#and Snow saw Hawk as a mirror of himself. In Snow's eyes they were the same person.

[storm-of-silver]

CLIMBS INTO UR ASKBOX

tell me about hawk pls

YOU'VE OPENED PANDORAS BOX HEHE

I'll actually have to go back and edit the intro post bc i dont think i mentioned it, but during the Final Light, the Colony of Mist actually survived! Sorta. They were the last colony to get hit since they live high in the mountains, and they were able to see the other colonies getting attacked before the broken ones got close to them.

Since they had time to react, the commander decided to go to drastic measures and ordered the collapse of the cave entrance to their settlement. It'd protect them from the broken ones, but they'd be sealed in the mountains (at least, until they dug their way out). Problem was, they needed cats on the outside to trigger the collapse- someone had to get separated and face the broken ones alone.

[Image ID: Two images of roughly the same character. The first image, drawn by may- on TH, shows a canine with black, cream, and orange fur. The second, the redesign, shows a tortoiseshell tom with brown eyes. There are three scars in a line on his side. End ID]

Queue Talon of Hawk- Wing of Hawk at the time! Up until the Final Light, he was perfectly happy with his life and was a role model to other trainees. Hardworking, honorable, kind, loyal, and with a strong sense of justice, he was mostly known for being a dependable cat with a heart of gold.

It ended up being his downfall of sorts though; The second the commander asked for volunteers, Hawk stepped up to the task immediately. His friend, Eyes of Storm, joined him right after, along with two others who looked up to Hawk. The two cats who joined him died triggering the landslide, and Storm was caught by a broken one a few days later. With the fate of the Colony of Mist buried under layers and layers of stone, Hawk was the last member of the Colony of Mist.

For two years he wandered, joining any small group he could, before finally joining the Colony of Clickers (a post-FL group, they use clicking ones/robots to protect themselves! I'll be making a post on the neverlight era factions eventually). The leader/commander, Voice of Snow, gave Hawk the epithet of 'Talon' in honor of his devotion to his colony. He numbly accepted the new title, the reminder of what he had saved and had lost.

He settled in, having craved the comfort of a colony life, but he can't help but feel completely alone now. The Colony of Clickers has hints of every colony, all of them but his. In his attempt to protect his home, he lost it all completely- and he'd never change a thing. His colony is safe, and even if he'll never see it again, he can rest easy knowing he did the right thing.

While other characters prooobably have more going on with them (looks at literally all the neverlight era leaders and commanders), Hawk fills the "normal guy" role which happens to be one of my favorite character tropes. He's in a cat faction that controls a bunch of robots to protect themselves from quadrupedal slendermen and he is COMPLETELY aware how bonkers it is. He's also just a kind guy who really doesn't have trouble figuring out whats 'right' or 'wrong'- closest he'll ever get is having trouble deciding between following the Sacred Decree or his heart and feelings.

Also since he's the last Colony of Mist member, he actually got dibs on naming the current era. The Colony of Mist is THE authority on naming important events and since there was no one else to name it, everyone was like "OH GREAT KNOWER OF HISTORY, TELL US YOUR WISDOM" and Hawk panicked and went "uhhh theres no light. ever. So the Neverlight Era? Ok get out of my lodgings now please-"

[nicksolemnlyswears]

WAYS TO COME UNDONE

this is part 2 of WAYS TO DESTRESS but can be read as a standalone

summary: coriolanus keeps his promise about making you squirt all over him. what better way to do it than in front of the mirror.

pariring: young! coriolanus snow x capitol! reader

word count: 4.3k

warnings: 18+, smut, cursing, fingering, sex in front of mirror, squirting, pussy spanking, p in v, use of safe word, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it people), I DESPERATELY NEED A CORYO IN MY LIFE

a/n: hi 🌚 many wanted this, myself included hehe. it took a turn towards the end where it basically wrote itself. i have no control over what tickles my brain. i hope you guys enjoy it as much as i do. hopefully this oneshot shows more about the machinations of their relationship.

requests open ✨

From the moment Coryo showed you the racy clip of him using you while asleep, you have not been able to stop the waves of heat that consume your cunt.

You're a stellar student who always concentrates on the lectures and participates in class. Today, you find yourself in the back of the classroom, daydreaming about Coriolanus and his tongue. Focusing was out of the picture for you as you tried not to sneak your hand between your thighs and soothe the ache.

One of the many reasons your relationship works so well is that both of you are extremely perverted. Coriolanus has always been more in tune with that side of himself, but you needed assistance to bring that side out. Coriolanus saw it in you long before you did, and he patiently gauged it out and molded it to fit his crooked ways.

It's why Coriolanus using you while you were knocked cold has you acting this way. He pleasured himself when you were at your most vulnerable, and instead of feeling violated, you thanked him. You savor that instead of finding another whore to fuck his frustration out, he stays with you, no matter the state. If that makes you sick, then be it.

When your last class was over, you rushed to the apartment. You needed Coriolanus to stop this burning inside you. Sadly, he's a teacher's pet and workaholic who only managed to get home at eight at night.

He walks into the apartment calmly, humming under his breath while you watch him like a hawk. Coryo sees you on the living room couch 'lounging' and approaches you to leave a kiss on your head. Your eye twitches when he announces he's going to shower.

His upturned lips give him away. He's tormenting you. As if waiting for him all day wasn't torture enough. It could be worse, though he could've stayed longer at the lab. God knows he has a ton of experiments to work on.

With a huff, you follow him into the bedroom.

"How was your day, darling?" He asks, taking his clothes off.

He's like a masterpiece that has escaped a museum. His fair skin is unblemished except for the scars on his back that you've spent hours running your fingers over. Sometimes, he feels them burn, a reminder of what he's done in the past, but then you're there kissing over them to ease the pain.

"Long," you dryly respond, crossing your arms, inadvertently accentuating your chest.

"I'm sorry to hear that," Coryo says humorously, stepping into the steaming shower.

The foggy glass hides him from you, but you remain watching by the bathroom door. Despite your short answers, he continues to talk to you, successfully getting under your skin.

He's entertained by your lingering presence. Privacy is not in your vocabulary anymore. Coriolanus likes it when you get this needy. It's like an experiment where he tests how far you're willing to go.

It's not complicated; all you have to do is ask, and he'll give you the world, but you're too modest for your own good. It prevents you from coming right out with it. You could've had him the moment he stepped into the apartment if you had only asked.

You look at him hopefully when he steps out of the shower. Shamelessly, you take every inch of him. Coriolanus strong shoulders, his chiseled chest and abs, his pretty pink cock that hangs half hard most of the time.

He deprives you of it as he wraps a towel around his hips. Coriolanus approaches you, water droplets falling from his blonde hair and down his body.

Coriolanus is so close to you, and when you think he'll dip his head down to kiss you, he grabs your hips and moves you to the side to give himself passage into the bedroom. "'Excuse me."

You want to throw him with the vase of roses settled on the bathroom counter. You resist since you need him to be conscious for what you have planned. You're aware of how Coriolanus can read you like a book. So why isn't he asking about your mood or if you need anything?

He sits against the headboard, wearing only his pajama bottoms, his cock clearly outlined by the fabric. Coriolanus doesn't wear underwear to bed, he doesn't like the tight fabric when he's asleep. Having you hugging him throughout the night is enough.

With a huff, you strut over to the bed and straddle his lap. Expecting it, Coriolanus reaches for your hips, holding you tight onto him.

"Do it again," you say, placing your hands on his chest and provocatively arching your back as if offering yourself to him.

"What, darling?" He asks, quirking an eyebrow. He tilts his head towards you as if he didn't hear you properly.

You roll your eyes, annoyed. "Make me squirt," you say blatantly. It sounds wrong coming from your lips.

Coriolanus chuckles, shaking his head, "I said another time, darling. I'm tired tonight."

You punch his naked chest weakly, with your frown turning deeper. He grabs your hand midway through the air as you try to smack him again.

Amused at your boldness, he opens your palm and laces your fingers together. He kisses the back of your hand and holds it to his chest.

"You are mean and cruel, Coriolanus," you spit out, hoping to annoy him by using his full name. Maybe this will make him do it or at least provoke him to do something.

"You knew that when you accepted to marry me." His gaze hardens as he taps on the engagement ring on your fourth finger.

It glints delicately, catching people's attention and letting them know you're taken. He spent months searching for the right ring for you. Coriolanus had to find the perfect balance: nothing too simple where it would pass unseen but nothing too gaudy where you wouldn't wear it.

"I don't care how cruel you are to others as long as it's not me," you respond, cradling his jaw in your hand.

"Give me a good reason why I should do it," he asks, kissing your palm.

"I'll do anything, Coryo. I'll suck you off in the lab, cockwarm you in my father's office, let you tie me up, fuck my throat, anything! Hell, I'll even let you try anal again," you huff, winding yourself up.

You must really want it if you brought up anal. It's the one thing you've tried and haven't wanted to do again. You're pretty open to his suggestions, but that one is your hard limit.

He won't make you do it again. Seeing you needy like this is enough. Although he might take your offer of blowing him under the desk in his lab.

"You make a compelling case," he hums, looking at you carefully. You're flushed without him even touching you, and your nipples are hard under your nighty.

This isn't a whim, your body is visibly begging for him. Coriolanus has to pat himself on the back. This is all his doing.

"Coryo, you don't know how many times I've watched that video," you say as if to prove how much you need him.

"Kiss me," Coriolanus sighs, giving in.

You slam your lips against his, eagerly kissing him until you're breathless. Your fingers curl around his hair, tugging the strands and making him groan into your mouth. Taking the opportunity, you slip your tongue into his mouth, tasting him.

Coriolanus smacks a hand down on your ass cheek, leaving a red imprint behind. In retaliation, your teeth bite harshly onto his lower one, causing a drop of blood to surface.

"I love you, darling," he growls as his eyes darken with lust, and he cups your face with both his hands. You've turned so bold under his tutelage, stealing pages from the book he wrote.

"Yeah, I love you too, come on," you pant, taking off your night dress to reveal yourself to him.

"I've created a monster," Coryo murmurs, pawing on one of your breasts as he mouths the other one.

"Don't act like you don't like it," you moan, rolling your hips down on his bulge. Your lack of underwear is apparent as a wet patch forms on his pants.

Coryo involuntarily unwraps you from his body as he stands from the bed. You chase his lips with a whine when he pulls away from you. Coriolanus sets a chair in front of the floor-length mirror in the corner of the room, sitting on it and motioning for you to sit on his lap.

If he's going to give you what you want, he will do it his way. You need him to make you squirt, so he's going to have you watch so you never forget about the moment. He'll engrave in your brain how it was he who made it possible.

With his hands on your waist, he turns you to face the mirror and pulls you down to sit with your back to his chest. Just like a doll, he positions you with your legs propped up on his knees, exposing your dripping cunt.

"No matter what, you're going to look at yourself in the mirror, or there will be consequences," he growls into your ear, licking the shell of your ear and biting your earlobe.

"Yes, Coryo," you moan, excitedly biting your lip.

Looking at him through the mirror, you notice his wicked stare. He begins to roll your clit on his fingers steadily, earning a sigh of contentment from you.

He's memorized everything about your body. Each stage of arousal is burned into his brain at this point. It's how he knows you've been touching yourself today.

"How many times did you touch yourself?" He questions, digging his nose into your neck to smell the remnants of your lotion and perfume.

"Two before I left for university, one during lunch, and two when I got back," you admit between moans as your cheeks heat up in embarrassment.

You were late to class because of Coryo's video. Still, your arousal persisted so much that you locked yourself in one of the bathrooms of the university and rubbed your clit till your legs shook with an orgasm. You walked out of the bathroom, ashamed of your behavior, but it got you throughout the rest of the day.

When you got home, you fell on the couch, pressing one of the decorative cushions between your legs. You rocked against it for nearly an hour, edging yourself to give Coriolanus time to get home. The last one was in the shower with the detachable head minutes before he arrived.

"Five times and one in public," he chides with a click of his tongue, "What do I do with you?"

Your confession is music to Coriolanus' ears, but you can't know that. So he delivers five sharp slaps down your spread cunt. He covers the reddening flesh with his hand, putting pressure on it to ease the sting.

"Ow, Coryo," you cry, digging your nails into his thighs where you are barely hanging on.

"You should've come to me. I could've helped you much more than your fingers," he tells you mockingly.

Uncovering your cunt there is a dash of red on your skin. Coriolanus didn't hold back with his slaps. It's hard to explain why, but you like it when he manhandles you like that. He makes you cry just to console you later.

"You're busy," you sniff, hiccuping when he gathers your slick to spread it over the stinging skin.

Coriolanus takes his studies and lab work seriously; you never wish to interrupt him in any way, no matter how many times he reassures you it's okay.

"I'm never too busy for you, darling," he responds, resting his chin on your shoulder. His touch returns to your clit, rubbing it round and round until you're moaning out his name.

Finally, Coriolanus slips his finger into you, giving you the relief you desperately want. Even if it is your pleasure, his fingers are better than yours. They are long and strong and know precisely how to curve to give you the pleasure you seek.

The relief that takes over you is so much that you let your head fall back with your eyes closed. In an instant, the fingers are gone, and another slap is deposited on your sensitive skin.

"Eyes on the mirror," Coriolanus reminds you. He wants you to see how he's the only one that can make you crumble.

His free hand, which had been wrapped like a vice around your waist, comes up to your chest to squeeze your breasts and nipples. His eyes darken as he observes how your supple flesh spills between his fingers.

"Look at how pretty you are," he whispers in your ear as he adds another finger into your dripping cunt.

A sense of bashfulness settles on your chest as you do as he says. You follow his hand as it trails down your sweaty skin, your face and chest flushed because of the heat. He traces your nipples with his fingers, and you watch how they turn hard in response. Next, he touches your stomach, his fingers ghosting your belly button from which he has licked his own cum from.

It's like your body harbors memories of Coriolanus Snow, from the multicolored lovebites in your chest and neck to the thick arousal that coats your thighs. Each one was caused by him, for him.

Sensing your mind is slipping, he lightly taps your thighs, bringing you back to focus on the body he considers so beautiful. He takes his wet fingers out of you and spreads your cunt even farther with them.

He traces your pearl, which is bright red, frustrated from arousal and the constant touching it has endured today. Then, your pussy lips that puff out as blood surges to it.

Coriolanus gathers the drop of slick that hangs from your fleshy pink opening. "See? All beautiful and all mine," he says. Only now does he allow you to turn from the mirror because it's to kiss him.

Remembering why you're in this position, Coriolanus slides two fingers into you, fucking them with precision into your g spot. No more teasing and prolonging.

"It feels so good, Coryo," you whine, holding onto his arm as your hips grind further into his hand.

"It looks good, too," he mutters, hypnotized by the way your cunt swallows his fingers. Not even your nails digging into his arm snaps him away from the pretty sight.

With hooded eyes, you keep looking into the mirror, waiting for the moment Coryo promised you. Coriolanus hand presses down on the spot above your mound. It's the key to make you squirt. His fingers bully your spot more forcefully, feeling your walls clench with an impending orgasm.

"Oh, fuck, C-coryo," you choke out, breathing heavily. It's like an orgasm is coming but so much better than the needy, desperate ones from today. It feels much more fulfilling.

"Relax for me," he prompts, slowing his pace. You're always so fucking tense even as he fucks you senseless.

"Ah, ah, ah," your moans staccato as you near your precipice and tears accumulate in the corner of your eyes.

It's a constant climb where you feel the excitement of nearing the top, and then suddenly, you slide back down. A sudden burst of pleasure consumes you as a gush wets Coryo's fingers and mirror. His fingers whip out and furiously rub your frustrated clit, causing a smaller gush to stream down.

Your mouth is ajar as you gasp, your hands bunching up the fabric of his pants. Your cunt visibly spasms as your orgasm prolongs itself.

"You did it, darling," Coriolanus sweetly says, kissing your cheek as he looks at you adoringly, "How did it feel?"

He touches you all over, spreading the drops of squirt that adorn your thighs. Your legs fall down limply as you relax back onto Coryo. He continues stroking your skin, looking at the beautiful, wet mess he made.

"I-I don't know, there was this just sensation of release like everything left my body," you say between pants as you try and catch your breath.

Coriolanus smirks and hugs you tightly, lost in his own world. It's like the post-orgasmic bliss affected him rather than you.

"Can we try again?" You ask minutes after, feeling the spark reignite by just thinking about the stream of fluid that came out of you.

"Whatever my darling wants," Coriolanus agrees, spanking your ass playfully when you get up from the chair.

You kneel on the floor to pull down his pants and find his leaking cock. Going straight for it, you suck him off like there is no tomorrow, swallowing around him and taking him deep till your nose rubs against his pubic bone.

Coriolanus doesn't allow himself to cum, even if his body screams at him to shoot his load into your warm mouth. Pulling you up from the floor, he pushes you towards the bed. You get on your knees and hands, shaking your ass for him cheekily.

Coriolanus has a feeling that today it will be a quick one. You're both too wound up to prolong this any further. His hand curves over your hip as he pushes his cock through your folds, wetting it. Without a warning, he snaps his hips, stretching your walls.

"Love your cock, Coryo," you moan as he fucks you harshly. "So big and thick and so deep," you mumble, acting cockdrunk.

You bury your head on the sheets, arching your back so your chest presses against the bed as you splutter nonsense. The tension of the day gets to you, and you allow yourself to go dumb on his cock.

"It's all yours, darling," he grunts, gripping your waist to push you back onto his cock. At this point, you're a cocksleeve to him as he chases his release. The sounds of his balls slapping against your clit are loud and obnoxious.

Keeping a steady rhythm, he fucks you until you're fluttering around him again. Coriolanus bends over your back, splaying his hand on your pelvis. He had promised he'd make you squirt again. It works as you drench his cock again, soaking the sheets and his thighs.

"Oh my god," you cry as your legs shake. You would've fallen flat on your face if it hadn't been for Coryo, who holds you up as he continues to push into you.

Tears soak the pillow you're hugging. It's too good. His cock is brushing repeatedly over your spongy spot. You don't want him to stop, ever, but you're so sensitive. It's a push and pull. You want more, but you're unsure if your body is up to it.

In a moment of lucidity, a wave of emotions grabs you and pulls you down. It snaps you out of your trance and hurts your chest. Shame, pleasure, desperation, joy, embarrassment, arousal.

Questions invade your brain. Since when have you been like this, letting yourself be treated this way? How are you not ashamed of yourself? This is not how a lady behaves. You're no better than a whore in a whorehouse. You should be ashamed of yourself.

"Rose!" You cry out with a sob as the shakiness localized in your legs spreads all over your body.

Immediately, Coriolanus stops all movement, startled by the use of the safe word. Your soft cries snap him out of his shock, and he, as gently and carefully as possible, pulls out of you.

Your whole body shakes as you cry, worrying Coriolanus to no end. He questions if he did anything that hurt you but comes up empty-handed.

"Darling, are you okay?" He asks, helping you sit up on the bed. He takes the clean blanket by the end of the bed, covering your body.

"Too-too much. I-I'm sorry," you hiccup, hugging the blanket tighter against you.

Coriolanus carefully respects your private space since he's unsure if you want or need his touch. He sits beside you, though, listening to anything you might need.

Humiliation fills your body. You were the one to ask for more and couldn't handle it, worrying Coryo about something that was not his fault.

"It's okay, nothing to be sorry about," he speaks with the softest voice he can muster, "Do you want me to bring you water?"

"Just hold me," you say as more tears trickle down your face.

So, he does. Coriolanus kisses your temple and runs his hand across your back until your sobs settle. He holds you close and whispers reassuring words in your ear.

You desperately want to tell him it's nothing he did. He wasn't being terribly rough or mean. You loved every moment of tonight until your emotions and unwanted thoughts got the best of you.

In your vulnerable state, the pent-up frustration of the day and the negative emotions you kept locked bubbled up and caused a sensory overload. Even now, you can barely speak, trying to regulate your emotions again.

"Don't go," you hiccup, reaching for his hand when Coryo stands from the bed. Terrified, he believes the same things your brain is feeding you.

"I'm not going anywhere, darling. Just looking for our clothes," he says, squeezing your left hand and kissing your knuckles.

Coriolanus grabs his pants from the floor and slips them on. Digging through the drawers, he finds one of his t-shirts and grabs a pair of your underwear. Your comfort is his priority, and he knows how comforting you find wearing his clothes. He helps you put the garments on, wrapping you back up on the blanket.

Leaning back on the pillows, he pulls you towards him, hugging you to his chest. You hug his middle, burying your head in his neck, falling asleep like that.

He stays awake, feeling the puffs of breath on his neck. Coriolanus hand keeps running up and down your back, under your shirt. It works to comfort himself as well.

You've only used the safe word twice, and both times, you had been doing worse things by far. He had understood twice and had been alert in any case. Today took him off guard, and it scared him.

Coryo debates on waking you the following day. He decides to do it to check how you're doing. You can decide if you want to go to university or not. He will walk you there personally if that is what you choose.

He wakes you by running his hand up and down your arm, softly shaking you out of your slumber, "Darling?"

"Mmm," you groan, your eyes fluttering open. He'd kept the curtains closed so they wouldn't bother you.

"How are you? Do you need anything?" Coriolanus asks, brushing your hair away from your face.

You stay silent momentarily, gauging your mental state, "I'm good. Am I running late?" You ask, sitting up on the bed.

"No, it's still early. Want me to walk you to school?" He asks, watching as you get up and head into the bathroom.

"Please?" You ask, turning to look at him before closing the bathroom door.

"Of course," he nods.

"Coryo, I think I know what happened last night," you speak loudly through the door, not a moment later.

"And what's that love?" He asks, standing by the door.

"I got my period," you say simply.

The blood staining your underwear is the reason you lost yourself last night. Your hormones must've been all over the place yesterday. It explains your sudden breakdown and why you were acting like a bitch in heat before that.

"Fuck," he mutters under his breath. He's glad it's just that and nothing he did. He feels calm now as most of his worry is swept away. "I'll go make breakfast," he tells you before he heads out to the kitchen.

His worry is replaced by disappointment in himself. He lost track of your damn period because he was so busy at the lab. He has to share part of the blame. Ever since he started living with you, he noticed those subtle mood changes you got as your period neared and passed through.

First is the neediness, constantly touching him and asking to be touched. You got freakier when you were ovulating. Then there is the bad mood you get whenever he just as breathes the wrong way or places something where it doesn't belong. You try hiding it and holding back your scoffs, but he notices. Lastly, it's the tears. Your emotions are delicate when this time of the month comes around.

Last year, you got your period around the time of The Hunger Games and couldn't watch them. Tears instantly tracked down your face when you usually don't care. Coriolanus had to record them for you to watch later because you wanted to see everything that was implemented, thanks to him.

Because he recognizes how you get, he took it upon himself to make those days more bearable for you. Not to say he tiptoes around you, but he's gentler, more restrained. He tries not to be too mean. Had he known your period was right around the corner, he wouldn't have teased you today or made you wait for it.

He scolds himself as he pieces the puzzle together. That must've been why you took the sleeping pills the other day. You had an emotional day, and your overthinking mind didn't let you sleep.

Sensing he's kicking himself, you hug Coryo's waist from behind as he places the food on the table. "I love you, Coryo," you say sweetly, pressing a kiss on his spine.

Now, this is more in line with your normal, sweet behavior.

Coriolanus turns around in your embrace, hugging your shoulders and pulling you tight against him, kissing your hairline. "I love you so damn much," he speaks into your hair. "You had me worried last night," he admits, kissing your lips slowly before he lets you go.

"I don't know what happened. One moment, I was alright, and the next…well, you know," you shrug, sitting on the chair Coryo pulls out for you.

"Your emotions got the best of you. I know how that feels," Coriolanus nods, understanding better than anyone how it feels to lose yourself in the moment.

That day in the forest of District 12 will forever haunt him.

There we go! That was the part 2 I promised you! It took an unexpected turn but it felt right to me. Sorry it couldn't be kinkier :(

If you'd like to read more of this pairing you can also read The Mentor. It's a small prequel to this one shot set around three years back when they started dating. That being said The Mentor Pt. 2 is FILTHY.

If you liked it don't hesitate to let me know!

[llamagoddessofficial]

Thank you to @venelona for commissioning this piece from their amazing au, Check & Mate! Take a look at their @undertale-check-and-mate​ blog if you’re interested in the aesthetic & super cool worldbuilding~

“I have no idea how I beat you before, Papyrus.”

Frisk stared at the scattered chessboard, her brow deeply furrowed, finger rapping repeatedly against the tabletop in her frustration. Papyrus, opposite her, sat in his smart black and white chequered uniform... the picture of a winner.

This was just a casual game between friends. Of course, Frisk approached it with just as much fierce competitiveness as she would any other, but it was still nowhere near as high stakes as the official first match she’d had when she first met Papyrus. She moved her bishop, taking a pawn, saying the move aloud as Papyrus did- he was encouraging her to do so while in practise, to familiarise herself with the board and the options she had at hand.

“THROUGH YOUR OWN TALENT AND SKILL, OF COURSE! BISHOP TO F7.” He said, moving it with a gloved hand and taking the bishop she’d just pushed- he’d baited her with a pawn sacrifice. She groaned, puting her head in her hands, running her fingers through her chestnut hair... How the hell did I miss that? “SOME DAYS, WE PLAY BETTER, AND SOME DAYS WE JUST CAN’T WRAP OUR HEAD AROUND THE BOARD. THOUGH WHETHER MY DEFEAT WAS A FLUKE OR NOT, WE SHALL HAVE TO SEE WITH MORE GAMES... SHAN’T WE?”

“At this rate, fluke or no, Undyne is going to get me in two moves.”

Papyrus was fantastic to play against. He was a true enthusiast; he knew openings Frisk didn’t even know existed, he could adopt any play style or development or combination, he had an almost encyclopedic knowledge of the game and through it all he had brilliant sportsmanship. After her first match with him in the snow, where she’d beaten him in a pulse-jumping game, the win/loss ratio between the two of them had been almost 50/50 and playing him was her no.1 method of efficient practise... especially considering her goal of beating every monster in this strange undeground world at chess. 

...

Papyrus was the complete opposite of his brother.

Sans the skeleton was the only monster, the only monster, who hadn’t challenged Frisk to a game when he met her- something that immediately wildly threw her off. “i’m way too lazy,” he’d said, with a wide and casual grin that almost fooled her into believing him. Black pants and sleeves, white gloves, a white shirt and shoulder-covering cape with black trim... and the most ridiculous long chequered double-tie she’d ever seen with a small bone-shaped lapel pin.

I don’t know how he manages to look good in that. But... he does.

... There was something behind his tiny eyelights, stupid grin and lazy demeanour. She saw it the second she shook his hand- he was observing her. He was smart... he was the interesting kind of smart.

... So why won’t you pick up a chess piece?

It wasn’t for lack of trying on her part, to say the least. Frisk had been asking him borderline nonstop. Curiosity about his true aptitude, combined with her determination to beat everyone (which included him), created a storm that couldn’t be subsided- but at this rate she’d be dead of old age before he moved a pawn, seeing as he seemed to be totally immovable in his resolution to not engage her.

... Which only spurred her on even more. Of course.

“nah. i’m terrible at chess. wouldn’t know a knight from a rook from a raven. i’ll leave all that hard work to the professionals.”

At that moment, he was reclined on his couch, apparently totally ignoring the casual match going on a few feet away. She had yet to see his eyelights glancing over to their table...

...

But her suspicions were mounting.

Looking over the board, her finger finally stopped tapping- Frisk spied an opportunity. 

...

“... Hm...” Her eyes narrowed in mock thought, and she had to try pretty hard not to immediately look over at Sans and make herself too obvious as she ‘wondered’ aloud. “... If I... rook to e1...”

... It was a total lie. She wasn’t going to make that move- it would leave her king completely open for Papyrus to move in and sweep up a pawn, checkmating it with his queen and ending the game there and then.

...

Sans went still.

Frisk spotted it, a hawk seeing a bunny twitch; he’d moved his skull a fraction of an inch to the side. He’d given himself away.

... He ‘wouldn’t know a rook from a raven’, huh?

“... Actually, no. Pawn to g5.”

///

Papyrus had to leave, eventually- heading to his training for entry into the King’s royal guard. He’d beaten Frisk, that time, catching her out with a knight and cornering her... but of course, being Papyrus, he was boastless and jeerless and merely congratulated her on a ‘FANTASTIC’ game with a handshake and a bright smile before he went.

His departure left Frisk alone in the house. 

With Sans.

...

... She reset the scrambled board, lining everything up and turning to look over her shoulder at the skeleton still silently reclined on the sofa. Even when lazed back with his lapel pin wonky, he somehow managed to look sharp in his outfit.

“Heeeey Sans....” She said, voice sweet and sing-songy, thick lashes fluttering. She even adopted a ‘cuter’ position- crossing her legs and resting her cheek on the back of the chair. “Y’know. You should come play with me.”

“no.” He didn’t even open his sockets, speaking in that calm and collected baritone, with a little teasing lilt in return for her playfulness.

Ugh. She quickly gave up on the cute position, sitting forward. “C’mooon...”

“you’re too far away. i’m so lazy. can’t.”

... Well. 

Not to be deterred, she prised her fingers under the entire board and hefted it up, carefully getting down from the table to carry it across the room. She placed it on the coffee table just in front of the couch and kneeled on the floor, eyes and smile glinting.

The sound of the board hitting the tabletop (and a few pieces rattling and falling over) was enough to make him actually crack open a socket, clearly curious- the pinprick eyelight observed her with that lowkey sharpness she really couldn’t take her eyes off of.

“... Look, I’ll even open, since you’re so lazy.” She picked up a white pawn. “Pawn to d4.”

...

... Sans sighed. He opened both sockets, and sat up in his seat... her heart jumped into her throat and she sat up straighter too; could this be it? Had she broken him with her pestering? Was he finally going to play a game with her? His eyelights were so intense, so unreadable as he looked across at the board. His gaze lifted to her... Sans smiled, leaning forward...

...

He flicked his king over.

“oh no.” He said, sitting back, sockets closing again. “you sunk my battleship.”

...

Frisk sat on her heels, throwing her head back and letting out a dramatic and loud world-weary groan that would’ve worked just as well coming from someone three times her age, smacking her hands against the tiny coffee table and jumping all the loose chess pieces. It made him snicker from his position on the sofa- absorbed in how cruel the world was and how her suffering was never going to end, Frisk completely missed the tiny fond look he shot her.

“You’re a total liar, y’know.” She wanted to throw something at him, but she just settled for crossing her arms over her chest and glaring at his stupid smug face seeing as the nearest throwable objects were all furniture. “You know how to play, I saw you listening in to the game earlier.”

“dunno what you’re talking about.” He was making the couch look... awfully comfy. How he was practically sinking into it... and she’d been sat at the table for what felt like hours while she played against Papyrus.

... She abandoned the board to come and sit heavily beside him, frustrated at once again being thwarted. Frisk knew he wasn’t going to admit his lie; and she wasn’t even going to try to get the confession out of him, it’d be like trying to get blood from a stone. But she at least had that knowledge... none of his dodging or thwarting could take that away from her.

“You. Are such a pain.” She grumbled.

“course.” He replied, in that wonderful voice of his. “s’my job.”

...

“So...” Frisk felt her smile widening. No rest for the wicked. She moved closer to him on the couch, shuffling over the cushions... juuust until her knee was touching his. “You like jokes, right?”

He glanced at her, cool calm & unaffected. “i sure do.”

She fully grinned at him. “Tell me a chess joke. I know you have a few rattling around in that skull of yours.”

“... you wanna hear a chess joke? when i have so many other brilliant puns? i’m hurt.”

“Go on.” She propped herself up on her elbow, voice lowering a fraction. “Just for me?”

He sighed.

(But... his smile grew a tiny bit.)

“... yesterday, i threw chess pieces all over my brother’s head. you should’ve seen the rook on his face.”

...

That was actually kind of brilliant. She snickered- she’d been expecting something much, much lower in quality, and was pleasantly surprised.

“Do you know what chess pieces look at when they have private time?”

“hm?”

She winked exaggeratedly. “Pawn videos.”

... He rolled his eyelights, smile mirroring hers in its wideness nonetheless.

“I wish I could become a doctor.” Frisk dramatically placed her non-propping hand on her chest, as if delivering an emotional soliloquy, enjoying the fact that she was melting him. “Alas, I must become a chess champion- for I have an incredibly chequered past.”

“so awful it’s on par with my usual jokes.” He snickered. “you’re lucky pap isn’t here.”

“Hey. What’s the most costly chess move?”

“that’d be the check, of course.”

“... Do you know any chess pickup lines? I can’t say I have any.” She said, coquettishly, leaning in closer to him- he didn’t reciprocate much, just turning to look at her a little more.

“dunno if it’s appropriate. also don’t know if i’m your type.”

That made her giggle. 

“... Well. Y’know what my type is...?”

“hmm?” He cocked his head.

“People who’ll actually play me at chess.”

...

His face... 

... Fell.

...

“do you ever quit?” He said, more akin to a snap than just a normal question. 

In quite literally an instant it completely shattered the aura the two had created. The sudden transition and frustration in his voice caught her totally off guard- she blinked, taking her head off her hand and sitting upright, losing all the closeness she’d gained from leaning in.

“Wh...”

“i’m not going to play with you. get over it.” His eyelights had gone whip-thin, and... oddly icy. “stop bugging me all the damn time and get something better to do. it’s not going to happen. just get back to ‘practising’ so you can run off and get beaten by undyne.”

...

What the hell?

...

A tense silence stretched between the two of them that got progressively more and more uncomfortable.

...

Frisk turned away from him in a manner that, from anyone else, would’ve been a resignation- but from her felt more like a jab right back at him- a ‘I’m not going to deal with this shit’ declaration with nothing but her face. She wasted no time moving herself off the couch, picking up the chess board carelessly to settle down at the table instead, across the room and by herself.

Several pieces rattled and fell over on both sides when she put the board down on the table. But she didn’t care.

...

“... uh... hey. wait.”

The wind was out of his sails- his tone had lost literally all of its previous bite. But she didn’t look at him, her brow furrowed and jaw set, far less willing to drop it than he apparently was.

“... frisk.”

...

Okay, fine. Whatever. She graced him with an upset glance- her posture was defensive, usually warm and amicable (either that or ruthlessly determined) expression twisted into something pretty unpleasant.

She just... didn’t get why he’d suddenly bitten like that. He had yet to seem upset at all by her asking him about chess, the worst he’d looked was entertained, and he could’ve just... told her if she was bugging him, right? Instead of lashing out like that with no warning when she thought they were having fun.

...

... He was sat totally upright, looking at her, leaning against the arm of the sofa like he wanted to push through it.

“... i’m... i’m sorry.” His eyelights were tiny, smile low. “i didn’t mean that. i just got mad.”

...

Frisk turned back to the board, righting the black king. “Okay.”

She didn’t see his cringe. 

“... you’ll beat undyne. i’m sure. you’re even more determined than she is, which is saying something.”

“... Mhm.”

Both of them could tell she didn’t think his second, meeker statement was the one he really meant. And he didn’t like that at all. “i mean it,” he insisted, louder.

Shuffling sounds- she wasn’t fully paying attention to him, moving some other pieces back into their proper positions, making sure the knights were facing forward. 

“... I know you do, Sans. Thank you.” 

She didn’t believe him. But he seemed oddly insistent on getting her to say he did... so she’d just agree, and they could drop it.

...

“you asked about chess pickup lines, right?” 

His voice was a lot closer than she expected it to be, and it almost made her jump- she narrowly avoided flinging the bishop she was holding when she turned to find him separated from her only by a chair. How the... how did he move so silently? He was righting the black queen, for her.

“... Uh...” She mumbled. He wasn’t the only one who’d had the wind taken out of his sails- she suddenly couldn’t find it in her to make a joke. “... Yeah.”

“would it be inappropriate of me...” He held up his hand, a familiar white piece between his index phalange and his thumb. “to call you good-rooking?”

...

...

Frisk couldn’t help it. She snorted, at that- it was so dumb... the perfect kind of joke to alleviate a mood. The small ungainly sound seemed to have a positive impact on him- his shoulders unwound, smile lifting at the corners just enough for the curve to seem genuine again.

“is that a king in your pants or are you just happy to see me?”

Her snort became a proper giggle, which he apparently liked even more. Okay. I know I’m supposed to be mad, but this is too good to pass up. “I-I dunno. Looks more like a pawn to me.”

“... wow. i’m... wounded.” 

His eyelights were larger, softer... his body language had opened like a book. She looked up into his sockets, posture loosening too, unconsciously mirroring him until she’d gone from clenching her arms to only holding her wrist. “Sure you are.”

...

Both of them seemed to realise, at the same time, just how close their faces were. 

Frisk turned away first, her cheeks suddenly tingling and pleasantly warm- she pursed her lips and finished resetting the chessboard. Today was already proving to be a bit of an emotional rollercoaster. Sans’ face was also gently coloured, a small dust of blue making an appearance on his cheekbones... but he didn’t turn away.

“... c’mon, let’s just watch some tv or something. i’ve said ‘chess’ and ‘rook’ so many times i’m starting to forget what they mean.”

“... Pft... okay. ... Sure.”

[combat-wombatus]

Crimson Snow

Pairing: Hawks (Takami Keigo) x Fem!Reader

Genre: angst :’) (a lil bit of fluff thrown in here and there)

Warnings: mentions of blood, character death. 

WC: 7.8k. am i sorry? no.

Summary: Childhood friends doesn’t always equal lovers in the future. You wished that was the case, but ever since Keigo disappeared, you found it hard to believe in love again. 

(A/N): this was. i had to write this. it wasn’t up for debate. finishing this at 4am in the morning aldksjfhajshd. spent a grant total of 2 days brainstorming & writing this fic. not proofread at all. heavily inspired by the song 小幸运 by Hebe Tien. i strongly suggest you give it a try and listen to it as you read this :p (for all my chinese speakers out there...let’s see how you deal with this heartbreak :’) so yeah. i’m actually...really really proud of this fic. i tried a new format with this, and i think i kinda like it. also i left the ending up to interpretation if you don’t read the epilogue. enjoy! 

credit for this au goes to @wafflesandkruge​

here’s the link to the music :)

The one constant in your life.

The boy who’d always been there for you, through the dark days and the cold nights, holding your hand through it all.

The one who’d held you when you broke down.

The one who’d tucked you under his wings as the skies crackled with energy, rain pouring from the heavens, and told you that no matter where you went, he’d stay with you. He’d keep you nice and dry, snuggled close to his body as he shielded you from the storm.

The one constant in your life.

He’d left quietly in the night, not stopping by to say farewell.

In his place, he’d left a lonesome letter, tucked away beneath a boulder on your special hill.

“I’ll come back for you. Wait for me, okay?”

And from within that plain white envelope, a single red feather floated out, carried on the autumn winds, drifting aimlessly.

Almost as if it were lost.

And in that moment, you felt as if you’d lost a part of yourself, a little piece of your soul.

You weren’t sure you were ever going to get it back.

Years passed. You waited. There was no sign of him

Not in the skies, not on the land, and even though you’d sometimes see him in the reflection of the water, sitting next to you as you told him about your day, he wasn’t really there either.

I won’t give up on him.

I’ll stay strong.

He told me he’d come back for me.

Against the test of time, your resolve never withered. It only grew, strong as steel, taking over the crevices in your heart where he’d left his mark.

I’ll wait for you, Kei.

But please…come back to me.

“Hey, (Y/N)!” Your friend called out enthusiastically from her position on the couch. “Come look!”

“What?” You stepped out of the kitchen, only to be greeted by a familiar face, smirking on the TV screen.

“Look at him! He’s this new hero, and he’s only 18! (Y/N)! He’s our age! Isn’t he hot?” She pointed at his flickering image. “His hero name is Hawks!” Squealing, she turned to you. “Isn’t that so cool?”

You stood in shock, the glass of water that you had been holding slipped from your fingers and shattered onto the floor. Liquid pooled around your feet, soaking your slippers, but you made no move to step aside.

“Woah! (Y/N), are you okay?” She jumped off the couch, rushing towards you. “Hey, (Y/N)? He’s cute and all but…this is a little bit much, isn’t it?” She looked at you with concern, eyebrows drawing tighter when you didn’t respond.

“(Y/N) …what’s wrong? You look like you just saw a ghost.”

Shaking yourself from your daze, you averted your eyes. “Ahh, I’m sorry. Uh…I just, I never thought I’d see him again.”

“Wait, you know him?” Your friend looked at you, surprised. “(Y/N) …did he do something to you?” She asked softly. “If he did, I don’t care how cute he is, I’m gonna kick his ass to high heaven if need be. Someone like that shouldn’t be a hero.”

You shook your head, chuckling a little. “No…no, there’s no need to do that. It’s just…it’s been a long time, and I just didn’t expect to see him.”

“Ahh. Well, step out of that puddle! Come on, let’s grab you some paper towels.”

Hey!

It’s me, (Y/N). I…I saw you on TV today. You look…different. In a good way, I suppose. You’ve bulked up a bit.

You never used to smile like that though. Not like…like you were smiling for others. Seeing you smile for the camera, well…it made me sad.

But I’m happy that you’re ok. I think it would probably be hard for you to find me, since obviously I’m not on the news. So I’ll come find you instead, yeah? What do you say we catch up sometime?

I miss you. I’m in college now. I’m doing pretty good. You’re an overachiever, aren’t you? 18 years old and you already have your own agency.

Not that I’m complaining. Thanks for making it so easy for me to find you :)

So…let’s meet up sometime, when you have time? Maybe for some coffee? I know a quaint little place. It’s not too far away from your agency, three blocks to the right, turn left, and walk to the next intersection. It’s the corner shop. You can’t miss it.

I’ll wait for you there this Saturday, okay? I’ll do my work there. You can walk in whenever you have the time.

Your chicken, (Y/N)

Saturday came faster than you could prepare yourself. You checked your reflection repeatedly in the mirror, double-guessing your outfit decisions.

What if he doesn’t like it?

Is this too formal for a coffee date?

“Hey, (Y/N)!” Your friend barged into the bathroom. “I saw all the clothes on your bed! Are you going on a date?”

“Uh…just a meeting with an old friend. To catch up,” you explained.

She looked at you suspiciously. “Old friend…is it that guy on TV? Hawks?”

You grew flustered. “Err…yeah. If he got my letter.”

She looked you up and down, then dragged you into her closet. “Good thing I just went on a shopping spree last weekend then!” She pumped a fist excitedly in the air. “I’m giving you a makeover!”

Two hours later, you stood in front of the bathroom mirror once more. Your friend had put you through every single possible combination of outfits using both your closet and hers, and you had to agree that she had impeccable taste.

“Come on, you’re going to be late!” She shoved you out of the bathroom.

“I didn’t set a time!” You protested, laughing.

“Well, get your ass out of here! My boyfriend’s coming over!”

“So that’s the real reason you want me gone, hmm?” You teased her.

“Shush! Get out!”

Hawks was on patrol. You had been on his mind the entire week. Ever since your letter had reached his desk, he couldn’t stop thinking about you.

Thinking about you brought back happier times, and he wasn’t masochistic enough to give himself false hope.

No, it would be better for you to forget about him, and vice versa.

Still, he couldn’t stop himself. His body flew of its own accord, ignoring the sensibilities of his mind that screamed at it to stop.

Go back! The reasonable voice inside his head yelled.

Fly back!

His body refused to listen.

He found himself gently landing on a rooftop, right across the little café you told him to meet you at.

He even debated going inside. Just for a second. Just for a cup of coffee, to warm myself up in the chilly late-afternoon breeze, he told himself.

Then, he scoffed. Who was he kidding? If he went inside, he wouldn’t have the resolve to step back out before he saw you.

Shaking his head, he flew away as quickly as he could.

If he’d stayed a moment longer, he would’ve seen you walk down the street, humming a little tune to yourself.

Maybe then his resolve would’ve cracked.

Too bad he’ll never know.

Sitting alone at a table for two was an unpleasant feeling. Especially when you’re on your third drink, the waitress keeps eyeing you with pity, and you couldn’t concentrate on your work.

“Miss?” The waitress stopped by your table again. “Sorry to bother you, but we’re closing in 15 minutes.”

You checked the time on your laptop. Crap. It was already 5:15.

“Oh yeah, uhh, sorry to bother you!” You chuckle awkwardly. You quickly packed your books and laptop, dropped a $20 bill on the table, and hurried out the door. Walking home in silence, you tried your best not to feel too disappointed.

Maybe he just didn’t have time?

It’s ok. You’ll just ask him again, another time.

Another time.

You sent him countless letters. For the first year, at least. When he ignores all of them, you visit his agency in person.

As you walk through the glass doors, there’s a man sitting behind the reception desk.

“Hello, miss. How can I help you today?” He asks in the customary polite tone.

“I’m looking for Keigo. Hawks,” you answer, trying to hide your nervousness.

He looks at you suspiciously. “How do you know his first name?”

“We…we were childhood friends,” you tried to explain. “I…well, I haven’t seen him in a while.”

He took a closer look at you. “Can I ask for your name, miss?”

“(Y/N). (Y/N) (Y/L/N).”

He sighed. “I’m afraid that you’ll have to leave the premises, Miss (Y/L/N). You’re not allowed to be here.”

What?

He hadn’t kicked you out before you told him your name.

“Why-” you started, but he cut you off.

“Miss (Y/L/N). I’m afraid that I have to ask you to leave, and don’t come back. Should I call security to escort you out?”

Holding back tears, you clutched your purse close to your chest and hurried out the glass doors, wishing nothing more than to shatter them into pieces.

You didn’t send any more letters after that.

Years pass. Every year on your birthday, Keigo gave you a feather.

“So I’ll always be with you,” he joked.

His feathers are extra durable, but time can wear down even the strongest things.

The last feather you got from him was ten years ago.

It can barely be considered a feather at this point, and you keep it in a special glass case so it can’t get any more worn down.

Ten years.

You’re turning 25 tomorrow.

Ten years of waiting around for him turned into ten years of watching him date other women. Ten years of hiding your pain every time another picture of him kissing a new girl graced the covers of the tabloids.

The first time, you cried yourself to sleep.

It wasn’t the last time.

Again and again, he breaks your heart.

By the third year, you convinced yourself to stop looking at the tabloids and the gossip sites.

By the fifth year, you scold yourself. You vow to stop crying over a stupid childhood crush.

By the seventh, you told yourself that you needed to forget about him. Step back into the dating ring, make out with someone else, and remove his presence entirely from your mind.

That didn’t work out.

Ten years.

It killed you to finally harden your resolve, but you told yourself that you couldn’t spend your whole life waiting for someone who was never going to love you back.

You’re turning 25 tomorrow, and you’re going to go on a date.

He’s watching you. He always is.

It makes him feel like a creepy stalker, but he can’t help it.

He watches you as you step into the restaurant, decked out in formal wear that looked amazing on you.

Going on a date. With someone who wasn’t him.

He stays on the rooftop, watching you through a window as you ate and laughed.

He wishes that he was the one making you laugh, that he was the one helping you order food from the menu, that he was the one sharing a dessert with you.

He’s selfish like that. It never does him any good.

He’s scared, really. Scared of commitment, tarnished by his time spent in the work program.

He sees you as the one thing in life that they can’t take away from him. You have this innocence, this purity that you always carry around with you, because you’re a part of a time when his life wasn’t so complicated.

He doesn’t want to shatter that illusion.

He never reached out to you because he’s scared.

He’s scared that he’ll break you.

He stopped sending you feathers, heart splintering every time your birthday comes around, hoping you’ll eventually forget him.

You don’t.

It’s not that you didn’t try.

No one else really interested you.

That is, until Masaki came along. He was bright, happy, always upbeat. He could find the words to cheer you up, to make a bad day that much better. He was attentive, caring, sweet.

He was everything that most people would look for in a partner.

And slowly, you began to open up to him too.

You fell into his embrace easier. You got a little happier when he came over for dinner.

You felt just a little safer when you were wrapped in his arms, a luxury you never thought you’d have.

Two years later, during a picnic date, he proposed.

You always had a love for picnic dates. Maybe because your first date, with Keigo, was a messy picnic affair during the spring, on top of a little hill where wildflowers bloomed and birds pecked at your leftovers.

“Stop!” You giggled, whipped cream smeared all over your cheeks. “You’re going to get it on my clothes!”

Keigo laughed, then popped another strawberry in your mouth. “You can wash that off later, silly! Just have fun!”

“It’s not fun when my clothes are all sticky,” you whined. “You try it! It feels gross!”

He smirked. “Oh really?”

Taking a strawberry, he dipped it in the container of cream you had brought, then stuck it down his shirt.

“Ha! Take that!” He gloated.

You stared at him in shock. “Did you just–”

“Yes I did! And it’s not gross at all, see?” He plucked the strawberry back out and shoved it in his mouth.

“Eww! Kei, that’s disgusting!”

“No it’s not, it still tastes like a strawberry! Mphm!” He chewed, licking his fingers.

He regretted that decision later, when bees swarmed the front of his shirt.

“Eek!” He shrieked, hopping backwards.

“Kei, take off your shirt!”

“It’s so sticky!” He yelped, trying to peel the front of his shirt away from his chest.

“I told you!”

“Hey, now is NOT the time for the ‘I told you so’ speech, okay?” He finally ripped his shirt off.

You couldn’t help it. You cackled.

“What now?” He looked at the bees feasting on his ruined tee.

“I told you so,” you teased him.

Taking one look at the devious glint in his eyes, you scooped up the picnic supplies and raced down the hill.

He followed, wings beating, taking off into the air. He reached you within seconds, tacking you to the ground.

“Hey, that’s not fair!” You struggled against him. “You know you’re fast when you fly!”

He looked at you mischievously. “And what about it?”

“You can’t race me like that when I’m on foot!”

“Who said we were racing?” His eyes locked on your lips. “I was just trying to catch up to you.”

You blushed, suddenly realizing how close his face was to yours.

“Kei–” you started.

“Can I kiss you?” He interrupted you, then quickly blushed. “I mean, only if you want to-”

You wrapped your hands in his hair, interrupting him with a kiss.

He tasted like the remnants of strawberries and cream, sweet honey on a beautiful spring day.

And it was a beautiful spring day.

Perhaps the last beautiful spring day you’d ever have, for the next spring, he was gone.

Beautiful spring days were few and far between. You’d learned that the hard way.

But today…you were inclined to think that it might be another one of those days.

Your boyfriend of two years had proposed on a beautiful spring day reminiscent of one long ago.

You supposed that this marked a series of firsts.

First date. First kiss. And now…a proposal.

You accept his proposal, tears in your eyes. He thinks that they’re tears of happiness, and in part, they are.

You don’t tell him that this was the one thing that you never thought you’d do. You feel like you’re betraying Keigo.

You have to remind yourself that he betrayed you first.

Half a year later, you have a wedding. It’s a small wedding, with only your families and close friends. You considered reaching out to Hawks’s hero agency, but decided to spare yourself the pain.

He’d moved on. So would you.

Unbeknownst to you, when the ceremony rolled around, Keigo was standing on a nearby rooftop, the wind blowing away his tears.

He couldn’t believe how beautiful you were.

He knew that he couldn’t have you, but didn’t you know that he was a sucker for pain? Watching you repeat the vows was like getting punched full-force in the gut, but the wind never returned to his lungs.

He felt empty inside. Something essential was missing, and he knew what it was, but he also knew that he couldn’t ever have it. Not if he wanted you to stay alive.

As the ceremony finished, he flew away into the sunset, and you caught a glimpse of his crimson wings, purely on accident. You shook your head in disbelief.

“Now I’m hallucinating too,” you muttered to yourself.

But no matter how hard you tried to convince yourself you imagined the whole thing, that final view made it so much harder for you to forget him.

Another year passed, and the seasons changed as they did. Spring flowing into summer, summer fading into autumn, autumn slowly drifting into winter.

Gradually, your new life engulfed you, the comfort of it all slowly draining away your doubts. Your husband was a good man. A faithful man. A caring man.

He held doors open for you and snuggled you on the couch. He played with your hair and made you breakfast in bed. He made it difficult for you not to love him.

You weren’t entirely sure you wanted to resist, anyways.

One night, you woke up in your shared bed, screaming in pain. Your lower back burned, almost as if you were getting branded.

Your husband woke up to the commotion. The bedsheets were stained with blood. Fresh, crimson, blood, all of it coming from you.

Whimpering, you laid limp as Masaki set you on your belly, trying to figure out the source of the injury. Taking a clean paper towel, he gingerly wiped the blood off of your raw skin, showing a tattoo emblazoned in gold ink.

Written in elegant cursive were three simple words.

Three words, but they hurt to look at.

(Y/N) …I’m sorry.

Your husband stared in shock. This didn’t happen. This couldn’t happen, could it? The only way someone got a tattoo like this was if their soulmate died, and, well…he was still very much alive.

He wasn’t your soulmate.

In this world, quirks weren’t the only strange thing.

Soulmates existed. But most never found out until it was too late.

When your soulmate died, their last words would be tattooed permanently on their other half’s skin in a bloody and painful process.

Their last moments would flash before the other’s eyes.

Nothing you could do. Nothing you could be sure of, until it was too late.

Fires blazed everywhere.

Building after building, it ate away at the crumbling city, tearing down everything in its path.

“Help!” A voice choked out, raspy from smoke intake. “There’s a beam—ugh—on my leg. I can’t get it off!”

A winged figure crouched on a burning rooftop, out of breath and utterly exhausted.

Backup wasn’t coming.

The whole city was burning.

Standing shakily, he sent the last of his feathers off to help the trapped woman.

“That’s it for me then, I suppose,” his smile wobbled slightly. “My work here is done.”

He couldn’t risk jumping off of the roof. His wings were stubs on his back, and only a single feather remained.

“That’s not enough for me to fly off, now is it?” He chuckled mirthlessly. “Oh, if only you could see me right now, (Y/N). You’d be proud. Saved more than 500 people today, you know that?” He sighed, sitting down on the roof. “Lost count somewhere around there. You were always proud of me, weren’t you? The only one that believed in me when I told myself I couldn’t fly.

You’re the one that taught me to fly, remember, chicken? Those were the good times.

Look at me now. Talking to myself. Don’t even have the strength to fly down anymore.” He coughed into his hand, blood staining his palm. He grasped tightly onto a keychain around his neck, smearing the metal with crimson.

“I never did thank you. Guess it’s too late now.” He stared up at the sky, hues of orange and gold dancing across the horizon.

“Never did treat you right.” He plucked his last feather off of his back, twirling it around in his fingers.

“You were always too good for me. Too good for anyone, really.” He laid down on the roof, back no longer sensitive to the burning heat.

“I lost the right to love you a long time ago. I’ve got no business crying over you.” He chuckled bitterly. “But is that going to stop me?”

Letting go of the keychain and his feather, his hands went limp.

“(Y/N),” he sighed, closing his eyes. “I’m sorry.”

The roof collapsed, the hungry flames licking at the bottom finally swallowing him whole. His comms fell out of his ear, the plastic melting in the heat.

A single red feather floated down to the ground, charred and blackened.

The only remains of his body they’ll ever find.

You were sobbing uncontrollably. Keigo.

He was your soulmate.

The boy you loved.

The one who’d abandoned you.

The one who you tried to forget.

He was your soulmate.

Your soulmate, who was dead.

“Turn…turn on the TV,” you whispered weakly. “Turn it on. I need to see.”

Masaki reached for the remote, flipping it on to the news channel.

“Earlier tonight, a bomb was detonated in Nagoya prefecture. Top heroes were on the scene, including Endeavor and Hawks, but their quirks are ill-suited to fight the conflagration. Endeavor has resorted to using brute strength to rescue people from the rubble, while Hawks hasn’t been seen since the beginning of the night. We are now reporting his status as MIA, and will continue to look for the Winged Hero, along with updating our reports on the status of missing civilians–”

You shut the TV off. You’d heard all you needed to.

Throwing on a mishmash of clothing, you sprinted out the door. Hailing a taxi, you hopped in before it had even screeched to a full stop.

“Hawks Hero Agency.” You told the driver, not bothering to mince your words. You hadn’t bothered to wipe all the blood off of your back either, so it was gradually staining your coat a deep crimson, a mocking parody of the way that Keigo’s feathers used to lay against his back.

His feathers that were burnt, charred, turned to ashes, no longer able to bring you the comfort they once had when they wrapped you in a warm embrace.

The driver looked concerned. “Miss, do you know what happened today? Hawks isn’t–”

“Yes, I know. Drive.”

You pressed your forehead against the window, breath steaming up the glass. It reminded you of one winter, when the two of you had been building snowmen, and your mother called you in for dinner.

“Kei, I have to go,” you tugged at his hand.

“Aww, (Y/N),” he kicked at an unfortunate stone with the scuffed toe of his boot. “Why can’t you stay a little longer? We haven’t finished his head yet.” He pouted.

“I can’t, Kei,” you tried to make him release his iron grip on your hand. “Mama’s gonna get mad.”

“Then I’ll make you stay!” He boldly declared, wrapping his little arms around your frame, tackling you to the snow-covered ground.

The two of you giggled, engaged in a tickle war, your mom’s voice fading into the distance.

“(Y/N) (Y/L/N)!” Your mom yelled, marching over to where the two of you lay, tangled in a heap. “Do you want to get a cold?”

“No, Mama,” you said, slowly getting up and dusting the snow off of your parka. “I’m coming.” You turned around and poked your tongue out at your friend, letting your mom drag you back into your house.

Keigo sat in the snow for a while longer, not exactly excited to go back to his house.

Suddenly, an idea popped into his head.

He beat his little wings as fast as he could, half flying, half stumbling to your kitchen window.

Sneaking a peek inside, he saw you staring questioningly back at him. Not bothering to hide his mischievous grin, he puffed out a breath, steaming the window, took his little glove off, and started writing.

“D O  Y O U  W A N T  T O  F L Y  W I T H  M E ?” He painstakingly wrote out.

You shook your head, and his grin quickly dropped from his face. Looking down, he almost missed the words you mouthed out.

“I can’t read it!” You tried your best to sign. “It’s backwards!”

“Oh!” He tried his best to write the mirror image of what he had just written, making sure that you could read it from your point of view this time. You read his little message, a grin taking over your face.

“Y E S!” You mouthed. “YES, YES, YES!”

Quickly scarfing down your dinner, you waved a hasty goodbye to your mom, racing out the back door, only to get tackled into the snow.

“Come on, let’s go!” He took ahold of your hand. “Race you!”

“You can’t race me if you’re holding my hand!” You shrieked in delight. “Stop it!”

He paused, turning around. “Hmm. Well, maybe I don’t want to race you then,” he looked at you with a small smile on his face. “I wanna try something new!”

“Oh?” You asked, seeing the way his eyes lit up with delight. “What is it?”

“I wanna fly! With you!”

Giggling, he turned you around so that your back was facing him. He circled his arms below your armpits.

“Hang on!” He flapped his wings as fast as he could, kicking up a storm of snow around you. To his surprise, he actually managed to lift the two of you off the ground for around 3 feet or so. He wasn’t expecting it to work on his first try, but the two of you really were flying!

Sighing, you turned away from the window.

Happier times, you chuckled mirthlessly.

Isn’t it sad that I’m only remembering them now?

The car screeched to a stop at the front door to the Hawks Hero Agency.

You stepped into the lobby, the fluorescent lights blinding.

It’s the middle of the night, but they don’t seem to mind, you thought. Everyone was bustling around the place like it was normal.

The receptionist had changed since you’d last been here.

She spotted you and hurried over, most likely because of the blood staining your clothes.

“Miss, are you hurt?” She gave you a once-over. “Can I help you?”

You stared at her in shock for a moment. What were you here for again?

“Oh…uh,” you wrung your hands nervously. “I’m here for Hawks.”

Her expression of concern melted away into one of annoyance. “Another fangirl. This one appears to be married too,” she scoffed at the band adorning your left ring finger. “People these days…” she muttered underneath her breath, already hurrying back to her desk, where the phone rang incessantly.

“No. I’m not a fangirl.” You lifted your head. You might be in pain, but damned if you were going to let a stranger strip you of the remaining shreds of your dignity.

“I’m his soulmate.”

The way you said that phrase with such conviction made the lady pause.

“Soulmate?” She questioned. Girls had tried this trick on her before, but…when asked to prove themselves, they merely responded with “oh, it’s just a feeling,” or “I just know it.”

Never once had anyone said this phrase with such confidence.

“Yes.” You shut your eyes, defiantly holding back tears. “You have comms, right? What did he say before the comms died?”

The lady stared back at you, a pang of sorrow shooting its way into her heart. You weren’t joking around, were you?

“I…yes, yes we do. What’s your name, miss?”

You sucked in a deep breath. “(Y/N). (Y/N) (Y/L/N).”

She stared at you for another moment, then quietly pulled out her comms.

“He said…” she choked a little. “He said, ‘(Y/N) …I’m sorry.’ We weren’t sure who he was talking about. We assumed it was a civilian he wasn’t able to save,” she pressed the back of her hand to her mouth. “Oh God…”

Quietly, she choked out another question. “Was it…was he talking about…you?”

You didn’t want to reply. You’d heard enough.

The lady didn’t try to stop you as you ran to the elevator, your fingertip pressing the “up” button so hard it bruised.

Quickly looking at the directory, you found his office.

“420.” You choked out a pained laugh. “He always did like messing around with people.”

Collapsing against the corner of the elevator, you wrapped your arms around your knees and lowered your head. You felt so goddamn tired.

Why did it have to be you?

Why couldn’t he break someone else’s heart?

Someone who was stronger?

Someone who could take this in stride and move on?

Why did the universe choose you?

The elevator bell dinged, rousing you from your thoughts. You stood up slowly, a trail of blood staining the place where you once sat.

Crimson, like the trail of feathers he’d (perhaps intentionally) shed during that game of hide and seek.

You buried your face into your hands.

Goddamnit, Keigo! Why does everything have to remind me of you?

You made your way into his office, most likely the messiest of all the top pro-hero offices. Paperwork was scattered everywhere, jackets strewn across the floor. You even saw a shoelace string laying on the carpet next to his desk.

It’s almost as if he’d always expected to come back.

Stepping cautiously over the objects that littered the ground, you came face-to-face with a cabinet next to his desk.

Snowglobes. So many snowglobes.

Snowglobes occupied every shelf of the cabinet, and the glass doors made it easy to examine the contents.

You squinted closely at them. They were all…different angles of the same scene, you realized.

The snow park above your houses.

He’d had snowglobes made.

They immortalized the place where the two of you played all day in the snow.

The place where he first learned how to fly, gliding off the hills like a paraglider.

The place where he’d picked you up and learned how to fly with another person’s life in his hands, hugging you close to his chest, reveling in your warmth.

In the spring, it was the place where he took you on your first picnic date.

The place where the two of you shared your first kiss.

The place where he left you his goodbye note, tucked away under the grounding weight of a boulder you used to lay on, basking in the sun’s warmth.

He’d had 12 snowglobes made. Your lucky number.

12 different angles that showcased the same scenery.

Suddenly, your legs wouldn’t carry your weight anymore. You leaned back into his chair, still smelling faintly of his scent.

How can someone’s scent not change over 13 years?

You closed your eyes, and quickly opened them again when you saw a pile of letters on the corner of the desk.

You weren’t sure why they caught your eye. They weren’t anything special, really. Plain white envelopes addressed in plain black print.

You took a closer look.

That was your name on the envelopes.

You leaned closer, quickly shuffling through them all.

Each and every single one of them was addressed to you.

Each and every single one of them was dated a year apart.

Each and every single one of them was marked for your various addresses over the years, his handwriting steadily improving.

You couldn’t resist your curiosity. Taking a paper cutter, you tore through the seal of the earliest envelope.

A single red feather, beautifully preserved, floated out.

You stared in shock. He…he didn’t forget.

He never forgot.

He just chose not to send it.

Hurriedly opening the remaining envelopes, you acquired more feathers, each fresher than the last.

By the end, you had a pile of 13 crimson feathers, right next to 13 shredded envelopes.

You looked around, confused. Why hadn’t he left a note? Any note?

Did he…did he never write letters?

You knew that you had sent him letters.

Maybe they did throw them out as spam.

Your curiosity piqued, you pulled open drawer after drawer, but none of them held anything of personal importance.

Finally, you came upon the bottom right drawer.

It was locked, you realized.

You carefully place the feathers back in their respective envelopes. Sealing them up once again, you carry them in a stack, making your way downstairs.

The agency workers saw you with the letters in your arms, not sure if they should stop you or not. When you looked to the receptionist and murmured a quiet “thank you”, they stood their ground. If she was okay with you walking away like this, then there shouldn’t be a reason that they wouldn’t be.

The taxi driver who took you here was still waiting outside. Seeing you arrive, he stomped out his cigarette butt and opened the backseat door for you.

“Rough night, miss?” He looked at your back, pity obvious in his expression. “Do you want me to take you to a hospital with that?”

You shook your head. “They can’t fix that. Do you remember the way we came?”

“Aye, yes I do,” he stepped into his own seat. “I’ll take you there right quick, miss. Don’t you worry.”

As you rode back home in silence, you couldn’t stop thinking about the cabinet in Keigo’s office.

The feathers, folded away safely in the envelopes you were holding.

If he never forgot, why did he never reach out?

The car door slamming shook you from your daze. “Miss, you’re back home.”

You stared at the man, realizing that you didn’t have your wallet on you.

“Do you mind waiting a second? I’ll go get my wallet now–”

He shook his head. “I know where that blood came from. See here?” He rolled up his sleeve.

“Got mine when I was 22,” a melancholy smile framed his face. “Rare, right? I never did find out who she was.

But the hospital staff helped me that day. Looked for deaths around my age, and then when I tried to pay ‘em, they refused. Said ‘twas only the right thing to do. Now I finally get to repay the favor. Don’t you go tryna pay me now. Won’t ‘ccept it.”

He leaned back against the hood of his car. When you opened your mouth to object, he merely saluted you, hopped back into the driver’s seat, and drove off into the night.

You turned to your house. The lights were still on inside, meaning your husband was still up. He probably couldn’t sleep, not after what had just happened. You couldn’t blame him.

Stepping inside, you heard muffled sobs coming from the kitchen.

“Masaki?” You leaned on the doorframe. He looked up at your voice.

“(Y/N)?” He rose from the table. “You’re…you’re okay,” he wrapped you in a hug.

You cleared your throat. “…yeah. Yeah, I’m okay,” you hugged him back.

I’m okay, you tried to convince yourself.

“Where did you go?” He looked at you curiously. Finally seeing the envelopes in your arms, he paused.

“Babe?” He asked softly. “Did you…did you know him?”

You buried your face into his chest. “Yeah…yeah, I did.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” He asked softly.

“Not really…not now…” you replied.

He patted your back lightly. “That’s ok. I understand.”

The rest of the night went by in a blur. The letters were scattered on your nightstand, your husband helping you into the shower. He’s changed the bloody sheets already, but the stains on the mattress were stubborn and refused to come out.

Crimson stains, in the shape of wings.

Days later, some people from the agency stopped by your house.

“Is there a (Y/N) (Y/L/N) at this address?” The receptionist from your earlier encounter knocked on the door.

“Uh, hi. Yeah, that’s me,” you answered, not bothering to change out of your bathrobe. Your complexion had grown waxen, face shallow. Your hair formed an unkempt nest, spiraling around your face.

She gave you a smile, pity etched in her face. It disgusted you, really.

All anyone ever gave you nowadays was pity. Pity cards from your coworkers, although you weren’t sure how the information leaked out. Pitiful glances from your husband, who insisted on doing all the chores around the house.

Pity, pity, pity.

“What is it?” You asked her.

“We have some…documents for you.” She waved over two guys, each lugging a large crate of…paper?

“Wait…all that? For me?” You were confused. There was no way that that bottom drawer, even if all it contained were letters, had that much paper in it.

“Yes, (Y/L/N)-san. It’s all for you.” The men dropped off their crates at your door.

“What’s going on?”

“These were stored in the records house. Hawks filed them. They were all addressed to you, so we felt that this was the proper treatment.”

“We’ll leave you to go through these in your own time.” She started down the steps. Then, as if remembering something suddenly, she paused.

“You know…he was a good man,” she smiled gently. “We all knew he had a secret someone. We just didn’t know who they were. I’m glad he found you. Hero work is dangerous, especially for top heroes like him.

I hope that you find joy in those letters.” She turned back and finished her journey down the steps.

You turned around and looked at the crates.

Found me?

You smiled bitterly, a brittle coldness taking over your heart.

He never really did find me, did he?

Sighing, you sorted through the crates, looking for the ones that were dated the earliest. You carried the oldest set of letters into the bedroom and tore open the first envelope.

Hey, (Y/N). It’s me, Kei.

I hope you haven’t forgotten about me. I mean, I’m not an easy person to forget, I suppose, but it has been a while. Three years, to be exact.

Three years can do a lot to a person.

I should know.

How are you doing? I hope you managed to keep Timothy alive. You were always prone to overwatering him.

I’m not sure how long cacti live, but…if you nurture something, anything can happen, right?

I’m a hero now. I’m sure you know. My debut was broadcasted all over national television. They just can’t resist making themselves look good, can they?

At least now I’m allowed to write. I hope you understand why I haven’t written to you in so long.

I didn’t forget about you. How could I? Even though we were only 15, how could I forget someone like you?

I missed you. I don’t think you understand how much. It felt so empty, living without you by my side. Like…like I wasn’t ever warm enough, even bundled in the tightest blankets. I was always missing you.

Sounds like a curse, eh?

But don’t worry. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I just wanted you to know that.

Yours, Kei.

Ripping open letter after letter, you realized that you held his entire life story in your hands.

Hey chicken. It’s Kei again.

Realized I’ve been treating these letters as a kind of diary. I guess it’s…therapeutic? Even though I know I’ll never send these. I don’t want to put you in danger, you know?

Do you remember when we were kids?

We had all the time in the world to do whatever we wanted.

I miss that time.

Not as much as I miss you though.

I check in on you every so often, but I make sure you never see.

False hope is a dangerous thing. It shatters your soul into pieces, and when you try and piece them back together, it cuts your heart so badly you wish you’d never started.

But, you see, you’re like a drug for me.

I can’t seem to stop myself. No matter how bad it hurts, I…I still come back.

You wouldn’t know, of course.

I suppose there’s a reason it hurts when you stare into the sun.

I’m already broken, yeah? I don’t want you to break with me.

The thing is, I know you’d want to. I know we promised we’d always come back for each other. We promised we’d always be here for each other.

But some promises were meant to be broken.

You can’t be here for me, birdie. You’ll get hurt.

That would hurt me more than anything else, (Y/N).

So for my own safety, and yours…

This is the last time I’ll write to you.

I have to move on, or else those pieces of my soul?

They’re already in splinters, but if I keep going like this, they’ll be nothing more than powder, and I don’t think I could go on like that, yeah?

I love you, forever and always.

Kei.

Ha. Guess what.

What I said in the last letter?

A fucking lie.

I physically. Can’t stop.

The thought of not writing to you breaks me more than the thought of never being with you, and that’s a milestone I never thought I’d be able to pass.

So here I am again.

You’ve already heard my entire life story.

I wish I could be there to hear yours.

I saw you tonight, standing on your balcony. You know, the stars were so bright tonight. Reminded me of your eyes the first time I flew with you around the whole field, yeah?

Sparkling. You never stop sparkling, do you?

You know…do you ever wonder who your soulmate is?

I know that the world is cruel. I know that we don’t know exactly who our soulmates are until one of us dies.

But…do you ever think about it?

Who’s out there, just waiting for you?

Because I do.

And sometimes, when I’m at rock bottom, I’ll imagine that we’re soulmates.

I’ll create scenarios in my head. We’d be happily married. I’d spoon-feed you ice cream.

We’d play tickle wars with my feathers, have pillow fights, binge TV shows.

We’d watch horror movies, and you’d hide your face in my chest the whole time.

But…those scenarios always make me feel worse after I wake up. Because they’re not real.

And I…I so desperately want them to be real.

But you can’t always get what you wish for, yeah?

Going on a big mission soon. Undercover. Cool, right?

You’d be proud of me, I think, if you saw me.

I have to go now. But I’ll come back safe for you, yeah?

I know you won’t wait for me. I want you to wait for me, but…I know it’s not in your best interests. Probably not in mine either.

Sometimes I try and convince myself that it’s okay to be selfish. I want what I want, and you only live once, right?

But then I realize that you’re the one I’d be putting in danger.

And that’s when I realize you can’t ever stay with me.

It’s okay. I’ll watch from afar.

I don’t think I’ll ever be able to stop loving you.

Yours,

Kei.

You put the letter down and rummaged through the second crate, desperately trying to find the last letter that he wrote.

Hey birdie. Long time no see. Ha.

13 years and I still can’t forget about you. Doesn’t seem normal, does it?

I’m convinced that we’re soulmates, but then again, I may have convinced myself. You know…I used to hate the idea of soulmates. Sharing your life with another person, seen as incomplete without them?

Sharing my soul?

Bunch of crap, right? I like making my own decisions. Wasn’t ever much of a rule-stickler. But…you know…I’m starting to warm up to that idea.

But only with you.

And that’s why I’m convinced that we are, in fact, soulmates.

You don’t know how my heart breaks every time I see you. Manual is a good guy. I know he’s treating you well.

That’s the only reason I’m letting you stay married to him, really. If it was anyone else, I would’ve busted their ass.

But…you deserve someone like him. Someone who can give you their all.

Someone who, if you date them…they won’t lead you into danger.

Soulmates are a finicky concept, yeah?

So…I guess we’ll never know ‘till one of us dies.

Yours,

Kei.

Epilogue

Rainy winter days were the saddest days of the year.

Especially today.

Strolling through the park, you held a black umbrella in one hand and clutched a glass case tightly in the other.

You stopped in front of a marble headstone.

“Hey there,” your voice cracked.

“Miss me?”

A whistling wind, scattering powdered snow and frozen rain across the landscape, was your only answer.

“Kei, I–” You collapsed onto your knees, uncaring of whether or not the cold would seep in. It couldn’t get colder than your soul now, anyways.

“I…I didn’t go to your funeral.” Tears rolled down your cheeks, leaving a silvery sheen in their wake. “There were too many people and I…I couldn’t handle it.”

“But…Kei…” You choked out an ugly sob. “Why didn’t you send me the fucking letters?”

“I don’t care how dangerous your work was. You can’t get anywhere without taking risks in life, Kei!” You screamed at the marble façade, willing it to crumble.

“You can’t–”

“You can’t make my decisions for me!”

“I should be the one who gets to choose who I love!”

Your screams attracted the attention of several bystanders, who quickly averted their eyes and walked away when they saw your distraught state.

“You shouldn’t have tried to choose for me!”

“And now–”

“You’re dead, Kei! What am I supposed to do now?” Your tears pooled on the frozen ground, marking little dents in the snow.

You slammed your fists into the ground, the glass case in your hand cracking.

Another ugly sob made its way out.

“Kei–” you whimpered.

The glass shattered, splintering into thousands of tiny pieces, each fragment glittering like diamonds.

Slivers found their way into your palm.

Crimson blood, the color of the worn-out feather freed from its enclosure, splattered the snow-white ground.

“Kei,” you whispered, carefully placing the feather on top of the chiseled marble.

“Wherever you are, I hope you’re happy.”

Masterlist

[sweetlavenderwritings]

um hi! im your first i guess? im up for some angst and fluff rn mmm what about keigo with his girlfriend who got pregnant with his baby so she broke up with him to let him grow as his own person and as a hero then like years later, his ex girlfriend and his chile needed rescuing and met accidentally so like she doesn’t really have an excuse but to explain everything? fluff at the ending pleaze huhuhu ilyyyy :)

Back to His Nest

A/N: You are my first ask indeed! Thank you so much for sending a request, I really appreciate it <3 You didn’t specify what format you wanted so I made a one-shot if you don’t mind. Hope you like it :)

Pairing/s: hawks/takami keigo x reader

Word Count: 1, 762

Tags: angst with a happy ending, fluff, pregnancy, mentions of smut. 

-ꦼ———▸ Part 2

⋅. ♪ .⋅   Loving Keigo Playlist

The test fell on the bathroom floor. You tried to breathe but you just couldn’t concentrate.  Two lines… I can’t believe it.

How on earth were you going to tell Keigo? The number two hero, who’s been your boyfriend for the past two years, he surely doesn’t need someone tying him down. Knowing his situation with the Hero Public Commission, you were pretty sure they weren’t going to like it either, unless they take interest in the child’s quirk…

NO! You jolted upwards, sudden realization dawning over you as you pondered on what your options are. There was no way you were going to let them take advantage of the baby like what they did to Keigo. You clutched your stomach, as if your arms were enough to keep it out of harm’s way. Not my baby…

Hawks, as what the public knows him as, had been a hero for more than 5 years. Even then, he managed to stay on his top ranks. Dropping from his spot in the second place then coming back. Everybody adored him, so did you most of all. He was charming, funny, and was always willing to serve others first instead of himself, a true hero.

You found him at his worst, at a time where he was most vulnerable. His eyes looked so sad you didn’t want to leave him alone. Seeing him curled up on himself with his wings shielding him away from everything, it was a side you thought not everyone got to see. Since then, a string had tied you both. You spent two years loving him, even if your love was unannounced from the rest of the world.

You understood why it had to be that way, for your safety and his image. It bothered you when his fan girls would gush over him in public as if they had claims over him, but you knew Keigo was loyal and faithful, never once giving you a reason to doubt his love for you. But now, everything had to change.

 For both of your sake.

 You hear the jangling of keys near the front door. Shit, was it that late already?

“Baby bird?” You hear Hawks call out as he entered your shared apartment.

“I’ll be there in a sec!” You answered as you rushed to stuff the test kits in your pockets.

“He shouldn’t know,” You muttered to yourself as you removed all evidence of what you just found out. Wiping your tears away, which you didn’t even notice until you took a look in the mirror, you stepped out of the bathroom and plastered a smile on your face.

“Hey baby,” You gave him a peck on the lips, “You’re earlier than usual.”

“They got me off an hour early today since it’s my day off tomorrow.” He pulled you in close with a gentle smile. “They’re probably going to have me work my ass off for the next week but I’ll take what I can get.” He laughed.

The sound of his laughter made you grip his jacket tighter. He looked at you in concern,

“You okay, songbird? Got something on your mind?” I’m thinking about leaving you, but I really don’t want to. I love you so much it hurts.

A nervous laugh slipped through your lips before you even thought about it. “I’m fine, Kei. I just missed you that’s all.” Before you know it, he had you completely in his arms. Not breaking a sweat as he carries you to the bedroom.

“K-Kei! What’re you doing?” You clutched his shoulders in surprise.

“What does it look like I’m doing, Baby bird? I’m making up for lost time.” You laugh along with him, with the words one last time lingering in the back of your head.

When Hawks awoke the morning after, he took his time admiring your sleeping form. You were everything to him, his darling angel. He liked to think he had nothing before he met you. He tucked a strand of your hair away from your face, fingertips brushing against your cheek. You scrunched your eyebrows together, then mumbling a few words before drifting back to sleep. He chuckled as he kissed your forehead before gently nudging your shoulder.

“Muh?” You whispered groggily. You blinked at him a few times before fully gathering your senses.

“Morning songbird, I just thought that we’d spend the morning together.” He said with a smile, “Since it’s my day off, maybe we could spend the whole day outside? We could go wherever; it’s been a while since we’ve had a proper date.” He looked at you sheepishly.

“That sounds great Kei.” You smiled back, trying desperately to ignore the nagging thoughts of leaving him in the back of your head. “Let me freshen up and we can go for breakfast at your favourite diner.”

He gave you one last kiss before he got up. You sat up with growing knots in the pits of your stomach, unnerving sensations clawing its way up to your chest. It’s supposed to be a happy day. Why can’t I just let him have this for once?

“Songbird, shower’s getting cold.” You hear him tease from the bathroom. You stand up, making your way towards him, the words one last time lingering in your head once more.

 ..

You spent the whole day together, going from place to place without any plans whatsoever. Most of the time it was as simple as taking a walk in the park, taking pictures of each other in secret, and laying down in a blanket just looking at the sky. You had to stop Hawks from puffing out his wings every now and then whenever he saw birds nearby because it surprised most of civilians walking in the street. It was a nice outing the both of you rarely got to experience together.

You were walking on the way home when he suddenly stopped to look at a small antique store. “That place looks interesting, wanna go check it out?” You wanted to indulge in him, and who were you to say no? Not when he was looking at you like an endearing child.

You giggled as he pulled you into the shop with a newfound excitement. You both trifled through the shelves with a childlike curiosity, gazing at assortments of abandoned trinkets as if they were lost treasures. They were, in a way, small tokens left behind as people moved on to their lives. You picked up a snow globe and shook it. You were watching the faux snow fall to the bottom when you heard him call your name.

“Come here for a sec.” You followed his voice until you saw him hunched over something. “What’s up?” You asked nervously.  

 “Turn around.” he said gently. You arched an eyebrow before doing so. You felt a cold metal pressing against your neck. “I forgot I went here last week to get this cleaned,” he said as he clasped the necklace, “This belonged to my mother’s. She told me to give it to a special someone once I got older.” It was a simple, silver necklace. A small feather charm, rested right above your collarbones. He smiled at you, looking at you with an adoring gaze that made your heart stop. “I knew I didn’t have to wait to know if you were the one. I just knew it since the day we met.”

Before you knew it, your eyes were brimming with tears. You wiped at your eyes hastily, not wanting to catch unnecessary attention. Hawks looked at you in surprise before holding you close. “Hey, hey, hey.” He cooed. “You don’t like it? I mean, it’s not the fanciest thing I could actually give. I just thought that-“

“You dummy,” You chuckled as you kept wiping your face, “I’m not crying because I don’t like it. I love it. It’s the sweetest thing someone has ever done for me. It’s really beautiful, I’m glad you gave it to me.” You look at him in the eyes, meaning every word you said.

He sighed in relief then hugged you tighter. “You ridiculous goose, crying over the smallest things-ouch! Hey!” He rubbed at the spot on his chest where you punched him. You gave him a pout as he laughed at your puffy face.“Let’s go home, okay birdie?”

You linked your pinky with his, walking along with him in the coldest nights. It felt warm, clinging onto him as you tried to relish every second of this beautiful moment.

..

In the end, they set you up on a trip to a town where they owned a house they never really used. It belonged to your grandmother’s, but nobody wanted to disturb the house so none of your relatives claimed it. You shipped some of your belongings in secret. Hiding the backpack and the suitcase deep in your shared closet where Hawks surely wouldn’t notice. As he expected, he was even busier the next week after his day off. As sharp as he was, he failed to notice you planning your preparations to leave.

It was afternoon, so you didn’t receive any texts or calls from him yet. It would be one of those days where he’d be so busy he’d come home late at night. The thought of him arriving in your apartment tired and hungry, looking for you sent a fresh wave of tears to your face. Stop it, no time for you to be weak.

You see your train come to a stop, its doors opening as people clambered to get off. It was your turn.  You patted your stomach, “I’m doing this all for you, you know.” With a deep breath, you stepped onto the train, every bit of yourself screaming with regret. 

It was time. You dreaded this very moment and here you were, backpack and suitcases in tow. You gripped your train ticket tightly, not knowing where to express your frustration.  The following week after your date, you prepared everything you needed to leave. You called your parents at your hometown, explaining your situation in tears. They listened carefully and asked whatever they could do to help. You merely wanted to explain your situation just in case Hawks would try and call them.

To be continued...

A/N:I tried to fix the formatting of the text but somehow it wouldn’t work?? New to tumblr so apologies ˚‧º·(˚ ˃̣̣̥⌓˂̣̣̥ )‧º·˚sorry it had to be a cliffhanger! I promise I’ll finish this soon as I can, I just needed to put more thought into how the meeting and the ending will be. I promise I’ll make it up with fluff as you requested Σ(･ω･ﾉ)ﾉ！

[hopelikethemoon]

Moros (Ezra x Reader) || {Moonbeams} || [smut]

Title: Moros  Rating: Explicit Length: 3,900 Warnings: Mild angst, pregnant!reader, and light sexual content in the form of masturbation.   Notes: Honestly, I think the first half of this is some of the best writing I’ve ever done.  Part thirteen of the Moonbeams series.

Taglist: @princessbatears @djarin-junk @absurdthirst @hdlynn @legally-a-bastard @opheliaelysia @heather-lynn @sabinemorans @crazinessgraveyardsandcartoons @pedrospunk @maybege @chews-erotically @katlikeme @lose-eels @youmeanmybrain @theindiealto @irishleesh93 @seawhisperer @hdlynn @demigod-dragonrider-schoolidol  @grapemama @roxypeanut @kochamcie @kiwi-the-first @hellomothermoon @soft-fanfics @spacegayofficial @storiesofthefandomloversreblogs @kindablackenedsuperhero @goblinqueen95 @nominalnebula @wheresthewater @letmybabysleep @hayley-the-comet @corrupt-fvcker @i-ship-it-ironically @mrsparknuts @the-feckless-wonder @gamingaquarius​  @findhimfives​

Despite how disparagingly Ezra often spoke of Lykaios — as far as moons went, it was actually beautiful. It had a lush forest, rolling meadows, and at least two seasons. 

If that was where you would have to call home for the foreseeable future, you weren’t going to complain. You just had to look past the trio that wanted to hurt you and the semi-feral werewolves that also called it home. 

Arcadia, on the other hand, was surreal. Even from above the planet during your descent, you were struck by the planet’s beauty. There were snowcapped mountain peaks, expansive fields cut through by wide rivers that led to the sea, and waterfalls.

It made your heart hurt to think that just beside Lykaios was a planet that had everything Ezra’s heart longed for. How many times had he told you that he missed the sea? 

You landed in an open meadow and armed yourself with your stun gun and a long armed blaster loaded with the silverline Shiva had given you. Proctor had made numerous visits to the planet — it couldn’t be that dangerous, right? 

Though you did wonder why Sybil didn’t know about it. What was he keeping from her?

You ventured out towards one of the rivers you had spotted from above. There appeared to be an outcropping of rocks that looked similar to lunaxium deposits you had seen on Lykaois. That was the key — you just had to find out whether or not the planet could sustain Ezra’s need. You hesitated to call it an addiction, because he did actually need to take the substance. 

But sometimes it reminded you of Ay-7 and the illicit affairs that could be found in the back rooms of popular cantinas. That blissed out, out-of-body look. At least Ezra came down off of it fairly quickly, though you sometimes wondered if he only took enough to bide himself through the discomfort until you were gone. 

You trusted Ezra with your life, but you didn’t trust him to not lie about his own life. And maybe that had nothing to do with being a werewolf and everything to do with being a drifter. You had to build up walls to keep yourself safe. 

You wore your heart on your sleeve, but you weren’t afraid to do what had to be done. 

Sometimes you caught yourself wondering if you would’ve even liked Ezra if you had met him on a prospecting venture. He could be grating at times — especially if he knew more about a topic. He’d go on and on about it until you forgot what had sparked the discussion at first. He hated being wrong, but he was quick to apologize. Plus, you knew he had a long list of dead partners which made you wonder if that would’ve been you too. 

It stung to even think of that because you knew what it was like to stare down the barrel of a blaster held by someone you loved. And that was why Alia was never discussed. 

But Ezra wasn’t Mars or Alia or anyone else that you had given misplaced emotions to. As irrational as it seemed — Ezra didn’t seem like the type to pretend, even if he was just lonely. He was too brutally honest to mislead you. 

You holstered your stun gun on your thigh as you approached the river. It must have rained recently because it had risen up over the edge of the bank, running rapidly downstream towards the sea. The water was a vibrant shade of blue, a mirror reflection of the brilliant sky above and the shiny stones that lined the riverbed. 

You knelt down and dipped your fingers into the water, wiggling them in the current as it flowered around them. There were fish — which was a welcome surprise. Lykaois had no major water sources, aside from the occasional shower or snow. 

You pulled your fingers out of the water and watched your reflection in the smooth surface of the water. Your face was distorted by the current and the edges bled out into waves of darkness that seemed to sink into the riverbed. 

“What the—“ You murmured to yourself as you reached out and dipped your finger into the water, watching as it cut your reflection in two but the darkness seemed to pulse with life. 

You stood up abruptly and took a stumbling step away from the riverbank. The darkness seemed to rise up and out of the flow, before fanning out across the ground beneath you. 

You scrambled to your feet, spinning around to look for the darkness but it was gone and all that remained was your own shadow. 

You grabbed your longarm off your shoulder, aiming it at the ground. “What are you?” You questioned, keeping your finger trained on the trigger. 

Your shadow expanded across the ground, growing upwards before it spoke. “I have encountered many mortals who have found their way onto this planet, yet not one that came before you tried to shoot their own shadow.” The rich masculine timbre of the figure’s voice made something quake within you. 

“You didn’t answer my question.” You retorted, not letting up on your aim. 

The shadowy figure chuckled lowly as it moved beyond your shadow, stepping to the left and shifting into a new shapeless form. “I am only what you make of me. What do you see when you look at me?” 

“I see…” You squinted as you tried to focus on the darkness, but every time you thought it came into focus it transformed into something unrecognizable. “I don’t know.”

“A path unset. Fascinating.” The figure stretched out across the ground, before rising upwards and taking on a new form. The darkness was thick and yet you could see straight through it. 

“You came here seeking answers,” The voice questioned, turning an accusatory tone towards you. “You think you can defy the verdict of the fates because of love.” 

You took a step backwards, glancing behind you towards the river before looking back at the figure. “I didn’t come here to defy anyone. I came here because someone I love was unjustly cursed because of the actions of someone centuries ago. I just want to find somewhere we can go together safely.” 

The figure must have noticed the way you unintentionally passed your hand over your stomach. 

“A child.” He spoke, moving towards you. “One of the few creatures in the universe that spring up with an unknown future laid out before them. Born innocent, clean… No other offspring have such autonomy. Seedlings sprout up, destined to nourish the earth. Mice are born to feed the snake and hawk. But a baby…” A hand stretched out from the darkness, reaching towards your stomach. 

You took a step backwards, teetering on the edge of the riverbank. Trapped between the darkness and the rushing water. “Don’t touch me.” 

The voice laughed harshly. “You have already been touched by me. These hands have wrapped themselves around you, around Ezra, and around the star in your belly. Everything that lives has been touched by me.” 

The shadow grew, the transparent tendrils knit together into the flowing robes of a physical being. But before you could wrap your head around what you saw the riverbank beneath your feet gave way and you sank into the mud. 

You braced yourself to be swept away by the river’s flow, but instead you landed on smooth stone. You opened your eyes, heart beating rapidly as you took in your surroundings. 

Grand columns sprang upwards with roots winding around them. The columns shimmered blue like the river stones you had marvelled at. The walls were chiseled out of stone, covered with brilliant murals and intricate designs. Depictions of epic battles and tender moments. 

“Hello?” You called out, slowly walking through the cavernous space. Your voice echoed off the stone, rippling through the emptiness like a pebble skimming the surface. 

The path you took wound its way towards a narrow corridor. Within the corridor — suspended between the darkness at either end — was a thin red string that was drawn taut. 

Something told you not to touch and you heeded that quiet warning. You took a step backwards, despite the desire to step into the corridor and follow the thread. 

The darkness seemed to swell, engulfing the thread as the stone wall sealed the narrow passage closed. 

“You are steadfast.” 

You spun around to face the figure from before. The dark robes billowed out over a transparent shadowy form. 

“I have seen the bravest warriors succumb to the temptation of knowing. How quick the threads were cut.” The shadowy figure beckoned you closer and you obeyed. “There is a way to break the curse that has become a plight for the one you love. But it won’t be easy. It won’t be free.”

“How do I know you’re telling the truth?” 

“You don’t.” His voice dripped with amusement. “The one before you — Bernard. He was close. A breath away from knowing the taste of freedom,  but there were debts that had to be repaid.”

“Are you the reason he died?”

“No. That was the folly of man. Only a fool thinks he can outrun fate.” The figure traced his tendril like fingers over your forehead. “They tried to pry him from your mind, didn’t they?”

“Yes.” 

“But you resisted by sheer power of will.” 

“I guess you could say that.” 

“I have a proposition for you.”

You arched a brow, “I’ve made a lot of bad deals in my life, but making one with a shadowy figure seems like a mistake.”

“It could be. That’s the beauty of choice. You can walk away now. Or it could be the answer you seek.” The figure told you briskly. “I could untether your beloved from the moon and he could float far beyond your reach…”

“That doesn’t sound like a deal I’m interested in.” 

“But how sweet would it be to know that he would still choose your company if he were no longer bound to Lykaois. That’s what you want to know, isn’t it?” 

You swallowed thickly, “And what would I have to do?” 

The shadow chuckled darkly, “You would have to keep our secret. You would come to me on each departure and do my bidding as I please. Once you have done all that I desire, I will release him from the chains.”

“What about my child?”

The shadow seemed to consider that, “I cannot interfere with a life not yet known. A pity, truly. But perhaps I will feel munificent when we part at last.”

Were you really going to do this? 

“So in exchange for Ezra and our baby’s freedom from Lykaois, all I have to do is keep a secret and spend time with you once a month doing what you tell me to do?”

“Indeed. The tasks you find here will not be simple, but you will find yourself better for them. Choice has a way of bolstering mortal morale.” 

The dark shape extended its hand to you, “Do we have a deal?”

You hesitated for a mere second, before reaching out to grasp at the hand. Your palm burned, white hot heat searing through the lines in your palm as you sealed your fate. 

A beeping sound cut through the darkness swimming in your mind. You opened your eyes slowly, taking in the dim light of your quarters. You were in your bed…

The mechanical whir of your ship’s engine caught your attention. 

And the beeping. 

“Shit.” You mumbled as you snatched up your datapad and tapped the notification. It took a second for the connection to go through, “I’m so sorry, Ezra… I must’ve fallen asleep.” Had you though?

“I was worried,” He drawled out. “You said you would check in once you got into orbit and that should’ve been… ten hours ago.”

Ten hours?

You clicked off the connection channel and looked at your call log. He’d tried to connect with you a dozen times over the last ten hours. 

“I must’ve laid down to rest my eyes and… ten hours?” You rubbed at your eyes as you moved to get out of your bed. “I didn’t mean to worry you, Ezra.”

“Don’t apologize, moonbeam.” Ezra assured you. “I am just relieved to hear your voice. Your condition has changed, it’s expected that you would need to sleep more…”

Ezra continued rambling and you tuned him out momentarily as you made your way to the cockpit to check the systems. There was no trace of your landing on Arcadia. 

“Moonbeam?”

“Sorry, sorry!” You told him quietly. “I sat my datapad down to check on the flight path. I didn't intend to fall asleep that long.”

“Are you well, little lamb?”

“Just groggy.” You assured him. “How are you?”

“Better now that I can hear your voice.” Ezra drawled out warmly. “I thought the worst.”

You frowned as you looked at the datapad, “I’m sorry, I really am. I don’t know what happened.”

But the tingling in your palm reminded you of what did happen. The secret you had to keep from him. The choice you made that could’ve been a mistake of epic proportions. 

“I can’t say we got much sleep your last night here,” Ezra pointed out with a short laugh. “You were probably fatigued.”

You felt your cheeks warm as you sank back in the jump seat. “I think you’re right. You wore me out, Ezra.” 

Silence lingered between the two of you for a moment, before Ezra spoke again, “I miss you.” 

“It’s only been half a day.” 

“Doesn’t matter.” He retorted smoothly. “The second your ship departs this moon, I feel the ache of your absence.”

“You should try your hand at writing poetry.” You teased, “And then tell me how you pine for me.” 

“I do pine for you, moonbeam.” Ezra assured you, his voice like honey and easily melting away your worries. “I sit here in this metal coffin and count the seconds until I’m not alone without you.”

“I’ll be back before you know it.” You reminded him. “I just need to see the medic, handle a few things with Shiva, and then I’ll be on my way back to you.” 

“I wish I was there with you.”

“So do I.” You sighed quietly, flipping a switch in the panel before heading into the living area. “Do you want me to bring anything back?”

“Just you.” 

You snorted a little as you stretched out on the sofa, “So no food, huh?”

Ezra grumbled, “I wouldn’t say ‘no’ to more honeysticks.” 

“That’s what I thought.” You laughed softly, propping the datapad up against your legs. “I can’t imagine you turning down sweets.”

He hummed, “You can always surprise me, moonbeam. I think you know what my tastes are. It’s often difficult to know what I miss when it’s been so long.” 

“I’ll see what I can bring back for you.” You assured him, already thinking about what you could track down for him on the Block. 

“Where are you in the transport?”

“On the sofa.” You told him, “I go from one soft surface to the next.” 

He chuckled heartily, “Still groggy?”

“A little.” You chewed on your bottom lip, “I don’t know if I’m just hyper-aware of my condition or things are starting to change.” It wasn’t much, but you definitely noticed that you felt different and that had nothing to do with what happened on Arcadia. 

“Just take care of both of you,” Ezra said with an edge of emotion in his voice that made your heart hurt. “It is still a surreal event to know that I have brought life into this world.”

“Tell me about it.” Your hand went to your stomach. “I still think it’s a dream.” 

“A good dream?”

“The circumstances may not be ideal, but it’s still a good dream.” You told him warmly, wishing you could reach out and smooth the worry line between his brows. You could picture him so clearly, that swirling look of concern in his kind eyes. “Have you used your lunaxium today?”

“Yes.” He huffed. “I am fine, little lamb. The beast has been sated for now.”

“I bet the beast misses me too.” You teased.

“You have no idea.”

You blinked slowly as you stared at the datapad. “Oh?”

Ezra chuckled, “You know how the beast feels about you.”

“Do I?” 

He groaned, “Don’t be cruel.”

“You’re right.” You said with a put-on mournful tone. “But I’m just laying here on my sofa thinking—”

“That you’re going to drive me mad?” Ezra questioned, breathing heavily. “Fuck. I think about that night whenever we’re apart. Five years I went without feeling another person’s touch and then there was you… I tried to ignore how it felt to have you in my arms — you were injured, you needed my help.”

“I remember laying in your bed and marveling at your book collection.” You mused quietly, listening closely to the raspy sound of Ezra’s breathing on the other side of the com. 

“You marveled in my bed.” He retorted, a quiet groan escaping him. 

“That’s it, Ezra.” You drawled out, knowing exactly what he was doing right now. “Are you picturing that it’s my hand?”

“Mouth.” His voice cracked.

You smirked to yourself, “Look at you, letting me take care of you.” 

He swore under his breath. “I love your mouth.” 

“I love your cock.” 

Ezra hissed out your name and you knew he’d reached his end. He was quiet, but you could hear his labored breathing as he came down from the high of the moment. “Moonbeam, I—“

“Go to sleep, Ezra.” You told him softly. “You’ve been wound up worrying about me and you should relax.”

“I’m very relaxed right now.” 

You laughed softly, “I bet you are.” 

“When you get back to the Block, call when you can.” He urged. “I want to know how your appointment goes.”

“I’ll try to call you every night.” You promised him. “Take care of yourself during the full moon.” 

“I will.” Ezra sighed softly. “I love you, moonbeam.” 

“I love you too.”  

“Do you have something to say?” You questioned as you stepped around Shiva to get to the display of hyper cables. “Otherwise that look is starting to creep me out.” 

“I have a lot to say.” Shiva retorted, pointing at the white cables, “You’ll want those.” They gave you another lingering look. “Unfortunately the surplus merch doesn’t carry common sense.” 

You rolled your eyes as you snatched two of the cables off the rack. “Is this about what I think it's about?” 

Shiva lowered their gaze to your stomach, “I clearly don’t know Ezra. A few days camped out on the moon with him and I thought he was the pragmatic sort, but nooo.” They folded their arms across their chest. “You’re really going to keep it?”

You shrugged a shoulder, brushing past them in pursuit sealant tape to repair some of the damage to the hull of Ezra’s transport. “It wasn’t a decision we came to lightly. Ezra wasn’t thrilled at first, but…” You looked back at Shiva. “It’s something we decided together.” 

They narrowed their eyes at you and dropped their voice low, “You don’t even know if you’re carrying an actual werewolf.” 

Quinn popped his head over the top of the shelving unit, “Did you say you needed the aero rustant?” 

“Yeah.” You nodded. “Did you find any?”

“No.” He snapped his fingers, “But I did decide I’m going to call it puppy.” 

You glared at him, “You should be so thankful that I’m unarmed right now. You have such a pretty face, it would be a shame to see it ruined.”

Quinn looked to Shiva, “Did you hear that? She called me pretty.”

“Find the aero rustant.” Shiva said dryly, jerking their head in a “get lost” motion. Quinn’s interference didn’t get you off the hook, however. They turned to look at you again, “I just worry about you. We don’t know what you’re actually having, he could change his mind, something could happen to you again…” 

“Trust me. We’ve considered all of it.”

“I mean, what if those guardian people get ahold of you?” Their hands went to their hips, “I’m not going to put up with you not remembering who your child’s father is. Especially if it’s going to come out furry and canine.”

“Kevva preserve me.” You hissed, stepping around Shiva. “Can I please just look for what I need in peace?”

“No. Someone has to be the voice of reason around here.” Shiva insisted. “Just don’t get your heart set on this. I don’t want to see you get hurt.”

“I get that.” 

Quinn strolled down the aisle towards the two of you, “I found the rustant.” 

“Thanks.” You held out your hand, but he didn’t pass it to you. 

“The warnings say pregnant individuals shouldn’t use it.” 

“Quinn.” You snapped.

He grinned cheekily and tossed it to you, “Feisty. I always liked that about you.”

You brushed past him and headed for the clerk towards the front of the store to purchase everything. 

“When’s your appointment?” Shiva questioned, leaning against the counter beside you. 

“Three days.”

“How are you feeling?���

“Right now? Pissed off.” You shrugged. 

“I just want to make sure you’re thinking everything through.” They insisted. “I’ve seen you after heartbreak and it isn’t pretty. It’s not too late to walk away.”

“I can’t Shiva.” You took your parcel of goods from the clerk and started out of the store where Quinn was loitering. “This isn’t like before. Ezra and I have a deeper connection.”

“He definitely loves you,” Quinn pointed out. “As much as it pains me to admit it, but I actually liked him.” 

“Yeah, I liked him too.” Shiva admitted dejectedly. “He wasn’t what I expected.” They looked at you, “The way the two of you seemed in sync with each other was surprising.” 

“So does this mean you’re going to eventually become like him?” Quinn questioned. “How does it work?”

“That’s not something either of us want for me.” You made a face. “I’m still trying to find a way for us to have a normal life… Keep researching for me. Anything you can find on Arcadia… the curse.”

Quinn smiled a little, “I can do that. Actually meant to have more for you, but those damn debt collectors wouldn’t leave me alone. Finally got that settled.”

“Who settled that for you?” Shiva slapped the back of his head. 

You arched a brow, “You gave him money?” 

“Quinn’s a useful idiot to have indebted to you.” They shrugged. “I was mostly doing it for you. He’s got good connections and you need them.”

“Shiva—“

“I don’t have to like this, but I do have your back.”

“Thank you.”

They shrugged, “The only thing I ask for in return is that you take care of yourself.”

“I’m trying.” 

You fell into stride beside Shiva and Quinn as you headed back to the shipyard. You were trying to take care of yourself. And Ezra. And your baby.

The line on your palm tingled and you wondered if you had blindly thrown yourself into a debt that no one could help you get out of. 

[treatian]

The Chronicles of the Dark One:  The Dark Curse

Chapter 197:  Well Enough Alone

After a year, the war was still dragging on. Slowly it dragged, begrudgingly. But there was evidence that there was hope on the horizon. In the beginning, it truly had seemed like it was merely a rebel uprising, but after a year, it was obviously more than that. People joined David and Snow in droves, flocked to them, really! They started in the small towns, similar to the place Regina had threatened the Princess and drew from there to make their army. For the most part, as long as that was all they were doing, George and Regina continued to ignore them. Stupidly, in his opinion. They attacked their camp on more than one occasion. Snow and David intelligently gave the order not to fight but rather to flee and regroup elsewhere. And then, one night, after their army had grown close to a thousand, George foolishly sent a small platoon after them, and Snow and David had attacked. They'd claimed victory over his army easily enough, and many of the survivors had turned for them, vowing to serve them loyally.

From there, they moved from recruiting in small towns to cities, that was when George and Regina had both realized they might have a problem on their hands and formed a stronger, more official alliance. More and more, they attacked, and more and more, David and Snow won. Even he had to admit, False Prince though he may be, David was learning the ropes faster than he'd ever thought he might. Standing at Snow's side, even if he still used James's name, he was growing into quite the leader with an eye for battle. He was becoming a prince. A true prince. Not just a foolish boy playing prince or a man engaged to a princess. He took to the role like a fish to water.

Soon, it wasn't just George and Regina's troops that were attacking; Snow and David's army was doing some attacking of their own and not just on battlefields. They began claiming land. They began governing as well as warring so that he knew when the day came that they finally took what they needed, they would slide easily into a castle, just as though they'd always been there.

Snow and David weren't the only ones learning; he was too. He learned to trust the Seer. He learned to watch and not meddle, that everything had its time and place whether he rushed off to help it along or he didn't. For instance, when George realized that he was destined to fail, fall from grace and lose his Kingdom, he'd hired a new general, an old familiar face to him but not to anyone else in this land. It was none other than Lancelot of Camelot, and he'd been hired by George not to kill Snow, but rather to capture her. He was successful. One night, just after his appointment, he captured Snow White, put a bag over her head, and took her back to King George, and that was where he'd executed a brilliant but cruel plan.

"I don't care what you do to me! I will never tell you where he is!" he heard Snow shout through a mirror the moment the bag was off of her head.

George held up a hand to silence her. "I know. That's not why you're here. Would you bring our guest some water?" he requested, looking to Lancelot. He looked confused at the command, but he couldn't blame him. The task seemed beneath him. But he was an obedient knight, he remembered that much about him, and poured some water into a goblet sitting out of the table as George walked away from her.

"Times have been good for you, haven't they? I can see a light in your eyes. Cherish that. Because that light can die and be replaced by something else–pain."

"The only thing you know of pain is how to inflict it," Snow snapped, pulling the goblet from Lancelot.

"That's where you're so very, very wrong. I've had my share of pain. I had a son that I loved, died before his time. I tried to replace him with your 'Charming,' offered him the world. But he rejected me. Humiliated me in front of my kingdom. All for the sake of true love."

"Something about which you know nothing," she stated before taking a sip and meeting him at the table.

"I know more than you think."

"You? Were in love?" she taunted in disbelief.

"Yes. And she loved me. We were happy, blissful. But then, she became cursed. She drank a vile potion that made it impossible for us to conceive a child. Family is everything, my dear. Losing all hope of having one…there is no greater misery. Charming could have been that hope for me. But, instead, he made my suffering worse. For that, death is too good for him. First, he must know pain. My pain."

He felt his stomach twist sickened in his gut as fear stole over Snow's face and into her eyes. "NO!" he shouted at the mirror, at the same time that Snow did. She was looking down into the goblet, looking for something that couldn't be seen. No.

"You poisoned her?" Lancelot realized aloud.

"I cursed her," George corrected. "She will never bear a child."

He'd fret about, panicking, telling himself he had to go, had to find a cure even though he knew there was none. The Seer urged him to stay put. He'd watched the mirror like a hawk as Snow was released, tossed cruelly back into the woods at the spot her camp had once been before George's armies attacked. But she wasn't alone for long, for out of the woods came Lancelot.

After knocking him off her horse and threatening the man, she helped him to his feet, and the pair departed for a little cabin that David had hidden his mother in long ago, before the war had even started, apparently. When they arrived, David was there, so was his mother, who had an arrow sticking out of her chest surrounded by nearly half a dozen dead soldiers of King George.

All was lost. He could see that easily enough, even before they pulled the arrow free and examined it's tip, observing the wink of poison left on the wood. The wound to Ruth's chest would be a fatal one without magical intervention, and the Seer wasn't giving him a sign to go.

But they did.

While he expected them to put Ruth into the house and stay with her for her last hours, they moved quickly, prepared a wagon, loaded Ruth into it, and left for somewhere. Lancelot and David talked in the front, but Snow stayed with Ruth in the back. While the boys were away and the wagon was stopped, Ruth struggled to pull a charm from her neck, one that he recognized instantly as a gypsy charm because he had about twenty of his own. It was a charm for women, one that predicted the sex of a woman's child. Snow was clearly uncomfortable with the conversation, but he watched as Ruth held Snow's hand out over the charm…and it didn't react. Snow nodded in understanding and exchanged what he could only imagine was an explanation to Ruth. But instead of growing concerned, the old woman grew excited. The words she said not only calmed Snow White, but they also made her smile.

All conversations ended when the boys returned, but as they walked on, he looked between the pair and often saw them cast glances at each other that encouraged smirks and grins. They were planning something. But what?

Lake Nostos. Oh, he knew the moment he saw it that was their plan but…it was a useless plan. Lake Nostos was no more. With the siren dead, it was now barren land, the lakebed drying up a little more every second. Still, they searched, and searched, and searched…until David raced to the place where Lancelot was, and he saw a single swallow of water left inside of a seashell. The men poured it into a canteen, and David took it to Ruth. David offered it, and she drank, or at least it appeared that she had…but he knew it wasn't so.

That water, even a sip, should have cured a wound like hers instantly, and yet there was nothing, no hint of getting better at all. That left him two conclusions. Either the water wasn't from Lake Nostos, just something left there from a rainstorm, or…she hadn't taken the sip.

Given the look Ruth kept giving Snow, he was willing to bet it was the latter. But…as he watched what unfolded, he began to see that there was method as well as madness to the Seer's instructions. Snow and David made themselves suddenly busy, and Lancelot bent his head low to listen to something Ruth said as she pressed the flask into his hands. A few moments later, the couple had constructed a simple arch and a bouquet of flowers. Though he couldn't hear, he recognized the wedding ceremony simply enough, a wedding ceremony that Lancelot officiated, in which, before he'd taken his place, he'd poured the small contents of the flask into a canteen.

Snow drank first, then David, and after they kissed, he wasn't surprised to see Ruth had died.

A few hours later, when David had buried his mother and held the charm out over Snow's hand, it did as he expected, and swung. The curse was lifted. He hadn't had to lift a finger. It was a good lesson to learn. So often in his life, he'd thought that he was the catalyst only to find that he was just another pawn of history, playing his part so that things could continue as they were supposed to. There was some relief in that because it meant that he was destined to get back to Baelfire. The future dictated it.

[aeronocacto]

The end of Icarus

Link ao3

Warning: Deathfic, violence

I wrote this for @crazyclarabr, it is sad and I’m sorry about it (maybe)

Pairing: Hotwings (DabiHawks), a little bit of Todeku.

“ Touya always dreamed of flying, but in the end his destiny was to fall. “

The smell of smoke and burned flesh invaded his nostrils. It was as impregnated with himself as he had always been since he could remember, and yet that scent had never been so strong. His eyes burned, the heat and smell making them water.

'I'm sorry, Touya.'

Maybe it was not the heat.

The screams continued, incessant, but distant as he moved away from the battle scene, leaving chaos and destruction behind.

'I cannot let you do this.'

Leaving behind much more than that.

He entered one of the alleys, finally falling between the dumpsters. The ground was damp from the earlier rain, the ashes fell from the heavens now, like snow.

'See, Touya,' his mother's voice came to his mind, sweetly. He remembered the feel of her cold embrace around him, the quiet smile as she created ice between her hands 'It's snow.'

He barely heard the sound of footsteps and voices in the midst of the cacophony of his own memories. When the cold hand touched his face, he thought it was just a hallucination.

—Touya?

He opened his eyes and laughed when he saw who it was. The laughter ended in a groan as he tried to move.

—It's gonna be okay.

What a big liar. But it must have been a family thing, wasn't it? It was in Todoroki's blood to lie. Why would the younger boy escape it?

— Shoto – Another voice spoke softly. –  ... right? .... You need to get him out of here.

He wanted to say it was no use doing that.

And again, he wanted to laugh at it.  The hands on his shoulder tried to calm him down when the laughter generated a violent cough. He could taste the blood in his mouth.

'Before embarking on vengeance, dig two graves.'

It seemed that Hawks had not lied about everything, after all

..................................................

As a child, in his dreams, Touya could fly. He ripped the skies over white wings that reflected the sunlight. The wind on his face, the taste of freedom as he watched his house disappear into the distance as he moved away into the clouds.

For a long time, he thought that these dreams were a clue to what would become his individuality, his 'quirk'. As absurd as it was, as there was no precedent in his family of this kind of quirk, he spent hours in front of the mirror trying to see his back, to see some sign of wings appearing.

He remembered asking Fuyumi to check if she could see it, but there was never anything. When they were four years old she manifested her quirk, but Touya still kept trying to fly. He persisted until one day he jumped off the roof and brook his arm. He remembered the momentary wind in his face in those seconds, the smile before gravity pulled him down and the pain at the impact. And the heat, the terrible heat.

His mother had rushed outside with his screams and stood in the doorway, her eyes wide. And only then had he noticed the flames surrounding him consuming everything around.

His quirk was not flying, clearly, Touya was wrong about it, as he had been wrong about many things he believed in when he was a kid: that one day his father would love him, that his mother would stop looking at him in fear, that he would be the only one of his brothers to be hurt by who one day thought to be his great hero. Heroes. Touya had believed in heroes too, one day. Perhaps this belief was destroyed more violently than that he could fly.

Yet he continued to fly in his dreams. His wings stretched out in the sky, over the years becoming darker and darker, until they were a black spot in the clouds. Sometimes he flew too close to the sun and fell to the earth in blue flames as his father stared at him indifferently.

One day his dreams were replaced by a burning world. Burned bodies and destruction, Endeavor being consumed, shouting for a mercy that he had never given to anyone.

When he left the house in the dead of night, never looking back, living on the streets, fighting for his life and becoming what he never thought he would be, it became the only dream that mattered.

For years he didn't think about flying.

Until he found Hawks.

What had started out as pure mistrust and both waiting for the timely opportunity to use each other, changed without they realize it.

His eyes always looked at Hawks' wings since their first encounter. The little hero with wings, representing what he most hated - and wanted most -, walking the tightrope between two opposing sides, without anyone being sure of which he belonged.

Touya only wanted to see him fall, to fall from the skies with his wings on fire.

He had never wanted to see anyone fall so hard in his life.

'Do you wanna fly, Dabi?'

He had asked it one day when Touya had not managed to disguise the way he stared at his wings. He remembered that night, silent even in the most dangerous alleys they were in. He remembered the wind shaking his hair, the curious smile on the little hero's face that he despised so much at that moment.

'Do you wanna fly, Dabi?'

He had not answered.

It was not the last time Hawks offered it.

……………………………………………

Maybe because he wanted to see him fall so badly, he told him the truth. That truth he had never told anyone but that had shaped his whole life.

He wanted to destroy his perception of heroes.

(He wanted him to hate Endeavor too).

The look in his eyes when he revealed to him the great secret about the children's tale that they heard, of heroes being the good guys and villains the bad ones.

(He had believed it one day too, and it had hurt so much.)

He wanted to be there at the time of Hawks' fall. The moment his wings caught fire.

Poor pretty little birdy who flew too close to the sun.

And he saw in his eyes the moment when all his vison - all of his truth - was destroyed. He saw the moment he fell off the rope and Touya was there to hold him. His eyes on revolt, and horror for that sour and corrupt society that needed to burn.

He watched as Hawks surrendered to the fire.

And fell.

.......................................................................

'Do you wanna fly, Touya?

— Don't call me that.

He smiled, his wings stretching over the building, his eyes - now sadder, always sadder - staring at him from the side. Patiently.

— Do you wanna fly, Dabi?

……………………………………………………

The league worked patiently. The seed was carefully planted.

'Why can't I defend myself using my quirk? Why do I have to wait for heroes for this? '

'How long will we be controlled?'

'It's my quirk, I can use it anytime!'

'Do heroes really have our best interest?'

They just needed watering. Society was corrupt, after all. Their job was just to reveal that and make them burn.

'One more attack on heroes' pride’, that's what Shigakari had said.

U.A should have learned from past mistakes, but it seems the informant had not yet been caught. Throwing bullets to extinguish the quirks - unfortunately temporarily - had been easy at the time of the surprise attack, until they began to react many had been hit.

Touya looked at the destruction, while Shigakari shouted over the students escaping. His eyes caught the movement and he looked at another pair. He was there, among the rubble. The green-haired boy who irritated Shigakari was there too, helping him up. They were both wounded, exhausted, with an expression he knew well, of a wounded and frightened animal who didn't want to show that it was vulnerable.

They had no chance whatsoever, and it would be the perfect attack against not only Endeavor but All Might who clearly favored the other boy.

Touya looked away and continued walking through the rubble.

(He tried not to think how Shoto Todoroki's confused look reminded him of Natsuo).

.....................................................................

They had prepared for the main attack. The final battle, entitled to finally the hero number one be unmasked and destroyed in the national television. He could finally kill, incinerate Endeavor.

He could finally see the world on fire.

— Do you wanna fly, Dabi?

He accepted that one time. At least to make him shut up.

Not because he wanted to, in any way.

Hawks was strong for someone so small. His arms gripped his chest as he threatened to let him go.

(He had never trusted anyone like this since he was a little kid.)

The noise of his wings flapping, the wind on his face.

The position was not ideal, but he would not let it hold him like a girl.

He focused in the city below, in the lights at night, feeling the laughter of Hawks vibrating in his back. His hands tightened on his arms as he stared at everything, glazed, as the two cut through the sky. Flying.

For the first time in years, Touya actually smiled.

..................................................................

The cameras were focused on them. The helicopters in the skies, the battle televised nationally. All the central destroyed, heroes and villains were fighting in the streets. The population was part of the commotion, the euphoric crowd of chaos.

Dabi - Touya - smiled maniacally. He was finally there, kneeling in front of him as he had always dreamed. The hero number 1, with all his secrets revealed nationally. His eyes were wide, the fight fading from his body totally.

—T.Touya? Is that really you?

He frowned, dissatisfied. He should not look at him like that. That way. As if it mattered.

It was too late for that.

—It's no fun to kick those who are already dead. It's time to burn one last time, Endeavor.

(Goodbye, dad).

He prepared for hell, for the flames that would consume everything on that great stage, the fall of the final pillar of society.

— Touya, that's enough.

The low voice made him turn around. Hawks was there when he said he was not going to be part of that stage of the plan. As much as he was on their side, he would never kill for free.

(He did not really fall, did he?)

— You already got what you wanted.

He continued, his hand hesitant on his shoulder.

— He's done.

His eyes twitched with anger, for the betrayal.

— I'm sorry, Touya. I cannot let you do this.

— After all I had said to you...

— I know.

His voice still lingered in that tone he hated.

— I know.

He knew.

And Touya knew it, too.

Maybe he'd always known who he'd choose in the end. He could hate Endeavor too, but he was still the pillar. He would still make it all fall with him. And Hawks, hero Hawks, could never let everything fall.

Touya always knew deep down that he would not choose him.

'Do you wanna fly, Dabi?'

And yet it hurt more than he imagined.

With a strangled cry he turned, bursting into flames. Warm enough to cremate the one he hated most, even at the high price he would pay himself. His eyes widened in surprise, in those mere seconds.

Hawks had always been the fastest of the two.

'Do you wanna fly, Dabi?'

His feathers pulled Endeavor out of the way at a speed he could not predict.

He could not stop.

'Do you wanna fly, Touya?'

And so Hawks burst into flames. The wings floated for seconds in the middle of the blue hell, becoming nothing even before he could get back in control.

Hawks burned.

And Touya fell.

.............................................................

He did not even see where the attack came from, how he escaped capture in the middle of the scene. His instinct for survival had always been impressive.

But not enough.

— Touya ...

He didn't know how they got there. By the name he had already heard the great revelation - and Natsou, and Fuyumi and mom - but he did not know how he got there.

He shouldn't be there.

His eyes were frightened. And in those seconds, he remembered the child alone watching them play.

The cries and the weeping, and in how he had watched him sleep a few times, leaving the jealousy behind for all the time he consumed from their mother, to only see his little brother. The brother he couldn't save.

— Let's get you out of here.

The hero who was now trying to help him.

— Don't.

Even the two of them knowing there was no way. If the blow he had received had not killed him, the consequences of the final attack he made, which he had saved only to Endeavor - in vain - would do the job. No quirks would save him.

And he didn't want to be saved, anyway

— Just...

His vision was blurred as he raised a hand to Shoto's face, his eyes wide. He covered that scar, the side he hated, leaving only his mother in him.

— Look at me.

The sky behind was ashes, like snow.

'See, Touya. It's snow'

His mother's eye stared at him.

The sound disappeared, everything disappeared. His body was light, but his hand did not fall, held in the cold one.

Shoto - his mother - wept for him at the end.

'Do you wanna fly, Touya?'

Touya closed his eyes one last time.

And finally flew.

[squidpro-quo]

A/N: because i fall down the dance youtube rabbithole sometimes and find videos that make me want to write a dance au for Kaishin, feat. heels

“Anything new today?” Shinichi asked Heiji, using the question as an excuse to lean down into a stretch that pulled at his thighs. Warm-up was the best time for gossip, when you weren’t out of breath yet but had an excuse to go slow, swaying from one correspondent to the other in a daisy chain of information that had a chance of being as unreliable as a game of telephone. But that didn’t stop anyone. 

“Word is it’s Kuroba,” Heiji hissed back, arms locked above his head as he limbered up in his usual getup of loose sweatpants and a hoodie. His chosen outfit always baffled Shinichi, who preferred his arms and legs to feel less weighed down but to each their own. Loosening up his shoulders, he considered the answer in between windmills and watched their reflections in the mirrored wall. 

Kaito had been working on something for a while, staying late in the all-use studio room and nursing his ankles some days later. All of his pieces ended up a surprise, something a little unbelievable and unexpected but still containing the core of his style, the moves that made up who he was as a dancer. Shinichi doubted it would be any different this time. 

Glancing across the room, he immediately found Kaito’s hunched form rooting around in his bag with his usual black leggings already on and balancing on bare feet with one hand buried in his hair. 

“Oi! You going to pull a rabbit outta that bag in your next piece, Kuroba?” Heiji called across the room, cutting through the chatter in Ran’s corner with the strength of one oblivious to the appropriate volume used for discrete conversation. 

Kaito flapped a hand behind his back, switching the other from scratching his head to yanking a scarf out of the depths of his bag. 

“It was worth a shot, I swear I saw a straight-up bird in his pocket one time, you gotta believe me.” Apparently giving up on getting any response, Heiji turned back to Shinichi and slapped a hand on his shoulder. “You gonna manage to keep it together for today, Kudo?” 

“I didn’t ‘swoon’ as you put it. Ran moved and I lost my balance, you know how she can get when she isn’t paying attention.” 

“Coulda sworn you just got blown away by a certain pair of legs, but that mighta just been me.” 

Shinichi ignored Heiji’s teasing grin, pulling his knee up to his chest and continuing his stretches, sneaking a glance across to where Kaito was somehow still working on pulling the same scarf out of his bag. He just wanted to work on a few new steps today and avoid any embarrassing mishaps, and forget about the past ones too, if Heiji would let him. If he could just get through the session without getting distracted then maybe he could convince Heiji, and perhaps himself, that it was a passing phase. It was one thing to sneak glances, to say he was just looking for what forms Kaito was doing during practices, what flourishes he always added, but with how his own steps faltered sometimes it was starting to become a problem, one he should nip in the bud. 

“Alright, time to start,” Haibara called out from where she was leaning against Ran’s shoulder, watching the clock like a hawk. If she weren’t there to keep them on track, Shinichi wondered if they’d ever get started during their allotted time. There were other groups that wanted to use the studio, they were lucky to get a slot in the first place. 

Shinichi straightened up, pulling in a deep breath as he fell back to where he’d left off last time. And not the staring part, but his own piece. His eyes wandered of their own accord, just a quick look before he turned away. And Kaito was making a beeline for him, something black and tangled in his hand, eyes catching Shinichi’s immediately. 

Kaito smiled, hand finding its way into his hair again as he rocked onto the balls of his feet in front of Shinichi and asked. 

“Would you help me with something today?” 

“Sure,” Shinich answered fast, almost before Kaito had finished speaking and nodded in case his affirmative hadn’t been clear enough. “What is it?”

“I need a partner, some of the moves I’m doing are a little difficult to pull off without some… support.” 

Shinichi’s mind ran through about half a dozen options, trying to figure out what kinds of lifts Kaito could possibly be asking him to do. Or maybe it was spins? He didn’t really take Kaito for much of a ballet person, though he might know the basics. 

Kaito held up his hand, a strap coming loose and falling against the inside of his wrist as Shinichi saw the high heels in his grip. Taller than kitten heels but not exactly stilettos, Shinichi’s first thought was that wearing them would give Kaito an inch or two on him, a perspective he hadn’t considered before. 

“Oh,” he managed to say. Even as Kaito balanced on one foot to slide the heels on in one practiced move, Shinichi knew this was going to be bad for his health. They were in a dance group together, that much was true, but he’d only ever danced with Kaito during their basics practices, some waltzes and such. But this was tickling all of his buttons already, watching Kaito stand up and tap the toe of his shoe against the floor and settle a heel rivaling a knife-blade down onto the parquette floor. 

“Here, I’ll give you the music. It’s a remixed swing number so I’ll lead with the steps, you’ve got the rest right?” 

Shinichi wasn’t about to admit he might not. 

“Yeah, I’ve got it.” 

The moment their hands touched, Kaito’s hand in his and his other tentatively laid on Kaito’s waist, was when Shinichi knew that he wasn’t going to make it through the experience. The music started off with a jaunty saxophone, Kaito snaked a hand over his shoulder and they were off. Shinichi knew the steps but Kaito’s quick squeeze along his shoulderblade steered him to the left, aware over the hours of couples dances with Ran that he needed to follow the cues given to him even if technically he was supposed to be leading. 

But really, if he’d been leading he couldn’t have paid as much attention to the way Kaito’s hips swayed and that would have been a crying shame. He’d expected the heels to sound out a sharp, staccato rhythm but Kaito moved with enough ease to keep his steps to a soft tapping akin to raindrops. 

Their movements picked up a bit of speed as Shinichi grew more used to the rhythm of the steps and the way he could smell the snow and chocolate on Kaito’s breath each time they shared a glance. It almost threw him off with the first inhale. And even though he knew it was good form to keep your gaze up and away from your feet, but expecting him to ignore the way Kaito’s eyes were framed by his dark fringe and pinched at the edges as he smiled at such close quarters would have been hard for anyone in Shinichi’s position. Or so he believed. 

Kaito stepped around him, hand sliding along his back and affording him a view of them in the mirror over Kaito’s shoulder; his own soft soccer shorts that Ran teased him for wearing to dance practice and left his knees bare mixing with Kaito’s slender black-clad legs. And that was even before he could fully take in the heels. He couldn’t even put his finger on what his fascination with them was, but as he watched them move so quickly and effortlessly that he was mesmerized he couldn’t imagine anyone wearing them this well. But maybe he was biased. 

The music had faded into the background, there enough to give him a chance at keeping the rhythm but he was concentrating on other things now. Where their bodies brushed together, hands skirting along a waist or shoulder as they changed positions. Shinichi reeled Kaito toward him in a spin, Kaito turning on a dime as smooth as a spindle of silk while his smile flashed with each quick rotation. 

“Don’t let go.” Kaito’s soft murmur was all the warning he had before he felt the telltale weight settle on him as Kaito fell into his arms in a dip. He’d done them countless times, with Ran, with Haibara, even with Heiji for a laugh, but this felt a little different. Kaito’s face hung below him, maybe flushed from their fast pace or for the same reason Shinichi could feel the heat across his cheeks; and one leg hooked around Shinichi’s calf, that needle-thin heel a hard line he could feel pressing into his skin and setting him aflame. 

They stayed suspended for a bar, two, the music moved on and Shinichi still felt Kaito’s chest rising and falling in his hold. 

“Support enough for you?” he asked, swinging Kaito back upright after another beat that had begun to fade in his ears. Their dance together was over too fast for his taste, although his own stuttering heart might not have been able to take it for much longer and he wished he could think of a reason to do it again. 

“For now, yes,” Kaito said, hand warm in Shinichi’s cold fingers while the rest of the studio came back into focus; Ran and Haibara’s salsa dominating their corner of the room, while Heiji’s hip-hop music filtered through his earbuds even from several feet away. “Anything I can do to return the favor?”

Shinichi could think of a few, lots that didn’t involve dancing at all and some that involved the heels Kaito was loosening. He didn’t have any pair dances to use as an excuse for another go around, he couldn’t exactly claim to forget the steps to a waltz and as much as he would love to test his blood pressure against a tango he wasn’t exactly at the level above ‘fumbling through it’ just yet. 

Mind spinning in place faster than he’d ever managed during his ballet years, Shinichi watched as Kaito seemed to unlace the thin ties around his ankles so slowly he wouldn’t be done before the end of their session. But it mercifully gave him the time to stumble upon an idea, his brain slowing to a stop in triumph. 

“Teach me how to dance in heels,” he blurted out, fingers catching at the strings dangling from his shorts while he waited for Kaito’s reply. 

Kaito considered him from where he was crouched in the middle of sliding one of his heels off, eyes narrowed even as a grin played at the edge of his mouth. 

“You’ll have to buy your own pair, I don’t have any spares. But sure! I’m sure with your calves, it’ll be a piece of cake,” Kaito finally said, gesturing to Shinichi’s shins with an appreciative smirk. 

“Does the favor extend to going shopping for some?” Shinichi ventured. 

Kaito didn’t take as long to answer this time and stood up with a quick nod. 

“Only if you’re buying the coffee on the way. I need some sugar during search.”

“But coffee…” Shinichi thought of his own bitter, black preference even as Kaito interrupted. 

“There’ll be plenty in mine. Let’s go.” Kaito gestured over his shoulder as he started back to his bag, still wrapped in several layers of colorful coils of scarf, and dropped the heels into its depths before pulling on his socks and snowboots. 

Shinichi looked over at where Ran had Haibara’s attention tied down rather effectively and checked the clock. 

“Oi, Kudo!” Heiji’s not-as-soft-as-it-could-have-been voice came from behind him, “Ya didn’t swoon this time!”

Shinichi rushed to leave the studio before Heiji could shout his secrets over the sound of his own music any longer, although if the way Kaito’s arm twined around his own was any indication, he might say it didn’t matter anymore. 

I’m open for requests!

[certifiedskywalker]

One Last Request - Rhaegar Targaryen

disneyprincessbuffyannesummers

Could u write an imagine where the reader is Margarey's aunt. Who was married to Rhaegar. and one day she goes north and meets the son who was ripped away from her Jon Snow ❄️

You hail from the great House Tyrell, and to secure such greatness, your father wed you to the crowned prince, Rhaegar Targaryen. However, finding a love in marriage grew hard when Robert Baratheon decided to revolt against the throne. Rhaegar hid you away for your own safety, as well as the safety of your unborn child.

The moment you and Rhaegar wed, you knew your life would change forever. Reciting the words in the Septa Balor, wearing the Targaryen’s red and black versus your father’s house colors of green and gold. Your brother, Mace, who was much younger, was confused by that fact. Despite the royal family and the crowds of advisors veying for a power play, all you were focused on was the pair of purple eyes in front of you. The silver hair that flowed and rippled like sunshine on a lake was all you could see.

Rhaegar had donned his ceremonial armor which, despite the bulky metal, still made him appear slim. The three headed dragon on his chest glimmered with shining rubies, but that wasn’t what you cared about. As the High Septon spoke, all you felt was hope and love. You had dreamed of this moment ever since a Targaryen-Tyrell alliance was forged. Everytime you gazed at your wedding gown the weeks before the actual ceremony, your heart would soar.

Now, you were reciting your vows to each other, promising forever to each other. You couldn’t have asked for a more noble, brave, or handsome husband than Prince Rhaegar; and despite your marriage to him being more of an alliance, you felt a love for him that was hard to explain. You trusted the man before you, even with his father’s madness that grew more and more apparent with each passing day. Rhaegar would protect you, no matter what.

“Let the feast and dancing commence,” King Aerys shouted, raising his long, finger nailed hands in the air. Your guests cheered, but you could feel Rhaegar tense slightly in the seat beside you. You reached for his hand and intertwined your fingers with his. He turned to look into your eyes and you could see the same affection you felt in your heart reflected in his purple irises.

“Forget for tonight, my love,” you whispered softly. Rhaegar gave you a soft smile and squeezed your hand gently,

“It is hard to do so,” Rhaegar said, his voice soothing as a song, “but for you, I will do anything.” Warmth spread across your cheeks at his words and you smiled at him.

“Princess Targaryen-Tyrell,” a gruff voice sounded, bringing your attention forward. Before you stood the honorable Rickard Stark and his lovely daughter Lyanna. “Prince Rhaegar,” the lord dipped his head, “my daughter, Lyanna has heard great stories of your charity, Princess. She aspires to grow up as your mirror.”

“How kind,” you said, “I am honored to be given the attention of the Wild Wolf herself!” Lyanna smiled at you, dipping her head respectfully.

“I hope to be your handmaiden, my Princess,” Lyanna said softly, “for as long as you will have me.” Your mouth fell open at the offer and you turned to Rhaegar.

“The choice is yours, my dear,” he said calmly. You turned back to the two Starks before you, the family that had travelled from far North just to see you wed.

“Of course,” you said, “I would be lucky to have you as my handmaiden.” In true Reach-family fashion, you stood from your seat and strood towards Lyanna. You opened your arms and gave her a sweet hug, one which the slightly younger girl returned. You pulled away from the embrace and saw a bright smile on the girl’s features.

“I do hope we become close friend,” Lyanna said, and you nodded agreement.

“I feel that we already are,” you said, giving her a wider smile. If you had known then how important the Stark girl would be in your life, you would have hugged her for a lot longer. Before you could think any more on the subject of her being your handmaiden, you felt Rhaegar standing beside you and his hand resting against your back.

“Shall we dance?” Rhaegar’s low, smooth voice encircled your ear and you felt your heart skip a beat. You gazed up at your newly-wed husband and nodded. His purple eyes gleamed as he clutched your hand and pulled you to the dance floor. The guests watched in awe as the Prince and new Princess had their first dance.

“They’re watching like prairie hawks,” you whispered, coaxing a soft chuckle from Rhaegar as you danced together. You met his gaze and saw that he was already looking at you with a softness in his eyes you had never seen from a man before.

“They’re all watching you,” he whispered in reply, “marvelling at your beauty just as I do.” You blushed as Rhaegar’s poetic tone soothed you. Leaning up, you pecked your prince’s lips, not caring who saw. Rhaegar smiled into the kiss before you pulled away, smiling brightly Resting your head against his chest, you let him take full control of swaying your bodies back and forth to the melodic music. You hadn’t felt that at peace in a long time. You wouldn’t feel that way, so it seemed, ever again.

“I’m to go to the Trident,” Rhaegar said, his voice low with melancholy as he read from the raven’s letter. You stood from your shared bed and walked over to your husband, who stood in front of a window. He was now staring out into the Dornish sky, where the stars twinkled like pure diamonds. “My father has requested my leadership there, personally.”

“You can deny him,” you said, grabbing his pale arm, “we fled from him for this reason, my love. He can’t harm us here.” Rhaegar turned to face you and you could see pure fear in his eyes. You knew that he had been having dreams, nightmares, of this war. Robert Baratheon was angered by his loss at the Tourney, and the denial of Lyanna’s hand in marriage. Being your hand maiden, Lyanna was staying with you and Rhaegar in the Tower of Joy. She too, like everyone else in King’s Landing, wanted to get as far away from the Mad King as they could. You were lucky to escape before he could hold you hostage and use you against Rhaegar.

“Then he will know,” Rhaegar said, his darker purple eyes glinting in the moonlight, “and that is something we can not risk. Not now, not with this.” His hands ghosted over the thin material of your nightgown, brushing against your very swollen belly. You moved your hands and placed them over his own, still looking into his eyes.

“I do not want you to go,” you whispered, “if not for my sake, for his.” You said, rubbing your belly. Rhaegar smiled and shook his head thoughtfully.

“You really believe it is a boy?” He asked, the hopeful glimmer in his shining amethyst eyes. You nodded in response, bringing a grin to his features.

“Please, Rhaegar,” you pleaded, moving a hand to his cheek, “I’m going to need you here when he comes into the world. I want you here.” Rhaegar swallowed hard and frowned.

“Y/N, my love, we can’t risk him, not when it comes to my father. Lyanna will be here, so with Ser Arthur Dayne. I would never leave you unprotected, never.” You felt tears well in your eyes, knowing all too well that you were losing him.

“It will be too dangerous, this Baratheon is winning this war against your father. Now would be the time to hide or befriend him.” Rhaegar shook his head and held your gaze.

“He will not be open for an alliance, Y/N. Robert Baratheon doesn’t surrender, and in his eyes, an alliance with any Targaryen is surrender. Now he wants the throne.”

“Then be the one to give it to him,” you suggested, but Rhaegar wasn’t having it. He pulled away from you the moment you finished speaking and you knew you had crossed a line. “Rhaegar, please, if what you say is true, if he gets the chance, Robert will kill you.”

Rhaegar had his back turned to you know, as if he was in deep thought. You curled your lips together nervously, hoping he had changed his mind. He turned suddenly, closing the gap between you both quickly. Rhaegar wrapped his strong arms around you, pulling you as close as he could with your swollen belly. His touch made you melt, your eyes closed at the warm contact. You needed him to feel safe, to feel at home.

“We’ll talk more of this in the morning,” he whispered as he held you. You wanted to talk back but you bit your tongue. You wanted to savor this moment for a little while longer. Rhaegar shifted and took your hand. “Let’s get you to bed, our son must rest.”

When you woke, Rhaegar was gone. A letter rested on his nightstand, telling you about how sorry he was, but that he would never be able to forgive himself if Aerys go this hands on you, or your unborn son. Your husband went on, detailing how much he loved you and one last request: name him Aegon. With tears in your eyes, you felt the first of your labor pains.

You don’t remember much, except screaming and the pain. Lyanna’s voice trying to sooth you as voices and clanging swords sounded outside. The sound of a baby’s cry reached your ears and you let out a sigh of relief. Tears escaped your eyes like small rivers.

“Give him to me, give me Aegon,” you pleaded to Lyanna, but the pounding on the door grew louder. “Lyanna, please,” you begged. The young woman placed your baby in your arms and you saw the head of dark black hair upon his head. “He’s a boy,” you whispered, right before a different handmaiden tore him from your grasp.

“We need to get her out of here, Ser Arthur Dayne is not outside, they are coming in!” Through your haze, you saw Lyanna glance at your child and you, with tears in her eyes. She rushed towards you and lifted you.

“I know of the pain, but you must move for your boy,” she said softly as you cried out. You muscled through the pain as Lyanna dragged you to a large closet that the other handmaiden, the one holding your child, was holding open. “Take care of them, with your life,” Lyanna spat at the girl, handing her a dagger.

“What of you?” You asked through the pain and Lyanna leaned down towards you. Her Stark grey eyes held your gaze with confidence. Your friend smiled at you and placed a kiss on your sweaty forehead before pulling away from you. She gave you a brave smile.

“I’m protecting you,” she whispered as she started to run back towards the bed. The last thing you saw before the other handmaiden closed the door was Lyanna getting under the covers and splashing water over her face. Before anything else could happen, the door opened loudly, Lyanna screamed in pain, and you fell unconscious.

“Papa, why are we visiting the North?” Your niece, the beautiful Margaery, asked your brother Mace as the carriage bounced along to the final destination. You turned your gaze from the window and looked at the little girl before you. Her brother, Loras, the sweetest nephew you could ask for, was still asleep; his sister was wide awake.

“The Starks are distant friends of ours, and they have plenty of children for you to meet! And more on the way!” Mace said with a jolly chuckle. You rolled your eyes at your brother, knowing full well he had the intention to see if any of the Stark boys were worthy to marry his daughter in the future. However, his answer seemed to sedate Margaery for a time, as she sat next to her brother for a brief respite. This prompted Mace to turn to you.

“I know you have your qualms with the Starks,” he started, “but I hope you will see past that. He wasn’t worthy of you, Y/N, you are a strong Tyrell, you were never meant to be a dragon.” His words sank into your heart, but you nodded through the heartache.

“Don’t worry brother, there is no bad blood.” You turned back to look out the small window of the carriage and fell back into the memories of your son’s birth. The assassins sent by Aerys had stormed the castle, not trusting his son to fight at the Trident himself. They struck Lyanna, with a mortal blow, until Ser Arthur Dayne came to the rescue. The handmaiden was order to heal Lyanna, after tending to you as much as she could. You had lost so much blood, nearly too much. You were holding your son when a fight once again commenced.

Aegon was taken from you once more and you were pushed into the closet again. “For your safety,” she had said. She locked you inside as Ser Dayne was slaughtered by Ned Stark and his men. When they stormed the tower, Lyanna, to protect you and your lineage, played Aegon off as her own. The legitimate child of herself and Rhaegar Targaryen. She died whispering your son’s name, and you wished with all your heart you could repay her.

You saw this trip as a way to make sure Lyanna was at peace. That her family was alright and thriving just as yours was. House Tyrell had welcomed you back, after the newly crowned King Robert pardoned you for siding with the enemy. You wished your husband’s murderer had struck you down then in the Red Keep. You longed for Rhaegar’s embrace, to tell him that your child had survived. But even after getting what he wanted, Robert Baratheon did not dare to show you mercy. That was a grudge you had carried with you, even all this way North; along with the hope of seeing your child grown.

“Welcome Lord Tyrell, and Lady Tyrell, what a surprise,” Catelyn Stark said, as she greeted you. You smiled at the Tully woman and gazed upon her children. Not a head of dark black hair stood before you. Ned Stark stepped forward and helped you down from the carriage.

“We welcome you to the North,” he said, “how was the ride?”

“Long, but quite worth it,” you said with a hint of that Tyrell charm, “your countryside is beautiful. I’ve never seen such rocky and rolling hills. The Reach is flat, rich, farmland.” Ned nodded softly, and you could feel the unspoken past that lingered between you. A past of war times and heartache. “May I visit your crypt? I wish to pay my respects.”

“Of course, my Lady. Robb, fetch Jon will you? He will escort Lady Tyrell to the crypts.” The eldest of Ned’s children rushed off, leaving your awe-struck niece in the dust. You waited for a few long minutes until you heard a pair of soft footsteps behind you. As you turned, you heart stopped and your breath caught.

“Lady Tyrell, are you ready to go to the crypts?” A younger boy stood before you, maybe thirteen years of age with deep brown eyes and flowing, dark black hair to frame his unmistakable features. You could only tear you gaze from his for a moment to glance at Ned Stark, who looked at you and nodded. Looking back at the boy, you nodded.

“Why yes, I am. You are Jon?” You asked as the boy started to walk towards the crypts.

“Aye, I am,” he said, even with his soft voice, it felt like Rhaegar’s passion lurked behind his words.

“It’s lovely to meet you Jon, I’m Y/N Tyrell.” Jon looked up and nodded, a closed lipped smile on his full lips.

“My sister said you were once married to Prince Rhaegar Targaryen, is that true?” You felt your heart ache at his name, the sound of it leaving his son’s, your son’s, mouth.

“It is,” you said as you neared the crypts, the dark stairway down loomed before you.

“What was he like?”

“Oh the stories I could tell you,” you said as you took your first step down the crypts; the first step in the right direction since Robert’s Rebellion.

[upontheshelfreviews]

If there’s a reason why we’re able to recall the story of Snow White from memory, and why said princess is usually depicted with short hair, a cute bow and surrounded by woodland fauna, look no further than Disney. Their take on the Grimms’ fairy tale is the prime example of pop cultural osmosis. Even if you’ve never watched Disney’s Snow White, it’s easy to recognize when a piece of work is borrowing from it or spoofing it. And I can definitely see why – not only is it going eighty-plus years strong, but its influence on nearly every Disney feature to come after it is a profound one.

The real story of Disney’s Snow White begins in the early 1910’s when a young Walt Disney saw a silent film version of the Grimms’ fairytale starring Marguerite Clark. The movie stuck with him well into adulthood. One night, well after he had established himself as an animation giant the world over, Walt gathered his entire staff of animators and storymen and re-enacted the tale for them in a mesmerizing one-man show. They were enraptured, but what he told them next struck them dumb – they were going to take what he performed and turn it into a full-length film.

In Tony Goldmark’s epic(ally hilarious) retrospective of Epcot, he performs a quick sketch he summed up as “Walt Disney’s entire career in 55 seconds” where Walt presents his career-defining ideas to a myopic businessman capable of only saying “You fool, that’ll never work!”. Considering how animation is everywhere today, it’s easy to forget that an animated film was once seen as an impossible dream. The press hawked Snow White as “Disney’s Folly”, and Hollywood speculated that it would bankrupt the Mouse House. It very nearly did. Miraculously, a private showing of the half-finished feature to a banking firm impressed the investors enough to ensure its completion.

Snow White is touted as the very first animated movie – admittedly something of a lie on Disney’s behalf. Europe and Russia were experimenting with feature-length animation decades before Walt gave it a try. But consider this: most animated films predating Snow White’s conception are either sadly lost to us or barely count as such by just crossing the hour mark. With all the hard work poured into it showing in every scene, with each moment displaying a new breakthrough in the medium, Snow White might as well be the first completely animated movie after all. Hell, it’s the very first movie in the entire history of cinema that was created using STORYBOARDS. A tool used by virtually every single movie put out today. If that’s not groundbreaking enough, I don’t know what is.

But is Snow White really…but why does it…can it…

“You know what? No. I’m not doing this teasing question thing before the review starts proper. OF COURSE Snow White is a masterpiece. OF COURSE most of it holds up. Let’s skip the middleman so I can explain why.”

After the opening credits we get the first of what will be many Disney leather bound books opening themselves to invite us into the world of the story. We’re informed that once upon a time there was a particularly Wicked Queen (nicknamed Grimhilde in promo features and the comics) who had a serious narcissistic personality disorder. Every day she consults her Magic Mirror™ to see who’s the fairest one of all and takes pride in being repeatedly told she holds said title. In the meantime she bullies her younger, prettier stepdaughter, the princess Snow White, and gives her the standard Cinderella treatment in the hopes that endless drudgery will wipe out the competition.

One fateful morning, however, the Mirror informs the Queen that she’s been bumped down to runner-up. She susses out that it’s Snow White who’s taken her place after the Mirror describes the newcomer as having “lips red as the rose, hair black as ebony, [and] skin white as snow”, but maybe the Queen is projecting here due to her extreme jealousy. Going by those three traits the Mirror could be describing almost anyone on the planet.

Care to narrow it down a bit, buddy?

Now if you consider yourself a feminist or at the very least have progressive views regarding women, I know what you’re thinking – just another example of the patriarchy pitting shallow female stereotypes against each other, right? Well in a manner of speaking, yes. There’s plenty of evidence that the Brothers Grimm held some odious misogynistic beliefs that stemmed from a bad combination of the era they lived in, outdated religious teachings, and their own experiences with the opposite sex. It shows in their second fairy tale revisions –  the heroines are naïve bimbos in need of a man’s rescue, and the villains are evil stepmothers and witches who happen to be hideous 99% of the time – and those views have been reinforced in our society thanks to those particular iterations being passed down to today.

Here’s my way of viewing the central conflict: The Mirror’s news is a wake-up call that Snow White is coming into her own as a woman and princess. That means marriage to a prince and the end of the Wicked Queen’s rule. Snow White will have all the power and adulation while the Queen is forced to step down and become another footnote in ancient royal history. Up until now the Queen has gone out of her way put down her pretty young opponent with petty cruelty because there’s nothing stopping her; but when faced with the inevitable, she unflinchingly opts to take more drastic measures so she can keep the throne.

If it weren’t for the fact the Queen’s unofficial moniker is Grimhilde and her transformation scene reveals a head of black hair, I’d suspect her real name was Cersei Lannister.

You also have to remember that the Queen takes the term “fairest” at face value. The Queen is beautiful, sure, but it’s a glacial beauty – cold, unfeeling, and nothing beneath the surface. All she cares about is looks and power. You’d have to be a pure loving soul or Woody Allen find something worthwhile in her. Snow White is beautiful too, though it’s her kindness and fair treatment of everyone that garners her the title of “fairest one of all”, not her appearance.

Speaking of, we follow that scene with Snow White (Adriana Casselotti) dressed in rags cleaning the castle courtyard. She shows her bird friends her wishing well and sings “I’m Wishing”, where she reveals her wish for her one true love to show up.

Confession time: In childhood the title of my favorite Disney princess was neck and neck between Belle from Beauty and the Beast and Snow White. I’ve already discussed at length why I adore Belle, so I suppose I should do the same for Snow.

…turns out it’s more difficult than I thought.

For as long as I could remember, I was surrounded by Snow White paraphernalia – tapes, toys, dolls, music, games, artwork, bed sheets, I can even recall the ice show. Snow White is ingrained into my early years. It more than likely has to do with the timing of its brief return to theaters and first VHS release between 1993 and 1994, right at the peak of the Disney Renaissance, so I experienced Snow White-mania right alongside Lion King-mania, Beauty and the Beast-mania and various other Disneymanias that were rampant at that time.

Even this one, embarrassingly.

As a result, I idolized Snow White as much the other princesses of the time, right down to making her the character I dressed up as the most for Halloween. I suppose what drew me to her was inherent kindness, ability to make friends with everyone, and her voice. Yes, I admit it. I don’t find Snow White’s warbling to be as irritating as everyone says it is. Maybe I’ve listened to it so much that I’ve grown immune. Then again I am that one Disney fan who doesn’t loathe It’s A Small World with every fiber of their being so maybe I should question my own tastes more.

Now as an adult with a critical eye who can put nostalgia behind me when necessary, is there something more to the character of Snow White that’s worth appreciating as much as the more-fleshed out princesses of the Renaissance and current Revival period?

I accept that I’m in the minority on this one, but I firmly say yes.

I know what you’re thinking – all Snow White does is smile and sing while she slaves under the Queen and the dwarfs and dreams of a handsome man to come carry her away, so I should turn in my feminist card for daring to suggest she’s a good character and role model for girls, right? Consider this: like Cinderella after her, Snow White’s happy nature and songs are her ways of coping with her unpleasant situation. It keeps her spirits up and in turn she tries to spread that positivity to others who need it as well. She refuses to let the Queen’s negativity turn her as sour as she is. All the little things Snow White reveals in what she does – her patience, pride in her work, healthy emotional balance, drive to help others, and warmth towards those smaller than her (in both a figurative and literal sense) – are all signs that she is capable of being a far better and beloved ruler and all around person than the Queen is. Plus, her reason for wanting to find love is two-fold: not only is she looking for someone with whom she can share a unique emotional understanding bond – which is something most every human craves – but it’s the also best possible means for her to escape from her stepmother’s abuse. Like I said earlier, once Snow White gets the ring, she gets to rule.

And what’s wrong with having a princess who can run a practical household? One could argue that it’s an example of traditional female roles desired by an oppressive patriarchal society on full display, but you want to know why millennials are called out for being lazy? Because baby boomers have cut out classes that teach things young adults actually need outside of school like how to properly cook and do laundry and pay your taxes since those weren’t seen as “essential enough to education”. So I have to admire a princess who, while not the most “progressive” of the bunch by today’s standards, is willing and able take care of herself and others when it comes to basic everyday needs. I think TheBrutallyHonestMom summed it up best in her post defending Snow White:

When we denigrate what Snow White accomplishes at the dwarfs’ cottage, when we rename her accomplishments to make them sound more impressive, more official, more valuable—management, administration, domestic CEO, sous chef, hospitality specialist—what we are really doing is saying that we don’t value the truly valuable work that she and so many other stay-at-home individuals do. Those words are a microaggression against what have traditionally been feminine roles, an attempt to align them with a patriarchal worldview where only those with the biggest titles and fattest paychecks matter. Snow White is domestic. She is a maid. She is a mother figure. She does take on the womanliest of the womanly roles. To claim that adopting these roles (and being good at them) somehow makes her a poor role model for my daughters is not a failure of Snow White’s imagination. It is a failure of ours.

Then there’s the matter of her actress too, which I can’t stay silent about. A few years ago it was revealed that in order to preserve the illusion of Snow White as a real character (a good many years before the company applied that same logic to their character performers at the theme parks I might add), Disney forced Adriana Casselotti to forego her screen credit and never take on another acting role again, essentially robbing her of a career. She only managed to appear in It’s A Wonderful Life and The Wizard of Oz because hers were uncredited minute parts. Casselotti had no regrets about choosing Snow White over a promising show business vocation, but I still call bull on the matter. If this kind of thing happened today, people would not stand for it, character illusions or not. There’s also crazy double standards since all the actors who played the dwarfs got to keep on acting; Sneezy’s voice actor was in Fun and Fancy Free for crying out loud! I love ya Walt, but that is one dick move. So if you’re a detractor cheering that you never have to hear Casselotti’s voice beyond this movie, keep in mind that’s all because of one man silencing her for the sake of his business.

So, Snow White. She cooks, cleans, delegates, teaches, loves, domestically kicks ass, and her behind the scenes story makes a strong case for the Time’s Up movement. Any questions?

“Yes. You’re over 2000 words in and we haven’t even gotten to the dwarfs yet. Plan on getting off that soapbox sometime this decade?”

Snow’s singing attracts the attention of a handsome Prince (Harry Stockwell) passing by on his horse. But his forwardness startles the shy girl and sends her sprinting up to her room. He charms her out to her balcony by singing his one song in the feature…”One Song”. You gotta love it when the title matches the tune perfectly.

“Wherefore art thou Prince? Deny thy father and refuse thy name!”

“Sure I’ll gladly refuse my name – if I had one, that is.”

All joking aside, I have a soft spot for this scene. Stockwell’s voice has this old-time Broadway/operetta quality I’ve always liked, the lyrics are unironic purple prose that still feel genuine, Snow’s little excited gestures are adorable, and it’s framed beautifully. This is what got it into my heard early on that the most romantic gesture anyone can make is serenading someone from beneath their balcony.

“Too bad you’re technically in a long distance relationship.”

“I know. Propping up a phone beneath your window just doesn’t have the same effect.”

Snow returns his affections with a kiss delivered via a dove and departs the scene with one hell of a pair of bedroom eyes, especially for a Disney character.

Daaaaaamn, girl! You already got him hooked, no need to gild the lily!

Unbeknownst to either of them, the Queen is watching overhead; Snow catching the eye of Prince Charming is what finally pushes her to take further action. She summons her Huntsman –

– to bring Snow White out into the forest and do away with her. Brief as this scene may be, there are two things I really like about it. First, the gravity. The Huntsman reacts with horror on being told what he must do, foreshadowing his eventual turnaround, yet with an icy hiss of “Silence!” and a short reminder of the price of failure, the Queen goads him back into line. We don’t know what the penalty for insubordination is, but it’s implied to be pretty nasty if she’s able to convince him otherwise with just a few words. Second, the Queen’s other demand. In the original fairytale, the Queen requested Snow White’s liver, lungs and heart so she could eat them and inherit her stepdaughter’s comely attributes.

But here in the film, she only wants the heart, and not for lunch. The Queen wants to keep it as a trophy. She even has a disturbingly appropriate box for it at the ready.

Proof that she really puts the ‘grim’ in ‘Grimhilde’.

Snow White, now dressed in her iconic yellow and blue dress, goes out flower picking with the Huntsman waiting not far behind. She spies a lost baby bird, and the moment she turns her back to help it, the Huntsman moves in for the kill. It’s framed like the murderer creeping up to their next victim in a scary movie, slowly building up to the moment he confronts her, with tension you could cut with a – well, you know.

Ultimately the Huntsman is moved by the princess’ humanity and can’t go through with the deed. Instead he reveals the Queen’s plot and pleads her to run, run away, Snow, and never return. Terrified, Snow White flees into the forest where her fears magnify her surroundings. Brambles become gnarled outstretched hands, logs are hungry snapping crocodiles, and there are eyes everywhere, always watching, boring into her every place she turns.

I should note that while developing Snow White, the Disney studio became something of an art college with fine arts and film study classes offered to the staff in order to hone their craft. Some of the movies they studied were horror flicks from the pre-Hays Code era, classics directed by the likes of James Whale and F.W. Murnau. The results speak for themselves. Scenes like this and the Queen’s transformation are why I consider Snow White my very first horror movie. The frightening imagery and darker themes all hide beneath a veneer of Disney childhood innocence. Like a proto-Pan’s Labyrinth, the terror as much psychological as it is fantastical.

A young Sam Raimi watched this and vowed one day he’d make those trees even more terrifying and bad-touchy.

This scene is also the source of one of the most famous stories to come out of the film’s creation. During the planning of the part where Snow falls backwards through an open-mouthed cavern into a lake, one of the animators cried out in terror “Won’t that kill her??” And the whole room fell silent. They reached the point where they no longer thought of Snow White as a cartoon but as an actual person, something that had never happened before. That was the moment where they were officially, as Ben Vereen once put it, on the right track.

Overwhelmed, Snow White collapses in tears. She’s brought back to her senses by the usual cuddly forest inhabitants inexplicably drawn to female royalty in need of assistance. Of course, being the ever-thoughtful soul that she is, Snow apologizes for startling them and making a fuss over how afraid she was, once more putting others before herself. She bonds with the animals through the uplifting “With a Smile and a Song”. Then she spends several minutes talking to them and making plans for the future all in rhyme. I confess it’s one of the weaker moments of the movie, showing that the studio’s transition from the Silly Symphonies to full-fledged filmmaking hasn’t completely been made yet.

The critters lead Snow to a quaint cottage in need of a good cleaning service. Assuming the miniature-sized furniture means the inhabitants are orphaned children, she decides to surprise them by sprucing up the joint, hoping her act of kindness will make them forget her breaking and entering and they’ll let her stay. Said cleanup time is underscored by one of the more upbeat tunes in Disney’s songbook, “Whistle While You Work”. Like Mary Poppin’s “A Spoonful of Sugar” it’s all about finding joy in the little things that make the work go by quicker.

“Here’s the last of the underwear, Bambi. And try not leave any ticks in the laundry this time!”

But as we all know, the cottage belongs not to seven children, but seven little people who work as jewel miners, all the while singing that famous mining song –

“No, the one sung by dwarves.”

“Seriously?!”

All joking aside, Heigh-Ho is the best song in the movie, no contest. Easily the catchiest tune here if not the entire Disney canon. If it can keep a theater full of gremlins occupied, it’s doing something right.

Sure, they whistle while they work for now. But once they find the Arkenstone it’s all downhill from here.

And let’s not kid ourselves, the dwarfs are the real reason why we keep returning to Snow White. Their quirk-matching names and designs make each one memorable, they’re endlessly entertaining, and they’re the characters that come the closest to having some form of arc. The group is a prime example of the illusion of life that is animation, exaggerated to a degree that they’re still believable in their movements and mannerisms. Dopey especially works well in this regard, a wonder considering much of his character was developed by happy accident. When an actor suitable enough couldn’t be found, they made the decision to simply mute him. Like much of Disney’s favorite animal sidekicks, they based his personality around that of a lovable dog, though I’d be lying if I didn’t see some Harpo Marx in there as well. As a result, his childlike playfulness and comic timing is up there with Chaplin’s Little Tramp. His hitch step was also an unexpected boon; after animator Frank Thomas put it in one of his scenes, Walt liked it so much that he insisted all previously animated footage of Dopey be redone to include that step. Incidentally, Frank’s popularity among the animation staff reached all-time lows after that announcement.

Snow White flops down for a quick nap on the beds upstairs just as the dwarfs return home. What follows is them sneaking about their now suspiciously squeaky-clean cottage and further establishing their personas through a series of finely-tuned gags (Walt paid five dollars for every good joke his guys could come up with, and this was when five dollars could take you out to dinner and a show). Dopey is elected to check the bedroom and he comes to the conclusion that Snow’s sleeping form is a monster. The dwarfs work up their courage to go kill the beast themselves only to realize in the nick of time that it’s just a harmless girl. But Grumpy, the clear-cut misogynist in the group, isn’t keen on having a “wicked-wiled” female refugee in their abode and shamelessly yells “Let ‘er wake up, she don’t belong here no-how!”

Snow wakes up and instantly charms over everyone except Grumpy as they introduce each other. The dwarfs are shocked and terrified to learn the Queen has put a hit out on her. Grumpy in particular declares the Queen is a powerful witch skilled in the black arts, which is true, and it raises a potent question. Is her magic common knowledge throughout the kingdom, or is it mere speculation? If it’s the former, how did that come to be? What happened to Snow White’s father the king anyhow? All this could make for a very interesting –

“You know what, never mind, forget I said it -“

“Too late! Jenkins, write that down! Bob’s gonna love it!”

“Very good, sir. Shall I pre-heat your crack pipe in preparation for the first draft writing session?”

“Does the Academy loathe streaming services? Hop to it, my man!”

“Hey, I thought you left that jerk to go work for Don Bluth.”

“Shh! I jumped ship after A Troll in Central Park and came back under a new identity. I couldn’t pass up the bankroll Disney’s been on since 2009.”

“Mum’s the word.”

Grumpy’s certain that they’ll be in the Queen’s crosshairs once she learns they’ve been harboring Snow White and demands they kick her out at once. But Snow White stands up for herself and says she can take care of the house for them if they let her stay. Just like Belle offering herself in her father’s place, no one corners Snow into the position of housekeeper. She’s the one who puts herself out there, listing all her best qualities like she’s on an interview. It’s only when she does so (and also mentions she can bake a mean gooseberry pie) that the dwarfs overrule Grumpy and declare she’s welcome in their home.

Yet even when all is said and done, Snow makes it clear that if she’s the one doing the work, then the dwarfs must play by her rules. Immediately following their acceptance, she goes into full Team Mom mode, insisting they improve their manners and wash themselves before dinner’s ready. Doc attempts to get around it by saying they cleaned up “recently”, but despite her sweet nature, Snow won’t let them walk all over her. She does a cleanliness inspection that makes the dwarfs almost as bashful as Bashful himself, and even gets a good bit of sarcasm in (“Why Doc, I’m surprised.”) The dwarfs washing themselves is another one of those Silly Symphony-esque filler scenes, but at least it gives us more time for their fun shenanigans; though I have to wonder if dog piling Grumpy and half-drowning him takes it too far.

“Where’s the money, Legrumpski? Where’s the fucking money??” “It’s down there somewhere, lemme take another look.”

Back at the castle, the Queen is showing off her newly acquired bodily organ to the Magic Mirror while demanding he validate her preconceptions of who’s fair and who’s not. Alas, the Mirror tattles on Snow White’s location and reveals that heart belonged to a pig, which I’ve got to say I’m glad they didn’t show how the Huntsman got ahold of.

Infuriated, the Queen storms down to her secret lab (and no, there’s no wrong lever scene. I’m disappointed too). She brews up a potion made up of ingredients like scream of fright, a thunderbolt and partially hydrogenated dimethylpolysiloxane which will completely transform her into a disguise nobody could suspect her in, an aged peddler woman.

Was I afraid of this scene way back when? Of course, but it was one of those rare moments where I didn’t want to look away either. Here we have a woman dangerously obsessed with beauty becoming the very thing she loathes in order to sate her implacable desires. Not only that but in this disguise she’s able to set loose the insanity buried deep beneath her frigid calculating exterior, grinning and cackling like the witch that she is. The Queen never smiles once when she’s in her true form. But once she’s the old Hag and it’s all cackling and gap-toothed smiles, it’s extremely unnerving.

Case in point.

“Anyone else miss the creepy fade to black where the villain’s eyes remain for a few seconds? Disney needs to bring that back.”

Major props to Lucille LaVerne, who gives a bone chilling and utterly unrecognizable performance as BOTH the Queen and the Hag. She made the switch from one role to the next by removing her false teeth between recording sessions. In doing so she gave us one of the great Disney villain performances.

The part where she preps the infamous poisoned apple does undercut some of her menace, however. The Hag is supposed to be sharing her scheming with a cowardly raven, but due to how much she stares directly into the camera while monologuing, it comes off as directly addressing the audience, like we’re watching her in a play. It’s not just the Silly Symphony style of storytelling creeping in, it’s melodramatic semi-vaudevillian theatrics that early Hollywood was moving well away from at this point. And again, what’s with the sudden speaking in rhyme?

At the last moment the Hag looks up a possible antidote to the poison and learns that it’s Love’s First Kiss. However she scoffs at the notion that Snow White can be saved because she’s counting on the dwarfs believing the princess is dead and burying her alive.

“For those of you who claim Disney waters down fairy tales into saccharine pap, I point you to Snow White.”

And it doesn’t end there. As the Hag leaves the dungeons, she passes a cell where a skeleton is sprawled out between the bars, reaching for a water pitcher. It’s bad enough to imagine this poor soul dying of thirst, spending their last moments with salvation just out of their grasp, but the Hag openly mocks the skeleton and kicks the pitcher aside. If that’s not a deciding irredeemably evil factor moment, it comes pretty darn close.

This would have also tied into an important but ultimately scrapped sequence where the Queen kidnaps the Prince, locks him in the dungeon to keep him from saving Snow White and torments him by detailing her elaborate scheme.

This sounds vaguely familiar…

Depending on which pitch you’re reading, the Prince refuses the Queen’s offer of marriage, and she enchants the chained-up skeletons of other scorned suitors to dance in an extremely misguided attempt keep him entertained while she’s out, or floods the dungeon to drown him. He makes a daring escape and rides to the rescue on horseback.

Again, vaguely familiar…

Unfortunately we had to wait twenty-plus years for this to happen because the animators weren’t confident in their abilities to create a believable male character. This is why the Prince appears only in the beginning and the end of the movie (and by extension why the Cinderella’s Prince is barely in that feature as well). When it came to making Snow White look realistic, they subtly incorporated some rotoscoping in a few places (I’d call it cheating but it’s difficult to tell where it begins or ends because she looks that good eighty years later). But I guess it just wasn’t worth the effort to do the same for her love interest, who doesn’t even get the dignity of an official name (fans go back and forth between Florian and Ferdinand). He’s reduced to a deus ex machina – which to be fair is exactly how he was treated in the fairytale. The movie has the slight advantage over that, however, by setting him up before he arrives for that wake-up kiss.

“And now it’s time for Silly Songs With Happy, the part of the review where Happy comes out and sings a silly song. Today’s interlude, appropriately titled “The Silly Song”, features choreography which has gone on to inspire many other Disney musical sequences dating as far ahead as the 70’s.”

“Hold it!! It’s just the exact same movements with the Robin Hood cast grafted over them!”

“Is there a problem with that?”

“Well…no…it’s just a bit distracting when you finally notice it. I mean I love Disney’s Robin Hood, but boy did they take the main character’s attitude towards stealing to heart when it came to the animation.”

And yes, “The Silly Song” itself is fun too. It’s one of the less remembered Disney tunes, though I have fond memories of it due to its inclusion in the Sing-Along video lineup. The decision to have it follow the Hag’s unsettling introduction makes perfect sense; I could imagine audiences experiencing it for the first time needed a bit of a breather after that.

I guess I should mention the musical number we could have had instead of this one, though. “Music in Your Soup” was a similarly lighthearted song that was fully recorded and animated before it was ultimately cut. It was expertly animated, featured more dwarf-Snow White interactions, and it also closed up a plot hole involving a bar of soap Dopey swallowed earlier. Still, it didn’t add much to the story overall and it disrupted the flow, and keeping both that and “The Silly Song” would have been superfluous; so as much as I like “Music In Your Soup” I think they made the right call in sticking with “The Silly Song”.

After the dancing, Snow regales the dwarfs with a love story, though they quickly figure out she’s talking about herself and her prince. She dispenses with the self-insert fanfiction and sings the movie’s eleven o’clock number “Someday My Prince Will Come”. Bawl all you want about setting women’s rights back a decade, it doesn’t change the fact that it’s still a lovely song, even without Casselotti’s vocals. In fact, much of the movie’s soundtrack has been a go-to for jazz artists through the decades ranging from Miles Davis to Dave Brubeck. The pure simplicity of Larry Morey’s lyrics and Frank Churchill’s melodies are ripe for riffing on. Virtually every cover I’ve found succeeds in the impossible task of measuring up to the original in some capacity. The action in the song itself is subtle and restrained, mainly focusing on the dwarfs’ reactions. It’s not only good storytelling, but a clever way to get around showing more of Snow White than the animators could handle; she was already tough enough to animate even with rotoscoping.

Snow realizes how late it’s getting and ushers the dwarfs to bed; however Doc and the others try to behave like gentlemen and allow her to sleep upstairs while they take up whatever space they can fill on the lower floor. It goes to show how much her kindness and politeness has had an influence on them, at least while she’s around. Them taking up whatever sleeping space they can find on the ground floor is an excuse to squeeze more gags in, but I’m fond of how it lets us wind down and take in this cozy atmosphere.

The next morning before they head out the dwarfs warn Snow White to beware of strangers. Even Grumpy can’t help but show concern in his own gruff tsundere way. It’s little touches like this that reveal Snow White’s unwavering compassion is chipping away at his chauvinist attitude and he really does care about her after all –

Hang on, they couldn’t spare ONE dwarf to stick around and keep an eye out in case the Queen does drop by? They’re really think the Queen isn’t going to make another murder attempt as soon as possible? They sadly must, because no sooner do the dwarfs heigh-ho off to work than the Hag creeps up like a meth user turned Jehovah’s Witness.

“Hello, my name is Elder Grim. Would you care to learn more about our lord and savior Chernabog?”

After the animals fail to communicate the obvious danger, they fetch the dwarfs for help. Meanwhile the Hag has convinced Snow White to let her into the cottage and show off her “magic wishing apple”.

Already I can hear the slapping of a thousand facepalms through my screen. I get why, but there’s something about the situation that feels strangely relatable. The Queen is fully aware of Snow White’s gentle, trusting nature and knows how to take full advantage of the girl. Snow isn’t all smiles and open arms though. There’s a split second of regret the moment she divulges she’s by herself, and as the Hag literally corners her into tasting the poison apple her body language gives away how uncomfortable she is. Even the cottage itself grows darker and claustrophobic, mirroring her trapped state. Snow White knows there’s definitely something off about this stranger, but there’s the downside of her kind personality. She can’t bring herself to kick the old lady out no matter how wrong this scenario inherently feels.

“Just keep smiling and slowly reach for the mace.”

Ultimately the Hag coaxes her into tasting the apple. Every breath leading up to it is dramatically intercut with the dwarfs led by Grumpy (further proof Snow White really has gotten through to the old softie) racing back to the cottage.

Do you want to know why the original Texas Chainsaw Massacre is considered one of the scariest movies of all time? Because for all its promise of a gory spectacular, the violence is deliberately kept offscreen. Our imaginations fill in the blanks and come up with even worse terrors than they could possibly show. Snow White’s poisoning works on that logic. All we hear is her gasping and groaning as the Hag gleefully looks on, ending with the most cinematic shot of the film.

If you’re still convinced Snow’s a dunce for biting the big apple, trust me, it’s a vast improvement over the original. The Queen showed up in disguise three times to kill Snow White with varying methods: strangulation by laces, a poisoned comb, and of course the apple. This was cut down to the last one for obvious reasons – not only would the story be repetitive and extremely padded if they remained, but it makes Snow White look like an idiot for falling for the same trap thrice in a row. The only time I’ve ever seen the inclusion of all three murder attempts work is in the anime The Legend of Snow White (which despite the laughably bad English dub is worth checking out). By the time the Queen comes around with the apple in that instance, Snow White is well aware of who she’s dealing with. But she plays along because the Queen has turned the kingdom to stone, and the only way to break the curse is by taking the bait and destroying her staff while she thinks she’s down, thus turning what was once an act of naivete into a heroic sacrifice.

The Hag exits the cottage feeling confident in who’s the fairest now just in time for the dwarfs to show up. They chase her through a thunderstorm up a cliff side. Literally trapped between a rock and a hard place, she attempts to dislodge a boulder and crush her pursuers. But Zeus is having none of that and a lightning bolt strikes the cliff, plummeting the Hag to her doom.

To quote Linkara, “Thus the origin for ‘Rocks fall, everybody dies’.”

And in case you’re still thinking she could have survived that drop, even with that boulder tilting over after her, the vultures that have been tailing her since she left the castle begin circling lower and lower over the place where she now lies. A chilling, subtle way to show they’re getting a meal after all.

We fade to a wake the dwarfs are holding for Snow White, complete with organ music and weeping – LOTS of sad, silent, motionless weeping. Poor Grumpy gets the worst of it. One can only imagine the tsunami of emotion he must have felt coming home to see that she was making a pie just for him. Like “Someday My Prince Will Come” it shows how restraint can be an asset in acting for animation. Considering how it’s very much like a real-life wake and just how much everyone believes Snow White is truly dead, this was a tough scene to get through.

The seasons pass and we’re told through title cards that the dwarfs couldn’t find it in themselves to bury Snow White, so they built a glass coffin and kept constant vigil along with the depressed forest animals.

“Clearly the idea of watching her slowly decompose over time never crossed their little minds.”

The funeral on top of the wake keeps piling on the sadness. We’re used to animated features moving us to tears, but you have to remember for audiences back then this was an entirely new experience because no animation dared to get this heavy. Think about it: Shirley Temple, Charlie Chaplin, the best and the brightest of Hollywood who poo-pooed Walt for his ridiculous idea – all moved to tears over Snow White. I can only imagine the satisfaction Walt must have felt hearing their sobbing at the premiere. Again, going back to that animator who felt genuine fear for her safety, the audience developed an emotional bond with the character just as they would for a real human on screen.

The Prince FINALLY shows up again still singing his One Song. Believing the love he has long searched for to be lost to him forever, he says his final farewell by bestowing her with Love’s First Kiss.

“Ah – “

“If you make ONE necrophilia joke, I swear I’ll take all the Adam Sandler movies off the Shelf.”

“Please, no!! I’ll have nothing to fully snark at!!”

The kiss does its work and Snow White awakens none the worse for wear. And since what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger, she’s immune to all poison ingested via deciduous fruit now. That’ll make ruling the kingdom she’s inherited from her stepmother and disappeared father much easier. And for those of you complaining how a magical kiss is a cop out, trust me, it’s better than how the original fairytale resolved it.

“Somewhere my love lies sleeping, and here she is! I’ll pay you dwarfs anything to let me take her back to my castle and keep her there as a memento of our tragic love.”

“This had better be worth it, she weighs a freaking ton!” “OHH, there goes my hernia!” *BANG*

*HACKHACKCOUGHHACK* “Thanks for the Heimlich, guys, damn apple’s been stuck in my throat for a year!”

“Seriously, I’m not making that up. Plus, they invite the Queen to the wedding and force her to dance to death in red-hot iron shoes.”

Everyone rejoices, Snow White says goodbye to the dwarfs, and the Prince leads her on his horse to his shining palace in the clouds. They all live happily ever after, the end.

And that’s Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs, the very first animated Disney movie. Do I believe the American Film Institute’s claims that it’s the best animated film of all time? Well, to be honest, no. The main characters aren’t as developed compared to future Disney protagonists, the animation goes noticeably off model at times, and it’s got one foot stuck in the style of the Silly Symphonies shorts that came before.

Is it the most influential animated film, however? Of course! Without it animation wouldn’t be as mainstream as it is today. While the formula has been updated and subverted through the decades, most animated features follow a similar blueprint – a dastardly villain, fun side characters, memorable music, distinct visual flair, fighting, torture, true love, miracles, you get the picture. We wouldn’t have any of that without Snow White. Once upon a time, this movie was the Star Wars of its era; a groundbreaking, audience-thrilling blockbuster that changed the way people looked at movies. Part of that is because Snow White taps into an emotional simplicity in a manner few films are able to. It relies more on providing an emotional catharsis than logic, inviting us to experience the story as we once did through the eyes of a child, and in doing so captures the essence of a classic fairy tale.

In fact, looking at the ripple effect of how movies can influence one another across the years, Snow White ranks among one of the most influential movies made in general. Apart from Disney you can see its echoes in The Wizard of Oz, Gulliver’s Travels, Citizen Kane, and yes, the original Star Wars. Even Sergei Eisenstein, the man who revolutionized filmmaking with freaking Battleship Potemkin, declared Snow White to be the greatest film ever made.

…So why did Walt Disney come to hate it later on in life?

Every movie that’s met with acclaim and accolades is bound to hit some backlash for one reason or another. Maybe it’s been overhyped, or time hasn’t been that kind to it. For Walt, Snow White leaned into the latter as his artistic prowess grew. No creator likes looking at their past work because it’s easier to notice the flaws when viewing it through a more experienced eye (believe me, I know). That, and no matter what he did, it seemed impossible to escape from Snow White’s shadow. For decades everything he created was inevitably compared to it.

Hmm, the animation and music are an improvement, but what it’s really missing are some dwarfs.

Hmm, the creativity leaps off the charts, but if only the score had lyrics that rhyme with the words “shmeigh shmo”.

Hmm, it’s breathtaking and magical, but it’d be perfect if you could just sit and watch it for eighty minutes without interacting with any of it at all.

Hmm, it’s practically perfect in every way, but…um…uh…more dwarfs, dammit!!

Thankfully Walt’s displeasure mellowed after some time. As for Snow White, she’s still rightfully hailed as the one that started it all. The art is iconic, the characters are unforgettable, and virtually all the songs are Disney gold standards for a reason. Well before Rodgers and Hammerstein changed the face of musical theater by having the score and the book go hand in hand, Snow White did it first in the cinemas. In fact this was the first movie to ever have a commercially released soundtrack, another confounded idea Hollywood wouldn’t understand for quite a while. Though time may temper with modern expectations, Snow White is as much a classic now as it was destined to be eighty years ago, and nothing can touch it. It still is the fairest one of all.

“HA! Try to remake/sequelize THAT, Disney!”

“Excuse me, is it too late to join this review?”

“I’m sorry, who are you?”

“Oh, where are my manners? I’m Snow White’s sister, Rose Red.”

“…You sure you’re not just a color-swapped OC clone from Deviantart?”

“Of course I’m not, silly! I’m in the fairytale and everything! Well, not THE fairytale per se, but there is one titled ‘Snow White and Rose Red’ where we’re siblings.”

“Checks out. They’re technically related.”

“Okay, but what are you doing here?”

“I was just wondering when you were going to discuss my upcoming movie!”

“Your…movie?”

“Oh yes! It’s going to be Disney’s Snow White all over again but from MY point of view! Isn’t that exciting?”

“But…but you weren’t even in Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs.”

“I know! I was off to the side doing…well, you’ll have to wait and see! The lady who wrote that Gone Girl knockoff that takes place on a train and the Indecent Proposal remake is doing the screenplay and she is just delightful!”

“…Excuse me for one moment.”

“Oh dear. Have I said something wrong?”

“It’s ok. This is just the part of the review where Shelf goes berserk.”

Thank you for reading! If you enjoyed this review, please consider supporting me on Patreon. Special thanks to Amelia Jones and Gordhan Ranaj for their contributions.

You can vote for what movie you want me to look at next by leaving it in the comments or emailing me at upontheshelfshow@gmail.com. Remember, you can only vote once a month. The list of movies available to vote for are under “What’s On the Shelf”.

Also, Patreon supporters get extra votes among other perks. If I reach the goal of $100, I can get back to reviewing animated series! I’m at the halfway mark right now, so please consider supporting me if you’re able.

Artwork by Charles Moss.

Most screencaps courtesy of animationscreencaps.com.

February Review: Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs (1937) If there's a reason why we're able to recall the story of Snow White from memory, and why said princess is usually depicted with short hair, a cute bow and surrounded by woodland fauna, look no further than Disney.

[arlenservice]

I might enjoy that, though three kings is two too many.

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[dong-hyucks]

Hello, may I please request an imagine for nct dream Chenle with an evil-Peter Pan au if that makes sense? If it doesn't then just do a normal Peter Pan thing, after all I do want you to enjoy writing this. I don't mind if he's a lost boy or Pan himself. As for the gender I'm She/Her but it's fine if you don't want to use those. Thank you and take your time I'm patient and will happily wait until 2076 if that's the time you need. Lots of love a girl that loves your writing.❤️💘🥀

The Lost Boy ; Chenle

Characters: Chenle / Reader / ft. NCTGenre: Peter Pan!AU, adventure, suspense, fluff, angst (happy ending)Warning: implications of death and a rough home life, slight swearingA/N: dEDICATED TO THE SOFTEST CHOONLOO STAN TO EVER WALK THE EARTH; @chenlays HAPPY EARLY BDAY SAM ILY

Masterlists

“I may not have gone where I intended to go, but I think I have ended up where I needed to be.”- Douglas Adams, The Long Dark Tea-Time of the Soul

1902, London

   The streets were cold, empty. Dank cobblestone clip-clopped under your scuffed and water-ridden shoes. Your arms, uncovered and unprotected from the cold, were covered with goosebumps, little hairs standing up in response to the sheer coldness of the night. In the distance, you could see the large clock tower. The building was rundown, as was practically every other building in town. The clock chimed and chimed, you could almost see the rickety building tremble with each vibration, alerting you and the townspeople of the hour. You swallowed thickly. Hairs on the back of your neck stood rigid, not from the gelid air that surrounded you, imprisoned you in its freezing hands, taking you as it’s prisoner. No, the hairs that stood, your knees that shook, your breath that caught; they all did so out of fear.

   You were late. Five minutes late, to be exact.

   There was a sudden, muffled thud. You stopped, quickly moving to hide behind a nearby building.  A man, a man you recognized as Mr Percy from two roads down, exited your home as he fixed the collar of his trenchcoat. He looked around as if to see if anyone had seen him, before quietly sneaking off into the darkness. It wasn’t long before his form disappeared into the dark fog that always followed London’s nightfall.

   Your doorstep drew near, and you dreaded each step closer you took. You could practically hear your adoptive mother, Madam Iva, screaming– her voice raspy from yelling so vehemently. Her eyes were what scared you the most, the beady, coal black pairs of eyes that would stare you down as if you were prey. They’d narrow as she screeched, her irises almost disappearing under her wrinkled eyelids. She was always like that. A hawk compressed into human form. Watching. Always watching.

   In fact, you could see her now, glaring down at you from her bedroom window. Chills ran up and down your spine as your hand clasped around the doorknob and twisted. You waited patiently, patiently yet with an immense amount of fear, at the door. As if on cue, her heavy footsteps came stomping down the creaky wooden staircase. You had to remind yourself to replace the wood tomorrow.

   Soon enough, her face, red with anger and vexation, came into view. Her puffy cheeks and dropped eyelids obscured her eyes in an ever so familiar way. As she made her way down the stairs two at a time, loud thuds sounded within the household. With each step, the ruffles on her evening gown fluttered slightly due to the astounding strength she used with each step. The only thing on her body that remained still was the bun atop her head, her hair tightly twisted and tied in such a way that made her eyebrows arch upwards.

   “You!” she sputtered, her eyebrows knit together as she jabbed a stout finger in your direction. “Do you know how late it is?” Her tone demanded answers, and you could tell she wouldn’t like yours.

   “I was only–”

   “I don’t want to hear any excuses coming from you! This is the fifth time this month you’ve come home late, you ungrateful brat.” With each sentence, she took another massive step toward you. “Who do you think you are? I work day and night working so you can have a good life and this is how you repay me? Staying out late when you have a reasonable curfew? I bet you were messing around with those disgusting groupies of yours.”

   You frowned a frown that almost mirrored her own. “Madam, my friends aren’t groupies, but I really didn’t–”

   She took a quick step toward you, raising her arm in a feinted swing. You flinched, backing into the door as you shut your eyes tightly. Eyeing your trembling form, Madam Iva scoffed. She relaxed her arm for a moment, crossing them as she looked down on you. “Insolent, weak child,” she spat, turning on her heel. “I should’ve left you to die on the streets when I had the chance.” And with that, she walked back up the stairs, this time her steps softer as she attempted to walk in a ladylike manner – though, to you she still looked as much of a cross elephant in a dress as she did before.

   You stood in the foyer, waiting to hear the noise of Madam Iva’s door clicking as it locked. When you did, you made your way up the stairs as quietly as you could. Today, you were lucky. Madam Iva stuck to using words and didn’t go any further. Perhaps she was too tuckered out to do much, you had seen Mr Percy leave just before after all.

   When you got to your room, Ms Lula was gathering her things. You quietly greeted the cleaning lady, ignoring her presence as she made her way out into the hallway. After she left, closing the door behind her, you collapsed onto your rock-hard mattress. “I hate this,” you mumbled tiredly into your pillow. Though you were used to Madam Iva’s discourteous behaviour, you absolutely detested being on the receiving end of it all. You always had to watch as she pretended to be the perfect mother in front of others, though she was everything but.

   Turning onto your back, you stared up at the cracked ceiling. Your room was always cold– there was a hole in the corner of your ceiling, one that let in all of the frigid air, rain, snow, and just about every mouse that required shelter in the winter. Madam Iva was always too cheap to pay for a repairman’s work.

   As you stared, your eyes tracing each imperfection, you wondered. You wondered what you had done to deserve such a life. You always saw other kids your age getting along well with their mothers, their fathers, their sisters, their brothers. Though they still lived under the poverty that everyone in the area suffered through, their lives seemed perfect to you. You, on the other hand, were a reject sob story. You were left in the streets by your parents at birth, almost experiencing hypothermia in the coolness of the city. Madam Iva’s late husband, Mr Howard, was the one to suggest taking you in after finding your basket. After his death, your life spiralled into hell.

   Hot tears burned your eyes, tears that you wiped away roughly. You weren’t one for tears. They didn’t fix anything. Shaking your head, you took out the pillow from beneath your head and covered your face, pressing it into your skin gently as to allow yourself to breathe.

   “Poor, poor child. Living a life of such hostility.”

   You jumped, throwing the pillow in the direction you thought you heard the voice from. You looked over, watching as the pillow thumped against the wall. “Too slow,” the voice whispered into your ear. Scrambling off of your bed, you held a hand against your mouth. If you screamed, you’d be in more trouble by Madam Iva– something you would rather not face. Once your eyes landed on the figure in your room, you let out a gasp.

   A male, perhaps in his early 20s, was standing in your room. Rather– he was floating in your room. Your eyes quickly darted from the space between his dark gray slippers and your splintered wooden floor to his face, one with sharp features. He stared back in amusement, leaning back on some invisible surface as he raised a brow at you. You noticed something glittering, something glowing right above the fabric of his shirt, one that matched his slippers.

   You shut your eyes, smacking your cheeks lightly. “Wake up, [Y/N]. You’re having too weird of a dream–”

   “A dream? Is that what you think I am?”

   You yelped, hastily grabbing the nearest object and holding it before you. The man snorted at the sight of your outstretched arm. You were tightly grasping onto a stuffed bear, it’s fur visible in the spaces between your clenched fingers. He raised his arms in mock defense, smirking over at you as he floated toward you. “I’m so scared,” he drawled, sarcasm heavily evident. You glared.

   “Who are you and what’re you doing in my room?” You paused. “How are you floating?”

   The man paused mere metres in front of you, floating about a foot off of the ground. “I am Pan,” he greeted nonchalantly. “You can call me Taeyong.” He tipped the front of his black cap, your eyes travelling to the red feather that came from it. His attire reminded you of some old fairytale you had heard before, one that told the tale of three siblings who travelled to a faraway land. “And you are?”

   “[Y/F/N]. That doesn’t answer all of my questions, Taeyong.”

   “Impatient little thing, you are.” He clicked his tongue before twirling in the air, quite literally, staring at you upside down. You noticed the glowing, glittering something once again, this time below his hat. Is that, you thought, what’s keeping his hat from falling? “I was bored, your window was unlocked, so here I am.” He glanced over to your window, “You should lock that, by the way. Wouldn’t want some weird stranger coming in during the night, now would you?”

   “… Right.”

   Taeyong moved forward, though he kept his feet pointing upward. “Your mother,” he began, “is very rude.”

   “Tell me about it.”

   “I was trying to sleep up here, and there she went running down the stairs as though she was racing for gold.” He rolled his eyes. “Her little toy was annoying too. Wouldn’t stay quiet while he was here.” Before he could continue, you quickly shushed the flying male, not wanting to hear any more. Pushing your hand away, Taeyong sent a smirk your way, turning in the air to land on his feet. “I have an offer you can’t possibly refuse,” he sang, clasping his hands together behind his back as he moved away.

   You stayed quiet, still feeling incredibly distrustful of the seemingly magical man. You shook your head, the thought of this all being a dream still very liable. Taeyong, noticing your doubtfulness, chuckled. “Then, I guess you don’t want to escape from here.” You looked up at his words, your eyebrows coming together. You could feel your hands getting clammy, your interest piqued. You would give anything to leave, to escape. He chuckled, the noise as deep as his voice. “Would you be willing to fly away with me?”

   As if on cue, he began to float up toward your ceiling. You backed into your dresser, your legs shaking. “I can’t fly,” you prompted. “Not sure how you think I can go about that.”

   Taeyong laughed, bending over as he held his stomach,as if you had just said the greatest joke known to man. You glanced at your door, an image of Madam Iva bursting in, as red as a baboon’s behind, and you shuddered. Turning to Taeyong, you brought a finger to your mouth in your silent way of telling him to be quiet. “Of course you can’t fly,” he said with the wave of his hands. “You need a little something to assist you.” He then grabbed at the air. You frowned in confusion. Hovering over to you, Taeyong held his hand above your head before shaking it as if he were adding salt to a dish. “All you need is a little pixie dust,” he smiled.

   “Now, fly!”

   You rolled your eyes, stepping away from the madman. “Taeyong, whoever you are, I can’t fly.” You looked down at his floating feet. “I’m not sure how you’re doing it, but whatever it is, I can’t.”

   Taeyong groaned, moving in front of you. “No, you can’t, not with that attitude. You need to believe! You need to want.” He looked at you as if he were urging you to try. You sighed. “Just close your eyes and wish to fly.”

   This is just a dream, you told yourself, what’s the worse that can happen?

   As if to just humour him, you closed his eyes. I wish to fly.

   Nothing happened. You opened your eyes, deadpanning at Taeyong. He groaned yet again, flying over to shake your shoulders. “You aren’t trying enough! I can barely feel your energy and I’m just over here. Try again.” You leaned back. His tone no longer sounded kind nor boyish; but demanding. He must’ve noticed your sudden change in demeanour, because he smiled nervously, moving away. “Just,” he tried again, this time with a gentler tone, “try.”

   Not wanting to anger him, you closed your eyes tightly. I wish to fly. I want to fly.

   You kept your eyes closed, not wanting to open them to Taeyong’s annoyed expression. To your surprise, he started clapping. “You’re doing it!” Opening your eyes, you looked down. True to his word, you were no longer on the floor. Your legs shook as you got higher, your inexperience blatantly obvious.

   “So,” Taeyong grinned boyishly as he turned to face you. He held out his hand as he jumped onto the sill of your window. “[Y/F/N], do you trust me?”

   You looked down at his outstretched hand. You glanced at the door again, before your eyes darted to your floating legs. Slowly, you took his hand.

   Taeyong’s grin widened to the point where it was almost devilish. “Then!” he exclaimed, taking an alarming step out your window. “Off to Foreverland we go!”

   Foreverland? “Wait, Taeyong–”

  Suddenly, he shot himself and, by extension, you into the night sky with the push of his leg. You almost forget that you were just floating, a scream ripping from your throat as you watched the ground get farther and farther away. Taeyong glanced over at you, “Come on, [Y/N], relax! Believe.” You glared up at him, your eyes watering from the wind. Believe– the word was starting to sound annoying coming from him.

   Once you were very high off the ground, to the point where fog heavily obscured your view of the old buildings below, Taeyong stopped midair. To your luck, you didn’t plummet to the earth when he let go of your hands, but instead, you remained afloat. “What’re–”

   Taeyong shushed you, his hand going moving to a small sack that was attached to his waist belt. You watched curiously as he took out something minute. It looked like a simple fountain pen, one like the ones you used regularly whenever Madam Iva had you create a list and go to the market. Suddenly, he began moving his arm in an oval, one almost as long as the length of his own body. “What are you doing?” you questioned, tilting your head in confusion. Before he could even answer, the oval he had drawn in the air became something else. It was as if he had cut a shape into the sky. You gazed through in astonishment, looking down at an island that was just as far as the city was.

   Without warning, Taeyong pushed you in.

   “Welcome to Foreverland!” You heard his voice bellow from above. You could barely stabilize yourself, nowhere near experienced in ‘flying’. Taeyong raced passed you, moving in a much more comfortable and smooth manner. Your heart raced as you looked down at the almost pitch black ocean down below. As you neared the island, Foreverland as Taeyong had called it, something struck you. A searing pain erupted from your shoulder, shooting down into the nerves of your arm and more. You let out a yell and suddenly you were falling. Whatever magic Taeyong had used on you seemed to leave you as you got closer and closer to the sea. You turned midair, looking up at the sky in hopes of finding Taeyong. You could barely see the fletching of an arrow within your quickly fading vision.

   The last thing you saw before you hit the harsh surface of the freezing water was Taeyong as he watched you.

   Was that a smile you saw etched onto his features?

   A boy clad in ripped and dirty clothing smiled happily as he gathered fruit from the highest of the trees. Down below, he could hear his friends singing to themselves in harmony, their voices soothing to the ears. The boy hummed along to the familiar tune, his head bobbing slightly as he picked one last mango. Content with his pick, he slowly made his way down the tree trunk. He passed his youngest friend, the only friend younger than him, and jokingly pushed himself off of the trunk to nudge him gently. The vines he had tied to his waist kept him up as he manoeuvred around the tree. “Chenle,” his friend poked, softly throwing a small mango at him. “You picked them all up there?”

   Chenle grinned with a nod, easily catching the thrown mango. “Slowpoke,” he teased, sticking out his tongue as he continued his descent. The voices got louder as he reached the ground, his bare feet landing upon the damp dirt. As they picked berries from bushes, Renjun, Jeno, and Donghyuck were singing the same song they always sang together – a song of loss and acceptance – the song of the Lost Boys. As he neared them, Chenle even joined in, dropping his mangoes into the large basket in which numerous other fruits were contained.

   Jeno looked up from his bush, inspecting the basket. It was almost full, which meant they had to go back to the house soon. “Last batch,” he called loudly, loud enough for Jisung in the trees to hear.

   It wasn’t long before the humongous basket was filled to the brim with a variety of fruit– mangoes, oranges, apples, strawberries, blueberries. Mark, the oldest of the six, came out from the thick vegetation with two wooden buckets, each filled with water. “Are we ready to head back?” he asked, carefully placing the buckets on the ground. When the five boys nodded, Mark moved to help the older of the few while Jisung took hold of the buckets.

   Then, the six began their trek down the path to the house in the trees. The older members noticed how much harder it was to hold the basket with only five people, as it was big enough to hold each of them with extra space. Chenle glanced over at the gap between Donghyuck and Jeno, where another boy had once stood. Similarly, there was another space between Mark and himself.

   They didn’t make it far before the familiar sound tinkling of bells invaded their ears. Jisung stopped and the boys put the basket down, happy to take a break. “Yuta?” Renjun called, looking around for the little faerie. Before long, they all spotted the tiny faerie, a faerie only visible to beings of Foreverland.

   Yuta didn’t even bother greeting the group, instead heading straight to Chenle and landing on the set of arrows that hung across his back. “You need to shoot a predator,” he told the boy, his voice urgent despite being small. “A killer bird is after Taeyong, you need to shoot it once they get back.”

   Chenle frowned, his hand involuntarily going to the bow at his waist. He didn’t like shooting at animals. Yuta knew this, but he also knew that the others couldn’t aim as well as he could even if their lives depended on it. “If you don’t do it,” Yuta started, narrowing his eyes, “you know how Taeyong will react if you let him get hurt.”

   Chenle flinched. Nodding, he quietly agreed to shoot the killer bird. At his submission, Yuta grinned. “Good. I’m glad we don’t have any conflict here.” The faerie glanced down at the basket. “Now hurry up. He’ll be back within the hour, and he’ll want those fruits home by the time he is.” With that, he flitted away, the only sign of him being the trail of dark blue faerie dust he left behind.

   Donghyuck lent the younger male a small smile, patting him on the shoulder gently as if he were saying it’s okay. Chenle merely returned the smile before moving to his position around the basket. Getting the hint, everyone aside from Jisung went to their past positions and heaved the basket up into their arms. They kept moving.

   Luckily for them, the fruit trees weren’t too far from their treehouse. The only struggle was bringing them all up into Taeyong’s room. They had built a contraption using buckets and rope and despite the convenience, the operation was a strain on their muscles. “First batch ready,” Mark called to Chenle and Donghyuck, who stood at Taeyong’s window. They nodded, simultaneously reaching out to pull the rope that brought up the buckets of fruit. Below, the boys helped.

   “This,” Donghyuck huffed, “is a lot harder without Jaemin and Hansol–”

   “Chenle!”

   The boys flinched at the sudden voice, almost letting go of the rope. Yuta impatiently jumped on Chenle’s shoulder, though to Chenle it felt like a mere tap. “Taeyong’s back and the bird is with him!”

   After Donghyuck took hold of the rope, Chenle took out his bow and arrows. His eyes searched the darkening sky, looking for Taeyong and the killer bird. Soon, Donghyuck pointed toward the Treasure Cove. “There!” Chenle looked over, and sure enough, Taeyong was flying away from another flying figure, though whatever it was wasn’t clear.

   Yuta tugged on Chenle’s ear, noticing the way his arms tensed in hesitation. “Shoot, Chenle!”

   Feeling pressured, Chenle held up the bow and aimed. Within seconds, an arrow was fired.

   Taeyong chuckled, watching as the water began to grow flat, the ripples that had followed your fall dispersing. He looked into the distance and saw the treehouse. He could just barely make an outline of two of the Lost Boys. He mentally commended them before heading toward them.

   As he neared, he pulled a straight face. He gracefully landed on the balcony of the treehouse. Yuta came to him quickly, landing on his shoulder with ease. “Good job,” he whispered to the faerie. Yuta’s bells sounded quietly, only loud enough for him to hear.

   He walked into his own room, watching as Chenle and Donghyuck pulled up another bucket of fruit. “Thank you for shooting down that bird,” he acknowledged, though his town sounded anything but grateful. He looked down at the growing pile of fruit. “That’s enough,” he commanded. “Get out and bring the rest to your rooms.”

   “Yes, sir.”

   The two scrambled out of the room, and climbed down the ladder to the rest of the Lost Boys. Mark quickly told the two to head up to the shared room, glancing up nervously at Taeyong’s room. They didn’t argue, climbing up without a word.

   Night came quickly, the orange light of the sun soon disappearing as navy blue bled into its colourful hues and, eventually, taking over the sky completely. The Lost Boys lay in their beds, too afraid to make a noise. Yuta always flew around at night and if they were too loud he would most definitely tell Taeyong.

   Chenle went to bed that night wearing a frown. He felt like a mere fish swimming in a sea full of bloodthirsty sharks. He always did. Shifting under his thin blanket, he stared across the room. The two empty beds made him feel uneasy.

   The next time you awoke, you were warm. It was an almost unfamiliar feeling– you could barely remember the last time you felt so cozy. Light flooded into the area mercilessly, too bright for your dazed being. Once your eyes adjusted, you realized you have washed ashore, lying on a bed of dead grass. You were so far away from the sealine, however, that it was as if you had been placed there.

   Upon further investigation, perhaps you were.

   Barely a foot away from you, you found a silver ring. It hadn’t been affected by the water as it was still shining brightly without a single bit of rust, so you assumed it had been dropped recently. That wasn’t the only sign that someone had been near you, as there were footsteps all around you, each unique footprint stamped into the sand. However, not a person who could’ve left those behind was in sight.

   You moved to get up, only to gasp out in pain. Your shoulder was still sensitive from your injury. Glancing at it, you notice how it was wrapped with ripped cloth, a poultice of seaweed just barely peeking out from beneath. Whoever had brought you to shore had taken care of you, delicately so.

   Staying flat on the ground, you moved your head to look around. You had no idea what to do. Panic began to bubble from within your soul, making your breathing heavy as you realized how severe your situation was. It would sound insane to anyone else– saying you were taken to ‘Foreverland’ by a magical being and then shot by an arrow? No one would believe you if you lived to tell the tale.

   That is, if you could even get back home.

   This time, you moved slowly, picking yourself up off of the ground with such care it was as if you were holding a newborn. The entirety of your upper left body was sore, but you tried to ignore as you trodden slowly around the thick vegetation. You kept close enough to the trees that no one would be able to spot you if they were up above, like Taeyong, but far enough from the forest itself to see sunlight. Your eyes darted back and forth from one point to another, wary of your surroundings.

   Your, now, bare feet felt odd against the soft sand and the damp feeling of your clothes was plain uncomfortable. In fact, everything about Foreverland was making you feel insatiably antsy. It was quiet– too quiet. You had only been near the sea once, but you could only remember noise, the loud rush of water as it pounded against the white sand, the whispers of the wind as it passed by, the lovely voices of birds as they flitted across the sky. But here, it was deadly silent. You could only hear a high pitched ringing in your ear, though that wasn’t unusual.

   Without realizing, you stepped on a branch.

   In a split second, there was shuffling. You could see the movement of bushes as something small ran past them, toward you. Your heart began to race, your feet subconsciously bringing you away from the treeline. Suddenly, something jumped out at you and landed on your chest, bringing you flat against the sand once again. The fall brought another shock of pain up and down your arm, making you cry out in agony. It took you a moment to realize what had jumped on you, but when it did you nearly screamed again.

   Laying atop your chest, was a fuzzy, black and white creature. You had never seen one before, but you had heard stories and inspected drawings of the small beast.

   “A panda?” you questioned, your voice cracking in pain. Sitting back up, letting out yet another set of groans, you took the panda in your hands and looked at it. “What odd place does this Foreverland have to be to have pandas of all animals?”

   You barely had time to process the fact that a baby panda was in your arms before there was more shuffling from within the thick forest. Without thinking, you held the panda against your chest and scooted back toward the water. To your complete and utter surprise, a boy began to speak. “Who’s there?”

   You stayed quiet, hugging the surprisingly calm panda to your chest. You were about to back right up, into the calm water, when a boy walked out from behind the trees. Your breath caught in your throat at the sight of him. You had seen boys dressed similarly before, in dirty and ripped clothes, but this boy still managed to look clean somehow. He laid eyes on you and you watched as he tripped over his own feet. He landed on his knees, luckily on the sand.

   There was a silence, as you weren’t willing to speak to the strange person and he was staring wide-eyed at the ground. Finally, you opened your mouth, though you inched away ever so slightly. “Are you okay?” you stuttered, your words slow and unsure. Your shoulder and arm were pulsing in pain, but you were still trying hard to ignore it.

   The boy smiled up at you over his dark brown bangs and nodded. “Peachy,” he mumbled, although he was wincing. He shifted to look at his knees and there were bright red marks. The skin hadn’t broken but there was some irritation. “I’ll be fine in a few.” He looked back up at you. “I’m Chenle,” he paused. “At least, that’s what I’ve been told.”

   You raised a brow. “You aren’t sure?”

   He shrugged. “I can’t remember much,” he confessed. “We were named by Taeyong after he–”

   You droned out the rest of his words, your body going stiff. He must’ve noticed because he slowly stopped talking and looked at you with concern. “Hey, are you–”

   Without a word, you got up as fast as you could, your shoulder burning in pain, and bolted. Your feet slipped beneath you constantly atop the sand, but that didn’t deter you. You could hear Chenle running after you, calling after you although he didn’t know your name. You held the small panda close to you as you ran; its claws digging into your shoulder and adding to the pain.

   Suddenly, another boy, dressed similarly to Chenle, jumped out of the forest holding a spear. The sight of him and his weapon made you halt in movement, which gave Chenle enough time to catch up to you.

   “What’s going on, why did you run?”

   You tried to run in another direction, only to meet the eyes of yet another boy. Then, one by one, three more came out. Chenle looked at you with worry, stepping cautiously toward you. With each step he took forward, you took one back until your feet touched water. “We’re not going to hurt you,” he murmured, glancing at your, now bleeding, shoulder in worry. “We want to help.”

   “You know Taeyong,” you grumbled, your voice shaking. “I can’t trust you.”

   The six of them looked at each other with wide eyes. “How do you know him?” one of them asked. You could barely respond before Chenle shook his head.

   “Guys, they’re injured. Let’s get their shoulder patched up before we start asking questions.” He turned to you, holding out his hands as a way of showing no harm. His posture reminded you of Taeyong, back in your room when he had asked you to trust him. Sensing your distrust, Chenle offered a small smile. “I promise you, we won’t take you anywhere Taeyong is.”

   You looked down at your own arm, where blood was trailing down slowly. The panda looked up at you innocently, blissfully unaware to your distress. Your shoulder wasn’t in good condition, you could tell– heck, anyone within eyesight could tell. Swallowing thickly, you took a cautious step closer.

   “Okay.”

   The boys brought you into the forest and to a waterfall. You looked up at the open sky warily, scared that Taeyong would suddenly come out of nowhere. One of the boys, Donghyuck as he had introduced himself before, smiled warmly at you. “Don’t worry,” he said nonchalantly, “we’re safe here. We’ve hid here a lot since we got here and Taeyong has never noticed.”

   You just nodded, petting the panda slowly. Another boy, Renjun, looked at the animal with affectionate eyes. “What’s it’s name?” he asked, cooing at the panda. You shrugged; you weren’t sure to be honest. Naming the panda hadn’t exactly crossed your mind since you stumbled upon it. Renjun hummed. “How about Wren?” He smiled down at the baby animal. “Do you like that?” The panda reacted in such a way that couldn’t be described as positive or negative, with the baby just yawning and resting its head against your collarbone.

   You smiled at him, “Wren is good.”

   Unbeknownst to you, Chenle had looked over just in time to see your smile. He coughed, looking away. Busying himself with grinding together a poultice, he tried to ignore the invisible strings that were pulling his lips up into a smile. Jisung, who had been helping him, noticed this and laughed quietly.

   “Okay,” Chenle said, holding up the makeshift bowl (which, in reality, was just a large piece of bark that had been cleaned). You handed Wren to Renjun and sat on a rock across from Chenle. Slowly, he peeled away the cloth from your shoulder and used it to wipe away the old poultice. He gasped at how deep the wound was. The boys all gathered around and had similar reactions. Chenle began to frown, his suspicions ringing clearly in his head, though he kept them quiet. Using water from the waterfall, he cleaned the wound despite your flinches and wrapped it with care.

   “How did this happen?” Jisung asked, gesturing to your wound.

   “Actually,” Jeno cut in, “how did you even get here?” The boys seemed to all want an answer for the latter, each looking invested in words that had yet to be spoken.

   You sighed, fiddling with Wren’s paw. “Well, to begin…” Then, you began to tell the story of how Taeyong appeared into your room, lead you to Foreverland– everything up to the moment you lost consciousness. One by one, each of the boys looked at Chenle with rounded eyes. You did as well, curious. Your eyes darted to the set of arrows on his back to the bow that hung from his waist. “You,” you mumbled, “you shot me, didn’t you?”

   There was a pregnant pause, tension grew thick in the air as Chenle struggled to answer. “We were told,” he started, “that you were a killer bird going after Taeyong. If we didn’t comply with orders, he’d…” he trailed off, not wanting to finish his sentence.

   “He’d what?”

   Mark frowned. “If we disobey orders, given from him or his faerie, Yuta, we get taken away.” He looked down. “He’d take whoever went against his word and we’d never see them again.”

   Sensing that you had hit a sensitive topic, you zipped your mouth closed.

   Changing the subject, Jeno frowned. “How do you think you’re going to go back home?” he asked, leaning against the large boulder behind him. “You said Taeyong brought you here with a portal. We can’t exactly do the same.”

   Your expression mirrored his. You hadn’t thought of a how and true to Jeno’s words, you had no means of creating a portal yourself. It’d be absolutely mad to try and take the pen away from Taeyong, suicide even. And after hearing about what he does to Lost Boys who don’t follow orders, you weren’t about to send them away for theft.

   “Why don’t we eat first,” Mark suggested, taking out a mango from his sack. “You’re probably starving and our minds won’t work as well on an empty stomach.” When everyone agreed, Mark tossed you the mango, which you luckily caught.

   While everyone idled and went away at their fruit, you wandered off. Nearing the waterfall, you fell back against the waterfall’s cliff, sighing in exhaustion. Beside you, Wren fell against your thighs, pawing up at the mango in your hands. Do pandas even eat mangoes? You glanced around. You hadn’t seen any bamboo anywhere and you weren’t sure which leaves a panda could eat.

   “Hey,” Chenle said as he made his way over to sit beside you. The rushing noise of the waterfall almost drowned him out. “Are you not hungry?” he asked, eyeing the way the panda began to gnaw on the mango.

   “Not really.”

   Chenle suddenly looked like he had just remembered something of significant importance as he looked over at you. “What’s your name, by the way? You know ours, but yours remains a mystery to us.”

   “[Y/N].”

   He repeated your name once, twice, then thrice, the syllable(s) rolling off his tongue easily. Something about the way he said it made you feel giddy. You couldn’t place your finger on why– after all, people had been calling you [Y/N] since birth, so why were you feeling like this now?

   He paused. “What’s it like? Living in a real home with a real family.” You looked over at him as he stared wistfully up at the sky. It couldn’t be more than an hour past noon, based on the sun’s position.

   “Do you really not remember anything?”

   “No, not completely. None of us do, actually. The lot of us, we only remember random snippets of anything. Donghyuck, he remembers his mother and how she wanted a cheque book, whatever that is. He wants to buy her one,” he smiled sadly, “if we can ever leave this place. And Jeno, he says he can remember lots. Like how everyone lives in these big houses and how it only ever rains once in a ‘blue moon.’” You raised a brow at the fibs, curious as how he came to even think of those.

   “Mark remembers,” he stopped, trying to remember what exactly Mark remembered. “He remembers painting! Yes, painting.” Chenle started to laugh, the noise sounding like heavenly bells to your ears. Something about the boy next to you was calming, soothing even. “We tried painting once. It didn’t look to good and I don’t think we were supposed to run berries against stone tablets, but it was great fun.”

   “Jisung, he remembers writing. He’s not sure where or why, but he can remember bringing pen to parchment and just letting ink flow.” He chuckled, “That’s what he always says. ‘The ink just flows from the pen, just like that!’” A smile came to your lips at how fond Chenle seemed of the others. “Respectively, Renjun remembers reading. He can faintly recall the tale of a dragon, a knight, and a royal stuck high up in the sky.”

   Turning to you, Chenle hummed. “Do you think that’s what we are? People stuck in the sky?” After hearing himself talk out loud, a light pink hue took over his otherwise light skin. “Ah,” he mumbled, scratching the back of his neck in an embarrassed laugh. “That doesn’t make any sense, does it? Never mind.”

   You smiled, petting Wren gently as she began to fall asleep, a half eaten mango laying on the ground next to your leg. “No, no. It makes sense. In a way, we really are just people trapped up in the sky. After all, I had to fly to get here.” You glanced over at him curiously, your gaze catching his eye almost instantly. “What about you, Chenle? What do you remember?”

   A frown took place of his easy smile. “I’m– I don’t remember a thing about the past.” Your expression dropped. Chenle had sounded so dejected, so miserable over the fact that he couldn’t remember anything. “I don’t get it; the others remember things. Why don’t I?” His voice cracked, as though the topic of his memory wasn’t something he liked talking about.

   Slowly, you moved in front of Chenle, gently placing Wren on the ground. He watched you curiously as you shifted. Leaning forward, you wrapped your arms around him in a gentle hug. Chenle stared over your back in shock– he could’ve sworn his heartbeat was loud enough for you to hear in such proximity. Then, inch by inch, Chenle raised his own arms before hanging them over the small of your back. Soon enough, he was bring you closer, reciprocating the hug happily.

   The feeling was so unknown to the both of you. You never received hugs, at least, not since Mr Howard’s death. Chenle, on the other hand, couldn’t remember if he had ever been hugged. The warmth, the contact, all of it was so odd to the two of you and yet neither of you wanted to move. Chenle buried his face into the crook of your neck, something that felt oh-so natural to him. “Thank you,” he whispered, his voice sending slight shivers down your spine. You pulled away slightly, smiling at him.

   Before another word could be uttered, Donghyuck started yelling, effectively gaining your attention. “Come here,” he called, “no– not you, Chenle–”

   You chuckled, standing up. Brushing your pants off, you looked down at Chenle, who had gone to play with Wren. “I’ll be right back,” you said. Then, out of habit, “goodbye.”

   You could barely take a simple step before Chenle was moving to grab your wrist. You let in a sudden breath, not expecting the sudden movement, nor his hand that was now clasped around your wrist. Chenle looked somewhat embarrassed as his eyes travelled to your wrist. He coughed, fumbling with himself as he cleared his throat. “Sorry about that but,” he looked away for a moment before looking you in the eyes, “don’t say goodbye, okay? At least not to m– not to us. Goodbye means going away and going away means forgetting.” He frowned, “I don’t want you to forget us.”

   You smiled, moving your hand so that it lay in his. “Don’t worry, Chenle. I won’t forget you guys– I don’t think I could even if I tried.”

   When you walked off, Chenle watched. Your words rang in his head, echoing effortlessly.

   You reminded him of something, though he didn’t know what.

   “Did you need anything?” you asked once you reached the group. At first, they said nothing and just laughed amongst themselves. You waited patiently, hoops of confusion swirling around your head.

   Eventually, Renjun spoke up. “You and Chenle are getting cozy over there,” he commented, faking nonchalance. Your cheeks burned. Only then did you realize that all five of them could easily see the small exchange you just had with the aforementioned Lost Boy.

   “I bet he knows your name too,” Jeno sang with a chuckle.

   Mark and Donghyuck laughed in unison, glancing over at Jeno. “You say that like knowing a name is scandalous,” said Mark. Donghyuck looked to you.

   “Speaking of, what is your name?”

   You barely had time to introduce yourself before all of you hear a familiar noise.

   Bells.

   The boys’ eyes widened, each of them standing stiffly. You froze, unaware of what consequences the boys feared. The hairs on the back of your neck stood stiffly straight as the rest of your body shook. A familiar glow, a shimmer even, appeared right above Mark. It was the same glow you had seen back in your room.

   “… his faerie, Yuta…”

   You’ve been found.

   Suddenly, Yuta’s faerie dust began to fall, fluttering over Mark’s head. Before any of you could reach out and grab him, he began to rise, and he rose much faster than you had before. “Mark–!”

   It was too late, Yuta’s glow disappeared and Mark was flying seemingly out of control to sea. Chenle came running, Wren hanging off of his shoulder. “Yuta?” he asked urgently, his eyes not leaving the screaming form of Mark. Jeno merely nodded, looking incredibly distraught.

   Jisung let out a shaky breath, tears lining his eyes. “Do you think Taeyong’s going to,” he stopped himself short, shaking his head fervently. Jeno brought the younger male into a hug to mask his own tears. The boys had experience this three times now and none of them were mentally prepared.

   “We have to get him before Taeyong can do anything,” Donghyuck stammered, staring down at his own shaking hands in fear. He turned to you and only then did you see his glossy eyes. Looking around, you could see that all of them were on the verge of tears in their panic. “Please, [Y/N], help us. We’ve already lost two Lost Boys– none of us can handle a third.”

   You nodded, shaken up yourself after witnessing the absolute terror in Mark’s expression as he realized what was happening. “Of course,” you stuttered, “I don’t know what I’ll do, but I’ll try to be as helpful as possible.”

   Without another word, the six of you began your trek through the thick vegetation of the forest. The only noise being the sound of branches and leaves crinkling beneath your running feet and the breathing of each and every one of you. Once again, Foreverland seemed eerily quiet to you. It’s lack of audibility disturbed you to no end. It gave the, otherwise beautiful, island a creepy vibe and you did not like it. Not one bit.

   No one spoke as you each ran, too focused on their thoughts. You knew even without them telling you what they were all thinking. Though you didn’t know the details about their friends, you knew they hall thought Mark would have a similar fate.

   You looked up, looking at the backs of each of the Lost Boys– at least, the boys that remained. You had only met them that day yet you felt emotionally attached. They were so kind, far kinder than anyone else whom you’ve ever met– from both Foreverland and London.

   Your eyes fell upon the first Lost Boy you had met. Chenle’s face of determination pushed you. It pushed you to keep going even though all you wanted to do was give up and weep. It surprised you, how much influence the boy had over you without even trying.

   You thought back to the conversation you had at the waterfall, then to the pen Taeyong had used to create a portal.

   Yes, you decided. I’ll do it. I’ll make sure these Lost Boys are finally found. You swallowed thickly. If anything bad happened to them solely because of you, you don’t know how you’d live with the guilt.

   Soon enough, daylight began to break through the gaps in between the trees thick branches until the six of you reached the beach. The sky was turning orange, tendrils of warm colours galore painting themselves over the soft, baby blue of the sky. Clouds cast shadows here and there, leaving their temporary mark on the world. To you, the world’s beauty was unfair.

   How could the sun set, the sky turn and the wind blow like usual when someone could meet an undesirable fate?

   “Look!” Renjun pointed outward, out to sea. Your gaze followed his finger out above the cool water, until it struck upon the side of a ship. You had looked just in time to see Mark drop onto the deck. “That’s Captain Johnny’s ship!”

   Chenle narrowed his eyes, focusing on the ship. Then, he let out a gasp. “On the stern, that’s–”

   Suddenly, you could no longer hear Chenle, or any of the other Lost Boys. All you could hear was bells. A dark blue dust fell upon you and without realizing, you started getting closer and closer to the ship. The Lost Boys, they called after you, desperately calling your name, but you had no control of your body– not your head, not your mouth, nothing. You felt as though you were in a daze.

   “[Y/N]!”

   You blinked. From the corner of your eye, you could see a blue glow flitting back and forth. Yuta. You tried to move your arm, but it felt as though they were tied to your body with the strongest, most durable rope in existence.

   Straining every muscle in your arm, you willed yourself to break those invisible ropes. Moving as quickly as your injury would allow you, you hastily grabbed at Yuta. You felt him struggle against your curled fingers as you pressed him into the skin of your palm. However without Yuta controlling the faerie dust, you quickly began to plummet. You let out a scream, screwing your eyes shut. Despite everything that had happened, you found yourself repeating Taeyong’s words like a mantra.

   Just close your eyes and wish to fly.

   You opened your eyes just barely. A sigh of relief left you once you realized you were hovering mere inches above the water.

   “You’ve mastered flying in such a short time. I’m impressed,” a condescending voice said from above. You looked up and saw Taeyong floating, hovering as though he were lying down on a chesterfield bored out of his mind.

   “Pan,” you muttered disdainfully. You glowered as he came closer, to which you flew back a few metres. You could practically feel Yuta trying to shove his way passed your fingers, but you weren’t willing to let him go whilst under his faerie dust’s control.

   Taeyong chuckled, though you could tell he was anything but amused. “Pan? Why, [Y/N], you sound so distant with little ol’ Taeyong. I’m hurt.”

   “Stop acting as if you’ve done nothing.”

   “Oh, but [Y/N]. You see, the thing is– I haven’t done as much as lifting a finger since you’ve arrived in Foreverland.”

   “Bull. You had Yuta tell Chenle to shoot me and you watched as I fell to what could’ve been my death. You’ve taken Mark onto that bloody boat to do who knows what.”

   Taeyong grinned down at you, his constant look of amusement infuriated you to no end.

   Before you could say much else, Taeyong looked back onto the boat. Up on the starboard appeared a pirate, one with a hook as a hand and an eyepatch over his right eye. “John,” Taeyong started, “get them.” ‘John,’ who you assumed was Captain Johnny, nodded and disappeared for but a moment. Not too long after, men of all sizes and ages appeared onboard, each clambering into row boats that were then ejected to sea. You turned around in your spot with wide eyes, watching as they rowed toward shore.

   The Lost Boys!

   You moved to stop the boats from getting any further, but Taeyong was quick to grab your arm, pulling you flush against his chest. “You get to watch,” he murmured into your ear, “as they bring your little friends onboard.” He chuckled. “Though you may not want to see what happens next,” he clicked his tongue, as he dragged a finger over your throat. “Not that you’ll have a choice.”

   “Bastard,” you spat, “why’re you doing this? They’re just boys!”

   Taeyong chuckled, flying back onto the ship and bring you with him. “Why?” he repeated, roughly forcing your hand open. Within seconds, Yuta clumsily fluttered up onto Taeyong’s shoulder, gasping for air as he clutched his bent wing. “Why. What an interesting question.” With the single wave of a hand, Taeyong managed to push you against a wooden post, trapping you against it. Only then did you notice the blue shimmering on his hand that only shone against the fleeting rays of light.

   “I can’t think of any reasons why I should grow old, shrivel up, and die. If I do, what were my accomplishments for? My memories?” He rambled, talking as though what he spoke was common sense. “Even after being twenty-two for ten years, I will never grow sick of not growing. I hated growing up, and now I don’t have to.”

   You furrowed your brows together in confusion. Your mind tried to grasp onto frayed ends of his speech to no avail. Upon laying eyes on your confused expression, Taeyong threw his head back in a deep, bellowing laugh. He sounded completely insane. “You still don’t get it, do you sweets?” Beside him, Yuta’s bells tinkled as he quietly mocked you. “Here, in Foreverland, each day that passes takes a year off of your lifespan. But I, the oh-so wonderful, the ever so amazing Pan– have found a way to keep myself young. To live for years upon years.”

   Two boys walked out from the room under the stern. Their eyes were hazy, their skin pale as crisp, new parchment paper. They looked soulless. One of the boys, the shorter one, had a ripped sleeve. The cloth, you noted, had a familiar pattern. “All I have to do, is take.” With his final word, Taeyong reached into the same sack that he had taken out before. Instead of taking on a pen, he took out a clear flask containing an almost murky gray liquid. Within the liquid were strange, black blobs. The longer you stared at them, the clearer an image came.

   Screaming souls.

   In that moment, your heart dropped. Your eyes darted to the sea, where five rowboats were on their way back to the ship. In that single moment, you realized what Taeyong had done to the two Lost Boys and what he was going to do to the rest of them.

   You screamed, yelled for the Lost Boys to escape. To swim away, to hide deep within the forest of Foreverland. Taeyong grew more and more irritated with every sound that came from your throat, muffling your voice with the palm of his hand.

   Why hadn’t they listened?

   As the pirates began to flood the deck of the ship, you realized why. One by one, burly pirates climbed up the ship’s edge, each heaving an unconscious body over their shoulders. You struggled against Taeyong’s magic and his hand, but with no luck.

   Then, everything went black as Taeyong forcefully hit your head against the post.

   “… -joy the show, boys.”

   When you came to, you were tied to the post. You gasped at what you saw before you.

   The Lost Boys, all six of them stood in a line. Behind them were the same burly pirates who had carried them onboard. Each pirate had their hand to the hilt of their swords. You could tell the boys had been crying, their eyes red and puffy. Crying. As you glanced at each of them, that’s all you wanted to do. You felt weak under the scrutinizing glare of the pirates.

   You struggled to breath. Fear encased you like a prison trapping its prisoner. But, with the touch of a familiar paw, your vision cleared. Your breathing steadied.

   Taeyong came into view, tossing the flask back and forth between his hands. Both you and the boys watched him warily as he stepped in front of you. You noticed the boys turning away, but it didn’t take long for the pirates to redirect their gaze, forcefully keeping their heads pointing toward you.

   Taeyong brought the flask up to your lips. Immediately, you clamped your mouth shut and turned your head. He tried again. You did the same. The more you moved and refused to drink from the flask, Taeyong grew annoyed. “Drink it, dammit,” he spat, his strident voice making you flinch.

   “I’ll never drink it,” you glowered, “not while they’re still in Foreverland.”

   The boys’ eyes widened. Chenle moved forward, only to be held back by the pirate behind him. “[Y/N], what are you doing–”

   Ignoring Chenle, you looked Taeyong in the eye. “You want to live longer right? You already have their lives,” you nodded your head toward the two lifeless Lost Boys. “That’s plenty already.” You sounded desperate. “I’ve only been in Foreverland for a day. Them? Weeks. My lifespan is definitely longer than theirs, maybe even combined. You want my soul? Let them go. Bring them back to earth– let them be found.”

   Now, the Lost Boys struggled more and more against the pirates, their voices muffled. Taeyong, too obsessed with the concept of a longer life to think properly, looked as though he were weighing his options. Without hesitation, he took the pen from his sack and drew a portal. “Free them,” he ordered the pirates. The group looked at each other, unsure of whether or not they wanted to follow his orders. “Free them!” he repeated, seeing red.

   You gulped. Taeyong wasn’t in the right state of mind, that was obvious enough. You looked up at the Lost Boys, almost immediately meeting the teary eyes of Chenle. Your lips moved, mouthing a goodbye, but he beat you to it.

   “Don’t say it,” he whispered, smiling painfully.

   “Don’t say goodbye, okay? At least not to m– not to us. Goodbye means going away and going away means forgetting.” He frowned, “I don’t want you to forget us.”

   You smiled, moving your hand so that it lay in his. “Don’t worry, Chenle. I won’t forget you guys– I don’t think I could even if I tried.”

   With that, the last you saw of him was one last fleeting smile before he was pushed through the portal, back to earth.

   Then, you met eyes with Taeyong, who was in the midst of turning back to you. He held the flask to your mouth again, only to wheeze in pain once your foot came in contact with his stomach. He dropped the vial, the murky liquid spilling everywhere. The sounds of the screaming souls almost deafened every being on the ship, momentarily distracting them. You tugged hard at the almost broken down ropes that trapped you, covering your ears as you ran away from the post. You glanced back, finding Wren scampering toward you. Picking her up in your arms, your eyes darted from left to right in search of Taeyong’s pen. The portal the Lost Boys had gone through had disappeared into thin air mere seconds after Chenle entered. Finally, you saw it. It had rolled near the foot of the tallest pirate– Captain Johnny.

   He must’ve noticed your gaze, because he was quick to reach for it. However, not fast enough. A force sent him backwards, one that you weren’t expecting. One of the soulless Lost Boys had tackled him before kicking the pen in your direction. The other Lost Boy fended off pirates that neared you. The flask. Their souls, they must’ve returned to their original hosts!

   Wasting no time, you took hold of the pen and drew an oval just as you had seen Taeyong do. Without thinking, you jumped in, taking the pen with you.

2017, Seoul

   Chenle awoke with a start. He bolted upright, panting. He had broken out into a cold sweat, something Renjun noticed right away upon entering the bedroom. “Did you have a nightmare?” he asked, playing with the strings of the hoodie he wore. Chenle merely shook his head. “We couldn’t wake you up earlier. We’re going soon, so I suggest you get changed.”

   “Going? Going where?”

   Renjun chuckled at the boy’s memory– “To the zoo, Lele. You know, the one you’ve been rearing to visit since our manager said we could go?”

   Chenle made a noise of recognition, smiling at Renjun sheepishly. “Right, right. I remember,” he laughed as he spoke, ruffling his messy chestnut brown hair. “I’ll be ready soon.” Renjun nodded. He took one more worried glance at the still frazzled Chenle before leaving the room to let him change.

   Chenle ran a hand through his hair, sighing. “Weird dream,” he mumbled to himself before kicking off the covers. His mind conjured up an image of the stranger, [Y/N]. He couldn’t remember even meeting a [Y/N] and that left him with questions.

   Shaking his head, he bounced off of bed and got ready.

   At the zoo, Chenle grinned up at all of the enclosures. The rest of NCT Dream could barely keep up with his bubbly attitude and his rush to see the next exhibit. In truth, Chenle hadn’t been able to visit a zoo in a long while, and he always liked seeing the animals. “Wait up, Chenle,” called their manager as he trudged after the energetic group. Jaemin, who walked alongside the man, laughed. He himself looked on, watching with keen interest as his members rushed from one cage to another in an attempt in catching up with Chenle.

   Finally, Chenle had stumbled across the one exhibit he was most excited for. The others hadn’t yet caught up with him, still two or three enclosures down. After his odd dream, he hoped there would be an exhibit for pandas. To his luck, there were three pandas left– a small family that had grown within the enclosure.

   He stared at them, passed the glass with rounded eyes. He watched as they interacted with one another, their actions reminding him of the numerous families he had seen along the way. Then, one of the pandas, the mother he assumed, seemed to look at him. He blinked, small, quiet noises of awe escaping his mouth as the panda drew near. He laughed in astonishment when the panda sat down in front of the glass, placing her large paws on the smooth surface.

   “She’s cute, isn’t she?”

   Chenle jumped, having not heard anyone walk down the hallway. He turned and saw a person wearing a cap and a mask standing a little ways away from him. Slowly, he nodded. “Very,” he agreed.

   The stranger smiled from beneath their mask. “Her name’s Wren. She was found outside the zoo a few years ago. Odd, considering we’re in the city.”

   Chenle frowned, turning to look at the giant panda. Her paws still pressed against the glass, as if she suddenly longed for freedom.

   Wren?

   He looked back at the stranger, only to stop short. The stranger had taken off their mask to reveal their smile.

   “[Y/N]?”

sO fOrCeD– i hope!! you all enjoyed this 10.2k worth of messy trash :) (esp u chenle’s wife ily i hope ur bday goes great !!!!)

[officialleehadan]

Goblin Armor- Chapter 1

Okay peeps, I promised you a new novel, and here it is! Return Again is wrapping up, and Goblin Armor will begin posting for my $2 patrons on November 20th!

https://www.patreon.com/LeeHadan

+++

“My daughter, it is time that you joined me on the council. Our people should learn who you are, before you are queen, and must lead them.”

-Bramble, king of the Faerie Realm, to Snowbell, just after her coming-of-age.

***

Snowbell could see the Shadow Wold from the window beside her desk. The line of trees-towering over the Faerie Realm in the distance- always drew her eyes when she looked east. 

The home of the Goblins, and a growing threat to the faerie Realm.

Snow read through the morning reports between sips of flowery tea. Another noble- this time a renowned Elvish duchess- had been found murdered in her bedroom with a goblin blade in her heart.

She was the third in less than a month, and the twelfth in the last year, despite their efforts to track down the culprit. 

Courtiers were flooding Boulder Castle, terrified of the danger on the eastern border and a killer no one could catch.

“Time to dress,” Teasel said from Snow’s closet. The experienced maid appeared with her arms full of delicate pink satin, embroidered with trailing jasmine vines down the hems. Used to her princess’ morning routine, Teasel braided up Snow’s hair while she worked, to save them both time. “The council meeting is in less than an hour.”

Together they got her into the heavy gown. Snow lifted her wings out of the way and Teasel laced her in tightly. A glittering belt puled the whole thing together neatly. 

“No jewelry today,” Snow decided after examining her appearance in the mirror. “It’s just the council. I don’t need court-jewelry for it.”

“Are you sure?” Teasel asked, running a perfectionist’s eye over her charge before nodding once, firmly. “You are sure. Well, you’re as lovely as I can make you. Go and do battle.”

“It’s a council meeting, Teasel, not a war- and we have them every other week. But have my sword ready, I might need it before the end of the day.” 

“You’ve never held a sword a day in your life, and they’re blowhards- the lot of them,” Teasel responded pointedly. She was a head of a noble family herself, and knew the counselors as well as anyone could. “Except Rowanwood. She’s got some sense.”

“We could always put you on the council,” Snow suggested mischievously and laughed when Teasel’s expression twisted with distaste.

“Don’t you dare,” the orange-winged faerie told her, and shooed her towards the door. “Get. His Majesty passed me in the hall when I brought your tea.”

“Thank you, as always,” Snow said, and took her tea with her when she swept out the door towards the family dining room. As she expected, her sister was there before she was, ready for the day and cheerfully telling their father, Bramble, the Summerking of the Faerie Realm, all about the dream she had that night. 

“And then the caterpillar said-” Tansy bubbled, and looked up when Snow walked in. Her expression morphed to one of delight. “I saw it on you during fittings, but it was only half-finished,” she said, her blue eyes- a match for Snow’s own- dancing over the gown with appreciation. “Oh good, you already have tea. I don’t suppose you ate as well?”

Snow smiled and kissed the top of her sister’s head as she passed.

“Teasel brought me breakfast earlier. You look lovely, Tansy,” she said in return. Her sister’s hair fell loose in golden waves confined by little emerald clips that matched her simple, green gown. “Your work is stunning, as always.”

When Snow joined their father on the council, Tansy took charge of her wardrobe, and made sure Snow didn’t go about in rags- for which Snowbell was endlessly grateful.

“How was the dawn shift?” Bramble asked, fond eyes lingering over his eldest as she took her seat at his right hand. The king was tall and stout, with a little paunch from years of good living and peace. His face was care-lined, but his blue eyes were kind. “Anything I need to know?”

“Sad,” Snow told him as she refilled her teacup. She hated to give him bad news first thing in the morning. “Duchess Wintergreen Canarina.” 

“Damn,” Bramble said grimly, and settled back into his favorite chair, the sun on his monarch-orange wings filling the air around him with a warm glow. Like her, he was dressed for a council meeting, regal in deep indigo that made his wings seem even brighter. “The same as the rest of them?”

“A goblin dagger, like the others.” Snow tried to be delicate about the details. Tansy was pale already, and didn’t need the details. “No sign of a struggle, and her guards never heard a thing.”

“I’m going to have the council evacuate the border,” Bramble decided, and got to his feet. “The few who haven’t already left, at any rate. Shall we?”

“Better to get this over with I suppose.” Snow tucked her hand into the crook of her father’s arm. The hallways of Boulder castle were elegantly carved with murals of summer flowers that made good use of the crystal-studded granite, and the floor had been polished by centuries of Faerie feet. “They’re frightened.”

“We all are. Good morning, my friends,” the king  raised his voice upon entering the soaring council chamber. The ancient throne was carved from a single piece of glowing maple wood and polished until it shone, and Bramble took his seat with practiced ease. 

The huge, oddly-shaped table was carved with a map of the kingdom, and each council member sat at his or her slice of land with Guildmasters between them. While not the highest-ranking nobles in the faerie Realm, they were responsible for the matters that needed a more personal hand than the king’s.

“How fares the kingdom?” Bramble asked when everyone was seated and drinks brought in. “News from the west?”

“An anthill has been discovered not far from Seafoam,” Lady Rowanwood Acorus was a serene Elvish noble and had been the Counselor of the West for three centuries. Of all the council, Snow liked her best. “We sent soldiers to burn it out. If we need Crown aid, I will request it formally.”

“Don’t hesitate- I am always willing to send aid if you need it,” Bramble told her earnestly. “I would like a formal report once the matter is settled. News from the North?”

“Nothing of note,” Lord Myrtle said lazily. As always, he munched on a handful of dandelion seeds- his favorite snack and the reason the old faerie was too fat for his own yellow-and-black wings to carry him. He often wore black to try and disguise his bulk. “The harvest looks good this year. We’ve started pulling blossoms early for wines.”

“Medicines as well?” Snow asked, drawing his gaze. The oldest of the councilors, she struggled to overcome his memories of her as a child and the inadvertent disrespect that came with it.

“It is barely Spring, Princess,” Myrtle chided her fondly, and she hid a sigh. Bramble was working on him, but every council seemed a step backwards, as the old faerie resisted the idea of his princess being the king’s right hand. “Our stores will be bountiful by the time Autumn comes in.”

“All the same,” Bramble interjected before it could become an argument. “If we have more than we need, all the better. Put up all that you can. News from the South?”

“A hawk has been sighted high over the mountains,” Duke Fireweed Majalis was the highest-ranked councilor, and from one of the oldest families in the kingdom. The pixies ruled themselves for the most part, and small wars between their Duchies were not uncommon. Every few years, Bramble flew out with his generals to settle the fiery pixie Dukes. “We’re watching to see if it hunts over the mountains or our hills before we do anything about it.”

“You will call for us if you need flyers?” Snow asked him, careful not to let her tone take on any hint of doubt. Pixies could be sensitive about their wings, which were rarely large enough to carry them in true flight. “A hawk-“

“We know we can always call on the crown for aid,” Fireweed assured her smoothly and sat back in his chair. She had a tentative truce with him- mostly due to her childhood friendship with his son, Sagebrush, although she hadn’t seen the younger pixie in years. “We will report if we see it again. More importantly, I believe Lord Alder has news we all should hear.”

Which meant he already heard it, Snow thought sourly. He loved to corner the nervous counselor for news before these sessions. Of course, Alder had every reason to be nervous. He stood for the East- and the border they shared with the Goblins.

“As you saw in my report this morning, Lady Wintergreen has been found dead with a goblin dagger in her heart,” Alder stuttered as he stood to give his report. He bobbed a little bow in Bramble’s direction as he spoke, always overly formal. “She is one of many, and I request Crown Assistance for my people.”

“You have it,” Bramble promised him sincerely. “Evacuate your people, counselor. Boulder Castle will take them until the danger is ended.”

“Thank you,” Alder took a sip of his tea to brace himself and squeezed his eyes shut. His green wings twitched frantically with his nerves. “But that is not- Sire, it’s the border.”

“What about it?” the thin Faerie suddenly had the king’s full attention. The last time there was word from the border, it was the beginning of a short, brutal war. That was well before Snowbell’s time. Bramble, however, remembered it all too well. 

“It has been cleared, Sire,” Alder fumbled, one hand clutching his cup and the other twisting anxiously in the red hem of his tunic. Deathly silence swept over the table. “Ten minutes- flight from the border, all the way from the mountains to the sea- it’s been cleared overnight, and there are watchers in the trees.”

There was silence for long minutes, and then the room thundered as everyone began to shout their questions, each clamoring to be heard. 

Overwhelmed and at the very last his nerves could bear, Alder fainted dead away with a crash of shattering porcelain. 

Snow watched the chaos though a haze.

Cold dread filled her heart and pooled like a knot in her stomach. The Goblins were moving on the border, and that could only mean one thing. 

War.

+++

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[aelin-and-feyre]

Circumstance (Part 4)

Sorry for the wait! I made it extra long though ;)

Tagging: @autumn03 @readinggiraffe @rhysandpurred @crazybookladythings (let me know if you want to be tagged in future parts!)

Rowaelin daughter x Feysand son

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 5 Part 6

When Ember wakes up the next day, there is almost no one on the street outside the window. The sun is only just raising above the mountainous skyline and from what Feyre told her last night, she's sure that morning is probably the slowest time in the Night Court. Carefully, Ember folds the nice smelling blanket and sets it on the meticulous bed that she hasn't even sat on yet.

Pulling some fresh clothes out of her suitcase, Ember puts her hair up and glances in the mirror once. It was nearing winter in Terrasen when she left so her collection of clothes are mostly long-sleeved and warm. In Velaris however, it seems incredibly warm outside, and Ember knows that she will probably have to find something else to wear.

Only Feyre, Rhysand, and the Morrigan are downstairs, all chatting around the island in the kitchen. "Good morning, Ember," Rhys greets when he sees her hesitating in the doorway. His eyes meet hers and Ember has to take a step back in surprise. Having the dream so recently brought the violet color to the forefront of her mind and she is shocked to see such similar orbs in real life for the first time. Rhys' eyes however, are just off, the ones in her dream just a bit more blue than his.

The adults don't seem to notice her shock, however, and the Morrigan skitters over to her excitedly. "Time for a girls day out!" She exclaims, looping her arm through Ember's elbow. The girl stares at her, wide-eyed.

"Don't break her, Mor, her parents expect her home in one piece." Rhys reminds his cousin with a small smirk.

The Morrigan winks. "No promises." It does not help Ember's nervousness.

"Have fun!" Feyre calls as the woman pulls Ember out of the room.

The Morrigan is practically skipping as they make their way onto the sparse street. "We'll grab some food on the way to the tailor." She tells Ember.

"The tailor, Morrigan?" The princess wonders, barely able to keep up with the woman's fast pace.

The Morrigan groans. "Do not call me that. It's just Mor." Ember nods. "We gotta get you some Night Court attire or you'll stick out like a sore thumb. Everyone already knows that a princess is visiting, we don't need them all staring at your clothes too."

Ember's face heats. She looks down at her clothes and compares it to the people around her, realizing that her tunic and thick pants really do contrast with the thin and baggy attire of others. "Well, um, okay..."

"Great! I know just the place."

"When do you think I'll start training?" Ember wonders as the short tailor measures her arm span. As her and Mor had walked through the streets of Velaris, Ember had noticed how many different kinds of Fae there were in this part of the world. The diversity truly astonished her.

Mor shrugged around her pearberry scone. "Probably in a couple days. Feyre and Rhys wanted to let you get settled before Cassian started tearing you apart." She explains.

Ember nods absently, not entirely nervous about Cassian after she had to train with her father and Uncle Lorcan. "I'm not sure Cadewyn was granted such a luxury. My uncles can be pretty harsh when it comes to training."

Mor waves a hand. "Cade can handle himself fine. He can beat Brex in hand to hand combat almost every time."

Ember raises an eyebrow, impressed after seeing how built Brexton is. "About Brexton..." She ponders, but the woman cuts her off as the tailor chuckles just a bit.

"Don't even think about it, sister. Brex found his mate three years ago and they are the sweetest couple ever. He would never betray her." Mor explains and Ember feels her cheeks heat. Obviously, she had looked too much into his kindness yesterday. "Cade on the other hand... that boy is yours for the taking, if you can get past his walls."

Ember shakes her head. "I've only been here a day and you're already trying to set me up with a guy? How do you know I don’t have a boyfriend back home?"

Mor shrugs, licking her fingers clean. "I'm just saying, you could do much worse. Cade is a looker, inherited a lot of Rhys' beauty in fact." That catches Ember's attention, and it's a good thing the tailor turned her around so Mor can't see her expression.

"Like the eyes?" She asks, feigning nonchalance, but her voice takes on a sort of squeaky quality. She winces inwardly.

Mor smiles knowingly. "Yeah, although his are a bit of a mix with Feyre's, some blue mixed in there."

Ember doesn't think she's breathing. She's not sure what it means that he has the exact color eyes as the ones she's been dreaming about since she was little. Repeatedly, her head it telling her it means nothing, but her heart is beating way to fast.

"Are you okay, Ember?" Mor asks worriedly, shaking Ember out of her inner turmoil.

The girl shakes her head. "Uh, yeah, I'm fine." However, her interest has been peaked. So when the tailor is done with the measurements and grabs a cropped red top and matching puffy pants, Ember is thankful for the curtain between them when she asks, "So... tell me more about the boy that's staying in my room."

Mor giggles a bit. "Well he's just about your age, actually. He's an amazing artist, incredibly smart as well." Ember nods along, even though the woman can't see her. "He also adores flying."

Ember opens the curtain, a confused look on her face. "He can fly?" She wonders, once again trying to act as though she doesn't care too much.

Mor nods, circling Ember as she inspects the outfit. "He can magic wings, just like Rhys, who's half Illyrian. I love this color on you!"

"And Cassian, Azriel, and Brexton are Illyrians as well, correct?" She's trying to put a wing to the name. She remembers admiring Brex's wings last night and the memory of his comment brings a blush to her cheeks. Ember will have to remember not to stare at Cade's wings if she ever meets him. Mor nods again, finally turning to face the tailor and declare that she wants five more outfits just like the one Ember is wearing in various colors.

"We'll also take this one for the road." She declares, handing over a gold mark and then slipping her arm in Ember's once again. The princess barely has time to thank the female before they are once again out on the street. Traffic has picked up, forcing the ladies to weave between the dozens of people now milling about the square. Ember almost trips over her own feet in the new flimsy sandals she's now wearing.

"So, back to the flying thing," Ember says, unable to help herself. "Do many people fly in Velaris?"

Mor stops in front of a stand selling jewelry, picking up a few items and holding them up to Ember, a comtemplative face on. "Not many in Velaris, no, but there is a whole Illyrian society to the north of us who all have wings and fly."

Ember nods, still attempting to feel out the people here, like her father had instructed. "And are people in Velaris then scared of Rhysand and Cadewyn because they can fly?"

The woman finally looks away from the jewelry and meets Ember's eyes quizzically. "No, of course not. Why do you ask?"

"Just wondering," Ember replies, too quickly, and curses herself for loosing her cool once again.

Mor eyes her suspiciously. "Ok.... Well, what are your other interests that you want to explore today?"

"Oh, I love to read," Ember says, suddenly remembering what she had thought of last night. "Is there a library here?"

A brilliant smile lights up Mor's face. "Definitely, and something tells me you’re going to like it."

Turns out, the cadre live up to their legends. Cade has never been more sore than he was after their first training session this morning. Lorcan had kept him to his promise and retrieved him at dawn for the long run up the Staghorn Mountains. If given the choice, Cade would have flown up the expanse, but he figured that it would have been frowned upon. Little did he know, that as he was running, two of the cadre were in fact flying up above them.

He had glanced up once and seen the osprey and hawk, but had thought nothing of it. When they made it to the top, Cade panting heavily and so dehydrated he ended up shoving a handful of snow into his mouth, the two birds flapped down and in a quick burst of light, transformed into Rowan and Vaughn. Cade was so astonished he had fallen onto his backside, thoroughly soaking the back of his pants in the foot deep snow that lay on the mountain.

The males had laughed, making Cade's ears turn pink. The young future High Lord had worked the entire day to make up for the embarrassment and had paid for it dearly. It had been weeks since he had trained with Uncle Cassian, and it showed. Cade now iced a swollen knee, nursed a roaring headache, and limped on a twisted ankle.

Luckily, the ankle had given him a good excuse for not wanting to trek down the mountain again. So, with what little dignity he had left, Cadewyn smirked at Rowan and Vaughn, positioning himself at the end of the cliff. "Care for a race?" He had said, and then tipped over the edge.

The look on each of their faces as he fell was absolutely priceless. His wings easily sprouted from his back and he soared upwards again, circling above them as they stared up in disbelief. "I believe I have a bigger wingspan than you, gentlemen." He taunted, then saluted and dove back down the side of the mountain, towards the castle.

He had found Evangeline reading a book in the courtyard and had swooped down to meet her. She hesitated, gaping a bit when she saw his wings, and then had rushed forward to help him up from the ground where he had slumped, utterly exhausted. She had helped him to the healer, muttering about how the cadre should know better than to beat him to a pulp on his first day.

While the healer had patched him up, Eva had gone to get Elide, even after Cade's insisting that it was unnecessary. Elide had been fuming when she hobbled through the door - Cade realizing for the first time that she had a mangled leg - but stopped when she noticed his wings, outstretched and looming behind him. Cade quickly apologized and made them disappear.

"I will talk to them, dear, don't you worry." The human woman had promised, going against Cade's wishes to not look like a weakling. Now, however, with a sore ankle and and pulsing knee, Cade is glad that it will be Elide telling them to dial it back a bit, so that he won't have to.

When he opens the door to the room he's staying in, and the delectable smell from yesterday envelops him, Cade smiles for the first time that day. He flops onto the bed, begging to take a short nap before having to face everyone at dinner tonight, but he really does not want a repeat of what happened yesterday with Gusty. So, instead, Cadewyn sits up with a groan, and pulls out the blank journal he had written in last night along with the quill and ink.

He flips open to a blank page and begins the write.

"Well. That was a brutal experience. I knew that the cadre would work me hard, but I really should have insisted that Cassian and Azriel work with me leading up to this. On the bright side, no one seems too bent out of shape about my wings, which mom and dad were worried about. Seems like I'm not the only one here though who has them. I've never seen someone who could shape shift other than Tamlin, and I've only ever seen that one time. I wonder who else is able to do something like that. I have still haven’t been unable to figure out what the scent that covers this room reminds me of, but I hope to figure it out soon. I also hope I get the chance to ask Aelin about her family’s eyes at some point. They are so like the ones in my paintings, I can't help but wonder what they are connected to...."

When he is done, Cade sets down the quill and journal and picks up Ember's own. He had read back a couple of days last night, but hadn't found anything terribly interesting. Getting to know her family more today, Cade can't help but become more curious about who the Crown Princess is.

Opening to the middle of the book, he reads an entry from a couple months ago.

"I finished my latest piece. I had the same dream last night that inspired me. Mom was wondering why I was holed up in my room all day, playing my piano and I stupidly told her I was working on a new song. Of course, then, she wanted to hear it, but I refused. I kind of want to keep this composition to myself, at least for a little while. It seems so much more personal to me than any of the other things I've written, and I know why, though I'm not sure I want to admit it just yet."

Quickly, Cade digs out the leather bound pages that are covered in music notes and lines. He searches for a song under the same date as the entry and finds it after a couple minutes of looking. Cade scans the notes and the pieces of lyrics idly. Its the title though that makes his breath choke.

'Violet Eyes' is written at the top of the first page in elegant, slanting script, contrasting drastically with scratched writing along the rest of the page. The paper is worn, like she played it many times over, and crinkles as if it had been wet at one point. Cade drags his fingers over the composition, wishing that he knew how to play if only to know what violet eyes had inspired.

His own violet eyes glance towards the pianoforte in the corner of the room and he can't help himself. Limping over to the bench, Cade sets the pages of music on the stand and sits down. He opens the cover and runs his fingers over the keys.

Cadewyn almost falls off the bench when three loud raps are sounded at his door. He hurriedly rushes to the bed and shoves all the journals under the pillow, stumbling towards the door and straightening his tunic along the way. When he open it, Gusty is standing there with her hands behind her back and a mischievous smile dancing across her face.

"Hello, princess," Cade greets, inclining his head slightly in respect.

"Hey, cutie, whatcha up to?" She asks, pushing past him and into the quickly darkening room. Cade hadn't realized how late it was getting. Her turquoise and gold eyes, which Cade has found oddly fascinating, scan his quarters and fall on the open piano. Cade cringes. "Do you play?" Gusty wonders, gliding across the room to sit down on the bench. "'Violet Eyes'." She reads dreamily, then looks up at him. "Much like yours. Did you write this?"

Cade is about to respond negatively, but then remembers that none of Ember's family knows that this is her piece, and she hadn't wanted any of them to know that. Gusty, he knows, however, won't let this go until she has all the details. And so Cade does the first thing that comes to mind. "Yeah, I dabble. I don't think it's much good though." He scratches the back of his neck sheepishly, hoping to get her off the scent.

Instead, the princess waves a hand. "Nonsense, would you allow me to play a few lines to see for myself?"

Cade's eyes widen. "You play too?"

Gusty laughs. "Of course I do! Mom has had Ember and me playing since we could sit up and reach the keys at the same time. Of course, Ember is a much better player and composer than I am, but that's because she can spend days in here with just her piano and books to keep her company. I actually like to do something with my life." Cade can tell she's joking but he can almost detect a sense of contempt behind it.

Before he can inquire more, the young girl places her hands on the keys and starts to play. Cadewyn barely has time to register what is happening before he is swept away with the music. It floats through his mind, the romantic and melodious rhythm resonating through his very bones. The power behind each note pierces his mind and heart straight through to his soul.

Cade doesn't realize his eyes are closed and the music has stopped until Gusty blurts, "Holy shit." His eyes snap open and he stares at the princess. "Oops, probably not meant to say that in front of males," She simpers, though not sincerely at all. "That was amazing, Cade, absolutely stunning. I'd almost say that you're better than Ember."

Cade shakes his head. "I wouldn't say that."

Gusty laughs, slinging an arm around his shoulders with some difficulty and guiding him towards the door. "I would, and everyone must know. You should tell them about it at dinner!"

Cade only has the chance to glance back at the pages sitting patiently on the stand, a longing filling his body to go over the lyrics that go along with the haunting melody, before he's being dragged away by the princess - the younger sister of a girl he has never met, but whom he starting to be extremely intrigued by.

Masterlist

[drunkdragondoes]

Prompt: First time, m!Robin x Flavia

@esauwest

To Lord Khan Flavia,

I have not seen you since the Fell Dragon had been put to sleep. I pray this letter finds you well.

I will keep my introduction, however, short. In my eyes have failed when I did not end myself. A time borrowed of ten thousand years is still borrowed, never our own. Yet Lord Chrom and the Halidom see it fit that I be lauded as a hero. He has made a point of it again and again - there will be another time to make it right.

He has asked that I take a leave of absence, to explore the land a little on my own. As my dearest friend, I shall entertain his notion and have chosen to make Regna Ferox my first place to visit, should you deign it fit to have one such as me.

I understand that letters and papers are not your preferred method of diplomacy, but I felt that this notice would at least let you respond should you decide to allow me to visit.

Flavia accepted his request without a second question. It was true that his method of asking for passage and the request to stay was not the preferred way of her land. Diplomacy was often face to face, and letters were looked down upon. But she mirrored him and sent a letter in return. And in a moon’s time he arrived in front of her throne, kneeling at her feet.

“Grandmaster Robin, I’m glad you made it. Coming to Regna Ferox in the near dead of winter is no easy task.”

“It’s just Robin, for now,” his mop of white hair bobbed just a little lower, as if bowing again, before looking up at her. “I prefer not to have that title while I am on leave. Still, thank you for your kindness for one such as I. I did not think you would accept me so readily.”

She didn’t tell him that Chrom had sent a letter even earlier than he did, detailing the full extent of his concern for Robin’s wellbeing. The man had become a mess in light of his ‘failure’ to truly defeat Grima. She had been there that day. Some time before the dragon was weak enough, Robin had been incapacitated. There was no chance for him to even strike, and it ate away at him to this day. Chrom had all but begged in his letter for her assistance in his plight to help Robin back to his feet.

She had some ideas, but for now the man in front of her needed rest. She would begin her plan the next day.

The next morning she had invited him to her breakfast table, and the two had a conversation. Amidst the chewing and smacking of lips, though, Flavia set her plans into motion.

“Robin, one of the things that I recall the most about you was your sword arm. I’m curious to see if you’re still up to par. Care for duel?”

She watched as his jaw slowed to a crawl, no doubt chewing and thinking upon her words. Finally, he swallowed and spoke. “I remember us having a match once,” the words came out slowly, thoughtfully. “Others might have called it close, but I recall a fair trouncing. Sometimes I think my arm still hurts from blocking your blows.”

But two could play at that game, and her lips perked upward. “You didn’t answer my question.”

He thought for a moment longer before spearing a piece of egg with his fork. “Well, if you’re so inclined to beat upon me, I see no reason to turn down a request from my most gracious host. However, I do wonder why you are so inclined to see me beaten.”

“Well, then, when I beat you in our duel, how about you grant me a favor?”

That got Robin to raise his eyebrows. Smiling even, she dared to consider. “You speak as if you’ve already won.”

“Didn’t you just admit to it?”

“Hmph,” there was a definite smirk on his lips. “Then do I get a favor if I win?”

This time, Flavia gave a quick laugh, her heavy voice rumbling from her chest. “I’m not a cheat when it comes to words, Robin. That will always be fair and square. But you better get ready for this duel. I’ve been known to approach them like it’s life or death.”

It was clear to Flavia with how Robin moved that, in spite of his own self-inflicted shame, he saw it fit to continue training, perhaps down to the bone. Though he had his own clothes with him, he had removed his traditional dark purple cloak, something she had almost never seen him without and leaving him in his paler shirt. With his arms bared, she wondered how much muscle he had beneath his clothes.

But as soon as the wooden practice sword came into her hands, all that lay before Flavia’s mind was the upcoming duel. It was a little heavy, just the way she liked her swords, gripping it with both hands. When he finally picked out his weapon, she saw that it was one that mirrored hers.

“You ready to begin?” she barked.

“At your leisure, Lord Khan.”

With only a few onlookers present, the two began their match and they circled around each other. They watched each other like hawks, eyes never leaving the other. In a battle it was different - there were soldiers by their sides and by their enemies. But a duel was different. It let her drink in his features, the muscles on his arms seeming even more prominent. Every step of his was calculated and heavy with confidence.

In the end, though, it was he who made the first move. It was just a quick swing, aimed at her thigh and easily blocked. But it was to test her and she knew it. Before long another strike came down, this time towards her shoulder, and she raised her sword to meet it before stepping to the side and letting the blade slide down harmlessly.

Yet before she could retaliate, Robin had already drawn himself back, resuming their circling game. She flexed her grip on the handle. He seemed faster than before, maybe even stronger. Robin once again proved that he was no slouch in combat.

But neither was she. Regna Ferox’s title of Lord Khan was not carried without merit, after all. She tested him with her own strikes, looking to set the pace of the match, to keep him off his footing. Soon it came into full swing, their blades locking and unlocking, backing away only to reenter so soon.

It was not long before fatigue began to make its slow way into their muscles. Her blonde hair, tied back to reveal the scalp of her dark skin, became matted with sweat. Likewise, Robin’s hair had begun to clump and stick to his forehead. Sweat coated their skin, and his shirt clung to his chest.

She took another breath and stepped in. Raising her blade high, she slammed it down with all her might. Robin want to deflect the blade away from him, hoping to use her force against her. But with a resounding crack, his sword was smashed into a myriad of pieces. With a triumphant breath, she brought up her weapon against his neck-

...only to find that it had shattered as well. All she held was the handle of a broken piece of wood with the rest of the blade hanging by a thread.

“Did…” Robin trailed off, droplets rolling off of his brow as his confused and incredulous eyes looked into hers, “Did we come to a draw?”

For a moment she paused, doing her best to think of an answer and to catch her breath. But when she did, she pressed the splintered tip against the skin at his collar, summoning forth the tiniest pinpricks of blood. “Not after that.” A smile spread across her lips as she watched Robin roll his eyes.

“Fine, fine,” he said after a series huff. She had a feeling that he would have smiled were he not so tired, but she could hear it in his voice and that was enough.“What would the great Lord Khan Flavia ask of this lowly man?”

For a while Flavia held onto the request, both dangling it in front of him while playing the role of host. If there was anything he wanted or needed, she had it provided to him. But as spring began to make its way into the cold lands, she planned a hunting trip into the wilds, bringing Robin along. She took him west and south of the seat of her throne with her best hunters, letting him survey the regrowing land that was beginning to break free from the ice and snow.

And while she didn’t say anything about it, she could see the change slowly taking place. By seeing the growth and recovery around him, his countenance changed little by little. He was still caught up in his own failure, but she could see just a bit of him attempting to move on.

They were sitting next to each other at a campfire one night when it happened, after a long day of hunting. They had finally killed their first deer and were celebrating. By fate Robin had landed the finishing blow and was gifted with the first bite of meat, even before Flavia.

“You brought me out here for a reason, didn’t you Lord Khan?”

His stomach was full and just a little heavy with ale from a nearby town. He would never have been so direct otherwise. She didn’t respond with an answer, but instead just smiled, letting her hand ghost over his. But before the night was over she placed a kiss on his lips.

She didn’t make her request until after they had returned, not until a few days before he would return to his country. He was still undecided if he would visit other lands of the continent or resume his work, but he was sure that Chrom would be happy to see him again. She figured that a warm bed was better for the two of them, as it was still cold after all. And while Regna Ferox valued strength more than other aspects discretion was still wise, for the man would return to Ylisse after all was said and done.

Flavia rapped upon his chamber door with her knuckles. She doubted that he was sleep, though it would be of no consequence if that were the case. She would just try again the next night. But she was right, and Robin opened the door. His room was still lit with candles, perhaps for reading or writing before the night was over. But he had already settled into his modest nightclothes, perhaps closer to sleep than she guessed initially.

In comparison, she had only a coat of furs wrapped around herself.

“L-Lord Khan.”

This was the first time she ever heard him stutter and she vowed to take it to her grave. “No need for the title, Robin. I’m just Flavia tonight.” She stepped into the room and felt her neck turn to face the bed. “Besides, I’m here to follow upon my favor.”

He was a smart man, and she didn’t need to look at him to know that the gears were spinning in his mind. She remained silent, but was rewarded when the door shut behind her and he spoke. “This is surely a scandal.”

Her lips smiled as she quipped a return. “You’re still in the room with me.”

“I…” he faltered. “I admit that I am willing to at least hear you out.”

“You know, Robin,” she whipped her body around to face him, blonde hair gently raking upon her skin. She held the opposite sides of her fur coat and kept her body covered. “That’s the second time you’ve fumbled with your words tonight.” Slowly walking over, she tucked a chin under his finger, her dark skin gently contrasting against his paler complexion in candlelight. “I think I’m having an effect upon you.”

“I would like to think that anyone would think twice about their words when the most powerful person in Regna Ferox visits their bedchamber at night.” His cheeks were slowly reddening and he made to turn away, but her finger stiffened and pushed him back to look into her eyes.

“Me being naked doesn’t scare you?”

“Well,” his eyes fell down across the top of her body for the briefest of flickers and he turned even brighter. “... That, too.” It happened again as he turned his head away, and this time she let him go. “Would it be safe to say that your request is both more amorous than I expected and yet fully expected at the same time?”

She chuckled, her hand falling back to her coat and letting it expose just a little more of her shoulder. “You can say no if you want.”

“I’m… I’m surprised you’d have one such as me, Flavia.”

There it was again - that condescending tone he used towards himself. “Man, woman, doesn’t matter. As Lord Khan I can have anyone I wish.” Her hand fell onto his shoulder, gently kneading beneath the pads of her fingers, feeling his strong muscles. “Besides, you’re cut from a hero’s cloth, Robin. You are exactly what is desireable in Regna Ferox. I’m surprised no one ever tried to pick you up while we were on the march.”

His tilted down in embarrassment, his eyes trying to trace her toes against the cold stone tile. “I… It just never came to the table for me.”

“Not even Tharja?”

He quickly shook his head. “Not like that. I never saw her-...” he bit his lip, “not like that.”

Flavia felt her voice soften, going quiet. “So you’ve never been with someone.” Her hand rose to his cheek, gently letting his skin fall against her calloused palm. “Would you like to change that?”

One last breath, one last blink, one last darkening of his cheeks.

“... Yes.”

She smiled, her hand falling to his and dragging him towards the bed. “Well, come on then, no need to stand here in the cold. And just relax. Let me handle everything.” Letting go, she climbed upon the mattress and beckoned him towards her. “Here, lay down.”

Robin did as he was told, and now that the full weight of the situation was bearing down upon him his shyness had begun to fade away. But he became aware of the looseness of his pants, cloth peaking at his arousal and turned his head to the side again.

To remedy this, Flavia moved herself over him, placing her hips over his covered length and slowly let the fur coat fall. “It’s okay to look, Robin,” she said, answering the question she knew he had in the back of his mind, and slowly he turned to face her.

Her breasts were the first to be exposed to the night chill. As the front of the coat parted, though, the next was her toned stomach, abs pressing against her dark skin. His eyes were glued to the edges of the parting cloth, slowly drinking in everything from her body. But when it finally pulled away to reveal her hips and the folds of her core, she watched as he gulped and barely suppressed a chuckle. She let her legs relax, pressing herself against his hardened member and he twitched.

“Go on. Isn’t curiosity one of your traits?”

It was like a dam had opened up. His hands, unsure at first yet gentle and probing, trailed all over her exposed body and she shivered and languished under his touch. The air was cold, but she felt her body becoming hot as he explored. She grinned when he raised his head to have a better look at her breasts, feeling the soft flesh bend and squeeze in his hands. She gave a short laugh when they trailed down over to her stomach, taking in their firmer feel.

And when he finally gave in and looked down, she leaned back a little to expose her wetting flesh. He was careful, slow, like when he was approaching a wild beast on their recent hunt. But finally his thumbs went to both ends and gently pulled them apart.

“Some of the cruder men…” he gulped, “they speak of… I mean, I know what they put in, but-”

“You mean fingering?” she did her best to sound gentle yet impartial.

His blush turned darker, but he nodded. “Yes… that would be one of them.”

Her hand softly grasped a finger and placed it at the entrance. “Go on, then. Give it a nice, slow wiggle.” She didn’t expect him to be good, and while she was more than rearing to take him in now, foreplay would most likely be necessary in his future encounters.

And when he took a breath and gently pushed in, she shuddered and gave a low hiss. She was no stranger to the act, but another person’s touch always trumped her own. And as he explored, slowly satiating his curiosity, she began to undo the front of his top, gently plying the buttons apart. Her reward was his toned chest, strong from the war and training. Her own hands explored his body slowly, mirroring his movements from before. But she did her best to remain slow - Robin had never been with another after all, and too much at one time might lead to finishing too soon.

But she knew she was ready now. Gently grasping his wrist, she pulled it away and moved her body back a bit. Then, holding the hem of his pants, she pulled them down, letting his cock spring up, rigid from anticipation. Leaning in close, she grasped its base and examined her prize.

“It’s nice.”

Robin’s lips opened and closed, but he said nothing. With a small smile, Flavia let out her tongue and gave it a slow drag from base to tip, watching him flinch beneath her.

“F-Flavia…”

She didn’t think he’d last if she continued that way, and she laughed as she raised her body over his length. “We’ll save it for another night.”

“Y-You mean to say… we might do this again?”

“Of course,” she quickly responded, dragging her wet opening over his tip. “As I said, you’re a desirable man.” Finally, though, she stopped over his head and looked him in the eye. “Are you ready?”

He nodded, and she slowly let herself descend. She let out a low moan, but Robin let out an even louder one. It was short, though, and he pursed his lips. Finally, though, she had taken as much as she could from this angle. She knew from the start that he would finish well before her if he remained still, and she spoke again.

“Touch me.”

“W-Where?”

“Everywhere.”

He didn’t need a second command. His hands rose to her chest again, softly apprehending her flesh. They fell to her hips and thighs, squeezing them with each slow rise and fall of her body. He let out low hisses, and in those moments he would freeze up, trying to calm himself and she patiently waited it out.

But soon his eyes and hands fell over her filled entrance. Grasping his hand again, she guided his thumb through the small patch of blonde and to her clit, leaning back. “Keep brushing it. Right there.”

And this time when she moved her hips, just a little faster, Robin did his best to keep up. His voice escaped his lips, her name ghosting through the air, but his hand never stopped. One of her own hands hastened to grab his other and brought it to her chest, and she felt him squeeze.

And for a moment, it was a heavenly rhythm between them. But she knew Robin wouldn’t last long enough. Not on his first night with another.

“F-Flavia!” he let out a panicked cry. She could see his body tensing, feel it tensing beneath and she pushed harder. Her body moved past the pace they set, and for all the good it did he tried to keep up. But it was for naught. In seconds she felt his cock twitching inside her. His white hot seed spilled out onto the two of them, the slaps of skin becoming even wetter.

But in spite of all this, perhaps he hung onto her commands, for he stroked and squeezed her even more. He was well and finished by the time she felt her body snapping over him, the walls of her pussy coaxing whatever was left from him. But it was enough and it was good.

When the act was done, her breath regained, Flavia let herself fall to his side. She wondered if he was still coping with the sensation as she dragged the blanket over them, but such concerns were put away for the time being as her eyes closed to rest.

Robin would dig himself out of his pit. She was sure of it. But a little help went a long way. And it was certainly appealing to know that she had forged a bond with him that would not be put aside lightly.

To Flavia,

My mind still drifts to that night sometimes. Again, I thank you for all that you’ve done for me since my visit. Some days I still struggle, but to know that many others, and especially you, have faith in me is a gift unparalleled.

But I think I can put those times behind me now. You see, I have found a visitor most strange, and I think it would please you very much to see her. I seek to return to your seat immediately at your earliest convenience. After all, was it not you who mentioned that a hero is desirable for a Feroxi?

I eagerly await your reply.

Your lover, Ex-Grandmaster Robin

A/N: Whew, sorry for the delay. But surprisingly once I got started it kinda just spilled out. I think I was worried about not getting back into the FE swing of things, but perhaps it was severely misplaced, haha.

Just one more smut prompt left!