#and not have to scramble with every fest i sign up for

[causticsunshine]

.

[uldren-sov]

The new normal

A look into the band and a start of what real fame may start to look like as always it GOT AWAY FROM ME and initially it was just going to be the ending bit but if I don't give context I will explode ~3k words lil @infamous-if ficlet Camy Rose is mine! Everyone else (but those fans) are canon

✩

Camy should not be alive right now. Or at least, she should not be awake right now, not after the party that happened last night. It’s day two of a two day music fest and even though they had two-day passes, they were only scheduled to perform on day one. Which meant the after-party for all the other bands also only playing on the first day had every right going as hard as it did, but had no right leaving her in the state that it did. 

She remembers doing her due diligence: rubbing elbows, laughing, networking, and making fast friends with the right people. She remembers the flashes of recognition, the compliments on her band’s performance and their newest album, the excitement of the connection was happening with other bands, mutual comments of admiration, and all of the selfies and pics and tags to show off brand new friends. She also remembers the tight smiles, the sympathy in some words, the condolences that still haven’t gone away, because despite their new album – Gambit – finally coming out (more like getting ripped out of her like a bullet would in an action movie), despite it doing better numbers than she would have ever expected, despite it getting better reception than she anticipated, despite it being over a year later, despite Soft Violence’s debut; the breakup, the breakdown was still on everyone’s tongue. She remembers the drinks, the drugs, the laughter, the dancing, and hands gripping her clothes. She doesn’t remember much after that. 

But at least she woke up in her hotel room, not only with all her clothes on, but on the correct way, without any kind of signs that there was anyone else here besides Jazzy. Small victories and she’ll take them where she can get them. Wait, Jazzy? She doesn’t remember falling back asleep but the next time she opens her eyes – it’s raining? The rain is warm and it’s soaked her through, her clothes feeling like a weird, warm, weighted blanket. No, that’s stupid. It’s not raining inside. She’s in a white tub, in a white tiled bathroom, and Jazzy has her chin propped up on her hand at the edge of the tub smiling as their eyes meet. 

“I’m not going to recreate that Vine-” the headache bursts behind Camy’s eyes and she’s scrambling to hunch over the tub’s drain in the next second. Hands drag her long navy hair away from her face as she dry heaves with her whole back curling with the effort. A gulp of air wracks her before she rests her head against the cool tile, even as her headache pounds with every beat of her heart. “I’m good.” She gasps, sagging down and curling into a more comfortable position, nausea sharp in her stomach even if the soft patter of water alleviates some of the tension across her body. 

The familiar snapping of a top twisting open reverberates in the small bathroom as a plastic bottle is pressed into her grip.  

“You’re amazing,” Camy groans, blindly sipping the electrolyte filled drink. She knows immediately she needs to stop after just a couple of sips.

“You know it,” Jazzy says gently. “I’m kinda feeling nostalgic, actually. It’s been a hot second since we’ve done these, like, frat party recovery sleepovers,” she teases gently, placing the bottle on the corner of the tub so it won’t have too much water in it from the shower.  

“Ugh, don’t remind me,” she replies around the pounding in her head. “Though look at you, being the responsible one and not being here in the tub with me. Guess I owe Chris something for stealing you last night.” Peeking an eye open she dares a shaky smile as she draws herself up straight with even shakier arms. Jazzy watches her closely, just in case she might slip or collapse or something. Even if she wants to tell her she’s worrying over nothing, they’ve both been fucked up with each other during college. So she’ll hold onto her conclusions and be thankful for the safety net. 

“Designated driver, Camy-baby. I got you and don’t worry about him.” And Camy feels some hair getting drawn out of her face. “By the way, no need for any damage control. Or, well, at least from you. Not sure who Rowan went off with. But! Your phone’s been blowing up, and we got a ton of good feedback on our Insta after yesterday. You were on fire, girl, and I’m glad you got to let loose.” 

Is that what I was doing? Sure, partying now is part of her work, and Jazzy’s summary does put some part of her mind that isn’t screaming at her, at ease. But she can admit to herself she might have gone a bit overboard… 

“‘Kay, good,” she groans. Reaching out, Jazzy puts the bottle back in her hand before she gets it herself. As she sips from her bottle and lets the warm shower rain over her face, she thinks she’s slowly feeling better. “And maybe once I get over this hangover I’ll agree that partying as hard as I did was a good idea.” She dares a smile because she doesn’t dare trying to laugh along with Jazzy, yet. “I’m better. I’m good. Go check on the others.”

“All right. Love ya,” Jazzy says as she gets to her feet as Camy hums affirmatively in response. “Want help putting your face on later?” 

“No. We’re not performing and I did enough work last night. I’m just a civilian today,” she smiles a little more pointedly and Jazzy backs off. 

Camy manages to hold on until the hotel door closes before she turns and barfs her guts out. 

-

An hour later and she’s found herself in the full length mirror, showered and dried, in clean, dry clothes, glaring at what she sees. 

When Seven ripped the rug out from under her with his move – showing up after a month of radio silence to being caught with boxes of his things stacked near the front door – he left three things behind: his favorite, red, “7” guitar pick because it was under the cushion of a chair he didn’t take; the hoodie he’s had since he was 16 because it got lost between drawers, and; his leather jacket she was wearing as she walked through the door and fought for what would be their last time. She brought the hoodie with her on this trip because it was still the most comfortable thing she owned. Once three, now two, sizes bigger on Seven, she used to be able to curl her legs into her chest and drag it over her whole body to nap on the bus with it. Now it hangs off her, covering her fingertips and nearly covering up the rips and embroidery on the thighs and knees of her jeans. Pair it with her old, trashed, sneakers and completely fresh face, and she looks exactly like she did when she was 17. 

Her hair is longer now, and, well, blue, instead of brown, but can she even say she changed that much? Seven years later and it still feels like she’s waiting to grow up, to work off the shine of adolescence and be beautiful, to find some sign of being different from who she used to be. Maybe she’s even looking for a scar, a sign in her eyes that would tell people she’s different, she’s more mature, she’s irrevocably broken, she’s hanging on by digging her nails and teeth into the things that used to come so easy to her.

What does survivor’s guilt look like on a person?  

Whatever it is, she doesn’t find it. There’s nothing there. Just miserable Little Camila staring back at her. 

She ducks away from her reflection before it has time to judge her, putting on a cap and the hood over the top of it. 

…Maybe her cheekbones are a little more pronounced. 

-

It’s not long until she’s back at the music festival. The whole event is set up as a couple of stages at the back of a massive grass lot, to get to it the fans have to pass through a lane full of tents with merch from bands and food. At the mouth of it is a decorated arch with ticket booths and security and it is still so cool that she can flash her badge saying Talent and just – get into places like this now. Looking back at the lines and, even with her hazy mind, she can manage to appreciate how her band is slowly going from being the people in the lines, to the ones they’re paying to see. 

She tucks her badge back underneath her hoodie and sips from the sports drink she bought from a vending machine as she shuffles further in. Dressed down like she is people just pass by her like she’s invisible, which she gets. She’s dressed like she’s in high school, it makes sense that people treat her like she’s back in high school too. At least she’s free to catch up on social media and the hot mess of a group chat with her band trying to coordinate a meet up. Collecting the clues of what happened last night through photos and messages, following up on some texts, and reaching out to others, she makes her way to where they’re all meeting up as music starts filtering through the air. 

“I’m telling you guys, I think I’m in love,” she catches Rowan’s voice first as she finds them standing around, looking way more the part of musicians, or at least attending a show than she is; especially Rowan who’s still in last night’s clothes. “He was just so- oh, shit, Camy. It’s that kind of morning, huh?” His laugh rattles in her brain as the rest of the band regards her with a spectrum of wary surprise to clear amusement. Flicking her arms out to get her hands out of the sleeves, she grins brightly as she flips them the double birds. 

“Fuck off, I did my time. I’ve earned the right to be comfy today and chill.” She says lightly as she gives him a side-hug to a chorus of light laughter and smiles. She goes around to the others, murmuring ‘morning’ and giving half-hugs and casual greeting kisses to the air beside their cheeks. 

“Aw, I’m going to miss my mosh-pit buddy today,” Jazzy chirps in. Chris emerges behind his girlfriend and hands Camy the final coffee in a four-cup cup holder. She exchanges it for a cheek kiss with a quick thanks, and she gestures to him. 

“Isn’t that what he’s for?” She smiles with a wink as Chris settles a strong hand on Jazzy’s shoulder. 

“It’d be an honor to be in the crowd with you, babe,” he vows down to Jazzy, managing to keep a straight face even as Camy and Rowan snort and Iris shakes her head a little. 

“I wouldn’t have anyone else be my back-up.” She purses her lips together and makes kissy noises at him as she leans in, and of course he plays into it, pursing his lips too and humming until they lean in for just a quick pop of a kiss and a mwah! The rest of them roll their eyes and groans at the display. 

“You guys are ridiculous,” Iris teases around her smile. 

“But still very cute,” Devyn supplies as they look to Iris expectedly. “Maybe we should be more -”

“Absolutely not,” Iris cuts them off as Devyn just laughs gently, snaking her arm around Iris’ as they lean against her affectionately. 

“Gross. We’re honestly so strong dealing with these couples, am I right?” Rowan shoots to Camy with a grin but then stalls out. There’s a flash of alarm and panic as he scans over just what she’s wearing again and all the implication that comes of it. His grin turns brittle and, just for a moment, she lets him stew in it, staring at him flatly. 

“For real.” She smiles back brilliantly after a beat. “If I didn’t think I was sick before, I might be now.” She shrugs her shoulders dramatically, marking the motion of heaving before they all dissolve into a lighter mood and she drinks from the lukewarm coffee. “But, might not be the case anymore because you’re in love? Again?” She narrows her eyes at her prompting.

“Oh! Phew, yeah! Listen, it was magic, okay? Like, he was so cool and when he-” Rowan started again. 

“Oh my god!” A stranger’s voice cuts him off as he groans. All of them turn to regard a group of three people. A young man in a mesh shirt, black shorts and spiked platform boots, the source of the interruption, leads his other two friends who are also decked out in black, studs, and belts over to them. “You’re Chaos Anthem!” 

Camy squeezes her eyes closed as she subtly steps back. Dammit, that’s right. No such thing as downtime anymore, is there? Not when they are actually getting recognized more and more often. They all glance to her quickly before Iris steps forward with a confident smile. 

“That’s right,” and even though she’s opening her mouth to say more, Boots cuts her off with a gasp. 

“I saw your set yesterday-”

“We saw your set yesterday!” One of his friends cuts in, a girl in a short, tight dress that looks like it could double as lingerie. “So awesome.”

“I love the new album!” The third cuts in, the three of them getting closer and slowly crowding Camy out. The band all look between the fans and Camy with alarm as she just smiles wider and wider, trying and failing to hide her amusement. What the fuck is happening?

“Yeah! We all bought it and love the new, harder, sound.” Boots says straight to the others as Camy’s attention flits between the praise of these simultaneously very kind and very dense fans, and Devyn staring at her with alarm as they continue. “Rosa sounds so good-” and she nearly chokes on her spit, “-and you guys are killing it!” Her eyes widen as she stares openly at the back of these fans heads now that they have effectively separated her off. Her thanks is on the tip of her tongue before she bites back a laugh at how they continue. Devyn is about to say something but she quickly shakes her head. This is just too good.

“It’s so awesome and so impressive that you all have that ability to just nail it across genres!” Dress says once more before Boots whips out his cell. The band barely has time to get their thanks across before they continue with their praise and Boots shoves his phone at her. 

“Can you take a picture of us and Chaos Anthem?” As Chris pulls away to get out of the shot he’s the one who breaks first and laughs aloud. She stares openly for a moment, first at the phone then at Boots, before she manages to get the phone into a better grip. 

Turning her back she tries to at least set up the selfie to include her. They wanted the whole band, right? It’d be a dick move to not include herself even if they don’t know. Rowan nods along with the silent decision, throwing his arms around Boots and Dress, as she somehow manages a smile. 

“What the fuck are you doing?” Dress cuts in and Camy whips around to the remark, wide-eyed. “Just us! Did I say you, too? Be fucking normal, rando.” And Camy almost loses it, Iris has to duck to the side with the effort to hide her laugh, covering her mouth with the back of her hand. 

“Sorry,” Camy manages, lowering her voice as her band all have to hold themselves back now. She set up the shot properly and takes a picture of just them and the band. “Got a few, here.” She hands the phone back and it’s snatched from her hand, the three of them turning their backs on her once again.

“Thanks,” Boots says at least. “It was so great to see you guys! Can’t wait until your next shows! And maybe we’ll be able to catch Rosa - I mean, Camy - then.” With a timber of pride in his tone because he knows her real name. “She’s such an inspiration.” From her place behind them she mimes dramatically ‘such an inspiration.’ Jazzy grins as she tries to signal her to reveal herself but she just shakes her head.

“Yeah, maybe,”  Rowan grins at her over their shoulders. “Appreciate the support! You guys are great.” The three of them turn over their shoulder to glance at Camy one more time as she takes a long drink from her coffee. With the cup obscuring even more of her face and her hoodie hiding any kind of shape of her, she doesn’t even blame them as the fans say their goodbyes without another thought. Though she does catch a weird look from them after they leave, most likely as to why some rando is still hanging around the band. 

They all wait until their gone before bursting out laughing. It makes her wince, the added effort of laughing aggravates what remains of her hangover as she recovers the quickest. 

“I can’t believe that just happened,” Devyn giggles still. Jazzy tapers off her laughter breathlessly, touching up her eyeliner so her tears won’t mess it up. 

“I feel like a fucking superhero with a secret identity,” Camy grins wickedly even though she clutches onto what remains of her coffee for dear life. Hangovers suck so bad. 

“How did they not know?” Rowan gapes as he shakes his head. “Like, who else could you be?”

“Just another fan trying to get your guys’ attention obviously. If they’re only used to seeing me perform,” she shrugs a shoulder. “I’m pretty sure I could not look more opposite right now to that if I tried.”

“Don’t they know that makeup makes you shapeshift?” Iris rolls her eyes with a smirk. 

“You’re joking but-” Rowan starts.

“Quit while you’re behind,” Iris is quick on it as Rowan throws up his hands to another round of chuckles. 

“We should post something like, posing with our number one fan,” Jazzy says with a grin though Camy just shakes her head. 

“Maybe some other time. It does have me thinking that we can start posting less like, official stuff, and more us hanging out? Makes us seem more approachable, maybe doing some QnA streams? Adding what we do in our downtime together, rather than just keeping that to our personals,” she suggests as the rest of her band give various noises or gestures of agreement. 

As they begin to wander toward a performance and Rowan finally continues his story about the newest love of his life, Camy removes the hat and hood to fix her very distinct hair. There’s an immediate no fucking WAY! from somewhere behind them and everyone shares a laugh before she fixes her “disguise” back in place. She gets ready for a rare day off, listening to their peers and colleagues, and soaking in any inspiration she can squeeze from the event. It’s been a while since she felt hopeful, but hopefully this is a sign of better things to come. 

[i-have-not-slept]

Animalec Fest 2023

September 25: Mating

This is so late but whatever. I'm really happy with how it turned out!

Read the whole thing on Ao3:

@animalecfest @carelessflower @magnus-the-maqnificent

Magnus had thought it would be strange to have a wolf around the castle, but it soon seemed like the most natural thing in the world. His new friend quickly settled into life at the royal court. He followed Magnus everywhere, never more than a few metres from his side. When Magnus held court, the wolf lay at his feet, eyes flicking back and forth across the room like he was scanning for threats. He accompanied Magnus around the castle, when he went out riding, and when he sat to write letters or meet with his councillors.

Of course, some people were initially alarmed at the presence of an enormous wolf in the castle. But the beast was so gentle, and never made a single sign of attacking someone. Magnus had a feeling the only time the wolf would show aggression was if he, Magnus, was threatened. Otherwise, he was impossibly gentle with every single person he encountered.

Before long, even the smallest children weren’t afraid to play with him, scrambling over the wolf’s shaggy body when he was lying down, chasing him and climbing on his back for rides. The wolf was far more patient and tolerant than an ordinary animal would be, which furthered Magnus’s suspicions that there was something not quite normal about him.

In the meantime, the business of the kingdom continued. Magnus still visited Tan Koad every now and then, to check how the search for Alec was going. As always, his wolf accompanied him on these journeys. Oddly enough, he was even more affectionate than usual with the residents of the castle. He would curl up next to Isabelle or Jace as they talked to Magnus, butting his head against their sides and making a nose almost like purring.

Magnus had also noticed a change in the demeanor of Alec’s family. For the first few months after his disappearance, they had been quiet and grief-stricken, the burden of their loss weighing on them. Now, although they couldn’t exactly be called happy, there was a certain acceptance, even reconciliation, as if the grief no longer weighed on them so heavily. 

“It’s the strangest thing,” Isabelle said to Magnus on one of his visits, “but I don’t feel worried about Alec anymore. I miss him, of course, but I have this odd sensation that, wherever he is, he’s safe and happy.”

It was strange, but Magnus found himself feeling the same way too. He still thought about Alec a lot, but not with the same anxiety that had plagued him for months. Rather, he thought about him with a distant fondness, like a long-absent lover. And he found himself believing that, somehow, it would all be alright in the end.

It was on another of these visits that Lydia informed Magnus that she’d started seeing John Monteverde, one of the nights from the border region. Magnus could see how much happier she was, and he was happy for her. He didn’t know how the whole situation with Alec would resolve itself, but he was glad that Lydia had found contentment, at least.

“If Alexander ever reappears, I’m going to give him a good long talking-to.” he told his wolf absent-mindedly, as they sat in front of the fire that night. The wolf glanced up at him and thumped his tail, as if he understood, and Magnus laughed and patted him. “Anyone would think you understand me.” He stood up and stretched, yawning. “Time for bed, I think.”

He got into bed, and the wolf lay down in his usual place, stretched along the door. Magnus blinked sleepily at him, then sat up and patted the end of the bed. “Oh, come on. It’s much more comfortable, and you’ll still know if anyone comes in.” 

The wolf hesitated a minute, then shook himself decisively and sprang up onto the end of the bed. He curled up, glancing up at Magnus with a look of gratitude in his eyes. After that, he slept on Magnus’s bed every night, a warm and comforting presence that soothed Magnus and allowed him to rest easy.

_________________________________________________

Time passed, and winter became spring. As the days grew warmer, the time for the Spring Council arrived. This was held every year, when the snow had melted from the roads enough to allow for easy travel. It was the time when all the barons and baronesses of the kingdom visited the royal castle to give their reports of the year and discuss plans for the year ahead. Magnus, looking out of his bedroom window, watched as entourage after entourage rode in through the castle gates, turning the courtyard into a riot of colourful livery and flashing armour. He descended the stairs, dressed in the ceremonial robes of the occasion, dyed a deep royal purple. As always, his wolf accompanied him, his tail sweeping back and forth thoughtfully as he paced at Magnus’s side.

“You’d better not get hair all over my robes.” Magnus told him with mock severity, and the wolf glanced up at him with a sound that was almost a snort. 

The Great Hall was hung with purple banners, emblazoned with a golden wildcat, Magnus’s personal crest. The barons and baronesses arrived in a steady stream, and Magnus greeted them all as they entered. There were many he was very fond of, and some he was less fond of, but tolerated for political reasons. He smiled as he greeted Baroness Helen of Du Tach, rolled his eyes inwardly at the dour expression of Baron Raphael of Jagu, and laughed at a joke from Baroness Maia of Roparzh. Lydia arrived as well, elegant in a deep blue gown, and he greeted her with a special warmth. She’d brought a whole company with her— not just her new suitor John, but also Jace, Clary, Isabelle and Simon. The latter two left for a brief tour of the castle, while Jace, Clary and Lydia all stepped in to telk to Magnus. For a moment, they formed a little huddle around Magnus, so that he couldn’t clearly see what was happening in the rest of the room. Then, suddenly, a slightly uncomfortable silence fell, and Magnus pushed gently through the crowd to see what was happening.

At the far end of the room, Baronet Sebastian of Stered had just entered the room, causing the uncomfortable hush that had fallen. His black livery, marked with the silver stars of Stered, made his face and hair seem pale as a skull. toSebastian was Clary’s brother, although Magnus knew they had been raised separately and weren’t on good terms. In fact, he was fairly sure Sebastian hadn’t even attended her wedding to Jace.

Sebastian and Clary’s father was Baron Valentine. He had a reputation in the kingdom— a reputation for cold calculation and ruthless punishments that bordered on cruelty. There were rumours— never proven, but persistent— that he tortured prisoners, and even wilder ones that claimed both he and Sebastian practised sorcery. As nothing had even been proven against him, Magnus had been forced to let him retain his barony. But the rumours had created an atmosphere of suspicion against Sebastian, which led to the awkward silence in the room. 

There was a second’s pause, and then Sebastian, with a cold look at the silent people around him, stepped forwards to greet the king.

At that moment, the silence was broken by a low, rumbling growl. 

The wolf— Magnus’s wolf— was staring at Sebastian, hackles raised. His teeth were bared, and he was growling with a ferocity Magnus had never heard from him, save for that first day when the wolf had saved him from the bear. The growling continued, low and threatening. The wolf’s eyes never left Sebastian.

A look of anger crossed the baron’s pale face and he took another step forward. The wolf’s growl grew in intensity, and he crouched low as if about to spring at Sebastian. The room was silent, all the courtiers uncertain about what to do.

The wolf snapped at Sebastian threateningly, and he took an involuntary step back. “Call off your ridiculous pet.” he snapped angrily. He tried once again to approach Magnus, and the wolf lunged at him, barking furiously.

“My friend!” Magnus cried in shock. He’d never given the wolf a name— it had felt wrong, somehow— but now he wished he had. “Wolf!” He caught the animal by the scruff of the neck, holding him back. The wolf turned and gave him an injured look, before snarling at Sebastian instead. The baron was flushed with anger, eyes glittering furiously. “You need to work on controlling that cur, my lord.” he sneered, and Magnus felt a flash of anger, which he tried to tamp down. The wolf was behaving unreasonably, and Magnus had no idea why.

On his knees with his arms around the wolf’s neck, Magnus glanced around the room. Several of the nobles had their hands hovering uncertainly near the hilts of their swords. Clary, with a hand over her mouth, looked distressed as she watched the conflict between her brother and the wolf.

Sebastian took another step closer to Magnus, and the wolf gave a wild twist that broke him out of Magnus’s hold. He leapt at Sebastian, knocking him to the floor, and planted his paws on the baron’s chest, snarling down at him. There were gasps and screams, and half a dozen courtiers rushed to restrain the wolf. He struggled, not hurting anyone but snapping and snarling at Sebastian, who got to his feet, face crimson with anger. 

Magnus rushed to his wolf, laying a hand on his back. “My friend, what on earth’s the matter? Why are you acting like this?”

“The beast’s clearly out of control.” Sebastian spat. “It ought to be destroyed-”

Magnus opened his mouth to form a reply, but before he could speak he felt a light touch on his arm. He looked over and saw Tessa, another of his courtiers and friends. “Your majesty.” she said in her low voice. “All the time this wolf has been at court, he has never shown any sign of anger or violence to anyone. The fact that he has suddenly become so angry at Lord Sebastian is significant. Is it not possible that in the past Sebastian has hurt the wolf in some way, which is now making him react angrily?”

“That’s true.” Catarina murmured, on Magnus’s other side. “It’s equally possible that Sebastian means you some harm now, Magnus, and the wolf is trying to protect you.”

Magnus hesitated a moment. No one else had heard their conversation, and the room was tense, waiting for the king to act.

Magnus came to a decision and snapped his fingers at two of the castle guards. He pointed to Sebastian. “Search him.” he said briefly.

Sebastian struggled and protested loudly, but the guards patted him down, checking for weapons. There was a murmur of shock from the crowd as they pulled out a sharp, heavy dagger from a concealed sheath under his cloak. The murmur grew as the dagger was held up and it became clear there was a dark, sticky substance on the blade.

Catarina stepped forward, examining the substance with the professional eye of a healer. “Poison.” she confirmed briefly, and an angry muttering broke out. “He was definitely trying to kill you, Magnus.” She looked at Sebastian with contempt. “Poison is a coward’s weapon. You ought to be ashamed, you traitor.”

Magnus looked at Sebastian with anger, then turned to his wolf in remorse. “My friend, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know you were trying to protect me.”

The wolf wagged his tail, making it clear that Magnus was forgiven.

At that moment, a scream rang through the hall. Everyone swung round, staring, to see Isabelle Lightwood, white as chalk, pointing at Sebastian. He stared back at her, pale with rage and shock. 

“Isabelle— what is it?” Magnus said, feeling a bit stunned. She looked towards him, and he was stunned by the rage on her face.

“The night Alec disappeared.” she gasped. “I saw him— Sebastian— creeping away from the castle. I didn’t know it was Sebastian at the time. I’d never seen him before, so I didn’t recognise him. And in all the chaos, I never thought to tell you. But I saw him that night.”

“You’re sure?” Magnus asked. 

Isabelle nodded. “It was a full moon, and the light was shining right on his face. I saw him looking down from the battlements, but he ran as soon as he was spotted.” She looked over at Sebastian again, her face contorting in rage. Jace was beside her now, both of them staring down Sebastian. “You know something about why Alec disappeared, don’t you?” Isabelle hissed. She strode over to him, seizing his shoulders and shaking him roughly. “What do you know about my brother?”

It happened so quickly Magnus almost missed it. Sebastian’s eyes flickered, involuntarily, to the wolf at Magnus’s side. It was the briefest flicker of his eyes, but it was enough for Magnus. His mind was suddenly buzzing, slotting the pieces together. The wolf with human-like intelligence. His protectiveness. The way he’d attacked Sebastian. Isabelle had seen Sebastian the night Alec disappeared. And suddenly, he didn’t know why he hadn’t realised it sooner.

Magnus sank to his knees in front of his wolf, looking into his eyes. Hardly daring to believe it, he whispered, “Alexander?”

The wolf nodded.

“Oh.” Magnus gasped. He flung his arms around the wolf— around Alec— tears springing to his eyes. “Oh, Alexander. I had no idea.” 

Isabelle gasped in realistion, and then she and Jace were both flinging themselves down beside Alec and throwing their arms around him. Isabelle pressed her cheek against his neck, squeezing her eyes shut. “We’ll find a way to change you back.” she promised.

There were shocked gasps and whispers from the assembled nobles as people gradually grasped the idea that Sebastian had transformed Alec. “I told you he practises sorcery.” someone at the back of the room said. 

Magnus glanced around at the assembled guests, all of whom were watching with varying degrees of interest, horror and amazement. This was becoming too intense a drama for public consumption.

 He addressed the small ring of people gathered around the scene— Jace, Isabelle, Clary, Simon, Lydia, Catarina and Ragnor. “We should move this somewhere more discreet.” He nodded to the guards holding Sebastian, and they moved to follow him. 

Signalling to the castle steward to keep the guests entertained, Magnus headed for one of the private meeting rooms off the main hall. The rest of the group followed him, Alec pacing at Magnus’s side. 

Magnus shut the thick curtains that closed off the space and faced Sebastian again, held firmly between his two guards. Anger roiling in his stomach, not just on his own behalf but on Alec’s. “Why?” he asked. “Why transform Alec? Why try to kill me? We were in a room full of people— everyone would have seen you. You’d have been instantly arrested and thrown in prison. Why let yourself be discovered like that?” 

“It wasn’t about me.” Sebastian hissed. He was very pale, a look of mania in his face. “It was my father’s idea. Send me it to kill you. Then, in the political chaos after your death, he becomes king.”

“Your father sent you?” Magnus said in incredulity. He should have known— Valentine had always been vocal in his opinion that Magnus was a weak king. Magnus could easily believe he would have a rival murdered to further his own ambitions. Still, it seemed so callous to Magnus that Valentine would sacrifice his son so easily.

Clary had gone white. She pressed a shaking hand to her mouth. “Magnus, I— I am so sorry. I had no idea my father and brother were conspiring against you like this.”

“It’s alright, my dear.” Magnus said gently. “You weren’t to know. I didn’t know.” He turned back to Sebasian, narrowing his eyes. “So why did you transform Alec?” He touched the wolf’s ears protectively. “Why was he in your way?”

Sebastian sneered. “Lightwood was too fond of you. Everyone knew you had feelings for him.” He spat the word contemptuously. “It was disgusting. But he was so devoted to you. He would have been far too suspicious if you’d been murdered. He would have stopped my father from becoming king. So he had to go.”

“So you turned him into a wolf?” Catarina said incredulously. “Seems to me there are easier ways to get rid of someone.”

Sebastian laughed harshly. “I didn’t turn him into a wolf. I just stopped him from turning back.”

There were confused looks from most of the people in the room, but Lydia gasped as if she’d just realised something. The pieces were slowly coming together in Magnus’s head too. He stared at Sebastian, anger roiling in his chest. “Turn Alexander back now.” he ordered. 

Sebastian only glowered at him, furiously silent.

Magnus drew his dagger and crossed the room in two strides, pressing the blade against Sebastian’s throat. “Turn him back now.” he hissed, pressing the knife in hard enough to draw blood. 

Sebastian’s eyes darted around, and he realised he was defeated. With a muffled curse, he pulled something out of the collar of his tunic. It was a tiny glass wolf on a leather cord, and he flung it to the floor and ground it to dust with his boot heel.

There was a sound like a thunderclap, and Alec reared up with a howl of agony. He raced from the room, darting through the curtains and disappearing. 

“Alec!” Magnus cried, but the wolf was gone. Magnus turned to the guards. “Take him to the dungeons.” he ordered, jerking his chin contemptuously at Sebastian. Then he raced after Alec, Cat and Ragnor close on his heels. They ran into the Great Hall, full of people milling around in shock after having seen a huge wolf run through the room. Magnus ran through the castle, mind working furiously, desperate to find Alec. 

Suddenly he stood still. He knew where Alec was, knew where he would have gone to feel safe. Magnus spun on his heel and raced in the opposite direction. His heart was thudding by the time he reached the castle’s residential quarters, Catarina and Ragnor panting behind him. 

Magnus crept to the door of his chambers and pressed his ear to the wood. He heard nothing but his own pulse, roaring in his ears. He closed his eyes, opened them, whispered a prayer and opened the door.

The sight that met him was like a blow to the chest, sending a wave of pure love through his whole body. The room was quiet and peaceful, soft beams of light coming through the high window. Alec was fast asleep in the King’s bed. The sheets were pulled up around him, his head resting on his arm, his breathing deep and even. He was curled up, sleeping as peacefully and trustingly as anyone could imagine. Beams of light danced across his bare back and revealed the curve of his eyelashes, the shape of his soft mouth.

Magnus went to him instinctively. He stopped beside the bed, and Alec blinked, then rolled over and looked up at him. “Magnus.” he said, simply and trustingly. He said it like there was nothing more to be said, like it was the most natural and beautiful thing in the world for him to wake up and see Magnus. 

Magnus was dimly aware of Cat pulling Ragnor out of the room, and closing the door behind them. He was very grateful. Right now, there was nothing he wanted— needed— more than to be alone with Alec.

“Alexander.” he breathed, tears springing to his eyes. “You’re back.” His eyes roved hungrily over Alec, taking in every detail. He looked exactly the same as he had before the transformation, dark messy hair falling into his face, blue eyes staring up at Magnus. Magnus’s heart twisted, and a tear fell from his eye. 

Alec blinked up at him. “Don’t cry.” he murmured. His voice was husky from months of unuse, and something about it made Magnus’s stomach flood with heat. He braced himself, not daring to feel anything. Any moment now, Alec would push him away, like he had so many times before. Any moment now Alec would realise that he was naked in the King’s bed, and this interaction far overstepped the bounds of propriety. Any moment now the old look of fear and shame would come into his eyes and he would flinch away. 

The flinch didn’t come. Alec continued to look up at him with a look of total, utter, undisguised adoration. “Magnus.” he whispered again, and it hit Magnus with a jolt that Alec was no longer calling him my lord. He was using his name, as Magnus had asked him to the last time they had spoken. And he saw the look in Alec’s eyes, no longer afraid, but loving and devoted and— and wanting.

Magnus almost fell across Alec, throwing himself at him and kissing him with all the love and relief and passion he felt. Alec pulled Magnus down on top of him without a second’s hesitation, kissing him back with an enthusiasm that stunned Magnus.

He clasped Alec’s face in his hands and pressed kisses all over it, half laughing and half crying. He dropped kisses on Alec’s eyelids, his cheeks, his nose, his forehead, his chin. He scattered a flurry of kisses of Alec’s hands, clasped within his own. Alec’s laughter turned to a low gasp as Magnus kissed wildly down his neck. He reached Alec’s chest, kissing back and forth along it in a zigzag. Alec’s breathing turned low and ragged as Magnus kissed down his chest, then his stomach. He began to pant, wild and desperate, as Magnus folded the sheet back and kissed down to Alec’s navel, then lower still. He felt Alec surge under him, the thin sheet no barrier and yet far too much of a barrier.

Magnus pulled away suddenly and scrambled off the bed. Ignoring Alec’s moan of protest, he stumbled to the door, opening it just enough that no one outside could see in.

Several wide-eyed servants blinked back at him, evidently alarmed by the noises coming from the room “My lord, is everything alright?” one asked.

“Everything’s fine.” Magnus assured him. He was painfully aware of how he must look, lips red and tender from kissing, clothes dishevelled and with a wild look in his eyes. “But no one— I mean no one, understand?— is to come into this room until I leave it. If anyone disturbs us, I’ll— I’ll— well, we had just better not be disturbed, alright?”

The servants all nodded, looking extremely alarmed. 

“Good.” Magnus said breathlessly. He slammed the door. Almost before it was fully closed, Alec— for he had evidently come up behind Magnus as he was speaking— seized Magnus around the waist and spun around, half lifting him onto the bed. Magnus laughed in sheer delight, pulling Alec down with him. The knight didn’t seem at all self-conscious about being naked in the presence of the king. He slumped against the bedstead, reaching for Mgnaus and pulling him into his lap. He undid Magnus’s velvet cloak, waiting for his nod of confirmation before tossing it aside. He kissed Magnus’s bared throat, dragging his teeth across Magnus’s pulse point and making him shiver with desire.

“Wait.” Magnus gasped out. It was an effort to say— he wanted Alec desperately, wanted him now— but he felt that he needed answers first. “How did you— what happened to turn you into a wolf?”

Alec hesitated a moment, then seemed to resolve himself. “I’m a werewolf.” he said simply, and Magnus stared. “I was cursed— apparently it’s something that affects the ruler of Tan Koad every ten generations or so. It only came into effect after I took over the castle five years ago. Every month, I’d turn into a wolf for three nights.”

“That’s why you were gone every month.” Magnus murmured, understanding. 

Alec nodded. “I used to go and hide in the forest— I didn’t want anyone to know. Then, after the last time we spoke, Sebastian put an enchantment on me that prevented me from turning back into a human. I was so scared— I hid in the forest for weeks, not knowing what to do. Then I saw you when you were out hunting, and I—” He flushed slightly. “I missed you so much. I just had to get close, see if you were okay. I didn’t mean for you to see me—”

“But I did.” Magnus finished.

Alec nodded. “I ran and hid. Then, when that bear attacked you…”

“You saved me.” Magnus breathed. “It was the bravest thing I’ve ever seen.”

Alec ducked his head, embarrassed but clearly pleased. “It wasn’t, really. I didn’t even think. I just saw that you were in danger, and it was like— like my instincts activated.” He flushed and glanced down.

“And the rest is history, I suppose.” Magnus murmured.

Alec glanced up at him, eyes hooded. “When you brought me back to the castle,” he said huskily, “that was when I realised that I— I’d loved you for years. And I couldn’t even tell you.”

“You can tell me now.” Magnus whispered. 

Alec gave a soft gasping laugh and put his hand to Magnus’s cheek. His thumb brushed under Magnus’s eye. “Magnus.” he said softly. “My lord, my king, my soul. I love you.”

His other hand came to cup Magnus’s face, stroking his cheeks gently. “Not as a knight loves the lord he serves. I love you as a lover. I love you as if you were my husband.” His face flushed, but he didn’t drop his gaze from Magnus's. 

“Oh.” Magnus said, feeling such a rush of emotions he could barely begin to understand them. He twined his arms around Alec’s shoulders, feeling the deep thrum of his heartbeat. “I missed you so much.” 

Alec pulled Magnus’s hand to his mouth and pressed a kiss to his palm. “I was here all along, my heart. Sleeping beside you, night after night. Loving you.” His mouth traced the lines of Magnus’s hand, kissing along the life line, the love line. “Wanting to protect you.” He kissed the crease at the edge of his hand, and Magnus remembered, dimly, that that part of the hand was called the marriage line. His mouth opened on a silent breath, not quite a moan. His heart was thudding wildly, and the movement of Alec’s lips wasn’t helping. He kissed up Magnus’s inner wrist and arm, sliding up his sleeve to bare the skin. Magnus breathed out sharply and clutched at Alec’s back. “Alec— my Alexander—” 

“Yours forever.” Alec murmured. His fingers traced over the buttons of Magnus’s tunic, eyes looking into his intently. “Can I— may I take this off?”

“Yes.” Magnus breathed. “Take it off me.” 

Alec’s fingers trembled as he undid the buttons and slid the tunic from Magnus’s shoulders, tossing it aside. Magnus kissed him, deeply, and he felt Alec buck underneath him. He pulled back, and Magnus could see the gleam of wolfishness still lingering in Alec’s eyes, in the curve of his mouth. He was panting hotly, hands roving over Magnus everywhere he could touch.

“Take it all off.” Magnus gasped, and Alec gave a wolfish snarl as he ripped off his shirt like it was paper. He pulled Magnus against him, bare chest against bare chest, and Magnus could feel his tension, his devotion. Magnus was panting, and Alec was ripping at his remaining clothes until they were gone, leaving them bare as animals mating in the forest. 

Magnus swung himself off Alec for a moment, scrambling to the edge of the bed and fumbling in the small cabinet against the wall. His cheeks warmed slightly as his hand closed around the ornate oil bottle. Magnus hadn’t used it in many months— it had been a long time since he’d had a lover in his bed. He fully intended to make up for lost time now.

He crawled back to Alec, settling into his lap and giving him a passionate kiss. Alec gave a low groan against his mouth, pulling away to stare at the bottle in Magnus’s hand. “Is that— is that for—” He was red to the tips of his eyes, gesturing erratically to the bottle, then to Magnus.

“It is indeed.” Magnus purred. He pressed his palm to Alec’s cheek, turning his face to look at him. “Do you want this?”

Alec nodded wildly, tongue darting out to wet his lips in an action Magnus found mesmerising. “Yes.” he breathed. “Yes, Magnus, I want you so much.” His hands slid down Magnus’s back, holding him close. 

Magnus smiled and opened the bottle. “Hold out your hand.” he instructed.

Alec’s eyes widened, huge and dark as he offered his hand. Magnus poured some of the oil over his hand, watching in fascination as it dripped down his wrist. He knelt over Alec’s lap and guided his hand to slide between his legs, murmuring guidance to him until Alec found his entrance and slowly slid a finger inside. They both gasped softly at the sensation. Alec’s lips were parted, watching Magnus in utter fascination as he gently added a second finger. He buried his burning face in Magnus’s neck, starting to move in a tentative exploring motion. 

Magnus gasped, rolling his hips to the rhythm of Alec’s fingers. He’d never felt sensation like this before, love and adoration mixed  with pure arousal. Alec’s fingers were big, warm and calloused, stirring the most delicious sensations from Magnus’s belly. Alec added more oil, and Magnus threw his head back, moaning at the slick slide. He felt so ready, more than he ever had in his life.

Alec was stroking himself with his free hand, cheeks flushed. He pulled his fingers free, and Magnus knelt over his cock, heart thrumming. He pulled Alec in and kissed him passionately, lips sliding along his cheek.

 “My brave protector.” he breathed in his ear. They kissed again and again, wild and frenzied, until Magnus gasped out, “Now.” and Alec nodded.

Magnus lowered himself slowly, trembling, until he felt the first slide of Alec into him. They both gasped, and Magnus lowered his head, trembling, until his forehead rested against Alec’s shoulder. 

“Magnus—” Alec choked out, hands shaking against his back. 

“I’m here, my knight.” Magnus breathed. His legs trembled and he held onto Alec to steady himself. He gripped Alec’s back, bearing down steadily until Alec was fully inside of him, their bodies fitting together as perfectly as a sword fits into a sheath. Magnus cried out aloud, warmth spreading through his chest and stomach. He could feel every pulse and throb of Alec inside him, every tiny movement of his body under Magnus’s.

He began to move, unable to stay still. Alec’s head went back, lips parting on a silent moan at the slick, hot drag of their bodies. He gripped Magnus’s thighs, helping him move, finding a rhythm. Magnus pressed his forehead against Alec’s as he rolled his hips, breathing him in, looking into his eyes as they moved together. 

“Never going to leave you again.” Alec gasped. His hands tightened on Magnus’s hips, holding him still for a moment as Alec kissed along his neck.

“Never going to let you go again.” Magnus murmured in return. “Not now I’ve found you.” He rose and sank down again, legs trembling, and they both moaned. Alec was pressing against a spot deep inside him that made warm, liquid pleasure spill through Magnus’s body. He rocked himself faster, gasping and calling Alec’s name, clutching at him. Alec looked utterly wrecked, hair mussed, cheeks flushed and mouth wet and inviting. He dropped his head to lick around one of Magnus’s peaked nipples, and Magnus cried out in sheer arousal. He was close, his entire body shaking as he rose and fell over Alec. 

“Love you,” Magnus gasped. He was trembling uncontrollably all over, feeling Alec’s thrusts into him becoming erratic as he neared his climax. “Loved you since the day I met you— always— oh, Alec, Alec—“ He couldn’t speak, dropping his head back as his pleasure mounted, moving faster and faster. He felt Alec’s hands start to shake on his hips, felt the exact moment he tipped over the edge with a stuttering cry of Magnus’s name. 

Magnus couldn’t help but follow. The pleasure inside him broke, rolling over him in waves, and Magnus cried out as he fell into the arms of his knight, his wolf, his lover.

He pressed his forehead to Alec’s shoulder, both of them trembling as the aftershocks washed over them. Magnus kissed Alec’s neck, tasting the salt on his skin.

They stayed like that for a long time as their breathing settled. Then Magnus felt Alec laugh and run a hand through his hair. Magnus pulled back to look at him. Alec was hazy and flushed from his release, and the look in his eyes as he gazed at Magnus was enough to make him feel weak all over again. 

“Magnus.” Alec murmured. He put a hand against Magnus’s cheek, storing his thumb under Magnus’s eye. He kissed the corner of his mouth, soft and tentative, and Magnus’s heart broke with love. He slumped against Alec’s chest again, breathing him in, mouthing at the warm skin.

He sat there in Alec’s lap, feeling sticky and sweaty and utterly content as Alec stroked his back. Eventually he spoke. “I think there’s a few things I need to do.”

“Oh?” Magnus asked, sitting back to look at him. “What are those?”

“I need to see my family.” Alec murmured.

Magnus hummed in agreement. “You do.”

“And Lydia and I need to officially get divorced.”

Magnus grinned. “I’ve never been so happy to hear about a divorce arrangement.” He leaned his cheek on Alec’s shoulder, toying with his hair. “And then…. are you going to move in here with me?” He glanced up at Alec, suddenly unsure of his answer, worried that a shadow of Alec’s old fear might return.

“If you’ll have me.” Alec whispered. “If you want to…” 

He looked down at Magnus, and Magnus could see his own uncertainty reflected suddenly in Alec’s eyes. “Oh, my darling boy.” he breathed. “My knight, my protector. Of course I want you. I want you beside me for all time, wherever I go.”

Alec’s eyes lit up. “I can do that.” He caught Magnus’s hand in both of his own, squeezing it and kissing his knuckles. Magnus pulled his head up and kissed Alec gently, tilting his chin up and sliding his hands into the knight’s thick hair.

In a little while, Magnus reflected, they’d have to leave this room and rejoin a castle rocked by scandal and betrayal. Magnus would have to sort out this whole tedious business with Valentine, and he was sure Alec would want to see his siblings, who were no doubt waiting anxiously to see that he was alright.

But all that could wait just a few minutes. Here, in the bed they now shared as lovers, he could afford to enjoy Alec’s company a little longer, before the world demanded their time again.

Alec kissed his forehead. “What are you thinking about, my love?”

“Just that I’m glad you’re back.” Magnus said

Alec’s face softened. “I was here all along.” he murmured. “And I meant what I said before. I’m never leaving you again, Magnus. Whatever happens, I’ll be right here with you.”

“I wouldn’t want it any other way.” Magnus breathed, and pulled Alec down into another kiss.

[thefamilyeldritchabomination]

Chapter Twenty Two: Don't Fear the Reaper Pt. 6

“Oh my gods Greed!” Dolly couldn’t help but laugh at the ridiculous makeshift Dante Puppet as Greed went on to perform.

 “Hello! I’m Dante! I make the lives of those around me an absolute hell fest! I like to wear hideous chartreuse dresses on Sundays as it makes me think of suffering orphan children living in their own filth! My personal hobbies are picking out the most uncomfortable younger bodies imaginable and obsess over my exes when no one is looking! Did you know I can sing too?! LALALALALALALA AAAAAAAA!” Greed mocked a high pitch voice for Dante’s puppet as he began to sing very off key to portray the rather loathsome lady.

 “Hey Dante, we’re gonna eat all of your expensive imported sweets!” Ernest laughed aloud as he took a truffle to stuff into his clay monster face. “Not my super expensive sweets, anything but that! It’s the only thing I can eat right now after the doctor told me to stop devouring the souls of young children! What will I ever do without that unnecessary necessity in my life!” Greed made the hand puppet throw its ‘head’ back in complete angst over the pillaging of her luxury items, wailing away in that high pitch voice.

 “Hey boss…you should come outside for a moment..” Dolcetto walked in from the outdoors to witness Greed’s little puppet show.

 “I thought you were getting up some of those rare plants Dante owns.” Greed paused in his little puppet show in confusion.

 “I know, but the capital has large blooms of smoke erupting from it.” Dolcetto explained looking rather concerned about the smoke plumes outside.

 “Shit, for real? Alright, everyone grab the loot and take it outside, the Capital is on fire!” Greed barked out the order as the chimeras scrambled with the looted items and trinkets from Dante’s Household, leaving it completely trashed on the inside.

 “What about the others?! They might be still down in the underground!” Dolly gasped out in horror before having to be led out by her two clay monsters who had also taken the luxury sweets with them.

 “We’re going to assume they got out of there through another exit, for now, we need to leave the villa, it’s a hazard.” Greed ushered Dolly and her monsters out of the villa, partially because Dolly was part of the team and the other because Greed still was a highly combustible gentleman.

 “Shit...Dolcetto wasn't kidding…look at all that smoke coming out! That had to be from the carbonized underground…” Dorian was in awe of the thick, dark, toxic clouds of death erupting from the Capital.

 “It had to have been from it…but how? None of them would be stupid enough to like cause a fire down there given what Dante did to the joint.” Greed was in full shock as he glanced over at Dolly who was looking very tempted to teleport at that moment.

 “Dolly don’t, they’re going to be fine.” Ernest caught on and snapped Dolly out of that mind frame. “I know that Envy, Lust, Gluttony, Tim, and Hughes will be fine. What about Freddy and the Elrics!? They’re not fireproof!” Dolly looked down at her clay representations of her abilities in horror that she wasn’t being allowed to do just that. “The Elrics should be fine, they both have brains. Freddy…I think nature had every right to reclaim him back into its womb after his brief time on earth.” Dorian reason, rooting for mother nature to do its magic involving Freddy.

 “Dorian!” Dolly was thoroughly mortified at what came out of Dorian’s horrible clay maul as he bleeped his makeshift tongue a bit. “It’s true though! If Mother Nature wants Freddy, then Mother Nature gets to keep him in her fiery inferno embrace.” Ernest thoroughly supported his brother’s statement of letting nature lay claim on Freddy. “As touching as this debate is, I’m surprised that Dante’s villa isn’t up in flames yet.” Greed interrupted after noticing there hadn’t been a sign of smoke billowing from the building.

 “Boss…the ground is shaking…” Dolcetto froze a bit once the tremors became a bit noticeable after standing for a moment. “Well that’s fucking delightful..” Roa grunted as he too felt the tremor as the villa shook. The gasses had built up thanks to Survive’s intervention, gradually building up more and more until everyone was out. Moment the occupants were free from the luxury death trap, the villa became loose from its very foundation and launched upwards as though it were a rocket on New Year’s. The debris of shattered wood and glass rained over the area where the villa had launched itself before as a pillar of fire erupted from where the house once stood. The second half of the group stood still in shock at just how strong the inferno was as it came pouring out of the former residence like a geyser. Ernest and Dorian stood silently watching the intense blaze coming from the underground as both came to realize what they had wished upon Freddy was maybe, just maybe not the greatest thing to wish on another living being. Dolly’s heart sank a bit as she watched the blaze, not knowing if Envy or the others had managed to escape safely before dropping to her knees a bit from the shock. Greed’s usually smug face wasn’t there anymore as he watched the fire continuously billow out of the passageway knowing full well if a Human had been down there still, they would’ve been cinders by now. It also didn’t help matters that another massive explosion could be seen right from where the capital was.

[im-a-sussy-baka]

baby maker

You hear the sound of the front door opening, and

He’s back.

“Baby,” Kisaki calls, “I’m home!” You scrambled to welcome him back, he appeared from around the corner smiling with his outstretched arms gathering you up the minute you were within his reach.

“Hi,” you murmured into his chest, eyes closing to receive a kiss on the lips, a routine he always did upon arriving.

“Hi yourself,” he quips and reluctantly detaches himself from you to shrug off his thick coat from those broad shoulders. Without being asked, you promptly took it from him.

He crinkles his eyes at you gently, and there's a beat of comfortable silence. “Guess what,” he whispered in your ear as if he had a juicy secret he just could not wait to reveal. You grin softly at him. He looks happier than usual - the glint in his eyes was a dead giveaway. You gesture expectantly, spurring him to go on.

“I got the doc’s approval so don’t worry about anything,” he said simply as if merely discussing the weather. You didn't have to guess what he meant or what he was suggesting since you already know. You've discussed it before, and your relationship has established the notion that you're both serious about each other.

You were so young though, just in your early twenties. You do want kids but you weren’t ready yet.

He presses his lips to yours. The kiss intensifies, with him nibbling at your lips and forcing his tongue in and out of your mouth, causing your thighs to squeeze together. You pull your face away from him, breathless.

“Kisaki...?”

The problem is, Kisaki doesn't take no for an answer.

———

“Ki...ah — saki... nngh...” Your weak attempt at communication was immediately squandered.

“Shit, you feel so good—,” he panted like a dog in heat when your folds spread open warmly embracing the crown of his cock as if your pretty pussy was welcoming him home. He shoved your thighs against your chest and slammed into you with increased vigor before you could even process what was going on. This brutal angle had you blacking out with every rock.

Kisaki laid his head on your chest, making you feel every breathless groan right against your nipple. The sloppy slaps of your bodies echo across the room, your hands clenching the sheets as you hold on for dear life when he starts thrusting into you rapidly, hefty balls smacking against your ass, brimmed and ready to unload every drop of cum into your heat.

Without his glasses, you can see how erotic Kisaki looked right now. The way his eyes glazed over as he watched your tities bounce with his jaw hanging open drool trickling down the corners of his mouth. You had no idea such a lewd face exists outside of porn, and seeing how affected he is because of you only added to your delight.

“Fuuuck,” he laughed incredulously, plowing your cunt with a renewed vigor that promised to smash your bones into a fine mush. Every thrust wrenched a shriek from your throat as he increased the speed and power. The combination of vivid ecstasy and stinging aches was causing you to shake from head to toe. Your calves were beginning to cramp as he showed no signs of slowing down.

Peering down, you could see his soaked cock slamming into you, each smack of his pelvis jarring you against the couch which was extremely painful. But, hey, who doesn't enjoy a little pain with their pleasure, right?

If his balls were impressive before, they were much more so now, firm and taut; bursting at the seams with sperm, almost assaulting your ass cheeks with harsh slaps as he pounced on you like a merciless beast. His hands wrapped around your bosom, kneading the doughy flesh. You weren't going to last much longer and by the looks of it, neither was he. Unfortunately, you haven't been doing so well since you first saw his bare cock.

“You’re gonna be such a good mama, won’t you sweetie?

“Wanna get knocked up, honey?”

“Here it comes, baby. You ready to be a mommy?”

You were so out of it. You couldn’t hear or see shit.  Your body was overstimulated to the point of dizziness, causing you to quiver and throb all over.

“Uh-huh,” you whispered against his furrowed brow, delicately pressing your nose into his damp hairline as your legs swayed against his chiseled shoulders with each frenzied movement. This heartfelt display of adoration was answered with a vicious yank on your locks, forcing your head into an uncomfortable angle.

“Fucking say it like you mean it,” he hissed.

“Fu—p-please fuck me! Ohhh god, harder please... w-want a baby ...”  You groaned, your words slurred and disintegrated into incoherent whines.

Kisaki hauled you up, manhandling you until you were riding him properly. His still-swollen cock was already pressing against your cunt. Fucking hell, you felt like he obliterated your entire lower half, and here he was, ready to go all out again. He pushed past your plump lips, grabbing your hips, and re-entered your needy pussy.

The sounds of you whining in pleasure were lost to the coach's loud squeaking and the thumps of skin against skin as you bounced on his dick. Up and down you go. The brutal rocking of your bodies together was divine. The way Kisaki looked up at you made you feel like you could go on for hours wanting more of the irresistible pleasure of his attention.

“Mm…ohh god…Kisaki, cum inside...”

Your words have him hammering madly into you, but you've gone through worse. He bites your lips, whimpering at your legs that keep him in place and begging him to release his thick seed as deeply into you as possible.

His stomach stiffened like he'd been shot, and then he was tensing his abdomen, grinding his hips with a jerk to batter the tip of his cock up your cervix. Your legs fell open for him, toes curling in bliss as Kisaki cummed into your sticky wetness. As he pushed further, gloops of slick were oozing around his prick.

You didn't react, or rather couldn't, since you were stuck in your own subconscious turmoil. You were gushing wet and slimy with each withdrawal from your dirty cunt, a waterfall of squirt and jizz.

“Baby, you're such a filthy bitch—” He gagged on a raspy chuckle, not sounding the least bit upset. “Why are you making a mess all over my cock? It's a good thing you’re my girl, hmm?”

He was still humping into you like a fucking dog. He said something—not that you could tell in your dazed state, his dick is as rigid as a rod and just as fatal.

And rock-solid.

Are you fucking kidding me?

The quivering twitches of his orgasm leave him heaving out the lightest sighs, a steady trickle of cum flows as he attempts to pull his dick out. Was he finished? Please finish. You cocked your head just enough to inspect his erection.

Negative.

You were totally wrecked, with no strength left in your body as he fervently claimed you repeatedly. He took you again.

And again.

And again.

Everything hurts.

The thickness and sheer quantity of spunk dribbling from your pussy overflowed to the couch. You were still catching your breath, when he leaned down and swiped a finger up the length of his cock, gathering up a clump of his spunk and your slick. He locked eyes with you as he held his finger for you to lick it clean.

"So pretty," he murmurs quietly. His eyes are gleaming, as if he's spotted a vintage Rolex watch in the mall. He caresses his nose into your stomach, moving down and licking a wide but delicate line across your labia. You sniff feebly, obviously sensitive from the creaming fest that you had, and wriggle away, but Kisaki grips your waist and draws you near. "Oh, mommy," he explains, "I don't think we're done yet. Let's try again a few more times."

[kittenshift-17]

Hey kitten I hope you're well! Just dropping a quick ask to let you know that I love your works, especially your gramatical structure. Your vivid adjectives, almost sly prepositions and dialogue in particuliar❤ and inquire after any advice you might offer to someone looking for improvement in their writing🙂😊(I have yet to go to bed so please forgive my sloppy wording) Thank you. Stay safe❤

Hello darling,

Thank you very much for saying so. I'm very pleased you like my writing. It's such a life-affirming compliment when someone points out something to do with it that they particularly like because most of the time I'm over here just feeling like I'm pumping out pure drivel and passing it off for a parody of literature. LOL.

As for tips to improve one's writing, I have 2 key tips that I encourage every writer, no matter how skilled to employ daily, weekly, monthly, yearly, for their entire lives.

1. Read. Read. READ! Read everything you can get your hands on, from novels in genres you like, to slam poetry, to song lyrics, to mind-numbing textbooks. Read until your language of choice soaks into your very fibers and works its way into your spoken and written vocabulary. Study the writing of other authors with enjoyment and delight, and absorb the way they've defined their signature style and their little witticisms. Go looking for the words they favor and the sentences they use until their fingers bleed. Seek their favorite way to describe skin tone, their most over-used adjective, and their repetitive sentence flow. Read until your eyes are stinging and your brain is positively buzzing with ideas and words and sentences and scenes you can't help but want to explore in greater detail.

2. Write. Write. WRITE! Write until your fingers ache and your hands cramp with the beginnings of carpal tunnel. Write until your waste-paper basket is full and the delete button comes unstuck. Write until you can't see straight for misspelled words and incorrectly used phrases. Write until you can type/scribble without looking. Write until you could do it in your sleep. Plot your stories in the shower, on the train, in your dreams. Write until that little snippet of a scene you imagined blossoms into a sequence, a story, a novel, an epic saga! Write until you can't stand the thought of not writing. Until every hour spent doing something that's not writing or something else you love feels wasted. Write until you can identify your own overused adjectives and your own repetitive sentences. Write until you can read your own work and know, instinctively, where you were feeling tired, where you had your coffee, and where you were distracted by the cat demanding dinner. Write more. Write better.

I know it's cliche to say study the greats, and then practice, practice, practice, but there is no better way to improve. There is no single formula to enact that will automatically make you a better writer. You have to crawl before you walk, and walk before you run. You have to do it again and again, FAIL again and again, until it feels right. The delete button was invented for you by the tech-gods who knew writers would, at some stage, want to pick up a piece of their writing, assess it, and find a better way to phrase it.

I could bang on about the 3 Act Story Structure, or the Snowflake Method, or the various programs and software like Scrivner, Grammarly, or Hemingway Editor, but at the end of the day, the raw materials have to come from you, the writer. If you only dump in the same 5 ingredients every time, you're only going to get variants of the same dish, ya know? Seek new ones. Experiment with them. Pepper in a little plot, sprinkle in a few tropes, season with a little romance, stir in a little mystery, splash in a spooky murder. The worst you can do is make a scrambled-egg plot with runny bits and gravelly parts, and the biggest secret no one tells you is that you can throw that right in the trash and start again. No one has to know.

I find that if you treat writing like you would any other skill - like learning a new dance routine, or perfecting how to bend it like Beckham - you'll get there eventually. No one else is watching unless you let them look. You can hide in your room and practice until your fingers bleed and when you feel it's up to snuff, THEN you can share it. But only if you want to. You haven't got to show a single soul if you're not ready, and if you show them and they're not as positive about the final product as you hope.... show someone else!

Trust me, there are plenty of people out there who think my writing is complete trash, contrived bullshit, and creepy smut, but there are plenty of others who sit up until the wee small hours when their eyes are burning and they need sleep, but they just want to devour one more chapter.

Essentially, what I'm saying is, just keep writing. Sign up to prompt blogs here on Tumblr and writing fests in FB groups. Pounce on instances where you can write something new. Try a single scene about a morning-star, or a paragraph about the local neighborhood cat. Write a single page drabble about the friendly ice-cream truck and the change to his usual route when a new family moves to town. No one needs to see it except you if you don't want to share it. Just write it to see what you can do with it. Challenge yourself every day to write something different. Use a new word. Try a new descriptive sentence. Write about a new topic. Find a way to slip a random frog into a story for no reason other than that there's a frog on the porch while you're writing.

And, you know, try to avoid waffling. Like I'm doing now. LOL. This is probably entirely waffle, but maybe there's a snippet or two of advice or wisdom squirreled away here that can help you improve. Who knows?

My inbox and my ask box are always open if you want to anonymously share with someone who won't judge you for whatever fun little practice pieces you toy with.

xx-Kitten.

[markynaz]

7/31

Moons / Betrayal Written for @tes-summer-fest 2021 Wordcount: 986 Content warnings: Impersonation mentions Ao3 Mirror: here Directly follows Dawn.

The exclamation of shock had barely passed Andalmo’s lips before he saw Delphine’s eyes narrow, which was the only warning he got.

He stepped back, narrowly avoiding Delphine’s blade as it hissed from her sheath. She turned the momentum of the draw around into a quick slash down to his leg. He whipped his own sword down to block. The clash of metal echoed off the walls of Ustengrav, scraping, twisting, setting Andalmo’s teeth on edge.

“Delphine, what in Oblivion-”

“Don't play innocent,” she snapped, and her voice sounded exactly what it had been last time they'd spoken, sending a sickening jolt to Andalmo’s gut with the memory. “How many Blades have their blood on your hands, you fucking traitor?”

“What?” he spat, taken aback by the accusation, and she drove him three steps back with the shock of it, scrambling up the stairs to avoid her wickedly glinting katana.

“Cloud- Ruler- Temple.” Each word was punctuated by a swipe-cut-thrust as Andalmo hastily blocked-parried-sidestepped. He lost another step, scrambling back as Delphine snarled, “You led the Thalmor there. Don't deny it.”

“That’s not-” Andalmo started, but had to leap back as Delphine lunged, backtracking another two steps up the stairs. The lip of the barrow was nearly at his shoulder now.

“We could have all survived if your damned team had told us the truth!”

Andalmo gritted his teeth and let himself lose three more steps, bringing the edge of the barrow to a comfortable height. Delphine’s eyes were wet with tears, her mouth hard with rage, as she pressed her advantage into a whirling overhand strike aimed at Andalmo’s neck.

He put one foot on the step behind him and leaned out of the way. Her katana’s blade smacked hard against the barrow’s stone lip. Before she could react, he was thrusting forward, following up with a hard strike to the tip of her sword, using the stone as a fulcrum to lever the katana out of her grip.

It jolted from her hand and skittered down the side of the barrow. Andalmo grabbed a leather strap of her armor and yanked her close, off-balance up the stairs.

“Listen,” he hissed. “We didn’t know any more than you did. We were fed bad information. If we’d known the Blades were fucking outlawed, do you think we really would have called that Three-damned meeting?”

Delphine hissed at him and reached for a knife. Andalmo dropped his own sword to the stairs and grabbed her free wrist to stop that.

“You didn’t think to question that?” she spat at him. “The Thalmor signing the Concordat without outlawing the Blades?”

“Now I would!” Andalmo’s fist clenched tighter on the strap, bitterness warring with anger, unable to keep it from his voice. “But it came from my teammate, so, no. I’d like to think we were all better people before the Thalmor started hunting us for sport.”

Delphine’s eyes narrowed. Andalmo held her gaze, trying to resist the impulse to throw her down the stairs. Miralnu’s expression in his mind was as clear as the day she’d died - on the ramparts of Cloud Ruler Temple, the Thalmor invading force below, a Thalmor imposter wearing her face as an illusion. He’d been the one to dispel it, to kill the imposter in a quick, brutal knife fight, but by then it had already been far too late for anything but a backup plan.

If he’d noticed the betrayal earlier, realized Miralnu was no longer with them, would his team still be alive? Would the other Blades who’d escaped with Delphine be here? It crossed his mind now that she was alone, and he hadn’t heard anything about Blades being hunted in Skyrim. His heart started to sink.

“They’re all dead now,” he bit out. “I assume the others you escaped with-”

“Assassination team in the Jerrals.” Delphine’s words confirmed all his worst fears. “I was the only one to get out.”

“Shit.”

The hard line of anger was gone from her mouth. Andalmo held her off balance for a moment longer, then pushed her back onto her feet, only releasing the leather strap of her armor once he was fairly certain she wouldn’t lunge at him again.

She adjusted her armor, eyeing him. He glanced around for his sword. It had come to a rest two steps below Delphine, but it probably wasn’t prudent to go for it while she still seemed to be making up her mind.

He shrugged his cloak back over his shoulders and exhaled through parted lips, seeing his breath billow in the freezing morning air like some frost dragons he’d witnessed.

A pox on the Thalmor. Fuck them, fuck the Great War they sailed in on, and Andalmo heartily wished every single double-agent who might have betrayed a Blade would wake up to choking on their own rotting teeth, except perhaps three, which would stay and give them all toothache.

“Look,” he said, after he ran out of curses in Dunmeris, Cyrodilic, and even some Chimeris. This took what felt like several minutes. “Could we have this conversation in the Moorside Inn? You can keep hold of the Horn,” he added as she gave him a look that could have frozen his face off, if the early morning and the long night hadn't already done their level best. “Clearly there’s a lot to catch up on, and I don’t think we’ll be better for having the conversation out here.”

Delphine hesitated, then gave a curt nod and fastened the Horn to her belt. Andalmo stepped back and gestured for her to continue up the stairs. She shoulder-checked him as she passed. He resisted the urge to make a rude gesture at her back, just in case she turned around, stepped down a few levels to scoop up his sword, and slipped it back into its sheath, following her up the stairs and away from Ustengrav.

[rovewritesit]

Angel Of My Dreams (Chapter 5) John Deacon x Reader Series

GIF: @johndeac​

Apologies for the delay! Work has been an absolute shit fest. The big show I’m on got canceled, but we still have to finish the season at some point so oof. Also, my boss is moving to Italy? Pray for my sanity, folks.

Series Summary: After reluctantly joining a band with your childhood best friends, you are thrust into oncoming stardom with no sea legs and an overwhelming sense of anxiety. But you just might find your way, thanks to some seasoned pros by your side. And the interest of one particular bassist.

This series is a work of fiction and is loosely inspired by real people and events. Absolutely no offense is meant to actual Queen or their families.

PART 1 - PART 2 - PART 3 - PART 4

Pairing: John Deacon x Reader

Chapter Warnings: Strong language. Feelings of anxiety. Angst (oooo!)

Chapter Notes: I've rewritten this chapter so many times that I don't even know what it is anymore. Angst is hard, my dudes! Why can't it all be flirty glances and quick banter?!

Song/Title Inspiration: Angel - Fleetwood Mac

Songs Mentioned:

Moonlight in Vermont - Frank Sinatra

Blues Run The Game - Jackson C. Frank

Taglist: @yourlocalmusicalprostitute @brianmays-hair @deacyblues @squishy-geckboye @hae-bee @aprilaady @theresalexis @uglipotata72829

- - - - - - -

September 1982 - The Music Inn, New York City

“Bri, get a load of all these fucking maracas!”

Brian makes his way over to where Roger is gazing at a massive wall adorned with shaker-filled shelves, dipping his head low to avoid the sea of guitars hanging from the ceiling above his long frame. 

Queen was back in New York for their first-ever appearance on Saturday Night Live. Finding time in between the intensive rehearsals during the week had been hard, but Freddie insisted they would make the time for his favorite New Yorkers. When the time was finally found, he, of course, was unavailable, off antiquing at some of Manhattan’s luxury spots but promised to meet up with the group later on. 

The Limbs managed to snag the other three men for a trip to the historic Music Inn. Nestled in the heart of Greenwich Village, the dingy treasure trove was located a stone’s throw away from the city’s most prominent folk clubs that boasted discovering the talents of Bob Dylan and Simon & Garfunkel. 

You were quite confident that your newfound English friends would love it. Every visible space was stuffed or covered with an abundance of musical paraphernalia. So much so that you had been in the store dozens of times without ever finding out what color the walls were. Its layout was always changing to fit the ever-growing amount of items displayed, the familiar specks of dust that sparkled in the sunlight being the only constants.

“Hey, Jeff!” Steve calls out to the eccentric owner. “Where are these from?” 

The aging hippie shuffles over. “Mostly South America,” he explains in his usual gravelly drawl. “A customer brought back some new shekeres from West Africa last week that have a nice sound to them.” Jeff motions up the sprawling wall. Roger immediately grabs a few, testing the sounds out against the ones Steve is already playing with - the two of them like kids in a candy store.

Jeff had been a good friend to The Limbs since their early teen years, having let the group spend hours on end attempting to learn every exotic instrument they could get their hands on. Anyone who entered the shop could count on him as a spirit guide of sorts to a wealth of worldly music. And while The Limbs had kept their first album fairly plain in context, they were already itching, particularly Steve, to experiment on the next album. Whenever that would be.

Now that a few more of their singles were moderately successful hits, Columbia Records was focused on milking it for all that it was worth. The execs were currently setting up an extensive American tour of the Mid - West Coast part of the country, all the major cities they hadn’t hit on their first tour. 

“Y/N,” Jeff gestures for you to follow him, probably excited to show you a new find seeing as you were always eager and willing to give them a test run. You make your way down the staircase lined with large balalaikas to the musty lower level filled with various sound equipment and electronic instruments. 

“What on god’s green earth would you use that for?” you hear Rich’s deep voice implore. He rolls his eyes as Eddie moons over an ornately engraved mandolin.

“It worked for Rod Stewart, didn’t it? That mandolin solo in Maggie May shredded,” he retorts. “Plus, look how pretty she is!”

You watch your feet as you carefully maneuver around the amps and pedals haphazardly strewn around the floor, following Jeff to the back of the room - taking special care to step around John, who is crouched low looking over the wiring of a particularly grody-looking amp.

Upon entering the store, he had taken off on his own right away, immediately entranced by the sprawling selection all about him. But you had caught the worn, far-off look in his eyes when he greeted you with a short wave earlier. You try not to let the lack of attention bother you as you pass him without so much as a glance up. The heartfelt conversation you had the last time they were in town had rooted itself in your memory. Spilling your guts like you did that night wasn't a common occurrence for you- figuring you were already easy enough to read due to the panicked expression often etched onto your face. 

Why him? Even your bandmates weren’t privy to the babblings of your intimate thoughts. It couldn’t just be his boyish tooth-gap or the pleasing line of his straight nose. Maybe it was the confusing mix of nerves and comfort you felt whenever in his presence. It was unlike the persistent butterflies you were used to when around attractive humans. Feeling instead like a gentle humming that you somehow sensed everywhere at once.

You’re brought out of your swimming thoughts as Jeff clears his throat loudly to get your attention. You must’ve been staring blankly at the floor for quite a while. He gestures to a bulky item draped in a tarp, as you give him a small apologetic smile.

“Oh yes, very pretty,” you smirk at him.

He rolls his eyes as he attempts to sweep the tarp off in a dramatic reveal, but in reality, it gets stuck. The man scrambles to uncover it, and as soon as it peeks out, you gasp.

“A theremin!”

You gaze at the ordinary-looking wooden cabinet in awe. It must be old, seeing as they were mostly compact now.

“You haven’t had one in ages,” you marvel, locking eyes with Jeff.

“Which means it’s been a while since I’ve heard your ambient screeches plaguing these walls.”

Your finger points to him in protest. “Hey, I was getting better until you sold the last one on me!”

“Well, I didn’t see you making a bid for it,” he playfully shrugs.

“Let’s hear those screeches!” Eddie yells out. Rich claps his hands excitedly beside him. You poke your tongue out at them, but your eyes catch John’s, and you quickly close your mouth. Still crouched, he looks on with mild curiosity wrinkled on his brow. He lightly raises them at you in silent encouragement.

You slowly make your way behind the instrument as Jeff plugs it into the wall. Turning one of the knobs, it hums to life as you check the metal attachments protruding from the wood frame. It really is old. You have no idea how to even begin to calibrate it. Taking a deep breath, you timidly bring your hands up in position.

It lets out a high pitched wail that burns your ears from being so close, and you yank your hands away from the field of current. Eddie and Rich erupt into cheers while John slowly stands, moving a bit closer to see the mechanism properly.

Jeff lightly pushes you back towards it in a gentle coax. This time you slowly bring your curled hand a reasonable distance away from the pitch antenna, keeping your other low on the one for volume. Squeezing your eyes shut to focus on the tone, you slowly move until you find your starting note. It was all about sense memory and your ears to fill the gaps with nothing to physically touch. 

Uncurling your fingers, you begin the opening notes of Moonlight in Vermont - the one song you had somewhat taught yourself through hours of painstaking practice. You fumble a bit, eliciting a squeak or two while trying to remember the hand placements that produce the proper notes. While you might “play” many instruments, you were middling at many, master of none. You make it through the first verse before your head starts to pound from your jaw-clenched concentration.

“Fuck the mandolin, let’s get that for the next album!” you hear Rich tell Eddie.

“Ah, yes, you’ve heard Pet Sounds. Now prepare your ears for The Limb’s sophomore attempt, Ghost Sounds,” 

Their banter is drowned out as John chimes in. “How on earth did you learn that?” You meet his struck expression and shrug lightly.

“Don’t downplay it, Bun. It’s pretty fucking cool,” Rich assures you. “And her knowing ASL also helps,” he explains to John.

“Sign language?”

“Oh yeah, Y/N’s mom is deaf,” Eddie reveals bluntly. You shoot him a look.

“Sorry, hard of hearing,” he holds his hands out in defense.

John is silent for a moment as he mulls the information over, causing a speck of tension in the room.

“Your mother’s never heard you sing?” he asks incredulously as if he can’t possibly imagine it.

You give a small smile. “No, I guess she hasn’t. But I was in the car with her the first time I heard us on the radio. I turned the treble down and the bass all the way up and she bopped along to the beat pretty well.”

Rich chuckles lightly at the story. “She’s always been hoot, hasn’t she?”

You nod gently. “Aptly put. That’s how she describes herself as a matter of fact.”

John shoves his hands deep in his pockets as he takes a look around the room, his cheeks a light pink. You're unsure of why.

“I’m gonna head out for a quick smoke,” you decide, patting Jeff on the shoulder. “I know how you hate it.”

He gives your hand a light squeeze before you make your way upstairs, hoping to catch John’s eyes, but he avoids yours yet again. 

A pleasing blend of harmonies can be heard as you hit the landing. You peek your head around a large assortment of bongos to find Brian strumming a small acoustic on the other side of the store. Roger, Steve, and Lawrence all crammed around, the four of them singing a rendition of Blues Run the Game. 

Your heart warms at the sight, remembering the times when you and the boys would sit around a campfire and croon out the same sad tune. Eddie and Rich will be pissed they missed this. Steve notices your presence and silently ticks his head for you to come join. You hold up your pack of Marlborough’s in response to him before finally slipping out the front, trying your best to not jingle the adorned bells too much.

A cool breeze promptly passes through the knit of your sweater. It’s late September, and New York has begun to really cool off. You pull down the sleeves to cover your hands as you light your cigarette, wincing a bit on the first inhale. It was a leftover habit from your college days- scarcely used, only in social situations, or to get out of awkward ones.

Taking in the familiar street, you can’t help but giggle at the day you were having. To be showing Queen around your old hangout still felt absurd. No matter how genuinely they seemed to like the company of your band, you couldn’t fathom them wanting to spend the day with you all. Weren’t there bigger and better musicians in this city to be hanging out with? 

The sound of a lighter flicking to life comes from your left, and you turn. John leans against the faded wall as he takes a drag, his eyes trained on the dirty sidewalk. 

“I’m sorry, i- if I offended you with my comment about your mother,” he professes quietly. 

Your brows shoot up in confusion. “What?”

“We have a friend whose father is deaf. A lovely man. I shouldn’t have been so insensitive.” He sighs, finally turning to face you. “It’s just that the memory of hearing your voice for the first time isn’t something one can easily shake. I mean that in a way that- it’s just a shame really. For her to not be able to share in it when it’s something so...” he looks as if he’s racking his brain for an appropriate word. “Well, singular.”

You suck in a breath at his words. In all your years, you had never gotten that as a response to your mother’s disability. It was mostly a polite, “Oh, really? I’m so sorry to hear that.” His honesty and consideration for your feelings knock the present hum of your body up to 100. 

You flinch as gentle burning hits your fingers, and you look down at your forgotten cigarette, quickly flicking it to the ground before crushing it under your heel. John shifts his weight from side to side, never taking his eyes off of you while he waits for you to collect your thoughts.

“I write out my lyrics for her so she can read them as poems,” you state simply, smiling up at him. “Sometimes she makes up her own melodies and sings them around the house. It’s not the easiest on the ears, but she’s pretty inventive.” His eyes crinkle as he returns your grin - his first genuine one of the day.

“So she’s heard music before?”

“Oh yeah. She has nerve deafness, which didn’t start till her late twenties. She actually spent a lot of time around here when she was younger. Bitter End and The Gaslight are just a few blocks away.”

He hums lightly as he stares at you- like you’re a puzzle whose pieces are just beginning to fit together.

“Can you teach me something in sign language?”

Once again, your brows shoot up, shocked by his response. You blink a few times, trying to think of what to say. Going with the only thing that pops to mind, you sign out a phrase as he watches your hands intently.

“And what does that mean?”

You smirk, “You are a cheesy cow.”

“I’m sorry?” he laughs out.

You repeat it back slowly while signing along. “You. Are. A. Cheesy. Cow. It’s the first thing my mother taught me how to sign.”

He runs his hand over his jaw as he chuckles. “Rich was right. A hoot she must be.”

“I’m pretty shit, to be honest, and she read lips, so it’s mostly used for snide comments during extended family gatherings.”

You watch as he puts out his cigarette and carefully takes a step closer to you. “I’m assuming your colourful vocabulary extends to those instances as well.”

“Right you are.”

“Freddie will love that,” he snickers. “He always seems to collect vulgarities in other languages wherever we go.”

Your attention is torn away as a sleek black car rolls up to a stop at the curb. It’s out of place in the middle of the street filled with old and worn buildings, which can similarly describe the people who mill about.

“Speak of the Queen herself,” you laugh as a sunglass-clad Freddie steps onto the sidewalk.

“Oh, isn���t this quaint!” he exclaims, peering into the shop window. He straightens as he turns to you, hands-on-hips.

“Deacy. Thumper. Are we fans of freezing our tits off, or shall we go inside?”

You give John a small smile and push yourself off the wall, making your way over to Freddie, who immediately pulls you into a bone-crushing hug. The bells against the door ring out as you all enter the shop.

“Ah, Deacy,” Brian pokes his head out from one of the narrow aisles, still in a constant crouch to avoid the instruments above his head. “I was looking for you. Found these adorable teeny guitars I thought might be good to bring back for the kids. What do you think?”

“Kids?” you mumble to yourself as John makes his way over to inspect them.

“Brian has two, and John’s already up to 3. Maybe we should’ve nicknamed him Bunny.” Freddie laughs, nudging your arm. “You know… fucking like rabbits,” he expands due to your lack of chuckling.

He leans into your field of vision as he studies your statue-like expression, eyebrows knit in confusion. His eyes take in your ashen face and your lifeless expression. You weren’t even sure if you were breathing. When you lock your eyes with his, you know he understands from the sheer size of how big they become. He straightens up, glancing around quickly as if looking for something to put out a fire.

“Freddie!” Steven dances over, clicking a pair of castanets in his hands. “I wanted to show you thi-”

“So sorry, love, we can’t. Y/N promised to come to a fitting with me, and we’re already late," he announces loudly, pulling you by the arm and out the door before anyone can react.

- - - - - - -

You blankly stare at your reflection in the long mirror. Freddie had instructed his stylist to pull some outfits for you to parade around in as he tried on a bevy of metallic coats.

“You’re an idiot,” you tell the girl staring back at you.

Freddie sashays over, a shag jacket swaying with him as he places his hands on your shoulders, surveying the strappy dress you were currently squeezed into.

“Oh yes, this will do for the after-party,” he instructs.

“I’m not going.”

He heaves a deep sigh. “Darling, you already refused the ticket I got you for the show. You’re coming to the party,” he declares, turning away to look at more options.

“This isn’t really me…” you mumble, gesturing to the dress.

He regards you with a small smile. “Exactly. I say this with love, but you need a look, Y/N. Something that makes you feel unstoppable,” he gestures to his body as he twirls towards you. “Don’t you want to shock them?”

You chew your lip as you ponder that sentiment. Dawn usually just shoved you into whatever ensemble she had picked for you - leather jackets, monochromatic sets, tight jumpsuits. She kept hoping you’d find a style you fancied, but you had yet to find anything remotely likable under the lights of the stage.

“To be honest, I just want to be able to feel comfortable out there," you sigh. "But I can’t strut around in flashy outfits or conduct a whole crowd like you do." Huffing as you collapse onto one of the white couches around you. He perches beside you, throwing an arm around the back of the sofa.

“Then don’t,” he says simply.

You snort a response as you cross your arms over your chest.

“I’m sure you’ve heard this before, but have you tried showing them a bit more of yourself?”

“I can’t do that.”

He turns to you now, grabbing your attention with his eyes.

“And why not?” he questions.

You gaze down at your hands, which you’re now wringing together in your lap. “What if it’s nothing spectacular?” you whisper out the criticism that you'd drilled into your mind for the past year.

Freddie laughs lightly as he stands. “Let’s not start lying to ourselves, shall we?” He moves in front of you and kneels, now at eye level, making so you can’t look away.

“Sometimes people go to a concert for an escape. A big bloody show with dazzling lights and petite men galavanting around a stage in spandex tights,” he smiles. 

“But most of the time they just want to find a piece of themselves in it, don’t they? Commonality. They want to hear you, see you, and feel just a little less alone than we all know we are. I saw just a slice of it at your concert, and it was indeed something spectacular. So take that as you will.”

You’re not one to cry much, but your eyes soften as you take in the icon of a man in front of you. A man loved by millions, who was currently filling in as your personal rock n’ roll fairy godmother.

“You’re a fantastic person, you know that?” you tell him genuinely.

“Yes,” he quips as he gets to his feet. “Now, are we done scurrying around the real problem at hand?”

You sigh as you look away, firmly willing yourself not to break the dam of bottled emotions threatening to spill out. Why couldn't you just feel numb? It would be better than the wave of childish self-pity you found yourself in.

Freddie huffs at your reaction. “Oh, you brat. Sorry to tell you, but you’re an open book, my dear. And not one of those big pompous things Brian reads. A bloody children’s book. One filled with pictures.”

You're sure you’ve now bitten through the entire top layer of your lip as you contemplate how to even begin.

“I’m an idiot,” you shrug to yourself yet again.

“No,” he points a finger at you. “You’re decidedly not. Though I am curious as to how someone who’s as big of a fan as your friends say you are, missed out on that detail.”

“I’m not sure either. I mean, I listen to your albums and go to your show, but I guess I didn’t pour over the tabloids or press interviews or anything like that.”

Freddie nods along as he sifts through another rack of jackets, choosing an incredibly tight white leather number.

“I assumed you knew,” he answers while glancing at his reflection. “And I would say Deacy should know better, but he’s not quite himself at the moment.”

“What do you mean?” you press, suddenly much more interested in the conversation.

He turns to you, palms up in explanation. “It’s not that he wouldn’t normally be charmed by your shy presence and occasionally crass mouth… But I’m a bit worried he’s finding comfort in your smiles for the wrong reasons.”

“Huh?”

Sighing heavily as if debating if he should keep skirting around his words, he holds your gaze. “An impending divorce is crippling lonely, even if it is somewhat amicable.”

His mouth is brought into a pout as you suck in a sharp breath. 

Divorce. All your previous interactions play through your head from a different angle. Pity sneaks up on you as you remember John’s advice he’d given you. The concept of home is a funny thing. You scoff out loud at how your childlike crush had skewed your interpretation of your relationship with the man.

“I’m usually the one singing his praises,” Freddie muses, breaking you out of your inner monologue of resentment towards yourself. “But he seems more lost than usual at the moment.” 

He gently lifts your chin. “I don’t normally meddle in- well, actually I do. Just don’t want to see you get hurt, Bunny. Not when the world is soon to be at your feet.”

"I'm fine," you lie, gently brush away his gesture. "I barely even know the guy. I was just shocked to have my silly fascination with him interrupted. Stupid, really."

"Don't do that," he exhales. "Don't put it on yourself. You'd have to be blind to ignore the fact that he's quite taken with you."

"I'm fine," you repeat, making your way into the back to change out of the ridiculous dress that suddenly felt even tighter now.

Shutting the door slowly, you let out a deep breath. It's all good, you tell yourself. Of course you got caught up in the attention of a world-renown musician. Who wouldn't? It's nothing special. As Freddie said, he's not even acting like himself. Although you were indeed in true form- getting caught up by the slightest of interactions. Unconsciously playing them as a loop in your head. You can't help but cringe at your own escalation of the situation.

Squaring your shoulders, you take in the image of yourself in the dress again. Perhaps it was time for you to shock them all.

- - - - - - -

“And so my grandfather goes out to the alley and sees her just wailing on this scrawny man. I mean, really going to town. So he pulls her off him, and the dude’s got a black eye and a bloody nose. And he’s like, “Thanks mate, thought she was gonna kill me there.”

Roger ruffles your hair in response to your poor attempt at a British accent. The group of cast and crew around you chuckle at the gesture. 

You had decided that if you were going to be forcibly dragged to this after-party by your bandmates, you would at least aim to make it worthwhile. A debut of your new mentality.  One where you weren't just acting the part of a rising rock star, but living it. 

Which is why at the moment, you found yourself the center of attention, surrounded by the cast and crew of SNL laughing along to your amusing story. But this was all hinged on you carefully, avoiding the presence of John Deacon at all costs. Which, in reality, wasn't very hard to do- you had yet to see him since arriving an hour ago.

“Oh my god, who was it?!” the young cast member beside you presses. You think her name is Julia, but the sheer amount of people you'd been introduced to was dizzying.

"That's exactly what we asked him when he told us. All he said was that it was some man with big lips who was in a fur coat and looked like he hadn't eaten in a month..."

The cam op across from you gasps, "It was MICK JAGGER? God bless your grandfather, I would've wept if she murdered him."

"So would my mom AND grandmother," you laugh. "Give us each a glass of wine, and it's basically a Mick fan club."

"Who else?" Brian taps your leg, surprisingly urging you to divulge more gossip.

You can't help but smirk as the group leans forward intently.

"Robin Williams?" you tease as their eyebrows all raise.

"Horrible tipper, but he makes up for it by performing dirty puppet shows with the napkins."

"Sounds about right," funnyman Brad Hall confirms, offering you another drink.

You politely decline, determined to keep your wits about you this evening. "I'm gonna go grab some water. Anyone want anything?"

The group shakes their heads, but Lawrence jumps up to join you on your trek to the crowded bar.

"Wouldn't it be insane if this was us one day?" he exclaims as you weave your way through the mass of bodies littering the Capitol Grill. 

You smile up at him, "Dream big, buddy."

"Oh, I intend to," he confirms you as you spot Eddie and Rich waving you over from a spot at the bar. 

Rich promptly wraps his arm around your shoulders as you join them. He always had a stoic way of letting you know he saw through the cracks in your poorly constructed armor. Taking the role of a caring older brother, more so than your own.

"Have we lost Steve again?" Lawrence asks the group.

Eddie nods across the room. "He's exactly where you think he'd be," he scoffs as you catch a glimpse of Steve, trailing Freddie like a lost puppy.

"Um, excuse me?" a short girl mumbles from behind Eddies' denim-clad shoulder. He turns, glancing down.

"Hiya," he regards her casually, causing her a deep blush to creep across her cheeks. She shoves a napkin and pen at him.

"C-could I get an autograph? Please?"

Eddie smirks at her flustered appearance, making sure to brush her fingers as he grabs the items out of her trembling hand.

"And what beautiful name should I be making this out to?"

She lets out a jarring high pitched giggle as she stumbles over her words. "Oh, uh, Shelley."

"Well, here ya go, Shelley," he hands the napkin back to her, now adorned with his messy scrawl. "Maybe I'll see you later."

She squeaks as she hurries back to her shrieking friends who are huddled conspicuously off to the side.

"Gross," you state. "She's a child. Probably one of the executive's kids." 

He rolls his eyes dramatically. "Gotta keep em' interested, Bun. As the heartthrob of the group, it's my sworn duty."

"Slow your roll there, Rob Lowe," Rich interjects. "I think Y/N's giving you a run for your money in this dress."

You glance down at the Freddie approved ensemble. It was eye-catching for sure, precisely what you were going for. It's black suede straps crisscrossed strategically against your body, giving peaks of the skin underneath.

"It looks good, Bun," Rich assures you.

“Guys,” you all turn your attention to Steve, who has just joined the circle clumsily. His pupils are blown wide from his current blood alcohol content, and he sways slightly on his heels.

"I- I have something to say," he announces to the group, getting your attention. You all wait patiently as he hesitates, clearing his throat twice before lowering his voice. “I just wanted to tell you that I’m gay.”

You glance around to the other boys whose expressions mirror your own warm smile. You’d all known Steve was gay since high school, not that any of you had talked about it. You had just assumed it was something unspoken. That he’d tell you whenever he was ready or met someone good enough to introduce to you all.

Steve gapes at your expressions. "Where is the shock? I was expecting shock and awe, people!"

"Steve, please don’t take this the wrong way. But I’m assuming we’ve all known for a while," Rich says gently. You all nod lightly in agreement.

"How?"

"Do you remember the types of girls who used to throw themselves at you? Like Becky Whale? Man, I would’ve killed for Becky Whale to throw something at me. But you never took them up on it," Lawrence elaborates.

Steve smiles around at all of you, his shoulders visibly relaxing.

“I had a crush on Eddie in high school,” he confesses.

Eddie pumps his fist lightly. “Fuck yeah.”

“Oh, c’mon!” Lawrence exclaims. “You just had to boost that ego, didn’t ya? I know pretty boys are great and all, but I’m the one with the big soft cuddles. People love big soft cuddles!”

Rich expands his arms as he brings you all in for a hug. 

You kiss Steve gently on the cheek. “I’m proud of you, bud,” you whisper.

"Thank you guys, I just felt like it was time. And now that that's out of the way," Steve grunts as you all untangle yourselves. “I’m gonna go find Freddie. He said he’s taking me out to a club after this!”

He skips away with a grin, back towards Freddie, who catches your eye with a knowing smile and winks. It seems you weren’t the only band member who had found a fairy godmother in Mr. Mercury.

You all lightly laugh affectionately at your friend until Eddie and Lawrence wander off to scope out the food situation. You lean against the bar next to Rich, glancing around at the loud laughter erupting from the outgoing crowd. One person noticeably sticks out. A sullen John Deacon sits at the end of the bar, hunched over what looks like a glass of whiskey.

"Looks like he's in need of a friend," Rich surmises.

You tear your eyes away from the sorry sight to look at him. "They're around here somewhere," you shrug.

He rubs your arms up and down lightly before slinking into the crowd, knowingly leaving you alone. 

You sneak a peek over at John. He runs one hand through his curls as the other absentmindedly stirs the straw of his sweating drink. You watch him sigh, bringing the glass to his lips and gulping down the spirit without so much as a wince. 

Hesitantly making your way over to him, you rub your clammy hands over the expensive material of your dress. This is the opposite of avoidance, you scold yourself, silently willing your feet to change direction. But your willpower has seemingly left the building.

You carefully perch yourself on the stool next to his, as not to disturb his brooding. He glances over quickly, doing a double-take when he realizes who it is.

"Oh, hello there," he greets you with a small smile. "I didn't know you had arrived."

You nod your head lightly. "How could you? It seems you set up camp over here."

"Ah, yes," he breathes, straightening his posture. "Wasn't our best tonight, I'm afraid. Not much to celebrate."

You take a sip of your water as you continue to nod silently.

"Actually," he begins, angling his body towards yours, almost slipping off his stool as you notice his apparent intoxication. "I was thinking about that conversation we had. When I met your spritely grandfather."

"Oh?" you question. Keeping your face neutral even though your heart was already buzzing at the fact.

"Yes. Mostly about how naive I was—all that bloody nonsense about finding a home. Do me a favor and never take my advice, will you? You'll end up completely wrecking yours."

This was a bad idea.

"It's just- you draw these lines for yourself in the sand," he drawls, waving his hands about in front of him. "A stupid phrase, really. Where did it even come from?"

"The Bible," you tell him quietly.

He lets out a big sigh, rolling his head back to stare at the ceiling.

"Well, it's gotten it wrong before, hasn't it?"

You simply hum an acknowledgment, too scared to probe for fear of where this was going.

"Anyway, you draw these lines. Moral, physical, promises you make to yourself, things you swear you’d never do, dreams to accomplish," he lists out. "But sand moves about, dunnit? It blows all over the place. Makes a mess. Gets in your sandwich. And those lines blur. Or fade away. And all of a sudden, you've crossed them without even knowing! Broken those promises. Skipped right over those dreams."

He's too far gone in his rant to register the growing panic sweeping across your features.

"You were right. Sometimes you look in the mirror, and it's just a complete stranger staring back at you, isn't it?"

Trying to keep your breathing steady, you stare at the crumbling man before you. He runs his large hands along his face before ducking back into his former position, signaling for the bartender to bring him another drink.

This is precisely why you should've stuck to your original plan. What were you supposed to say to the man who was so obviously hurting from his failed marriage? So much so that it was pouring out of him. You know that if it weren't for the alcohol, he wouldn't be confiding any of this to you.

But there was a reason the boys called you the mom of the group, and it wasn't because you were the only female. You feel a pang of need to comfort him. You gaze at him, not with pity, but an overwhelming sense of empathy for the man and make up your mind.

You clear your throat to answer, brushing away your own warnings about how it would only sink you deeper into your fascination with him.

"I was wrong, actually," you start as he brings his head up to look at you. "And you know what phrase I hate? That people don't change."

He furrows his brow but remains silent as you continue.

"Maybe we're not made up of lines in the sand. Maybe we're the wind?" You try not to cringe at yourself and your poor use of metaphor. "And winds sometimes blow in different directions... but that's okay because it's where life is supposed to take them." Falling silent, you decide to quit while you’re ahead. 

You're not ahead. You're not even out of the gate. What the fuck was that?

A slow smile inches onto his face as he holds your stare. "How did you get so wise for someone your age," he teases.

"And what age would that be?"

His mouth opens and closes as he studies your face. "Twenty?"

"Mm, close. Twenty-four."

"Really?" he ponders. "Freddie mentioned you dropped out of university."

"Ah, yes. The university I could only go to after working to afford it," you explain. 

He continues to stare, the look in his eyes shifting slightly as he takes you in. A look that matches the color and intensity of uncharted, open water. You need to get out of here.

"Well, that explains your extraordinary use of analogy then."

Dragging your eyes off of his, you glance around at the party you were missing. Gladly missing, unfortunately. 

"I should go check on Steve. He's having a bit of a night," you tell him as you stand. "Try not to drown yourself in those," gesturing to the new glass of whiskey in front of him.

"How can I drown myself? I thought I was the wind," he points out with a grin.

Before any more banter can ensue, you simply smile and make your way back to your friends. Thinking to yourself that maybe lines in the sand weren't so bad. And that perhaps it was time for you to start drawing some of your own.

[mooncat457writing]

The Wolf

Written for 10 Days of Healing - Wolfstar Comfort Mini-Fest. I hope you enjoy and thanks @swottypotter​ for hosting!

A series of moments over the course of Sirius’ and Remus’ relationship told non-linearly.

Prompt: An Apology

Summary: February 16th, 1976. Sirius feels awful about the prank he pulled on Snape, so he writes a letter—or a series of them.

Word Count: 1.2k+ 

Also on AO3.

It was dark in the Hospital Wing by the time Remus woke up for the second time. He wished he hadn’t woken up, though. Because if he was still asleep, he could pretend that what happened the night before was a dream. A nightmare born out of anxiety. Some sick joke that his mind decided to play on him.

He could pretend that Dumbledore coming to his bedside and telling him about Severus Snape’s promise to keep his secret wasn’t real. He could pretend James hadn’t come by to tell him his side of the story and promise him that no one was hurt. He could pretend that his best friend hadn’t made the biggest and stupidest fucking decision to betray his secret and almost kill someone in the process.

But as Remus rolled over and looked at his nightstand, the evidence that the night before wasn’t a horrible dream confronted him head-on. Leaning against a bottle of pain potion that Madame Pomfrey must have left there for him in case he needed it in the middle of the night was a letter. A letter with the words “I’m sorry,” in Sirius’ surprisingly neat handwriting inked across the front.

He wanted to present, but he couldn’t.

Anger bubbled in Remus’ chest. He wanted to punch something. He wanted to punch Sirius.

That wasn’t a feeling he’d ever had before. Sure, Sirius had done some idiotic things in the past, some of which had unintentionally hurt Remus. But Remus had never been as mad at him about them as he was at that moment. He took a deep breath, unclenched his jaw, and relaxed his shoulders. It was probably just the residual wolf left in him. It was making his emotions go haywire.

He stared at the letter for a long moment before picking it up. Spellotaped to the back of it was a bar of Honeydukes’ Finest Chocolate, something Sirius had been bringing him after every moon since the one he confronted him about his condition. It was one of the fancy bars, too. He set the chocolate on his nightstand, still too angry to eat apology chocolate, and carefully unfolded the letter.

Dear Moony,

I am so, so sorry. Unbelievably sorry. I wish I could be telling you this in person, but Prongs won’t let me go with him to visit you. He says he’ll bring you this letter though, so that’s something. I hope he actually does. He’s pretty pissed off at me. Went off for about an hour at me once we’d gotten back to the dorm after meeting with Dumbledore. Said I didn’t get in nearly enough trouble. Wormy’s mad at me, too, in his own way. Won’t talk to me. And if even HE’S mad at me, then you must be livid.

You have to know, I would never have said anything if I thought it would hurt you. I would never do anything on purpose to hurt you. I guess I wasn’t thinking straight. Or maybe at all. You always say I don’t think things through, huh?

Snivellus was goading me on, I swear. He kept saying these awful things about you, and I just—I snapped. I didn’t think he’d really be daft enough to go through with it. Prongs says that’s not an excuse, and I should have known better. Maybe he’s right.

I’m so sorry. Please forgive me.

Yours,

Padfoot

At the bottom of the letter was a little drawing of two paw prints, like there always was when Sirius wrote letters to Remus. From second-year on, Sirius had always made the joke that they were the dogs of the group. Remus and Sirius. The wolf and the dog star. The little paw prints that he signed his letters with were how Remus had come up with the nickname Padfoot. He had been proud of it. Now it felt too familiar.

—

A little over a week later, Remus woke up—this time in his own bed—to another letter on his nightstand. Remus hadn’t seen Sirius in a week outside of class and mealtime. James said that he’d taken to sleeping in the common room to give Remus space. The part of him that was still angry was glad about that. He didn’t care if Sirius was comfortable or not. But there was also the part of him that still loved and cared about his friend that felt bad for effectively kicking Sirius out of his own room and stealing his friends. Because although Remus hadn’t seen Sirius, he continued to see James and Peter.

The latter part of him won. He reached over to grab the letter and opened it.

Dear Moony Remus,

I’m sorry. I’ve been doing a lot of thinking over the past week while I’ve been giving you space. I haven’t really been able to do anything but think, really. I can’t sleep. I can barely eat. All I’ve been able to do is think about how much I’ve hurt you. I am so, so sorry. I don’t really know how else to say it. I asked for you to forgive me in my last letter, but I know I shouldn’t ask that of you. I probably don’t deserve your forgiveness. What I did was so fucked up. It doesn’t matter if I didn’t mean to hurt you. The fact is that I did. I’m not even sure I can say that I didn’t mean to, because, honestly, I think a part of me knew what would happen and I did it anyway. I think a part of me wanted to see Snivellus Snape hurt.

I’m so sorry. If I could take it back, I would.

Yours,

Padfoot Sirius

P.S. Either one of the other Prefects or one of the house-elves snitched to McGonagall that I was sleeping in the common room, so I have to start sleeping in the dorm again. But I’m going to make sure I’m cleared out before you wake up so you can still have your space.

—

Another week went by before the next letter arrived. By then, Remus was starting to waver in his resolve to freeze Sirius out. Especially after his conversation with Lily about the whole event. He was still hurt, but he wasn’t angry anymore. And he was pretty sure that some of his hurt stemmed from the lack of his best friend orbiting around him. Remus loved James and Peter, but he’d always been closer to Sirius. Sirius, who stayed up with him the night before the full moon when he couldn’t sleep. Sirius, who made him laugh, even in the worst situations. Sirius, who knew exactly how he took his tea and which chocolate brand he liked best.

Remus missed him like crazy. Probably more than he should miss someone who was just a friend. He didn’t want to, because he wasn’t sure exactly what it meant for them in the grand scheme of friendship. But he did. Merlin, he missed him so much. So, when he woke up to another letter on his nightstand, Remus didn’t even hesitate before snatching it up and ripping it open.

I miss you.

I know I don’t have the right to say that, but fuck, I really miss you.

I’m so sorry.

Remus’ hands shook. It was the shortest letter he’d received yet. No greeting, no signature. Just words that made Remus crumble. Scrambling out of bed, he grabbed a self-inking quill and scrawled a quick message on the bottom of the letter. He let the ink dry while he got dressed for class, then before leaving, he left the note on Sirius’s pillow with a bar of Honeydukes’ Finest Chocolate.

I miss you, too.

Yours,

Moony

[scriptaed]

a lion’s gilded tooth 01. (m)

genre: angst; fluff; mature content; soulmates!au; dystopia!au;

characters: jimin x reader x hoseok;

length: 11.7k;

synopsis:  in a secluded village of 500, the concept of soulmates is used as a mere means for survival and reproduction. when classmates mysteriously disappear and the future with your first childhood love is threatened under the hands of fate on mating day, your once peaceful life begins spiraling into chaos. now, the only hope to unveil the truths behind humanity’s purpose lies in the secrets of the village and its magical ruins. 

“Client 151019, please head up to Counter 190525. Again, Client 151019, please head up to Counter 190525.”

The monotonous voice of a familiar female authority echoes incessantly across the vast room—lifeless and desultory, yet at the same time, ever the more daunting. It's a scene every child has witnessed from the lips of their very own mother, the very year in which a child's wildest imaginations crumbled under the confines of the world's creeping ends. The entirety of adolescence spent outside roaming about in the fields, harvesting the appropriate assets for a befitting pair of viable individuals, enduring the lectures of very adult in the village whom had warned you to take Mating Day seriously—none of the eighteen years would ever be enough preparation for anyone to fulfill their sole purpose of fertility. 

The white tiles lining the floor cut by dozens upon dozens of black and red lines of tape running in every which way reflect an unpleasant flood of light from its similarly white-coated ceiling. The stark contrast of the numerous rows of black chairs organized into three sections across the room were impossible to miss in the mostly monochromatic room. You had heard countless rumors from school regarding the haunting cold air of this room, but myths tend to exist on the sole vitality of a teen's fleeting attention span; this time, however, experience has proven you wrong. Three hours of sitting in this room was enough to send you longing for the earthy vibrancy of your rural village—the eye-soothing tones of the grass, the scent of wood freshly dampened by the rain the night before, and the familiar back of his as he frolicked through the meadows with your hand in his.

Please prepare two forms of photo identification and the appropriate documents...

Chills ricochet down your spine and manifest into waves that flood your extremities, where your fingertips fidgeted with the metallic underside of your uniform black seat. The short-lived breath of wind as people bustled about before you in an effort to reach their respective destinations didn't help to cease the growing pain of anxiety mixed with a touch if adrenaline burrowed within your chest. 

...to ensure a quick and easy check-in. Your cooperation is greatly appreciated.

The sole source of sanity keeping you from screaming at the eeriness of the woman’s directions is the remaining constant in the entirety of your livelihood… him. 

When he rests his hands upon yours, the warmth wades you gently through the directionless waves toward reality; and when you lift your gaze to find him grinning at you with that oh-so-familiar soft smile of his, you’re once again left assured, for you know what lies on the other end of tomorrow's testament of fate. 

You’ve always known. 

"Hey, baby, you okay?" his voice cooed as he strokes your head with a prolonged kiss to your temple; with each of his electric touches against your bare skin, the blinding white of the lights disintegrates into reality. 

You blink slowly, once and twice, until the curve of a grin belonging to the longtime beholder of your affections elicits a skip in tempo against your chest; and before you know it, as if ingrained into your very blueprint, your hands lift to cup his dewy cheek as your thumb runs along his plump, bottom lip. The crescents of his eyes thin even more so, weak with endearment under the embrace of his love. 

It’s just as the legends say: the finding of a soulmate is enough to stop even the infinite magnitudes of time itself. 

“What do you mean, Jimin,” you let out a nervous laugh, “I’m fine. It’s just that this room is… sort of sucking the life out of me.” 

The boy frowns when his hand lays over your cold ones on his cheek, “are you sure? I can always grab a permit from Mr. Wang and see Dr. Li with you.”  

“I’m fine, Jimin. Every teacher and nurse in this village will be onto us if you don’t stop overreacting to my every drop in temperature,” your joke incites a pout from him. “Plus, what in the world do I have to be scared of when I have you right here—” 

“—booooo,” an irking voice hollers from the row of chairs across you. The sheepish giggles from Jimin morphs into a series of cackling, his head thrown back and his hands cover his burning cheeks in embarrassment; whereas you, on the other hand, shoot an unapologetic glare at the boy who just shrugs. With arms spread over the empty chairs beside him, one over the shoulder of a girl, who noticeably fails to hide the lift on the corner of her lips, the boy persists in his antics, “I didn’t sign up to watch this lovesick fest, so at least give me some drama! Fight or something!”

“Fight?” you ask rhetorically but his smile only widens along with his eyes. 

“Yeah, slap each other or something! God, do you guys ever fight?” 

“Okay, I don’t know about you and Soyeon, but Jimin and I never fight,” you cross your arms and Jimin wraps an arm over your shoulder, gaze fixated on you with a sweet smile to cheer you on while Hoseok pretends to vomit to the side. “I guess we know which couple is breaking up on Mating Day.” 

The couple before you shifts uncomfortably in the lack of a quick rebuttal, particularly Soyeon, whose glance darts to the floor in shambles, and you begin to wonder if you had taken it too far—that is, until Jung Hoseok opens his big mouth again.

“Tch, not us,” he scoffs, the intense gaze of his challenges you to a silent duel of grit, “because at least we’re not acting all lovey-dovey out in the open. If anything, I’m betting the teachers will split you up before tomorrow morning even arrives—”  

—and you snap.

“Oh, that’s some big talk, especially coming from you,” your hands would have been completely ready for a fight, as was Hoseok, judging by the twitch of his now furrowed brows accompanied by a death glare, but Jimin holds you back with his two arms hugging you back into the seat beside him. 

“Alright, alright, calm down guys. Today’s supposed to be one of the most important days of our lives, let’s not fight, yeah? Why are you two always fighting?” Jimin’s laugh elicits a pressing frown from you and your opponent. The peacemaker simply chuckles again and squishes your cheeks together with one hand, “and Y/N was just joking, right, baby? You didn’t mean to take it that far, yeah?”

The one-sided duel persists as your arms are held tightly against your chest and Hoseok refuses to budge except for turning his attention elsewhere—anything but you. 

“Hm?” Jimin nudges you gently. 

Begrudgingly, you admit to yourself Jimin was right. Attacking Hoseok’s family name was a low blow, but his well-calculated jabs at your future with Jimin made your blood boil. He knew the next two days would be a tremendously precarious time for you two, he knew how you felt about Jimin and your uncertainty, so why would he go out of his way to knock you off your feet during your lowest of lows? Especially when it was such a rarity for him to do so? 

 “Client 151020, please head up to Counter 190715. Again, Client 151020, please head up to Counter 190715.”

“Oh, I guess that’s my turn. Gotta go!” you blurt, evidently relieved by an escape route as you grab your documents and jump to your feet. Just as you pivot on the balls of your feet, a firm hand swiftly whirls you back around until you’re met with a large, orange envelope. 

“You almost forgot this. Could you be any more clumsy?” Jimin hands you the file, head tilted to devote his sole attention at his girl above. His eyes glimmer and lips stretch into a cheeky grin, fully expecting a reward. Without missing a second, you blow him a kiss and he dramatically pretends to collapse to the floor, overwhelmed by your grace. Hoseok groans once again, surprisingly accompanied by Soyeon’s giggle, and you catch sight of Jimin shrugging as you turn your back on them. “Sorry, Hosoek, but you know I’m always on Y/N’s side.” 

The sweet taste of victory manifests in the power of your strides, but alas, all good things must come to an end when you find your dirt-stained, gray shoes bumping into a mahogany podium. Gulping, you take a deep breath and force your eyes to meet those of whom could soon dictate your very future—

“—Y/N!” 

A puff of air escapes the labyrinth of knots within your chest; because to your surprise, an old acquaintance sits before you amidst the waves of nostalgia that submerges you chest-deep. 

“Why if it isn’t—” the jovial color of her voice is abruptly replaced by a split second, perhaps because of the slight discomfort hidden beneath your subconscious or the restrictions of her current profession, “—Y/N, it’s been so long since we’ve last spoken, hasn’t it?” 

You struggle to dedicate your wary gaze on a single subject before finally settling on the woman before you. From your lower angle, neck craning and lips ever-so-slightly quivering, it’s almost as if the clock had been reverted to ten years back. “...yeah, it has been.” 

“How are your parents?” she asks while meddling with your files. 

“They’re doing well,” you mentally scramble to fill the impending silence, “and how are you doing, Ms. Jung?”

“I’ve been…” she pauses, intentionally keeping her hands preoccupied with the shuffling of files, “...alright.”

For being a direct relative of Hoseok’s, his mother is much more composed and you feel obligated to press further. 

“Are you sure? You seem very tired, Ms. Jung. Is there something on your mind?” 

She takes a deep breath and sighs the heaviest of sighs. The mother is evidently troubled by an unspeakable matter for nights, weeks, months on end. Hair short, thin, and gray, the worn condition of her sleepless eyes are kept hidden as she persists in keeping them peeled to your files. “I’ll be fine, darling—” another sigh “—it might be difficult for you to understand at your age, but as big of a day this is for you children, it’s just as nerve-wracking for us parents, if not more.”

“Ah—” a surge of guilt overcomes you for the remark you had made on Hoseok’s accursed family name “—no, I understand, Ms. Jung. I could only imagine how hard it must be to send your child off with someone who might very well be a stranger.” 

You catch the mother biting her tongue in a fruitful attempt to stop the words from flowing; on the contrary and to your disliking, your lips fail to seal the years of burden. 

“I mean, we get married to someone we might not even know, then we’re expected to suddenly start a family of our own, and we don’t—actually, no one—has a say in what the future holds for us all because of this thing we call fate… sometimes I don’t understand who, why, or how this system was even made. How does it help any of us?”

The mother redirects her attention from the paper and onto the child before her, clearly taken aback by their anxious state of mind, for she had never witnessed the child delve into adult matters. 

Your vague silhouette reflects in her widened orbs and you begin to wonder: maybe, just maybe, somewhere hidden deep, buried and shunned, lies your greatest fears of tomorrow. 

“Well, it wouldn’t be a complete stranger,” the mother reassumes her spot in the committee. “You children know every other child there is on this land. In the worst case scenario, which, mind you, could never possibly arise, your mate would be a classmate you’ve exchanged glances with but never spoken to. Nothing a bit of conversation can’t fix. If fate says it’s meant to be, then it’s meant to be.

You gulp the impending wail in the back of your throat and force yourself to look her directly in the eye, “and… how does fate know it’s meant to be? Why don’t I, the bearer of my very own flesh and being, not have a say in my soulmate? I know who I love, I know who loves me—” 

“—sh,” the woman harshly cuts you off, leaning forward to whisper a warning in the form of a matter of fact, “trust the system.” 

At surface level, her eyes are devoid of empathy akin to the cold rules of the system, but the glimmers of her wavering gaze reminds you of the mother who fears for the future of her child. Powerless against the hands of destiny, you remain silent. 

“I’m required by protocol to ask this of you,” the mother clears her throat as she gathers the piles of papers, “have you engaged in any form of the following activities?”

Handholding? 

“No.” 

You deny having grazed the soft skin of his hand for the first time in the meadows, concealed by the golden tall grass, far and away from the intrusive eyes of others. The callus which had just begun developing on his palms as a helper of the harvesting season, the first sign of maturation, still burns vividly in your memories. 

Skinship?

“No.”

The radiance of the sun had never shone so brightly before; his hair glowed of light brown, nearly blond, the dewiness of his skin reflected the gift of God, and when he whirled around with his hands clenched firmly around yours and a smile plastered across his lips…? You had never believed in celestial beings, but if you had to on that very day, Jimin would have been the closest to an angel. 

Relationships?

It takes you more than a second to respond, because how could someone ever deny the existence of feelings as fervent and real as this? Everything blazed of gold that day, his hair, his eyes, his smile, his very being, your heart, and you’re determined to protect them. This memory belonged to you and him only. No one could strip you of this right, not even destiny. 

“No.”

Ms. Jung watches you for an uncomfortable second of a pause before nodding her head. She proceeds to pour a string of melted red wax onto your envelope as a seal of approval until, suddenly yet calmly, she catches sight of her son striding across the room from the corner of her eyes. “How’s Hoseok doing?”

“Hoseok?” you almost choke at the mention of his name, a stark contrast to the composed mother across from you. “Uh, I mean, he’s doing fine. I think. Yeah, he’s outscoring everyone in class if that says anything.”

“I know that, I’m his mother,” she laughs. “What I don’t know, however, is his life outside of home and work. His friends, hobbies, and… interests, things like that. You, Jimin, and Hoseok used to be so close. Where did all that time go? It's hard to believe you three are all grown up and ready to be wedded. Sometimes, I wish things could’ve stayed like that.” 

“...yeah,” you utter under your breath, “I wished so, too.”

The mother sighs in fondness over the decades that had flown by in the blink of an eye. “I remember when I was 18. Mating Day was all the girls ever fussed about back then. We’d make bets on who ended up with who and some daredevils even vied to be paired with our crushes… is it still like that for you girls?”

“Um,” you pause, wondering if anything you say would be used against you before proceeding with caution, “I… don’t think so. At least I don’t.”

“Really?” she frowns. “Well, that’s good. I would advise you all not to let your hopes get the best of you. Sometimes, things end up for the best even if it doesn’t seem so at the forefront. I guess that’s why they instilled this system in the first place. If humans can’t find their soulmates, maybe magic is our only option. Perhaps marriages never worked out before our age.”

“You think so?”

“We could only make our best predictions all day and still end up with an indefinite answer,” her sighs come to an abrupt stop along with the shuffling of your papers, “and… do you know if Hoseok…?”

Oh, she must not be aware of Soyeon. Contrary to the tightly knit bond he had seemingly bore, Hoseok has refrained from introducing his one living parent to the lady of his future. Understandably, his mother’s spot in the Committee could play a role in his decision, but it still struck you as odd.

Three clients down the line, you manage to spot his head as he hands his own envelope to the staff before him. Peculiar that you had never noticed it until now, but from your angle, Hoseok appears much more capable of an individual than you had previously presumed. Perhaps it’s that taller stature and unwavering gaze of his, but he almost resembled a boy undergoing the coming of age. 

The whole world has only just begun crashing down on you, a child still unfit for the harsh realities of the many years to come; but for Hoseok, that stern demeanor of his, determination ablaze in his orbs and shoulders ready to uphold the burdens of the future, bellows a silent warcry against any adversity who dares to pose a threat. 

The boy presses on, eyes glued to the task before him, but something in you knows he was more than aware of your gaze. Truthfully, you don't mind his disregard for your states—in fact, you would rather keep it this way—but how peculiar is it that a mere human being could hear the unspoken motives of another? If someone were to ask you how you could be so sure of his disregard, you would have no proof but an instinctive feeling backed by baseless confidence and an intangible connection. 

Conclusively, you hate to admit it, but he’s undeniably more capable than any boy or girl under this roof. 

“He’ll be okay, Ms. Jung,” your hands instinctively reach out for hers before you could stop yourself; nevertheless, the pressed upturn of your lips makes its best effort to comfort the mother of a childhood friend. “He’ll get through whatever life has in store for him. I promise.”

“Ay…” she drawls, retracting her hands to quickly wipe the premature waterworks from her cheeks, “what am I worrying about? Tomorrow will be a new beginning for you children, I couldn’t be happier.”

“Right,” you force yourself to nod with a grin.

“Here are your files,” the mother returns the envelope over the counter. “The initiation will begin at dawn, so be in bed and asleep by midnight. When you awaken, that’s when the initiation officially begins. The terrain will resemble the village exactly, it’s like lucid dreaming. Instead of waking in your bedroom, however, your new location is decided by the system. The rules are as follows… One, you are free to roam. Two, violence is prohibited. Three, self harm is prohibited. Four, the first individual of the opposite sex you come across is officially your mate. Five, soulmates can not be traded or switched under any circumstances. Failure to participate and violations to any of the preceding rules will result in dire consequences. Any questions?”

How dire could the consequences be? 

If it weren’t for the stress of her words and the haunting cases of missing classmates over the years keeping your mouth shut, curiosity would have gotten the best of you today. 

“No, I understand. Do I need to sign anything?”

“No, the system only requires an oral obligation for the accountability of your actions,” the mother takes a deep breath and draws out a heavy sigh. For the first time since that fateful day buried deep in your recollections, Ms. Jung looks you eye-to-eye with utmost sincerity—one adulterated by sorrow. “I wish you nothing but happiness for the future.”

“Thank you, Ms. Jung.” 

You’re only able to mumble your last words, for the buildup of tension drained you of vitality as you gather your belongings and make a strong, right turn toward the direction you came from. Quickly, you realize Hoseok had already finished checking in and gathered with Soyeon and Jimin from across the room. Soyeon keeps her head low, the platinum blond strands of hair providing curtains over her shifty eyes. On the other hand, the two boys watch intently as you approach them, one beaming with glee at the exuding confidence of his beloved and the other arching a brow at you in curiosity rather than concern. 

“What took you so long?” 

“Tch,” you click your tongue, “I take back everything positive I ever thought about you. I was talking to your mom, dumbass.”

“You? Positive? About me?” he clarifies grotesquely. “Good, I’d rather you take it back.”

“It’s fine by me no matter how long you take,” Jimin sing-songs, cheerfully embracing you and rocking you side to side but your eyes never ceases to shoot death glares at Hoseok. “As long as I have my baby back!”

“Why are you even here still?” you point at the boy accusedly. 

“Actually,” he wraps an arm around Soyeon’s shoulder and she nearly jumped in surprise. “I wanted you to bring Soyeon along with you to the graduation ceremony.”

“Wait, why? I mean, I don’t mind, but why doesn’t she just go with you?”

Hoseok snorts, “are you dumb?”

Jimin hugs you even tighter and bursts into giggles when he notices you preparing to pounce at your enemy with fists raised, “we still have to change into our caps and gowns, remember?” 

“So what? They’re dating, they can change together!”

The reactions that follow greatly vary as Soyeon’s cheeks turn beet red, Jimin’s cackles increases in volume, and Hoseok only scoffs. 

“And?” he crosses his arms, tilting his chin as if to point at Jimin. “Have you ever seen Jimin naked?” 

“Well, I mean, no,” you gape at his promiscuous remark. The smirk of victory plastered across his lips nearly gets your blood boiling as you huff in defeat and Jimin begins laughing so hard he has to nuzzle his head against your temple. “Fine, you win. Soyeon would have a much better time with me anyways, right?” 

“Huh?” her eyes pop and she barely utters under her breath. “...I don’t know.” 

This time, Hoseok joins Jimin in his fit of laughter and you’ve finally had enough. With a punch to Jimin’s arm, you retract yourself from his embrace, “you having fun laughing, huh?”

“I… I didn’t mean it that way!” Soyeon’s clutch to your arm surprises you. 

“It’s fine,” you grumble, finally managing to break free from Jimin’s bear hug. “C’mon, Soyeon, let’s go.”

“Nooo, baby, I’m sorry!” Jimin tries his best at apologizing, tumbling over his incessant giggles. He taps at his cheek like a puppy looking for a prize, “at least give me a kiss before you go, hm? Please?”

Instead of succumbing to his desperate albeit adorable pleas, you answer with the link of Soyeon’s arms and marching off into the distance toward the doors. While you were determined to storm off without a glance back over your shoulder, Soyeon’s muffled giggles piques your interest. 

“Nooo,” Jimin cries, hands dramatically reaching out toward you, “Y/N! Don’t leave me with him!” 

“Him? It’s not like I want to be with you either,” Hoseok emphasizes, holding Jimin back and scolding, “quit it unless you want to get in trouble.”

“I’m sorry for being a bother… you really don’t have to accompany me,” Soyeon says ever-so-softly. “It’s just that I’ve always spent my breaks with Hoseok and I don’t really know any of our classmates…”

“Oh, it’s totally fine. I spend most of my time with Jimin, too,” you assure her with a light tug at your left arm which linked with hers, “just to set the record straight, I’m at war with Hoseok, not you. Although, you could have pretended to side with me for just a second—”

“—oh! I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to embarrass you…” she dips her head along with her voice. “The words just slipped before I knew it…”

“It’s okay! I was just joking!” you laugh nervously at her sudden timidness. How does someone as gentle and pristine as Soyeon handle someone like the rash and blunt Hoseok? If Soyeon was the lamb taming the lion Hoseok, then what would you and Jimin resemble? Unbeknownst to you, it would be a question left unanswered for the endless years to come. “You two do make a great couple, though.”

It’s the first time you hear Soyeon laugh so gleefully and something in you just knows the next two days would surely be a first of many. 

The next of firsts arrives much earlier than you had unexpected and unpleasantly so. Previously, you had the false presumption of having made acquaintances of your every classmate, but when you skim around the classroom and fail to identify the explicit reasoning behind an inkling of uneasiness, you begin to doubt yourself. 

What were their names? What did they look like? Where did they sit? 

The shroud of questions only elevates the discomfort of having all the answers on the tip of your tongue yet arriving to none. 

Today marks the first time a classmate of yours fell victim to one of the many missing cases. 

“Well,” a man clears his throat and the booming, gruff voice of his snaps you back to reality. 

The stout homeroom teacher paces in front of the green chalkboard but your eyes remain peeled to the opposite side of the classroom, where you suspect your missing classmates must have had resided. On your immediate right, Hoseok shoots you a quick glimpse, brows furrowed for a split second before redirecting to the front of the classroom. Jimin, to the left of empty spots where two desks would have fit so perfectly, blows you a kiss along with a cheeky grin, crescent eyes beaming with a transient joy that warms your heart. 

“Today will be your last day in this classroom. Some of you never paid attention—” he directs a stern look at Jimin, who scrunches his shoulder and slumps into his chair in preparation for a disciplinary lecture that never comes “—some of you slept through class and still passed with flying colors—” this time it’s your turn to duck “—and some, well, one of you were the best model student I could have asked for—” Hoseok is shot with fourteen pairs of death glares but he remains neither content nor bothered “—nonetheless, you all made it.”

Maybe it’s the monumental step you’re all about to take, or maybe it’s the tears welling up in the figure of admiration you all had held at some point along the past fifteen years, but the air remains deafeningly silent, as if in a vain attempt to hold back the impending sobs. Everyone knows one another in this classroom, their stupid habits, fleeting hobbies, fervent crushes, and so, for the last time ever, everyone’s eyes remains on the graying elder pacing between the rows of desks. 

“I’ve had the pleasure of teaching you rascals, every single one of you. I’ve watched you all grow from the little kids that you were into the wonderful men and women you are today,” he removes his square-framed glasses to rub the waterworks off his cheeks and his words become incomprehensible by the chokes that ensue, “and I hope that when y-you… h-have children, you’ll b-bring them to m-me, a-and—”

“—booooo,” everyone stares at the boy who had hollered, taken aback for a split second before bursting into laughter; even Mr. Wang begins choking on his laughs intermixed with jovial sobs, and you can finally confirm your long-held suspicion Jay had his own silver linings as a troublemaker. The boy’s lopsided grin is accompanied by snickers, “how long are you going to lecture us, Mr. Wang? I thought you said this would be our last!” 

“Alright, alright,” the teacher lets out one last chuckle before gesturing to the boy beside you, “well, then, would you do the honors for the last time, student representative?”

The boy nods, pushing his seat back effortlessly and standing to his feet with one swift, confident sway. His gaze remains fixated neither on the teacher nor the classmates, rather, his laser-like attention devotes itself to a far more intangible phenomenon invisible to anyone but him—and it could have just been you or the entire class, but you’re incapable of looking away. 

“Everyone, stand,” Hoseok orders and everyone obeys with a loud screeching of chairs. “Ready and bow.”

In a fleeting moment of unity, the students bow in respect for the retirement of the past caretaker and in the face of the daunting future. 

“Thank you, Mr. Wang!”

“You kids are really going to make me cry,” he shakes his head yet the grin sits proudly on his face, “you are all officially dismiss—”

—the words just barely escape his lips when the class erupts into a roar. Classmates dart for the front of the class, pushing you along into the mass of students. You’re forced to follow the lead of the swarm when, suddenly, the teacher is thrown into the air and brought out into the hallway, intentionally joining forces with the neighboring classrooms. Despite being squished, pushed, and pulled in a mob of barbaric students, you can’t help but break out into an uncontrollable fit of laughter; and all the while, Jimin is the only one on your mind. 

“Jimin! Where are you?” you call out to him and turn gleefully when someone taps you on your left shoulder. To your surprise, you spot an unexpected face of a bellowing classmate; and amidst the chaotic confusion, a familiar pair of lips plants a firm kiss to your right cheek. 

It goes without saying, your heart swells into an immediate mush and you can’t help but laugh.

“Right here, princess,” Jimin links his arm around yours, nose wrinkling in the company of his cheeky grin. “I finally got my kiss.”

You shake your head, “but I didn’t kiss you.”

“No, but I kissed you and that’s even better,” he coos. 

“That’s not playing by the rules, though.” 

“No? Then I guess you can punish me… with five more kisses!”

You can barely respond amidst your giggles, “how is that a punishment?”

“You’re right, what could possibly be better than my kisses?” he pouts, fluttering his eyelids to feign innocence. 

Hastily scanning the hall for the peering eyes of teachers, all of whom are too preoccupied with being thrown into the air, you intertwine your fingers with his. “Actually, you know, I am kind of disappointed that none of the teachers know about us…”

“Aw, baby, I would want the whooole world to know if I could,” Jimin sulks, “but we’ll have to wait until tomorrow, so five kisses for now would be easier!”

The corners of your lips stretch even wider and you could even feel your cheeks growing sorer by the second when you crane your neck back to avoid Jimin’s oncoming puckered lips.

“—hey Y/N, if that man doesn’t stop disrespecting you,” the both of you glance wide-eyed at Jay, who follows along at the side of the swarming crowd. A sharp gasp inflates your lungs when the boy winks, clearly neglecting Jimin’s scowl, “you know who to get. Match with me tomorrow?”

“What?!” Jimin’s shouts of fury are buried by the cheers of the crowd. Jay only shrugs nonchalantly, preparing for a sprint down the hall when Jimin raises his fists. “I’m not disrespecting my baby! She enjoys my kisses!”

“Whatever helps you sleep at night—”

“—quit interrupting our banters!” 

...and just like that, the boys disappear into the distance, one giving chase and the other snickering tauntingly. 

Shaking your head, you could only roll your eyes at what had just played out before you. The euphoric adoration for Jimin had been enough to numb the pain of being shuffled around mercilessly in the crowd, but it doesn’t take long until your body comes to acknowledge its toll. 

“Alright, quit it! I’m out!” you try to maneuver your way out, yet to no one’s surprise, the flashmob misconstrues your pleas as a cheer to fight on. Groaning as loudly as you could, you yell, “stop pushing—”

“—get out of the way if you can’t handle it, then,” the familiar husk of a voice irks your ears when a firm pair of hands settles on your shoulders and moves you to the outside of the crowd. Peering up at the boy, you grimace at his backhanded gesture of an aid. Hoseok ignores your glare with a question, “did you see Soyeon anywhere?”

“I don’t know. I’m in the same class as you, dumbass.” 

“Whoa, okay, calm down tiger, just asking,” Hoseok throws his hands up in defeat. 

In the midst of rolling your eyes, you spot Jimin at the opposite end of the hall. Completely devoted to showing Jay a piece of his mind, Jimin proceeds to slap the boy, who ducks from his attacks, along with several jabs to his bottom with a knee. Eyes diverting to the more proximal boy whom you could catch staring at you from your peripheral vision, you quirk a brow at Hoseok’s snide, lopsided grin. 

“What?”

“Nothing,” an impertinent chortle follows, “I’m just trying to stop myself from puking after witnessing just how smitten you are.”

“I swear, you’re going to be the death of me someday,” you raise a threatening hand but Hoseok’s gaze remains fixated on you, hands buried in his pockets, and stance unbudged. 

You hadn’t noticed until now, when that devilish smirk of his gradually shifts to a genuine symbol of bliss more resembling to the childhood friend you had once known, you finally realize the fortunate spot you had taken amidst the crowd. While you suffer little to no impact, Hoseok's widened stance jostled, arms constantly bumped into and legs nearly tripped under the endless stream of incoming passersby. 

"Yeah?" he arches a brow. "You look awfully happy to me right now."

"Of course," you quickly add, "because of Jimin."

"Why?" his smile grows wider. "Because after today you'll finally be allowed to kiss your boyfriend in public?" 

The sheepish chortle that slips from your lips is enough of an answer.

"Well," Hoseok chuckles, the burning gaze of his still fixated on you, "I'm glad at least one of us is happy."

"What?" you frown. "Are you not?"

The boy refrains from answering, or perhaps he did, for he simply presses a thin, small upturn of a smile at you and takes a step to the side. Your body nearly collapses to the floor when several students forcefully weave their way in between the two of you. 

There it is, again, your sheer, utter confidence of his indifference toward the look of concern plastered all over your face as he redirects his attention to the teachers being flying into the air; but before you could inquire any further, an arm links with your right elbow and tugs you to the back and away from the crowd. 

"Jimin?"

"C'mon," he has to cup a hand over your ears, lips grazing against your burning red ears. "I have something to show you."

"Wait, but our celebration—"

"Would you rather waste your time in this chaos or spend your time alone with me?" 

The beat of a heart is all it takes for you to squeeze his hand in agreement and his to squeeze yours.

"Ahh, how lucky am I to have someone as cute as you," he gushes and you can't help the rush of blood that rushes to your cheeks, "I always knew we were meant to be."

The words didn't need to be said, for your silence is enough of a declaration to the universe. 

I did too.

…and so, the Prince whisks you away into a land only fathomable in the reminiscence of a dream.

At a brief, magical fragment in time, when the cheers fade into the distance of the past and the hollers become a facade of the present as they remain ringing in your ears, golden hour strikes.

You could tell from the way the Sun screams into the skies—loud, red, ethereal. 

You could tell from the way the meadow is set ablaze into a treasure chest of gold. 

You could tell from the way the zephyrs brushes gently past two pairs of shoulders and trails along the field akin to the blue waves in the aftermath of a calamity. 

You could tell from the way he breaths, slow, soft, and cautious to prolong the delicacy of this moment in time, from the way he keeps his gaze fixated on one too abashed to reciprocate, in fondness and complete awe, from the way neither of you spoke yet proclamations of affection deafen the gray silence. 

This undeniable connection could never be put into words. 

“I guess this is our last time in the school yard, huh?” you speak, finally mustering the courage to meet his tender gaze. The smile dancing on those pressed lips of his only widens in response. “You know, we’ve watched the sun set here together so many times, but I don’t think it’s ever looked this beautiful.”

“Mm…” Jimin hums. “Maybe the sun is celebrating with us today?”

“Celebrating?”

“Yeah—” he lets in a small gasp and points to your left “—what’s going on over there?!”

“What?” your neck turns so abruptly that you could almost feel a strain coming on. “What’s going on?”

In a magical spur of the moment, a gust of wind passes by as it rustles the meadow and trees beneath its wing span. The breeze serves as a perfect cover-up for the boy who lets out a muffled huff while the wooden bench dips and his foot stomps to stir the dirt beneath. 

“Jimin, I literally don’t see anything,” you squint one last time off into the distance of the empty meadow before whirling back around only to stumble upon another one of his antics.

There, sitting still and basking in the warmth of the sun flooring upon his cheeks and yours, Jimin grins cheekily with a bouquet of white flowers. 

“—tada!” he sings, handing you the arrangement. “Congratulations, Y/N.” 

“Wha—but for what?” you hold the flowers close to your chest, still agape by the surprise. 

“For graduating.”

“But you graduated, too…?”

“...and for your birthday,” he continues. 

“My… birthday…” you narrow your eyes at him, “is next week… did you already forget?” 

“I know, I know,” Jimin laughs, smile wider than ever until he settles into the whispers of the ephemeral breeze. He watches you tenderly. “How would I ever forget my baby’s birthday?” 

You struggle to speak as he pinches your cheeks, “then why are you handing me this now?”

“Mm…” the grin remains even as he presses his lips, eyes gazing off to the skies before returning to you, “because this is more romantic and now you’re ruining it!” 

“Ah…”

“What? You don’t want it? Fine, I like flowers too, you know,” Jimin attempts to retract the flowers from you in a fit of laughter but your bear hug to his arm prevents him from doing so. 

“Nope, too late, they’re mine,” your head rests comfortably in the crook of his neck, “and just so you know, I don’t need presents anymore. You’re the best one I could ever ask for.” The boy only chuckles softly, head turning to place a firm kiss to your head. His hand weaves through your locks of hair as he patted the back of your head gently before wrapping an arm over your shoulder to pull you in tighter. “Hey, do you remember the first time you ever gave me a flower? And I say a flower because it was literally one flower.”

Jimin erupts into cackles and you smile just knowing the sheepish look on his face right now as he throws his head back in embarrassment. “You mean the first time I ever broke the law and stole something from work just to officially ask you out four years ago?” 

“Yep,”  you join him in his laughter, “didn’t we meet back here, too?”

“Mhm.”

“Would you count that as our first date, then?” you ponder.

“Maybe,” he pauses and chortles, “but I like to think that Hoseok was just third-wheeling on our dates before high school.”

A transient set of laughter ensues before the two of you bask in the silence, vicariously reminiscing over the memories of the other. 

It had never been easier to leap through time.

“So this is it, huh? Our last day together as students.”

“Soon we’ll be married and having kids of our own,” he turns to place another kiss to your forehead. 

“Do you… feel like you’re ready?” 

“Well, we just finished school and now we’re suddenly expected to become full-fledged adults, not to mention parents. It’s a bit overwhelming,” he sighs but you could feel the rise of his cheeks pressed against your head as he smiles, “but I’m ready for anything as long as I’m with you.”

“Oh, what’s this? Jimin is actually being serious for once? As much as I enjoyed it, I have to say you were awfully needy today.”

His nose scrunches at your teases when a mischievous grin replaces his discontent. 

“Then can I have my kiss now?”

“You already have! At least three times by now,” you stress.

“Ay,” Jimin bashfully laughs with eyes fixated on your lips longingly, “you know what I mean!” 

An innate reflex of self mechanism brings your hands to your prized possession but the flush of beet red on your cheeks gives you away. “You can tomorrow.” 

His laughs become a homogeneous mix of nerves and frustration, “why tomorrow? I want to kiss you nooow.”

Why tomorrow? He’s right. Why tomorrow and does it have anything to do with the burning anxiety that gnaws at your chest, constricting your airway and highlighting the fear of this very moment’s transience in that when you awaken tomorrow morning, he could and would no longer remain by your side?

Hastily, you nuzzle your head into his shoulder once again in a fruitless attempt to mask your greatest nightmares. You point to the tall, sturdy oak tree that had aged like fine wine throughout your childhood years, “think about it, we’ll meet out there in the fields where we first met, where we fell in love for the first time, and we’ll meet out there again in our dreams, have our first kiss, and start our future together all under the very same tree.”

His silence has your heart dangling at the edge of a cliff and you lift your head to find him gazing off into fields, perhaps sulking or reminiscing but most definitely riddled with deep thoughts. 

“Yeah, Jimin?” you gently shake his arm. “Let’s meet over there tonight. It doesn’t matter where and when we start initiation. We can wait for each other. Yeah?”

“But we don’t need to do that.” the corner of his lips curve ever-so-slightly as he finally gives you a soft smile. “The system functions on the basis of soulmates. Who could be a better match than us two?”

“I know, but… but what if it doesn’t work?”

“It’s always worked, Y/N. How has our village survived and repopulated for all these years?”

“I know,” you emphasize, brows furrowing at the orchestration of pain hammering against your chest with each beat. “I know, Jimin, but does the system really always work? I mean—” you scramble to gather the thoughts that stings within your bloodstream “—did you not notice how two of our classmates are missing? It’s terrible, I can’t even remember their names but I could have sworn I knew them, and even if I don’t know who they were, the memories  of when we talked and when we laughed, they’re all gone and no one seems to notice!”

“Y/N…?” Jimin lets out a nervous laugh. “What’re you going on about…?”

“You don’t remember, do you?” The myriad of incessant, sleepless nights come crashing down on you all at once. “The missing numbers in our village, the abandoned houses made out to be new infrastructure, no one questions it and I’m starting to wonder if I really am going crazy—”

“—Y/N,” his apathetic tone adorns the stoic look on his face and he meets the wavering gaze of yours straight on, “I don’t know what’s been going on recently, but it will be okay. It will work. Questioning things is useless, it���ll just bring you more stress. Try not to worry for me, even if someday for whatever reason I’m not there to remind you to, please don’t ever carry the burden all by yourself okay?” 

 “Fine, but just,” you struggle to take a calm, deep breath of air amidst the wavering waves that escapes, “just promise me this once, okay Jimin?”

“It’ll be ok—”

“—Jimin!” 

The both of you are taken aback by your cry and you’re riddled with regret at the sight of unforgivable guilt plastered on his now softened features. 

“Okay,” he utters under his breath, squeezing your hand, “I promise.”

Are you truly descending into madness? Or is this a momentary shock from the overwhelming fear of the unknown? The mysteries of the village and the horrid consequences of the system could have been conjured from the nightmares amassed throughout the months leading up to tonight, but lit in the darkness of uncertainty, the warmth of Jimin’s hands, beckoning for you to come forth, is enough of a reason to forget, even if just momentarily. 

“Plus,” Jimin breaks the stillness of the air with a chuckle, “the only person we should be worrying about is Hoseok.” 

“Oh—” the thought had completely been overlooked “—you’re right. If the system truly works, then why is it that the Jung’s always have the worst luck of the draw?” 

“I… don’t know. There isn’t anything we can do about it and I’ve always hated how I’d spend hours and hours just wondering what I could do, but I don’t know.” 

The sun draws its color from the skies with it, leaving traces of its wake along the impending night soon to befall upon it, and all you could do was watch.

“It’s scary,” you hug Jimin’s arms closer to your chest and he glances at you in utter awe, “to be a mere child and have everyone warning you about who you meet and who you play with and how you could very well meet the catalyst of your own death simply because of the blood you’re born with.”

“Aww, is my baby actually concerned for Hoseok?” Jimin cackles at your scowl. “Well, everyone knows about the curse of being married into the Jungs, but that doesn’t seem to stop girls from fawning over him, does it? He is smart after all… and tall…”

“What,” this time it’s your turn to tease, “are you jealous?”

“Nope!” he nuzzles his head against yours. “I don’t care how many girls like me because I only have eyes for you.”

“Right, right,” your laughs are whisked away by a breeze. “Who knows? Maybe Hoseok might even end up with Soyeon. I hate to admit it, but they’re a pretty good match. I can tell she really loves him. I don’t know about Soyeon, but she must be his soulmate. Hah, wouldn’t he just love that?” 

“You think so? I have a feeling he’ll be okay,” Jimin hums passively but when you glimpse at him, his eyes scream ‘I will save you.’ 

A pause ensues.

“You know, as much as I dislike that boy and regardless of how long it’s been since we hung out six years ago, he’s still our friend. To be honest, a part of me doesn’t want tomorrow to ever come. Things are perfect the way they are now. We’re together and Hoseok is fine and happy with Soyeon. I feel bad for using his name against him today.”

“It’s okay, Y/N. We all make mistakes. I’m sure he won’t hold it against you. I don’t know how but we’ll save him if it ever comes down to it, right, Y/N?” he smiles softly when you nod timidly. “Most importantly, don’t be scared of tomorrow. We’ll get through whatever life throws at us together, okay?”   

“Okay.” 

“So…” Jimin utters under his breath, low, raspy, nearly inaudible, but you could sense the oncoming cheekiness of his. “Can I kiss you now?”

“I said tomorrow!”

Your attempts to avoid his watchful gaze prove to be in vain when heat flushes your skin and you catch Jimin grinning in amusement from the corner of your eyes. 

Heartstrings are tugged—plucked, even—as he leans in to place his lips against your right cheek. He waits, prolonging the momentary freeze in time, before finally pulling away and squeezing your hand. 

“Come on, let’s go. It’s getting dark now.”

Despite his beckoning, the boy allows you to take the lead home. Your hand remains snug in his, guiding him forward with small, reluctant strides until he finally comes to a stop. The world spins as you’re whirled around by a tug at the hand and you find yourself stranded in the middle of a field in the arms of your love. 

“Jimin?”

Your words fall upon deaf ears, for the stern, intent look of his eyes that stirs your beating chest and the butterflies in your stomach. 

“Can I kiss you?”  

His hands trail up your arms, grazing your skin along the way, until they cup each of your cheeks. Gradually, ever so slowly, he approaches, watching your every motion. He held you, firmly yet gently, and you just know he could see through your every emotion, from the electricity that runs to your extremities to the flip of your heart that waits in anticipation with each inch of his encroachment; for just before your eyes flutter closed, you spot the curve dancing in the corner of his lips. 

Finally, he closes the remaining distance.

Time comes to a halt.

His flesh is soft, warm, and dewy against yours. He caresses you softly, as if fearful of breaking his most prized delicacy in his very own hands. 

Tender and with love, you share your last firsts of today; but when you pull away, his hands stop yours from leaving the nape of his neck.

“Again.”

...and again, and again.

Having completed its grand finale, the sun sets and reluctantly so.

The magnitude of the challenge that comes with tonight finally dawns upon you. 

You could still feel the reminiscence of his touch on your lips as you lay on your bed, too stirred to fall asleep. Staring at the ceiling above, you shut your eyes and bask in the rarity of complete silence within your now empty household. 

You have two options. One, you knock yourself out into sleep now and get this initiation over with. Two, you sneak out of the house, risk being caught, possibly miss the start of initiation, and tire yourself out into sleep.

As with every Mating Day, every parent should be gathered in the headquarters of the village where you had checked in earlier today, so you figured no one should be roaming outside. Even if there were to be unexpected spectators, stealth came second to your innate senses, for you had snuck out to meet Jimin in his house or the schoolyard countless times before. 

In reality, there isn’t anything but answers that could halt these restless thoughts of yours. Jimin’s adamant trust in the system, his reluctance to meet with you, and the missing classmates that had gone under the radar strike you with concern on the most important of nights. You needed assurance from another perspective; and so, you find yourself creeping along the plain fields, the absence of tall grass keeping you completely out in the open where, fortunately, only the moon bore witness to your rendezvous.

“What’re you doing?”

The sound of his voice incites goosebumps on your arms along with the chilly, still air of the night.

“What took you so long? I’m freezing out here,” you glare at the boy who stands at his doorside; the moonlight illuminates the thick locks of his chestnut locks, fresh out of a shower, and you catch a golden reflection of light glowing from somewhere within his house.

“Who told you to come here?” Hoseok scoffs. “Never mind freezing, what if you’re caught sneaking around with that dumb stance of yours?” 

It takes you a long second to realize what he was referring to. Straightening your back and dropping your hands to your side, you cough in a failed attempt to clear the air. 

“And what about you? You’re not supposed to be opening doors for strangers, for anyone, actually, tonight.” 

Hoseok quirks a brow at your rebuttal, chuckling lowly and adorning a lopsided curve of the lips. “Fine, you win. Come in before anyone catches you and you’re really left for dead.” 

“Wow, are you really that freaked out by tonight because the Hoseok I know would never give up so easily.” The boy only shrugs mischievously, stepping aside as you step foot into his household. “Welp, fine by me—”

—but your words are cut short when wind is knocked from your lungs and you feel a pair of hands on your shoulders, whirling and pushing you around against the closed door. In the blink of an eye, you find yourself in a familiar household of your childhood with an unfamiliar boy hovering above you with darkened eyes. 

“And you’re not supposed to be entering stranger’s houses tonight, huh? What do you think about that, Y/N?” he cocks his head. 

“You’re,” you huff, struggling to hold your breath in the proximity of his face to yours, “you’re not a stranger.”

“Oh but I am.”

“We might have stopped talking a long time ago—” the way you stumble nervously over your own words reminds you of just how long it’s been since you had been alone with Hoseok “—but I still know you. It’s not like you’re a stranger all of a sudden.”

“Yeah?” he raises a brow, finally dropping the hand that had hovered over you next to where he pinned you onto the wall. He takes a step back, crosses his arms against his chest, and cocks his head to the right. Following his gesture, your sights land on two flowers perched on a shelf, one with gilded petals that reflect the golden glow of the display lights and another with similar petals that seem to have just begun withering. “What’re those called then?”

“What does that have anything to do with this?” you frown when he remains unbudged, waiting for your answer. “Uh… I haven’t seen anything like that in our textbooks.”

“Then you don’t know me,” he leans against the back of a couch in the living room, “and I thought you were ranked second in our school.” 

“It’s a flower in your living room,” you groan when he refuses to see any insight to your argument. “Alright, what’s it called then, Student Representative?” 

“A dandelion.”

“A what?”

“A dandelion,” he chortles, eyes diverting to the display as it glows a vibrant gold. “Some people call it a Lion’s Tooth because of its petals, but when it wilts into a white puff of seeds, something as weak as even the breeze can destroy it like the lion it never was. Pretty neat, huh?”

“Nerd,” you scoff. “Plus, doesn’t the wind disperse the seeds so it can repopulate in other areas?”

“Nerd,” he mocks, returning his attention to you with a crooked grin. “So? Why’re you desperate enough to spend time alone with me and not Jimin?”

“Is your mom home?”

“Would I have let you in if she was?” Hoseok deadpans. “She’s not exempt from the rules. She’s at headquarters with the rest of the parents.”

“Good, because I have something… serious to ask you about.”

Hoseok raises both brows inquisitively, seemingly taken aback by someone whom had never sought aid from him before. “All ears.”

“Did you happen to…” you beat around the bush in consideration for the promise you made with Jimin.

“Would you spit it out already—”

“—did you happen to notice two of our classmates missing today?”

Eyes shut and heart pounding, Hoseok’s silence is deafening. 

“...three.”

“Huh?” your eyes snap open and you find him looking off to the side.

“Three rows of desks,” he continues, the stoic gaze of his meeting yours, “none of them were missing. In other words, no.”

Ironically, the sunken weight in chest tells you something in his observation had disappointed you; but what do you have to be disappointed over? Jimin was right, you had nothing to worry about. The excessive stress is starting to get the best of you through these imaginary classmates of yours. 

“Oh, haha…” you force a nervous laughter, scratching your neck in the loss of a purpose. “I guess I really am going crazy then…”

Hoseok only watches you, arms crossed and gaze hardened, each one of you wondering just what was going on in the mind of the other.

“Did you come here just to ask me that?” Hoseok finally breaks the silence. “Why didn’t you ask Jimin?”

Should you tell him about the conversation? Would it be odd to confide in a long lost friend over your love conundrums? Instead of answering, you cross arms in defense. 

“What? Is this your first fight with him?” he muses, standing upright and pulling the gray hood of his outerwear over his head. You could only watch in bewilderment of his accurate prediction as he walks past you and out the door. Following in his footsteps, you shut the door behind you. “C’mon, it’s getting late. I’ll walk you home.” 

“What?” you profusely shake your head. “It’s fine. I can walk myself home. Go get some sleep.”

“Look, I’m not doing this because I want to, but I’m not an asshole and I don’t want to hear Jimin yelling at me if anything were to happen to you,” he beckons again, tilting his head in the direction of your home and burying his hands in his pockets. “C’mon.”

The walk home seems to take much longer than your way on up here now that the reality of the surreal moment had settled in. You had just visited the house of a childhood friend now coined acquaintance, and now you’re walking home with said boy without a single subject that tied the two of you together other than the past. 

“So…” your breath’s penmanship manifests in puffs of white amidst the night air. “How did you know it was me?” Hoseok turns his head to quirk a brow at you. “I mean, I know you’re not dumb enough to open the door for just anyone tonight, especially… not you.” 

Hoseok stares at you long enough for you to become self-conscious, obviously contemplating on the omission of truth. “I could always tell it was you whenever you knocked.” 

Eyes widening, the implications of his answer dawns upon you as his hands lift toward the sky and his raised forefinger casts a shadow onto the grass. His moonlit tan, honey-like skin and glimmering orbs are a near carbon copy to the friend you once knew. 

“We have maybe an hour or two left until initiation begins. What’re you gonna do if you miss it? You scared?” Hoseok teases fall short when he glances over at you to find an apathetic look on your face. “Whoa, I was just joking. You think I can actually tell time like this—”

“—Hoseok, are you scared?” 

“That’s not even a good comeback—”

“—no, I mean,” you blurt, “I don’t know if Soyeon or anyone’s ever checked on you, but given your family name, are you scared?” 

Hoseok stares at you, lips fallen slightly agape and expression too hard to read for a mere acquaintance like you. 

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked that. Please just ignore—”

“—sure I am,” he answers and you could no longer feel the subsequent rapid heartbeats that follow. “I’d be lying if I said I wasn't. Wanna know a secret?” The boy continues despite the lack of an answer. “I’ve spent every single night for the past couple of years theorizing and compiling a list of all the possible outcomes of tonight.” 

“...and?”

“I think I’ve narrowed it down to who it might be.”

The boy’s gaze remains fixated on you, perhaps out of curiosity, amusement, or even concern over your lack of a response. The truth is, you weren’t sure how to comfort him if that time were to come. 

“Who it might be…?”

“You know. Of all people, you and Jimin must know,” he muses. “My accursed mate.” 

“Oh,” you dip your head low, hoping to conceal the windows to your soul, “I’m sure that’s just a myth, Hoseok. The system works, doesn’t it? You’ll be fine. You’ll probably end up with Soyeon anyways. You guys really compliment each other.” 

“Yeah?” he stops abruptly in his path and you do the same. “You think she’s my soulmate?”

“And you don’t?” 

Hoseok lets out a soft chuckle, “I could only hope.”

I’ll save you. Jimin and I will save you. 

The thoughts could never find its way out of the labyrinth of your mind. 

“Alright, I’d rather have you screaming profanities at me again than watch you stare at me with pity.”

“Um,” you pause, “I feel bad for whoever ends up with you to be honest.” 

The boy erupts into cackles, one that hasn’t seen the light of day in years—or at least to you. 

“Yeah, I hope I don’t end up with her either,” he muses, pacing a few steps back away from the front doorsteps of your home. He calls out from afar, “anyways, go get some rest and live your happily ever after with Jimin. Thanks for the concern, but I’ll figure things out on my own.”

“Are you sure…” you say weakly.

“Yeah,” he murmurs, “I always have.” 

With one last soft smile, he makes a run for home, far off into the inconspicuous distance. 

The long-awaited night comes to an all-time proximity when, out of the blue, a thundering clatter to your window rattles you awake. The night must have been aging, for the room is pitch-black and the village is left in utter silence as people drifted off to sleep. 

Nothing should have been outside your house.

Moonlight seeping through the slit of your curtains, you rub your dreary eyes and climb off your bed to wearily draw open your curtains—

“—Y/N! I know you’re in there!” 

“What—” your fury grows with each second as you pull open the curtains and step out into the balcony, glaring at the boy on the first floor of your yard, “—what the fuck are you doing here, Jay?!”

“I told you… I’d come,” his words are slurred and you surmise the involvement of alcohol, a forbidden substance for those underage, to be a main catalyst for his summoning, “waltzing in… for you if Jimin doesn’t...” 

“Go home, Jay. You disgusting animal,” you hiss. “If you stay here any longer, you’re gonna get caught and you might even miss initiation!” 

“C’mon,” he beckons and begins climbing the vines along the walls of your house before falling multiple times in his drunken state. “We can start initiation toge—”

“—Jay, for the last time,” your eyes pop open and you begin to wonder whether you were truly dreaming when you spot Jimin grabbing Jay at his air and pulling him to the floor. “I’m going to beat your ass dead if you don’t fucking go.”

Jay attempts several sloppy punches that land in thin air and you nearly grimace at the wheezes of air forcibly knocked out of his windpipes. 

“Tch, go!” Jimin points to the direction opposite of your house. “Now!” 

Leaving the boy on the ground, heaving for air, Jimin swiftly climbs up the familiar vines, grabbing your hand and leaping into your balcony. The neglect for rest seems to take its toll on the boy’s body when his knees buckle on his landing, sending the both of you tumbling to the floor. In mid-flight, however, Jimin somehow manages to break the fall, for you find yourself on his chest instead of the hard concrete. 

“Jimin,” your eyes widen at the boy who only grins cheekily at you, “am I dreaming? Why are you here?” 

“Real question is, why is that guy here?” 

Having forgotten the fallen boy, the two of you hastily stumble to your feet and peer over the balcony. 

Empty. 

Except for traces of blood that marks the floor, no one is in sight. 

“Where’d... where’d he go?” you shudder in the cold wrath of the night and the tingles that run in your adrenaline-driven blood. “He just… he just disappeared—”

“—Y/N, look over there!” Jimin hisses under his breath.

Following the direction of his pointed finger, you squint hard enough to spot a familiar figure walking off in the distance. A petrifying chill runs down your spine.

“What’s Ms. Jung doing out here?” 

The next thing you know, Jimin clutches your hand and shoves the both of you into your house, quickly turning around to slam the balcony door shut and locked. 

“What’s she doing out there?” you repeat. “Patrolling? Did she catch Jay? What happened to him?” 

“I-I don’t know, Y/N,” he walks you to your bed, gently seating the both of you against your bed frame. 

“Should we report to her what just happened? Does she know? Are we going to miss initiation—”

“—sh, Y/N, shh,” his cupped hands thaw the ice of your cheeks. “I’m sure Ms. Jung has it all handled. She’s probably patrolling to make sure things like this doesn’t happen. What matters is that we’re safe and we have enough time to start initiation, alright?” 

“R-right…” you follow Jimin’s lead and take numerous deep breaths. With his hand in yours and your arm wrapped around his, you lay your head on the crook of his neck. It’s difficult to resume a normal pace of breathing, even in the comforts of his embrace, but you had no choice but to shove matters into the back of your mind. In the wake of Mating Day, time constraints force you to delay matters into tomorrow’s hands. “Wait, what’re you doing here, Jimin? How did you know to come?” 

“I didn’t,” he squeezes your hand. “I felt bad for the way things happened earlier today. I just wanted to be with you tonight and happened to stumble upon Jay… I tried to stop him from coming here but I didn’t know how rough I had to be until I saw him toss a rock at your window...”

“Oh,” you mutter and force your eyes shut, hugging the boy even closer to your chest. “Well, I guess it was meant to be. Thank you… for always being there for me.” 

“Yeah, I’ll always be there for you,” his words are muffled as he kisses your head, “soon enough, we’ll be marrying and starting a family in a house of our own and I can be there for you as many infinite times you want.”

“Okay,” you grin, “that sounds good.” 

“But before we can do that,” he gives you one last kiss, “we should get some sleep.” 

This would be the final silence of the night before Mating Day—long, formidable, and ear-splitting. With so many words left unspoken, the both of you know that eventually, somehow, and painstakingly so, you would be able to find comfort in the confinement of the other,  notwithstanding the difficulty of recovery; and so, eventually, you’re able to mentally sigh in relief when drowsiness dawns upon you. 

“Hey, Y/N?” Jimin’s gruff indicates to you that the both of you would be entering dreamland soon enough, together. 

“Hm?”

“I love you.”

“Mm,” you hum with a smile.

“I love you.”

“Mhm.” 

“I’ll always love you.”  

“Okay,” you hold him even tighter, “and I’ll always love you.”

Daylight breaks sooner than expected, for your eyelids squint even tighter shut in the wake of the sun’s blinding rays. As your senses awaken along with your body, you gradually become conscious of your unusual surroundings. Your fingertips plant into a pool of warmth rubbles akin to dirt and your skin from head to toe basks in the kiss of the sun. You could smell the earthy scent of the meadow intermixed with freshly watered plants and you could hear the soft rustling of the wind against the tall grass. 

You could identify this place anywhere, even in your sleep.

This must be the start of initiation.

Smiling to yourself, you stumble to your feet as blood rushes to your feet and you flutter your eyes open to the familiar schoolyard.

With the exception of the excessive beams of the sun, everything is exactly the same as you had memorized it in reality.

There isn’t anything to be scared of.

Your next step is to find the tree, which, if you were correct, should be right behind you; and, as if in sole happenstance or the works of fate, you have an inkling of the beholder to your promise standing, waiting for your turnaround. 

A euphoric rush of relief and bliss in knowing that it was meant to be all along, you whirl around and call out to your heart’s content.

“Jimin—”

—but your heart stops just as abruptly as your beckoning and as cutthroat as the wails knotted in your throat; because off in the distance, the silhouette of your mate is a stark contrast to your one and only.

Chestnut hair tousled by the breeze, eyes heavy-lidded by the daunting future neither of you desired, and a prim demeanor resting on his lips, you finalize reach an epiphany.

You had been his curse all along.

[ask-de-writer]

SEA DRAGON’S GIFT : Part 26 of 83 : World of Sea

Return to the Master Story Index

Return to World of Sea

SEA DRAGON’S GIFT

Part 26 of 83

by

De Writer (Glen Ten-Eyck)

140406 words

copyright 2020

written 2007

All rights reserved.

Reproduction in any form, physical, electronic or digital is prohibited without the express consent of the author.

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Copyright fair use rules for Tumblr users

Users   of Tumblr.com are specifically granted the following rights.  They may   reblog the story provided that all author and copyright information   remains intact.  They may use the characters or original characters in   my settings for fan fiction, fan art works, cosplay, or fan musical   compositions.

All sorts of fan art, cosplay, music or fiction is actively encouraged.

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New to the story?  Read from the beginning.  PART 1 is here

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Startled, Kurin stroked her sea-foam white hair, then replied thoughtfully, “No, not since I got Mecat’s Gift …”

“I thought so —  The Great Dragon’s Gift is more than just hair.” She tousled Kurin’s head.  “It’s also what’s under it.  Come, it is late.  Time to bed.”

Sula pulled together some of her big cushions and made a nest of blankets. She tucked Kurin in and sang in a pleasant but inexpert voice, her hands accompanying the words with unfamiliar gestures at eye and chest level.

“Wise paddle ducks in their weed-mats hide

When Wide Wings hunt across the sky.

Snug in their nests they sleep at night

When the stars are out and the moons are high.

Hush, little one don’t you cry,

In your hammock’s nest, you’re safe from harm,

Hear Iren’s Orcas sing far from you.

Your happy dreams are your charm.”

Feeling truly secure for the first time since Cat had gone, Kurin snuggled down, and as she was drifting off to sleep, murmured, “Sula, do you have any children?”

She was too sleepy to notice the catch in Sula’s voice as she answered, “No, I never had the chance.”

The next day, Master Juris was invited to visit the Dark Dragon.  Both he and Kurin were shown about by Sula herself.  They learned much of how a large catamaran ship was built.  A great deal of what they learned was amazing to them.  What surprised them the most was that they had not thought of it long ago.  The design made a lot sense.  It gave an impressive increase in deck space over the standard designs.  There were three decks in the thick layer that spanned between the hulls.

This created an amazing amount of space for shops, catch processing and other functions.  A major surprise to both Kurin and Juris was the sheer size of the Armory.  It was completely separate from the Boat Shop.  That alone was unlike any ship layout that Kurin had ever heard of.  Besides simply being a large shop, it vertically spanned all three decks of the center section.  It was connected through heavy double doors to large straight corridors that looked to be fireproofed by Hag extracts.  They ran fore, aft, starboard and port. There were many large storerooms and more decks and holds in each of the twin hulls.  

As a Predator Hunter, the Dark Dragon was heavily armed.  There were six large harpoon launching catapults spaced about the bow and three more around the stern.  Each side also had another five catapults a little smaller than the bow and stern ones but still bigger than any that Kurin had ever seen before.  Master Juris’s practiced eye noticed that the stop blocks that held the catapults level in their swivel mounts could be removed.  The catapults would then be able to fire steeply up, as well as in the outward and downward directions needed for hunting.

While they were making their way aft through the between decks companionways Kurin heard soft music of a sort that she had never heard before, and stopped to listen.  An empty mess hall had been taken over by a group of Dark Dragon sailors for a song fest.  Most of the sailors, both men and women, wore cloth hoods that covered their faces like the one that Sula wore.  Every one of them was armed with a short ax like the one at Sula’s leg and carried at least one large knife.  They were playing the familiar tabors and drums that she had long known.  There were also harps, other stringed instruments, flutes and a horn that were all new to her.  Listening quietly at the door, the group heard a bare faced man call out, “Sing us ‘Where is My Love?’, Pollet!”

The woman that he had called to, black-hair showing below her hood tried to demur with flickering fingers instead of words.  Several others joined the chorus, a few speaking and all the others signing.  Pollet gave in.  She stepped to the center of the circle and, glancing at the visitors in the doorway, she began.  

The song was soft and sad, the music featuring mainly the plaintive notes of the flute, a strange many stringed oval instrument with a drum like head and a harp was accompanied by a soft underbeat from a tabor.  As Pollet started to sing, she accompanied her words with flickering fingers, one hand just below the eye level of her hood and the other at chest level.  Her dancing hands moved almost hypnotically to the tune.

“The Gathering will be over tomorrow

A Wedding Raft is floating in sorrow.

Where is my Love?  The Weddings are near.

Where is my Love?  His ship is not here.

Each topmast the horizon brings to my sight

Brings night to my heart in days that are light.

Where is my Love?  The Weddings are near.

Where is my Love?  His ship is not here.

His ship will never again draw near

Absence has filled my heart with fear.

Where is my Love?  The Weddings are near.

Where is my Love?  His ship is not here.

From my Love’s waters sails were seen

A Boren Sea raider fled from the scene.

Where is my Love?  The Weddings are near.

Where is my Love?  His ship is not here.

We found only the flotsam of a deadly attack

Dear Dragons, please, bring my Love back!

Where is my Love?  The Weddings are near.

Where is my Love?  His ship is not here.

If the Boren fleet took my Love away

The Boren fleet will have to pay.

Where is my Love?  The Weddings are near.

Where is my Love?  His ship is not here.

We can’t save my Love, he’s in Iren’s hall

But we’ll save others the Orca’s call.

Where is my Love?  The Weddings are near.

Where is my Love?  His ship is not here.

We fight so no other will have to cry

For a Love who had no need to die!

Where is my Love?  His ship is not here.”

Sula listened with them and herded them quietly away when the song was done.  She shed a few quiet tears as she guided Kurin and Master Juris through another passage and up to the main deck.  Master Juris looked shrewdly at Sula as they made their way aft, listening to the answers to his and Kurin’s questions about the ship.  Kurin noticed the odd vertical lines of decoration on or by almost every door and realized that they were writing of some sort.  They strolled toward the stern under the shade of many sails, each tightly furled to its boom and yard.  They lay on tall racks overhead, freeing the deck space.

A lookout high above called, “Strong Skin!  North by northeast!” The paired dorsal fins of the big predator could be seen cutting the water a few hundred yards away.  Men and women on watch scrambled aft and began to prepare a catapult.

“Can we watch?” asked Kurin eagerly.

TO BE CONTINUED

<==PREVIOUS   NEXT==>

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[elatedmarvel]

After All This Time, You and I (2/4)

Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Bucky’s known you your entire life. Snapshots through the years.

Word Count: 1398

AN: So... I was writing and realized I have so much more story than I had anticipated, so it’s now becoming a series. Opps, not even sorry. Thank you for reading!!

Warnings: slight violence, throwing up, and a creep

Series Masterlist | Masterlist

The music could be heard from down the street as you pull up to the house. It’s been a long week, and finals were finally over. Natasha had convinced you to go out with her and Wanda, and luckily Tony was throwing a party. It hadn’t been an eager yes, but she knew exactly what to say.  

“Come on, let loose a little! Finals are over! And I heard from Steve that he and Bucky were gonna stop by.” After that, what else could you say but yes?

A yes that you were starting to regret. Wanda had found Vis as soon as you all had walked in, which lead you and Natasha to grab drinks. You were 4 deep, and still no sign of Bucky.

“I think I’m gonna go Nat.” you said, finishing off the liquid in your cup and trying not to grimace at the burn, before setting it on the table. 

“NO! You can’t go! The party’s just getting started.” she stated, dancing with Sharon. Or you think it was Sharon, the alcohol was hitting you faster than you thought, and your vision was starting to blur. The room started to feel suffocating, and the flashing lights and noise was getting too much.

“I’m gonna grab some water.” you shouted at her, not caring if she heard, before turning around and trying to make it to the kitchen. It was less crowded and quieter, people grabbing food and drinks before going back to mingle. You felt like you could finally breathe for the first time in an hour and a half.

Basically diving between people to grab a water bottle, you took an eager gulp as soon as you uncapped the bottle. Hunching over the island, you leaned you forehead on the counter, glad for the cool touch. You must have been out of it, because you didn’t notice someone coming to stand by you till you felt a hand stroke your arm. You pulled back when you realized it wasn’t Steve or Bucky, but instead Brock Rumlow, the campus sleaze ball.

“Hey baby girl, you look hot tonight.” you shivered when he bit his lip. His hand started to curl on your arm, and your panic began to rise. The headrush you got from whipping up fast didn’t help the situation either.

“Uhh, thanks. I have to get back to my friends though.” making to leave. But the room was starting to spin, and his cheap, heavy cologne did nothing to help the bought of nausea. 

“Stop, let go of me” you kept repeating, weakly pushing against him. The room was spinning faster, because of panic or alcohol you weren’t sure, but you knew you had to get out of there fast. 

“Let her go!” and a punch was all you heard before you felt his warm hands embracing you, trying to keep you on your feet.

“I got you doll.” and you weren’t sure if you even said his name before blacking out. 

It was warm and it smelled like Bucky was all you registered when you came to. Opening your eyes, you could see the clock on the nightstand read 3 AM. Moaning, you rolled closer to the edge, where a cool glass of water waited for you.

Chugging the glass, you were sure you spilled some on the comforter you were wrapped in. You eyes could just make out the silhouette figure on the floor, but you would know him anywhere. 

“Bucky?” you whispered, taking in the surroundings, you realized he had brought you back to his and Steve’s apartment. His room, to be more specific.

“Hey, how you feeling?” he whispered, hoping he wasn’t making your headache worse. He got up from the floor and sat by you on the bed, hand coming to move the strands of hair out of your face. Like a cat, you leaned into his touch, you probably would be purring too if you weren’t feeling like death. 

“Everything hurts.” you pout, eyes closed, you tuck yourself between his arm and solid body. You can feel his chuckle, and you stick your bottom lip out further.

“It’s not nice to make fun of the dead.” you tease. Startling a bit when you open your eyes, his face was so close. All you had to do was lean in, just a little, and you would get to know what he tasted like. Was it getting hotter in here, or was it just you?

“Where’s Steve” you ask, trying to distract yourself. God he smelled good, like safety and home.

“Well, after he punched Rumlow and I got you out of the way, he kicked him out of the house and decided to stay to make sure no one else was making unwanted advances.” 

“Why am I not surprised?” you giggle, always playing the guardian, your brother.

“I know, don’t worry though. I think I heard Sam say something about getting him drunk?”

“Sam’s gonna need lots of luck then.” Steve had never been one for drinking, knowing it would take a lot to get him drunk since his sudden growth freshman year, and he wasn’t fond of the taste.

“Yeah” Bucky agrees, and the room falls silent for a moment. You enjoy being pressed against Bucky’s side. If you close your eyes, you can almost imagine what it would be like to fall asleep every night like this. 

You can feel yourself starting to drift before you feel it like a punch to the gut. 

“Oh my god” you try to scramble out of the blankets, and basically fight out of Bucky’s embrace. Luckily, he lets go as soon as he feels your struggle and sits up on alert.

“Doll? What’s wrong?” you hear, but you’re already out of the room and halfway to the bathroom. You reach the toilet just in time before everything comes up. 

You gag a few more times, and you can feel Bucky pull your hair into a ponytail. He strokes your back and utters a few encouragements. 

You wonder how you can ever live this down. He’s seen you at your lowest, but this was probably rock bottom. So much for getting him to see you as anything other a friend. You’d be lucky if he wasn’t repulsed by you everytime he sees you now. You’re sweaty, and you’re the sounds your making were nightmare inducing.

What feels like an hour passes before the storm passes, you groan and curl up into a ball on the floor. Everything hurt from heaving so long, not to mention the burn in your throat. 

Ever faithful Bucky had stayed by your side, and now you can hear him stand up and the faucet run. You open one eye in time to see him squat down in front of you, and hand you the glass. 

Trying to give him a smile that probably looks more like a grimace, you take a sip of water and swish the foul taste out of your mouth. Spitting it into the toilet, you put your head between your knees, trying to ward off the dizziness. 

“I’m never drinking again” you groan, and suddenly you feel warmth bracketing your legs up your back. Signing, you uncurl yourself, and lean back into him. He’s so strong and warm, you almost forget you had thrown up minutes before. 

“You say that, but I bet the next time Nat drags you to a party you’ll be keg standing” he jokes, wrapping his arms around you. 

“Don’t even joke about that, it’s too early.” you sigh, content to back in his embrace. 

“Should we head back to the bed?” he asks. The low rumble felt on your back, how was his voice even attractive?

“No, I wanna stay here in case vomit fest 2.0 happens.” you sleepily say, slurring your words slightly. You don’t even hear his reply before your out like a light, dreaming of a certain blue eyed man holding you forever.

That’s how Steve finds you both the next morning, laying on the bathroom floor with limbs tangled together. He decides to let you both sleep a little longer, but not before taking a picture and sending it to the group chat. Looks like it all worked out.

Part 3

Tags:

@captainchrisfics  @mc225g​

[thetricksterwithwings]

sabriel with 18, 70, and 122? that'll make the ultimate angst fest

87 years later and I’m finally getting around to this. I am so sorry. 

Prompts used: #18 ‘So I just realised…I’ve been shot.’, #70 ‘You’re okay. Breathe, just breathe. Open Your eyes, come back. It’s ok, it’s over now. You’re okay. Wake up. Please don’t do this to me. Don’t do this to me,I love you so fucking much. Come back.’ & #25 “All that blood looks good on you. It really brings out your eyes.”(Because I couldn’t find a #122??)

This actually ended up at around 2K words so I’ll include an Ao3 link if that makes it an easier read: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18172193

It was on the way out of a warehouse where a hunt had gone awry that Sam noticed Gabriel lagging behind the group as they made their way to their cars.

Cas and Dean had taken the lead with himself and Jack following close behind them, Gabriel the last out because he’d dropped his blade somewhere and was searching for it.

When it had taken longer than Sam expected it would be turned around to go back but saw Gabriel come out of the door and towards them. He gave the archangel a small wave before he started walking towards the group, which he returned, but something seemed off.

‘Hey, Jack, why don’t you run ahead to Dean and Cas for a minute? I just wanna talk to Gabriel for a sec.’ Jack looked a little confused but shrugged and picked up his pace, leaving Sam to stand and wait for the archangel to catch up to him.

When it became evident that Gabriel was actually struggling to walk Sam frowned and headed in his direction. The sun was almost set and there were no streetlights to illuminate the parking lot for the warehouse so everything was quickly becoming gloomy and grey. If Sam wasn’t so worried he’d probably laugh at the sight of Gabriel stumbling towards him like a zombie in a bad movie.

‘Gabriel?’ He called out as he reached hearing range. ‘Hey, you alright?’ No acknowledgment at all, not even a sign he’d been heard.

Up close the angel was looking pretty pale and Sam noticed him clutching his side and wincing. Sam sped up his pace to a jog to close the last few feet between them and stopped Gabriel with a hand on his shoulder.

Gabriel started and looked up at Sam first with confusion, then clarity. ‘Oh hey Sam, so I just realized…I’ve been shot. Funny right?’

Sam gaped at him in shock and looked to be revving up for a lecture, but before he could get anywhere with that plan Gabriel’s legs gave out and he started to fall to the ground.

If Sam hadn’t already had a grip on his shoulder he would’ve hit it, and hard. As it was Sam hadn’t even managed a proper catch, only to slow his fall and sort of guide him onto the wet gravel.

‘Okay, you’re alright just let me see.’ Sam reassured, trying to keep panic out of his voice. ‘Where are you hurt?’

As Gabriel fumbled with his jacket Sam yelled out for Dean and Cas. Gabriel wasn’t being quick enough with the whole ‘showing’ side of things so Sam soon took over and brushed his hands out of the way, with minimal protest.

The wound was on the right side of his torso, just under his ribs and almost opposite the scars from Fenrir’s attack. It was pretty bloody and Gabriel had been right, he’d definitely been shot. He hissed as Sam pressed down on it in an attempt to stop the blood and Sam was left to wonder why he was even being affected by a bullet.

In a sudden blur of tan and a crunch of gravel, Cas was kneeling on Gabriel’s other side. ‘Dean’s getting the car closer, what happened?’ The question was directed at Sam, but Gabriel answered anyway.

‘Got shot, not healing.’ Castiel grimaced and nodded.

‘Angel-killing bullets.’ Cas stated. ‘One of them grazed my leg, but he should be healing unless the bullet is still…’

Both Sam and Cas came to the conclusion at the same time. ‘Inside.’ Suddenly they were both looking at the entry hole like it would bite them.

‘Great, so get it out.’ Gabriel instructed, trying hard to sound like his normal self and failing pretty miserably.

‘We can’t, not here.’ Sam stated. ‘We don’t have anything other than a basic first-aid kit on hand, we weren’t counting on this kind of emergency. It was supposed to be an easy hunt.’

All three of them jerked their heads at the sudden sound of the Impala pulling up and Castiel rose to explain the situation to Dean and Jack. Sam stayed on the ground, attempting to get Gabriel into a sitting position.

‘You’re gonna be fine okay, just stay awake. Focus on me, alright?’ Sam muttered, still trying his best to apply pressure to the wound.

Whatever you say doc.’ Gabriel snarked, but there was no heat behind the words and his eyes were half-lidded as Sam wound an arm around his back to keep him relatively upright.

Everything was spinning and Gabriel just wanted to close his eyes, he wanted to rest.

‘No, seriously Gabriel, look at me, you are not doing this again.’ Sam shook him a little and Gabriel groaned but opened his eyes a little more.

‘It hurts Sam, why does it hurt?’ He paused and looked down at the blood seeping through Sam’s fingers. ‘It’s not supposed to hurt, I’m an angel.’

‘Angel bullets, now shut up; you’re wasting your energy. You can complain later when you’re safe.’ He wasn’t trying to be so harsh but he was worried and there just wasn’t enough time for any of this.

Dean broke away from the trio standing above them and got Sam’s attention. ‘Come on, let’s get him up, Cas is gonna knock him out for the ride home.’

Sam nodded and with Dean’s help, they hauled the half-conscious archangel into the backseat of the Impala, where Cas made him fully unconscious. Sam slid in next to him and laid his head in his lap. When Cas and Jack had made it to the second car and pulled up beside them they started off towards the bunker.

All Sam could think about on the ride home was the other times he’d seen Gabriel die. He hadn’t been happy about it, of course he hadn’t; but he hadn’t felt like this. Sitting in the back of the Impala with the angel spread out over him, possibly dying again, he realized this time it was different. He felt lightheaded and panicky, unable to calm himself down like he normally would to properly deal with a situation like this.

If he even dared to think about all the ‘what if’s’ tears sprang to his eyes so instead he just stared down at Gabriel’s face and watched his chest rise and fall. After ten minutes or so of just watching him, Sam came to another realization, and that fucked things up even more. He cared about Gabriel, cared more than he should. After all, at best Gabriel was a snarky S.O.B and at worst he was a total dick.

For all that had happened between them, Sam really should hate him. But he didn’t. And there was the fact that he was basically cradling him and weeping over him because he got a little bit shot.

Sam was screwed, but at least Gabriel wasn’t awake for him to see it. He just had to hope he would be awake again at a later date so Sam could share his findings.

Castiel’s angel knockout trick should have worn off hours ago, but Gabriel was still passed out on the bed of the spare room he’d claimed as his own. Sam was becoming increasingly worried, despite Cas’ reassurance that sometimes results may vary.

He left it another half hour before he got up to shut the door and pulled his chair up closer to the bed.

‘I don’t know if you can even hear me, but we got the bullet out. You’re okay now, you’re safe.’

No response. Cautiously he reached out and lightly shook Gabriel by the shoulder, anything to wake him. Angel’s didn’t even need sleep and the sleep Gabriel had fallen into was far too deep for Sam’s liking.

‘I know it’s a lot to ask but please? I just need to know you’re still in there. I’ve got something pretty funny to tell you when you wake up, you’ll probably laugh.’

Gabriel stirred a little and Sam got to his feet excitedly, leaning over the angel in anticipation.

‘You’re okay. Breathe, just breathe. Open your eyes, come back. It’s ok, it’s over now. You’re okay. Wake up.’ But nothing else happened, it had been just that, a stir.

Sam fell back into his chair, disheartened, and waited. At some point, he must have fallen asleep, because when he woke up there was a blanket over his shoulders and the bedside clock read 04:09.

He looked toward Gabriel hopefully but he hadn’t moved much and Sam doubted that Dean or Cas would’ve let him sleep through anything major.

Suddenly the unfairness of it all hit him, hard, and his eyes welled up with tears. It wasn’t fair, why did Dean to keep Cas while everyone Sam ever cared about died?

Jess’ death had caused a chain reaction that just led to sadness and pain every time Sam felt anything but platonic love towards anyone, and it was like the universe could tell the difference. Hell, it even picked out how he felt about Gabriel before he could even consider it himself.

He blinked back his tears and with a new resolve, he leaned in closer to the bed. He had a plan, a stupid one maybe, but it was all he could try.

He got off his chair and knelt next to the bed, propping his elbows up on the mattress and clasping his hands together. He self consciously blessed himself, then began whispering into the darkness.

‘Please Gabriel, don’t do this to me. Just don’t do this to me, not again, not you.’ He froze, tongue tripping over the almost foreign words and tears choking him up, but he had to get it out. Had to say it at least once if he was going to lose Gabriel too. ‘I love you so fucking much. I didn’t realize it til now, but I do. Come back, please. Amen.’

For a few seconds, nothing really happened. Then Gabriel’s eyes snapped open with the glow of grace and Sam stumbled back, reaching for the button to click the lamp on.

Gabriel sat up with a jolt, clutching at his side and Sam scrambled back into his chair, just staring.

When he had regained most of his posture and his breath, Gabriel looked Sam over with scrutiny. ‘All that blood looks good on you. It really brings out your eyes.’  He was trying for casual but it fell flat. He twisted his hands together in his lap, injury forgotten about and probably mostly healed by now. ‘No ones prayed to me in years, you know that? At least none that have gotten through. Maybe it came with giving up my position in Heaven.’

Sam didn’t know what to say. He didn’t know whether he should apologize and leave, or stay and listen to Gabriel’s ramblings.

While he was thinking it over Gabriel had finished talking and reverted to just looking at him with the same intensity as before.

‘Did you mean what you said?’ Gabriel asked. His voice was slower than usual, it held more weight. He was being serious.

‘I think I did.’ Sam hesitated.

‘You think, or you know?’ Gabriel pressed. ‘This isn’t a game, Sam.’

‘I think I know, or it’s hidden deep down in my subconscious, or you’re screwing with my head. Whatever it is, it’s new and I need some time to figure out the specifics of it. But I think I know I meant it. It doesn’t seem like the kind of thing I’d say if I didn’t.’

Gabriel shook his head. ‘No, I guess it doesn’t.’ He’d gone quiet, a stark contrast to his bold tone a moment ago when he was trying to get a confession out of the hunter.

Sam noticed the change in demeanor, and without really thinking too deeply about it switched his seating arrangement from the chair to the edge of the bed.

‘Hey what are you doing?!’ Gabriel squawked, tilting towards him as the mattress dipped.

‘Figuring it out.’ Sam said, closing the now minuscule distance between them and kissing the confused angel softly.

He pulled away after a second, wary that consent was necessary in these situations, but he didn’t get very far before a hand slid up to tangle into his hair and hold him in place. And that was all the encouragement he needed.

[louthegreatfurrry]

Communication is Key pt.6

Percy was looking through the clips from his newest vlog-idea, trying to decide which videos to use and which to discard when Migo popped his head into the room. “Hey, uhm… Percy?”

“Don’t just hover in the door,” Percy said, not looking up from his computer as he spoke. “It’s your room, come on in.”

Migo shuffled into the room, shifting his weight from foot to foot. Percy glanced up at him, a tinge of worry fluttering in his guts. It wasn’t like Migo to hesitate. Had something happened? “Is something wrong?” he asked, gently closing the computer and putting it aside.

“Uh – I – no, I just – ” He poked his index fingers together. “Aaahthere’sayetifestivalcomingupinafew daysandIwaswonderingifyouwantedtogotoitwithme?”

Percy blinked. “Come again?”

Sighing, Migo looked down at the floor, his shoulders slumping. “There’s… there’s a yeti festival soon, celebrating the – uh, I don’t know the word, the Sky Banners? Anyway, I, uhm… I’m going to it, do you want to join me?”

Percy stared at him, heart stuttering in his chest. “I – you really want me to?” Time seemed to slow around them. Migo wanted him to partake in his culture – go to a yeti festival with him, simply because he could. It was – oddly touching, and a terribly sweet gesture.

Migo nodded.

“Migo,” Percy breathed, climbing to his feet in a hurry. He stepped over to the edge of the table, and Migo, understanding his silent question, let him climb into his hand. “I’d love to go,” Percy continued, smiling softly up at him. “When is it? What’s it about?”

For a brief moment awe shone in Migo’s eyes, unclouded and clear, but then he blinked and it was gone, replaced by a relieved smile. “It’s – well, it’s a festival to celebrate the beauty of – uhm…” He hesitating, glancing away from him with downcast eyes. “I… don’t know what it’s called. Lights on the night sky?”

“Stars?” Percy suggested curiously.

“No, not stars, I know those – it’s like, ribbons? Of colors?”

Percy gasped. “Northern lights?” he asked. “Aurora borealis? You have an aurora borealis festival?”

Migo nodded eagerly. “Yeah, we do! Every year, at the same date, the Sky Banners dance across the sky, and all yetis gather together to celebrate them. There’s food, and ice, and drinks, and some games and stuff – merchants lower their prices on things, too.”

Now, Percy’d seen Northern Lights before, when he’d been to Svalbard to document the life there – but he’d never seen them with a yeti before. He’d never seen them with Migo. And besides, this was more than just seeing the Northern Lights – this was celebrating something from Migo’s culture. He couldn’t quite describe it, but – somehow it seemed like it was extremely important. And he truly, honestly appreciated it.

“It sounds lovely,” he said, patting Migo’s thumb affectionately. “When is it?”

“This Saturday.”

“It’s a date,” Percy said.

It was what he and Brenda always said to each other when they made plans – it was an instinctual reaction, really.

Still, he tensed and flushed bright red when he realized what he’d said. “I – I mean – ”

Migo blinked at him, then gave a teasing grin. “A date, huh?”

“I – ”

“Nope! No turning back now,” Migo said, the grin widening as he tapped Percy’s forehead. “It’s a date.”

And Percy, terribly flustered and red as a tomato, found that he didn’t really want to complain.

*

“Meechee?”

Meechee dropped her chalk, jumped three feet into the air, and spun to face him with a too-wide smile. “Hi Migo! Nope I haven’t done anything!” She clasped her hands behind her back, the smile widening further.

Migo blinked. “Uhm. Okay?” He shook his head, pushing her odd behaviour aside for now. “The Banner Fest was this weekend, right?” He was fairly certain he had the right dates, but he’d been known to mess them up before. It was better to be safe than sorry.

“Oh!” Meechee wiped her hands on her fur, a relieved tone to her voice. “Yes, it is.” Then she gasped, flapping her hands excitedly at him. “Wait, no, you should bring Percy! That’d be great!”

Migo grinned sheepishly. “I, uhm, already asked him.”

Meechee blinked. “You did?”

“Yeah. He’s coming.”

“Oh.” She stared at him for a moment before she shook her head. “Yes, well, then – ”

“Who are you taking?” Migo blurted, knowing that Meechee, daughter of the Stonekeeper, would feel obligated to take someone.

She rubbed her arm. “I – I’m taking Kolka. Again.”

Migo squinted. “But she isn’t who you want to take, is she?” he asked. If she’d been crushing on Kolka they’d all know – the two of them had never been able to keep secrets about each other.

Meechee blushed. “No,” she admitted with a grin, “she’s not, and she knows it.”

“I wish you’d just tell us,” Migo exclaimed, flinging his hands into the air. Meechee snickered. “Come on, Meechee, we can help you get together!”

“Hmm…” Meechee tapped her lip thoughtfully. “Nah.”

Migo groaned in frustration. “I will give you a geode if you tell me!”

“Just one?”

“Meechee!”

*

Saturday came both far too soon and not nearly fast enough, by Percy’s standards. Brenda had very pointedly thrown him his bags after she’d cancelled his hotel room, and he’d thoughtlessly flung them into a corner of Migo’s room. Now he stood pacing before them, trying to decide between comfortable clothes and clothes he knew complimented his hair.

“Oh, come on, Percy,” he muttered to himself, dropping the two jackets he’d been weighing against each other. “It’s not even a real date, why are you so nervous?” He sighed, rubbing his forehead. “It’s on a mountain. You almost died the last time you were up there, it’s cold, go for warmth, not good looks.” Biting his lip he considered the two jackets again, groaning in frustration. “Oh, but I want to impress him!”

He slapped his cheeks a few times as he thought. “No, damn it all, I don’t want to die up there.” He snatched the comfy, baby blue jacket from his bag and stood up. “Right. Right.” Stuffing the two thermoses of hot chocolate into his backpack he flung it onto his back, making his way out of the room and towards the main room of the cave.

The other yetis were waiting for him there. They’d all paired up, it seemed – Meechee and Kolka sat side by side on one of the stones, and Fleem had somehow managed to crawl onto Gwangi’s shoulders.

“Ready to go?” Migo asked. He’d twined a few flower stems around his broken horn, their sharp green color stunning against his blue.

“I sure am,” Percy said, looping his thumbs behind the straps on the backpack and offering a cheeky grin.

The other yetis turned to Migo with raised eyebrows. Migo sighed. “He said he’s ready to go,” he said, rolling his eyes. “Gosh. Those devices better be ready soon, I’m getting tired of translating.”

“You and me both, Maarroo.” Percy blinked, realizing his mistake only after it’d slipped out of him. “Uhm. Sorry.”

“Cute,” Migo said, a flippant remark that made Percy go bright red once more. Migo laughed, then offered his hand, letting Percy climb onto his palm. “Let’s go, guys. We don’t want to be late.”

Muttered agreements came from the other yetis.

Well, most of them. “I don’t really care,” Fleem said from his position on Gwangi’s shoulders.

“Yes, you do,” Gwangi said flatly. “Or you wouldn’t have asked to go with me.”

Fleem shrugged. “Maybe I just wanted to spend time with you, hm, how about that?”

Kolka snorted.

*

It was the first time in several months that Migo would return to the mountain. He’d been busy down by the village – greeting smallfeet and sharing stories with Percy, getting to know both him and Brenda, getting settled, signing peace contracts. He was excited to be back – he’d never been away from something this long before.

His dad was the first who met them, giving him a warm hug before greeting Percy by name. “You can talk to them now, can’t you?” he asked.

Migo nodded.

Percy waved.

“Oh!” Migo said. “Yeah, uhm, he can understand you, too.”

After that comment he had to make a hasty escape. The villagers in near proximity flocked to them, questions and wonders falling out of their mouths at a neck-breaking speed. If he hadn’t used Meechee as a distraction both he and poor Percy would’ve been trampled by the crowd.

“Phew,” Migo breathed, peeking around the rock he’d hid behind, “that was a close one.”

“You can tell them they can come down from the mountain if they want answers,” Percy said drily. “Hm. Or maybe we could print – but no, you can’t read, you’ll have to be taught – and damn it, we don’t speak the same language.” He sighed in exasperation. “Let’s just forget it happened.”

Migo laughed, stepping aside from the rock and making for the marketplace. They still attracted some gazes, but Migo had expected that. As long as no one mentioned that they understood each other they would be fine.

“Do you celebrate this every year?” Percy asked, holding onto Migo’s horn as he peeked down at the children running around between the stalls.

“Yep,” Migo said, nodding at the owner of the stall that’d always sold his favorite flutes. “We’ve celebrated this for as long as we’ve been here.”

“How intriguing…” Percy murmured, twisting to look behind them at the growing crowd. “Are they all here to watch the lights?”

“Some of them are here for the knocked down prices,” Migo said. He shrugged, then had to scramble to steady Percy before he could fall to the ground. “But – oops, sorry – most are here for when the banners appear.”

“The sun hasn’t even set yet,” Percy muttered. “Incredible.”

Migo looked away, a flustered smile spreading on his lips. How sweet of him, wanting to know more about their celebration. He’d have to return the favor, somehow…

“What do you pay with?” Percy asked, peering curiously at the nearest stall. “You don’t have coins, after all…”

“Oh, that’s easy,” Migo said. “We work with favors.”

“Really?” Percy asked, sounding genuinely surprised. “So it’s a trade, then. You keep amazing me, Migo.”

Migo flushed, proud despite the fact that he certainly hadn’t been the one to invent the system. “Thanks,” he muttered lamely. Then he perked up, remembering why he came up here in the first place. “I know of a neat spot,” he said, patting Percy’s leg as he parted from the crowd, “I found it when I was a child, it’s got some great views – but we’ll have to hurry to get there.”

*

Percy fished his scarf out of his backpack, wrapping it around his shoulders before letting Migo put the backpack down on the snow beside them. “Do we have to wait for a long time?” he asked, rubbing his hands together before burying them in Migo’s fur.

They were sitting atop a stone jutting out of the mountain – Migo had gotten there by crawling sideways across the mountainside, and although Percy had been determinedly staring at the insides of his eyelids the whole time, he could safely say that it was worth it. The view was simply extraordinary – the sky stretched out before them, vast and endless, the mountains and forests of the Himalayas beneath them tiny pricks in the distance. He couldn’t see the village unless he turned towards it, and the sounds from excited yetis were muted and muffled by both distance, stone, and snow.

Migo squinted into the distance, shielding his eyes from the glare of the sunset even as he stared directly into it. “Nah,” he said, waving dismissively with his hand. “A few more minutes, max.”

Percy hummed, kicking his legs up so he could sit sideways on Migo’s shoulder, leaning against the side of his head. “I can wait,” he said, threading his fingers through the soft and familiar fur.

“It’s not like you have a choice.”

“Git.”

They sat in silence for a while, Percy slowly combing through Migo’s long fur. It was calming – he’d practiced meditating when he was in India, and this had many of the same elements. He hummed to himself as he sat there, braiding the strands together after he separated them.

And slowly, ever so slowly, the sky darkened.

Percy tilted his head, glancing up at it with a raised eyebrow. “So, does it take a long time before the lights appear - ” He trailed off in favor of gaping up at the sky. “Oh,” he breathed, slowly standing up on Migo’s shoulder to take it all in.

Ribbons of light stretched before them, across the endless sky and into the distance, far and further still, dancing and whipping in the wind. Through them the stars were clearly visible – and here, far away from any human made light they shone even brighter in their splendour.

“I – they – it’s – ” he stuttered, struggling to find words through the awe creeping up on him. Finally he settled on a lame, “It’s beautiful,” tipping his head back so far that he nearly fell over.

Migo chuckled. “Yeah,” he said, and his voice was barely a whisper, soft and gentle in the crisp, cold air. “It is.”

Percy looked over at him, expecting him to be glancing at the sky like himself. Instead he was met with a pair of beautiful blue-purple eyes and a soft smile, genuine and almost painful in its honesty.

Percy stared.

The lights shone in Migo’s eyes, reflected and bouncing in the already colorful gaze. And somehow it seemed, just then, that the beauty of the sky came from within Migo, spots and specks of hope and bravery being flung upon the sky.

Oh, nevermind the goddamned sky. Migo was beautiful.

Percy drew a deep breath, looking away from him with his heart drumming harshly in his chest. He pressed a hand to it unconsciously, hoping against all hope that the flush in his cheeks could be excused as cold-induced.

“Percy,” Migo whispered, “look at me. Please?”

He couldn’t have denied him even if he’d wanted to, and so he turned to face him again – and he looked so incredibly vulnerable, so open and raw and loving –

He wanted to kiss him, damn it all.

For a second they just stared at each other, bathed in the lights of the living sky, and then Migo shifted. “I’d like to try and say your name again,” he muttered, and the soft moment shattered like glass. “I know I’m saying it wrong. Will you help me?”

“…of course,” Percy whispered, both disappointed and relieved that neither of them had done anything. He brought a hand to his ear, removing the translator device and waiting patiently for Migo to do the same.

He cleared his throat, then said, very slowly and carefully, “Per – cy.”

Migo took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and –

“Purrcy.”

Percy froze, eyes going wide.

That was. Extremely close and that was great, that was awesome, but holy shit there had most definitely been a purr there.

“Oh my God,” he whispered. Migo cracked open an eye, giving him a curious look. Percy gestured for him to repeat it.

He did.

The purr rumbled in the air. He could feel its tremble in Migo’s shoulder.

And it was the most attractive purr he’d ever heard.

He drew a sharp breath, leaning forward to rest against Migo’s cheek, fingers grasping his fur and forehead nestled just beneath his horn. It was the only thing he dared to do, and Migo seemed to appreciate the contact, leaning back and cradling him with one of his hands.

They sat in silence for a long time afterwards, Percy’s heart beating slow and sluggish in his chest, each beat echoing with a bittersweet pain.

*

In the village by the Stonekeeper’s manor stood a figure, framed by the moon and the stars and the lights of their ancestors.

Meechee knew what he was staring at, and she knew she had to intervene.

“Dad?” she asked, stepping up to her father’s side.

He startled, tearing his gaze away from the two figures dark against the colorful night sky. “ – Meechee,” he said. “You know him better than I – what is…?” He gestured with his staff towards the shapes on the rock.

Meechee leaned against the railings, giving her dad a soft smile. “Well, dad, when two yetis love each other very much…”

He grimaced. “Thank you, Meechee, that is quite enough.” He sighed, turning back to gaze up towards the two of them. “I just don’t understand. The dangers, the differences… how do they see past them?”

“They don’t,” Meechee said, making her voice as gentle as she could. Her dad had never been very open with things like these – spoon-fed information was generally the best. “They stare at it, learn it by heart – and accept it.” She walked over to him, placing a hand on his arm and leaning around his shoulder to give him a soft look. “Not everything that’s different is bad, daddy.”

“No,” he muttered, still staring at Migo and Percy with a frown on his brow. “So I can see.”

[astoriafest]

FAQs

Sign ups open tomorrow (or, er, Sunday if tomorrow is busy) so here is more complete FAQ post for the AstoriaFest: 

How do sign ups work?

A sign up post will go up and you can comment/message/reblog asking for a specific date. If you want to also specify what kind of fan creation you are making, that is also great! You can always change your mind later. Each person can claim no more than 3 dates at this time. The main post will be updated with claimed dates as we go.

Can multiple people sign up for one date?

Not yet, but if every date is claimed then we will open up for 2 fanworks a day!

How long will sign ups be open?

Probably through June! People might drop out and join at any time.

Wait, we can drop out?

People always drop out of fests. I would rather have a heads up if it's going to happen than be scrambling at the last minute! It also gives me time to let people who really want to contribute more Astoria content to aim for more days if necessary!

Wow, you're planning this fest early.

Haha, I expect my summer to be really busy but the fest needs to be in August so I am planning in advance!

A Death Fandom Fest? Sounds dark! Yikes. Does my fandom creation have to be sad or depressing?

No of course not! The theme of this fest was chosen for two reasons: (1) Astoria Malfoy dies in August 2019 according to the HP timeline and it feels like the least she deserves is a fest to commemorate the occasion and (2) a lot of what we know about Astoria is related to her death! Her blood malediction, her choice to have Scorpius despite the risks, the weakness she suffered after delivering Scorpius, etc. I think as a fandom we should explore what her illness and death means to her and the people around her.

For example, a lot of fans have Scorpius inspired by his mother's loss to become a healer. How does that happen? How does Daphne feel about her sick sister? Does Narcissa worry Draco will be left alone? Does Albus mourn the fact that he never met Astoria? What was in the letter Ginny wrote to Draco after Astoria passed away?

The possibilities are nearly endless!

Do I have to write fic?

Not at all! The Astoria Fest welcomes fic, art, essays, meta, photomanips, mood boards, fanvids, gif sets, any any other fandom creation you can imagine!

Wait, you didn’t answer my question!  Reply or reblog or message me! You can try carrier pigeon, but honestly, think it might scare off Harry. 

[nightlight9]

Sterek Day Seven: Halloween

I hope this is halloweeny enough for this prompt. Mostly it’s a cutesy fluff. I also wrote it for the sterekwritingroom October prompt: Autumn. Enjoy

———-

“Dude.” Scott is staring at Stiles with an incredulous expression, eyebrows drawn together in confusion. “You’re serious? You really don’t want to go? But this is your favorite time of year! You have a whole speech about why it’s better than Christmas! And one of your go-to points is about his great the Halloween Fest is!”

Stiles throws himself across the bed and sighs, avoiding eye contact. Because the thing is, Scott is right. Stiles loves Halloween. He loves that everyone dresses up just because it’s fun, loves carving pumpkins and making candied apples. And more than anything else, he loves the Beacon Hills Halloween Festival. All of the local shops set up booths full of their spookiest creations, the high school runs a haunted house, there’s a spooky cookie bake off, and the whole area smells like apple cider and sweet pumpkin pie. It’s amazing. Scott and Stiles go every year, and they haven’t missed a festival since they started the tradition in middle school.

But this year, Stiles can’t go. He can’t. Not after he embarrassed himself in front of Derek Hale, only son of the powerful Talia Hale, who happens to one of the festival’s main sponsors. Even though the Hale’s aren’t in charge of it, not really, they always attend.

“What could you have done that’s bad enough to make you refuse to go to the festival?”

He buries his head in the pillow, not wanting to admit it. But if it’s the only thing that will get Scott to back down, then, “Okay, but this have to stay between us. Remember when I went out with Erica to the bars a few weeks ago? We ended up at the same bar that Derek and Boyd were at. When she saw them, Erica made sure that we ‘accidentally’ ran into them, and Boyd invited us to drink with them. Obviously Erica agreed.” At first it was nice. Erica, who has liked Boyd for years, really hit it off with him, and soon enough the pair was on the dance floor together. And Derek turned out to be a lot of fun to talk to, with a dry humor and sharpwit. “But I had a little too much to drink.”

Scott visibly pales, slouching on the bed beside Stiles with an, “Oh.”

If there is one universal truth between them, it is that Stiles gets very loveable and clingy when he gets drunk. Which, when mixed with strangers, is never a good thing.

“Yeah. Erica and Boyd were dancing, and Derek and I were just kind of hanging out. And he turned out to be so funny and sharp. Well drunk me decided it was time to make a move, so I reached over, ran my fingers through his beard, told him he was beautiful and that I wanted to have puppies with him, and then I realized what I had said and ran away. I literally got up and ran out of the bar. I left my phone and my keys behind and everything!” Derek had been nice enough to give them to Erica. It was mortifying. “So yeah, I really can’t go.”

Scott nods silently, his mouth tipped into a frown. But then he remembers something. “Dude!” He smacks Stiles’ back. “We have to go though. Kira said that she was going to be there this year, and that she was helping to run the kissing booth. Kissing booths, Stiles!”

“Just go by yourself, Scott.”

Grabbing at Stiles’ legs, Scott starts trying to pull him off of the bed. “You have to go! I need you there to make sure I don’t run away. Listen, I’ll help you avoid Derek all night. I’ll buy you some cider and a caramel apple. And we can leave as soon as we see her. Come on Stiles, this is my chance!”

He wants to say no. He really wants too. But he knows how hard it is for Scott to talk to Kira on a normal day, and he’s been crushing on her for a few years. Having a course together at their local college has helped him branch out a little, but there is no way he’ll approach the girl he likes if Stiles isn’t there physically shoving him over to her. “Fine. But if something terrible happens, it’s on you.”

Scott woops in joy, then scrambles over to his closet to find something to wear. Stiles watches him with a feeling of impending doom. What won’t he do for his friends, honestly.

———-

Stiles is happy as soon as they arrive at the festival. People are milling around everywhere, laughing in groups and wearing fun costumes. Scott and Stiles are both dressed as scarecrows because Kira said that scarecrows were cute (and also Stiles has a lot of extra plaid shirts).

Talia Hale is waiting by the gates, greeting everyone who shows up. She nods at them both but her gaze doesn’t linger on them, which makes Stiles relax. From then on, it’s easy to be sweat into the festivities.

They get some apple cider, and Stiles buys an orange knitted scarf from the woman who lives down the street from his father. Scott tries his hand at the ring toss, and they visit his mother at the hospital’s booth.

When they finally catch sight of the kissing booth, Scott stops in his tracks, looking a little betrayed, and Stiles bursts into crazed laughter and begins dragging him over. Because it is a kissing booth. But it’s $2 to kiss some of the dogs rather than the people manning the booth. And Stiles thinks that’s awesome.

Kira waves them over when she sees them, her smile wide. Her nose has been painted and she’s wearing a set of pointed dog ears.

“Scott! Stiles! I’m glad you made it!”

When all Scott does is stare at her with a lovestruck expression, Stiles elbows him then takes over the conversation. “Hey, Kira! This is an awesome idea!” He’s already fishing money from his wallet when voice behind him says, “Thank you.” It’s a voice Stiles would recognize anywhere.

Turning around, Stiles wants to coo at how cute Derek looks with his face painted like a wolf’s and also kind of run away like a coward. From the corner of his eye, he catches the slogan painted on the kissing booth banner. It’s a wolf’s head tipped back to howl at the moon, the sign of the Wolf Sanctuary. That Derek runs.

“Hey, Derek,” Stiles says, wincing at how loud his voice his. “I was just-. You know-. Dogs.”

Derek laughs, a gentle huff, then places his hand on the small of Stiels’ back to urge him forward. “Come on, I’ll introduce you to everyone.”

Scott makes a confused noise at being abandoned, but Stiles can’t bother to say anything to him. Because Derek’s hand is warm, and he keeps his body close, and he smells so nice. Leading him around the booth, Derek introduces Stiles to each of the dogs. None of them are the wolves he cares for (obviously), but they’re amazing all the same. But the time Stiles has given each one of them his attention and turns around to ask Scott if he wants to pet them too, Scott and Kira have disappeared.

“What?” He looks around.

Derek blushes and shuffles his feet. “I, uh, let them go. Kira hasn’t had a chance to look around yet, and Scott seemed like he wanted to take her, so-.”

So they’re alone. Derek doesn’t say it, but it’s the truth. The thing is, despite how embarrassed he still is about what happened the other week, being around Derek is so easy. He likes it, like the way Derek moves into his space without questioning it. And it feels like something, something good.

So, gathering his courage, Stiles asks, “Maybe I could stay here and help you with the booth then. If that’s alright?”

Derek beams. “I would like that, Stiles. And, uh-. Maybe later we can get some cider or something. Mr. Richards made this pumpkin hot chocolate, and it’s really something to try.”

Taking a chance, Stiles reaches out and grabs Derek’s hand, smiling over at him when Derek twines their fingers together.

“Like a date?”

Derek shrugs, blushing. “I-. Yes.”

Internally, Stiles is screaming. He had been so worried that Derek was freaked out about what happened at the bar, but maybe Derek likes him enough to overlook how crazy he can be. And that means-

“Although,” Derek adds, looking thoughtful. “I think adopting pups is going to have to wait for a few dates.”

Oh god, Stiles is never drinking again.