparkly green. I was wildly excited about this color choice.

I love how Felicity pesters Mia about boys because Donna used to do the same thing to Felicity and it drove her nuts, which is proof we all become our mothers someday. Source:  felicitysmoakgifs

I’m still not over Mia’s loft being the same set as Olicity’s loft back in Season 4.

“No one gets to kill my mom except me.” I have a super great relationship with my mother, but I don’t know any woman who can’t relate to this line on some level. Sometimes your mom just drives you nuts, but she’s still your mom and only you get to murder her. Nobody else can mess with her.

Rene didn’t think Roy was alive. Thinking people are dead is like an epidemic with the Newbies. Not blown away by their powers of deduction.

So much same William. Source:  mei-pellegrino

Felicity blames herself for Galaxy One and Eden Corps because she invented Archer and somehow the bad guys get their hands on it. However, I do not think Felicity is blaming herself for Oliver. There’s two different trains moving at the same time on parallel tracks. There’s Dante/Eden Corps/the Ninth Circle/Archer and there’s the promise Oliver made to the Monitor. I believe the reason Oliver is missing/presumed dead etc is because of the deal he made with the Monitor. Perhaps Archer is a hurdle when Oliver is finally free to come home to Star City, but I don’t believe it’s the reason Oliver is gone. The reason Oliver was not around to help protect Felicity and Mia from Dante/Eden Corps/the Ninth Circle/Archer is because of his promise to the Monitor and Felicity had nothing to do with that. Source:  felicitysmoakgifs

Disclaimer: Any gifs on the blog are not mine. If you would like a gif removed from my reviews, please message me. 7x16 gifs credited.

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[huronnade-moved]

Completely AU drabble ahead.  Set in a universe where, though the Crossover between Huron and Vide happened, Deeana is strictly Kuro’s squadmate.  No cheating, no relationship drama.  Also, though the drabble is written in English, all dialogue is in Hural.

                                                           _____  . ( 🞮 ) .  _____

       The theatre tended to be quiet after hours.  The only sounds that filled it were quiet breathing and page turning.  Occasionally, the quiet would ebb away with gentle voices, ciclicle carriages of conversation running their course before the atmosphere returned once more.  Neither were bored;  both were enraptured by the ambience that had always existed between them, even after they’d long since parted ways.  

     Tonight felt different in some way, though.  For some reason, the air felt even more charged than usual.

     ❝ Well, ‘s gettin’ late.  I should head home, ❞   Kuro muttered, folding his book closed and hopping from his perch on the end of their stage.  Murr tried not to swallow too hard at the feeling of their knees brushing as he did so, heart leaping into his throat like a bear-trap attempting to catch something.  It didn’t take long for it to sink back down, landing like a stone in his gut.  It always sucked when Kuro had to leave.

     ❝ Yeah, I getcha.  Ya probably gotta be up early, huh? ❞   Though he forced his voice to echo its usual ease, there was an undeniable pang of longing attached limply to the end.  Please just stay.  Just tonight.  I’ll never trouble you again if you just stay with me tonight.   ❝ Thanks fer comin’ over. ❞

     ❝ Y’don’t gotta thank me every single time, y’know, ❞  Kuro replied with a brow arched high, shrugging his coat on as he attempted to make eye contact with him.  Though Murr’s face was often cloaked in static, much like everyone else he tried to look in the eye, there were moments where his image would come through,  like a transmission finally reaching its designated station after a hell of a delay.  Those times were what Kuro hungered for.  Though he wouldn’t admit it out loud, Murr had grown into a beautiful man.  It confused him greatly.  He’d never looked at men like he was looking at his friend before;  he didn’t think he had any interest.  There were a lot of things he didn’t understand upon this whirlwind of a person inserting himself back into his life.  Perhaps this was his punishment for wounding him so:  an eternity of questioning.   ❝ Yer my best friend.  Of course I’ll come ‘n’ see y’whenever I can. ❞

     ❝ It still seems important enough ta be thankful fer. ❞   Though Murr’s face was concealed by that pesky shadow that hung over his shoulder, Kuro watched as his friend turned his head, breaking assumed eye contact almost nervously.     ❝ I know what it’s like ta not see ya fer ages, so I’m happy ‘n’ grateful when I do. ❞

     There was a strange pause, one filled with energy neither of them could place.  Unsure of the cause, Kuro took in his slightly elevated heartbeat with some amount of chagrin, cursing himself for being so easily afflicted.  So he’d had a crush on Murr in his youth…  so what?  They were changed people, far past the awkward phase that they’d left each other on.  Things were different now.

     If that’s so, why do you feel hot under the collar?      Shut up.  I don’t.

     His hand hovered over the theatre’s door-handle, heartbeat thundering in his ears as he thought about how best to bid his friend goodnight.  Why are you even thinking about this?  Just say goodnight.  His lips parted to speak, though no sound came out;  his frame remained like a pillar in the doorway, hulking and dark.

     ❝ Uhm…  everythin’ okay? ❞

     ❝ ... ❞   Was it?  He couldn’t really make heads or tails of the feelings currently swarming him.  For months now, he’d felt the tension in him rise to an unbearable level.  He’d spent countless nights lying awake thinking about the terrible things he’d forced Murr to endure after leaving him without a word.  He’d also spent a few wondering what Murr would look like in the throes of orgasmic ecstasy, quivering like a ripple in a pond, drooling like a dog in heat--  stop it.  Stop thinking about that.   ❝ … I just…  I don’t wanna go home, Alé. ❞

     He listened to Murr’s wordless stammer, enchanted by the sound, before he allowed his hand to fall from the handle.  His body turned slowly in the other man’s direction, head feeling foggier by the second.  You’re so close, yet so far away.  I don’t deserve you, not after all I’ve done, but by God I want you.  I don’t think you even realise.

     ❝ W-Well, ya don’t have ta…  I don’t mind leavin’ the door open fer you... ❞

     ❝ Don’t leave. ❞

    Though he couldn’t see his face, he knew for a fact that Murr’s cheeks had turned red.  It was in the way his torso shrunk;  the way his arms went rigid by his sides;  the barely audible stutter as he stared at him, somewhat stupefied, wondering what he could even say in response.  Eventually, he settled on a flustered:   ❝ I-I wasn’t goin’ to! ❞

     ❝ Good. ❞

     ❝ What’s with you all of a sudden…?  Yeesh... ❞   Murr tugged lightly at his collar, attempting to get air beneath it.  Suddenly, he felt trapped in this beloved place, as if he’d poked a bear with a stick and had nowhere to retreat to.  He attempted to mentally talk himself down, turning in place so that he could hop back up onto the stage.   ❝ We can keep readin’.  Or we can…  talk. ❞

     ❝ Talk, ❞   Kuro echoed, tone slightly inquisitive as he began to bridge the distance between himself and the stage.  All of a sudden, he was unable to focus on anything except his friend’s appearance, lit from behind by the dim stage lights as if a small piece of Heaven had opened up and chosen him.  For the briefest of moments, Kuro saw his face.  The way his mouth was pressed into a thin, confused line, teeth gently worrying his lower lip, had a pang of heat rising in his stomach.  As he came to stand in front of him, head inclined slightly to look at him, he uttered a meek:   ❝ Let’s talk, then. ❞

     ❝ O-Okay.  Well-- ❞   He fell quiet, shoulders rising like a child’s when they were being scolded, before he suddenly exploded:     ❝ Well now ya’ve gone ‘n’ made it tense!  I can’t think of anythin’ ta say!  You go!  You say somethin’! ❞

     ❝ Nhm…  yer so fuckin’ adorable sometimes, Murphy. ❞

     ❝ What…? ❞

     ❝ Murr.  I can’t keep bullshittin’ like this. ❞   He wasn’t entirely sure of what he was doing.  All he knew was that he felt positively untethered.  His heart was a fragile thing, tampered with by darkness and shadow, but right now it pooled with light, emotions oozing like drip from a cake.  His hands came to rest on either side of his friend’s body, sandwiching him between his own frame and the stage supporting him.   ❝ Y’know, that crush I told y’about way back when?  I--  ain’t think it’s quite dead yet. ❞

     ❝ B-But you said... ❞

     ❝ I know what I said, ❞   Kuro interrupted, almost grunting.   ❝ I moved on.  I let go of y’when I made the decision t’leave y’behind, right?  Was a load’a shit, Alé.  I just didn’t wanna make things fuckin’ weird. ❞

     ❝ ‘n’ now’s a better time ta make things weird…? ❞

     ❝ Is it weird? ❞   The silence that hung between them was heavy, as if they were both afraid of the answer to the question.  They’d spent so long convincing themselves that they’d moved on, that they could see different people and let go of their childish fantasies, that being stripped of this thin lie left both of them feeling naked.  After another thoughtful pause, wetting his lips nervously, Kuro continued, before his bravery failed him.   ❝ Would y’really mind if I just…  I don’t know, leaned up ‘n’ kissed y’?  Would y’stop me? ❞

     ❝ I-I don’t know…  Kuro, please just stop, this ain’t funny... ❞

     ❝ This ain’t a joke, Murr. ❞

     ❝ It seems like it is ta you! ❞   Though he couldn’t exactly blame his friend for feeling doubtful, Kuro would be the first to admit that Murr’s scorn stung some.   ❝ Is this all my feelin’s mean to you…?  Is it just some punchline?  Some stupid tease?  You know how I feel about you--  you know I never stopped--  c-carin’ about you, ‘n’ if you don’t know that then you suck as a detective. ❞

     Kuro was somewhat flabbergasted.  Though he’d been able to read between the lines on occasion, Murr was nothing if not a convincing actor.  When they’d told each other that they’d gone on with their lives, Kuro had almost wholeheartedly believed him.  There had been rare traces of doubt in him when the other had slipped up, revealing a little too much about what still resided in his heart, but for the most part the Sheriff was almost certain that there was absolutely no chance of salvaging what they once almost had in their youth.  He suddenly felt very bare, heart racing, and though he wasn’t sure if he was crossing a line or not, he found himself unable to resist any longer.  He pushed his head closer, their lips making the briefest of contact before he felt Murr jerk his head away.

     ❝ Stop it.  J-Just stop-- ❞   He was unable to finish as Kuro grasped at his collar, tugging him closer once more.  This time, their mouths connected with more certainty, and Murr’s cut off whimper was promptly smothered.  The exchange was short, though they lingered close to one another long after it had been broken.  In a quiet murmur:   ❝ Kuro... ❞   It sounded as if he was going to tell him to stop again, so the Sheriff pressed close once more, kissing him harder.  The shred of doubt previously on Murr’s tongue ebbed into a small, relieved noise, his hands-- fingers previously turning white due to how hard he was gripping the edge of the stage-- coming to rest on his shoulders as he finally allowed himself to give in.  In a positively precarious whisper:   ❝ S-Stop… nm.. ❞

     Consent was something that Kuro took incredibly seriously  ( especially after his unfortunate run-in with his own witch of a rapist ),  but he could tell by the way that Murr clung to him, by the soft sounds that left him whenever they reconnected, that he didn’t want him to stop;  that it was a pleasantry he was uttering in an attempt to save face;  that he was as relieved as he himself felt.

     ❝ Stop…? ❞   He asked in between kisses, hands flat against the stage.  The warmth of Murr’s palms on his shoulders was like fire, and he rolled one lazily in an attempt to provoke curiosity.  Curious Murr was, but not without caution.  His hands traced up his neck with hesitation, the drag of his fingers driving Kuro crazy.   ❝ Is that…  what y’want? ❞

     ❝ Mm… no... ❞   Murr whispered back, sliding from his seat on stage and onto his feet.  It was much easier for him to press close, lips pressed fervently against his yet again, his tongue suddenly introduced into the equation as he wrapped his arms around his neck. Kuro hummed softly, meeting him halfway, an arm coiling around his waist.  They grew wild from there, impatient, centuries of longing and pining escaping them in the form of wandering hands and exchanged saliva.  They couldn’t get close enough, bodies on fire, hearts hammering, any trace of distance unbearably painful.  It prompted Kuro to back Murr up against the stage at one point, body pressed into his, and Murr mewled sweetly while simultaneously pulling at his hair. Such an abundance of personality made Kuro shiver.  Although Murr was trembling vigorously, hands shaking, voice quivering, his mouth was hungry, body receptive, movements demanding more;  his fiery disposition would never be stamped out, not even by a man more domineering than he was.

     At one point, Kuro felt his coat slip from his shoulders, and suddenly Murr felt closer than before.  It prompted a charged change of course, his hands filing beneath the other man’s finely pressed shirt and making contact with his waist.  His skin was warm, soft, and not even their furious pace could distract him from said facts.  When he was feeling a little calmer, he’d have to take a moment to pay close attention to him.  His body, though smaller than his, was lean and well-built, muscles clenching whenever Kuro’s fingers brushed over them.  Even when the pads of his fingers curled around to the smooth canvas of his back, the thews tensed and squeezed in time with his soft gasps and shudders.

    ❝ Fuck...  more--  touch me more... ❞   The needy plea fell hotly against his throat, a mix of tongue and teeth scraping along his skin, growing more and more familiar with the taste.  The way Kuro rocked his hips into his had a breathless moan tumbling from him, face pressed tightly into his neck a moment later in an attempt to squash the sound.  My voice sounds weird right now.  He silenced the thought with a feverish buck into the other man’s body, listening to him grunt, feeling him attempt to push closer still.  At one point, Kuro dipped his head low and recaptured his lips with his own, a deep, passionate kiss ensuing as the pair held onto each other for dear life.

     It was a touch to his belt that awoke Murr from his drunken haze, a lick of sense returning as an abject bolt of fear ran through him.  He wanted this, he wanted this perhaps more than he’d ever wanted anything, but the truth was that, at this point, he was afraid to lay with someone far more experienced than himself.  The last thing he wanted to do was disappoint him.   ❝ K-Kuro… ❞

     Either he didn’t hear him or he chose not to listen, lips dragging down his throat, a myriad of kisses and nibbles left behind.  Murr’s head spun, throat willingly exposed, his hand clutching the back of the other man’s head as he wrestled with his inner thoughts, trying to decide whether it was a good or bad thing that he was half-hard in his dress pants.  Maybe you can do this.  Kuro wouldn’t hurt you.  Kuro would never force you to do something you didn’t want to do.  Kuro would look after you.  Kuro would make you feel good--  so good--  like you always dreamed of--  but when he felt his pants loosen around his waist, belt tugged free from its position, he knew in his heart that he wasn’t ready yet.

     ❝ Kuro…  ahn--  stop-- ❞     Though he shuddered delightfully at the hand that brushed along his outer thigh on its way to his hip, it also provoked the first push that Murr had thought to administer.  It wasn’t hard, just enough to stop the other man from going further.   ❝ Stop...!  H-Hold on…  I’m n…  th-this’s goin’ too fast... ❞

     When Kuro went still and held his silence for a moment longer than his anxiety could take, Murr thought for sure that he was going to turn cold.  To his relief, the Sheriff pulled back panting, eyes unfocused, but he’d clearly resigned from the task.  After a couple of seconds staring at him, trying to regain some level of concentration, the Sheriff cleared his throat and backed away slightly, reaching a hand up in an attempt to flatten his mussed up hair somewhat.

     ❝ Gods…  shit--  sorry.  I--  didn’t mean t’overstep no bounds.  I just--  lost control’a      myself. ❞

     ❝ You don’t have ta apologise... ❞ 

     For the first time in a while, Murr felt like they were looking each other in the eye.  Unbeknownst to him, they were.  His face had become visible to Kuro in the moment, desire and a deep-seated form of love slicing cleanly through the dark and revealing him to him.  He looked beautiful, already wild hair thoroughly dishevelled, russet cheeks flushed pink, lips parted in order to allow him to breathe--  very lightly reddened in the wake of such a feverish advance.  For a moment, he wasn’t sure what to say, content to stare and heave for air, lungs aching, fingers itching to feel him once more, heart ablaze.  His eyes flitted downwards briefly as Murr shifted to readjust his belt, fingers fumbling briefly before he managed to loop it back into place properly.  Are you as excited as I am?  Is it hard to focus?

     ❝ Uhm…  I’m sorry.  I want to, w-with you, but…  I’m…  I…  don’tknowwhatI’m doin’... ❞

     ❝ Yer a virgin…? ❞

     ❝ SHUT UP! ❞   Murr crossed his arms tightly across his chest, frame shrinking somewhat.  With a tad more venom than he meant to apply:   ❝ Some of us don’t handle our grief by screwin’ everythin’ that has a pulse, idiot. ❞

     ❝ Ahah…  noted. ❞   Though, something about Murr’s reluctant confession had a pang of warmth blossoming in Kuro’s chest.  With a hint of a smile:   ❝ So, I’d be yer first…?  Hypothetically? ❞

     ❝ W-Well…  yeah. ❞   He listened as Murr cleared his throat, a hand curling around the back of his neck.  He tried not to focus on the blooming mark just above where his body tapered off into inky blackness, eyes attempting to fix on his face once more.  The static had returned.   ❝ I just…  I don’t know.  I was--  preoccupied with other stuff, ‘n’ I never met anyone else that was special ta me.  Kinda hard ta when yer isolated up in the woods.  Please don’t make fun of me. ❞

     ❝ Heh.  I was more surprised that nobody had jumped on y’yet.  I mean, look at y’. ❞

     ❝ Oh, please... ❞   he muttered dismissively, blush deepening.  His hesitation was stark, bleached with uncertainty before he finally found his voice.   ❝ What does this all mean?  I don’t…  think I could take a fling, no matter how much I want y-- ❞

     ❝ I ain’t want a fling, Alé, ❞   Kuro interrupted, albeit softly.   ❝ ‘m sorry I jumped the gun.  Maybe we should’a talked more about how we felt first.  But I do…  have feelin’s fer you.  I thought they’d go away, y’know?  As we progressed with our friendship?  But the truth is that they’ve just gotten stronger.  I just--  couldn’t resist anymore.  ‘m sorry if it’s awkward now. ❞

     ❝ It ain’t!  I just…  know yer history... ❞

     Kuro frowned, then sighed.   ❝ Listen…  no matter what y’may think’a my choices, yer gonna be my first in a couple’a ways too.  I’ve never…  y’know…  with a man so, we can be fuckin’ useless together. ❞   He huffed, feeling slightly embarrassed himself now.   ❝ Let’s not get caught up in all that.  I’m sorry I rushed.  But this ain’t about sex or whatever.  I--  I don’t wanna be just friends, Murr.  ‘n’ I know that I don’t really have the right t’say that but-- ❞

    ❝ Shut up. ❞    It was Murr’s turn to interrupt, though he did so with his whole body, arms wrapped around his dearest companion, head finding his shoulder instinctively.  A small smile formed on his face, and for the first time in a long time, Aléjandro felt happy.  ❝ Just shut up, Kuro. ❞

[secretsofthemasquerade]

Nighthawks’s Kickstarter and interview with author

Hey guys, you might have seen this kickstarter over the past month, as its approaching its deadline I thought I’d interview the main dude for you guys :)

I played the demo that’s available, which isn’t fully representative of the story’s debth (as it was meant to be just a small visual fiction), which displays great attention to art, great voice acting, and quite nicely written characters and unique starting situation.

Overall I really love the concept and I’d like to see this game become a reality, we need down-to-earth games even if they’re not labelled WoD :p

Here’s the link to the kickstarter. You can get the game for just 20 bucks ^^ HURRY though, it ends in FIVE DAYS.

The author, Richard Cobbett, has done lots of work in the past, and the publisher is a solid one too (the publisher’s TechnoBabylon is just life, and Sunless Sea/Skies were made by this author), it’s not his first rodeo and he’s, as he put it in the discord server: “I'm writer, designer, programmer, marketing person, video compositer, UI engineer, community manager and basically everything not involving drawing“. His wording isn’t pretentiously all over the place and “darker than thou”, but it has the right amount of work from hat I could see from the screenshots and the demo. 

So here goes! Interview under the cut!

“Who are you, apart from what we know from the Kickstarter?”

I’m Richard Cobbett, and if you know me from anything it’s probably about 20 years of games journalism, including things like PC Gamer’s “Crap Shoot” column and Rock Paper Shotgun’s “The RPG Scrollbars”, or my work on Sunless Sea/Sunless Skies. But I’ve done quite a lot more than that, including the mobile adventure Silent Streets and the space game The Long Journey Home.

So, this is far from my first rodeo. I love cats, hate spiders, and once made a pitch to White Wolf that included the secret goal of making my home town of York a Tremere stronghold. I am entirely serious about this.

“In a few words, for a VtM Audience, what is the premise of Nighthawks' world?”

Vampires exist. You know this, because you’re one of them. But unlike the World of Darkness, the Masquerade has failed. You’ve been exposed, and the world is trying to figure out where to go next. You begin as a penniless vampire in a shitty hotel in the cheapest part of a dying town, and Nighthawks charts your rise from rags to riches as you become part of the new politics.

Things are of course very different from WoD, both to avoid treading on White Wolf’s paws and because of course I wanted the fun of creating my own setting! For starters, Nighthawks is a bit lighter in tone, and more rooted in the problematic elements of being a vampire. Blood tastes foul, being bitten hurts, and the world is at best incredibly suspicious and at worst outright hates you.

Also, vampires don’t secretly run the world. They’re more like cats, in that they’re fiercely individualistic and territorial, with many of them not even having historically known that there were others like them. There’s a few groups here and there that have had some historical sway in the world, such as the Eternal Dynasties that latched onto the great courts of Europe like parasites, and a handful of aristocrats who spread with British colonialism to find Heirs to further refine their bloodlines, but they’re very much in the minority.

The closest equivalent to the Masquerade is that some - not most, though you’re one of the lucky ones - have powers. These are primarily mental rather than breathing fire and turning into bats and so on, like Mesmerise or Corpse-Talking or copying the face of a human for a brief period. Vampire society is doing its best to hide the existence of these for fairly obvious reasons - they’re already distrusted enough! They’re also not skills to just spam at problems, but very expensive aces-in-the-hole to deploy very carefully.

There’s a lot more to say and discover about the world, but in short, it’s something that I think Vampire fans will both enjoy for the parts of the atmosphere it shares, and love exploring for all the cool ways that it tries something a bit different. It’s a game rooted in the social side of vampire life, where a dinner party can be more dangerous than any back-alley rumble, and one where you get to be a direct part of the big decisions that define what it means to be a vampire, versus showing up five hundred years after the Convention of Thorns or whatever already laid out how things work.

It’s also a game designed to let you play whatever character you want - both in terms of things like sexuality and gender, and just background. You’re not restricted to just being JC Denton with fangs. If you want a character who was, say, a hairdresser in their mortal life and who has never been in a fight, that’s just fine. Or, of course, you can be a bruiser. Everyone deserves the chance to be a badass vampire, and a badass vampire that fully represents them.

Hmm. That was quite a few words, wasn’t it? Sorry. I get excited!

“What are its mechanims and gameplay like? How long do you think it will take for an average player to beat the full game?”

We’re looking at around 15-20 hours for a playthrough, with a ton of replayability. Lots of choices, differences in character builds, cool things to discover… the lot. We’re primarily using text because it allows us to really flesh out the world and add as many stories as possible.

Mechanically, it’s a mix of life-simulation and RPG. It resembles games like Sunless Sea, in that most options are chosen from a list, alongside some gorgeous 4K graphics and voice acting. However, under that is a fierce system of RPG options and life simulation. Every click is a tick of the clock, as you explore the city, improve your character, and get back to safety before sunrise. Rather than the standard critical path of quests, the design is based around Objectives. In the first act, the simplest, your main goal is pretty much just making sure you can pay your hotel room bill. How you go about that is up to you, whether it’s hunting, taking on assignments, investigating rumours and so on. Later chapters of course get more complicated as you have to balance basic survival with dealing with crooked cops and politics.

I’ve posted a lot about the game design and where we’re going with it all in the Kickstarter Updates. Worth checking out! I think V:TM fans will really like it.

“What got you into vampire fiction and vampire games? Why make a game with those themes?”

Firstly, urban fantasy is awesome and it’s depressing that we see so little of it in gaming. Vampires specifically intrigue me as a designer because they offer so many mechanical opportunities - blood, sunlight, etc - and as a writer for the constant dichotomy between power fantasy and personal nightmare.

Nighthawks is very much rooted in exploring that, with some characters who find their undeath a curse, others who find it liberating, and with the player allowed to decide for themselves where they stand. It doesn’t hurt that the individualism of vampires allows you to create some really awesome characters who are fun to hang out with. Our Kickstarter backers immediately connected with the Companion in the demo - Madame Lux, a vampire stage magician with the power to manipulate human sight. She’s just one of many really vibrant characters, including con-artist cult-leader Maze, vampire fangirl bartender Becca, and Inez, a pirate queen from the Golden Age of Piracy struggling to adapt to a world where none of her skills are still in any demand.

Then throw in all the awesome vampire folklore from around the world, and you’ve got a fantastic palette to paint with. Much of the Nighthawks design makes me grin just to think of it, and I think players are going to dig it too.

“Favorite VtMB story part? NPC?”

Well, as a paid-up fan of the Tremere, obviously, Strauss. Good egg. Totally not like that awful LaCroix chap. Other than that, Heather and Tourette are obviously the first ones that everyone thinks of, and with good reason. Grey de Lisle’s voice makes any character awesome, and the Heather sequences were shockingly brutal the first time around. Absolutely amazing writing in those bits.

But I’m probably going to say Deb of Night. I love radio in games as a way of conveying atmosphere, and that’s one of the best one. I don’t know if it’s cool or sad that a few years ago I was in Santa Monica on a press trip, and spent some time wandering around the Pier while listening to Deb’s show. Bit of both?

“Anything you'd need apart from more backers to make sure the game becomes a reality?”

Moral support, really! Game development is a long and often pretty lonely experience, where you never usually know if anyone is going to want what you’re making when you’re done. It’s a real boost to know that so many people are excited by Nighthawks and really want to see it happen. That certainly adds some pressure, but the kind of pressure I think everyone can appreciate!

[thehuggamugcafe]

Alouette I: A Host’s Favourite Customer

“Hm~. My, my, that was quick. My first customer; what impeccable timing they have.” Mod Barista mused, humming as a small smile curled her lips as she approached the table, occupied by a single person. There was a twinkle in her eyes, one that surely wasn’t missed by the quiet customer—however, no sooner had Mod Barista raised her notepad and pen, ready to jot down the customer’s order, her smile turned slightly devious as there was a certain sparkle in her eyes now. “...Oh? Ohh. I see. Well, then... I should get started on it, shouldn’t I? Enjoy your music. I’ll be back with your order shortly.” Mod Barista smiled to herself as she got behind the service counter, cracking her thumb as she set herself to work. OOC: My first request. My first request~! I’m so excited! I’m so excited I’m nervous! But don’t worry, askkrisachan. I said I’d accommodate you to the fullest, and I shall do so to the best of my abilities. Here you are, hun. One spicy treat coming up; just the first slice though, dear. First come, first served. Also, thank you for suggesting the name of the café, askkrisachan. I appreciate it, truly! As for you lovely anons, the usual heads up applies. Dirty talk, some body worship, food play with strawberries and cream, bondage, finger fucking, and being screwed out of your mind by Incubus!Akira/Ren. ...Hmm. Food play, huh? This kink is a first for me. It should be interesting. Strawberries and cream, my one true weakness! How’d you know, askkrisachan?) Contrary to popular belief, denizens of the infernal realm—and the realms stretching beyond even its roaring rivers of flame, torture, and eternal damnation—were very interested in humans. Most saw them as nothing but playthings, mere toys to be used, re-used, and discarded (or worse.) once they grew bored of them. Some saw them as business partners. Others took one, two, or more as lovers. A select few saw them as something... more. One such incubus was certainly a rarity amongst his kind. A demon who saw humans as more than just things to be toyed with. Akira breathed a sigh as he all but flooped down on the plush couch, blinking as he raised a hand to rest on the sweating crown of his forehead. A few other hosts were relaxing in the lounge room as well, chatting, chuckling, or texting their girlfriends, fiancées, or wives. The constant dings and text tunes playing weren’t helping Akira’s headache, huffing forth a second sigh as his free hand dug into the breast pocket of his butler attire, withdrawing his own cellphone. His eyes stared from behind the round, black-framed (fake) glasses that sat on his nose, onyx irises peering at the illuminated screen. A notification popped up. “No new messages.” Akira pocketed the cellular device, a frown pursed his lips as he flicked his bespectacled eyes on the other hosts as they talked, laughed, smoked, and drank. They were all dressed in fine tailored suits just as he was, but unlike them, his lover wasn’t texting him. You hadn’t even sent him a good morning text, asked him how his day was, or even asked him what—if anything—he wanted when you went grocery shopping last night. By herself. Again. The frizzy-haired incubus thought, pursing his lips. He sighed; he shouldn’t be surprised at how distant you’d become in the last few weeks. Especially not after he had gone and told you that he finally found a place that would gladly have him as an employee—and however joyful, however pleased you’d been had come crashing down in mere seconds as Akira explained his employment situation. “...A host club?” “Yes.” “A. Fucking. Host club, Akira!?” “...Yes?” “...Well.” His heart always sank a bit whenever he recalled seeing the brief flash of hurt, of distrust in your eyes as you uttered your next words. “I hope you have fun being swarmed by women who want to have ‘fun’ with you.” Ever since the day Akira started working at the host club, no, the week before... He noticed that the relationship had taken a rather... sour turn. Slowly, the nights where he’d spent curled up beside you in bed grew less and less frequent, as he’d been asked (ordered, more like.) to sleep on the lumpy couch in the living room of your apartment room. You both still ate breakfast in the morning and had dinner together every evening, but the long pockets of silence were stifling, awkward. Your replies were curt, clipped, and ice-cold whenever he asked you a question. Mornings had always been his favourite time of day, as well as the evenings when you returned home from your part-time job, however... Lately, whenever he tried to hug or kiss you goodbye before leaving for ‘work,’ you’d get all huffy and grumble what sounded like, “And how many women have you kissed lately with that mouth?” under your breath, turning your head at the last moment, so that his lips met your cheek instead of your mouth. Humans were frail, selfish, and jealous beings, but were demons any better? Akira doubted that even the most pious of creatures, whether they were human, angel, or something else entirely... Not even they could claim to truly be “just.” Neither could a demon for that matter, but especially someone like Akira. The sharp click-click of heels that signalled the approach of the café’s owner caused the other hosts’ eyes to widen, passing a quick glance at each other as they straightened their postures, kicking their feet up off of the furniture they sat or were splayed out across on. They were quick to send their significant others’ one last goodbye text, swallowing the last trace of sake from their shot glasses, or crushing their cigarettes into ashtrays just as the door to the lounge room burst open. The woman who ran the host café, Ai Nitta, stood on the lounge room’s threshold, pointing her brown eyes across the room, staring—almost glaring—at every male who stared back at her. She was a thirty-something-year-old imposing, no-nonsense woman with a personality that of a cold-hearted perfectionist, and a woman with impeccable business sense at that. Apparently, from what some of the other, far more experienced hosts had told Akira when he first started working at the café, Ai Nitta had been married to a very successful entrepreneur until he died suddenly of a heart attack at the age of thirty-five. The authorities immediately suspected foul play, but no matter how much they dug into Ai Nitta’s past and character, there was nothing that implicated her in her husband’s untimely passing. Eventually, her husband’s death had been written off as due to natural causes; there was simply nothing connecting the woman to her spouse’s passing, and the case had been declared closed. Still, the groundless gossip continued to be spread, and whispers of rumours continued to be hissed around the city, dubbing Ai Nitta by a rather macabre title as the “Black Widow.” Even so, if people expected the business of a woman who owned and managed the café from top to bottom to go under, it didn’t cause people to turn their noses up at the business. Certainly not the females, young and up to thirty-odd-year-olds alike. Teenagers, college students, influential women from all walks of the higher rungs of society, and rich ex-wives of doctors, lawyers, and the like... They all visited the café, looking for companionship or an expensive, but satisfying quickie in one of the (thankfully.) sound-proof rooms on the second floor of the café. If people expected a woman like Ai Nitta, a woman of infamous prestige to suffer due to suspicions of murdering her husband, to declare bankruptcy, to live as a homeless beggar on the street corner, they were sorely mistaken. Unlike other, far less successful cafés and host clubs in the city, there was one policy Ai Nitta tasked her employees to stick to no matter what, no matter how much the young women whined, pleaded, batted their eyelashes. No matter how many women flashed their wallets stuffed with money, or offered a teasing glimpse of a shining credit card or two. The policy went a little something like this... “If that lonely housewife wants to see you again, she better fork over the money!” That’s what she had said to Akira upon arriving for his first shift roughly a month ago, after a regular customer—a woman who had just gone through a messy divorce, but was most certainly “loaded,” as his boss had assured Akira of—had said she would request him again as she bid him a good day. After she paid for Akira to keep her company for two straight hours, of course. He had passed his interview with flying colours, which quietly surprised him. Despite his natural gifts of charming and seducing others, females especially, with the sort of ease that it was almost laughable how eager, how quick they were to want him in their beds, there were an extremely rare few who weren’t as susceptible to his charisma. They were affected, yes, just not to the degree so many, many other women had been, and still were drawn to him like moths to a flame. To be honest, he thought that his boss, Ai Nitta, might perhaps be one of them at first, but much to his unspoken relief, she was nothing of the sort. She was a bit stubborn, yes, wanting to “test the waters” with a potential host, allowing him to cater to three smirking, doe-eyed college girls. They whispered and giggled to each other, batting their eyelashes at him as he approached them with a calm gait, the smallest of warm, welcoming grins on his lips as he tugged the gloves he wore closer to his fingers. And of course, how could he forget what the manager and owner of the host club/café, Alouette, had said to him after they left? After he told his boss what they had said as they were leaving the establishment...? “Hah!? They won’t pay for your services upfront next time!? Unacceptable! You tell those snobby, rich college sluts for me the moment they come through that door. Cash or credit cards upfront. No ifs, ands, or buts; no money, no service!” “Kurusu, you’ve been requested. Again. Come on! Up, up, up! I need my best host front and center!” Ai’s voice was as brisk as it ever was, the click-clicks of her heels signalling her approach as she made her way over to where the frizzy-haired, bespectacled host was lying down. For a seemingly frail, dark-haired woman who was only 5’5’’, a woman who looked like the most gentle of breezes would send her crashing to the floor, she was certainly stronger than she let herself on to be. “I said come on, Kurusu. Your break isn’t for another hour; you can service one more customer until then!” “Yes, Miss Nitta,” Akira breathed through his lips, his voice sounding a bit husky as he was sort of dragged, sort of got to his feet on his own. He wasn’t attempting to charm her into letting him off the hook, but as one of the most requested hosts in the café, if not the most requested employee, he was often working instead of resting. He could hear the scoffs, disgruntled remarks, and scathing words of his fellow employees as their boss all but hauled him off of the couch, leading him toward the lounge room’s open doorway. “Tch. Kiss ass.” “What a damn suck-up he is.” “I bet he gets ‘special favours’ from the boss for raking in so much money.” “You think? No way... Then... Hey, do you guys think he’s got a bit of sugar on the side?” “With the boss, of all people? Nah, he couldn’t be. ‘Sides, she’s way too old for him.” Akira’s lips became pursed as his jaw became set, feeling himself tensing up at the mere suggestion that he was cheating on you. Although he felt the bittersweet sting of quiet gratitude for the last remark he heard, it didn’t excuse what the others were whispering about him. He wasn’t like them, the hosts who actually had cheated on their significant others’ with customers who visited the café. He never looked at another woman the way he looked at you. He didn’t dare touch a woman in the ways he touched you. He never cooed sweet nothings into another woman’s ear as he did with you. No, it was different with you. Akira honestly and truly meant what he whispered to you, and only to you, in the dead of night whenever you were in bed together. You were granted the privilege of seeing a part of him no one else was allowed to see, as he hissed tantalizing promises of “fucking your brains out,” screwing you until you weren’t sure you’d be able to walk right the following morning, or get out of bed at all for that matter. The voice of his boss, Ai Nitta, pried him out of his inner musings, blinking his eyes as he cleared his throat before asking, “I’m sorry. What did you say, Miss Nitta?” The dark-haired woman stopped in mid-step, pointing a glare over her shoulder. “If you’d been paying attention, you would have heard me say,” Ai paused to release his hand, turning around and reaching up, gripping a hold of the black frame of his glasses and pulling them off of his face, revealing the intensity of his onyx irises as he blinked owlishly down at her. “...that the glasses are a nice touch. Good for rich, lonely, and slobbering bitches who are into the ‘nerdy’ look you put out, but this customer isn’t. She’s requested that you service her with them off; you’re more good-looking without them on your face.” “...Yes, Miss Nitta,” Akira replied after a moment’s pause, watching as a frown clipped the corner of Ai’s glossed lips. She quirked a brow questionably, pointing her brown eyes up at him. “Is there a problem, Akira?” For once in the short time he’d known her, his boss sounded—and faintly looked—as though she honestly gave a damn as to what might be bothering him. That, and she had addressed him by his first name. That was certainly a first. “...No, Miss Nitta.” The barely-there expression of concern was gone as soon as it had come, as Ai’s face returned to looking as though she smelled something awful 24/7. “Second room down the left-hand corridor. Don’t keep her waiting; a waiting customer won’t pay as well.” “Understood, Miss Nitta,” Akira nodded, pausing to bow respectfully before walking past the thirty-odd-year-old, taking a sharp left as he met a fork in the hallway, stopping in front of a door marked with the numbers ‘69’ bolted into the polished mahagony wood. All in all, Akira enjoyed working at the café. The hours were managable, the pay was pretty good, the work environment was a tad... questionable at times, but overall, the staff and employees were warm and welcoming, but... If there was one thing he could honestly say he disliked about the host club/café... It was the women. The customers whom he catered to, young or well into their thirties, curious, lonely, heartbroken, or wanting some company. Because... No matter how many smiles they flashed at him... No matter how many giggles they tossed his way... No matter how many times they batted their eyelashes as they stared up at him with shining doe eyes... No matter how many times they asked for his number, asked for a quickie in one of the sound-proof rooms... They were always turned down, always rejected, as gently as he possibly could pass on their offers. Why? Because they weren’t you.