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baekberrie · 4 years

Text

havana

☾ Genre: Romance, dirty dancing!au, rich girl!au

☾ Pairing: Baekhyun x Reader

☾ Warnings: few typos and errors, possibly repeated words. Bear with me :(

☾ Summary: Tired. You were so tired of doing everything your parents wanted you to do, tired of the dullness that was your life. You wanted to break free and shape your being, you wanted to be yourself, not your parents' puppet. But never had you imagined that your little rebellion would have ended up involving dirty dancing and an incredibly flirty dance teacher."I'll teach you and we'll do the competition together, but expect hard training,"

The feeling of relief and gratefulness was overwhelming you to the point of your lips forming into a smile that you wholeheartedly directed to him. Your nose almost bumped into his as you did, sending your heart berserk within your chest. The fragrance of his cologne was washing over you like water and you found yourself urging to inhale it deeply, but fought against it. The dancer showed no sign of nervousness at the close proximity, moreover, he was smirking teasingly down at you as he brought his lips to the shell of your ear.

"Hard training, and lots and lots of...Touching."

Your heart leaped out of your chest upon the foreign view, the Latin music pulsed into your headache while your eyes tried to distinguish every movement taking place in front of you. Some hands were thrown up in the air while others were sensually tracing the shape of the other's body. You were shocked, scandalized by the amount of physical contact in front of your eyes. But deep down, a strong intrigue was surging from where you had suppressed everything you could've already been by now.

You wanted to let yourself go like that too.ba

Oh gosh.

How would you define yourself? That had been a question many people in Cuba had thrown when first getting to know you. What do you like to do? Emptiness had filled your chest when you had found yourself completely unable to answer. A good girl, perhaps? At times you wondered if that would have been a righteous answer. Your whole life had you made sure to preserve the happiness on your parents' faces by reaching the highest grades in school, by acting like a proper lady, graceful and beautiful. But never had you invested into something you liked. Hence, you had never even gotten the chance to find out what you truly liked. And yet again, you had done what commanded without complaints when your parents had announced moving to Cuba for business. There was this thick bubble surrounding you that the friends you had made in this country had desperately attempted to pop. Until now, you had never been interested and so never complied. You and your Cuban friends were reaching the peak of your teens, where you would truly become alive at night.

Curiosity had surged within you when they had spoken about clubs- dancing and becoming one with music. For your whole life, you had only been the dull, perfect girl that obeyed to everything said, and you contrasted so strongly with the crazy and cheerful girls that had nonetheless accepted you in their circle.

Over thirty degrees, the sun was shining its brightest on the spotless sky of Havana. Sweat was prickling on your skin and it was slowly getting unbearable as no amount of breeze was enough to soothe the hot weather. A few weeks had passed since your arrival, though, it didn't seem like you could get completely used to the high temperature just yet. The air fan was on the highest mode next to you, fluttering your hair behind your shoulders as you glanced at your mother from underneath your lashes while she did her thing in the kitchen. Windows stood open and the busy streets echoed against the walls of your new home. The lady walked elegantly out of the kitchen, her dress fluttering beautifully behind her hips as she placed the cool glass of iced tea in front of you. A sweet smile graced her scarlet lips before she took the seat in front of you and resumed the reading of her book. The ice on the bottom of the glass let out a cracking noise as it clicked against the inner walls of the cup. You gulped away the dry sensation in your throat with a long sip of your tea, sighing with satisfaction when there wasn't a single drop left in your cup. The cool icy feeling pulsed against your lips and you pressed them together.

"Mother?" your voice was careful when you attempted to gain her attention. She looked curiously up from the pages with the same smile still plastered on her lips. "Yes, my dear?" She encouraged and you could only hold your thumbs for luck. Although you knew what her answer to whatever you were going to ask was, you still gave it a try, thinking that perhaps you could convince her and your father this one time.

"Well, you know..." You started nervously, fingers hysterically fidgeting in your lap, "My friends invited me out this evening and I thought I'd let you know-"

"What are you talking about, darling? We have a very important party to attend tonight, which is also more enjoyable than any other lousy bar your friends could ever visit, no?" The woman hadn't hesitated to interrupt you, in fact, she never had to hear it all to know where the conversation was going. Lately, you had been insisting on getting to meet up with your friends day after day, only to get the same reply every time.

"What would be so special about a couple of lower-class people anyhow? I do not understand darling." She continued to ponder out loud and with your heart-clenching, you caught up on the exasperation hidden in her undertone.

Never had you ever complained because you had genuinely thought that your parents must have known what was best for your wellbeing. Every time they had told you that they did it to protect you because it was dangerous, you had believed it. But as the days passed, you had started losing trust in those words. There was no doubt in the fact that their strictness had started with the good intention to keep you safe. Though, as those words left your mother's mouth, the meaningfulness behind their actions was just losing its significance. You did not feel protected anymore, you felt trapped. The more your mother sputtered words of disgrace towards the people that you befriended, the surer you felt that this protection of theirs had morphed into an excuse to keep you from reaching out to something that you were desperately longing for. A breath of air. Freedom. Something that could make you find out who you truly were, what you enjoyed. Something that would drive you to rebellion against their plans for your future.

Although now old enough, you had never known anything but obedience. In the beginning, you had been quite proud of yourself for being such a truthful daughter, but there was no denying in the fact it was getting extremely lonely and suffocating. They would always remind you how you did not belong to the people of this country, but these were just empty reminders because neither did you feel like you belonged to the rich teens of the same social class. Never in your life had you felt as lonely like you had done next to them. It had been on a fancy party, that obviously, held business purposes, that you had realized the aggravating truth. The superficiality of those you were forced to integrate with. They did not really care about you, whether you were a good person or not. They did not bother to know what you enjoyed and whatnot. They only wanted to befriend because they knew you had many treasures, overflowing money. The more money you owned, the more they wished to acquaintance with you.

That was not the reality you wanted to live in. Those were not the people you wanted to associate yourself with.

☾☾☾

"Are you sure that you do not want to come with us, honey?" Your mother asked once again and a frown twisted your lips when she gave your hair a firmer pull with the brush to get through the tangles in your hair. Scented candles were spreading a refined fragrance of vanilla. There was a certain nervousness tickling the inside of your tummy and you inhaled the calming scent for comfort. The candles dimly illuminated the bedroom together with the lights adorning the fancy vanity mirror in which you were sitting in front of. In the mirror, you could see your mother's reflection as she swept the brush through your long hair, something that she loved to do before you'd go to sleep although you had grown out of that age a long time ago. It served as an opportunity to bond with you, to talk with you about how the day had gone, how you were feeling, and you appreciated every second of it.

Her figure sparkled like the finest diamond underneath millions of spotlights. The clock ticked nine in the evening, which you didn't find late at all. Nonetheless, your body was already framed by a beautiful nightgown. It had been a gift from your mother and it wasn't a surprise how it ad became your favorite clothing. You just loved how the silvery garment embraced your body ever so perfectly, its delicate fabric combined lovingly with your pearly skin. But the beautiful nightdress was nothing compared to the reflection of your mother right behind you. That emerald green dress of satin was really doing her justice and you could just not seem to take your eyes off her. She looked absolutely gorgeous.

"Yes mother, I don't feel too well, but don't you worry about me. You should go and have fun with father." You sent her a small smile through your reflection and you hoped that she wouldn't notice the urge in your voice. Your mother smiled back with a nod and placed a peck on the crown of your head.

"Alright then, we'll be back home late so don't you wait for us and go to sleep early, okay?" They were going to attend one of their rich friend's parties out of town and obviously, you had lied about being sick. You weren't feeling particularly enthusiastic to go to another of those parties. They were tiresome and always the same. There were only a few teens of your age at those events and you always found it aggravating, the way it was so clear that they wanted to befriend you only because you were rich too. You knew that not all of them were like that, but to your nonexistent luck, you hadn't met any better. You were tired of these sumptuous surroundings, you wanted to see something different for once, something that wasn't gold and diamonds.

As soon as the noise of your parents' car starting up resounded from outside, you were quick to dig up your favorite red lipstick from your make up pouch. Carefully, you swiped it across your plump lips and pressed them together to spread its scarlet color evenly. The rouge and highlighter applied on your cheeks enhanced your already beautiful features extremely well, you had never felt so pretty. The sparkles on your eyelids and the unusual length of your lashes were so luscious, giving you a hard time deciding where to look.

Fighting the urge to bite your lip, you pulled out the dress that your friend had lent you for this specific occasion. In the beginning, you had tried to refuse, knowing that you had more dresses than you could've asked for back at home, but the girl had been so insistent. She had without any delicacy told you that the way you dressed would've kept away the guys which had left you quite offended, you found nothing wrong with the way that you dressed.

The black dress was, to say the least, tight- tighter than what it looked like while on a clothing hanger and you couldn't help but feel extremely unsure whether you'd ever feel comfortable in such clothing. Its fabric hugged your curves perfectly and the blinding sparkles complimented your milky skin, making it shimmer likewise and you were so astonished by your own reflection. Never had you known that you could've looked like you were doing now. Your eyes fell onto your chest where your cleavage wasn't too exposed but was nonetheless was the most revealing thing you had ever worn and its naked sensation covered your body like chills on the edges of your skin. The image of your mother's widening eyes at the view crossed your mind and you begged the Gods that they wouldn't find out about your escapade.

Knowing that butlers and maids were still roaming around the mansion, you opted with tiptoeing to the back door, your black heel dangled from the tips of your fingers. It was slowly dawning on you that you were for the first time doing something you were absolutely not allowed to do, something that would disappoint your parents. But something for yourself, when was the last time you had done that? The question replayed in your head until it silenced the restless doubts clouding your mind. While tying the heels around your heels you could still hear the tiniest voice in your head telling you to let it be, to not risk anything, that it wouldn't be worth it. But the adrenaline-accelerating your heartbeat was stronger and before you knew it, your legs had already started sprinting towards the street where your friends would pick you up. The noise of your heels clicking into the concrete echoed into the night.

☾☾☾

Obnoxiously loud music was blasting through the speakers and the way it was hearable even when outside the Latin themed club made your lips twist into a frown. The music was in a foreign language that you could've guessed was Spanish. Your girlfriends were radiating excitement with every inch of their bodies as you stood in line and their faces were enlightened by bright smiles while their hips were already subtly swaying to the music. Upon observing them, you remembered something they had said about music and becoming one with it. You couldn't comprehend what that had truly meant, how you were supposed to do that?- The fact that you had never danced anything but ballroom dance struck you in the face and made you feel like maybe you weren't supposed to be there after all.

Before you could indulge yourself with more self suppressing thoughts, you were pushed inside the club. A surprised gasp left your lips at the extreme change of temperature inside. It was hot, extremely hot, and stuffy. It hadn't been even a minute inside there and your lungs were already longing for oxygen and fresh air. The dance floor was overflowing with people that danced with their bodies tightly pressed together. But that was not what startled you the most.

You wanted to let yourself go like that too.

Oh gosh.

With excited cheers, your friends had already stormed into the crowded dance floor, leaving you utterly confused and out of place, alone by the bar and completely miserable. A sigh pushed past your lips, you should've expected this to happen, they were always one step ahead while you were still trying to integrate yourself in this reality that you did not even know whether you liked or not.

Letting your eyes observe the people dancing, you were to be surprised when they suddenly started cheering extremely loudly and the crowd formed some space for a couple dancing together in the center of the floor. Intrigue surged within you and you squeezed your eyes to get a sharper look. The young man did not look Latin, and yet he moved as if it was that exact blood running through his veins. His hips rolled swiftly and his hand curled around his partner's breast for the quickest second until it was tracing the outline of her thigh by his waist, pushing it back down. Your mouth was hanging open in astonishment at the extremely...Sensual moves he had just pulled off. They were scandalizing for your innocent eyes, and yet, upon watching, butterflies had fluttered their wings wildly in your belly. Not much attention was paid to the girl, you just couldn't find it in yourself to take your eyes off that man who was like a strong magnet to your eyes, stealing every single spotlight there was to take.

His hair was dark with streaks of red melting into his black locks, reaching his nape and his fringe parted neatly on his forehead. The button-down shirt hung loose on his body as he moved, though most of the buttons were popped open for everyone to see the way sweat glistened on the smooth skin of his chest along with the many necklaces placing themself right in between his defined pectorals. Your little staring game was abruptly interrupted when his eyes suddenly met your gaze and you felt yourself flaring up, immediately turning around to face the bartender. For some reason, your throat was feeling extremely dry. Embarrassment was all you could feel. Great. Not only were you on your own but also embarrassing yourself in front of handsome guys. This was not how you had planned for your little rebellion to go. It was painfully obvious how you had never been here before. Regret started kicking in, why had you thought that doing this was a great idea? What part of your brain had convinced you that going to a completely new place you knew nothing about had been great?

And as if that hadn't been enough, a tipsy guy who could've never been up to any good had found interest in your lonely figure by the bar, reaching you with a playful smirk on his lips.

"Can I get you a drink, gorgeous?" you groaned inwardly yet kept your composure on the outside as you shook your head.

"Thank you, sir, but I'll decline." You refused politely and your answer brought a frown on the man's face. "No need to be so formal sweetie, don't be shy, I insist." His eyes twinkled mischievously upon watching you and you felt shivers going down your spine.

"I insist too, no thanks." You gritted through your teeth, hoping that the man would finally understand that no meant no and you shouldn't have to repeat yourself. Though he seemed really stubborn as he slid closer to you, elbows leaning against the bar counter as the cocky smirk on his face only grew wider. Sigh, he was a lost cause, did he think you were playing hard to get? "Oh come on!" He whined, tugging at your hand which you immediately yanked out of his hold.

"What do you think you are doing!?" You felt yourself raise your voice and the boy raised his hands in defense as if he hadn't just attempted to invade your personal space.

"Why so feisty?" He cooed, the alcohol in his system rended him incapable to understand your signals as to his overly sweet smile just grew fonder second after second. Truthfully, you wanted to leave and you were about to until you felt the slight touch of a chest brushing against your elbows when someone stood behind you.

"Alright," A sultry voice called, directed to the person who was bothering you. "I think it is time to stop bothering the lady, hm? Before I tell the guards." The man spoke calmly while sounding rather friendly, but you caught on the hidden threats underneath the sugarcoated words. Relief washed over you when the man huffed annoyedly and left without another word. Turning around, you felt as if your tongue had tied itself into a tight knot upon seeing the person looking down at you. Indeed, it wasn't any other than the young man you had seen dirty dancing on the dance floor just a few moments ago. To say that you were surprised to see him right behind you was a huge understatement. For some reason, your heart had started pounding excitedly in your chest when you met his sparkling gaze. His eyes who were like the finest green emeralds intrigued you more than anything, but you were not going to let him notice that.

"Everything okay?" He asked, concerned, and you almost forgot to answer when so engrossed into his perfect looks. How did this man look like he just came out of the hottest vintage movie even with sweat glistening on his skin? Quickly regaining your senses, you gave him a nod and a faint smile. "Yes, and thank you, sir, he was not going to leave me alone."

"You can call me Baekhyun," He introduced himself smoothly, finding your politeness very unfitting for the environment, but was nonetheless endeared by your impeccable manners as he sent you a playful smile. You had to fight the smile from breaking on your lips at the way he had just managed to introduce himself without having you ask for it.

"Are you here by yourself?" He finally asked what he had been dying to know, to which you could only shake your head dejectedly.

"I'm here with my friends, but instead of helping me integrate, they immediately jumped into the crowd." You explained, not bothering to mask the disappointment behind your words. Truthfully, maybe your imagination had been very different from what the reality was. Your friends were great dancers while all you had ever learned was ballroom dancing for the luxurious parties that you would be forced to attend. You had imagined how your friends would've dragged you with them to the dance floor and encouraged you to come out of your comfort zone, but that had been nothing but a pretty image that your imagination had created.

Baekhyun's eyebrow quirked at the information and you could tell that what you had just told him did not sit well with him. But as if a light bulb had enlightened above of his head, his eyes suddenly widened with excitement and he extended his hand toward you. The smirk on his lips made flowers bloom, tickling your insides while his green orbs allured you to place your hand in his, but you did not give in just yet.

"Then would you let me attend you?" Baekhyun offered sweetly, using the same polite manners that you had shown him before. You couldn't lie to yourself, you were extremely tempted to run your fingertips against his beautiful inviting palm that was so eagerly waiting for you to hold it, whose skin seemed like silk underneath the blinking neon lights of the night club.

Deciding to play hard to get, you returned the sugarcoated smirk, quirking a curious eyebrow. "I rejected the other man, what makes you believe I will go with you, Mister?" You challenged, but Baekhyun did not look the slightest taken aback by your advances, instead, he leaned his side on the counter to come slightly closer to you. In his orbs shone mischievousness mixed with confidence and you could already see your defeat coming, he knew exactly what he was going to use against you.

"Well..." He murmured huskily, and his sultry voice was still so clear in your ears even though the loud music was vibrating through the walls. Eyelashes kissing his cheeks, Baekhyun gave you a little glance from underneath his lashes before meeting your eyes completely, daring to tuck a couple of your stray hairs behind your ear. You had no idea why you had let him do that while the touch of the previous male had disturbed you so greatly. Yet, Baekhyun had been so careful, so gentle while never letting the confidence in his demeanor dare to crumble. You felt entranced, anticipating what he would say next with that pretty voice of his.

"You were watching me so intently while I danced, it seemed as if you were dying to let loose some too, am I wrong?" No, he had been completely right, indeed, within that minimal eye contact you had shared as he had danced, he had been able to figure out exactly what had gone through that mind of yours.

Not knowing how to respond to his accuracy, you looked away in contemplation, lips tugged between your teeth. You could not tell if you were like an extremely predictable book to Baekhyun, or if he was just really skilled in reading people's expressions. For when you had left him hanging to try and fight back, he had rolled his eyes as if knowing exactly that you were solely trying the hide the fact that you wanted to dance. "Oh come on Kitten, just give in," He encouraged you knowingly, grabbing your hand and tugging you with him where everyone was letting loose.

That night ended up being slightly blurry because of the many delicious strawberry ciders you had drunk. You were not yourself, the sweet and fizzy alcohol had taken its toll on you. Despite everything, there were some things that your fazed conscious wouldn't miss. And that resulted to be the many laughs bubbling from your throat at the funny things Baekhyun would say. Baekhyun's beautiful voice and his warm breath fanning the shell of your ear. His delicate hands gripping your hips tightly from behind while his chest pressed against your back. Baekhyun; a beautiful stranger and yet a well-known dancer in the clubs. Baekhyun who had not needed to stay with you the whole night as he had done. Baekhyun who took you home.

Baekhyun who would've forgotten about you the morning later- And then there was you, who would've remembered as if the most precious memory.

☾☾☾

03:00 am

The streets were asleep as you quietly made your way to the porch, keys dangling from your perfectly manicured fingers. Even though nighttime, the heat had never budged the slightest from the air, leaving a thin layer of sticky sweat on your skin after the extreme dance session back in the club. The picture of Baekhyun dancing with you was still freshly imprinted into your head, so clearly so that you could still recall his intense green eyes and sensual movements right in front of your eyes. How the neon lights had painted his milky skin in every color. You knew you were probably never going to see him again. But this was an experience you were going to write down, one you would treasure dearly. Because it had finally made you realize something about yourself.

You had loved dancing. Even if not so very talented, you had adored every second of the freedom you had gotten when completely abandoned to the music pulsating through the speakers and into your veins. The friends of yours had never understood your complaints. Sure, maybe you had everything you could have ever wished for; an overflowing wealth, a luxurious house, every dress you wanted within a matter of seconds. But what meaning, what benefit would all of these things give to you if you had no freedom? You were bound to comply with anything that your parents had planned out for your future, and if you dared to speak against it, you were going to be considered a shame to the family, a failure.

Just a little puppet, that was what you were after all.

Fear clenched your heart upon seeing the dimmed lights of the hallway from the windows. A part of you told yourself not to be surprised about what was going to occur, but the uncertainty was too strong. You had broken the rules, your parents' trust, and now, two very important things to you were balancing upon a scale. Their happiness and your freedom.

Which one were you going to value the most?

The door closed with a click behind you and you held in your breath nervously. For as soon as you had stepped inside, footsteps had already been hearable coming from somewhere within the house.

No more holding back, you told yourself. No more.

"Where have you been!?" Your mother's hysteric whisper came your way, her eyes pooled with what seemed to be worry and fury. She was taking deep breaths while trying to tame her anger, the hair was slightly tousled and you understood that her distress had been genuine when you noticed that she hadn't even bothered to remove the glittering make up from her face. Something that she normally would do right away when back home, as it would damage her skin if kept for too long.

Meeting her gaze, you answered calmly, "I was out dancing with my friends." Your words were sincere as you spoke, but your calm demeanor had failed their purpose to tranquilize your mother. Blood rushed to her face while your father was running his hands soothingly down her arms.

"How insolent!" She yelled with disbelief and anger dripping from her lips. She stormed toward your figure and you felt freeze in your spot. With your feet glued onto the floor, your heart started crashing against your ribs and its noise was resonating within your ears as if the most powerful bass.

"How could you sneak out like that? Without saying anything?!" Your mother's voice was gradually becoming more breathy the more she spoke. Tears gathered in her pretty eyes. "Do you know how worried we were?! Don't you ever dare to do that again!" Teeth dug into your lips. Your fingers were shaking against your sides. Heart drowning in guilt but all at once pulled away by the strings of restraint, a flame had burst within you, and it had already grown into an untamable fire.

"But you would not allow me to do anything, this is the outcome, mother." Her eyes widened at your statement, and before you knew it, a loud noise resounded in the hallway as your mother's palm collided with your cheek. You gasped for air at the burning sensation taking over the side of your face, the shape of your mother's hand lingered on your cheek.

"How dare you,"

You had no idea what took over you at that moment, infinite courage that you would one day regret to have taken over you. A rage so strong, enough to cloud your senses and make you talk back to your parents. Tears were offuscating your view and quick puffs left your trembling lips. For how long were they going to keep you locked in this house, expecting you to be okay with it? Just for how long were they going to keep you from living your life however you wanted to?'

"Oh, I dare mother!" You screamed back, " I've asked of your permission so many times but you just would not budge. Never have I ever disobeyed you, I've always lived up to your expectations and done everything you wanted me to, but why do I not deserve to choose for myself this once?" Despair clawed through your voice and your parents were looking back at you with shock and confusion distorting their faces. Though, it quickly morphed int exasperation.

"What have we ever not given you to make you this unhappy?" Your father questioned dejectedly, " Why would you act so ungratefully?" Ungrateful? You wanted to laugh, but you swallowed down the lump in your throat.

"You do not understand, father, I..., I feel trapped, I don't feel like I am the person I want to be, like this," By now, all the energies had been sucked out of your body by the intense conversation. Your muscles were screaming for rest while your eyes begged for sleep. But your parents wanted more explanations.

"I want to experience life on my own, to make my decisions, to find my friends, and create relationships."

That they were confused was e big understatement. Their spoiled minds could just not wrap themselves around the fact that you might've felt much more comfortable in an environment that was not necessarily the sparkling reality of richness and wealth that you had been born into. "W-what?" Your mother stuttered. You inhaled deeply as an attempt to collect your emotions and find the right words.

"I do not want to limit myself to the way we're living right now. Neither do I want you to decide on my future. Please," You pleaded, "I beg of you, try to understand and consider what I am saying." Nonetheless your tries, the confusion didn't subdue from your parents' faces. "What could you ever find out there that is better than what our world has to offer?" Your mother scoffed, blinded by her society, induced to not know any better- to not even try and see what more there was to life.

"Mother..." You coaxed, hoping that your composure would ease her upset mood, "I think I want to try out dancing." There. You said it. You could only squeeze your eyes shut in front of the blow that was about to come. Because of that, you missed the way your mother's eyes widened with shock. Your father had his silent ways to deal with the news as he kept quiet, probably battling with himself within his thoughts. Compared to your mother, his patience would last the longest while the smallest of things could send your mother ballistic.

"No. Absolutely not." She concluded, making you snap your gaze to hers, letting her see the disappointed tears merging within your orbs.

"But why?!" You cried, looking at your father this time, pleading him silently with your eyes and you were to be disheartened by the doubt on his face. It did look like he had something to say, but your mother beat him to it, and he did not oppose it.

"I should not even have to explain myself." The level of unfair was making a very strong desire to scream surge within the darkest pit of your being, the frustration and rage you were experiencing at that moment was the strongest emotion you'd ever felt. Never in your life had you seen yourself reacting this way to your parents, with your blood crazily boiling in your veins and a restless strength in your body that made your fingers curl into fists.

"And this is the end of the discussion. We are not playing around, we are here for strict business. Remember that." Your mother threw the cold truth upon you, mercilessly. "No more escapades at night and no more of those friends of yours. I should have known they were nothing but a bad influence." She snarled, scanning your body from head to toe.

"Now change out of that...Dress, and go to sleep. I do not want to hear such nonsense from you ever again." You had always loved and respected your mother for the brilliant woman she was, as a person, and obviously in her abilities within the business. But this, the way she just broke your heart to shreds and ripped you from your freedom, you were afraid you could never forgive that. Not this time

☾☾☾

Tension. That was probably not the appropriate word to describe the thick, awkward aura that floated in the air when you and your parents sat the dining table for breakfast the next morning. The crisp scent of the freshly toasted bread along with the newly washed strawberries set on the table would have by now made your stomach grumble excitedly. But seeing their faces had been enough for your hunger to get chased away. They spoke casually though it was obvious how last night's argument was weighing down on their shoulders.

A deep sigh left your lips when you finally had enough and stood up to leave. Swinging your purse up your shoulder caused your mother's eyes to find you warily.

"Where are you going?" She urged with an accusatory tone in her voice. Swallowing down the need to snap back, you answered calmly: "I am going out for a walk around the blocks. Just like I do every morning." Indeed, that was a part of your daily routine and you almost smirked when your mother's lips pursed together. For she could not take away something that you had been doing since your arrival in this country, and it was not going to change because of a fight.

As you made your way through the busy streets you wondered what place to visit, your morning walks were always a great opportunity to explore new areas that you could find near your home. A soft breeze fluttered your shirtdress, making a sweet hum tumble down your lips at the refreshing contrast against the unbearable warmth from the sun. But most of all, you loved the noise of the cicadas singing in the summer heat, the fragrance of coffee deriving from the many cafeés down the streets. The chatters, the children playing.

The more you walked and looked around, the more posters on the wall started appearing, announcing a Latin dancing contest. Its bright colors caught your eyes right away and without any hesitation, you ripped the piece of paper off the wall to have a closer look. In four weeks. You had no experience, and yet, even for a little moment, you couldn't help but imagine yourself dancing in the middle of a stage, standing out in between all the other couples as you danced a dance that was different from the others. One that screamed freedom. Just the thought made your legs feel ticklish, your heart beat excitedly in your chest. Oh, how you wished to participate.

Your train of thoughts was abruptly interrupted by the noise of two people screaming. Brows furrowed on your face, you looked around, only to find out that the hollers were coming from a glass door just a few meters away from you. Without thinking, you followed the noise and entered the little building. There was an empty reception and not too far away, an open door, in which you could make out a man and a woman conversating animatedly. You quickly realized that it hadn' been a simple conversation when the girl suddenly swung her palm to the man's cheek, imprinting her hand onto his face with a scarlet red. The noise echoed loudly and without being able to contain your curiousness, you scurried closer, getting a glimpse of how big that room actually was. Its walls were covered by mirrors, reflecting the two people from every angle.

"You're such a jerk Byun Baekhyun! Do that damn dance contest on your own!" The girl shrieked before storming off. Her thundering gaze met yours for the quickest second, and it had been so extremely chilling that you praised the Lord that she did not stop to talk to you. Her loud stomping responded in the small studio, resembling such noise as of a pack of horses.

Byun Baekhyun...Baekhyun, that name sounded incredibly familiar indeed. A little gasp left your lips when you gave the man a better look. Of course, how could you ever forget those black curls with flaring scarlet streaks melting within his strands? The green jewels that were his eyes and the low cut shirt flaunting his toned chest? His whole figure was familiar, well, except that red handprint on his cheek, that is. Stifling a little laugh, you allowed yourself to be seen and stepped inside what seemed to be a practice room.

"Are you okay, sir?" You called out softly, "I think I can feel that slap on my own cheek," You could not refrain yourself from teasing the man while gracing your fingers on your own face. Upon hearing your voice, he snapped out of his gaze and you were surprised when the confusion on his face did not last longer than a second. The realization made a smile curl his pretty lips, and only then did you notice how a golden ring was embracing his protruding underlip, rendering him unnecessarily attractive.

"Oh? Isn't it the lost kitten from last night," Baekhyun recognized you immediately and a pleasant feeling fulfilled you. Perhaps, what you felt was a tad stronger, you realized. Inside of your chest was a whole jungle of flowers blooming and you were uneasy with the fact that you could not explain to yourself why you were feeling that way. The whole night you had told yourself that you were probably never going to see him again, and yet, there he was right before you, only the next day.

"How can I help you, Princesa?" For a second, you were completely taken aback by the sudden endearment that had rolled off his lips. The fact that your cheeks were clearly flaring up for him to see flustered you to no end. You were no master in the Latin language, but you knew enough to know how flirty he had sounded. It hadn't been random of him to call you that, by saying princess, he was very clearly teasing you about the polite manners you had shown yesterday in the club and how painfully they had contrasted with the environment.

"Well, I..." You started once back to your senses, a bit confused as of how you were going to answer the question since you were not sure why you were there either. The dancer quirked an amused brow and you cursed your cheeks for heating up uncontrollably. Truthfully, the man had the most intense- the most entrancing gaze you had ever encountered, and the blame you put on his beautiful eyes as well as the red eyeshadow placed on his waterline to give further depth to his stare.

"I was just taking a walk when I stumbled here, what kind of place is this?" Although the difficulty to answer just a few moments ago, the question you had asked was nothing but genuine. For the shortest moment, you caught on the distressed feeling flickering on his face before he masked it with a confident smirk. To be honest, he conveyed it so well that you for a while wondered if you had hallucinated his previous expression.

"This is my dance studio." The word dance made fireworks explode in your chest as you showed Baekhyun your eager expression.

"Woah! So you are a dance teacher!" You exclaimed, not being able to contain your enthusiasm. This was the perfect opportunity. Your mother could do as much as keep you away from your friends and going out at night, but she could most definitely not stop you from doing whatever during the day. She was constantly busy with work, so you figured out she would not even notice your further absence. Baekhyun bit his lip hesitantly and your eyes moved on their own as they took in the way his lip ring disappeared behind his drilling teeth.

"I used to teach, but that's not the case anymore." He explained without any details which only made your interest grow.

"May I ask why? I apologize for listening to your conversation with the lady, but I believe you were going to participate in the dance contest?" At this point, questions were flowing nonstop out of mouth and Baekhyun had to hush you to answer.

"You're a curious one, aren't you?" He murmured with a hint of sarcasm to which you only smiled sweetly at him. Normally, he wouldn't have given in so easily, but your curious demeanor was endearing to him and he couldn't help the chuckle that escaped his pretty lips. "Why don't you take a seat?" Baekhyun offered, leading you to a round glass table where he kindly took out a chair for you before his own.

"Where were we...Ah, yes, the dance competition." Baekhyun pondered out loud while taking a seat in front of you. You had noticed how he was purposely ignoring the first question you had asked, but without taking it personally. In the end, you had known each other for barely two days, and for all you could know, it might've been a sensitive topic for him.

"The Latin dancing competition takes place every summer, and the price they offer is very high," A little smirk quirked the corner of his lip at the thought of money and it took all of you not to blush at the way he leaned his cheek onto his palm and stared intently. "And as you may have seen, or, eavesdropped." Baekhyun raised his eyebrow playfully, the smile never faltering. "I was going to participate but my partner dumped me just now. I might have to pass on this one." He played it off cool by slouching against the backrest of his chair, almost flawlessly masking his true disappointment. Almost. His smile was as always, so incredibly charming with those pearly white teeth peeking by his lips, but this time the sorrow in his green eyes lingered.

You hadn't really thought through your words before you pronounced them, much less paid attention to any possible consequences, all you knew was that you had to take the opportunity that had opened itself right in front of you.

"It would be a pity if you gave up at the cause of your partner. Perhaps I'll come off too strong but," You hesitated, "Maybe I could...replace her?" That was what managed to wipe the smirk off his face, expression morphing into one of pure astonishment that quickly shifted to doubt.

"Oh, kitten, It's not that easy." He refused, "A lot of training is involved and I am afraid that you are not cut out for this kind of dancing." Now, as nice as he was trying to sound, it did not manage to keep you calm. Why would he say that when he did not even know anything about you?

"Why are you so quick to judge me?" You fired back without letting him finish what he was about to say. Baekhyun looked at you knowingly while he stood up from his chair and offered you his hand challengingly. Gulping loudly, you took it and stood up as well. Had you not been as nervous, your thoughts would have probably wandered away to heaven because Baekhyun had unfairly enough, the most beautiful hands you had ever seen- ever touched, his skin the closest thing to silk on earth. Your breath lost itself in your lungs when you suddenly found yourself being pressed against his toned chest. Lifting your gaze up, you met Baekhyun's green oceans, and only then did you realize how incredibly close the two of you were standing. From his parted lips escaped small breaths that landed on your skin. It was inevitable, being extremely conscious of every part of his body that was touching yours. Your thoughts swirled into one big mess and you found yourself in a daze.

Baekhyun's body held a warmth that to you resembled the feeling of sun rays warming up your skin when shivering. All you could wrap your head around was the way his body shaped so perfectly against yours. Though, the comforting sensation did not last long when you suddenly broke into a cold sweat. His hand that had been between your shoulder blades had started wandering down in a painfully slow manner and you found yourself completely unable to react until his fingertip surpassed their limit that was the small of your back. The palm of his large hand cupped your bum easily, making your chin drop.

"I-I," You stuttered, struggling to find your voice back. "Sir! Would you keep your hands to yourself! Dear God," The words tumbled out of your lips one after another as used all of your strength to push him away from you. Heat was gathering on your cheeks as your hands were restlessly fixing your dress, then pushing your hair behind your ears as an attempt to cover up for your sudden outburst. You were confused to see Baekhyun being the least fazed by your actions. He sighed and took and sat back down on the chair.

"See? This is exactly what I mean," His hands gesticulated towards you as he spoke, "I am not just mindlessly judging you, you may not remember that well, but we danced together yesterday night and you became a rock at the sole touch of my hands." Teeth drilled into your lip at his words. You wanted to fight back but you knew that would bring you nowhere. The memories from last night were indeed foggy and you could not recall that well, you were sure Baekhyun was not lying about your reaction to his touch.

"Do you know any Latin dance genres?" He then asked, to which you could only answer with a small no.

"But I can work on it! I promise that I'll work hard!" You insisted, only earning a sigh from the man.

"Sweetheart, I don't doubt your will to do this, but you are too...Too proper," A cringe twisted your lips when he said that, making you feel as if you were hopelessly trying to enter a world where you'd never belong. "And three weeks is such a limited time, it'll never be enough for the required skills of the competition." The more he spoke, the more your hopes were crumbling into nothingness, why was everything in your life working against you? All you wanted to do was to try something new, something that could help you shape your being.

Small tears crystallized in your lashes, "Please...Baekhyun," You begged underneath your breath. "This means a lot to me and it is my only opportunity, I promise I won't let you down, I'll work hard and I'll pay you whichever amount you need- just, please," You found yourself getting emotional at the thought of this opportunity disappearing before you could even reach out for it. At this point, even though you were begging the dancer, you had no actual expectations of him. You did not know each other and he owed you nothing. You would understand if he'd decline.

"Hey, hey, no don't cry-" Baekhyun panicked and stood up to get next to you. His arms found their way around your shoulders in the hope to console you. " Fine, I'll do it just stop crying, okay?" He eventually gave in against his will. When he saw you calming down he allowed himself to sigh, inwardly telling himself that he wouldn't lose anything by doing this, that he might as well do it for himself too.

"I'll teach you and we'll do the competition, but expect hard training," The feeling of relief and gratefulness was overwhelming you to the point of your lips forming into a smile that you wholeheartedly directed to him. Your nose almost bumped into his as you did, sending your heart berserk within your chest. The fragrance of his cologne was washing over you like water and you found yourself urging to inhale it deeply, but fought against it. The dancer showed no sign of nervousness at the close proximity, moreover, he was smirking teasingly down at you as he brought his lips to the shell of your ear.

"Hard training, and lots and lots of...Touching."

A massive gasp left your mouth and his melodic yet evil laugh echoed in the practice room. But at the end of the day, you were officially going to follow your newfound dream.

☾☾☾

When you had told your parents that you were going to start working out, it hadn't been a complete lie. In the first week of training, Baekhyun had really not cut you any slack with the physical strength and that explained why you would return home with muscles screaming in pain and sweat trickling down your temples. You hadn't known all too well what you were getting yourself into when you said that you wanted to dance. A night out with your friends hadn't reflected what it really was like to indulge in the world of dancing, and you were realizing it all now. There was never a shortcut to reach the best results, the only way was through blood sweat and tears, as cheesy as that sounded.

You were watching yourself intently in the mirror as you moved to the music. Baekhyun had shown you a couple of moves for you to imitate, and when he had executed them they had looked extremely smooth and easy- but it was definitely not the same thing when you were trying to recreate them with your own body. Your dance teacher didn't seem satisfied with how you were doing either, but instead of nagging he moved from his spot by the wall and stood right behind you. The gap between your back and his chest was so extremely minimal that you could physically feel it. You felt yourself tensing up when Baekhyun's warm breath landed on the exposed skin of your shoulder.

"You are extremely stiff," He murmured lowly while placing his hands on your shoulders and shivers thundered down your spine. "Relax," he continued to gently dig his fingers into your skin, pressing on to relieve the tension in your muscles.

"I'm sorry," You whispered, "It's hard to go all out with your eyes on me all the time," It was true, it couldn't completely excuse your nonexistent skills but Baekhyun's intense stare was the main reason for your shying away from giving your all. You were surprised when he didn't tease you because of what you said, but the more you thought about it, the more sense it made. Baekhyun was a dance teacher, he probably knew better than to make his students feel insecure with his snickers.

"I understand, then inhale deeply," He instructed, his voice just a soft hum over the loud music from the speakers. "And close your eyes." When you did as told, you found yourself breathing out in relief when his hands had started massaging your shoulders, eventually relaxing your whole body. It didn't take long before Baekhyun's hands had started trailing lower until they found the curve of your waist. With teeth drilling into your lip, you fought the urge to push them away and let him do his thing. You kept your eyes closed and tried to concentrate on the music rather than on the foreign feeling of Baekhyun's touch. It had nearly been two weeks and you still could not help but squirm away whenever he'd put his hands on you. You could tell that it was extremely for him that was going to be your partner, but he was keeping it in every time without complaints. Gently, he guided your hips to sway along with the rhythm.

Your eyes fluttered open at the noise of Baekhyun's defeated sigh and the loss of his touch. A wave of relief washed over you when he finally let go of you, for some reason, you would feel so overwhelmingly nervous when close to him and it made it hard for you to function properly. There was something about him that made your thoughts swirl, something that continuously pulled at the strings of your heart and you were not sure whether you wanted to acknowledge what it was. You were afraid to lose yourself. Indeed, Baekhyun was like the sweetest sex on the beach, where the sweet flavor would coat your tongue but its strong alcohol hit you hard without your conscious.

You turned around to meet his gaze. "You're still very tensed in your movements," He stated, making you blush when his eyes raked your figure one last time, "We'll stop here for today." You were taken aback by the fact that he was cutting short on the lesson by a couple of hours, but when you saw the growing smirk on his lips, you knew he was up to something.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" You eyed him weirdly which only caused him to chuckle, a sound that would often tickle your heart like the softest feather.

"Tomorrow bring your swimwear because we're going to the beach."

☾☾☾

The sand was scorching hot underneath your feet so you scurried to the shore as quickly as you could, only to let out a relieved sigh at the refreshing water washing the burning sensation away. Palm trees reached the immense blue sky and rustled by the wind, although the sun was warming the city over thirty degrees, the sea served its embracing and a little salty breeze. Soon enough, Baekhyun who had been taking his time reached your side.

"Alright, let's get to it right away." He announced without wasting a single second, arms crossing his stomach to grab the hem of his shirt that as usual, flaunted his toned chest but left some space for imagination as well. Your hands went to do the same but eventually slowed down in their movements when your eyes pulled themselves to Baekhyun's undressing figure. Lips drilling into your lips, the logical part of you was doing everything to stop staring, but the curiosity was so unbearable. As soon as the v-lines disappearing underneath the waistband of his trunks came into your view you snapped your gaze away and nervously fumbled with the buttons of your dress. Oh god, oh God, oh God- just how were you going to function when he looked like that?

"I know that you were staring, kitten." As if it hadn't been enough, Baekhyun had felt your gaze and was not going to miss the chance to get under your skin.

"I was not!" You lied although it would be futile, Baekhyun was eye-candy, and he very aware of it too. With the unusual hairstyle that made sense only him; mullet gracing the nape of his neck and red streaks melting into his black locks. With his green eyes that underneath the glowing day-star shone like glittering emeralds, not to mention the smile of his that could within seconds melt your whole being, warmer than summer itself. And his skin? Its color reminded you of sweet caramel and its smooth surface made you want to run your fingertips along with it. God was surely very biased when he created this human. How was he so unfairly beautiful? How could you not stare?

Throwing your dress over your shoulders and into your bag, you hurried to where Baekhyun had already entered the waters. The hairs on your body stood up at the contact with the cold water, but you loved that feeling, it was shooting against your heated skin.

"So," You stole a glance at Baekhyun from underneath your lashes, still a bit too conscious of him to look at him. "Why the beach?" You asked and brought your hands behind your back to try and seem a little less tense. Before you knew it, Baekhyun was already standing in front of you with his gorgeous self, not giving you any choice but to trail your eyes up his muscled stomach, continuing to his throat and finally his face that was currently extremely glossy because of the sunscreen he was wearing.

"We are going to," Baekhyun walked around your figure, standing right behind you where he took ahold of your hands to break their hold of each other. "release the tension in those pretty hips of yours,"

"Hey!" You scolded although your cheeks were already set on fire. But as always, he would only laugh heartedly, content with your reaction to his teasing. This time though, since he was behind you, you did not get to see the way his eyes twinkled with endearment.

"Close your eyes now," And just like that, he was back to his serious self. Closing your eyes, you inhaled the sea scented breeze to calm down your heart that had gone frantic upon Baekhyun's hands gripping your hips gently. "Do you feel the waves?" he murmured softly and you only nodded. "Dancing is a sign of freedom, you know? Just like the waves, you're allowed to have your own rhythm, your own color, when dancing, you are allowed to be exactly who you want to be," Baekhyun's words were like the softest caresses on your wounded heart.

"Now follow the waves, and sway gently," his voice at that moment was the most mellow thing that had ever kissed your ears. "Left and right," He hummed repeatedly. You felt yourself move along the guidance of his hands on your hips, gently following the rhythm of the sea. This was it, you were doing it and without messing it up!

The heart was swelling within your chest and you couldn't help but proceed to close the gap and press your back to Baekhyun's heaving chest. His grip on you somewhat tightened when you did, and his chin landed to rest on the curve of your shoulder.

"Baekhyun," You smiled happily, "I think I got a hold of it now- oh my God," You couldn't contain your excitement as you exclaimed the words while never interrupting your swaying motion along with Baekhyun's. Tickling butterfly wings spread in your belly when you felt him smile against your shoulder, the coldness of his lip ring sent shivers down your spine while his breaths fanned your skin.

"Then we'll wrap up here and I'll treat you on a well-deserved helado."

That was how you found yourself standing in line with Baekhyun to get some ice cream. Soon enough, the girl behind the counter was handing you your cone with strawberry flavored ice cream. You watched as Baekhyun handed her the money, not leaving without sending her a sweet smile, a wink, and a subtle gracias. The girl blushed madly but it was evident how the simple gestures had made her happy.

"Are you a player, or what?" You grumbled, not being able to hide your annoyment. Truthfully, you knew that the fingers clenching your heart were nothing less than jealousy, but you were not going to admit it. The answer provided was though, not what you had expected.

"No not really," He shrugged his shoulders, "I just like to make girls feel pretty, nothing wrong with that, right?"

"Well, am I not pretty too?" You demanded- gasping out loud when you realized that you had spoken your thoughts without reasoning. The heat was clouding in front of your face, and it wasn't any better when Baekhyun chortled so prettily like he always did before standing right in front of you with an adoring smile that could've stolen your heart on the spot. Your stomach flipped when his fingers gently reached out to curl some stray strands of your hair behind your ear.

"You're beautiful, darling." He spoke ever so sweetly as if honey was dripping off his lips and you had to put the ice cream against your mouth to hide the blossoming smile that could've given you away. A playful snicker played on his face as he bent down to your level and placed his lips at the opposite side of your cone, tasting the sweet flavor.

"Strawberry's my favorite," Baekhyun justified his actions with a glint of mischievousness enlightening his pretty orbs.

In this hot summer, there were many things that could warm you up. But none of it could nearly come to compare to Baekhyun's twinkling smile when he told you that you were beautiful.

☾☾☾

Three weeks in, and the fact that you and your parents hadn't had a proper conversation after that fight lingered in the back of your head, no matter how much you tried to suppress it.

The distant noise of the fan blurred into the loud music vibrating from the speakers and the mirrored room reflected your every move as you danced. In the second week of training had been so much progress, to the point where you and Baekhyun could sweep across the dance floor without you stepping on his feet. You had learned so many dance moves to execute with Baekhyun that you were astonished by yourself. It was not easy, being lifted up in the air, to slide underneath his legs, or to simply spin back into his hold. It required so much physical strength from both parties- and well, in this case, you were the only one in the need of training. As for the sensuality, Baekhyun knew you were a bit uncomfortable with it still, so he was taking things slow. The fusion of Latin dances that was dirty dancing involved a great quantity of physical contact that you had never experienced before- and to be suddenly feeling hands all over you was a hard pill to swallow. Difficulties aside, the two of you had started working on the choreography and as much as you wanted to shy away, you were ecstatic to have come this far.

Your eyes locked themselves on your figure in the mirror as you danced alone in the room, practicing on a few solo dance moves that Baekhyun had taught you. Those were also extremely important when dancing with a partner, to be able to move your own- to shine on your own even if for a few seconds before returning to the male. Ever since the happenings at the beach, you had been able to feel so much more comfortable in your skin, in the idea of giving your body away to the music and its waves. Baekhyun's words had helped you appreciate the music more- so extremely so, that whenever you were dancing was when you felt the freest, the most beautiful you'd ever been.

Arms gracefully waving and hips swaying smoothly, you looked absolutely gorgeous when pumping your chest, when your feet executed the Latin dance moves perfectly. If it wasn't for your concentration going completely to your reflection, you would have noticed how Baekhyun had been leaning against the door frame, following your every movement as if you were the most intriguing movie he'd ever seen. His teeth bit onto his lip upon watching as if trying to contain himself.

Indeed you were, the most beautiful person he had ever seen.

☾☾☾

Heavy breaths were parting your lips and all you really needed to feel was something cold and refreshing against your sweating back. Although the fan was at its maximum, it was not enough to soothe the hotness of the summer day fused with hours of intense practice. With a huge sigh, you let your body slump down onto the cold floor, feeling relief wash over you at the contrast of temperature. Baekhyun looked at you with a stunned expression but not long after, he did just the same and laid down next to you. His chest was heaving up and down in a quick manner as he sought to catch his breath, his locks slightly wet of perspiration fell messily down his head, giving you a full view of his shiny forehead.

Outside, the cicadas were singing and the people had started retreating indoors during the warmest time of the day. You rolled onto your side, placing your arm underneath your head for support and glanced at the boy next to you. Baekhyun's eyes were closed and hadn't you known better, you would've through he was sleeping, though you were aware of the fact that he was simply relaxing. You couldn't help but take advantage of the situation to shamelessly observe him. The thin eyelashes that kissed his slightly flushed cheeks glittered into the afternoon sun, its orange shade painting Baekhyun's tan skin, rendering it golden. Oh, how was he so ethereal? You could just not wrap your head around it, at times like these you would find your heart blossoming within your chest- your breath hitching because it felt as if an angel was laying right beside you. Perhaps he really was one, for when he danced he seemed as light as a feather, when he danced you could feel the passion radiating from his whole being. It was like he found life in the action of moving to the music.

"Baekhyun?" You found yourself whispering lowly, just in case he had been actually sleeping. The said male turned his head in your direction and quirked an eye open, a questioning hum left his parted lips that were as always, adorned by a thin and golden lip ring.

"If I may ask, did you have any motives behind joining this contest?" You had been extremely curious about this since the very beginning and you hoped that Baekhyun would trust you enough to answer this time. To your dismay silence was all you got back, your words lingered like thick tension in the air. When you started to think he wouldn't answer was when Baekhyun parted his lips to speak, taking you by surprise.

"This studio has belonged to my family for a very long time, in fact, my parents used to teach people of all ages to dance. I used to teach too." The playfulness that he would often hold in his demeanors was now nowhere to be seen. Baekhyun spoke every so softly, his voice fragile and solemn as if the tiniest shards of memory from the past would cut his heart open again.

"Though late in my parents' career, things started going south and they could no longer keep on teaching. Back then, I was young and still burned with such passion," He recalled while staring at the ceiling, "I did not fully understand the weight I put on my shoulders when I said I'd take care of this studio. I did not want them to sell it, too many of my memories linger in here- I felt as if I would be ripping a piece of my memories and throwing it away if I just let them give it away." All you could do was listen to his sorrowful voice, silently yearning to be the one who could soothe his grief.

"By joining, and hopefully winning the dancing contest, I would've used the price to revive this dance studio and open it again. I am barely keeping it with the paycheck that I have now, I am constantly jumping from a part-time to the other."

"I think you still have so much of that passion, Baekhyun." You said meaningfully, not being able to help it, you gave in to the urge to reach out for his face. He had been laying so close to you, enough for you to feel the scent of his faded cologne mixed with sweat, something that dazed you greatly. Baekhyun leaned into the caress of your soft fingertips, letting out a soft sigh that thunders run down your body. You wanted to scream at the way he was making you feel, wines were growing within your chest- flowers were blooming and their roots carved his sweet name into your heart.

As the pad of his thumb softly traced the corner of his mouth, you watched as Baekhyun bit down on his lip as if holding himself from taking your gentle fingers in with his lips.

"How about you?" He eventually asked, and you found yourself letting everything you had been holding in for yourself out to Baekhyun, your heart spread before him like an open book for him to read. At that moment you realized that you could trust him. You trusted Baekhyun. Baekhyun who listened to everything you had to say, who never removed his tender gaze from yours. Baekhyun who drank up every emotion seeping from your voice.

That afternoon, you were provided with a pair of words that had kept you from sleeping. Words that you had never thoughts about- but now could not stop recalling.

"It's so brave of you to follow your dream, and I'll help you for as long as you'll need me- but, please, don't give up one good relationship with your parents, before you know it, they'll be gone and all you'll have is regret. "

☾☾☾

The competition was nearing within the blink of an eye, it was still hard to grasp as it only felt like yesterday, the day you had sneaked out to a dance club with your friends. You could not believe it, one time should have been enough, really. But there you were again, in the middle of the night tiptoeing with your heels hanging from your fingertips. Your parents were asleep since hours ago and part of you felt guilty for doing this again. Ever since Baekhyun had said those things, you had started speaking with your parents more genuinely in the hopes of digging up what you had lost during that massive fight. Truly, they had been happy to make peace with you again, especially your mother who had felt responsible for your behavior. Though, you were still doing these things behind their backs- meeting Baekhyun and dancing, which had been something they had banned you from doing since the very start.

It was with a heavy heart that you exited through the mansion's backdoor, wore your heels, and as quickly as possible ran to where Baekhyun was going to wait for you in his car.

The nightclub was as expected, as crowded as it could possibly be, which made you wonder whether you and Baekhyun were going to make it to the dance floor without losing each other. In the beginning, you had been rather hesitant when Baekhyun had suggested that you'd go together. He had explained how it was a great place to practice dirty dancing since there were many people dancing at the same time and that was sort of how the competition was going to look like too, even if less crowded. Eventually, you had agreed, telling yourself that you could use it as an opportunity to work on the slight stage fright you had. But truly, the real motive was that Baekhyun was extremely skilled at convincing people, a real charmer that is.

A live band was performing famous Latin songs to which no one missed a single beat of, passionately, they were singing along to every line. Your eyes scanned the crowd, only to see countless couples dancing ever so skillfully- resembling what Baekhyun had looked like the very first time you saw him. A wave of insecurity hit you without warning and you started wondering whether you'll ever look like that when dancing too. Was your mediocre self an embarrassment to Baekhyun who was well known everywhere? You could only wonder while the said male grabbed your hand in his and brought it above of your head, to which you took the cue and spun around a couple of times before retreating to press against his chest. Sweat trickled down your temples and you rolled your body along Baekhyun's, following his every motion, matching it with your own. His hands that had started traveling along your body sent a heatwave down your vertebrae. Fingers ghosted their way up legs- resting on your hip while the other sought to trail the line starting from between your collarbones, down to the space between your breasts. Before Baekhyun could even do so, you had already pushed his hands away.

You had no idea what had gotten into you when you had done that, it had been a good moment to try and finally get used to the fundamental part of what you wanted to do, and yet again, an inexplicable sensation that urged you to shy away got the best of you. It was not giving Baekhyun a chance to even circle his arms around your waist, for you had already sent them away. This had not been the first time you'd done that, that you couldn't take his touch had occurred on many occasions during practice. Fear gathered in your chest when you saw Baekhyun's expression darken and that was when you realized that he was only going to take that much before exploding.

Baekhyun's fingers harshly wrapped around your wrist as he dragged you away from the dance floor to a corner of the nightclub where the two of you could speak with a bit more tranquility. The excitement that had manifested in his orbs at the beginning of the night was completely gone, now replaced with something that you couldn't quite pinpoint. You had never imagined that you'd ever see him as raging as he was now, or hence- that you'd ever be the reason for his current dark expression. The heart drummed furiously against your chest while it echoed loudly in your ears, blurring the loud music out completely.

"Why do you push me away all the time?" He finally spoke, words gritting through his teeth, "Are we playing around or what? How do you think of doing the damn competition if you keep on doing that!?" Playing around? He thought you were playing around? You wanted to laugh, though the growing lump in your throat stopped you from doing so. You had explained this to him before- and yet- why would he say that to you? It was still so foreign to you and you were truly trying your hardest.

"I'm sorry, I can't fucking help it okay!?" You shouted, "I am trying!" Small tears were surging at the edge of your eyes, turning Baekhyun's figure blurry in front of you.

"Well, you're not trying hard enough!"He threw his hands in the air, every inch of his being screamed frustration and anger. "I feel like a damn idiot whenever you do that," Baekhyun had never once complained at you, he had respected your limits and trusted you when you said you were working on it, but even his patience had a boundary, and at this moment it was as if the glass had overflowed.

"Every time we make progress it's like we fall back to step one because you're being like that! If you are so uncomfortable with me, why are you making me do this? You're wasting both of our times." Although his chest was heaving heavily for more oxygen, he kept going and let out every frustration, every doubt that he had kept to himself until now.

"If you really want to do this competition, you should know that one of the biggest components for dancing is trust toward your partner, but if you can't bring yourself to trust me, then what the hell is the point?" Baekhyun's words were a hard pill to swallow, but deep down you knew that he was nothing but right. He had every right to react like this- after so many days of hard training, after trusting you and telling you the wounds of his heart, and yet, you still could not trust him?

"I'm sorry-" You breathed out, reaching out for his soft hands, "let's just do it again, please." You attempted through your shaking voice, but nothing could waver Baekhyun's anger as he yanked his hands out of your hold, leaving you completely shaken.

"No, I'm done." He shook his head with disbelief, "Come back when you are not afraid." You could not help but frown. Afraid? Was that really it? Baekhyun might've been right when he said that you were fearing, but the prideful part of you refused to admit it. You kept telling yourself that it was just his own perception of you- he was wrong. You had gone this far, you had broken the rules to come to this point, the last thing you were was scared.

"I am not!" You denied furiously.

"Yes you are," He said, not leaving his ground. " just admit it. You've might come all the way to this point, but deep down you're still afraid of change, of the new things that are about to come."

"Tell me, do you really want this dream of yours? Or maybe you are too scared?" The dancer scoffed, not glancing twice at you before turning around and leaving you with hot tears streaming down your cheeks.

☾☾☾

"You look stunning, sweetheart." Said your mother sweetly when you stepped out of your room. Your body was hugged by a beautiful chiffon midi dress and your face adorned by a light makeup look that enhanced your features in the most natural of ways. A shy smile displayed on your lips at the compliment, it had been a while since you last wore such an elegant dress. The floral pattern glittered mildly and you felt yourself shining underneath your mother's adoring gaze. She had given it to you as a gift, telling you that today was a special occasion and that you just had to wear it.

Seven in the evening and the sun was painting the immense sky in its delicate purple and pink colors as it hid behind the horizon. Streaks of orange melted into the clouds and the stars were waiting for their turn to show up. As the car pulled up by the restaurant, you recalled it to be the same location as where was going to take place. In fact, you were stunned to see the immense dance floor in the middle of the restaurant, the round tables surrounding it. In the background was a live band playing calm jazz music that quickly blurred out with your conversations.

All you had known when preparing for this dinner was that it was going to be extremely important for your parents' business career. Hopefully, they were going to seal the deal with this other company and become partners once and for all. Obviously, you were going to act your best and help them make the best impression achievable. You and your family had already been seated by the table when the other couple came, your parents were ecstatic to finally meet them and stood immediately up from their chairs to welcome them warmly. Bright and pleasant people, they were and the way they treated you with such familiarity caressed relief over your once anxious heart. Just like your parents, they seemed to be in their fifties. To your surprise, they also had an only child, their son whose name was Jongin.

The male had impeccable manners when he first presented himself, gracing you with his sparkling smile and a light kiss to your knuckles. Truthfully, if it hadn't been for a certain person refusing to leave your thoughts, you would've felt more motivated to get to know the gorgeous boy sitting next to you at the round table. Ever since your fight with Baekhyun at the nightclub, you hadn't found it in yourself to show yourself in front of him. There were many reasons, and the main one was that you were, ironically enough, afraid. Perhaps he had been right all along. You were scared, so scared that it was hindering you from taking it a step further. You had been able to follow your dream until now because you knew that your mother and father had no idea of what you were doing behind their backs. But dancing on that floor was going to expose yourself to everyone, letting everyone know that you had completely given yourself to dancing and its world. As immature as it might've sounded, the past few weeks, the idea of participating to that competition had still felt like a distant dream, something that you might've not to be able to reach after all. Somehow, you had grown used to dream, you were okay with imagining it without it coming true. But before you knew it, it had become nothing less than reality and it was stealing your breath.

Why hadn't anyone told you that chasing a dream would be so scary?

No, you were expecting too much. Every new reality was bound to seem intimidating at first, but the fear was nothing impossible to overcome.

Perhaps, you were a simple coward after all. Why were you now, in your thoughts comparing yourself and envying every successful person you knew? What was there to envy, when you had been the only one limiting yourself, hindering yourself from reaching your dream?

"What do you think honey?" Your mother's sugarcoated voice broke the train of your thoughts and you cursed yourself for not paying attention to the ongoing conversation. The beginning of the dinner had consisted of the elders talking about business, to which you and Jongin had absolutely no clue how to fit yourselves in the conversation. You had shared a couple of words with the male but had eventually drowned in your own thoughts.

"I am sorry mother, could you repeat yourself?" You smiled hesitantly, and the two ladies who seemed to have bonded rather quickly snickered excitedly.

"Me and Mrs. Kim here were just thinking that it would be absolutely lovely if you and Jongin got to know each other! Don't you think?" Currently, there was seastorm going on in your chest. The heart was crashing violently against your ribs as you watched your mother's eyes form into crescents. Her words might've seemed completely harmless to anyone else, but you knew better than to believe her endearing smile.

"I'd love to get to know your daughter, ma'am." Jongin joined the conversation, speaking honey-coated words that did nothing but please the two ladies.

"I am sure you and Jongin will find so much in common!" Mrs. Smith exclaimed enthusiastically, "Who knows, something lovely might bloom." You were not sure if your expression was still the smile you had plastered on your face or if it had morphed into a wince, but you were trying to seem as eager as the happy male next to you. Though, a lump was forming in your throat, making it hard for you to breathe.

"Mother, may I speak with you for a while?" Your voice felt like thick syrup as you uttered, by now, your chest was heaving anxiously for more air.

"What is it, honey?" She said worriedly once the two of you had reached one of the restaurant's balconies, for you had absolutely needed the sharp inhale of fresh air that you had taken as soon as you had stepped outside.

"What was that all about, mother?" Regardless of your attempts to stay collected you were instantly betrayed by your shaking voice.

"What do you mean? Is everything alright?" Worry displayed on her face as she took in your upset figure. How your fist had been trembling with anger, how the blood had flushed your pale cheeks. You knew she was pretending to be clueless.

"Mother! Stop beating around the bush, are you arranging something between me and Jongin?! Please, tell me you are not... I beg of you." The teeth drilling into your lip had started drawing blood and you winced at the pain, but what broke you the most was your mother's silence.

"Are you serious?" You gasped, "Mother, you had promised to never involve me in arranged relationships! I am not doing this, never!" It was gradually becoming harder to keep the volume of your voice low, the burning tears had been blearing your view and you wanted nothing more than to let out your frustrations and cause a scene.

"Sweetheart..." She sighed defeatedly, "Try to understand, the company-"

"The company?!" You were only going to take so much before reaching your limit. Oh, how could you have hesitated to dance because of your parents when they had been intending to such things to you? Was their company what they valued over their daughter? Because if that was the case, you were not going to stay a second longer to listen to her excuses. You felt betrayed, broken, and lost. You might've hurt their feelings by choosing a different path, but they had repeatedly tried to strip you off of your freedom. This was not going to occur a second time.

"I am leaving!" The dinner, their partners, and the company could go to hell, for all you cared. You could just not force yourself to be in there another second. Your mother's voice calling after you was echoing behind you, but not once did you stop to hear her out.

The moon was a whole in the middle of the pit black sky while the smaller stars danced all around it. Even during the night, Havana was pretty much alive. Pubs and nightclubs were welcoming tons of people who were in for a good dance and a refreshing drink on this hot summer night. Though this time, you gave none of that any consideration- all you wanted to do was see him as soon as possible. Your feet moved quickly down the street as you held in the sensation threatening to burst into loud cries. On a night like this, what was the possibility that Baekhyun wouldn't be out dancing with talented girls? The thought made cold fingers dig into your heart and you could only hope to find him where you were desperately trying to reach.

As you neared Baekhyun's dance studio, so many emotions were taking place inside of you that you didn't know how you could handle them all at once. The overpowering anger and the sorrow bringing tears to your eyes, the frustration- the fear. You found yourself yearning after his playful smile, his soft fingertips tracing the surface of your skin that could reassure you with their warmth. If he was not in there- if you wouldn't be able to tell him that he had been right all along, that you were scared, so immensely scared- you were afraid you were going drown in your own sorrow.

A burning sensation was crawling inside of your limbs as you ran the last distance, hands shakingly grabbing the handles of the glass doors and your heart flipped in your chest when it opened easily. Your loud breaths mixed with the drumming heartbeat echoing in your ears was all you could hear until his voice shattered the panicked state you were in.

"Who's there?!" A breathless Baekhyun entered the reception and your gaze searched desperately for his. His features that had been twisted into a frown softened upon seeing you in that state. Your name rolled questioningly from his tongue. "Hey," Baekhyun beckoned worriedly, "What's wrong?" The simple question had been enough for you to finally burst into loud sobs. It had been years since you'd last cried like that. Cries that closed up your throat, making it hard for you to breathe, those cries that clenched your chest as if chains tightening around your flesh.

Everything was wrong, just nothing was going in the right direction.

Baekhyun embraced you tightly when you had rushed towards him and immediately, your erratic heart was finding tranquility in his sweet scent that you inhaled. His hand was oh so tenderly brushing through your hair while the other brought you closer to his soft chest. "Tell me what is wrong, hm?" Baekhyun whispered in your ear, afraid to break you any further if he'd speak any louder. Your low hiccups brought him to tighten the hold around you while his head buried deeper into your neck. "Please, baby, tell me who did this to you?"

It had taken a few minutes for you to catch your breath, but eventually, every happening had spilled from your lips and the male had listened intently to every word you had said. Talking to Baekhyun was for some reason so extremely easy, he wouldn't do anything specific, and yet just the fact that it was him embracing you made you feel as if your little wounded heart would forever be safe in his gentle hands. You hadn't known what you had expected Baekhyun to say once you were done speaking your feelings, but as something that was so him, he took you by surprise. Wordlessly, he had threaded his fingers through yours and led you away from the reception, entering the all too familiar practice room. The lights were turned off and you could only look at him confusedly.

"When I am feeling down, there is nothing better than dancing to lift up my mood." Because of the dark, you could not see his face too well, but his green eyes remained as bright underneath the glittering moonlight shining through the windows. Normally, you would've hesitated the slightest when Baekhyun reached an inviting hand towards you, but this time, without a single doubt you placed yours in his.

' When your chest met his, you felt as if brought to a different dimension, where all that mattered were your matching heartbeats melting into one melody.

Your connected hands were brought into the air, spinning you around before brining your back against him abruptly. You were never going to back away ever again. This time, you let yourself love the fireworks erupting in your chest when Baekhyun's tender fingertips traveled along your ribcage. You responded to every grind of his that graced your back. You let yourself shiver eagerly when you leaned your head on his shoulder and his nose slowly trailed down your neck, where his moist bottom lip stuck to your skin, so eager to kiss it. There was no music playing but regardless of that, you were moving along the dance floor as if it was. All you could really focus on was Baekhyun's beautiful palms caressing every inch of your body whenever he'd lift your leg to rest it on his hip, whenever he'd guide your hips into swift motions and your hands would rest on his broad shoulders.

There was no music you could give yourself away to, but you did not mind. The beat inside of your chest had already dedicated itself to one and only person.

And all you wanted to do was to give yourself to Baekhyun and his comforting embraces.

So when you were tilted towards the floor while held by his strong arm, you let his fingers tickle your skin. You let Baekhyun feel your throbbing heart when his hand palmed your breast, only to a second later have him trace all the way down to your thigh. Your hands were still resting on his shoulders when he lowered himself in front of you and despite the fabric of your dress, Baekhyun's fingertips still managed to leave a trail of fire tingling down your body. His palm fisted an ounce of your dress as he stood back up, flicking his wrist, he spun you around.

That night you had let Baekhyun hold you the way you'd always pushed him away from doing. You had let him dance with you like the competition was taking place at that very moment. Now, all you could do was ask yourself why you had been so afraid of it when Baekhyun had been so thoughtful, so careful and delicate when holding you. There had been nothing to be afraid of, and now you felt extremely silly for having felt the way you did.

You had loved every single second of warmth when basking in his arms, when washed by the dazing freshness of his musky scent. What you had been doing all this while was falling, and falling, but Baekhyun had already caught you. So, it felt alright.

☾☾☾

Petrified was probably the best word to describe what you had felt when your father had announced another dinner date to celebrate the successful partnership, at the very restaurant you had visited last week. You were scared and nervous, to the point of having your stomach churn, but there was no going back. You did not want to act like a coward anymore, you were done running away from your own dream.

Regardless of the anxiety settling in your chest, you dressed in the most beautiful dress you owned, one that would flaunt your beautiful shoulders and shimmer underneath the spotlights and flutter around your milky legs with every step you'd take. The soft pink pressed glitter on your eyelids rendered your orbs sparkling with life while on your cheeks caressed a delicate rouge. You were aware of how beautiful you were looking specifically for that night. In fact, Jongin who had met you at the entrance of the restaurant had not been able to take his eyes off you.

The establishment was even more crowded on this day than it had been last time, but it was completely understandable. The dancing competition taking place was a big deal and people from every part of Havana had come to watch it. Everything seemed completely ordinary at your table, your parents were having an animated conversation with their business partners and Jongin was listening to them with intrigue. Though they had no clue of the real motives behind you excusing yourself to the restroom. As soon as you had been out of their view, you rushed to the changing rooms behind the stage. Dancers were flooding the area, looking both excited and nervous as they paced left and right. Some were fixing their hairstyles while others warmed up before the competition. Frantically, you searched for Baekhyun in the mass of people- barely finding him, but you could've recognized those scarlet streaks anywhere, truly. Without wasting any more time, you hurried to where he was standing. His hair was brushed back with strokes of gel and you were surprised to see that his button-up had only three buttons popped open, just so that he could look a bit more proper.

"Baekhyun," You called breathlessly. The male turned around looking distressed, but upon viewing you it soon morphed into astonishment until the ring caging his lower lip quirked as he beamed adoringly down at you.

"Tan hermosa," Baekhyun susurrated sultrily, his words so sweet and his eyes completely bewitched by your gorgeous self. It seemed as if for once, the tables had turned and now you were the strong magnet to which his orbs couldn't pull away from. The compliment made heat gather on your cheeks, still, you returned the favor, "You don't look so bad yourself, sir." A chuckle left your lips when he playfully bowed forty-five degrees.

A voice resounded from the speakers on the ceiling and announced the time remaining until the contest would begin. Ten minutes to go and the jelly-like sensation was starting to hug your legs. Just waiting aimlessly felt way too nervewracking for you, so you opted to sit in front of one of the many vanities, picking up the lipgloss you had brought with you from home. Baekhyun followed you like a lost puppy and stood behind your sitting figure, gawking into the mirror to see what you were doing. You twisted the cap and the make up product opened with a satisfying pop. The male seemed intrigued by your actions as you slowly swiped the gloss across the plumpness of your lips and you saw him lowering down to your level in the reflection. Baekhyun's eyes fluttered close for a second as he ran his nose down your neck, inhaling your scent before opening them again and directing his gaze on your glossed lips.

"Can I have some?" He murmured huskily against your skin and shooting stars flew down your spine, you had to physically fight the urge to bite your lip at his flirtatious antics. A cute little pout made its way in his face when you shook your head, his confident demeanor crumbled within seconds.

"The competition will be starting in five minutes, may the couples head towards the stage!" The same voice from a while ago spoke and the moment Baekhyun's hand found yours, everything melted into a blur. The few minutes you waited before the stage felt as if they hadn't even existed and suddenly, you were standing in the middle of the stage with ten other couples surrounding you. Baekhyun's right hand held onto yours while the other pressed you to him by the small of your back. The spotlights flashed on and the music started echoing against the wall, swiftly, you and Baekhyun caught its beat as if it was your own heart pulsating.

Baekhyun and you had been the youngest couple to dance that night, and in addition, the one dancing the most sensually. It was hard to miss the way Baekhyun spun you around by flicking the hem of your dress, how his hands had so rawly groped your bum, or traced your chest as if painting on air. You separated, flashing a few solo moves; pumping your chest and extending your leg, outlining it with graceful fingers. Baekhyun was grooving with a proud smirk on his face, loving the way you had learned to become one with the music. His fingers clasped gently around your chin and induced you to step closer. Arms circling your waist, your tilted body drew a half moon before returning to press against your partner, bodies rolling against one another.

Baekhyun was standing right behind you when the music had halted for a few seconds. His face placed so extremely close to yours that you were swallowing every breath he heaved. His mouth was too eager and Baekhyun had not been able to contain himself any longer from capturing your lips in his. Gladly, you responded to his kiss and barely got to feel his confident tongue tasting your lipgloss before the music continued and you parted, continuing with your dance.

All the contestants were extremely talented, though no one had stood out as you and Baekhyun had to the judges. The youthful passion you were spreading was stealing every spotlight. It was like you and he owned the stage, it was your performance and the others subdued to the background.

The song came eventually to an end and the restaurant was filled with applause and hollers. Adrenaline was still fresh and flowing through your veins and you found yourself jumping into Baekhyun's arms right then, feeling the overflowing happiness flowering in your whole being. The corners of your mouth were aching due to the bright smile reaching your ears. You had finally done it, and you had been perfect. Baekhyun buried his face in your shoulder, and you could feel on the curve of your arm that he was no different from you with the bright grin splitting his features.

"You were amazing," He spoke close to your ear, voice still breathless. The judges had been quick with announcing the couples reaching the finals. At that point, both of you were just extremely joyful to have participated, even if you wouldn't come further, you were happy to have done it together.

You thought you had misheard the speakers when Baekhyun's and your name articulated, earning a round of praising applauses. The lad was looking at you with just as much shock, silently asking you with his eyes if you had just heard what he had.

"Oh my God," You gasped, throwing your arms once more around his neck, hugging him close. "This is great, Baekhyun. I'll train harder for the finals and we'll win and you'll be able to open the dance school again and-"

"Wow, wow, slow down, kitten." Baekhyun's laugh vibrated against your chest, his green orbs had become sparkling crescents. "It's lovely that you're so eager, but don't speak too soon." It was true that maybe you had gotten a little too excited, the competition was not over. But you did not regret saying those words at all, the delight on Baekhyun's face was so contagious, so beautiful that you'd say it a thousand times again if it meant having him laugh like that. The latter leaned closer to your ear, eyes looking at something, or rather someone afar.

"Do you know those people? They have been staring for a while," Baekhyun whispered pointedly and you could already guess what was going on. Indeed, you had been nothing but right when locking gazes with your mother and father who wore unreadable expressions on their faces. It was like they couldn't quite wrap their heads around what they had just seen, wether they were astounded or angered. You expected at least a good handful of scolding when you walked to them with Baekhyun trailing behind you, but was to be surprised when your mother failed to hide the hint of amusement in her emotionally void voice.

"I did not know you could move like that." She stated, eyes searching for yours, "I do not know what to say...That was not all too grave." The last part had been muttered underneath her breath but to her dismay, you caught on it and couldn't help the slightly teasing smile directed to her.

"You would've known sooner if you would have let me, mother." There was no hostility as you spoke, the topic was not supposed to discuss any further, and she understood that. Her gaze moved from you to Baekhyun who had been following your interactions until now.

"And who might this handsome lad be?" Your mother then quirked an eyebrow, scanning his figure from head to toe as if he was a candidate of some sort. Baekhyun, as smooth as he was, reacted quickly with a charming smile, bowing down to hold her hand and kiss her knuckles, making a fluttered blush appear. Not forgetting about the other parent, Baekhyun greeted your father as well.

"This is Baekhyun, my dance partner and...friend." You established and your mother nodded but raised a skeptical eyebrow, she had seen the kiss you had shared on the dance floor but decided not to comment on it. Your father on the other hand did not look the least happy about the man next to you, but he let it be, not wanting to take away the bright smile from your face.

With your arms leaning against the railing, you inhaled the crisp evening air that the balcony was offering. The purple sky reflected limpidly onto the sea in the distance, It had been an incredibly long night and the events were still swirling messily in your head and as an aftermath of all that dancing, you were feeling a bit dizzy. Nonetheless, there was relieved smile gracing your face, because everything had gone well.

"I did not know that friends are supposed to know what your lips taste like." Baekhyun's husky whisper suddenly snapped you out of your thoughts, and you could only look at him shockingly. He was smirking teasingly at you and your cheeks that had without a doubt turned scarlet because of his statement and not anything else.

"I-I," You stuttered and unable to answer properly, but Baekhyun paid no mind to that as he stood in front of you, putting your arms around his neck. Immediately, your fingers found their way through the long hair on his nape, earning a sweet hum where he had placed his lips underneath your ear while his thumbs were drawing gentle circles on your hipbones.

"I think we should change it to Boyfriend, what do you think? You chuckled heartedly.

"I think you are right."

☾☾☾☾☾☾

Big thanks to my little angel @byunfirstlady for making the prettiest moodboard for me! I love you hunie <333

First important disclaimer!! This oneshot was heavily inspired by the movie Dirty Dancing 2 Havana nights, so if you recognized some scenes or the whole one-shot, well now you know why.

I truly wish that this was not a complete mess and a failure, I am having a lot of issues with writing recently. But it is getting better since I managed to write this. As I write, I am constantly feeling as if it isn't good enough, as if it's just bad and that it'll feel too conscious about it if I post it because it's bad. Honestly, it's so damn ridiculous. I am trying to get through my thick skull that not every shot has to be so damn deep or perfect. I just feel that maybe I could've written something better with these 17k words- or simply expanded the story a bit? But the most important thing to me is that you like it, obviously. So if you do, I'll shut up about this ahah.

Also, I need to stop being that Karen!! So prideful and easily discouraged by seeing talented people out there. P, you can't be the best at everything, you can't expect so much of yourself. Stop. It. FFS.

I have finally finished writing this and I have no idea what's in this massive one shot!! Truly, I am not kidding when I say my head is dizzy from finishing this in the entire week. I want to fix the remaining errors but I can not bring myself to read through this shit once again, I do not have the strength to do that. I am sorry for the negativity in this message, I just felt like sharing the concerns I've been having for a long time now.

If you read everything until now, I deeply thank you and I hope this one-shot was to your liking. As always, I love you all so much and am truly so grateful for the people supporting me and asking if i am writing stuff because it does motivate me so much when you do! Please, do comment lots and tell me everything you think! I'd appreciate it so much. Until then, have a beautiful summer and follow your dreams! 🥰💖💖💖💖💌

#bbh-net #baekhyun x reader #baekhyun fluff #baekhyun angst #baekhyun oneshot #baekhyun series #baekhyun imagine #exo baekhyun #byun baekhyun #exo imagine #exo oneshot #exo x reader #havana #dirty dancing #bbh

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alatismeni-theitsa · 5 years

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Thanks for bringing the racebending to my attention. I never considered that it was harmful towards the origin culture. I considered that it was kind of strong to claim that sort of race thing in a way, but maybe that comes from the more.. christianity? view of where there isnt a direct way that God looks, except any way the person perceives. That's probably what I thought, too, until just now reading your answer to someone else. So.. it's not okay? 1/?

I honestly want to understand as my perspective on this now changes. It makes total sense why it would be entitled of someone to do such a thing, and how it's inconsiderate of the actual origin culture that the deities come from now that I'm thinking about it in this way. So again thank you for bringing this up and answering that other anon. I have some things to revise in my head on this, as I honor Apollo and Hermes, I want to make sure that I get accurate and do my research.

I really enjoy being able to read your experiences and I think it's important as, someone outside the culture, gets to experience and understand more to be as accurate and non... whats the word... inappropriate with representing such a thing, I guess I can say. If that makes sense.__________________________________________________________

Thank you for sending a message and for listening to the opinion of Greek people. (I am not the only one with that opinion, many of my 500 followers also share the same ideas.) Anyways prepare yourself for a looooooong analysis! So, get under comfy blankets and take your tea/coffee next to you!

To begin with, there are Greeks that don’t mind but those are usually Greeks who have close contact with the American way of thinking through social media. Or some that don’t care because the approach our mythology in a kinda superficial way? I am not saying this to offend any Greeks who don’t mind the racebending. Every Greek has the right to have a relationship with their culture according to their own standards. Those people who think racebending is ok are usually no less patriots than the ones who do. However, those who don’t mind the race bending are extremely rare to find.

If I go to my 50 y/o aunt and announce to her that foreigners depict Demeter as Black she is gonna lose her mind. I have also asked the opinion of Greeks who are not into social media or groups where Greek mythology is discussed by foreigners. When they were informed of the racebending the first thing they said was “but... why??” and they couldn’t fathom how this could help anyone. The second thing they say is “But the Gods are white!” explaining that our ancestor have depicted them as Caucasian for centuries and we, as Greeks, know no other depiction of them.

I assure you, it has nothing to do with white superiority - which is a myth anyways. Greeks can be perfectly racist to people who are pastry white :P If you racebended the gods into any other race, we would still have a problem. It’s all a matter of respecting iconography and tradition. It would be ignorant of even us Greeks to change the depiction of the gods when our ancestors were very clear in their art about their race. It was also clear in antiquity that the gods had bodies. I am in another computer and I cannot access my files, but I had a file for a philosopher who tried to argue against the public opinion that the gods didn’t have bodies. But the majority of ancient Greeks believed that the gods had a physical presence.

Also, race matters for Greeks as it does for most of other cultures. You expect Nigerian deities to look like the average Nigerian, yes? Because they were created by a homogenous Black population. You think the same for Indian and Chinese deities, yes? It makes sense for deities and public figures from a certain culture to look like the people of that culture. I think it’s common sense. Turning an old Nigerian deity into a Chinese, would’t represent the Nigerian people any more. For similar reasons, we don’t want our important heritage figures changed. (In case a warrior was described as Black African in our ancient texts, then of course we wouldn’t have a problem with keeping that figure Black).

You are correct when saying that the race bending comes from a Christian point of view. I think many hellenic polytheists/pagans/wiccans haven't managed to escape the Christian logic. In Christianity we have accepted for many centuries that saints and important figures would be viewed with different races, so people can come closer to them. For example, there is a Chinese, Native American, Mexican (different tribes), Black Jesus etc. Most of the times they are also dressed in the traditional regalia of the respective culture. It's a thing for the last 200 years at least.

Even Greeks depicted Jesus kinda white (he has an olive skin complexionand brown hair, which is closer to the Greek standards). And this happened since the Byzantine Empire. We even call the Virgin Mary "Mother of all Greeks" (apparently Mary has a particular interest in our nation xD) We have made her into a Greek mum. But we kinda have the freedom to do this because Christianity is an international religion which is alive for the last 2.000 years, so these changes come organically.

On the contrary, almost nobody has worshipped the Greek gods since 500 AC. The religion was been dead for almost 2.000 years, until Western classicists made it a popular. Now people who have no actual contact with the Greek culture start worshiping those gods. Don’t get me wrong, I believe any foreigner can worship the Greek gods! The thing is that most of the foreign worshippers don’t see the Greek gods as part of the culture that created them, because of the Americanization of the gods in the media and the complete stripping of the Greek elements from them.

But gods are still part of the Greeks’ heritage. Many ancient traditions and myths have kept from the ancient years, we have the names of gods and the gods are still used as symbols here. Our culture hasn’t died, as many westerners (perhaps subconciously) believe. It is alive and evolving, despite foreigners usually ignoring us. So, the ideas about our ancient religion have been involving with us, becoming part of our national identity in a unique way.

After 2.000 years of the religion’s “death”, foreigners become enamored with Greece again. But not our Greece. They become enamored with a part of our culture that hasn’t existed in millenia. They study the culture only till the Roman years and then they skip 2.000 years of evolving cultural identity and go straight to the 21st century western (west Europe/America) ideals and societies.

You can only imagine how it seems to us Greeks, when foreigners suddenly remember us again and, on top of that, they don’t become part of our culture but they insist that a part of our culture (in its ancient form) becomes tailored to their own standards. And now foreigners ingore our own point of view, because, as they have done the last 2.000 years, they keep on ignoring us :P (I mean they as a people, greatly generalizing here). Please see that post for how disconnected a Greek feels about the modern Greek religion, and the analysis that comes with it. (Link)

Similarly, imagine if suddenly the Nigerian culture became a trend in Greece and now some Greeks become interesting in the old (almost dead to Nigeria) worship of Orishas. And now they want to depict the Orishas as White, because they, themselves are white and maybe white deities reflect better the racial situation in Greece. Wouldn’t that be disrespectful, though? Not only because the Black becomes White, but because we would take an inactive worship from the Nigerians and add our own politics to it.

Our situation is also kind of special because for the last centuries every country that has become interested in our culture has abused it. They have stolen antiquities from us and northwestern Europe but also in the US have no problem having those stolen artifacts and displaying them. There is a tradition of foreigners claiming to “love” Greece but they are really in love with our ancient aesthetic and they don’t give a shit about the Greeks who preserve the culture and even die to protect their antiquities.

So we are used to this kind of treatment and it hurts extra when it’s happening again. But we are also desensitized. For some reason a person can be dressed as a Greek deity for Halloween and we won’t bat an eye. At the same time, I see people from other cultures defending the importance of their figures, when foreigners dress up as them for fun.

I don’t understand how we consider this disrespectful for any other culture but if it’s the Greek we don’t care. Why could this be? Perhaps because many Greeks have come to see their own culture as public property. Perhaps because it is what the prominent international media tells us and maybe because we are used to selling our culture for profit (we are a tourist country) and we only see it as merchandise.

Let me add I am not only fascinated by my own cultures but also cultures around the world. It makes no sense to me that people want Gods of color and their only solution is to make the Greek gods Black. Have we forgotten the numerous rich cultures of Asia and Africa?? There are a ton of deities there who, if you want to draw Afrocentric art for example, will be great inspiration! It reminds me of a publishing house which put POC in the covers of western classic books (thus kinda turning the white main characters into POC only in the cover) while not promoting books from POC or books featuring POC. I think it’s counterproductive.

I think that’s all I have to say for now! Feel free to ask more questions if I haven’t covered you! And if you have more thoughts you can drop them in my ask box.

Also, one question for you before you leave. You mentioned “I considered that it was kind of strong to claim that sort of race thing in a way”. Can you explain to me why? I would like to understand better people who think this way. Then maybe I could explain more effectively to them that their race bending practice isn’t as helpful as they think it is.

P.S. Even saying “races” of people exist is considered deeply racist in Greece (and Europe). I mention that as potential food of thought. For us there are only hues of skin colors, not races, so our social politics are different.

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theradioghost · 5 years

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...ok what's up with corsets?

I mean, mostly just a lot of misconceptions about how they worked and what they were for. I’m going to ramble a lot here, but please know that I am not by any definition an expert on any of this, just a 19th century lit major who’s studied a lot of historical context stuff for research and fun purposes.

One clarification is, to simplify the complex and annoying evolution of language over centuries, if it’s from the early 1800s or later, it’s a corset. If it’s from the 16th-18th centuries, it’s “stays” or a “pair of bodies.” (I think bodies was an earlier term more commonly used for outer garments while stays were undergarments, but don’t quote me on that.) Stays were basically conical with quite a long torso, and you couldn’t lace them particularly tight because metal eyelets weren’t invented until the 1830s and the fabric couldn’t take that strain. Depending on the fashion at the time, their basic function was to create a perfectly smooth, very long silhouette, push your boobs up, or both. Typically their structure came from cording, reeds, whalebone, or layers of paste-stiffened fabric; steel stays from this period are essentially orthopedic devices (or, and I’m obsessed with this idea: fakes created by 19th century fetishists. There’s a reason the 19th century is my favorite historical period and it’s because everything was absolutely nuts, all the time). They also fell in and out of fashion at times – if you look at the naturalistic, Grecian styles of European dresses in the 1820s, for example, many women were wearing either very light stays just to push their bust up, or none at all.

Some nice examples of stays from this period are this, this, and this, from the V&A’s collections. Looking at most portraiture of women from the 16-1700s also pretty clearly displays the conical silhouette that stays produced, but I’m going to refrain from adding images to this post because I already suspect that it’s going to be incredibly, frustratingly long.

Women basically weren’t wearing structured undergarments before the Renaissance, so medieval stays are not a thing.. Although on a fascinating side note, a few years back someone found a bunch of medieval bras, which we had no idea were a thing until then, so that’s really cool.

Regardless of whether you’re talking stays or corsets, two important things. First of all, they were not worn directly against the skin what the hell, firstly because that is incredibly uncomfortable, and secondly because in periods where most people owned fairly little clothing and a lot of that was wool, having a linen or cotton undergarment under all your clothes helped keep them cleaner by separating them from your skin. Historically most often that was a shift, basically just a big long undershirt thing.

The second important thing is whalebone, historically always the number one material for corset boning. Whalebone is an incredibly misleading name, and I hate it, because it took me forever to learn that “whalebone” is not bone but baleen, the bristly stuff that filter-feeding whales have instead of teeth. It’s made from keratin, same as our hair and fingernails. It’s light, flexible, and becomes bendable with warmth, meaning that over time, the boning of a corset would conform to your natural body shape as it was warmed by your body heat, and would stay in that shape. All-steel boning only really became A Thing in the last couple of decades that corsets were an everyday garment for most women, and that wasn’t because of superior structural properties. It was because it was cheaper, given that after centuries of whaling, there were a lot fewer whales to hunt, and acquiring baleen became more expensive and difficult. Even then, a lot of manufacturers just moved to things like featherboning (made from the shafts of feathers), coraline (made from a plant whose name I cannot remember), cane, or just cording (often cotton or paper cords), rather than steel. They also tended to use spiral steels, which can flex more, as opposed to solid steel bones. The main use of steel in corsets was actually to reinforce the closures, the front busk and the back where it laced.

(Most modern corsets are either all-steel waist training corsets or “fashion corsets” boned with flimsy plastic, but there’s actually a modern product called synthetic whalebone which is a plastic designed to replicate the properties of baleen as closely as possible.)

Then we get to the Victorian period, and that’s where pop culture really kind of loses its shit over the idea of corsetry? All the fainting and shifting organs and women getting ribs surgically removed (what) and generally the impression that Corsets Are Horrible Death Garments.

Tightlacing is one of the big things here. Yes, there were Victorian women who tightlaced to reduce their waists to dramatic extremes, and it was not healthy. There are also women today who put themselves through dangerous, unbelievable things to achieve the most fashionable body possible (tw in that link for disordered eating, self-harm, and abuse), and that article only covers the extremes of the professional modeling industry, not everyday things like high heels, for example. Most women who were tightlacing were young, wealthy, and fashionable, not worrying about being healthy enough to work as long as they could achieve ideal beauty – the same people who do this kind of thing now. And part of the reason we know so much about it is that it was extreme and uncommon even then. Medical experts ranted about the dangers of tightlacing, people campaigned against it. It was definitely not the case that all women were going around suffocating in tightlaced corsets all the time.

It’s worth considering our sample of evidence. You see a lot of illustrated fashion plates, which don’t look like real women now, and didn’t then either. By the late 1800s, photographers had already figured out plenty of tricks with angles and posing to make a model look as wasp-waisted as possible. They would also just straight up paint women’s waists smaller in a lot of pictures. And when you consider surviving garments, a disproportionate number of them are from rich young women who hadn’t yet married and had children, because for a variety of reasons those tend to be the clothes that are preserved and survive. The constantly-swooning women of Victorian literature are for some reason presumed to be representative of real life and the constriction of corsets – let me tell you, as someone who studied 19th century literature specifically, everything is exaggerated and melodramatic, especially extremes of emotion (and men also swoon a lot too). It also seems weird that we nod along unquestioning with the most extreme claims of 19th century panics about the medical harm of corsets (rib removal? with 19th century surgery???) and then just mock those silly, stupid Victorians when we read about things like bicycle face or the claim that fast vehicles would make women’s uteruses fly out of their bodies or whatever.

In fact, corsets were a pretty sensible garment in a lot of ways. They seem really restrictive to us now, but historical garments in general didn’t stretch the way modern knit fabrics do. In addition to supporting the bust just like any modern bra, corsets could actually make moving and breathing easier by helping to support the weight of ridiculously heavy dresses. Women did in fact live everyday, active lives wearing them, including lower-class women who worked physically demanding jobs. Late-Victorian women actually started doing a lot more sports, including cycling – that cyclist at the top of the bicycle face article is definitely wearing a corset, for example. They were used to them, too, and used to the specific ways you move in those kind of clothes, which most modern folks who try to wear that stuff one time are not. One interesting thing I’ve heard is that while corsets helped posture a lot – a lot of people today use them medically to help with back pain and support for just that reason – over time that understandably means that if you’re always wearing a corset, your abdominal muscles won’t be very strong because they’re not doing as much work keeping your posture straight. No ab crunches for Victorian women I guess.

Looking at extant Victorian-era clothing, the fashionable wasp-waisted silhouette actually had a lot more to do with the optical illusion achieved with extensive padding, which widened the hips and turned the upper body into a smooth, Chris-Evans-esque triangle. In comparison, the waist looks smaller. (Seriously, look up some photos of late 19th century ladies, their whole front upper body is this perfectly smooth convex curve. That’s all padding.) Silhouette was what the Victorians really cared about, and padding is a lot more sensible and comfortable than tightlacing.

My basic point here is just I guess that there’s a common and weirdly moralizing perception now that the historical corset was, invariably, this horrible constricting heavy steel cage thing that damaged your health and was a Tool Of Patriarchal Oppression. There’s also a lot of really bad costuming in historical dramas. I just think the reality is a lot more interesting. Also that modern steel waist training corsets kind of terrify me?

If you want more info and some good primary and academic sources from people who actually study and recreate historical garments and Actually Know Things, I recommend Bernadette Banner’s videos (here and here) on corsets – also just her stuff in general, I’ve been incredibly happy to see her gaining a lot of attention lately because she’s delightful – this video by historical costumer Morgan Donner wearing a corset daily for a week and talking about what it feels like, and this article, which cites among other things a really interesting late-19th-century study by a doctor trying to actually gather data on corsetry and its effects. Also for that matter, the aforementioned YouTube costumers have respectively made 17th-century stays and a late 19th-century corset, and seeing how these garments are put together is really interesting.

(I feel like I heard somewhere once that S-shape corsets from 1900-1910ish might have been more potentialy harmful because they did weird things to your back posture, but honestly my historical knowledge and interest drops precipitiously when you hit the 20th century.)

#this. is probably more than you wanted. sorry.#regicidal-defenestration #asks #my posts

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goodlucktai · 5 years

Text

don’t make a noise, don’t leave the room

good omens pairing: aziraphale/crowley word count: 2926 title borrowed from you are jeff by richard siken

read on ao3

Aziraphale wakes up, which is a distinctly disconcerting feeling when one doesn’t often sleep in the first place. Added to his discomfort is the fact that he’s on the floor, limbs sprawled every which way, with a pounding in his head that makes him think he forgot to sober up before falling asleep.

“Ugh, really, my dear,” he grumbles, pushing himself upright. “Just how much did we have to drink?”

He expects to open his eyes to the back room of the bookshop, but he doesn’t. There is no worn-thin carpet beneath his hands, no aged coffee table or yawning loveseat, and certainly no snake-eyed demon draped on a flat surface nearby to poke fun at Aziraphale for being a messy drunk.

In fact… Aziraphale doesn’t know where he is at all.

“Finally awake, are you?” a familiar voice snaps.

Aziraphale’s heart sinks. He turns around to find himself under the scornful scrutiny of the archangels Uriel and Sandalphon.

What on earth?

“What, um, are you doing here?” He pushes himself to his feet, looking around at the unfamiliar room they’re in. “What am I doing here?”

“I don’t know what’s happened to you to make you so different,” Uriel tells him shortly, “but if you haven’t Fallen yet, you can probably be rehabilitated.”

There’s a lot to unpack there, and Aziraphale doesn’t know where to begin.

“Ah, no thank you,” he decides to go with, straightening his waistcoat for something to do with his hands. He’s terribly uneasy, bordering on frightened, with having been summoned here by them in the first place. It’s safe to assume he won’t want any part of their plans to rehabilitate him, whatever that could mean. “I thought we had agreed I was best left to my own devices. I’m perfectly happy on Earth.”

Going on as if he hadn’t spoken, Uriel says, “You’re never going to be a proper angel while you’re running around with a demon, of all things.”

Aziraphale goes cold at the mention of Crowley. He finds himself listening more intently now, preparing himself for fight or flight.

“You’ll see,” his estranged sibling tells him, as if to reassure. “He can’t actually care about you, Aziraphale. He’s not capable of it. I’ll prove it to you, and then you’ll come home.”

“I don’t care about all that,” Sandalphon says with a cruel smile. “I’m only here for the show.”

Uriel waves a hand, and something appears in the middle of the floor. It’s Aziraphale, or a likeness of him, sprawled in a heap like a discarded puppet. Its eyes are vacant and staring. There’s a sword driven through its chest and the burned outline of wings outspread on either side of its body.

Aziraphale feels sick just looking at it.

“You’ll see,” Uriel tells him. “Just watch.”

Their horrible plan is beginning to take shape. Horrified, Aziraphale surges forward, beginning to say, “You mustn’t—” when he runs headlong into what feels like a brick wall.

The hard collision all but bounces him back, sending him staggering. Eyes stinging, Aziraphale looks down at where a binding circle lay at his feet. Dormant until he tested the lines, it’s glowing with holy white light now. The work of an archangel, and well beyond his power to break.

Aziraphale tries his luck against it anyway, gritting his teeth through the sharp recoil.

Uriel and Sandalphon watch him with a remote interest, like he’s a little animal doing something clever, and Aziraphale shouts, “Don’t do this! Let me out!”

“But it’s just getting good,” Sandalphon says gleefully, and that’s when Crowley’s bright presence appears on the scene.

Aziraphale feels him coming before the others do. He whips around just as the door flies open, his lovely demon flying through like a mad thing.

“I got your message, angel, could you have been anymore cryptic? And what are you doing way out here any… way…”

He stops dead when he sees the archangels, his face twisting into a snarl.

“Crowley!” Aziraphale calls, hoping against hope that Crowley might hear him.

Crowley doesn’t so much as twitch in his direction. Goddammit, Aziraphale thinks with a venom that should surprise him, and throws his metaphysical weight against the barrier once more.

“What have you done with Aziraphale?” he hisses, more serpent than man now, despite what his body may look like. They will certainly be having a talk later about his lack of self-preservation in face of two archangels, but for now Aziraphale can only watch in terror as Crowley begins to stalk. “You both think you’re hot shit. I know he’s here, I can feel him.”

“Or what’s left of him, anyway,” Uriel says flatly, and steps aside to show Crowley her creation.

The look on Crowley’s face breaks Aziraphale’s heart.

“No,” he mutters. “No no, angel, no.”

He’s across the room without moving, skipping through space-time like he’s forgotten how to do it the mortal way. He crashes to his knees in the ash around the corpse and his hands tremble as if they don’t know which direction to fly in first.

His yellow eyes are stark and wild. The sword impaled through the puppet’s chest is flung violently away by work of a crude miracle, and only then does Crowley touch him.

Human, so human, in the way his fingers fumble against Aziraphale’s wrist for a pulse. Searching out the familiar heartbeat, the reassuring sound of life.

“Crowley!” Aziraphale screams it so loud it all but tears his throat. “Lord, spare him this! Let him hear me, please!”

The Almighty isn’t granting prayers today. Crowley is kneeling in what he thinks is the burnt-out remains of Aziraphale’s grace. His fingers are sooty and dark with feather dust.

Uriel and Sandalphon are watching the scene raptly, as if waiting for Crowley to break character, to stand up and dust his hands off and say “ah, well, so my evil plan turned out to be a wash.”

But he never does. He doesn’t even seem to remember they’re there. He might as well be alone in all the world, so possessed he is by grief. He hauls Aziraphale’s body up into his arms, bows his head, and begins to weep.

Aziraphale’s holy core burns within him, bursting at the seams and straining so ferociously against the archangel’s binding that it’s a wonder he doesn’t melt his human body clean away with the effort.

“It’s enough!” he cries. “You’ve seen enough! What more could you possibly want?”

“Disgusting,” Sandalphon says gleefully. “Whoever heard of a demon mourning?”

But demons were the first to mourn, Aziraphale thinks, dazed by such willful ignorance. They were the first to have lost.

“But it isn't real,” Uriel says slowly. “It can't be.”

Crowley goes abruptly, terribly still.

His shoulders freeze in the middle of a sob. He’s a creature of sudden stone, an anguished work of art. Aziraphale is pressed hard against the barrier between them, blinking wetness from his eyes, trying to see what’s happened, what changed.

Crowley’s lips part, the forked edge of his tongue darting out almost too quick for the eye to follow. He kneels there, his awful collapse of limbs and sorrow, his arms wound around the shape of Aziraphale, and scents the air again.

Then he lifts his head. There’s no chance for anyone to react before Crowley stops time. There are still the sounds of traffic outside, and rain, and Aziraphale himself is still present and aware; so it’s only the archangels that have been displaced from the steady onward drum of the universe.

It’s silent. Aziraphale’s heart is the loudest thing in the room, pounding against his chest.

Crowley lowers the body gently to the floor, his hands lingering, the curl of his fingers reluctant. When he finally lets go he does it with a painful yank, and he pushes himself to his feet as though gravity is somehow ten times heavier where he's standing.

His eyes are burning yellow, like sulfur, like the bright warning bands of a venomous reptile. He doesn’t move the way a human would, or even the way a snake would; he moves like he’s rearranging the fabric of space and time in tiny step-like increments, bearing him closer to where Uriel and Sandalphon are still standing like sculptures.

Aziraphale watches as Crowley draws right up to them. He studies Sandalphon’s face closely; the archangel’s mouth is twisted in a sneer, caught in the act of throwing Aziraphale a look of hateful triumph.

And then, following Sandalphon's line of sight with utmost deliberation, Crowley turns his head and looks directly at Aziraphale.

Their eyes lock, and Aziraphale’s next breath chokes him. Crowley’s expression puts Aziraphale in mind of natural disasters, of wars and kingdoms put to torch, floods and plagues and children drowning. The demon might as well be desolation itself, given blood and bone and a suit to wear, a bleak, yawning absence where there should be a wily, mischievous good nature.

Even the day the world was scheduled to end, when Crowley holed himself up in a little bar and wept himself sick among bottles and bottles of clear spirits, wasn’t as bad as this. Nothing could be as bad as a corpse.

“Crowley!” Aziraphale sobs, pushing himself forward. The barrier is hot against his palms, on the cusp of burning, and still he pushes forward. “I’m right here, Crowley, I’m here! I haven’t left you, sweetheart.”

Crowley must not hear him. He certainly doesn’t see him, scanning the empty space with his eyes. But there’s a seed of something unquelled inside him, something rebellious. A tiny kernel of what might only be denial, what might just be hope— elbowing its way through all the despair, making room for maybe and what if because the alternative is too much to bear.

Crowley starts to walk, with his hands outstretched before him, fingers splayed and searching. Each step is deliberate and determined, and his eyes are off-focus now, an inch or two to Aziraphale’s left, but he’s headed in the right direction.

“That’s it, my darling,” Aziraphae whispers. His voice is a wreck. He hates to be trapped here, aches to meet Crowley halfway. He’s as close as he can get, clustered against the wall with all his might.

There’s only a moment where Crowley falters. When he steps into the dust of the archangels’ cruel trick, where the outermost tip of an angel’s wing is burned into the tile. His stride stutters, and his eyes dart away to the shape of his dead husband on the floor, and Aziraphale could scream.

He is terrified that Crowley’s burdened faith might desert him before he’s made it all the way. There is nothing he can do to give Crowley strength, no signal or sign he can provide that this painful march will be rewarded.

Please, he prays. He sends it outward this time, not upward.

It seems to reach. The demon’s mouth screws up. He staggers forward two quick steps, a third, stepping over the dust and moving— unknowingly, hopefully— in the right direction.

Aziraphale shuffles to the side so that Crowley is directly in front of him. He’s holding his breath when Crowley finally reaches him. His long fingers meet resistance in thin-air, and he chokes. He presses his palms to the invisible wall, and Aziraphale mirrors him.

“You’re there, angel?” Crowley whispers. “You hear me?”

“Yes,” Aziraphale whispers back. “Of course I am. Of course I do.”

Crowley looks down. The circle is a lurid, vivid glow at Aziraphale’s feet. Crowley can’t possibly see it, but he’s always been far too clever for his own good. With a snap of his fingers, the floor begins to crack. The tiles bearing Uriel’s handwork rupture as if in a miniature, localized earthquake, and the second the lines are broken, the barrier disappears, and Aziraphale falls forward against Crowley’s chest.

“Oh my God,” Aziraphale blasphemes, gathering him up in shaking handfuls, hauling him close. “Crowley. I have you. I have you.”

It seems to take a moment for Crowley to process Aziraphale’s sudden appearance. His arms are slow in creeping around the angel, his embrace a trembling, tentative thing. But he takes a breath— breathing in deep, nose pressed into cloudy white curls of hair— and seems to come alive again.

When his fingers grow claws, and his broken halo burns the air around their faces brassy and hot, and the secret self of him threatens to push out of its tight mortal confines with every second, Aziraphale breathes a sigh of relief. What should probably rightly be horrifying is instead the sweetest comfort he knows.

“There you are,” Aziraphale says, swaying their bodies side to side. He thinks he could stand there holding Crowley until the next end of the world and Crowley would let him.

Over the demon’s shoulder, Aziraphale has full view of the archangels who tormented him. If Aziraphale were capable of hatred, they would know the full force of it. If he could bring himself to bring them harm, he would make them hurt.

“I can feel that,” Crowley mutters, muffled against Aziraphale’s neck. His voice is thick and wet. “Leave those unholy thoughts to me, angel.”

Aziraphale presses a kiss to the side Crowley’s face, right above the snake sigil. It’s the only spot he can reach without peeling his husband off him and he has no plans of that.

“How did you know? How could you tell?”

Crowley’s eyes give away how he’s hurting, despite how much practice he has had over the millennia in schooling his voice to perfect dispassion. He looks like he would like to tuck away out of sight again, but the cradle of Aziraphale’s hands keep him still.

He turns his face, pressing into one of Aziraphale’s palms. His lips part there against the salt and sweat of hands that have spent all of history keeping him still.

He says, “Didn’t smell like you.” And suddenly Aziraphale understands.

This body has carried him soundly since the Beginning. Even if his core had been burned away, the body left behind would have presumably smelt like his cologne, or his books, or whatever it was he’d eaten last. Of course, it’s something the archangels would overlook. It’s something they wouldn’t think to copy. It’s something intimate and human.

‘I know what you smell like,’ the demon had snapped at him not long ago.

Oh, to be so known, to be so loved. Aziraphale could cry for days if he let himself linger on the notion.

“Let me take you home, sweetheart,” he says, speaking the words into Crowley’s hair. “Where I can keep you close to me.”

Crowley hums what is probably an assent, but when Aziraphale glances into his eyes, he finds them turned away from his own and uncomfortably fixed; staring without blinking at the archangels who let him think Aziraphale was dead.

Aziraphale touches Crowley’s face with his free hand, a brush of his fingers against a sharp cheekbone. Love swells in his chest like pain.

“You’ll have to let them go sometime,” he says with a lightness he doesn’t feel.

“No I don’t.”

Truly, the remarkable creature might find it within the realm of his imagination to trap them as they are for eternity. But…

“I don’t want them on your mind, darling,” Aziraphale says, both gentle and unrelenting as he turns Crowley’s face back towards his, so that those slitted eyes have no choice but to follow. “I don’t want them in your thoughts. Let them go.”

Crowley bares his teeth, sharper and longer than usual, and snaps his fingers. A wall of hellfire appears at his whim, curving around Uriel and Sandalphon in a vicious mockery of the trap that had held Aziraphale, standing at easily ten feet high.

“They can puzzle their own way out,” he sneers, and only then does the time in the room reorient itself to the rest of the universe.

Aziraphale doesn’t wait a moment longer. With a thought, he brings them home to the flat above the shop. The bed has turned itself down for them, pillows plump, sheets smooth and cool.

He walks Crowley backwards, lays him down. Crowley's hair is a glorious spill of red against the pale pillows, but his eyes are still manic and afraid, his fingers clutching fistfuls of Aziraphale's clothes as if to keep him from disappearing again. “As long as you need, Crowley,” Aziraphale assures him, pressing their foreheads together. “I’ll hold you just like this as long as you need. We can lay here until the end of the world if you like.” Crowley makes a watery sound that might have, an hour ago, counted as a chuckle. “Until you get peckish, you mean.”

Humor is always how they've dealt with a blow. Aziraphale smiles at him, thumbing a rogue piece of coppery hair back behind Crowley's ear.

“For you— and only for you, mind— I would be willing to go without.”

“Hah!” Crowley's death grip on Aziraphale's shirt has loosened. The hairline slits of his pupils have rounded out a bit to something less likely to panic. He's giving himself, ever so slowly, back into Aziraphale's hands. “Who are you, and what have you done with my angel?”

“It's me, love,” Aziraphale says. “I'm here.”

It ruins their little joke, but he has to say it, now that he can.

Crowley's eyes get very bright, the same way they did in the Garden, and Aziraphale is certain that Crowley heard him loud and clear this time.

#good omens #ineffable husbands #aziracrow #aziraphale #anthony j crowley #my writing #gomens fic

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homoose · 3 years

Text

Love Has a Learning Curve: epilogue (OC)

Summary: An early morning, a doctor’s appointment, a new beginning.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x OC

Category: fluff

Warnings/Includes: pregnancy (including like… probably incorrect math and science but my degree was in English and this is fanfiction okay)

Word count: 2.7k

a/n: I’m actually so emotional don’t look at me thanks ♥️

Series Masterlist

———

The sound of Spencer’s ringtone pierced through the early morning quiet, shrill and disconsolate. Maggie hummed against his chest, shifting as he clumsily reached across to the bedside table to answer it.

“Hey,” he croaked, voice still smothered in sleep. “Mm... When?” He paused, and she could almost make out the answer on the other end. “Got it. Yeah.”

He carefully set the phone back on the bedside table, and then his arms came around her shoulders. He let out a long sigh, the one she’d gotten quite used to over the last year and a half— the one that meant he had to go. She squeezed him around the middle and let out her own sigh. “Case?”

“Yeah.” He ran light fingers down her arm. “Jet’s taking off in ninety minutes.”

She glanced at the bedside table to the alarm clock that read 4:57am. They both knew he needed to leave within the next half hour if he was going to make it on time, but neither one made any effort to move. Instead, they breathed together in the pre-dawn stillness— a single moment of peace before the world and all its ugliness could crash through the fortress they’d constructed around their space and around each other.

“I don’t wanna go,” he whispered.

“I know.” She pressed a kiss over his heart through his t-shirt. “I know.”

“I’m gonna miss everything,” he lamented. “Appointments, and milestones, and firsts, and I— I’m gonna miss all of it.”

She lifted her head at the tears in his voice. “Hey.” She shifted in the circle of his arms to prop herself up on his chest. “You’re not gonna miss all of it. You’ll miss this one appointment. And it’s— it’s not even an important one,” she assured, gentle fingers swiping away the lone tear that had managed to escape over his lash line.

“Yes, it is.” He shook his head. “They're all important.”

She gave him a sympathetic smile, leaning forward to press a quick peck to his lips before sitting up and deciding to reassure him in the only way she knew how. “Okay, doctor. Eleven weeks. Tell me what we’re gonna find out today.”

She pulled him up out of bed, interlacing their fingers and pressing their shoulders together. As she led him to the bathroom, he explained, “Dr. Layton will do the first ultrasound, and Baby will look more like a baby now. At around ten weeks they made the transition from embryo to fetus. They’ll be about two inches long.”

She handed him his toothbrush and turned to grab his toiletry go-back from the linen closet, stifling a yawn. “Mmhm. What else?”

“Did you know they’re breathing now?” he asked, and she smiled at the way the excitement crept into his voice. “Between weeks ten and eleven, the fetus starts to inhale and exhale small amounts of amniotic fluid, which aids in the development of their lungs. It’s kind of like they’re breathing underwater.”

“I didn’t know that,” she admitted, turning back to set the bag on the counter. “That’s pretty amazing. What about the heartbeat?”

He nodded vigorously as he applied toothpaste to the bristles of his brush. “We should be able to hear it, although sometimes it’s too early— depending on the accuracy of the estimated date of conception.”

He ran the water over the toothbrush before popping it into his mouth. She kissed his shoulder and then moved back into the bedroom, shuffling into their closet for his go bag. She checked it over on her way back to the bathroom, ensuring it had been fully repacked after the last case. She set it on the counter and placed his toiletry bag inside, leaving it open for him to pack his toothbrush and then sitting on the closed toilet lid.

He rinsed his mouth and put his travel cap over the head of his toothbrush, gesturing with it and then dropping it into the bag. “They’ll do some routine lab work to test for things like gestational diabetes, and we can also choose to do additional screeners for chromosomal abnormalities and possible complications.” He looked at her then, and she saw the despondence creeping back in. “I should really be there, just— just in case.”

“Honey.” She stood and held out her hand to him, smiling a little when he accepted it with a squeeze. “It’s gonna be okay.”

He let out a breath and pulled her into his arms, and they held each other in the silence, the soft light from the vanity washing over them. His phone buzzed with an incoming message, and she knew he needed to get on the road. Still, she held him for a second longer, and then they shuffled through the door and into the bedroom together.

Maggie made her way back to bed, scooting down under the duvet to preserve the last remaining notes of his body warmth. She watched as he dressed silently, pulling on trousers, socks, a button up and cardigan. He skipped the tie in favor of coming to sit on the bed, bringing his hand to rest lightly over top of her belly over the covers.

She covered his hand with her own and laced their fingers together. “Maybe you could ask Luke if you can FaceTime with his phone. You can probably take twenty minutes, right?”

He nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, I can do that.” He rubbed a tired hand over his face. “Maybe I should just upgrade my own phone.”

She huffed out a laugh. “Oh, I see how it is. Couldn’t upgrade for me, but once a baby comes along you’re ready for an iPhone.”

“That’s not— you— you shouldn’t have to do all of this alone,” he huffed, and she realized her joke didn’t land when his voice cracked at the end.

“Spence, I’m— I’m just teasing.” She lifted her hands to his face, pulling him closer and meeting his eyes. “I’m sorry; you’re upset, and that wasn’t nice.”

She leaned up to kiss his forehead, letting her lips linger and breathing him in. “But I’m not alone. With you, I feel— the opposite of alone.”

“Irritated?” he offered.

“No,” she laughed. “Supported, and cared for, and loved,” she corrected with a smile. “You’ve been all of that since day one. And I know that’s not going to change, whether you’re physically present in that doctor's office or not. Right?”

When he nodded, she continued, “I love you. The most. And you are easily the best baby daddy on planet earth. Okay?”

The term of endearment dragged a smile from him, as it always did. “Okay.”

She leaned forward to press her lips to his, both sets upturned and a little dry from sleep. “Now, you need to go, or you’re gonna be late.”

“I know.” He kissed her again, long and slow, and then pulled back to lean their foreheads together. He hesitated for another ten seconds before standing to grab his bag from the bathroom.

When he re-emerged, she reminded him, “Ask Luke about the FaceTime thing. I’m sure he won’t mind, and we can trust him to keep the secret. The appointment technically starts at 1:00, but I probably won’t be seen until at least 1:30.”

He crossed to give her another kiss. “I love you.” He crouched to press a kiss to her tummy. “And you.”

“We love you, too,” she smiled, fingers tangling in his curls. “And we’ll talk to you in a few hours.”

She kissed him one more time— couldn’t help herself. And then his warmth was gone from the bed, and the house was suddenly much too quiet. She snuggled back down under the duvet, her head on his pillow and the scent of his shampoo shrouding her senses and easing her mind.

Spencer really was supportive— endlessly so. Not overbearing, but interested and involved in every moment: reading all the newest research, bringing home her favorite treats, writing out a color-coded timeline of all the appointments and milestones. She wasn’t lying when she called him the best baby daddy. He was always there for her. So much so that the apprehension she’d had at the beginning of this surprise journey was nowhere to be found.

As she drifted back into sleep, there he was again— she could almost hear the jangling of his keys in the bowl in the entryway, his feet on the stairs, the rustling of his pants and sweater being discarded onto the floor of their bedroom.

And then she felt the warmth of his palm low over her tummy, coming to rest over the barely-there bump. She felt his lips on her shoulder and his chest pressed against her back. When she went to cover his hand with her own, her exhausted brain registered that it wasn’t a dream at all.

She turned her head, blinking her eyes open to see him smiling at her and drew her brows together. “What’s going on?”

He pressed another kiss to her shoulder, snuggling even closer and rubbing his thumb along her belly. “I’m, um— I told Emily I’m gonna consult from home on this one.”

…

“Okay, Mom, this’ll just be a little bit cold.”

Dr. Layton smoothed the gel over Maggie’s lower abdomen, and Spencer moved to thread their fingers together, shifting to stand even closer to the examination table. The ultrasound machine gave off a low hum as the doctor adjusted the wand over her tummy. She felt Spencer press a kiss to her temple and turned to smile brightly at him before turning back to the black and white screen.

At her first appointment five weeks ago, she’d been by herself— alone and uncertain and terrified— and she’d declined the option of the ultrasound. It felt wrong to see the baby before Spencer even knew about them. Now, together with him, with her soon-to-be husband— she was more than ready to see their baby for the first time. And she could practically feel Spencer’s excitement next to her, his body nearly vibrating with it.

“Ah, here they are. Hello, Baby Reid.” Dr. Layton pointed to a small, white figure on the screen. “Okay, right here, you can see their big ol’ head— perfectly normal size for this stage of development,” she assured, eyes deftly scanning the image in front of her. “Everything looks great! Now, I’m just trying to find…”

She adjusted the wand over Maggie’s tummy, and suddenly a wub wub wub came over the tinny speaker of the machine. “There we are,” Dr. Layton smiled. “Very strong heartbeat.”

Spencer squeezed Maggie’s hand, and she felt the drop of a tear on her shoulder. She brought her other hand over to cover their tangled fingers, rubbing her thumb along the skin of his wrist and kissing his arm.

Dr. Layton made a slightly perplexed humming sound, moving the wand again and losing the sound of the heartbeat, only to pick it up again— this time slightly faster. Maggie’s own heart stuttered a little as the doctor moved the wand again twice more and then cleared her throat. “Is something— is everything okay?”

She turned to Maggie with a kind smile. “Yes, yes,” she confirmed, and then she raised her eyebrows. “Just— do you hear the difference?”

Spencer tilted his head in consideration, drawing his brows together and straining to hear. The doctor shifted the wand once more, allowing them to hear the two distinct patterns.

Two distinct patterns, Maggie realized.

Dr. Layton pressed the wand a little more firmly into her abdomen, moved it just slightly. “Those are two different heartbeats.” She pointed to the screen. “And those are two different babies. There’s a matching set of Baby Reids in there.”

Maggie couldn’t stop her jaw from dropping. “Is there—” She turned to Spencer incredulously. “Do twins run in your family?”

He shook his head silently, eyes wide. “Yours?”

“Nope,” she squeaked.

“This obviously changes things slightly,” Dr. Layton explained, cleaning up the residual gel. “I’d like to see you every three weeks rather than every four. Then at twenty eight weeks, we’ll see how we feel, okay?”

She smiled gently as Maggie and Spencer nodded dumbly. She removed her gloves and stood. “I’m going to give you two a few minutes. I’ll be back with your photos in a bit, and we can talk about any questions you might have.”

The door closed behind her, and the room was bathed in silence. Maggie sat up carefully and swung her legs over the side of the examination table. She looked down at her tiny, unassuming bump and felt a tear slip over her lashes.

“Are you— are you okay?” Spencer whispered.

She brought her gaze to his, found them teeming with barely restrained joy and yet the ever-present worry. “Well,” she started. “I, um— I always imagined two kids.” She brought her hands up to her sweaty cheeks and held her own face between her palms. “I guess this is— you know— just a quicker way to get there.”

Spencer immediately wrapped her in a hug, pressing kisses over her hair, her forehead, her shocked mouth. “Two babies. We’re having two babies.”

“Twins, Spence,” she breathed. “Twins.”

He replaced her hands with his own, cradling her face and kissing her sweetly, sighing all of his joy and adoration into her mouth. “I love you. So much. The most.” He lowered himself to press his lips to her belly. “All of you.”

She used gentle hands in his hair to tilt his face up, meeting his smile with a watery one of her own. “We love you, too, baby daddy.”

She could see the gears turning as he stood, his hands coming to rest on her hips. “About that.”

She raised her eyebrows. “Yes?”

“Do you, um— how difficult do you think it would be to get everyone together this weekend?”

She paused. “You wanna get married this weekend?”

“Yeah, that’s probably too soon, huh?” He huffed out a sigh, then his eyebrows shot up. “Oh— what about next weekend?”

“That’s just as soon!” she laughed.

He furrowed his brow. “No, it’s not. There's a seven day difference.”

“You’re really in a rush, huh?” she teased.

“Well. I just— I figure you should really be on my insurance anyway,” he reasoned. “Especially now that it’s— now that it’s twins.”

“Mm, yes, I’m sure that’s the reason,” she grinned.

He let out a long breath, and she watched his eyes journey over her face— memorizing every curve and angle, every new wrinkle, every last inch of her. And she knew the reason.

“I know it’s just a piece of paper,” he murmured. “It doesn’t really change anything, but…” He used gentle fingers to brush her hair back from her face. “I just… really want to be your husband.”

She took her own minute to memorize the way he looked in this moment: her fiancé, the father of her children, the best man she’d ever known, the absolute love of her life. And she knew her own reason.

“The paper might not change anything,” she agreed. “But— you’ve changed everything.”

He squeezed her hips. “In a good way I hope.”

“The best way.” She brought her hands to his face, rubbing her thumbs along his cheeks. “The best way.”

He closed the distance between them to kiss her with all the honey and magic and reverence he always did. He broke away to lean his forehead against hers with all the warmth and devotion and love he always did. She sighed, and it was all joy and vulnerability and contentment like it always was. And she knew their reasons.

She kissed him again, and then murmured against his lips, “You know I’m still gonna refer to you as baby daddy, right?”

The laugh erupted from his chest and wrapped itself around her heart, tying tight and secure— a shield, and a haven, and a refuge— keeping her safe from every terrible thing.

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

…

O no! Love is an ever-fixed mark

That looks on tempests and is never shaken;

It is the star to every wandering bark,

Whose worth’s unknown, although his height be taken.

- William Shakespeare, Sonnet 116

———

Permanent tags: @spacedikut @andiebeaword @averyhotchner @pinkdiamond1016 @shadyladyperfection @coffeeandendlesswords @justanothetfangirl @no-honey-no @ajeff855 @sapphic-prentiss @rexorangecouny @rainsong01 @blameitonthenight21 @moviequeen51 @90spumkin @reniescarlett @ncsls0515 @sturmmhond @takeyourleap-of-faith @saspencereid @calm-and-doctor @reidtheprettyboy @atabigail @ayo-cowbelly @muffin-cup @ssa-natalya-reid @wheelsup @reidingmelodies @this-is-gublerween @spenxerslut @reidemandweep @sonnydoesrandomshit @rigatonireid @luwheezey @joalsglasses @je-suis-prest-rachel @enbyfaerie @spencie-adams @honestimanormalfan @blurryreid @elldell1204 @babyhoneystvles @lost-in-the-stars03 @reiding-recs @minervaonmars @radtwinkie @crimeshowtrash @dayho3 @reiding-rainbow @archer561 @maddievevo

Permanent (sfw) tags: @mrs-dr-reid @eevee0722 @goldentournesol @froggybagels

Series (x OC) tags: @linnyalou @mikewizkalifa

#spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x oc #spencer reid imagine #criminal minds fanfic #homoose writes #lhalc

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lord-sutherland · 5 years

Photo

Art: @fleeting-sanity Writer: @swtorramblings

Sith Science: Chapter 1

Malora limped off the battlefield, away from the library. Such a waste. Knowledge like that should be preserved, not burned.

Still, she had what she came for, though it had cost her considerable pain. That final blow was painful enough, but being left for dead hurt her pride.

They would all pay for these affronts. The Jedi, the Dark Council. Malgus, especially. She just needed time, and quiet, and solitude.

She knew she would get none of them as the Alliance ship landed. The Commander herself disembarked and approached her.

“How tiresome.”

The Commander arched an eyebrow. “I suppose you are, but I think you’ll be worth it.”

“How droll. What do you want, Commander?”

“Just to live up to my promise. You have a place in the Alliance, if you want it. I have a project that might appeal to you.”

She considered that. It would delay her own interests, but Nox was known to have many secrets. Perhaps she would share them in exchange? And having the protection of the Alliance when no one else wanted her would not hurt.

“Very well, Commander.”

“Greetings, Commander, who have you brought me today?”

“Doctor Oggurobb, this is Darth Malora, formerly of the Dark Council.”

“Excellent! Excellent! I have read your work! The advancement of Rakattan research, the cellular regeneration, the…”

“Yes, yes, I am aware of your work as well. Can we get on with it? What is this project, Commander?”

If the Hutt looked hurt, she didn’t care.

“Simply this.” She stepped forward and pulled a cover off a nearby cryogenic chamber.

Malora stared for a moment at the contents. “How is this possible?”

“Many things are possible when you’re in charge.”

She knew what the Commander wanted. Perhaps, when she had time to examine the materials from the library, there was a chance, if even the slightest spark remained. It could be her greatest achievement yet. She reached out with her feelings, probed, considered.

Nothing.

“It was all pointless. What would you have me do? There is no life left here, however clever you are. The Force is life, but even I cannot create it from nothing.”

The Hutt pointed out, “Perhaps not you alone, but perhaps together, we can…”

Malora, at the end of her limited patience, shouted back, “There is nothing to be done! And there is no point! All we would have is a lifeless, shambling husk! It is not worth your time, and certainly not worth mine!”

It was the Commander’s turn. “Yes, we know. But we have one more thing to show you before you decide. Oggurobb?”

“Yes, Commander.” The massive creature turned and with some delicacy, but without the flourish the Commander had shown, uncovered the holocron.

How had she not sensed it? Some trick of the slug’s, no doubt. It was filled with power. Hatred. Terror.

Most importantly, life.

It was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen.

“Is this…”

“It is, indeed. We have had it hidden away. The good doctor is amazing in many sciences…”

“Oh, Commander, you’ll make me blush.”

“But we only have one chance at this. He wanted it to be the best we could have. And so, here you are.”

She could see it. It could work. She could make it work. And if the Alliance burned because of it? Well, it was a small price to pay.

Everything was in place. It had taken months, but it was finally ready. There were so many steps in the process, all of which needed to be calibrated perfectly. There was no way to test any of them.

Malora was alone in the room, aside from her subject. They were watching from safety. The cowards. They would regret not being here, of never experiencing first hand the sensations of this moment.

Their loss.

The body floated in a modified kolto tank. The leads were ready. It was time to begin.

The same techniques that had allowed her to walk away from Ossus alive were already repairing the tissues, but of course that wouldn’t be enough. Science could not create life.

At least, not yet. But if this worked, it would bring Malora that much closer.

The lights dimmed as more and more power was drawn in. The Alliance had been told that there would be work done on the generators. It really was good to be the Commander.

It wasn’t needed for the physical repair, it was needed for what was next. “Now, Oggurobb, stage two!”

From his observation room, the Hutt maneuvered the holocron into place and attempted to release its contents. Instead, it exploded, vaporized. Malora sighed in annoyance. Another artifact from the past destroyed. The idiot had not taken the power of the occupant into account.

The error was salvageable. Malora used her own power to catch the fleeing energy, maneuver it to the body. If it had truly wanted to escape, she was sure it was too strong to hold, but it was easy enough to coax it to return home.

Now, the crucial final stage. The return to life would have been feat enough, but what was the point without the Force? Her dead cells would have lost that connection. That was what Malora had been searching for that day, the Rakatta attempts to rejuvenate their power. She didn’t think this would work on a truly Force-dead race, but on one of the most powerful users of it that ever lived?

Energies swirled about the room, slowly draining into the subject. The fatal injury began glowing as she was pushed closer to life.

She had been expecting a brilliant flash of light, a roaring of thunder, something. Something dramatic. Instead, there was a momentary sensation of falling, and darkness, and silence.

When the lights returned, Malora looked at the tube. No movement. She approached, saying, “Vaylin?”

The woman floated, very still, just for another moment, and then the eyes snapped open and she grinned out of the tank.

#Vaylin #Malora #Sith #Odessen #Swtor

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vague-idea · 5 years

Text

This is purely fueled by petty rage and caffeine so buckle the fuckle up.

There has been a lot of talk lately about if Celine was a good person, how bad Actor Mark was, blah blah blah. This is been a topic from pretty much day one of WKM but recently it’s popped up in relevancy. I’ve never really vocalized my thoughts on the matter, despite having many. I’m the kind of person who tears stories apart for fun, so I know a bit what I’m talking about. Get ready for these spicy hot takes, cause guess what:

They’re all bad. All of them. Including everyone's favorite boy. That’s right, the uwu-too-pure-for-this-world-boy, Damien.

Now put down your pitchforks for a second and hear me out. You can send me hate later. What I’m here to do is take a look at Mark’s characters, look at their actions (both implied and shown), and then show that none of them are innocent. If this is a mess, uhhh sucks to suck I guess. (the person sucking is me. hah gottem)

First, before I get into the characters however, we need to discuss Mark’s storytelling. Personally I like it quite a bit. It’s interesting and it’s engaging, but it does have its quirks and flaws. You can see the improvement, but it does effect how his characters have come across. Mark himself has admitted to writing Celine poorly in WKM, and I would tend to say that much of WKM should have been adjusted. It’s not “Who Killed Markiplier” but “Why Killed Markiplier” as Mark has said, and the why was never really shown in the series. It’s explained in a live-stream, and if you can’t get your intentions across in the series then something in the script is wrong. Having said that, Mark has improved his writing immensely and I applaud him for that.

Mark prefers to tell a singular story, leaving much of what he intends up to speculation. He doesn’t tell you the story of how Wilford became the insane goofy murderer he is today; he shows you a moment of weakness and connection between Abe and Wilford. He doesn’t show you how Damien and Celine became Dark, he tells you the story of two siblings protecting each other and being backed into a corner in which playing the part of a villain is their only escape. The intention is plainly there, but you have to understand the characters to truly get the story. “You’re too focused on the minutia” is true. The fans pay too much attention to the details of the story. You have to focus on the characters and their motivations to understand the tale Mark is weaving. Don’t focus on Wilford being in two places at once, or Damien’s hand turning gray in one shot. Focus on the characters and who they are because in the end that’s what they are: characters. With the release of DAMIEN, Mark has made it clear that the characters are the important things, made to be placed into whatever story he pleases. (uh Mark if you’re reading this that is a dope idea and holy fuck im hype)

Now to actually talk about the characters.

Let’s start with Celine, since she is the main focus of this debate. First and foremost, Celine is manipulative. She knows what she wants, and she will get it at any cost. This is shown from the moment she steps into the manor. She turns everyone against the DA. Isolating us, and making us feel vulnerable. Then, with a gracious olive branch, she let’s us help. We are now special, but we can only trust Celine. An interesting parallel to “Don’t Trust the Seer.” After the DA has the fall, Celine is there yet again. Forcing Damien asleep, she uses us to gain a body, and then kicks the DA out into the mirror, making us now a viewer of this world. In DAMIEN, she manipulates Damien into sleeping. Keeping him tucked away and safe. Celine’s primary characteristic is manipulation. Getting what she wants, no matter the cost. She is protective, she is abrasive, she is determined, and she is cold.

Now let’s look at Mark. His personality isn’t so plainly laid out as the others (seeing as he fuckinn dies in the first five minutes), so we’re going to have to rely on what the others have said about him to get the picture. The first thing we hear about Mark is from the Colonel. Obviously, a man with prejudice, but still has an insightful look into who Mark is. “My name is Markiplier now! Forget that my friends are the ones who helped me along the way. Just look at me and my money. I need to pay people to be my friends. Ahaha. Oh you like me, too bad.” Then, even Mark himself has said: “I used to be somebody. Maybe not somebody good, but I was somebody.” (Granted this is from the meta ending, but I’m still going to use it because ADWM still applies and I’m an asshole and you can’t stop me) Both these sentences are inferring to a man who was changed by fame and fortune. This infers to a man who took and took, so up his own ass that he started ignoring his friends in favor of becoming richer and increasingly powerful. I think that is that crux of Mark’s character: power and control.

In DAMIEN, Mark has some insightful comments that back this up. “You stole everything from me.” ... “Well you wouldn’t even have anything in the first place if it wasn’t for me.” ... “You were never good enough for Celine.” ... “I gave up everything for her!” This exchange back and forth between Damien and Mark leads me to believe that Mark, through his power and fame, gave the twins everything they had. He gave Damien his mayor position. He gave Celine money, influence, power, and his love. Mark might have thought he was doing these things for them, but if you look at who Mark is, he was doing these gracious actions to have control over the twins. Damien now owes Mark for giving him his job and his power. Celine owes Mark for her comfortable home and a loving husband. This is further proved by Mark’s interaction with the Colonel. Using the money that William owes to Mark, the guilt of cheating with his wife, Mark controls the Colonel and makes him work for him. Controls him, up til the moment that William looses his mind. Mark values control, and he values power.

I don’t think I need to explain how Wilford is a bad person, but ya know let’s just say it: cheater and murderer. His character is insanely fun, and I love the depth and nuances to it, but he’s not the one we’re focusing on today. Here’s just here for me to say that I love him, and he was just a pawn in the backstory of WKM.

Now, for the controversial opinion. Damien. Everyone’s sweet, innocent, could never hurt a fly, mayor. Well, sorry my guys but that is just not correct. Damien’s role in this story is integral, and let me say the misjudgment of his character annoys me a lot but that’s just cause I’m salty all the time so let’s just jump into it. Damien is not innocent. As Mark says, “Always the righteous crusader. Pure as the driven snow. Acting like you’re the only one without blood on your hands.” There is blood on his hands. Good intentions aside, Damien has a fatal flaw and that is that he is a coward. He may want what is best for everyone, but he cannot find his own spine. Throughout WKM, despite being the mayor - a fuckinn leadership position - he takes a backseat of running after the Colonel, running after the DA, and running after Celine. He is easily used, and easily discarded. He lets others walk over him, and in doing so lets everything around him fall apart. It isn’t until DAMIEN when he has lost literally everything that he finally sheds the title of pawn and becomes a player. Damien isn’t pure. He is soaked with the blood of every dead body he could not lead and he could not protect because he was too much of a coward to do what was right.

Looking at all of these characters, I hesitate to label them as bad or good. I know I just said that they’re all bad, but welcome to clickbait. Celine is manipulative, but she cares about her brother and she fights for herself. Mark is power hungry, yet he loved and he lost. Damien is a coward, yet he cares for others. Looking at them as they are, I cannot say that they fit perfectly into role of villain or hero. This story isn’t that simple. It’s created to flip the script.

But, everyone is arguing about Celine and Mark’s past so let’s jump into that mess of a conversation.

Celine is a manipulator. Mark wants control and power. Damien wants everyone to be happy. William/Colonel has a one track mind and currently it’s set on fuck. This is who they are, and from this we can try and determine their backstory. Granted, this is my view and my speculation but I think I’m pretty on track. I can honestly say that at one point, Celine and Mark loved each other. They are both too obsessed with having what they want to settle for marrying someone they hate, or even marrying someone they were indifferent too. They loved each other, and they had to have each other. Things can change, however. What started as something fueled by love can turn into something fueled by vengeance.

Mark is obsessed with control, and so he tried to keep a tight hold on what he loved. Celine detests being the pawn when she is the player, and so when she wanted William, she had to have him. Throughout the series it is shown that Mark viewed Celine as his. William/Colonel stole her from him. She was his, and she was taken. On the opposing side, Celine is no prize to be kept. Her love shifts from Mark to William/Colonel and she takes what she wants. At the end of the day, she would carve their hearts out for attempting to keep her in a cage as their pretty songbird. Also, I believe that Damien knew that Celine was cheating, but he couldn’t bare being the one to break apart his childhood friends, so he said nothing. He let his cowardice destroy what he only wanted to preserve.

Celine and Mark could have never worked together, because they both want to control and they couldn’t control each other. Damien could not lead, and was used and walked over until he and those he loved were dead. William/Colonel barely had a say; each step he took was a line in Celine and Mark’s strategy. It wasn’t until he broke that he was able to break the script.

So what does this mean, Eli? Who is the good guy and who is the bad guy? Why doesn’t this story play into exactly what I want? Why don’t these characters fit these little tropes I want to place upon them?

It means none of that, reader. You can call them bad, and you can call them good. You can make Damien into a hero, and you can make Celine into an abuser. You can say Mark was taken advantage of, you can blame the manor, or you can call him evil. You can do whatever you want with them, but that is only possible by ignoring that they are so much more than that. This story is not meant to fit into a square. This story at its basis is to show that these are stereotypical characters, meant to play a role, who have broken it.

#markiplier #celine #actor!mark #damien #my hot spicy take #if anyone wants to debate this uhhhhh #you can def try but ples don't come at me with the same boring arguments i keep seeing #also feel free to send me hate #i dont give a fuck what you think of me #come at me scrublord im ripped

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uozlulu · 5 years

Text

Not sure how long Viz had this offer up but I’ve got until tomorrow to read all of this for free so here we go~

BnHA/MHA chapters 122 – 162 reaction and spoilers. I also eluded to some Black Clover manga spoilers but I tried to be vague about it. I also mentioned One Piece once but nothing actually spoilers I don't think

I sorted everything by chapter under the read more cut

Chapter 122

This chapter appears to pick up towards the end of season three. Present Mic being hyped to teach the kids still gives me life

If Hound Dog loves soccer does he play it like a guy or like a dog or does it like all depend on his mood?

Chapter 123

Must be awkward knowing you’ve seen your senpai naked on national TV

lol “His [Mirio’s] face is a good one. Easy to draw.”

Chapter 125

I like that Overhaul is kind of a look at what Crazy Diamond could be if it was wielded by a proper villain and not just some chaotic teenager

Chapter 126

Yagi’s got some solid reasons for not being on board with this whole let’s send the sixteen-year-olds to war idea, but it also cracks me up we’re getting peanut gallery commentary from the other teachers in the teachers’ office in the background of the panels.

lol “Three, it’d be awkward for me” but also another solid reason

”..you’ve got to make him smile” “He’s got a lot of respect for humor” something something King Kai

Tickle Hell. Why WHY are you like this, Horokoshi?

Of course Sir Nighteye’s a Capricorn. Of course he is.

Chapter 131

Let’s be perfectly honest here, with Yagi’s body the way it is, an early death is inevitable. The gruesome part though makes me curious how an upcoming event in the manga is going to pass and if maybe that will be when Sir Nighteye’s foresight will come to pass. It would also make sense since the manga feels currently (in the 240’s) like it’s about to shift and evolve as a story, like a potential half way point is looming

Also, this chapter lends insight into why Midoriya is telling us this story as a narrator. Given whatever’s about to happen it makes sense that he would want to lay everything out to the next successor of One for All. It only strengthens my theory that the end of the manga is Midoriya looking at the reader and offering us a chance to become his successor in some manner.

Chapter 132

Tamaki’s quirk is basically you are what you eat. I’m screaming. lol

Chisaki’s plan kind of reminds me how in a way Black Clover and BnHA are tackling some similar questions and themes. There’s a hierarchy that’s existed for generations and there are people who want to upend it. However a key difference is Asta is a driving force for changing the system, which he begins to understand more and more as he goes along, which is I think why we’re starting to see a shift in narrative with the story’s current arc. Meanwhile, Midoriya is trying to preserve the current hierarchy, which while being questioned by the villains, is not really questioned by the heroes (at least not yet). It’s interesting to watch the similarities and differences in Tabata and Horokoshi’s approaches to questioning and challenging concepts like tradition, system, structure, and inequality.

I already know what Eri’s power does and how she’s basically the X-Men mutation cure plot point, so that actually kind of helps here I think. Thank goodness Kirishima’s quirk is basically a defense against needles (that must have been a pain at the doctor’s office for all adults involved as a kid)

Chapter 135

I love Tamaki ngl

Chapter 136

Even though they’re being more blatant in this chapter, I do like that once it’s revealed that Sir Nighteye saw how Yagi will die, it’s part of the motivation for why he does some of what he does like being on the fence at first with Midoriya in terms of acceptance, calling Midoriya’s desire to want to do more for Eri when he met her arrogance, trying to play things as safe as possible, etc…etc… and now he’s reluctant to use his quirk and it all comes back to foreseeing his good friend/mentor/hero’s death even if it’s been six years since

I like that Aizawa is taking the track of basically he knows Midoriya is a hero of a Jump manga so they might as well work together on this because he already knows Midoriya will just run off and try to solve this problem since it’s personal for him. I also kind of hope letting Aizawa help is part of the track the narrative takes because I think actually Midoriya could learn a lot from observing Aisawa up close in a non-school setting about patience, strategy, and timing as well. It might even help Midoriya with his quirk problems.

Chapter 137

Actually enlisting Kirishima, Uraraka, Asui, and Midoriya to help retrieve Eri is probably a good idea considering what the kids were able to do when it was time to rescue Bakugou a while back. While it isn’t ideal asking sixteen-year-olds to take on responsibilities of adults, this is a task this group of kids has shown they are well suited to. Even Asui who was not a direct participant in the rescue but could size up the situation for what it was and make sure the adults knew what was about it happen. Knowing when to go for help is as important as being a helper. The group can benefit from her maturity.

I like that Nejire is using her hair as a scarf

Chapter 138

Gung Ho! Pretty Yure 10! Sure sounds like a play on Futari wa Pretty Cure

Chapter 139

I wonder if Mirio had to get in contact with someone whose quirk increased hair growth so they could get enough hair to make that fabric.

Chapter 141

I can’t wait to see Tamaki’s quirk animated. I want to see this kraken thing in all its glory

I like how in the story about why the underlings joined Hassaikai it continues the theme of how there’s so much wrong with the structure of the world. Like these guys, just like a few others from season three, found themselves sliding down the hierarchy until they were on the streets and at the bottom. Then comes Chisaki who gives them what the hero and common world won’t provide. Of course they will be loyal to him. It also illustrates why Tamaki can’t understand it. It’s not brain washing, Chisaki saved them from the streets in a society that doesn’t care once you hit rock bottom. It reminds me of that guy who could copy himself last season who didn’t realize he was damaging himself mentally in the process until he created an irreversible mental illness. The heroes would want nothing to do with that and so he had no logical place to go but villainy. The way the villains are going about fixing the situation is of course villainous, but I like that the narrative keeps showing us that the villains do have appoint, that their society is indeed broken and in need of some kind of repair. It’ll be interesting to see if the story gets to a point in which the heroes in turn begin to realize this. Or perhaps they won’t be able to realize it until the tables turn since they’re on the top of the hierarchy and don’t really analyze what’s in the shadows. It’s like I was saying a few chapters ago. While Midoriya, like Asta in Black Clover starts out as an outsider who wishes he could be on the inside, Midoriya as he becomes an insider, loses some of that outside perspective while Asta retains it. Even after meeting Endeavor and learning of his hidden villany, Midoriya doesn’t really question if other Endeavors exist in the hero world and the narrative doesn’t really go there either whereas in Black Clover there’s a constant theme of the nobility having a lot of problems and while some are starting to come around, there’s always another asshole to uncover, to challenge. One Piece does this too. There’s the Celestial Dragons and the Marines and once one problematic person gets their just deserts five more show up, but One Piece always tries to kill the evil dream rather than the bad guy for the most part and try to have them learn something if possible, and show that growth and change in society is a multi-level, multi-person effort. Anyway, it’s interesting how these manga all kind of tackle similar things in different ways and this is getting to be too big of a bullet point, but I should expand on this thought sometime properly.

Chapter 142

I think it’s interesting when we run into linguistic nuance in this series. Like for example the yakuza guys from the previous boss’ era clarifying that there are villains that have come into their yakuza group since Chisaki took over and started using the name Overhaul. Even though yakuza do bad things, there’s a distinction, at least to them, between themselves and villains.

Chapter 151

Honestly I would be the threat of STDs and STIs would put Chisaki off sex entirely come to think of it

Chapter 158

The thing is even if you destroy the quirk factor humans will still find yet another hierarchy to create. It’s what we do.

Chapter 159

Then again now that we’ve proven that Sir Nighteye’s quirk can be wrong (which honestly makes sense since the future should be fluid like time) then maybe I was wrong earlier in thinking that Yagi might just die coming up here sooner than later. Though I do know he will eventually die. Because he’s the mentor and because he’s probably like 50 years old anyway so by the time Midoriya gets to a point in which he’s passing on One for All, it’s probably unlikely that Yagi’s still living. Unless I’m wrong about that too and the manga isn’t ending on Midoriya telling his successor enough information to make an informed decision of course.

Chapter 160

Oh good. Spinner learned how to drive from video games.

Honestly surprised Chisaki didn’t consider the fact that when he talked about getting rid of all quirks he was basically threatening the League of Villains with possibly the biggest possible threat out there so of course Tomura was going to neutralize him instead of make him some kind of weirdo martyr.

Chapter 161

I love how Rock Lock’s baby has such a Rock Lock expression their face

Chapter 162

Mirio mentions being the “final hero” and it makes me wonder since Yagi gave Midoriya his quirk instead of Mirio if perhaps that shifted things so Midoriya will be this final hero. Or perhaps Final Hero is idek Mirio’s eventually vigilante name or something. Lots of options

#liveblog #manga liveblog #bnha manga liveblog #mha manga liveblog #bnha manga spoilers #mha manga spoilers #i read a lot of chapters #boku no hero academia #my hero academia

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miss-m-winks · 6 years

Text

(Image description)

An oc of mine named Kaen Jiré, a side character. He is a young vampire, in my style of vampires which are living beings related to elves and afflicted by an ancient curse that they gradually evolved to live with symbiotically.

Kaen has tan skin and curly red hair. Both his parents are mixed ethnicity, so he’s extra mixed. His eyes are green with cat like slit pupils, and he has long pointy ears. He's smiling, and his mouth has a shape similar to that of vampire bats. His upper lip is normal, but his lower lip is cleft with a sort of channel down his chin, and his two front teeth are visible, being very pointy and close together, like sharp buck teeth.

He is wearing a purple cloak with arm holes, light beige pants, and dark brown boots and gloves. His left hand is by his side, fingers spread, a glowing fiery aura around it. His right hand is holding a preserved goose heart he wears on a strap around his neck, and it’s also glowing with a fiery aura.

On his right shoulder is a tiny creature made of a hummingbird head and wings, a lizard body, and a squirrel tail. To his left in the air is a brown and white owl with the legs of a white rabbit, and below it on the ground is a creature made of a red fox whose muzzle is torn to show the bone, one front leg is normal but the other three legs and the back half of its body are from a black and white goat. All the creatures have black eyes with a glowing center.

(End description)

@dm-clockwork-dragon has homebrewed a 5e d&d class called "the necroficer" which is a very dr Frankenstein take on necromancy, using "soul embers" contained in a preserved heart to bring their creations to life and control them (hence the fiery aura here) my oc Kaen has been an experimental taxidermy artist since I first made him in like high school. Now that I’m fleshing him out more and giving him a bigger role in my story, I thought it’d be fun to see how he’d work in d&d and lucky me this class fits him perfectly!

I would clarify though that he’s no evil mad scientist. He’s an experimental taxidermist and his wife is a wizard and he probably got the idea to do necroficing by reading her books. He thought that being able to collect and use the energy put off by the death of a creature sounded great, especially since he kinda has to kill things on a regular basis just to stay alive, as an apex predator with a need to drink a lot of blood. Sure, it wouldn’t be a big form of sustainable energy to run a whole city, but it would make his taxidermy creations more interesting perhaps. Functional pieces rather than stiff statues.

Only it made them even more functional than he anticipated, and after some internal moral debate about whether or not it was ok for him to bring these things "back to life" he decided that, surely, he wasn’t actually putting their souls back into their bodies, and they were really more like your typical construct, but made of dead things, so it’s fine, right? Plus he mostly uses scavenged carcasses, creatures he killed for food, livestock and game parts no one else wanted, etc. he has a lot of reasons to justify his necroficer creations.

He would be such a fun party member to have along for an adventure. He's also ADHD and he will info dump about death and nature and his wife and then in the middle of the conversation go run off and pick up some dead thing he just happened to spot. He’s very excitable and optimistic, maybe not the best to have doing charisma rolls, but he’s very good at what he does.

#image description #accessible art #winks art #winks ocs #necroficer #dnd

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ausllygo1direction · 5 years

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Instrument of Darkness

So I’ve decided that I’m going to use my tumblr to kind of promote some of my fanfiction. For those who aren’t aware, I’m Austin And Ally Go 1 Direction on fanfiction.net, and AAG1D on AO3.

The following bits are some excerpts from my latest fanfiction which was set in the Star Wars universe but with the Sherlock characters. It was originally meant to be a short 8,000 word Sherlolly fluff one-shot, but the Sherlolly fluff dies pretty quick (It still ends with Sherlolly, but the story was kidnapped by a plot-line so the fluff got thrown out the window), and in the end it turned into an 80,000 word three-shot monstrosity of epic proportions. I don’t know if anyone would be interested in checking it out, but if you like the following excerpts I’ll place the link to the story at the end so that you can go read the whole thing :)

Without further ado, I give you some bits of Instrument of Darkness.

///

The wind whipped harshly across the planes of the desert, sand scrapping unforgivingly against the weather-worn figure that stood amongst the nothingness. The lean body was wrapped in scraps of beige fabric and nearly blended perfectly in with the environment. It was only the shock of dark hair and the crudely made staff that contrasted the figure with the dunes of Jakku.

It didn’t matter though. Sherlock Holmes was always out of place in the desert.

Why he had been abandoned as a child on such a wretched planet was beyond him. The desert had hardened any soft edges he had once had, and the physical demands of survival were more than evident in the leanness of his form and the callouses on his hands.

Sometimes he wondered what he had done in a previous life in order to have been dealt such a cruel fate. A life as a scrapper was barely a life at all, and the endless sand had washed Sherlock’s mind of any good memory he might’ve had as a child.

The only thing he could remember was Molly.

The name was his only constant companion in his solitary, and the image of a face that time seemed unable to erase. The edges were blurred almost as though something had tried to rid him of the memory-

A sharp pain caused Sherlock to grit his teeth and close his eyes against the harshness of the sun, seeking a reprieve to the headache that flared up when he reflected too much on the emptiness of his mind. There was something missing, but he didn’t know why.

His only hope seemed to lie in this Molly woman.

For as long as he could remember, his only goal in his meager existence was to get off the back-water planet he had the misfortune of calling home, and search for the woman he was sure held the answers to his questions. The name itself brought a wave of incredible longing to the forefront of Sherlock’s mind, and he was certain that he loved-

Another burst of pain. This one caused a grunt to break the stillness of the desert.

Putting his musings aside, Sherlock carefully unclasped his water skin, before allowing himself to enjoy a few refreshing drops of the too-little supply of water. They did little but coat the grittiness of his tongue, but Sherlock knew better than to indulge in any more. Refreshed as he was ever going to be, he resumed his trek across the barren wasteland.

There were too many holes in his memory to truly understand his past. Thus, it only made sense to try and move forward. He had a plan. Get off Jakku. Find this Molly. And then hopefully the rest would come with time.

But for now, to focus on the present.

Besides, the smoking wreck up ahead looked promising.

///

JN-1871 was not having a good day.

On top of breaking some rebel pilot out of prison, commandeering a ship to escape the only hellhole he had ever known, and then having said escape plan go marvellously to hell, he also had somehow managed to crash land on Jakku.

To top it all off, he wasn’t used to being in harsh environments without the protection of his Stormtrooper armour, and he could just feel his skin beginning to burn.

Life was just peachy.

At first, his plan seemed foolproof. Break the pilot out of prison, steal a ship, use said pilot to fly said ship, and finally be free from the hell known as the First Order. It was a stellar plan.

Except for the variables he hadn’t factored in.

Variable one: The pilot was a cheeky tosser. Mary Morstan, as she introduced herself as, did not take orders and apparently had a sense of sass that outweighed her sense of self-preservation. By the time that they had finally gotten to the ship, JN-1871 was already wishing that he had left her in Kylo Ren’s interrogation chamber if only to have saved himself a headache.

Then there was variable two: The First Order wasn’t exactly, well… you know, pleased with his escape attempt with their Resistance prisoner. Hence resulting in a red alert being signalled before they had even reached the bloody ship.

He really, really hated shooting.

Especially when he was on the active end of the barrel.

By the time that the (ex)Stormtrooper and (ex)prisoner had made it to the TIE fighter all hell had broken loose, and Mary had jabbed several buttons on the control panel before shoving something into JN-1871’s hand and shouting “I’ll distract them. If I don’t make it you need to go to Jakku and get my droid. It has the map that Lady Smallwood needs.”

“What- wait! I don’t have a bloody clue how to fly this thing! That’s why I broke you out in the first place!” JN-1871 protested from where he had been all but shoved into the pilot’s seat.

Mary rolled her eyes as she continued punching buttons and yanking on wires. “I’ve enabled autopilot and set the coordinates for Jakku. I’ll keep anyone off your tail.” With that the lights for the ship flicked on and the hum jolted JN-1871’s bones. The pilot flashed the (ex)Stormtrooper a cheeky smirk. “See you on the other side.”

“No- wait!” It was too late – before JN-1871 could so much as move the top of the fighter closed and Mary was running towards the next TIE fighter, JN-1871’s gun going off in her hands (When did she get that?). The (ex)Stormtrooper barely had time to click his seatbelt on before the ship was whooshing out of the corridor, blasters going off behind him.

The rest had been a blur (And admittedly his eyes had been shut for, like, ninety-five percent of it). There were explosions. He was vaguely aware of another TIE fighter following his that seemed to keep the enemy fire at bay, until something went wrong, there was a blast of fire, the looming yellowness of Jakku, and enough tumbling to make JN-1871 puke more than enough for an entire lifetime.

At some point his seat must’ve ejected, and then, pain, and death, and oh my goodness he had just wanted a quiet retirement.

He had woken up to a mouthful of sand, an unforgiving sun burn, and the scattered remains of the fighter littered around him.

His mind was in a numb state of shock as he watched the bulk of the wreck begin to disappear beneath the sand.

He was stranded.

On Jakku.

JN-1871 wanted to cry. Not only did every single part of his body ache, but he was now also a fugitive of the First Order and was stuck on a planet that was uncomfortably close to the Finalizer.

His eyes travelled down to the odd thing still clutched in his hand.

It was a scarf. Specifically, the Resistance pilot’s scarf that she had shoved into his possession before running off. He wasn’t sure why she had given it to him – perhaps it was a way to find the droid she had mentioned? His head hurt, and it wasn’t just from thinking about his predicament.

Perhaps the droid was his way off the planet. Yes. The pilot had thought he was with the Resistance anyways, and perhaps if he got the droid to this Lady Smallwood they’d offer him amnesty. Besides, the pilot made this map thing sound important, right? So it was almost guaranteed that they’d bargain for it.

New plan in mind, JN-1871 turned his back to the wreckage.

Time to find a droid and a way off this back-water planet.

///

On the whole, Mary Morstan was a fairly adaptable person. She had to be – as a pilot for the Resistance it might as well have been a job requirement. In all her years of service, she had been in her fair share of sticky situations and had seen more than enough trouble for a lifetime.

There was a reason she was so cocky.

And yet out of everything that she had seen and done, getting captured by the First Order and being personally interrogated by Kylo Ren certainly took the cake – and the wind out of her sails.

That said, if anything was able to raise her spirits it was the sight of a specific YT-1300. Even if it wasn’t being manned by its original owner, the ship and its cargo were the best thing that the pilot had seen all week.

“What- Mary?!”

Offering a slightly sarcastic salute with her good arm, Mary took that as an invitation to waltz further towards the duo. “Hello boys.”

Although the ‘Trooper she had escaped with had lowered his pistol (Mary had to hold back a snort – he hadn’t been fooling anybody with his whole Resistance impersonation), the tall stranger only tightened his grip on his staff, eyes narrowed.

“Who are you?”

Mary eyed his fighting posture warily. Despite all her bravado she was in no condition for a fight, and the other man knew it. Thankfully, the ‘Trooper responded for her.

“It’s alright, Sherlock. She’s Redbeard’s pilot.”

Mary’s eyebrows hitched at the name. “Did you name my droid while I was gone?”

The other man – Sherlock – finally lowered his weapon, though he managed a somewhat haughty sniff. “I wasn’t going to call him a sequence of letters.”

She rolled her eyes. Mary had a feeling that she would be doing that a lot around these two. “Where is he?”

The ‘Trooper took over once again, turning to head back down the hall. Mary stayed close to his heels, overtly aware of how Sherlock’s eyes followed her every move – and not in the good sort of way.

“He’s up in the droid port piloting the ship. We ran into a snare, hence why we’re currently out of motion. Sherlock was fixing the wiring when you showed up.”

Mary made a humming noise of acknowledgement in the back of her throat. “I take it that means you haven’t had the map delivered to Lady Smallwood yet.”

The ‘Trooper shrugged awkwardly. “The coordinates are set for D’Qar, we just need to recalibrate the-”

“Nevermind D’Qar,” Mary asserted, slipping into the vacant pilot’s chair and ignoring Sherlock noise of protest as her fingers began flying over the wires. “We have a new destination. The map can wait; There’s some more pressing issues at hand.”

It was only the weight of something very solid suddenly upon her collarbone that caused Mary’s fingers to freeze their musings. The ‘Trooper’s sudden protests were lost to her as her senses directed solely at their current danger.

Sherlock stood menacingly beside them, his staff held dangerously against her chest. Any sudden weight, and Mary was certain that he could snap several of her bones without even batting an eye. There was something in his eyes, a kind of… madness that made Mary’s flesh crawl. The ‘Trooper was still going off the rails.

“…Sithspit Sherlock, she’s on our side!”

Sherlock didn’t pay him any heed, his eyes still trained dangerously on Mary. Finally, his baritone cut off the ‘Trooper’s ramblings.

“I was told we were going to D’Qar where I would be given transport to go my own way. I am not interested in taking a detour.”

Mary raised her hands, and turned slowly so she could face him better, though her own eyes were narrowed. “Well, if we don’t get to Sector 7G pronto, there may not be much of a galaxy left for you to fly through.”

The staff didn’t move.

“What are you talking about?”

“A weapon,” Mary was irked at sharing the information with someone with an obviously different agenda from the Resistance, but the weight on her collarbone hadn’t left her with many options. “The First Order has designed a weapon that they call Starkiller Base, and it doesn’t just take out a single planet, it can take out an entire system. If we don’t get over there and sabotage it now, we might not get another chance before half of the galaxy’s gone.”

A moment of stillness as her words sunk in. Then:

“Sherlock if that’s true then searching for this Molly person would be pointless. She could be dead before we’re even to D’Qar.”

Mary’s ears perked at the information, but she was more intrigued by how Sherlock responded to it, his eyes hardening in resignation while his mouth twisted in dislike. After a moment’s more of silence, the metal was finally removed.

Sherlock didn’t look any less defensive.

“Fine. We go to this Starkiller Base” He said the name derisively, and Mary couldn’t blame him, “And destroy it before it can inadvertently kill Molly. And then I expect to be transported somewhere and given a ship and the supplies needed for my search as thanks for saving the galaxy.”

Sherlock’s eyes darted between the other two people dangerously, as though daring them to contest his statement.

Neither did.

Giving a sharp nod of his head, the strange man spun on his heel and disappeared down the corridor. The ‘Trooper gave her a half-muttered apology, before dashing after the errant man who had threatened her life just a moment before.

Within a breath Mary Morstan was left alone with the circuit board, still trying to process what was happening. She blinked, before a scowl marred her pretty features.

“So I’ll just fix the ship myself then, shall I?” She shouted into the empty space.

Unsurprisingly, nothing shouted back.

///

Destiny could be a funny thing.

Some people felt that it was set in stone, that once a future was determined it couldn’t be changed. Others felt that while the future wasn’t exact, the fundamental attributes of a person would always result in them making the same choices, leading to an inevitable destiny.

Sherlock thought that destiny was garbage.

And that the Force was too.

He remembered waking up to ash. Pain had coursed through his brittle flesh that had been all the wrong colours in all the wrong places, and his lungs had seized at the filthy air around him. He had tried calling for help, for his parents, for Myc, but his body couldn’t take the sudden movement, and instead he found himself curling up in the ash and soot, sobbing silently as the world passed on in silence.

That was how Lestrade had found him. Broken, and helpless, and covered head to toe in fiercely angry burns and black, black ash.

If he had believed in destiny, he might’ve even said that the state in which Lestrade had found him in had foreshadowed that which he would become.

Destiny was bantha fodder though, so Sherlock dismissed the thought.

For a while, though, it was near impossible to believe otherwise. The darkness had simply been so all encompassing that Sherlock struggled to keep afloat. The other Masters and students had been rightly terrified of him, and more than once Sherlock had overheard stray thoughts throughout the Force, wondering when he would be lost to the darkness for good.

For a while, Sherlock had felt that he had no other option other than to forever be entrenched in the darkness. He was a monster, an abomination, a sithspawn, and he had lost any hope he might’ve once harboured.

After all, when everyone else fears the darkness within you, it hardly seems polite to disagree.

Then, he had met Molly and everything changed.

For the first time in his life, he had felt like he could be good. That perhaps he wasn’t destined for a future drowning in darkness.

His mistake, however, was in thinking that he could learn to swim.

For although he tried, the darkness never left. And although he went through the motions, he never truly could be a Jedi.

After all, he had all but thrown himself at the darkness in order to save Molly.

Now, as he traversed the uneven ground with the bitter breeze threatening to blow his hood off, Sherlock still didn’t give destiny any credit. After all, what had it done for him? But he did have to admit that if it did exist it clearly had an ironic sense of humour.

Why else would Sherlock be on his way to find the one person who had betrayed him when it was most important? The one person who could hopefully save the galaxy and answer some very pressing questions. The one person who had found him over twenty years prior.

Yes, Sherlock Holmes didn’t believe in destiny.

But destiny believed in him.

And that was why he was always meant for the darkness.

Because destiny knew that he could also be more.

///

In the throne room, Sherlock was doing very, very badly.

With his attention split between the fight and his Force Bond with Molly, he didn’t stand a fighting chance on his own. Molly had momentarily stepped back in her attacks as the two Praetorian Guards kept him busy, but if he didn’t figure out how to get through to her soon, his momentary relief would not last long.

In the end, it was his own stubbornness that did him in.

Mentally chanting that he was strong enough to keep up with the attacks despite the fact that he most certainly was not, Sherlock didn’t have the energy to pay attention to his form. As a result, his right elbow clumsily was left out of position at the tail end of one of his blocks, causing a solid hit to the arm from one of the guards to loosen his hold on his saber.

In the next moment, the blue was extinguished and Sherlock’s lightsaber went clattering to the ground, stopping next to the ugly throne where the Supreme Leader was watching the events unfold with an unsettling grin.

Weaponless, Sherlock barely managed to duck in time, the vibro-voulge of one of the guards skimming too close to his head for comfort.

Panicking, his body went on Jakku survival mode as his foot swung out to catch the guard closest to him, sending him to the ground.

Somewhere in his head, the Jedi part of him was shouting to use the Force to reach for his weapon.

But a much larger part that had witnessed first hand dirty fights in old wrecks of starships was muddling any useful thoughts. He grabbed the vibro-voulge of the fallen guard, the shape familiar enough to his staff that the Scavenger part of him was able to relax slightly in ease.

It lasted about a half a heartbeat before he was bringing the voulge up to block the oncoming attack of the other guard.

Which was, of course, when Molly had to join the onslaught as well.

In his haste to stop the lightsaber from separating the top half of his body from the bottom, he forgot about the body of the fallen guard, and his foot went out from under him. His eyes widened and his breath got caught in his throat, but it was like he was a child again and unable to control the Force.

He hit the ground hard, vision slightly blurry.

It was mere reflex that had him bringing the voulge up to block the lunge of the guard. He blocked each attempted swing desperately, his grip on his temporary weapon weakened due to the awkward position and constant assaults.

His head lolled to the side slightly, and his eyes caught on the handle of his saber.

Trying to fight down the panic, trying to regain some semblance of control, Sherlock reached his hand out.

He was a dead man if he couldn’t rely on the Force.

Please.

The handle twitched and the blade went flying.

…Right past Sherlock’s hand, and into Lestrade’s waiting one.

///

John and Mary were panicking.

Read: Mostly John was panicking.

It had been over five minutes and they were still as stumped as they had been before. Mary had taken to reading every single label for the switches (Luckily for them, Stormtroopers were bad at nearly everything, meaning that the labels for each switch was incredibly precise). Unfortunately, however, there was simply such a multitude of switches that she was still nowhere near finishing.

John was in a corner muttering to himself. Up until a minute before he had been reading the labels too, but then he suddenly stopped without explanation and took up an almost trance-like murmuring about the plan.

Mary was getting fed up with the useless play-by-play.

“This would go a lot quicker if you helped, you know.”

John blinked owlishly at her. Her vocal intrusion seemed to finally break him of whatever spell he was under, but then he opened his mouth and hollowly said something that Mary never expected to hear.

“I think Sherlock’s dead.”

Mary froze, the words on her label suddenly spinning. Then her head snapped towards John with horrified precision. “What?”

John gulped, a shaking hand coming up to card through his hair. “The, uh, Force, thing. It- it-” He shook his head in an attempt to gain control of his actions. “Someone powerful and important just died. It was as though the Force cried out for a moment before settling. I don’t know how else to describe it.”

Mary fought to keep control of her own panic. “But we don’t necessarily know that it was Sherlock. Couldn’t it have been the Supreme Leader?” She reasoned. “He’s also powerful.”

But John merely shook his head. “They were good in life. Otherwise the Force wouldn’t have acted as it did. I don’t know how I know that, but I just do.”

The weight of his words was crushing, and Mary felt as though the room they were in had just shrunk several feet. “If he’s dead… then we’ve failed. The Supreme Leader lives.”

But John was already spiralling into grief, his having said his fears aloud allowing them to solidify into as good as reality in his mind.

“He was my best friend,” His eyes were distant, ears unhearing. “I didn’t know him that long, but he was my best friend. And now he’s gone.”

Mary was having none of it though, her grief doing the opposite and surging through her with new-found determination. She stepped forward and grabbed John’s shoulders, giving his loose frame a good shake to snap him out of it.

“Listen to me,” Her voice was steady, for which she was grateful. “Perhaps he is dead, okay? But that doesn’t mean that we are. Not yet, at least. And I can bet every last unit I have that he wouldn’t want us to give up now, you hear me? I believed in Sherlock Holmes,” Here her voice did crack, ever so slightly, “And now, we must live for Sherlock Holmes. You understand?”

Despite the haze that settled behind his eyes, John nodded ever so slowly.

“Good,” Her bravado was slowly slipping away, so she turned around so that John wouldn’t see. “Now let’s get back to work.”

///

A/N: Okay, so a lot of that doesn’t make sense because I had to cut a lot to avoid spoilers, haha. But if you want to read more (With a much more cohesive plot, I promise) please check out the full story. It’s set post-original trilogy, and basically follows Sherlock from age 7 till age 27. The first chapter is completely set at the Academy, with the second and third being set within two weeks of TFA and TLJ timelines. Hope you guys enjoy!

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16282052/chapters/38077163

ff.net: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13078770/1/Instrument-of-Darkness

-AAG1D

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purplerosesbloodythorns · 6 years

Text

I Would Never Ask You To

A/N:

This is a story that I half wrote about 8 months ago, and despite having the whole story in my head I never finished it. So this is just a warning that read knowing this likely won’t ever be completed. Also, it’s not good but it’s what I got in this head of mine soooooo...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Harry followed the Slytherin as he had been doing for quite some time. He kept the Invisibility Cloak that once belonged to his father wrapped tightly around him, his steps quiet. Malfoy’s back was stiff as he walked, his body tense and thin. He ducked into Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom, and Harry rushed in before the door closed so he wouldn’t be detected. He watched as Malfoy splashed his face with water, his sleeves pulled up. Malfoy looked like shit, and it ate at Harry’s insides. Draco was pale, more so than usual. His cheeks were hollow and the dark circles under his eyes contrasted with the almost white hair that had been knocked loose and was falling on his forehead. Harry glanced down at Draco’s rolled sleeves and inched closer, hoping he was wrong. He wanted to be wrong so badly. His eyes shot to Malfoy’s left arm, and he felt like lead had dropped in his stomach.

The mark was stark against the cream skin, and it looked like the snake curled around the skull was slithering beneath Draco’s flesh. Draco watched the snake move with disgust, a sob shook his body as he breathed heavily. Draco scratched at it until it was red and swollen, as if the Mark was an itch that couldn’t quite be scratched. Harry figured it probably wasn’t comfortable, and the look on Draco’s face confirmed what Harry already suspected. Draco had never wanted it. Finally, out of frustration, Draco dug a clean nail straight through it, blood pouring from the thin cur he left. He let out a pained sound as the skin automatically healed itself, the mark preserved perfectly. He immediately went to do it again, and Harry forgot everything he was meant to be doing. He reached out and gripped Malfoy’s hand, stopping it from torturing the marked skin any longer. Malfoy gasped, jerking his arm away and pulling his wand, pointing it in Harry’s general direction. Harry muttered a curse at his own stupidity, and dropped the cloak from his shoulders.

The silence was deafening, and Draco quickly pulled down his sleeves. Harry watched the mark go and breathed deeply. Draco never dropped his wand, and Harry never pulled his.

“They wouldn’t believe me,” Harry murmured, staring at Draco’s sleeve right where the mark was ingrained, “all said I was crazy, that you weren’t a Death Eater.”

Draco breathed heavily, anxiously waiting for Harry’s attack. Dreading the moment he had to attack back. Harry tore his eyes from the sleeve of Malfoy’s robes, and looked up into the tired face of his rival.

“I wanted them to be right,” Harry whispered like it was his greatest confession, and Draco squirmed under his gaze, feeling like a scolded child. He wanted to protest, argue that he wasn’t one of them. That he didn’t want this, but the mark was a dull pain underneath his skin, constantly reminding him of what he was.

“Sorry to disappoint you, oh Chosen One.” Malfoy snapped as haughtily as he could, not meeting Potter’s eyes. Because he was sorry, so sorry.

“It doesn’t have to define you, you know.” Harry whispered, his body wired tight like a string. “You don’t have to, Malfoy.”

Draco scoffed, “Have to do what, exactly, Potter?” And Draco’s skin crawled, because Potter couldn’t know what he had been tasked. There was no way. He flushed with shame just thinking about it, but the fear of the Dark Lord quickly overcame that shame, leaving him with determination.

Harry shrugged awkwardly, “Whatever you’ve been sneaking around planning, I reckon, or anything you don’t want to, really. You never have to do anything you don’t want to.”

And Draco could almost believe it, the way Harry said it. Determined and steadfast, and Draco knew then exactly why people would follow Harry Potter into battle. He believed in you, and it made you believe in yourself. But Draco was anything but a fool, and Potter could believe whatever he wanted. Draco was going to make it out of this war alive, and if taking the Dark Mark and killing Albus Dumbledore was what it took, then so be it. He wouldn’t allow his mother to bury her only son, and he would not let his father down. When he looked at Harry’s green eyes, open and earnest, a part of him wished he wasn’t a coward. But he was, and what do cowards do? They run. They run, and they lie, and they crush every ounce of hope to be had.

Draco laughed coldly, “If you knew what I wanted, Potter, you would be nowhere near me right now. You’d be hidden behind the old man that holds you so dear, Because I want to See you dead. You and all your little friends, and frankly if I can do anything in assisting the Dark Lord In getting your head put on a stake then I will.”

He glanced at Potter one last time, taking in the stricken look before he turned on his heels and strode into the wide foyer, steps leading him back to the dungeons. His face crumbled with each step, remembering the hurt on Potters face as he left.

“Malfoy!” Potter called, quick footsteps approaching as Draco walked on. Draco resolutely ignored him, not granting him attention. “Malfoy stop!”

Potter’s footsteps came to an abrupt stop, and Draco could hear his labored breathing. Draco kept walking, but he heard one last plea that made him stop in his tracks, the breath knocked out of him with two words.

“Draco, please.” It was said with such solidarity, and Harry wasn’t following him anymore. He was asking, allowing Draco to make the choice on whether or not he acknowledged him. Draco couldn’t remember the last time someone let him have a choice in anything.

Draco didn’t turn to face him, but he did stop. He dropped his head, and listened to Harry’s breathing down the corridor. After a moment, once Harry realized he had no intention of running, Steps echoed on the cobble floors. Potter stopped a few feet away from him, as if he was a dog that would bite.

“I don’t believe you,” Harry whispered, “I don’t believe you want me dead.”

Draco huffed out a breath, almost a dull chuckle, “And what does that change, Potter? What I want or don’t want?”

“Not much when it comes to my death, but a lot when it comes to my life.” Draco’s head tilted in interest,

“And what is that supposed to mean?”

Potter took a deep breath, “I’m probably going to die,” He said it monotonously, as if it was a fact. Draco shuddered, even though he knew it to be true, hearing it from the Golden Boy himself shot an icicle through his heart, “I’ve accepted it, you know? Im not as scared of it as I used to be. I’m kind of reckless, really.” Draco snorted, because boy was that an understatement, and he could feel the glare Potter shot him.

Draco felt a hand on his shoulder and Harry turned Draco’s body to look at him,

“And I’ve always went after what I want. I’ve thrown myself into dangerous situations to get what I want. And I’ve fought for everything that I want. Except you. I’ve never fought for you. I don’t think I realized exactly what I’d be fighting for.”

Draco sucked in a breath, looking at Potter’s determined expression, his jaw set as he looked over Draco’s face. His green eyes were open and raw, and absolutely terrifying. Draco took a moment to collect himself, “What in hell are you going on about Potter?”

He went to take a step back, but bony fingers on his shoulder kept him in place. “I should have fought for you a long time ago, before you had that mark on your arm, and before I was a walking target. But I didn’t, and you are a Death Eater, and I’m destined to die. And that should really make a difference to me. I’m cut and dry. What’s good is good and bad is bad and that’s the way I see things. The way I see everything. Except you. It should be black and white, and you’re the evil and I’m the good because that’s how it’s always been. Its how I’ve kept myself sane.”

Potter sucked in a breath after that long rant, and Draco’s pulse sped with every moment of silence.

“But... I’m going to die. And all I can think about is how I don’t want to die without knowing what your lips taste like.”

He felt a calloused hand touch his cheek, rough where scars marred the skin. Draco closed his eyes, his breath shallow, “It’s up to you, Draco.” Harry whispered, and he sounded so earnest. Draco couldn’t miss the plead in his voice though, Potter wanted him. Potter just wasn’t capable of acting that well, Draco knew for a fact.

A needy sound escaped his own lips, half a sob, because Potter was doing it again. Letting Draco decide. “Why?” He finally asked, his voice broken.

Potter pushed Draco’s hair out of his face, “Maybe because you’re the one thing I can never have?” He said it like a question, like he wasn’t sure himself. “Or maybe I just don’t believe you’re what you pretend to be. Maybe I believe you’re more, much more.”

Draco laughed wetly, “You are so full of shit Potter, and you are so so wrong.”

Harry shrugged, but stepped directly in front of Draco, chest to chest, “Maybe so, but either way, It’s up to you.”

Draco let out a choked sound, and he jerked Harry forward before he could change his mind. Their lips collided roughly, and the sound Harry let out was desperate. Draco was on fire and not just from the passion of the kiss. As their lips moved, the mark on his arm felt like it was burning from the inside out. Like Potter set it on edge. Draco couldn’t bring himself to care, even as the pain seared through his nerve endings. He bit at Potter’s lips, and enjoyed the slide of Harry’s tongue again his own. Harry’s hands slid back into the blonde hair that was still gelled back, tugging at the knots it made. Draco clung to Harry’s back, his fists gripping at the robes. Harry pulled at his hair and latched his mouth to the underside of Draco’s jaw, holding Draco’s arms against the stone, his hand landed directly on top of the mark. Draco let out a pained cry as the skin burned so hot it was impossible to ignore and he jumped away from Harry like he’d been shot. He jerked his sleeve up, and the mark was red, irritated, and swollen.

Harry looked terrified and ashamed, a blush on his cheeks. “I-I’m sorry, Malfoy. I didn’t, I didn’t know it would.. “ Draco held up a hand, silencing Harry. He watched expectedly, expecting the mark to heal itself, but it didn’t. The pain lingered, and the whelps stayed. The snake had opened its mouth and arched into a striking pose, angry. The mark appeared to be trying to get as far away from Draco’s skin as possible, away from Harry.

Draco glanced up at the flushed boy in front of him, a rare fondness in his chest when he saw the distressed and worried look on Harry’s face.

He leaned and grabbed Harry by the shoulders, pulling him back in. He bit and sucked at Harry’s lips roughly, and the brunette moaned heatedly. Draco pulled back before things went too far, well farther than they already have. He honestly was unsure what continuing to touch Harry would do the mark, and how long the effects would last. If he were to return home with the mark truly defaced, he would have hell to pay.

Harry looked down at the mark, ran his finger over it causing Draco to hiss in pain as the snake reared its head and strikes at Harry’s finger. He glanced back up at the steel grey eyes watching him curiously, “I’m going to win this, Malfoy.”

Draco’s eyebrows shot up, and he looked down at the angry red Mark on his skin, and for a moment he believed it. If Harry Potter could damage the Dark Mark with nothing but a touch, a warm welcoming touch, Draco could only imagine the damage he could do when he wanted to. But then Draco thought of red irises, and slit nostrils, and terror poured through his veins. For once, the terror wasn’t for himself but for the boy in front of him.

“I believe you’ll try,” Draco whispered, and it was all he could offer. “And if it’s worth anything, I hope you do. I hope you win.”

Harry smiled softly, “Have something to fight for now, don’t I?” He quickly turned on his heels, heading in the direction of the staircase that would lead him to the Gryffindor tower, slipping the invisibility cloak back over his shoulders.

“Oh and Potter,” Draco called, and he could hear Harry’s footsteps stop to listen, “Don’t expect me to put my neck on the line for you.”

Harry continued walking, a smile on his face, “Would never ask you to, Malfoy.”

———————————————————

As Harry watched Dumbledore fall from the Astronomy Tower, a deep anguish filled his chest. As he glanced at Snape, anger filled his head. As he stared at Draco Malfoy, relief filled his heart.

He watched Draco’s face crumble, a distraught cry escaping his lips as the headmasters lifeless body fell. Harry could feel guilt boiling in his core. How could he feel relief after someone who he loved, and loved him in return, had just been murdered before his very eyes? He knew the answer.

He was relieved because It had not been Draco’s wand that cast the killing curse. Harry wasn’t sure if Draco would have been able to complete the task given to him, and the task, no matter how horrible, was the key to Draco’s survival. The task was completed, and although the youngest Malfoy had played a giant part, it was not at his own hand that Albus Dumbledore died. That didn’t make Draco innocent, but it didn’t damn him either. At the end of this war, Draco could still redeem himself. For that, Harry was thankful.

Tears poured from his own eyes as he thought of the headmaster that had done so much for the wizarding world, and he watched as Snape put a hand on Draco’s shoulder. A part of him wanted to be the one to comfort Draco, for Draco to comfort him in return.

He couldn’t make himself be angry with Malfoy, although he knew he should be. Draco had played with fire, and as usual it was Harry that got burned. Despite that, the only resentment Harry could find was toward Snape. Even through the anger and resentment, Harry couldn’t place the blame on Snape either. He was a good for nothing parasite, a spy, but as Harry thought about what he had overheard about Snape taking the Unbreakable Vow to protect Draco, he had a realization that terrified him to the core. He would have never needed the Vow to kill Albus Dumbledore if it meant keeping Draco Malfoy alive.

He stared at Draco’s face, watching as the blonde tried to pull himself together, listening closely to whatever Snape was whispering in his ear. In that moment, he knew his thought to be true.

If it had came between Dumbledore and Malfoy, there would have been no question as to who would be at the wrong end of Harry’s wand. He loved Dumbledore, but a world without Draco Malfoy was one Harry couldn’t fathom.

He would do anything to protect Malfoy, and that was a dangerous, dangerous loyalty. As he watched the group of Death Eaters flee, Draco along with them, Harry realized he was in far too deep.

———————————————————

Over the course of his 7th year, as Hogwarts became a mere shadow of what it once was, Draco Malfoy found himself in his dorm with a radio in his lap listening to the rantings of Lee Jordan and the Potterwatch team. He always made sure no one would disturb him on those nights, as having the Dark Mark on his arm could be a strong persuasion to be obeyed. The fact that Draco hated being feared for the mark was trivial when it got him what he wanted. Listening to Potterwatch was still dangerous, Draco knew. He took extra precaution by casting a Silencing Charm.

He learned a lot from Potterwatch, although very little about what he actually wanted to know. All of the information that was spouted through the radio was important for the Dark Lord’s resisters side, but held very little meaning to Draco in his position. Still, he acknowledged that under no circumstance could any of the Dark Lord’s followers find out about the radio show, or all would be lost for the Order. Frankly, Draco didn’t care much about the Order or the people involved, but they mattered to Potter, and Potter couldn’t make it out alive without them. It wasn’t likely he could survive even with them.

After all, Harry bloody Potter was the only reason Draco was listening to this god awful show to begin with. It was pointless it seemed, because even those in the inner circle of the Order didn’t know where Potter was. There was speculations, of course, but it was everyone’s best guess. Some of the Death Eaters, and The Dark Lord himself, were believing that Potter had went into hiding, that he was a coward. Draco didn’t believe that for a moment, of all the things Draco knew about Harry Potter (and he knew a lot, mind you), it was that he was always up to something. Draco knew this disappearance was no different. Knowing this didn’t calm his worried mind. His only comfort was knowing that if Harry was dead The Dark Lord would know. He would know, and he wouldn’t shut up about it. So Harry wasn’t dead, and Draco figured that would have to be enough to settle his mind.

Draco wasn’t sure why he even cared at this point, by now everyone knew that Draco had played a part in Dumbledores death, and he knew that Harry hated him. He wanted to pretend that the thought of Harry knowing that His original belief in Draco being more than a lowly Death Eater was wrong didn’t break him, but it did. Potter hating him, true hatred, not just a petty rivalry was a consequence of being a good for nothing coward, Draco knew. I’m didn’t make it hurt any less.

Despite knowing that Harry probably though of him as scum beneath his shoe, it didn’t stop Draco from praying to the gods that Harry was okay. He needed Harry to be okay. As he sat week after week listening to the static filled radio, Draco’s desperation was strangling him slowly. He just needed a sign.

———————————————————

The sign he so desperately asked for came during Easter break, but not in the form he wanted. No, he never wanted this. It came in the form of prisoners, and a mutilated, puffy faced teenager in the drawing room.

“They say they’ve got Potter,” he heard his mother say, and his heart dropped to his stomach. A mantra of ‘no,no, no please no’ echoed in his head, dread rising in his chest the same way bile was rising in his throat. “Draco, come here.”

Draco felt like a puppet on a string, no real control over his body as it rose from the chair he was in, and he fought to keep his face completely neutral as his eyes immediately found the bloated red face of Harry Potter. Draco didn’t even need to look at the other prisoners to know it would be the remainders of the Golden Trio. He approached prisoner, panic rising in his chest as he desperately scanned Harry’s body, looking for any signs of harm other than the obvious distortion. And it was terrible, making Draco’s stomach twist and turn because the boy was almost unrecognizable. It had to be painful. Harry met his eyes, fear in the little he could see of the slitted orbs.

“Is it? Is it Harry Potter?” His father asked, barely concealed excitement in his voice. Gods that was a stupid question, because of course it was. Draco’s heart was beating a hundred miles a minute, and not just out of fear. He could see the shocking green of Potter’s irises even through the jinxed features, and he would know that color anywhere. He would know Harry anywhere. And here he was, being forced to choose. Turning them in would be an immediate death sentence, and the greatest betrayal. But, not turning them in was the betrayal of his family. He was torn, but looking in Harry’s eyes decided it for him.

- [ ] It was clear Harry didn’t expect anything of him. Harry was scared, terrified, but as he looked at Draco he had already accepted his fate. His eyes were soft, even adoring to a point, as he tried to relay to Draco that it was okay. Harry should hate him, but it was clear he didn’t. All Draco could think of was that night in the foyer, when Draco told him he wouldn’t put his neck on the line for him. “I would never ask you to,” Harry had said, and here he was letting Draco know that he still wasn’t asking him to. He wouldn’t ask him to put his life on the line to save him. That this was Harry’s fight, not Draco’s. And that tore Draco apart, because Harry was letting Draco choose again, and he felt that Draco would choose to let him die. If there was anything Draco was sure of, it was that he would not be the reason Harry Potter didn’t live through this war.

#drarry #drarry fanfic #drarry fanfiction #Harry Potter/Draco Malfoy #Harry/Draco #harry x draco #unfinished #im sorry for this #angst #incomplete #i cant finish shit

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