#certain bits changing every time i think through it. or certain bits that remain glossed over and undefined

[orcelito]

Playing thru my plans for itnl chapter 12 like "Man this is so good ! .... what do you Mean I have to write it?"

Sometimes (like all the time) I wish I could just lift the scenes straight from my head and plop them down on the page. Unfortunately it doesn't work like that.

[wannabe-fic-writer]

WandaNat x Reader : Inhale pt. 2

Summary: She never ceases to surprise you.

Warning: Smoking, Cursing, One Suggestive Joke

Word Count: 1,998

Part 1

* * * * * *

The white paint stares back at you as you lay on your bed. Your view of the ceiling is obscured by the red ball you toss up into the air. It gets slightly smaller as it moves away from you, then larger as it falls back down. 

Your hand catches it and throws it back up into the air, repeating the same process as the tv plays on monotonously from the corner of the room.

Boredom has been washed over you for the past few days. Your girlfriends went on a mission last week. You were able to pass the time during the first week, keeping yourself distracted by hanging around the team, training with Steve, going for a run every time your fingers twitched towards the cigarettes you had hidden in your closet. All of that was failing to work right now.

It seems, though, that you don’t have to suffer through it much longer. F.R.I.D.A.Y chimes up after hours of quiet with an alert that Natasha and Wanda were back and heading to the room. 

You instantly perk up, pushing yourself to a sitting position on the bed and glancing at the door frequently, ready for your girls to walk in. Except they don’t.

The gleeful, happy to be home, response you were expecting is replaced by their clearly upset demeanors. A frown sits on Wanda’s face like you’ve never seen and Natasha’s expression remains neutral. 

They don’t acknowledge you save for a glance in your direction. Both of them go into the closet and quickly change into more comfortable clothes. In an instant afterwards they’re leaving out. And you’re left beyond confused.

With the possible reasons for their behavior and clear attitudes in your head, you don’t take offense to it. You give them some time to cool off, going back to tossing your ball in the air and catching it as you watch tv. 

Around an hour or two later you decide they’re fine now, or at least fine enough to talk to. So you get up, heading first to the kitchen to grab a bottle of cold water and then to the general training room. 

The sound of familiar huffs and the pounding of fists against a leather bag let’s you know your assumption was right. Your redheaded love is off to the fair side of the gym, headphones in her ears as she beats on the punching bag. 

You smirk at the sight of her. Not only do her yoga pants and sports bra look great on her, you always find her focused and slightly aggressive expression kind of hot. She glances at you as you approach and you know she can hear you despite her headphones.

Stopping behind the bag, you lean on it, showing off your smirk to the woman.“ If you really want to work off your frustrations I can think of a good way to do so.” Natasha grunts, rolling her eyes and focusing on punching the bag. 

With a sigh, you move to her side, gently taking her taped up hands and moving in front of her. Forest green eyes look into yours and you give her your best encouraging smile. She knows what your silent question is and sighs.

“The mission went south. We suffered a civilian casualty and others got hurt.” Her expression and tone remain neutral but obviously she’s upset about this. It isn’t her first time dealing with this kind of thing from a mission but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t hate every bit of it. 

“I’m sorry to hear that baby.” You raise your hands to her arms and gently rub them, squeezing a little in between.

Natasha’s heart warms at your soft comforts.“ I’ll be okay. Wan is more torn up than I am. She-” The woman shakes her head,“ she blames herself.” 

You frown, prepared to ask for more details. Then you figure you can ask the girlfriend who’s more deeply affected by it. 

“I’ll go talk to her.” Natasha nods at your words.“ You gonna be okay?” A teasing smile forms on your lips.“ I know you’re my super tough ex-assassin but I’m here if you want to talk.”

Her lips tug up in the corner at your teasing words, but it quickly becomes a sincere smile when you offer your ear. Slowly reaching up, she runs the pad of her thumb along the apple of your cheek.“ I’m okay detka. I’ll let you know if I need to talk. Or your other services.” 

You chuckle softly and nod. Leaning forward, you press a soft, quick kiss to her lips and part, heading off to find your other girlfriend. The not so tough witchy one you love just as much. 

Finding the woman proved to be a little harder than you thought it would be. She wasn’t in any of the places you thought she would be in: the library, the theater, the common room. You wrack your brain for ideas as to where she is and when the last place pops into mind, you can’t believe you hadn’t thought of it first.

It’s a quick jog to the elevator and an even shorter ride up to the top floor. From there you take the stairs up to the roof. 

She’d stolen this spot from you a few months after you started dating. She and Natasha found you up there smoking once and through the year and a half she would find you up here, sometimes sneaking a smoke when you shouldn’t be. 

Her long brown tresses fall down her back freely, the rest of her beauty hidden as she faces away from you. Though you still find her insanely cute that she’s in your hoodie and some stretch pants. 

The long slow straightening of her form clues you in on her deep breath, her body relaxing as she lets it go. You only get a little confused when she pauses and does it again. A thought that you’re unsure of, but the physical cues make you curious. The familiar movement of her arm, the deep breath, the pause. 

“Wan?” You call with an indescribable look on your face. 

Your brunette girlfriend’s shoulders drop and she turns to you. Immediately your eyes focus on the small cylinder in between her fingers, watching as it rises and rests between her lips. 

She takes a quick pull, pauses, let’s a little smoke go, then it all comes out in a straight shot that disperses in the air. It’s such a smooth combination of actions that leaves you wondering if she’d done this before. 

Deciding to hold your comment on that until after she’s completely calm, you take a different route. Approaching her still pacing form, you cross your arms and ask,“ was it that bad?” 

A snort leaves her lips and she takes another drag.“ Worse.” 

“Tell me.” Your hand reaches for her free one and you pull her towards you as you sit on the ledge of the roof. 

Her hand squeezes yours. Your eyes drop from her green ones to her lips as they wrap around the cylinder again, cheeks caving a little, then her lips puckering slightly as she pushes the smoke out. 

“I heard Natasha get hurt,” she starts, fingers once again tightening around yours,“ I looked away for a split second and he got away. We caught him but not until after he shot the tires out on a car. It flipped and crashed into another one.” Her jaw clenches, eyes glossing with tears.“ He hurt a man and his son and- and killed a woman.”

A heavy sigh leaves your lips and you stand, pulling her a little closer to your form. You’d been down this road a number of times. Being on the Avengers team since the beginning almost, you know exactly what it’s like to make a mistake and have others pay for it. It was a deep hole that never ceased to make you hate yourself. But you didn’t want Wanda feeling that way. 

“Hey,” you reach a hand up to cup her cheek, looking into her eyes,“ I know that it hurts. And it’s easy to blame yourself. But it’s not your fault. He made the choices that resulted in that woman losing her life, not you.” 

“But I’m supposed to be the hero. I’m supposed to save people. And I didn’t.” Her accent thickens as she gets choked up, eyes glossing over.

You sigh, taking the cigarette from her hand and putting it out on the ledge, then pull her into your arms. Her head rests on your shoulder and her hands slip up to your shoulder blades.“ You are a hero. A great hero. However, you’re not a perfect one. None of us are. It sucks in situations like this but you can’t save everyone no matter how much we want to. It doesn’t make you a bad person or any less of a hero.”

From the flicker of emotions in her eyes, you can tell it’s still going to take some time for her to cope with this. Still though you see a glimpse of that soft look and you can also see that she believes you to a certain extent.

Raising your hand, you gently push the corner of her lips up. She whines and turns her head away, noncommittally pushing at your side. It makes you laugh and she presses her forehead against your chest.

“Wanna tell me where you got that cigarette from?” You ask. 

She pulls away, producing a pack of cigarettes. Brows furrowing, you flip the top up and count the cigarettes inside. There were four missing.

“Did you smoke four whole cigarettes before I got up here?” An incredulous tone laces your words, disbelief flooding your system. 

Has your habit rubbed off on her? You know she and Nat found it attractive but did that lead Wanda to try it? It’s a terribly unhealthy habit, which is why your girlfriends wanted you to stop, and you certainly didn’t want Wanda getting into it.

“No, I didn’t smoke four. I got these from your boot in the closet,” she tells you.“ Which means you smoked them.”

“I-” you try to think of what to say.“ That was over the course of a few weeks. I haven’t had one in months though.” You know you didn’t need to give her an explanation but you wanted her to know you were still doing well. 

Wanda and Natasha were very well aware of your progression towards quitting. They could even tell the difference in your behavior. Both women were incredibly proud and admittedly you were proud of yourself as well. You had confidence you would be able to completely quit in the fairly near future. 

The younger woman smiles softly at you,“ I know you haven’t. And you don’t have to worry about me starting. It’s actually very nasty and I didn’t feel it did anything for my stress.” 

“Good. I don’t want you forming an addiction and I don’t want to die if Nat found out you’d started by smoking my cigarettes.” 

“She knows now.” 

Nearly jumping a foot in the air, you turn around to see your other girlfriend smirking a little at you. A nervous chuckle leaves your lips and you scratch the back of your neck. 

Rolling her eyes, Natasha steps to the side to stand beside you and Wanda. Her hand slipping into yours, the other held up towards Wanda. 

Wanda sighs and places the pack of cigarettes in Natasha’s hand. The redhead pockets them then takes the younger woman’s hand.“ Neither of you smoke again.” She states plainly. 

Looking at Wanda, you both nod.“ Never again Miss Romanoff.” You and Wanda say simultaneously, bright smiles shown to Natasha.

It’d be harder than that for you but not impossible. Especially not with the support and encouragement of the two women you loved and needed the most.

* * * * * *

Taglist: @owloftheshadows​ @natasha-danvers​ @blackxwidowsxwife​ @yumusak-yastik​ @b-5by5​ @fayhar​ @lostandsearching​ @iliketozoneout​ @ecruzsalaz

[wearywinchester]

Tempers

Dean Winchester x Female Reader

Summary: When a hunt goes wrong, anger flares and feelings come out.

Requested by Anonymous: This is sooo ''let's pretend they're all alive' but I think we all need something nice now, could you do one where reader is bobby's daughter and she's your typical I like makeup, short skirts and heels girl and they're all (reluctantly) working with the ghost facers for a case, dean gets protective around her bc she's bobby's daughter and not at all bc he likes her no no what gave you that idea hehehe

Word Count: 5.4k

Warnings: little bit of jealousy, injuries, mentions of blood, swearing, brief mentions of alcohol, fluff, kissing

Hunting with the Winchester’s.

No matter the case, hunting with those two never failed to be interesting. You’d like to think you were a good hunter, in fact you knew you were. You might not have been the best there is but there’s not one hunter out there that hasn’t made a handful of mistakes on the job. It was bound to happen sometime. But you’ve had a pretty good hunter to learn from—your dad.

He wasn’t thrilled with the idea of you hunting, not in the slightest and he tried his hardest to get you to go another direction with your life. But Bobby Singer was as stubborn as they come, so he should’ve expected his daughter to be just the same as himself. With all of the reluctance in the world, he taught you to be the hunter you are today, and that’s something he can feel confident in even though he might not admit it.

Dean hadn’t taken you too seriously the first time you’d accompanied them on a hunt for a vamp nest, treating you as if you were a child despite the mere one year age difference the two of you held. That quickly changed when you saved him from a great deal of danger that night; three vamps against a disarmed Dean surely wouldn’t have gone very well.

That was something you very much held over his head, giving it a good long while before you finally let him live it down save for a few mentions here and there.

Even then Dean was just as protective as he’d been since you were teens nearly ten years ago, you were Bobby’s daughter. That was always his reasoning for insisting you stay close to him on hunts, for losing his temper should the smallest of things happen to you. That was his reasoning for being adamant that you stay back on hunts he deemed too dangerous, trying his hardest to convince Bobby to stick with him on it. Bobby never disagrees with his reasoning, but he also knows you’re too stubborn for your own good.

Dean was the very same way.

The old house looked like something straight out of a movie, the stereotypical haunted house as boards stick haphazardly over broken windows and the grass is far too overgrown. Nearly every corner was littered with spiderwebs, the siding on the house covered in years of neglected dirt and moss. It was only perfectly fitting that it’d be haunted, otherwise that’d be a waste of an abandoned house.

You squinted up at it as you got out of the backseat of the Impala, turning back to look at the long driveway you’d just driven up, lined with old trees on either side before glancing back at the house. Your gaze shifts to Dean as you smooth out your jacket, the corner of his mouth quirking up in a grin.

“What?” You ask, eyes narrowed as you look up at the older Winchester.

“Nothing,” he chuckles, shrugging his shoulders, “I just don’t think I’ve ever seen you without a pair of those ridiculously tall heels on. I have to say I’m shocked.”

You roll your eyes and bite the inside of your cheek as he nudges the toe of your tattered old boots, his smile still remaining as he looks down at you in amusement.

“Well I guess I’m full of surprises then, aren’t I?” You say as you rub your gloss in with a smack of your lips and brush past him to get to catch up to Sam, the smile you’d tried to stifle now tugging at your lips once your back was to him. But he knew it was there just as much as you saw his was when you turned back around to catch his expression.

He chuckled, brows soon furrowing as he shook his head. “Wait—what’s that supposed to mean?”

He slung his bag over his shoulder and quickened his pace, grumbling to himself about what your words could have meant as his brows furrowed. In a matter of moments you nearly smack into Sam, stopping just in time.

“What is it?”

“You have got to be kidding me,” Dean mutters, and when you look at him that crease between his brows deepens and his jaw tenses, eyes rolling and you follow his gaze to the ever familiar van that sat parked on the other side of the trees. “Looks like the ghostbusters beat us to it.”

Ghostfacers.

You were more than surprised when Dean had caved on working the hunt with them, not without a couple of eye rolls and a few choice words for the pair mumbled not so discreetly under his breath. But all things considered, after what happened the last time, you were surprised he’d gone through with it. Although, Harry and Ed weren’t planning on leaving anyway. They may have been more than just a little intimidated by that ever famous Dean Winchester glare, one that never worked on you, but they weren’t scared enough to back down much to Dean’s dismay.

The more people there were, the better, but that didn’t stop the older Winchester from being protective over you. In fact, you were certain he was even more so.

“Stay with me,” Dean said, his words serious as he put his arm out in front of you, his gaze over at the two less than desired guests and their cameras having been less than pleased. Especially with the way they smiled at you and acted like a couple of fools with a crush.

“What am I five, Dean?” You say, pushing his arm down as you quicken your pace to walk with him rather than behind him.

He narrows his eyes down at you as his lips purse till those dimples appeared that you’ve come to know oh so well, and rarely were they not from discontentment.

“Would you slow down?” He huffs, a smile tugging at your lips.

You sigh, shaking your head in amusement.

You failed to miss the way the back of his hand had brushed over your knuckles as you walked along the shadowed hallway, thick with cobwebs and rubble scattering across the scratched wood floors. You were starting to wonder if the action was a simple accident or if he’d felt the same spark of something you couldn’t quite pinpoint in his chest as you felt in yours.

It could have been nothing, probably was, but you shook it off when you turned around the corner and tried not to think about it again.

The hunt was supposed to be easy. It was supposed to be a simple salt and burn, and it was one spirit against five people. Harry and Ed weren’t the best of help, not really, but it was more than you walked in with and it should have been better. But it wasn’t.

The spirit turned out to be far more vengeful than she let on, and as Dean suspected, it wasn’t a good idea to split up. Not in a house that was three times bigger than it seemed with a more than violent spirit on the loose. It most certainly didn’t help that the sun had finally dipped below the horizon, the house dark enough to begin with even in daylight, it’s boarded up windows and burnt out lightbulbs working against you.

Had you not been there, Dean would more than readily have split up to cover more ground with the extra set of hands accompanying you this time, it only made sense to do so. But you were. You were there and you were just as stubborn as ever as you stood there in favor of the very idea that was just the opposite of what Dean wanted. What was a good idea to you and one to most was the worst thing he could possibly think of. He didn’t want you to stray far from him for reasons he’d never admit, not to you or himself, instead reasoning with a simple ‘because I said so’.

But that phrase didn’t work on you. It never did.

He knew. From the moment those two barreled down the stairs looking paler than the spirit you were after, holding all the hesitancy in the world in their body language he knew. The apologetic look Sam had given him wasn’t one that helped either, anger quick to spark within him as he closed his eyes for a moment. He should have known better than to believe they’d offer you any form of protection even though he knows you can hold your own. He should have known better than to quit arguing with you on the matter because maybe, just maybe you’d have given in and split up with him instead. Maybe you would still be with the group and not who knows where in this maze of a run down mansion.

It was a mess of maybe’s and what if’s that clouded his every thought.

But he didn’t argue and you were gone. You were swept away by Casper the not so friendly ghost and he was to blame. Bobby would be livid if he knew, he gets that, but Dean himself didn’t know what he’d do if something happened. He could deal with the wrath of Bobby Singer any day but he couldn’t deal with even just the thought of something happening to you and he couldn’t find it in him to grasp just why it was he felt that way. Maybe he could, but he doesn’t want to think about it.

“You what?” Dean asked, anger simmering in the pit of his stomach. His question was low and the two words were more than venomous, more than telling of just how angry he’d been. He heard exactly what Ed had told him not thirty seconds before, he just couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He could believe it actually, because it was Ed of all people, but that wasn’t the point.

Ed swallowed thickly and offered a nervous laugh in an attempt to stave off the tension that’d been building the moment they came back to Dean without you, backing up from the green eyed Winchester who’d been staring him down with a narrowed gaze. It wasn’t hard to see that his patience was wearing thin, and he knew he was pushing it the more he stalled. “She—she went ahead! It’s not like we could talk her out of it!”

His fists clenched and relaxed at his sides at the reasoning he just heard, crescent shaped imprints of his nails left behind on his palms in the wake of his increasing anger.

“You let her out of your sight?” He said, far louder than before. He grabbed him by the collar of his jacket and pushed him against the dilapidated old wall, the wood creaking under the newfound pressure against it and a cloud of dust forming. He’s more than tense as Dean crinkles his shirt between his fists, knuckles ivory white and jaw clenched tightly. He could see every freckle and every ounce of emotion in Dean’s eyes, that’s how close he was. He could see the angry quiver in his bottom lip and the flare of his nostrils, could feel his breath hitting his face as he stood pinned to the wall and his glasses even fogged up.

“What, you thought you’d play ‘Mr. Tough Guy’, try and protect her? Huh? Cause you sure as hell didn’t do a good job,” Dean grits out frustratedly.

“She said she’d kick my ass if I didn’t let her go ahead!” He splutters, nearly nose to nose with him.

Dean nodded, the smile on his face bitter as he slid his tongue along the inside of his cheek. “Where is she?”

“I don’t know,” he says, sweating bullets by that point as he buckled under the pressure of Dean’s distress. He let out a noise when he shook him slightly and he knows that’s not the answer Dean needs to hear right now. “We were on the second floor when a door slammed around the corner!”

“Actually, they all closed so it’s kinda hard to tell which one,” Harry chimed in, growing timid the more he spoke as he stepped closer to Sam as some form of protection. He scratched the back of his neck and laughed nervously when Dean’s stare fell on him.

“Dean, we’ll find her, okay? Right now we’re just wasting time,” Sam says, noting Ed was two seconds from fainting from the anger radiating off the older Winchester.

Dean pushed him back once more before releasing his grip on his shirt, wrinkled and disheveled from the tightness of his fists. It was becoming increasingly more apparent that this was about more than just protecting Bobby Singer’s daughter. It was about more than just his annoyance with anything and everything that has to do with Ghostfacers. It was you.

He was angry, livid, as he snagged the flashlight from the table, storming off on his own. Not without his anger getting the better of him, a nearby chair taking the brunt of his frustration as it hits the wall. He remembers just what happened the last time he got stuck working a hunt with them, and he tried his hardest not to think about it.

Meanwhile, you found yourself stuck locked in a room you knew you weren’t in before you were taken. A room you didn’t even know existed in this house to begin with. For being a run down old building, the flimsy doors were stronger than they looked, but you suppose the powers of the supernatural didn’t really care about things like that.

Your knuckles were an angry shade of red, fists sore and throbbing from having pounded them against the door for the better part of what had to be ten minutes in an attempt to escape or at least grab someone’s attention. You were tired as you slumped back against the wall, tucked within the sparse circle of salt you managed to make. Your phone was dead and your flashlight was gone, your energy seemingly just as drained as everything else.

You could feel the I told you so’s coming from Dean, you knew they’d be there ready and waiting if you get out of this. It’s not like it had been completely undeserved, but you didn’t want to hear it. You knew you more than likely looked worse for wear as you sat within that circle, knew by the way you saw smears of crimson on your fingers when you wiped your cheek. It was no secret that you messed up big time with this one, you’d admit that, but admitting it to yourself didn’t help you in that moment and you certainly wouldn’t say it to Dean.

You found there were a lot of things you were hesitant on admitting to Dean, and in the current moment you weren’t so sure if you’d have the chance to bring any of them to light. Maybe it was for the best anyway, could save yourself the embarrassment of having feelings for the older Winchester in the first place. Though you can’t tell what was scarier, the thought of his inevitable discontent with you and your hunting capabilities should you make it out alive, or the very real possibility that you wouldn’t make it out alive.

Yeah, you definitely couldn’t decide that one.

You weren’t sure how or when you found yourself pining over green eyes; the two of you bickered more often than not each and every time you saw one another. If it wasn’t over the smell of your perfume filling up the Impala, it was the way his cologne hung on you after he gave you a hug just to make that happen, just to ruffle your hair after you’d just done it. It was the softer smiles you shared with each other without even realizing it.

But it didn’t really matter, not now it didn’t.

You were caught up with the sting of embarrassment coursing through you from having gotten lost in the first place—you were so adamant that you could do it on your own. It happens to Sam all the time, it happens to Dean all the time, but you couldn’t stop the heat burning in your cheeks or the frustration building in your stomach.

You didn’t know how much time had passed nor did you have a second to think on it before she appeared in front of you in a matter of seconds. The look on her face had you sitting a little straighter, back pressing to the wall behind you as you eyed the pitiful salt ring around you. She laughed tauntingly and you were beginning to think even that wouldn’t protect you, you knew it wouldn’t judging by the way each and every granule began to sift away and break apart it’s protective ring.

You swallow thickly as your eyes widened, both your gaze and hers shifting to the door briefly as it rattled. “Y/n?”

Your breath hitched, only the smallest bit of relief washing over you as her attention returned to you almost immediately. “Dean!”

She didn’t seem to mind his attempts at busting the door down, nor the axe that split through the wood. She knew full well she could send him across the room with a simple twitch of her finger should he break through, watching as you scramble to your feet.

In a matter of seconds she’d appeared mere inches from you, her hand grabbing your face, cold and unforgiving. You didn’t know just what it was she’d been doing, but you were more than aware of the pain beginning to lance through you the moment she touched your skin.

It was near unbearable, a sharp burn radiating through you as a pressure squeezed in on you, intense and unwavering. You were quite sure you’d never felt something so intensely, the feeling nearly taking your breath away. Of all the hunts you’d been on, of all the injuries you walked away with, they’ve got nothing on this.

One thing she didn’t count on was the handful of salt you gathered in your palm, too caught up in your demise to see you’d snagged it from the protective ring she broke. You pressed your hand to her wrist and watched her face twist and contort in discomfort, the action searing her arm where you’d touched it and releasing her grip on you in an instant as if you were venomous.

She pushed you to the wall in retaliation with a simple move of her hand, and if you thought she’d been angry now, you surely were mistaken. You groaned as the fragile old wall behind you cracked and crumbled around you, slumping on the ground once more in exhaustion. You caught sight of Dean’s face as the door began to give way, livid yet holding something you couldn’t quite place as your heart hammered in your chest.

But luck seemed to be on your side just this once, fear flashing across her face as she stood mere inches from you. Her yelp was shrill as she stumbled backwards, having burned up in a blaze of misery and screams. Your chest heaved as your shoulders slumped in relief, the heat of her disappearance having fanned over you and the door breaking loose in a heap of shards and splinters.

The pain she’d caused had begun to ebb away and subside, leaving the ache to remain and the fatigue you felt to rest heavier in your body as you stood to your feet with a bit of unbalance.

Dean had crossed the room in a matter of a few strides, the axe clattering to the floor as his hand settled on your cheek. You looked miserable, mascara smudged and a frown on your busted lip.

“You okay?” He asked, the furrow deep between his brows.

“Do not say ‘I told you so’,” you grumble, half humorous as you look up at him.

His lips purse, his thumb swiping over the cut running along your cheek that he was less than pleased about. Any other time he might’ve laughed, but not this time. The worried crease between his brows and the way his lips pointed downward at the corners had been telling enough that he wasn’t happy with the predicament you’d gotten yourself into, that he was the complete opposite of thrilled at the close call that had his heart pounding and his stress in overdrive. But right now he was relieved. You were here and you were okay, attitude and all.

Sam was first to rush in, Harry next and Ed hot on his heels as they stepped over the rubble and splinters of the broken door.

Ed’s own relief washed over him, happy to not be on the receiving end of an angry Dean Winchester’s punch. “You found her—”

“Shut it.”

It’d been quiet the whole car ride home, no music on the radio, no conversation, no quick witted jokes or typical conversation. It was quiet and it was tense, near uncomfortable as Sam was stuck in the tension between two people he knows have something brewing between them. But he said nothing, pretending he didn’t see the way his brother’s gaze flickers to the rear view every other minute to see if you’re okay, his jaw tense and his grip on the wheel nearly too tight.

Bobby wasn’t thrilled to see the way that spirit roughed you up, more than a few choice words thrown Dean’s way with anger in his tone. He expected that much, having braced for it the whole ride back. He didn’t argue, didn’t do much more than nod and clench his jaw, and he didn’t say just how it was that it happened in the first place either.

Now you were wandering through your dad’s house, quiet unlike it had been just two hours earlier. Your dad and Sam had both been asleep, the early hours of dawn beginning to roll around as dawn approached. You knew better than to believe Dean would be sleeping too, your thoughts confirmed when the door to the bedroom he’d been crashing in was still open, bed empty and still untouched from when he’d haphazardly made it the morning before.

You sighed when you saw him, sitting by himself on the back porch swing and the moment you stepped outside you saw the half-drunk bottle of beer in his hand. His gaze lifted to you when he heard the creak of the door, averting his stare moments later.

“It’s late, sweetheart. Go to bed.”

“Then why aren’t you in bed?”

“Not tired,” he says, tipping his bottle against his lips as he takes another sip of his beer.

You huff out a soft sigh, arms crossing over your chest. That’s when he looks at you again, the dimness of the porch light having illuminated the jagged scratch on your cheek, freshly cleaned as well as the mascara that smudged under your eyes earlier. The tension in his jaw had yet to go away, obvious as ever.

“Are you going to be mad at me forever then?”

“‘M not mad anymore,” he says, and you knew for a fact that’d been a lie.

“You’re not that good a liar, Dean,” you say, watching him set his drink down and stand to his feet, leaning his weight on the wooden railing. “I had it handled, you know,” you say, watching his expression sour at your words.

You heard his scoff as you brushed past him, a sigh leaving your lips because you knew he’d react just the way he’d been acting. You were right with him, you were always right.

“Had it handled, my ass,” he said, quick to follow after you. “I told you not to do that.”

“Yeah, well I did it,” you said, and he turned in front of you and spun around, keeping you from walking any further.

“Would you quit it with the tough guy act? You’re hurt and you damn well know it, I know it. Hell, anyone can see that. So do yourself a favor and stop pretending like you had everything under control because I know you better than to believe that.”

Your brows furrow as you look up at him with a squinted gaze, watching as his chest rises and falls, at the way there was something more than anger pooling in his eyes as he looked at you. You’ve never seen him quite this upset over you before, not really, never seen him look at you that way before. He was angry, sure he was, but it was different.

He wasn’t wrong, you were hurting, it’s not everyday you’re on the receiving end of a vengeful spirits’ wrath. You went off on your own when you shouldn’t have been so bold and daring. But you were here. You were here and you were okay and you knew you were bound to do it again on another case. It was what being a hunter is about. You didn’t get this far by sitting back and letting the monsters out there come to you, you had to go out and look for them and if you got a few bumps and bruises then so be it.

“Why are you so mad, Dean?” You ask, watching his eyes roll. “You go out and do the same reckless things on a hunt, you’ve come out on the other side way worse than I did. But since it’s me, suddenly it’s a problem.”

“Exactly, it’s because it’s you!” He repeats, frustrated as ever as he throws his hands up. “And yeah I’m mad. I’m freakin’ pissed. You come in here thinking you’re invincible and you’re not Y/n. I’m mad because…” he paused, letting out a breath as he rubbed his face, hands running through his hair.

He looked at you then, expression softening as he calmed down a fraction. “Forget it.”

“No, not forget it,” you say, grabbing his wrist as he starts to walk away. His jaw was clenched as he looked down at you, swallowing thickly as the heaving of his chest slowed and his grip on the doorknob was tighter than ever.

This was the first time since you’d gotten back that he’d looked in your eyes for longer than a mere second or two. You knew he was on the brink of storming off to sulk in his own anger and guilt because that’s what he always did. You knew there was something more to it than just what he’d told you. He’d like to think that you’d believe that he wasn’t angry anymore, that he was over it. But Sam told you what happened back there, how upset he got with Ed and just how worried he’d been. It was growing increasingly obvious that there was more to it than that.

It was then that you noticed you’d still been holding onto his wrist and he didn’t pull away from you, didn’t make a move to.

You tilted your head to the side when you mulled things over, and that was when the sudden realization hit you like a ton of bricks, the smallest of smiles tugging at the corner of your mouth.

He rolls his eyes, “Don’t.”

“What?”

“Don’t do that thing where you try and ‘read’ me,” he says, quoting the word.

“You were scared,” you said, smile widening a bit and he huffs, pulling his arm from your loose grip. You hit the nail right on the head.

“I was just doing what Bobby asked me to do,” he says, adamant that that was his reason for being as upset as he was. Definitely not over the feelings bubbling away in the pit of his stomach, just waiting to go ahead and boil over.

“No, you were scared, De,” you say as he starts to turn away from you in an attempt to hide the smile threatening to show. “You were scared that I got lost.”

You always did that. You always took his anger and made it something else entirely and he’d try his hardest to keep that wall up. He was mad at you, mad at you for putting yourself in the same kind of danger he allows himself to be in with every hunt he does. But if you keep poking and prodding him and calling him out on his true feelings with that smile that makes him weak in the knees he does know how long he’ll last.

“You got this all wrong, sweetheart.”

“Sam told me what happened with Ed back there.”

His expression changed, softened a bit before he played it off with that familiar smirk. “Yeah, Ed’s an idiot and he pushed my buttons.”

You nodded then, your smile more than telling that you didn’t believe a word he said. You heaved a sigh, a bit of disappointment burning in your chest at his words. Because maybe you did have it all wrong, maybe his stubborn reluctance to be honest was just him telling the truth. Maybe he was just doing what your dad asked him to do. Being protective was in his nature, you knew that for a fact.

You brushed past him on the porch and headed to the door, the chirping of the early morning birds sounding and giving you enough of a reminder that maybe you should go to bed. That maybe you’ll feel better with a few hours of sleep. That maybe they would be gone, Dean would be gone by the time you woke up and you wouldn’t have to face the fluttery feeling and the ache in your heart until the next time you see him.

You spin on your heel to find him already looking, your smile soft. “Goodnight, Dean.”

Without so much as a reply you twist the old brass doorknob, pushing the back door open before his hand grips your wrist. You turned back to look at him, brows furrowed as you gazed up at him. He swallows thickly as he looks at you, lips parting to speak but the very words he’d been thinking of so vividly were stuck on the top of his tongue.

His hand loosens around your wrist and the tips of his fingers slide down to your hand to envelope yours, calloused and warm and hesitant. He takes all but a few seconds of your curious gaze, of the questions sitting on your tongue before he dips down and presses his lips on yours. It’s soft, featherlight almost as he pulls away just as quickly.

He doesn’t stray too far, his nose brushing against yours as he swallows nervously, but the sight of your smile put him at ease. Had him kissing you with just a little more vigor as his hand drops yours in favor of pressing to your cheek, your own having settled in his arm. Your smiles mingle and press into each other, the kiss soft and languid as your cheeks burned under his touch.

“I was right, wasn’t I?” You murmur, and the way he hummed softly, the way he stole another kiss in favor of admitting you were was telling enough.

He pulls back to look at you, his lips kiss swollen and pink as the beginnings of a smile tug at the corner of his mouth. His eyes bounce between yours and down to your lips, looking at you once more before he kisses you again. The anger he held is quick to melt when you look at him the way you do and he hates it, he loves it but he hates it because he really should be mad. You nearly got yourself killed and here he was weak in the knees and he knows you’ll be just as brave on the next hunt. He knows you’ll do just the same thing.

“Your dad’s gonna kill me,” he mumbles, smiling against your lips.

“Probably,” you say with a grin, his quiet laughter immediate as he pulls you closer.

But you were right. There was more to it than just protecting Bobby Singer’s daughter, there always was. As stubborn as Dean Winchester could be, you knew him better than that, and he knew you better than to believe you won’t make his heart race and his worry spike on every hunt after that. It’s just in your nature to be braver than ever.

But he’ll protect you each and every time.

—

Tags: @flamencodiva @stixnstripesworld @dean-is-sams-apple-pie @elegantbutedgy @humanmistakes @agalliasi @lanea-1 @campingmonkey

[superman86to99]

Superman #85 (January 1994)

Cat Grant in... "DARK RETRIBUTION"! Which is like normal retribution, but somehow darker. On the receiving end of Cat's darktribution is Winslow Schott, the Toyman, who suddenly changed his MO from "pestering Superman with wacky robots" to "murdering children" back on Superman #84, with one of his victims being Cat's young son Adam. Now Cat has a gun and intends to sneak it into prison to use it on Toyman. She's also pretty pissed at Superman for taking so long to find Toyman after Adam’s death (to be fair, Superman did lose several days being frozen in time by an S&M demon, as seen in Man of Steel #29).

So how did Superman find Toyman anyway? Basically, by spying on like 25% of Metropolis. After finding out from Inspector Turpin that the kids were killed near the docks, Superman goes there and focuses all of his super-senses to get "a quick glimpse of every person" until he sees a bald, robed man sitting on a giant crib, and goes "hmmm, yeah, that looks like someone who murders children." At first, Superman doesn't understand why Toyman would do such a horrible thing, but then Schott starts talking to his mommy in his head and the answer becomes clear: he watched Psycho too many times (or Dan Jurgens did, anyway).

Immediately after wondering why no one buys his toys, Toyman makes some machine guns spring out of his giant crib. I don't know, man, maybe it's because they're all full of explosives and stuff? Anyway, Toyman throws a bunch of exploding toys at Superman, including a robot duplicate of himself, but of course they do nothing. Superman takes him to jail so he can get the help he needs -- which, according to Cat, is a bullet to the face. Or so it seems, until she gets in front of him, pulls the trigger, and...

PSYCHE! It was one of those classic joke guns I’ve only ever seen in comics! Cat says she DID plan to bring a real gun, but then she saw one of these at a toy store and just couldn't resist. Superman, who was watching the whole thing, tells Cat she could get in trouble for this stunt, but he won't tell anyone because she's already been through enough. Then he asks her if she needs help getting home and she says no, because she wants to be more self-sufficient.

I think that's supposed to be an inspiring ending, but I don't know... Adam's eerie face floating in the background there makes me think she's gonna shave her head and climb into a giant crib any day, too. THE END!

Character-Watch:

Cat did become more self-sufficient after this, though. Up to now, all of her storylines seemed to revolve around other people: her ex-husband, Morgan Edge, José Delgado, Vinnie Edge, and finally Toyman. After this, I feel like there was a clear effort to turn her into a character that works by herself. I actually like what they did with Cat in the coming years, though I still don’t think they had to kill her poor kid to do that -- they could have sent him off to boarding school, or maybe to live with his dad. Or with José Delgado, over at Power of Shazam! I bet Jerry Ordway would have taken good care of him.

Plotline-Watch:

Wait, so can Superman just find anyone in Metropolis any time he wants? Not really: this is part of the ongoing storyline about his powers getting boosted after he came back from the dead, which sounds pretty useful now but is about to get very inconvenient.

Don Sparrow points out: "It is interesting that as Superman tries to capture Schott, he at one point instead captures a robot decoy, particularly knowing what Geoff Johns will retroactively do to this storyline in years to come, in Action Comics #865, as we mentioned in our review of Superman #84." Johns also explained that the robot thought he was hearing his mother's voice due to the real Toyman trying to contact him via radio, which I prefer to the "psycho talks to his dead mom" cliche.

Superman says "I never thought he'd get to the point where he'd KILL anyone -- especially children!" Agreed about the children part but, uh, did Superman already forget that Toyman murdered a whole bunch people on his very first appearance, in Superman #13? Or does Superman not count greedy toy company owners as people? Understandable, I guess.

There's a sequence about Cat starting a fire in a paper basket at the prison to sneak past the metal detector, but why do that if she had a toy gun all long? Other than to prevent smartass readers like us from saying "How did she get the gun into the prison?!" before the plot twist, that is.

Patreon-Watch:

Shout out to our patient Patreon patrons, Aaron, Murray Qualie, Chris “Ace” Hendrix, britneyspearsatemyshorts, Patrick D. Ryall, Bheki Latha, Mark Syp, Ryan Bush, Raphael Fischer, Dave Shevlin, and Kit! The latest Patreon-only article was about another episode of the 1988 Superman cartoon written by Marv Wolfman, this one co-starring Wonder Woman (to Lois' frustration).

Another Patreon perk is getting to read Don Sparrow's section early, because he usually finishes his side of these posts long before I do (he ALREADY finished the next one, for instance). But now this one can be posted in public! Take it away, Don:

Art-Watch (by @donsparrow​):

We begin with the cover, and it’s a good one— an ultra tight close up for Cat Grant firing a .38 calibre gun, with the titular Superman soaring in, perhaps too late.  An interesting thing to notice in this issue (and especially on the cover) is that the paper stock that DC used for their comics changed, so slightly more realistic shading was possible.  While it’s nowhere near the sophistication or gloss of the Image Comics stock of the time, there is an attempt at more realistic, airbrushy type shading in the colour.  It works well in places, like the muzzle flash, on on Cat Grant’s cheeks and knuckles, but less so in her hair, where the shadow looks a browny green on my copy.

The interior pages open with a pretty good bit of near-silent storytelling.  We are deftly shown, and not told the story—there are condolence cards and headlines, and the looming presence of a liquor bottle, until we are shown on the next page splash the real heart of the story, a revolver held aloft by Catherine Grant, bereaved mother, with her targeting in her mind the grim visage of the Toyman.

While their first few issues together meshed pretty well, it’s around  this issue that the pencil/inks team of Jurgens and Rubinstein starts to look a little rushed in places.  A few inkers who worked with Jurgens that I’ve spoken to have hinted that his pencils can vary in their level of detail, from very finished  to pretty loose, and in the latter case, it’s up to the inker to embellish where there’s a lack of detail.  Some inkers, like Brett Breeding, really lay down a heavier hand, where there’s quite a bit of actual drawing work in addition to adding value and weight to the lines.  I suspect some of the looseness in the figures, as well as empty  backgrounds reveals that these pencils were less detailed than we often  see from Jurgens.

There’s some weird body language in the tense exchange between Superman and Cat as she angrily confronts him about his lack of progress in capturing her son’s killer—Superman  looks a little too dynamic and pleased with himself for someone ostensibly apologizing. Superman taking flight to hunt down Toyman is classic Jurgens, though.

Another example of art weirdness comes on page 7, where Superman gets filled in on the progress of the Adam Morgan investigation.  Apparently Suicide Slum has some San Francisco-like hills, as that is one very steep sidewalk separating Superman and Turpin from some central-casting looking punks.

The  sequence of Superman concentrating his sight and hearing on the  waterfront area is well-drawn, and it’s always nice to see novel uses of his powers.  Tyler Hoechlin’s Superman does a similar trick quite often on the excellent first season of Superman & Lois.  The full-bleed splash of Superman breaking through the wall to capture Toyman is definitely panel-of-the-week material, as we really feel Superman’s rage and desperation to catch this child-killer.

Pretty much all the pages with Cat Grant confronting Winslow Schott are  well-done and tensely paced.  While sometimes I think the pupil-less  flare of the eye-glasses is a cop-out, it does lend an opaqueness and mystery to what Toyman is thinking.  Speaking of cop-outs, the gag gun twist ending really didn’t work for me.  I was glad that Cat didn’t lower herself to Schott’s level and become a killer, even for revenge, but the prank gun just felt too silly of a tonal shift for a storyline with this much gravitas.  The breakneck denouement that Cat is now depending only on herself didn’t get quite enough breathing room either.

While I appreciated that the ending of this issue avoided an overly simplistic, Death Wish style of justice, this issue extends this troubling but brief era of Superman comics. The casual chalk outlines of  yet two more dead children continues the high body count of the  previous handful of issues, and the tone remains jarring to me.  The issue is also self-aware enough to point out, again, that Schott is  generally an ally of children, and not someone who historically wishes  them harm, but that doesn’t stop the story from going there, in the most  violent of terms. In addition to being a radical change to the Toyman  character, it’s handled in a fashion more glib than we’re used to seeing  in these pages.  The mental health cliché of a matriarchal obsession, a la Norman Bates doesn’t elevate it either.  So, another rare misstep  from Jurgens the writer, in my opinion.   STRAY OBSERVATIONS:

I  had thought for sure that Romanove Vodka was a sly reference to a certain Russian Spy turned Marvel superhero, but it turns out there  actually is a Russian Vodka called that, minus the “E”, produced not in Russia, as one might think from the Czarist name, but rather, India.

While it made for an awkward exchange, I was glad that Cat pointed out how  her tragedy more or less sat on the shelf while Superman dealt with the "Spilled Blood" storyline.  A lesser book might not have acknowledged any  time had passed. Though I did find it odd for Superman to opine that he  wanted to find her son’s murderer even more than she wanted him to.  Huh?  How so?

I love the detail that Toyman hears the noise of Superman soaring to capture him, likening it to a train coming.

I  quibble, but there’s so much I don’t understand about the “new” Toyman.  If he’s truly regressing mentally, to an infant-like state, why does he wear this phantom of the opera style long cloak while he sits in his baby crib?  Why not go all the way, and wear footie pajamas, like the lost souls on TLC specials about “adult babies”?

I get that Cat Grant is in steely determination mode, but it seemed a little out of place that she had almost no reaction to the taunting she faced from her child’s killer.  She doesn’t shed a single tear in the entire issue, and no matter how focused she is on vengeance, that doesn’t seem realistic to me. [Max: That's because this is not just retribution, Don. It's dark retribution. We’ve been over this!]

[tealin]

Cape Crozier: The Spiritual Journey

As usual, please check out http://twirlynoodle.com/blog to see this post and others in their original (functioning) formatting.

Since getting seriously into polar history, I kept hearing the same two things from polar veterans.  One was that I could not possibly understand the story properly, or be able to depict it truthfully, unless I visited Antarctica myself.  The other was that Antarctica changes people.  This was unanimous amongst scientists, historians, and even tourists: one cannot help but be profoundly affected by contact with Antarctica; that is just a fact of the place.

I have certainly been changed by Antarctica indirectly.  The inner kernel of “me” is the same in my earliest memories as now, but the Terra Nova men and their experiences have fundamentally shifted how that kernel views and relates to the world and the people around me.  I am a vastly better person for their influence, and that is a large part of why I have been so dogged in getting their story to a new audience: the hope that, through my work, even one other person might be changed in the same way.

When I finally got the chance to visit Antarctica in person, I had half an eye out for signs something had happened.  Two weeks into my visit, I had learned a lot and had some meaningful experiences, but I couldn't say I had changed at all.  Maybe that initial action-at-a-distance was the change I had been promised after all.

Then I went to Cape Crozier.

As we have spread around the planet, humans have noted certain places as being special in some way, places of some sort of power, or where the spirit world is a little more tangible.  The Celts called these 'thin places', where the fabric of reality is threadbare, and Something Else comes a little closer.  One can have a 'thin' experience anywhere, but certain places seem to encourage them.  They may remain completely unmarked, or may become loci for centuries of pilgrimage, or anything in between, but they exist in some form in every culture except, perhaps, the post-Enlightenment intellectual West.

Antarctica, generally, feels like where the edge of a painting dissolves into brushstrokes. There is a certain unreality baked-in: the sun wheels around the sky without setting, one can count on one hand the species of life regularly seen, and everything – the landscape, the weather, the distances – is so vastly out of proportion to puny humanity.  One could argue that this 'unfinished' feeling is because so much of it is white, but I have travelled through many snow-covered landscapes, and they feel like landscapes covered in snow, not fundamentally blank places with a few suggestive details dropped in by an artist whose main attention was elsewhere.

Cape Crozier was something else entirely, though.  It is, of course, hanging off the edge of Ross Island, but it felt more like it was hanging off the edge of reality itself.  It is a thin place par excellence.  And I had an experience there which I have been trying to process since landing back at McMurdo.  When I tried to discuss it with friends, my ability to speak quite simply stopped.  Then the pandemic, and the new house, and pushing through Vol.1, all rose up and drove it to the back of my mind.  In February I wasn't ready to talk about it; here in October, I worry it's too late.  But I feel compelled to share what happened there, and if I don't do it now, I don't know if I ever will.

If this were a novel, at Cape Crozier I would have felt the thinness of time, and a closer connection to the dead men I had followed there – perhaps almost to believe they weren't dead at all!  In such a place, that didn't seem impossible.  But that is not what happened.  Nor did I have some sort of enlightenment beamed into my head from the heavens.  Even the word 'happened' is too suggestive of some sort of discrete external event.  If you had asked me, there, at the time, I'd have said I was just sitting there thinking. But I sit thinking a lot in life, and this was not the sort of thinking I am used to.  It was more like a revelation.  Not in the trumpets and angels sense, but in a literal one: layers of clutter and gloss were pulled back to reveal a simple underlying truth.  It was, in essence, a dose of perspective, a view from high and far enough away to see the big picture, and not the surface detail.  As I sat at the base of a boulder, gazing at the stone igloo and gawking at how completely insane were the men who dragged their sledges to this desolate nowhere to build it, I suddenly saw my life as it appeared in the Author's notes.

Ever since first getting the inkling that this story would make a good graphic novel, it has felt like a calling.  I said 'no' to the calling for years – some sort of cosmic wrong number – but when I finally said 'yes' everything started falling into place.  That is supposed to be a good sign, for a calling.  And I was happy following it, though it wasn't easy or comfortable.  As far as I could deduce, under my own power, it seemed like what I ought to be doing.  That is not to say there weren't doubts, especially in the grey light of a winter morning when I would lie in my rented bed, looking at my desk and wondering what on earth I was doing with my life.  And I was not untroubled by other concerns: Shouldn't I be more helpful to my family? Why have I been persistently unable to find a tribe, or a relationship?  Will I be allowed to stay in the UK?  Can I do this work and keep myself fed and housed?

Here, on a wind-scoured ridge on the edge of nowhere, reflecting on its history of unbelievable and, it could be argued, pointless hardship, one might expect to realise the folly of one's ways, and to swear off quixotic enterprises in favour of the hitherto unappreciated quotidian stuff that really matters.  But that is not what happened.  Instead, I got this dose of clarity:

I am here to tell this story.  Not here, at Cape Crozier, in this instant (although that too), but here, on this planet, as a human being.  This is what I am for.

Whatever I need to make it happen will be provided.  No less, and no more.

Everything else?  Tangential.  Not worth worrying about.  What needs to happen, will happen, and if it doesn't happen, it didn't need to.  And that's OK.

All shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of thing shall be well.

When I was young, we had a puzzle of the United States of America.  It was made of Masonite, and the pieces were cut out in the shapes of the states, which would be assembled to fill the recessed outline of the country.  Because they were geographical shapes and not interlocking jigsaw pieces, they would slide and rattle around until the last one got wedged in and locked everything else in place.

Most of my life, I have felt like that rattly puzzle.  I didn't realise it because I had never known there was another way to be.  But there under the boulder it felt like that last piece had been dropped in, that secured all the loose ones.  It was not that Cape Crozier was my missing piece and now that I had it I was complete – that is far too literal.  The missing piece was a something that wasn't even a thing; rather, in that moment of clarity, I felt all the jangling bits come to rest, and a wholly unfamiliar solidity.  At last the clay wobbling around the potter's wheel had been centred, and I felt a metaphysical ground beneath my metaphysical feet that I had not known it was possible to feel.

Ironically, the rest of the day I felt like I wasn't touching the actual ground at all, perhaps because what I was anchored to was on another plane entirely.  The stumbling shamble through the wind back to the helicopter might as well have been happening to someone else.  We took off into the gale, and though the pilot acted as though it was perfectly ordinary, when we were rounding the ridge he said 'wow, that's the rotor all the way to the left' which I didn't understand but didn't sound great.  Nevertheless the sense of peace persisted, and I understood how, in his last letter to his wife, which he knew would be his last, Wilson could have kept insisting 'all is well.'  (I knew why he wrote that: he had read Julian of Norwich.  But now I understood why.)

The journey back was a transcendence all of its own, the beauty of which seemed to be a perfectly natural outward manifestation of that altered state.  We touched down in time for me to make it to the Galley just as it opened for dinner, so we couldn't have been gone two whole hours, and that seemed absurd to me – surely I had sat under that boulder for two hours at least?  Or had we only been at the igloo ten minutes?  It was impossible to tell.

What I wanted more than anything was to go up a mountain and ponder the whole thing, alone, until it sorted itself out and I was ready to come back down again.  I could have gone up Observation Hill, but the weather looked liable to turn into a proper blizzard at any moment.  So, lacking a better option, I went to go eat, and, after having a chuckle at the Cherry Turnovers, slunk to the back where I could usually count on having a small wallflower table to myself, especially this early.  But one of the larger tables was full of young dudes talking about bar fights they'd been involved in, and I just … couldn't.  So I wandered into the main area and discovered the One Strange Rock crew having an early dinner as well, begged a spot at their table, and ate swaddled in friendly natter instead of at one with the universe in a blizzard.  It amounted to much the same thing.

Eventually one of them said, 'You went to Cape Crozier today, didn't you? How was that?'

I made an exploding gesture around my head and said 'Pkhhhh.'

Cherry wrote that the Winter Journey 'had beggared our language'.  I am sure that my inarticulate gesture is not what he meant.  But at the same time, in fact at that very dinner, I realised something about his writing.  The Winter Journey chapter is unanimously regarded as the finest part of The Worst Journey in the World.  Some people question that this otherwise unremarkable country gent, who never produced another book, could have written with such profound and expressive talent, and they posit that his friend and neighbour George Bernard Shaw, who definitely did consult on the book, must have ghostwritten it.  I have read enough of Cherry's writing – in his own hand – to know this is bosh; the voice and the style are distinctly his.  What's more, I was surprised to discover, when going through his journals, that a large portion of the Winter Journey chapter was not written last, despite it being the last to join the manuscript of Worst Journey, but was in fact written in his bunk at Cape Evans while he was recuperating from the experience.  In the published book, he singles out some passages as being from 'my own diary' but great tracts of unattributed narration are more or less verbatim quotations as well.  The experience related therein feels so immediate because it was.

The rest of Worst Journey, while perfectly readable, is largely a narrative rewrite of Cherry's and others' diaries.  Sometimes he lets others carry the story for pages at a time.  His writing is undeniably good, but is often simply mortar, filling gaps and binding sources together to tell a history that no human invention could better.  The Winter Journey chapter, on the other hand, reads like a torrent of pure inspiration pouring through him onto the page.  That such vivid, timeless prose should have come from an exhausted 25-year-old in his bunk in a wooden hut is no less remarkable than from a jaded 35-year-old in the library of his country house.

Artists of all stripes will often say that their best work is not their own creation, but feels like it already existed and came through them from somewhere else. It's as if there's a great Beyond where things that need to come into the world – stories, images, performances – queue up for passage through artists' minds and bodies.  Sometimes one taps into it by luck; usually it's a combination of training and discipline that makes the link traversable, from time to time.  Perhaps artists' minds are their own thin places, in a way.  Sitting there at dinner with my friends, I felt as though I'd brushed against the fabric between this reality and that Beyond, and, like touching the wall of a tent in a rainstorm, broken the surface tension and allowed something through.  I felt like, if I just put pencil to paper, something could flow through me, if only I could narrow down a subject.  With the intensity of his experience, Cherry did not so much brush against the wet tent fabric as punch a hole through it; feeling just a small inkling of that myself, it was no wonder that the creative energy poured into his diary with such intuitive eloquence.

Had I sat down to write this that night, perhaps I could have tapped into that flow, but I didn't feel I was ready.  I can guarantee you that right now I am not tapped into anything but a vague and dwindling recollection.  As vast as the experience was, by putting a box of words around it, I cannot help but reduce it to the confines of the box.  But that is the best I can do under my own power.

Compared to the seismic transformation of character brought about by my first vicarious encounter with Antarctica, the insight at Cape Crozier was very small and personal, but once in place, the ramifications have been substantial.  When I arrived back home, just before Christmas, the world was still as it ever was, but I was different, and I noticed how differently I related to everything.  Things I loved about Cambridge, which previously made me desperate to stay, I appreciated no less, but valued instead as something I had the honour to enjoy for a while, and didn't need to hold on to.  A young-adults group which I'd hung around, formerly a precious simulacrum of a social life, now felt hollow, and I abandoned it in favour of time spent one-on-one with the handful of people who I really appreciated.  They all said I seemed different; one person said I seemed 'sad', but I think I had just taken the mask off the seriousness which tends to frighten people. I have never been afraid to be myself, but in recent years have tried to mitigate that self in relation to others; there seemed no point to that, now.  It was as if my inner gyroscope had finally started spinning, and I had a sense of balance and orientation that I hadn't before.

Holding on to the clarity of that moment, and the centredness it brought me, has not been easy.  It didn't keep me from panicking when my housemate excoriated me back in March.  It didn't focus my mind on my work as soon as I'd moved into the new place, or save me from getting angry and frustrated when battling my tax returns.  Sometimes it's very hard to remember at all.  But I know what happened, and I can remember remembering, even if I can't recapture the feeling itself.  Sometimes, when it's very windy, I seek out a high open place in the hope of feeling it again, but it hasn't worked.  Maybe it doesn't need to.  Having it once was all I really needed, and even if I succeeded in flicking those switches again, what good would it do that hasn't already been done?

I could not foresee, on that windswept ridge on the edge of reality, where the world would be in 2020.  In wry moments I think I was only a few months ahead of a large portion of humanity, who have been forced to sort things out when the pandemic stripped away their preoccupations and illusions.  Maybe you are one of them, and you recognise some of what I've described.  Maybe you feel like you've been running away from it.  Maybe you have been running towards it but have been unable to find it.  All I can tell you is: it's worth the seeking.

I wish everyone in the world could visit Antarctica, even just once, and see how it changes them.  The world would be such a better place.  I am so profoundly grateful that I had the chance, and am determined to pay it forward by bringing some shred of that experience to as many people as possible.  If my communication fails to bridge that gap for you, then take it upon yourself to find your own thin place.  They are all around.  It only requires that you be receptive, and undertake to look.

[jewels2876]

Always. - A LOKI finale synopsis

So I thought I could write something magical or be inspired by the Loki finale for @the-th-horniest-book-club as it's their last day of celebration.

And it hit me. I can't.

Here's what I can do: dissect this episode down to its heartbreaking ending because at the end I still have a million questions and it's gonna take a cartoon What If?, a Spiderman movie, maybe a Hawkeye show?, and a Dr. Strange movie to answer them all and I'll STILL have questions after that.

Consider for just a moment what happened to 2012 Loki when the TVA captured him way back in Episode One - what the hell did removing Loki do to the MCU timeline? Thor: The Dark World never happened. And no I don't mean you can pretend Marvel put it out there because they did, and it's one of the worst Marvel movies, there I said it. But if TWD didn't happen, what else could have been affected?

And with that disturbing thought we begin...

The opening credits HAVE AUDIO! Every tag line uttered as the characters flash on the screen, EVEN LOKI gets his "We have a Hulk" in. It is awesome; it is glorious; it is expected with EVERY Marvel creation going forward.

Loki and Sylvie should know better than to stare at a door; they always seem to open on their own when that happens. Miss Minutes pops up out of nowhere, scaring the bejesus out of 70% of people, the other 30% wanted to see her one last time. And she's not the same Miss Minutes we first met. She's edgy, she's less peppy, and she gives our duo an offer. Honestly, she should have known the result but 🤷🏻‍♀️

Ravonna is doing something in her office; if she's cleaning it's a piss poor job. Miss Minutes shows up and tells Ravonna she gave her what she needs. Ominous.

Back to Loki and Sylvie who finally meet "He Who Remains." Now we all know guys with names like "He Who Must Not Be Named" are bad news. Guys, to answer the question asked in the show, I'm a little disappointed. The disappointment lasts about five seconds... The office they get transported to reminds me IMMEDIATELY of a certain movie and certain buildings we've seen before (insert duh at this point because you too have seen every Marvel movie ever.)

****** Side note: anyone know if Tom takes his tea with only two sugars? No? Yes? Okay getting back to other things ******

At this point, we get back to Ravonna and her lack of cleaning when Mobius shows up with the pruner (it has to have a cooler name! side side note: nope just glowing batons) and we get a nice little flashback to Original Ravonna (maybe?)

****** 2nd side note: since when did everyone who's not a Russo brother start using OHIO for origin stories? Seriously, go watch Black Widow. I'll wait.******

Now back to Loki, Sylvie, and He Who Remains, hereto known as HWR, who pulls the same trick we saw in the first episode with the "read and sign" guy with the adorable kitten. HWR needs a kitten, a pet at the very least. "You can't get to the end until you've been changed by the journey." HWR s is winding up for a pitch and also summarizes the show too. Loki asks if it's a manipulation; HWR finds the word interesting and I do to. Here's why:

Odin manipulated Loki's abandonment to his advantage

Thanos put Loki under mind control and used him

This is the 2012 Loki as a reminder, so he hasn't been subjected to imprisonment on Asgard or the brotherly banter/squabbles he and Thor have escaping Asgard, nor “Get help” from Ragnarok so it should come as no shock that Loki looks angry. After all, Odin and Thanos kind of killed any hope in Loki of feeling wanted or needed. Aren’t father figures supposed to instill hope, instead of disgust? Yeah, I can answer that one but that’d be an entire other post.

Now we’re back to Ravonna and Mobius and they spat over who was more betrayed - news flash: it was Mobius. But Ravonna has to do for the digs. “Those variants?” “You threw it away for a couple of Lokis.”  Mobius tries to reason with Ravonna, sounding exactly like Glenda and Elphaba from Wicked (his “together” is spot on Glenda!) Ravonna opens a portal looking for “free will” after giving Mobius one last beatdown.

And we’re back to Loki, Sylvie and HWR. HWR gives them a bit of his backstory; I have a suspicion he’s glossed over some of it (he admits being called a conqueror for cryin’ out loud!) He has a maniacal moment, standing on his desk, voice getting a little shrill and thin. He also admits he’s probably the saner of his variants (my words not his.) Then after his real-man-behind-the-curtain routine he makes them an offer. Take his place. Loki, who has been remarkably non verbal, asks why HWR would give up control. Good question from the guy who wants to be in control yet was meant to thrive on chaos he creates. If anyone is keeping score, questions have been asked but not a single ANSWER has been given! Sylvie isn’t believing a single word while our Loki’s wheels are turning.

****** 3rd side note: the acting has been PHENOMENAL this entire series. Forget what Marvel promised and didn’t deliver (fluid Loki) and a scene we’ll be getting to, Tom and company have been nothing short of an Emmy, which I expect next year.******

HWR finally gets fed up with Sylvie and tells her to grow up. Because she took her pruning personally. Now I’m not going to say she shouldn’t be upset about her pruning; Marvel made it A POINT of showing her playing, content on Asgard, when they took her. But HWR has a point. He’s offering an option that allows Loki and Sylvie to do whatever they feel is best and it’s the wrong time for Sylvie to get in her feelings. Of course 99% of us know that’s EXACTLY when feelings choose to surface.

Then something happens - we don’t know who or what did it. Was it Ravonna and her leaving? Did Ravonna meet someone we suspect? Was it Mobius? Miss Minutes? The agents? We may never know exactly but now HWR is actually in the dark. Mr. Know-It-All suddenly doesn’t know it all.

Sylvie thinks she has her opportunity to fulfil her quest but it’s our Loki who protects HWR. Loki doesn’t tell her she’s wrong or right, just to stop and THINK. And now we get a glimpse of 2018 Loki:

See the bigger picture

Let’s talk about it

I believe HWR

What fills the void of a dictator?

What if we unleash something worse than HWR?

Now here’s where Marvel gets an B+ in character development. They took the 2012 Loki hell bent on destroying Earth to rule it and gave him just enough growth to become the 2018 redeemed Loki ODINSON, willing to sacrifice himself to Thanos (even if he did think he wouldn’t die.) It’s not a perfect arc by any means, but Marvel got there and this is one thing I applaud.

Sylvie now thinks Loki is lying to her to get to a throne and is clearly upset they are not seeing eye to eye on this and another point to Marvel. Loki, for only seeing a few videos that Mobius showed him, still has more life experience in his SINGULAR moment with Thanos to know that there is ALWAYS something bigger, badder, WORSE around the corner and he does NOT want to make the wrong decision. Wow.

To trust or not to trust. 

It’s a beautiful sword fight that HWR sits back and watches like it’s ESPN. The lighting is gorgeous behind the action and is leading up to my next OMG moment: STOP.

Loki asks Sylvie to stop, almost like a child. Like someone who knows exactly where the fight leads, where it goes, and where it ends. And he says as much to her as well. Sylvie feels like that person who just wants the fight to be over; she hunches into Tom’s space and the lighting suddenly stays green and blue. Guess who’s green? Guess who is blue?

This goes back to my Emmy mention. Even if it’s ONLY for technical work, it’s so deserving. Sylvie, in green, tired, emotional, struggling with something we aren’t supposed to know just yet. Loki, in blue, almost as if his Jotun form has taken over, strong, sensible, relatable, empathetic.

And then that damn kiss!  Marvel missed another opportunity here. Two Lokis had the opportunity to show self-love, familial love, friendly love, ANYTHING BUT A DAMN KISS!!! I’m not saying they couldn’t have feelings for each other, but it NEVER has to be romantic just because it’s a guy and a girl. **dramatic sigh goes here**

Sylvie pushes Loki through a portal she has opened, then turns to stab HWR through the chest, as he predicted. HWR actually chuckles, which makes me wonder if he expected this exact turn of events. As if we’ll ever know for sure.

Of course the timeline is going nebular and we’re treated to a shot back to the TVA. Mobius and B-15 exchange words as they watch the timelines grow and grow. Loki is sitting on a couch at the TVA and decides he’s not done? You’re supposed to guess the motivation because everything seems normal at the TVA. Loki finds Mobius and B-15 and admits to everything. Loki calling HWR terrifying is terrifying all on is own. And this of course is where it ends.

The post credit scene is just a “Loki returns in Season Two.”

Guys, this season was a mixed bag. There was some good, there was some not so good; there were laughs and a couple of tears. But it also has me SO HYPED for what’s to come. More Loki, more Marvel content, more... everything, I hope!

[taocastleprincess]

shaman king (2021) ep 1

i said i was going to type smth up last night but teaching is literally so exhausting sooo i'm here now!! i have watched the episode like a million times since Thursday LMAOOOO i think i mostly have the dialogue memorized, that's how much i've watched it. i'm just so happy though, i've been a lifelong fan of SK, i was obsessed w it in my teens (still am but i was on a DIFF LEVEL in HS), and i'm just SO HAPPY we finally got a reboot!!! Shaman King deserves a canon adaption, so glad that Takei got it :)

this post got super long rambly so my thoughts/glows/concerns are under the cut!

gonna start w the GLOWS

-- honestly, i am in LOVE w the new OST!!! i have had it on repeat since it was released in Japan!! Megumi is a godsend and i feel like both the OST and the ED kept the same vibes as the og adaption OSTs and EDs. can't really explain why that is but the melodies and the feelings you get from the new OST are very authentic to the SK-verse.

-- the animation is absolutely beautiful and i could hardly focus on anything else the first 2 times i watched it. i was really scared about how the animation was going to look bc so many weird rumors about the animation team were circulating on twitter but it is nearly perfect. they stayed true to Takei's style and the background scenery is out of this world. i also think all of the characters look brighter and more... like them? like, i love the og SK but even as a kid i felt like the animation did not really capture any of the characters (especially Yoh, Ren, and Joco) in their true essence. Like, it was just very dull and didn't accentuate any of their key features. The reboot is beautiful and I love the way certain characters' eyes are drawn. I thought that the look of Ryu's crew was a great example of the animators highlighting and emphasizing defining features of certain characters. They aren't major characters at all but we know they are important to Ryu (and his story) so their designs are given their rightful due.

-- i know that a few people didn't appreciate the beginning scene of the episode for a myriad of different reasons and i find them all totally valid and understandable, tbh. however, i think the opening scene was really great. i had a few problems w it (i do think the 'chosen one' set-up for Yoh was heavy-handed and weird bc i don't think the source material really wants us to believe that Yoh is the stereotypical 'chosen one' and i think it pushes back on that trope quite a bit but i'm open to hearing diff opinions on that) but overall, i think it gives a very cool and mysterious set-up for the anime. i don't think it does much to spoil the eventual ~Hao is Yoh's twin!!~ reveal because, to me, personally, it wasn't that big of a reveal/plot twist. what i WILL say is that the opening scene was very diluted in comparison to the manga vers and that was a bit disappointing but i think they might revisit the scene/make it more dramatic later on in the series when there is more context around the events of that night so that may just be a little tease, you know?

-- this should not be shocking to read from an account that is named 'taocastleprincess' but... AAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH THE ENDING SCENE WITH REN AND BASON WAS SOOOOO PERFECT AND I DIDN'T EXPECT IT!!!! ON MY FIRST WATCH I RAN IT BACK LIKE 300x!!!! THEY BOTH LOOK AMAZINGGGGGGGGG!!!!!!!

moving on from glows and to CONCERNS, i spy a lot of possible issues w pacing, character development, and authenticity. the series is currently only slated for 52 episodes, a whole 12-eps shorter than the OG adaptation, and the entirety of the series is supposedly being adapted so... 52 eps for 300 chapters? to me, that seems extremely rushed even with best-case scenarios. i have read opposing views on twitter, people think that 52 eps is just enough if they cut 'filler' and 'stick to the most important arcs.' i don't think i can agree with any part of that argument. i really think that it's a REACH to say that Shaman King has filler chapters or filler arcs. there is a purpose for each and every chapter/arc in the series. plot development, character development, foreshadowing, etc. those all hold distinct and important purposes and the love, thought, and time put into the SK manga is exactly why people love it. 'filler' does not have a true narrative purpose, it only serves to lengthen the story, so to say that there are scenes/chapters/arcs that can be glossed or skipped over you would have to make the argument that they have no narrative purpose or bearing on the story. i personally think it would be extremely difficult (near impossible) to make that argument for anything within the og 300chap work but, again, i'm open to seeing if anyone can change my mind.

the first episode of SK flew through and glossed over a lot of important scenes for character study/development. by the end of the first episode, you don't really understand or relate to Morty as one might have done after the first episode of ogSK. and although Yoh is supposed to remain mysterious/confusing/weird for the first couple of chapters/eps, at the end of ep1 there is no GRAND interest that has been developed about him. The first episode operated at a breakneck speed and to its detriment. the characters so far are extremely flat regarding everything beyond character design. the viewer is hardly invested in the partnership between Yoh and Amidamaru because there is (little to) no build-up of their partnership and both of their characters are... not real to us yet. even the scenes regarding Amidamaru's past and his friendship with Mosuke doesn't affect or interest the viewer at all because it is referenced, addressed, problematized, solved, and wrapped up all within 3.5 mins.... huh?

what REALLY destroys me, though, is that the anime seems to be foreshadowing that Manta's character will be playing a backseat role.... the first couple of adventures are from Manta's perspective. he asks the questions that we have, situates us in this very weird world and helps to world-build without it being obvious or heavyhanded, and we start to understand the nuances of his character. none of that was present in 2021 ep1. it kinda felt like Manta was a plot device instead of a character. granted, like i said, none of the characters feel real yet but Manta getting this sort of treatment so early on is dismaying. i really do feel like Manta and Yoh's (developing) friendship and trust in each other is the heart of the first quarter of the series (and is continuously referenced and exalted throughout). rushing through (or, really, just straight up cutting out) the first couple of subplots/mini-adventures that they have together feel really weird and detrimental to the overall tone and purpose of the series. those early adventures cement so much and really lay the groundwork for the rest of the story. it's disappointing that they didn't get their due.

this isn't a very organized review/breakdown, i'm just typing as i think, but to sum up what i am REALLY worried about is this: if the series continues at this extremely crazy pace, i'm a bit worried that the characters will never feel fully developed. not only that, but SK has a lot of heart-wrenching scenes and also a lot of scenes that are beautifully filled with hope and care. i just don't see how those scenes are gonna hit quite as hard or even as they SHOULD if the pace doesn't slow down and let us really sit with these characters and their feelings and motivations.

i mean, i know that this is only the 1st episode of a 52ep series but a lot of things don't look too promising... anyway, these are my initial thoughts/concerns/feelings. i'm way too busy to actually sit down and plan out all of my millions of thoughts but hopefully this was good enough!

[razorblade180]

Red Carpet

Stardom! It’s a thing that runs rampant all over Remnant. Dozens of heroes, legends, leaders, and rising stars get noticed almost every day for one remarkable reason or another. However, not all stars are the same, and that couldn’t be more apparent than the night of Remnants red carpet event. A gathering of only the finest of stars and their guests were invited to this prestigious event in order to partake in awards, premiers, and anything else the year had to offer. As usual, people and paparazzi came in droves to get glimpses of their idols; all of them anxiously waiting for first timers and veterans of the event. It was the one time to get so many celebrities together. The one time people get to see all the Schnees together. Or at least in the same area…

Valerie sat in a limousine, anxiously waiting for the moment she would have to leave the comfort of it and face all the flashing lights, which wasn’t an entirely new experience. The freshman had gotten used to that sort of thing from being an up and coming athlete, but a stadium was a far cry from anything of this magnitude. This was where the big fish were, and Valerie wasn’t even one of them. She was a plus one. The girl rubbed her fingers through her fresh pixie cut and took another look at the positively pink, shimmering dress she was wearing that stopped just above her knees. In reality, Valerie thought she looked exactly like the name of her hair cut. Even the pink flats she wore looked right out of a fairytale book. She wasn’t one for makeup up, but that wasn’t gonna fly today. Her mother had given the girl a bit of blush and lip gloss to add to her beauty. The only thing that wasn’t touched was her beautiful turquoise eyes. Those gems were fine all on their own.They would probably distract people from the orange studs in her ears. She was certainly dressed for the event but the butterflies in Valerie’s stomach kept her nerves on edge, unlike her date.

Across from her was the very person who gave her the plus one ticket, resting their eyes as if this was some kind of field trip. Oh how the other half lives, but that’s always how Nicholas Schnee has been. Valerie has probably seen him in formal attire way more than regular clothes at this point. His trademark pure white blazer, shoes, and dress pants looked as flawless as ever. The splash of color this time around was an orange tie that matched Valerie’s hair and pink undershoot to go with her dress. Nick’s messy head of snow white hair was slicked back for the occasion and a very expensive looking watch on his wrist looked like ice itself. All in all, the young man looked like every bit of the heartthrob the media made him out to be. Nick’s eyelids lifted slowly, revealing his icy blue eyes that immediately met Valerie’s. It was completely unfair for anyone to look that good waking up, it was one of many things that made people call him a modern day prince.

“How was your beauty sleep? It’s not like you to doze off.”

“I always try and rest before these things since they can drag on.” His voice was still a little low from waking up. What was it about boys that made their tone feel entirely different after waking up? Between that and the usual tiredness around his eyes gone, Nick was liable to be the centerpiece of this event. Something that made Valerie let out an exhausted sigh.

“Are...you okay?” Nick asked. “You’ve been this way since I picked you up.”

“Oh it’s nothing. I just can’t believe I was roped into this. Actually, scratch that, being roped in implies I had a chance to resist. I had the rug completely pulled out from under me.”

“Oh don’t be like that. You wanted to go here anyways.”

“Yeah well I was expecting to have my own invitation and to be with the rest of our family.” Valerie crosses her arms and huffs. “I mean I know freshmen don’t get too much attention from the public but I’ve been putting up some really strong numbers in multiple sports. I mean I’ll be representing Atlas in the fighting tournament for crying out loud!”

Nick looked at his childhood friend get cartoonishly pouty about such a thing. “Don’t forget, it’s not like I’m entirely here on my own merit either. I don’t believe many people are lining up to see me because I got gold in ice skating. Status got me here, everything else reinforces my validity. Next year will be a little different fortunately. That’s when we’ll start gaining real traction; think of this as your test run.”

“Yeah yeah…” It sucked how much Nick was right sometimes.Valerie had taken a few minutes to turn on the mini tv in their ride. The event had started a little while ago, but showing up early or in a group wasn’t in the plan from the get go. The Schnees had a certain way this event had to be tackled. Valerie’s attention shifted back to Nick to ask why that is, but was mentally derailed by the boy staring at her with a gentle that made Valerie thankful for the blush on her face. “Can you quit it already?” She said, with a hint of embarrassment.

Nick let out a small chuckle and raised an eyebrow. “Quit what?”

“Staring, you dummy…”

“But you look so gorgeous.”

Valerie squinted at him for saying such a thing. Nick quickly raised his hands in peace, caving into laughter.

“Wait, I promise I’m not trying to make a move or anything. I just can’t help but look at you. It’s like I’m looking at some kind of magical fairy. I can’t look away!”

Valerie couldn’t help herself. She covered her face and turned towards her window. “Yeah? Well….thanks. I forget how nice you can clean up as well.” Calling him handsome was too much for the girl, but he definitely knew that’s what she was going for by the cheerful expression on his face. Damn him! Valerie knew she was being read like a book. “Can you not look so cheerful while I’m freaking out?”

“What’s there to freak out about? Paparazzi aren’t anything new. Neither is a crowd or flashing lights.”

“I know that, but…” Valerie felt a knot start to form in her stomach. A glimmer of guilt started to fill her heart, as well as show in her eyes.”People might-”

“This doesn’t change anything between us.” He cut her off. “Yes, the media will probably try to insinuate something but it won’t be anything we can’t dismiss later on. Nick casually leaned against the car door, his eyes on the tv. Dozens upon dozens of rich people were still arriving with their family, including kids. Kids that were his age. “Girls always try to approach me during these things, asking for favors and trying to hassle me. You going with me means less of that happens. My family is so important that we have no choice but to arrive at different times and locations so we aren’t overwhelmed. It also forces the cameras to spread out.”

Valerie watched the boy’s face get a little tired just thinking about it. Almost every facet of Nick’s life was like its own personal battlefield with him as a general that was constantly making a plan to survive. Then there was her, worrying about rumors. Some friend she was.

Valerie reached for his hand and held it tight. Nick was immediately snapped out of his trance and was greeted with the soft smile he loved so much.

“Just leave things to me tonight. Focus on enjoying yourself.”

Nick’s heart nearly flew out of his chest. He doubted Valerie was using her ability on him and yet she made him feel so at ease. He gave her a confident nod and the two of them went back to acting more of less like their normal selves.

“I have to say though, it’s pretty telling one of your biggest complaints is too much attention from girls.”

“Well maybe if they were interesting or actually wanted to get to know me then I’d complain less. Being beautiful doesn’t mean much when that’s all you have going for you. If more girls were like you or Veronica, well actually, yeah there would be chaos. Never mind.”

“Hey! Don’t lump me in with that stuck up princess. My brand of chaotic is way more appealing.” Valerie said, puffing out her chest.

Nick could only laugh. “That’s the part that annoyed you?”

“Listen, I’m well aware I’m also a bit of an acquired taste for people, but she’s literally ten times worse! Speaking of the demon, why not pick her as your date. She’s here with her parents right?”

“Not exactly.” Nick smiled mischievously. Valerie was about to ask why when a sudden cheer from outside and the tv got louder than the rest.

“Ladies and gentlemen, there she is! Atlas’s favorite teen idol!” Cried a reporter, giving the answer to Valerie’s question.

xxxx

Flashing lights went off every second on the carpet like if they were the grand finale of fireworks. All for the chance to get the most elegant shot possible of Nicholas’s twin sister, Summer Schnee. Like her brother, the young singer had walked this carpet before and knew how to work it. If the stage was her home away from home, then this place might as well be her castle, and Summer had no problem giving her subjects the most regal display possible.

The girl wore the most beautiful flowing dress that went down to her ankles that twinkled with sapphire blue and piercings white flakes that looked like crushed crystals. The long sleeve dress itself started off blue at the bottom but as got to her waist, spiraled into an angelic white; making the right side of her torso and sleeve white, while the left remained blue. Her usual ponytail was abandoned and her waist long hair flowed like a river silk while her ears showed off dangling gems. One diamond and one sapphire that were on the opposite side of their respective color on the dress. Despite it all, no blue matched the deep blue of her eyes, proof of her relation to her dear father.

The people were going crazy for her. Everywhere she waved, a person asked her to smile. Summer had no problem with the attention but it’s not why she enjoyed this event. What made her day was the little girls and boys that were scattered just behind the carpet line with their home made signs. She gave a little boy a wink and his entire face turned red before hiding it behind his sign. Vanity pictures could happen any time, but making a kids day like that? That’s what made tonight worthwhile in her opinion.

“Summer Schnee in the flesh everybody, and looking stunning! This star was nominated for a few awards tonight. May she get all that she deserves.” The reporter ran up to her to ask a question. “Ms. Schnee! Over here!”

“Please, Summer is just fine. I may look like my mother but I think I’m still a bit too young to be called that.” Summer laughed.

“Okay then, Summer. If you don’t mind, where’s your plus one? We’d love to get a few photos.”

Internally, Summer let out the longest sigh of agitation. She knew full well this was gonna happen. It always does! Her face gave no such reaction to her thoughts however. As far as anyone who wasn’t in the loop could tell, Summer gave a genuine smile of excitement and joy. “No problem!” She pointed a little ways behind her in the direction she came from. Multiple people turned their heads like if they were trained animals. More camera snapping continued and even the reporter lit up when she found the target of so many eyes.

“Oh! Ms- ummm should I call her Ms, or use her name?”

“Don’t worry I got it. Hey Vee Vee!” Summer tried not snicker. Veronica hated that nickname, but what was she going to do? They might not get along but they know better than to fight in front of so many important people.

Summer’s voice reached the cat ears of her “date” despite all the noise and Veronica turned around. She almost forgot where she was and thought about flipping the girl off for using that nickname. That would’ve been a disaster for sure. Veronica overall wasn’t getting as much attention from the media as Summer, but definitely left more people speechless. She had decided to wear a slimming, strapless black dress that stopped a little about her knees and showed a little of her back since the dress was cut in a ‘v’ shape from behind. Her luscious black and blonde hair had been curled fabulously while her amethyst necklace complimented her eyes, nails and lipstick. The girl looked like a whole damn model! Even the way she walked in her black, four inch heels made Summer more than a little jealous. It was hard not to wish she had the body of a gymnast instead of a petite ballerina. Genetics were cruel like that. To top it all off, Veronica’s tail wrapped around her own waist to give off the look of her wearing a belt of some sort.

“You called?” Her hand wrapped around Summer’s waist instinctively. People loved seeing the girls so close. Summer did her part by slightly leaning on the taller girl.

“Oh people just wanted to see Atlas’s fledgling singer and Menagerie’s child of unity in some photos together.”

Veronica smiles at the cameras and waved to the people with Summer by her side. The female reporter beside them seemed to genuinely be moved by the sight. “You okay?” Veronica asked.

“It’s just very moving to see you two be a shining example for our youth. Humans and faunus being friends like this is still a pretty big deal.”

“Don’t I know it? As the daughter of a human and faunus, acceptance is the number one thing I look for in any place I visit. Both of my mother’s are very active in easing tension between our races. With one of them being the leader of an equal rights movement and the other being an accomplished huntress that serves the people, spreading fairness is in my dna. As a half breed, I like to believe I have a certain obligation to do the same.”

Summer was surprised. Veronica handled that topic like a pro. Summer knew that the aspiring fashion designer has had to make several speeches and attend rallies in the past in place of her mother Blake, but speaking as effortlessly as Veronica just did about a heavy subject was still impressive for their age. “I think you’re surpassing that obligation.”

Veronica was caught off guard by the compliment. She knew Summer wasn’t being rude or sneaking in any jabs. It was just an actual compliment. Veronica supposed that she could let that nickname incident slide, just this once. “Well thank you. Now then, I believe we should be moving along a bit. People to see, hands to shake. Nice meeting you Ms…..?”

“Lavender.” The reporter said, shaking Veronica’s hand.

“A pleasure, our parents should be further back or on the opposite side of this auditorium building. I’m sure they’ll love any questions you have.” Veronica didn’t wait for a response and casually pulled Summer along. “The nerve of some people.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I know right?” Summer sighed, “She pretended as if she didn’t know who my plus one was when I'd announced it for weeks. I think she was about to ask about my family’s troubled history with faunus.”

“Or bring up any other awkward questions. Bringing up politics when parents aren’t around, I hate reporters.”

“Especially when they pretend to be emotional.” Summer looked at Veronica and the girl did the same. Both of them sighed in unison. They had intent on arguing tonight. All their energy had to be saved for people like Ms. Lavender. Tonight was gonna be a long night.

xxxx

“I CAN’T BELIEVE THEY ARE SMILING TOGETHER!” Valerie cackled, “Is this how you get decent photos of them!?”

“It’s the only way! I can’t get those two that close to each other without arguing on a regular day” Nick made sure to screenshot the pictures of the two ladies so they can see them later. He had to get some kind of entertainment from tonight.

“I honestly can’t believe Yang was okay with her showing that much skin.” Nick commented, “Makes me wonder what Blake and her are wearing. They’re into themes”

“Are we going to be the last to arrive? My parents just met up with yours.” Valerie showed him the text.

“Yeah, everyone else drew straws apparently on what entrance and what order to go in. We are the very front entrance, so be ready for all those lights going off in your face.” He half joked. No one could be ready for that mess.

Valerie grabbed the remote and started flipping through different news outlets. “I bet we can find the rest of our family on a different station.”

“Go to seven, It tends to get the business people.”

“Roger that.”

xxxx

“Woohoo! Hello party people!” Yang shouted into the crowd. Her approach to these events were always the most laid back, but that didn’t mean she didn’t dress the part. Yang left the crowd speechless with her all black attire. Dress shoes, pants, and a killer blazer she wore three fourths open; plenty of breathing space to let everyone know she wasn’t wearing a shirt underneath it. Yang’s nails were painted yellow to match her hair and her favorite aviators were on her face so the camera flashes wouldn’t irritate her. As the fifth ranking huntress in the world, member of the esteemed team RWBY, and wife of the leader to the biggest faunus rights movement, there wasn’t a soul who didn’t know who Yang Xiao Long was.

“Hey Blake, you think Veronica is doing well?” Yang turned to see her wife in the middle of answering a couple of questions. Considering the reporter didn’t look like some corporate stiff in a suit, Yang can only guess the questions were either about her outfit or how the woman was doing. Either one would be a very good question.

The raven haired beauty had on a fiery orange and yellow dress that shined as bright as her smile. The right side of the ankle length dress had a slit that went up to the middle of her thigh and her open toed wedge heels matched both the dress, as well as her black nails. Blake spared no expense. She even let her hair grow to shoulder length for the event. She had gotten tired of the bob cut. Yang managed to sneak up behind her wife and make lovey dovey expressions, as if she hadn’t seen Blake look so beautiful before. It was enough to get a laugh out of the reporter and make Blake turn around to see her goofball of a spouse. Yang tilted her shades down so her playful lilac eyes could meet the snarky amber eyes of Blake.

“Mind if I drop in on this interview?”

“I think you already have.” Blake said, her voice carrying a bit of teasing in it. She got pulled into Yang’s arms from behind and they both smiled at the young man who was now interviewing two people.

“So what question did I interrupt?” Yang asked.

“I was just asking your wife how the long trip from home was treating her. I’d say pretty good considering she’s all smiles tonight. How are you doing, Mrs. Xiao Long?”

“I’m great! I like this event, it gives me reason to come up here and say hello to a bunch of my friends.”

“Ah yes, the other half of your team live in Atlas, and then some. Have you gotten the chance yet?”

“Unfortunately my little sis was never one for dress up so I’m sure I’ll have to come knocking. I’m sure Ruby will have an opinion or two when she sees my outfit.” Yang let a chuckle. She hadn’t mentioned her clothes for no reason.

“Speaking of outfits…” and the reporter fell for it perfectly. “You both look wonderful! Who made these?”

Blake and Yang grinned cheekily. Events like these have a way of giving other people and topics more spotlight then they usually did. It would be foolish not to give a boost to the person they love most. “Our daughter Veronica Belladonna made these!” They said in unison. The girl was way too far away for her to possibly hear them, but they knew she was gonna flip out later.

“Well your daughter has quite some talent. I gotta say, you both just might be the most popular couple here tonight.”

That put a bigger smile on Yang’s face. “Thank-”

“OH MY GODS! IT’S RUBY ROSE!” A voice cried out from the crowd before Yang could finish her thank you. All the attention the couple had gotten had suddenly vanished as cameras and people turned towards a long white limousine with the letters ‘SDC’ on the side of it that had just pulled up.

Blake knew that vehicle anywhere.It was the favorite ride of the CEO of the Schnee Dust Company. “That’s Whitley’s ride. There’s no way he actually got Ruby to- oh he did!” Blake said, shaking Yang and leaving her jaw dropped. The cat ears are never wrong, and she definitely could hear their leader amongst the excited crowd.

Yang stood on her toes to get a better view. What she saw was a sight to see indeed. “That little stinker.” Yang smiled, impressed and feeling challenged in the looks department. Sure enough, the number one huntress in all of Remnant was walking with her husband down the red carpet in absolute style.

There wasn’t anybody around who wasn’t taking in the sight of Ruby wearing a stunning silver dress that stopped right above the women’s knees; showing off her toned legs for once and doing it in heels nonetheless! They matched her dress perfectly which also made her silver eyes pop out more surprisingly. Probably due to her red and black hair that was pulled back into a ponytail, except for a long bang that went across to the right side of her face. Though this outfit wasn’t in her favorite colors, Ruby was still plenty on brand. A red rose corsage rested comfortably and her nails were red, with one on each hand being black. Yang wasn’t sure from her but it was entirely possible her little sister might’ve even opened up a makeup kit before showing up. Her complexion was perfect!

Ruby’s appearance might’ve been the most shocking thing to happen at this event, but it was only elevated by being at Whitley’s side. Like Blake and Yang, the couple had the bright idea to swap color schemes. Whitley wore a dark red blazer with pitch black dress pants that matched the buttons on him. His undershirt was black with an intensely red necktie and his black shoes were strung up with red laces; a completely different look for the white haired and blue eyed man. His hair was slicked back like his nephew. Just like Ruby, he retained a splash of his typical colors but pinning a white rose on his suit. Blake didn’t know how, but Whitley made it work.

He was the first to notice the two of them staring while Ruby was busy throwing out peace signs to the people that were more than thrilled to meet her. The reporter interviewing Blake and Yang might’ve ran to her as well if Ruby hadn’t been slowly making her way over to his direction for obvious reasons. Ruby continued greeting people with a smile until her eyes found Yang, now the antics started. Ruby signaled Whitley with a wink and he couldn’t help but chuckle at her childishness. He wrapped his arm around her waist and the two started walking with more poise and smiles that oozed confidence, as if they were on a runway. The crowd went absolutely crazy. The clothes, the style, the attitude, they were…

“Blake! They’re trying to out couple us!” Yang said, shocked by the declaration of war that her sister had thrown their way.

“Ummm, don’t you think you’re a bit paranoid? I think they’re just putting on a show for the crowd.”

“I know my sister. She’s trying to take me down a peg or two for old times sake.” Yang put a hand on her hip and boasted the same confidence her sister did, sly smirk and all. Yang had to admit that she was very proud of Ruby. This was one hell of a way to say hello. It wasn’t long before they were face to face with Whitley and Blake looking at them. They loved their wives but boy were they a lot to handle sometimes. They doubted that the sisters realized the people around them anymore.”Well look who got all dressed up!?”

“Oh you know, gotta act my age every now and then.” Ruby snickered, “Is what I’d like to say, but I’m here to steal a little spotlight.”

“I knew it!” Yang blurted out.

Blake felt like she got whiplash from that confession. “Ruby!”

“What? I was reading a magazine and noticed how many pages the two of you got. Whitley told me it was because people lived seeing couples together and I wanted him on the cover of an issue, so…”

“For the record I told her I don’t care about being in the magazine.” Whitley added.

Ruby turned to him and poked his chest repeatedly. “Don’t try to act all cool now. Your face lit up like a Christmas tree when I said I wanted to go with you.” Ruby watched her husband’s face turn a little red. She’ll always love making him embarrassed. All these years and he still felt awkward about getting all mushy in public. That’s a Schnee for you. Cold on the outside, absolute softies on the inside.

“Is it bad that I like to spend time with my wife?” He said meekly, trying his best to act cool. He’s sure it didn’t come across as that, but it got Ruby to blush, so that’s a win in his book.

“I have to say, we’re a pretty good looking bunch right now.” Yang boasted, “who’s gonna top this?”

Whitley grabbed Yang by the shoulders and turned her forward. “Can everyone in this direction please make an opening and look behind you!?” He shouted.

Surprisingly, the crowd did it seamlessly. There was brief confusion before more chattering and flashing lights erupted. Yang slouched over in defeat, “And here I was thinking I’m the only woman who was gonna wear a suit?”

“Her entire clique is in suits!” Ruby shouted with peak excitement. She put her thumb and middle finger at the edge of her lips then gave one hell of a whistle. “Qrow, Winter, Sparrow; way to kill it!!”

The oldest Schnee sibling heard the chant from across the street. The plan was to sneak inside the building with minimum detection, but those plans were dashed. Winter immediately shot a look at her little brother. “Darn him,” she thought, “he knows I hate these things. What’s the point of drawing straws if he’s gonna sick the paparazzi on me? At least they’re far.” Winter refused to give people the luxury of seeing her in a dress unless it was absolutely necessary. The general of Atlas’s military had chosen to wear an icy blue women’s pant suit. The blazer was left open to show her white shirt she wore off that was cut fairly low for her. Qrow must’ve convinced her to show off a bit more. That’s not the only convincing he must’ve done either. Winter lives and would die with her hair in the same bun that has a right sided bang if she was given the option to. Through what had to be a miracle, her hair was set free from that style, finally free to be wavy and run down her back. Nick felt bad because he knew Summer wouldn’t have her hair down if she knew her aunt did the same thing. No one could compete with Winter’s hair. Her heels were pearly white and so were the actual pearls around her neck. Winter had her hands in her pocket and walked with an unbothered attitude. She really didn’t want to be here.

To her right was her adopted son, Sparrow. The twenty year old had come back to town just to be her plus one. Unlike his mother, Sparrow was having a blast! He also chose not to button up the blazer of his burgundy suit to show his black shirt, or wear his golden tie tightly around his neck; instead it was loosely hung near his collar bone. He didn’t even shave the brown rift of peach fuzz on his chin! Sparrow wasn’t completely crazy though. His flowing mane that he called hair was put in a man bun. These days the former navy sailor was looking more and more like a pirate, tanned brownish skin and all!

“You know you can at least try and look happy mom.”

“There’s no amount of money in the world that could do that.” Winter bluntly stated.

On her left was her husband Qrow. The veteran huntsman didn’t get his own invitation but was acting as Winter’s paid bodyguard. It wasn’t uncommon for people of status to higher one for security when attending these events. Winter was doing it to cheat the system, meaning Qrow still had to dress up. He went a step further than his son and flat out didn’t wear a tie or button up the top two buttons of his gray long sleeve shirt that was covered by his dusty red suit vest. No one could tell his socks matched the vest because of his black slacks and dress shoes. For once he was the only one who didn’t have to change their hair. It’s always pushed back, makes the grays blend nicely into the black. Winter forced him to shave unfortunately.

The red eyed man looked at his coco brown eyed kid and nodded mischievously. Both of them hooked an arm through one of Winter’s then proceeded to escort her across the street.

“What the!? What are you two-”

“Gotta treat social royalty with the utmost respect on a special day like this right?” Qrow said through Winter’s stuttering.

Sparrow nodded, “General or not, tonight you’re a gorgeous socialite.”

Winter’s face became a brazen red and a smile crept its way onto her face. “Very well, I have no problem being escorted by my two handsome men.” Yep, all Schnees are soft.

Sparrow took his time waving to onlookers and soaking in the sights. “Home hasn’t changed too much around here, that’s good. It’s also strange that this place isn’t completely flooded with people. I guess this dispersing plan is really working huh?”

Weiss nodded, “We let a little bit of our plan leak to news outlets so they knew to spread out. Besides the entrance Whitley and the others are going through, there’s an eastern entrance that should be packed because of my sister, as well as the actual main entrance. Your cousin Nick gets that one.”

“Where is the little guy anyways? He’s usually first to...well everything.”

“We purposely made him go last. This way he had more time to rest since he’s been extremely busy as of late. The crowd won’t be as rambunctious after seeing a majority of their favorite people too, so he has that benefit too.”

“How nice.”

“Anything for family.” Winter exhaled. She meant it, but boy was she counting the seconds. “I wonder how Weiss is? This is definitely more her speed.”

xxxx

“There is way too much happening right now!” Weiss cried out to Jaune.The middle child of the three Schnee siblings was the one who was most used to the fame and glamour because of her magnificent voice. However, it had been a little while since Weiss had been thrown into the thick of it like this. The joys of a slightly more humble and day to day life had firmly sunk its teeth into her, and these days she found cozy sweaters and early morning Sunday tv far more her speed than the hustle and bustle of being hands on with stuffy events. Being a huntress, mother of two twins, and wife was a full time job in itself. That didn’t mean she had forgotten how to wow a crowd, not by a long shot. Weiss wore a white cocktail dress that spread outward and stopped above her knees. A blue sash wrapped around her waist and tied into a bow in her left said, while her wedged calf high boots matched. Weiss had the splendid idea of copying her big sister by braiding her hair and wrapping it into a bun with a right bang. Weiss was never gonna outgrow imitating her big sis. Weiss did make sure to differentiate herself from both her and Summer though by going with ruby red earrings to add a pop of color. Weiss Schnee certainly looked the part, but she was having a bit of sensory overload. All the noise and lights were starting to hurt her head.

Jaune couldn’t do much about the noise, but the lights were a different story. The leader of team JNPR signaled for Ren and Nora, his other two teammates on the red carpet, to come over. The three of them spaced themselves around Weiss in an upside triangle formation as the four of them proceeded forward. It wasn’t often that Weiss liked being five foot even, but this was an exception. Having a tall husband and friends meant their bodies blocked some of the lights. It definitely helped her eyes.

“Thanks, you three.” She said, rubbing her eyes in hope that it would help them refocus. “Forgot how intense this could be when you’re at a main entrance.” Weiss grabbed ahold of Jaune’s arm lightly. The man opted for a simple black tux and yellow bow tie. He never was the fancy type. It was part of his appeal. All he did with his blonde hair was pull it back into a short ponytail. Weiss may have seen him as a prince but there was still plenty of pauper in his style. “Sorry if I wrinkle your suit hun.”

“I think you being able to see takes priority.” He chuckled. Jaune looked down to his left to see her blink a couple of times before looking at him and smiling. “Better?”

“Much better.”

“You know the crowd probably thinks we’re doing this because you’re such an ice queen.” Nora laughed, her hands waving happily to as many people possible from behind Weiss. Nora had chosen a very similar outfit to her daughter. The only differences being Nora’s ability to walk comfortably in heels and a cover up that was navy blue and only went down to her back. She only really wanted it to have sleeves. Nora has put so much work getting Valerie ready that her orange hair was only blushed down to give a more formal appearance. Not exactly the amount of effort people might want to see from a key representative in the state of affairs for the city of Mantle, but hey, her looks had nothing to do with her ideas to keep the city on its feet.

Ren went old school and decided on a traditional Tang suit. The jacket was a natural leafy green and buttoned all the way up while his cotton pants were black with a pink stripe down the side like the highlight in his jet black hair that he chose to put in a bun. He did this to show off the stitching on the back of the jacket that created a beautiful picture of a lotus flower. Clearly the most fashionable while still being a functional huntsman here. Ren wouldn’t be surprised if a kid asked him to break a board with a single chop before the night was over. He reached for his phone that started buzzing in his pocket and started spending his friends along.

“Woah, what’s with the sudden rush?” Jaune asked.

“If we drag our feet any longer then the kids are gonna beat us inside. Nick and Valerie are about to pull up to the front any minute now. Who knows if Summer and Veronica are wrapping up theirs?”

“Oh no, our babies!” Weiss and Nora said in unison.

“Double time Weiss!”

“Yeah!”

Jaune and Ren quickly grabbed their respective wives.

Ren let out a sigh, “I know you’re eager but shouldn’t we be keeping up appearances?”

Weiss and Nora looked at each other with an embarrassing smile before a confident nod, raising a hand and pointing ahead. “One point five speed!!!”

“That’s not what I-”

Jaune rested his hand on Ren. “We both know this is as good as it’s gonna get.”

“Yeah.” Ren smiled weakly, “Yeah….”

xxxx

It had been a decently long car ride, but it was finally time for Nick and Valerie to join the fray. Their limousine slowly rolled up to the very front entrance of the massive building where many speeches, awards, and dances shall take place. But before that was the long red runway to the front door surrounded by the press on both sides.

Nick stretched his arms out and clapped his hands together. “You ready for this!?”

Valerie took a deep breath to calm her mind. “No different from a sports audience, right?”

“That’s the spirit! Just remember, don’t look directly at the flashes. Cameras aren’t necessarily trying to get a photo of you with your attention on it, they just want a decent photo of you in general. Even if someone wants you to look their way, you can focus on what’s behind them or on their face.”

The fact that Nick had a secret to surviving walking to a door was both a little comforting and terrifying to Valerie. He was treating this like a battlefield! “I’ll follow your lead.” Valerie gave a convincing smile, but her stomach was having the same feeling a person gets standing in line for the tallest roller coaster.

“Guess that means I’ll head out first.” Nick grabbed the door handle. Normally someone outside would open it but he had to escort Valerie anyways, so playing the role of celebrity and guide seemed appropriate. He slowly pushed the door open just wide enough to slip one leg out. The squeals of what sounded like dozens of girls filled the air in that moment. He looked back at Veronica sheepishly, who wasn’t particularly happy at the noise.

“So am I about to hear the sound of excited pigs all night?”

“No, but you’ll be running a lot of interference for me. Good thing you’re good at defense.”

Valerie corrected him,“I’m great at defense, and keeping the ball for as long I need to.”

“Then I’m in good hands.”

Nick opened the door wider and stepped out into madness. The inside of the car lit up like strobe lights and the squeals only got louder now that the crowd saw their dear “prince” arrive. Valerie sat patiently until Nick stuck his hand back into the car to take hers. Valerie took it without delay and was pulled into his world, the world where eyes were always watching. It’s true that she’s been a part of it since forever, but this felt different. She wasn’t here because her parents this time, and her own merits hadn’t paved the way yet either. Nick had simply asked her to join. He’d offer a taste of what’s expected on the other half of society, and despite the confusing feelings she had about it as a whole, Valerie couldn’t be happier. After all this time, it was still the two of them acting like a dynamic duo. She had to admit that there was a comfort in that.

“There he is folks! The young heir to the Schnee Dust Company, up and coming ice skater, and a representative in the King of The Hill tournament; It’s Nicholas Schnee!” A random reporter stated. “And it looks like he’s brought a lady friend!”

Valerie overheard that comment and felt her face heat up a little bit. A piece of her wanted to say something about it but then she got a glimpse of multiple girls on the carpet and behind the velvet rope looking their way as they began walking. She’s never seen such intensity focused on her and Nick. Val noticed a couple girls taking a few steps and all her previous thoughts stopped mattering. Nick let out a tiny yelp as he felt himself be pulled closer to Valerie’s right side. She was basically hugging his arm and interlocked their hands.

“V...Val?” Nick said, his face getting a little red. She didn’t respond. Valerie was busy watching the other girls back off. “Valerie?” He said again.

“I don’t like the way they look at you. Like some sort of target or stepping stool.”

“Oh, it’s no big deal. Don’t feel like you have to do anything drastic.”

“I won’t. I’m just making it clear that you’re my date.” Valerie blushed, “Only look my way okay? I’ll do the same.”

“Ummm, then how will we see in front of us?”

“I wasn’t being lit- I’m saying you have my full attention!”

Nick’s eyes widened, “Oh… I give that to you anyways. You’re always on my mind.” They continued their walk to the door. Nick could feel Valerie’s heart race but he assumed it was because of what they were doing. It didn’t cross his mind that he did it to her.

“Yeah well, so are you.” Valerie thought to herself. She was so busy ensnared by his words that she didn’t notice the reporter had mentioned her by name, as well as listed a few of athletic accomplishments. Including her being a fellow representative for the tournament. That didn’t matter in the moment, just Nick. Her date on the red carpet.

Inside of the building was immaculate. It was almost set up like a conversation center, but for the rich and important. Multiple floors with multiple rooms dedicated to specific groups and awards, with the bottom floor being a ball area with plenty of food. The entryways and reddish brown walls were outlined with decorative lights that made the burgundy carpet match nicely with the intricate vine like golden design running along it. Valerie hadn’t even been inside for ten minutes and she could’ve sworn she already saw at least three fountains. Plenty of people were mingling and there were significantly less cameramen.

“There you two are!” Summer shouted from above.

Valerie looked to the second floor to the girl chewing on shrimp and standing next to Veronica who was not happy to see how close Valerie was to Nick. Valerie picked up on that and only leaned more into him, sticking her tongue out in the process. Being in a no fighting zone was the best.

“I wonder where our family is? Awards don’t start this early.” Valerie said.

“I wouldn’t be surprised if someone convinced them to take a giant group photo. We’ll probably end up in the same boat the minute we find them.”

“That would be correct.” A feminine voice said in the distance, catching Nick off guard. It got both him and Valerie to turn their head to see a blue haired girl with twin tails walking towards them. Her shoes and dress were the same deep blue shade and stopped at her calves. It didn’t fall straight but was more bell shaped when it got to her waist. Her golden eyes held no deceitful smile, rather they showed indifference. “My father convinced your family and a few others to take pictures for prosperity. At least that’s the reason he gave.”

Valerie looked at the girl from head to toe. She looked their age. Actually, Valerie had definitely seen her before. “We...go to the same school, right? It’s Elizabeth right?”

“Eliza Marigold.” Nick corrected. “Daughter of Henry Marigold, another socialite. That’s about it though.”

“Well we all can’t be as elite as a Schnee.Yes we’re pretty low on the totem pole compared to you, but we’re still pretty well known.”

“Oh I meant no disrespect. It’s just that the only other thing I know about your family is how much your father and my mother hate each other’s guts.” Nick said with a smile.

Valerie suddenly realized there was some obvious tension here. “So you two are well acquainted then?”

Nick shook his head, “We’ve actually never spoken before. My interaction with her has only been an apology letter.”

“A poor one at that. You purposely threw a party on the day of my birthday bash and rob me off all my guests, but all you can manage was three sentences. Not even an invitation to the amusement park that was supposed to be rented out for me.

Valerie remembered that party, it was amazing! Summer sang and everything as fireworks went off. She had no idea the venue was stolen. “You ruined her birthday.”

“Oh you me, someone talks trash about Summer or my family and I find myself getting a little petty.” He scratched the back of his head, he talked like if he was a kid with his hand caught in the cookie jar. Eliza clicked her tongue in annoyance and directed her attention to Valerie.

“Who are you, girlfriend?”

“I am his date.” She said confidently. “Who happens to be a girl, as well as his closest friend. Yes…” Valerie wasn't proud of that delivery but that’s what came out. “My name-”

“I’m aware. Do you mind giving the two of us space? I have words with him.”

Valerie didn’t like the sound of that. “Whatever you can say in front of him can be said in front of me.” She put more bite in her tone.

Eliza raised her eyebrow. She wasn’t expecting that level of attitude. Then again she was talking to an athlete. “Intriguing, here I thought you were some mindless fangirl Nicholas sweet talked into doing his bidding. Guess I was wrong, or at least...half wrong.”

This no fight zone was about to be null and void. Valerie clenched her fist and scowled angrily at Eliza, prompting Nick to hold her arm to keep her from swinging. “Wanna run that by me again?”

Nick thought it best to go a step further and stand slightly in front of Valerie. “Now, now, let’s not do anything crazy. Can’t we be civil?”

“I’d be more inclined to keep my mouth in check if you stopped with the phony smile. You aren’t fooling me with a stunt like that.” Eliza put her hands on her hips and waited for a response.

Nick responded by folding his arms and swapping that peacekeeping smile with a more analytical one and a gaze that sent a chill through Eliza. He watched her indifference turn into shock, before a spark of excitement went through her eyes while she smirked. “What’s that look for?”

“You’ve peaked my interest, that’s all. I’ll keep this brief. I don’t like your family that much and I specifically do not like you. I also don’t intend on putting on an act around you. All I wanted to say is that I qualified for the tournament and look forward to knocking your family down a peg.”

“How bold of you.”

Valerie chimed in, “Not to mention completely ridiculous.” Her statement got both of them to look her way. “Even if by some miracle you were to beat Nick, you’d lose against me. You’re fighting for second place at best. If you can even make it that far.”

The three stared at each other after that, the declaration of war now set. It was more of two vs one, with Eliza being the odd one out. She opened her mouth to retort but promptly closed it. Nick watched that spark in her eyes die instantly and the girl grabbed the sides of her dress to curtsy.

“Excuse me.” Eliza said, walking past them towards a man that could only be her father by the color of his hair. Eliza took note that she walked past Summer and someone else, giving them a quick look before going about her business.

“Who was that?” Veronica asked after he met up with Nick.

“Someone as insufferable as you,” Valerie answered. Once more, Nick stepped in between the opposing sides.

“It was just a fellow tournament participant,and then some.”

“Oh great, more obstacles.” Summer sighed, I swear you make enemies as easy as you do coffee.”

“This one is different, she’s cool.” The three girls looked at him questionably as he shrugged. “What? It’s not everyday I meet someone so straightforward. It’s like talking to you three, she doesn’t hold back.”

“Or know oh to be polite either.” Valerie said bluntly. She gave Nick a look. “You better not lose to her. Kicking your butt is reserved for me and me alone!”

“Gee, how touching” he scoffed.

Nobody knew it yet, but that wouldn’t be the last time all five of them were so close to each other. In a years time, they would be seeing a lot more of each other; as well as share an experience crazier than any red carpet event.

[panharmonium]

round 3 of in-progress naruto thoughts, featuring me crying tears about pretty much everybody

[spoiler policy disclaimer first, as always: i’m only still in the early stages of shippuden (we just finished the asuma arc).  i literally had zero interest in naruto growing up, so i remain unspoiled for virtually everything that happens past this point.  i would love to stay that way, so please don’t interact with this (tags included, because the notifications now show them to me automatically) with any spoilery commentary, including even general things like “oh i love this show but it gets less good after X point” or “X season is better than Y season” or any general assessments of quality/likability/etc re: future seasons.  Thank you! <3 ]

- well, folks.  i have apparently reached the point in my viewing experience where i am deeply emotionally attached to virtually all of the characters and i care when bad stuff happens to even the most minor of them, because the asuma arc really ripped my heart out and used my feelings as ping-pong balls

- that said - i have to admit, if you’re going to kill a character, that was the way to handle it.  it wasn’t glossed over or dropped like a hot potato; it had a huge arc attached to it and major development for the other characters involved and it came full circle at the end in such a quiet, complete way.  i was hoping from the very beginning that the answer to “who’s the king” was going to be “children” (all i could think about was asuma yelling at kazuma “children aren’t pawns to protect the king!” during the sora arc) and ultimately that ended up being true, and i found that so satisfying.  (painful.  but satisfying.)

- SHIKAMARU.  HERO.  i always loved him, but what an incredible arc he had.  and that episode, “team 10″ - WOW.  wow.  they really kicked it up a notch for that one - that was legitimately beautiful television, not just “good by naruto standards.”  gorgeous animation/composition/editing...this show is in fact capable of magic, when it takes its time.

- grow up, you three.  the shadow of death hangs over us all.  some deaths may be harder to accept than others, but if you can’t get past that, there can be no future!  

^^ this is legitimately my favorite line of the series.  i can’t stop thinking about it.  i love how tsunade is speaking from her own experience, and how she’s not wrong - nobody in this confrontation is wrong, really; shikamaru has his stuff more together than tsunade realizes, and tsunade is just telling the truth, and i just love how this entire line relates so closely to the thematic heart of this arc, which is the sanctity of children and the future they represent.  like...so many characters in this show have seen so much death and tragedy, but we see children/the promise of the future pulling people out of that hole and back into a hopeful place.  it’s literally tsunade’s whole story with naruto.  she’s speaking from the heart, and it’s one of those lines that you can feel resonate across the whole story.

- kakashi, once again, coming to destroy me with his level of devotion to the kids.  not even his own kids, this time.  when he shows up at the end of “team 10″ and offers to take over for asuma and go with shikamaru’s group - i lost my mind.  he’s been keeping an eye on those kids the whole time.  nobody told him about what they were doing; he has no reason to be out at the gates at that time of night - he’s been keeping tabs on them.  he knows exactly what they’re going through.  he knows how they must feel.  he wants to make sure they’re okay.  and when he sees that they’re in an appropriate frame of mind for what they’re planning (aka, not unbalanced by rage or grief or the desire for revenge), he immediately offers himself up as an adult support figure.  he inserts himself into that situation and assumes responsibility for making sure nobody gets hurt.  he puts himself into a position where he can escort them through this experience safely (in more ways than one).  he lets shikamaru take the lead and achieve closure, all while simultaneously monitoring the situation to make sure every choice the group makes is the safest, smartest thing to do.  and then in the battle, he puts himself in between the kids and certain death over and over again - he saves their lives so many times. 

the kids are so grateful to him for doing that.  they respect him so much for it.  they feel supported.  they feel looked after.  they feel validated.  three kids who just lost their adult mentor in such a sudden, violent way - for them to have another grown-up step in and temporarily assume that role, for them to feel a pair of capable, steady hands propping them up before they fall down - that is so important!

kakashi is beautiful to me because he takes every horrible thing that ever happened to him and turns it into an unwavering commitment to help other people navigate the same rocky waters.  everything he does is designed to catch people when they fall, particularly when it comes to children.  he doesn’t have to take that kind of interest in asuma’s team.  none of the other adults are monitoring them like that.  but he understands what they’re dealing with and he knows they could hurt themselves if somebody doesn’t take care of them and so he steps in and assumes that responsibility himself.  and then he does the same thing with team 8′s kids, too, in the next arc, when kurenai is out of commission.  he takes all of his own painful experiences and turns them into ways he can protect other people from stumbling into the same pits he fell into, and i’ll tell you this for damn sure - he’d rather take a deadly hit himself than allow another cohort of children to be wiped off the face of the earth before their time. 

i love that about him.  i love that he turns all of the trouble he’s seen into ways he can be a source of strength for others.  i love that he is always thinking about the kids.  that’s the whole point of this arc: children are king.  kakashi knows that just as well as asuma did, and the way he consistently throws himself in front of the children to keep them safe is my favorite thing about him.

- fucking LOVE that shikamaru turns down the feudal lord’s offer because he wants to stay in the village in case his friends need him.  i feel like this kind of choice is never portrayed as a good thing in media - it’s always shown to be better to get yourself out there, try something new, leave old things behind, take a risk, make a change, as if staying home is somehow the same thing as settling or wasting your potential.  i love how asuma lifts up shikamaru’s decision to stay rooted in his home as a worthy and admirable thing.  the will of fire, indeed.

- the EMOTIONS i felt every time kakashi was helping naruto figure out how to complete the rasengan....when kakashi tells him “i truly believe you are the only shinobi who can surpass the fourth hokage” and then while walking away yamato’s all “you sweet-talked him” and kakashi immediately sets him straight like “no.  no.  i believe he can do it.”  SOBBING.  

- “good old asuma.  he must’ve known you inside and out, huh?”  i’ll be over here crying in the club, folks

- kakashi having conversations with sasuke in his head was Too Much for me ;__;

- we watched a bit past the asuma arc and are now into the part about the gemstone lady but the only thing i have to say about this new arc so far is about jiraiya and honestly i’m going to have to gif it to do it justice.  that scene with him and naruto where naruto falls asleep on him just...struck me down where i sat.  i was actually about ready to cry for real.  my feelings couldn’t take it.  i used to not really care too much about jiraiya in the shonen jump days (and yes, there’s some stupid stuff with him that you have to just look past if you’re going to enjoy things) but i love him so much now and i am finding myself so moved by the way he is rejoining the village and (re)building his connections with the people there, and how much meaning has been brought back into his life by the opportunity to work with naruto in particular, and how like...i mean, this is just my own impression, because i haven’t seen his full backstory yet, but he strikes me as someone who’s been running away for a long time, who had very little hope for the future, someone who experienced some terrible things and gave up, just like tsunade, until he runs into naruto.  and now things have changed for him, and it warms my heart to see it.  i love watching him take naruto on training field trips, and i love the depth of care we see from him towards naruto now - a far cry from the “i don’t like kids” of early shonen jump.  i love seeing him collaborate with kakashi - tag-teaming their teaching and climbing in through the window to check on him in the hospital and teasing him about how silly he looks with a sheet over his nose.  i’ve just become so touched by his progression and by the way the establishment of these relationships with “his” kids and the village as a whole (bonds, connections, all the things that this show can’t shut up about) has almost been a...healing sort of thing for him and has changed his entire outlook on life and given him a new sense of hope/meaning.  

like.  i can’t believe i am out here having jiraiya emotions after how little i cared about him when i first met him, but...here i am.  

[godsofmonster]

Bangtan MC ≽ VII.

Reader x Bangtan- Motorcycle Club

Word Count- 8.2k

Warnings- sexual content, death, murder, guns, drugs, violence, betrayal,  mentions of suicide, mentions of rape, etc.

For as long as I can remember back, I always wanted to be in a motorcycle club. Since I was six years old, the only thing on my mind was getting my hands on a Harley and a cut. I was a wolf, a wild cur, cut from the pack with bloodstained on my fur. Every wrong has marked a debt because a beaten dog never forgets.

All I wanted was to be accepted for who I was. At some point, I had realized I was the only one who could give myself that recognition. So why did I continue to search for the approval of others? Was it hardwired into my brain, or did I have something left to prove? 

"Do you mind if we talk?"

I didn't know the answer, but I figured it all started with him.

Namjoon had neared my side. He only stood steps away from where I was seated. The distance granted me space from his overwhelming presence. He became cautious after our last conversation. He was well aware of what he could provoke in me- it was heaven or hell.  

"I suppose we have to," I replied. 

It wasn't until he moved in front of me, that I laid my eyes upon him, for the first time today. A flash of the night before filled my mind, for a moment only. How he stood, surrounded by the other members, in the middle of that driveway. He was a separate man, now, in front of me. 

Namjoon took the seat his mother had been in, moments before. His arm was leaning, and his elbow was resting on the wooden surface of the bar. We both wondered, not only of how this would end, but how it would begin.

"Is there something between Jimin and you?" 

I wasn't expecting it to begin like this. 

"What are you talking about?" The concept seemed so foreign. Jimin was more like a brother to me than Namjoon ever was. 

"C'mon, babe, you can't tell me you haven't noticed." My cluelessness brought a smirk to his face. It was the kind of sneer that deepened the dimple on that side of his mouth.  

"Jimin and I have been friends since we were nine years old." I reminded him. "What happened yesterday was only because he was worried about me." 

Something in my words brought Namjoon's expression to shift. His tongue swiped across his bottom lip, wiping away the smirk that rested there before. He leaned in as if he wanted to tell me a secret.

"You don't think I was worried about you?" His voice was like silk with a little bit of roughness at the end. He almost sounded jealous. 

"If you were- you had a funny way of showing it." I challenged him with my tone. Raising my brow as he leaned back in consideration of my words. 

He knew I was right. 

Though, all I managed to do was create a new grin resting on that mug. Namjoon, still being cautious, decided to not pursue the subject further. 

"You know... when I called you that day," Namjoon's eyes darted to the ground, a shyness taking over his confidence. "I couldn't stay on the phone- I was actually scared of what you might say to me."

"I wouldn't have known what to say anyway," I answered honestly. 

It wasn't like Namjoon to be so exposed. In others, this might have been a sign of trust and sincerity, but my trauma forced me to suspect him. 

"The entire day, I was thinking of what you coming home would look like." Even though I wanted to believe that the nights of his eyes didn't lie. "How things would work out between us, after everything."

The entire way to Blackburn, he was all I could think about, finding out that he was doing the same was unexpected. 

"Is it like you imagined?" I was interested to know.

"It is..." He smiled, thinking about what he only knew. "And it isn't,"

My eyes hadn't left his, even when he looked away, I continued observing. I pressed on, expecting that he would give me more detail than that. Namjoon was silent for a moment, pushing through his smile to speak. 

"I expected some of the fights," He admitted with a bit of laughter. "You put me in my place- never letting me get away with anything." 

He joked about it now. However, that wasn't the case during the actual arguments. I supposed certain things hadn't changed in our dynamic. Whether that was a good or bad thing was still up for debate. 

"But then there's... you." He said haltingly, seeming uncertain on how to explain what he intended. "I mean, I'm just the same guy- wearing the same cut. But you..."

The delivery of his voice mellowed when he drew his eyes back to mine. For a second, his black orbs resembled a raw umber color before he spoke.

"You're different," He held my gaze in his, I didn't notice him reaching for my lone hand until his skin was already brushing against mine. "Somehow... better than before."

"I'm..." I lingered on the thought. Namjoon's fingers ventured to weave themself between my own. "I'm not so sure about that." 

His fingertips were like fire that ignited my skin. I wanted to pull away from the flame, but it sent a rush straight to my chest. It was like passion, that could come in any form, anger or lust. 

"I am," He stated without hesitating. His eyes shifted down to where we met. His fingers were still caressing mine, which remained motionless. 

"When you came home it was like a sign to me- an opportunity to do things differently." 

 I felt nothing but right when he spoke to me like this. He was familiar and everything that I used to want. 

"I can't help but feel this is some kind of second chance."

But I knew better than to trust in a man like him, I knew better than to fall for his sweet words. Men like him, if you believed in their lies, they would eat you alive. He'll love me and leave me for dead. 

When my fingertips moved to return his attention, Namjoon looked up at me. The details of his expression had become clear in my line of sight. The skin of his full face and the texture of his plump lips. 

"I think you're smart," I hesitated as the words caught in my throat. "And I believe you do as much good as you can,"

I could see the color fading from his eyes, turning back into that dark abyss I knew so well. "But I spoke with your mother, and I think we're both just going through a confusing time right now."

The second I mentioned his mother, a scoff left his mouth. He was out of his seat before I finished the sentence. 

Namjoon pushed through his black hair, finding a way to contain the perplexity of my words. My shoulders curled in as I watched him place his hands on his hips. I already knew, not so nice things were going to leave his mouth. 

"Don't you get tired of it?" The smile on his face was not true. "Running away from everything?"

His feet were wondering, and I rose to mine at his accusation. 

"I'm not running from anything," I spoke, moving to find his face once again. I stepped in front of him, and he refused to look at me. "I'm just being realistic, Namjoon." 

His eyes were still looking off to the ground, I pushed myself forward, shoving my hands at his shoulder for his attention. He was a six-foot child in front of me. 

"Do you know why you can't ever be sure? Why you always have those doubts floating in your head?" He asked aggressively, now turning to look me dead in the eye, and I was afraid. 

"Because you listen to everyone! Those voices in your head-" He almost stepped on my feet, quickly tapping his fingers into the temple of my left side. "Are your old man, my mother, and anyone else trying to tell you how to live!" 

His stare was full of bitterness. I felt his breath over me as he yelled. I didn't know whether to return the response or begin to cry. 

"The (Y/n), that I knew, did whatever felt right!" He offended me with the person I once was." She knew what she wanted- did whatever it took to get it, regardless of the consequences!" 

I both yelled and cried.

"Well, I'm not her anymore!"

My father made sure of that, tears glossed over my eyes, and my voice strained at the new pitch. He stopped his speaking, pressing his lips inward at the statement. 

"If I was so goddamn special- why didn't you ever come to find me!?" The waterworks pooled around my eyes and trailed off my cheeks. The drops of pain stained the floor between us. 

"Why did you just leave me there to rot!?" 

I didn't leave or turn away like I wanted to. I wanted his answer, the truth that I deserved to know. That familiar look of guilt on his face was clear, but it was mixed with a self-hate I had never seen in him before. 

"Because I was afraid," 

He declared shamefully. "It killed me to know you were less than ten hours away- I wasn't man enough to do anything about it then."

The years had been cruel to me and I could not let them go. I tried and tried to find the person inside of me who was better, who had overcome the misery. However, the more I searched, the more I was sure that she did not exist. 

It had been seven years and four months without him, seven years and four months that I hadn't seen his face. Even though I had not been happy, I learned to live without him and without the life. Now after all this time, what could I say to a king, who wanted to give me everything?

"There is nothing left,”

I couldn't look any longer into those black orbs; they only ever showed me what I could not bear to face. I turned away, even with nowhere left to go. 

The sound of a table crashing to the floor didn't even phase me as I walked away. I left him standing there in the middle of the bar, where my first mistake happened all those years ago. 

"Do you know how many women I've been with since you left?!" Namjoon yelled behind me but I didn't dare look. He was verbally reaching to bring me back, keep me in his hold of endeavor. 

"Hundreds- maybe more! I don't even know."

I felt his steps echo behind mine as I made my way toward the back of the bar. Even with the tears blurring my vision and the weight of the fight bearing in my body, I knew the way to the bedroom where I remained. 

"(Y/n)!" He called after me. 

The door had been left shut, which hindered me from swiftly seeking shelter inside. The moment I paused to reach for the door handle, Namjoon lunged and crossed his arm in my way. His tall figure was peering down at me, waiting for me to return his stare. 

when I did, it was barely, and all I could do was sigh. 

"I don't know because I barely see their faces." Namjoon's voice was lighter now that we were this close. His eyes looked into me, begging for me to hear him out.

"When I'm inside someone, there is only one face that I see..." Namjoon's hand appeared beside my face. His fingertips ghosted against my cheek, his hand resistant to touch me without permission. "That's yours- and I don't know how to get you out my head anymore."

He balled his hand into a light fist, taking in a breath of air and breaking our eye contact, before letting it fall to his side. Namjoon stepped back, his arm left the door wide open for me to run, but I did not. I didn't dare to move in the sway of his stare. My feet were like cement plastered to the wooden floor. 

"Just answer me this," His voice promised me it would be the last.

"What do you want?"

I came across this road time and time again, and still I remained sitting at its path. I was too far to see where I was going, but I had to trust it would lead me to where I was meant to be. 

"It's a simple question," Namjoon described. I could no longer look down that long path, I merely had to look at my next step. 

"It's not a simple answer," I replied in hesitation.

What did I want, right here- right now?

My heartbeat in reverse and cold sweats ran up my body. I was a junkie ready to relapse just by being close to him. I was dying to be set ablaze under his fire. I loved the chaos.

"I want you," I let myself realize. 

It all happened so fast.

The only thing I saw, were those large black eyes coming to pull me into the darkness. His body swallowed me whole. Every inch was encased between him and the wooden door. I swore my feet weren't even touching the ground anymore. He held me in the darkness, but every moment in there was a second of bliss.

His mouth was the friction to ignite my skin. It was a heatwave that spread across my being, rippling with the intensity of hot July. His hands seemed to embrace every inch of me. I felt as if my body was putty in his hands, he molded me anyway he wanted, and I loved it.  

His tongue brushed in and out of my mouth, gently pushing against my own. It was a battle in our mouths, one that he would forever win. Oxygen was lost in my breath, each attempt seemed shallow, as every touch brought me to gasp for more. He loved to hear my wavering breath and abandoned my lips for the trail along my neck to better listen. My hands, in the meantime, pushed up the material of his white tee. His leather cut kept me from removing it off his body, however, did not forbid my hands from wandering underneath. 

For the first time, in a long time, there was not a single shred of doubt in my mind. There was no question about it, no voice of reason or consequence. This is what I wanted, and so, this was what I was going to get. I almost felt like my old self again, and that was terrifying. 

At some point, he opened the door and carried me in his arms. My legs wrapped around his hips while he moved us to the center of the room, where the bed awaited. His mouth had not slowed down in exploring the parts of my skin that were revealed. One of my hands remained tucked under his shirt, while the other was hooked around his neck for security. 

Before I knew it, he had left me to fall, my body caught by the springy mattress underneath. A yelp slipped from my lips, moving to rid wild strands of hair from my eyesight. Namjoon's knees pressed against the edge of the mattress, he overlooked my figure, sprawled out on the bed for him. The light of the room lined with his head, casting his body into a silhouette of almost pure evil. He looked at me like a new toy and licked his lips as a result. My desire built in my veins, reaching every nerve of my being, a desire that was only for him. 

Without a single thought, we both raced to remove our clothing, which had become irritatingly restrictive. My fingers laced over my shirt, pushing the material over my head and flinging it somewhere over the room. I returned to see Namjoon had done the same, his white tee falling to the floor, where his leather cut had landed first. 

We met halfway to our kiss, our hands finding the newly unveiled skin of each other. Namjoon's weight pressed me back into the sheets, placed a knee in between my legs, and pushed his pelvis against my hip. The feeling of him growing hard against me made me shamelessly moan in his mouth.  

He chuckled deep in his chest, realizing how much I wanted him and how much he wanted me. His hands pushed down the cups of my bra, my straps slipping off with them, and my breast revealed shivering skin. My body had flushed with the heat of my blood, goosebumps erupting from his wet tongue. I pulled my arms out of the elastic straps and attained his head at my chest. My fingers ran through the front and back of his hair. I arched my back against him, gripping a fistful of hair, and watching as he took in my nipple in between his lips. 

I swallowed the sounds that wanted to leave my mouth. Namjoon's hands cupped my breasts as I pushed my hips against him. I couldn't get enough of his mouth, of his touch- like a true owner of my body he knew all that I wanted. We had waited for seven years and I could not wait for another second. 

I pulled his head away, held him in my hands, and brought him back to my lips. There, I kept him occupied while my hands were free to roam lower between us. My hand ran over the bulge in his jeans, His breath hitched in my mouth for a moment. His body shuddered over me as I ran my hand up and down his length. 

 "You're greedy..." Namjoon snickered when he didn't want to moan. I gripped him harder and watched his eyes darkened with lust. He shut his mouth trying to conceal with the grunt from his throat. "You're going to regret that," 

He warned me and smacked away my teasing touch. Namjoon returned on his knees and quickly undid the button of his jeans, the zipper coming off as he pulled them open. I also grew impatient with the blood boiling under my skin. I mimicked his actions with my own pants also, unhooking my bra in the process. 

Left in only his boxer briefs, Namjoon was ready to devour me once again. However, before he could, I set forth and placed my hands on his bare chest. 

"Hold on..." I said, taking a moment to get lost under the toned skin of his torso. 

"What's wrong?" He asked, concerned at first. 

For a second, I almost allowed shyness to get the better of me. Then, I remembered exactly who I was. 

"Leave your cut on," I stated. 

It wasn't even a question. 

Namjoon paused for a moment, the words registering through his head. Soon enough, his mouth turned into a smirk as he stepped off the edge of the bed. I couldn't help but smile as he reached down to retrieve the leather cut from the floor. I watched him swing the piece of clothing over his shoulder, the black material contrasting his nude skin. It made my heart beat like a drum. 

Namjoon pressed his mouth onto mine to see if I was satisfied. His hands snaked around my waist, pulling me close to him and pulled us further up the bed. There were fewer clothes between us now, and I could feel all of him as he pressed himself between my legs. 

My hips squirmed at the friction, all the little gasps, and moans that followed, as a result, were driving him insane. My hands ran up his chest, nails clinging to the nape of this neck, as his thrusts were desperate. 

"D-Don't make me w-wait," I hissed at him through my teeth, failing to sound demanding with the growing heat between my thighs.  

"You want it?" He taunted me with his husky voice. His hand crept between our bodies, to where I need him the most. "Then tell me you want it." 

His fingers parted my lower lips, where he collected the arousal that gathered between them. I bit down on my lip, feeling obligated not to give in so easily. His thumb brushing past my clitoris while he teased my entrance. 

"Damn you, Namjoon..." I cursed him. 

His head lowered out of my sight, his mouth ravishing the already memorized sweet spots on my neck. 

"I love it when you say my name," His voice muttered against my skin. 

I dug my nails harder into the base of his neck, his palm pressing against my aching core. The stimulation coursing through my center and to the tips of my toes. My hips ignored my pride and rocked against his torment. It didn't take too long for my lips to do the same. 

"P-Please," I whispered. 

Namjoon turned his face to me, pressing a kiss against my cheek. I could feel the smile on his lips as he was feeling victorious.

"Please what, babe?" He teased further. 

Just like any other one of our fights, he would always win them. 

"I want it..." I begged. "I want you." 

He pushed my thighs further apart with the palms of his hands. Then he moved one of them to wrap around my waist, and he took himself in the other. 

"Okay, princess." He planted a kiss on my cheeks again, this time, as a promise. 

His eyes stammered down between our bodies, his eyebrows contoured in concentration. Beads of sweat were already forming along the line of his hair, running down his neck from the forest of his undercut, making his skin glow in the room light. 

Namjoon returned my gaze just as he pushed himself inside of me, stretching my walls and causing my eyes to flutter. A silent gasp opened my mouth while my body stiffened at the feeling. His breath ghosted over my chest as he sunk deep inside of me, his hand gripping the side of skin in his hold. 

"Fuck..." His deep tone made my skin shutter with delight. 

I strengthened my hold on him, feeling him start to pull out, my walls tightened, wanting to keep him buried. The feeling must have convinced him otherwise because he drove his length to my brim right away. His hips snapped against mine, not being able to hold back any longer. 

Namjoon's other hand came up to my hips, digging his fingertips into my flesh, keeping me where he wanted me. His arm underneath me pulled me in closer, my back arching off the bed, and my breast pressed against his chest and the leather cut. My legs trembled and caressed against his own, the pleasure running straight through them. 

"Ah!" I couldn't keep my mouth shut. 

Namjoon didn't seem to have a problem with that. In fact, he encouraged it with his mouth leaving wet kisses across my throat. The feeling was a tickle compared to the satisfaction tightening in my middle. 

I lusted for the taste of him, of his tongue, of his desire. Connected, as one, the same thought crossed through his mind. This kiss was rougher, driven by the appetite of our passion. A kiss from his lips, that traveled beyond my mouth, directly to my head. There, the effects made the world around us appear better than before. My body didn't know how to do anything else but give in. 

I squirmed and trembled underneath him. Every motion of his body was like a tidal wave, and my insides were the shoreline. The room began to fill with the noises of our bodies. Every sound from our mouths was a push further to the breaking point deep within. He made me feel parts of my body that I had forgotten were there. The touch of his sweetened my skin all over. 

He dropped my waist, my body failing to support itself, and came crashing down on the bed. There was space between us now for air to flow through. Namjoon's hold resigned to the sides of my hips, where he sat on his knees and brought my lower half onto his lap. He supported my momentum and rocked me into him at a new angle.

"Oh! Y-Yes..." I cried. My hands clawed upward, searching for the pillow he was pounding me toward, something I could hold onto. 

As much as I wanted to look, to stare at his tensing arms holding me down and his tightening abdomen that kept his hips rolling into me, my eyes merely couldn't stay open long enough. 

That seemed to be a problem.

I didn't even see his hands coming to grab me, this time lifting me forward. I dropped the cushion as he took my arms, sitting me upright on his thighs. My weight pushed me down onto his cock. My wild instinct took over and kept my hips moving. 

I grabbed his shoulders for support. I fought back to dig my nails into the fine leather of his cut as my forehead rested against his. I could feel my spirit being washed over by the euphoria, the more I stared into his eyes, the more sure I was falling into the abyss. 

"I want you..." Namjoon's breath was shallow, and his voice laced with truth. His hands, coiling around me to keep me gazing in. "More than I've ever wanted a-anyone..." 

Just as the saying goes, I was sure that the abyss was now gazing back into me.

Both of my arms moved around his head, meeting at the back of it, and gripping his black hair. I already accepted that I passed the point of no return. 

With my legs numb, I continued to ride us to the edge of our high. My nipples were hard and rubbing against the sewn-in patches on his chest. I could feel myself dripping down my thighs as my velvet insides pulsed around him. My abdomen was burning and turning. Tears of ecstasy threatened the clarity of my vision. However, I could see it in his eyes that he wanted it too. 

"Please, I-I want to-" The words stammered out of my mouth, being cut short by Namjoon's actions. 

He grabbed a fist full of my hair, allowing my head to fall back as I prepared for the pleasure to rip me apart. My body entered in a state of shock as he thrust upward eagerly. The velocity of his movements began to merge with the speed of my heartbeat. They become one in my ringing ears, and the feeling in my core radiated into every nerve. 

He didn't stop, every second of my high was played until, the feeling of him finishing inside of me. It was a sensation like no other, one that I had experienced for the first time. 

-

Time had gone by, and we remained under the shelter of the blankets. Our legs were tangled underneath, allowing our bodies to rest and recover, while our minds began to process. I laid on my stomach, Namjoon's arm was under my head, and his eyes wandered over my open back. His fingertips traced figures that were unknown to me on the curve of my shoulder. 

The after-effects ran gradually in my head, a cloud-like feeling that made everything seem peaceful. It was like nothing could bother us at this moment, even if someone walked through the door, we were in our world. Though nothing had been resolved, only complicated further, there was no fear.

When our parents got together, he was 15, and I was 14, we were as different as black and white. Our entire upbringing was a contest, one with a winner and a loser. It's not hard to tell how that worked out. Though, even now, I was afraid that wouldn't change. It wasn't a childish habit neither of us couldn't let go, it was more than that, it was like the natural order of things. We were two sides of a spectrum and there was no balance in the middle. One of us would have to lose.

"What are you thinking about?" Namjoon asked gently. 

I had been staring off into the shadow on his arm that was cast by his big head. When I looked up at him, his eyes had noticed that I was hundreds of miles away. 

"How we ended up here," I replied. 

Namjoon's touch had trickled from his fingers to the palm of his hand. He caressed my skin tenderly before leaning down and setting a kiss on the bone of my arm. 

"Does that still matter to you?" He uttered against my skin. His breath warmed over the patch of space and made me follow his every move.

A part of me felt like it was an easy topic to start a fight about. His perspective on our past was different because we lived two different lives. Whether he knew it or not, was irrelevant at this moment, I didn't feel like fighting anymore. 

"I'm just trying to make sense of it all," I answered lightly, even though the matter was weighing heavily. "Why did things have to happen this way?"

Namjoon moved his body closer, his head tilted low so that his eyes would reach my level. He pushed loose pieces of hair that had fallen over my face while he took the question for himself.

"I think... sometimes people make bad decisions,"' He explained his philosophy with ease. His hand lingering over my cheek, now rid of anything that may disturb his touch. "Decisions that affect everyone,"

I couldn't tell what past decisions he was referring too. If he had any in particular that he blamed. "But the world has a way of straightening things out,"

Namjoon leaned his head on his shoulder, face leveling with mine. He laid where my hand had been resting between us, his lips pressed against my pinky finger as he smiled. 

"If you give it the chance," He added. A hint lingered in his voice, indicating that he meant it directly to me.

I lifted that same hand, bringing it just over his face, and letting it fall flat on his cheek. The playful slap made him chuckle, taking a hold of the abusive hand with his own. 

"Give it a chance or give you a chance?" I asked, seeing through the suggestion of his theory. 

"Is that what you think this could be?"

Maybe I couldn't come up with answers on my own. Just knowing where Namjoon stood, however, gave me a direction to work off.

"Why not?" He responded, making a good point. 

"I have always liked you and," He paused as he realized the confession he had just made. It was too late to take it back now. "And you, at the very least, like parts of me." 

I hated that he found himself so funny, with a laugh that spread a smile on his face. I hated that it made me laugh as well, like the 18-year-old he made me feel like, but most of all, I hated that he was right. 

"I've begun to think that I'm a grenade, Namjoon," I said as he squeezed my hand in his palm. "I was only built to do one thing,"

Destruction was all I knew, it's how I dealt with any and every emotion. It was going to happen one way or another.  

"Are you sure you want to pull the pin?"

I didn't mean to come off so bleak after having the best sex of my life. But I felt like there was always something to question with Namjoon. Everything he said made me realize where I stood, and it was usually on the other side.

"I think you're forgetting who you're talking to," He had lost the playfulness in his voice. "Crazy and destructive is all I've ever known." 

With Jaeeun as a mother, I didn't doubt it for a minute. 

It seemed, one thing Namjoon and I had in common, where the questionable morals our parents had imposed upon us. We could see the wrong, the toxicity of it all, but it was just the way of our world. That's why we could only attract people like ourselves. That's why our parents worked so well. 

I realized in my downward spiral of hopelessness that I was actually falling into a huge hole created by my absence of ever learning basic human graces. The most obvious was forgiveness. 

For my father, If he had been wronged by anyone, in or out of the club, he had to be compensated by money or blood. There was no turning the other cheek. When relationships become a ledger of profit and loss, you have no friends, no loved ones, just pluses, and minuses. You are absolutely alone.

Which was the irony of this life, after all. We were family but with conditions and expectations. Regardless of real blood or not, if you didn't serve a need, you weren't worth much. 

Having self-awareness on the matter didn't exactly give me the solution to resist it. I still felt that things were owed to me, so much so, I spent seven years of my life dwelling on it. I started to consider it was too late for me to unlearn such a severe trait. 

"Do you ever think of living differently," I asked him because I was forced to, and I came running back, anyway. 

"What? Like, leaving the club?" He asked, almost appalled. 

"No, of course not." Even if he could, I had already learned that leaving Blackburn didn't equal a normal life.

The issue wasn't Bangtan, the issue was the people in it, the things we chose to do with it. "I mean like steering Bangtan out of the trafficking business." 

Even though Namjoon's eyes were looking into mine, it's like he wasn't there. Something about that idea took him far from this conversation. I couldn't tell if it provoked fear or inspiration of some sort. 

"I don't have any other skills," He answered bluntly. I could see the idea was still playing through his mind. "I mean, I'm an okay bartender with a high school diploma but," 

He came back to me but failed to make eye contact. 

"The only thing I ever did well was outlaw."

Though I understood what he was saying, something about his answer was strange to me. Namjoon was one of the smartest people I had ever known, and it was a concept much larger than ourselves. I found his thought process to be very one-dimensional.

"Besides," He continued. His demeanor returned to what it was before my question, meaning he was about to discard it.

Namjoon took my arm and pulled me onto his chest, my head now laying at the edge of his shoulder. Our naked bodies now conduct heat between each other. 

"How am I going to take care of you, if I decide to do something as absurd, as make an honest living?"

My brain should have taken the entire sentence for what it meant, but I was hung-up on the first part. My head lifted off his body, looking for those dark eyes that stared at the ceiling. 

"Oh, is that what you want to do?" I laughed. His mouth smirking, knowing well that this would be my reaction. 

"Yes," He replied confidently. 

He cupped my face and quickly brought his kiss to me. His mouth seizing my top lip, and being graceful in slipping his tongue. "That's exactly what I want."

He barely stopped to get the words out. His hands ran down my shoulder, fingers wrapping around my arm and tugging me to come closer. I swung my leg over his hip, my breast brushing up his ribs to take more of his sweet mouth. 

"You're going to treat me good?" I hardly teased. It was difficult for me to taunt him when he was making my body melt in his arms.

"As good as my leather," He promised. His hand groped the skin down to my leg.

His hands promised more than just that, they hooked behind my knee, craving the idea of me straddling his hips.

"As long as you promise to ride me as much as your Harley." He whispered.

As intriguing as his words were, I pushed him away and slapped the center of his chest. He only chuckled, letting go of my leg and rubbing away the pain from my hand. 

I liked to see his eyelids turn into slits when his full cheeks built against them. The corners of his mouth reveal a smile that never ages. I rested my chin on his center and watched the laughing drain out his body. 

I don't know if it was just me, my mind that didn't know how to enjoy a moment of happiness but I had to say something. 

"If I'm going to be here- If we're going to do this," I said sternly, not wanting him to discard it like other things I've said in the past. 

"Then, you have to tell me the truth... all of it." 

He looked down at me, as best as he could, from his position on his back. His eyes were gentle and patient with me. "Not just what you think I have to know or can handle."

Namjoon nodded his head, looking at the desire of making this work in my eyes. It was one of the first times I felt that we could have been on the same page, or at the very least, tried to be.

"I know," He assured me, leaning down and kissing the top of my head affectionately. "I will,"

As much as I wanted to believe him, there was no experience for me to put my faith in. If anything, I had just the opposite, an entire lifestyle that promoted falsehood. 

"How can I trust you?" I asked him to convince me. 

"I can't lie to you," He simply stated. 

Namjoon sighed and ran this thumb across my cheek. "Not you (Y/n). Not when I already have to lie to everyone else."

I knew that was the draining part of our life. Inside the club, there had to be truth. Our word was our honor. But outside, it was all about deception. Lies were our defense, our default. To survive, you had to master the art of perjury. The lies and the truth had to feel the same. But once you learned that skill, nobody knew the truth in or outside the club- especially not you.

"We should get up," I told him. 

He looked at me as if he wanted my response to his words, but that would take a while. I didn't doubt his feelings, but his capability of following through was different. Even though I would like to think he could stick around. "The bar has to open soon." 

Namjoon nodded, his arms coming loose around my figure. 

"You're probably right," He grumbled as I moved to allow him space to get up. 

There were so many other things that I wanted to talk about, but it seemed better to let us live. I didn't know if this was true or a fairy tale I wanted to believe in. Things would play out just the way they were supposed to, and I would just have to enjoy the ride. 

I rolled onto my back with a hard sigh. Namjoon had already pushed the covers off his waist and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. The quilt-like covers just barely hid his ass as he was reaching for his leather on the nightstand. However, that wasn't the first thing that had caught my attention.

It was as if he hadn't taken off his cut. Tattooed into his skin, in black ink, was the entire backside of his leather, the top, and bottom rockers, as well as, the center patch and MC cube. 

The moment I saw it, I shut my eyes and cursed myself. It was then I knew that this man would ruin my life if I let him. 

- 

Namjoon walked with me outside of the bar to where my motorcycle was left parked all night. It was like a gentleman escorting a lady to her door after the first date. Though I suppose it was the bikers' edition. Besides telling him my plans for the day, we didn't speak much. 

If I was going to be staying at the bar, I needed more than alcohol, coffee, and peanuts to live off. There was a working kitchen that we only used during parties but was full of junk food. I figured I would buy groceries, and then work on the Fatboy. An average day is all I wanted, and it was already off to a pleasant start. 

However, when we stepped foot outside, we were not met with the empty parking lot that I hoped. The California sun was overhead, making the parking lot appear a water-thirsty desert. There were three other bikes parked besides Namjoon's and I's. The engines were still running, and their owners remained seated, seeming as if they just pulled up. 

My footsteps immediately become slower at the new information. Namjoon didn't notice as he was two or three steps ahead. It was stupid- I know. Nevertheless, I felt that the moment we approached them, they would magically know what happened between us. It was as if the words technically incest was written across our foreheads. Knowing that running away wasn't an option only made me panic further. 

This was one of the things we should have talked about.

The first member my eyes laid on was Yoongi, as he was parked the closest, just beside Namjoon's Harley. Due to his height, Seokjin was easy to recognize in the parking spot beside him. Though once Seokjin abandoned his bike, he left room for me to see who was on the other side of him. It was Jimin. 

He followed in Seokjin's footsteps, unmounting his bike and gathering around Yoongi's. The same feeling of the night before came flooding back. My worry of just a few seconds ago had completely dissipated into the air.

Now, my unwilling steps had become active stomps. Namjoon only took notice as I passed him by without any warning. My new demeanor caught the attention of everyone around me, but my eyes were fixed on only him.

He saw me coming, of course, but still did not expect my anger. There wasn't even a time for a formal greeting.  

"Hey, wha-!"

Jimin's words fell short once I grabbed him by the arm. My feet didn't miss a beat as I dragged him with me across the abandoned parking lot. I was well aware that I was causing a fuss. Just like I knew there was no way I was actually hauling Jimin off his feet, he was coming along willingly. The distance where I had stopped was far enough to make overhearing us difficult for the others. 

Once I let him free, it wasn't even an entire second before my hands were all over him again. As strongly as I could, I shoved his chest, barely making him stumble on his feet. I did that, over and over again, each time he would be a step further away.

"(Y/n)!" Jimin's hands came up defensively, keeping on guard, of any other hands coming his way. My rage had taken over me completely. Now, I was the child throwing a tantrum. I could feel my arms shake and ball into fists, tears burning in my eyes just by looking at him. "Hey! Relax," 

He took hold of my wrists and took notice of how deeply upset I was. My chest was rising and falling, my face burning with the color of red. "Just tell me what's wrong- what did I do?"

I knew I shouldn't have said anything, I even thought that I wouldn't, but it simply came out. 

"What the hell were you thinking!?" I barked at him. My hands still, fighting to make contact with him. "Detonating a bomb by hand?! Have you completely lost your mind?!"

His grip, along with the feature of his face, softened at my accusation. I imagined half of it was out of shock and confusion. "You could have died! You piece of sh-"

Before I could finish my words, my face was buried in his chest. Jimin's arms came to my aid, one of them, gently holding the back of my head. 

I just lost it, breaking down into tears, without any control of my emotions.I didn't know that the events of last night had affected me so much. 

Having seen Jimin in such a dangerous situation, when mortality was so recent in my thoughts, was too much to bear. My father had only been dead a few days, and I couldn't possibly handle losing someone else. 

"I-I'm sorry..." He replied hesitantly. He wasn't apologizing for his actions but for the fact that they had frightened me. I knew that. "I had it under control though,"

I scoffed in his shirt, trying to stay angry at him, but I just couldn't. I was so relieved that he was unharmed and I couldn't hide that. I put on my brave face and moved out of his embrace. With a little bit of embarrassment residing on my cheeks, I attempted to wipe my skin dry. 

"Are you okay?" Jimin asked still, concerned with my outburst.

"Yeah," I mumbled, rubbing my eyes, grateful I hadn't applied any makeup this morning. "But if you ever do something stupid like that again-"

I sighed, finding it hard to come up with an empty threat. "I'll kill you myself,"

Jimin smirked and shoved his hands into the front pockets of his jeans. I caught a glance at the group across from us. Seokjin gossiped to Yoongi while Namjoon wore a slightly annoyed expression. I knew I would have to do some explaining to him later. 

"How did you know?" I also knew that question was coming, and I wasn't proud to say that I was a good liar.

"Namjoon told me," I spoke naturally. 

It was a hard lie to sell, but once Jimin finds out about me and Namjoon's relationship, it will make more sense. 

"He did?" He was obviously surprised and didn't know how to react. 

"Yeah," I assured him. "We're working things out..." 

To hold up this lie, I had to trust in Jimin's place in the club. Namjoon was the president, and it wasn't Jimin's right to question why he would share information with me. It felt wrong to lie to him this way, I felt like a meticulous manipulator, but I couldn't tell him the truth. Not yet, at least. 

 I could see on Jimin's face that he had more questions to ask about the matter. However, there was no time, our attention had been seized by something else.

A gray van came rushing into the parking lot. Jimin had pulled me back, afraid the vehicle could have actually run me over. He stood in front of me, protectively, drawing out his gun from his back pocket. 

The van had made it from one side of the parking lot to the other. I spotted Namjoon also being on edge with Yoongi and Seokjin, debating if they should approach or not. The vehicle stopped in the middle of a U-turn and opened up its inner side door. 

It was too familiar to the first night I arrived. I think we were all prepared to have some kind of shootout in the middle of the parking lot. 

Except, when the door opened, the single man who we spotted didn't have a gun in his hand. He was dressed in dark clothing, dark jeans, and a tee-shirt, with a bandana covering everything under his nose. Instead of an automatic weapon, he had a gym bag over his shoulder. 

He tossed the bag out of the van, it landed somewhere between us, before he just as quickly slid the door back shut. The van wasted no time and rushed out of the parking lot as fast as it had come in. It disappeared down the road, and no one knew what to do. 

The black gym bag just laid there in the middle of the parking lot, under a hot burning sun. 

Namjoon was the first one to start approaching the sack, Seokjin, and Yoongi following behind him. They stepped with caution, Jimin locked eyes with them and did the same. I trailed closely behind him, and we only made it about three feet away from the bag before slowly stopping once again. 

"(Y/n) stand back," Namjoon ordered me, but my head was already spinning with possibilities. 

It couldn't be a bomb- they wouldn't risk tossing it on the ground that way. 

"(Y/n)," Jimin also called as I had passed him, getting closer than any of them. 

It wasn't until then that I noticed that there was something else. The cloth of the bottom side of the bag appeared darker, wet as if something had spilled. 

Then, something Romero had said last night popped into my head. 

I could smell it, but I had to make sure. I reached down, the boys gathering around me now as I carefully went to unzip the pouch. 

"Oh my god!" I gasped.

I stumbled back as I caught a glimpse. The smell hit me, decaying meat, and the trail of death. Inside the bag were two severed heads. 

Masterlist ≽

[seriouslyhooked]

Feels Like This (Part 7)

Emma Swan is a once lost girl who is now making good. She has made a way in the world for her and her young son, Henry, and after years of hard work, Emma is in her last stretch of schooling for the career she’s always wanted. Unexpectedly, she finds herself in a tiny nation no one’s ever heard of for her last year of study. She knows nothing about the place except that it’s beautiful, has a world-renowned child life program, and is filled with possibility. Meanwhile, Prince Killian is hardly happy with the title he received at birth. As the second in line for the crown, Killian has long tried shaking his royal duties. He built a career in the royal navy, and has stayed out of the limelight, but his ship has been called to port indefinitely at the request of his brother, the King. Fate (in her many forms) brings Emma and Killian together and the resulting fic is a cute, fluffy, trope filled romp featuring heart felt moments, a healthy dose of insta-love and an assured happily ever after. Story rated M and will have 12 parts. Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6. Available on FF Here and AO3 Here.

A/N: Hey everyone. I know that some of you must hate my guts after last week, and I couldn’t even begin to blame you for that, but I promise I will make things better this week. I hate to linger in the drama, and as such we get a resolution this chapter. That’s not saying the road will be easy, but hopefully it’ll pack some great feels and will end with a bit of forgiveness, not just for CS, but with us too. I’ll wait to see what you all think on that forgiveness part, but without further delay, here’s the next chapter of ‘Feels Like This.’

Agony. That was the emotion clinging to his body and soul through the rest of the processions. From the moment he saw Emma, and took in the range of emotions on her beautiful face, he realized she somehow hadn’t read his letter. Despite the assurances from Jefferson’s team that Emma had spoken with a member of the royal guard herself, had taken custody of the letter, and understood it was important, there was clearly a breakdown in that story. The shock in her eyes was too potent for her to have had any kind of heads up. She was torn apart and hurting, and it was all because of him.

This was a miserable and soul wrenching mistake, a slowly traveling crash in which he had been the operator, and the worst part was that he couldn’t go to her and try to explain himself. He tried to, stopped the horse, and was ready to go to her, consequences be damned, but Liam’s order was clear and he was bound to follow. As such, Killian had been in excruciating pain for hours. He spent the rest of the day imagine how hurt she must be. If he felt like this, undoubtedly her heart ached even more. And still, throughout all of this, there was no one to blame but himself. He alone was the one who had hurt Emma this way. His choice to be selfish and to wait in telling her had opened the doors to her heartbreak, and in all his life he’d never made a decision, or rather a series of decisions, he regretted so resolutely.

He would never, as long as he lived, and forever thereafter, forget the look in Emma’s eyes when she saw him from the crowd. The alarm of her expression was a knife to the chest, and then the waves of hurt and embarrassment and grief that came after laid all his sense of self respect to waste. He had done that to her. He had made her gorgeous face stain with disbelief and discomfort. He’d caused the anxiety and the sadness that were clear as day in her eyes. He’d undoubtedly ruined a day with her son, something that she cherished and had been excited about for weeks. And most importantly he shattered her trust in him and in herself. That part especially killed him. To see the moment where she came to believe that she’d been had, that he’d somehow meant for things to go so badly, that was the worst of all. Emma was brilliant and strong and sure of herself, and he’d diminished that by withholding who he was. He’d never forgive himself for that grave sin.

This wasn’t to say that his ire was limited. He was enraged with himself, but he was also furious with Liam. Keeping him from going to her in that moment may have been the ‘smart’ thing to do, but Killian couldn’t look past the fact that it was also the ‘proper’ thing as well. On a better day, and in a less tumultuous time, he would believe in his brother’s goodness. He’d give Liam the benefit of the doubt and imagine that the call to keep him in the procession was made to protect Emma and not to keep him from making a scene, but he was hardly rational right now. Instead, Killian was desperate, and as soon as the parade was over, he dismounted from his horse and rushed into the castle, disregarding all the staff who tried to help him. He stopped only to thank his grandmother for the distraction she’d provided and remained focused on his mission.

The only thing he could think right now was that he had to get to Emma. He’d go to her like this, dressed in this royal monkey suit, if that wouldn’t be yet another afront to her. She’d been slapped with the reality of who he was hours ago, and he would never try and throw that in her face again. He made it to his rooms in record time, and didn’t bother to even close the door as he went about changing, all the while brainstorming how he would get to her and make this right.

“I know you’re angry with me,” Liam said. Killian hadn’t even realized he was followed by his brother and he was even more angered by the lack of privacy. He bit back a snarl that was very unlike him but came naturally at this moment. “But there was no other way.”

“No other way?” Killian asked, a hollow laugh escaping as he shook his head at his brother’s words. “You might be the king, brother, but you’re a bloody fool if you believe that.”

“Killian I was only trying -,”

“Don’t!” Killian yelled, interrupting him before Liam could say something he didn’t want to hear. “I swear to you, Liam, if you so much as attempt to justify this, if you even think about bringing up my duty to this family, you will regret it.”

“Is that a threat?”

“It’s a promise.”

“Well luckily for me I was going to do neither.”

Killian glared at his brother but then disregarded him. He had the change of clothes he needed and made quick work of removing the starched pants and suit jacket. In under a minute he was dressed in jeans and a casual shirt, more normal attire that Emma had seen him in at the center. But just the thought of it made a lump form in his throat. What if all of this was over? What if he’d ruined everything? What if she could never find a way to forgive him?

“Okay I lied. I was going to make excuses, forgive me.”

“Forgiveness from me means nothing,” Killian said, deadly serious. “When I myself am unforgivable.”

“I don’t believe that.”

“You have no idea who I am or what I am capable of. You think I was just gallivanting around the globe all these years, brother? No – there is darkness in me, sins on my soul I’ll live with every day, and now the worst among them is what I’ve done to Emma. The nightmares and memories of war I could live with. It’s not easy, but it can be done,” Killian said, expelling his breath quickly and wanting to get off this topic that he purposefully never discussed with family. “But what I did today, and what you commanded me to do… it’s a bridge too far.”

“So this isn’t all about your title, then. That’s not the only thing you’re hiding from her.”

Ice ran through Killian’s veins at Liam’s assessment, but his brother wasn’t wrong. There was a lot he hadn’t yet revealed to Emma. He always made the excuse that their stolen moments together were too fleeting, or that it wasn’t the right time to discuss such heavy things, but the truth was he was kidding himself. He’d wanted to gloss over the bad parts, which wasn’t fair to Emma or to him.

“I’m not good enough for her. The things I’ve seen and done have stained me. They made me different – they’ll always haunt me. But this,” Killian said waving around his rooms, which were so ornate that the French aristocrats of old would gasp in the face of them, “She deserves so much more than I can give her. This world is too demanding with too little wiggle room. She’ll feel trapped here. She’ll resent it. But I can’t let her go. I’ve never…” he trailed off, trying to put into words how Emma made him feel. “I’ve never felt like I was exactly where I’m meant to be; not here, not abroad. But with her there is no question. I’m the man I wish I was, the man I want to be.”

Liam was quiet a long moment, looking at Killian with a mix of emotions on his familiar face. There was concern to be sure, and sadness for Killian which he did not want. He didn’t want sympathy. He knew he wasn’t normal, in the regular sense of the world, but he didn’t want pity for that. Yet beyond that there was also a warmth in Liam’s looks, and when his brother spoke, his tone was open and honest.

“I saw you two today. I watched the exchange you had out there. The things you feel are not one sided. She loves you too. That was clear.”

God Killian wished that that were true, but even if it was, he didn’t know if love could survive this moment. It was a cruel thing, to taste real hope and have it stolen from you by your own missteps, but he had a sinking feeling that was to be his fate.

“My choices and my actions have likely destroyed those feelings,” Killian said, the lump forming in his throat so tight it made it hard to speak.

“I’m not so certain. She’s clearly going to give you the chance to explain yourself, and that alone speaks volumes.”

“And what would I even say?” Killian asked, putting words to his great fear. “There’s nothing I can say that can make this okay. I didn’t lie to her, I made sure never to do so, but a lie of omission is just as bad.”

“Is it though? I mean you’re not a criminal, Killian.”

“No, I’m a prince!” he yelled, the word hanging around them long after he’d screamed it into the room. His chest heaved as he caught his breath and slowly he calmed but he never felt better. “You don’t know Emma as I do, Liam. She’s not the kind of woman who’s going to see this development as desirable. She has no fairytale ambitions, no dreams of the spotlight. She’s a woman trying to make a way in the world for her and her son. She wants a good life for her boy, a healthy and happy home, a decent chance at love, and a partner. She wants a man who can walk by her side and chart the path she’s built for them, she doesn’t want… this,” he said sadly gesturing at the grandeur around them. “And she certainly doesn’t want the scars of my past tossed in as well.”

“Well how can you know that if you’ve never even asked her?”

“I know.”

“Oh rubbish!”

The words from the doorway had both Killian and Liam turning and low and behold there was Gran and his mother. These two women, who had always been his fiercest advocates and caretakers looked upon him with such fierceness of emotion. His mother looked distressed but her love was still tangible. She also didn’t appear to be confused, and in her blue eyes he saw understanding even in her alarm. He was surprised that she was even aware of the situation, but then he turned to Gran and remembered how much the woman could say in a short amount of time. She’d no doubt told his mother, and now, despite her age and smaller stature, his Gran was poised for a fight and looked downright pissed. She was a force riled up this way, and he readied himself for a verbal lashing.

“All you know is that you made a mistake, a series of them if you want to get particular,” Gran said shaking her head. “But here’s a scary truth for you, my boy, we all make mistakes. There’s not a person in this room who has not wounded someone they love. Hurt them in a way they’ll regret to their last breath. It’s a terrible thing, but it is life. People are flawed and our time on this earth is messy. We can’t all be perfect. We can only try to be better.”

“I don’t deserve her forgiveness, Gran,” Killian said, not bothering to waste energy with diversions and denial. This was his great fear, and it slipped past his lips as if she’d forced he confess. “I’m not worth it.”

“Oh, Killian,” his mother said sadly, but his Gran held her hand out towards his mother, a silent show for her to wait. With purposeful steps, his grandmother approached him. She came in close, and he wanted to look anywhere but in the eyes of his family. She was uninterested in that avoidance though, and she put a dainty, wrinkled hand to his cheek. He looked up to her and watched as she took in a deep breath. Instinctively he did the same. Then they both let them go together. It was a remnant of his childhood, a tactic that helped calm him whenever he’d felt small and overwhelmed by their world. Gran always knew and she always helped, and even now, at this lowest point, it granted him a small comfort.

“My dear, I’ve always imagined you to be sensible and smart. Please, for the love of all that is good, do not prove me wrong,” Gran said, her voice softer but no less determined. “If you do not deserve her forgiveness, then you must earn it. You are not defined by a few bad choices you made, or by the scars that life has granted. You are more than the mistakes of your past and your present. You are a man, a complicated, loving, and ever-learning man. You have done wrong. You have caused pain. You have shielded the full truth. Now admit that, repent for that, and show her you will never make a mistake like this again. She’s a brilliant woman. A little guarded, but that’s to be expected with all that she’s known. Show her who you really are. Remind her why she took a chance in the first place.”

“I don’t even know where she is,” he admitted. He’d checked his phone and tried to call Emma as soon as the procession was far enough from public eyes, but she’d shut the bloody thing off, no surprise. God, he just hoped she was safe. He was worried about her, knowing that she must be fragile after the realizations she’d faced today.

“Go to the Center, darling,” his mother said softly, having made her own approach, and taking his hand and holding close. “There’s the party tonight that you mentioned.”

“More importantly her friends are there, that Elsa girl for one, as are the children she’s grown to love. No better place to start your search,” his Gran argued.  

Killian knew they were right and without any more thought, and with only a few swift goodbyes, he headed out to find his Swan. It meant a lot to Killian to have the support of his family, and there was a tiny flickering of hope at their words and advice, but he had to get moving before he lost his nerve. He couldn’t keep talking about this, he had to do something. Only after he was out of his quarters and in the car headed for the institute did he realize something – his family knew way too much about Emma and her habits. Liam he understood, but his mother, and especially his grandmother. Something was afoot there, but he’d have to save that for another time. For right now all he could do was work to get to Emma.

The drive to the institute was faster than normal but it felt like it took an eternity. When he finally got there, he was greeted by playing children and general merriment. The festivities were starting soon, and Emma’s original plan had been to come by when she and Henry were done at the beach. Perhaps he’d get lucky and she’d already be here, he looked around and finally saw someone who might know.

“Elsa, have you seen Emma today?”

“She’s not coming,” Elsa said and Killian’s heart dropped. “She called to say she and Henry couldn’t make it.”

“All right, well do you know where she is, in the meantime? I’ve tried to call her and I really need to speak with her. It’s… well you see… something, um -,”

“She told me what happened,” Elsa said, filling him both with relief and dread all at once.

“Elsa, I -,”

“How could you not tell her?” Elsa asked, not yelling for the sake of any children who might hear, but clearly mad. In fact, Killian had never seen Elsa so much as cross before, so this anger was truly something to behold, unexpected as it was. “Do you know how upset she was? Do you know what it must feel like for her? She deserved to know that, and you should have told her.”

“Elsa, I’m sorry –“

“Don’t tell me that. Tell her!” Elsa said, exasperated but then she let out a sigh and Killian noticed her eyes were misting over. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t get so mad. Realistically I know it must not be that simple. It’s just that Emma is my friend, and I never imagined that she didn’t know who you were. Marie told the rest of us what was going on. We were all briefed the day you came, I long assumed Emma was too. Then I began to wonder, but you two were so close, she had to know. When she called today, I could hear the sting of her betrayal. She really had no idea. She was blindsided.”

“I never meant for her to get hurt, Elsa.”

“But surely you must have known she would find out. It was only a matter of time, and you had weeks to break it to her, but you chose not to.”

“I tried, a hundred times, I really did. But we were always here. There were always things that needed doing and children underfoot. And even in the quiet moments… I could have found a way, Elsa, but I couldn’t bear the thought of her looking at me differently. I can’t explain what she means to me, what her seeing me for me has granted me.”

“Even if that’s true it doesn’t change the outcome,” Elsa said sadly. “She needed to know. When were you going to tell her?”

“I was going to tell her tomorrow on our date.”

“You were going on a date? Like an actual date?” Elsa squeaked out, seemingly surprised at the information. “Tomorrow? Oh my goodness, that’s why she wanted me to watch Henry.”

“Aye,” Killian said, curious as to why Emma hadn’t mentioned that part to Elsa.

“I can’t believe you finally asked her. So if you’re asking her on a date, are you serious about her?” He nodded, trying to silently convey the words he wanted to save for Emma. He regretted that it had slipped out with his family before. The first person to know that he loved Emma should be Emma, and despite his quiet non-response, Elsa began to understand that. “And you swear to me that you were going to tell her tomorrow?”

“I give you my word, Elsa. I even sent her a letter this morning before everything happened. It wasn’t enough but it was all I could do.”

“She didn’t mention a letter,” Elsa said shaking her head. “So chances are she never got it.” His heart bled at that confirmation.

“I take full responsibility for her pain, Elsa. I know I am in the wrong. The blame lies entirely with  me. But please, believe me when I tell you that I will do everything in my power to make it up to her. No matter what it takes. She’s the most important thing to me.”

Elsa looked him over, critically trying to assess whether or not he could be trusted. He hoped beyond hope that he would live up to Elsa’s scrutiny, because he was now relying on what else Elsa might know to find Emma and make amends. When she finally nodded, silently accepting his words as truth, he let out a shaky breath. He wanted to ask her where he could find Emma since she wasn’t coming by, but he didn’t have to, she imparted everything she knew on him. Where she was (which was home), what she was doing (making dinner for her and Henry after their beach day), and what he could bring to start to try and make amends (the special dessert that cook was making that both Emma and Henry were desperate for). Killian appreciated all the help, and as he stood in the back with Elsa, waiting on the sweet treats to be wrapped for delivery, he felt a tug at his hand. Looking down he saw Cecelia, who was offering him a shy smile.

“Hello, little love. How are you doing this evening?” Cecelia let out a giggle at his formalities, something he’d grown to learn that she liked over the past few weeks.

“We had dinner, and cake, and we are playing. Pirates and princesses!” she said excitedly. “Do you want to play, Killy?”

The name that Cecelia had begun to use for him, which only his family ever called him, made him happy, in spite of the circumstances. He smiled at the never-ending charm this little girl had, and at her sweet disposition and thoughtfulness.

“Unfortunately, I can’t stay. I’m on a mission you see.”

“A mission?” She asked excitedly. “What kind of mission?”

“I did something that was not very nice, but I feel very badly about what I did. So I am going to say I’m sorry. And I am going to also bring this, as a token of my apology.”

“What’s a token?” Cecelia asked.

“It’s like a little symbol or present. I want to show I’m thinking of the person who I upset.”

“You should bring flowers,” Cecelia said immediately, dragging him as hard as a five-year-old could drag a full-grown man. “Here, these is my favorite.”

Killian followed the little girl to the meadow and watched as she plucked flower after flower until it made a perfectly imperfect bouquet. At one point she let out a little chirping sound of glee, he asked her what had made her so excited and she showed him the yellow flower she had found.

“These are my Emma’s favorites.”

“Well let’s get some more of those then.”

He thanked his lucky stars that Cecelia didn’t ask more about who he had offended. He could only imagine how sad she would be to discover it was Emma, but as he worked to retrieve the flowers with her, Killian solemnly vowed again that he would make amends. This might not be nearly enough to do so, but it was a start, and no matter what it took, he would eventually find a way to win Emma back again. As soon as he had the blossoms in hand, and the dessert with the help of Elsa, Killian was ready to go, but as he looked back out to the car with his driver and took another look at his detail his stomach sank. He didn’t want to do any of this with an audience. He didn’t want the flagrant reminder of why they were different thrown in Emma’s face.

“You know, Elsa and I got really good at ditching our bodyguards when we were kids,” a voice said, and Killian looked over to see Anna, Elsa’s sister, who he also knew to be a good friend of Emma’s and kind to him personally.

“Anna!”

“Oh shoot, pretend you didn’t hear that!” Anna said, her face suddenly sobering. “Seriously, don’t repeat that. To anyone. Ever.”

“I won’t,” he said, curious as to why the sisters would have ever needed their own bodyguards. It was a strange thing, especially seeing where they were now in their lives, but he knew full well it was not his business. “But I hope you mentioned it to offer a suggestion. I’ll take any tricks of the trade, so to speak.”

Anna let out a sigh of relief before looking over his shoulder. “Gus is the main one watching you today, right? The others are stationed outside?” Killian nodded. “Excellent – totally lucked into that one.”

“How so?” Killian asked and Elsa filled in, shocking him further.

“Gus is a great guy, very capable, but easily distracted. He sat down a full twenty minutes for Eloise to make him an origami frog last week. Barely kept tabs on you the whole time.”

“You noticed that?”

“We notice everything,” Anna said with a smile, before pulling out two of the flowers in his chosen bouquet and tossing them away. On second thought they didn’t exactly match, but he didn’t have the chance to thank Anna before she was giving him another gift. “I’ve got a moped in the shed out front. It’s speedy, efficient and has a helmet and saddle bag. You can fit everything inside and get to Emma in five minutes flat. We’ll keep Gus distracted.”

“For how long?” Killian asked and Elsa and Anna exchanged a look.

“Thirty minutes, easy. But if we hit him with a meal from Cook, could be longer.”

“I owe you two, royally.” The two sisters laughed at his words and he groaned. “Pun not intended, but you take my meeting.”

“Two I-O-Us from our neighborhood Captain and Prince. We’ll take it.”

“Call it even if you make it up to Emma,” Elsa agreed, and Killian nodded his head. Then he watched as Anna grabbed his flowers and the dessert and made a big show of asking him for his help on the third floor. He understood her ruse and agreed, at the same time that he nodded to Gus and Elsa moved over to his guard. She struck up a conversation with him, bringing in some of the kids, and quickly Killian and Anna snuck out, getting the moped in record time.

“Emma lives only a few blocks away,” Anna said, writing out the address that she read off of her phone. He was grateful for that as he’d sent the letter this morning through a royal courier. He hadn’t actually known her address, but relied on Jefferson’s intel to get it there. “Here. Do you know where that is?”

“I do,” Killian said, relieved as all hell for that. “Thank you, Anna. Without you and Elsa…”

“Just keep your promise. Make things right with Emma,” Anna said, shooing him away as she stood guard, making sure no one was aware of their deceit.

As he drove out of the front gate, Killian felt free, and he rode as fast as he could without risking his life to get to Emma. Soon enough he was at her building. He parked the bike, and with shaky hands gathered his items of penance. It wasn’t enough, but he hoped it could be a start. Quickly he moved up the front steps, schooling his breathing, and hoping beyond hope she’d open the door. He knocked three times, the heavy metal of the knocker sounding out against the wood. Thud. Thud. Thud. His heart was racing, his mind outpaced it, and seconds stood still until he heard the sound of feet behind the door. A subtle pause, a bated breath, and then…

……………….

Never in her nearly thirty years of life did Emma Swan ever encounter a situation like this one. The drama and the intrigue, the secrets and a big reveal, it was exhausting and complex. In truth it was too much to comprehend, and as a result she was currently standing in her kitchen, staring aimlessly into the refrigerator, and wondering what the hell was going on.

It started with a pretty simple premise: girl meets boy at a new job. That part she had no real trouble understanding. People met every day and sparks flew, that was pretty normal. Not so much for a single mom who was always barely treading water, but it could happen. Theoretically she always had a chance of meeting a man who was interesting and captivating and funny and smooth.

Stage two was also somewhat familiar: girl falls for boy. It was less likely, but still believable. She had never felt any significant pull to a guy except for Henry’s Dad, and even looking past the horrible way that relationship turned out, the feelings were not the same. That love was grounded in need, a need for connection and for love and for family. She was without a center, and Neal was a way to build her world around someone else. With Killian it was different. Emma liked the idea of finding love, but she had no need to build a world around someone else because she already had so much in her life and she understood and loved herself so much more than she had as a girl. Instead, with Killian, she felt a kinship and an undercurrent of possibility. Killian had jolted her out of the small life she was leading and made her dream of more. It was exciting and new, and though she never really expected love like that to come, she knew that it was technically possible for her to feel for someone again. She hadn’t anticipated it, but it could happen, and with Killian it did.  

The next part though, that was what killed her and was completely and totally bat shit crazy: boy turns out to be prince of a tiny coastal nation that no one’s ever heard of, but is heaven on earth. Like… what? What the what?!

This was the making of some cheesy movie or romance book, but it was never anyone’s actual life. Even when girls met princes, they always knew from the jump that they were a prince. But Emma? Oh no, she had to be the one in 7-something billion to completely miss the memo. Okay actually that wasn’t quite right. Most of the issue here was that no one outside of Montenarro knew about this country, let alone its monarchs. Still, she was surrounded by people who were aware of the truth: Elsa, Anna, Marco, Marie. The list went on and on and on, and yet at no point did anyone ever think to let her in on this giant, gaping, gargantuan secret.

Of course, the person who really should have said something was Killian, and for hours Emma had wondered what the hell he was thinking by not telling her. Like sure, maybe it wasn’t polite to introduce yourself as Prince Killian of Montenarro from the jump, and yeah, he was clearly trying to fly under the radar with the kids, probably to make them feel more connected and not separated by status, but it was unfathomable that he would never have brought this up. Especially given the fact that he was in a nationally watched parade today. How did he possibly think she was going to miss that? And more importantly, how could she trust him, or anyone else for that matter, after they’d kept this from her for so long? She thought back to her phone call to the institute earlier where she’d told everyone she and Henry couldn’t make it. She didn’t plan to say anything, hoping to hide the shame of being so stupid, but Elsa could tell something was up, and when she asked Emma couldn’t deny it…

“Are you sure that you’re all right, Emma? It’s not like you to miss something like this and I know that Henry and you have both been looking forward to this. Are you sick? Can we bring you something? Anna or I can come and -,”

“It’s not like that,” Emma admitted, taking in a shaky breath before blurting out a question that had bothered her all day. “Why didn’t you tell me, Elsa?”

“Tell you what?” her friend asked, seriously perplexed.

“About Killian.”

“Emma, I’m sorry, I’m not following you here. What happened with Killian?”

“I saw him today at the parade.”

“Oh I know he called here, just in case we played it on television. He doesn’t want the first time the kids hear to be through the parade. He wants to tell them himself, which I respect.”

“Well I wish he’d had the same regard for me.”

“Regard for – wait, Emma, you didn’t know?”

“No,” Emma admitted, grateful that Henry was putting his beach stuff away upstairs. She had a little privacy and the sadness of this moment could air without her son knowing her pain. “I had literally no idea and now I feel like an idiot because we were there, Henry and I, and I saw Killian and he saw me, and it’s just… it’s like I’m too heartbroken to be mad. Does that make sense?”

“Oh, Emma,” Elsa said, and Emma closed her eyes, willing the unshed tears to go away. She couldn’t break down right now. She just couldn’t, but she would if she continued to think about this. “If I had ever thought in a million years that he would be so careless, I would have told you from the start. Anna and I wondered if you realized in the beginning, and we weren’t totally sure, but we thought maybe if you didn’t know then he was waiting for the right moment. It was hard to tell because maybe he had told you and you and you were keeping things private. I thought for sure he would have told you whenever you got a real moment one on one, and you’ve had a few the past few weeks. It never occurred to me that you were still in the dark. I never imagined…”

“It’s not your fault, Elsa,” Emma said, fending off the tears that threatened to come in the face of this bad moment.

“Has he tried to reach out to you? To explain himself?”

“I haven’t checked,” Emma admitted. “I called you on the land line here. My phone’s been off all day.”

“Don’t you want to hear what he has to say?”

“Of course I do,” she admitted. Knowing it was true. She wanted answers, and she also wanted to understand. Why had he done this? What was he possibly thinking?

“So why -,”

“Because what if there is nothing to say?” Emma interrupted, her biggest fear revealed. “I mean he’s a prince, Elsa, and I’m just… me.”

“You’re not just anything, Emma,” Elsa said determinedly. “You are brilliant and wonderful, and let me tell you something, titles and nobility don’t mean anything. The merit of a person resides in their heart, not in a crown.”

Emma appreciated her friend’s faith in her, and she didn’t think much of how adamantly opposed Elsa seemed to the exultation of nobility. Still, she felt unanchored right now. She’d really begun to feel that connection with Killian was something special, and it was impossible not to question all of it in the face of a secret this big. Because this was big. Really big. Honestly it was -

“Mom?”  Emma jumped at the sound of Henry’s voice and she looked over to her son who had a curious look on his face. She closed the fridge door, unsure of how long it had been open, but her attempt to cover herself didn’t go unnoticed. “You okay?”

“I’m fine, kid. What’s up?”

“There’s someone at the door. They knocked twice already. I’d answer it but you know the whole stranger danger, different country thing.”

“Right,” Emma said wiping her hands down her shirt and preparing to greet whoever it was.  She suspected it was Elsa or Anna. After Elsa had told her that she was absolutely Killian’s equal regardless of status, both Elsa and Anna had been on the phone, telling her to be strong and have faith in herself. They were both hopeful but also incredibly sympathetic, and despite Emma’s protests, both had mentioned sending some cake this way for her and Henry. Still she didn’t want to see anyone. Okay that was true she only wanted to see one person, but as she moved to open the door, she knew it wouldn’t be – wait, Killian? Oh God, he was here. Like actually here.

“Emma,” he said, his voice filled with equal parts relief and anguish.

“You’re here,” Emma said, dumbfounded. She never in a million years expected him to actually come to her house, not after the parade today and realizing who he was. The reminder of his real identity had her looking to the street. What kind of scene was being made for him to come here? But then when she looked there was no one outside, and nothing but a moped on the street. Only then did she realize the helmet he carried.  “Where’s your detail?”

“I ditched them. Didn’t want to draw attention.”

“You ditched them?” Emma parroted, not following him. “Is that an option?”

“I made it one,” Killian said, determinedly. “Look, Emma, I know that what I’ve done is unforgiveable. I said that in the letter this morning.”

“Letter?” Emma asked and finally understanding dawned on her. That thing she thought was an invitation in her tote bag… that had held answers all along. God, seriously? What a mess, and here she’d been thinking on this for hours and maybe there were some answers already in her grasp. But whether or not that was true it was too late now. “That was from you. I thought it was from the institute.”

“So you never read it,” he said and she shook her head and Killian grimaced before straightening his stance and diving into what the letter must have said. “It hardly matters. A letter could never be enough to right what I’ve done. I know I should have told you who I was from the start, and having things go so badly today when what we have is so good… it damn near kills me to know I’ve ruined things before they’ve even had a chance to really form. But I swear to you, on everything I hold dear, that I never meant to hurt you, Emma.”

Now the tears were back, misting over in her eyes and she couldn’t try and stop them. Today had been so crazy and she was stressed and angry and sad. But the look in Killian’s eyes as he tracked her sadness broke something else inside her. His longing and his sorrow were so palpable. She knew, even without his words that he was truly sorry, and when he moved toward her, taking her hand, she didn’t pull away. She stayed there, too caught up in feelings to speak, and allowing him to try and explain some more.

“I know my words can’t possibly be enough, Emma. I would never expect them to be. I’ve been foolish and I’ve been daft, and Lord knows I would give anything the world over to take back the pain I caused you. It’s the last thing I would ever want. You deserve so much better, and God above, I am sorry Emma. So deeply, truly sorry. I want to show you how sorry I am. I want to make this right. I know asking you for anything is unthinkable. I don’t deserve your forgiveness or a second chance, but I can’t walk away, love. I don’t want to lose you, I don’t think I could bear it.”

What could she say to such a statement, such bold claims of caring about her and regretting what he’d done? She had so much to say. She was angry and hurt and embarrassed, but underneath all that she still felt the pull that was there before. Despite everything that had happened, she couldn’t help but look into his blue eyes and feel like there was magic here between them. Her heartbeat skipped out of time, and her hands grew shaky. She didn’t know whether she wanted to slap him or kiss him. Honestly, she probably wanted to do both. Still, the only thought ringing in her head was that he was here. He’d come to her, for her, and he was really, actually here.

“Who is it, Mom?” Henry’s question from behind her made her jump, and without thinking she stepped away from Killian’s hold before Henry could see their hands joined together. Jesus, this was all going so crazy so fast, and then Henry’s eyes lit up and he gasped. “Wait, aren’t you… you’re the prince! You were at the parade today.”

“Aye, lad,” Killian said, and though he aimed a kind smile at her son, Emma could tell it took everything in Killian not to wince at the pronouncement.

“But what are you doing here? What’s going on, Mom?” Henry looked to her and Emma looked between him and Killian trying to figure out how to play this.

“Killian and I, um, work together.”

“Wait this is Killian?” Henry asked, and Emma felt her cheeks flush as her son gave away the fact that she’d talked of him at home. “You said he was a Captain in the navy, but I didn’t know he was a Prince!”

Neither did I, Emma thought, but she was at a loss for words. Luckily Killian stepped in.

“At the institute I’ve been blessed to be as I am. I’m not a prince there. I’m just a man. Just Killian.”

“That must be hard sometimes,” Henry said, surprising both Emma and Killian with the words. “Being a prince, I mean. I mean it’s cool, but a lot of responsibility, I bet.”

“Aye, lad. Truth be told I’m not always up to my familial role,” Killian confessed, making Emma’s heart ache with the sincerity he displayed. “Some have said I’m not particularly good at being a prince. I can’t disagree with the sentiment.”

“How are you at making pizza?” Henry asked, completely changing the subject on a dime, in the way only a kid could. Henry showed absolutely no intimidation in the face of meeting royalty. He was completely relaxed, stunning Emma with his nonchalance.

“Erm, well, I wouldn’t really know,” Killian said, his hand moving through his hair in a gesture of uncertainty. “I can’t actually recall ever making my own.”

“That’s okay, it’s easy. Mom’s a master at it. She can show you. Right, Mom?”

“Henry, Killian probably has other things he has to do.” She looked to him trying to assure him that he did not need to indulge her son. But when her eyes met Killian’s she was yet again surprised at the hope she found there. He wasn’t running for the hills or jonesing to get away and back to the palace. In fact, he looked excited at the prospect.

“Actually,” Killian said, hedging a moment making, silently making sure she wasn’t trying to give him the brush off. She purposefully kept quiet, thus giving him permission to make his own call. “There’s no place I’d rather be than here, making pizza as it were.”

“Really?” Emma asked and Killian nodded before motioning to the box he was carrying that she hadn’t paid any mind to before.

“Aye, and I come bearing an offering of sorts. Elsa and Anna send their regards, and cook’s coveted cake.”

“Wohoo!!” Henry yelled, whooping with joy as he pulled Killian inside, dragging him to the kitchen to get dinner underway. For Emma’s part she was still hesitant. This was not something she ever expected, and it was not smart to let Henry get attached to Killian when she didn’t even know what was going to happen between them. But the fact that Elsa and Anna had sent him her way was an endorsement, and if they trusted him after she’d been so honest about her pain today, she didn’t think she should fully close the door on this.

What ensued after that was a few hours of strangely perfect intimacy. Despite the newness, and how much was still unsaid between them, Emma watched Killian and Henry truly bond. He may not have much experience in the kitchen, but Killian was a quick learner, and more than anything he was attentive. He met Henry’s enthusiasm with appreciation and support, and when her kid chattered on all night, Killian only seemed to enjoy himself more. Watching all of this, and knowing that Killian had every intention of speaking to her when they were alone, made Emma’s heart soften, and though she was still scared shitless about his being a prince, she felt her defenses waning at the night went on. Even in the middle of such a mess, this man was perfectly imperfect. He was flawed, and he had acted badly, but he was good still, with a heart so big and kind she couldn’t help but wish for more nights like this, both for her and for Henry. In spite of who he was, Killian seemed to fit here, and hours later, when Henry was readying for bed and had bid them both goodnight, Emma wanted to find a way to say that even while she held him accountable for what he’d done.

“Whatever it is you’re thinking, Swan, you should say it. I promise you I can handle it. No need to mince words or hold back,” he said, showing once again just how much he understood her. She closed her eyes, steadying her breath, willing the questions and the accusations to come, but they didn’t. So instead she said what she felt.

“You’re a prince.”

“I am.”

“Why?”

“Why am I a prince?” he asked, confused.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because if it were up to me, I wouldn’t be a prince. But beyond that, you saw me,” he replied honestly. “The real me. Not the man the world thinks that I am or that my family thinks I should be. You can’t imagine how that felt, how intoxicating it was, when I hardly even knew myself before I met you.”

“You should have told me.”

“I know, love, and I was going to tomorrow. The plan was to have real time together. I didn’t want it rushed or interrupted. I wanted to break it to you gently, because I knew hearing this would hurt no matter when it came. But believe me, Emma, I never planned to be at the parade today. A public spectacle like that when you didn’t know… it was unfathomable and cruel. But I need you to believe that my hands were tied. It’s a complicated story involving politics and parliament, but suffice it to say my brother needed me, and I could not deny the King. I knew it was wrong, but I was bound by honor to my family. They required my presence and I couldn’t turn away from that. Even so, if I had known you’d see me today, that you and Henry wouldn’t already be tucked away at the beach, I never would have gone.”  

“You still should have told me, Killian,” she stressed, appreciating some of the context, but knowing it didn’t actually change anything. He nodded, his eyes taking on a real pain as he replied.

“You’re right, Emma. I started to tell you a thousand times, but fear and cowardice won out. I was terrified – I am terrified – that the truth will have you running. I told myself if I could just find the right moment, then maybe it would be okay. You’d stay because you knew that wasn’t everything I am. I thought if I could make you care for me as I’ve come to care for you…” his voice trailed off for a moment, but he moved towards her, now close enough to touch yet still an ocean away as he continued his confession. “It was stupid, Emma. But more importantly it was selfish and wrong. Keeping this from you goes against everything I feel for you, everything you bring into my world.”

“What do I bring?” she asked, curious as to why he was going to all this effort and facing these hard questions for her of all people.

“What do you bring?” he asked, his voice edging up like he couldn’t believe she would ask that. “Light, Emma. Light and laughter and peace. I’m dizzy from the sight of you, I hardly think unless my thinking is of you, every day I stand in awe of everything that you are, but still in knowing you I’ve found something that feels essential. You calm me, even as you awaken parts of my being I never knew till now. To put it simply, you bring everything, love. It is I who has little but trouble to offer.”

The swirls of emotion that took flight at hearing him say these things was incomprehensible. It was varied and layered, pulling at things in her heart and her soul that she’d always wanted to be and to feel and to know. She knew that he meant this, knew he was showing her his truth absolutely, and yet the tone of his voice was resigned. He was asking for forgiveness but didn’t believe himself worthy of it. And only part of his belief was because of what he’d done. Heartbreakingly, Emma could see most of it was because of this title, this role he never asked for and clearly didn’t yearn to hold. He thought it made him too removed, too burdensome to love. He didn’t see what she did, that he was more than one crown, one title, one role.

Closing the space between them, Emma’s hands came to touch him. One hand came to his chest, the other cupped his cheek. She felt the beating of his heart, and when he looked at her, she saw this sense of hope in his features. It was like she was a lifeline, a saving grace, and she couldn’t help but smile, and try her best to make him see what really was between them.

“You’re wrong, Killian. You may be trouble, but you are also so much more,” she teased. He huffed out a breath, something that wanted to be a laugh but it wasn’t real. It was mired down by doubt, doubt she needed to ease away for both their sakes. “I won’t lie and say I wasn’t angry or upset. Finding out today like I did hurt me. I can’t change that, and neither can you, but in some ways you were right. My knowing from the start would have made things different. I’d love to say it wouldn’t have, but we both know that it would. I’ve got walls and I’ve got triggers. I’m slow to warm and I play it safe. I don’t think I ever could have been so open if I knew the differences between us. I don’t know if I ever could have believed something real could come from this. Knowing would have made me cautious, and yes I probably would have run if you told me too soon.”

His hands came around her, like just the mention of her running made him need to hold her close. And funny enough she didn’t really mind. She loved this feeling, this connection, this warmth. Even with everything, this felt like a perfect slice of heaven. Nestled in his arms she felt safe, like no storm could come that they couldn’t weather together.

“But even if it’s crazy, and I have a million questions, and I have no idea what the hell dating a prince entails… if the prince in question is you, and if you’re still the man I know, the one who gives more than he takes, the one who faces each new challenge, and the one who kissed me yesterday like I’ve never been kissed before… then I don’t want to run. I’m still in this, Killian. The only question is, are you?”

No sooner had she posed the query than his lips crashed down on hers, telling her everything she needed to know without saying anything at all. As life-altering as yesterday’s kiss had been, it was nothing to this. This was a moment shared by two people who had said so much and left it all on the line. There was only want, and desire, and need. She felt it coil from deep within her, radiating through her whole body, and by the time they came up for air she was flooded with the sense that nothing and no one could ever make her feel like this. Killian held the key to this sensation, and it was worth the risk of heartbreak to try and take a chance with him.

“I’ll never have the words to tell you how remarkable you are, Emma. How you revive my very being, and how miraculous it is to feel the way I do when I’m with you,” he said, pushing a wayward strand of hair back behind her ear as he gazed upon her, smiling and joyful and full of relief. “But I aim to show you, Swan. Today and every day I’ll do my best to remind you of all that you are, and all that you mean to me.”

“Good,” she whispered, stealing another taste of him. He growled into the kiss, quickly taking it over and she melted into him again, forgetting everything and living only in the now.

“I hope this all means we’re still on for our date tomorrow,” he said when they came apart again and she nodded, feeling a blush spread over her cheeks.

“I’m still game,” she answered, biting back a groan at her attempt at being casual. It was so corny, but screw it. He didn’t seem to mind. In fact, he was looking at her like she hung the moon and the sun and the stars.

“You’re certainly something, love,” Killian said smirking at her in that sexy way and kissing her again. She melted into the embrace but when they broke apart once more, she admitted another fear she had.

“I may be bad at this,” Emma warned.

“You, bad? I don’t believe that’s possible,” Killian said, his voice warm and lush and happy in the face of this second chance.

“I’m not great at dating generally. It never turns out well in the end.”

“For me either,” he confessed. “But I suppose that’s because we’ve never had the proper partners.”

“I’m scared to mess this up,” Emma admitted.

“You are incapable of doing so,” Killian reaffirmed, kissing her gently before resting his forehead against hers. “You’re the reason we still have hope. Your forgiveness is everything, Emma, and I promise you, as different as our circumstances are, I will never again allow you to be hurt. Not by me, my title, or the baggage from my past. You, and Henry, are safe with me. I swear it.”

“Are you sure you can make a promise like that?” Emma asked, doubting anyone’s ability to prevent bad outcomes, but Killian’s determination was unwavering. He was absolute in his promise, and she had no choice but to believe him.

“I am sure. We can do this Emma. We’ll go as slow or as fast as you desire. You’re the Captain of this vessel, so to speak, but if you trust me, I know we can see this through. I’ve never felt anything so surely as I feel that.”

And with that, and with a few more heated kisses, Emma and Killian cemented their decision to really give this a shot. Unfortunately, Killian had to leave soon thereafter, heading back to the palace where everyone was likely worried sick from his ditching his detail, but Emma knew he’d be back tomorrow for their date. And as she watched him ride away, and she closed the door behind him, she made a conscious choice to really give this all she had. Because despite the worries and the fears, and despite the crazy thought that he was a prince and she was an ordinary woman, she’d never forgive herself if she didn’t follow her heart.

Post-Note: Okay so… what do you think? Am I forgiven? I hope that I am, and if I am not let me entice you with the promise of next chapter, which is going to be a fluff and feels filled first date worthy of a prince and his (soon to be) princess. Honestly though, this has always been my vision for this story. I think about that scene in the Prince and Me when the girl sees the prince and he runs to her from the parade and I love it, and yet I wanted to twist that a bit, to turn it on its head and in the process keep Emma and Killian’s love still a private, personal thing. I want them to have more time to grow and nurture their feelings, to know it’s definitely love before the whole world gets a say, and of course throwing in meddling Anna and Elsa, and having Henry push the love birds along a little never hurts either. Anyway, what I am trying to say is I hope you guys enjoyed and I thank you all for reading. Not sure when the next chapter will be ready, because I am in the final stretch of school craziness, but know that it is coming and that I can’t wait to share the rest of this story with all of you. Until next time!

[pepperidgefarmremembers]

The final chapter! I’m on fanfiction.net (same user name) if interested in following more of my stories!

Wisdom

Katara's deep sleep was interrupted by a pounding headache. Every thump of blood in her skull elicited a groan from the waterbender. She grimaced at the bright light illuminating her bedroom. She didn't know where Aang was, how long she'd slept, or if it was morning or afternoon. All she knew was that she felt terrible and dehydrated. A groan emitted from her throat at the sight of the empty water glass on their bedside table.

Every muscle in her body ached as she willed herself to sit up. With what seemed like an hour, she finally trudged into their living room. Everything was quiet and still, an unusual sight for a house full of children. "They must be a school, this could be the afternoon," she thought. As Katara sluggishly walked through the living room, memories came flooding back to her mind in waves. She remembered the excitement she felt when she saw her son's letter but also the pang in her heart as she read it.

Dear Mom and Dad,

I'm having a great time at the South Pole! In my training with Aunt Suki, I even came close to beating her a few times! She says she misses you both and hopes to see you when she's in Republic City next week with Uncle Sokka for the Council meeting. Uncle Sokka said to tell Dad "Miss ya buddy" and Mom to "stay out of trouble little sis" but I can tell he misses you by asking a lot of questions every hour about you. Granddad sends his love and wants to stay with you for a little bit in the next month or so. He said you'd appreciate the help, whatever that means.

Anyway, I wanted to let you know that ice dodging was awesome! I wish you both could've been there, but I know you have Tenzin and Kya, and the whole "saving the world" thing. Granddad gave me the Mark of the Wise, just like Uncle Sokka got! I also accepted Aunt Suki's offer to stay here and train with her and Uncle Sokka. They said I had to tell you about it first. I need to travel and Uncle Sokka said I can go with them on trips. I love you both so much, but I need to do this for me. Please don't be mad. Tell Tenzin and Kya they better not touch any of my stuff!

Hope you can visit soon,

Bumi

She glanced at her reflection in the mirror in the bathroom. Her eyes were red and painful from crying herself to sleep. Her hair was in a messy plait and her face was puffy. Sighing while turning away to continue to the kitchen, she heard the front door of their home open. She turned around with a smile hoping she would find her eldest back home. Her smile faltered at the missing hole in the family walking towards her. Her husband, Tenzin, and Kya all in tow, but no Bumi.

She forced another smile so as to not make her family feel bad, peppering them with loud animated kisses on their cheeks. Her kiss on her husband's lips lingered for a few moments before she broke away. Aang asked, "Kids, why don't you go to your rooms and get changed out of your school clothes?" Kya looked like she was going to object when her younger brother stood his ground. "Kya, come on! I'll let you freeze me later." Kya couldn't turn down a chance to immobilize her dorky brother and ran to her room with Tenzin following. Aang failed to squelch a quiet laugh at Tenzin taking the role of the stern, older brother. His happiness was quickly replaced with a frown as he looked at his wife.

He placed a soft yet firm hand on his wife's waist, securing her in a safe embrace. "I know, I miss him too." At that moment, Katara looked up to her husband with a scowl. He was initially hopeful which swiftly changed to apprehension. It mustered all of her strength not to let their children hear her upset, "If you miss him so much, why didn't you try to do anything to stop him? He's only fourteen, he can't just think staying somewhere and sending a letter is okay!" Aang sighed, "Katara, first of all, it's not fair to say I don't miss him. I've been thinking about him constantly. But you can't honestly say you're surprised. Personality wise, he's the most Air Nomad out of the three of them. He never wanted to sit still or be in one place for too long. You know his boundless energy needs to be focused and this will help." He looked over to the rigid waterbender to wait for a reply. After a few moments of silence, he continued while trying to remain calm, "Also, he's a man in the eyes of the Water Tribe, Katara. He's finished school and doesn't really have anything tying him here. He's as old as you were when you left home and thankfully there's not a war going on. He'll be with Sokka and Suki and your Dad. He'll be fine. Just because I understand him, doesn't mean I don't miss him any less than you do."

Katara felt another twinge go through her heart. The memory of the time she angrily told Sokka he didn't miss their mom as much as she did appeared in her mind. Never in her life had she wanted to take anything back as much as that. Her scowl turned into a frown. Her eyes remained glossed over and filled with sadness. She abruptly threw her arms around Aang and hugged him close. He jumped at the contact, not expecting the embrace but loved her touch all the same. She spoke in a whisper, "I'm so...sorry Aang. I know you miss him, of course you do. I'm just hurt and I feel like I failed." Aang released from the hug to look at his beautiful wife. "Failed? What makes you say that?", he asked. She met his eyes and sighed, "Uh, it's not exactly a good sign when your kid leaves home and only sends a note telling you they're not coming back. Somewhere I think I messed up as a parent. No one in the South Pole left except for war. Even then, I couldn't get over my Dad leaving. It felt like he didn't care, like he didn't love us. I needed him…" She wobbled as she sat down on the couch. Aang sat next to her and nodded for her to continue.

"I think that just like Dad, some part of me needs Bumi. He's our first child. He was the reason I became 'Mom' and barely hear 'Katara' anymore," she laughed, "He needed me for so long and now there's an emptiness inside," she sniffled as tears began to fall from her eyes. "He doesn't need me now. And it's only a matter of time before there are no more kids here. You know Kya is such a nomad, she'll be gone when she can, too. Tenzin is more similar to me but I know he'll want to live at a Temple and I won't be ready for that."

She rubbed her dry lips together as she looked over at Aang. Taking notice of how he has become this handsome husband and father. So many times growing up she was his rock, his constant. However, since having children, she finds herself needing the unwavering comfort more than ever. Her eyes travelled over his chiseled features and a beard where his baby face once was. She watched her husband move for the first time in several minutes. Aang bended water from the large pouch in the kitchen and poured it into a glass on the table. He handed the glass to her without taking his eyes off her.

Katara gulped the water graciously. Aang placed both of his hands on her free hand. "You will always be 'Katara' to me. 'Mom' is who you are, yes, but you're still the greatest Master Waterbender on Earth. You're one of the best fighters I have ever seen. You're a sister, a daughter, a healer, and the love of my life. You're my best friend." After finishing the water, she blushed while a smile formed on her face. He loved that after 25 years together, he could still make her blush. "Remember when Guru Pathik was teaching me to let go of my earthly attachment to master the Avatar State? As you know, I didn't want to let go of you because I didn't understand how I could ever let go of you." Katara nodded in agreement and looked at Aang to continue.

"I came to learn years later that what I thought had been all wrong. He wasn't saying to not have attachments to people, but instead to understand how attachment can hinder our growth if we let it consume us. Everything and everyone is connected. Just because Bumi is not here, doesn't mean he doesn't love or need you. You will always be a mom, even when our kids don't live here anymore. Know that you will be forever connected with them and with me. Love can transcend lifetimes." Katara rested her head on Aang's shoulder as he stroked her hair. They rested in silence for a few minutes before Katara asked, "Do you think I'll see you in the next lifetime? Are we destined to find each other over and over again?"

Aang kissed her forehead and replied, "Yes, I do. I know we are connected by fate. Like I said before, I will always find you, no matter where you are. Whether it's in this lifetime or the next." The couple smiled as they breathed into each other slowly and deeply. "But how do you know for certain, oh, wise, Avatar?", she joked. His gray eyes became serious as they met her cerulean eyes, "Well, Gyasto was one of Avatar Roku's best friends. I don't think it was a coincidence that Gyatso and I became very close. I felt like I knew him way before I knew anything about their friendship. The invisible strings that tie us all I guess," he said with a chuckle. She kissed her husband softly on the cheek and leaned back to absorb this moment completely. "You better find me in the next lifetime, Aang. I'll be waiting, just like I was 26 years ago."

[bananaofswifts]

Taylor Swift’s folklore Dismantles Her Own Self-Mythologizing: Review

The singer-songwriter's eighth album cuts away the pop scaffolding for dark, dreamy contemplation

The Lowdown: Born of isolation, Taylor Swift’s eighth album, folklore, interrogates the pop star’s self-mythologizing and turns her gaze outward. Created during the ongoing pandemic, Swift collaborated remotely on 11 songs with Aaron Dessner of The National, who shared orchestrations composed inside his own quarantine. The results lean toward modern folk and glitchy experimentation, abandoning pop bombast but not the drama of swelling strings or anxious percussion. The accompanying visuals depict a gloomy summer, and listeners can imagine Swift watching storms barrel across the Atlantic horizon and wandering old-growth forests in half-done braids, alone or with a companion socially distanced beyond the frame. Dropped on 24 hours’ notice without her typically painstaking roll-out, the 16 moody songs delve into “fantasy, history, memory” and find Swift roaming her past loves with fresh, if tired, eyes — but also writing complex fictional scenes beyond her own experience. From a lyrical standpoint, it’s arguably Swift’s most contemplative, ambivalent, and expansive work yet.

The Good: While 2019’s Lover tried to please everyone with a wide range of half-baked genre parodies, folklore sounds like an entire album sprung from “The Archer”, the previous record’s most self-aware, unresolved, and memorable track. There are no pop-radio bangers here, but once I stopped howling “CRUEL SUMMER should’ve been a single!!,” folklore’s melodies and choruses ribboned into my ears and got tangled with my own memories.

Dessner’s influence is palpable, and his orchestration is consistently gorgeous — an unexpected tone to which Swift responds deftly. Jack Antonoff, Swift’s friend and longtime producer/co-writer, also worked on the record; though still distinctive, Antonoff clearly follows the cloud-covered path set by Swift and Dessner. Swift duets with Bon Iver’s Justin Vernon on “exile” to elegant effect; the song acts as a contrapuntal of a dissolving romance, the two voices alternating while remaining separate, harmonizing only with themselves. Like most of these songs, “exile” marks maturity: The lyrics are clever but restrained, and the emotions are not only high-pitched but possess complex, shifting depths.

This album fits comfortably among what I’ve been spinning this summer: Jamila Woods’ LEGACY! LEGACY!, Waxahatchee’s Saint Cloud, and HAIM’s Women in Music Pt. III — albums full of momentum, contemplation, push-and-pull in equal measure. Swift signals growth both personal and creative throughout folklore. Superficially, perhaps, she drops the F-bomb twice — a transgression against “radio-” and “family-friendly” that she’s never dared before. The first line of album opener “the 1” is “I’m doin’ good, I’m on some new shit” — even as she explicitly passes her hand through an old flame. It’s that self-awareness and willingness to both hold herself responsible and forgive that set these songs apart. “mirrorball” sounds like lost Jimmy Eat World jangle-pop laced with melancholy pedal steel and builds to a stunning bridge where Swift admits: “I’ve never been a natural/ All I do is try, try, try … I’m still trying everything to keep you looking at me.” Swift has never sounded so honest, and the scrim between her interiority and position as global pop powerhouse has never been so transparent.

Though Swift dons rose-colored lenses for even the darkest heartaches, her perspective at 30 has made her lyricism even more piercing. “I hit my peak at seven,” she sings on a wistful track about a lifelong friendship. “I was too scared to jump in, but I was high … Are there still beautiful things?” On album standout “invisible string”, Swift sings, “Cold was the steel of my ax to grind/ For the boys who broke my heart/ Now I send their babies presents.” She’s so often dealt in retro tropes of riding in cars with and borrowing sweaters from crushes (and that’s still present here), but this banality is fresh and hits harder. In the same song, she credits destiny with uniting her and her true love, but subtly undercuts the cliché — “isn’t it just so pretty to think/ All along there was some/ Invisible string/ Tying you to me?” She understands the myth-making required of every romantic love — and the constant retelling if that love lasts.

Until now, Swift has been an excellent narrator of the dramas of young love, big friendship, and staying true to a certain narrow-minded integrity. She has been America’s favorite crazy white girl, setting fire to the love letters and reputations of those who wronged her or erecting pedestals to her current squad or lover. But the only notably pointed finger on folklore comes through “mad woman” (much improved over the pseudo-feminist gloss of “The Man”). Swift seems to have realized that the pain of growing up often comes down to how we navigate the tension between expectations and reality — of our relationships, achievements and setbacks, and our choices.

From that calm, Swift’s imagination expands, and she’s consciously trying to write from perspectives not her own, including eccentric heiress Rebekah Harkness in “the last great American dynasty” and a lightly vindictive corpse in “my tears ricochet” (singing, “I can go anywhere I want, just not home”).

The Bad: Sometimes Swift still seems caught in the mechanism of her own massive professional apparatus. The album’s promotional Instagram filter is a “glittery sepia-tone,” which feels a bit tone-deaf, and the self-styled portraits of Swift appear to reference a glamorous mid-century sad girl a la Sylvia Plath.

On occasion, Swift can’t resist the pop-culture tropes embedded in her psyche: “illicit affairs” seems cribbed directly from a Sex and the City episode, and the teenage love-triangle series (“cardigan”, “august”, “betty”) evokes any number of late-2000s CW soaps. Yet, the restraint exhibited here, and lines like “meet me behind the mall” and “you can’t believe a word she says/ Most times/ But this time it was true” effectively refresh the clichés yet again.

“epiphany” seems to try to connect periods of global and American crisis, from World War II to COVID-19. While there are a few standout lines — “hold your hand through plastic now” — the ideas are muddled. You can hear the impulse to speak more broadly about the world beyond her walls, but she hasn’t quite figured out what to say yet. Perhaps that’s next.

The Verdict: On folklore, Swift has come of age, emotionally and sonically, and proven herself — not that she needed to — as not only an exceptionally autonomous auteur but a nimble collaborator with an ever-broadening palate.

We live in an era when Americans are examining and dismantling national myths on a grand scale. Swift, too, is expanding her perspective yet starting at home, evaluating ongoing struggles, failures, and choices, weaving larger themes into her well-worn tapestries of bittersweet, young love. The songs of folklore show Swift piercing holes in her own narrative and persona and seem to ask: What’s the account we give to ourselves and to others? Can we look more closely? Can we change the story and survive?

Essential Tracks: “cardigan”, “mirrorball”, “invisible string”, and “peace”

[lucrloux]

— meet LUC RIOUX !

hello ! my name is ani and i am so excited to be here ! below the cut you can find some information on my son, luc ! if you are interested in plotting please feel free to like this post or simply shoot me a message ! 

— the OVERVIEW !

( WOLFGANG NOVOGRATZ, CIS MALE, HE/HIM — oh gosh, sorry LUC RIOUX ! i didn’t see you there ! y'know, i can’t believe you’re already 26 years old; seems like just yesterday you were tripping over yourself, or was that yesterday ? just kidding, just kidding ! anyway, i hear that you’ve been here since 1955, or so you think; congratulations ! at least that shining EXTROVERTED personality of yours hasn’t changed a bit, especially that OBSERVANT + CHARMING, but IMPULSIVE + FRAUDULENT way about you. look, i gotta get back to the group, but i’ll see you around ! 

tw: ww2, alcohol, smoking.

— the BASICS ! 

full name /  luc rioux.

nickname /  lu, lucky.

age /  twenty-six (26).

year of disappearance /  1955.

date of birth /  7th april.

star sign /  aries.

hometown /  paris, france.

current location /  raven house.

nationality /  french.

gender /  cis male.

pronouns /  he/him.

sexual orientation /  bisexual/biromantic.

occupation /  art forger.

language(s) spoken /  french & english.

faceclaim /  wolfgang novogratz.

— the STORY ! 

there is meaning in all things… but are you paying attention? 

tiny fingers curled around mother’s hand, green eyes glossed over in an attempt to take in the world but it is too much– there is too much for you to see. you hear whispers of difficult times, hushed tones floating through otherwise empty halls. mother and father try to hide their worry from you. they try their best to keep the world beyond arched windows hidden, though even a simple glance outside gives way to their delicately spun tales. you see figures rushing past, always in a hurry– never stopping to look at the beauty in this world. as the months grow colder, their features fall– worry encompasses all the shadows you have yet to know. 

would you look at it? 

the world as you know it crumbled, nothing is as it was. nothing will ever be as it was before, times are changing and so are you. your heart yearns for simpler days spent chasing your sister up and down flights of stairs, dancing in the rain and watching father unfold the morning paper without scowling at the newest headlines. this world is not for you– this world is rough, it is cold, it is void of what makes us human. you are yet too young to understand the gravity of it all, but you see the pain. you see the exhaustion in people’s faces, the darkness beneath growing with each moment that passes. you watch it reach out from the corners, you watch it divide those you know and care for. you don’t understand, but you are filled with sorrow for them. you roll up your sleeves, and help where you can. 

you watch father leave for war, his head held high wearing his pride visibly on his chest. for a moment you fear you might never see him again, but mother is there to hold you, to carry your burden. you fear he might never return. and then a letter arrives, you only catch a glimpse of it before mother tears it from your grasp. you see her tears fall, and though you cannot know for sure– you know it must be about father. you pray for his safe return, but in his stead soldiers enter your home. they speak a foreign tongue, and though you do not understand– you are told to fear them. and most importantly, to keep your sister safe. 

your life has changed so drastically. you now serve the soldiers who have taken over your home, you bring them their morning coffee and scramble away as fast as you can. every part of you is filled with rage, you wish for nothing more than things to return to what they were before. you yearn to see your mother’s smile, but these days even the light in her eyes seems to have vanished. and though you are young, you must grow up fast. you must protect your family at all costs, but even so you cannot bear to bite your tongue and hold in your obvious distaste for these men. your sister tries to keep you in check, but you cannot help spitting in their cup, you cannot help calling them names, you cannot help making them feel unwanted in your home. and whilst you feel good in the moment, the punishment is always severe. though, in your eyes your little acts of rebellion are worth every moment of them. even if you tried, you could not sit quietly by. 

the tides are changing… 

the times are changing yet again, the men who occupy your home are no longer composed. you can see the terror in their eyes, and it brings you joy. they become crueler, and that fills your heart with hope– for even they know that their time would come to an end soon. there are whispers of forces liberating your country– and you hope it to be true. 

c’est la vie…

you watch as horrid flags are taken down, and your own are raised once more. the city you call home is far from glory, it is in shutt and ashes. the very foundations collapsed under the turmoil of the war. and yet, everywhere you turn you see life return to empty shells. and with such a return, so does your father. but he is a changed man. he is not the sweet and tender man you remember him to be. his gaze has hardened, blue eyes turned cold as steel. you cannot find your way home to him, for his heart is shut with the despair of what he has lived. 

you try so hard, but you are always met with disappointment. 

you have a pale memory of that time, but why? 

you are old enough to sit at the table, you are old enough for your voice to be heard. and yet, in your father’s eyes you are but a child. he pushes you aside, in his eyes you are worth nothing. and you have to wonder why is it that you are so wrong for this world? but you never learn the answer beyond never being good enough in his eyes. and so, you stop trying. instead, you follow your heart. 

though the war is over, its remnants loom over your shoulders. you cannot unsee the things that have come to pass. the graveyards filled with bodies– old and young alike. the city is a ghost town, lights flickering as you walk past. when you wake in the middle of the night, covered in a layer of sweat, all you can think of is those horrid soldiers leaning back on your living room chairs, their dirty boots placed on the table. all you can remember is your mother running through the house fulfilling their every demand and you are angry. you are angry at the world for being so disappointing. 

setting fire to our insides for fun, to distract our hearts from ever missing them… 

*tw alcohol*

for a while, you think, it would be best to feel numb. you want to forget– you want to bury the terrors you have witnessed. but you cannot seem to forget. and so you turn to the bottle, you hope that maybe the answer lies at the bottom of your glass. but there is none to be found, instead, you watch the world go blurry. and you decide, you have seen enough– as well as far too little. you want to enjoy your life. you want to dream. you want to escape into different worlds all together. 

*tw end*

art attracts us only by what it reveals of our most secret self…

your sister urges you to follow your dreams. she urges you to showcase your talents. and for a moment you believe her. you believe in yourself. regardless of what your father might think, you enroll in art school. you study the grand artists of your time, but you will never measure up to them. and once more you are met with the word you despise the most: disappointment. though you see your professor’s lips moving, you hear your father’s voice. and once more you run– you run from responsibility. but you are not willing to give up the life you love. and so, you turn elsewhere for guidance. 

people leave pieces of their soul in their art… 

you look to the masters for guidance, you know their work– and you can paint fairly well. you may not know yourself, but you search for pieces of yourself in their art. brush on paper, you begin to duplicate their works. after the turmoil of the war, art is lost and scattered and you abuse this. you sell your work for theirs, forgeries none the less– but good ones. 

suddenly you have more money than you know what to do with. and you spend it foolishly. you spoil your mother, your sister and most importantly yourself. finally you have the means to do as you please, and so you do. you treat life as though it were a game, an illusion. you aren’t sure what is real and what is not– for you haven fallen under a spell, intoxication. but one thing remains certain: you are in for a wild ride. 

— the THE FACTS ! 

luc was born and raised in paris, france. 

his family was well off, but like many others they still struggled with the economic demise prior to ww2. 

during the war, his father participated in the battle of france, but never returned home. like many others he was taken as a prisoner of war. leaving his mother to take care of luc and his little sister. 

during the war, their home was occupied by german soldiers and they were forced to serve them. he hated this more than anything in the world, and acted out despite severe punishments. he was never one to sit by quietly. 

during this time, his mother helped smuggle people out of the country and while luc was but a child, he aided her as best he could. 

after france was liberated and his father returned home nothing would ever return to as it was in the time before. his father was a changed man from his time spent as a prisoner of war. he was cold, and distant. luc did not know how to deal with him, nor did his father know how to deal with luc. 

he went on to study art and art history at university. but, there too he was met with disappointment. his professors did not agree with his style of work and eventually luc gave up and dropped out. his father, ever the more disappointed in him threatened to cut him off. 

luc is a very proud young man, and so he essentially dared his father to cut him off. which the man then did. forcing luc to try and make ends meet himself. 

luc was used to luxuries in his home, and he was not willing to give up such a life. so he turned to the other side of the law. he began forging famous paintings that had gone missing during the war. selling his own work as those of renowned painters. with the money he lived a lavish lifestyle. 

he worked hard in this illicit career, but he partied even harder. 

the young man had been dabbling in matters on the opposite side of the law, fraudulent behaviour on the verge of being uncovered. his sister had been so kind to pass him a note at breakfast, it hadn’t been signed by name though the message was threatening: ‘ we know what you are doing, it’s only a matter of time until we can link you to the crime. ‘ alas, he sought out a space, in which he could go about his work undisturbed. 

checking in under a false name, jacques de villiers, the young man patted himself on the shoulder in the belief that this would solve all his problems. he would be able to use his hotel room to forge artwork, all evidence placed in the hands of the hotel, whereas at his home there would be none to be found when the police came knocking.

— the RAVEN HOUSE ! 

the year was 1955. 

the young man decided to check into a hotel, tucked away in the heart of paris. it was far from modest, but truth be told he wouldn’t settle for less. luc had always been drawn to the luxurious aspects of life: a glass of champagne in the morning, silken sheets hugging his body, and leaning out the window to smoke his first cigarette of the day with a perfect view of champ de mars. 

perhaps he had indulged in too many pleasures the night before, for when he pushed the door to his room open he was greeted by an entirely different interior. it was beautiful nonetheless, crystal chandeliers and ornate decorations. and yet, something was off. he caught glances of people passing by, each dressed in a manner he could not recognize to belong to his time. with a smile plastered on his lips, the young man left to discover the place he found himself in only to become aware of the fact that he now resided in the raven house. 

— the PERSONALITY ! 

his unpredictability made him a menace to society, or better said the social circles his family operated in. he was everything but poised and calm, he had a certain spark in his eyes: the desire to live life to its fullest. luc was charming at his root, equipped with honey lips and a serpent’s tongue. though he didn’t necessarily say the right thing at the right time, he had a way of getting away with it. perhaps it was his sociability, or the way he would make the person he was speaking with feel as though they were the only one in the world. that was until his attention drifted elsewhere, which it always did. ever with a drink or cigarette in hand, he was the life of the party, one debacle after the other– a sight to behold, but never to own. he came and went as he pleased, making himself at home in any environment that he deemed acceptable. in his core, he is an extrovert– though a rather chaotic one. 

— the HEADCANONS ! 

001. his most treasured item: it was a gift from father to son, the one object he owns that symbolizes his father’s acceptance. gifted to him upon his birthday, it came with the words, “now you are a man.” it was the only moment his father seemed to stand eye to eye with luc, as though they were equals. but this is not why the object means so much to him, no– he couldn’t care less about that man. he holds it dear for the words so delicately scratched onto the bottom by his sister, “l’artiste est semblable au prince des nuées “ (the artist is alike the prince of the clouds). the object is none other than a silver lighter with his initials engraved onto the center of it, always found in the comfort of his pocket. 

002. when luc first entered the raven house he was content simply enjoying every day that passed without responsibility. however, when it dawned on him that he would never be able to see his family or friends again he became obsessed with remembering their likeness. he tried his best to draw images of those close to his heart, but with each day that passed he came to realize that those memories were lost. there are a vast amount of ripped up images, or unfinished pictures scattered around his room that he furiously scribbled over in frustration. for he was only ever able to draw one person from his past life: his father. the look of disappointment ingrained in his mind for all of time to come. though, the worst part of it all was that he couldn’t manage to create a single image of his sister, who he was really close to. he felt so guilty that he could not remember the details of her features beyond the green eyes they shared– and even then he was unsure if he remembered her eyes or if he was simply drawing his own. 

003. after his mysterious disappearance, the note was discovered by his family. his story quickly became a rather large investigation, but as no trace of him was found his family grew impatient with the investigation and offered up a rather large reward for any news on their lost son. the case found the tabloids, the newspapers, and general gossip quite quickly. his story influenced the character « charles bonnet » in the movie “how to steal a million” years later.

004. when luc first entered the raven house he was only able to speak french, but one of the other guests was so kind as to teach him english. he still struggles with the pronunciation of words to this day, but he tries his best. it doesn’t exactly bother him either that his mothertongue often slips through when speaking in this foreign tongue, for he never cared much to perfect this skill-- he only wanted to be able to communicate. (this could be a possible plot ??? one of the other guests that teaches him english !!! ) 

[afterourhearts]

Eyeliner Tears

Why are Asian eyes so ugly? I thought to myself as I outlined their shape with the blackest liner I could dig out from the free Lancôme makeup samples Mom never used. This was my daily routine since I first discovered the beautiful black pencil when I was 12 alongside lip gloss, mascara, and blush. But eyeliner was my favorite – changing most dramatically what I hated most passionately. • Monolids are ugly because they make eyes look like slits. • Double lids are ‘mutant’ because, as my white medical professor once so aptly described, “Epicanthic folds are a prominent feature of Down Syndrome. If you don’t know what they are, Asians commonly have this feature.” Let’s face it: we can’t win, at least not in the beauty arena. But with my eyeliner adding the illusion of a larger eye, I felt halfway there. Not everyone, however, appreciated my foray into adolescent self-transformation. The Chinese beauty culture operates very differently than American beauty culture: pale skin, small mouths, soft bodies, and youthful innocence are prized over glowing tans, wide smiles, athletic frames, and sultry seductiveness. To achieve the Chinese beauty ideal of youthful innocence, heavy makeup such as eyeliner is unacceptable, and makeup at all is frowned upon for younger girls. Mom called them “raccoon eyes” and told me I looked uglier with it on but I never heeded her advice. She also said respectable girls did not waste their time on vanities like makeup, but rather immersed themselves in their studies. She especially hated when I wore makeup to church, a place where teenage girls are supposed to look extra pure. I rolled my raccoon eyes. One year, I met a new girl at our Chinese Christian Church. She was talkative, witty, similarly loved makeup and rebellion, and we became fast friends. This same year, a new youth pastor arrived at our church. He was funny, fluent, and finally our first youth pastor who wasn’t middle-aged. So how do they tie back to eyeliner? Prior to their arrival, I dreaded attending church, paranoid that the judgmental eyes of multitudes of Chinese parents hated my appearance and shared the Chinese cultural views held by my mother. Was it paranoia, or was I just observant? Adults would enthusiastically praise my younger brother’s handsome features and say nothing about my appearance other than, “She is tall!” Their smiles seemed disingenuous and their attitudes towards me distant. Or maybe I was just overly sensitive. Regardless, much of that paranoia melted away with the arrival of a new friend and youth pastor – two characters who seemed more attuned than the other members to the Asian-American dichotomy that was my life. I began to loosen up at church, smile more, and even happily greet the adults. I felt … safe. Maybe not enthusiastically accepted, but also not frowned upon with disdain. One might wonder why I was so concerned for approval from within my Chinese church. When you live in a country spearheaded by people who don’t view you as truly American, you cling onto the safe spaces that still might take you in and consider you a member. I wasn’t aware of how shaky my walls of comfort had been built, though, until one sentence caused them to tumble back down again. “He said he doesn’t like you because you wear so much eyeliner.” She told me. She being my new best friend and he being the cool and young youth pastor we both adored. “How do you know this?” I asked, disbelief and doubt at each other’s throats in the battleground that was now my mind. “Because he told my mom. And my mom told me that it’s not just him who thinks this way, but a lot of other parents. They tell their kids to stay away from you because you are a bad influence.” Bad influence. Me, the introvert who rarely speaks, a bad influence? I let that sink in. That night, I considered giving up my eyeliner. I thought all my fears about being hated by my friends’ parents were unfounded and paranoid. I thought my youth pastor would especially not judge me by something so exterior – actually, why would he judge me at all? Why would a grown ass man concern himself so heavily with whether a teenage girl wears eyeliner? Anger and sadness bubbled up around me. How did one of my greatest fears, one I thought had been pushed away and laid to rest for good, one which only my new friend knew so intimately, suddenly come to surface all over again? And that’s when it hit me: maybe she lied. The seed of thought that this supposed best friend might not actually like me at all was planted. And over the next few months, it thirstily drank up water and sunlight. I befriended other girls and began to uncover bits and pieces of the horrifying truth: she did hate me, and they had evidence. Screen captures and chat conversations were forwarded to my inbox. Not only did she tell others about how terrible I supposedly was, she also told them I disliked all of them and fabricated statements I had never uttered nor so much as thought. I could not believe it – why did she want to destroy my life and capitalize on my insecurities? What did I ever do but consider her my friend? Sometimes, you never get answers. Not too many months after, she moved again. We stumbled across each other’s Instagram accounts a few years later. She had dyed hair, tattoos, piercings all over, eyeliner wings bolder than I had ever applied, false lashes nearly reaching her thickly painted eyebrows, the same deceptively sweet smile as when we first met, and was surrounded by other Asian girls. I once burned with the anger of her betrayal, but all I could think about now was her new embodiment of the criticisms she claimed were the reasons for my rejection from our community and how ironic our appearances were now – me being the studious medical student who sometimes forgets to wear eyeliner and she being the girl who refuses to be seen in public without it - the pictorial epitome of the bad influence she once used to mark me for social abandonment from our only remaining community. Irony, Karma, or Hypocrisy? Today, I won’t know if sprinkled between her lies were grains of truth, and if her comment about my reputation was one of them. I won’t know if my eventual submission to certain Asian cultural values drew its main roots from my teenage experience of potential two-fold community rejection. I won’t know if she ever realized the extent to which she hurt me or if she continues to hurt in similarly sneaky ways our other Asian sisters struggling to find acceptance and self-love in a land which has subjected them to unwarranted rejection. What I do know is this: We All Cry The Same Eyeliner Tears Yes, we do. They trickle down from our unmistakably Asian eyes, glide along our sunscreen laden faces, and leave smudgy black streaks to remind us of both our perceived physical imperfections as well as our efforts to conceal the ugliness we feel inside. 

Feeling ugly is not just some manifestation of low self-esteem as these American schools/media/counselors might tell us in order to erase from our mutual history and from their responsibility the ‘chink’ comments that we heard or the fingers-pulling-eyes-upward-to-mimic-us that we saw.

Our damaged self-esteem is not some personal mental and emotional disorder or a reflection of our weakness but a collective experience caused largely in part by the pervasive belief that some belong here but we don’t and that some are beautiful but we aren’t. Don’t think that just because dating apps are now asserting, “Asian girls are the most desired race!” that the girls who come after us are protected from the less-than we endured. The American dating scene did not just become more “accepting” of us – we changed to look more like them. But underneath the beautifully and extravagantly drawn eyeliner wings, the perfectly filled in eyebrows, the time-consuming application of fake lashes, the hours spent at the gym to avoid ‘Asian flat butt’ stereotypes, and the sharp cut of the surgery knife on our eyelids, we still cannot help but wonder: is this beautiful yet? And when he says, “Yes”, we still worry, was I not beautiful before? Do we really want to be with the ones who only want what is made-to-order, and overlook the ones who saw the original, in all its imperfections, as worth discovering? So while I have every right to be mad at my Asian sister for the hurtful actions she made against me as a result of her wanting to be more accepted by our community than I was, I cannot lose sight of the more formidable barrier to our collective inability to self-love: not the lies she told before, but the lies they still tell today. Why are my Asian eyes so ugly? I used to think to myself constantly. And if you’ve read this until the end, I think you know the answer.

_____________________________________________________________

Comments: Friends who have read this far or read my shared thoughts at all, I know my experiences are not isolated. My past shared posts related to familial pressures and relationships have shown me just how overlapping our experiences can be. The feelings of low self-esteem and self-image at some time or another in your life is probably a universal one. Experiences of betrayal are sadly quite common. Hopefully you enjoyed this short piece - it’s a bit different from the other posts I’ve written (a little more cleaned up and narrative when compared to my usual frenetic ranting) ... anyways, I wanted to share that I’ve been working on putting together some more shorts + poems in my free time (this is how I destress from school haha) and something I hope to achieve through writing with this project (and since day one) is unfiltered and unapologetic storytelling highlighting the Asian voice that is so often completely ignored in discussions of race and discrimination. I’m not saying our experiences are to be equated to the experiences of other minorities because noo, but I am saying we should at least be included in the discussion. 

This brings me to my next point: I want to continue to share your stories too. If you have experiences you want to share related in any way to your identity as an Asian-American female, I want to hear them and with your permission, try to make prose or poetry of it. Text me, message me, or call me and let’s get in touch :) Thank you for being a part of this whether as a reader or direct contributor. Let’s shape our collective voice!!!

[chronicallyobsessedwriting]

Out To Get You (Dean x Reader)

70: Not everyone is out to get you. Stop thinking that. It’s annoying

Prompt will be listed in BOLD

Warnings: Some mild angst, mentions of violence, blood mentions, kidnapping, Dean probably being an ass

Characters: Sam Winchester (slight), Dean Winchester, Reader, OC William

Word Count: 2376 words ----

The room was suffocatingly quiet, the only sound was the soft snores that came from the two Winchester brothers as they slept in the two beds in the motel room, while you took the small couch that inhabited the small corner of the area. The boys had offered to get you your own room but you denied the offer, feeling safer when you were in a group.

Normally the three of you would be up to the crack of dawn doing research, running purely off black coffee and energy drinks, but you had recently finished up a pretty rough hunt that involved a vampires nest and everyone was tired. Which did include you, but you were too on edge to manage to get some sleep, mindlessly staring at the ceiling as you let off a small sigh.

Something didn’t feel right in the last week. It felt like you had another pair of eyes on you besides the Dean and Sam. You couldn’t find any concrete proof on the theory someone was watching your every move, nothing was being moved around in your room and you weren’t getting any weird or creepy phone calls. It was just the feeling of being stared at.

Usually as a hunter you had learned to push these feelings aside. Especially when it came to being a hunter with the Winchesters. Something was always watching your every move whether it be an angel or a demon. Usually those would sort themselves out or the brothers would find out before anything malicious would happen. This time though it didn’t happen like that; when you voice your concerns to the brothers, they would stare at you like you had two heads.

They would explain that without evidence, there was nothing they could do, and explain that being a hunter that being stared at was a risk you would just have to take. They didn’t believe your worries. More so Dean was more dismissive than Sam, admittedly Sam had tried to help you find any evidence that someone was following you. But whoever or whatever it was; they knew how to cover their tracks well.

You were too caught up in your thoughts to notice that the eldest Winchester had gotten up to use the bathroom until you had heard the noise of the toilet flush and the sound of the water from the sink running. Quickly before he could come out and see you were awake; you silently positioned to try and look like you had been asleep the whole time. Closing your eyes as you heard the tell tale sound of him leaving the bathroom.

You heard the soft steps of bare feet upon carpet slowly creep closer to you before you felt the small nudge of a hand on your shoulder. Causing you to flinch a bit and turn your head slowly. “I know your not asleep (Y/N)” His voice sounded thick with sleep.

“Go back to sleep Dean.” You opened your eyes a bit to stare him in the eyes. His own emerald green eyes staring back at you, clearly still glossed over with the hope of sleep. But he also didn’t look amused with you.

Completely ignoring your statement he let out a small sigh. “What are you even still doing up? We have to leave back to the bunker early in the morning and I don’t need you complaining about how tired you are tomorrow.” His voice was curt, but in a hush so he wouldn’t wake up Sam. Your eyes flickered that way and Dean seemed to notice. “He won’t wake up, he's out cold unlike some people here.”

“I don’t need your attitude Dean, I just can’t sleep right now.” Your ran your hand through your own hair and sat up slowly. “You wouldn’t understand it.” You muttered and his eyes seemed to soften a bit. A confused look flashing across his face.

“What do you mean I wouldn’t understand?” He sounded as if he was a bit offended but in the heat of the moment you chalked it up to just being exhaustion. “Maybe I would understand if you simply talked to me instead of going to Sammy with every single issue you have,” He crossed his arms over his chest, continuing his rant as his entire demeanor switched back to being harsh. “Its like you don’t even trust me.”

Your eyes widened a bit at the claim. “Of course I trust you Dean, we have hunted together for about two years now, you’ve given me every single reason to trust you!” Your voice raised a bit, causing the younger Winchester to stir a bit, but he didn’t wake up.

“Then why won’t you talk to me about what has you so on edge that you won’t even go to sleep?” His voice was curt; slowly it was starting to eat at your patience with him. “You claim to trust me so much, but won’t even tell me the small issue that seems to be bugging you so damn much!” Glancing at him for a moment you noticed how his fists were clenched. Better not to poke the bear while he's angry.

Standing up you grabbed your jacket, slinging it over your arms as you put it on. “Because every time I bring it up, you treat me like I’m a child. Sam at least treats my claims seriously.” You sent a glare his way as you walked passed him. Grabbing your personal keycard off the dresser, stuffing it in your pocket with your wallet.

You could feel him sending a glare straight into your back.

“Are you seriously not sleeping because you feel someone is watching you?” He let out a small scoff. You could basically imagine the eye roll that accompanied it. “Not everyone is out to get you. Stop thinking that. It’s annoying”

Grabbing onto the door handle you jerked the door open as quietly as you could, trying to mask how angry you truly were when he had said that. While you were angry at Dean, taking that out on Sam would not be fair.

“Nevermind Dean, just forget about it. This is exactly why I didn’t want to talk to you about it.” Shaking your head and looking back at him you sent him a disapproving look. “We both need a breather, I am just gonna get out of your hair for a moment so we both can calm down.”

He made no moves to stop you as you stepped out of the motel room, a spark of anxiety crawling up your spine as soon as you had. “If this was Sammy making these claims, you would treat them seriously. Wouldn’t you?” He remained silent, you knew you had your answer. “I’ll be back. I have my phone on me.” Closing the door behind you, a little harder than you wanted you heard the tell tale sound of the door latching. Unable to see the small flicker of regret that was plastered to Deans face.

Running your hand through your hair you sighed realizing you were still in the cheap pair of pajamas you had recently gotten from a local Walmart. The little llamas and rainbows dancing around a pastel blue background. You sighed in annoyance, cursing yourself for at least not changing your clothes.

Starting on your walk you considered where to go, and so far the only thought to get your mind off what Dean had said was the bar. Not the healthiest option but it was the only place that would be open at one in the morning.

--------

You sighed as you held the small plastic glass in your hand. The dark brown liquid sloshing gently as you carefully paced yourself. You wouldn’t drink too much, but enough to take the edge off.

Bringing the cup to your lips you glanced at your phone that sat on the bar counter; you felt the whiskey burn the back of your throat ever so slightly. Dean hadn't bothered to call or message so you had assumed he had gone back to bed. Which was reasonable, but part of you was disappointed that he hadn’t tried to stop you from going out or at least try and contact you to come back.

“What’s a pretty little lady like you doing here all alone?” Looking up you saw a tall man with blonde hair, brown eyes to accent his features. He looked like he kept himself trim, but he looked a bit too clean to be in a cheap motel bar like you were.

Swallowing thickly you looked around, noticing that the bar was nearly empty for its time of night. Something wasn’t sitting right.

“Nothing. Just needed a drink. I was just about to leave.” You swallowed thickly as you tried to down the last bit of whiskey you had in your glass. Your anxiety at an all time high as soon as this guy had approached.

“I can walk you back to your car if you’d like!” He seemed all too chipper at offering that up. “My names William”

Standing up from the bar stool you steadied yourself by holding onto the stool. Feeling a bit dizzy from the sudden change of position, noting how the barkeep made an announcement for last call, before the other 3 residents simply left the bar.

“I’ll be fine.” You grabbed your things, momentarily noticing how the bar keep had wandered to the back to most likely take stock, probably knowing no one else was going to get a drink. You were alone in this room with a stranger. You went to grab your phone, contemplating calling Dean. All your alarm bells were going off and you had no weapons on you, which in all honesty was a mistake on your part in your rush to leave.

You hurried out to get back to the motel room. Opening the door to the outside of the bar, stepping out into the cold air as it nipped through your pajamas despite the coat you wore. You could hear the man you met trying to follow you, so you increased the space between your steps.

Reaching in your pocket you felt your wallet, but no phone. Looking back you could see it sitting on the bar counter still, the phone momentarily lighting up with a notification you couldn’t see.

You cursed yourself silently, keeping on walking as you abandoned the phone, walking faster as you took certain streets to delay getting to the motel room. William still following behind you. “Come on (Y/N), your really being no fun!” You could hear him chuckle behind you; he was staying hot on your tail.

Feeling your breath catch in your throat you made another turn and kept walking through empty streets.

Looking back you didn’t see him, so you managed to crutch in an alleyway behind a dumpster, searching for something; anything you could use a weapon. Finding a small piece of wood you picked it up. It wasn’t sharp, but it was thick enough to do some damage if used as a blunt object.

Hearing the crunch of rocks to shoes you turned around. Holding the piece of wood in front of you; standing your ground as you hoped that Dean was at least searching for you, but you knew that wasn’t a good idea.

“You know, I have had my eye on you ever since you came into this little town. Took you a week to take down that nest and god,” He let out a laugh as he stepped closer. “It took forever to find an opportunity to get you away from those damned Winchesters.” He walked forward more, stepping under the light of a flickering street lamp. He blinked, eyes flashing black.

Demon.

“I do admire it though, your insistence to be near at least one of them. It was admittedly hard to keep my distance enough so they wouldn’t detect me, I bet that made you feel crazy huh?” William chuckled.

“What the hell do you want?” He was getting to close for comfort as you were realizing that the piece of wood you held wouldn’t do much harm to the demon that stood in front of you, and you weren’t as skilled in memorizing exorcisms like Sam had been. Much like Dean sometimes would, usually you needed the book in front of you. Usually a well placed trap would help as well.

“Oh I want really what any person of my kind wants. Leverage against the Winchesters. You my friend are perfect bait.” Standing close enough you took a swing, landing a hit square against his cheek, his head whipping to the side as he stumbled back for a moment. A thick line of crimson trailing down wis face from where the wood had pierced the skin.

“For a lady, you really do pack a punch.” He chuckled before cracking his neck. “But we both know that measly piece of wood won't work against defeating me sweetheart.” As if knowing your next move he grabbed the wood before you could finish the next swing. Driving his foot forward kicking you square in the stomach with enough force to send you backwards. Hands digging into concrete to break at least some of your fall. A small groan escaping your lips as your vision blurred slightly from the force he had used.

Standing up you stumbled a bit, still prepared to try and find an opening you likely wouldn’t find. “For a demon you really don’t put up much of a fight.” You spat out, breathing heavy as you prepared to at least fight with your hands.

Rolling his eyes he stepped further towards you and managed to again catch you wrist. Holding tightly in a grip that would most likely bruise. You drive your knee forward, kicking him in the shin which barely made him flinch. “Sorry sweety,” Twisting your arm back you gasped at the tension it created against your bones. It didn't break, but he used enough force to get you down onto your knees. “Nighty Night” You barely had time to respond before his knee collided with your head, filling your eyesight with a quick but painful blackness.