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honey-tea-and-cookies · 3 years ago

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More Love For These Placements <3

Hi everybody! A bit over a month ago I made a post called My Love For These Placements, and it did well, so I decided to make another with more placements I love!! The only difference is the last one was completely inspired by my best friend, and this one is about placements that many different people in my life have!! I hope you all enjoy <3

Leo Venus: I would die for every single one of you. Always so empathetic and giving. The most emotionally available Venus sign, honestly. You always believe me, and treat me with the utmost kindness. You have this uncanny ability of knowing the exact words I need to hear, or the exact treatment I need. So gentle and so open-minded. You know sometimes I just need someone to listen, totally non-judgementally. People always say you are generous, but not many talk about how you are generous with your time as well. You give up your free time, your break time, time when you are busy, time when you aren't doing so great yourself. You'd give it all up for me if I truly needed. As much as you might only say it out loud occasionally, every single action you make towards me is filled with love. In fact, I believe you are made of love. Admittedly guarded, but the most sincere and over flowing love.

Cancer Rising: My pretty boy. Obviously not every Cancer rising is a boy and I'll assume most if you aren't. However, 'my pretty boy' has a particular energy that I feel for you all that doesn't work with any other term. You are all gorgeous. Your skin is so soft. It's not often clear, but it is soft. You have beautiful hands. I know you bite your nails and I know they might be rough from work, but they're so beautiful. Please, let me hold them for a while? You don't have to think or worry. I won't hurt you. I just want to adore you in a way I don't believe you are familiar with. Do you know how wonderful you are? I try and tell you but the words don't come out. When I finally work up the courage you just say "I'm flattered", which makes me think you don't believe me. I emphasise how much I mean it, and you say you know, but I don't think you do. Dear, you are the constellations and stars themselves. You are every breathtaking intricacy of the universe. I write about you, my muse. If you would let me cup your face, I'd hold the world in my hands, and you'd hit me playfully for saying something cheesy like that while your eyes become a little glassy. I think certain pet names sound gross or superficial, but if you called me 'babe' again I think I'd pass out. I'm so fucked, and it's all your gorgeous fault.

Aries Moon: You work impossibly hard for me. I know you're in pain and hurting. Please don't push yourself so much. I know you tie your worth to how productive or how helpful you can be. No one else does, though. It's okay to take time off. It's okay to take a breather. It's okay to take time for yourself. You let the ones you love off the hook so easy. I'm begging you to extend that same kindness to yourself. Do you remember when I threw up on you that time? All you said was "Fucking hell, seriously?" and then looked after me with no more complaints for the rest of the day. I ruined your favourite shirt. You told me to forget about it and rest. I can see through you, ya know. We all know you aren't as big and bad as you want us to think. It's okay. Even through the "If anyone hurt you I'd break their nose", we can see the point is 'I love you and can't stand you hurt'. It is the greatest honour to see you vulnerable. Not that I like you being sad, but being able to hold you after you've spend our whole lives looking after me, it feels good to repay the favour. Please, let me love you softly more often. Seeing the true you and your true feelings is such a gift and I will forever be grateful. Thank you a thousand times over.

Gemini Rising: You are the brightest people in the world. Like physically you have incredibly beautiful bright eyes, and also you just glow. You are so fucking pretty. I must've spent hours staring at your face, and body, and hands, trying to commit every little thing to memory. Your style would be god awful on anyone else, but you work it surprisingly well. You are so easy to fall in love with. Not even necessarily romantically, fall in love platonically as well. Your hugs could solve every problem in the world. They are more or less of a safe place for me. You bring out a side of me no one else does. A better. more honest side of me. I mean I'm always honest, but with you it's different. I can start a conversation with "I'm gonna hit this guy with my car" and you wouldn't even flinch. You also have this insane belief in me, that I can do anything I put my mind to. I can't, but you will argue with me to the death about that. Secretly the most supportive and aggressively encouraging people ever. I love you, even if you won't say it back :)

Scorpio Moon: I've been attracting a lot of you lately actually. Easily the best conversationalists I've ever met. I hate how easily you can get information out of me, it's almost embarrassing. It just goes to show that no one is immune to the amazing detective skills of Scorpio. I also love how curious you all are. It's adorable, really. You love learning and you love asking questions, digging deep. I've never met a single Scorpio Moon who genuinely enjoyed school, but every single one has been an eager student in the real world. Quite creative people, and quite creative in their chosen field. Whether it be hairdressing, makeup, creative writing, music, whatever. All of you are brilliant. I always show my love by checking in, making sur you are safe and well and okay. I'm not sure if you understand that because generally people have to be more obviously affectionate than that, but I hope you know. Saying I love you or I care about you feels out of character for the kind of relationship we have, but I dearly hope you know. If you're a Scorpio Moon DM me and tell if you know I care about you 🙄🙄 <3

Moon in 1st House: First of all, the most amazing eyes I've ever seen. Also the best freckles, the nicest lips, the best eyebrows, eyelashes, all that. The softest cheeks. I have this undying urge to paint a picture of you. You are art. I could put you in a gallery, my love. People take advantage of you so often, and it's one of the things that anger me most in the world. You're such a sweet little thing. I don't say any of this to patronise you or anything like that. You are all extremely strong. You can handle yourself. I just want to protect you. I know you'll never let me, which I'll have to accept, but you can come to me if you ever need anything. Although honestly, it's me who needs you. Not once have you ever needed me. Confided in me? Trusted me? Sure. But never needed me. You're so easily embarrassed. I think it's the cutest thing in the world. Like, sweet love, you just asked what the temperature was today. Why are you blushing. Possibly my favourite thing about you though, is the fact that you say and do things despite any embarrassment or insecurity. You are so powerful in that way. I have so much to learn from you, and I only hope you see yourself as the divine individual you are.

Mercury in 3rd House: You make friends wherever you go, with absolutely whoever. Everyone likes you, adores you, are drawn to you. It's like a superpower. You are also totally oblivious. It baffles me how you could be so unaware of your own talent, but I digress. You can keep up with anyone and everyone. You can always add at least a little to any conversation. You might not, but you totally could. Writing may not be a strong suit of yours, but talking and languages definitely are. You impress everyone you ever meet. I am so proud of you. I want to be clear as well, here: it's not only people this applies to. You are like this with animals and very young kids too. You just feel like a safe person. You are a safe person. You are so smart. You amaze me every day. It's crazy how much I learn from you. I love you impossibly more than I say, you are one of my favourite placements, PLEASE tell me whatever you are currently learning about/reading about/excited about in the comments <333

Neptune in 12th House: I know a bit of an odd placement to love, but still. I'm sorry for what you go through. I know many things are not easy for you. You are very brave, you know that? You go through a lot of shit over your time on this Earth. I hope your soul gets to rest at some point. Speaking of souls, every Neptune in 12H person I've spoken to about spirituality/religion/etc has strongly believed they were put on this Earth for a reason and a purpose. I think that's beautiful, and incredibly admirable. This inner knowing generally makes you incredibly good people. Or at least doing the best you can at any one time. There can be self doubt issues or self image issues here. I just want to say that you are amazing. You are funny and gorgeous and desired and we all want you here. You deserve to be here. I see how hard you work, even just getting out of bed can be hard sometimes, but it does not go to waste. You are so powerful, and you are doing an *amazing* job sweetie :)

This is all I have today guys!! I feel like I didn't include many placements so I feel really bad, but also I wrote a paragraph for each of y'all so does that count?? Anyway, thank you so much for reading!! I'm sending you all SO much love!!! Have an amazing day or night <333

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thepermanentscowl · 3 years ago

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ICARUS-SAMPATI-JATAYU FIC

@ginazmemeoir I am exactly twenty five days late in delivering this to you.

This is the first time I have ever written anything of this kind and posted it on this site, so there will be a gazillion mistakes. I hope this is not too bad.

some moots who might like it too: @user-with-a-name @justajellifysh @navyaisajoke @casuallydyinginthecorner (glitter it may be a bit confusing for you but ig you'll get the general idea)

"I have to go, brother. The time has come when I can finally pay off our debt."

Sampati stood and bent his head slightly, in agreement. Paying off the debt was the least they could do in return for the help he had received.

He walked with Jatayu to the western shore. Jatayu would take off from there to reach the island of Crete, the prisons of which held one of the most skilled inventor and his son captive for a crime they did not commit. Sampati wanted them safe and sound, for he owed the inventor his life.

It had been so many years, but that day was still stamped in his mind like a badge that defines him and his existence. He thought of it so often that it seems as if it were only yesterday that two young brothers were soaring in the sky, racing and competing out of pure boyishness.

I am more powerful than you, Jatayu said to him with pure determination blazing in his eyes.

The flares of the sun will soon touch the back of my head and grant me benediction, Sampati replied.

The brothers kept flying with speed unparalleled, for they were the sons of Gods. That was when Jatayu decided that for once and for all, he would prove his worth. He put in all the power and devotion to his wings and his goal, the Sun. He would mark his name in the pages of history and be the first one to fly alongside the Sun as it continued its journey across the sky. His ambition was as boundless as the sea over which they flew. He saw nothing but the Sun; and so he did not see the steam from the sizzling of his wings.

But we all know now that there was someone who did. Sampati, with loyalty and prudence unwavering, put into use the last of his strength. Bolting forward, Sampati spread his hefty wings above his brother, shielding him from the searing heat of the Sun. He would remember the pain all his life. He would remember that excruciating amount of time that his back was exposed to the Sun while Jatayu struggled to lower his height, with his brother draped over his back. Sampati felt as if his back and wings were the surface where molten lead was being cooled. If the darkest nights produce the brightest stars, then the brightest days illuminate the darkest nightmares. So young, and broken already.

But as is the rule of samsara, all is predestined. Sampati's wings were reduced to cinders and he was only half alive as Jatayu lowered him to the ground with eyes full of anguish and unshed tears. But he was never meant to die. The great inventor Daedalus, who had set out to discover the secrets behind the finest sculpted artifacts and the revolutionary knowledge harboured by the eastern half of the world, was on his expedition to Dakshin Bharat. He had been trying to follow the majestic creatures for a while now and was the witness to the unfortunate fate of Sampati. He emerged from the bushes.

"Let me help."

Jatayu, who was cradling his brother all this while and shedding silent tears of remorse turned to him. "Not even the greatest Gods can help my brother now. His wings are gone, reduced to ash."

Daedalus stepped forward. "Maybe his wings cannot be saved now, but his life can. Let me help. I can save your brother's life."

Jatayu stood up. "Do what you can, brahman."

Daedalus suppressed his curiosity that arose at that last word and chose to narrow his attention to the crisis at hand. With his mind at work and his greatest tools, his hands, in motion he soothed Sampati's burns with a magical salve. He carefully removed the wasted parts, applied the required ointments, sewed back the torn skin and asked Jatayu to make a shelter here and go back home only after Sampati regained consciousness.

As Daedalus was about to leave, Jatayu bowed to him and requested him to ask of a favour in return for saving his brother's life.

"Think of me, and I will be there."

Out of sheer respect for Jatayu's guilt, Daedalus agreed. And today was the day when he used that favour. Imprisoned in the castle of King Minos were Daedalus and his son Icarus, hastily putting together the wings of golden feathers. Any moment now, the sentries would discover them and the glue had not even begun to dry.

The glittering sea was a sight to behold. It stretched out beneath Jatayu like a bright blue sky rippling with stars. He could now see the castle of Minos, the eternal son of Zeus, King of Crete. It was a fortification so humongous and intricate that in its cracks resided skill, grandeur and opulence. Daedalus even designed his own cage with utmost care and attention.

Jatayu soared past the east wing of the castle and towards the west tower that held the prisons. He heard the commotion before he saw it. On the balcony were a boy, young in mortal years, and a man being chased by the palace guards. Jatayu immediately flew closer to them and flapped his enormous wings, creating a gust of air that would slow down the guards for a little while. Daedalus and Icarus had already strapped on the beautiful, golden wings. The adhesive had dried a bit, but it was still risky to rely on them for the flight of their lives.

The shuffling of feet, weapons, armour and yells could be heard again as the soldiers got back up.

"Anytime now," said a hassled Daedalus to Icarus and then to Jatayu, "I hope my work is strong enough to carry us off the shores and upto a strip of land to the far west. If it is not, then I believe that is where you will have to help us. You can-"

An arrow pierced the right golden wing on his back. A pair of wings lost.

Jatayu flapped his marvelous wings once again, this time with more force and power. Minos was just behind his squadron of soldiers and about to enter the edge of the balcony when he collapsed with the rest of the sentries.

"Son, jump off the ledge! Quick!"

"But father you-"

"I know what to do! Now hurry!"

Icarus leaped from the tower. He fell, his arms flapping wildly, until he achieved balance and his speed swiftened. He was now steadily rising upwards.

Meanwhile, Daedalus threw an explosive towards the guards. There was no means left now to hold them off any longer. Jatayu flew above him, picked him up with his claws, and soared out of the tower. Daedalus would have given anything to ensure that it was Icarus in his place, in the safe grip of Jatayu, but time became the worst betrayer of them all.

The guards kept on shooting volleys of arrows and Minos kept on commanding them but in the end, they were no longer in the range of imminent harm. Jatayu and Daedalus began to catch up to Icarus. They had only begun to get closer to him when Icarus extended his wings to their maximum wingspan and began gaining height. As troubled as Daedalus was, he smiled at his son when he saw him relishing the beauty of this world. But his smile was suddenly wiped off his face when he saw that Icarus didn't slow down. He was letting out whoops of joy and steadily reducing the distance between him and the sun's blistering heat.

"Son, no! Come down! You will burn!"

But Icarus paid no heed. Because of his father, Icarus had spent all his life within the walls of Minos' castle. He had never known what it feels like to breathe air that was devoid of any filtration. He had not been fortunate enough to feel the zing that comes with running across lush, green, rolling hills and valleys. Till now, he was forever forced to limit his casual capers to the fortified mansion.

Then suddenly, he is escaping the castle that had been his lifelong prison. His exhilaration knows no bounds as for the first time he feels that whipping wind on his face. He wants to feel the heat of the sun which he has been distanced from for so long. He wishes to surf the oceans he has never seen or swum in. He wants to seize his moment. He is like that baby birdling who has seen the world's marvel for the first time. But everything has a price.

Icarus falls to his death, but optimism never left his conscience. If he goes down, he will go down basking in something that had been denied to him all his life. His father is in anguish but he is not. He has overcome the fear of his failure because this was his first shaking step out into that world of opportunities. He will not let failure tone down the euphoria that graces him. After all, no one knows when such a piece of luck chooses to come by his way again. Time as we know it, is untrustworthy and therefore incapable of both friendship and enmity.

And in the end, Daedalus is a broken, bitter man. He lost his freedom and when he regained it, he lost his only son. Jatayu is the hapless witness of seeing another person bury themself with the same hatchet that he fell prey to. And Sampati is the epitome of grief and guilt, for it must be horrendously hurtful to see the futility of his losses and efforts come out to play with innocent lives.

#hindu mythology #fanfiction

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that-wizard-oki · 4 years ago

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if astral magic is slippery and slimey, what would the other schools of magic feel as textures?

Ooo, that’s actually an interesting question anon!

I think how astral magic feels might be exclusive to Morganthe with the context that she’s autistic- like, the specific “slippery” feeling for her comes from the fact that she can’t seem to physically grasp or hold it. This is so specific, but for her, handling astral magic is like trying to hold a really thin, but really long worm that just KEEPS moving, but you can barely feel it at all in your hands because it’s so thin if that makes sense.

But in a general sense, here’s my thoughts on what the other schools might feel like (some specific textures, as well as a few more hypothetical-ish ones):

Ice Ice magic has a heaviness to it- casting the spells feels like swinging an axe that’s a little to big. It’s leather boots weighed down by frost on the soles, large iron pauldrons keeping you safe, the force of the air stinging your cheeks in an endless blizzard. There is a feeling of weightlessness as the air stirs you about, taunting to sweep you off your feet- yet there is always a fear that the very ground you stand on could shatter at any moment. Thaumatergists, keep your stance grounded, wide and steady. Stay persistent.

Storm Storm is excitement, a thrill, adrenaline. Swimming along a fast current, lighting in a bottle, a loud snap of the fingers, the feeling when you jump to high and aren’t sure how you’re going to land. What goes up has to come down, and the only comfort waiting for you is the deep belly of the ocean. You’re your own greatest strength and weakness. Forever a tipping of the scale, Diviners are never in one place for long. Keep moving forward.

Fire Fire runs deep, fire runs personal. This magic feels like the love from another soul, the belly of a house, the blood of the underground catacombs. It’s the air in the scream for when you fight for your life, serving as both the breath in your lungs and the blood in your heart, forever ruminating in your chest. It keeps you alive for eternity, yet kills you slowly. Pyromancers are the very thing that eventually extinguishes itself, round and round. Don’t forget to breathe.

Life Life is like an unexpected giggle that feels natural. It has sort of a freshness to it, a breath from within your lungs that isn’t just your own, but one shared with everything around you. It’s tight knit gloves, linen sheets, bare feet on grass, and holding the hands of your loved ones. A breeze that smells like tilled soil and future tidings. Theurgists can look into a mirror and see exactly everything they want to see, but not the worms crawling under their feet. Remember to look down once and awhile.

Myth Myth feels like the the creak of the floorboards in an unending hall of books, the strum of a lute played by the court jester, and is the light of a campfire under the storytellers face. It’s eyes where eyes should never be, but always have been. A jingle of bells in the wind, a tap on the shoulder in the dark, and the whispers of things under the bridge. Conjures can see all the colors of the rainbow, or be blinded by them subsequently. Stay focused on the end of the path.

Death Death is the only thing colder than ice, it is true numbness. It’s slow, it’s creeping, yet cunning. Gripping onto something that’s dissolving in your very hands, the panic of trying to find ground to stand on when there’s only an abyss below. Death is being able to feel nothing and win, it’s detachment from all the senses. Your a blind in every way imaginable, but know true existence. Necromancers are can float above the end, and walk over the abyss. But you cannot look down, or you will fall, eventually.

Balance Balance is pricking your finger on the end of a fine point needle. It’s the last note at the end of a symphony, the center of the brightest star. This magic does not move, but always moves others. It does not ripple the waters, but is the very water that is rippled by the stone. Balance is the drum to be struck, the tip of the sword as it plunges into hearts, a conduit for everything that comes through your soul. As precise as you are, beware Sorcerers- you must never become the center of the universe. You must stay stagnant, but not become such.

Shadow Shadow feels like a cowl that fits just right, though the stitching begins to unravel with use. It’s cutting your hair at the riverbank in the rain, the clippings itching your neck after the fact. It’s sewing up a scar that keeps reopening because you pick at it to much, a decaying plant that you forgot to tend to, rotting in the corner. This magic is holding broken glass in your hands and trying to see the reflection, it’s everything you never wanted to be yet everything you truly are. It’s love and it’s hate, it’s the darkest place you can go and still find light. Shadowmancers can take frayed, forgotten threads, and weave a tapestry out of what was once thought to be broken. Allow the needle to poke you, or it’ll never get finished.

Astral Astral magic is the unseen in the night sky, the void parts between each constellation that is anything but nothing. It feels like frozen dew drops on a spiders web, the grains of sand on a forgotten shore. This magic continues to turn eon after eon, moving as rapidly as an insects wings. It has a sound so high in frequency that you cannot hope to hear. Though, when using this magic, you can feel it course through the fibers of your soul, the veins in your arms tingle with an energy never imagined. You are, in every sense, amplified. Do not fly beyond the stars, you’ll never come back down.

#wizard101 #oki answers a thing #anon #damn this was fun to write thanks anon for the question #i hope you enjoyed :D #Anonymous

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star-maiden · 4 years ago

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Oracle of November - Healing and Personal Growth

Theme: What is needed for your highest growth and healing?

Hello and welcome! This week we are seeing a bit of a change with my readings! (Don’t worry. I will still do the Tarot Forecast). With everything that has been happening in the world recently, I think many of us are noticing a shift in energy. People are fearful, worried, anxious, angry, and all the shades of feeling that come in between. This week, I was inspired to do this oracle reading focusing on the themes of healing, self care and what we need to focus on to become the best, brightest version of ourselves. I asked Spirit to share messages that we needed to hear at this time to support our highest growth and healing, and in general help us handle everything that is happening in the world in a healthy and supportive way. As with all of my readings for the collective, these messages are meant for a wide range of people, life paths and situations. It is general outlook advice. As such, you may find that not everything resonates with you completely, and that is ok. Please take only what resonates and leave the rest. You will also want to check your sun, moon and rising signs for the message or messages that are meant for you. I sincerely hope that these messages will serve your highest and greatest good, and assist you in making wise, informed decisions. May you be safe and supported at all times!

⭐ Another deviation from my usual modus operandi this week is that instead of my tarot cards, I will be using an oracle deck. This is fairly unusual for me because I tend to only use my oracle deck in private readings for myself or with clients. However, I feel that this particular oracle is best suited to the task of providing us with the messages that will be most supportive at this time. If you guys like the oracle reading, I may start doing a monthly oracle for the collective. Please let me know if you would be interested in seeing that! This deck is the Starseed Oracle by Rebecca Campbell and Danielle Noel.

General Message: The general message for the entire collective at the moment is The Void. Stop. Embrace Winter. The Great Cosmic Womb. The message of this card tells us to surrender to the unknown. Trust that just because we do not have all the answers and cannot see every little thing that is happening beneath the surface, it doesn’t mean that something is not at work. We will all be best served by taking a sacred pause at this time. Rest, replenish and prepare ourselves to move forward in action again when the time is right.

♈ - Aries: The Great Severing. Mars energy. Anger. Conflict. Softening to love. For you this month, Aries, I am sensing that there is a rift that needs to be mended. This may be a conflict with loved ones or acquaintances, or it may be an internal conflict that you have been struggling with. This card is one of shadow work and confronting anything in our lives that make it difficult to feel connected to love, and supported in our work/daily lives. This card is appearing to tell you that it’s ok to feel the way that you do, even if the emotions may seem negative. In order to move away from hurt and anger, we have to go through the experience and process of feeling these things. Whatever is coming up for you, acknowledge it, process your feelings by allowing the experience. It doesn’t make you “weak” or incapable in any capacity, it makes you human. Still, do not feel ashamed of your reaction to difficult emotions. Wanting to hide away, to close your heart off and to protect yourself from further pain is normal. However, when this happens, it’s important for you to acknowledge what is happening and consider the reasons why. Do what you need to do to move through the experience of your emotions. It may be that you need some time for yourself, or that you need to talk to someone you trust, or even that you need to seek professional support. All of this is perfectly ok. Take care of yourself, Aries.

♉ - Taurus: Soul Plan. The Fated Life Vs the Destiny Life. Taurus, right now you need to remember your roots and your strength. What was it about your character, personality or spirit that has carried you so far already? You have wandered away from yourself, and have not been standing in your power. This card is telling you that you have not lost your strength, but rather you have forgotten. Sometimes, when we find ourselves in unfamiliar situations, or on a path to which the destination is unclear, we experience doubt and fear. This is ok to feel, but don’t let it rob you of your agency. You are being called to remember the strength of your soul and the inspiration of your spirit. What can you accomplish when you lead from a place of love, rather than an illusion created by fear?

♊ - Gemini: Messenger. Sirius Energy. Bringing Harmony and Balance. The message for you this month, and the way that you can support your highest growth and healing right now rests in the power of your voice. This is the power of your mind and your words to create and communicate. It may even be that you are not the one in need of healing at this time, but that you are being called to act as a mediator for someone else. The message of this card is that there are certain souls on this planet who are here to spend their lifetimes uplifting the collective energy, and to be the guardians of balance and harmony. Their life path or purpose, in this sense, is to help the collective recognize the connections that tie us together. This includes connections between people, people and the planet, with spirit and the divine. It is possible that you are one of these souls tasked with holding this frequency of pure love. There may be a special calling or work that you feel drawn to, or you could simply be meant to live your life with great love and intention, leading by example. This month, consider how you can create balance in your life? Who does this benefit? How does creating balance take care of you? Be sure not to create this balance at the detriment of your own well being, though.

♋ - Cancer: Loosen Your Grip. Coping Mechanisms. Destiny. Addictions. Let God In. This card is appearing to let you know that there is something, a feeling, habit or idea, that you have been holding onto too tightly. It is likely that you have used this thing as a coping mechanism; as a way to distract yourself from the things that are not going well in your life, or to cover a vulnerable aspect of yourself. This is not supportive for you, and has become a hindrance to your growth and happiness. It is time to let go, and to trust yourself and the experience you are having now. You are strong and capable, and can meet any challenge with grace and ease. Do not let fear tell you otherwise. Call in support if you need to. The oracle book says this: “Loosening your grip doesn’t mean that what you are clinging to will go away. It may. Or it might stay. But you can be sure that what is for you will find you.” Take this time to let go of anything that is not serving you, or that is destructive in any way. Letting go is part of the healthing process.

♌ - Leo: Star Bathing. Light Body. Crystal Grid. Transmission. Activation. I’m hearing a question for you, Leo. Spirit is saying “Where do you shine?”. In what ways do you feel most inspired to show up in the world? In what ways do you feel stifled? This card is asking you to consider what has been going on recently in your life. Is there anything that makes you feel especially drained, or reluctant? If so, it could be that it is not meant for you and needs to be let go. It could also mean that you are spending too much time focusing on outward actions, and not enough time doing things that are meaningful and restorative for you. Evaluate your feelings and energy levels. Take things slow. Is there anything that needs to change?

♍ - Virgo: Earth School. Life Lessons. Soul Growth. Study. Higher Learning. There is something that you need to learn, a karmic lesson perhaps. What has been showing up for you again and again? Virgo, pay attention to any patterns that may appear in your life right now. This is a sign that you need to pay special attention to these areas as it is time to mend them. This card also asks you to consider your perspective on any difficulties that show up in your life right now. You may find them easier to handle if you think of them as opportunities for growth, rather than “getting something wrong”. This month, consider: How are you being called to grow and learn?

♎ - Libra: Earth Pulsing. Pulse of the Mother. Slow Down. Time in Nature. Wow, Libra! Spirit’s message for you came through so clear! This month, you need to focus on self care. If you have recently found yourself in a cycle of “go, go, go” and are feeling a bit tired, then it’s time to rest. It’s time for you to reconnect with nature, with yourself, with the earth energy. When you take time for yourself, you allow for stagnant energy to fall away, and open yourself up to receiving more energies of love and inspiration from the universe.

♏ - Scorpio: You’re not for Everyone. Embrace Your Weirdness. Face Your True North. The message of this card tells you that you shouldn’t try to fit in or conform to anyone’s perception of who you are. Rather, you should focus on being true to yourself, and showing up in the world in a way that makes you happy. Sometimes, this is difficult for others to accept. Most often, it is the people who are closest to us that carry the strongest opinions of who we should be, and it can sometimes result in conflicts and disbelief whenever we uncover a side of ourselves that was previously hidden. Others may not agree with our choices or styles, but this is ok. We need to learn to be ok with each other's differences, and if someone cannot accept you for who you are, then it is a waste of your time and energy to try and convince them otherwise. In life, there will always be people who don’t like you because you don’t fit in the box that they have created to categorize and understand the world around them. This isn’t your fault or problem to fix. For every person that dislikes you, there is also someone else who will love you fiercely and stand up for you should you need it. Seek out these people. Don’t waste your time and gifts trying to make someone else see your worth. If they can’t see it already, it’s their loss.

♐ - Sagittarius: You are Not Alone. Isolation. Physical Connection. Community. With this card, Sagittarius, I am hearing that perhaps you have been spending too much time in your head. You may have withdrawn into yourself to deal with something, or to protect yourself from pain or conflict. In fact, many people find it deeply nourishing and healing to pull back from the buzz of the world, go within and rest. It is a great tool of self care, and a wonderful way to take care of ourselves when we feel overwhelmed. However, we can also spend too much time alone. If we stay withdrawn to the point that we are completely isolated from everything and everyone around us, then this can also be draining and damaging. Right now, it may not be safe for you to venture out and you’ll want to consider your personal health and safety when making decisions. One great tool that we have is technology. If you have been feeling isolated and alone, reach out on social media or to your friends via technology. How can you reach out to the people in your life to feel more supported?

♑ - Capricorn: Forge. Don’t Follow. Be the leader you wish you had. This month, Capricorn, you are being called to heal and mend something that happened in the past. This may be something that happened to you or to someone around you. Pave a new path forward by leading by example. Is there something that occurred in the past that you feel was handled poorly? This could also be in reference to social justice and equity. How can you be a leader in this situation? The book says “the most courageous and needed leaders are the ones who don’t wait for permission, or until they wake up feeling ready. They take a deep breath, put one foot in front of the other, and figure it out as they go.” This is a powerful message. Like Gemini’s message, I’m sensing that it may not be you who needs healing at this time. It may be that you are being called to light the way for someone else. If no one is stepping up to the plate on topics that you are passionate about, then forge your own way. If this is something that you feel very strongly about, then no one else would be able to meet your goal with the same level of skill, passion, experience and unique perspective as you can. How are you being called to lead right now?

♒ - Aquarius: Big Picture Thinking. Pleiades Energy. Visionary. Inspired Ideas. You are being called to bring healing and renewed energy into your life through your creativity and inspiration. Is there an area of your life that feels stagnant and watered down? If so, then it is time to breathe some life back into it; to rekindle your passionate spirit. It is never too late to make changes and to learn new things. Aquarius, you may be the sign that knows this lesson best. What new ideas or creations are you being called to pursue? These ideas may be revolutionary in the sense that they turn the status quo upside down, or they may be of a “big-picture” perspective; designed to create change on a large scale. This card is asking you to dream a new world into being for yourself. To do so, you will need to envision what sort of future you’d like to have, hold this vision and follow it with daily action. Walking this path may take great courage, but it will be worth it in the end.

♓ - Pisces: Child of the Cosmos. The intelligence of the universe lies within you. This month, you are being called to trust yourself. Trust your inner knowing and all the work you have done thus far.The intelligence of Spirit; of the universe and the Divine is within you, just as it is in all living things. It is the part of you that knows the way forward no matter how unclear and uncertain your logical mind becomes. However, because we all live our lives with free will, it can sometimes be hard to recognize the deeper wisdom of our higher selves. We may become disconnected from our intuition, and forget to trust our own sense of knowing. If you have felt lost lately, then this card is a reminder to look within. Trust the voice of your intuition, and let it guide you forward. You are always connected to the source of inner strength, wisdom, flow and power. You just need to remember.

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canyouhearthevoices · 3 years ago

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‘Star 1117′ Lyric Analysis

Released with the Action to Answer album, January 2020, as a song dedicated to ATINY.

The song doesn’t seem very deep at first - it is a nice song thanking ATINY for their support, and using a lot of the general cosmic/light imagery motif that ATEEZ likes. The analysis would be very repetitive if I kept pointing this out, so I haven’t. It’s important to note that, although this one could certainly be important to the storyline, it has greater real life relevance than in the storyline.

However, it is the number 1117 that could give us some insight. Obviously, this is a reference to the birth of ATINY as a fandom (November 17th), but this number when searched also comes up with some interesting results as an Angel Number.

What are Angel Numbers? Well, as far as I can find out, they are numbers that seem to pop up everywhere for you - for example, if you notice a lot of 2s in number plates, place names etc in your life. They are supposed to be messages sent from your Guardian Angel, and they have particular meaning to the person and the angel involved.

There’s a lot there, so I’ll give a list of things that Angel Number 1117 could mean, or could suggest about the person who has that number. I’ll put any specific thoughts on any of these in brackets.

Material abundance and monetary gain

Honest working

Using above material gain to help others (Treasure - many of the members want to use their Treasure to help others.)

To achieve their greatest potential in the above, the person needs to grow morally and work on themself

Intellectual and skillful

Rash, and prone to jealousy, greed and selfishness which can destroy relationships

Many who write on/study Angel Numbers recommend that the 1117 person gains persistence and patience, as well as confidence in themselves (this is something that ATINY and ATEEZ, IRL and in the story, especially Hongjoong in the story, could do well with)

Metamorphosis and transformation

Karma and destiny

Independence, creativity and aspirations

Create relationships through charm, presence, and attention

So, all of these certainly make an appearance in the storyline. This could be intentional, or it could be unintentional on KQ’s part.

Either way, the song is very important to ATEEZ and ATINY.

The song isn’t on my storyline playlist yet, and, although I didn’t notice any particular members’ lines of importance, there were quite a few differing translations which could lend some context to what is being said.

Full lyric analysis below the line.

Star 1117

This verse also translates as, ‘the words I couldn’t say, I will sincerely tell you now. Even the hurtful memories will light up all of you and your star.’

this verse is also, ‘when the people, to whom I want to sing songs of love look up to the stars in the clear night sky, memories seem to come back.’

Wooyoung’s lines here are also, ‘You know you’re my greatest happiness, turn into a star and come to me.’

San’s last line and Yunho’s first line here are; ‘My only star. Forever I will make you shine.’

At this point I also note how this is clearly a very Treasureteez song - Treasureteez have a habit of addressing the listener, while Halateez don’t.

The third and foruth lines of this Jongho part are also, ‘I will watch over you so no sadness will ever get to you.’

The join between Wooyoung and Hongjoong’s parts here is also translated as, ‘My eyes glitter with happiness.’

This verse is also, ‘As the days go by I might lose some memories, but to me you were always the brightest light.’ I think this is a bit sadder than the original line, because it seems to be more about the idea of desperately holding onto memories even as they fade away, as opposed to just sing all memories of everthing other than ATINY.

There also seems to be a missing verse between this one and the next one in the translation I used, which is; ‘I don’t think I’ll ever forget this time, to you, the star that is always by my side watching me, thank you.’ Which could be a third translation of the above verse, but I am unsure. Either way, it adds onto the same meaning.

Conclusions

It has some very interesting and layered meaning, mostly through the use of the number 1117. As with many parts of the ATEEZ storyline (like Mobius’ star sign in ‘Eternal Sunshine’) I don’t know if this was a coincidence or intended, but it adds a lot of context to the storyline either way.

#ateez #atiny #ateez theories #lyric analysis #treasure #treasure epilogue #treasure epilogue: action to answer #action to answer #star 1117

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chalkrevelations · 3 years ago

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OK, so, episode reax of WoH Ep 4 is briefly delayed – may be out Sunday, but more likely post M-W workweek. It is coming. Meanwhile, have some more Street Dance of China? S3, Ep 2.

First of all, I have to say that if I had any way of figuring out what some of this music is, I’d have a new Spotify playlist 300 songs long.

ANYWAY, we get a recap of … Wang Yibo being incredulous about coming in last place in a dance competition. Wang Yibo vowing to get back the three colorful towels he lost by coming in last place in a dance competition and therefore can’t use to send three more of his team’s dancers on to the next round. Hip-hop freestyle battles for TOWELS. Wang Yibo getting his colorful towels back. Ridiculous unnecessary drama over whether Lay Zhang is going to win his battle and get EVEN MORE colorful towels, given his competition is Wallace Chung (oh dear. that was kind of blunt.). And that’s what you missed on Glee Street Dance of China 3 Ep 1.

Snapshots of what’s coming up this week: Everyone has shot their wad on towels and is sweating the fact that they have 59 more dancers they want to send through to the next round and a single towel left. (I TOLD YOU SO. ALL OF YOU.) The only way to get more towels is to battle for them. A hip-hop battle has NEVER BEEN SO IMPORTANT.

Cutting here, I guess, for ridiculously detailed nattering. Hashtag long post (remorseful):

Team Lay Zhang: First of all, Lay Zhang, I just have to note that you’re getting an edit that doesn’t make you look like the brightest bulb in the box. I don’t know if this is just the edit, or if it’s … well. You. I guess we’ll see as the season goes on. Also, in the interim, I have found out that you also are Zhang Yixing, which a lot of your fandom seems to actually call you, so should I call you Yixing instead of Lay? You seem to be going by Lay for this show, so it seems polite to stick to that? Anyway. Gongsun Wu Ming & Hei Zai start us off this episode, and they get off to a little bit of a slow start, but once they pick up, they’ve got a lot of nice air in their moves, that effortless(-looking) almost anti-gravity effect that good breakers can get. Then we almost immediately get a series of ok, that’s fine, oh, wait, no, THAT is actually pretty mediocre poppers, none of whom gets a towel, thank god, because the supply has to be running low. And then Teng Zai appears, claiming to be the best popper, and … OK. OK, alright. Fine. He might be right. His technique and control are fantastic, but you want to know what really sells me, in the middle of this generally fantastic performance? It’s that series of chest pops followed by the little heart held out right on the fk’n music. It’s little details like that, that make or break a performance, and he pulled it off beautifully. I went back to re-watch, it was so slick, yet so charming. OK, maybe I went back to watch more than once. You can’t prove anything. (Also, he gets called their little “Ares” - in quotes, in the subs – by other contestants, more than once, but I can’t pick out the actual sound of that name, which makes me think the subbers have inserted “Ares” as something that will give the flavor of what he’s actually being called. My 1st level Duolingo Mandarin is absolutely not enough to figure out what people are actually calling him, so is there anyone who’s able to give me some insight, here?) Aaaand, Towel Battle 1 (see Footnote 1). Post-battle, we’ve reached the point when all the captains are sweating their lack of towels, so e’rybody is just going to have to battle for towels from here on out. Yuan Ye faces Momo, and a little bit, this is where I expect the knife fight to start (Momo’s bringing the knife). I’m honestly not that impressed with either of them and probably would have saved my towel for someone else, but Lay Zhang decides to send them both through, so what’s the point of a battle to begin with? BUT THEN (dun-dun-dun) some dude calling himself Bon shows up to really cut a bitch, waves away both Yuan Ye and Momo to the sidelines, describes himself as “a boom” and proceeds to give a performance that imo is kind of mushy and all over the place. Lay Zhang looks a little taken aback as Bon sort of grinds up on him but can’t even really commit to that, just before Lin Zi Jie shows up. Lay Zhang makes Zi Jie change his coat - thank god, because you can’t see half of what he’s doing and he actually seems like the most towel-worthy performance out of this whole cluster of flail – and asks for a freestyle battle, which turns out to not be that great on Bon’s or Zi Jie’s parts, actually. I feel like the dance vocabulary here is kind of limited, and we’re left with a bunch of hip-shaking, grinding, and supposedly seductive looks, which is NOT going to cut it in the battles we’ve seen already. Towels to Momo and Zi Jie, rather than putting them in reserve and waiting to see who else shows up, which I think is probably a mistake, but OK, I’m not a pop idol with the clout to star on this show, so. (I know what I like to watch, tho’, and none of that was it.) A promise to Yuan Ye that she gets a Battle Towel. Time for Towel Battle 3 (See Footnote 3).

Team Wallace Chung: So, first off, there’s George, who dances before he’ll introduce himself, and I guess I have to respect a guy who’s going to let his performance be his introduction. And then we get a series of OK that’s fine but not really great poppers, and Wallace, unlike Lay, is handing out towels like candy. OK, my man. If that’s really what you want to do, I guess, but it doesn’t seem like the greatest idea to me. You’re also really fucking with the morale of the dancers who haven’t performed yet, who are gradually realizing that you’re going to run out of towels before you even get to them. Hilariously (for me, if not the contestants), I paused at this point to go refresh my bourbon and managed to freeze on a random contestant, identified as Wei Ming - who I don’t know if we’ll ever get to see actually perform, but he deserves the bolded name for this, alone – looking baffled and concerned, with the English subtitle on his comment reading “Sir, what are you thinking?” I suspect he is not using “Sir” in the sense that I use it when my cat (or Zhang Zhehan) has done something appallingly adorable, but rather when the cat has knocked yet another gd pen off my desk while I’m trying to take notes, just to be a bastard for attention. (OTOH, I guess if you weren’t one of the dancers bold enough to swarm up there in the first couple of hours, you take what you get. Fortuna fortes adiuvat.) We finally get to Lin Meng, whose reputation precedes him, but seriously, if Wallace is just handing out towels to every popper, what does it even mean? Wallace – Wallace – proceeds to basically call Lin Meng an old man before making him bargain for a towel, which is a shame, because Lin Meng deserves to get not only this towel but the four towels you just gave away to some guys who should still be holding Lin Meng’s jacket, Wallace. I mean, seriously, this guy’s technique is fantastic. Even if he does fumble his jacket lapel that one time. Aaaand, Towel Battle 1 (see Footnote 1). Post battle, we get A.K. Dong, who’s got some excellent musicality and a face that apparently resembles a variety show star (Hank Chen?). I mean, I guess it gets him noticed, but it sucks that it seems to overshadow his dancing, because he’s really good. Then we notice our towels are running low, and everybody is just going to have to battle it out. Wallace promises the Battle Towel to some dude who we don’t see perform and don’t get a name for, and with my prognisticatory skills, I’m going to say we won’t need to know his name, because this is the last we’ll see of him. Time for Towel Battle 3 (See Footnote 3).

Team Wang Yibo: First up, we get Bing, whose reputation precedes him, prompting other teams to look around and wonder what all the commotion is about. Bing has a motorbike moment with Yibo, before giving a performance that starts off the tiniest bit mushy before he puts some fantastic technique on display. Yibo pulls out his Perpetual Student schtick and asks for some freestyle with some motorbike elements, which at first makes me suspect you might be fucking with this guy just a little bit, Yibo, but Bing is both game and versatile, and he eventually gets his towel, along with a wish from Yibo to ride together sometime, and oh. (As we say, in A Very Significant Tone, on AO3.) All of that was flirting. OK. On the heels of Yibo giving me yet another clue as to his taste in men, we roll into a seriously uncomfortable segment that stomps all over my embarrassment squick because they’ve cut together several women to look desperate and starstruck and comical and dumb, while Yibo looks increasingly uncomfortable, and I am super not down with this, show. I’ll admit that from what we can see, none of them are great dancers, but I suspect there were a lot of not-great male dancers, too, and I just. Ick. This was unnecessary, you haven’t done it to any of the other captains, and it frankly doesn’t make Yibo look that great, when you set his reactions here against the fact that not only have we not seen approval from him for any female contestants so far, but this segment is the only interaction we’ve seen from him with any female contestants so far. Hard on the heels of this segment, we get Chick, who is very good when he wants to be but also super-extra and annoying, and who fucks around more than he really dances, but the audience seems charmed with him, and Yibo doesn’t give him any of the smackdown he deserves, which doesn’t improve my impression of the previous segment, given the varied ways Yibo iced out some of the women. Meanwhile, Jackson Wang strolls over, and Yibo acts super weird about it, for a guy who was the first one to wander into someone else’s territory, which was – oh, yeah, I remember, Jackson’s – to watch his dancers, and Jackson says that he would give Chick a towel before heading back to his own street, and then Yibo does, even though he fucks with him a little bit first, and then there’s a bit of footage cut in of Yibo making dumbass excuses for this guy, so. I’m not entirely feeling you right now, Yibo. Also, all of this is certainly doing nothing to disabuse me of the notion that you’re about 1000000x more comfortable in homosocial situations, for whatever reason. Anyway, we then get a montage of Yibo handing out some towels to various dancers (including a woman, finally, although she’s intercut with some other people and doesn’t actually get a full segment of her own), and then we get Tao and Cici, who are both good, but Yibo now discovers that he only has three towels and there are two people standing in front of him, so he gives a towel to Tao and promises one to Cici after the next towel battle, which, yeah, Tao is probably better, but this is a hell of time to decide to be circumspect with your towels, Yibo, when you can leave a woman sitting on the sidelines but send her husband through to the next round. :hands: Anyway, it’s time for Towel Battle 2 (See Footnote 2), and I do have to give Yibo props, again, for his teambuilding, because he takes a minute to say, hey, there aren’t a lot of towels left, and there are quite a few of you, so what we’re going to do is all go over there together, and get another towel, as a team. Post-battle, Yibo is still concerned about his lack of towels, and everyone left is going to have to battle it out, although, frankly, the way Yibo’s been going on about how much he likes battles, I sort of think he might secretly be a tiny bit excited about this. He ends up putting person after person into reserve, waiting to see everyone, probably, and then Meng Di shows up, and she’s already got the rest of the group behind her. They know her, they know she has cochlear implants, they respond immediately when she shushes them so she can hear Yibo and the music, they call for the DJ to turn up the music for her, they clap together to emphasize the beat. She’s smart enough to keep six feet between her and Yibo while she dances, so that she doesn’t spook him like the fragile and shy homosocial forest creature he apparently is. She immediately gets her cha cha on when her battle partner holds out his hand to lead her out for her turn. Good technique, even though there are a few bobbles. None of these four performances in the final battle are the best we’ve seen so far, but they’re solid. Yibo is clearly torn about what to do with his one towel, although the audience starts getting kind of insistent that he needs a waacker, and a female waacker at that, and he ends up making Bullet and Meng Di battle again. She’s performing for the audience at this point – I mean, she’s not even pretending about it, she spends most of this round facing them, with her back to Yibo - and she’s also versatile, genre-wise, so I think we can all see where this is going. I think he really wanted to give that towel to Bullet, who definitely is very good, but he knew that he’s painted himself into a corner where he ought to give it to Meng Di, so that he’s got some genre-versatility on the team, if nothing else. Towel to Meng Di, and a promise to Bullet to win another Battle Towel for him. Time for Towel Battle 3 (See Footnote 3).

Team Jackson Wang: First up is Bai, who apparently is a favorite from season one, but I haven’t seen season one – or season two - so I don’t have any history on any of these people. Bai is doing a bit, here, but he’s also generally got some good technique, so OK. Why are they blurring out his left wrist, though? Yang Yu Ting is really good, some more good technique, good musicality. And then we’re already on to Towel Battle 2 (See Footnote 2). Post-battle, we get Shen Kai Xiang, who apparently looks A LOT like Jack Ma, which seems to be little bit like if some Bill Gates-lookin’ mf’r showed up to audition for SYTYCD. Lyrical; good technique; much like Bai, appears to be doing a bit. And, then, as with all the captains, the dearth of towels sets in, and Jackson is going to put everyone in the gladiator ring and make them battle it out. Maybe we can win another Battle Towel. Time for Towel Battle 3 (See Footnote 3).

***

Footnote 1, AKA Towel Battle 1, Team Lay Zhang vs. Team Wallace Chung, 3v3: Team Lay Zhang is San Jin, who they throw up some B-roll on, since the show has spent no time on him so far although he seems to be in cahoots with Xiao Bao (see Ep 1 recap); Gongsun Wu Ming, who’s spoiling for a battle after no one would take him up on it during his initial performance; and Teng Zai, because I mean, come on. Team Wallace Chung is Lin Meng, which should be interesting, since he and Teng Zai are apparently from the same crew, George, and Qin Yu, who we not only haven’t seen before this, that I can remember, but don’t even get B-roll on while Wallace is talking strategy, unlike the other two. Qin Yu, this does not bode well for your future on the show, if they’re not even bothering to give you B-roll, let alone an edit. Both captains are very weird about introducing their dancers, like these guys are some big surprise and aren’t going to dance in front of everybody in a minute and half, anyway. Possibly this is some kind of attempt at a dominance display? I don’t know. It’s won by the host, anyway, who eventually enforces his will and gets some introductions out of the captains. Anyway, Gongsun is up first for Team Lay Zhang, and this dude is just fun to watch, with great musicality and flow, and Wallace’s face while watching him is a picture, let me tell you. He’s up on Qin Yu almost immediately, possibly sensing the weakest link of Team Wallace? Team Wallace counters with George, who’s not having any of that, and gets the first point for his team. Second round, Teng Zai is once again impeccable, so even though someone has lit a fire under George, who spends half his time upside down, he nevertheless loses the point to Teng Zai. Round three, Teng Zai and Lin Meng face off, and they’ve both got great technique, although I feel like Lin Meng has a slight edge there, but I also think Teng Zai did a better job of showcasing strength and control, so I’m not surprised when the judges go for another round, in which Teng Zai is still super-fun to watch and definitely on his game, but Lin Meng steps up with some incredible precision, so I’m a little surprised when the judges give it (unanimously) to Teng Zai and Team Lay Zhang. One more round, and Teng Zai … is maybe wearing down a little bit, coasting on this one, and oh, hey, we’re finally going to get to see Qin Yu, who has some nice fluidity but maybe doesn’t really match up to Teng Zai in the charisma department, which may be why we haven’t seen him before this, and also why he loses the round. Round, battle, and two towels to Team Lay Zhang, and we still haven’t seen more than 15 seconds of B-roll of San Jin. But wait! There’s still a moment to be had, in which Teng Zai suggests donating one of their towels to Team Wallace, namechecks love and peace as a vital part of street dance, and quite possibly cements his place in my – and everyone else’s - heart. Both sides go home with a towel.

Footnote 2, AKA Towel Battle 2, Team Wang Yibo vs. Team Jackson Wang, 3v3 captain-led battle: Oh, they get to choose a song for each other. This should be interesting. I feel like there’s some shit-talking going on here, although I’m not really equipped to catch it and am at the mercy of the subtitles. Does Jackson really ask Yibo, “You WERE a dancer when you were young?” because lol. And Yibo is all, “Eh, kind of?” I do love how neither of them can hold still for songs two and three. So, Team Yibo is also Bing and Tao, while Team Jackson is also Bai and Ting. The thing that strikes me immediately during the minute or so that they get to plan and quickly choreograph is that Team Yibo has everyone there – there’s no point during this planning stage that the entire crew isn’t involved. They’re all part of this. Meanwhile, Team Jackson is just the three of them, separate from everybody, working out their choreography. The whole-team approach IMMEDIATELY pays off, when Team Yibo slams out of the gate with an energy and power and fullness to their performance that Yibo will later comment is fueled by the atmosphere that the dancers at the back create, and he’s right, it’s just like a wave of pressure pushing them forward, not even getting into the fact that the three people actually in the battle are fucking good. Team Jackson is also good, but they don’t feel like a team, the crew in the back doesn’t seem to have it together, and the loss of that – it has an impact. No surprise that Round 1 goes to Team Yibo and their Attitude, which is like an entire fourth dancer on its own. Round two coming up, and the entire Team Yibo is still involved in the planning stages, Yibo’s flannel has come off and we’re down to T-shirt sleeves, and Tao is surprising me not only with his moves – I honestly didn’t expect him to come as hard as he does, given he and Cici were more lyrical in their initial performance – but in his killer instinct, because he’s the one who suggests getting up in Jackson’s face, lit. and fig., by yoinking one of his signature moves. Meanwhile, Yibo is playing gay chicken, and it is just as great an idea as it sounds like (and this is that performance that a clip of it was making the rounds a few months ago); meanwhile Jackson is going high (?) concept, and that is just as bad an idea as it sounds like, although he does attempt some charming self-deprecation when it’s all over (also, omg, one of the contestant reactions later is that he’s “short of brain trust.” I’m not actually sure what the most eloquent way to translate that comment would have been, but it certainly gets an idea across.) Chick actually earns his pay in one of the best moments of the battle that – as much as I hate to encourage it – actually does profit off his general air of douchery, Team Jackson continues to lack the kind of cohesive team feel that Team Yibo is bringing – and second round, battle, and towel to Team Yibo. THIS is the advantage of team-building from the very first minute. Also, fuck, Yibo and the dancers he’s collected are good. Technically, yes, but also, the auditions are getting kind of interminable, but after this battle, I’m excited again, and that kind of audience reaction is a good measure of whether your dancing is successful. (Towel goes to Cici, btw, which, yeah, Tao did fucking earn that for her, so I’m glad you came through on your promise to her, Yibo.)

Footnote 3, AKA Towel Battle 3, all four captains. Cypher. Four rounds. Everyone else’s face when the cypher is announced: D: Yibo’s face when the cypher is announced: >:D They each get to choose a style of music. Wallace chooses locking. Yibo and Jackson both choose hip-hop. Lay Zhang chooses krump. Yibo’s already moving before the music even starts, to whatever music lives inside his head. The music actually starts, and Yibo is in the center before anyone else gets the chance (probably before anyone else can get up their nerve …) My sound drops out right here, which, wtf, but I can still tell Yibo’s throwing down the gauntlet. He’s beatable, but not by anybody who’s going to coast. Also, goddam, he has legs for days. Lay Zhang is in next, with some good speed and power and crispness to his moves, although I’m having trouble taking that cap with the fake dreads seriously. It’s … actually super interfering with me getting on board with your vibe, my dude. Jackson’s up next, and he has somehow managed to bring my sound back, and he also lands, frankly, the best forward Salto we’ve seen from anyone so far this season, which I have to admit even though he is my inexplicable mortal enemy. Yibo and Wallace, ffs, ice him out in the follow-up, although he then does the same thing to Lay, so who tf knows what’s going on with the actual interpersonals between these guys and what’s for show, at this point. Wallace finally gets his turn and is super-game but horribly out-classed. Yibo gives him props anyway, which, good on you for respecting your elders and their efforts, I guess, baby, but let’s all admit that was an “E” for effort. Judges are frantically scribbling their points down as round 2/4 begins, and Yibo is the first one in the middle, again, and wtf gdi my sound really picks this point to drop out again? I feel like Youku may be fucking with me, at this point. ANYWAY, Yibo is finally, actually all in, and he’s got a fantastic Harlem shake, it’s like his joints are barely connected. I honestly could watch this boy dance all day, that’s how smooth he looks. Here’s the thing about Yibo, and it’s something the other captains haven’t yet achieved, or have only accomplished in slivers of time – he makes me want to dance, too. I watch him, and I want to be doing what he’s doing. You could say that he literally, not just figuratively or emotionally, moves me. And his ability to stoke that is something I really appreciate. Jackson Wang is up next and is pretty good, but I’m honestly more impressed with Lay Zhang, who manages to look almost like he’s being special-effected, that’s how staccato he gets at his best in this round. Wallace dances. The other captains are polite about it. More scribbling from the judges. Jackson’s the first one out there in round three, and he’s honestly looking the least tired of all of them. Stamina is maybe an issue, here. Even with Jackson, some of the finer control is gone. Y’all are maybe a little soft? How long has it been since any of you idols had to endure the workout of an entire concert? There’s a whole ‘nother round to go after this, so you better get your oxygen masks. Lay Zhang is still fairly crisp and pulls off a literal hat trick, although he’s doing a lot more upper body work that lets him stand in place than he is actually moving around. Jackson, with his baby boy enthusiasm and energy, is magnanimous enough to fill up some of Wallace’s time by “pulling” him into the center and then getting out there and dancing with him. I am old enough that I understand what Wallace is going through, but there’s just a noticeable difference in ability, here. Yibo is clearly waiting until last this time, to those of us paying scrupulous attention, although it’s nothing too obvious, and it does buy him enough time that he’s basically recovered by the time he gets back into the middle of the circle, although he’s a little less expansive than he’s been in the previous two rounds. So, strategic, then, too. Judges scribble as we move into the last round. No time for weakness, all of you. DID YOU HEAR ME, because most of you are looking, to be frank, just a little bit WEAK as you circle around and hang out on the edges and try to get your breath and energy back. I’m just sayin’. Lay takes the hit first, and he’s really trying, although he’s not as strong as he was back in the second round. I’m a little bit afraid he might fall over by the end of it. Yibo is sweating but pulls some random dude’s hat right off his head before … at least going all in, even if he doesn’t quite know what he’s doing, krump-wise. He ends by falling on the ground, in a credible WWX-passing-the-fuck-out imitation, which is probably a relief, by that point. Jackson probably has the most energy left, although he’s reduced to pulling off his shirt and posing by the end of his time. Wallace does some dancing. Look. I’m just going to leave it at that. Jackson is still being polite enough to encourage his elder. It’s maybe a little bit endearing. Final result is that Lay Zhang wins, which. OK. I would have placed him second, after Yibo, but I also seem to remember that he won the initial captains’ performance, back in Ep 1, so I guess I can’t be too surprised at this, based on trends. Show director was apparently so impressed, he’s gonna give up four extra towels, one to each captain, which means Lay gets two towels. So I guess towels go to Yuan Ye on Team Lay Zhang and Bullet on team Wang Yibo, if they keep their promises, although don’t know who Wallace and Jackson are planning on giving their extra towels to.

Next ep: Mystery Guest.

#street dance of china #sdoc episode reax #wang yibo #should i be including other captains names in the tags too?#hm

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lov3nerdstuff · 5 years ago

Text

... because you're mine.

*Tom Hiddleston x reader*

Oneshot

Words: 4.7k

Summary: Things get steamy between you and Tom after another man asks you out.

Request: I was the actress in Betrayal, but Tom was playing Jerry instead of Robert. As the production goes on, the kissing scenes get steamier (he finds THAT spot on my neck!) until I tell him my feelings, he says he doesn't reciprocate & doesn't do romance in the spotlight. After another man asks me out & I say yes (but don't realize it's a date) he kisses that spot during the performance & whispers that I'm his. 🤯 --> @annwhojumps

A.N.: Prepare for some jealous Tom 😉 also, 'I put a spell on you' can be read as an independent prequel to this, but srsly doesn't have to!

Also check out my Masterlist!

_______________________________

You had absolutely no idea why you had been cast to play one of the main characters in this highly prestigious production of one of your favorite plays… After all, you had only auditioned for fun! As a recent graduate from the school of dramatic arts, your chances really hadn't been all too high, and yet you had been selected for the title role. However the shock of it was only topped off when on the first day of rehearsals, you had discovered that your fellow actors were nothing but the brightest stars of modern age theater… and your scene partner was none other than Tom Hiddleston.

Yet, as surprising as it might have been for everyone in the theater, you and him had connected immediately, on a level neither of you really understood. But you had both been certain by lunch break that you would definitely enjoy being around each other from now on.

The first days of rehearsals went well, to say the least, and every single day you and Tom got closer. You got to know each other better, more than anyone else in the cast, and spent almost every waking minute at each other's side. And once the actual rehearsal period started and everyone got on stage, you found yourself enjoying the whole thing immensely. Acting with Tom was the greatest joy, for he seemed to really enjoy both your general company and your professional work together, and even the other A-listers seemed to warm up to you slowly. Still, nobody had an idea why you had been selected for the role, but honestly it didn't matter much. You fit in so nicely with the more experienced actors that in no time, everyone seemed to have forgotten that this was, in fact, your first real job.

Yet, as rehearsals continued on to a more detailed level, not just the blocking, you found your nerves and stomach in knots as you got ready to start the first real run through the scenes.

In the final act of the play, you would need to not only kiss Tom, but literally make out with him on stage, in front of your colleagues and the audience… The thought of stage kissing alone made you nervous, for it had never been your favorite thing even in school, and the thought of kissing Tom of all people simply had you close to hyperventilating.

The thing was… you wanted to kiss Tom. More than anything, actually, for with every new day you spent joking, bickering, laughing and talking with him, your adoration for him turned into the deepest affection, turned into sincere love. And even worse: Tom was so much more than you could ever have hoped for, and it was simply impossible to not love him more with every fucking day. Yet you didn't dare to confess your feelings. It was unprofessiona l, and you were supposed to work together with him here, not fall for him. If people got to know about your feelings, they surely would call you either starstruck or simply unprofessional, and nobody in the field would ever cast you again. Fuck.

So you ignored your feelings, pushed them away to as much as the by now close friendship you had would allow you to show. It was painful, but necessary. Even more so since he kept being overwhelmingly nice to you, walking the thin line between friendship and something more like it was a freaking highway. You couldn't tell what he felt for you even if you tried… one moment he was just being the dork he really was, and the next he would stand impossibly close to you, looking into your eyes like you were all that mattered to him in this world.

And now that you stood in front of him, looking up into his eyes with all the overwhelming nervousness and tornment, his soft smile and gentle eyes were balm for your soul.

"Relax, Y/n. It'll be fine..." He whispered to you so that the others wouldn't hear, only seconds before his nose brushed against yours ever so slightly, hot breath fanning across your lips as they parted ever so slightly on their own account. Your eyes fluttered shut. This wasn't Tom kissing you… this was his character kissing yours.

Soft, chilled lips connected with the corner of your mouth as his hands grabbed onto your waist, gentle fingers brushing against the small glimpse of heated skin just below the hem of your shirt. Your breathing hitched. His lips ghosted over your jaw as his hands trailed down to your hips, your thighs… you were supposed to push him onto the couch behind him.

Reluctantly, a little too reluctantly even for your character, your palms pressed against his toned chest, curling around the soft fabric of his shirt. He nibbled on your jaw, and you pulled him closer to yourself by his shirt. A low, growling sound escaped his lips as they left a trail of feathery kisses down your neck, and you finally managed to give him a little push that made him fall backwards onto the couch. Yet he held on to your hips tightly, and you came crashing down on top of him, straddling him as your heart threatened to jump out of your chest. A brief glance into his darkened eyes… you gasped, and Tom stared at you like a deer in the headlights. Awe mixed with fear.

"That was amazing, guys!" David, the director of your play, called from the side of the stage, and your breathing hitched yet again as you snapped out of this moment of public intimacy. How the hell were you supposed to do that every day from now on, without giving yourself away?

Rather awkwardly you got off Tom's lap, and forced away the blush as he tried to do the same.

"You, uhm…" Tom spoke up from right next to you, voice hoarse and heavy. "You did really well."

"Oh… thanks." You replied quietly, trying to calm down your racing heart for the next scene. And that hadn't even been a full on kiss to the lips!

_______________

For the next two weeks, David had Tom and you rehearse the scene every day, and every day things got steamier, more raw, more real… At least they switched out the couch thing for you sitting on a counter to be on eye level with Tom, but honestly… that didn't make it any better. Your fellow actors put it off as fabulous acting, but you knew that it wasn't quite the case. Every day, hiding your true feelings for Tom got more difficult, and every day you felt more desperate for a real kiss.

That was until one Friday night, when David made you run through the entire play yet another time. It was already fairly late in the evening, but he'd promised to just have ONE more go before everyone could go home. Everything went well as always, you played your part with the greatest joy and focus, right until it was time for that scene again. It started off like all the times before, Tom stepped closer to you with the most intense energy that alre ady had your skin covered in goosebumps before he even touched you. Gentle hands on your waist, pulling you close as he stood in between your legs… a ghost of a kiss to your jaw, down your neck… your eyes closed as they always did. This time however, be it for the late hour of night or your increasingly shrinking resistance to your own emotions, your hands moved to his neck before you could will them not to, gently tugging on the lush curls in his neck. Almost immediately the faintest sigh, almost a quiet moan, escaped his lips and their loving work on your neck grew bolder, firmer… Until he found that one, secret and crazy sensitive spot that upon the touch of his lips made your back arch towards him and your mind become even more hazed. Now it was you who let out the faintest moan, unable to keep quiet, yet only for him to hear. The grip on your waist tightened ever so slightly, and before you knew how to hide the effect he had on you, he gently bit down on that oh so sensitive spot, sucking and nibbling on your delicate skin.

You felt like exploding, inside out, within your mind and in every cell of your body. Every single nerve of your being was ablaze, the feeling of his lips on your skin, his hands on your body… it all contributed to the hidden coil of pure energy within you that was dangerously close to bursting. If you snapped now, the entire production crew would become an involuntary witness to your impossible love for Tom. And that would be your downfall even before the rise.

But just then the scene continued on, and you were pushed around by other characters, spoken to and spoken for, all until at last, the play ended and the crew applauded, before you practiced who would bow when and leave to which place. Yet, your mind wasn't even in the same theater anymore. Your thoughts were far gone, to a place where only you and Tom existed, a place where you could let yourself love him.

Before you knew, David had finished his commentary of the performance, all the actors had said their goodnights and even the staff had sorted out the last of lighting and audio. Only you were left on stage, frozen in place with only the dim emergency lights illuminating the area around you. The entire audience room lay in darkness, as did the sides of the stage… only the center was lit up so sparsely that it was almost spooky.

"Are you alright?" Tom's voice from right behind you made you jump yet again, and he chuckled upon your flinching.

"God, you scare me!" You breathed, holding a hand over your racing heart. At least, if he could hear your frantic heartbeat now, you had an excuse.

"Nah, you can keep calling me Tom. 'God' is a bit too much." He winked at you with a smirk, and you just had to laugh. Tom was the greatest dork, and you absolutely loved it. "Why are you up here, all alone? Everyone else is heading home."

"I'm not alone. You're here." You smirked at him, wiggling your eyebrows in an attempt to make him laugh. It worked, and even in this minimal light, you could still see his eyes sparking down at you… oh, that darn spell he put on you.

"Wanna tell me what's up?" He inquired, leaning his head to the side.

"Why would something be up?" You frowned, but the slightly too high pitch of your voice gave you away. For an actress, you were horrible at lying. Especially to Tom.

"I can always tell when you're distraught, darling." He mused, then turned around and walked to the edge of the stage, jumping off and vanishing in the darkness of the audience room.

"I'm not distraught!" You protested into the darkness. "I'm just… stressed. Because of the opening night in a week. That's all. And what are you doing over there anyway?"

"Making sure you, my darling Y/n, feel less stressed!" He replied cheerily, and mere seconds later you heard soft tunes coming from the theater's speakers, flowing through the empty room like a soft wind, a breath of fresh air. A smile came onto your lips, and a few short moments later Tom got back onto the stage with you. "They've all gone home, so we shouldn't be bothering anyone."

Again you smiled, resisting the urge to rip your heart out of your chest and tell it to slow the heck down. Tom was ALWAYS around you, wherever you went… this wasn't new. But usually you weren't completely alone, and usually your steamy scene didn't leave your heart screaming and begging for more this badly. For something real.

"Here…" He handed you his phone as he came to stand right in front of you. "Choose a song and we'll dance."

"We can't…" You frowned, but still took his phone upon his request. "This is work, I cannot lose my job, you know that very well, and the theater…"

"Will still be here tomorrow morning just like it is right now." Tom interrupted you with a mischievous yet happily excited smile. "Dance with me? Please?"

Oh, how could you resist those puppy eyes? Never, not in a million years could you refuse that man anything at all. With a sigh you considered your options… it was now or never. This was your chance to tell him, to SHOW him how you felt, despite everything that spoke against it. But he needed to know, and he deserved to know. And thus you made your song choice accordingly.

For a short moment Tom frowned, but once the lyrics started his eyes widened in recognition, and he smiled brightly. "Hey, I actually know a version of this song!"

"Good…" You chuckled, then returned his smile. He took a step towards you, taking your hands in his reluctantly and carefully, but still with that adoring smile. Slowly he pulled you closer to himself while his eyes never left yours, until at last he wrapped an arm around your waist and kept holding your hand in his own.

"Dance with me?" He asked again in a quiet voice that barely stood out over the music surrounding you, and all you could do was nod as you lost yourself in his eyes once more. Only that you couldn't yet say if you lost your bravery or your restraint.

Gently swaying to the music, Tom's hold on you seemed to tighten by the second while your emotions tightened around your throat in a menacing grasp, squeezing until you could hardly breathe anymore. Your hand on his back, clasping his shirt tightly, and your head fell against his shoulder as your eyes closed to the strong beating of his heart. Could he be feeling the same for you? He surely was all about you, every single day… but always reluctant to cross the line of friendship. You had to know, or your mind would tear your soul apart.

He had always been there to comfort you once you had started to doubt your place among the cast, and always pointed out how absolutely amazing you were in his eyes, both as an actress and as a person. And after you had told him about your fear of getting kicked out of the production, he had hugged you tightly and told you that he would make sure that nothing of the sort would happen.

"Oh gosh…" Tom suddenly breathed and you were forced to lift your head again, eyes locking back with his.

"What's up?" You frowned ever so slightly as you spoke, only to find your voice laced with the impossible weight of bottled up emotions.

"I… uhm, your skin…" He started, letting go of your hand in order to touch a gentle finger to the small bruise forming on your neck.

Your breathing hitched as his fingertips traced over that certainly spot once more, but you couldn't bring your eyes to leave his even though they were doomed to darken upon his gentle touch. The song ended, the theater fell quiet but for your shivery breath. Tom's eyes remained on yours, blown and unfathomable in the depth of their ever concealed emotions… his fingers ghosted over the spot on your neck yet again, and you visibly jumped right under his fingertips. His eyes darkened.

And before your mind could come back to its right place in the shadows of worry, your lips were ghosting over his in a gentle brush of reluctant innocence. Careful, asking for silent approval… but it never came.

You took a step backwards, tearing your own heart out in the process, while looking into Tom's wide eyes that were so hopelessly full of mixed emotions that you couldn't possibly tell what he felt. He only stared at you with the saddest face as his chest rose and fell too quickly and the silence between you became unbearable.

"I'm sorry…" You breathed and finally allowed the tears to gather in your eyes, blurring your vision and making it luckily impossible to see the pained expression his own gaze held. "I'm so sorry… I… I love you Tom. I love you… I'm so sorry."

For a few seconds he just stood still right in front of you, the very incarnation of a torn soul, until he finally took a step backwards. Your heart shattered into a million pieces.

"I'm sorry, Y/n…" He breathed with an expression that through your tears looked utterly unfathomable. "I… I can't."

"It's okay…" You smiled through the tears, adding just one more dagger to your already shattered heart. "You don't have to love me. It's okay."

Tom's lips parted immediately as if to reply something he knew he shouldn't, but he closed them again and looked down to the ground with a frown. Silence…

You couldn't bear it any longer, neither the pain nor the sight of his regretful face. It really wasn't his fault that you had fallen in love with him, and it wasn't his fault that he didn't love you back.

"You, uhm… you may not want to kiss that spot on my neck again, in rehearsals. It would be rather painful." You said quietly, as you walked past Tom towards the stage door without another word. And had you turned around only one more time, you might have caught a glimpse of the tears in his eyes.

_______________

You honestly didn't know what you had expected. That someone like Tom would actually love you back? Well, maybe. That telling him would make you feel better? Definitely. But had it? No… it made everything worse, and you could only hope to pick up the pieces now before it would be too late to save the friendship you had established.

And yet, on Monday morning when rehearsals went into the final week before opening night, you couldn't bring yourself to face Tom. Just looking at him, drinking coffee or eating sugar cookies or whatever, it made you want to bawl all over again, despite your attempt to convince yourself that you had run out of tears by Sunday night. And as Monday continued, you did your job and played your part surprisingly well for someone who hadn't slept a single minute in three days. Only that you avoided speaking to Tom despite your heart's ardent yearning to be close to him again… you honestly didn't know what you should've said.

And so the week continued with as much professionalism as you could manage, however the play's happiest scenes seemed a little more dull, like December's prevailing grey, while the sad ones appeared downright tragic in their deep sorrow. Yet, luckily, nobody but you seemed to notice. Almost nobody… for Tom's smile these days seemed to differ not from his character's, fooling even the most watchful eye but yours. You knew him better by now, knew that his honest smile did inexplicable things to you while his feigned one merely served to set lose the smallest butterflies. Or maybe they were moths indeed.

All your energy went into doing the best possible acting job you could, and actually succeeding in it.

Yet, on Thursday night, the second to last day of rehearsals, an event as unexpected as dawn at midnight momentarily lifted you out of your gloom.

"Hey, Y/n?" David called to you once everybody moved to the backstage area to pack up for the night.

"Yeah?" You managed as much as an acknowledging frown, but not a smile.

"Uhm, you know… I was wondering if you would fancy some dinner tonight? Nothing special, really, but there's this nice pub around the corner, and they serve the best burgers in town. I'm paying! Still owe you for that ingenious idea with the counter." He shrugged as he came to stand in front of you with a small smile, looking at your face expectantly.

In all honesty, you were starving. Luckily the first paycheck from the theater had come in, but that had barely sufficed to pay off the debt you'd gotten into over the previous period without work. That still left you with very little money to spend on quality food, and the prospect of both getting something to eat and some distraction from your thoughts about Tom sounded very tempting all of a sudden. And David had said it was nothing special, after all. Only payback.

"Sure, sounds great." You returned a weak attempt at a half smile. "Just let me grab my things and I'm all ready to head out."

He nodded, and you did just as you had said, walking over to the dressing rooms to get your bag and jacket as quickly as you could, for your stomach wouldn't hold up much longer before it would start digesting itself. And yet, just on your way out of the shared dressing room, rounding a corner, you bumped into someone. The someone was Tom.

Your eyes locked with his immediately as they went wide with both surprise and shock, and for a few long seconds you only stared at each other in this unfathomable expression of mixed guilt, sadness, pain and longing. It hadn't even taken one single, broken second however for him to have you under his spell yet again.

As your lips parted at last, in an attempt to force your brain to form sentences, his gaze darkened and he looked away, a deep frown falling upon his face.

"Tom…" You started, but he interrupted you before you could bring out any expression of sincere remorse.

"Have fun with David." Was all he said before he pushed past you into the dressing room and left you standing in the dim overhead lights of the hallway, alone.

_______________

The evening went alright, for you at least succeeded in one thing out of the two you were hoping for, namely getting something proper to eat. Forgetting about Tom however didn't even remotely work out, for David kept going on and on about how amazing the two of you were doing in the play, except for the last scene, which according to him had gotten a little stiff, beginning with this week. You'd agreed of course, but not told him the reason for that, and only promised to do better on Friday.

Yet once Friday afternoon came, and it was time to run through the entire play one last time, you stood on stage chewing on your bottom lip. The first half of the play had gone well, and you used the break in between now to try to gather up some courage to do the scenes with Tom the best you could. David however interrupted your train of thought as he slalomed around your co-actors on stage, towards you. As he politely pushed some people out of the way, you spotted Tom on the other side of the stage, watching you intently.

"Y/n!" David said cheerily as he came to stand in front of you, and you put on a fake smile. "Y/n, I… I just wanted to thank you again for the lovely evening. It was a little… spontaneous, for a first date, but-"

"Date?" You blurted out, interrupting David. Behind him, you saw that Tom was walking away. Damnit. So you focused back on the man in front of you with a blush and an irritated expression. "Uh, I… we… but…"

Recognition flashed through David's face, before a sheepish smile spread on his lips and he chuckled in what you could only call embarrassment. "Well, I see we didn't really have the same idea about last night then… Uhm… I… I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable, I really didn't mean to. If you'd prefer it not being a date, that's perfectly fine. Sorry."

"Oh, no, I mean yes, I mean… I'm sorry! I kinda didn't get the gist last night, and I thought we were only going for dinner as colleagues, or friends… because that's really all I consider us to be…" You said, feeling a little bad for him. But you really didn't have any interest in him like that, and your mind was entirely elsewhere at the moment. "But you know, it's totally fine… We had a fun evening and now that we're on the same page about that, all is good. Right?"

"Yeah… All's good." David gave you another apologetic smile. "Thanks for being so chill about this… misunderstanding."

"Oh, don't worry… I have enough drama in my life right now to suffice a lifetime. I don't need any more of it." You chuckled softly, and David gave you a thumbs up before making his way off stage to announce the end of the break.

_______________

Something was off. Not only because Tom was actually a good five minutes late for the second half of the play to begin, but also because he refused to even look at you during the first scenes. Your stomach was in knots, as were your nerves. Gods, you missed him...

Then it came to your scene… and Tom's eyes were on yours so suddenly that they felt like a strike of lightning that went right to your core. He had you under his spell again in an instant, and you were lost for the outside world.

His gaze was dark, intimidating… dangerous, as he came walking towards you, and you felt like prey sacrificed to a starving god. The hand that usually fell to your waist in such a gentle manner was replaced by a strong, demanding grip that had your skin covered in goosebumps immediately as he pulled your frozen frame against his own once he stood in between your legs, tightly pressing you against him. Your lips parted.

An inch between your face and his, quivering breath fanning across your skin… the gentlest of kisses on your cheekbone, a ghosting of his lips down your cheek. Your eyes fluttered shut as your head leaned to the side, willingly surrendering to him the most sensitive skin of your neck.

A sigh from the depth of his throat, and your breathing hitched, your hand reaching out to touch him only to halt mid-air in a shiver of reluctance, of remembering… The sweetest of kisses in a torturing slowness down your neck, the tickle of his breath on your skin, and your hand became entangled in his curls without your permission.

A low hum met your ear from the depth of his chest as his lips grew bolder and his hold on you stronger… You pulled him closer to you with the faintest gasp, tugging on the silken strands of hair between your fingers. The echo of his heartbeat in your chest, drumming with your own.

A growl… his lips found your weakest spot where last week's bruise was fading alongside the memory of his touch. A bite. Your quiet moan into the silent room, his name falling from your lips like a silent prayer. You pulled him closer… He stilled. A deep breath.

Tom's lips were on your own in a heartbeat, intense and passionate like licking flames, taking and giving the love previously denied. You gasped, and he took the opportunity to trace your bottom lip with the tip of his tongue, asking, trying… and you allowed him.

Like troubled waters that roughly wave, your mind's twists and turns ebbed down only with the passing storm at last, and finally you could see, could feel, through the sudden regained clearness, to the very bottom of the sea of truth. Tom loved you… he had all along.

Then your thoughts stilled once his lips left a haunting trail of feathery kisses as they moved to your ear, and at last he spoke in a whisper. "You're mine."

______________________________

General Tags:

@its-remy-not-ratatouille @wegingerangelica @thidls12333 @tomstoobeautiful @dreary-skies-stuff @averyhill4445 @wiczer @lotus-eyedindiangoddess @theweirdlunatic @caretheunicorn @kthemarsian @lady-of-lies @sadly-falling-through-wonderland @strawberrysandcream @noplacelikehome77 @theoneanna @mishaandthebrits @mygodisloki @i-am-a-mes @nonsensicalobsessions @exygon @hiddles-lobotomy @rjohnson1280 @annwhojumps @spookycatqueen @salempoe @headoverhiddleston @fanfiction-and-stress @createdfromblue @halszka-potter @thecreatiivecorner @themusingsofmany @inthemarvelvoid @from-hel-i-with-love @kinghiddlestonanddixon @scorpionchild81 @foodthatsgoodforyoursoul @crystal-28 @adefectivedetective @lokis-girl-in-mischief @booklover2929

I sincerely hope you guys enjoyed this 😊💚💚 I was kinda inspired to write something more steamy both by @hopelessromanticspoonie and @just-the-hiddles , for they just write the greatest steamy stuff 😁 I'm still trying to improve though, so feedback is more than welcome 💗 hugs!

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feirnwehr · 4 years ago

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𝐀𝐓𝐋𝐀𝐒 𝐈𝐈: sentence memes.

( feel free to change whatever you want. )

❛ We will learn from each other. ❜ ❛ We will start something new. ❜ ❛ There is so much to tell you. ❜ ❛ What a privilege to love you ❜ ❛ You are grace, you are light. ❜ ❛ Show me who I am and who I could be ❜ ❛ And I will try, try, try to breathe ❜ ❛ Is this what being vulnerable feels like? ❜ ❛ I'm only steady on my knees one day I'll stand on my own two feet ❜ ❛ I'll run the risk of being intimate with brokenness ❜ ❛ Show me how to struggle gracefully ❜ ❛Let the scaffolding inside of me be strong enough to hold this tired body up ❜ ❛ I was given a gift of hope ❜ ❛ I want to see your happily ever after ❜ ❛ This is your moment, don’t look down. ❜

❛ Fall in love in a single touch, and fall apart when it hurts too much? ❜ ❛ All I want is to flip a switch before something breaks that cannot be fixed. ❜ ❛ When will I feel this as vivid as it truly is ❜ ❛ Rain or shine, I don’t feel a thing, just some information upon my skin. ❜ ❛ I miss the subtle aches when the weather changed ❜ ❛ God I want to feel again ❜ ❛ It's bittersweet, it's poetry. ❜ ❛ I’m well aware of the shadows in my heart. ❜ ❛ To breaking all the rules, to breaking bread again. ❜ ❛ We’re raising our glass, ’til we’re fixed from the inside. ❜ ❛ Let's make a map of what matters most ❜ ❛ Like remembering the ashes before we burn ❜ ❛ So hold my breath for as long as I can ❜ ❛ The light goes out, my heart goes still ❜ ❛ And just like that, I believe in ghosts ❜ ❛ Love is an echo... ❜ ❛ You see God in ways I wish I could ❜ ❛ I let go and in this moment, I can breathe. ❜ ❛ A fire in the deepest part of me. ❜ ❛ The countless stars we're sleeping under, it's the brightest sparks that we remember. ❜ ❛ It once was so easy; breathe in, breathe out. ❜ ❛ I feel out of focus ❜ ❛ Each brave step forward,I take three steps behind ❜ ❛ A single loose thread and it all comes undone ❜ ❛ For in our great sorrow we learn what joy means ❜ ❛ I don't want to fight, I don't want to fight it. ❜ ❛ The dark clouds depart, and the damage is done ❜ ❛ With a broken heart, transformation begins ❜ ❛ Like wildfire, it starts in my chest ❜ ❛ I feel the pressure building until I can't breathe and it takes everything ❜ ❛ It all spills out reckless but honest words leave my mouth ❜ ❛ I couldn't make it right ❜ ❛ It's fight or flight buried in my mind ❜ ❛ A feather is a ton of bricks or maybe I'm too sensitive... ❜ ❛ From now on I'll try to listen to intuition ❜ ❛ There's magic in our bones ❜ ❛ I just need more time. ❜ ❛ it's easy to forget there's magic in all of this. ❜ ❛ I'm short of breath standing next to you ❜ ❛ You are beautiful like I've never seen ❜ ❛ Go ahead and laugh even if it hurts ❜ ❛ What if we could risk everything we have and just let our walls cave in ❜ ❛ Hold on for a minute, 'cause I believe that we can fix this over time ❜ ❛ I'm not saying perfect exists in this life ❜ ❛ I hold it all more loosely, and yet somehow much more dearly ❜ ❛ Sweetheart, you look a little tired when did you last eat? ❜ ❛ Tell me, is something wrong? if something's wrong you can count on me ❜ ❛ You know I'll take my heart clean apart if it helps yours beat ❜ ❛ It's okay if you can't find the words ❜ ❛ Let me take your coat and this weight off of your shoulders ❜ ❛ Like a force to be reckoned with, a mighty ocean or a gentle kiss, I will love you with every single thing I have ❜ ❛ Like a tidal wave I'll make a mess or calm waters if that serves you best, I will love you without any strings attached ❜ ❛ It's okay if you can't catch your breath you can take the oxygen straight out of my own chest ❜ ❛ No, I don't want to talk about myself ❜ ❛ I just want to build you up, build you up ’til you're good as new ❜ ❛ maybe one day, I will get around to fixing myself, too ❜ ❛ I don't even know where to start ❜ ❛ I just want to love you ❜ ❛ I just want to learn how somehow to be loved myself ❜ ❛ Already tired of trying to recall when it all fell apart ❜ ❛ with or without it, I'm good enough. ❜ ❛ For the first time, I see an image of my brokenness utterly worthy of love. ❜ ❛ It's so exhausting on this silver screen where I play the role of anyone but me. ❜ ❛ I finally see myself, unabridged and overwhelmed, a mess of a story I'm ashamed to tell, but I'm slowly learning how to break this spell. ❜ ❛ I finally see myself. ❜ ❛ Now I only want what's real, to let my heart feel what it feels. ❜ ❛ leave my greatest failures on display with an asterisk; worthy of love anyway. ❜ ❛ Maybe I'm hiding behind metaphor ❜ ❛ Maybe my heart needs to break to be sure ❜ ❛ One day I'll wear it all on my sleeve the insignificant with the sacred unique ❜ ❛ But I've fallen in love with a ghost ❜ ❛ I lost my balance when I needed it most ❜ ❛ I'm stuck swimming in shadows down here it's been forever since I came up for air ❜ ❛ A reflection of magnificence hidden in you maybe even in me ❜ ❛ I want to watch the universe expand ❜ ❛ I want to break it into pieces small enough to understand ❜ ❛ It feels like an out of body experience ❜ ❛ And now I can't put my mind to rest and I can't help but second guess ❜ ❛ I was already brave enough to let go ❜ ❛ And now I want to generously lose this energy that I've been hanging onto so desperately ❜ ❛ I finally feel the universe expand it's hidden in heartbeats, exhales ❜ ❛ I had the most vivid dream my feet had left the ground i was floating to heaven but I could only look down ❜ ❛ Oh God I'm so tired of being afraid ❜ ❛ My mind was heavy running ragged with worst-case scenarios ❜ ❛ what would it feel like to put this baggage down? ❜ ❛ somewhere in the middle, I feel a little paralyzed but maybe I'm stronger than I realize ❜ ❛ I wanna believe no, I choose to believe ❜ ❛ Fear won't go away but I can keep it at bay and these invisible walls just might keep us safe ❜ ❛ And I'll learn to breathe deep and make peace with the stars ❜ ❛ And no matter what somehow we'll be okay don't be afraid ❜ ❛ How nice it'd be if we could try everything i’m serious, let's make a list and just begin ❜ ❛ "What about danger?" So what. "What about risk?" ❜ ❛ How wonderful to see a smile on your face ❜ ❛ I'm restless for whatever comes next ❜ ❛ I'm hungry for whatever comes next ❜ ❛ It feels like sinking when I'm standing in one place ❜ ❛ When everything feels heavy, I've learned to travel light ❜ ❛ But I want to be here truly be here ❜ ❛ I feel hope deep in my bones that tomorrow will be beautiful ❜ ❛ I'm ready restless and hungry ❜ ❛ I was just a kid who grew up strong enough to pick this armor up and suddenly it fit ❜ ❛ God, that was so long ago, I was little, I was weak, perfectly naive and I grew up too quick ❜ ❛ Now you won't see all that I have to lose and all I've lost in the fight to protect it ❜ ❛ I won't let you in. I swore never again- I can't afford, no, I refuse to be rejected ❜ ❛ I want to break these bones 'til they're better I want to break them right and feel alive ❜ ❛ You were wrong, you were wrong, you were wrong- my healing needed more than time ❜ ❛ When I see fragile things, helpless things, broken things I see the familiar I was little, I was weak, I was perfect too, now I'm a broken mirror ❜ ❛ I can't afford to let myself be blindsided ❜ ❛ I'm standing guard, I'm falling apart and all I want is to trust you ❜ ❛ Show me how to lay my sword down for long enough to let you through ❜ ❛ Here I am, pry me open what do you want to know? ❜ ❛ I'm just a kid who grew up scared enough to hold the door shut and bury my innocence but here's a map, here's a shovel, here's my achilles' heel ❜ ❛ I’m all in, palms out, I'm at your mercy now and I'm ready to begin I am strong, I am strong, I am strong enough to let you in ❜ ❛ I'll shake the ground with all my might I will pull my whole heart up to the surface ❜ ❛ For the innocent, for the vulnerable, I'll show up on the front lines with a purpose ❜ ❛ I'll give all I have, I'll give my blood, I'll give my sweat- an ocean of tears will spill for what is broken ❜ ❛ I'm shattered porcelain, glued back together again invincible like I've never been ❜ ❛ Who am I to say what any of this means- I have been sleepwalking since I was fourteen ❜ ❛ Honestly, it's easier to let myself forget ❜ ❛ I've been less than half myself for more than half my life ❜ ❛ Wake up fall in love again ❜ ❛ There's so much worth fighting for you'll see ❜ ❛ It looks like empathy to understand all sides ❜ ❛ I'm just trying to find myself through someone else's eyes ❜ ❛ So show me what to do to restart this heart of mine how do I forgive myself for losing so much time? ❜ ❛ A little at a time I feel more alive ❜

#meme #rp meme #long post #sentence meme #Lyric Meme #lyric starters #lyric sentence starters

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saudadeonly · 4 years ago

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burn my heart out: once you’d gone (Chapter 2)

Read on ao3. Part 8, consisting of 3 or 4 chapters.

Death Eater!Sirius Black AU

Lord Voldemort wages war on Hogwarts but he is unaware of the years-worth of battle fought against him.

(or, several instalments following the Battle of Hogwarts with Sirius Black standing on the wrong side)

The Horcrux isn't the only thing Regulus has to face.

Word count: 4530

___

The top of the staircase on the third floor of Hogwarts comes too soon; Regulus and Sirius stop and look at each other. This is where they have to go their separate ways – Regulus up to the seventh floor and Sirius through the passage on this one.

Regulus checks his watch, the one given to him by his parents for his seventeenth birthday. They only have a couple of hours left. Their goodbyes and last-minute preparations before they left the Tonks family behind – despite the vehement protests of entire said family – and all subsequent tasks here at Hogwarts took up a lot of their time.

Sirius’s mind seems to have come to the same conclusion. “Be as quick as you can,” he says, holding out the silver dagger to Regulus. His hand is as steady as his voice. “And take down Nagini.”

Regulus takes the dagger, mindful of the venom absorbed in it, and as soon as he safely stores it away, Sirius uses his free hand to pull on Regulus’s and catch him in a rough hug, his other hand cupping the back of Regulus’s neck. He’s still taller and by now Regulus has given up any hope he might outgrow his brother, this way or another, but his body lacks the strength Regulus once believed him to have. His invincible big brother, fiercer than fire, stronger than death, now as desperately lost as Regulus once was. Human, as he has always been.

“Do your worst,” Regulus murmurs into his shoulder as he fists his hands in the back of his robes, knowing that this might be the last time they see each other standing.

Sirius pulls back and curves his mouth into an almost-smile. “You too,” he says. Before Regulus can turn to go, Sirius catches his forearm, his grip firm. His eyes root Regulus to the spot, maybe because they are softer than his voice, a sliver of that kind, tired man beneath. “Whatever happens, Reggie, this ends today.”

Regulus swallows and nods. However it may end, Sirius will not be the one to fall to his knees first, not if Regulus has anything to say about it.

Sirius steps back and nods, his face smoothed over now, the careful set of his mouth reminding Regulus strangely of Orion. Sirius turns and goes but the image of his face, splashed through a kaleidoscope over their father’s, stays. It is redundant to say that their relationship ended on a bad note because that’s the foundation it was built on from the very beginning but Sirius did not forgive Orion’s misgivings, not even on his deathbed, and he carried that resentment forward – after Regulus’s death, Sirius condemned Walburga. The weight of their demands had bruised his heart so much it could not heal around the mercy asked of him, especially not in the name of their family.

The thing about their family, the great House of Black – they name their children after stars, after these unimaginable, steel-soft pieces forged into fire, and try to bind them, keep them contained to the reaches of their eyes and don’t consider the possibility of going blind with it until their eye-sockets are filled with nothing but stardust, burning, burning. Sirius, they named their heir, the brightest star in the sky, scorching, glowing, and never expected that he would burn bright enough to fill their lungs with smoke, to leave marks shaped like his pain over their skin. Andromeda, named after a constellation, the breaker of chains, a goddamn galaxy because they were more likely to reach its ends before they ever told their children, I love you, I’m proud of you; and they had the gall to fault her when she left them strangling in her discarded chains.

Despite it or maybe because of all of it, Sirius and Andromeda have always been the best of them in all the ways that matter. However much they try to fight against it, the two of them have always been Blacks in more than blood; Sirius and Andromeda with their impeccable postures and vicious hearts, savoir-faire, Lucretia used to say, unmatched, always one step ahead, are Blacks in everything they try to deny, in everything they wish to soften about themselves, down to their teeth, dripping with venom.

Regulus will do whatever it takes to ensure that they get to live up to all that potential, that they get to lace the very foundations of their society with their venom.

With a shake of his head, he pulls himself out of his thoughts and continues up the stairs, casting a notice-me-not charm over himself. It was easy to get lost in his musings with the entirety of his glorious, painful youth surrounding him but he knows better than to let it sweep him away.

By the time he makes it up to the seventh floor, having succeeded in doing so only due to muscle-memory of skipping the tricky steps, the castle is in motion. Students are shuffling down the corridors of all floors, their voices a mix of soft, worried inquiries and confused protests. Regulus doesn’t envy their near future but he knows McGonagall will do everything to keep it intact. He slips past them, as unnoticed as the ghosts drifting beside them; it is, he thinks distantly, a very fitting sort of image.

The wall across from the Troll Tapestry is as unassuming as Andromeda begrudgingly told them it would be. It is hard to imagine the old, mysterious castle conceals one of Voldemort’s greatest secrets so well. Regulus’s heart hammers up to his throat when he walks past the wall, then turns on his heel and repeats it two more times.

I need the place where everything is hidden, he thinks, eyes pressed shut. I need the place where everything is hidden. I need the place where it is hidden.

When he opens his eyes, the wall is built around a door. If he hadn’t been expecting it, he might have thought he's lost it. A moment of hesitation and then Regulus steps forward, pressing his hand over the doorknob, and pushes the door open.

The vast room he steps into has a high ceiling and distant walls but the piles formed around the room, the narrow passages in between make Regulus’s chest constrict uncomfortably despite it. He has not, in over three years, got used to being in tight, enclosed spaces again.

Ignoring the feeling building up, Regulus holds out his wand. “Accio, Ravenclaw Diadem!”

The room remains still. He wasn’t expecting it to work really but it would have been nice to catch a break for once. He stows away his wand and hurries down the first one of the passages. Andromeda wasn’t able to tell him the Diadem’s exact location but she did say she remembered an ugly bust somewhere around it. With a sigh, Regulus sets out to find it.

He doesn’t know how much time passes before he finally catches sight of a chipped bust, resting atop a rickety-looking rack. And directly across from it, a tiara, skewed atop a column of old books. It’s old and unassuming, covered in a layer of dust so thick Regulus wouldn’t have spared a glance otherwise. When he reaches out and wipes the dust away with the tip of his sleeve the words become visible again. Wit beyond measure is man’s greatest treasure.

Out of all of Voldemort’s Horcruxes, this one has to be the cruellest; the cleverness, the knowledge he robbed out of generations of wizards and witches. He reaches for the dagger and braces it above the Diadem. He murmurs a swift apology to Rowena Ravenclaw, followed by one to the Grey Lady, the sweet, distant ghost who sometimes kept him company in the dead hours of the night when he didn’t want to go back to his common room; he had always felt accepted by her, a sort of kinship that came with not belonging anywhere, drifting from one place to the next.

“Expelliarmus!”

The dagger flies out of his hand and lands on the floor several feet away, skittering over the stone. Regulus grabs his wand, halfway turned already, and fires off the first spell that comes to mind. “Stupefy!”

Bartemius Crouch Junior, his fair hair and pale face a stark contrast to his robes, deflects the spell easily and it hits a pile of books to the side, sending up a flurry of singed pages. Regulus cringes at the years of work and knowledge that has just been lost.

“Barty,” he breathes, the air stolen from his lungs, the tightness in his chest coming for an entirely different, still painfully familiar reason now.

Barty has always been more skin and bone than anything else but he is viciously thin now, enough so Regulus thinks he might be able to make him crumple with the ghost of a breath. “I should have known,” he says, his face drawn, his voice a low gravely tone; distantly, Regulus wonders if he’s taken up smoking. “Black never did act accordingly.”

A laugh builds up in Regulus’s throat, an odd, too-sharp sort of sound, but he pushes it down. If Sirius’s reaction to Regulus’s death was all Barty found suspicious about his behaviour over the years, that’s the least of their problems. It’s over now, anyway. “Sirius had no idea,” he says, just in case this goes terribly, terribly wrong and Barty gets to Sirius first. It’s hight time he protected Sirius, for once.

“I don’t believe that.”

Regulus shrugs. “You know we never did like each other a whole lot,” he says, which is true; he doesn't really like Sirius, not most of the time anyway, but he loves him with a ferocity that gods could not oppose. He keeps his wand steady on Barty but he knows he won’t be the first one to fire. He owes Barty that much, at least, that small courtesy of letting him decide what he wants to do. “What are you doing here, Barty?” he asks, his voice soft around the name he hasn’t been able to forget, though not for lack of trying - on the worst nights, he used to tell himself that neither Evan nor Barty would have come with him even if he had asked. But it’s even harder to forget now, when there are no strategies to be relayed, when the embodiment of Regulus’s guilt points his wand at him, that Evan fought. There is no saying that Barty wouldn’t have either, provided he was offered, given that little push of encouragement he always needed to come along.

“The Dark Lord sent me to check on an artefact of utmost importance to him,” Barty explains, frowning. “An artefact that looks curiously like the one you’re holding right now.”

Regulus snorts. “This old thing?” he asks, waving the Diadem around, then tucking it behind his back. “It’s worthless.” He cocks his head, lowers his voice. Somewhere between the study of political language and being Sirius’s brother, he’s learned how to get under people’s skin – and Barty never has been particularly thick-skinned. “Glad to see you climbed the ranks, though.” He lets his mouth quirk up, just the little bit. “Must be nice to be valued so highly by Voldemort.”

Barty flinches and a twinge passes through Regulus; it took him years to be able to say the name himself, to fit his voice around the vowels and not have fear surround them. Regulus uses the blink of a distraction to take the fraction of a step towards the dagger.

“Don’t say his name,” Barty snaps, anger finally rising to his hollow cheeks, painting him fiercer a man than he was. “You taint him, you traitor, how dare you –”

“You sound like Bellatrix.”

Barty’s face drains of colour, as quickly as it rose up. His knuckles, hand gripped around the handle of his wand, have gone white too. “Don’t talk about her,” he says, voice hoarse. His freckles stand out, peppered across his nose and cheeks.

“How is dear Bella? Still so devoted to bloodlust she doesn’t spare you a glance?” It isn’t fair, he knows. Barty has been fascinated by Bella for years and she took him under and used it to the advantage of anything she remotely cared about; if there is one person more at fault for whatever Barty has become than Voldemort and Regulus, it’s Bellatrix. But Regulus knows there is no point in trying to convince Barty to do anything and he has one objective, the only one he has had for years: destroy the Horcruxes. He’s so close now and he won’t slip, won’t let his conscience get in the way.

“Shut up,” Barty growls, taking one slow step closer. “Where did you go, anyway?”

The question gives Regulus pause but he shuffles on his feet as an excuse and gets a bit closer to the dagger. “Away. I could not serve anymore so I left.”

Barty narrows his eyes. “You left,” he says, a painful sort of bemusement crossing his face, “everything. You betrayed everyone. You had no right.”

Regulus’s chest aches. When he speaks, his voice is rawer than he wants it to be; maybe the Inferi clawed it out of him. “What I discovered, Barty, what I had to do – I could not do it anymore.”

“You were the reason I joined.”

Regulus lets his eyes flit closed for a second. When he looks back at Barty, his face is too thin, too lost to ever come close to the boy he was all those years ago; and that’s on Regulus. Barty wasn’t like him or Evan. He was clever and loyal and too stupid to see but he never carried the weight of expectation like they had their whole lives – Regulus, the spare, and Evan, the sole heir. He reminded Regulus of Sirius sometimes, the Sirius of before: desperate to get out from his father’s thumb, to escape his mother’s coddling, but overbearing and messy and misguided as it was, it was still love, still a saving grace that Barty didn’t recognise as privilege. Regulus and Evan took that desperation and painted it in streaks of glory across the inside of Barty’s lids, blinding him enough to lead him astray, twisted its shape until it could almost be called a choice, a sense of belonging.

Then Regulus left and Evan died and it was Barty who stayed. Barty, whose backbone might as well have been made out of clay, free for moulding into any shape the rest wanted him to be.

“I know,” he murmurs.

“Then why did you leave me behind?” Barty shouts and it echoes and echoes so long Regulus is sure this is the only sound that will be heard at his funeral. Maybe it was.

But there it is, the name of Regulus’s nightmares, the title of his fucking biography, why you, why, why, why. Why do you get to go away? Why do you get a happy ending or a happy middle or happy anything? Why do you get to heal?

Because you are good, Valentina, tucked firmly, unapologetically against his side, would whisper into the curls behind his ear, as many times as he asked her to, because you are kind and you deserve it.

You are loved, Andromeda told him sometime before they left, catching the off expression on his face, the desire not to leave the life he had built, you are so loved and you get to have that.

Sirius, altruistic, hypocritical arsehole that he is, would probably tell him not to spout gibberish, that he couldn’t have done anything else unless he wanted to have his insides scraped off of walls afterwards and that he was right to get every little scrap of happiness that he could. Regulus never asked to know for sure.

Because I am selfish, Regulus thinks, knows in his bones to be true, but what he says is, “I’m sorry.”

Barty scoffs, unrepentant, unforgiving. Regulus feels before he sees him strike – he sucks his teeth, a tell-tale sign he’s about to cast a silent spell – but Regulus’s reflexes have dulled, out of use with the years of a quiet life, full of literature and research and Valentina’s smile over a cup of coffee, her softness dulling whatever edges Regulus had retained, and he’s knocked to the side, over a pile of cutlery and broken plates that catch on his robes. He lands on the floor, several feet down the aisle, body pulsing with pain all over. The Diadem is still clutched in his hand, its presence an added weight to his emptying chest, but his wand was thrown out of his reach.

His vision is wobbly, a blurry echo passing after everything he looks at, and he uses his free hand to grapple for purchase on the cold stone. His fingers catch on the cross-guard of the silver dagger and he moves them down to grip onto the handle, its weight a sure, familiar reminder of the only thing he still has left to do.

Barty shouts but his line of fire is obscured by the junk around them and Regulus uses the time it takes for Barty to get around it to stab the dagger directly into the Diadem.

The shriek of the Horcrux’s death is the last thing he hears before the white-hot pain blinds him. Regulus curls up on the floor and sinks into it.

In the cave in the middle of nowhere, permitted by pain and guarded by death, Regulus died slowly. The Inferi were quick to drag him into the water, quick to bleed their fingers into him but their cruelty became patient when they had him, the son of kings, a never-crowned prince, in their kingdom; they took his chin and breathed air into him when he had none left in his lungs, dragged him down slowly, a renaissance sort of image, and Regulus had the half-hysterical thought that he would have still prefered this death to the one his mother would have dealt him if she had found out he had just used the word renaissance. He wondered if he would not die at all but just become one of them, the Dark Lord’s servant even after he died to defy him, if the water would crush his lungs to dust and carry away the remnants of his humanity before their fingers tore him apart. Then it was easier to get lost in his memories than to acknowledge the imminence of his end, his slow dissolution into the embrace of cold, dead hands; so, he remembered.

He remembered Sirius’s hands pressed to his eyes, stooped over on his knees, his back a masterpiece of crisscrossing red lines. He remembered fingers wrapped around his wrist, Narcissa’s words, don’t do this out of duty, and he remembered his answer, shaking off the burn of her hand, perhaps I should do it out of love, like you. He remembered Evan and Barty’s screams of pain as they provided entertainment for the night, the new ones, the fresh blood that should be spilt before the Dark Lord’s feet before it ever blessed their enemies’ sight.

Regulus would have remembered unto death if Sirius hadn’t lit the cave in flames, hadn’t summoned the fury of gods into the tip of his wand; Sirius wouldn’t have managed to come on time at all if it hadn’t been for Kreacher’s magic and devotion –

Through the haze of pain, Regulus remembers now: Kreacher. House-elf magic; always, always cleverer than a wizard’s, only because it was never acknowledged as equally important, and Regulus's saviour since his childhood.

“Kreacher,” he says, gasping through the breath between his screams and there is a pause in the air around him, bated with his heartbeat. Then Kreacher materialises at Regulus’s head, looking down the nose all around him, and not even Barty Crouch Jr is a match for the single-minded fury that is Kreacher at his most vicious.

Barty flies back, flailing through the air, and hits the wall with a hard thud. He slumps down against it, his head lolling to the side.

“Master Regulus,” Kreacher says, his big, wobbly eyes glistening, as his skinny fingers touch Regulus’s shoulder blade. “How can Kreacher help?”

The pain has gone now but its remnants flare up as Regulus struggles to push himself up and brace his weight on his hands. He glances at Barty again, just to make sure he’s still there, then sits back, leaning against an old, crooked wardrobe. “It would appear you have already helped me immensely, old friend,” he says, giving Kreacher a small smile, which takes some effort. Kreacher deserves it, every ounce of effort Regulus has to put in. “Thank you.”

Kreacher glows. It hasn’t been often that they’ve seen each other since Regulus’s debacle at the cave – Kreacher is hardly ever allowed to leave the house – and Regulus has missed his once-closest friend. “Kreacher lives to serve Master Regulus,” he says, ducking into a bow. He procures a goblet of water and hands it to Regulus, who uses it to wash the taste of blood off his teeth.

“Kreacher, do you know of a house-elf called Linsy?”

Kreacher’s face shifts into a sneer. “Linsy didn’t take good care of Master Regulus when he was with her,” he grumbles. “The blood traitor did one thing right, giving her the shirt.”

“I rather think she took excellent care of me. I recovered, didn’t I?” Regulus intones gently. Kreacher’s opinion was formed solely on the basis of one Walburga Black’s and Regulus cannot blame him for being stuck in his ways. It took him a damn long time to fall away and now is not the time to take up a fight against his mother, of all people, too. Kreacher gives a reluctant nod. “I think she works here, at Hogwarts, now.” He hands the goblet back to Kreacher, who Vanishes it, and makes to stand up. It takes him two tries but he’s steady on his feet once he manages; the effects of the Cruciatus, which Regulus was lucky enough not to have experienced for some time now, wear off quickly. “Would you please be so kind as to give her a message for me?”

Kreacher’s face is still sour but he nods and says, “Anything, Master Regulus.”

House-elves are loyal to a fault. They will not, even after having been presented with an article of clothing, stop being devoted to the family they served. Regulus’s memories of Linsy are scarce, made in the shape of blurry, intermittent blinks from nightmares to see her by his side, but she was kind to him and it was obvious she adored the Potters as much as they adored her. Even Sirius, whose track record with house-elves was less than stellar, loved her. Regulus has no doubt she will take on Voldemort himself to get them to safety.

“Tell her the Potter family is in danger. She has to find them and get them away from Hogwarts.” He berates himself for not having considered it sooner. Sirius and Minerva have their work cut out for them as it is but he certainly could have remembered that house-elves exist, in all their manic devotion. “And tell the other house-elves that Hogwarts is being attacked. They should fight for their home or leave before it gets bad.”

Kreacher nods.

“And,” Regulus adds before Kreacher disapparates, “not a word of this to my mother.”

“Yes, Master Regulus,” Kreacher says with a deep bow and disappears.

Left alone in the room once again, Regulus looks around. He doesn’t know how much time he’s lost here and he doesn’t dare check. It doesn’t seem long but time runs differently here and doubly so in times of battle.

He walks a few steps down the row to collect his wand and then back. He stomps down on the remains of the Diadem, grimacing at the dark liquid sticking to his shoes and Vanishing it, and levitates them into the pouch of ruined Horcruxes he’s brought along. He wonders idly how he will fit Nagini’s head into it. They’re so close it makes his head spin.

He picks up the dagger, wiping it clean on an old blanket nearby, and safely tucks it away.

He makes his way around and over the piles of trinkets to get to Barty and takes a moment to just take in the familiar lines of his face. They were friends once. He and Evan might have done an injustice to Barty but it wasn’t ill-intentioned, at least not at the time. They were stupid kids and paid for it in blood.

Regulus crouches down and snatches Barty’s wand out of his limp hand, stashing it into the pocket of his robes, then rummages around Barty's pockets until he finds his mask and puts it away too. “Sorry, Barty,” he murmurs, tapping his own wand to the mop of bright hair to send him into a long, deep sleep. He conjures up thick ropes next and binds Barty’s wrists and ankles with it. Then he pulls out a couple strands of Barty’s hair, uncorks the vial of Polyjuice potion Sirius made him brew for going down to the village and pushes the hair into it. It might be his only shot at getting close to Nagini later on. “You know how it is.”

He considers, briefly, the dangers of leaving him here defenceless but this room is far removed from the main part and not everyone even knows about it. This is possibly the safest place in the entire castle right now. Provided, of course, he reminds himself, that he lives to come back and get Barty back out. Maybe he should write a note.

It takes some effort to get himself up and walk to the door; leaving Barty behind is somehow worse the second time around.

Regulus grabs onto the door handle and opens the door back into Hogwarts. He steps onto the floor of the seventh corridor in his cat form and just barely manages to dodge a large chunk of stone that ends up smashing against the wall next to the door.

A brown-haired boy, green-and-silver tie dark with blood where he has it wrapped around his forearm, sends a jet of red light towards a masked Death Eater that ducks to the side and runs to turn the corner. “Sorry, Uncle Todd!” the boy yells after him, wiping a hand down his dust-streaked face. His voice is cheerful but there is a certain scratch to it, a desperate fall to his eyes that tear Regulus’s heart apart. He knows with sudden clarity that Evan did better by the students than the two of them did by Barty. “I’ll see you for Easter hols, yeah?”

A spell shoots down the corridor and Regulus jumps out to bite at the legs of the first Death Eater that comes out of hiding. He has lost many battles in his life, forfeited them right from the start, but there is no way he will not bleed himself dry to win this one.

#harry potter #regulus black #sirius black #death eater sirius black #not really #but technically #regulus black lives #barty crouch junior #barty crouch jr #Battle of Hogwarts #Post Hogwarts #First War with Voldemort #harry potter fanfic #in a world three degrees north

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morbidcorvids · 4 years ago

Note

I just read ur halloween fic!! And it's adorable!! Can I also request a prompt? This is their highschool years btw and its about Hizashi, Shouta, Oboro, Nemuri, Kan and Tensei having a halloween party and also having a contest on who could have the best costumes! And the two winners would be going on a date. This was set up by Nemuri, Oboro, Kan and Tensei cause they know that Shouta and Hizashi had been dancing around each other for a few years and they wanted to help. So yeah XD Hizashi goes as Hatsune Miku! Which as he likes to call it, Present Miku! XD

Happy Halloween! I’m sorry this took *forever*, but it became much longer than anticipated. I loved the whole idea of Present Miku! Hope you enjoy!

Sorry for any grammar or spelling mistakes!

Title: Present Miku

If only he had put a bit more effort into his costume, his friend Kan wouldn’t have felt as personally offended.

“You know, you could have at least bought one from the dollar store instead of wearing your black curtains as a cape,” Kan remarked, crossing his arms.

Shouta shrugged as he sat down next to Oboro, “I wasn’t going to come in a costume, but Nemuri warned me that if I didn’t dress up then she would make a scene on my birthday.”

“What type of scene?” Oboro asked, getting comfortable on the couch as he opened his tenth candy wrapper for the night.

“She didn’t specify, but honestly, I‘d rather not know,” Shouta responded, laying back on the couch as he gestured for Oboro to grab him a candy from the bowl.

Even if it wasn’t his original idea to attend the party, he had to admit, Tensei’s house was pretty impressive. From the moment he stepped onto the front gates, Shouta felt out of place with his cheap cape and DIY fangs. As the gates opened, he could see the massive garden filled with colorful plants and fancy statues. There was even a mini pond with lily pads that ran probably the bluest water Shouta had ever seen.

As he approached the huge double doors, Tensei was already waiting for him with that flashy smile that captivated everyone in class 1-A. With the best grades in the class, and being a descendant from a family of heroes, it was no wonder he became the president of 1-A.

When Shouta first arrived at class 1-A after transferring from General Studies, he hadn’t expected such a warm welcome from the president. The one from General Studies displayed a high ego and God complex that was unbearable most of the time. Tensei let Shouta feel included the second he entered his new classroom, and introduced him to Hizashi and Oboro - his current two best friends.

As Tensei let him inside the house, he was greeted by an ecstatic Nemuri, who was wearing a scantily clad Poison Ivy costume. Already seeing Tensei’s detailed costume of Link from Legend of Zelda and the custom made Poison Ivy outfit from Nemuri made Shouta feel like the odd one out with his poor excuse of a costume. It didn’t help immediately getting berated by Kan for “not putting effort into his Dracula costume”. Though he had to admit; he completely forgot about Kan’s attendance and how...insensitive it would be to come with a poorly done Dracula outfit. Kan’s family, who all have similar quirks that deal with blood, practically venerate the Draculian lore.

Kan was dressed as a chef, claiming the film Ratatouille inspired him. Shouta just rolled his eyes at the explanation and walked towards the living room. His eyes scanned the enormous living room, finding Oboro sitting down on a couch that probably cost more than his parent’s apartment.

He currently sat on that same couch, waiting for the last person to arrive. He sighed as Oboro’s white wings hit him in the face again for the fifth time. His friend opted to dress as an angel, and his explanation was even worse than Kan’s.

“Well, for one, I am an angel. Two, I am really feeling like acting as Cupid today,” Oboro stated, fluttering his eyes as he smiled at Shouta.

Shouta groaned, “are you sure it isn’t an excuse to use your clouds as a substitute for pants?”

Oboro cackled as he handed Shouta a piece of chocolate. They began talking with Kan about the scariest experiences they had with the supposed supernatural. Kan was in the middle of explaining the footsteps he used to hear walking back and forth on his apartment’s hallway at 3 in the morning when the lights were suddenly turned off.

Shouta looked at Oboro in confusion, who stared back at him with the same puzzlement. Rays of lights invaded the room as a certain pop song blared through the speakers. Shouta winced as he covered his ears. The loud music sort of reminded him of someone…

Tensei appeared from the entrance of the living room, looking unfazed. He turned on the microphone he was holding, which let out an unpleasant howling noise. Tensei smiled apologetically, and sighed before using the microphone to speak.

“People of Halloweentown, get ready for the greatest pop star of our generation. Please receive the wondrous, fantastic, fabulous, talented, and amazing: Present Miku!”

Nemuri released a giant confetti cannon, which sprinkled all across the room - blinding Shouta. Of course, Shouta thought, Hizashi would be one for dramatic entrances.

Hizashi suddenly appeared with a microphone on his hands, and began lip-syncing to the song that was still playing from the speakers. Kan leaned towards Shouta and Oboro as he covered his ears.

“What song is this?!” He yelled, yet Shouta could barely hear him as the song blasted through their ears. Oboro laughed hysterically as he moved to the beat of the song.

“It’s a Hatsune Miku song!” Oboro replied, “I think it is called ‘Desert Wolf’!”

“Is it the vocaloid girl he is obsessed about?” Shouta asked. His ears finally adjusted to the loudness that invaded the room. Someone would have believed he was prepared to be bombarded with sound, considering he was friends with Hizashi, the classmate with a Voice quirk.

Oboro smiled widely. “What do you think?” he said, pointing at Hizashi.

A long teal hair tied in pigtails adorned Hizashi’s head, falling to his hips. He wore a grey shirt that traced his waist with a black skirt. Shouta’s eyes lingered towards the bottom, where Hizashi posed with thigh high boots.

Shouta had to admit, Hizashi looked really nice.

It was clear that out of everyone here, especially Shouta, Hizashi put the most effort into his costume. He even had the clothing piece on his arms glow a color similar to turquoise. His tie had his name ‘Present Miku’ engraved on the top, with small pins of Hatsune Miku attached.

Shouta caught Nemuri glancing at him, wiggling her eyebrows. He couldn’t help the slight blush that crept on his face as he looked away.

The song soon ended, and Hizashi bowed, receiving applause from his friends. Oboro and Nemuri clapped loud and sincere, while Shouta and Kan clapped rather unenthusiastically.

Hizashi proceeded to plop down in between Oboro and Shouta, putting his arms around them as he hugged them tightly.

“Happy Halloween you two!” He exclaimed, flashing his brightest grin.

“Took you long enough to arrive,” Shouta grumbled, leaning towards Hizashi’s embrace. He’s used to Hizashi’s shoulder being his personal pillow as he took a quick nap.

He didn’t notice the way Oboro and Kan exchanged knowing looks to one another. They looked back to Nemuri, who nodded once in agreement. She approached the center of the room - heels clanking loudly.

“As you know, there was supposed to be a costume contest,” she reminded, looking at Shouta with those disapproving eyes again.

“The two people who win will get to go on a ‘fake’ date inside that door,” Nemuri explained, pointing her fingers at the closed white double doors at the right side of the room.

“Tensei decorated it so that it may seem as authentic as possible.”

“Authentic to what?” Shouta asked with his eyes closed, still leaning on Hizashi.

“To a date, Shouta,” Nemuri replied with a smug smile, “so let’s start with the first lucky winner!”

“Why do we need to do this now?” Shouta complained, “and also, don’t you think it is weird to make two people go on a forced date?”

“Shut up, Shouta,” Nemuri scolded, being one of the few people that isn’t afraid to argue with him. His intimidating look might work on his classmates, but his upperclassmen friend isn’t threatened by those judging eyes.

“Alright, remember not to vote for yourself!” Nemuri added, “pick a paper and once you write down your pick, just place it on this bowl.”

She gleefully walked towards Tensei and sat next to him, writing down a name with her personal calligraphy pen. Shouta sighed as Hizashi passed him a piece of paper and pen. Might as well get this over with.

He stared at the paper for a moment, remembering the details of everyone’s costumes. He didn’t even know why he was analyzing the costumes when he already knew the answer.

He carefully wrote Hizashi’s name, tracing back the letters as he finished. He rarely got to write his friend’s name, yet it felt so familiar to him.

He placed his paper into the bowl, and leaned back on the couch as he waited for the last person to cast their vote. Once Kan, the last one to vote, slipped his paper into the bowl, Tensei grabbed it and started counting.

As they waited, Hizashi was acting as the DJ for the party, though it mostly consisted of Hatsune Miku songs. Shouta stood up once to grab a piece of pigs in a blanket. As he ate the small party appetizer, he sneaked a peek at Hizashi, who was dancing to the music with Nemuri. Shouta never knew Hizashi was talented at moving his hips. His heartbeat began quickening-

“I have counted the votes!” Tensei announced, beaming in front of his friends.

“The winner is…” he began, and Oboro began tapping the table to mimic drums.

“Present Miku!”

Hizashi squealed, jumping up and down with Nemuri.

“Can’t wait to see who will be my date!”

“I feel like I know who,” Nemuri answered, looking straight at Shouta as she winked. What was she trying to say?

“Let’s not waste time and pick the second winner!” Nemuri sang, already picking up her piece of paper.

“Wow, someone is excited,” Shouta joked in his deadpanned time. Nemuri stuck her tongue out at him before handing him another piece of paper. Shouta sighed again, but this time louder than before.

Hizashi was busy talking to Oboro to notice Shouta next to him. Shouta wasn’t listening to their conversation - too busy thinking on who he would pick. I mean, it isn’t a hard choice. Just pick the second best costume.

Still, there was something impeding him from writing another name. He knew it was just a stupid date that meant nothing other than a way for his friends to tease the ones that got chosen.

Whoever got chosen meant they were going on a “date” with Hizashi. Shouta couldn’t explain why he felt an aching in his heart as he thought about it.

He brushed off his thoughts and wrote Kan as his answer. He didn’t know why he chose Kan, since he was sure everyone would probably pick Tensei. The speedster definitely had the second best costume at the party.

Maybe it was the thought of seeing Hizashi and Tensei having a happy date at the other side of the room that swayed his decision. He knew Hizashi wasn’t interested in Kan, especially after that time Kan told him about the pet tarantula he used to have as a kid.

Tensei, on the other hand, always seemed to make Hizashi smile with his stories about his baby brother Iida.

Shouta could never make Hizashi smile the same way.

Shouta felt someone flick a finger on his forehead, bringing him back to Earth. He turned to see Hizashi smiling fondly at him.

“Shouta, are you done?” Oboro whined, “I want to know the next winner!”

Shouta hadn’t realized he was the last one left to place his vote. He quickly stood up and dropped his paper into the bowl as he ignored everyone’s stares.

“Are you ready to know who your date is?” Nemuri teased Hizashi. The blonde man simply raised his thumb in excitement as he jumped up and down his seat.

Tensei didn’t take long to count votes, considering there were only six of them. Shouta just sat there, wondering how Tensei felt about receiving most of the votes. He knew he wasn’t going to win, so why did he keep feeling this pain on his chest?

“Guys, the final vote has been determined!” Tensei announced, standing up from his chair. Shouta briefly caught Nemuri giggling with Oboro and Kan giving a nod of approval to Tensei.

Now that Shouta thought about it - the four had been acting very suspicious throughout the night.

“And the winner is,” Tensei started, gesturing for Oboro to do his dramatic drums.

“Dracula!”

Everyone in the room cheered, except for two people. Shouta didn’t know how to process what had just happened. He just gazed at Hizashi, who was noticeably pale.

He was probably expecting someone else.

“I can’t believe my two best friends won!” Oboro shouted, “don’t try to have too much fun inside there. Got it?”

Shouta noticed Tensei helping Hizashi towards the other room. He noticed the loud hero unusually quiet - blindly following the blue-haired man. His vision was obstructed by Nemuri standing in front of him with a deceiving smile on her lips.

“Are you ready, big boy?”

“Nemuri, I don’t know what is going on but this was definitely a set-up,” Shouta blurted, “and I don’t like it one bit.”

“Sure you don’t, grumpy cat,” she replied, “c’mon, your date is waiting.”

Before he knew it, Nemuri shoved him inside a dining room. The table only contained two chairs and was decorated with a white tablecloth and a rose in the middle. The plates already had a small meal, which included a portion of lobster.

Hizashi was sitting down, looking back at Shouta with an apologetic smile.

“I’m sorry they put you through this,” Hizashi said, “I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable.”

“It’s fine,” Shouta answered a little too quickly. He was still shocked over the obvious setup from his friends. Why would they want him and Hizashi to go on a date?

Did they realize his feelings for Hizashi? Was this a cruel plan to get his feelings rejected by his crush?

He ignored his thoughts and sat down on the empty chair. The two stayed quiet for a long moment, nervous to even stare at each other.

Shouta broke the silence, “I don’t know why they chose me. I had the worst costume out of all of us.”

“I think you look cute!” Hizashi blurted out, blushing deeply as he realized what he said. Shouta’s cheeks also turned into that dreaded crimson color.

“Shouta…” Hizashi began, hesitance in his voice. The ravenette focused back on Hizashi, trying his best to compose his pumping heartbeat.

“I guess I feel a bit more confident in this outfit, but I just wanted to say…” Hizashi continued, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Hizashi just say it,” Shouta ordered, eyes fixated on Hizashi.

“I like you, Shouta!” Hizashi exclaimed, covering his mouth with both hands after he finished.

Shouta’s eyes widened at the revelation. His mouth dropped open in shock and the room grew dead silent. Both lay eyes on one another; fear of uncertainty emanating from both of them. Shouta lowered his arms, trembling as he grasped for his utensil.

“I- I like you too, Hizashi,” Shouta confessed, staring down at his plate.

“You- you do?” Hizashi cautiously asked, thinking he heard wrong. The silent teenager liked the loud one? Oh, the irony that is love.

Shouta nodded slowly, playing with his fork. He was surprised when Hizashi began to giggle loudly.

“I think I should take you on a real date!” Hizashi proclaimed with excitement. Shouta chuckled lightly, still a bit timid over the whole ordeal.

Shouta was never one to celebrate Halloween, but this year’s would definitely be unforgettable. He was celebrating it with his closest friends. His only friends.

But best of all, he was spending it with Present Miku - the best pop star in the world.

“So what do you say?” Hizashi asked eagerly, awaiting Shouta’s answer.

Shouta just beamed at Hizashi - showing off his DIY fangs.

“I think I’ll like that.”

#bnha #erasermic #aizawa shouta #aizawa #present mic #yamada hizashi #prompts

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musedblues · 5 years ago

Text

Always Something There To Remind Me [Part: 2]

summary: Home is where the heart is. You're working on finding yours. After a handful of misfortunes, your old friend Joe helps to unravel life's greatest mystery while adding a bit of extra grief to the mix.

warnings: Another death and a funeral (I'm sorry in advance) general sadness but also a bit of resolution!? He’s here lads.

w/c: 4k

a/n: ❗This time only I'm adding lovely mutuals to my tags, who gave feedback in the first chapter so this one doesn't flop 😳 moving forward I'll make a normal tag list so, let me know if you'd like to be added!

@anincurablefangirl @imtheinvisiblequeen @supersonicfreddie @ogrogerbattle @sonic-volcano @tensecondvacation

Part 3

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

The sound of sirens pierced through your head. You thought you were dreaming.

You were home, in New York, in bed. You had been here for two weeks. The last you saw of Wales was the airport, where Tegan dropped you off and promised to ship some of your things to America. Every day you woke up in your childhood home, a new small package would arrive at your front door. You would tote the boxes inside and your mother would remind you to brush your hair, like when you were a kid. But instead of taking you to school, she would take you to therapy.

You tried to drive there on your own once, but you broke into a panic before you could pull out of the driveway. So your mother drove and tried really hard to act like everything was fine. She would play Bruce Springsteen songs on those drives and gush about his music. You used to obsess with her, but your head usually ached too bad to think of anything besides how much it hurt. You knew the headaches would go away if you figured out how to sleep again. But sometimes your daydreams were too nightmarish and you were terrified to fall asleep and let your subconscious take over.

That's why when the faint shriek of sirens grew loud enough to wake you up, you were only frustrated with your imagination. You had finally fallen asleep, for once. But when red and blue lights flooded through your bedroom window, you realized you weren't dreaming. You shot out of bed in a panic and prepared for the worst. A familiar vice tightened around your throat as you crept downstairs to investigate.

Your mother was wearing a vintage silk robe and her hair was frizzy and wild from sleep. She rubbed her eyes and watched you float down the stairs in the same pajamas you'd been living in for some days in a row.

"It's three in the morning. What could possibly-" Your mother wondered, peering past the blinds where the red and blue lights shone brightest. You watched her grow a frown and the vice around your throat tightened ever so slightly.

"What?" You plead to know.

"Mr. Mazzello hasn't been doing so well this month. The ambulance is stopped across the street."

"No." You frowned, scurrying toward the window, hoping you wouldn't see anything but a quiet suburb. But there were indeed cop cars and an ambulance stopped outside your favorite neighbors home. You watched lights turn on inside the living room window, and a sickening regret-filled your stomach.

You had been home for two weeks and hadn't seen the Mazzello family once. You heard Joe's mother stop over one morning and chat with your mother downstairs. You recognized her voice from behind your closed bedroom door, but couldn't bring yourself to leave and face her. So you didn't.

Your mother turned her dusty grey eyes toward you. They were sad and tired.

"Go back to bed. I'm sure things will be alright."

"You shouldn't say things will be alright just because you want them to be." You groaned on your trek up the stairs. Maybe everything would be alright, but it seemed foolish to hope for otherwise, these days.

///

The next morning was worse than the night before. You were the one who opened the front door to a weeping Mrs. Mazzello. She was as beautiful as ever, hair light at the roots, eyes like stars. But you only caught a glimpse of the lady before she threw herself in your arms and proceeded to cry. Of course, you held on to her and tried to unravel your complex feelings- happy to see her again, but terribly afraid of what caused her such grief.

Your own mother appeared and started begging her best friend to explain why she was in such distress. With a deep breath, Mrs. Mazzello shared the news. Her husband didn't make it through the night. After her world started spinning the opposite direction, she was sent home to get some rest. Mrs. Mazzello couldn't imagine going home all on her own and apologized for showing up at your door and causing such a scene. Your mother cried along with her, and try as you might to express the storm inside of your chest, you just couldn't. Joe's father always made sure to invite you to every Halloween party, and every spur of the moment family game night. He was the closest thing you had to a father figure since moving to New York. You never got to tell him hello again, or goodbye. Now, you only sank deeper into the dark pit that had swallowed your heart whole, some weeks ago, searching to claim it once again.

After a cup of tea, and even a few giggle-filled stories, Mrs. Mazzello hugged you again, this time with a smile. You always thought Joe had her smile, the kind that reached his eyes. The kind that made your heart melt a little.

"Sweet girl, I'm so glad you're home." She cooed into your hair as you hugged her back; happy to know she still thought you were sweet, like in high school.

Eventually, you and your mother stood on either side of Mrs. Mazzello and walked her across the street. You helped her inside the old familiar oak front door, and into the living room that hadn't changed much since last time you'd been there. You tried not to look around, strangely afraid of feeling too attached to a home that wasn't yours.

///

You waited in the car of all places, while your mother attended Mr. Mazzello's funeral. Your throat grew tight at the prospect of sitting through a drawn-out goodbye, and even though you were dressed for the occasion, you couldn't move. Your mother wasn't angry. She was almost afraid to leave you alone. But you coxed her inside the funeral while you sat in silence. When folks started leaving, your own self pitty was trumped by regret.

When folks started trickling out of the service, you demanded your mother to follow the procession, instead of taking you home. The cemetery was dusted with snow that melted underfoot. You barely made it onto the greying green before you were reduced to tears of panic. Your mother turned around and suggested you stand and watch from the car, like your own twisted safe zone. You leaned against the cold metal and watched your mother shrink in the distance, to a gathering between to empty branched trees. The late autumn chill reddened your nose and the cold weather became a perfect excuse for the tears you were suppressing and making your eyes all puffy.

The crowd was full of faces you recognized, but couldn't bother contemplating. When the group thinned out you asked your mother to wait while the car heated up, so you could pay your respects in private. There was a cold looking priest and some cemetery workers chatting beyond the freshly dug grave. The headstone was respectable, inscribed with Mr. Mazzello's name. His casket was in your line of sight. Looking at it made your stomach churn, and you wished you would have just stayed home today. You loved Joe's dad, but you weren't ready for another funeral. You were still coping with the last one you'd planned. Your therapist had their work cut out, that was certain.

"I didn't know you were in town."

You knew that voice. It was velvet cutting through the cold. It belonged to Joe. You turned your head toward the sound in near wonder. Joe was there, standing a few feet behind you, sporting a warm looking coat, and red looking eyes.

"Surprise." You barely smiled as you turned to face your old friend all the way. You were bound to see him, but you weren't so sure you recognized the man standing before you. Joe was all grown up, decorated in dark stubble and expensive-looking shoes. Nothing at all like the worn-out pair he ran around in all of senior year.

"You're just a little late." Joe joked. Or... did he? His expression was empty and he made no move to approach you like the friends you once were.

"Yeah, I'm sorry. I-I shouldn't have come here." You realized fully, digging your nails into the sides of your coat you'd been gripping. Your old best friend watched you hurry past him and toward your mother's car. You wanted to turn around to see if he was watching you walk away, but your eyes were fogged with tears.

Your mother parked the car in your very own driveway and made a move to cross the street. The Mazzellos were hosting a dinner party and guests were already headed in with pans of food in hand. But you couldn't do it. You raced inside your own home and locked the door, knowing your mother had a key and that anyone else who tried to disturb you, couldn't.

You took a shower and cried for as long as the water was warm. As the sunset, you lit a few candles and called Tegan. You told her all about the funeral and seeing Joe and when she asked how you felt about it, you couldn't quite tell her. She cursed in Welsh and her raspy tone was music to your ears. You giggled and thanked her for listening. She said nothing was the same without you around. She spoke to you for hours. Tegan begged you to call her once a week and you begged her to bump it up to two or three more times.

///

The next day, your mother was preparing to leave to take photos of a couple's engagement. You were sitting at your writing desk, going through the latest box of knickknacks Tegan had shipped over. Last night's conversation with her was better than all the therapy sessions you'd received in the past three weeks. For once, since Kris died, something in you settled.

You heard the front door creak open downstairs and thought it was strange that your mother wasn't leaving through the garage entry, and without shouting goodbye to you. But then you heard muffled voices and you realized someone else was here. Who could have possibly shown up at eight in the morning on a weekday?

Then you heard heavy footsteps taking your staircase two at a time, and before you could worry over what was happening, Joe was standing in your bedroom doorway. He was dressed in joggers and his auburn hair was mused like he'd just woken up and bolted across the street to your door.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Joe asked you, his luminescent eyes were wide below two furrowed brows. The second time you laid eyes on your friend of too many years to count, you still couldn't believe how much he'd changed since last you really truly saw him.

To make matters worse, you really couldn't be sure of exactly what Joe was talking about as you stood from your desk to face him. Was he wondering about your homecoming, or had he found out the reason for it?

"Why didn't I tell you what, Joe? Yesterday didn't seem like the time for twenty questions."

He only responded by rolling his eyes and clenching his jaw all while stepping further into your room. You trade places with Joe, shutting the door as your stomach churned.

"Shit, I'm sorry." You sighed, afraid that bringing up yesterday might be crossing some kind of line. Since when were there boundaries between you and Joe?

"It's okay, it's..." Joe breathed after a moment, casting his eyes around your room that had barely changed since highschool. He'd spent many nights helping you build forts out of the blankets still decorating your bed.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Joe asked one more time. The sorry timbre of his voice was hint enough to what he was really asking.

"I tried." You shrugged, shifting a little closer to your old friend. You'd called Joe the morning after you found out Kris died. You called him before you called your mother. He never returned the missed connection.

Now, Joe's brows were pushed together and the look in his eyes seemed nearly unrecognizable, and that pushed you over the edge.

"I'm sorry about yesterday, and everything else. Can we just like, be friends again?" You plead all of a sudden. You weren't sure you ever stopped being friends in the first place, but you'd certainly drifted far from the bond you once had.

Joe just barely grinned. And then you watched as he seemed to relax completely, you could almost see the weight being lifted from his shoulders as he stepped closer to wrap you in a hug. His embrace was warm and familiar. You hadn't felt such peace in months, maybe years if you were being honest with yourself. Joe was back on your side.

"I'm sorry too. It's been weird." Joe kept his comforting latch on you as he mumbled into your hair.

"I know. You can hang around here, if you want." You reminded as you pulled away. Joe was smiling for the first time since your reunion. It was a real, gentle and genuine expression.

"Are you sure? You can finish whatever you were doing before I came over to yell at you." Joe nodded toward the box on your desk with a little laugh.

"Oh, God no." You glanced toward the shipment of your leftover Welsh memories. Unpacking them fell to the bottom of your to-do list, all of a sudden. "You came here just to yell at me, huh?" You smirked at your friend.

"No. I came over because we have a lot of time to make up for." Joe handed out a loaded statement. But said so with a little half-smile. So you opened your bedroom door and made a show of gesturing he follow you downstairs. Your mother was slinging her camera bag over her shoulder and sliding into a pair of strappy sandals. Her grey eye's lit up when she noticed you and Joe descending the staircase together.

"Well, I've got to run. I should be home by lunch."

"I'll make something." You shrugged, suggesting a change of pace. You hadn't done much of anything besides sulk since you landed back in the states. And you were seriously craving lentil soup. Your mother shot you a suspicious smile as she reached for her car keys and nodded your way.

"Have a good day, kids." Your mother waved as she hurried off to her job as the best damn wedding (now engagement) photographer in the whole state. Joe gave your mother a pleasant goodbye as she shut the door and left you alone with your best friend for the first time since God knows when.

"Sit, I'll make some coffee." You pointed Joe toward the living room as you shuffled toward the kitchen. Joe followed orders, and you lingered near the coffee maker, finding clean mugs in the dishwasher and putting some other glasses away while the coffee pot filled up. You made Joe's coffee the way he always used to like it and started toward the living room to offer him the drink.

You rounded the corner to find Joe comfortable curled up against an old decorative pillow, asleep. He must have been exhausted from all the family business he'd been dealing with. You abandon the mug of coffee on the table near the sofa, for when he woke up. And before you left the living room, you watched Joe laying there, seemingly content, breathing deeply. And for just one moment, you felt fine. You didn't feel like you used to; like a highschool kid. You felt like your boyfriend was dead, and so was Joe's dad, but that it was alright because Joe was still right next to you. The things that we're okay right now balanced out the worry that they wouldn't always be.

Joe stayed just like that for the next couple of hours, so you went about your day like normal. Putting the rest of the dishes away, sipping your coffee, and folding a bit of laundry. You were sat at the kitchen table with a new book in hand when Joe finally woke up.

"Hey, thanks." He noted, walking into the room with his old cup of coffee. Just then the dull thrum of a blasted radio and the sounds of car doors slamming in the distance were unmistakably coming from across the street- Joe's house.

"Should you be over there?" You wondered, shutting your book as Joe moved to put his mug in your microwave.

"It's actually nice to uh, not have to worry about all of that for a minute." Joe cast his eyes around the room and you understood what he meant. Living in Kris's house with the knowledge that he was never coming back through the door again was worse than waiting up when he disappeared for days on end.

"Well, you can hide out here for as long as you want." Everything was normal again. He grinned while the microwave counted down seconds.

"Sorry for falling asleep. What'd I miss?" Joe chuckled lightly.

"Uh..." You let out a breath of a laugh, a thousand memories from the past few years hitting you like a wave. But certainly, that wasn't what Joe was asking, now. "Not much." You responded because everything you'd done while he napped, wasn't worth mentioning.

Your friend with tired eyes seemed to consider your answer, and then the microwave beeped. Joe's mug was steaming as he carried it over to the table. He eased into the seat next to you as you raised your own mug to your lips. Joe had yet to look at you, his jungle toned eyes focused on the patterns of your dining table. But after a quiet moment, Joe raised his eyes to look right at yours.

"What happened?" Joe dared to whisper. You watched his eyes stay glued on yours and felt sorry for letting too much time pass. You knew exactly what Joe wanted to know, so you sat your mug to the side and thought for a moment before speaking up...

"He was drinking and driving." You started easily. You had talked through this with your mother, and Tegan, and therapist. The latter helped you sort out your mourning Kris, but there were still scattered fears of driving cars and falling asleep you had to sort through. But side effects aside, it didn't hurt so much to recount the outlines of what happened. And oddly, you still felt security spilling your guts to Joe. You both kept your focus on each other as you went on filling in blanks

"Things were really bad. I mean before, with Kris and I. It doesn't matter why they just were. He was never home and he was always drinking. Then... he died. So... I guess that's the short version of what happened." You sighed emptily. The fights and the misunderstandings and the late nights, all built up and up until they crashed over a bridge with Kris. Now you were here. Joe cast his troubled gaze back toward the table, while his fingers tightened around his coffee mug handle.

"Do you wanna talk about it?" You wondered. About his dad. About how he was feeling.

"I'm sorry I never called you back." Joe looked up again. Sure, it had been a while, but you were together again, weren't you? These long faces of his were making you a little too sad.

"Why don't you make it up to me by staying for lunch?" You grinned. Joe did too, nodding in agreeance. The two of you spent the next hour scrolling through Pinterest to find the most exciting recipes you had enough ingredients for. Then you made plans to make dessert. It was like once you started you couldn't stop, planing for soup and bread and even an apple fucking pie.

Joe helped you bake, spinning around your kitchen because he already knew where you kept most things. As you stood cutting up apples at the counter, conversation about kitchenware lulled and you couldn't go on any longer without asking what Joe had been up to, all this time.

"What were you working on in London, anyway?" You asked, a little embarrassed to be so far outside of the loop. Your friend was leaning against the counter at your side, watching you work.

"Bohemian Rhapsody." Joe shrugged, stealing a bit of chopped up apple as you went on cutting.

"Like the Queen song?" You wondered, a bit confused.

"Yeah, like the Queen movie, now. I landed a roll in the biopic."

"Joe. Holy shit." You rested your knife and turned to face him head-on. That was a big name drop. He really was living his dream, huh? Joe was holding back a cocky smirk as he stole another bit of apple from the board at your side.

"Starting right now," You chucked as you reached for the knife. "we're telling each other things again." You pointed the utensil near him like you meant business.

"Whoa, I surrender... and agree." Joe laughed, moving out of the way as you reached for a big bowl. Your afternoon faded into a mess of home-baked goods and stories you'd been meaning to tell each other. Yours were silly ones about missing the bus and making friends with a stray cat who showed up at your door every night for a year or two.

But Joe's news was far more enchanting. He simply gushed over his newest castmates, and the members of Queen he was lucky enough to meet. As your apple pie baked, and you started to make soup, you began to realize the extent of Joe's career. He rambled about leaving soon for the premiere of his new movie. You realized he wasn't going to be around like he used to be. Like always. So you listened more intently to what he had to say like maybe this was the big finale of your friendship where you got to tie up all your loose ends and move on. You didn't want to move on. You wanted to move through this shit together. But you knew that was selfish and you knew Joe had a life to get back to, one that didn't include keeping you any sort of company.

Your mother nearly fell to her knees when she came home to find the feast you made, waiting on the stove while you laughed in the living room with Joe. You insisted he tell you everything he'd been up too, genuinely afraid this day was a one-off chance you'd never have with Joe again. You all ate lunch to the tune of his most hilarious stories, and Joe even helped clean up, while your mother complained about her day and the traffic.

"Well, I'm off to London." Joe laughed like he was kidding, but he wasn't. "The U.S premiere is like twelve days away. You know, I can put your name on the list." Joe shrugged as you walked him to the door. The sun was low in the sky, and his flight for the UK premiere was leaving tomorrow afternoon.

You figured he'd just offered out of politeness, as a way to trade thanks for this strange easy going day. But no matter your friend's motive, there was no way you'd be able to prance through the city and mingle with his superstar friends. You barely made it out your front door in weeks.

"Thank you, Joe. But I don't think I'm ready for all that. I hope you have a safe flight and a fun time, though." You nodded softly, really wishing him well. Joe deserved every good thing.

"I guess I won't be seeing you till Christmas Eve, then." If you hadn't been so caught off guard by his comment, you would have noticed Joe pout a little.

"Christmas Eve?"

"Duh. Same time and place as always. Right across the street." Joe chuckled lightly. "You'll always be invited. I'm just glad your home to finally start showing up, again." Joe shoved his hands in his pockets and bumped his elbow against yours as he joked.

"Yeah, okay... I guess I'll see you across the street on Christmas Eve, then." You smiled softly as Joe reached for the front door. He lingered in the doorway, telling you goodbye one final time, and you stood there watching him jog across the street, spinning around to flash his smile your way. The kind of smile that reached his eyes and melted your heart just a little. You could have easily settled back into spending every waking hour with Joe. Even after spending all day with him, it seemed like you'd hardly caught up at all. Funny how you'd been fully prepared for him to leave with a halfhearted thanks and a vague goodbye until further, distant notice. Christmas was a couple of months away, but now you had a reason to look forward to it.

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

#joe mazello x reader #joe mazzello imagine #joe mazzello fanfic #joe mazzello #borhap fanfic

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captainlordauditor · 5 years ago

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300x3 Y2 202

Uhhhh more 300x3, writing challenge for at least 300 words on a wip, 3 times a week, for a total of 900+ words on 1-3 works every week. This one is 719 words from yesterday, and is about to grow.

This one’s a weird one - it’s Earth 989, which is an AU I spun off of my Earth 988, and then, for this segment, threw some Sandman into. I don’t think you need any context but it’ll make a hell of a lot more sense once I get this whole piece done.

No warnings or language notes on this one, huzzah!

“Say, Red-Breast - you’ve been here weeks, and haven’t said a single thing.”

The man-creature glared over the top of his stein. “What do you want from me? My life’s story?”

“I mean,” said the other, whose voice rattled like her bone jaw as she spoke, “that the rest of us have shared something. Not about ourselves, always, but some kind of story - go on then, pay your dues.”

“You wouldn’t like the stories I have to tell.” In the shadows he looks even less human than he has before.

“You can’t know that until you tell us one,” argues a third. “Come on then, give us a tale.”

He pauses. “I guess there is one…”

There is more heckling and encouragement, and at last the creature that might once have been a man sets down his stein in a skeletal hand and begins.

“Once, there was a terrible city, and in it there lived a great knight.

“This knight was as generous as he was honorable - he gave without ever a thought for himself, and indeed some said that that was his greatest flaw. His honor and chivalry knew no bounds. He treated the smallest child as well as he treated the mightiest warrior, and lived his life as if his sole purpose on the earth was to guard his city. He walked in the day as a lord, giving with such abandon that it was if he shed gold everywhere he went. And he walked in the darkness as the knight, and though he wore the crest of the god of death, he never once took a life from his enemies.

“This city was filthy, miserable, and violent - some said it was cursed, and many said that they had done nothing to deserve the knight they were given. For in this city there also was a fairy, a demon, and a - a bandit.

“This bandit was once a dancer, and when the knight was in foreign lands training as a squire, the dancer saw that there was nobody but the fairy to hold back the demon. And so he took the image and name of a bandit that country called hero, and sought to vanquish the demon to its lands.

“The bandit fought long and hard against the demon, but could not defeat him. In time, the knight returned, no longer a squire, and together they imprisoned the demon.

“Time and time again, the demon would break free from his prison, and the knight and the bandit would defeat him again - for the knight refused to kill the demon just as he refused to kill a man, and the bandit knew that he could not.

“But those times were rare, and the rest of their time, what did they do? They caught thieves and murderers, unraveled schemes and overthrew corrupt lords. And they fell in love.

“They lived in great awe of each other, and loved each other more than anything else in the world. To the bandit, the knight was a man, one as touched by battle and grief as any other, transformed into a being of kindness by his pain, who refused to allow others to experience the same. And to the knight, the bandit was a being of starlight, a miracle from his god - for it was he who made the knight laugh. And they were as devoted to each other as they were to their city.

“But two men could not fix a city alone, especially one so cursed as that which belonged to the knight and his bandit. Thieves still roamed the streets, the poor still went hungry, and one evening the knight happened upon a starving child, stealing from his horse for food.

“The knight took the child home. He made the child his squire, and the bandit made him his student - and they both made him their son.

“If others thought they were devoted to each other, it was nothing to how they looked after the squire. If the bandit was the stars and the knight was the moon, then the squire was the sun, the centre of their worlds. He was the brightest light in the sky, and their reason to fight. Justice, the city, gods - all paled in comparison to what the knight and bandit saw in their family.

#300x3 #brudick #e988 #fic writing #yes its going under e988 shhhh #detective comics comics #sandman #sour dark and perfect #batcest

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shireness-says · 5 years ago

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Took My Soul, Wiped It Clean

Summary: Killian generally loves Storybrooke and its close-knit feeling, is happy to be raising his family here, but those close ties also often mean that everyone is sticking their nose into everyone else’s business. Can’t a man keep any bloody thing to himself? Rated T for language. ~5.5K. Also on AO3. A sequel to “If I Could See Your Face Once More”.

~~~~~

A/N: I’m back, with more of my 5B divergence! And fluffy this time. I’d recommend reading “If I Could See Your Face Once More” before this, but I suppose it could stand alone as a fluffy thing. Title taken from the same Kodaline song as the first, “All I Want”. Super thanks to my super beta, @snidgetsafan.

I do add in a non-canon character in this installment. Though he’s pretty much just mentioned here, he is important later in this ‘verse, and is taken from literature. I’d love to hear your guesses about who he is, and what I’ve got planned! I’ve got a lot in my head for this divergence ‘verse, so if you ever have questions or ideas that you want to see, just shoot me a message.

Tagging those from the first: @thejollyroger-writer, @profdanglaisstuff, @captainsjedi, @ultraluckycatnd, @superchocovian, @snowbellewells, @killianjones4ever82, @wellhellotragic, @ohmakemeahercules, @let-it-raines, @lifeinahole27, @kmomof4, @scientificapricot, @spartanguard, @courtorderedcake, @justanotherwannabeclassic

Enjoy, and let me know what you think!

~~~~~

His daughter is meticulous.

It’s a ridiculous word to ascribe to a toddler, he knows, but that’s the only one he can come up with. She eats her macaroni one silly shape at a time and watches her feet take every step and says each of her words very carefully, like she wants to get every sound right instead of just chattering away. They hear her practicing words in her crib at night sometimes over the baby monitor. It’s adorable.

Fatherhood is more than Killian could have ever imagined when Emma first told him she was pregnant. It’s more than he imagined when he found out they were having a girl, or when Charlotte was first placed in his arms, still damp and squirming and perfect. It’s the greatest, best responsibility of his life, waking up every morning and trying to be everything his daughter thinks he is, because it’s obvious to anyone with eyes that she adores him. Daddy’s girl, Emma says.

(He’s fine with that.)

Killian is a little terrified some days, because the truth of the matter is that he’s not certain he’s as much of a hero as his daughter believes him to be. He’s lived an awfully long time, and done some terrible things in those years, and it terrifies him to think that his little girl might find out some day and lose that gleaming trust she has in him. In the meantime, he’s doing his best to be the best man he can be - gentle and kind and honorable, the kind of man he may have once been, hundreds of years ago.

That’s a worry for later, though. Right now, he’s more worried about picking up his little girl from her grandparents’ for a lunch with Emma and an afternoon out.

The door has barely opened before Killian hears her little voice, pitched even higher in her excitement as she shrieks out “Papa!” Gods, but he loves that, loves the way she lights up like the brightest star when she sees him, and all because of him.

“Well hello, my little bean,” he coos, stooping to scoop her into his arms, already bundled into her winter coat and mittens and hat. She’s no longer bean-shaped in the least, but the nickname had stuck, even after she was born. “Did you have fun with Grandma and Gramps and Leo this morning?” If the change of clothes is any indication - they definitely didn’t send her off in this fluffy skirt this morning, though the striped tights are a nice touch - it seems like they might have. A messy morning, at the very least.

“Yeah,” she responds with that toothy smile he so loves, reaching to press her little hands against his cheeks so his face scrunches up - a favorite game of hers.

“We did finger paints,” David explains. “They’re still drying right now, and her clothes too, but Snow and I will bring them the next time we come by the house.”

“Thanks, mate,” Killian smiles back. Sometime in the past few years, between monsters and death and children, he’s grown quite close to Emma’s father, their former animosity nothing more than a distant memory these days. “Maybe you guys could come around tonight. In the meantime, the little lass and I have a very important lunch date.”

David’s eyebrows rise in what must be anticipation. “Are you going to…”

“Aye,” Killian quickly responds before the other man can finish. Talking about it will only encourage his nerves, and he’s trying his hardest to avoid that right now.

“Good luck, then,” David replies, reaching out to clap Killian on the shoulder. Before he can say anything else, though, a loud cry echoes through the house. “Listen, I’ve got to go check on Leo and the twins so that Snow can keep sleeping, but…”

“We’ll call you,” he promises.

“Great. Okay, then, we’ll talk later. Bye, Princess!” As soon as grandfather and granddaughter exchange waves, the door closes, Charming hastening back down the hall into the rest of the house and his own child’s crisis.

“Do you want to go see Mama, my Charlie girl?” Killian asks as they climb back down the porch stairs.

(Henry had come up with the nickname, claiming that Charlotte was far too frilly and fussy for such a calm, curious, and unshakeable infant. It had stuck, mostly because it suits her. Charlie. By this point, Snow is the only one who still calls her Charlotte.)

“Yeah. Mama now,” she agrees, nodding decisively. She sounds absolutely determined - and absolutely precious.

Charlie ends up being put back down once they reach the pavement of Main Street, just as always. She’s a fiercely independent thing, his little lass, and he’d been expecting it; lately, he always factors extra time into wherever they’re going so that she can toddle carefully along to her heart’s content. She’s a little star in her own right, too, garnering all manner of waves and little bows as they slowly make their way down the sidewalk. Storybrooke has rather swelled in population since his return from the Underworld; Merlin had ultimately returned the citizens of Camelot to their home by joining all the realms together, once and for all. Later, the population of the Land of Untold Stories had been brought into the chaos when the Dark One had attempted to attack Storybrooke and sweep away his wife and unborn son, opening a gaping portal between the two dimensions in the process. Ultimately, his attempt had been unsuccessful, the Dark One being destroyed by the combined forces of Emma, Regina, Merlin, and just about every other magic wielder in a variety of realms, from Maleficent to Elsa to the fairies, but the Untold Stories residents had stayed to try and move their own tales forward. Killian likes most of their new inhabitants, possibly excepting the relocated Lost Boys, but it is always a little bit of a shock to walk down the street and see Vikings and airship captains and everything else under the sun, all trying to pay homage to himself and his daughter as members of the royal family. While each individual realm has their own government, they’re all under the overarching rule of Queen Snow and King David as rulers of the United Realm - a unanimous decision by the various heads of state. Storybrooke is technically a democracy with Regina as its mayor, though no one had actually run against her in the last election. Killian doesn’t think that it was a matter of fear, for once in her life, but rather every one of the townspeople recognizing that they had no desire to deal with all of the bureaucracy of local affairs and the diplomacy required to deal with every realm from Arendelle to Camelot to Oz - not to mention, dealing with the dwarves. Especially not dealing with the dwarves. Regina seems to be the only person who actually thrives on that much paperwork and the minutiae of local government, and so they’re all happy to let her.

(Killian’s own family had expanded with the arrivals from the Land of Untold Stories, his very angry and long-lost half brother and said brother’s adoptive father. Nemo had been delighted at the opportunity to become a little family; Liam had been less excited. Part of that is likely due to Nemo needing to be hospitalized for the injuries that drove them to the Land of Untold Stories in the first place, injuries he’d sustained the last time both surviving Brothers Jones had met, the other due to the death of Brennan, their father, also at Killian’s hands. It’s all a mess, and they’re still trying to come to terms with the whole thing. For the moment, they’re all operating under a truce. It helps that both men adore Emma, and especially Charlie; after Henry had insisted the submarine captain watch the animated movie of his namesake, Nemo had been the one to gift their daughter upon her birth with the stuffed fish that had become her very favorite. Killian will never understand how the other man can be so tickled by his cinematic reincarnation. Regardless, he’s willing to do whatever it takes to keep the peace if it means Charlie gets to grow up being doted upon by Uncle Lee and Baba Nemo.)

By the time they finally make it to Granny’s to pick up lunch, they’ve had to fulfill the routine of up and down and up and down several times over. Charlie is a curious little thing, though her natural caution and methodicalness keeps her from wandering out of sight, his little girl almost as careful about checking that he or Emma is in sight as they are. Still, he swoops her up once the white fencing of the diner is in sight, tickling her sides until she giggles just before they walk in the door. Granny smiles at them both - well, mostly Charlie, the widow Lucas still gruff with everyone but her expanding gaggle of pseudo-grandchildren - as Killian deposits her on one of the red vinyl stools.

“The usual, Captain?” She asks, fixing him with a piercing look over the top of her spectacles. Every time she does so, Killian finds himself grateful that it’s only Ruby who’s susceptible to the full moon; he wouldn’t want to meet Granny in wolf form, not one bit.

“Yes, please.” It’s nice, having established himself so firmly in this town as to have a usual order at the local diner - a grilled cheese and onion rings for Emma, a BLT and fries for himself (mostly so Emma can steal them - she likes having options), and a bowl of macaroni and cheese for the little lass. Today warrants a little something extra though, he thinks. “And a generous slice of that marvelous chocolate cake as well, if you don’t mind.”

Granny snorts a laugh as she finishes writing out their order on the ticket, sliding it through the order up window so the cook can get started on their order. “So today’s the day, then?”

Killian stiffens at the words. “I won’t pretend to know what you’re talking about.”

Granny rolls her eyes at that. “Sure you don’t. I don’t know if anyone’s ever told you this, Captain, but you’re a terrible liar. Unlike your girlfriend,” she makes sure to emphasize the title, “you only get dessert on very special occasions. Do you have something to celebrate today, Hook?”

His cheeks are noticeably burning red, but Killian still keeps his silence.

“Suit yourself,” Granny shrugs, mercifully taking pity on him. “Now hand over the little angel, she’s got to pick out the noodles.” It’s always Charlie’s favorite part, and despite the older woman’s teasing earlier, Killian feels a rush of affection at the gesture.

“I do it,” Charlie pipes in. She’s got that determined set to her eyebrows - just like her mama’s, really - and is already scooting to the edge of the stool to try and get herself down.

“Oh no you don’t,” Granny replies, much to Killian’s relief. Let her be the bad guy here, not that Charlie will put up the same fuss with the Widow Lucas as she would at home. “If you’re going to go in the kitchen and pick your noodles, you’ve got to let me carry you, little missy.”

Charlie doesn’t look happy about it, but the promise of fun shapes wins out apparently as she holds up her arms and willingly lets the older woman pick her up. As soon as the bow ties and corkscrews and whatever other kinds of pasta are in sight, she’ll doubtless forget any frustration about not being allowed on her own two feet.

Killian is so busy watching his Bean as she’s carried away that he doesn’t even notice Ruby coming to lean herself across the counter from him, sporting a grin so wide it might better be described as bared teeth.

“So, you got a plan?” she quips. Damned wolves and their damned hearing.

“There’s no plan,” he all but growls back. Killian generally loves Storybrooke and its close-knit feeling, is happy to be raising his family here, but those close ties also often mean that everyone is sticking their nose into everyone else’s business. Can’t a man keep any bloody thing to himself?

“Oh, that’s no good,” Ruby replies. Obviously, she hadn’t picked up on the hint to drop it that his tone had carried. “Women like when there’s a plan, you know, you really shouldn’t ask her —”

“Maybe my plans are none of your damn business!” Killian bursts out, only the memory that this is the middle of the lunch rush keeping him from shouting the words in Ruby’s face.

It doesn’t faze Ruby, however. “Oh, so that means you do have a plan,” Ruby replies smugly, crossing her arms across her chest. Somehow, the smile stretches even wider. Killian just glares back. “Alright, keep your secrets,” she finally concedes, hands raising in surrender. “I’m just trying to help you.”

“I’ll let you know if I need it,” he growls out. Granny walks back through the door with Charlotte at that moment, blessedly distracting Ruby. Killian takes the chance to check his mobile telephone (he long since knows that it’s a cell phone, or just a phone, but it still makes Emma laugh to hear him act confused about the devices); happily, there’s a message waiting from his Swan.

E: Are you and Bean still coming by the station with lunch, or should I meet you at Granny’s?

K: We’ll be there soon, love - just picking up the order now. We’ve a surprise for you.

In only a few more minutes, their order is ready to go; except for cooking noodles, everything else in their meal is pretty quick. With Charlie already swinging his hand back and forth, he gratefully accepts the bag Granny offers onto his hook; one of the few things that have changed in the timeless diner since his arrival after the First Curse is that paper bags with handles are kept around especially with Killian in mind so that his only hand can be left free. Now that he has their lunch in hand, the nerves suddenly make themselves known in a way that they hadn’t previously. On the surface, this is just another lunch, but Killian knows very well that this is a lunch that could change everything.

Some of those nerves must show as he exits the diner and nearly runs into Robin.

“There’s my favorite Jones!” the other man crows as Charlie happily latches onto his legs in a hug, tweaking her little ponytail. Turning his attention to Killian, though, Robin is less complimentary. “Are you alright, mate?”

“Fine, just a little stressed,” Killian replies shortly.

Robin nods knowingly, and Killian thinks he might be about to let it go. Until the thief speaks, that is. “Ah. So today’s the day then?”

“Does everyone in the bloody town know?” Killian demands, rolling his eyes in a move Emma would swear he’d picked up from her (she’s not entirely wrong). If not for the heavy bag on his hook, he’d probably have thrown up his hands dramatically as well, but he doesn’t think the onion rings would respond well to such treatment.

“Well, we’ve been expecting this for a while,” Robin explains. “How old is the little lass?”

“Twenty months.”

“Right, so a few months before that. We’ll call it an even two years - that’s how long we’ve been waiting for you to make a move. Though I will say, it doesn’t help that one of the dwarves owns the jewelry shop.”

“Of bloody course,” Killian mutters, mostly to himself. Gossips, the whole lot of them.

Inexplicably, Robin still smiles and leans around the cute little leech still suctioned to his legs to clap Killian on the shoulders. “Look, you don’t need to worry. It’ll all be alright.”

“Easy for you to say,” Killian mutters back. Robin’s living some kind of idyllic life, with a wife and children and a seemingly endless supply of confidence. Killian has been around a little too long to maintain that type of optimism.

Robin shrugs. “Maybe. Still, you and Emma are one of the most solid couples I know, even without throwing True Love into the mix. I think, deep down, that you’re just as confident nothing can shake that. Have a little faith, yeah?”

“I’ll do my best,” Killian replies, smiling weakly. It’s the best he can manage at the moment, when his stomach is trying to tie itself into an intricate series of sailor’s knots.

“Good luck, mate.” With a final squeeze of the shoulder, Robin starts trying to peel Charlie off his legs. “Feel free to send Henry over tonight if need be. Charlie too, of course, Vera would love to see her.”

“I’ve already set up for the lass to spend the night with Nemo and Liam, but thanks for the offer, mate. We’ll have to arrange for the girls to have a play date in the coming week regardless.”

“Indeed. Well, again, good luck, and let us know how it goes!”

The sheriff’s station is conveniently only two blocks away, making for an easy trek that even his daughter’s little legs can handle. Another decided plus of going to Granny’s; they’re close enough to their ultimate destination that he generally can just let her walk instead of trying to juggle carrying both their lunches and his toddler at the same time. Today, though, they stop at a bench a block away from the entrance of the station, where Emma can’t yet see them. Tugging on Charlie’s hand to make sure she stops, he carefully rests their lunch bag on the bench before extricating his own hand from her tiny grip to reach into his jacket pocket for the little velvet box.

The ring box.

Robin is right, in a way - this has been a long time coming. But in all the emotional upheaval of his return from the Underworld and their daughter’s impending arrival, marriage hadn’t taken priority. They already knew they were true love, about to raise a teenager and an infant together and committed in every way that counts; a wedding was just a legal formality at that juncture. Some might have argued that Emma’s pregnancy with Charlotte was a compelling reason to get married, but Killian actually found it more of a reason not to. He loved her - loves her - and has always seen marriage in their future, but vainly, he doesn’t ever want it to seem like they got married because of their impending child. After Charlie was born, they’d been so busy and exhausted and consumed with just making it day to day with two kids, one of them a baby. A wedding hadn’t been logistically possible at that point, at least not the way they or her family would want to celebrate it. No, as much as they love each other, waiting had been the right decision.

Now, though… now, there’s no longer any reason to wait. Now too, Killian finds himself yearning for that kind of commitment, to pledge themselves before all and sundry and cement things in a way he has trouble describing. Consciously, he knows that nothing will change with a white dress and a signed paper and a pair of rings, but that doesn’t stop him from dreaming. Emma and he had talked about marriage together before and established that it was something they both want in the future; now that things are finally starting to calm down and settle back into a routine in their lives, it finally seems that the moment is here.

(There’s the point, too, that they’re starting to talk about another baby, and Killian knows that if they welcome another child, they’ll be thrown right back into that cycle of happy exhaustion and put off getting married for another several years. On the less romantic side, it’s better to stage a wedding now, when they both have the time to commit to it.)

Charlotte is obviously confused by this unexpected pause in their path, a deviance from the usual routine. “Mama now,” she tells him - not the question another child might ask, but something more akin to a reminder, like her father might have forgotten that they have an appointment to keep. It’s just another manifestation of that meticulousness that he finds so adorable - the way she likes to know the plan and stick with it.

“In a moment, sweetheart, we’re just stopping here for a minute,” he assures her before producing the little ring box. “You see this, little love?” Charlie nods solemnly, reaching out a little hand to stroke along the soft green velvet. “This is a very special gift I’m going to give to Mama. Now, do you think you can keep it safe for me until it’s time to give it to her?” With any other child, it’d be an insane idea, but he knows his daughter.

And his daughter is meticulous.

(Besides, they’re only a block away; he’ll keep an eye out, but doesn’t anticipate any problems. She’s a careful little thing, after all.)

Charlie’s nodding eagerly anyways, a precious smile running across her face at the prospect of helping with the surprise. “Yeah! I do it!”

“Thank you, sweetheart,” he praises, pressing a quick kiss to the soft hair on the top of her head. Quickly, he unzips her little parka to get at the miniature leather jacket she wears underneath, so much like Emma’s and his own, to tuck the box into the pocket where it will hopefully be more secure. Hats and gloves and all matter of outerwear get shoved into the pockets of her winter coat, creating so many opportunities for the ring to be disturbed; hopefully there will be less chance of that happening inside.

After resecuring all her layers, they continue their trek to the station, and walk through the front door only minutes later. Emma is alone in the office today, something of a rarity. Though David may have stepped down in order to pursue life as a farmer, returning to his sheep and to rule the United Realms alongside Snow, only helping at the station when absolutely necessary, the sheriff’s department has acquired several new deputies in the meantime, in order to deal with the increase in population.

Mulan had been the first person Emma had approached after her father had made his intention to leave known. The warrior had been a natural choice for her impressive skill set and level-headedness, and it had worked out well that the woman in question was a bit at ends after Ruby had left for Oz and a life with Dorothy. A deputy position granted her purpose and some sense of roots, and she’s flourished here, becoming Emma’s trusted right hand.

Dorothy had been an easy choice too, though she’s less available, forced to split her time between Storybrooke and tamping down trouble in Oz. The principality of Munchkinland supposedly operates as a democracy, one in which Ms. Gale holds no elected position, yet somehow she’s still the only one who can settle the frequent disputes that erupt between different factions. Killian would swear that it’s an entire population of dwarves, some distant cousins of Leroy and Doc and all the rest with all the trouble they manage to kick up.

Emma’s last deputy, Fitz, had been more of an unexpected addition - a former army colonel who had arrived with the other migrants from the Land of Untold Stories, looking for some kind of new purpose and to escape the long shadow cast by his cousin. Killian had been suspicious of the other man at first, but he’s more than proved his worth in the past two years, especially in aiding with the defeat of the Dark One by protecting Belle. It helps that the other man is one of the most amiable, easy going people Killian knows, armed with an easy smile and a self-deprecating sense of humor. Killian had worried that the former colonel might bristle as having to play deputy after so long as a leader in his own right, especially as a man from another time and society now under the command of a woman, but truthfully, Fitz just seems delighted to be surrounded by three strong women bossing him around. Now, Killian counts the other man as a friend, one of his regular drinking buddies alongside David and Robin.

Today, however, he knows that Emma is alone at the station - Killian had made sure to check the schedule last week and seen that Dorothy is off, Mulan is tackling a self-defense presentation at the elementary school, and Fitz is handling patrol. If all goes well, he can have an uninterrupted afternoon with Emma and their little lass.

Emma looks up at the sound of their footsteps, and immediately breaks into a wide smile when she realizes who’s there to see her. “Hey, you,” she greets, the affection obvious in her voice. How far she’s come from the skittish, closed off woman Killian had met in the wasteland that’s left of the Enchanted Forest; how far they’ve both come, really. Killian certainly wasn’t anything like the caring family man and loyal friend that he’s become back at the beginning.

“Hello yourself, love,” he smiles back, bending to kiss her. “Are you having a good day so far?”

“Eh. You know. Hit or miss,” Emma replies, simultaneously bending to hoist Charlie into a hug. As excited as their little girl had been to see her mother when he had picked her up from the Charmings’ an hour ago, now she’s more anxious to wiggle her way back down to the floor and run over to the bottom drawer of the file cabinet where they keep a handful of toys for her. “What am I, chopped liver?” Emma mutters. Even if she’s rolling her eyes, there’s still a smile on her face. They do manage to find a bit of humor in the frequent caprices. “Anyways, yeah, it was fine. Mostly dealing with paperwork, really. Leroy and one of the Vikings had a little bit of a spat early that I had to go referee, but that’s kind of just Tuesday. Not a big deal. You?”

“Uneventful so far.” Hopefully not for long, since he’s showed up with a ring and a question. “I finished with the docking fees this morning, then turned the office over to Mr. Smee for the afternoon and went to pick up the Bean.” While Killian serves as an additional standby deputy in the Sheriff’s station if need be, much like David and Robin, he’s actually found employment as the town’s harbormaster. It’s not always the most interesting job - mostly, he manages the monthly docking fees, though his position also involves inspecting the occasional imports from other realms and monitoring the office radio in case anyone gets into trouble or runs out of gas on the water - but it’s steady and dependable and lets him feel like he’s doing something productive, maybe even something good. The hours are a plus, too, as is continuing to be the boss. Killian still doesn’t take orders well from anyone but Emma.

“Is that lunch I see?” Emma asks, almost demands, zeroing in on the bag still hanging on his hook.

“It is indeed,” he replies, setting the sack on her desk. “Your favorite - grilled cheese and onion rings.”

“God, I love you,” she declares, leaning up for another kiss with a happy smile on her face.

And all of a sudden, the moment is here. It’s as good a lead-in as any. “Well, I’m very glad to hear that, love.” Gods above, he doesn’t think he’s ever been so nervous - not before that first date, not when he was standing in front of her door in New York. Maybe when their daughter was born, but that’s a slim thing. “Charlie, sweetheart, can you bring me that gift for Mama?”

“That’s right, I get a present!” Emma teases. That doesn’t last long though, her laughing tone giving way to a gasp as Charlotte rounds the corner of Mulan’s desk, her parka already shed and wrestling the ring box out of her little pocket. “Is that…”

“Aye, love.” Killian runs his hand along Charlie’s hair as she reaches him before plucking the box from her hands. “Good job, little love,” he murmurs with a smile. Now is the moment though, so he turns back to Emma and sinks to one knee as he props the little box open. Nestled inside is a ring that he thinks is perfect for her - somehow both sturdy and delicate at the same time, with a white gold band and two smaller round diamonds flanking a larger oval-cut diamond, a medium size that stands out without being ostentatious. He’d seen it in the window of the jeweler’s and just known it belonged on his love’s finger. Some things are simple like that; falling in love with Emma had been.

“It’s been a long, winding road to get here, my love, but I wouldn’t want to walk it with anyone else,” he begins. Hopefully the tears starting to glimmer in her eyes are a good sign. The soft smile on her face and the happy crinkles around her eyes certainly suggest so. “When we met, I couldn’t think of anything but my own revenge - but you made me want to be better. You still make me want to be a better man, for you, for Charlie, for Henry, every day. You’ve given me the most precious gifts of my life in your love and our children, and no matter what the future might hold, I just want to face it together. I may not be a perfect man, but I can promise you this: I will always, always be by your side.” Killian takes a final deep breath - it’s the moment of truth, so to speak. “So, Emma Swan, woman of my dreams and love of my life… will you marry me?”

It feels like he waits for her response for an entire lifetime - no, a whole eternity, even if it must only be seconds. But then her smile widens and Emma sinks to her knees, bypassing the ring in his hand completely to grasp his face between her hands and stroke along his cheeks with her thumbs as her delicate fingers curl around his neck, behind his ears and into his hair. “Yes,” she breathes, tears slipping from her eyes as she nods. If there was ever a moment the word emphatic was created to describe, this is it. “Yes. Yes! Of course I’ll marry you, my pirate.”

They really probably should worry about the ring in the box - namely, slipping it on her finger where he hopes it’ll never move again - but that seems like such a secondary concern when Emma’s kissing him for all he’s worth. Somehow he finds both his arms wrapping around her back to pull her closer, his hand still clutching the little green velvet box as Emma’s tongue slips into his mouth. Kissing his fiancée doesn’t feel wildly different from kissing his girlfriend yet, but he’s sure that given the chance to say that word a few more times - fiancée! - he’ll change his mind. For now, he’s more concerned about lips and tongues and the positioning of noses and the way Emma’s lovely breasts press just perfectly against his chest.

“Yes,” she tells him again as they break apart, and one more time as he finally works the diamond ring past the knuckle of her fourth finger. It’s nearly a perfect fit; just a small spark of magic is required to tighten the band to her exact specifications. It seems fitting for their relationship, somehow, which has been infused with the magic of Saviors and True Love since the very beginning.

Charlie choses that moment, of course, to tire of searching through her toy drawer and wander back over to see what her parents are up to. “Mama sad?” She asks, his clever girl noticing the tears still glistening in Emma’s eyes (and probably his own too, if he’s being very honest).

“No, baby, happy,” Emma laughs. “Mama is just very, very happy, and it’s spilling all over the place.” Killian understands that perfectly; he’s so happy, he feels like he’s overflowing with it.

There are worse complaints to have.

Soon, they’ll have to turn their attention to all kinds of wedding planning and spreading the news to their friends and family, but he’s happy for the moment to instead focus on having a nice lunch with his daughter and fiancée at the former’s urging (“Eat now?”). Both his girls are very excited about the chocolate cake, and the sooner they finish their entrees, the sooner they can dig into dessert.

After all, Granny was right; they’ve got a lot to celebrate today.

#captain swan #cs ff #my writing #Took My Soul Wiped It Clean #If I Could See Your Face Once More #5b divergence #no more angst #just cute kids

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mythvoiced · 5 years ago

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@intergalacticxmisfits - 💬 (SPILL THE TEA!) — send 💬 and my muse will say what they really think about yours.

---

Saeyoung > Mariah

“What?! It’s no secret what I really think about my wife, my beloved, the love of my life, the brightest star in my night-sky, my spaceship spouse and companion, my adored and beautiful pig wrestler.”

Apple red curls continue to bounce as he joins his hands in front of himself, continuing his dramatic delivery of monikers and titles, one after the other, that he truly believes in, even if his exaggerated relaying might make it seem otherwise. But then he stops, the energy fading from his shoulders as they slump, a sigh slipping past the lips that had been showcasing a dorky grin, moments prior. His hands sink.

“I love her. She’s, she’s so ridiculously smart. And strong. And she’s the bravest person I know, maybe even the bravest in the entire world. She never looks scared, even when she is. And she won’t ever give up on anyone. She didn’t even give up on me, even though I gave her no reason to keep fighting for me. For us. Hell, God knows I gave her plenty of reasons to walk away, but she never did. She saw through me, and all my bullshit, and stuck around despite it. At first, I thought she was just stubborn.”

He shrugs, a fond smile playing at his lips now. “But now I know. She is stubborn. And the best human in the world.”

Others below the cut.

Hyeongjong > Minjae

“He’s my best friend, obviously.” The statement is delivered like an affirmation one would be a fool to even think of second-guessing. He doesn’t even look up as he says it, as if it is a truth so deeply ingrained in the very reality of the universe that neither eye contact nor intensity is needed to bring the point across. Soulmates, platonic ones included, are pre-written by whoever wrote the stars into the sky.

Why would you second-guess something like that?

He looks up to smile, instead, from corner to corner, bright and delighted. “He’s a genius. A prodigy maybe, even, although I wouldn’t know because I didn’t know him as a child. But he’s so incredibly smart. Smarter than anybody else I know. His knowledge about the universe is almost like the universe itself, never-ending! But that’s not all!”

He lifts a finger, as if to maintain attention. “It’s not even the half of it, and I could be talking about his brain for hours, but there’s another very important thing I need to mention: his heart. Not the thinker organ, but Minjae’s is as well developed as the one in his skull. He’s there for others, almost unconditionally. Not really unconditionally, but if he thinks you’re a good person, he’ll probably try to take the moon from the sky for you. And you know what’s craziest? He’s probably gonna succeed at it too. All in all, he’s incredible, he’s our generation’s Einstein! And as kind as Mother Theresa. Imagine that.”

---

Fenris > Theo

“I don’t like to share my thoughts, let alone those I withhold of other people.” It’s a charmingly kind way to put it, tilted head, gentle tone, look in his eyes resembling that of an uncle or perhaps the father he’ll never be, trying to explain why he might relent today, but definitely won’t the next time he’ll be asked to play this game.

It’s the kind of giving in that happens with little to no malice, a resignation that is only a bit of play pretend, the ‘alright, you can have the cookie, but just this once’. It’s a great contrast to the beast he used to be. And he does, in part, believe, it is also thanks to people like Theo, living the example he has unknowingly lived by.

“Besides, I find it rude to speak of her in her absence. So I shall only say this: history is written by those who fired the gun, not by those left crippled by the bullet in their leg. Theodora walks with a metaphorical limp through life, given to her by I’m assuming a difficult past I have no further information on. She’s intent to continue using that very leg to deliver her blows, digging around in that bullet wound, believing to be deserving of punishment for deeds I’m, once again, assuming where caused by life simply... making her believe it is all she was made to do. Yet she continues to rise, continues to learn how to accept people holding her elbow or clutches offered to her. She is strength and she is resilience, and every time she feels she falls, she’s taken another step towards victory.”

He blinks. “Quite admirable, don’t you think?”

---

Hoon > Kailee

“There’s nothing much to say here, I believe.” Ever the reserved, Hoon only ever seems to roll up his sleeves to wash his hands before surgery, and never to reveal the strongly beating heart so stubbornly refusing to rest on his palm.

Even for those, or rather the one, who’d managed to make his heart beat hard enough that he’d failed to continue to neglect he possesses one in the first place, buried deep beneath the layer of ice he himself had covered it with, almost like a soft blanket of refusal, of pushes being made to avoid being pushed first.

In Kang Hoon’s eyes, his heart doesn’t belong anywhere but in the dark and cold hole, he’d shoved it back into, where it was safe. Or rather, where he was safe from it. “I don’t... I guess there’s a lot I don’t know about her. A lot of... There’s a lot. No matter how much I know, there’s always more. More I’d like to know. More I don’t want to know. More I’m afraid to know. But no matter what it is, as long as it’s hers, I don’t think I’ll be able to turn my back on it.”

---

Yoshino > Minjae

“He’s the best space guy I know!” She throws her hands in the air, as if trying to grab the sun from the sky and gift it to the one she thinks would deserve it most. For her, Minjae is perhaps the closest thing to the sun itself that she might be able to find in a single person.

Warm and welcoming and there even when you can’t see it, blinding in its brightness, always providing, always ready to help, somehow within her he... “He’s also kind of like summer,” she puts her finger to her chin, pensive. “He’s warm and super fun, he reminds me of fireflies when he looks at the stars, because I look at fireflies like he looks at stars... I wonder if he’ll agree to catch some with me. And the sky is always brightest in summer which obviously reminds me of him, because the sky is basically space and space is basically Minjae! It’s like, his friendliness and his heart, are as large as the universe itself! Which is pretty large, he’s told me so.”

She folds her hands behind her back. “I’m glad we’re friends. I really am. He’s always got my back. And I always want to have his! I think anyone who’s his friend should consider themselves lucky to be. He’s the greatest friend to have.”

#intergalacticxmisfits #the last route;intergalacticxmisfits #you're the debug command to the code of my heart;saeyoung & mariah #the dancer;intergalacticxmisfits #down the street;hyeongjong & minjae #the wolf;fenris #the surgeon;guest muse #the incredible adventurous tales of tanuki and space boy;yoshino & minjae #the tanuki;yoshino #THE TAGS ARE A LITTLE MESSY BUT I HOPE I DIDN'T MISS ANYONE <3 #you said all of them if i'd like and i did like >:)#i didn't include the android au bc we haven't written in it yet ;3 #AND i wasn't sure about arthur's android and ellie == SO I LEFT THEM OUT for the time being tho <w<#hoon's a lil cryptic bc there's actually NO WAY he'd be honest he's being held at gunpoint by me as we speak #even tho he'd probs not care even then lmao #GAH I'M SO SORRY yoshi's so short ;;

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