#I’ll make obscure aus until I die

[kicktwine]

motorcity au where daybreak town is a lakeside beach resort in detroit. Watch Motorcity

#i think ven and vani are “cleanup crew” aka maintenance and maid service that are also bloodthirsty #brain is logistics accounting and tech #ephy and Skuld are front desk and bellhops and also gang leaders #lauri is groundskeeper (and thus in charge of kicking people out) #elrena is here because she hangs out. Player is kitchen crew #motorcity #khux #my art #kip stop making aus NO!!!!!!!!!!! NEVER #They all have cars except ven and vani share one bc ven can’t aim and vani can’t drive #plus they both came from deluxe they’re hanging out. have …you guys read chilton 2.0… like that like that like that #I CANT DRAW CARS FORGIVE ME #recently I realized that I integrated the first like 4 chapters of that fic into my brain so hard I forgot it wasn’t canon #CYBORGS ARE COMPELLING. CYBORGS ARE COOL #I’ll make obscure aus until I die #motorcity au

[thaminho]

How Dreamcatcher’s ‘Demian’ took inspiration from Hermann Hesse’s 1917 novel of the same name

A short lyrical analysis by thaminho (~700 words)

Just looking at the title alone makes it easy enough, for someone who knows the book, to come to the conclusion that it had to have been an inspiration while writing the lyrics, although it still took me a day to make that connection, but what exactly are the thematic and textual parallels?

To start off here’s a quick summary of Hesse’s novel Demian (it’s extremely short and leaves out details not relevant for this analysis):

The book follows the protagonist Emil Sinclair’s life from his early school years up until young adulthood. He starts off as having a strict dialectical world-view: His secure and familiar home-life represents the proper and devout, the unfamiliar, forbidden and sinful side however seems more alluring to him; Sinclair is first confronted with this second side by being bullied in school.

Eventually an older student, Max Demian, saves him from this situation and becomes a sort of mentor figure for him. Over time, guided by Demian, Sinclair begins questioning the current antiquated world-views and societal norms, straying more and more from Christianity/Christian purity. While meeting more like-minded individuals he realizes, that a fundamental, societal shift of the whole system has to happen and that it can only happen through its destruction and eventual rebirth.

Trying to find his own path in life, free from conditioned thinking and biases, still guided by Demian (among others) this shift happens: The First World War breaks out. Demian and Sinclair both get recruited and wounded in battle. Seeing Demian pass away Sinclair realizes he doesn’t need him as external guidance anymore, he has become one with him, having taken an important step of individuation.

Now to compare the book plot to the song lyrics. As reference I used my own translation of the song which you can also find on my blog or through the link at the bottom of this post; the text in 'air-quotes' are literal quotes from that translation.

In both works you can find a personal plot line as well as an over-arching more general one; I’ll start with the former:

As in the beginning of the novel the speaker of the song is in a miserable situation, their ‘mind obscured’, and looks towards a Demian to guide them (Verse 1: ‘Stay with me tonight this is a nightmare’). They want him to ‘stay with [them] forever’ until ‘the end of the world’ because they are ‘only filled with rage’ and need guidance.

However, they are hinting at a future without someone to guide them by implying their Demian ‘seem[s] like a fantasy’ but will disappear eventually, as ‘reality is spiteful’, thereby referencing Demian’s death and the speakers need to find their own path alone, which in the situation the speaker is currently in still seems unachievable.

Interwoven between these verses are the ones referencing the novel’s more general plot of societal change: They need to ‘break this elaborate [system]’ in order for it to change, this dysfunctional system putting people in ‘difficult situations’ that make them ‘corrupt each other’, where there is ‘evil growing on its own’.

While in the novel the system refers to an extremely traditionalistic, Christian puritan culture devoid of any so-called earthly pleasures, room for creative development and ultimately humanity, the system in this song might refer to the pollution of earth as driver for climate change, thereby tying the song to the rest of Dreamcatcher’s Apocalypse albums. That’s also the reason for the appeal-like verses telling the listeners directly never to stop fighting as small action are all it takes to continue (see Verse 2).

Lastly the line ‘breaking the egg’ in the pre-chorus might seem weird at first or like a translation error, however it is directly referencing the most famous quote of the novel.

„Der Vogel kämpft sich aus dem Ei. Das Ei ist die Welt. Wer geboren werden will, muss eine Welt zerstören“, which translates to

“The bird fights its way out of the egg. The egg is the world. Who wants to be born has to destroy a world”

It symbolizes the epiphany, that the necessary massive societal change is tied to an equally massive sacrifice at the expense of the current system. While in the novel the anachronistic, stiffly conservative culture is destroyed by the First World War, one can only imagine what kind of destruction event the lyricist of this song had in mind for the current capitalism-based pollution system.

#dreamcatcher #demian #dreamcatcher demian #lyric analysis #songtext analysis #dreamcatcher demian lyrics #dreamcatcher demian analysis #hermann hesse #small orange dragon creates

[titisorriso]

Chapter 9/ Never Again (Wild Skies AU)

  The days were restless, the mornings were spent forging, the afternoons training, and the nights passed with her watching the skies and sea. Astrid led all the activities, the bags under her eyes hidden by the war paint, her tiredness obscured by her yells and tenacity.

Berk was at war.

She never thought this day would come. They were vikings, sure, but their tribe never worshipped war. Stoick did his best to avoid this, to maintain allies across the land, and although he had many, even them weren't expecting this fight.  

Astrid swung her axe, demonstrating to some young yelps how to fight and protect themselves. The strong shield, symbol of a Viking's battle proficiency, was held by each and every one of the warriors. The newbies were struggling; the wood and metal too heavy for their weak arms to keep up. Astrid noticed:

 - Never put down your shield. It is the one thing that will stop both a man's sword and a Nadder's spikes. It's your best friend and savior, so either you grow to carry it, or you better tell your family which rite you want them to say when you make your way to Valhalla.

One of the recruits raised his hand, Astrid sighing as she allowed him to speak.

 - No offense, ma'am... But where is your shield?

She scowled, the boy cowering back.

 - I don't need one. One day, if any of you become respectable warriors, you won't need one either.

A friendly, scruffy voice spoke up, entering the arena:

 - But until then, you can get all sorts of shields in all shapes and sizes right back at my shop! We're having a discount sale for young meat!

Astrid dismissed her soldiers, who made their way back home quickly, relishing the free time. She approached her tired old friend, a weak smile sprouting forth:

 - Gobber, you should be forging, not taking strolls.

Her voice was softer than when she talked to most people. Gobber had been someone to rely on in dark times. The moment Hiccup disappeared, both of them found comradery in talking about the scrawny boy who forged like there was no tomorrow. After some years, Astrid started visiting less and less, and now, with their respective problems, they rarely saw one another.

 - Ah, you know me. I'll find a way to do everything without help on time, don't you worry about that... Actually, i wanted to show you something. There were some interesting developments that i made with Hiccup's old drawings and schemes.

She shivered. The Valkyrie had completely forgot she asked that of him all those years ago.

Asking Gobber to figure out what all those plans were, what legacy did the boy leave behind, if he made anything that could be used against the dragons. Afterall, in the past, Astrid thought of Hiccup as a genius and one of the smartest vikings in Berk; how foolish was she.

Now, those papers were found useless. Even if there was something important there, it was probably made to aid Toothless. Besides, she wanted nothing to do with Hiccup anymore. He was a page in her book she was ready to rip off and set fire to.

 - Listen, Gobber, i...

He interrupted quickly:

 - Astrid, i know, okay?... I know i'm hanging on to false hope, i know i'm not your teacher anymore, but please, trust me when i say, you want to see this.

He looked earnest. Gobber suffered a lot of punishments thanks to the heir's disappearance. Gobber was the one responsible for the kids, he was their teacher and keeper when their parents weren't around, so when the news came out, Stoick couldn't think straight. Gobber went to trial, losing his honor and role of orientator in the arena; the only thing stopping his sentence to escalate to death being his title of Stoick's brother-in-arms. Subsequently, he became obsessed with the theory that Hiccup didn't die, that there was no blood or fabric or vestige of him, so he must have survived. Afterall, dragons weren't exactly polite eaters.

Astrid felt guilt, and maybe it was that guilt that drove her to accept his offer.

  He closed his forge. All windows, doors and exits barred, the only light being the fire inside the smelter that burned bright enough to illuminate the walls. Astrid observed Hiccup's childhood schemes, remembering his drawings back in his hut and noticing how rudimentary these ones looked in comparison. A smile forced itself on her lips, a certain nostalgia to imagining the boy jumping around the forge trying to do all of these in secret while also doing his work.

 - I miss him too.

Gobber spoke, snapping her out of her haze. She straightened her face, clearing her throat as she tried to not involve herself too much.

 - So... What did you want to show me?

He smiled, the normal excitement and edge of insanity in his voice popping back as he hooked and pulled as many pages from the wall as possible.

 - So, it's no secret that the boy was a bit nutty in the head, even when the job was as easy as sharpening swords, he still found some distraction to keep him occupied. Weird inventions with the sole purpose of "aiding us" in our battle, but as you know, it always managed to make everything a bit worse.

She held back from whispering a "still does".

 - Because of that, i looked at all his drawing and creations with those lenses. Thoughts filled with good intentions, but ultimately helpless. Something that any self-respecting viking would turn their nose at!

Astrid crossed her arms:

 - Yes, Gobber, i understand. You don't need to spell it out to me... I remember how he was. Just get to the point.

The smith halted for a moment. Stacking the specific papers in a curious manner as he prolonged his pause. He seemed unsure, almost aware of how crazy he was about to sound.

 - Well... That's how i chose to see it. That he made certain things with good intentions... But what if... - He took a moment to gather courage, spilling out what he meant with a mournful look - Astrid, what if Hiccup wasn't helping us. What if he was helping them.

Astrid shivered. She tried to mask the expression that forced its way up, begging to be seen. Her eyes went to the floor, trying to not make direct contact with the man, begging he would brush it off as being uncomfortable talking about the "dead" kid.

 - ... What do you mean them?

He took a step closer, his wooden leg dragging on the ground. The Valkyrie met his eyes.

 - I mean, what if Hiccup didn't get eaten or killed and tossed away... What if he ran away with the beasts?

Astrid took a moment... Then burst out laughing. She held her stomach, turning her face away, laughing until tears came out of her eyes.

 - Have you gone completely insane, Gobber?! These devils have no feelings or rational thought. They can't run away with Hiccup like some sort of scorned bride!

Gobber remained serious. Astrid tried to keep the mocking smile on, but the lie did not stick.

 - Astrid... I know i have no title, no worth and no claim... I know that questioning you, as a thane, can get me in a lot of trouble, but i need to know.

He took a step forward, the Valkyrie unmoving, paralyzed. Slowly, he grabbed her hand, holding it between his palm and hook, a pleading, teary look as the question rolled out of his tongue like a relieved breath, as if he already knew the answer before even asking.

 - ... Is Hiccup alive?... Astrid, is Hiccup the one that saved you from drowning?... Is he... The Night Stutter?

  A heavy silence. Moments of breathing and staring as she felt that urge. The urge to be a bad person, to lie and walk away, break his heart and let him believe himself mad. The urge was strong, and although it was wrong, she knew it was about self-defense rather than actual mean-spiritedness. About keeping yourself safe, knowing not many people like her got a chance to be where she was, a thane, the future chief of Berk even without any blood relation to the current chief. She couldn’t throw that away in a whim. Still, there was something in the now pathetic man that drove her to empathize: Gobber's situation could have been the same as hers. She always felt on the edge of falling out of Stoick's good graces, and she saw before her what would happen if she crossed the line.

Hiccup was alive. He was alive and well, flying around and enjoying his freedom while people like her and Gobber stayed behind to fix the mess. To take the brunt of the sword.

She turned away, unable to keep looking him in the eyes.

 - ... I don't... I'm sorry, Gobber.

She slowly pulled her hand away.

 - I'm sorry that i can't give you the answer that you want.

That was as cryptic as she could afford. A bad taste in her mouth with each word, something brewing in her stomach as she felt the necessity to heave and cry, but she held her ground. The man looked down, his hands falling to his sides, dejected.

 - ... It's okay, Astrid... I shouldn't put this much weight on you... Afterall, you're still a young lady!... You need to be fighting and courting! Pay no mind to the ramblings of this old man.

He turned away, his shoulders slumped, the warrior wondered if he was hiding tears. He slowly started putting the schemes and drawings back in place, mumbling things to himself so quietly Astrid couldn't discern any of it.

 - I'm... Going to go now, okay?

 - Yes, yes, you have a war to fight. Go ahead! Knock'em dead!

He spoke cheerful but did not turn around.

Astrid turned to leave, the sound of the door creaking open.

 - Just one more thing, if you wouldn't mind, thane?

She whipped around, staring at his back.

 - Anything, Gobber.

He turned to look at her, a huge smile with tears of joy streaming down his cheeks.

 - Just tell him to come by if he ever has time, alright?

  Staring at the ceiling, playing with the sheets, counting the seconds. All techniques she tried to find herself asleep, to no avail. There was a plethora of moments in her life that she was not proud of, that kept her awake and bursting with nightmares for many years; but ever since that night it had gotten worse. Ever since Hiccup said he loved her.

There was no one to turn to. No one to tell. Gobber now knew the truth, but she still couldn't risk confidence, not when it could put his life in danger.

So, she laid there. Questioning her feelings for him, her duty with the village and her role in the war, and somehow, above all of that, the tinge of doubt that came to her whenever she thought of dragons. Calling them devils, monsters, beasts, all of it felt wrong, but it wasn't supposed to.

She was a dragon hunter. She killed and maned many of them, and in turn, they killed many of hers. Did Hiccup know that? Something about the way he said things, it seemed like he believed Berk was no longer looking to exterminate dragons. How much did he know? Even more important, how much he didn't?

Rain fell on the roof, the sound being the final straw as Astrid got up, realizing there would be no sleep tonight.

She grabbed her axe, moving through the darkness and silence of the village towards the arena, unbothered by the heavy droplets drenching her.

  The arena was eerie. The usual clattering of blades and yelling replaced by water meeting rock and metal. She opened the wooden gate, the rain slowly fading out as she approached a still lit torch. With the light source in hand, she slowly marched towards her goal.

The cage of a Deadly Nadder was usually heavy metal doors and wooden beams to stop the beast from breaking or melting their way out, but this one was different. This dragon had been here since Astrid was a girl, she fought against it and trained many recruits with it, and after a while, it stopped trying to get out.

The Nadder was now behind bars. That was it. All that stopped the beast from leaving was thin metal bars that it could melt any day. Still, it never left.

Many times, Astrid wondered if it had just been broken, if it finally realized it had no way out and accepted the life of a prisoner rather than death. Often, Astrid thought of this beast as a coward, but now, the feelings of the beast felt a bit too familiar.

It was young back then, when it still had a fighting spirit and the dream of running away, of finally escaping and meeting others like it, but with time and training, it realized the world had other plans. That people expected something from it and it had no choice. With time, that trapped feeling felt like home, like how things were supposed to be. It's not that it wasn't fighting, there was just nothing to fight. It realized its role; it needed to obey and follow. No second thoughts or chances.

Astrid stared into the beast's eyes.

This was home. 

The fire flickered, the Nadder waiting for orders, for the gate to open so it could perform its duty again. The warrior obliged.

She opened the cell, taking steps back as it took steps forward, mimicking her, watching her movement as if it were a dance and it was waiting for its cue.

Carefully, Astrid put her axe down, watching as the beast's pupils grew. The Nadder was confused, but curious, almost expectant.

The Valkyrie took a deep breath and dropped the torch.

Her eyes took a while to adapt to the darkness, the rain had completely stopped. Their breaths were synchronized, waiting.

Her hand went forward, staying in the air right in front of the dragon, her palms sweating as there was still uncertainty in her mind. What stopped the beast from attacking? From taking this opportunity and biting off her hand? The hand on her side clenched, her unease quickly becoming fear as she noticed the beast approaching.

The texture of the dragon's scales was different from Toothless. Her nose meeting the warrior's palm like it was normal. As if they had done this many times before. The Nadder rubbed herself against Astrid's hand.

"She trusts me."

The realization came like a wave. She didn't run or fly away because, to her, Astrid was her friend. The dragon trusted her to not harm her, to do what needed to be done and then allow her to go back to her spot and sleep and eat. Astrid didn't even realize what she was doing, the respect that she gave to this dragon without even realizing. The trust she instilled and the false kindness she had given out of routine, out of obligation, like second nature.

Tears streamed down her face as she took a couple steps forward, the beast not even flinching as Astrid hugged her tight.

 - I'm so sorry...

Hiccup was right. She couldn't believe it, her mind reeling from everything that she had done while believing these creatures were nothing but monsters. She let go of the dragon, the Nadder tilting her head to the side, confused with Astrid's behavior, but still appreciating the affection.

“Never again.”

She wiped her tears, determination filling her heart.

 - I'm getting you out of here.

  His head was pounding, his skin itching and his lungs hurting. Of all the times Hiccup had been captured, this was by far the worst scenario. They even took his metal leg! Who does that?!

His eyes creeped open, his vision hazy and a bit blurred, but on the upside, he could move his body. On the downside, he heard and felt the rattling of chains as his hands were restrained.

He leaned his head back, hitting it against the stones a few times. There needed to be a way for him to force his mind to create some smart ideas.

 - Hello?... Anyone there?

His voice was raspy as he tried to get some attention. Were there no guards? Well, there really was no need for them anyway, it's not like there was a way out of here.

He felt his body wanting to find Toothless. To see if he was okay, wondering what terrible things they were doing to him, but those thoughts wouldn't help right now. The questions of how long did Johann plan this, who's attention was he trying to get, how were these buildings made and did they have to do with the Razorwhips disappearing?

He pulled forward, testing the strength of the chains. They tensed but remained strong.

 - HEY! Anyone! Let me OUT!

He yelled and made the chains rattle. A punch to the metal door of the cell:

 - QUIET DOWN, PRISONER!

So, there was someone there. Hiccup itched his face against his shoulder, noticing his armor was filled with holes and burns from the acid. His voice came at an almost reassuring tone:

 - Oh, so there is someone there... What's your name?

He was met with silence, but he could hear a shuffling of fabric as the guard moved.

 - C'mon, what bad could it do for me to know your name? It's not like i can do anything.

The guard punched the door again:

 - I said SILENCE! You are not to speak another word.

Hiccup noticed his tactic wasn't working. Since being friendly wasn't the way, he would try a different method.

 - You know... It doesn't really *matter* how trapped i am right now. I have dealt with worse enemies than a trader with some exotic weapons. Ever heard of the Grimborn brothers? Yeah, i dealt with them. Let's just say it's not a good idea to be on my bad side.

He was met with a long silence, and then a prolonged laugh.

 - Oh, i'm aware of your doings, Night Stutter. I know them way too well.

He heard keys jingle as the door was unlocked. Hiccup scooched back, thinking of how he could react against this guy while fully in chains.

The familiar face that appeared made the rider shiver.

 - ... Krogan?...

The man smiled. There was a huge new scar going across his face, and his right leg was replaced with a metal spike.

 - Surprised to see me, Haddock?

Hiccup's stomach turned, his anger rising as this simple kidnapping became more problematic than he imagined. He killed the Grimborn brothers, he defeated Drago and Toothless became the new alpha. Krogan was Drago's servant, a lackey he thought the monster had given an end to; but now, Hiccup wondered how big of a threat this all was, who was involved in this and what was really happening.

He jumped forward, forgetting his wounds, the chains and the lack of a leg. The rider fell backwards with his failed attempt of lunging at him.

 - WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?! WHAT DID YOU DO TO TOOTHLESS?!

Hiccup expected anything from him. A sadistic laugh, a mean remark, even a punch to the gut.

Krogan said nothing.

The man just stared at the rider, a mysterious look over his eyes.

 - Your dragon is unharmed. Johann needs him alive to command the other beasts.

Hiccup's rage did not falter even with the reluctant answer.

 - I swear, if only one of his scales is out of place, Odin have mercy--

 - What? What will you do, rider?!

The interruption caught Hiccup off guard. What could he do? Nobody knew he was here; he didn't even leave a note back home because he thought it would be a quick surveillance.

 - That's the thing, Hiccup Haddock, you always need others. You're useless by yourself. The dragon is gone, your precious Berserker friends are too busy dealing with a sudden Dragonvine outbreak, Alvin has a little riot the hunters incited on his hands, and Berk... Well, it's not like Berk can miss what they don't know exists...

Hiccup's brain yelled at him to not incite the hunter, but something about this situation made his rationality be destroyed:

 - I have more allies than you know. You haven't even scratched the surface.

 - Oh, please. They know you, Hiccup! Bayana, the Wingmaidens, the Defenders of the Wing, they're all busy. You are helpless, and soon, you will be dead.

The rider's head dropped, the anger slowly fading to a sense of despair.

 - I... I've been through worse. This is nothing.

 - Do you truly believe that?

Krogan approached Hiccup, kneeling to see him eye to eye as the rider sat dejected against the wall:

 - You have nowhere to go, Hiccup. No one to turn to. They won, and you will be nothing but a faraway memory of what could have been.

Hiccup's face lit up, coming to a conclusion he hoped wasn't the wrong one:

 - ... You keep saying "they" instead of "we"... Why are you here, Krogan?

The two stared at each other. That similar flame of rivalry and hatred threatening to spark again and ruin whatever was about to be proposed. Krogan was one of the only hunters to have come close to killing Toothless, and that was all it took for Hiccup to hate someone. He was heartless, emotionless and observant. In many ways, he reminded Hiccup of Viggo, but Viggo had some sort of feeling, just any feeling. He got something from this cat and mouse chase. Krogan seemed to only focus on his goal: Surviving. Anything else was just colateral damage. Krogan’s voice turned somber:

 - ... These people, they are not to be trusted. When Drago tried to execute me, i barely made it; having to hide in corners and stay away from the public... I would thank the gods if i believed in any of them for letting me live for so long, but i'll settle for thanking you.

He got up, holding a key as he showed it to Hiccup, just out of reach.

 - You, rider, killed Drago. You freed me from that prison of shrouded shadows.

 - Believe me, you weren't really in my mind when i did it. Call it a unfortunate consequence.

 - Ah, but that's where you're wrong.

Krogan took a step forward, Hiccup flinching backwards, ready to headbutt or kick as much as it was necessary, but the hunter simply threw the key into his hand.

 - ... I'm returning the favor. Go, Night Stutter. You're free.

Krogan turned around, already leaving as Hiccup shouted:

 - WAIT!

The man stopped.

 - You expect me to believe that? I'm not a child anymore, Krogan. What is your true goal?! What do you want from me?! I'm not going to be a pawn in your sick game!

The hunter put his hood on, a low chuckle making even the walls shiver.

 - Just get out alive, rider. We have just begun.

  The devil was stubborn. Astrid tied a rope around her neck, pulling her silently through the houses and fields... Except the dragon didn't get the sudden change of pace.

The Nadder groaned and perched on every fence and wall it could find, Astrid having to pull extra hard for the beast to keep it pushing. The Valkyrie would often whisper in anger:

 - I swear, you're not exactly making this change of heart easy. 

The dragon flapped her wings in response. Unbothered and quite excited to see the outside again.

They eventually reached the forest, Astrid less worried about being found out as Raven's point was the only spot she didn't assign a patrol to, worried Hiccup could be stalking around these parts again and not wanting him to get caught.

The open sky was littered with stars, the warrior remembering her first time flying as she realized the time had come. The wind howled, a bitter cold predicting the arrival of winter. Astrid turned to the Nadder, untying her rope.

 - Well, this is it.

The Nadder stared, confused. Astrid smiled, finding the beast's confusion endearing.

 - C'mon, go! You're free. 

The dragon remained put. Seconds passed, then minutes, and all the beast did was look around the woods and stay put. Astrid lost her patience.

 - I'm serious, go! You can leave!

More empty staring.

 - Sweet Thor, do you not understand me? Is that it? Okay...

Astrid took some steps back, the dragon tilting her head as she observed the woman start mimicking flying.

 - You... SOAR! Go... UP! The SKY is OPEN! You can GO!

The Nadder sat down. Astrid's palm went to her face.

 - You are smarter than this. I know you are! Why are you resisting me?!

She was talking to a dragon as if it had feelings and thoughts. Dear gods, she was becoming Hiccup. The warrior decided to change her method.

 - Okay... Maybe you just don't know i'm talking to you. I mean, Hiccup named his Night Fury, maybe you want a name too...

The Nadder seemed interested, loafing forward like a hen as she waited for a name.

 - Uh... How about... Zephyr? Like the wind! I always wanted a daughter named Zephyr.

The dragon shook her head.

 - Okay... Maybe Gunnr?! Like battle! That's a solid name, right?

The dragon groaned in disapproval. Astrid stared at the sky, bewildered and annoyed. She was really asking a dragon what she wanted her name to be. A stark contrast to the butchering and axeing she could be doing instead.

She watched as the wind brought dark clouds over Berk, a weird tint to them that she had never seen before. An idea formed as she looked to the Nadder.

 - How about... ÉlFljúga? Stormfly? Do you like that?

The Nadder jumped up, considering it, then running towards Astrid and nuzzling the woman who giggled with the affection.

 - Alright, alright. Well, Stormfly... It's time to go. You can't stay, it's not safe.

Stormfly moaned, confused at the woman pushing her away.

 - I'm serious, girl. You can't stay, they'll... We'll kill you.

The dragon looked into Astrid's eyes, still confused and reluctant, but a certain understanding went between their hearts. There was a connection there, as Astrid touched her forehead to Stormfly's spike, the dragon closed her eyes, saying goodbye.

 - I'm sorry that i hurt you so much... I promise that there is someone out there who will treat you with the most love and respect.

She kept holding on to the dragon's face as she moved to the side so Stormfly could see her as she spoke:

 - There's a guy that will find just the right habitat for you. He's a bit smelly and has a bad sense of humor, but he'll treat you right. Just follow north, he'll find you.

She let go of Stormfly, the dragon moaning as it once more refused to leave, but clearly more willing to do so if ordered again. Astrid felt a pang in her heart.

 - ... The world isn't ready for you. We... We don't deserve you. At least i don't. Not after everything i've done.

 - Well, at least you admit it.

The Valkyrie turned around like lightning, grabbing her axe and swinging it to a fighting pose. Stormfly jumped beside her, readying a shot.

A hooded woman mounted on a Razorwhip. Astrid had never seen one face to face, the surprise must have been all over her complexion, for the woman laughed.

 - Don't worry, Windshear doesn't bite... Too hard.

 - Who are you?!

The woman dismounted her dragon, revealing her face and long black braided hair.

 - Name is Heather. We need to talk about Hiccup. °°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°    This one took a lot of editing. Had to find the old notebook i wrote the story on to see where i was going with this and decided to change it all. Hope you enjoyed it! (And i know this is looking like the end, but believe me, there is so much story to go. I had way too much freetime back then.)

#Wild Skies AU #wild skies #wild!hiccup #wild!astrid #httyd #how to train your dragon #hiccstrid #Hiccup Haddock #Astrid Hofferson #not even joking there were so many plot twists in the original it was kind of embarrasing #fanfic #fanart #my writing changed SO MUCH in such a short time #if it changed for the better or worse i can't tell #but it changed

[teacasket]

this is me trying

genre: angst au: dark academia au, college au warnings: alcohol, implied alcoholism, implied drugs, swearing word count: 0.8k pairing: gn!reader x bang chan song: this is me trying by taylor swift

University is where child prodigies go to die.

Where bodies are laid to rest in a pile of ancient tomes and empty whiskey bottles, where epitaphs are carved on the posts of the crumbling stone staircase, where eulogies and elegies are read in the dusty theater no one gives a shit about.

Ghosts roam the hallowed grounds, looking for the body they once inhabited. Where has the dreamer gone? They tap the shoulders of every ashen individual, asking if they belong to them, but the tombstones are too many and the burial grounds too large. Too many unmarked graves, too many unclaimed bones. Child prodigies die in university, but so do regular children. Because when the fog creeps in, obscuring all the light of tomorrow, some sink deeper into the mist until they are wholly consumed. Others learn to catch the smoke with their hands and breathe themselves anew. But most stumble between the two choices, blind and lost, cradling themselves with the little comforts they have.

Golden brown whiskey because it is like infusing themselves with liquid sunshine. Cuban cigars because they can pretend they can control the fog. A line of the finest stardust because this is the only way they can feel weightless.

You trade your reading glasses for ones meant for drinking, your friends for the portrait of a stern man hanging over the common room fireplace. Midnight musings, melancholic minutes—all those you share with him. Occasionally you find company in the flickering flames whose heat keeps you from seeking warmth from anyone else. It burns from dawn to dusk, always a constant. Whenever you swallow a mouthful of whiskey, your spent soul blazes, and you know you can make it to morning.

Your head rattles, your brain sloshing side to side like the last dregs in the bottle. Everything is a familiar gray, and you cling to it as you stumble over the worn rug to the liquor cabinet. The prizes behind the locked glass are alluring. As you rest a hand on the pane, trying to envision the cool neck of a bottle in your palm, footsteps as loud as your heartbeat appear. Your ghost? Have they returned with your spirit? Though if they did, you already have plenty of spirits inside you.

Delirium overcomes you, letting a loose laugh leave your languid body.

The heavy oak doors open and shut, and you loll your head over to see who has decided to join you tonight. A heavy stone drops into your stomach. For now, you are sober, not a drop of alcohol coloring your composure. As you gently nudge your finished whiskey under the table with your foot, you slide your arms to your side, arrange your countenance to one of serenity instead of dread.

“Hey, what are you doing here?” you lightly ask. He stays an arm’s distance away. “I thought you had an exam early tomorrow.”

“You weren’t answering your phone. Your roommate said you weren’t in your dorm either.”

Ah, Jimin. One of the few who has learned how to conquer the fog with brilliant determination. You suppose Chan is one of those people as well. Even in the late hours when the ghosts populate the halls, his fortitude does not melt away completely.

“I was busy with my readings,” you say. The lie comes out smooth and sweet like beginner’s wine. “My phone probably died. You know how forgetful I am. What did you need me for?”

“To make sure you were okay. It’s almost three.”

“I’ll go to bed soon, I promise. You should go too,” you add, nodding to his pajama bottoms. They’re wet. He must have walked through the quad while coming here. “Go on. I’ll be fine. I am fine.”

“No, you’re not fine. I know you’ve been drinking again. I can smell it on you.”

“C’mon, everyone here drinks a little bit when studying.”

“Being like ‘everyone here’ isn’t a good thing.”

He reaches for your hand, but you hide it behind your back. He makes you weak. One touch and you start making promises you know you cannot keep.

“Fuck off, Chan,” you say sharply. “I don’t need your judgment.”

One hollow-point bullet to his heart. You do not stop there. You continue firing until your mouth is dry and your face is flushed. The man in the portrait looks at you approvingly as you cross your arms in preemptive defense of what Chan has to say next.

Finally, he replies, “You’re right. I can’t keep doing this with you either, so we’re done. I’m breaking up with you, and I don’t want to see you until you’re ready to get some help. Good night.”

It does not hurt at first. Then as sunlight streams in through the windows, the pain crashes down all at once, turning you into a pile of shattered glass.

Shit. You need some more whiskey.

#stray kids #skz #bang chan #chan #stray kids imagines #skz imagines #bang chan imagines #chan imagines #stray kids scenarios #skz scenarios #bang chan scenarios #chan scenarios #stray kids x reader #skz x reader #bang chan x reader #chan x reader #stray kids angst #skz angst #bang chan angst #chan angst #stray kids au #skz au #dark academia au #college au

[angelfishofthelord]

Number 13, maybe for the last season?

Prompt 13: i know you aren't coming back

(an au of 15x19 where cas didn't die in 15x18)

The quietness feels like a hand over his mouth. The static air tastes like strangulation in every inhale. Every movement of theirs seems cosmic, even if its as small as crossing the road or filling up the tank at the gas station. They all watch their shadows on the asphalt like staring down the last flickers of a neon street light.

Castiel sits on the hood of the Impala and listens to the rustle of crickets hopping through eaves of grass. Listens to the rhythmic drip of a leaky pipe from the empty house two lanes over. Listens to the stirring of fireflies’ wings against the fading sunlight.

Dean is asleep in the driver’s seat, and Sam in the seat beside him. Jack is tucked under his trench coat and snoring lightly in the back. They would have rather kept driving until they found the source of the signal, but when Dean almost crashed into the abandoned seats of a sidewalk cafe, Castiel convinced them to stop and rest for one night.

If God wanted them dead, He’d have killed them by now.

Castiel pushes his fingers into his pants pockets and feels for the braided string of the friendship bracelet Jack gave him a few weeks ago. The boy had made it with Claire the last time he was at Jody’s. There’s also a folded-up museum flyer in his pocket from the weekend he and Sam went to see the Salvador Dali exhibit. And a few loose shirt tags from the Tuesday afternoon Dean insisted on taking him clothes shopping. “Even if you’re going to buy the same shirt you’re wearing now, at least it’ll be new,” he laughed.

It’s enough. It’s all he’s ever wanted: to belong so intrinsically that even the mundane fragments of existence feel like collecting priceless treasure. To be able to pick up a ticket stub or old shopping list or dog-eared photograph and feel loved from head to toe.

He’s going to die knowing he was loved. What else would anyone ask for?

There won’t be a goodbye. Castiel decided that hours ago, when the plan first formed in his mind. A final moment becomes a final chance to be held back. He won’t let them stop him from saving them.

Carefully he slides off the hood of the Impala and looks back at them through the tinted windows on last time. Jack is still, his back rising and falling softly. Dean’s cheek is pressed against the windowpane. And Sam--Sam isn’t there.

Castiel turns around, panic burning in the back of his eyes for a second, when he sees Sam standing there on the road in front of him.

“Sorry,” Sam whispers, holding up both hands meekly. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”

Castiel exhales in a rush. He tries to think of something to say to Sam, something conversational and innocuous, something that won’t reveal any of what he’s about to do. But nothing comes to mind.

Sam moves closer. His shoulders are hunched, his arms folded. When he’s near enough that the night isn’t obscuring his face Castiel sees his eyes and realizes that Sam’s been crying.

“Cas-” Sam shakes his head and looks away for a second before returning to him. “I’ll see you around tomorrow, okay?”

He knows. Castiel doesn’t bother to ask how. “Sam,” he says, so low he can barely hear himself.

“I know you’re not coming back.” Sam blows hard through his lips and tilts his head back, trying to keep the tears from spilling out. “Just--just say that you’re going to be here tomorrow.”

Castiel swallows hard. He feels for the collection in his pocket, the anchor that always keep him from drowning. With one step forward he’s right in front of Sam. He reaches out and cups his fingers around Sam’s trembling jaw. Then he pushes himself up on tiptoes and kisses him on the forehead.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he breathes into his skin.

Sam reaches to touch his hand but Castiel drops his arm and walks away before he makes contact.

#this turned out a lot more raw than i expected god the feels i gave myself writing this #angelfish birthday #angst prompts #my spn fanfic

[ncssian]

A Favor: Part Seventeen

Nessian Modern AU

Masterlist

a/n: 70% of this fic is written on my phone lying on my side in bed while using swipe typing bc im too lazy to type out words and it shows

TW: discussion of SA

***

Nesta has an easier time adjusting to a third person in the cabin than she thought she would. Maybe it’s because Azriel indeed minds his business, and half the time Nesta isn’t aware he’s there at all.

Cassian seems to be more irritated by it than anyone else—not his brother, of course, but the fact that he and Nesta no longer exist in their own little bubble. Which is how he ends up at Nesta’s apartment with an overnight bag, sprawled out stomach-down on her mattress while she gets ready for bed.

“TV show or movie?” he asks, clicking through her laptop. Shows are Nesta’s thing and movies are Cassian’s; she feels generous enough tonight to say, “Movie.”

“Thank god,” he mutters, typing something on the laptop. “There’s a Turkish horror flick that I was saving for you.”

“Where do you even find these films?” Grabbing her hairbrush, she flops onto the bed beside him and starts brushing out her brassy locks. Before he can answer, Nesta’s phone buzzes from the stool she uses as a bedside table. Feyre’s name flashes on the screen.

Nesta frowns, but picks up without a second thought. “What is it?”

“Nothing serious,” her sister replies. “Just checking in.”

Before Cassian, Nesta didn’t very much understand the purpose of “checking in” without reason. Now she empathizes with Feyre a little. “I’m fine,” she says.

Deciding she can do better than that, she adds, “Cassian and I are about to start a movie.”

“Is it his choice? I’m so sorry for you.”

Nesta peeks over to where Cassian is still intently searching for his obscure movie and smiles a little. “I like Turkish horror,” she replies.

Cassian overhears and grins approvingly.

“Well, I’m looking at wedding dresses with Rhys so he can prepare for when he inevitably proposes,” Feyre says. “In case you wanted to know.”

Nesta did not particularly want to know, but she doesn’t say this. “Sounds fun. Is that it?”

“For what?”

“This conversation.”

Feyre sighs over the line. “Yes, I’ll let you go now. Thanks for picking up.”

The bar is in hell, Nesta thinks. Mostly because she put it there, but she still feels embarrassed to be congratulated over such small things. “Thanks for keeping it short.”

She’s about to hang up when she hears a male voice speak up in the background, and Feyre interrupts, “Wait—before you go, can you tell Cassian to call Rhys back? He wants Cass’s help picking a new team leader for the Italy project.”

Nesta has no idea what that is, but she says, “Sure, fine.” They say their goodbyes and hang up.

“What’d she want?” Cassian says without looking over at her.

“She said Rhys wants you to call him about the Italy project.”

Cassian turns toward her, half sitting up. “Really? What for?”

“Something about picking a team leader.” She returns to brushing her hair. “Why? What’s the Italy project?”

“Something I thought we put aside for good,” he grumbles. “It’s a year-long overseas project in Milan. Rhys thinks it’s gonna bring in a shit ton of money.”

“Sounds big. What do you have to do with it, though?” She’s never heard of Cassian being involved in Night Court’s international operations, even though he takes on more work than the usual employee.

Cassian shrugs, going back to movie searching. “He wanted me to be the one leading the team, and I guess he still feels petty about me turning him down. Honestly, choosing team leaders outside of my department isn’t even part of my jurisdiction.”

Nesta hesitates. “He offered you the job? When?” She didn’t know this.

“On New Year’s.”

“And you turned it down?”

“Yeah.” Cassian clicks on a link that looks like it’ll plant fifteen different viruses in Nesta’s laptop. “Found the movie,” he says.

“Why would you do that?” Nesta demands.

“The movie?”

“The job offer! Why would you turn down such a big opportunity without even telling me?”

Cassian laughs in confusion. “Are you angry right now?”

She’s astonished at his nonchalance. “Cassian,” she says. “It’s Italy.”

Italy with the art and history and seaside beauty—it’s on their top five places to see before they die.

“It’s Milan,” he says like there’s a difference, “and it’s an entire year away from you.” He shakes his head, sitting up to face her. “Are you out of your mind?”

She goes still. “Don’t tell me you said no because of me.”

“Of course I said no because of you.”

“It’s your dream job!” she bursts. “Traveling, exploring, being on your own—”

“Those are our dreams. I made those plans with you. The hell am I supposed to do all the way in Italy without you?”

“You sound codependent,” she retorts.

He narrows his brows. “Like you wouldn’t do the same thing in my position?”

He’s right, of course. Nesta would do the exact same thing for him. But Nesta and Cassian are not the same, and they both know it. “You can’t make that comparison,” she sighs.

“Why not?” he demands.

“Because—” She struggles to put it into words. “I would give up a long distance job for you because it would be worth it. You’re worth it. It doesn’t work the other way around.”

“Again: why the fuck not?”

So he’s really going to make her spell it out. “Because you’re a good boyfriend. You’re affectionate and caring, you always go the extra mile for those you love, and you come with all these free perks. It’s a great deal. And I’m not anything terrible, but I’m the bare minimum compared to you. Why would you give up Italy for the bare minimum?”

Cassian looks at her in disbelief. “I don’t even know how you can say so many wrong things in a row.”

“He’s blinded by love,” Nesta mutters to herself.

“First of all,” he holds up a finger, “I don’t know where you learned to compare yourself to me, but I don’t like it. You make it sound like I need to be paid back for every half-decent thing I do, and that is not the case at all.”

“Of course you think that,” she says. “You wouldn’t be a good person if you didn’t.”

“Then let me be a blunt person.” He puts a hand on her knee and looks her in the eye. “You will never be like me. Very few people are; you can’t take it personally.”

“Oh my god.” Her eyes might roll out of her head.

“But you’re not the bare minimum. Not even close.” He states it like an undeniable fact.

“How so?” she challenges.

“Like how Elain told me about this boy who broke her heart in her high school, and how the next day he walked into class in a leg cast. And how she just knew you had something to do with it, and you two had a huge fight about it that lasted a week.”

Nesta does not enjoy that memory being brought up. Elain called her a psychopath for the incident, and to save her feelings, Nesta (rather unconvincingly) said it had been an accident.

“I didn’t push anybody into a creek,” she maintains the lie. “Sometimes people just fall down there.”

“To be fair, you’re a lot more stable now than you were then. Now when people hurt those you care about, you find sneakier ways to hurt them back. Don’t you?”

“I do not,” Nesta defends.

“Really? Because Eris texted me earlier saying you’ve been ignoring him since New Year’s, and he’s starting to get worried that you have something heinous planned for him. I asked him why he would ever think such a thing of you.” Cassian leans forward and rests his chin on her shoulder. “Why would he think such a thing of you, Nesta?”

Cassian looks pretty well off from here, doesn’t he? She remembers Eris’s smug face. Did you know Rhysand’s parents found him sleeping in the streets?

“Because he said a bad thing,” Nesta says, looking down at her fingernails. “And I have an unfortunate reputation at school for getting back at people who say bad things.” Like the time Brian O’Connell made jokes about a rape trial the class was studying, and then couldn’t find an internship at a single firm the following summer.

“And what did he say? Because I can’t imagine he would directly insult you. He actually likes you, ass that he is.” His face is warm so close to her neck.

She looks away. “I won’t repeat it.”

That seems to be all Cassian needs to get an idea of what Eris said. “And how long are you planning on holding it against him?”

“Forever.”

“That’s what I thought.”

Nesta meets the eyes that haven’t left her face this entire time and snorts. “What’s your point?” Seriously, she’s starting to redden at how close he is.

He buries his face in her neck, his stubble rasping against the sensitive skin there. “The point is that you also do a lot for the people you love. Just in a different way.” He pulls away to look her in the eye. “Don’t do anything to Eris, though,” he says. “Not that I care for him or his shit opinions, but whatever you have planned isn’t worth it.”

Nesta wants to scoff in disbelief at the sincerity on Cassian’s face. He’s always choosing kindness, even at the worst moments. “So that’s your argument?” she says. “You won’t go to Italy because your girlfriend has a bad temper and a taste for revenge?”

“That’s my final argument, Your Honor.” He takes her hand. “Forget Milan, will you? One day I’ll take you to Portofino.”

The longer Nesta knows Cassian, the more she finds it useless to hide from him. Which is why she lets him watch the thoughts flit across her face as she considers his words, deciding whether she believes him. Deciding whether he’s right to give her so much devotion.

“Fine,” she finally says. “You’re right.”

A slow smile spreads across his face as he realizes he won. Wrapping his arms around Nesta’s waist and legs, he hauls her into his lap and shifts around until they’re both comfortable. The movie is forgotten for now.

“Out of curiosity…” He noses at the nape of her neck. “What did Eris say about me to make you so angry?”

When Nesta doesn’t answer, he says, “I’ve already heard everything that could possibly be said. The shit that used to get me when I was eighteen doesn’t have the same hold on me a decade later.”

She lets herself relax into his hold. “It was about the time you spent as an orphan.” Technically, he’s still an orphan, but it was different back then. “I didn’t like the tone of his voice.”

Cassian’s answering hum is a low rumble against her shirt. “Did you know my biological father was from Italy?”

Nesta perks up at that. “No.” She assumed he was entirely Algerian, even though he and Azriel probably look ethnically ambiguous to most. “Isn’t that all the more reason to see Italy someday?”

“Not at all,” he says. “If I could pretend that half of me didn’t exist, I would.”

She can’t think of a response that doesn’t involve a question, so she doesn’t reply. She waits for Cassian to speak on his own terms.

“I went to Italy once,” he admits. “For less than a day while my brothers were partying in Monte Carlo. I was young and stupid, and thought I would never be complete if I didn’t know who my father was.”

“Who was he?” She doesn’t know why she’s whispering.

“No one worth remembering,” Cassian says, his arms unconsciously tightening around her. “I put some dots together and realized how he and my mother must have met, how he must’ve—forced himself on her, and I decided that I didn’t care about bloodlines at all. I never returned to Italy after that.”

Nesta’s hands want to reach out and touch him, soothe him. But her muscles are suddenly very cold, and she can only stiffen. “And what about now? Do you… not want to go back?”

“It’s just a place to me,” he says. “Nothing special, nothing terrible. But I like the way it sounds when you talk about it.” His eyes sparkle. “I’d like to pretend it’s my first time going with you.”

“Alright, then.” She nods. “One day, we’ll go together. It’ll be our first time.”

***

Cassian refuses to let Nesta leave bed the next morning, dragging his heavy mouth across her body whenever she tries to get up. She’s about to surrender to him altogether when her phone starts vibrating loudly, insistently.

Breaking away from Cassian’s attempt at cuddling, she answers without checking the caller ID. “Yes?” she croaks sleepily.

“Where the hell have you been?” Emerie demands.

Nesta shoves Cassian away despite his protests, untangling her legs from the sheets. “At home,” she says, getting out of bed and heading for the bathroom. “Am I supposed to be somewhere else?”

“We haven’t seen you in two weeks,” Emerie says. “Gwyn thought your boyfriend’s weird family killed you.”

“That’s not what happened,” Nesta assures, pulling her shorts down and sitting on the toilet. “I just needed some alone time.” People are all around her these days, it seems. Her body still can’t quite adjust to it.

“Well, have you had enough—are you peeing?”

“Yeah.” She wipes and flushes the toilet.

“Well, clear your day and kick your sorry boyfriend out of your place. I can’t remember the last time I went out.”

“Why does everybody always want to go out?” Nesta says as she washes her hands. “What’s wrong with staying in, being safe, never leaving the house?” She dries her hands on a towel and returns to the bedroom, where Cassian is now sitting up and checking his emails.

“You’re preaching to the choir, but this actually wasn’t my idea,” Emerie says.

Nesta and Cassian alert at the sound of a knock from the front door. Nesta never has uninvited guests.

“Hold on a second, Em,” she says, jogging up the short set of steps to the door. She opens it to the sight of an exasperated-looking Gwyn.

“Jeez, next time send a text that you’re alive, will you?” Gwyn says, shoving past Nesta to enter the apartment. “Do you know how worried I’ve been—” She halts midsentence, one foot hovering above a step as she realizes that Nesta isn’t alone. As she sees Cassian in her bed, bare-chested and highly amused.

“Hey.” He raises a hand in greeting.

Gwyn pales.

“Hello?” Emerie calls over the line.

“You girls both share the same brain,” Nesta sighs. “Let me call you back, Emerie.”

Gwyn whirls around just as Nesta hangs up. “That won’t be necessary,” she says quickly, looking embarrassed. “I’ll be outside. I’m sorry.”

She hurries out of the apartment even faster than she came in, ducking her head to hide her face.

Nesta tosses her arms up in the air. “Great,” she says to Cassian. “Your abs scared her away.”

“But I didn’t do anything—”

She shuts the door behind her as she follows Gwyn outside, barefoot and all. She barely notices the freezing cold air or the awful press of damp grass beneath her feet as she catches up to Gwyn and grabs her elbow. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

Gwyn jerks suddenly, yanking out of Nesta’s hold. Her breathing seems a little shallow, and she looks even more embarrassed for it. “It’s nothing. I just didn’t know you had someone over.”

“Cassian? He’s cool, you don’t need to be weird about him,” she tries to reassure Gwyn. “Though I did use to tell him that not everybody wants to see him shirtless all the time.”

“It’s not that,” Gwyn says, waving her off.

Nesta gestures to the apartment. “Do you want to come back inside, then? I’m sure he has clothes on by now.”

Gwyn clears her throat uncomfortably and looks down. “I’d rather not. I’m—I don’t like being around men.”

Nesta pauses, not sure if she heard right. “Like, in a ‘check the backseat of your car before getting in’ way, or…?”

“No, like I can’t be alone in a room with a man without feeling sick. It activates my fight or flight, it’s weird.” She’s carefully stiff, like she’s ready to be met with humiliation.

Nesta remembers that Gwyn has never told her about her therapy sessions before, but she knows they’re more intensive than her own weekly conversations with Lana.

“Not that I think your boyfriend is a bad person,” Gwyn adds when Nesta doesn’t respond. “He looks really nice. He sounds nice, too.”

But Nesta doesn’t care about any of that. Unsure of what to do next, she reaches out and awkwardly pats Gwyn on the arm. “Good thing you’ve never been to the cabin, then. Cassian’s brother is staying…” She trails off when she realizes none of this is relevant. “Why are you here so early?” she asks instead.

Gwyn eases up a little at the change in subject. “I missed you. We’ve barely talked since Christmas.”

Nesta didn’t realize people would take such notice to her absence. “Yeah.” She flushes. “I do that sometimes. I’ll send a message next time I go into hibernation, though.”

“You’re freezing,” Gwyn suddenly scolds, noticing how Nesta’s goosebumped arms are wrapped tightly around herself. She unzips her red hoodie and shrugs it off. “Go back inside and get dressed.” She flings the hoodie around Nesta’s shoulders before Nesta can protest. “Meet me at my car. We’re hanging out.”

Nesta knows that a last minute change of events is not the end of the world, even if it sometimes feels like it. For Gwyn and Emerie, she can bear the discomfort of unexpected plans, same as she does for Cassian. But she at least has to know: “How long will we be out?”

“You can come home after lunch.” At Nesta’s face, Gwyn adds, “Lunch will be at two and shouldn’t take more than an hour.”

Looking her friend up and down, someone who has such an easy time understanding her, Nesta nods in satisfaction. She turns around to go back inside.

***

They end up at the library where Gwyn works, in the stacks of the long-abandoned encyclopedia section.

Emerie takes a loud sip from the huge McDonald’s soda she snuck in. “So all this show was because Gwyn didn’t want to work her shift alone?”

“I just have some last minute cleanup to do,” she hisses for the third time, shoving an old book back where it belongs. “Go to the porn section if you’re so bored here.”

“Oh, I definitely will,” Emerie says. “But I’m glad that we’re congregating now, even if it’s in the most depressing part of the library. I have a present for you girls.” She hands Nesta her drink so she can dig around in her purse.

Nesta personally has no complaints. The library is quiet, it smells of paper and old ink, and it holds all her favorite books. It’s almost better than staying in.

Emerie successfully pulls out a handful of folded and wrinkled papers from her bag, smoothing them out as best she can. “One for each of us,” she says, passing the papers around.

Nesta takes her paper and stares at the header. Gwyn is the first to speak. “Pole dancing classes?”

“Why?” Nesta says.

“Well, I originally offered them to Justinian and Isaac but they said no—”

“It’s really not for me,” Gwyn interrupts, trying to pass the registration form back to Emerie. “Sorry.”

Nesta doesn’t give her form back.

“Look,” Emerie says. “I get the hesitation. We’re a handful of boring bitches who hate having fun. But don’t you think that has to change at some point?”

“I’ve known you guys a month,” Gwyn retorts. “We’ve only been boring bitches for a month. This is too much.” She turns to Nesta for help.

Nesta is still staring at the paper. Dancing—on a pole, yes, but it’s still dancing. “I’ll do it,” she says.

Gwyn looks betrayed and Emerie looks elated. “Really?” She hops up and down. “That’s two against one, Gwyn. You have to do it, too.”

Gwyn’s cheeks are turning red in frustration. “You can’t just force this on me—”

“Gwyneth,” a sharp voice interrupts their conversation. Nesta spins around to find a young woman with dark skin and bleached white curls heading in their direction, a stack of books in her arms.

She halts before Nesta and glares. “No food or drink in the library.” She looks pointedly at the 32-ounce in her hand.

“It’s not mine.” Nesta shoves the drink back to Emerie.

But the librarian has turned to Gwyn, who hides the dance class form behind her back. “And what are you doing here?” she demands.

“Just putting up a few books, Merrill,” Gwyn answers quickly.

“While socializing?” the woman named Merrill sneers.

“We were just asking for help finding the romance section. Is that a problem?” Emerie crosses her arms and steps forward, letting a little of her beautiful deadliness slip into her stance. It’s the deadliness of someone at the top of her law class, someone who will graduate in a few months with all the power she could want in the palm of her hand. Nesta gets a rush from playing the lawyer game, too, but she’s never had the kind of ambition that Emerie has. Emerie is a shark sitting around in a small pond.

Merrill is not impressed. She snatches the styrofoam cup dangling from Emerie’s hand and tosses it in the nearby trash can. She turns back to Gwyn. “Hand your badge over and clock out.”

“But I’m not done yet—”

“Now.”

“Okay,” she squeaks. She pulls her ID badge off her neck and hands it to Merrill.

Nesta gapes in disbelief. Before she can speak up, Merrill says, “No loitering in the library. If you don’t have anything you need to check out, leave.” With one final judgmental look, she turns down an aisle of dusty books and disappears.

Gwyn makes a face at her back.

“That woman is not old enough to be acting that misanthropic,” Emerie says after Merrill is gone.

“Whatever,” Gwyn mutters. The registration form is still in her hand. She crumples it into a ball and throws it into the trash. “Let’s get out of here.”

Nesta stares at the trash as Gwyn turns to leave. “Coward,” she says.

Gwyn’s head snaps toward Nesta, her auburn hair swinging. “Excuse me?”

She shrugs. “You heard me.” Emerie’s eyes bounce back and forth between the girls.

“I did,” Gwyn says. “I was just making sure this wasn’t coming from the woman who would sooner bite someone’s head off than do something she doesn’t want to.”

“Girls,” Emerie snaps before Nesta can bite back. “It’s just a stupid dance class. I thought it would be fun to do together, but it doesn’t matter anymore.” Taking Gwyn by one arm and Nesta by the other, she starts steering them out of the stacks like a stern mother. “Now let’s go eat. I’m fucking hungry.”

Gwyn’s mood from the library doesn’t recover, even as they sit down for lunch at the local diner. Nesta thinks Gwyn might actually be sick when the male waiter winks at her while taking her order, and it’s not until long after he’s gone that color returns to her face. When their food arrives, Gwyn only picks at her plate.

“What’s wrong?” Nesta finally has to ask bluntly. “You look pukey.” Did the coward comment affect Gwyn more than she let on, or was it Merrill’s attitude that threw her off?

At Nesta’s words, Gwyn becomes even more pallid. “I just don’t feel great today,” she murmurs, looking around like she’s seeking a way out of the diner. “Sorry guys, I didn’t mean to be such a buzzkill. Maybe I should go home early.”

“Absolutely not,” Emerie says. “If you’re going home, we’re going home with you.”

Gwyn bites her lip, trying to decide if she wants that or not. But something about her antsy demeanor is too familiar to Nesta, because she says, “If you really want to be alone, do you mind driving me home first? Emerie’s car is a mess.”

“You just need to move around a few papers,” Emerie protests.

But Gwyn nods distractedly, already gathering her things. “Sure, no problem.” They pay the bill and go their separate ways.

During the ride home, the sky that’s been gray all day finally breaks open, unleashing a spattering of rain over the town. Nesta watches it sprinkle while Gwyn drives in silence.

“Why are you scared of Merrill?” she eventually asks. “She doesn’t look much older than you.”

Gwyn snorts, but there isn’t much heart to it. “Merrill is my superior, but I can handle her on most days.”

“Just not today?”

Gwyn eyes Nesta warily from the corner of her eye. “No, not today. Or this week.”

Nesta chooses not to push. The dull metal of the cars surrounding them glints under the rain, and they arrive at a red light.

After a minute, she takes a breath and blurts, “I’m not always like that around guys, you know.”

Nesta watches her closely, remembering how ghostly she seemed around Cassian, then the waiter. “Keep going.”

Gwyn stares straight at the traffic ahead, her fingers turning bone white on the steering wheel. “I’m just going through a hard period. Everything upsets me and I don’t know how to think straight. It’s like my brain accidentally traveled to the past and now it’s stuck there.” She sounds shaky, breathless, and it makes Nesta wonder what exactly her mind is experiencing.

Nesta knows what it’s like to be unable to move on. Her own brain has only recently started looking toward the future. “Where are you stuck, specifically?” she asks hesitantly. Maybe she can help Gwyn navigate her way out.

Gwyn’s chin quivers. “In a dark room.” Her lips form a tight line. “Being held down. I’m outnumbered.”

Nesta’s stomach turns. “How far back is it?”

“Two years,” Gwyn whispers. “Lately I can’t even look at anything without—remembering it. Thinking about it. Every time I feel like I’m moving past it, I end up being wrong.”

The light turns green, and Nesta puts a hand on Gwyn’s knee in an attempt to ground her. “Drive,” she commands softly.

Gwyn presses down on the accelerator, but Nesta can feel her leg trembling beneath her hand. She squeezes her knee hard. Even with the dark parts of her own past, Nesta has never felt what Gwyn is feeling right now. So she tries to stick to what she knows.

“It’s like you said,” she says carefully. “You’re going through a period where your brain isn’t being friendly to you. It’s horrible, but you can live with the knowledge that it’ll be over eventually.”

Gwyn shakes her head, holding back tears. “It doesn’t work like that. Once it goes away, it’ll just come back again. And it’ll be like that for the rest of my life.”

“You’re right.” Nesta doesn’t have a solution for that, and she hates it. “You’ll never forget. You can be at the peak of your life and still remember all of it. But,” she says slowly, “whether you reach a point where it barely fazes you, or if you keep crippling under the weight of it decades later, you’ll still be normal. You’ll be a perfectly normal human.”

Gwyn lets out a tearful laugh at that. “What does that even mean?”

Shit. “It means…” Nesta tries to explain herself better. “In case you’re worried that there’s something very wrong with you, I’m here telling you that there’s not. There will never be anything wrong with you.”

Gwyn eyes her skeptically as they turn onto a residential road. “Even if I never get past one nightmare I lived years ago? Even if that nightmare defines me until the day I die?”

“That won’t happen.” Nesta’s tone is simple, factual. “But yes, even then.”

“Really? You’re not gonna tell me to live for the better days or whatever?”

“Does that sound like something that would help you? Because I can say it if it does.”

Gwyn snorts. “No.” But her limbs are steady and her eyes are clear on the road. She clears her throat. “Thank you for listening. I think I might feel a little better now.”

“Was it because of what I said?” Nesta tries not to be too hopeful.

“I wouldn’t give you that much credit,” Gwyn says, crushing her hope. “But I’m glad I told you. It makes things…a lot easier for me.” She exhales deeply.

“You know my plate is mostly empty these days.” Nesta pats her knee. “That means I’ll always have room to help carry your shit.”

They pull up to Nesta’s apartment, and Gwyn parks at the curb. “Give me your dance class thing,” she says suddenly.

Frowning, Nesta pulls the wrinkled paper out of her purse and hands it to Gwyn.

Gwyn smooths it out on the steering wheel and grabs a pen from a cupholder, clicking it. “If you’re going to help carry my shit, I guess I have time for pole dancing now.”

“But that’s mine,” Nesta protests as Gwyn starts filling out the form.

“It can be both of ours,” she says, writing Nesta’s name under hers.

“Really?” Nesta grins with an excitement that she doesn’t easily feel. “You’re going to do it with us?”

“Why would I let you do it without me? So I can become the third wheel in our girl group?” She gives Nesta a look that says No way in hell.

Nesta rolls her eyes. “That would never happen to you.”

“Sure,” Gwyn drawls. She finishes the form and folds it in half before pocketing it. “I’ll give this to Emerie as a gift.” She leans over to peck Nesta on the cheek. “Now get home. Love you.”

Nesta turns red at the words and coughs. “Thanks for the ride,” she responds, getting out of the car.

“Say it back!” Gwyn calls after her. But Nesta shuts the door in her face and waves, pretending she can’t hear her. Gwyn mock-scowls at her through the window, but lets her off easy and drives away.

That’s enough feelings for today, Nesta decides. Even if her chest is swelling with emotion for her friend. It’s a sweet hurt that lingers long after she returns to her empty apartment.

***

a/n: i’m back in my no plot, just vibes era

taglist: @hellasblessed @sjm-things @thewayshedreamed @drielecarla @valkyriewarriors @superspiritfestival @aliveahaahahafuck @cupcakey00 @sayosdreams @rainbowcheetah512 @claralady @thebluemartini @nessiantho @missing-merlin @duskandstarlight @lucy617 @sleeping-and-books @everything-that-i-love @cassianscool @swankii-art-teacher @awesomelena555 @julemmaes @wickedqueenoffantasy @poisonous-bloom @observationanxioustheorist @gisellefigue08 @courtofjurdan @theoverlyenthusiasticwriter @wolfiixxx @cass-nes @seashade @royaltykxx @illyrianundercover @queenestarcheron @monstrousloves-explodinggalaxies @humanexile @that-golden-lyre @agentsofsheilds @mercy-is-alive @cassiansbigwingspan @laylaameer01 @verypaleninja @maastrash @bow-dawn @perseusannabeth @dead-on-the-inside666 @jlinez @hungryreadingaddict @anidealiveson @planet-faerie @shallowhighwaters @ghostlyrose2 @chosenfamily-valkyriequeens @rarephloxes

#nessian #nesta archeron #cassian #ncssianwrites #a favor #nessian fic #nessian au

[attllhak]

Flora’s Musings

So, here’s the WingAU fic I mentioned. It’s the first one I wrote and features the fun trope of “The Unreliable Narrator That Is History”, which I had a lot of fun with.

I, don’t have a tag list for this AU at this point. So, this part is just my preamble I guess. So, preamble over, here’s the fic.

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

Zelda ran her fingertips between her shoulder blades. She tried not to think about what wasn’t there.

Her wings would come in, she hoped, no she knew they would. They had to. As the princess fated to stop Calamity Ganon it was her duty to unlock her sealing powers, face him, and earn her wings.

It was why she was down here now, in the hidden and secret library they’d excavated. No one cared about this area of the castle, but Zelda loved it there. It was so full of knowledge, and there were records about the Queens and Princesses of the past, ones who had wings themselves.

It was certainly a good excuse to hide down there and do research.

There weren’t many documents on the founders of Hyrule, but she’d translated a few of the ancient texts and had learned much. Apparently her powers came from the fact she was descended from Hylia herself! There were exactly three paintings of her down there, and all of them were old and weathered. Two, one of her alone and one next to her husband, the first King of Hyrule, who was holding the Master Sword, his own wings giving him away as the first of Link’s incarnations, were so old almost all of the colour was gone. The last one, however, had been tucked into a book and, protected from the elements, retained some of its colour.

The goddess reborn had gold wings, bright and shining and as beautiful as everyone expected them to be. Her Hero, however, had red wings, a bright crimson with soft gold flight feathers. What was more, this painting seemed to depict them in their downtime, the goddess still dressed up and all, but leaning over the edge of her throne. Her Hero sat on the dias and leaned against the throne, and was messing with something in his hands that the goddess seemed to be watching, though age obscured what it was. It was entirely unprofessional and sweet, and it made Zelda happy. It made them seem less like untouchable figures of pure good and more like real people. She liked that they were people too.

There was only one picture of the next Queen, and it was so old and weathered that Zelda was scared to touch it lest it crumble into dust. This queen had smaller wings, though Zelda couldn’t tell what colour they were supposed to be. Her Hero was there too, and he had four wings, and Zelda couldn’t be sure but it almost seemed like each wing was a different colour. She couldn’t find any other record of these two, and so she’d taken a picture of the image on the Sheikah Slate to preserve it. This painting was important.

One of the Queens came from the point in history called the Split, a strange period of several thousand years where very different events happened at the same time. They had, through the records in the castle libraries and the temples across Hyrule, figured out this Queen had lived three different recorded lives. Regardless, she always looked the same, or similar at least, in all of her lives. She was a warrior, and her wings, indigo and white and flecked with gold, were always held in a way that showed pride.

Her Hero wasn’t always with her, in two of her lifetimes she ruled alone. In one of them, her Hero had died trying to fight Ganon, and was buried with wings wrapped about him, as was traditional for Heroes and their Queens. The Queen had been Princess then, the books say, and was only 17. I made Zelda uneasy, Link had turned 17 just a few months ago, and her 17th birthday was fast approaching. To think the Hero of Time could die at 17 made her worried for her own Hero. The next of the two he just, wasn’t there. There was no record of the Hero after he defeated Ganon, he just vanished without a trace. Zelda still wanted to know why. The last life gave the most information on the Hero, but he wasn’t listed as a Hero at all. There was no fight in this life, just peace and a failed arrest. As far as historians could tell, this was the most accurate life of hers, but Zelda wasn’t so sure. After all, she and the head of her Royal Guard both had wings. Something had to have happened. These were the only records of the Hero of Time where his wings were visible. A beautiful metallic copper, with darker bronze flight feathers. He seemed to keep them close to his body, like he didn’t want anyone to pay attention to him or them. He apparently married a farm girl in this life.

There were different heirs in each of these lives. For the first life the Queen was a fighter, one with all kinds of magic at her fingertips. Her wings were pink and red, and when she spread them a little bit of gold could be seen at the base of them. This was a Queen who never shied away from the many, many issues her people faced. And many issues there were, records argued whether the number of quests her Hero went on was five or six or twelve. He seemed grumpy in every painting, but after seven-ish quests Zelda would be too. His wings were pink, a million different shades at once. He also seemed to prefer long tunics or dresses to pants. Apparently he didn’t like pants.

After them came a pair of Queens. Zelda initially thought they were cousins, but apparently one was the other’s ancestor, as bizarre as that was. Only one of the two had wings, a soft amber or honey colour, a safe, warm brown. The Princess didn’t have wings, but was no less important if the records and paintings were to be believed. Their Hero didn’t look like much, but his wings, a deep, dark green with earthy brown flight feathers, told of his heroics enough that his looks didn’t have to. Records said he married the Princess, but they never had children, instead helping the Queen raise her bastard twins as a group. Zelda wondered if perhaps the three had all been together, so to speak, and the twins were actually his.

In the second life, there was only one heir, a woman who was named ‘Tetra’ and not Zelda. Her wings were blue, with red separating the blue from gold flight feathers. It was a beautiful colour. Her Hero was usually pictured at her side, his silver tipped sea foam green feathers shining next to her. Those two were always painted outside, and usually on a boat of some kind.

Following the timeline that was decided to be ‘true’, the Queen following the Queen of Three Lives was her great-granddaughter. Her wings, sleek and graceful, were solid black save for the lowest layer of feathers, which was a soft golden-orange colour. Her Hero was hardly ever at her side, history said he spent most of his time in his home village or on assignments for the Queen. Zelda didn’t know if they didn’t get along, or if he hated the city and castle, or why it was that he was never around his Queen, but there was only one painting of him next to her. His wings were big, wide and strong, a range of soft oranges with a rare black feather scattered across them. He also wore a strange charm on a rope around his neck, but no one seemed to know what it was.

The only other Queen, save for the one from 10 000 years ago, was one with a story so outlandish that historians debated on whether or not she was real. She always held a sword or bow in hand, and her wings were either spread for flight or held in close for combat. They were gold, with white flight feathers that seemed to go indigo at the base of each feather. Black flecked the gold, making it obvious she was a fighter. Her Hero was always with her, his wings out behind him, flared up in a show of pride or confidence, a rallying cry for his troops. They fought in a war, so the records claimed. His wings were gold, shiny silver spots scattered over his wings, not dissimilar to the stars in the sky, that made his wings look like they glittered. He was beautiful, as was his Queen, and it was clear that the two were very close.

There weren’t any records on the wings of the Queen 10 000 years ago, nor her Hero, and Zelda didn’t know why that was. Perhaps those records were lost when the Sheikah split. It was unlikely she would ever know.

Zelda didn’t know when her wings would come in, and some days she feared they never would. It was a comfort at least that Link’s wings hadn’t come in yet either.

He found her a few hours later, bringing her a blanket and some food. He sat with her and politely signed a request for her to read to him. They read all through the night, and Impa found them the next morning, Zelda leaned over the desk with her head on her arms and Link leaning on the side of her desk, head tilted back and drooling. She left them there.

When the Calamity hit and she didn’t get her wings she felt like such a failure, especially since Link’s wings had just broken skin a few moments ago, greyish brown wings that were still all fluff coming through the slits in his tunic designed to accommodate them.

She sat next to him in the Shrine of Resurrection, just before they sealed it. His wings were still small, they had never had the chance to come in fully before he fell. She reached over and brushed hair from his face, watching his relaxed features and ignoring the burns on the rest of his body.

“Don’t worry, Link,” she whispered. “I’ll make sure they’re all safe until you wake up,”

She marched on the castle then, staring down the Calamity and ready to give everything she had to keep him at bay.

She reached forward, holding her hand out to the monster and ready to fight. She could feel the triforce on her hand burn in response, her body spilling a radiant golden light. The monster dove for her, and she held her ground, eyes open and ready to stand and fight.

A push on her shoulders, then the pressure bursting and wings spread out behind her.

Blue and white feathers sat on the ground where she was moments before.

(---)

Link stepped into the castle, tiny wings fluffed up in anxiety and nerves making them quiver. He paused as he moved towards the heart, lifting one foot.

Under his boot, was a pair of blue and white feathers, perfectly preserved from when they fell there 100 years before.

#linked universe #lu #lu wild #lu flora #wing au #so as i said in the tags for my last fic in this series #these were meant/were written to be general loz too #so i'll add those tags #but after the first five #because tumblr only cares about the first five #so #breath of the wild #legend of zelda #tada. there we go #there is a second part of this #with wild running around and doing his thing #might post that at some point #but here's this one #i have no idea if people even care about this au of mine #but i do #so here it is

[nevertheless-moving]

Suicidal Misunderstanding VII

Star Wars Time Travel AU #27

Part I - - - Part II - - - Part III - - - Part IV - - - Part V - - - Part VI

CONTENT WARNING: Please be advised this chapter may contain triggering material. More detail available in tags. 

It wasn’t until Anakin was staring at the hot sauce bottles and solitary mysterious green takeout container that he remembered they were at war, and therefore no longer in the habit of restocking the apartment’s cold stasis.

“Obi-Wan, there’s nothing to eat!” 

"I know!” came the call back. “I’m trying to meditate!”

Anakin closed the stasis door and walked back out to the common room. Obi-Wan sat crosslegged on the window sill.

“Do or do not, there is no try,” the knight quipped.

Obi-Wan opened his eyes to look fondly at the man standing before him. Maybe tomorrow, when he woke alone in a dusty desert hovel, he would regret letting himself play pretend for so long. Maybe this whole day would fade from his memory like a dream.

But right now, he felt... peaceful. He wouldn’t claim to be satisfied by the explanations he imagined for Anakin, but it would have been far more disturbing if he somehow came up with an actually sympathetic justification for genocide. He got to say and hear a number of goodbyes. He even got to cry over Anakin with the comfort of his presence. 

Now he had to let go, to be there for Luke. (And he could always get more spice...)

“I guess if you need to meditate, I can go pick us up food from the Temple Tapcaf.” Anakin offered. 

“Thank you, Anakin. Today...helped. More than I can explain.” Obi-Wan said softly.

“I- I don’t really deserve that. Considering it was all my fault.” Anakin bowed his head, helpless for words, but uncomfortable with being praised.

“Not every terrible thing that has happened is your fault. You made a series of terrible choices, yes. But there were, there are, other dark forces at work and not a single Jedi in the order was able to stop them. At least for a short time today I was able to set that aside, so for what it’s worth, thank you.”

“Kriff.” Anakin said shocked. “Of course there’s more. Ok. That’s all right, we-” he was cut off by a growl from Obi-Wan’s stomach. 

A snort of laughter escaped before Anakin smacked a hand over his mouth. “Alright, I’m going to the Tapcaf, you just...meditate until I get back.”

Obi-Wan swallowed and nodded, “I love you so much.” 

“Force Obi-Wan, you’re going to make me start crying again.” He pulled him into a bear hug. “Don’t do anything stupid while I’m not gone, ok? Just...meditate. And drink some water.”

"Hmm, I don’t know. Some of my best choices recently have been stupid,” Obi-Wan laughed. The words were light, but Anakin felt a prickle of unease, a hint of danger. There was no clear cause, and Obi-Wan seemed relaxed but...

Anakin gripped his Master’s shoulders, staring him dead in the eye. “Promise me you won’t do anything stupid.”

Obi-Wan sighed, “I promise.” He pulled Anakin down to press a kiss to his forehead. “Goodbye, Anakin.”

"I’ll be back in 20 minutes.” He paused, then mumbled, “i love you too” before speeding out the door.

Obi-Wan settled back into meditation, reaching inwards. Everything but his body and the light within faded. He magnified his hunger, his thirst, visualizing the pack of dried jerky in his hut, the precious jars of water in the basement. He could almost feel the heat that never quite abandoned Tatooine, even during the short nights. He opened his eyes

and saw the temple apartment.

He shut them again quickly. He was sure he could snap himself out of this. He sank deeper inward, careful to leave his shields perfectly intact. With the galaxy as dim as it was, a real show of force had the potential to grab attention across star systems. Force purging toxins, fortunately, was more a matter of internal concentration than outward power. It was one of the first skills Obi-Wan had truly mastered as a Jedi, thanks to numerous kidnappings at the start of his apprenticeship and hard drinking towards the end. 

It was uncomfortable to be that keenly aware of one’s kidneys, but Obi-Wan managed. It was less intense than a healing trance, anyway. His heart rate increased as various metabolic processes sped up- and almost immediately slowed down. Huh. The drug must of almost run its natural course, and now he 

still in the temple.

Kark. Shit. 

‘Breathe’ he thought. Stress was only going to increase his chances of a stroke. Alright, so meditation wasn’t working. Maybe he could try for longer, but part of him was nervous that if ‘Anakin’ returned he’d lose the willpower, and so far the passage of time had been extremely linear. He was too invested in the fantasy at this point for anything easy.

Remember your training. Your eyes can deceive you, do not trust them. 

Padawans were taught three main methodologies to move beyond mindtricks, hallucinations, visions, and the like. Looking In, Reaching Out, and Breaking Out. 

Looking in wasn’t working. That left the other two options. In the past, when his senses were lying to him he could always trust in the force, but now...it was just too much risk. Reaching out like that, with his whole self, meant the chance of finding someone.

That left breaking out. Obi-Wan jumped up, staring intensely at the details in the molding, the stains on the carpet, at everything. At no point today had he spotted objects fading to grey in the corner his vision, or ripple as memories from different time frames overlapped, but surely there must be some weak point.

Nothing. 

Shit, he really had stayed too long. Alright then, time for more uncivilized measures.

He walked to the kitchen and pulled their butcher’s vibroblade from its block, holding it to his neck, then hesitated.

This had to be done, but it didn’t make it any less unsettling. It was his own fault for lingering in the delusion so long; all the more palatable paths to escape had closed off, and after all he had been through he refused to die from a drug overdose. Gods, it might take years for someone to find the body.

He steeled himself, bringing the blade back up decisively only to drop it with a clatter. Pressing a hand to his throat, he was unnerved but not entirely surprised to find a stinging line of pain. His hand came away wet with blood. He instinctively pressed both hands to the cut, pulse rapid and heavy and slippery beneath his palms.

It’s just a hallucination. It’s just an extremely vivid hallucination.

A thought occurred to Obi-Wan then, and he felt something in the pit of his stomach drop in horror.

What if...what if the blade was real. What if he was actually moving around his home right now, hazily sleepwalking in a pantomime of the peaceful stroll and tender embraces he was imagining. It would explain the immediate relief from the water this morning...hadn’t he found his way to food and water even dazed from sleep-debt and blood-loss during the war?

He had a vibroblade in the desert too...

His pulse pounded harder beneath his hands. The cut wasn’t even that deep, but for the first time Obi-Wan felt the true existential horror of his current trap well up. If he didn’t know where the walls were...how could he escape.

He took a deep breath, acknowledging and letting go of his panic.

He had the force. He would just have to be delicate in his application. He picked up the bloodied tool from the floor but decided to simply to clip it to his belt for now. A force-null object would be harder to distinguish at first touch.

Obi-Wan walked to his temple bedroom and opened the barest crack in his shields, just enough to reach out, get a sense of existing currents in the force. He stirred at one until a small vortex of light formed. To anyone looking, it would appear a naturally occurring, low-powered whirlpool, common enough on Tattoine. Any gentle moves he made in the minutes before it fell apart would hopefully be obscured by its wake.

He hesitantly laid a hand on the lightsaber on his bedside table, lowering his shields a little further. His heart sunk when he realized that his memory had even recreated the perception of force-imbued temple walls in the periphery. The Kyber in his saber reverberated with a familiar song. He jerked his hand away. That felt too much like his real lightsaber. He couldn’t risk it. 

Before Obi-Wan truly began to panic again, he realized something missing. Anakin’s- Darth Vader’s saber. Since picking it up on Mustafar, the crystal in it had screamed at him, halfway to corruption. When he touched the blade he could almost feel... feel what horrors it had been bent to commit.

Most of the time he left it buried under a rock pile in his basement, too afraid to work on healing it.

He couldn’t hear it now- but he could feel the memory of what it used to be.

It sat innocently on his Anakin’s bedside table. There was a tinge of darkness to it of course- this saber had only ever known war. But when he rested a hand on the blade it was clear this belonged to the memory he had walked with today, not the tyranny of reality.

Grasping it firmly, he marched back to the windowsill and settled, intent on his choice. Sunsets here couldn’t compare to tattooine- they were just too different. The binary play transformed the infinite horizon. It was something on Tatooine he unabashedly marveled at.

Courasant, on the other hand, transformed the sun into a reflection of itself. Untold millions of transparisteel buildings refracted the star painfully at some points while casting shadows on the rest. The filter of light through constant smog resulted in strange shades of neon green and blood red. It was beautiful, but uncomfortable to look at too long.

He closed his eyes and pressed the saber to his chest.

---

Anakin was impatiently waiting in the hot service line when the urge to return to his apartment insistently welled up again. He pushed it back of course- Obi-Wan needed food and Anakin couldn’t keep putting his own selfish impulses in front of his Master’s wellbeing.

He held out for a few seconds, but the itch was getting stronger, sharper. He looked down at the tray- it already had most of Obi-Wan’s cold favorites, but he really wanted to get him his favorite soup if the line would just move a little faster. He jolted when, for the first time that day, Obi-Wan’s shielding thinned the slightest amount. Not enough to get anything clear, but the fact that there was movement at all...

He left the line; they could always come back together if Obi-Wan wanted. Hells, maybe they’d do a late night visit to Dex’s for some real comfort food. Anakin still couldn’t get a sense of what Obi-Wan was up to through their muffled bond. He felt a buzz in his ears, not unlike the moment before an enemy blow.

He picked up speed, tea sloshing in its thermoflask. An elder looked at him annoyed as darted around him.

He started speed walking in earnest as the feeling got more intense. A sandwich fell to the wayside.

Speed walking quickly switched to jogging, then running; there was a shout of complaint as he ditched the whole tray carelessly behind.

He took the last few hallways at a full-out force-assisted sprint, the Force itself screaming at him to move. A small part of his mind thought we’re safe inside the temple Obi-Wan promised not to do anything stupid i’m going to get such shit for freaking out over nothing. 

He sensed nothing from Obi-Wan over the bond; not a hint of fear or anger or surprise. He blurred around the last corner, feeling like he might throw up with his increasing, unexplained panic.

Not caringabout anything butgettingto Obi-Wan beforeitstoolate he smashed down the door at the same moment Obi-Wan, sitting peacefully by the window, turned on the lightsaber pointing directly at his heart.

Time seemed to slow. Splinters of the door frame hung in the air as Anakin desperately pulled the lightsaber away from Obi-Wan in the half-second between activation and ignition.

He wasn’t quite fast enough.

Blue plasma pierced Obi-Wan’s chest as time caught up. Pieces of the wall shattered like shrapnel as he turned, shocked to see Anakin. The saber flew away in a straight arrow. 

Anakin threw himself to Obi Wan’s side, wildly trying to draw heat away from the searing hole before it could vaporize the surrounding flesh. He couldn’t tell what the saber had pierced, or how far it had gone in considering its last second movement.

One hand trained on a hundred battle fields robotically reached for his comm-unit to call for emergency medical assistance. His mind however, had largely been left behind a few minutes ago, when he was trying to pick what Obi-Wan would want to eat for dinner.

What came out his mouth was more incoherent shrieking than anything else, but he had at least called the correct line for temple aid.

He threw down the comm, focus intent on controlling the smoldering burn. The air around them seemed to boil and Obi-Wan started struggling to get away. Anakin bodily held him down, finally finding words,

“What the FUCK, OBI-WAN! YOU LITERALLY JUST PROMISED NOT TO DO ANYTHING STUPID! YOU PROMISED!”

“that’s why- hkk I  have  to” Obi-Wan rasped.

“Karking Fuck.YOU- STOP MOVING!”

Anakin felt a twinge of danger come from the side but was too focused to do anything but shift his body as shield. A sharp pain pierced his gut but he ignored it. 

The air crackled with heat and power as the wound beneath him cooled. A faint trickle of dark blood oozed out, probably burns breaking from recent movement, considering the instant cauterization. He couldn’t see any light coming through, which meant he had moved the saber at least a quarter klick before it activated, Anakin thought semi hysterically.

Finally, someone showed up to investigate the disturbance. In truth, probably less than a minute had passed since Anakin entered the room, but he really didn’t care.

“HELP ME!” Anakin shouted.

“What happened?” Mace Windu asked grimly, falling to the ground next to them. Not waiting for an answer, he set his lit saber aside and placed his hand to Obi-Wan’s forehead, stilling the violent thrashing.

Anakin opened his mouth but he just didn’t have the words. He didn’t know. 

“General Skywalker, report.” Mace Windu commanded sharply. 

“I left him alone to get dinner for us. I ran back and when I broke open the door he was holding the lightsaber to his chest. I tried...to pull it away. It pierced him, and I’ve been trying to manage the initial burn risk. I called for medi but I don’t know their eta.”

“They’re behind me. How did you get stabbed?” the Master demanded.

“How did I what?” Anakin looked down to see a vibroblade sticking out from his left side. Right, the pain from before. Obi-Wan suddenly mustered up the energy to wake up despite his state and Windu’s compulsion. He looked around wildly before yanking the knife from Anakin’s side.

Anakin gasped, but managed to still his brother’s hand using the force before he could finish bringing it up to his neck, which Anakin just noticed was bloody.

“STOP TRYING TO DIE!” Anakin screeched.

“...I’m...not....I’m....trying.....to...” 

But before Obi-Wan could finish the sentence, the healers finally arrived, pushing Windu aside to grab hold of Anakin and Obi-Wan. He could feel a buzz of energy go through him, stopping at the growing damp patch at his side. He tried to push the man away but the heat in the room was starting to make him dizzy

“I’m fine! Focus on Obi-Wan.”

Mace placed a hand on his shoulder, and in the gentlest voice he had ever heard from the man, said, “You’ve been stabbed Anakin. Let the healers help both of you- you’ve done well looking out for him.”

Obi-Wan, still occasional thrashing was being loaded onto a hoverstrech for transport. A second stretcher waited next to it. 

“Master Windu! He’s fighting us,” Master Che called sharply. “Can you tell us what happened?”

“Master Kenobi tried to kill himself,” Windu replied flatly. “His wounds are self inflicted and he’s violently fighting assistance” 

There was a beat as that information was processed. Knight Bant, who must have arrived at some point, said in slightly less flat voice, “He displayed erratic behavior earlier today, and I ruled out drug interactions.”

“Thank you, Knight Bant.” Master Che plunged a syringe of some kind into Obi-Wans thigh. He finally stopped attempting to fight, falling down onto the board. “Red team, with me. Orange, you have Skywalker,” She instructed sharply. 

Anakin numbly watched most of the healers leave with Obi-Wan through a hole in the wall. He slowly started to stand and somehow ended up guided into a seat on the hoverboard. Looking down, he was surprised to see his tunic cut away in favor of a large bacta patch. 

“Hey,” he protested. “Who stabbed me?”

“We can discuss that after you have surgery,” A Human healer replied. Master Covamos, he thought.

“This is my fault” Anakin said, suddenly urgent. “I shouldn’t have left him. He told me goodbye, he was saying goodbye all day, I should have...”

“You saved his life,” Windu interrupted. “You got to him just in time, don’t waste your energy on should-haves. Now sleep.”

Anakin wanted to argue more, but instead found himself laying down, vision blurring. His face felt damp, had he been stabbed more than once? Windu said a few more words he couldn’t quite make out. There was a brief stinging sensation, then everything faded away. 

----

Part VIII

#star wars #potentially triggering #self harm #attempted suicide #blood #graphic depictions of injury #violence #character is not actually suicidal but is severely divorced from reality due to space wizard plot device #suicidal misunderstanding au #my au #star wars au no 27 #angst #obi wan kenobi needs a hug #KRIFF this was intense to write #i need a hug #jeez #story was supposed to go emotional catharsis Healing TRAUMA healing Emotional Catharsis but i may have played myself with the middle bit #hope you enjoy :) #or at least suffer with me

[sekceesimps]

A Rose Made of Chains Ch 4

a/n hey all, thanks for 125 followers! Publishing Ch 5 tomorrow night. Might be a delay for Chapters 6 and 7 because of classes and depression. Hopefully I’ll be able to get that out soon. 

This part will lack Kurapika and dive more into reader’s relationship with Chrollo as well as the Phantom Troupe. Hope you all enjoy! 

sincerely Coffee

Kurapika x Reader x Chrollo - Soulmate AU

Part 1:   Teaser,    Ch 1,     Ch 2,     Ch 3  

Part 2:  teaser,   Ch 5,    Ch 6,   Ch 7

Weeks. It had been weeks of you being left here in the dark damp room. After your initial failed escape plan, the man who came and hurt you everyday, whom you later learned was named Feitan, had begun to bring you a small piece of the morning newspaper. It was your only source of entertainment as well as knowledge about the outside world. Nothing significant ever happened, you just looked at the date and tried to distract your mind with the light read. 

It was getting colder too. You could feel the chill of the outside in your room. There was always a bite in the air that you felt in your bones whenever the door opened and Feitan came in. The nice man named Chrollo had offered you a real blanket once. You had shrugged him off, trying to hold onto your last shreds of free will. Your sensible side always got angry and screamed at you to accept the heat. 

Chrollo came almost everyday and repeated his offer to you. Everytime you would say no, but he would still stay. He was the only form of comfort in the cold darkness so naturally you clung onto it, quite literally sometimes. 

Some days he would stay silently by the door and read. This could be silently or out loud to you, it would vary. He always came in with a different book, always mentioning the importance of reading whenever you asked about it. Other days he would ask you about your life and in turn he would answer perhaps one question that you asked about his favorite things. You deduced that he was probably incredibly disinterested in topics regarding himself. You didn’t mind, he had a smooth voice and you had missed having conversations. Once he had even brought you a set of chess for the two of you to play. You could tell that he enjoyed spending some time with you. 

There was another time when you had visibly shivered due to the cold right in front of him. He let out a little grin and hugged you, simply saying that his warm body could easily give you more heat than your clothes. You had clung onto him for what felt like hours all while he whispered sweet nothings into your ear. 

It was one day you were feeling resistant when you asked about his past that he had seemed incredibly off-put. You made the stupid mistake of pressing further and asking about what would happen to you if you kept saying no to his offers. It fueled you to edge him on even if you knew it could lead to your demise. His eyes had held a dull fire as he left and slammed the door shut behind him. Perhaps your taunting had been a little too much.  

He didn’t come back for a week. When he was gone Feitan also stopped bringing the med kit. This made your wounds more aggravated and the torture much more painful. It was slowly breaking down your body and will. The food given to you also was much less nutritious. It was clear that these people, if you could even call them that, no longer cared for your well being. So they’ve decided that they no longer need me, huh, I really am going to die here. 

Surprisingly you were okay with this. The pain was numbing and prevented you from really thinking about anything else. When your injuries had been lighter, you still had the ability to think of rescue and your friends. Now even the thought of your soulmate sent lightning hot flashes of pain through your body. Looking at your soulmark made you want to throw up, since you would have to see the mark of the 12-legged spider right next to it. You sigh and curl up onto the icy floor. Your clothes were damp and bloody, making the chill in your bones even greater. At least when Chrollo came he would allow you to get a new shirt if it had gotten too bloody. You wouldn’t even get to die with your dignity now. 

He had come in rather uneventfully. Quietly closing the door behind him. He came to your room and opened his book. Silent, more silent than usually. It confirmed your suspicion that they were finally going to get rid of you once and for all. 

“Yes,” you voice out weakly. You refused to say more. Your will had given out, but you knew in your soul that if you stayed here any longer then you would die, either from the neglect or from your wounds and the sickness you knew was growing within them. This man could make the excruciating pain go away and all you wanted to do was hope that he would keep his word. Hope was something you had gone dry of. 

He turns back, raven locks slightly obscuring his gleaming eyes. He had the faintest smile on his face, “I’m glad.” He walked towards you slowly, as if you were a wounded animal, which in all honesty you probably looked like right now. He leaned down at your level and gave you a hug. His warmth and smell invade every part of your body. You didn’t mind because now you might survive, “Let me take you to your new room,” his smile grew larger and now more sincere as took your hand, hoisting you up. 

You tried to move, but your legs didn’t seem to listen to your brain and you promptly fell down. You scrunch your eyes close and expect your face to get smashed onto the ground, a final embarrassment. Surprisingly, Chrollo had caught you. You suppose that he decided that you wouldn’t be able to walk on your own so he carried you bridal style. How his lean frame managed to support your entire body weight surprised you. His mellow scent slowly eased you to sleep in his arms. This would be the first night's sleep in a while where you felt genuinely secure. 

»»————-　　————-«« 

Waking up in this new room was bliss. You don’t remember being in as much ease and comfort before. The bed was empty but a window allowed for a single ray of light to come in. You hadn’t been around true sunlight in so long. Your mind briefly wandered to where you could possibly be but that thought was pushed away with a loud growl of your stomach. Oh right, you think, I need to eat something. You got up slowly from the bed and started walking towards the door. You turned the knob slowly, expecting to get electrocuted or something.   

You opened it and padded slowly down the hall hoping to run into Chrollo or at least get to a kitchen-like area on your own. He had probably changed you in your sleep as you were now wearing real clothes in the form of sweatpants and a huge shirt. It was a huge step up from your tattering bloody rags. You kept trudging on and eventually found yourself in what looked to be a common room area. The hallways so far seemed to indicate that this place was an old hotel or maybe a dorm room. You weren’t too sure, honestly you didn’t even know if you were still in York New City. 

The air here smelled damp and sour, like people who sweat and had just exercised lay down on the couches and let their stink stay permanently. I hope I don’t smell like that you thought briefly before you made a left and found yourself in a kitchen. 

Maybe I should have waited for Chrollo, you scolded yourself as you look through the pantry for something good to eat. You had been starved for weeks after all. As you finally reach for a bag of pop tarts on the shelves you hear someone walk in. You quickly grab it and attempt to make yourself as small and non threatening as possible. You take in the appearance of the people who had come into the kitchen, a familiar pink haired woman as well as a short haired blonde woman who had an interesting form of clothing. The pink haired one only chuckled at your meek demeanor and gave you a hand with the food. 

“Paku, this is Y/N, our newest and most gorgeous recruit” she announced lightly and moved to heat up your pop tarts. 

“Pleasure to meet you,” her calming voice was directed at you. You smiled loopily at the blonde, she was hot you think to yourself.  

“All done! Time to go to the meeting,” she called out to you and handed you a plate of your steaming breakfast. Lightly patting your head, trying not to startle you too much. They’re both so hot, you continue thinking. Their stares make you feel overwhelmed, you don’t remember ever being around such beautiful people. 

“Meeting?” you ask weakly as you take a bite. The sugary flavor explodes in your mouth making you let out a soft moan from the happiness of it. 

She and Paku share a smile before saying, “The leader called a few of us to a meeting, just some basic introductions is all.”  you only nod and continue eating. When you finish you hurriedly clean your space and let Paku and the pink haired woman named Machi lead you expertly through the halls of this new home.  

You come across a large empty space with some rubble and chairs where Paku lets you sit in between her and Machi. They had made pleasant small talk with you through the walk and gave you a vague idea of the layout of the area. You were definitely going to get lost but they had put you in so much ease that you felt safe with them leading the way. You had been the first to arrive and sat together in a peaceful atmosphere. 

As time goes by, some people start trickling into the meeting space. You take note of a person wrapped up in bandages as well as a girl with glasses in a cute black turtleneck. A very large man with strange looking ears had come in last. They had greeted your companions and had largely ignored you before sitting down. It wasn’t until a few minutes later that your savior had come in looking quite different. He seemed quieter and more serious, but his entire look had changed. His normally loose raven locks were now slicked back on his head. He seemed less human this way, but if he was really the boss then it didn’t surprise you too much that he looked the way he did. His entire aura simply radiated authority, but in a subtle way. You had noticed how everyone in the room had perked up and stood at attention when he had come in. Even the aloof looking girl in glasses was paying attention.

“Good morning,” he remarked in that familiar smooth voice. You crooned on the inside just hearing it. “As you all know we have our newest potential member here to perhaps take spot number 11,” he stopped briefly as everyone in the room nodded their heads slightly, “and to make sure that she is fit to take that place, I want her to go on her very first mission as a sort of recruitment exercise. It will be a perfect way to test her skills and get her comfortable with the rest of us,” he didn’t look at you but at this point everyone in the room was beginning to glance your way, trying to see what kind of reaction those words would elicit. You remained unmoved by his words, trying to keep a stoic demeanor. “It’s going to be a difficult mission that will only require one other member. Their job is to just assist, but not lead, I want Y/N to do that,” he finished as he looked at you for the first time since he came in the room. His eyes held pride, you knew that he believed you would pass this test. Your lips curved into the smallest and softest of smiles. He continued, “I don’t plan on assigning anybody, so whoever wants to go can just volunteer.”

Machi raised her hand swiftly. She smiled at you and announced, “I’ll go with Y/N,”

Chrollo nodded at her and replied, “Very well, everyone else may leave and go about their business for the day. Machi and Y/N, stay so I can tell you what I want from you two.” With that the rest of the group made their way out of the room. Paku waved at you before also turning and leaving. 

“There’s going to be a museum showing some of the rarest objects in the hunter world. It’s nothing like the auction as these items are more private and are owned by famous pro-hunters. In turn the museum only allows pro-hunters in. I desire one of the rarest nen blades that’s currently being shown off for about 5 billion Jenny. I have the utmost faith in the two of you,” he grinned and left. Your stomach filled with dread, having no idea how you were supposed to complete this task. Machi grins at you too and pats your shoulder. 

“Good Luck, Y/N!” she laughs, “I’ll meet you back in your room in about an hour to discuss plans on entering tonight. I really like you so I hope for your sake that you can get the blade.” she leaves you to your worried deliberations. So this was the life of a thief huh? 

a/n sorry it took so long to get this out, we reached 100 followers much faster than anticipated. Thank you all so much for that we love every single one of you! However, we have gotten some rude comments regarding how long it has taken to publish this series. We assure you that we are trying our best to get this out to you (we're glad you're liking it •u•) but leaving rude comments was unnecessary. Again thank you so much for the support <3!

#kurapika #kurapika x reader #chrollo #chrollo lucilfer #chrollo x reader #hxh #hxh x reader #hunter x hunter #hunter x hunter x read #x reader #y/n #hunter x hunter x reader #york new city arc #phantom troupe #machi #feitan #hisoka #hisoka x reader #machi x reader #sfw #soulmate #soulmate au

[tpwkjerii]

as you wish | 2

your one true love was lost in a pirate attack five years ago, and now you’re engaged to a cruel prince. with all your misfortune, you didn’t expect three unconventional thugs and a painfully familiar pirate to save you from a dreadful future. (inspired by The Princess Bride)

pairing: pirate!seokjin x princess!reader

warnings: fluff and angst (!!), reader is forced into engagement and becoming a princess, mentions of death, kidnapping, murder threats, almost drowning, magical flesh-eating eels, heights, attempted murder, vminkook being vminkook lol, jimin is kinda mean (but he’s rlly a softy), combat/mentions of combat

genre: fairy tale/pirate au, semi established relationship au

word count: 3.8k+

a/n: i loved writing this :) pls leave comments as they’re greatly appreciated !!

prev | next | m.list

The gentle rocking of a boat lulled you back to consciousness. As you peeled your eyes open, you were met by the dark star-filled skies. You blinked to refocus your vision, and the clearing sight of a ship’s flag waving in the night winds reminded you of the situation you were in.

You shot up and looked down at your body, cursing silently when you realized that your hands were bound by ropes.

“ - no one could be after us?” a deep and smooth voice asked suddenly, causing your head to shoot up in panic.

The three men who kidnapped you were gathered together at the opposite end of the ship, examining the dark river behind them. You listened as they bickered, using this as your chance to devise an escape plan.

“As I told you hours ago, it would be absolutely, totally, and in all other ways, inconceivable -”

You angled your hand and tugged at the loose end of the knot. To your relief, the ropes loosened, and you carefully slid one hand out and freed your other hand. With the three men still arguing on the other side of the ship, you quickly thought of how you could escape.

There was no way you could beat these men in physical combat and it was impossible to call for help. And you were certain that you couldn’t wait until you reached whatever location they set out for since they would probably kill you once you arrived. As you looked out at the dark waters ahead of you, you realized that the only possible solution was to jump off the ship.

Now you weren’t the strongest swimmer by any means, but you were sure that drowning was a better alternative to whatever the three men had planned for you. With that thought in mind, you took a final glance towards the three bickering men, inhaled a deep breath, and jumped off the ship.

Your body was instantly met with the ice cold waters of the river, and behind you rang a loud, muffled scream and commands of “get her!”

Your legs kicked as you attempted to keep your head over the freezing water. You ignored the burning sensation in your throat and legs as you fought against the currents of the river. You swam towards what you hoped was the river banks and you cursed internally when you realized that the men were following you in their ship.

“Veer left!” you heard one of them instruct. His honey-like and deceivingly sweet voice indicated that he was the blond man who first spoke to you.

You continued to kick as hard as you could, but you halted to a sudden stop when a high-pitched shriek rang from a short distance away. Your blood ran cold as the shrieks grew louder and a black snake-like shadow, illuminated by the moonlight, became visible under the water.

From behind you, the blond man laughed. “Do you know what that is, your highness?” he asked, his growing volume indicating that their ship wasn’t far behind you. You breathed in shakily, your tired legs fighting to continue treading water, as he continued, “Those are the Shrieking Eels — if you doubt me, just wait. They grow louder when they’re about to have their next meal.”

Your breathing grew heavier as you saw the eels approaching you, their bodies splashing the waters around you. The eels’ shrieks were becoming louder and louder and the pure terror you felt as you watched them swim closer silenced any pleas or cries that could have left you.

“If you swim back now, I promise no harm will come to you. I doubt the eels will give you such an offer!” the blond man told you, but you couldn’t bring yourself to move at all.

��I won’t warn you again! Either come back or die!” the man shouted at you, urgency evident in his voice.

Petrified, you make no noise or attempt to move. You couldn’t do anything, not with the loud shrieks of the eels ringing in your ears and their snake-like figures getting closer and closer to you. Your eyes widen when one sticks its head out of the water, it’s menacing eyes and mouth growing wider as it slithers towards you. You squeeze your eyes shut and brace for its great jaws to clamp down and send you to the afterlife, but the bite never comes.

Instead, two familiar and strong arms pull you out of the water and drop you onto the wooden deck of the boat. You shivered in your soaked dress that was clinging to every curve of your body as the cold night air blew against you. The freezing winds only made your shaking worse as your heart pounded in your chest. The eels’ shrieks weren’t nearly as loud anymore - they were now growing fainter as they retreated - but even the slightest noise reminded you of their terrifying jaws.

You were panting heavily as you observed the men before you once again. The dark-haired man who saved you from the eels and the red-haired man were back at the opposite end of the ship, steering the boat away from the eels and pointing to something in the distance, while the blond one was scolding you as he tied your shaking hands together with the rope.

“You think you’re brave, don’t you?” he snapped sarcastically.

Your gaze met his and you stared deeply into his brown eyes. “Only compared to some,” you barely managed to breathe out.

You could tell your words enraged him as he opened his mouth to shoot back a reply, but he was interrupted by the red-haired man’s shout.

“Look! He’s cut our lead in half,” he cried, pointing in the direction behind the ship. You used what little energy you had left to crane your head to see what he was pointing at. Indeed, there was someone trailing their ship.

In another boat much smaller than the one you were in, a man in black was standing upright. His hair and the top of his face, excluding his eyes, were covered by black fabric. Even in the distance, you could make out his broad shoulders, and his build painfully reminded you of your first love. But the very clothing of the man in black caused you to push such thoughts away. His attire signified that he was a pirate — the exact type of person who killed Seokjin in the first place.

“It doesn’t matter, Taehyung!” said the blond man, bringing your attention back to him and the red-haired man, who you now know is named Taehyung. “See!” the blond man exclaimed, pointing towards the high cliffs that your ship was headed for. “The Cliffs of Reality!”

The rocky landscape was illuminated by the glowing yellows and oranges of dawn, and you gulp at the idea of having to climb it.

“He’s getting closer to us, Jimin!” the dark-haired man shouted towards the blond - Jimin.

“Ah, Jungkook, we’re safe! Only we know where the harbor with the shortcut up is,” explained Jimin. His words were enough to comfort his two friends, and together they steered the ship onward and pulled into an obscure dock.

In one swift move, Jungkook brought you into his arms and held you upright. He pulled you up and off the boat, Jimin and Taehyung following closely behind you.

You gasped as you felt yourself being lifted up once again, and Jungkook laughed softly, his chest rumbling with the vibrations of his voice. “Sorry, your Highness,” he said while fixing his hold on you. You were chest to chest with him, your arms wrapped tightly around his neck and your head next to his, but facing the opposite direction of him. “It’ll be quicker this way,” Jungkook continued.

Jimin guided you all past a few large rocks, revealing an obscure and steep stone walkway leading to the top of the cliffs.

“Whenever you're ready,” Taehyung said to Jungkook from behind him. Since the red-haired man was behind you, you were able to see the smile on his handsome face. His kind face made it hard to believe that he helped to kidnap you.

Jungkook responded, “Everyone steady?” a small laugh vibrating against your chest.

Taehyung’s boxy smile grew and he replied, “If you please.”

“I’ll climb with ease,” Jungkook continued the rhyme as he started up the high stairs.

“Ohh, good one Kookie,” Taehyung said with a laugh. Once again, his smiling face and warm voice could fool you into thinking he wasn’t actually one of your kidnappers.

“You and your rhymes,” Jimin muttered from the front, but you could tell by his tone that his statement wasn’t completely spiteful.

“Kookie likes them,” Taehyung defended innocently, and the brief yet heartwarming interaction almost put a smile on your face. Almost — you were still being kidnapped.

They continued up the stairs quietly for a few minutes, and Jungkook’s arms were still wrapped securely around your waist. You had no idea how he could be strong enough to carry you this entire time, but you did know that he was right in thinking that having you walk on your own would take them too long. The steps were extremely steep and difficult to maneuver — it would take only one misstep to fall to a rocky, watery death.

Soon enough, you reached a ledge that overlooked the waters. You tightened your grip around Jungkook as you realized how high up you already were. The boat was now barely visible and you could barely hear the waters crashing against the rocks.

“Jungkook, why don’t you go first,” suggested Jimin, and you felt Jungkook nod and remove his hands from around you.

“Wh-what are you doing?” you asked, panic clear in your shaky voice as you clutched onto him tightly.

“Hold on tight, Princess. We’ve got a rope to climb,” he answered with a teasing tone.

You gasped in fear. How the hell was he going to carry both of you up a rope?

Jungkook sensed your fear and laughed again, but his lighthearted mood brought you no comfort. “Don’t you worry, your Highness. I won’t let you fall. It’s not that far up anyways,” he said in an attempt to reassure you. But it still didn’t do much for your nerves. You only squeezed your eyes shut and clutched onto him.

You squeaked as you felt yourself being lifted higher and Jungkook’s arm muscles flexing under yours.

“He’s gaining on us!” Taehyung suddenly announced, causing you to peek one eye open. The same man in black who was trailing the ship was quickly making his way up the steep stone stairs, further fueling the curiosity in your head. Was this man trying to save you? Was he sent by Prince Donghae? Did he want to kidnap you for selfish reasons too?

Enough thoughts clouded your mind to give you a headache. You had no idea your life would ever end up like this, clinging to a random (and insanely strong) man while he climbed up a rope to take you god knows where.

“Faster, Jungkook!” Jimin cried from beneath you.

“I’m going as fast as I can,” Jungkook grunted, a twinge of sympathy filling you as you heard his heavy pants. As strong as he was, he was definitely struggling to haul both you and him up the cliff. But any sympathy for him was shot dead as soon as you remembered that he was the one who kidnapped you in the first place.

The three men were quiet, all in intense focus to reach the top of the cliff before the mysterious man caught up to them, until Jungkook finally reached the top of the cliff. He breathed a sigh of relief as his leather-gloved hand gripped onto the hard, flat stone.

“Alright, Princess,” he started, his voice now gruff and slowed from exhaustion, “can you lift yourself up there?”

Forcing your eyes open, you craned your neck and looked at the top.

“Y-yes,” you responded, your heart beating loudly in your chest. You wanted to get onto a solid surface and off this rope as fast as you could, even if that meant perfectly playing into your kidnappers’ plans.

Using his other arm, Jungkook hoisted you up, allowing you to successfully lift yourself onto the flat cliff top. You rolled onto the ground ungracefully, breathing out deeply in relief. Behind you, Jungkook, Jimin, and Taehyung all hoisted themselves up.

They were all breathing deeply from exhaustion but managed to stand upright. You watched from the ground as Jimin pulled out a knife from his pocket and leaned down to the rope, placing it against the bound material and beginning to cut through it.

You felt a sudden rush of energy as you realized that if he cut the rope, the man in black following you would surely die. You hurried towards Jimin, kneeling to his eye level and saying frantically, “Stop! You’ll kill him!”

“It’s his fault for following us,” he muttered.

You cursed in panic and looked over the ledge. The mysterious man just started to climb the rope, which was about to be cut off by Jimin’s sharp blade. And with a loud snap, the rope broke. You watched in shock as it fell off the ledge, the frayed end a dreadful confirmation.

You froze in place. Did you just become an accomplice to murder? Tears pricked in your eyes at the thought of the painfully familiar man falling to his death, but they didn’t fall as Taehyung exclaimed, “He didn’t fall! He’s climbing!”

Your head whipped from Taehyung towards the ledge. You peered down, the sight before you verifying Taehyung’s words and allowing you to breathe in relief. The mysterious man was gripping onto the rocks tightly and slowly climbing up them.

“He had to have seen us with the Princess,” Jimin stated as he paced behind you. “It’s the only reason why he’d be following us this intently. He has to die.”

You turned around to shoot a retort towards Jimin, but you were cut off by his quick instructions: “Jungkook, carry her. We’ll head for the Joyeon frontier. Tae, catch up once you’ve taken care of the other guy.”

Your heart raced as you saw Taehyung nod and unsheathe his sword. “I’ll do my best,” he said with a smile.

Jungkook swiftly picked you up again as he added, “Be careful, Taehyung.” He walked away from the ledge with you securely in his arms and Jimin ahead of you. A part of you wanted to try and stay behind, the possibility of seeing the man behind the mask tempting you greatly, but the rational part of you knew that there was no way you could overpower Jungkook and Jimin.

You turned your head towards Jungkook, who was holding you in bridal style. He appeared younger than you, probably by only a few years, and you wonder how he got involved in such business in the first place.

Jimin and Taehyung also appeared to be slightly younger than you, and from the brief interactions you saw between them and Jungkook, you figured that they may have grown up together. Despite the fact that they were your kidnappers, you couldn’t help but feel curious about them.

“Jungkook,” you started, the name unfamiliar on your lips. He looked at you with a raised brow, confusion evident on his face as this was the first time you ever addressed him.

“How are you, Jimin, and Taehyung acquainted?” you asked.

Shock briefly passed in his face before he answered, “We grew up together. We’re practically brothers.”

You nodded in response. “What’s your business?”

“We do favors for some people, try our best to make a living for ourselves -“

“Ah, Jungkook, why are you telling her so much?” Jimin questioned, turning back to face you two with a straight face. “It’s not like she’s going to be our friend or anything.”

Your face dropped at his blunt words. Right. No matter how kind hearted they seemed, these three men were still your kidnappers who would probably still end up killing you.

“Ah, Jimin, there’s no need to be so mean,” whined Jungkook, giving you a pitiful glance. “Don’t worry, nothing bad will happen to you.”

A wave of relief flooded through you, Jungkook’s kind eyes and innocent smile soothing your nerves.

“Jungkook!” exclaimed Jimin, whose face was beginning to turn red. “Don’t say too much!”

“What’s the point, Jimin? Don’t you feel bad? She’s so nice!” Jungkook defended with a whine.

“We’ll discuss it later, we’re still being chased by that man in black — we have no time to lose!” Jimin stressed, his blush spreading as he quickened his pace.

Jungkook laughed and increased his face, your smile growing with his. At least you knew they weren’t going to kill you.

“Inconceivable!” exclaimed Jimin. “That man’s catching up to us!”

Jungkook’s head whipped around to look at the direction Jimin was facing. The younger man’s face dropped. “You don’t think he… killed Taehyung?”

Jimin’s face hardened, and you felt your heart tug at the distraught expression on their faces.

“Give me Y/N,” Jimin started, and Jungkook followed obediently. “Take care of that man and catch up to us,” the blond directed as he secured his grip on you. You wanted to mention that you could walk on your own, but one look at Jimin’s stern expression signified that it was best to stay silent for now.

While Jungkook rested at a nearby tree, Jimin led you away. This was the first time you were alone with the lond, and you wondered if he was secretly as softhearted as Jungkook or as playful as Taehyung.

“I don’t think your friend is dead,” you stated quietly, hoping it would reassure him. You knew very well how it felt to lose someone you loved and you wouldn’t wish that pain on anyone else.

Jimin’s face remained neutral as he responded, “You wouldn’t know how people like us and him are, Princess.”

“But I do,” you replied softly, looking away from him as you honestly continued, “I know very well how people can be. Before I was Princess, I was just the daughter of simple farmers. My mother died in the city attack, my father died of illness, and my love died from a pirate attack. I was alone, and the Prince knew that. I still do not know why he wanted me to be his Princess, but I have no one and nothing else.”

Jimin’s breath faltered and several emotions passed through him at once. This entire trip, you defied his expectations of you. You were bold, honest, kind hearted, and nothing like the rumors that spread amongst the townspeople. “I’m sorry,” he managed to say to you.

You shrugged in his arms, still facing away from him. “You have nothing to apologize about. I only hope you do not have to feel more pain in your life.”

Jimin remained quiet until he reached an empty clearing.

“We can wait here until Jungkook catches up,” he said as he set you down against a large tree. You nodded softly, your eyes drooping in exhaustion.

“Ok,” was all you whispered out before you fell unconscious once again.

Jimin examined your features with a sigh. “I’m sorry,” he murmured to your sleeping figure.

Several minutes passed before a tall figure became visible in the distance. Jimin straightened, but his hopeful face fell when his eyes landed on the man in black and not Jungkook.

Quickly, the blond wrapped a black strip of fabric around your eyes and grabbed your wrists. You awoke with a startle, your vision completely covered as you asked, “What’s happening?”

“Nothing of your concern, your Highness,” muttered Jimin. His grip on you tightened as the mysterious man walked closer and closer until he was only a few feet from you.

“Did you hurt them?” Jimin questioned him, his voice darker and more threatening than you’d ever heard before.

“Not more than what was necessary to get to you,” the man replied, and the undeterminable familiarity of his voice caused you to draw in a shallow breath. The smooth gentleness of his words reminded you of Seokjin, whose death still pains you even two years later.

“So you killed them,” Jimin muttered, his breaths growing heavier.

“I did not,” the other man stated simply. Silence followed until he added, “Give me the Princess, and I will allow you to catch up with your friends with no more interference.”

Your thoughts wondered at his demand. Who was this man? Why did he want you? Was he sent by Prince Donghae? How was he so similar to Seokjin? Where did he c -

“No. Our business with the Princess is our business,” Jimin said flatly, his grip on you tightening. He pulled you slightly behind him as he continued, “I’m sure you understand what it’s like for your life to depend on something.”

“I do,” the man responded, “which is why I must take the Princess with me.”

“I won’t let that happen,” Jimin asserted darkly, his harsh grip causing you to whimper.

At that, the man moved towards you and Jimin in one swift move. Jimin pushed you to the ground away from them, and you braced yourself on the thankfully soft grass. You tripped on the edge of your dress as you scooted away fearfully and tugged off the fabric covering your eyes.

The masked man and Jimin were fighting, but none of them appeared to have the true intent to kill. The former had the upper hand, being larger in stature and greater in strength. He easily locked Jimin in a hold and pushed his body down.

“This will only take a moment,” the man said as he pushed a pressure point on Jimin’s neck. In a matter of seconds, the blond’s body fell limp and his eyes closed.

The man sighed heavily and stood up, keeping his eyes on Jimin’s unconscious for a few seconds before directing them towards you. You were shaking in fear and confusion as you examined the man in front of you.

Everything, from his voice to the curve of his lips, reminded you of Seokjin. What kind of sick trick was the universe playing on you?

“Come on, Princess,” he said as he approached you, his voice causing your face to waver again.

Still sitting on the ground, you gazed up at him as you asked,

“Who… who are you?” Your voice was softer than ever and your eyes were glassy from memories of Seokjin.

“I’m no one of importance to you, at least not anymore,” he answered stiffly, bending down to stand you up.

Not anymore?

“It can’t be,” you whispered as you stared into his deep brown eyes. “Are you who I think you are?” you asked tearfully.

“That depends,” he started, his breaths shallow and his voice airy, “who do you think I - ”

The distant cry of horses interrupted him, and both of you directed your attention to the hills behind you. You gasped in shock as you recognized the kingdom’s flags flying from the royal horses. And even at a great distance, you recognized the man commanding the group — Prince Donghae.

#kim seokjin #seokjin x reader #seokjin #seokjin fanfic #seokjin fluff #seokjin x y/n #bts fanfic #bts #bts fanfction #bts x reader #bts x y/n #bts fairy tale au #seokjin angst #park jimin #jimin #jungkook #taehyung #kim taehyung #jeon jungkook #taehyung fanfic #jungkook x reader #jimin x reader #seokjin x you #kim seokjin x reader #kim seokjin x you

[snaxpo]

fuck it bugsnax/s4m au notes

alternate title: i’m at that point in liking something where i have to combine it with everything else i’ve liked previously and today i’m making that everyone else’s problem. 

- base premise is a lil different! instead of being a journalist who was invited personally to the island by the expedition leader, you (or FK if you consider them a separate character from the player) are tasked with investigating the habitat, a budding commune on snaktooth island that may or may not be devolving into a cult. there’s just one teeny tiny problem - the commune’s leader and also your main suspect, boris habit, has been missing for weeks by the time you arrive. 

- now it’s a matter of gaining the inhabitants’ trust/getting them to come back to the habitat while hunting and subduing the bugsnax, who seem increasingly eager to launch themselves at inhabitants at quite literally dangerous speeds, in a battle of wits to keep your newfound companions fed while documenting the strange creatures. and of course, the question of just what happened to boris habit still lingers in the air. think like... talentless nana where the protag pretends to be all cute and unassuming (complete with flower motifs!) but really they’re there on Super Secret Spy Business. but of course there’s less murder. 

- oddly the bugsnax seem to have only become more aggressive after his disappearance. i’m sure it’s nothing. 

- yes everyone is still a grumpus

- there isn’t really an interview “mechanic” so much as it is a Lot of cozying up to everybody in pursuit of whatever information you can find on habit/potential group rituals/events that led to his disappearance; you get it by bits and pieces rather than a single structured interview. there is of course a lot more interactions between characters than there is in s4m’s base game bc thats like 60% of the appeal of bugsnax and i would be a fool not to think of it.

- time for ideas for specific characters! kamal is the vice-mayor of the habitat and has been habit’s right-hand grump for as long as any of the inhabitants can remember, despite their relationship becoming increasingly strained ever since their arrival on the island, and especially before habit’s disappearance. i imagine you still find him passed out but instead of collapsing from starvation he’s like "please.... toothpaste... a breath mint.... some pepto bismol. i’ve been able to taste my own breath for weeks." has been trying to divide his time between looking after the habitat and looking for habit himself (and also his best friend wallus) but the dispersal of the habitat has left him a tad Demoralized, to say the least.

- i feel like trencil would play a wambus-adjacent role in the sense that he's the one taking care of the sauce plants and also one of the first townspeople you meet. you convince to come back with you not necessarily bc he'd be able to continue farming in town but bc he would probably have an easier time looking for his daughter if he got some sleep first (but only if you look for her in his stead)

- gillis is like. a wannabe chandlo. makes you capture a bunch of snax that he Says he's gonna use to get stronger but eventually you find out he's been releasing them or keeping them in like lil makeshift pet houses bc he always takes one look at their big googly eyes and turns to mush. but EVERYONE'S eating them so naturally if they find out he's not they're gonna think he's some kinda wuss so he just pretends. 

- dallas keeps asking for sweet n colorful bugsnax to give to mirphy to impress her (sweetieflies, instabugs, etc etc.) but by some streak of bad luck they always end up being her least favorite. he tries to see if Maybe he can use them to make some new bugsnak-exclusive pigments, but like in canon they always end up turning into mush before he can get very far. mirphy meanwhile is far more interested in preserving them for a potential display, but similar to dallas, she never gets very far.

- i imagine the kid habiticians are like. a roving band of semi-feral children bc if anyone's gonna keep them in town it's definitely not kamal.

- i wanna do something with wallus SO BAD like you find him somewhere up in frosted peak but i have no idea what he would even DO its fucking killing me

- those are all the ideas i have For Now; s4m has more characters than bugsnax so there’s a lot to be done w/ them lmao. if i think of any more i’ll probably put it in another post or if anybody wants to spitball with me.......  👀

- and now we get to The Big Guns: habit.

- he was fun to work on w/ this au mostly bc despite being the rough equivalent of lizbert he’s a way different type of flawed leader than her; where liz is responsible to the point of martyring herself without a second thought and not thinking to delegate any tasks to the other snaxburg residents, which is what ultimately causes them to fall apart once she disappears, habit's deal is that he wants the position and appearance of an authority figure because it'll keep him safe, but he kind of sucks at taking responsibility for anything he does wrong because he’s spent most of his life acting according to what other people (namely his family) expect of him and being met with a negative reception no matter what, so he doesn’t really believe he has power over anything, including his own actions, despite being such a control freak for most of his own game. so his arc would need something that’s kind of antithetical to what liz had, wouldn’t it?

- so what i got so far is that au habit was tryin to covertly start a bugsnax cult bc he sees being asborbed by the snax as a sort of ascension and was eventually planning to have everyone be absorbed; it’s important to note however that bc information on bugsnax is so obscure he doesn’t actually 100% know how absorption works so tl;dr: habit became the bugsnax monarch willingly and then 5 seconds later he was like "oh no wait this fucking sucks. what have i done. shit. fuck."

- unable to cope with the realization that he was once again forced to act in accordance to someone (or in this case something) else's desires, he shuts down emotionally, becoming an empty husk of a grumpus while the bugsnax above run rampant thanks to the extra fuel and absolutely no restrictions until the Big Climax when habit is finally moved to take back control of the snax and by proxy Take Some Fucking Responsibility for knowingly luring people to cthulhu island. however this does leave the obvious question of if he was such an empty shell for most of the game why didn’t they just. eat him.

- the answer i eventually landed on was that his self-preservation instincts were still kicking on a subconscious level and during the aforementioned climax he eventually realizes that he does not in fact want to die, he just doesn’t want to keep living the way he is now (as part of an ancient hivemind beyond his understanding) or the way he was before (you know.)

- also fun fact: i was thinking about what his monarch body would be based off of bc the snakdragon, while cool as shit, didn’t feel right for him, and then i remembered that blooming onions exist. i imagine he’s in the middle acting as the flower’s “stigma”

- as for endings i’m thinking like. in the neutral ending kamal joins habit but its left ambiguous whether or not they'll ever be able to leave the island or if this is even a permanent solution (call that the paw in unloveable paw ending). in the good ending you bust habit outta his queen body after fending off enough bugsnax together and it’s super gross bc the undersnax as a whole is super gross but hey at least everyone’s leaving alive. i don’t know what a bad ending entails except most if not all of the cast is dead and habit is left alone on the island surrounded by reminders of his spectacular failure.

- hell i can even think of a sequel hook for the good ending like in canon bugsnax; some time after the ending/credits you ask habit just Where did he get the information on bugsnax that led to him being like “you could make a religion out of this” and the screen fades to black before you hear his answer. there.

- its almost midnight.

#text post #bugsnax #smile for me #smile for me game #s4m #bugsnax spoilers #au

[hashtagartistlife]

ichiruki greco-roman mythology au!!

- Kurosaki Ichigo as an ordinary human who loses his mom at a young age, a la canon - Kuchiki Rukia as the goddess of fate

- At seventeen, Ichigo goes to the local temple dedicated to the goddess of fate and demands she tell him how to alter fate so that his mom can live 

- Rukia replies (through her priestess) that fate is not something that is so easily altered, but if he is determined, there is a long quest involved to prove his worth 

- Ichigo agrees to take up the quest and sets out on his way

- Rukia, despite being goddess of fate, is quite fond of mortals who wish to defy fate-- she has seen many mortals attempt this quest before, and she's made a habit of disguising herself as a human woman to accompany them so she can see firsthand what drives them to want to rise above the destiny set out for them by the gods

- Of course, nobody has ever managed to finish the quest. (It's just as well, because the final step in changing one's fate involves arriving at the main temple of fate in Olympus, killing the current god or goddess of fate, and taking their place. Rukia didn't see fit to tell Ichigo about that part. After all, nobody has finished the quest in all her years of being goddess; Ichigo is not likely to be any different!)

- (Except Ichigo's Ichigo, of course he is.) 

- So Kurosaki Ichigo sets out on the long and arduous quest to shatter fate and Rukia, disguised as a human woman, slots herself into the quest with him, occasionally giving him hints and guiding him in the right direction, and as with every other AU, they slowly fall in love, until-

- until Ichigo gets along further in the quest than anybody has ever done before, and Rukia starts to worry

- She didn't expect this. He's getting so close to the end. What if he really does clear the whole quest? What if he really does reach her temple in Olympus? Will he kill her? Will he be able to? She's seen the way he looks at her-- does she look at him in the same way? She didn't expect this. She didn't expect any of this-- Ichigo clearing the quest, the potential confrontation at her temple, all these feelings--

- She tries to dissuade him from the quest. She tries fighting, yelling, tears, persuasion-- but Ichigo's adamant. He's started this quest, he's going to finish it.

- And while she agonizes about a decision, they eventually come to the final and most dangerous step of the quest, just before her temple on Olympus 

- Somehow in this last leg of the quest ichigo almost gets killed, and Rukia sacrifices herself instead without a second thought

- Ofc, she doesn't actually die, being a goddess and all-- the only thing that dies is the shell that she inhabited while she was pretending to be human, and she wakes up in her temple in Olympus, safe and sound-- but in that moment, she realises that she probably loves Ichigo enough that she wants to see him succeed in his quest, wants to see him change fate, wants to see him happy and triumphant-- even if it means sacrificing her life for it 

- Having come to this conclusion, she waits in her temple for Ichigo to arrive, because by now she's seen enough of him to know he will succeed in clearing even this last hurdle 

- Ichigo, meanwhile, just saw (or thinks he saw) Rukia die in front of him, for him

- He clears the final step in his quest in a haze of grief and rage and makes his way up the steps of the temple of fate, ready to throttle this so-called goddess of fate, whoever the hell she is, first his mom, now Rukia--

- and when he finally arrives at the temple, it's Rukia waiting for him at the altar, but cloaked in divinity-- there is no way to miss it. She's not human. She's a goddess-- and if she's waiting for him here, at the temple of fate, then she must be-

- he falls to his knees in front of her. Rukia steps up to him, wearing a smile.

- 'the final step in changing fate is killing the goddess of fate and taking her place.'

- She curls his hand around a holy dagger, and points the tip of it at her heart. For a second, Ichigo grips the dagger hard, presses the tip of it into her chest, but then his grip loosens and the dagger falls to the floor. Rukia looks at him, asks why--

- "When I saw you here," he says, "I thought-- I should feel betrayed. You lied to me the whole time, kept me in the dark, made me fall in love with you only to tell me that this is the final step in my quest-- was it all just a game to you? Something to pass the time?"

- Rukia starts protesting, that she might have kept him in the dark about this final step but that doesn't mean she didn't mean everything she said and did to him, that she really does want him to succeed and that's why she's offering her life--

- "But none of that mattered. I should feel betrayed-- I don't. The only thing I felt when I saw your face was relief. I was so-- so glad that you weren't dead, that you were still alive, that you still exist--and you think I'll be able to kill you? I can't. I can't, Rukia." 

- Rukia, again, protests, tells him not to throw away what he wanted so much just for her, that she can't be the barrier to him getting his mom back and being truly happy, he can't choose her over his mom-- 

- except she's a moron. Ichigo doesn't even want to bring his mom back from the dead anymore. Sure, his family was torn apart in the aftermath of her death, but they all eventually picked themselves up and kept living their lives, as the living tend to do. They all healed in various ways, it was just him that was stalled in the past with his grief and guilt. Going through the quest with Rukia let him heal from the trauma of losing his mom and towards the end of the quest, he'd decided that, even if he managed to clear the whole thing, he won't ask to bring her back from the dead-- he just wants to see her again, one more time, to say sorry, before letting her go completely.

- And then Rukia died, and he cleared the last leg of the quest solely for the purpose of bringing her back. So how the hell does she think he'll be able to kill her? Rukia thinks Ichigo's just like... throwing away his life's purpose because of her when in reality, she'd been his new purpose and reason to live for a long time now.

- Ichigo tells her all of this. It takes some convincing, but eventually, Rukia comes to terms with it. And then she says, well, alright, fine. no fate defying today. But you did clear that whole quest, which is pretty impressive. I can grant you a wish for that. Did you want to see your mom again? 

- And Ichigo says no, I want you. 

- Rukia splutters-- you can't just say that, I'm a goddess, what does that even mean-- in what capacity--

- Ichigo: whatever capacity you'll let me have you? 

- And then they fuck in her temple against the altar of fate! (Whenever Ichigo thought fuck fate in his younger years he didn't quite expect this outcome but hey, he'll take it.)

- ..... ok that last part is just in there for self-indulgence, doesn't actually contribute to the point of this AU. I haven't thought about how this AU actually ends, either -  Ichigo probably becomes some minor god of something obscure and they both live on Olympus happily ever after or whatever. Not important. The main  point i wanted to make with this AU was: 

- Kurosaki Ichigo, local fate and destiny hater, being brought to his knees when fate comes to him wearing Rukia's smile, being unable to defy the fatedness of Ichigo and Rukia. Ichigo will fight tooth and nail against every other fate that the world presents him with, but when the universe shoves Rukia in his direction and says, here, she's your fate, she's your destiny-- he can't fight that, doesn't want to fight that. The concept that Rukia is the only fate he will accept. Great Concept! The end! 

<IR AU: Fate and the Hero> FIN

#bleach #ichiruki #kurosaki ichigo #kuchiki rukia #artist life #bleach art life #bleach fanart #IR x greek mythology #fate and the hero au

[dropsofletters]

how to lose someone in seven steps? | yangyang

— summary: yangyang lives his life going from party to party, but when one grand event suddenly threatens to make him lose all his money, she ponders if she should break his heart in pieces or not. instead, she teaches him how to live a normal life.

— title: how to lose someone in seven steps? — pairing: liu yangyang x reader — genre: rich kid!au ; magnate!au ; singer!au ; bet!au ; strangers to friends to lovers!au ; love experiment!au — type: fluff ; angst ; romance ; humor ; drama — word count: 11,304 — playlist: criminal – taemin ; dway! – jackson wang ; 7 rings – ariana grande ; lifted – cl ; leonidas – yangyang ; +5 stars+ - cl — note: you have to read the prologue before reading this route.

Bottles stacked on top of one another, organized, some from the eighties, other from the latest few years. Shelves that clad themselves in pristine class, though their surroundings are dangerous for such expensiveness. There, with a dress that fits her body a little bit too tightly, she truly wonders what goes on through rich people’s heads. Money, obviously—how to spend it, how to waste it, and how to win it again, but whoever owns this mansion doesn’t think about the fact that any of the drunkards around the party could eventually knock themselves over with this shelf filled with alcohol—from wine to champagne—and possibly die in the process from a shard of glass going through their heads, or that someone could steal from him. Bottles lonely, void of anything to protect them, just a slide of the glass enough to grasp the material.

Though, she knows what she is doing. Tugging at the gold dress that Liying insisted on buying for her, she hopes that no one sees her. Not that she should be thinking when Hao specifically brought her to this party to socialize with possible record label owners or other artists that would want to collaborate with her—but after a while of speaking about nothing at all and sipping on the same glass of champagne, she feels drained out of energy. The host of the party word of mouth and yet, nowhere to be seen.

Cutting the chase, she turns around to see if she can find Hao somewhere. The living room is packed, people gathered dancing, some sprawling themselves on the couches, smoking and drinking. Nearby, a man tugs a woman to his lap, her cigarette falling on the floor to remain unlit as another person joins them. It’s only a matter of second before she feels her blood boiling in embarrassment, crossing one arm across her chest to hold her elbow upright with her drink when she sees the kiss shared by three. Parties like these do get a bit crazy.

The mansion is pretty, though, and while Hao is out—somewhere—trying to get her a record deal, she basks in the material beings around her. Golden walls, red decorations, and floors that were pristine when she had gotten there earlier but are now dusted in alcohol and ashes. She gives one step forward, then two, and she stops herself, not knowing exactly where to go. She has already talked to some people, but her social batteries are running out.

Getting her phone out of her purse, she puts her lips together until they decolorate the slightest under the pressure, typing a message for Hao. Not that she couldn’t call him, but screaming over the music as Post Malone plays for the umpteenth time just doesn’t sound like the best of ideas.

To: Hao-Hao.

Where you at?

I want to go home.

The response comes sooner than expected, her phone vibrating in between her fingers.

From: Hao-Hao.

I’m talking to the son of a record label’s CEO.

You can’t go now.

He’s a bit drunk but I’m taking care of him so he can hear you sing once he’s more sober.

To: Hao-Hao.

I’ll step out for a few minutes, then.

Call me when you need me. I won’t leave.

The sigh that rips from her throat only lets go when her phone plops back in place in the almost-empty purse, her heels clicking against the black tiles of the mansion. With each swing of her hips, energy drains itself out of her body. There is nothing that she would have wished for more than just lay herself flat on her bed, start a video-chat with her friends and just get lost in the conversation. At first, she thought it would be easier, speech slurred that would help her sound more appealing to those who are drunker than her, but no one pays attention to possible talents in parties like these.

The coldness of the night bites at her arms, as well as some mosquitoes, scattering across her ankles and making her hiss as she continues scratching herself. A fountain stands right at the front, surrounded by trees and a few sports cars. One of those cars, however, is Hao’s old, dark thing that seemed to be much less cool in comparison.

A swat of her hand against her skin has her hissing.

Fuck mosquitoes.

Fuck this party.

Fuck the broken dream that she keeps chasing with the hope of her story turning out to be more interesting than it really is.

From the far distance, just as she leans back against one of the many cars there, an engine starts to roar to life—getting closer and closer, perhaps wanting to get to the party faster, catching the attention of the entire block, not that they would care. With the golden fabric of her dress barely covering her from the coldness of the white convertible, she takes her phone out again to talk in the group-chat, but as her fingers work against the screen, the car gets closer. The wheels become music at that moment, the culprit making its appearance as the car enters the mansion, barely giving the security guards at the entrance any time to open the gates.

A gorgeous night blue makes the car outstanding, blend into the night but make it more noticeable in between the expensive cherry reds and the bone whites. Instead, the driver parks nearer to the mansion, closer to one of the street lamps by the entrance, draping its white glow onto the concrete that leads to the main door. Whoever the owner of the car is manages to park the car backwards, roaring the engine a few more times when he’s put in place before moving back a bit more…

And a bit more…

Even more…

Then, comes the crash. Miniscule, but enough to create a dent on the night-sky car.

The coolness only lasted for a second.

She has to look away, because she may not be an avid driver…but even she knows that getting too close to a street light wasn’t a good idea. Instead, she brings her phone up her face to use it as an excuse, eyes inspecting the car’s door when it opens, watching a set of slim legs peak out before the entirety of the owner makes his presence known.

Blown portions of his brown hair end up in the slits between his fingers, gripping at the strands for dear life as he stares at the dent on his car. Parted, obscured and defined lips call out for her attention, the ‘o’ in them almost funny had it not been for his beauty. His brown eyes widen in panic, knees creaking under his weight when he kneels beside his car and actually, for real, plants a kiss on the surface before connecting his forehead with it. If she is not mistaken, the sigh that rips from those precious lips sounds like an apology.

It’s none of her business, she tells herself, but when she crosses one leg over the other, she realizes just how freezing the night is, her thighs in full display while the handsome idiot with the car looks as toasty as ever. A blue hoodie on top of his body, black ripped jeans making his legs look like they last for miles and even some more. His shoes, however, are one of the latest releases of a popular brand that she feels like she heard one of her friends speaking about. Maybe Elena.

Maybe, he’ll have enough of a heart to give her something to cover herself up with—that’s the excuse she uses when she pulls her weight away from the white convertible that held her up to go over to him. The clicking of her heels does nothing to call out for his attention, forehead still pressed to his car like the main character of a romantic movie asking for the forgiveness of his partner after fucking up.

He did fuck up…his very expensive sports car, for example.

“Hey…” Her voice wavers a bit, eyes trailing down to the kneeling man. At this point, his thighs may be burning over the forced squat he is doing. “Are you crying right now?”

That seems to make him pull away from his car, pushing his face off the car before widening his eyes in the process. Not a single glistening tear clads his irises, so he seems to be fine. “Wh—? What? No.” He scoffs in the process, standing up and licking his lips in the process. “I’m just…some douche…one of my friends, like, he’s a total douche, he—ah, he crashed my car against the…the thing—”

“I saw you crash your own car.”

The puppeteer lets go of the marionette in him, shoulders dropping, legs becoming flimsy as his faux smile turns into somewhat of a pout, arms crossed over his chest to indicate just how attacked he feels right now. The grin from her is inevitable. “Then, why do you ask?” He conquers, though, one look at her has him giving a double-take, and sure, she looks good…but the squint of his eyes and the frown on his face is for something else. “You look oddly familiar. Have I, like, seen you before?”

“Have you?” Now that she thinks about it, the defined lines of his lips somewhat click on her. From where? She doesn’t know. “Now that you say it, I feel like I have seen you…”

Wiping his—probably—sweaty hands on his jeans, he claps his hands together. “Like, for real, I have seen you.”

“Maybe, the crash did something to your head, I don’t know.”

The guy in question can only hiss in the process. “That’s your nicest try for a joke?”

“That’s your nicest way of parking?” She asks, one thumb going over to his still very much dented car before sighing. “What’s your name? Because I really feel like I know you.”

Though, she does have a plan—leaving this poor man crying about his convertible isn’t something she is planning to do tonight. At most, she will call her brother-in-law and see if he knows someone who can fix cars, just if he wants the number. Not like he needs it with the amount of money he clearly has. “Liu Yangyang.” He replies, his hands placed on his hips when he looks at his car. “And that’s Emilia, my baby.”

“…You crashed your baby against a light—”

“My baby betrayed me and went a little too far, mind you.” Though, now that she has laughed and her phone is, once again, on her hand, she can think about that name. Liu Yangyang, Liu Yangyang.

Fuck.

Liu Yangyang!

“Oh my God, you’re Liying’s ex!” That’s not the kind of sentence that must have left her lips at that moment, but it’s what comes out of her. It takes a few seconds for Yangyang to process what she just said, pursing his lips in the process before squinting at her once again.

“And you’re part of her friends’ group. The little Girls’ Generation wannabe group.” Yangyang replies, though his voice begs to do no harm, she can’t help but feel a little bit hurt by his words.

“We are not a Girls’ Generation wannabe group.” She corrects, not realizing just how punctuated her words are coming out until Yangyang chuckles at her.

“You just did a sick dance move with your neck, bro.” The young man adds, making sure to move his head from side to side, perhaps more stylishly than her. “Are you sure you’re not a dancer?”

“I was going to call someone to help you out, but I’m not going to anymore.” She says, though Yangyang shrugs his shoulders.

“Dad will pay for it.” He adds, looking around for a few seconds. “And if you’re the only person who saw it, I just need to keep you quiet about it.”

“Why? Stuff like this happens at parties all the time—”

“Not when you’re the host and you’re not the slightest bit drunk, no.” This mansion…this goddamned piece of art that looks like it could be a castle, with how tall the walls are and how gorgeously decorated it is, belongs to no other than Liying’s ex?

“T—This is your house?” She asks, fingers widely pointing at the entrance before Yangyang nods. “What were you even doing outside? You’re the host!”

“You know, like, when it’s someone’s Sweet Sixteen party, they just arrive later than everyone and make a grand appearance and it’s, like, I don’t know, cool or whatever?” With the rapidness of his voice and how excited he seems to be about this situation, she can’t help but be in awe. “I was aiming for that.”

“Were you also aiming to crash your car or did your Dad pay for your license, too?” With the smile that appears on his features, somewhat shameful as he looks to the side, she can’t help but clutch her phone closer to her chest. “You bought your driver’s license!”

Yangyang rushes to place both of his slim hands on her cherry red lips, shushing her in the process, his face mere centimeters away from hers. “What do I have to do to keep you quiet? I need to look cool, still.”

Not that she was planning to ask him for anything, so she pushes his hands away from her mouth. “Ew, dude, I don’t know where your hands have been—”

“That’s not usually how that goes.” Yangyang mumbles, more to himself, before opening the door to his car once again. Bending down, he seems to be looking for something in the front portion of his car. “Listen, I don’t know what you’ve heard about me, but I’m not that bad of a guy. I wash my hands.”

“Sure, you do.” She replies, aware of the fact that this is the man Liying had rolled her eyes to a bunch of times. Didn’t she ask her to break his heart like a month ago? Yangyang’s immature, from what she has heard, but the rest of him is a secret. “You don’t have to give me anything. I’ll just stay around this party for a bit longer and then, I’ll call it quits.”

“Aw, why? Is Taeyeon missing?”

“Taeyeon?” At the mention of such a name, she frowns.

Still, he continues to speak from inside his car, putting a few things together that she can’t quite make out from her position. “You know, like, Taeyeon from Girls’ Generation.”

“Huh?”

“I’m joking.” Dragging his voice, he comes out with a bag in between his hands. Typical in its beige and brown color, Louis Vuitton with just one clear glance. What is even more impressive than the purse on itself is how he pushes it towards her hands. “There you go, your gift.”

“…Yangyang, what language are you speaking in? I don’t even—What are you doing?” She asks, taking the purse in between her hands before shaking her head.

“Actually, I speak some. German, English…I took some Spanish classes—”

“Yangyang, I can’t take this purse.”

“It’s not that expensive.” He shrugs, as if this is really not worth more than anything she owns. Even more than her entire apartment compiled together. “Besides, you didn’t make a big deal out of me and Emilia having a moment, so…I’m letting you go with this bag. I brought it with me today, but I think it’ll go better with your outfit…” Though, she doesn’t miss the way his eyes trail down her body before correcting himself, blinking quickly and giving one of his infamous smiles. “Take it.”

“Yangyang, no—”

Unexpected are the steps he gives towards the door, rushed as he runs away from her, looking over his shoulders as he screams: “Too late, I’m already going.” Though, when he opens the door in one swift motion, he doesn’t forget to add something else. “See you later at the party.”

Though, she can’t even walk forwards to search for Yangyang in between the masses of people when she feels her phone buzzing in her purse.

Well, her original purse, not the Louis Vuitton one.

Is it even hers now?

From: Hao-Hao.

Go home…

The guy fell asleep after vomiting on my shoes.

It’s safe to say we’ve done nothing in this party.

Two steps back make her heels waver under the weight of the droplets of champagne on her system. Tugging both purses over her shoulder, she smiles. Yangyang, more than immature, has that youthful person that not a lot of people have.

###

Birthday parties are already not that good to start with. Put one single candle on a cake and start singing a song, that’s the best way to make anyone feel out of place and awkward. They are even worse when she feels two children tugging at her pants, and thank goodness a white belt wraps around the baggy beige pants, because they would have been at her feet had it been for Liying’s daughter’s friends.

Some people just launch themselves at their dreams as if they were a rocket, and Liying is one of them. Last year, when her stress reached her peak and her dating list only got longer with more mistakes, she decided to draw a line over all men in her life and go for her biggest dream all on her own. It wasn’t the clothing line that she had already worked in—and that, somehow, people were always surprised to hear about when seeing how plainly she dressed—, but having a child instead. That’s where the four-year-old child by her mother’s legs came along, adopted a year ago and still very much adoring her small, loving family.

But this is her first birthday party, and Liying had gone over the moon with preparations. Everything pink, in the shade of Peppa Pig, with children songs playing in the background as some of them scream, jump, and one of them even blows bubblegum into the air only to cover his face in the sticky substance. Surprise. The bubblegum is also very pink.

Liying picks her daughter up from the ground then, placing her against her hip as she gets closer to her. “Chengxiao, Mei, let go of her legs. She can’t even walk.” The monotone tone must have worked more than her pathetic plea, widening her eyes in adoration when seeing one of her best friends with her. “Did you buy the candles I told you about? I’m sure we need to give them some sugar before they start going crazy.”

She doesn’t know if she just chuckled or sighed. “Isn’t it too much sugar already?”

“It’s never enough sugar for them.” Liying conquers, placing a kiss on her daughter’s cheek before putting her down again. “Baby, tell all your friends to gather so we can start singing the birthday song!”

“Yes, mama!”

Liying pushes the strands of her dark hair away from her face, putting it up in a bun before asking. “So, candles?”

“I can’t even walk, Liying. They’re in my purse.” She points, well aware that she needs her bed more than ever right now. Not only had Chengxiao thrown a tantrum when she had not sung the Peppa Pig theme song for the umpteenth time, but she also had to take care of the other children. Wipe the bubblegum away from that little dude’s face. Make sure that everyone in well fed. Over everything, she has to pick the music and Lord forbid she picks something that isn’t Baby Shark.

Liying moves over to her pink couch, draping the children’s coats away to reach her purse before frowning deeply. “Your purse, you said?”

“Yes.” Using the coats as a pillow, she lays back on the couch, exhaling deeply as a sweet, tight-lipped smile appears on her face. “God, I’m about to pass out.”

“Don’t pass out on me.” Liying says, rummaging through her purse. “Why do you have so much shit in your purse?”

“The girls put all their stuff inside. Some of them didn’t bring purses.”

“I’m sensing Shishi and Elena in that statement.”

“Shishi can’t wear a purse that doesn’t have Pokémon characters all over it,” She starts. “And Elena is too cool for a purse.”

“Got it.” Liying finishes, pressing her purse to her abdomen to keep looking for her candles before a soft hum leaves her lips. “I found two things.”

“Two?” Her eyes open at that moment, staring at the objects in between Liying’s fingers. One of them is the number four in the form of a candle, and the other is a crumpled piece of paper that seems to beg to be recycled. “What’s that piece of paper?”

“I don’t know, was inside your Louis.” Liying whispers, unfolding the paper as she speaks. “And no matter how much I love that you’re wearing Louis Vuitton, it’s not your thing. You don’t wear anything expensive.”

Cameras flash inside her head at that moment, the aftermath of having a picture taken of her and the flash still bleeds inside her eyelids. Liu Yangyang in the shape of a gift, that’s what that purse means. Given to her a week ago, and still clinging to her side like pure nature.

What? The purse is cute…

“I—This is going to be so funny but,” Time for the truth, she tells herself. “I went to a party last week, right? And I went out to get some air because it was too cramped inside, so a guy crashed his car and—” Liying raises her eyebrows then, never showing quite as much of her expressions as that moment. “And it was so stupid, so I promised not to tell anyone and he gave me a Louis Vuitton.”

“Good guy.” Liying shrugs her shoulders. “Got his name?”

“Yeah.”

“Nice,” Liying says, turning the paper around. “Because he asked you to meet up with him in this place three days ago and you hadn’t even realized that he had put that paper inside your purse.”

Grasping the paper in between her hands, the flutter of a butterfly goes up her sternum and rests on her trachea. The handwriting on the paper feels like him, somewhat rushed, always on the verge of doing something, and with one little smiley face at the end, he does ask to meet up with her at certain place, three days ago, with the time written and all.

“…That’s the funny thing.” Though, her laughter sounds as fake as it possibly can be. “We both felt like we had seen each other and, hah, turns out it’s Liu Yangyang, your ex.”

Had it been anyone else, they would have at least gasped, but heart of steal, soul of stone, mind of ice—or better known as Liying—, simply seemed to find it fitting. “Huh,” She says, looking down at the piece of paper. “A downgrade for you but an upgrade for him. I think he’s asking you out.”

She shakes her head at that. “No way. He’s being friendly.” She says, quirking her eyebrow in the process. “Why? Is it the whole breaking his heart thing going on or—?”

“No.” Liying replies, zipping the bag in the process. “Yangyang is obnoxious and used to love Cheetos way too much for anyone’s liking, but he’s a nice guy.” She rolls her eyes then. “If you can keep up with the whole…Yangyang-ness that comes with it, and you’re really thinking about it, or about him. Who am I to say no?”

Sitting up, she hooks her fingers around the paper, crumpling it up in the process. “…Not like it matters if I’m curious about him. The day just passed.”

“Go there again.” The woman starts moving towards the kitchen, eager to give the children some sweets to see if they will get sleepy in the process. Liying’s intelligence goes above NASA at times. “Yangyang does party a lot, and attend a lot of events, but it’s always in the same places. People go to Yangyang, Yangyang never goes to the people.”

“…Why’s that?”

Liying sighs. “He’s rich, babe.” Pushing the candle into the pink-coated cake, the cream sloshing around a bit in the process, Liying chuckles at her own words. “Everyone follows after you if you’re rich.”

“…I don’t want him to think I’m just looking for money, though.” But, why does she even care about it? She has a Louis Vuitton bag now—

“And you took the Louis in the process of not wanting to seem like an opportunist?”

“I took it because he ran away before I could give it back to him.”

“And you were unable to go after him because…?”

“I was tired.”

Liying puts one hand on her waist, the shirt she is wearing a little bit more see-through with the passage of years, sticking to her like glue. Liying’s emotional side lets her cling onto the most miniscule of things. “Sorry to break it to you, babe, but your mind played games on you and took the purse because you wanted to have a reason to see him again, or something to cling onto until you saw him again. Not to blame…he’s a charming guy. Younger, but that’s the charm.” She sighs in the process of her train of thought. “…If only I liked older guys, I wouldn’t even be here on the first place.”

“I’m not interested in Yangyang.” She replies, clapping her hands together as she calls for the children.

“I could be the greater friend and say you shouldn’t, because he’s a man-child, and he’ll possibly be more of a headache than a good thing but—” Liying joins her then, screaming for the children to gather, the sounds of toys being dropped to the floor and cheers coming from the masses of children making her curse internally. While she’s here, their other friends are by Liying’s room, playing games online— “You are curious about him, and the mom in me is telling me I have to let you live your life so…” Liying taps her fingers against the crumpled piece of paper in between her hands. “Go there on the same day this week, same time. See if he’s there.”

###

A recording studio is not where she imagined herself to be on a Thursday at two in the afternoon, but it’s where Yangyang had invited her to go last week. With its gray walls, harsh lights that make her cringe onto herself in case someone looks a little too close at her face, and the staff rushing from one place to the other, she feels both sad and thankful that she’s not part of this. One, she doesn’t have to be judged by anyone but two, that almost means she’s not known by anyone as an artist.

Much to her surprise, the security guard at the entrance—at least two heads taller than her—had let her in at the mention of her name, but lost as lost can be she is when inside the studio. Asking one of the staff would be much too embarrassing, for Yangyang had invited her there, but he wasn’t exactly expecting her. Besides, if he had invited her, it would look too ridiculous to ask for his whereabouts. A fan, she would look like a fucking fan.

But, Yangyang doesn’t seem like an actor—if he was, and with the amount of popularity he has, he would have had at least three paparazzi on his back when he crashed his car. One step forward and she almost stumbles against one of the light guys, apologizing profusely as she continues going forward without a North. Whatever it is that she is doing other than looking around, is not the closest thing to finding Yangyang.

Much to her surprise, in front of one of the many green screens in that endless studio is Yangyang, seated in what she would compare to a director’s chair, the lights on him only highlighting the aspects of his face that had not been there when she had met him at the party. His lips are rosier, a sheen of highlight on both his cheekbones to make them more prominent—though, the structure of his face sculpted by the Gods was—. A golden bomber jacket rests on his arms, one leg crossed over the other as he speaks into the air with certainty. Confident with his hair pushed to the side and a small smile playing on his lips.

“Honestly, I’m just here to have a good time.” He shrinks into himself the slightest, tucking his hands under his thighs before swinging his legs back and forth. “I don’t care what anyone says,” A quirk of his eyebrow comes after, laughter following his statement. “Why would any of the other guys judge me for partying and buying expensive stuff when they, like, they do the same thing? It’s just…I want to live my twenties before I just completely turn my life upside down.”

The director asks, far too quickly. “How are you going to do that?”

Yangyang thinks for a moment, but he doesn’t deflate, much like he doesn’t give an absolute answer. “…What everyone does, go to Hollywood.” Though, he laughs at himself, shaking his head at the same time that the director asks to cut, a group of stylists rushing to him to fix his hair just at the same time that he stands up.

Statements. A green screen. Extra good makeup.

Questions.

They’re asking him questions about him…

And he’s here each week…

Yangyang is part of a reality show.

What the fuck?

Crossing her arms, she leans back on the wall as she watches the staff gather around him, telling him about places to go to after this, shootings that they need to do, and each voice molds onto itself until they are imperceptible. The farthest he gets from the green screen, the more she comes into view—with far less makeup than him and a red leather jacket that is much too old to compare to his bomber jacket.

Whatever.

Yangyang stops on his tracks when he sees her, stopping his typing on his phone when he smiles widely, like a kid that had just gotten his preferred kiss. “Girls’ Generation!” Confusion bathes the faces of the staff around him, and it takes her a second to curse under her breath when he moves towards her. Next thing she does is tell him her name. “Oh, sorry, I don’t keep up with the newest members.”

The only member he seemed to know was Liying, after all. “But you sure do keep up with something, Kim Kardashian.” She says, jotting her chin towards the chair that has now been taken over by someone else. “I didn’t know you were part of a reality show.”

“My manager asked me to join. Something about publicity…and people investing more in my appearances if I do. Influencer stuff, I guess? Like, I don’t like to call myself an influencer because I can’t, like, even influence my cat but…you know.” Yangyang goes around his answer a few times, earning a chuckle from her at the same time he drops a joke. “And please, call me Kendall. Taller, ass less fat, and I can pride myself on my legs.”

One look at them promises her that he is not lying. Long, slim, definitely looking good in whatever kind of pants he wears. “I’ll have to watch your show later.”

“Please, don’t.” Mortified, Yangyang shakes his head. “It’s all scripted and for drama. I promise, that’s not really how I want you to see me.”

Instead, she licks her lips. “Well, I found a paper in my bag asking me to meet you up here so…” She trails her voice. “How do you want me to see you?”

The challenge must have excited Yangyang, who runs his fingers through his hair and she almost believes she saw one of the staff dying in the process. That, or she’s trying to find other reactions similar to hers, heart thumping against her chest. “Well, I have some unreleased movies in my mansion and I thought we could—”

A woman with glasses propped on her nose, very much over the age of sixty, shakes her head as she nears Yangyang. “You can’t do anything today.” She finishes for him, throwing a look towards her before swallowing thickly. Something tells her that this is his manager, because she doesn’t look like Yangyang at all, and because of her authority.

Each day she is more thankful of having Hao.

“Why?” Yangyang drags his voice in a whine, turning to his manager to talk to her. “I thought I had Thursdays all for myself.”

“You thought correctly, but not today.” The woman turns her tablet to bathe Yangyang’s face on its glow. “Someone contracted you for a photoshoot today and I need you to take your pretty face to your limo so we can get there on time and have your makeup redone.”

Well, fucking shit.

She came all the way here for nothing.

Yangyang glances at her in the matter of seconds, his hands coming forward to grasp hers in their hold. His fingers are cold, mannerisms not as quickened as his voice, with his fingers soft like silk against her skin. She could get used to it. “Sorry.” He mumbles, biting his lip after. “Want to give me your number so we can meet up some other time?”

“Okay.” She says, soon after Yangyang takes his phone out of his pocket, giving it to her after unlocking it.

“Do you need me to call a cab for you?”

“Don’t worry. I’ll walk home—”

“No way.” Yangyang denies, eyes turning to his manager. “Can we wait five minutes and call a cab for her? I can’t leave her alone here.”

“You don’t have to do that—”

“I want to.” He says, taking his phone in between his hands again before pointing to a door on the left. “There are some really good crepes over there, want to eat something as my manager calls a cab for you?”

A dream man doesn’t exist, they just don’t. She knows this, has engraved it in her brain and heart with each disappointment that has met her in the shape of a lover. However, with Yangyang talking over bites of his food, films that she hasn’t even heard about going past his lips with ease, summary after summary all awfully explained, she can’t help but think that she can get used to it.

Get used to the fluttery feeling that follows her when he closes the door to her cab and waves to her until he’s out of sight.  

###

To: Group-Chat.

I’m going to Yangyang’s place today.

The meteorite that splays in colors, leaving a black hole in its wake, comes in the shape of messages, both meaning to entice her to go into this damned date…and others simply for the sake of laughter.

From: Liying.

Ask for Alexander Wang’s newest collection.

From: Elena Wang.

He has money?

From: Liying.

Lots.

From: Yifei.

That’s it.

Girls.

We’re collectively asking for something so our babe can ask Yangyang to gift it to her.

And we do that each time they meet.

From: Elena Wang.

A ring.

From: Shishi.

The entire Dragon Ball collection.

From: Liying.

Clothes for children.

Preferably my daughter.

From: Bingbing.

Ladies, we all collectively suck.

We shouldn’t ruin her date like that.

(I say, as I lie through my teeth).

From: Angela.

We’re just joking, babe.

Go on that date!

If it didn’t work with Liying, it may work for you.

To: Group-Chat.

Thanks for making it awkward, Ange.

Important nights deserve bigger measures. An extra look in the mirror. Another movement of her hands to fix her hair and a blow of air that almost leaves her breathless, opening one more button of her shirt before hooking it again. She straightens her back, but with her heart thumping against her ribcage with more intensity at the action, she sighs. What is it about him? This man, whose life doesn’t fit hers at all, manages to make her curious. An itch. Thirst. Whatever this is, it palpitates with curiousness.

The mansion looks different in the daylight, but maybe she was a bit too tipsy when she had been here last. She smiles at the door, because why not practice for a while? Why not wait and ponder if this is another one of her bad decisions? Someone whose sunshine smile radiates on her eyes, blinds her, then takes her to a million trips towards the fields of heartbreak. He’ll know everything of her before she will even know what his favorite color is.

She had grown with only women in her life. No man in sight. Women gave out their empathy while men casted sympathy. Love is such a wicked game that it never gave her a moment to think better, to think about the words that had always been told to her:

Find a man who’d stop himself from kissing you if that meant hearing your voice.

But that never happens, so why is she here? Why does her finger come forward and press on the doorbell? Legs shaking, hands twirling against one another, she stops herself from running away when she hears Yangyang’s voice coming from the microphone at the entrance, telling her to hold up for a second.

She doesn’t need a man.

Then, why does she want one?

Why does she want him?

Diamonds have never been her thing, for the brightest thing she has seen is a smile. Convertibles can’t mean a thing when she can move in a cab and get the company of someone else while she writes some songs on the way home. Yangyang believes in the opposite of the world she has built for herself—the truest her, but that doesn’t seem to cross her head when he’s in front of her, in a white t-shirt and the air of a fucking nightmare.

Because falling for Yangyang is going to be a nightmare, much more when he calls her name as if it’s the melody of his favorite song that he had forgotten about in the twists of life, and when it comes up in the radio, he just knows about it. The lyrics, the tune, he appreciates it, loves it to bits for the three minutes and some seconds that it lasts.

Yangyang is three minutes and some seconds.

Yangyang is a nice feeling, nothing more, nothing less.

“You look pretty.” The glance-over he gives to her body is imperceptible, had it not been for his compliment, she would have never noticed that Yangyang spared one of the rushed seconds of his day by looking at her. “Wanna get inside?”

“It’s not like I came here to stand by the door.” She jokes around, making sure to smile just to avoid any misunderstandings. Yangyang closes the door behind them when she does get inside, one arm coming up to rest on her shoulder as he moves her forward.

“You know, I really thought you were, like, the sweet kind when I met you.”

“I am the sweet kind.” She wishes she could pay more attention to the living room around her, much more spacious when there are not hundreds of people scattered to make a place for themselves in this world of social rules. “You just…” Her words cut off when she looks at him, for his lips tell her—in silence, something she would never connect with Yangyang—that she’ll probably get in trouble with this one. “You don’t make it easy to be sweet to you.”

His lips move with such precision in her line of sight that she almost snaps out of it. Looking into his eyes would be less of a clear sign of her interest, but when he throws himself on top of his couch, legs sprawled like his arms to call out for her attention, she realizes something…

She’s really interested in Liu Yangyang.

“I’m going to earn it, I’m sure.” How in the world Liying called him insecure? She’s not sure. Instead, Yangyang leans his weight forward, taking a big bag of Doritos from the coffee table before opening it in one swift motion. A remote rests on his other hand, leaning back on the couch with the bag placed on his lap and his left arm extended for her to lay on it. “I have some films for us to watch…and I bought different snacks because I wasn’t sure which one you liked the most.”

“We can share.” She says, taking the spot beside him before slowly descending into the pits of Hell, letting her cheek rest on the side of his slim arm. “Do I get to pick what film to watch?”

Yangyang’s hand practically snatches eight pieces of Doritos to throw them inside his mouth, nodding in the process. “That was the initial plan.”

“Okay.” Taking the remote from his hands, she skims through the unreleased films he had talked about. “How do you even have these films?”

“My family owns a film production company. They all come from there.” Yangyang says as if it’s the most casual thing in the world, and she tries not to make a big deal out of it.

“Then, how did you end up in a reality show?”

“It’s a reality show to, well, like, show the lives of rich people and their children. I’m not always there, like, I’m not a regular.”

“Ah, I see…” She replies. “Does your family appear more regularly on the show?”

“What?” Yangyang asks incredulously, smiling.

“You said rich people and their children…”

“Yeah, but my family didn’t want to tag along.” His voice doesn’t become distant, fingers resting on her shoulder to play a bit with the fabric of her shirt. “Mom said if I was crazy for putting a portion of my life out there—for basically looking for the wrong kind of, like, of…” He looks up for a second, finding the right words. “Publicity, but I didn’t care at the time. I thought it was just going to be like recordings of my friends and I when we went out partying.”

“And what is it like?” She questions, cheek squished against his skin, movies momentarily forgotten for a moment, for her eyes are absolutely connected to this portion of him—the real behind the blinding smile.

“They give you a script and they make you sign a contract that says you have to, like, always be involved in drama, I want to say?” Yangyang chuckles in the process. “Basically, if I stayed quiet for too long, my manager would have to make me do something. Like, I don’t know, create a dating rumor or something…and that would have people talking for a while and boom,” He claps his hands together, right over her body, making her chuckle in the process. “We have a new season.” Though, the position makes him be a bit closer to her, enough for her to count his eyelashes, see the small blemishes on his delicate skin.

“Do you do that right now?”

“Nope, I stopped being a regular because of that.” Yangyang drags his voice, a groan coming soon after. “It was tiring. I’m just there for the fun…and for acting experience, I guess. It’s fun to see the drama go on when I’m not in the drama.”

“Huh, interesting.”

“What about you?”

“Pardon?”

“What do you do?” His back comes in contact with the couch once again, leaving her with the time to breathe in oxygen and not his pure cologne. Somehow, she misses it.

“I’m a singer.” Though, she corrects herself when Yangyang parts his lips in surprise. “Well, I am trying to be a singer—let’s just say I am unemployed as of now. I have a manager, just haven’t had my big break, that’s all.”

“You are not part of a record label?” Yangyang asks, only to have her shaking her head. “Well, I have some contacts. I think one of my cousins owns a record label, so I could call him up—”

“Yangyang, you haven’t even heard me sing.” She tells him…because Yangyang lives his life with a blindfold, stepping forward without seeing if there’s an abyss just two steps away. “Are you always like this with strangers? You can’t offer me opportunities like that—”

For the first time in a while, Yangyang stays silent—he never does, much less does he look like he’s deep in thought, as if there is a portion of him that questions the reason behind his smiles, his humongous parties, his social presence that seems to follow him everywhere he goes. “Isn’t it better to trust too much than not trust anyone at all?”

“No.” She says, fingers coming up to interlock with his on her shoulder. “Yangyang, you’re going to end up hurt. Not by me, I can reassure you that, but by someone else…”

“It’s not like it hasn’t happened.” Yangyang says, and the seriousness in his voice is masked by a cramped smile. “It, like, it doesn’t matter. I’m a savage. I have money. It doesn’t matter, really. I can get over anything.”

“…Yeah, but you should be careful about what you give out to people.”

“A record deal isn’t that big of a—”

“Yangyang, I have spent years trying to find a record deal, of course it’s difficult—”

“Then, let me help you.”

“No.” She adds. “The beauty of reaching your dream is knowing you went through Hell and back for it, and you never gave up.”

One hand rests over her head, moving her from side to side. “That’s such a big brain person saying. I don’t even know what, like, to tell you.” Laughter bubbles from her, staring at his brown eyes that twinkle under the sunlight that peaks through the windows. “Okay, I’ll let it be.”

“Okay. Thank you, anyways.”

“Anytime.” This time around, she does turn her attention back to the TV screen, humming a song to herself as she looks through the options. “Oh shit, I forgot the drinks.”

Yet, she’s too comfortable in his arms to really care about that at this moment. “We can go search for them after the movie.”

“Are you really going to have Doritos without some soda on the side?”

“…Yes. It’s the healthier option, actually.”

“It’s not the—” Yangyang cuts himself short, sighing deeply. “It’s not the funniest option, darling. Life is about having fun.”

“Are we really having this conversation over soda?”

“Yes.” Yangyang throws his head back, neck in full display for her to see when he calls out a name she doesn’t know: “Lai Fang!” Silence. “Lai Fang, can you get me some soda, please?”

It must be one of his workers, now that she thinks about it, but much to Yangyang’s surprise, more than one person get out of the kitchen. Each of them dressed to utmost perfection—all in black uniforms, but sporting something similar other than that…the luggage that they carry, some bags, some simply display their disappointment on their faces.

The woman in the front, with short hair and lively nature, lets the wrinkles on her face speak about her years of hard work when she lowers her voice the slightest. “Yangyang, I’m sorry to say that I am not going to be working here anymore. None of us are.”

Maybe, since this is a date, she had expected Yangyang to act remotely cool. However, his arm slips away from the back of her head as he stands up, rushing to whom she supposes is Lai Fang. “What? No, no, no, no, no.” He repeats, waving his hands in the air as panic overtakes him. “I’ve paid you all. My chefs, my cleaners, my valets, my guards. What? Why are you leaving?”

Lai Fang sighs deeply, taking Yangyang’s hands in between hers before rubbing soft circles on top of the skin. “Yang, your family asked for some time-out. We will no longer be working here for you because they want you to learn how to fend for yourself. Something about being too spoiled—”

“Guys!” Yangyang says, a smile on his face as he tries to mend things. She rests her chin on the backrest of the couch, staring at the scene unfolding in front of her. His world is crumbling down at his feet at that mere moment. “Guys, we don’t have to tell them! I’m perfectly fine with doing my stuff, but you know how it is…nothing will ever be the same without all of you guys here!”

“We have to leave, Yangyang.” Lai Fang lets go of his hands, and what seems to be tears gather at her eyes as she pulls away from him.

“No, Lai Fang! You can’t leave—!” Almost like a kid watching his mother go to work in the morning as he stayed home on a Saturday, Yangyang tries to rush for the entrance door, stopping anyone from leaving. Had it not been for one of the other workers winning over him in speed and opening the door, no one would have been able to leave. “What am I going to do now?”

“Be a normal young adult and live your own life.” Lai Fang says, rubbing her eyes before waving her hand at Yangyang one last time. “You can always text me if you need help, but this is the last day I’m working for you, Yangyang.”

“But—” His words are cut off with the staff leaving one by one, not hearing his pleas when the door closes in front of him before he could say anything else.

Silence fills the air. Seconds in which his eyes seem to be trained to that door, as if he just had a nightmare and he’ll wake up at any second. The screen still blinks and calls for their attention, so she does what would be best in that moment—

“Let’s watch a movie and calm down for a second, okay?”

Yangyang cuts himself out of whatever trance he had put himself in, clearing his throat before nodding. “Yeah, I’ll go look for the soda.”

“Sure. I’ll wait for you here.”

The sound of pans clashing against each other, plates clanking obnoxiously and Yangyang cursing under his breath continuously tells her that this won’t be easy for him. Liu Yangyang has been left to be a normal adult for once, and he can’t quite fit in into the role. What a curse.

###

With soup sloshing around the container that she holds in between her hands, she doesn’t know how to ring Yangyang’s doorbell. She could scream, of course, but she doubts he will hear her from the depths of his mansion. Not that there are a lot of people there to start with, considering that all his staff left only days ago, but with how saddened he has been about the loneliness in his own home, she can imagine he’s buried deep in his bed, earphones taking him to a whole new world where he doesn’t actually have to prepare lunch.

Her foot must do.

She brings her foot up until it graces the doorbell, but it falls down before she could ring it. Fuck. She repeats the action and digs the tip of her Converse shoes into the doorbell, creating a prolonged sound that should call out for Yangyang’s attention. In the far distance, she hears an unintelligible scream that she connects to his presence, followed by the sprinting that she knows he always does when going through his house.

Out of the many things she has done for someone she is interested in—cursive in interested, there’s nothing more there—, making them the healing soup she had perfected from an online recipe and bringing it to them wasn’t an option. Sure, maybe she just feels a tad guilty for what happened to Yangyang, it wasn’t his fault to live in a world of fantasies and for him to be dropped into reality in the blink of an eye. That doesn’t happen to a lot of people.

But, why is she helping him?

The door opens to welcome the sight of Yangyang looking like the most beautiful mess she has ever met. For the first time in her life, she believes it when people say the best of attractions come when you’re attracted to everything, including their imperfections. His brown hair stays a mess on his head, sticking around in several portions. Eyebags cover his usually taut skin, and for utmost reference of what he is doing, his hands are bathed in soap. His shirt—once white, she can realize that much—now sprawls bits of pink in the weirdest of places, the only thing seemingly put together the gray sweatpants on his nice legs.

“Help.” Yangyang breathes out at that moment, not quite realizing that his hands are very soapy when he comes forward to wrap her up in a hug. Yangyang’s dramatic on his actions, she believes, and his parents may want to start pondering on adding him to one of their movies by the way he lifts her off her feet the slightest to hug her, bending her back a bit to be able to push his weight forward, hide his face on her hair and let out the longest sigh she has heard. “I’m trying to do laundry and all my clothes are now pink.”

…She’s helping him because of this.

The hand that is not only onto the container rests on his back, fingers threading over the fabric of his shirt to rub against his scapula. “Oh, baby, that’s no good…”

“I’ve been doing laundry for an entire night and now all my Alexander Wang collection is gone.”

Oh, shit.

One of her friends had mentioned the Alexander Wang collection…and she doesn’t know how much it is worth, but it’s one hell of a lot.

“Yang, have you had anything to eat?”

“Cheetos count?”

She pulls away to look into his eyes, running her free hand over his locks to pat them in place, though his hands don’t let go of her waist and her eyes can’t get enough of this sight of his face that she had not seen. The pout, the helplessness, the beauty of wanting to try to be normal. “Cheetos don’t count.” She mumbles, lifting the container up to his face. “I brought you some soup. My special healing soup.”

With nimble fingers, he grasps onto the plastic container, eyes widening momentarily before he babbles out: “A—And you’re helping me learn how to do laundry?”

“How about this?” She makes herself at home when she goes past him, taking off her jacket and swathing it on the hanger at the corner. “I’ll teach you how to be a normal person. Laundry. How to use a stove. All of the like.”

Yangyang closes the door behind him, his fingers now coming in contact with the little post-it note she had placed on top of the container, and she has to look away the moment he lowers his gaze to read it in a mumble.

“You can do it, Yang.” He reads out, before a sweet giggle leaves his lips. “Okay, let’s learn how to be a normal person.”

###

“Wait, wait, wait, hold up.” Even when saying that, Yangyang’s actions don’t falter the slightest bit, squatting in front of her guitar case to open it as she prepares her electric guitar for a street performance. “You have to do this every time you run out of money?”

He doesn’t understand it, and she can’t bring herself to be mad at him, looking around in case anyone has heard the mere obvious. She still owes her landlord one month of rent and in light of not having any café or bar performances coming soon, she has to search for a way to reunite the money to be able to pay her rent. Crossing the guitar over her chest and making sure the guitar amplifier is well connected, she hums at what he says.

The city bustles on its wake this afternoon, people going from side to side, the lake behind her surrounded by tourists and people who want to have their sweet picnics. Much to their delight, she’s going to sing today…and that may be against what they would have imagined their afternoon to go like.

“Yep.” She pops the word out, lowering the volume and practicing some of her minor chords. “Yangyang, being an artist is difficult and maybe, I’m just really not that talented, and that’s why—”

Yangyang moves his hands from side to side in front of her, movements erratic and somewhat dramatic, the sleeves of his designer sweater floating around his hands comically. “We’re not saying that. You’re talented. That’s something I have already established.”

“You haven’t even heard me play or sing anything.”

This is all he needs, a challenge or a dare, something that makes him sit in front of her guitar case, dropping a few bills into it that may be a little bit too much, his whole attention trained towards her—weeks of knowing him and still, she can’t see an imperfection in him that doesn’t make her heart beat rapidly, either in annoyance or because she’s flattered by this whole new world that she has met with him. “Okay, play something.” Yangyang says, bringing his knees up his chest, his chin squishing itself against the bony surface before nodding softly. “I’ll be your biggest fan, I promise.”

She has played the guitar too many times, sang even more, when sober or when drunken, when in a party or when alone, but somehow, this feels different. His eyes on hers, studying her but never judging her, listening and truly understanding the words that escape her lips when she sings, watching her with so much intent that she feels nervousness for the first time. Her eyes close, trying to lose herself in the feeling of being there—of being supported, because Liu Yangyang oddly feels like her first fan, and she’s not quite against it.

When she opens her eyes, minutes later to start another song, she’s surprised not to see Yangyang. Not that he is too far away, blending into the groups of people as he calls them over, pointing at her widely in a way that has her laughing a bit at herself in between the words she is singing. Yangyang sprints from one place to the other, capturing people as he says:

“Do yourselves a favor and listen to her!”

It’s at that moment that she realizes there is really something more than interest, but what would be closer to love at first sight. There, with him, she can’t imagine having no one else by her side. There, with him, she wondered how in the world destiny had connected the two of them. Not a bad match, but definitely an unexpected one.

###

There’s a reason why human contact is so beautiful, and it is because the brain has the possibility of remembering far more than what we intend. Homely, it feels like, when Yangyang enters the convenience store after parking the cheapest of his convertibles outside, and decides to slot his fingers in between hers. Slim fingers, nails that come in contact with the outside of her hand, his rings scalding in coldness against her skin. There are diamonds in there, ones that left imprints each time he held her hand, but now she can’t get enough of them.

She wouldn’t say Yangyang is perfect—he isn’t. Spoiled, he seems to be, somewhat lost in his own world of seeing the good in everyone. For him, spending as much as he does is enjoying life, but he’s learning. A good listener, a copycat of what he hears and deems right, Yangyang now comes into a new phase of his life.

With her free hand, a kiss resting on her cheek in the process, she takes a cart out of its confines. Yangyang fixes the cap on his head as if not to bother her when he goes for another kiss to her cheek, the fabric of his white sweater—no longer making his clothes turn pink, thankfully—rubs against her forearm when she speaks up. “Now, Yangyang, how much should we normally spend in groceries?”

The man thinks for a moment, walking forward with her as she goes to the first hall. “I don’t know, like, seven hundred bucks?”

She turns to him with her eyebrows very raised, lips parted before breathing out the deepest of: “No. Yangyang, what the fuck? You live alone, I’m sure you can get to spend much less than that.”

“Sorry.” Yangyang speaks, laughter overtaking his body, his shoulders shaking in the process. “I spend like a thousand at minimum every time I buy something.”

This is the part of her that, sometimes, feels like Yangyang and her will never fit into the same sentence. Too different of lives can only create a mess when colliding together. A beautiful mess, she likes to call it. Losing him is not something she is thinking about as of now. “No, Yangyang, we’re not—We’re not doing that.”

“Okay, so what must I do?” Yangyang asks, and she takes this moment to dip her hand into her own pocket, taking her phone out, unlocking it and giving it to him.

“We’re going to use our trusting friend, a calculator, and try to stop ourselves from overspending.” She speaks softly, listening to the faint sound of what seems to be jazz music in the background. “And by us, I mean you.”

“In my defense, I always ‘almost failed’ math class in high school.” Yangyang replies and, as always, he makes her laugh.

“Why am I not surprised?”

“Hey! I was a great student in, like, language class and stuff.”

Something about the smiles they both share makes her feel perfect—it shouldn’t, never has she felt quite like this, and somehow, she can’t bring herself to pull away when his lips come forward and rest on her forehead. Not that he has gotten anywhere remotely close to her lips, though, practically prolonging the stress of not knowing where they stand. Friends. Friends that like each other. Fire and water coming together. Something.

It’s comfortable, but no one knows exactly what it is.

###

The shivering feeling that comes after a sip of lemonade, sugar to the tongue, on a hot day of summer is the best feeling in this world. It reminds her of excitement—to reply to someone’s text on the early stages of dating, to get on stage for the first time after hearing a round of applause, all in one simplistic taste. Not even the laughter that surrounds her living room as her friends gather around could make her feel as great.

Her head lays on Bingbing’s lap, the fabric of the red dress Yangyang had bought for her relishing against her skin when she turns to her side, listening to the story Elena is telling through sips of her wine, the glasses ones that she hadn’t ever gotten out of her shelves but now co-exist in the hands of her friends. Life is good, for one second, she doesn’t have to think about the unknowingness of her existence in a world that is much too big.

Though, someone knocks at her door, enough to interrupt Elena as she presses her mouth in a thin line. “Who could it be? We haven’t ordered anything yet.” Elena says, and Bingbing takes the time to extend her hands after she gets off, pulling her dress down the slightest to cover more of her thighs and go over to the door.

“We should. I’m craving pizza like crazy.” Bingbing instructs, but she doesn’t pay much attention to what the woman is saying. Instead, she pulls a sweater up and down her body, covering the neckline of her dress before getting the door. Fingers threading on the doorknob, she opens it without really checking who it is, and if someone had told her this would be a sight for her to see months ago, she would’ve laughed straight at their faces.

A starry-looking button down covers his chest, but his legs are in display thanks to his ripped jeans, yet the dark color scheme is changed for something much brighter when his lips part in a smile and he points at the cardboard he has hanging from his neck thanks to some thick thread.

In red letters, much too bright, clearly in his handwriting, Yangyang has written ‘Kissing Booth’ and one dollar by its side. “Hi!” Yangyang greets, making everyone in the living room shush themselves to listen to what they’re saying—he may not see them, but all her friends had noticed him. “So, since you don’t let me help you economically and, like, you said you would only accept money that you’ve earned…I’m doing a kissing both. One dollar and I give a kiss out. So, you know, I can give you some money.”

She has to frown at his logic, or maybe, it’s the idea of Yangyang kissing anyone but her that makes the lemonade glass on her hands almost fall. “Yang, what are you even talking about?”

“All profits from the kissing booth will go directly to your bank account for your rent.” He indicates, moving his feet back and forth before looking up. “…I haven’t had any clients, though—”

“You are not having any clients.” She conquers.

“Why?”

“I’m not letting you kiss anyone.” The moment those words leave her lips, she can hear Liying snickering in the far distance, too soft for it to be heard by anyone, much more when Shishi splays her hand on top of her mouth to keep her from making any noise. “…For me. I’m not letting you kiss anyone for me.”

“Why?” Yangyang asks, leaning his weight against the doorframe before quirking an eyebrow. “You’re jealous, aren’t you?”

“…Ah…” She clears her throat, not noticing just how close he is until she feels that damned, obnoxiously ugly cardboard sign bump against her chest. “What if I am?”

Taking his wallet out of his pocket, Yangyang gets out a lot more bills than necessary, putting them on her hand before shrugging. “You shouldn’t. Someone just paid you around a hundred kisses from the kissing booth guy. I don’t know the source, though.”

With her heart thumping like crazy, she watches as Yangyang takes her by the waist, hands fisting the fabric of her sweater before his lips descended upon hers. Fervor bleeds through his kisses, wanting and needing more of her, overtaking any rational thoughts as he makes all the worries dissipate. Her hands have a mind of their own as they thread through his hair, never getting enough of him—enough of the fantasies he likes to live just to spice up her reality.

When he pulls away, he gives a step forward, ready to take her inside until she breathes out quickly: “Yang, all my friends are here.”

“What?” The poor guy says, roses blooming on his cheeks when he turns to the left, watching the group of women raise their hands in the air.

“Surprise!” They all greet in a way that has Yangyang hiding his face on the crook of her neck, bringing a smile to her face.

She could get used to this. Not for three seconds, but for much longer.

#yangyang scenarios #yangyang #wayv scenarios #wayv #nct scenarios #nct #kpop scenarios #writing #how to lose someone in seven steps?

[millllenniawrites]

top shelf (FO! Poe Dameron x f!OC)

part one of when the stars miss the sun

words: 1.7ish

warnings: dark!ooc!Poe Dameron (if you want specifics, dm me); smut (not in this chapter but in the rest of the series so 18+ please folks); prostitution; established relationship (sort of); slow burn (yes the two can coexist leave me alone); redemption arc; Pixar ending; murder; warnings will be added as the series progresses

a/n: okay I never post oc content on here so this is scary. thank you to @kesskirata for giving me the confidence to post this. This was a writing exercise that @vampirewithbedsidemanners and I wrote while editing Horizons that ended up being really cool? So now y’all get to see it. THIS CONTAINS SPOILERS FOR HORIZONS so if you’re keeping up with that series, don’t read this! like, major major spoilers! It’s literally all the same characters in an AU together! If you are somehow reading this after Horizons is fully posted in 2023 cause it’s probably gonna take that long, you’re good. The spoilers only go up until the end of that book.

__

Around the bar was a collection of high-top tables, packed with men clad in leather and partially obscured by the clouds of spice that hung around their heads. Redell moved like magic between the tables, shimmering and glowing even in the dark, eyes drawn to her against their will from men would never get their hands on her — men that couldn’t afford her even if they gave up their lives.

Redell waltzed down the dark hallway to the back rooms, her hips swaying with every step. Her heels clicked softly on the polished floors, their sound drowned out by the moans coming from the closed doors that lined the hall. Every step was one foot closer to victory or an early grave, not that anyone could tell she carried the knowledge on her shoulders.

She reached the end of the hall and opened up her room. The door slid shut behind her, leaving her in the dim lights that illuminated one tall, dark man sitting on the couch. He leaned forward, setting his glass on the short table in front of him. His strong jaw, a loose curl falling into his eyes, little details that almost let her overlook the uniform he wore.

She smiled, sweet but double-edged like the blade that ran down her back, as she sauntered over to him and straddled his lap.

“Long time no see, Admiral. Did y’miss me, honey?” She grinned, her voice low and tempting, playing the role she knew like the back of her hand .

“You know it’s hard not to.” He let his eyes move slowly over her. Not that he really needed to. He had her memorized.

Sliding his hands up her thighs, he smiled sweetly at her. “Is this room one of yours? Or do I have to behave?” He wasn’t new to this. Though not all of his meetings with the Resistance had been with Red, they were predictable. Either the room was clean and they could talk freely, or he’d fuck her for the cameras that were watching his every move and leave, slipping her the drive in his pocket and hoping that next time, they’d get to have a real conversation.

There weren’t many real conversations to spare in the First Order.

“It’s one of mine. I set it up just for you.” Redell’s fingertips trailed down his chest. Her nails were short, not like the long claws on some of the other girls, but he had no doubt that Red could tear his throat out without them. “Is that okay, baby?”

“Y-yeah that’s just fine.” He relaxed, the exterior that had been drilled into him since he joined up faltering in front of her. “It’s been too long, Red.”

“I know.” She murmured, kissing him deeply as she grinded on his lap. It was never like it was with everyone else. Her persona faltered, leaving her soft and vulnerable and sweet. There was something so real to the way she kissed him.

“Are you coming home with me this time?” She whispered, the same question she asked every time she had him in her arms, not ever wanting to let him go.

He shook his head. “But I’ve got you until tomorrow.” The Order looked the other way when their officers landed on-world. They’d barely notice the thousand credits transferring from their account directly into Resistance hands. “Come home with me.”

“Yes.” She answered immediately, kissing him again.

He shuddered under her, his hands tangling in her loose, curly hair. She brought out a softness in him that no else else ever got to see. Cradling her to his chest, he let his hands slide over her forbidden skin. He would never deserve this.

When she pulled away, leaving him gasping, she asked, “As your whore or something else?”

“As a friend?”

“Friend works. For now.” She murmured against his lips.

“Just for now? You looking for a promotion?” His hands hovered over her ass. The moment she asked for it he’d have her way with her, but before then he needed to make sure they looked like they were playing their parts if the door opened.

“I’d like to get fired, actually. So I get a choice.” She ran her fingers through his hair, tilting his head back and gazing softly at him. He let her manhandle him, even as she trailed a finger down his neck. “Is there anything I should pass on before you take me home? Just in case?”

His head spun with how quickly she could go between work and ruining him. “Just the stuff at the house.”

“Lead the way then, baby.” She said softly, wrapping her arms around his shoulders.

He carried her out the back of the bar, so no one stopped them. Reached his shuttle, he unlocked it before carrying her up the boarding ramp.

He settled into his seat, Red sitting in his lap with her legs draped over one arm of the chair.. “You comfortable there, sweetheart?”

“Mhm.” She hummed, resting her head on his shoulder. “Is this your shuttle or do I have to behave?” She asked quietly, already kissing his neck.

“It’s mine.” He let out a soft moan as her lips brushed the sweet spot under his jaw, following it with a chuckle. “Don’t make us crash.”

“I won’t.” She kissed his lips briefly before nestling into his lap. “You were gone a while. Do anything interesting while you were out?” She asked, playing with his hair.

“We had a couple of yours end up in one of my interrogation centres. That was a headache to fix. Otherwise, not really. Just the usually dark and gloomy.” His face split into a wry grin.

“You know, it’s much nicer back with us. You’re welcome to come with me. Defect. I’ve got space in my bed for you.” She said suggestively, like it wasn’t something she offered most times he saw her.

“As tempting as that is, sweetheart, your leadership is never gonna accept an ex-Admiral from the Order. If I defect, I’ll be spending the rest of the war in one of your prisons.” He toyed with the ends of her curls as he piloted the shuttle with one hand. “And you’d lose your informant. Isn’t it better for you to have a man on the inside?”

“Would my man on the inside consider making this arrangement a little more permanent then?”

His eyebrows knit together. “You’re the only one getting my intel.” She had been for a while.

“I’m not talking about the intel. I’m talking about access. You can’t come to us. Maybe I can stay with you.”

His eyebrows shot up. It sometimes took him a minute to remember that she wasn’t just a pretty face. “Yes. Yeah. Let’s do that. Assuming you’re okay with coming on the Finalizer with me in four weeks.”

“Sounds like fun.” She grinned. “You’re my only client at Vinny’s. I don’t have to go anywhere but your bed for the foreseeable future.” Her hands slid down his chest, tucking under his shirt. “I’ll work on getting you a pardon. To keep you out of prison.”

“I’m sure you’ve got better things to do.” He got himself into the mess. He was just doing as much good as he could before it all caught up to him and he ended up in a First Order prison or open space, depending on how his boss was feeling.

“I’m very talented at multitasking,” she said quietly. “You never told me why you joined the Order.”

He grumbled, “It sounded like a good idea at the time.”

She’d never asked before. If he was going to tell anyone, it might as well have been her. Red was the only one it was even remotely safe to be open with, and he knew he was going to die before he had the chance to find someone else he could trust as much as he’d come to trust her.

“The government was a mess. I was young. I wanted to prove that I could be a rebel like my parents.” He traced patterns on her thigh to ground himself. “By the time I realized that it was a knock-off Empire, I was in too deep.”

She cupped his face, her persona dropping. She wasn’t a prostitute anymore but a true rebel, flames burning in her blue eyes. “We’ve all got skeletons in our closets, Poe. It’s never too late.”

“Sweetheart, you don’t get to Admiral by doing nothing.” A Destroyer would be his coffin. Deep space, his grave. There was no running from his past.

Her eyes turned black. “You don’t get head an intel team just by floating by either. Doesn’t make me any less of a rebel.”

He tilted her chin up and kissed her, softer with her then he should have been.

#poe dameron #poe dameron x oc #poe dameron fic #fo!poe dameron #first order poe dameron #dark poe dameron

[i-used-to-wear-the-fedora]

NSR Beauty and the Beast AU, Misunderstandings

Based on @chiquitabanana5 's AU!

"This way!"

"How do you know where we're going?!"

"I don't!" Mayday ran through the mansion's halls with Zuke close behind. The creatures the glowing eyes belonged to were close behind. Their forms obscured by the darkness but it was clear whatever was chasing the duo, they were huge. The footsteps thundering down the halls were loud and fast.

"May what-erk!" Zuke's question was cut off as he was yanked into a side room by his partner. Slamming the door shut Mayday and Zuke quickly retreated into the furthest corner. The creatures began to bang on the floor, handle rattling.

"Oh God, oh God, oh God, oh God..." Zuke kept repeating as he fell to the floor.

"Let us in." A gravelly voice called from outside. Something raking against the door...claws? There was a loud crunch of a fist punching through the door. Mayday and Zuke shrieked in horror, watching the fur covered hand reach to unlock the door.

"We're to die. There was so much I wanted to do." Zuke was shaking as he spoke. Mayday's eyes shifted as something occured to her.

"I've got an idea!"

"May, whatever you're thinking. Don't." But it was too late as May ran over to the flailing arm. Grabbing it on her hands, Zuke watched in a mix of confusion and horror as she bit down on it.

"What the hell?!" One of the voices on the other side of door yelped. Trying to shake May loose but she was determined.

"May! What are you doing?" Zuke gaped at the girl who finally unclamped her jaw, the hand retreating.

"Fighting back!" She made a face before spitting out some fur. "Eugh, it's like licking a battery." The audible attempts at forcing the door open had stopped when one of the voices on the other side spoke up.

"Can you open up? We're not going to hurt you." Mayday and Zuke looked at each other, both incredibly unconvinced.

"You were literally just chasing us." Mayday said angrily, crossing her arms.

"To be fair, you did break into our house." One of the creatures said. To be fair it...wasn't wrong.

"We thought this place was abandoned." Zuke tried to explain. "We just needed a place to stay for the night. We're stranded out here." There was murmuring on the other side of the door. The creatures talking amongst themselves for a couple of minutes before quieting down.

"We'll help you."

"What?" Mayday asked.

"We have an old limo in the garage," one of the other voices said, "we can fix it up! Might take a while but it'll get you home." The musicians were still unsure but to be fair, what other option did they have?

"Can you come out now? Preferably no biting this time."

"I make no promises." May spoke as she unlocked the door and carefully opened it. The hallway was lit now, allowing the duo to clearly see their pursuers.

"Whoa. You're...tall..." Was all Zuke could get out when he saw them. The group of five was indeed, very tall. Their faces were shaped like that of a weird deer creature's. Patches of fur were scattered, showing the robotic parts underneath. They were all different colors with weird hairstyles. The red one with a mohawk was clutching his hand. He was eyeing Mayday wearily.

"That's a word for it." Mayday gaped. "Okay, I get the others are living objects but what are you?"

"May!"

"What? It's an honest question." One of the deer creatures, the green one, kneeled down to face then. The grin he had on would be nice and welcoming if it was anyone else. But instead it showed off all of his sharp fangs, like a wolf barring it's teeth. Mayday and Zuke did their best not to flinch when the deer spoke.

"I'm Eloni. And these are my brothers," he gestured to others, "Rin, Purl-Hew, Haym and Zimelu! It's nice to meet you!"

"Speak for yourself," the red haired one said. "Please tell me you've had your rabies shot."

"My what?"

"Don't mind Zimelu. He's an ass."

"She bit me!" Zimelu snarled.

"It was self defense!" May snapped back, about to start a fight when the yellow one stepped between them.

"Okay, it's really late guys, we should all turn in for the night."

"Oh joy!" May and Zuke turned to see the living objects from the foyer now gathered behind them. The computer monitor clapping it's desk legs together. "They can stay in the upstairs guest room!"

"But dad-"

"Dad?" May squinted at the desk then at the weird deer creatures. "I have questions."

"Come along now children!" The computer quickly rushing them away from the brothers. Out of the corner of his eye, Zuke catching the white brother, Rin?, staring at him. "The room's a little dusty but you're going to love it! Wait until you meet Eve, she's just the best!"

"Eve?" Zuke asked as they were led up the stairs to a paint splattered door. The computer's leg knocking on the door.

"Eve! We have guests!" The door swung open, something bright red being thrown out the door and narrowly missing May's head.

"I'm busy J, tell them to come back later." The room was a mess, articles of clothing and paint stains scattered everywhere. In the middle of the room was a pink and white dresser standing in front of a half dressed mannequin. "Inspiration has struck me and I need..." She trailed off when she turned around to see the duo. "Oh my God."

"Ugh, hi?" Mayday watched as the dresser waddled over to them.

"Live models!" The dresser exclaimed, grabbing the red girl by the face with her metal arms. "So plain, so pedestrian! A perfect canvas!"

"I'll leave you to it." The computer desk exited the room, slamming the door behind him. Zuke watched as the dresser whisked Mayday to the center of the room. There was something...familiar about her.

#nsr mayday #nsr zuke #no straight roads #nsr au #beauty and the beast au #mayday and zuke #onionshipping #greenday #fanfiction #nsr 1010 #nsr eve

[blackteaandbones]

This scene has been rattling around in my head as part of a grander fic for ages, and tonight, out of the blue, I got the irresistible urge to write it down. It’s very rough and mostly unedited, but I had fun writing it, so I’ll share it here in case it might be fun for anyone else. No idea if I’m going to do anything else with it or not yet.

Clarke/Lexa

Winged Clarke AU - Basically, what if the sky people were actually sky people (genetic experimentation, mutation, whatever, this is rough, okay?) and instead of leaving Earth, had formed their own clan, loosely allied with the mountain.

*******

The commander was leading another hunting party.

Clarke watched her from the safe vantage point of a very tall, very leafy, tree. Trikru hunters had a bad habit of shooting trespassing Skaikru on sight. Their bows were small, but the arrows were poisoned. Even a scratch could kill. Clarke shouldn't even be here. The boundaries were clearly marked, and the penalties for crossing them well known.

But Clarke had a problem, and that problem was going to get her killed.

“You know she's going to shoot you, right?”

“Shhh!” Clarke hissed at Wells, perched on the branch beside her. They would have been sitting ducks if not for the protection of the canopy. Wells' wings were black against the silvery bark and green foliage and Clarke's were bright white and gold. Neither of them were dressed for camouflage either. The light, tightly woven fabric of their smocks and trousers was perfect for lazing around in their mountain-top aerie, not so much for sneaking around in Trikru territory. Clarke would have worn something more appropriate, but then she would have had to explain why she was in scout gear, and that wasn't a conversation she wanted to have with her mother.

“This obsession is embarrassingly one-sided. She doesn't even know you exist.”

That wasn't exactly true, but it might as well have been, and they both knew it.

Wells was the only person Clarke had ever told about the unexpected storm that had blown her off course when she was barely fledged, and the Trikru net-trap that had snared her when she tried to land. The last thing she had expected from the scrawny, big-eyed child who found her hanging helplessly from a tree in a  tangle of knotted rope was mercy. Trikru were the monsters in every story their parents told them about the ground. Clarke had been sure she was about to die, but instead of killing her the girl had used her tiny child's knife to cut Clarke free and let her go.

Clarke had flown away with her life and a hopeless crush on a nameless stranger who grew up to be the feared and ruthless Commander of all twelve land-bound clans.  

She doubted the other woman remembered their one meeting as fondly as Clarke did. Or at all.

“If you really want to die today, there are less pathetic ways to do it.”

“I agreed to let you come,” Clarke reminded him.“I didn't say you could talk.”

Wells snorted. “You didn't agree to anything. I followed you.”

“You're free to leave at any time.”

“And let you die alone?” Wells shook his head. “Sorry, I need to be there to say 'I told you so' right before she skewers you on that fancy sword of hers.'”

“Hah, ha.”

The Hunters were on the trail of a pack of Reapers. Clarke and Wells followed at a safe distance. If Wells had actually asked, Clarke would have struggled to explain why she kept coming back. Skaikru wasn't directly involved in the war between the Land-bound clans and the Mountain, but their treaty with the Mountain meant the other clans had condemned them as traitors and spies. Clarke shouldn't be anywhere near Trikru territory, but she could never stay away for long.

They smelt the Reapers before they saw them. Reapers fought in a pack, but beyond that very little of what made them human remained. The commander's group outnumbered them, and they were experience hunters. It should have been a rout, but before they could fall on the ragged group, an ominous horn blared in the distance.

Everyone froze.

And then a second pack of Reapers came boiling out of the trees, followed by a rolling cloud of poisonous green smoke. Clarke and Wells took off in a flurry of feathers. Acid fog was the Mountains weapon. Skaikru may have been their allies, but the fog didn't discriminate, and there shouldn't have been any Skaikru in that part of the forest. They rose to a safe height above the tree tops, and Clarke backwinged in place, waiting for the Hunters to break cover. The acid was coming from the North, and the Reapers were in the East. There wouldn't be time to fight through them before they got caught in the fog. South was the cliffs. So their only way out was back the way they came, to the West.

A second horn belled through the trees, and another blanket of fog started trickling in from the West.

Wells doubled back when he realized Clarke wasn't following him. “Clarke? We have to go, now!”

Clarke didn't answer him, searching the trees below them for any sign of the Commander.

“Clarke!”

There. A small group ran out of the trees towards the cliffs. Clarke swooped down before Wells could stop her, landing in a tree at the edge of the forest. She couldn't leave until she knew she was safe. There was still a way out, a rapidly narrowing path West along the cliff, between the forest and the drop off.. The Commander's group was nearly there, but then more Reapers fell on them from the trees. Clarke watched with her heart in her throat as the commander put herself between her hunters and the Reapers, drawing their attack down on her and leaving the others a clear path while she was forced back, step by step towards the cliff until the fog rolled in and cut her off.

First one Reaper, and then another fell under her sword. She took the last one out with a backhand cut across the knees and then kicked him over the edge. But by then the fog was all around her and closing in fast. One one side, Trikru, on the other, Reapers, and neither of them could get through the acid to save her or finish her off. Clarke could see her evaluating her situation, and when she looked thoughtfully over the cliff edge, Clarke knew exactly what she was thinking.

Wells landed beside her, turning her around to face him with a hand on her shoulder. “Come on, there's nothing you can do now.”

Clarke shrugged him off. “She's going to jump.”

“So what?” he snapped. “Clarke, I know she saved you once, but that was over ten years ago! And you were kids! You don't owe her anything.”

Clarke ignored him.

The rest of the hunting party was shouting and pointing, trying to find a way around the fog bank that had separated them from their leader. The reapers were jeering and laughing from the other side, shaking their weapons and stamping their feet, sharpened teeth bared in sickening grins. Clarke's stomach turned. She couldn't watch this.

“Hold this,” she unbuckled her small travel bag from the belt at her waist and shoved it into Wells' hands.

“What are you doing?”

Clarke opened her wings with a snap. “Don't follow me.”

“There's nothing you can- damnit Clarke!” Well's wild grab for her missed, and Clarke threw herself out of the tree before she could change her mind. The wind blowing down from the mountain lifted her up above the fog, but the rising gas still burned in her nostrils. She pulled her scarf up over her nose and flew higher, heading for the cliff.

The Commander was still there, balanced on the edge where the crumbling ground met the sky. She was nearly obscured by the fog, but her cloak was a bright slash of red against the acid green that surrounded her. Arrows sliced through the sky. The reapers had spotted Clarke. She heard a whistle and a thunk, and one of them dropped like the stone that had smashed into his temple at terminal velocity from a well-aimed sling.

Wells still had her back.

Clarke was going to owe him big time after this.

She flew faster. There was no time to take evasive action. Her only choice was speed. She took a deep breath of clear air and dove through the encroaching edges of the fog, hoping she could make it through this with most of her skin intact. It was, without a doubt, the stupidest thing she had ever done. And she didn't care.

She couldn't let her die.

She wouldn't let her die.

Burning feathers had a very distinctive smell.  Almost there. A spear tried to skewer her, and she tipped her wings to avoid it, losing precious time. There was a shout from the hunters. Clarke heard the word Skaikru, along with what she could only guess were several variants of let's get her!

She really wished they wouldn't. She was trying to save their infamous leader here.

The last thin curtain of fog cleared and then she was staring into familiar bloodshot green eyes that widened in disbelief in the split second before Clarke folded her wings and dropped, reaching out to catch hold of whatever straps and edges of leather armour she could wrap her hands around before slamming into the commander and carrying them both off the edge of the cliff.

It wasn't falling. Quite.

Clarke beat her wings against the added weight; trying desperately to slow their decent. Her shoulders and back burned, and pain shot through the muscles keeping them aloft. Even the biggest and strongest Skaikru couldn't fly with more than a light pack or the smallest child. They just weren't built for it.

Clarke wasn't particularly big or strong, but she was stubborn.

Her passenger only struggled for a moment before going limp. Clarke appreciated that. This was hard enough without flailing limbs to contend with. She really appreciated the lack of a knife in her gut too. Stabbing your ride when you're several hundred feet in the air might be a stupid idea, but there was no accounting for instinct in life or death situations, and Clarke was the one who'd done the grabbing. She was very glad the commander wasn't that dumb, and not only because it was currently keeping her insides knife-free.

She would have been really pissed off to find out she was in love with an idiot.

The ground was coming up a good deal faster than Clarke liked. She ignored the aching protest of her wings, flaring them out to catch the air in a last, agonizing bank before they hit the dirt together and rolled, landing in a tangled mess of bruises, burns and broken feathers.

#clarke/lexa #clexa fanfic #Clexa #My writing