#so this became my first draft of something i wish i had told my sister when i finally cut her off

[wordsarefakeokay]

The universe told me to stop and reflect. The universe told me "don't escape the safe place you've built, learn to see it as home again. Reinforce the barricades and the borders, define your home, name your boundaries. Define what is safe for you and cut what is not. Be okay with your decision and while you do that learn to walk again"

My hands are my voice. I'm finding my peace in the writing. These thumbs have written more essays and fairy tales than on this here heaven and earth Horatio....or at least at a computer. There's no end to the strength and dexterity of my thumbs on my phone. Instead of telling trolls on that inconsequential app Twitter off I spend my time playing with words like preschool blocks and building castles out of cardboard. I am a kid again putting the voice to the thoughts I was too scared to express, to scared to share. I was blinded by the idea of happily ever after and that once the girl gets her prince or resolves her issues, that's supposed to be the end of the story. Aren't you happy now you have a man? Aren't you happy now you had one meaningful conversation with your mom, isn't it all water under the bridge by now?

Now I can say no one breakthrough is not a solution. It's an epiphany and how you respond afterwards is your truth. Will you wake up and try better, wake up and try at all, or will you think that the epiphany is enough and that therapy is a quick fix solution. Will you try at all or stay the same. Will you be there or will you be present, aware, active, engaging. Will you just sit in the room and think that's enough or will you try. Your response tells us everything.

So I sit here in my princess and the pea bed of mattresses and it's soft and home and clean and safe. I still watch fairy tales but now I look at all the characters and think about who's storyline has helped me grow the most in that hour and a half. Who's growth is going to help me with my own and now I find that it changes day to day. I am the hero of my own story and sometimes that means I'm the side character for someone else because my relationship with them matters to me, they matter to me but also by listening to my dear ones woes I can reflect on my own. The advice I give them also helps me. And I practice this when I'm watching a movie. It's not just observing cinematic experience in a moment, it's learning how the story unfolds based on how the director sees it and understanding the use and importance of dialogue. Only the best shows make it hard to choose which storyline applies that day because everyone and everything about the story is working in perfect harmony. And everytime I am different, unique, feeling a singular train of thought that day and the movie, the story takes me somewhere else. They still come with a sick beat and melody to match so some things stay the same. It is me who is different and wiser now. And that is okay. That is called growth.

So that is why it must be that the universe said "nah honey take a chill pill" and zapped me with the fortune of a few broken foot bones and some joint fractures for measure. When they bury me in the ground my right foot will look different from my left. Those bones don't look the way they do when I started this trainwreck rollercoaster called life. So I stay comfy and I wait and I wait. I manage pain and I wait and I wait. I see my doctor take the medication eat food and I eat the right food and I wait. And wait. And wait until my doctor says otherwise. I'm healing, and mending skeletal framework and rewiring my muscles. And everytime I get a little closer to having a normal life again I go right back to bed before waking up to try again. Can't you see that I'm trying?

So you're not welcome here. Your presence isn't safe. You aren't a safe space for me anymore and looking back on it I don't really think you were. I don't know how you clearly must be for other people. You are a volcano ready to erupt at a kids science fair at the earliest sign of Pepsi on Mentos. You are a fire hydrant who's lug nut did not get properly tightened on it's last task. You are a hallowed antique store that is precious to your small community that I'm terrified to enter because I'm not worthy. Because the person behind the counter is analyzing my every move my every breath and tallying every close call or smudged foot print I leave. They're preparing to sanitize every surface, polish every piece, freaking sage your safe zone from the enemy that apparently was me all along. I was walking on eggshells in your safe space, even when you opened it up to me. I was holding my breath Incase I breathed funny and triggered something in you. I was recounting verbal chess moves to see where everything went wrong. And at the end of the day I learned

We are not good for each other. We are not safe for each other. Your china shop is at your exact specifications and new elements are not welcome in your life. And that's your problem because you missed out on knowing me. You missed out on really knowing me. You saw what you could gather in a year and you told me I wasn't good enough. You told me the four deadly words to anyone's soul: you're not good enough. You asked me to change and never wondered what I needed from you if we were gonna stay in each other's lives. Stay as family. Be a family. Family makes room in the shops for you to visit. I wanted to look at your antiques and doodads and any memory you ever wanted to share that was neat or painful or funny or raw. Any memory that told me about you. Your antique shop was in black and white while I was there and all I wanted to do was know what colors went where. I wanted to know who you were in all the funny or scary or weird or nice microcosms about you. What makes you a person and can I be good in your life like I thought you would be in mine.

I guess we answered that question the day I broke my foot. It was the day you tried to fix things. It was the day you broke my heart. The kind of break you've been through before but you thought was behind you. The hurt that reminds you of your mom, the mom who's better over there out of my own book store.

And the worst part is that I know if I told you this you'd tell me that the antique china shop I described is actually a mom and pop OG game stop before game stop became popular. Itd be the hit place with the kids in the district or the kids in the group home or the kids in the after school DARE program rode their bikes and scooters and skateboards to while laughing at lessons and thinking about drugs and how the things "you're too young to mess with" are actually something you can get at the guy from the 711 on the way to the mom and pop store. You'd tell me that the antiques found in here we're the treasures of your youth, that the retro pieces of my time were the norm in yours. That every day nostalgia for you was an era away that I can appreciate like a fine wine. We are different and I was trying to understand what was in your store. I was trying to understand why this mom and pop shop stayed at this block with this community and supported this family and these kids. Why is this a safe place for others and not a safe space for me. I was trying to understand. Do you hear that? I was trying. to. understand. And you let me explore for a little bit I think I sneezed or laughed with you about something or maybe it was a comment or my body language or my attitude but I also could have just breathed wrong and you put up hazards saying "this place isn't safe with my little sister anymore" with everyone in your life on alert to figure out how to keep a sniper rifle trained on me. And from that first offense, every little mistake I made got worse, there was no end to punishments or tough fam conversations. I left a job because of that kind of treatment why are you surprised I blocked you? Why did you make your hurt my problem at the end of everything when I told you it was over and that I was done. Why are you like this? I hope you answer that question later for yourself one day so I'll say it again for spiciness. Why. are. you. like. this? Why can't you change?

The worst part about it is I know how you'll respond to all this and it goes a little something like this: you'd respond in a way that would make it about you just so you could have the last say and end this on a note where your hurt is my problem (again) and you would end it in a way that would prompt me to respond. You talk to hurt and be right so you can sleep at night and I talk to heal and grow. We're different. And when things go bad, things are worse before the bull breaks the retro shop.

The bull was you all along. Please know that before we talk again.

[yetanothergreyjedi]

Why is it so hard to believe that a princess would lie?

No one entertains the idea that the new tax is for the purpose they claim. The king lies, the streets remain potted with holes, and we all knew this would happen.

Dukes and Duchesses and princes? Do you trust their words more?

No.

So why do you trust hers?

Is it because she's a merchant's daughter, and not a highborn girl of status and power?

Tell me, do you really trust the wealthy shopkeeper to give you the most of your money's worth?

I thought not.

You trust her story because you want to. I get that, it is quite the tale. I know my words will fall on deaf ears, but I cannot go forever without telling it. Princess who's love would have me executed or not.

We never called her Cinderella.

But I'm getting ahead of myself.

Ella. Ella was the name of my new sister. She was younger than Anastasia, but older than me. I was excited to meet her. She was not excited to meet us.

The first night in the new house (It was an extravagant place, then before we'd gotten used to it, it had stairs!), Ella shut herself in her rooms for dinner, then breakfast, then was coaxed out by her father for lunch. Her eyes were puffy but she still leveled us with a glare that felt like a drafty window.

Ella did not want us here.

"Give her time," Mother had told us, "Her mother passed away recently, this is a big change."

So we gave her time. Two years should've been enough to dull the hostility, but when I'm pranked so viscously, I retaliate. I regret it a bit now, it was childish, but I don't think I would've ever done anything differently. See, Ella's father, the man I should call my papa like she did, didn't believe Ella could do wrong. I could tell him that she'd put rotten egg in my shoe, but Ella wouldn't do that, it must've been Anastasia, if I wasn't lying. So I fought back in my own way, and got punished for it more often than not.

Two years later, and we were just as much enemies as Ella had expected of us.

Then Ella's doting father died.

Here's the beginning of her story, she "Became a servant in her own house," right? Honestly, I think she actually thinks that's how it happened.

Context, Ella, is important.

Mother didn't appear to grieve (She did, of course, but Ella never learned to read my mother's face.) Mother couldn't afford to waist time lounging with her tears, we were living in a house we couldn't afford. So Anastasia sat at the table and started embroidering for hours, Mother and I ripped the useless flowers from the garden and planted the dye plants we knew so well. We secured an income to keep the warm, draft-less building. Mother tried to remarry (yet again), but some nasty rumors of poison kept the husbands away. I still wonder if Ella, the charismatic socialite, had something to do with them.

We couldn't afford to keep servants, but we knew how to clean and cook, and do all the things we did before. Ella did not.

I do wonder if our work all went unnoticed. Did she really not care that I made dinner, because of how horrendous it was to was dishes? She says now, that we all lounged around and did nothing. Well, Ella, maybe its because I stuck my hand in the laundry water and scrubbed instead of swishing it around hoping the dirt wouldn't get on me!

It does not take that long to do simple chores if you dig in and do them!

(And before you try to say it, we did teach her how. But the washboard chipped a nail and was then onward unusable.)

Mere months of this, oh, that's right, Ella doesn't use the correct dates in her tale, No.

This didn't go on for six years, like she'd have you believe. Her father hadn't been in the ground for a year when the ball's invitation came.

I wish it had been longer.

She would've figured chores out and had a bit of free time. Then, maybe she would be content to not ruin us.

I think you can figure the rest of the story out. I dyed fabric, Anastasia embroidered, and Mother stitched dresses together for all three of us. Ella's didn't meet her standards and she wore something from an old chest of her mother's. It had been a beautiful gown, I could imagine a fairy stitching it.

The party came and went, we had fun and Ella had a hook in the prince. The envoy came to collect her a week later, and she'd had soot on her fingers from scrubbing the fireplace.

That was the first and last time I'd ever see Cinderella.

[redbeansoups]

Move-In Day

Cove Holden x Reader

In which Cove Holden helps you move into your brand new dorm, and wishes you farewell before your freshman year.

Takes place after Step 3.

*

Like it or not, your life has always revolved around one Cove Holden. One bright-eyed, silky-haired, infuriatingly endearing Cove Holden. It’s always been him, in everything you’ve done, forever a spectator and participant in one. You have never known a time without him: your classmate, neighbor, best friend and boyfriend-extraordinaire.

Even now, as you edge into adulthood, Cove Holden is all you know: seated beside you with one hand on the wheel, wavy hair tucked behind his ears, his eyes longingly on yours. He catches your gaze, and offers you a smile, full of sincerity as always.

The journey upstate had been a long time coming; a goal, ever-present, but inching along so slowly that you’d opted merely to brush it off. But as the summer of your senior year came to a close, your move-in day had sprung up on you like an unpleasant (albeit somewhat enthralling) surprise.

Cove, forever a gentleman, had insisted on driving you all the way. You’d argued against him, only to be shut down–and quite firmly at that. “If you’re going to be moving so far away,” he’d told you one night, “then the least I can do is go and see you off.” He was a much better driver than you anyway, you’d reasoned with yourself, and it’d be nice to have another pair of hands to unpack. The idea of flying alone didn’t quite appeal to you either, so, after hardly a moment’s hesitation, you’d agreed to let him tag along.

College, all the way up north–you can hardly believe you’d come so far. You’d dreamt of this for years, spent months drafting application essays and crafting resumes. Years of preparation and research, though, hadn't seemed to brace you for the anxiety to come.

Even now, sitting in the car with Cove, hands intertwined, the idea feels more like a dream than your living, breathing reality. But the car trudges along, movements never once faltering for your thoughts.

You’d be on your own soon–a stray left for dead. You’d be nowhere near Sunset Bird anymore.

Lost in thought, it takes you more than a moment to grow cognizant of your surroundings. The scenery has shifted, the sky around you having faded to a pale purple hue. The change in atmosphere is instant. High-rise buildings litter the skyline; the shopping districts, no longer limited to a single street, bustle with activity.

It feels, beyond anything else, unfamiliar.

Isolating.

Realistically, you are far from alone. Derek, having gotten his scholarship, lives right down the hall. Your parents and sister are always a call away, and your friends have never failed to remind you of their presence. And Cove, despite being far from technologically adept, is still a better texter than most–and a relatively consistent one at that.

These thoughts, at least, are reassuring.

But the fear remains–and all you can do is try and work alongside it.

You turn to Cove. The window has been rolled down; you feel the cool evening breeze against your skin, fresh and foreign all at once. His hands are running mindlessly through his hair, detangling the inevitable wind-induced knots. Your eyes flit down to his fingers drumming against the steering wheel, then lower down to his scar, the pale white mark running gently down his forearm.

Sitting there, so unaware of himself, sunset illuminating soft features–Cove is beautiful, in every possible way.

You smile, content.

*

The hours pass, and before you know it, you find yourself on campus for the first time.

You tap the keycard to your door, and it opens with a soft click. The two of you are met with the sight of the dorm, the yellow-tinted wood somehow even less impressive than the photos you’d seen online. Barren walls, popcorn ceilings, worn-down linoleum from decades past. Sparsely decorated as it may be, the room puts you at ease.

You let Cove move past you to enter. “What a joy.” You scoff at the drawl in his voice. “Where’d you say your roommate’s from?” he asks, his shoulders nudging the door wider. His set of boxes is significantly larger than yours, and he looks smaller than ever with the stack cradled against his chest.

“Florida,” you answer, following his footsteps.

“Oh.” He sets the cardboard down on the ground, the impact resounding with a solid thump. “I hope they won’t mind the mess we’re about to make.”

That draws a laugh out of you; you think back to all the times you’ve stepped into his room, only to find it a complete bird’s nest. “They’re not moving in until tomorrow.” Another thump resounds as you drop your own load. “We have time to clean. But don’t mess things up too bad, please. I’d like a good first impression.”

“No promises.”

You roll your eyes, and, cracking open the first box, begin the arduous process of unpacking.

*

“Well,” Cove says finally, brushing dust away from his hands. “I think that was the last of your stuff.”

Setting the last of your books in place, you take a moment to revel in your surroundings. Despite his messy tendencies, Cove had done a pretty good job–with your assistance, of course. All your clothes had been folded neatly up in the closet, and your posters were hung all over the walls, like a delicate reminder of home. On the desk sat two small photo frames; one with you and your family, and one with you and Cove.

“I guess so, huh,” you mutter.

There’s a weight in the air around you, and you bow your head.

There’d been too much to discuss. Hell, even now the topic was one you wanted nothing more than to avoid. The ‘what-ifs’ had littered your mind for months now, hanging over you like a constant reminder. And though Cove had tried his best to dispel them, they’d inevitably come back–and with a vengeance. You didn’t know what the future held, nor did you know whether the two of you would last. Uncertainty riddled your mind: what if he grew bored? What if the two of you lost interest? What if, after all your time together, the physical distance became too much?

His hand comes to rest on your shoulder. The gesture is light, gentle–a welcome pressure.

The tension dissipates.

You sigh, lifting your chin up to meet his gaze. There’s a softness in his eyes you’ve come to recognize as sadness. And there’s a warmth behind your own that threatens to grow hot, to liquify and pool before you. You choke back the urge to cry, stifling yourself by clearing your throat. “You’ll text me, won’t you?”

He chuckles softly at that, thumb stroking circles into your skin. “Of course. I’ll call you so often you’ll grow sick of me.”

“I’m counting on it, Cove.”

You give him one last hug, inhaling his scent and pressing your cheek to his chest. He smells like Sunset Bird, a mixture of the ocean and the beach and all the pleasantries that come along with it. His pulse, slow and steady, beats in your ear.

Devoting the moment to memory, you angle your head to plant a peck on his cheek. “Thanks for helping me move in.”

He grins at you. “Of course.” The expression sparks something strange in you, something equal parts melancholy and equal parts pride. You so badly want him to stay–you want to reach out, pull him down into the bed and sit right atop him so he might never escape your grasp.

“I love you,” you whisper, part-plea and part-farewell; you see the pain in Cove’s eyes. “Don’t get into too much trouble while I’m gone, alright?”

He lets out a breathy laugh and, shaking his head, shoots you a smile. "I love you too."

You smile, and breathe him in just once more. Then, with one last teary kiss, you let go, and wish him a safe journey home.

You’re on your own now–

But you know he’s with you, always.

*

A/N: Another self-indulgent piece as always, because I've fallen in love with one Cove Holden. My freshman year of college starts soon, and I guess my worries culminated in this piece. Thanks for reading, though–I hope this was alright! Any reblogs or likes are appreciated!!

[redriotdynamite]

You Betrayed Me ~ Shoto x Reader

I know this is another sad one. But, it was in my drafts and I was going to post it but forgot lol. I hope you guys like it. ~ Lee

TW:

Breakup

Angst

Brown guilty eyes and little white lies

Yeah, I played dumb but I always knew

That you’d talk to her, maybe did even worse

I kept quiet so I could keep you

I always felt like something was going on between them. He always seemed a little too close to her. The first time I met her, I was instantly jealous. She was a hero just like him with an amazing quirk. But that’s not what drew him towards her. Her confidence and her beautiful features are what won him over.

“We’re just friends. Nothing more.”

Just friends, my ass. It may have started out that way, but I should’ve known. They graduated from the same hero school. They fought alongside each other. They even patrolled together sometimes. I tried not to think much of it at first, but now it’s all so clear to me what was going on between them this whole time.

You betrayed me

And I know that you’ll never feel sorry

For the way I hurt

You’d talk to her

When we were together

Loved you at your worse

But that didn’t matter

It took you two weeks

To go off and date her

Guess you didn’t cheat

But you’re still a traitor

We hadn’t even been broken up for that long. They became the new It-Couple. Their faces were plastered on every magazine and billboard in Tokyo. Everywhere I went, all I saw was them. Nobody knew that Shoto and I dated because he wanted to keep his love life private, but it’s real fucking funny seeing him on the billboards with his new girlfriend. It was like a knife in the heart. Was I not good enough or pretty enough to show off? Was it because I didn’t have a similar background as him? He said that he kept our relationship private to protect me from the press and pyscho fans.

I wanted people to know about us. I wanted him to show pride in his relationship with me. When the tabloids started speculating that they were more than friends, Shoto did his best to avoid the prying questions from the journalists. But, it eventually got to the point where he accidentally made it seem like they were more than friends. He told me that they would be over it by next week. He was wrong.

The press and fans ate it up. He kept reassuring me that everything would eventually blow over, and to not worry. The more the press ate it up, the more they were asked to do interviews together and photoshoots. They both confirmed that they were just friends, but people still thought they were together. Every entertainment outlet was posting stories about them. Fan accounts were made about them. “TodoMomo” was their ship name.

I felt increasingly jealous of her by the second. Shoto did his best to calm my nerves, but I could feel him pull away. And when we called it quits, I wake up to find out that Shoto Todoroki, the fire and ice hero, and Momo Yaoyorozu, the creation hero are officially dating. My heart shattered into a million pieces. That could’ve been me. Why couldn’t that be us? Why am I made to feel like I a dirty little secret? I loved him so much. I wasn’t ready to give up on him yet. I wanted him to care more about me, about us, about our relationship. I planned on building a life with Shoto and within a second and a some angry words thrown at each other, it was over.

Now you bring her around

Just to shut me down

Show her off like she’s a new trophy

And I know if you were true

There’s no damn way that you

Could fall in love with somebody that quickly

He destroyed me. After finding out about them dating, I locked myself away. I stopped answering my friends’ worried calls. They all knew how I felt about the situation. They even made it a point to talk to him about it. But I guess it wasn’t enough. I wasn’t enough. I wasn’t worth fighting for.

When I finally got the courage to start going out again, and being with my friends, he had to be there to shove her in my face. I had seen them patrol together, holding hands being so in love. There were times he knew that I was staring at them. He would kiss Momo passionately or flirt with her just to spite me. Apparently, it was my fault that things ended so badly between Shoto and I. Something that was supposed to be an innocent friendship between two friends and colleagues turned into something more. Every time he had spent too much time out, or didn’t call me before he got off or call to say he was going to be late, I worried. I worried if he was okay. What if he got hurt? What if he was being rushed to the hospital right now? But worst of all, I started to worry that he was out with Momo.

Ain’t it funny?

Remember I brought her up

And you told me I was paranoid

Yeah, okay, he’s a Pro-Hero. I expected him to stay out late or all night. But we established that he needed to let me know somehow, so that I wouldn’t worry. When he started pulling away from me, I had asked countless times if there was something going on between him and Momo. He always denied it, and told me that I was fretting over nothing.

You betrayed me

And I know that you’ll never feel sorry

For the way I hurt

You’d talk to her

When we were together

Loved you at your worst

But that didn’t matter

I was there for him since the beginning of his hero career. I met his parents. I met his brother and sister. I was the one that got him to open up more to me, his family and friends. It was like pulling teeth in the beginning. There were some rough patches, but we made it through. I thought we would make it through this bump in the road, but instead we crashed. I loved him so much through everything. We had even talked about marriage and kids. I was prepared for a life with Shoto. But, all of that doesn’t mean shit now. He is with Momo and I am left to pick up the pieces.

God, I wish that you had thought this through

Before I went and fell in love with you

When she’s sleeping in the bed we made

Don’t you dare forget about the way

You betrayed me

‘Cause I know that you’ll never feel sorry

For the way I hurt

You’d talk to her

When we were together

You gave me your word

But that didn’t matter

~Timeskip~

As I watch Shoto get on one knee and propose to Momo, it takes everything in me to not scream and beg for him to not go through with it. That was supposed to be me. I was supposed to marry him. He promised me. It doesn’t help that I’m still in love with him. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt as bad if I didn’t care so much, but I can’t help it. The crowd cheers as they surround the couple.

Shoto and I make eye contact for a moment. He looks so happy. I can’t take that away from him. I guess it’s real and not a farce. For a second, I see a guilty glint in his eyes before it’s masked by his overwhelming happiness of his engagement. The tears are flowing freely down my face now. It hurts. It hurts so much.

God, I wish that you had thought this through

Before I went and fell in love with you…

[becomingbts]

Would You Like to Order a Sip of Happiness?

Pairing: Jimin x Reader

Type: angst, fluff but without any real romance

Warning(s): mention of (natural) death, grief, and depression.

Genre: Fantasy, university au!

Summary: It had been a rumor, a fairy tale, an old story… Until Jimin had no other choice but to believe it.

5.5k words

Note: OKAY HERE WE GO I HAD THIS IN MY DRAFT FOR LIKE, FOREVER. I’m so happy I’m done with it!! I’m pretty satisfied I think, so I hope you’ll like it! Take care everyone, please, feedback is always warmly welcomed! I try to answer everyone uwu Take care, lots of love!!!! Dolly (who is going to sleep now lol)

It had been a rumor.

A groundless rumor said that there was a weird coffee shop in town. It had been there for ages, apparently. The rumors said that people found out about where the shop was only when they truly needed it; they said it was an unconscious process made by their brains, feet guiding them by themselves to the said coffee shop without leaving any memory about the right path to go back once they left. Thus, no one knew where it was. The few people who had found the coffee shop were left unable to find their way back to the place as if a spell was preventing them from finding the shop again. This unexplainable phenomenon made people dubious and for those who dared to say that the shop existed, that they had seen it by themselves, rare were those who listened to them without laughing at them. Nobody actually believed them. And if this whole thing of not being able to find the shop again was already sketchy, the rest of their stories usually made it even less credible. Rumors said that this coffee shop offered to serve memories; 'a journey into your soul, into life and discoveries'. It sounded like a fairy tale coming straight from a book, if not a complete made-up lie. It had been said that one slice of cake from the shop was enough for people to travel to unknown landscapes and that a sip of tea was able to recreate the happiest memory of someone.

Jimin had heard of those rumors too. He had even met one person who had declared to have been in the coffee shop by themselves and thus knew that it existed.

It had been his grandmother. She was not there anymore to narrate the complex story, but she used to tell Jimin that it did really exist. When he was a kid, he was fascinated by the story. From what his grandmother had told him and what he had gathered, it could mean only one thing: the coffee shop was magic. His grandmother had explained to him that a nice lady had asked her if she had wanted anything that was on the menu.

"Even though I thought that all the names were ridiculous, I couldn't help but be curious. The menu had many things like 'a sip of happiness' or a 'chamomile of joy'. I thought I was in a dream. I had never seen that shop before, and it felt like it had appeared out of nowhere. However, everything seemed very old inside, as if the café had been around for years. The chairs were crackling, the parquet seemed old too, and even the menu looked kind of historic! It felt like the shop had always been there." She had remembered happily with a hint of nostalgia.

"What did you order then, Ma?" Jimin had asked curiously.

"Ah, I ordered a 'latte of memories' and a slice of 'cakescape'. If you ever find the shop, you should order one slice of that cake too. I know you'll love it!" His grandmother had always worn that warm smile on her features. She used to smile a bit brighter when she talked about her encounter with the shop.

"Was it tasty?"

"It was the best thing I ever had. But it wasn't the most surprising part of the story. When I closed my eyes, I could hear and smell different things, as if I had gone out of the coffee shop and was somewhere else. It was confusing at first, especially when I noticed that the smells and the atmosphere felt familiar. It was hard to remember where I knew those scents and noises from, but after a few seconds, I realized it was just like my sister's home. It used to be my favorite place in the world; smelling like cinnamon and bread. I could hear her dog barking somewhere and her voice was so, so clear in my head as if she was actually there with me. I knew it was impossible because my sister had passed away a few months before. But I could hear her singing lightly, giggling happily as she was baking. It was almost as if everything that had gone wrong with my sister's death had never happened. But once I opened my eyes again, I was back in the coffee shop. The smell had changed again, and I could not hear my sister anymore,” the old woman’s expression had soured a bit before she had continued, “I cried a lot that day; all the pain left from my sister's death had come to my mind again, and it felt like I was finally grieving like I had wished to have the time for. I remember the owner giving me a hug and asking me if I felt better. I don't exactly remember what happened afterward, but all I remember is being out of the coffee shop and just feeling so relieved and relaxed. I never found the shop again. I tried, trust me, I redid almost all streets I had gone through that day. But I never found the coffee shop again."

"What was the name of the shop, Ma'?"

"Serendipity."

Jimin used to think that it was amazing, especially when he was a kid. Yet, he now knew that it had been a silly story that his grandmother had invented to make him dream. He had been feeling a little bit betrayed at first, but he knew better than to hold a ridiculous grudge against his dear grandmother who had just wanted to offer him a nice story to remember.

However, to his surprise, when he entered university, he heard the familiar story again. He realized that the university rumor—that he soon learned to be famous here—was awfully close to the story of his grandma, and it had bothered him at first. Maybe it had just been a popular story that his grandmother had learned about, after all? It had taken him aback, not ready to hear the story again after years of not hearing it, and especially not from someone else and with different details. He had definitely not thought that anyone would know this story; he had always believed his grandmother had made it up, so to learn that it was a popular rumor on his campus? That had unquestionably been unexpected for him. And as much as he had tried to convince himself that it probably wasn't the same story, that it just had been hazard playing with his head, Jimin came to the conclusion that it truly was the exact same one. There were too many similarities for it to be a coincidence. The story almost felt like some kind of folklore story that ran into the corridors for years without any answer for the people who were questioning the shop's existence. People either dismissed the story or some were fully engrossed in it; a club had even been created in the university in order to search for the said coffee shop.

Jimin wasn't too big on looking for the shop nor did he fully disregard the rumor, yet he had mixed feelings when it came to it. Maybe he had wished for this rumor to be less popular since his grandmother had passed away. His feelings had been locked away, tears hidden while he had not been allowed to take his time to grief; the university had still been ongoing and he had still needed to pass his semester. Jimin's family had refused for him to miss classes, and he had been sent back to Seoul without getting proper time to swallow his loss. It came to a point where Jimin just wanted to yell at every single person speaking about it because it just reminded him of his grandmother. It felt unfair.

Why did he have to go through that? University had barely begun, it was his first semester there and if the familiar story had brought him comfort the first few weeks, it brought him face to face with his worst fears now that he was left alone. The story no longer reminded him of a happy time, but rather of his loss that he was never granted time to cope with. Jimin couldn't help the tears that sometimes threatened to escape from his lashes, but he held on tight, mood souring as midterms came closer and so did his despair. Overwhelmed by sorrow, motivation felt like something he'd never be able to muster again. Getting up started being difficult, eating became a bother, washing up a burden, so learning was at the bottom of Jimin's priority list. Shaking himself up seemed impossible and while he didn't want to admit it to himself, Jimin came to terms with the fact that he wasn't alright, but he'd find a way to feel better eventually.

Not that this admission mentally helped, but at least, it would be a step toward his recovery (hopefully).

In the middle of the stress and growing tension that was palpable in the corridors of the university, Jimin had become detached from this little world. The anxiety of his friends was—to him—incomprehensible, and Jimin's passivity was frustrating for his close friends. They all tried to make him talk, to understand why he was falling into this deep hole he had started digging for himself. None of them could recognize him, it was as if he had been stripped out of his happiness and of the life that was glistening in his eyes and while they wanted to help, they also had their exams to worry about. None of them wanted Jimin to feel like their work was more important than his well-being, but at some point, none of them knew how to help him without feeling like they were losing him for an unknown reason. One of his closest friends, Namjoon, had even begged Jimin to talk, took him on several walks with him, brought him to their favorite coffee shop, to the library... Anywhere outside the university, since it seemed to be the place that was numbing him. He couldn't understand why, but the campus always seemed to push Jimin to his worst mood, so they all avoided bringing him there if not necessary. It had been a silent agreement between themselves, and Jimin had been honestly grateful for them to catch this little detail.

Yet, Namjoon's effort did not change Jimin's behavior. He never talked, never shared his feelings, never gave a sign of opening up. At least, he did smile a bit when they took a walk together, so Namjoon kept on going with him every single day in order to try and get him out of his bad thoughts. Maybe they couldn't help solve his problem, but if they could alleviate the pain, it would still be something they would gladly do.

It was during one of those walks that Jimin saw a small cat and got distracted until he actually lost Namjoon. Frowning to himself, Jimin had tried calling his friend, but to no avail. It was already quite late; looking for one another would just make them lose time. Leaving a voicemail to tell him not to worry and to just go home, Jimin activated his navigation app and walked in the direction of his home until he came to a dead end. Cursing against the app under his breath, Jimin turned around and noticed that the cat he had previously been distracted by was now sitting in front of an illuminated door, much to Jimin's surprise.

Had the cat followed him? But why did it seem like it was actually waiting for him? Curiosity getting the best of him, Jimin got closer to the cat that was observing him and he faced the shop, gawking.

The Serendipity.

Frozen as if time had stopped; snow could have been falling, Jimin wouldn't have noticed. He was staring at the shop, incredulity written all over his features while he tried to swallow the lump that had started to form in his throat. He couldn't talk, only a dry laugh escaped him as tears started rolling on his cheeks.

So that was it? He would never find peace, would he? He was doomed to eternally miss this old woman that had brought so much comfort to him in his teens. He had not been able to see her nearly as often as he wished he had, but she still had meant so much to him; why was destiny so cruel to take her away so quickly? Shaking himself up, he wiped his tears away as he grew angry.

Why did this fucking shop have to appear now after years of thinking that it was a mere invention of his grandmother? Why did it have to remind him of the person he lost?

Jimin almost wanted to run away, turn around and never look back. He didn't have to enter after all.

However, he felt a pull toward the shop as if he subconsciously knew that he had to get inside and see what he would find. Jimin clicked his tongue, annoyed at his own curiosity. He wished he could honestly say that he just wanted to go home and fall asleep under his heavy blanket, but he knew better than to lie to himself. He had done that enough already.

The shop was calling for him and he physically needed to know what he would find. Even if his heart ached at the simple thought of his grandmother, he needed to know.

After all these years of wondering, he could have his answer. So when he heard the chime sound as he pushed the door open, Jimin let the warmth of the café engulf him, drying his wet cheeks while the feeling of warmth made his heart tighten. He couldn't help but think that disappointment was probably the only thing that he would be met with. Jimin wasn't as gullible as people thought him to be. He might have wanted to believe in fairy tales, but he knew better than to actually think it existed for real. Jimin knew that he would probably drink a cup of tea that wouldn't be out of the ordinary and neither would the cake be magical. He sighed heavily, almost ready to turn around and berate himself for his moment of delusion, yet before he could, the cat planted itself in front of the door and mewed loudly as if trying to warn him not to leave. Blinking a few times, Jimin crouched in front of the cat, tilting his head in a confused manner.

"What are you up to bud? You're cute, but I need to get home-"

"I see you met with Ji, welcome Jimin-shi, we've been expecting you for a while," Jimin's head shot up as he heard the voice of a woman coming from behind him. Turning around quickly, he was met with blue eyes and a warm smile while he stared awkwardly.

"How... Do you know my name?" He quickly checked his jacket to verify that no name tag was hanging for the young woman to see but he grew even more uneasy as he saw none.

"Ji told me," she smiled as she pushed a chair close to the counter to the side as if inviting him to take a seat. If he had to be honest though, Jimin would admit that he would rather run away than accept the invitation of a stranger who seemed to know him while he had no recollection of any previous meeting. He would be less suspicious if he had had troubles with remembering faces or names. After all, she looked young enough to be around his age, maybe she saw him around campus? But her face truly didn't ring any bell and Jimin usually had a really good memory when it came to faces.

Even more reasons to feel suspicious.

"Ji?" He asked cautiously.

"Yeah, Ji. The cat," the cat mewed before jumping on the counter and the young woman rolled her eyes, "I know, you're not a cat, you're a witch, blablabla, I know the song. Please, don't stress our guest more than he already is, he looks like he is about to run away any second!" She giggled as the cat mewed again; the young woman turned to Jimin again, smiling at him with caring eyes. He didn't know if he should be worried or soothed by her gaze; he felt like he should feel uncomfortable, yet, as strange as it sounded, he didn't feel ill at ease, "please, take a seat! What would you like to order?" Jimin wanted to politely refuse, tell her he needed to go and hide under the sheets of his bed after a warm shower. However, for some reason, Jimin's body chose to compel to her voice and not to his brain and he simply sat at the counter while struggling to find his words. Looking at the woman with terrified eyes, he noticed her name on her apron.

Serendipity's (Y/N).

The name did not ring any bell either. Why did she seem to know him then?

"Here, the menu. You can order what fits your heart." He shouldn't. He knew better than anyone else that he should leave, run away and never look back. This was starting to freak him out, yet his eyes merely listened to his brain as he started reading the menu.

Jimin's breath hitched; he definitely shouldn't have read it. He should have left the café when he had the opportunity to do so because Jimin felt nauseous as his eyes landed on "the latte of memories" and the slice of "cakescape". Jimin forgot how to breathe for a second as the vivid memories of his grandmother came back flooding his mind. It couldn't be a coincidence, could it now? He could still remember how his grandmother had advised him to order the latte of memories and the cakescape the day he would find the café. Her words were ringing in his head, loud enough for his head to spin ever so slightly. He couldn't make out the other words written on the menu as if these two words were the only thing he could properly read. Shaking his head for a second, he rubbed his eyes painfully before they landed on the menu again. 

Without any change. 

Jimin's still couldn't read anything else, the whole menu was blurry as if he had been crying. Would he be ridiculous for actually crying because he suddenly couldn't read anymore? Probably. He needed to get a grip on himself. Jimin couldn't let his feelings overwhelm him like that; he was in an unknown—and potentially dangerous—place, he had to focus so that he could leave. He wasn't stupid; he knew that he was not in the right state of mind to be alone in the streets at such a late hour, but he also needed to get out quickly. He couldn't stay here where he could feel himself already spiraling.

"Have you chosen anything?" His head snapped in the direction of the young woman, (Y/N), as her voice woke him up from his trance. Her eyes glistened almost with mischief and he wondered what it was about her that felt so ethereal.

"I-" Struggling to find his words, the lump that was stuck in his throat made itself known again and Jimin coughed a few times as he tried to voice his thoughts. He mentally cursed, what was it today with his voice not coming out when he desperately need to put his distress into words? His despair must have been clear on his face, features contorting in pain, because (Y/N) disappeared for a few seconds before coming back with a glass of water. Jimin's eyed it nervously, watching her curiously as she took the seat next to him. 

"You can drink it, it's just water, we don't charge for water, don't worry," she smiled soothingly but he didn't dare to try to tell her that money was not really his first concern. Though, the water looked clear and when he brought his nose to the glass, it didn't smell anything weird. It seemed to be plain water, which put Jimin a bit more at ease than he previously was. Drinking hastily, Jimin didn't dare meeting (Y/N)'s cheeky smile and smiling eyes. He didn't want to see the triumphant features on the woman's face. Feeling her gaze on him as he put his glass back on the counter, he glanced hesitantly in her direction. He noticed the cat (the witch?) jumping on the counter too as if curious about the Newcomer. Ji seemed to study him until it could be certain that he was harmless. 

Weird, he thought. If anyone should be suspicious of the place and of someone, it should definitely be him, not the cat. It had felt like the cat had led him there and even expected him, if Jimin were to be honest. Yet suddenly, it felt as if the danger could be him as if his presence had disrupted the tranquility of their safe bubble. Jimin's feelings of uncertainty and uneasiness seemed to vanish slowly as he watched the cat's tail wrapping around his wrist gently. Internally giggling, Jimin stretched out his hand, letting the cat sniff his hand before deeming him worthy enough to let him run his hand through its fur. Tilting his head in curiosity, Jimin watched the cat jumping out, going back to its original spot. 

"So, should I get you anything?" Meeting her eyes in confusion, Jimin got reminded where he was and what he was doing. Blinking slowly, he wondered if he should get something as his grandmother had recommended him to, or if he should simply get up and leave to find his way back home. Yet, despite his chaotic thoughts and prior fright, his answer came out almost naturally.

"A slice of cakescape with a latte of memories, please," he watched as her smile grow while she nodded before disappearing, leaving him wondering what the hell he was doing. 

Jimin should have left a while ago. He had to get home quickly so that he wouldn't be too tired tomorrow. He had a lot of classes; it wasn't the time to fool around. He should be freaking out about finding the Café of the rumors and reading the exact same order like the one that his grandmother had recommended to him when she narrated the story when he was younger. 

Nothing made sense and yet...

And yet, Jimin felt like he belonged here for a while. The cat had somehow trusted him enough to let him pet his head, (Y/N) seemed like a normal person (oh well, maybe not normal, but normal enough)... He didn't feel nearly as panicked as he probably should and he didn't know if it freaking him out or if he was eased by his sudden feeling of safety. Maybe he had been bewitched. After all, (Y/N) did say that the cat was a witch... 

Jimin chuckled at himself. He really needed to stop believing in children's stories. He was an adult now, he should know better. 

Yet, if he had not believed his grandmother's story before, he was now met with the fact that she had probably told him the truth. Maybe not the part of the crazy story about her being brought back to the house of her deceased sister, but the café truly existed. 

His confused trail of thoughts got interrupted as he saw a plate with a slice of cake and a mug dropped in front of him on the counter. The young woman smiled at him before organizing her desk. Watching her for a quick second, Jimin wondered if he should ask anything. Why was the café so Well hidden? Did she know about the University club created to search for the shop? Did she know about the fame of the café? Yet before he could ask any of the questions that had been burning his tongue, she had turned around and had already disappeared in what Jimin expected to be the kitchen. Only him and Ji were left in the room and even if Jimin tried to ignore the fixed glare he felt behind him, he sighed, turning around to face the cat that was indeed staring at him. 

"What?" Jimin asked, thinking about how ridiculous he must have been looking to talk to a cat. He obviously did not get any answer. Rolling his eyes playfully, Jimin gawked at his order in wonder. What should he start with? 

Eating. You always eat before you drink. 

Digging into the cake, Jimin closed his eyes at the taste in amazement. Fuck, it was really good. It would have been dumb not to order anything. 

Always trust Grandma. 

Sipping in his latte, Jimin ate his slice too quickly for his liking (had his discovery been during the afternoon, he would have probably ordered a second one, but the late hour did not really leave him with that choice), yet he felt a bit dizzy. Rubbing his fingers on his temple, he squinted for a second before feeling like the ground was moving under his feet. Hands harshly gripping at the counter to try to remain firmly seated, dizziness fully overwhelmed his body until it finally stopped. 

Panting uneasily, Jimin tries to catch his breath and to soothe down his panic, however, it only grew greater as he realized that he was unable to open his eyes. Trying to force them open, nothing worked. Jimin's eyes remained firmly closed against his own will. He gritted his teeth in frustration while trying to breathe deeply to avoid any panic attack. He needed to remain calm and to have a hold on his feelings. Getting overwhelmed was not a possibility. 

God, Jimin had known he should have run away the moment he had entered the shop. What had suddenly gotten him so pliant? So happy to stay? He had no idea and it was frustrating him to no end. Yet, Jimin froze as he heard a familiar tune. Catching a painful breath, Jimin tried to focus on what he heard rather than on the building anxiety that was eating him alive. Mind overwhelmed with racing thoughts, Jimin couldn't believe what he was hearing. 

This melody; he knew only one person who could sing it and this person left him a while ago. It wasn't possible, where the fuck was he and who was trying to torture him in such a cruel way? Had it not been enough to take his grandmother away from him? Now they had to make him believe that she was still there? It wasn't a good joke; that wasn't funny at all. Had he ever told anyone about his grandmother's story? Jimin didn't think so, but it felt like someone was playing with him as if trying to make him believe that the story of his grandmother had fully been true and that he was brought back to the one person he loved unconditionally but had been taken away from him. Yet, it was impossible! What the hell was he thinking about? He couldn't seriously start thinking that it was true, right? His grandmother couldn't have possibly told him the truth when she told him that she had been brought back to her sister's home, could she? 

"Jimin-ah!" No, it wasn't possible. This voice couldn't be here now. She couldn't be... There. "Jimin-ah, my boy! You're still so handsome, what a man!" Was there a way for it to stop? He couldn't do it, he would crumble under the pain if he let himself believe that it was true. It had to stop. "Oh no, my love, my baby. Don't cry, Jiminie. I'm so proud of you, you've been doing so well! You entered University just like you wished! I'm happy for you, I truly am." Jimin had not even realized that he had started crying, his tears had just naturally rolled on his cheeks. Feeling a warm hand whipping them away, Jimin couldn't help but burst into tears in the arm of the old woman that was seemingly in front of him. She caught him easily, gently rubbing his back as he cried, pained by his inability to see. He still couldn't open his eyes and it was killing him. What would he give to see his grandmother again?

"You've been strong, Jiminie. So strong-" he had never felt strong ever since she left; he had only felt the weight of despair hold him back. 

"I miss you," he didn't even think that his voice would collaborate, but it surprisingly did. 

"I'm always with you, bub, you're never alone."

"But I miss you," he repeated himself like a mantra, he hoped that maybe saying it, again and again, would make her take the decision to stay, to remain by his side. He would quit University to take care of her if he needed to, he'd do anything. 

"I know you do, but you have to live on, Jiminie. You have so much to do, so many friends who care. Try to see what you still have, not what is not physically here anymore. My love for you will always remain close to you. I'm watching over you Jimin-ah, don't forget, okay?" He nodded painfully against her, feeling like a child all over again. 

"You'll be fine without me Jimin-ah, trust yourself more! You're a capable young man, you'll do great!" He heard her giggle almost lightly and it made him smile between his tears. 

Yet as her hands stopped rubbing his back, he suddenly opened his eyes and took in his surroundings. (Y/N) was watching him with a sad smile and his cheeks were still wet. 

He was back to reality as his dream crashed into billion pieces of broken glass, leaving him in a vulnerable state as he had never been before.

Jimin was much too honest with his feelings to hide his trembling lips and the tears that already threatened to escape his lashes and even if he hates himself for being in such a vulnerable state in front of a stranger, the young woman didn't hesitate for a second before hugging him tightly as he cried his despair and pain. It took him a few minutes to finally regain his composure and even he apologized for ruining her shirt (his tears had stained the thin white cotton), she had brushed him off with a smile, preparing a warm tea for him to take on his way to home. Confused yet grateful for her gentle gesture, his words were again lost in his throat and as he was almost ushered out by Ji, (Y/N) followed him to the door. It was such a weird headspace. Everything seemed to happen as a movie, Jimin didn't feel like he had any say or power over what was happening. His feet carried him outside while (Y/N) waved him warmly from the door. He had already started walking away when he suddenly remembered something. Jolting awake, he turned around quickly to find the young woman still at the door, looking at him bewildered. 

"Will I see you again?" He asked, hopeful. 

She smiled gently, yet it didn't feel like it was nearly as warm as a few minutes ago when she held him tightly.

"We'll see each other when you need me against Jimin-ssi." Waving one last time before she got back inside the café, Jimin was left alone to wonder. She still had not given a proper answer as to how she knew his name. Or did Ji, the cat—witch—really tell her? He didn't remember telling her or knowing her from somewhere, but maybe he did? Running back to the café to ask her, Jimin was met with grey doors; nothing that looked like the shop that he had previously visited. 

What ... The hell? 

Where the hell was the café? Looking around, Jimin noticed that the street had considerably dimmed as the main source of light had been the decoration of the shop.  Had he just... Dreamed or had the shop truly disappeared? 

Recalling (Y/N)'s almost sad smile, he wondered if it was the reason behind the sourness of her features and her last words. 

They'll see each other again when he'll need her? He hoped this time would come soon then because he had a lot of questions. He felt much lighter now that he had had a shoulder to cry, though.

But when he said a lot, he meant enough to make a list that he would actually write on a sheet of paper and hide in his wallet. He would get his moment to ask them, he somehow just knew he would.

[life-rewritten]

OMG!! I just found your blog through a WBL fan sharing your post about WBL on Instagram, and I am SOOOOO happy to see that you noticed and appreciate the tutor and fighter couple from Why R U series too. If possible, please write an analysis about this couple, about any specific aspect you deem as most important or just generally, whatever you are okay with. I love reading your analysis and the insights it gives me, and I just finished binge reading all of your writings on my favorite bl (1)

Hi wow mindblown by this comment Thank you so much for letting me know that my stuff is being shared I really appreciate that and I am so grateful that you took time of your day to come speak to me. I adore Fighter and Tutor, like they’re my favourite couple ever. What happened when why r u was airing was I wasn’t yet analysing BLs at that time otherwise I would have been writing essays and essays about them. Because it’s been so long since I went back to watch them I’m going to let you see some of my drafts on how I would have broken their relationship into pieces and analysed. Because they are incredible and I really always feel sad when people see them as just like a se*ual couple when there’s more to them than that.  So I will let you see the first drafts and my ideas on them through this  ask and I hope that's okay for now. Maybe after my other shows I will like go back and rewatch them and start analysing more about them. If I do I’d probably do a youtube video about them because they’re so good. 

Here’s some of the analysis for them that I wrote: 

The theme for these two is  the struggle with internalised homophobia and self-acceptance. They both had this obstacle in themselves as they fell for each other and tried hard to avoid and run away from what they felt.  It’s been a long journey for them being into each other since the first time they met but not really realising what they felt.  Fighter did but he went into extreme panic mode and tried to run away immediately he felt that. So he tried to stay by Tutor’s side through the teasing and bullying because Tutor made him feel great and happy always but then with pressure from his father and the path he was meant to take to keep on being seen as successful, he thought his feelings for Tutor were useless and wrong. Plus he didn’t know if it was reciprocated so that caused even more fear for him which is why he just stayed with teasing and finally kater in thinking Tutor likes Hwa he chose to pull her away from him by taking her attention but also he chose to keep what they have as enemies/haters that way and avoid being near Tutor. This is why they end up hating each other a lot by the beginning of Why R U which is like 3 years later or something after he chose to stay with Hwa. 

Tutor didn’t understand fully why he got angry, jealous and annoyed, he had an inclination from the first year that Fighter liked men and he was actually hopeful about it because deep down he had feelings of wanting to also flirt with Fighter, wanting to stay with Fighter even when annoyed him and bullied him. He liked Fighter’s softness at times and he liked the way he felt even though he didn’t understand why he was so rifled and affected by Fighter’s presence when no one else has been able to do that to him before. But he became upset when Fighter chose to date Hwahwa because it was his automatic issue with IH that of course Fighter doesn’t like him but he likes girls, so he got jealous and sad and proceeded to also dislike Fighter because he had this effect on him whilst still trying to date his best friend who had feelings for Fighter.

They both have had unknowingly pent up feelings for each other, so once Fighter breaks the barrier by their first kiss, they both go into extreme panic and they both could no longer pretend any more with what they have. Which is why the first episodes they both keep struggling to keep their attraction with each other quiet because its been 3 years since they wanted each other that way. Fighter has so much pent up attraction and needs to give into his feelings that each time they have a chance to break that barrier it’s intense and crazy. Both have been longing, pining secretly for each other since the beginning of the show. What happens next is for Fighter he has to choose to finally accept that he cares a lot, a lot , a lot about Tutor, he finally starts to learn more about this person he loves and he starts to want to protect and keep Tutor happy and by his side. When it comes to finally choosing to let go of Hwa and choose to fight for Tutor and start knowing if he feels the same way. It’s a leap of faith he takes when he breaks up with Hwa. He realises he’s the one stopping his wishes from happening with Tutor because he keeps being in denial about what they are because he’s scared it’s only him that’s gay and has feelings for the other.

It’s only after tutor sister tells him that he’s holding back his feelings does he realise that it’s time to talk about their unstable relationship and Fighter at that moment had also come to terms with his break up with Hwa after making out with tutor revealed the truth, that’s why on the rooftop they do a test that ultimately breaks their walls down and choose to give in to their feelings no matter how scared they are about it being reciprocated. When Tutor looks away and loses the game it’s a symbol to Fighter that he’s also been the same as him from the start. Tutor looks away sadly thinking he’s the one who has the feelings but Fighter just loses it and lets him know its equal which is why I love that scene so much because for so long both of them because of IH has been avoiding thinking the other had the same feelings for them when they both from the start have felt love for a long time. And from then they go on a journey to learn about what this means, if it’s real feelings and not just attraction hence their beach vacation which is essentially them asking if they could love each other and be in a real relationship, and if they can take on their obstacles around them. The beach solidifies for them their feelings so they choose each other for life hence the earring and necklace. But it’s fast paced how they feel because it’s just confirmation, now Tutor starts to realise that Fighter is actually different than he thought he was and he falls so fast, he now realises how much he loves Fighter and how much Fighter made him want to fight for his happiness and life. Tutor has not had hope for happiness and ease in his life, because he’s always had to fight to survive on his own. So when Fighter shows up like a prince charming and constantly is connected to saving him time and time again, it’s exactly him realising there’s someone who does represent that hope that he’d be fine. Hence why the final obstacle is Tutor regressing and starting to think because of IH and society that he and Fighter are just a pipe dream.

They go back to face the world only for Fighters father to bring back all the fear, internalised homophobia and obstacles they had. Fighter panics and thinks he was right; the reason why he never told Tutor his feelings was because he was afraid the other would break his heart (was not gay, did not have feelings for him, would make fun of him etc) so when Tutor breaks up with him he loses his mind after trying hard to let go. When he sees that actually Tutor is taunting him and is still flirting with a guy, not him, he proceeds drunk and upset to try and get back moments from the beach scene/ past make out scenes to keep that spark alive but realises Tutor is not okay this time and he’s the one forcing it. He also acted out because with them the truth comes out each time they’re physical with other romantically. It’s a kiss that caused them to finally tell each other how they felt. That’s always been the way they break their walls down.

It’s what causes him to break down and finally reveal the truth he’s loved Tutor since he met him, he’s just been afraid of all that’s happening even if it’s happening he still wants to be with Tutor. Tutor however breaks his heart even more so he backs off. Tutor on the other hand is broken and mentally exhausted back to depression, back to having to fake being strong and deal with the futility of hope and joy in his life as he’s always been used to. He gets seen by Fighter and doesn’t have it on him to fight him away, so decides to stay in an idealistic fantasy, tells him to hold him and breaks his walls down again. Tutor is always having to fake being strong because it’s how he survives so whenever Fighter enters his world his vulnerability scares him, that’s why his sister gives him the image of a cactus. He’s tough and sharp or pretends to be with his demeanour but actually he’s just a boy who wants to be happy and be safe and survive. So when Fighter shows up at his weakest moments, as he struggles to deal with his mental exhaustion and heart break, he gives in  because again Fighter represents to him that hope. He starts to waver and want to stay in that lie for a long time with Fighter. Hence when he wakes up and Fighter is gone he thinks its all over and he finally breaks down completely.

Only when Fighter goes he breaks down in anguish truly thinking he lost him. Fighter finally comes out to his dad and fights his views, And we end up back at the beach, a place which represented authenticity and truth for them, it’s their truest realest self, but it also was their escapism. So Fighter coming there and letting Tutor know there’s no more obstacles in their way makes them both finally equally start a stable relationship with no more fear or care about anything. These twos relationship is full of tension and they both feel the chemistry, like magnets their bodies are drawn together, every scene they’re in, it’s their love language physical touch not bl fan service. They just naturally want to be in contact with each other and also their pent up feelings leads to them constantly wanting to sleep together because of hormones and well because they enjoy their se*ual life, nothing bad about that it’s realistic for couples to be that horny, that needy and that touchy.

It’s people who don’t get the context of internalised homophobia and what being in the closet is like for people with this anxiety and self hate caused by how they think society views them and treats them if out, those are the people who think there was no plot. Every dialogue these two had, their flashbacks and their acting (eyes, facial gestures, touches) showed why Fighter liked teasing Tor, why he dated Hwa but never paid her attention, why we had the beach scenes, why the break up escalated, why Tutor gave in when ill, why the non/dubious consent scene happened, why they get back together and why they told each other I love you forever immediately after they got together. Every single part adds up. It really is insane to me how people don’t see their real story to this day or see them as such a great storyline for BL. I would never get it.

[i-did-not-mean-to]

Diary found in K---D--- : Part 2

So, here's the next little part of this :D

Imagine by @lathalea is indented!

Enjoy <3

Taglist: @shrimpsthings, @mulasawala (so you see where I'm going with this lol)

(Yes, there will be MORE artwork coming, stay posted...)

Fandom: Hobbit

Characters: Ori x OC

Rating & Warning: Fluff and silliness

His name was Ori and he was a scribe in Erebor. It turned out he visited the forest often to sketch the animals and plants. You spent the rest of the day together. In the evening, you exchanged campfire stories, sharing a meal. At one point, he shyly asked about where you came from. Blushing, he admitted, almost whispering, he never saw a person with such beautiful hair before.

You told him that you came from another world, from a region called East Asia, where many people looked similarly to you. He was very curious about your homeland, your culture and your world. You spent hours telling him everything about it and he listened to you in awe.

“Ori.” He replied, his lips quirking a tiny bit as if he was not used to speaking his own name. “I’m a scribe. In Erebor. The Mountain.” He pointed to a tree beyond the clearing.

Thankfully, I was familiar with the Lonely Mountain and did not think that he didn’t know the difference between a living organism and a pile of minerals.

“I have never seen you, neither here nor in that Mountain.” I replied, for I went into the halls sometimes to translate for travellers, but for the most part, I let the king be his grumpy, glorious self.

“I come here often, to sketch, but I seem to have lost my way.” He admitted with a tiny frown. Ah, a real dwarf. They only knew up and down seemingly and if there was no way into a hill, they’d stubbornly trek up until they tumbled off the other side again.

As if to prove to me that he was not lying – dear reader, he had a face that was utterly devoid of malice or dissimulation – he showed me rather good sketches of the fauna and flora of the dense forest surrounding us. “That is really good, Ori, the scribe, from under the Mountain.” I commented which made him blush with a fierce and, apparently, unexpected pleasure.

In an expression of indescribable cuteness, he literally wiped his face with his sleeve as if he could clean away the rosy hue like a stubborn ink stain from under his skin.

“What are you here for?” He then asked, pushing out his chest heroically. As a reminder, he was the one who had lost his way, but apparently, he wanted to defend either the forest from me or the other way around.

“I am here to think…in silence.” I replied; he retreated a few steps. “Oh? I’ll leave you to it then, I guess. It was great to make your acquaintance…”

I gave him my name, after all, he had given me his, and he chewed on it for a few moments before his face split into a smile that was like the sunlight breaking through the cloudy afternoon sky: tentative, warm, and strikingly beautiful.

“Stay. I like your face.” I heard myself saying. Maybe, it was my teasing, mischievous streak acting up, but I had liked his embarrassment so much that I couldn’t help wanting to coax more of these blushes out of him.

“My…face?” In that weird dance he had been engaged in for the last few minutes, Ori stepped closer again, shuffling his feet in the heavy boots dwarrows insisted on wearing.

No, your ass, I thought, but bit my tongue; Ori the dwarf looked like someone who would die on the spot if I said anything even remotely inappropriate…as I was wont to do when nervous.

My sarcastic thought spurred my own interest though and I examined him a little closer: he was indeed swaddled like a babe, beads of sweat pearling down his temples on account of the steep climb and the stubborn blush powdering his nose and cheeks with pink blotches.

“Sit down, you’ll get a heat stroke.” I invited him and pointed to a patch of moss beside me while rummaging in my pack for the flask of ale I had brought.

“Thank you ever so much.” He plopped down in a cascade of earthen-coloured wool and awkward limbs. He did smell warm, I noticed, a blend of cinnamon and comfort.

Also, he had one of those faces that only became better when seen up-close, I admit freely; there were golden stars dancing in the depth of his dark eyes and he had the most adorable freckles as if some outlandish fairy had sprinkled gold dust over that heart-wrenchingly handsome face.

“Are you thirsty, Mistress?” He asked, nodding at the flask in my hand.

Handing it to him rather abruptly, I realised that I had spent the last moments intently staring at his face as if I had never seen a male dwarf before in my life.

“I have work to do.” I snapped, feeling immediately guilty for taking my own embarrassment out on him, but he merely nodded and pulled his sketching supplies into his lap.

Strangely enough, Ori did not disturb me. If anything, the silence felt fuller, richer, deeper with him by my side. As I translated a letter, as a spinster I had to support my family and my insufferable sisters as best as I could, I felt like the chirping of the birds and the vibrancy of the colours around me were even more enjoyable now that I shared them with someone else.

…

The sun crept along its never-changing arc slowly and yet, much too fast.

As I looked up, I wished I was a better painter myself, for this dwarrow was made for sunsets.

The way the last golden hurrah of a perfect day exploded in a halo of warmth around his figure, the way all the greys and the blues seemed to bleed out of the world to leave nothing but warm tones behind, and the way his smile was the perfect expression of this mellow, unhurried mood…it struck me deeper and more violently than a thunderstorm in all its booming rage would have.

“Will you join me for dinner, Ori?” I asked gently, “I shall escort you back down.”

“It would be my honour.” He nodded, tearing out a page of his notebook and handing it over.

“It was an invitation; I do not demand payment.” I said seriously, for the sketch of the doe was so good, it might have been worth actual money. “Oh…” His nose crinkled at little at that.

“I wanted you to…have something beautiful. I have seen you work very hard.”

Of course, he was a scribe as well, he would consider the scribbling work, I thought and gave him a thankful smile. “You’re beauty enough for one day.” I shrugged.

He gasped, bringing his notebook up to his face as if to shield himself from my words.

“You’re having me on, aren’t you? Dori has warned me that girls do that sometimes.” He sounded utterly dejected. “I am not having you on. Has nobody ever told you that you’re handsome?” It was my turn to be wide-eyed with shock.

“And who is Dori?” I followed-up when he didn’t really reply to my question even though I thought I had seen his braids move like strings of pearls in a draft. The minutest of shakes of the head, a quiet admission of inadequacy that sunk ugly, ragged claws into my soft heart.

“He’s my brother. I have two of them. Dori…and Nori. They’re…” – “Older than you.” I completed. “Protective.” He supplied.

He was still holding his drawing out to me, and, after a moment, I took it gingerly and put it between the pages of my own writing supplies. I would hang it in my room and look at it daily.

Nowadays, there were but very few gifts for me; all the money went to my two younger sisters who were still nubile and would, if Mahal willed it so, be able to make a good match.

Busying my hands with making a fire, I asked him to tell me about his brothers.

“Oh, Nori is…agile. He’s…funny and brave and resourceful.” Ori started, his voice warm with affection and admiration. He sounded like a proper rogue to me, and as it turned out, he was, but he also deserved every single ounce of the deep-felt care Ori held for him.

“Dori is…fussy. He’s polite, he’s very caring, and he’s exceedingly proper.” Ori went on as I waved a hand for him not to stop. I enjoyed hearing about the life of other families than my own.

“So, is he the one who raised you to be this…warmly clad and gentle?” I asked, turning to place the foodstuffs I had brought up and stored in the cool lake water on spits to roast over the fire.

“Warm? Oh yes…I was a sickly pebble and he’s been worried ever since. I hope I have behaved in a way that would not make him disappointed in me.” Again, he worried his lip.

“Let’s see, you’ve startled a bird and an unsuspecting dwarrowdam.” I listed with a wicked gleam in my eyes; his face fell, and he looked properly guilty.

“Then, you’ve kept me company, and the best company I’ve ever had, it has been, on my grandmother’s grave, I swear.” I went on and that treacherous blush was back with a vengeance.

“I didn’t mean to startle you.” He then said in a low voice. “Great beauty is always startling.”

“I am hardly Thorin Oakenshield.” He laughed. Readers, you cannot imagine that sound just by reading my words. If flowers blossoming had melody, if the sun setting on the eternal sea had a song, if autumn leaves dancing on a gale had a tune, they would have sounded like nails on scree, like cats having their tails trampled, and like kettles going unheeded compared to Ori’s laughter.

“There’s beauty in the doe as much as in the wolf.” I replied gently.

“May I…can I ask where you’re from? I don’t seek to be rude, but I’ve never seen anyone quite like you; your hair looks like those fabrics the Elves weave. It…seems so soft, so liquid, so smooth.” He blushed a darker shade yet.

This might well have been the first time that someone had asked me about my origins without making it sound like an accusation; there was honest fascination in his demeanour.

“My family and I have come from the Far East. I have travelled a lot, Ori, I have seen landscapes entirely made up of rock and sand, I have walked forests so stiflingly hot and moist it felt like being underwater, and now, I am here in the land of tall trees and taller mountains.”

I said, surprised by my own frankness.

“That sounds amazing.” He took the food I offered readily enough, and I told him about the people I’ve left behind to be stranded at the other end of the world.

“This is good, is that a recipe of your homeland?” He asked, looking down on the piece of meat I had seasoned with herbs I had grown myself in our small backyard.

“It actually is. I’m glad you like it. I had not planned to have company, otherwise I’d have brought something more palatable to the local tongue.” I apologised quickly.

“No, I like it. You should definitely trade some recipes with Dori…and Bombur…oh, and if any of your delicious herbs are medicinal, Óin.” He laughed again when he saw my dumbfounded expression.

“I make a good honeycake, if I can interest you in that? Maybe…” He fell back into silence.

…

A look at the sky told me that it was too late to go down in the inky darkness.

“We’ll have to stay here for the night.” I mumbled, slightly uncomfortable at the idea of spending the night with a dwarrow who had not lost a single word about a wife.

“Are you married, Mistress? Will that endanger your wedlock?” He asked shyly.

“No, I am not and I have no name to lose…It’s a long story.” I didn’t feel like blurting out my disgrace, lest it give him strange ideas after all, especially as he would easily have been able to overpower me if he so chose.

“Neither am I. I don’t know about my name…Doesn’t look like I’m going to be married either. There’s not enough dwarrowdams as it is, and I think the royal line has a prerogative there.” There was no resentment in his tone; he seemed to accept this as a fact.

How could someone that sweet not be married, I wondered. He was courteous, he was cute, and he would have made the fortune and happiness of someone.

“Well, in that case, I think we can risk our reputation rather than our necks.” I grinned, rolling out a blanket I kept tied to my pack for emergencies and stretched out next to the fire on the moss.

“Erm, yes…Good night…” He mumbled, fidgeting around with his different layers of clothing. Apparently, he was deciding which one he needed least on his body to use it as a bedroll or blanket.

I eyed the proceedings with interest and a good deal of amusement.

“I can offer you my cloak to lie upon…the ground will grow very cold and wet soon.” He said in a low voice, not sure if I had already fallen asleep or not.

“Alright, I can offer you a spot under the blanket then?” I extended my own graciousness.

“With you?” No, with the red bird, I thought, rolling my eyes internally.

“Yes, Ori the scribe, with me. I will not eat you, as you have witnessed, I have had dinner.” Not that he did not look good enough to devour, standing there with his cloak in his hands and his face all crunched up in embarrassment.

“Hmmm…I guess.” He muttered doubtfully, spreading out the cloak and sitting down on it carefully. Impatiently, I scooted over and spread my lousy blanket over the both of us with a flourish.

“Sleep!” I commanded as I turned around only to find him staring wide-eyed at the spot where the back of my head had been only a second ago. Now that he was presented with my face, only inches away from his, his eyes grew even rounder and bigger in wordless distress.

“Friend…Have you never lain with a woman? And I literally mean, lying next to one?” I laughed for there had been friends and cousins aplenty in my own life and the feeling of having another body so close to mine was not a new experience for me.

“Well, I fell down on the battlefield once, next to a foe…I’m pretty sure that was a Lady-Orc. She was dead. There was a…” He gestured, indicating a spear or a lance sticking out of his chest and brushing against my own with the back of his hand. Dear reader, he flinched back as if I was a tiny Durin’s bane wreathed in flames.

“A Lady-Orc, indeed…” I mused; no doubt, he could hear the smile I hid in my voice for his face crunched up in embarrassment.

“I am sorry.” He sighed, rolling his eyes, and thinking – there was not a shadow of a doubt about that much – of his brothers who would have mocked him mercilessly for his stammering.

“There’s no need to be sorry” I tried to reassure him, but I admit now that there were things that I did not tell him right away then. We had only just met, and he was blessedly unaware of my shameful past.

How could I have made him understand – without hurting his feelings – how much I enjoyed that air of purity about him that I had squandered myself on an undeserving fiend? As a daughter amongst others, I had been used to dwarrows coming to court or to seduce, their eyes ablaze with greed and their hands wandering.

He would not have comprehended how much the absence of that voracious hunger that had plagued my youth and had ended up destroying my promising future meant to me.

“Sleep.” I repeated, unable to put into words how miraculous and precious the things he seemed to be most ashamed of were to me.

“Good night, Mistress.” He breathed with a soft smile that was nowhere near the wolfish baring of fangs I was used to and so, it was easy to return it.

You who may or may not have stumbled upon this ludicrous account of the most important story in an otherwise unimportant life, you shall hear another confession I did not make at the time.

I was fiercely aware that – had I but leant forward a little – I might have pressed my lips upon his; I was young still at that time and, despite what had happened, parts of me, that should have withered and died in the aftermath of my botched engagement, were much alive.

He smelled like our dinner and warmth, and the gentle reticence of the curve of his smile was more inviting than any flashing grin I had ever seen before.

Yes, in that very moment, on this very first evening, I had already been conscious of the shrewd attraction this self-effacing dwarrow held for me…and it scared me half to death.

…

Part 3

[solastia]

Love And Lies | 1

Pairing: Kim Seokjin x F!Reader

Summary: You are a simple maid. When your lady and dearest friend need help escaping an arranged marriage with King Seokjin so they might be together, you do the only thing you can - take her place. 

A/N: It was my intention to not post this story until it was totally completed, but I got too excited. There are about three chapters already in my drafts and I just really like how it’s turning out. Don’t worry, I’m still totally working on everything else too. I’m just going through a list of popular tropes that I’ve never gotten around to writing for, and this one covers both historical and arranged marriage. I’ll be posting the last chapter of Tuqburni as soon as I get it back from my beta and finish any corrections. Make sure to leave lots of comments on this one! 

“I will not do this. He cannot force me to marry some strange man for his own selfish grab for power.”

“He can. You know he does this with your best interests in mind, my lady. And everything is already arranged. You leave in the morning.”

You listen to the now familiar argument as you fold your mistress’s garments into the opulently decorated trunks. A door slams, followed by a crash like something delicate hit the wall and a high-pitched scream resonated throughout the massive bedroom.

You sigh tiredly, knowing that the woman’s ire was going to be filling your own ears next.

“What are you doing, ___? I just said I wasn’t going.”

Lady Eleanor Rose D’Aily flounced back into her bed chambers, her rosy lips turned down in a petulant pout and her wilting golden curls bouncing around as she flung herself across her bed.

“I’m afraid Master Steward already spoke with me while you were on your afternoon ride. He ordered me to pack your belongings and warned that guards would be here to escort us at first light. And,” you add, flashing a warning glance at your impulsive charge, “He informed me that guards are being placed outside of your doors and windows should you attempt to escape your fate.”

“Ugg, this is torturous. Why is Papa doing this? I always thought he’d want to keep me close. Why send me to some old man that I’ve never met and will never love?”

“I dare say he believes he secured his beloved child a bridegroom most could only dream of. After all, you’ve been selected by the King of Verinthia himself - who is not yet thirty, mind you. You’re to be Queen Eleanor of Verinthia. Think of all the wondrous things you can do for your people.”

At that her lady sighed, pondering that point. For though your mistress was unarguably spoiled, she still had a good heart. You had no doubt that if she were to be Queen, a great deal of good would be done under her reign.

“But...Jungkook. I don’t want to marry anyone but Jungkook.”

And that was the core of this rebellion. As cliché as it was, Lady Eleanor - the only child of the Duke Of Nevers - was in love with a mere Knight.  

Sir Jungkook Jeon had basically been raised right alongside Eleanor after being sent by his Baron father to foster under the Duke. The lad was the youngest of eight and there was nothing left for him to inherit, so he was sent out to make his own way in the world.

He had started as a pageboy at the age of nearly eight, became the Duke’s squire at fourteen, and had been knighted and declared Captain of Lady Eleanor’s guard at eighteen. All of his formative years had been spent here at Nevers and all of them included his tiny blonde shadow begging for some scrap of his attention. The fact that somewhere along the line that childhood friendship morphed into love did not surprise you overly much.

Especially since you had been their third wheel for just as many years, and they were your dearest friends - as much as one can be friends between nobles and servants.

You had been assigned to the six-year-old Eleanor when you had been eleven, and she had always treated you more as a big sister than simply her personal maid. Therefore, you had been dragged through every mischievous plot the two had come up with, listened to them wax poetic about each other until you wished your ears would fall off, and helped transport letters between the two like their own personal pigeon.

However, no one cheered for their love more than you, either. Your lady was pampered and naïve but possessed a kind heart and a fun-loving personality that made her hard to dislike. Add to that Sir Jungkook’s honor and legendary ambition - tempered by his mischievous tendencies - and you had a match blessed by the heavens.

As far as you were aware, he’d been the very picture of Knightly chivalry and had not given in to your lady’s more impulsive urges for…taking liberties. Though you could often catch him staring longingly at Eleanor, she often bemoaned his refusal to so much as kiss his lord’s daughter beyond a chivalrous one on the back of her hand.

And now - now the poor Sir Jungkook was going to have to watch the love of his life being sent to the King. Your heart aches for the pair.

You watch as a single glistening tear rolls down your lady’s flawless cheeks.

“Do you think Papa and His Majesty will at least let me keep Jungkook as my Captain?”

You sigh and sit next to her, reaching over to run your fingers through her hair soothingly.

“He’s going to be part of our escort, but that’s it. Once we reach the palace, the Duke has stated that he’ll be granting Jungkook leave from the remaining year of service he owed - along with a keep of his own for his many years faithfully served. I heard him say it was about time Sir Jungkook started a family of his own.”

“And that’s not going to happen with anyone but my Ellie.”

The two of you whirled when the words reached you from her balcony, where a disheveled Sir Jungkook heaved himself from the massive oak he had climbed to get there.

“Jungkook!” Eleanor exclaimed happily, throwing herself at the beaming Knight.

How beautiful they looked together, even with Eleanor’s eyes reddened from tears and the leaves and twigs adorning Jungkook’s long ebony hair which had long been released from it’s usual leather tie.

“Greetings, Sis,” Jungkook grins cheekily over Eleanor’s shoulder at you.

“Evening greetings to you, Sir J…” Jungkook clears his throat at you in warning. You sigh wearily, “Fine. Greetings, Jungkook. What brings you to a chamber where you’re likely to get all our heads lopped off?”

His grin transforms into a smile of triumph as he holds Eleanor to his side tightly. “I had an idea!”

“Ooh, yes. That is news,” you nod, letting humor color your tone in the privacy of this room.

Eleanor giggles while Jungkook merely rolls his eyes. “I’m deadly serious. I have a solution that will be wonderful for us all.”

“Ohhh, My handsome Knight is so wise,” Eleanor sighs and leans her head into the preening man’s shoulder.

“You haven’t even heard the plan yet. It could be absurd,” you snort, rolling your eyes.

“It’s...a little absurd,” Jungkook muses aloud, and you grunt at Eleanor as if to say ‘Told you so.’

“Out with it, my love. I’m willing to consider anything to get us out of this madness,” She implores him with an impatient tug on his sapphire tunic - the one that Eleanor had hand-embroidered herself for nearly two years, you noticed.

“I will indeed escort you to the palace. However, once there…” Jungkook begins nervously, while you glare at him in suspicion. He refuses to meet your eyes straight on. This was never a good sign.

“Yes? Once there…” you prompt with a quirked eyebrow.

“Once there...you’ll switch with Ellie,” he says with an audible gulp. “She’ll pretend to be your maid in public and you’ll be the King’s betrothed. I’ll tell the Duke that I will stay on as Captain of the guard until I receive several copies of the deed to the keep he promised me. Once I have that in hand, Ellie and I will wed and it will be too late for him to stop us. You can simply tell the King that you don’t think you’ll suit and then I’ll spirit you both away to my keep!”

You were appalled. “So many sins in that one little plan. So many lies and…” you angrily huffed, folding your arms. “Jungkook, no one is going to believe that I’m a Duke’s daughter, nor a candidate to be Queen. My mother is a seamstress and my father is a tanner. I don’t have a single drop of noble blood in my veins. I’ll be found out and beheaded in a day.”

“Oh, but you’ve essentially been raised in a Duke’s household,” Eleanor added helpfully, obviously on board with Jungkook’s foolish plan for the simple reason that it came out of his mouth. “You were right at my side through every lesson and know everything as well as I,” she cocked her head as she stared at you thoughtfully. “And not that it will come to that, but I think you would make a wonderful Queen.”

Jungkook smiles fondly at his love, bringing her hand up to his lips to place a chaste kiss on the back of it before he strides purposely towards you. The Knight falls to one knee before you and grasps both of your hands into his, looking up at you with warm brown eyes.

“You have always been our dearest friend and the sister of our hearts, no matter our stations. I know what I’m asking of you is more than a simple favor - it’s a risk to our lives, though mainly yours. Know that I do not ask lightly, for your life is as precious to me as my Ellie’s. This is the only way I can think of to save myself and her from a life of misery. I have tried everything, Sis. I...I even dropped to my knees and begged the Duke for permission to court her.”

“You did what? When was this?” Eleanor exclaimed, and even you leaned forward in shocked wonder.

“A fortnight ago. That’s when he offered me the keep. He simply laughed at my request and said that I have been too isolated here and must have forgotten that other women exist beyond these walls. That I only offered for Ellie out of familiarity. He said perhaps if he hadn’t had better offers for her he would have considered it since I am a fine man, but he’d already talked up the King and no one could ask for better than that,” he finishes with a mocking scoff.

You sigh heavily and glance out the balcony window at the darkening sky. It was true that all seemed rather hopeless for the two of them. No doubt if you ignored this plan and simply went forward with the way it was supposed to, Eleanor would despise you. You would be instrumental in denying her from being with her love and shuffled off to an affectionless arranged marriage. Jungkook would either go off to his keep and live alone forever or demand a position in the palace to keep watch over her from afar, breaking his own heart day after day.

But...there was also your own self to consider. Say you did this thing...you would have to pretend for however long it took for Jungkook to get his affairs in order that you were the daughter of one of the most powerful nobles in the land. That there was something about you worth placing on the throne next to the young King and ruling over the lives of thousands. And if you were to slip up even once, you could spend the rest of your life in the dungeon or beheaded in the royal courtyard.

If you were wiser, perhaps less sentimental, you would say them nay. You would continue packing and close your ears to their pleas. However, when Eleanor drops to her knees next to Jungkook and stares at you imploringly with tears in her pretty blue eyes, twining her hand into her love’s like it might be the last time, you knew you were going to relent. No two people deserved to be with each other more than they. And besides, if this plot were successful, you would tag along to the new keep with them and happily stand at their side as they built a new life together, full of love and hope, and possibly children. You certainly had doubts about the two of them as parents without you around anyway. Jungkook would give their child a real sword at two years and wonder why people were missing ears. Eleanor would cry when it came time to change a nappie.

“Get up, you two,” you grunt wearily. What had you done to deserve being stuck with these two for life? “I’ll do it.”

“You will?” Eleanor squealed, throwing herself onto you with a whirl of costly silk and rose oil.

You nod. “I will do my best. Just know that if I die, I will haunt both of you.”

Jungkook grins, “We’d deserve it.”

He grabs your hand and places a brisk kiss on the back of it, then does the same for Eleanor before striding back towards the balcony.

“Get some rest, ladies. We leave at first light and it will take us several days to reach the palace by carriage.”

He vaults over the balcony onto the oak tree and disappears from sight. Eleanor sighs and sits next to you on the bed, lacing an arm in yours and placing her head on your shoulder.

“Think you this scheme will work?” She asks softly.

“It has to,” you whisper.

And it does. The consequences if it did not were far too dire.

[cordonian-literature]

Forever Mine

prologue

❦ summary — The time for Princess Riley to step into her role as queen fast approaches and finding the future king is Cordonia’s top priority. Commander Liam is aware of that, and plans to make sure the Princess ends up with someone suitable. 

➺ a/n: so i got this idea for an evil-Liam fic, where the roles between him and Riley are switched, but they don’t meet the same way & nothing besides the Social Season is similar to things that happen in canon. basically, Liam is one of the higher-ups in Cordonia’s military (i don’t know much about militaries in a monarchy, so bear with me and keep in mind this is fiction) and yeah, it all just goes from there :) this might end up being a mess, but I hope you all enjoy it!

❦ word count: (+/-) 1195

➺ catch up here!

*all characters belong to Pixelberry, except those unique to my story*

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Liam remembers his first audience with the royal family. He had become a General just a few weeks prior. The air had been tense, and the silence almost gave him a headache. The king had invited him to dinner with his family a week before — as Constantine’s declarations of war became more frequent, Liam’s superiors had confidently brought him to the table. The King was a witness to the crazy strategist who was willing to gamble everything on a whim. The king almost dismissed him from his presence, but again, the young General’s superiors were frighteningly confident with him. 

At the dinner, Princess Riley had quickly glanced between her father and her brother. Liam had heard that Prince Leo had come to the dinner reluctantly. Tired of the silence and aware that he had to impress the king, Liam effortlessly picked up a conversation with the young princess. The life in her eyes enraptured Liam. He had never been a lover of music, but her voice was a melody that only a goddess could create, and he wanted to listen to it nonstop.

But he told himself to not let his gaze linger on her for long. For one, he was there for the king, not the childish princess. The entire nation knew she was sheltered and unwise in the ways of governing. Many people spoke of her recklessness as well. 

Secondly, Liam knew the impression he made tonight could mean another promotion: in the past few days, the king had summoned Liam instead of the Commander that he had relied on most of his reign. Liam was not going to jeopardize this opportunity. 

And lastly, the difference between their statuses was too large for Liam to dream of any possibilities. No matter how hard he worked, in the eyes of society, he would never be good enough for her. More than that, they were from different worlds. She was expected to marry a well-known noble from one of the Great Houses, or perhaps her hand in marriage would be used as a peace treaty. 

So Liam turned his attention to His Majesty, and soon had Leo engaged in the conversation, too. He would accidentally glance in the princess’s direction a few times, and his heart would jump when he noticed her intense gaze on him. 

After that evening, Prince Leo always spoke comfortably with Liam, relying on him before having audiences with Constantine, and even inviting Liam out for an occasional drink. 

The next time he saw the princess was when he bumped into her and her childhood friends, Duchess Olivia of Lythikos and Drake the commoner. Riley had introduced Liam with words sweeter than candy, and he felt he would have died happy had those been the last words he heard. 

Liam and Drake already knew each other through Leo. Drake gave him a friendly pat on the back. Though the Duchess was polite, she had an edge to her tone. Riley asked if Liam would join them for dinner again. He was obligated to comply, but he wouldn’t have denied her for the world.

He slowly became close friends with Leo, Riley, and most of the people within their circle. He was only a bit older than them, but they shared common interests. Liam had never prioritized making or having friends, but not only was this group pleasantly sociable, but it also helped his public image. He maintained his focus on his duties as General, though, and always remembered to keep a distance from Riley. Though his heart longed for her love and attention, Liam had to convince himself that he was fine with a merely platonic relationship. 

Weeks later, when Prince Leo abdicated, Liam had been the one to hear Constantine curse his son while Leo packed his bags on the other side of the palace. Liam had seen the panic in Riley’s eyes. Liam had been the one to calm her, to tell her she would be the perfect queen, and he even offered to guide her through everything she was going to have to learn. 

Leo had believed that Liam sympathized with him, so the Prince had ranted about his father endlessly the night he left. Leo made Liam follow him out of the front door, and made him promise to watch after his sister. 

“Make sure she doesn’t get into trouble,” he had said with a smile. Liam knew that even though Leo had made such a request, he still had to keep his distance from her. “I wish I could stay and help her with the transition, but you know I just can’t be here.” 

“Of course,” Liam had stated, though he’d never be able to understand why a man would abandon his duty to his nation. Leo was also putting Riley in pain. He was going to leave her alone. Who could have the heart to leave such a precious soul? “We’ll all be here when you visit.” 

Leo had given Liam and brotherly hug, then got into a car and drove away. 

In the coming weeks, Riley had begun to see Liam as a useful source of knowledge and kept the young General on her side, even when the king demanded his presence. Liam taught her whatever she wished to know, and found her far more intelligent than people gave her credit for. Her presence was always a sweet blessing: her smile was enchanting, her focus never faltered from him, she was more optimistic and kind than anyone he had met. 

She never failed to make him happy and was always ready to cheer him up when a meeting with her father hadn’t gone as planned. He loved her, and he wanted her to love him. 

Becoming Commander had pushed Liam away from Riley further — it upset her, saying that she detested being pushed away from a close friend, and she constantly requested his presence during their free time. Even though most of his time was spent with the king or other advisors discussion Cordonian issues, he was eager to clear his schedule for her.

Liam joined the royal family for dinner almost every night, and he was practically living in the palace. He had noticed that the princess was making herself scarce after meals. This behavior of hers had lasted barely a week before Liam decided to investigate, Leo’s request to keep an eye on her echoing through his mind. 

Through the window, he sees her going into the garden. Liam found himself racing down the staircase and following in her direction.

Liam knew to stop when he heard a rough voice call out to her. “I’ve been waiting for you,” an unknown man says. 

The princess laughs, a sound which draws Liam to her, but he maintains a distance and hides himself from their view. He can’t hear what they say, but after a while the man walks away from the garden, passing by Liam’s hiding place. Formal clothing. A noble, Liam realizes. But who could it have been? 

He waits for an appropriate amount of time to pass before he comes out of his hiding place. 

“Riley?” he calls out to her. She always insisted the Commander call her by her first name. 

“Liam!” Her face lights up when she sees him. She pats the stone bench next to her, signaling him to sit. Though it would be improper, Liam knew that Riley wouldn’t stop insisting, and he hated to see her upset. 

“I’ve seen you come here often lately,” Liam says. He expects some kind of reaction from her, but she only smiles. 

“I like to think of my mother when I come here,” she states. “I’ve been thinking of her often as of late.” 

“May I ask why?” 

She doesn’t hesitate to continue on, and Liam’s heart swells at how comfortable she is around him. “I wish she would give me some advice about becoming queen.” After a pause, she continues, “But also...”

When she doesn’t continue, Liam prompts, “Also?” 

A gentle frown comes across her face. She lowers her voice. “There’s... this noble. From one of the lower houses. I... I think...” 

Another pause. Liam knows who she’s talking about. Is she in love with him? he wonders. What other reason would there be for her to mention him? 

“Your Social Season is about to begin soon,” Liam reminds her, partly hoping that would convince her to forget about that man. 

“Yes, but... say he was one of the contenders. Do you think maybe...” Her voice was as hopeful as a child’s. 

Liam stands from his seat next to her. He reaches for her delicate hands and raises it to his lips. “If he is worthy enough, then of course.” 

He leaves her in the garden and goes back to the palace. He knew that whoever that lesser noble was, he was in no shape or form worthy enough for his darling. 

Days before, Constantine had taken Liam’s advice when the king approached him and wondered if it was time to start his daughter’s Social Season. The only reason Liam agreed was because he knew he was in the perfect position to influence which man she would marry. Even if Riley felt that she was the one in control of her Social Season, she would be wrong; Liam was the one who knew who was good enough for her, and he planned to implement that knowledge during the season.

Liam thinks to himself for a while, and estimates that he can have that man gone by morning. Perhaps sooner, if he didn’t show up to dinner with his Majesty. 

Security footage provided Liam with the rooms he was occupying. He asked some servants for his name. After some research about the man and his reputation — something the princess clearly didn’t know about — Liam drafted a straightforward letter and had two of his inferiors deliver it, who were tasked with escorting him out of the palace. 

The next morning he found Riley crying in her quarters, a wrinkled letter in her hands. Liam’s heart gave a jolt, and he wondered if she had found Liam’s threatening letter. But as he entered her room, he saw that it was a different one. He wrote to tell her goodbye. He’s gone, Liam thinks to himself. 

He takes a seat next to her on the edge of her bed, Drake on the other side of her. Riley doesn’t hesitate to lean her head against Liam’s shoulder, and Drake goes to close the door. 

Once her crying slows down, Liam retrieves something from his back pocket, convinced it would make her feel better. He had been holding back his feelings, afraid that he would draw her away, but Liam still wanted to give her a token of his affection. 

A necklace. Immediately her tears subside. She turns her back to him, asking if he would help her put it on. 

Liam stops himself from caressing the smooth skin on the back of her neck, aware that Drake was still in the room. 

She walks towards her mirror and examines her new piece of jewelry. Liam stands behind her, and she gazes at him through the mirror. They make eye contact and, she quickly averts her eyes and blushes. 

The door opens. Riley’s handmaid, Maria, rushes towards her. Noticing tear stains on Riley’s face, the woman grabs a tissue. 

“The Masquerade Ball beings in a few hours,” Maria tells her. “It’d be best if we start getting ready.” 

“Of course,” Riley says. As Liam and Drake walk out the door, she offers the men a smile. 

“I feel like Constantine’s rushing the Social Season” Drake says to Liam when they leave her room. “Leo’s didn’t happen this quickly.”

“The King has his reasons,” Liam says, though he doesn’t know what they are. Maybe he’d ask His Majesty about it later. 

“Hm.” Drake gives Liam a pat on the back before walking off. Liam continues on his path towards the king’s office, itching to see the guest list and who exactly Riley’s suitors would be.

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please let me know if you would like to be added or removed from the tags :)

tags: @twinkleallnight @gkittylove99 @sweatyrysconnoisseur​ 

[seasidewriter1-writes]

Answering Asks from @fadingclamalmondrascal : “Hi! I hope you're still doing asks, but I understand if you're not, it sounds like you've got a lot going on. I've got 3 questions for you:

1: What made you want to adopt this story and write an "Anakin's big sister who falls in love with obi" au? What about it appealed to you initially, and what about it keeps you coming back?

2: I love Elara's Sith name! Carus is so cool. What kind of thought did you put into that name and her sith design?

3: What does your writing process for each chapter look like?”

Hi!! My asks are always open, and even if my life his completely hectic, I’ll always get around to answering them! But, thankfully, my life has started to calm down in the last week. I’ve gotten a lot of writing done in the last day, so I’m in a very “Balance” mood, so I’m super stoked to answer these!! (I also wrote a lot again, so buckle up!!)

1. So fun backstory on my finding the story: I was living in England for my first year at University, and I was on a big ol’ Star Wars kick because The Force Awakens had just come out in December. It was January. It was cold, the evenings were getting rainy, so one night after dinner and scrolled through FFN to find something fun to read. And when I first found and read the original story, pre-adoption (which I believe is still up and called “Another Skywalker”), I remember being like ‘wow, this is an interesting concept.’ And as I read it, in my head, all of these ideas were coming to my head; and I remember being kinda sad about that. I didn’t want to write my own story, then have it seem like I’d ripped off the concept from the author. Because this was the first fic with the “Anakin’s older sister falling for Obi” concept that I’d ever seen. I didn’t know if it was something of a trope for an Obi x OC pairing, or if this one was an odd one out. So I finished reading the 11 chapters, and the author had posted a note saying that the story was, effectively, up for adoption. I have never jumped on something so fast. I drafted out two scenes (a now obsolete scene where Elara sees Obi-Wan off to Kamino, and a chunk of the final battle RotS) and sent it to the author. When she told me that the story and concept were all mine to do with as I pleased, I was so excited. Because I realized that all the ideas that had been tentatively brewing in my head, I could now fully bring to fruition.

What initially drew me to the concept was the idea of being able to explore a story and a romance that is, in a way, a foil to Anakin’s. Almost a way to show that maybe, if things had gone differently, Anakin and Padmé’s romance didn’t have to be doomed. Because I have always believed that there had to be some way that it didn’t have to end in disaster. Presenting a Jedi OC x Obi-Wan can explore similar issues (and there’s a lot of fun to be had with that concept, too). But then you have two people who were raised with/to follow the same ideals. Though they are both unique individuals, they will come up to very similar blockages––struggling with breaking the Code, with sloughing off ideals and a way of life they’ve followed all their lives. But with a Skywalker OC… that changes. You get someone who wasn’t raised to keep her emotions in ultra-check. Someone who, like Anakin, is family oriented, passionate about protecting those they love, and innately wishes to express their emotions in a more open manner. Those characteristics present unique conflict (particularly in conjunction with Obi-Wan’s characteristics), and I just… I wanted to, and continue to want to, play with that. Because Elara is dedicated to the Jedi Code. She’s a good Jedi. But put her want to be a good Jedi (for herself, for her brother, for the good of the galaxy) right up against an undeniable, innate need and want to love (because, at her core, Elara is just a purely loving person)––you get whole other obstacles to overcome. It’s a lot of fun to figure out how her overcoming her obstacles helps Obi-Wan overcomes his, and vice-versa. How we can see, in recent chapters, that Obi-Wan realizing he can’t hold Elara at arm’s length anymore affects her; how she starts being more gentle towards him again, tentatively letting him back in. I just love playing with stuff like that!!

And there are a whole lot of things that keep me coming back to this story. One of the biggest things, I think, has to be the idea that ‘love prevails.’ I love myself a complex romance. Maybe that’s why I love Regency/Period Dramas so much; because there are so many ups and downs––and that’s what makes it feel so good! Because while there’s hope and love and happiness, there’s also drama and frustration and confrontation. But through all of that, at the end… love prevails. I’m a hopeless romantic, I’ll own up to that any time of the day. So seeing a couple, so hopelessly in love, go through trials and tribulations and come out on the other end completely alright? That’s my jam! And when you’ve got someone who stands so steadfastly by their ideals as Obi-Wan, but who very clearly is… so passionate and loving… That just feels like the way a love story with him would go. And ‘love prevails’ doesn’t just apply to the Obi-Lara stuff either. It’s about the familial love between Anakin and Elara, and how that love for each other may thrive or suffer in events to come… it’s the platonic love of Elara and the men of the 442nd. Star Wars is a story of many things––family, adventure, coming into your own… but it’s also about love. And getting to add to that aspect of the story in any given way, for people who enjoy reading it, to have fun conceptualizing and writing everything… it keeps bringing me back for more.

2. I had so much fun thinking up all the Darth Carus stuff!! It was prompted by a question in a review, asking what I thought Elara would be like as a Sith/what her name would be. So I started looking at all the other Sith names, and realized a lot of them were words that stood for descriptors of the Sith Lord. “Maul” for (the literal usage of) “maul,” “Tyrannus” for “tyrant” (derived, likely, from Latin tyrannia or tyrannos), “Vader” for “invader” (or “father”). So I decided I would use a Latin word for her Sith name, and decided I needed to think of what she would be like as a Sith. Tyrannical? Violent? Rampaging? And none of those seemed… right. It felt, to me, that if she were to become a Sith, it would be out of heartbreak. And it wouldn’t be a denial of love kind of heartbreak; it would be losing someone she truly loved (Anakin or Obi-Wan) forever. Their death, perhaps by a mistake that she made. So I went, ‘okay, the birth of her being a Sith is related to love.’ I searched up some Latin words and found “Carus” which means heart. And because Elara, Jedi or Sith, is so involved with her emotions and with love, with her heart… it just seemed to fit.

Now, the outfit––ohh, I had so much fun with the outfit. I’ve got a BFA in Theatrical Arts, so I’m big on costumes and costume details, so creating Elara’s Sith outfit was absolutely delightful. Again, I started with what I thought Darth Carus would be like. There’s a mournful aspect to her, so black as part of her color palette works, but I didn’t want her to be dressed in all black. I thought that, in the wake of her heartbreak, there would be a dangerous passion about her. An angry passion. So ‘anger’ and ‘passion’ are typically associated with burning colors like red, so I through red (and orange) into the mix. And I wanted them to be bright––Darth Carus is no longer hiding in the neutrals of Tatooine or the Jedi Order. She’s letting the galaxy know her pain. I did, however, want to stick with clothing articles that were more robe-like. It’s what Elara’s known her whole life. But instead of multiple layers, I stripped it down to singular, more form fitting articles. In a way, the fewer layers is displaying the vulnerability that turned her towards the Darkness. Red is the predominant color (the tunic) because it draws attention. You have to look at her, you have to see her pain. It’s almost like staring into a fire, or gaping at an open wound. And because all good Sith Lords need a dramatic cape, I thought I’d do a fun take on it and do one of the ones that attaches at the shoulders instead of drapes over them. Maximum drama for sweeping down staircases or jumping off of tall platforms. Now, like I said, I’m a sucker for small details… hence why I added the embroidery on the tunic collar. It’s floral. It denotes her love of life. Now, if this were all real life, real costume design in an actual movie… the embroidered flowers would be Gleannish Snow Blossoms. And, of course, amidst all the bright reds, vivid oranges, and swaths of black… against all this intensity… you have the delicate, cool softness of the real Snow Blossom pinned to the spot over her heart. The very same Snow Blossom that Obi-Wan gave her on Gleann. A gentle reminder of better days… of the reason she became the ways she is… of the man she loved so wholly and deeply that, in losing him… she’d much have rather killed her own heart instead. (Also, a friend of mine and I had a wonderful conversation discussing how much of a terrifying, badass power couple Sith!Elara and Sith!Obi-Wan would be. It’s delightful.)

3. So, if I’m writing a chapter that deals with a chunk of movie or episode, what I’ll do first is sit down and watch what I perceive I’ll be writing. I’ll take down notes on things that I’ll want to add in/describe. I’ve also got a whole document of ideas I’ve already written down, and a document of bullet-pointed ideas, so I’ll give that I skim/edit, too. I always have to pick what scenes to leave in or take out, decide if they can be summarized or should be left in. Sometimes this’ll happen the same day I start writing, but sometimes I take a day to really think things over, sleep on it, then start the next. Then I’ll start to write, and I’ll have the movie/episode open for reference. When I write canon dialogue, it’s a lot of: watch, listen, pause, transcribe; rewind, read subtitles, listen, pause, transcribe. I also usually have, like… five safari tabs open with different research pages open––one for the movie/episode, probably one for a character of some kind, a google image search of a costume or something, and another one that’s got, like, different kinds of starships or droids (because there are so, so many). A lot of the time I’ll just transcribe/describe a chunk of canon stuff, then go back and add in extra details, weave Elara into it, or change up the dialogue to fit. An example being Obi-Wan and Sugi’s conversation in the barn. I beefed that up a little bit, added in references, and used it to benefit the overall storyline.

With chapters that are more original content based, those take a little longer to plan. Even if I have an idea of what’s going to happen, it takes a bit of time to figure out how to order it all, how to get a proper lead in, how to make transitions. And I also contemplate whether or not what I want to write is really going to be beneficial to the story, or if it’s going to end up being meaningless filling. There are a lot of ideas that I have had or do have that would be fun to write, but don’t really… work into the story well enough (like, god, do I want a girls’ day chapter 😂). And it’s in writing these chapters in particular that I do a lot of my music listening. Star Wars soundtracks, the story playlists I’ve made… the right music can help me find the mood or setting of a scene, inspire a moment. Like, I cannot tell you how much of the bunker scene on Ryloth was inspired by Sebastian Böhm’s rendition of “Blue Monday.” Music plays a huge role in writing for me. I’ll have music playing when I’m driving or doing dishes or cooking, and I’ll start to formulate ideas while listening. There are times, too, when I feel stuck when writing that I’ll swap on over to YouTube and I’ll watch some Star Wars edits. There’s an amazing edit of “War Pigs” by Black Sabbath over battle sequences from the films, and it’s just… it feeds my soul when I get stuck writing battle sequences. I’ve got, like… a go-to list of edits I watch when I feel a little stuck, and they’re all phenomenal. And when all is said and done and I’ve finished the chapter, I usually take a break and sit on it for a bit. Then go back, read over it, do grammar edits, change things if I see fit too. Then it’s on to review replies and I get it uploaded and posted!!

[unholyeverything]

A letter to the prince.

I had like a v soft moment today, okay. And then this idea just happened and I needed to write it down. I also didn’t feel like editing it, I just wrote as the thought sprung to my head, so just treat it as a drabble. I started writing and didn’t stop until it was done. I am soft now. Like a lil ball of cotton flowing in the wind~ Please catch me and put me into a jar or I will disappear and fly away again~

Pairing: DiavoloxLucifer Explicit: no, just soft feels Word Count: 2k Summary: Diavolo searches for Lucifer one day to hand him some papers. He goes to Lamentation only to not find him in his office. Deciding to place the papers on his desk and leaving he is stopped by finding a latter addressed to him on the table.

Lord Diavolo was on his way to the House of Lamentation. He forgot to hand Lucifer some of the papers he needed to sign and he thought that instead of calling him to retrieve them he would just go over and hand them to him in person.

Arriving there he knocked on the big entrance door, only to be greeted by Asmodeus who was just about to go out. "Oh~ Hello Lord Diavolo, what are you doing here this evening?" the strawberry blonde asked. "Hahaha, I forgot to give these papers to Lucifer and I thought I should just hand them to him." Their Lord laughed out. "Of course, he should be in his studies, have a nice evening!" Asmodeus chirped happily and made his way out of the door. Diavolo went inside and made his way to Lucifer's study. It was strangely quiet in this house today, most of the brothers must be out, Lucifer would be pleased and in a good mood he thought to himself. He knocked on the door and entered. He had a bad habit of not waiting to be called in, the consensus lying on him at least knocking before storming in. The door was unlocked but Lucifer was nowhere to be seen. He looked around the room a bit, disappointed of not seeing his stern lover this evening. "Oh well he must have gone out too… " he said with a pout on his lips. With a sigh he made his way to Lucifer's desk. He came here after all, so he'll just leave the papers here and give him a message about it. He was slouching on his way to the big table in front of the window and plunked the documents on the table.

That's when a letter laying in the middle of it caught his eye. It's white paper glowing in the moonlight coming through the window a beautiful red wax seal closing its contents. Diavolo carefully picked it up, gently turning it inside his hands. "Who would Lucifer write such a beautiful letter to?" he wondered. His eyes widened looking at the back of the letter, seeing his name written there. He pulled out the heavy velvet covered chair from underneath the wooden table and sat down, still cradling the letter in his hands. "Why didn't Lucifer give this letter to me this morning? This clearly is his handwriting…. " he struggled mentally as to what to go. Guilt for wanting to open it without his knowledge, but still being so curious about its content and why it hasn't reached him already, it being addressed to him. Lucifer would never hold back any important documents from him and this looked important with how much care it was sealed, with how much precision his name was written on the envelope. He started fumbling with the opening of the letter. "Should I really be doing this.. without asking him first… " he thought. He put the letter down on the table again, resting his elbow on the armrest of the chair leaning his head into his hand. He just looked at it for some more time before picking it up with one hand again, lifting it up to let the light shine on it. "It is addressed to me after all, isn't it?" Having made his decision he sat up again, and looked around for something to gently open the seal with. He looked around and under the desk to search for a letter opener. The only thing out of the ordinary that didn't look as pristine as always in Lucifer's office was his trash bin overflowing with crumpled up papers. He switched on the desk lamp, finally having found the opener. Calmly  and attentively using it to peel off the wax seal. Lightly putting down the opener before holding the envelope in both of his hands. He shook his head one last time before pulling out its contents.

Two sheets of paper neatly folded. The handwriting on them was stunning. All evenly, written with so much grace. He folded the paper apart and leaned back into the chair. His hands started shaking slightly, his thumbs caressing over the paper, his mouth gaping open once he started reading.

My dearest Diavolo,

In what context would Lucifer address him like that? Enthralled by the letter he couldn't stop reading the cautiously drafted letters.

I am usually unable to express what I truly feel towards you, my body not allowing me to speak to you in person, this is why I decided to write this letter to you. I don't know at which number of attempts I am currently finding myself a, but even with all the time in the world to collect my thoughts I still can't seem to word my true feelings towards you.

Diavolo let his hands rest on the table, looking up on the ceiling. It was to try to prevent the tears already collecting in his eyes from falling out and ruining this work. He needed some time to collect himself after he grasped what this letter was about. He continued reading.

Ever since the day I first met you, still being an angel I was mesmerized by your presence. You never once left my head. I was always thinking about the demon prince who told me he would never lie. Why should I trust a being made of darkness with his words. I thought about this for so long.

Then on the day my brothers and I fell from grace, I ended up in front of you again. A strong leader that had established his place and a being abandoned by everything it ever owned and cared for. Just like in our first game of chess you played me again. Knowing I'd never trust your help out of generosity you never offered me that. You thought of a way I would accept and trust you. Knowing me so well just from our one prior meeting. Was I in your head too? You knew I would only accept a trade for my sister, one that couldn't have been of little value to me, my Pride preventing me from doing so. You knew that immediately, asking for my eternal loyalty, me only noticing that now. You earned my full trust this day, requesting for payment for your gratitude immediately instead of holding it against me for the rest of my life. I was so lucky to ever get to meet you. Following you, staying by your side, not ever feeling alone again, you were always there, listening to me even if it was senseless rambling, always watching out for me. I was filled with warmth for the first time since my creation. A warmth coming from deep inside of me. One I was never able to tell you about, one of the things I truly regret, truly wish I was able to convey to you.

Diavolo's eyes were glistening from the water collecting in them. "Oh.. Lucifer… " he whispered out, tightening his grip around the papers. Stopping immediately after he was aware of what he was doing to these cherished pieces of paper. He couldn't stop reading.

You became the light of my life, just like that. Someone that always told me I could come to him when I was stressed, when I was angry, when I was tired, someone that would always comfort me, no matter the reason. Even though I wished for it so much, being held in your arms not having to think about anything, just feeling you close to me just being able to be at piece my Sin did not allow for it. Telling me I won't be perfect, telling me I won't be able to keep up with you, be important anymore if I should ever dare show some weakness in front of another person, let alone the person the most important to me. The only one being able to hold up to my highest standard, the only one I hoped would love me too, at least reciprocating a fraction of what I'm feeling towards him. Though I don't think I would ever be able to ask you in person. To get myself to be close to you. To allow myself to be close to you even though there is nothing I wish for more. I don't even know if I'm capable of handing this letter to you one day, it shall rest in my study until I mustered up the courage to do so. I still don't know if it is even able to convey my true feelings as they are too deep to word out it appears. I just wish for you to never leave my side, to not take this warmth away from me, to continue giving me praise, to continue holding onto me, to continue for you to be yourself as I love every part of it more than I will ever be able to show to you, more than I would ever be able to thank you for, more than I ever dreamt of loving someone before.

Diavolo was just staring at the words written on those sheets of paper. His gaze completely fixated on every single line of them as he read them again and again. "Lucifer… oh my Lucifer…" he mumbled out. Not noticing the noise levels raising in the House of Lamentation.

There was loud yelling, doors being slammed shut, an intense "Mammooonnn!" was heard throughout the hallways, but it all sounded to distant to him. He was sucked into the world of this letter, the words not letting go of him.

He was still sat there, holding the papers, the desk lamp giving off a faint glow, the moon lighting up the room, shining on him, making it look like he was glowing. The shiny particles of dust dancing around the grand room celebrating the light. He didn't notice the door into Lucifer's study opening.

Lucifer entered his private chambers with a sigh, looking at his D.D.D. while entering, not noticing someone sat on his desk the moment he entered. Exhausted he turned around to close the door behind him. Then he looked up seeing Diavolo sat behind his desk, back lit by the full moon. They looked each other straight in the eyes and before Lucifer was able to say anything he noticed the papers his Lord was cradling in his hands. His shoulders slumped down in defeat. Embarrassed with and undefined unexplainable anger and frustration raising inside of him he looked down to the floor. This letter wasn't supposed to reach him, not yet. No matter the amount of times  he tried writing it, it wasn't right. What would he think of him now. What should he do now. He felt defeated and weak, not knowing how to feel ,what to say. He just left his arms loosely hanging on his sides, not being able to lift his head, a faint blush spreading all across his cheeks. He just stood in the middle of the big room, feeling empty and alone having all of him exposed like that.

Diavolo just looked at the tall man, he truly looked alone inside his big office. Not daring to look up to him after their eyes met the first time. He slowly pushed back the heavy chair and got up. Calmly he started approaching him slowly lifting up his arms. "Oh Lucifer….." Standing right in front of him Diavolo wrapped one of his arms around his waist placing the other one on the back of his head, cradling his hair a little before pulling him completely into a tight hug, guiding the raved haired to rest his face on one of his shoulders. "Lucifer, I love you so much, so much more than you can imagine, so much more than I'm able to give to you." He spoke quietly. Once he felt his partner wrap his arms tightly around him he allowed himself lean his head against his. Tightening the hug even further, trying to give him more of his warmth, letting him feel more of him. They just stood there embracing each other, the light connecting the two shining on them like a spell connecting them forever. Dust still dancing around them. Enjoying their moment of just being together, quietly, calmly, softly enjoying their wordless connection.

[thewayshedreamed]

This Time— Part 2

A Nessian Fan Fic

Fic Masterlist

Alright, here it is! All of your responses to my first post were so encouraging, so I thank all of you for that! I was so nervous to post anything that I’ve written, and y’all made me feel so welcomed. Anyway, here’s the continuation of my angsty Nessian fic, This Time. It’s a long one, but I wanted to give some insight into Nesta’s headspace while also setting the occasion for the next part! Hope y’all enjoy it.

If you missed part one, you can find it here.

———————————————————————————-

A dull throb in her temples caused Nesta to stir in the early hours of Sunday morning. She was vaguely aware that it was raining, thunder rolling in a steady rhythm. She turned onto her back and gritted her teeth at the intensifying pain in her head. It suddenly radiated from her temples, meeting in the middle of her forehead and behind her eyes. For the briefest of moments, she wondered about the luck she had (or didn’t have) to wake up feeling like this. No recent illness, no allergies, no alcohol the night before. She blinked into the darkness as she considered, willing her cognition to catch up to her conscious state. Her answer became apparent when her eyes felt gritty as she blinked, and upon rubbing them, she felt a faint tenderness over and around her lids.

Ah, that’s right. The crying.

The events of the previous night flooded her memory.

I’m so gone for you...

You should go...

We can’t be friends after this conversation.

You don’t mean that...

The maddeningly soft click of the door echoed in her mind repeatedly, emulating the rhythm of her heartbeat. She slammed her eyes shut and turned sharply onto her side to bury her face into the pillow.

So often, people talk about the all-consuming relief that comes with waking from a nightmare and realizing none of it was real. These are the stories told at dinner with family or friends, at lunch with co-workers, or at larger social gatherings. Account after account is shared of cheating spouses, car accidents, home invasions, etc., followed by an expression of overwhelming relief at realizing it was all a dream.

Almost never do people discuss the ugly alternative. The micro-interval of time immediately upon waking where one exists in blissful ignorance, followed by the sudden gut-punch of recollection. The ambush of emotions surrounding some life-altering event.

Nesta caught herself grasping for that tiny shred of time, just moments prior, where she was only navigating a headache.

She felt her pulse quicken and her body start to flush, both being clear indicators of her heightened anxiety. Her heart thundered in her chest, and she felt a slight tremble starting to run through her chest and stomach. She closed her eyes as tears threatened to pool yet again and focused on taking a few deep breaths. She lazily reached out, feeling around until she located another pillow across her too large bed. She clutched it tightly against her chest and abdomen, willing it to ground her somehow. Tucking it close to her body and keeping an iron grip, she started to count her breaths until she finally drifted back to sleep.

———-

She had to cancel lunch with Elain and Feyre that Sunday, having slept long enough that she didn’t have enough time to make herself presentable. After explaining that she was suffering from a crippling headache (with no mention of its origin), they sent their well wishes and told her to call if she needed absolutely anything.

Her mornings persisted in a similar manner for the rest of the week. Usually one to rise on her first alarm, she couldn’t find the motivation to do so no matter how hard she tried. She snoozed her alarm a half-dozen times, finally dragging herself out of bed to dress quickly, grab a protein bar, and fly out the door for work.

Work served as a decent distraction from current events. She stayed busy and engaged, allowing her to completely ignore her phone and avoid any personal questions. She knew her sisters would be worried after telling them she was ill, and it was a matter of time before news of her and Cassian’s fight permeated their group of friends. Her sisters would likely put two and two together. Busy bodies. Fiercely loyal, protective, and supportive, but busy bodies all the same.

Several evenings that week she had received several variations of “check in” texts from them, as well as a couple of their friends.

Elain:

”Hey, Nes! Hoping you’re feeling better. Just wanted to check in and see how you are!”

Feyre:

”Just checking in, sister! I hadn’t heard from you since we cancelled lunch, so I hope you’re doing okay! Love you!”

Mor:

”Hi, love! I haven’t seen you in DAYS. Far too long. Please tell me I’ll see you soon! And that you’re alive and well. <3”

Amren:

“Alright. Spill. What’s going on with you? You haven’t responded to anything I’ve sent you, and I’ve sent you some funny shit.”

Nesta drafted one text, copying and pasting it to each and every one of them. She didn’t have the emotional energy to answer the question at all, much less several times over.

“Hey! Thanks for checking on me. I’m sorry I’m just getting back to you! Things have just been crazy this week. I’ve been busy, but I’m fine! We’ll get together soon.”

She stared at the lie over and over again.

I’m fine...

I’m fine...

Although, deep down, she knew. If she were fine, she wouldn’t keep scrolling to a certain text thread. She wouldn’t be reading and re-reading their previous conversations, and she definitely wouldn’t be focused on the date and time stamp of the last received message from days ago.

———

Nesta had been conflicted about Saturday all week long. She had very specific plans: sleep as late as her body would possibly allow, have coffee on the back porch, catch up on her reading, take a long nap, stream as much nonsense television as she could handle, have a bottle of wine, go to sleep. She had been looking forward to the peaceful oblivion of deep sleep, yet she found herself dreading the passage of her free time. It had taken a couple of days to land on an acceptable itinerary, and she felt better with a certain course of action.

She awoke to her covers being abruptly pulled away and the pillow pulled off the top of her head. She groaned dramatically and turned over to identify the offender, fully prepared to sling insults their way for interrupting her sleep. Before she could formulate a cohesive thought, a deep, familiar voice interrupted her.

“Enough of this, Nes. Get up. We’re going to brunch,” the voice announced, his tone dry and neutral.

Nesta’s eyes shot open, falling on a pair of hazel eyes that dared her to be uncooperative.

“What the fuck, Az? How did you even get in here? And what if I were naked?!”

”Look, I pulled the short straw. You’ve barely spoken to anyone all week. When you did, your responses were short and contrived. Your friends and family are worried, and I got volunteered to enter the lion’s den as the only one who isn’t afraid of waking you up.”

”That doesn’t answer all my questions,” she muttered as she sat up and rubbed her eyes.

“I’ve driven you and your sisters home on enough drunken nights to know where your spare key is. And I saw the sleeve of your sweater before I pulled the covers off. Give me a little credit.” He turned away from her to walk out of her bedroom. As he crossed the threshold, he paused with his hand on the door jamb. He glanced over his left shoulder as he said, “You have 15 minutes. I’ll be in here waiting for you.”

Nesta really contemplated throwing a full-scale temper tantrum by throwing herself under the covers and refusing to get up. A deep rumble in her stomach ultimately made her decide against it, so she stood up and padded over to her closet. She selected her favorite pair of jeggings, silently thanking the Cauldron that she had worn them once already so that they were perfectly stretched. She grabbed a sports bra and a long-sleeved tunic, put on some casual sneakers, and walked over to her bathroom to finish getting ready.

She wasn’t one for much makeup anyway, so she opted to wash her face, moisturize, and apply a little mascara. She brushed her teeth, applied a generous layer of chapstick, and quickly French-braided her hair down the center of her back. She glanced down at her phone; 12 minutes. Suck on that, Azriel.

She walked out of her bedroom, down the hallway, and found Azriel perched on the arm of her sofa, scrolling through his phone. Sensing her approach, he locked his phone and stood.

“All ready?” He grabbed his keys from his front pocket.

“Sure. Whenever you are.” She looked around for her small purse and grabbed it off of the coffee table. “Wait... did you clean up in here?”

She knew there was something different when she walked in, but it had taken her a minute to realize what. Gone were the take out containers from her countertops and coffee table. All the various cups she had left all over her apartment were nowhere to be seen, and her blankets were folded neatly in a stack.

Azriel cleared his throat and looked around. “Not really. I noticed your trash can was full when I threw my gum away, and I thought it would be pointless to bring it out and not get everything.”

She bit her cheek to stop her smile at his sheepishness. He had always been a good friend to her, but she knew he preferred when it went under the radar. No one blushed faster or got more awkward than Azriel on the receiving end of appreciation or a compliment.

“Ah. I see. And I guess the blankets folded themselves, then. Or did you need to fold them to ‘get everything?’”

“Nes, you know I cleaned up in here, so can we go already?” He was already turning toward her door, flustered and mildly irritated with her teasing. She gripped his bicep to turn him around before he made it outside.

“I’m sorry, Az. You’re a wonderful friend, and I don’t deserve you. Let’s go have some brunch and forget it, ok?”

He gave her a sideways smile and playfully shoved her shoulder. “Fine. But next time, you’re walking.”

———-

The drive over to the small cafe was short, so the pair sat in comfortable silence on the way. Upon arriving, Azriel found a small table in the corner of the patio, instructed her to sit, and walked inside to place their order. When he returned, he was holding a mug of coffee for Nesta and a mug of earl grey tea for himself.

“The food should come out in about 10-15 minutes. I couldn’t remember how you take your coffee exactly, so I just brought you a ton of shit.” He wasn’t exaggerating. He placed a handful of different creamers and sweeteners in the center of the table.

Nesta gave a small chuckle at his gesture, noting that it felt good to laugh for the first time in days. She couldn’t help but feel grateful that it was Azriel who had pulled her out of bed this morning, if it had to be anyone. They were more alike than most would assume, and they had made very fast friends all those years ago. She loved the purity of their relationship, built on years of trust and mutual respect, but never crossing beyond anything other than platonic. Cassian had always joked about being “outnumbered” around the two of them, commenting on their likeness and how he managed to find kindred spirits as his best friends.

The thought of him elicited a slight pang in her stomach, and she quickly shoved it down. She was pulled from her thoughts by Azriel’s voice.

“So. You want to talk about what’s going on?”

”Gods, Azriel. I haven’t even gotten the caffeine in my system.”

He took a sip of his tea, only breaking eye contact to blow gently on the hot liquid. He regained eye contact as he set his mug back down.

“We haven’t heard anything genuine from you in a week. Forgive us for being a little worried. I’m assuming it has something to do with Cassian?”

As she suspected, hearing his name struck a nerve and caused a certain heaviness in her chest. She felt herself becoming defensive, and even though her logical mind knew it had nothing to do with Az, she was snapping at him before she realized it was happening.

“Why is everyone acting like I’m off the deep end?! Maybe I’ve just been busy for a week. Cauldron forbid if I take some time for my damn self. And why the fuck would you immediately jump to him? As if my life doesn’t exist beyond all of you? And beyond him?” She felt herself flush out of anger. Or embarrassment. Who the hell knew anymore?

Azriel seemed almost entirely unaffected by her verbal lashing. He took a couple of seconds, leaned forward with his forearms on the table, and clasped his hands in front of him. He looked at her intensely, and she knew she was not going to get anything sugarcoated in this conversation.

“Need I remind you that I know both of you like the back of my hand? I’m not shooting in the dark here. You’ve been essentially MIA for a week, and that timespan directly correlates with Cassian being an absolute terror to be around. The odds of that being a coincidence are incredibly low. So, Nes, I’ll ask you to please cut the shit.” He voice remained even and steady. There was no true malice in his words, just the bluntness that exists between two close friends. He picked up his mug, leaned back in his chair, and waited.

Nesta’s posture softened slightly as she rubbed the bridge of her nose with her thumb and middle finger. She let out a long breath and looked up to meet Azriel’s gaze again.

“Look, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have snapped at you like that. And I should also realize by now that you notice fucking everything.”

He merely nodded, acknowledging her apology and prompting her to continue with one simple gesture. She blew out another breath, preparing herself to explain everything. In the meantime, their food arrived, so she waited until the waiter walked away before beginning her story. She told him everything, even the uncomfortable details. Cassian’s confession. Her reaction. His anger. Her anger. The devastation on his face. As much as she could remember of their interaction. And finally, the words she couldn’t stop replaying in her mind. This time, it’s on you.

He listened intently, only offering small nods or slight facial expressions during the more intense parts of their conversation. Once she was finished, he let out a long whistle and said, “Damn, Nesta. You’re officially the most savage of the Archerons.”

“I’m sorry... what?”

“I’m not saying that to be insulting. I just meant that you kind of handed him his ass there.”

Nesta started at him, urging him to elaborate before she felt inclined to jump down his throat again. He picked up on her prompting and continued.

“Well, to be fair, Cassian’s full of it. The fact that he thought he was going to be able to sleep with you and continue being friends is short-sighted at best. Can’t blame him for trying, but considering how long he’s been in love with you, he was setting himself up for failure there.”

Now, she was gawking at him. How was he being so nonchalant about this bombshell? How long had Cassian been in love with her? And why the hell had he waited until now to say a damn word about it?

”How long, Azriel?” Her voice was so quiet that she wasn’t sure that he’d even heard her.

It was his turn to look surprised. “Are you telling me you didn’t know? Anyone within a mile of the two of you could have seen it.”

She shook her head, realizing she didn’t think she could handle the direction of this conversation. “Never mind. Regardless, we had an agreement that our friendship was too important to risk on anything serious and that it was supposed to remain purely casual. It’s done now. It’s not like it matters.”

A few seconds passed before she glanced up at Azriel. His brow was furrowed, conflicted with what he was going to say next.

”What? Just tell me.”

“Don’t you think that’s kind of bullshit, Nes? I get that you both agreed on those terms, but I think it’s kind of fucked overall. You’re telling me that the potential of a relationship wasn’t worth the risk but casual sex was worth it? That doesn’t make sense.”

She breathed sharply out of her nose before she responded. “Had the agreement been honored, we could have enjoyed our time together, and we could have stopped once life events called for it. If one of us started dating someone... if one of us moved... things like that. It’s fairly straightforward.” She wasn’t trying to hide the bite behind her words, but he still didn’t seem offended. She tried not to find his level-headedness infuriating, but her patience was thinning by the second. To her surprise, his composure slipped a little.

”And how did you think that was going to play out? You both would shake hands, go your own ways, and continue to hang out with each other as before? You would have been totally fine with Cassian dating another woman? And do you really think Cassian would be a-okay with sitting in the front row at your wedding one day? Has it ever occurred to you that you two always dislike anyone that the other dates? No one ever loves Cassian the right way. No one ever makes Nesta happy enough. Why do you think that—“

”Alright, alright! I get it.“ She held her hands up in supplication. “The fact remains, though, that it’s over. It’s done. We screwed up, and it cost me my best friend. We’ll never be the same.” She felt her eyes brimming with tears.

She was vaguely aware of Azriel apologizing for his outburst and suggesting that they head back. She forced a nod, stood up from her chair, and walked to his car. Once inside and buckled, he turned to her.

”Hey. I really am sorry.”

”Don’t apologize. You were being honest with me, which is something I’ve always valued so much in you. Don’t go soft on me now.” She managed the smallest of smiles.

“Deal. But the same goes for you. Our mutual honesty has saved us a lot of trouble over the years. Makes our friendship easy.”

”You’re right. Why couldn’t it have been us to fall in love?” She huffed a laugh, making sure he knew her comment was in jest. She turned to look at him as he finished backing out of their parking spot.

Azriel hit his brakes a little harder than usual at her words. He chuckled, turning to look at her with a small smile. “What good would that do us? What would we do for fun? Brood?”

Nesta laughed, truly laughed, at the truth in his words. Azriel made a wonderful friend to her, but there would be very little personal growth within their hypothetical relationship. She smiled at him, squeezed his forearm briefly, and said, “Fair enough. I guess we wouldn’t push each other to grow all that much.”

He continued to drive, eyes straight ahead. He still wore signs of amusement on his face, but his tone turned a little more serious. “No. We wouldn’t. I think that’s why Cassian has always been a great balance for people like us. We get way too comfortable in the dark.”

”Mmm. People like Cassian, for sure. Maybe people like Elain, too?” She gave him a knowing smile.

He pulled up in the driveway and placed the car in park before looking at her. She could see the faint blush on his cheeks at the mention of her sister, but she wouldn’t push him. She knew he was smitten with Elain and had been for some time. She hadn’t spoken to him plainly about it, but she could tell by the way they interacted that they were a matter of time. Inevitable, even.

“We’re not talking about me today. Only you.”

She giggled at his deflection. “Thank you again for today. I needed the coffee, the waffles, the venting, and the swift kick in the ass.”

”Of course. Speaking of Ellie, what’s your plan for her birthday party next weekend? You know Cass will be there.”

“Oh, man. I think I blocked that out.” She opened the door, stepped out of the car, and peered down at him before adding, ”That, my friend, is something I will have to play by ear.”

——————————————————————————-

A/N: Sorry for no Nessian interaction this time, but I just love the idea of a Nesta x Azriel brotp. I couldn’t help myself. Nessian interaction to come, I promise!

Tags are below! If you’d like to be tagged in future parts, you can comment, reblog, or message me!

@polireader // @lord-douglas-the-third // @justgiu12 // @notyournymphetish // @sjm-things // @strangeenemy

[bloomvalyria]

Broken Pieces Rewrite Sneak Peek

Hi guys, it’s been a while. I know I was hoping to get Chapter 3 out by the end of February but clearly that ship has sailed. It’s still a pain in my ass, so I’ve been working on other projects until inspiration hits me to get over the annoying hill that is the opening sequence.

So, while this isn’t a sneak peek of Chapter 3, it is of a later chapter that is solely devoted to Bloom and Baltor. It’s actually the rough draft of a scene that didn’t exist at all in the original, so this is completely new content to tide you all over for a while. It’s not much, but I hope you all enjoy it nonetheless!

He smirked. “What would you like to know?”

Despite his arrogance, excitement bubbled in my chest. A thousand burning questions rushed up my throat, desperate to be the first one spoken. Every question no one had ever been able to answer. After so long, I was finally going to get answers.

And they all turned to ash on my tongue.

I laughed at the irony. I’d been dying to find someone with answers. Anyone who could tell me anything about Sparx and my parents. Every night I wished for answers, any clue to solving the puzzle that was my past. 

Baltor potentially held one of the largest puzzle pieces. And I was too stunned by his willingness to muster up enough courage to ask anything.

“Let’s start with something simple,” he said. Leaning back in his chair, he kicked his feet up onto the desk. Cat-like curiosity gleamed in his grey eyes. “What do you know?”

I shook my head. “Not as much as I would like,” I admitted. “I know that my parents were King Oritel and Queen Miriam. Last anyone saw of them, they went to fight the Ancestresses and none of them were ever seen again. I know Sparx was cursed into an eternal winter during the battle. I know I had an older sister, Daphne, who was one of the Nine Nymphs of the Magic Dimension. When the Ancestresses attacked, she saved me by sending me through a portal to Earth before she was killed. And that’s about it.”

There was an agonizing beat of silence. The longer we sat, the more bewildered Baltor became.

“That’s it?” he asked, astounded. “That’s all you know?”

“I told you it wasn’t much!”  

“Yes, but I’d hoped Faragonda told you at least something of value.” Leaning back in the chair, he ran a hand down his face. “What about the Company of Light? Please tell me that old woman had the decency to give you the basics.”

My meeting in the library with Faragonda resurfaced in my memory. “Faragonda mentioned something about them the other day. She said she was a member and they fought on Sparx--”

“There were six members of the Company of Light,” Baltor interrupted. “Oritel, Miriam, Faragonda, Saladin, your father’s swordsmith Hagen, and Griffin after the bitch stabbed me in the back.”  

I snorted, seeing his eyes blaze. “Well, I’m so glad you’re not still holding a grudge.”

He shot me a warning look that instantly silenced me. Griffin’s betrayal clearly affected him more than he cared to let on. Part of me wanted to ask more about his time with her but knew better than to indulge my curiosity.

“The Company of Light was essentially what your little Winx Club is now,” Baltor thankfully continued. “They defended the Magic Dimension from Darkar and the Ancestresses during the war. If there was an attack, they were ready to defend.” He paused, the corners of his lips turning up. “Until they weren’t.”

[ineloqueent]

Hello! I would like to ask for fluff with Joe since you haven’t written for him yet. How about Joe dating/flirting with someone way more quiet and shy than him? A shy! Reader

here’s some fluffy joe for you! i’ve made y/n into a bit of a bookworm, because i’m a bit of one myself, oops. hope you enjoy :)

⭒

Joe had been the first person in your life to understand that being shy wasn’t mutually exclusive with not wanting to be spoken to, that you were human, and craved connection as much as anybody else.

You’d first encountered him at the local hybrid cafe-bookshop, Paracosm. Perhaps that was why you’d been a little more at ease than usual, that day; you knew the place. Paracosm was your favourite haunt, filled with the familiar comforts of tea and yellowed pages, the glittering light bulbs that hung from the ceiling like little planets and kept the atmosphere of the cafe cosy, even on the coldest of days.

Or perhaps it’d been the look of kindliness about him, the slight ginger tint to his hair, the snow dusting his eyelashes, the way he’d shivered and shared a laugh at his own expense with the barista. It was a beautiful quality, to be able to laugh at oneself.

Or maybe it was none of those things at all, and instead simply that he’d smiled at you when he had accidentally made eye contact with you, instead of hurriedly looking away, as most people— including you— did.

“I should’ve worn a warmer jacket, I think,” he said conversationally, and with a start, you realised he’d been talking to you.

Your first thought was why? Why was he speaking to you?

You were sitting by the door, yes, in the spot where you normally did, because the way the bookshelves were positioned by the table ensured that no draft would sweep over you, but just because you were closest to him… Was that why he had directed his remark to you, in polite resolve of the mistake he’d make in looking at you earlier? Or was he speaking to you because he wanted to speak to you?

No, of course not.

But he was still smiling at you, almost expectantly, as though he thought you would reply.

“Wrong day to wear a thin jacket,” you said, and your tonelessness could have been mistaken for hostility. You cursed yourself inwardly; it wasn’t hostility, it was nerves. Admittedly, the man was attractive, and as you already struggled with small talk in the company of people you knew, talking to this auburn-haired stranger turned your words more nonsensical than normal.

But he laughed again, lightly, easily. He had an easiness about him, a simplicity that boasted earnesty and depth, both wit and charm. “You’re right,” he said, simply. “But you look like the clever sort.”

You blinked at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?” you said.

The memory of a smile remained on his face as he told the barista, “A latte for me,” glanced in your direction, then added, “and another hot chocolate for the lady, please.”

Your expression turned further puzzled, and the man said to you, “Mind if I sit down?”

He’d said it so kindly, as though he genuinely cared that you would not be bothered by him taking the seat across from you.

“No,” you managed, “sit down.”

He pulled out the chair and sat down, made as though to take off his coat, then changed his mind, instead wrapping it more tightly around himself.

“You’re reading Shakespeare,” he said.

“Sorry?”

“You’re reading Shakespeare,” he repeated, and you glanced down at your book.

You were reading Shakespeare, but as to why that was relevant, you couldn’t guess.

“And?”

He shrugged. “Call me simple-minded, but if you’re reading Shakespeare for fun, you have to be some kind of smart. You can’t read between the lines if you’re not smart, and most of Shakespeare is between the lines, not in them.”

Pulling your book closer to you, you challenged shyly, “How do you know I’m reading for fun?”

You noticed, as you leveled your gaze on him, that his eyes were a lovely brown, the kind of colour one might wish to sink into, merely to fathom a whisper of the warmth that lay within them. “You were smiling at the book when I came in.”

He’d noticed you even before you’d seen him.

How often did that happen?

The answer was never. You were one to shrink into the corner, preferring to deflect most attention, and careful observation was your greatest asset in this world of loud-talkers and scatter-brained thinkers. You imagined that nothing about you drew the eye.

But you’d drawn his.

A flush touched your cheeks. “That’s embarrassing,” you muttered. You were only half-joking.

That smile was back on his face again.

“I’m Joe,” he said, reaching out to shake your hand.

“Y/N,” you responded quietly, taking his hand. His skin was soft.

“Joe! Latte and a hot chocolate.”

Joe raised his eyebrows at you, then went to retrieve the drinks. Returning, he set down the hot chocolate in front of you.

“You really didn’t have to do that,” you said, avoiding his eyes.

“Oh, but I wanted to,” he winked. “Gotta make a good first impression.”

Your book was a refuge as you glanced down again, the reliable pattern of black lettering stamped into creamy paper offering you familiarity in this unfamiliar situation. You weren’t used to this… interest.

“And anyway,” he resumed, “what I meant to say was, that’s not embarrassing,” he jammed a finger in the direction of your book, “but the fact that I know how to recite the entirety of Macbeth backwards is.”

“Backwards?” you couldn’t help but laugh. “Why do you know how to recite the entirety of Macbeth backwards?”

Joe winced. “See, that’s the embarrassing bit.”

You raised your eyebrows, and with a heavy sigh, he continued.

“It was a bet. I was being stupid and thought it would be a good idea to bet my friend a hundred dollars that I could memorise any play within a week.”

“Okay, that does sound a bit embarrassing,” you conceded. “But still, why backwards?”

“I’m getting there, I’m getting there,” he said, blowing over the surface of his latte, gingerly taking a sip. He recoiled when it was still too hot, wrinkling his nose in an adorably childish manner. “Backwards, because my friend decided to teach me a lesson for being an idiot, and one-upped me that I should learn it backwards. Before I knew it, there was an entire bar-full of strangers chanting for me to do it, on pain of death if I refused.”

You laughed, finally slipping your fingers from your book, closing it gently with the bookmark inside, your attention captured by how this man told stories in such a lively way, the lilt of his voice akin to how one would narrate a fairytale.

“Go on, then,” you said, trying your hot chocolate. It was perfect, as ever. Perhaps a little more so because it hadn’t come out of your weekly budget. And because it had been paid for by a handsome stranger, one who actually wanted to talk to you. “I want to hear some backwards Macbeth.”

Joe’s eyes twinkled. “You don’t believe me, do you?”

“I do,” you answered. But you didn’t, really. And he knew it.

He narrowed his eyes.

When you didn’t flinch beneath his gaze, he began, “Despair thy charm, and let the angel whom thou still hast served. Tell thee, Macduff was from his mother’s womb untimely ripped.” Here, he changed his voice to represent the change in speaker, and you smothered a laugh in your hands at how dramatic his facial expression had become. “Thou losest labor as easy mayst thou the intrenchant air with thy keen sword impress as make me bleed. Let fall thy blade on vulnerable crests; I bear a charmèd life, which must not yield to one of woman born.”

A few more lines, and he had you utterly in stitches; you did not bother to quiet your laughter. Of course, the lines now sounded completely meaningless, but Joe’s sense of humour was as ridiculous as your own, and in deriving pleasure from the ludicrousness of a Shakespeare work read backwards, Joe was more likable to you than ever.

“I believe you, I believe you!” you cried, and his composure crumpled, a grin spreading across his face.

“Thank god,” he said eventually, when the two of you could contain yourselves. “I thought I’d have to recite all of it before you gave in.”

You shook your head, still smiling.

“I would’ve done it, though,” he said, and you felt your chest tighten at the look of earnesty in his eyes.

“You should be an actor,” you told him, and he chuckled, the warmth of the sound warming you.

“I’m glad you think so. I am an actor.”

“Oh!”

“But I’m not pretending I want to be here with you,” he said.

Something like butterflies had fluttered beneath your skin.

He’d returned to Paracosm every day after that, and though he seemed happily surprised each time he encountered you, you weren’t so foolish as to believe that your meetings were actually a coincidence.

As the days went by, you grew more comfortable in Joe’s presence, until you were relaxed enough to begin an argument with him about which of the Brontë sisters was more forward-thinking in terms of women’s rights. Unlike most of the men you’d come across in your lifetime, Joe was perfectly comfortable debating such topics, even going so far as to slag off the more conservative male classical writers of the same time period. The two of you had then pored over the difference between Oscar Wilde’s poetry and his literature, examined the metaphors of Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein, trawled through the conspiracy theory regarding Shakespeare and whether or not he had really authored all of his own works. The latter conversation had become so heated that other cafe patrons had begun taking their own personal sides on the matter, loudly voicing their opinions until even Paracosm’s baristas had a thing or two to add to the discussion.

“How are you so well-read, anyway?” you’d asked Joe.

“My mom forced me through all of the classics before I was ten,” he’d said with a shrug. In his nonchalance, he became all the more alluring, the humbleness a complement to his personality.

Not many days into the routine of running into you at Paracosm, Joe had asked you to go out with him, properly.

You’d nodded, “Okay.”

“Okay?” he’d laughed, nervously. “You don’t have to go out with me if you don’t want to.”

“No,” you’d shaken your head, adamant that you get your point across. “I want to go out with you, Joe.”

His face had broken into a smile. “Okay,” he’d said, making you laugh, and his smile had broadened until it reached his lovely eyes.

The first time he’d kissed you had been on that first date.

He’d taken you to see a musical, one you’d struggled to pay attention to because Joe kept looking over at you to gauge your reaction to certain parts of the show, laughing with you, smiling when you smiled.

After the show, the two of you had wandered down the boulevard, and as it had been cold, you’d used this as your excuse to hover close enough by Joe’s side that your sleeves occasionally brushed as you walked with your arms by your sides.

You’d been content to walk like that, floundering for breath when his eyes caught on yours, your heart stumbling along its usually steady course. But then, in place of sleeves, his fingers had brushed your fingers, and suddenly you wanted more, to be closer to him in this blistering cold where his touch would surely warm you.

And he slipped his hand into yours.

You could hardly breathe.

“Look,” he said quietly, pointing up at the sky.

Confused, you frowned, but it wasn’t long before you realised his meaning: snow drifted down from above, snowflakes spinning through the air like dancers. It was beautiful, light snow, not the heavy kind, the kind there’d been on the day when Joe had first stumbled into Paracosm, the kind that would warrant a panic about losing one’s way home.

The snow was beautiful, but you couldn’t take your eyes off of Joe.

He stared up at the heavens, his eyes wide with childlike wonder, and for a moment, you lost yourself in watching him, drenched in your own memories of a simpler time.

Snow glittered in his hair, on the shoulders of his coat, on his eyelashes and on his collar. The word ‘angelic’ came to mind.

“I like snow,” he murmured.

You laughed softly. “I can see that.”

He lowered his eyes until they met yours.

You remembered that he was holding your hand.

“And I like you,” he said, a smile finding its way to his lips. His eyes were homely and familiar in his face, the face you’d looked into for so many days now, gazing at him and wondering at how it was really nothing more than a coincidence that the two of you had met. What a wonderful coincidence.

“I like you too, Joe,” you whispered, your hold tightening on his hand.

He lifted his other hand to your cheek, not quite touching you, but close enough to make your breath hitch.

His own gentle exhale tickled your skin.

Tentatively, he asked, “Is it okay if I kiss you?”

“More than okay,” you murmured, already gravitating toward him.

“Okay, because I wasn’t sure, and I wanted to be sure, and I—”

You cut him off, pressing your lips to his as he hummed a soft oh against your mouth and finally, finally pulled you into his arms.

You felt him wrap his coat around you, and you leaned further into him, relishing his warmth in the coldness of the night.

When he pulled back, he combed snow from your hair with the lightest of touches, laughter in his eyes.

“You know,” he said, “you must be more well-read than I am.”

You blinked at him. “What makes you say that?”

“Well, because that was classic, cutting me off.”

You rolled your eyes at the ridiculousness of his joke.

The snow fell more thickly now, but neither of you moved. You simply stood, you with your head nestled against Joe’s chest, Joe with his coat and his arms wrapped around you. His breath ruffled your hair.

“My well-read girl,” he whispered.

⭒

[songtoyou]

Chapter Eight: Be Still

Would You Call That Love

Pairing: Chris Evans x Raina Morrison (OC)

Rating: PG to PG-13 (Might be 18+ for some chapters)

Story Summary: There was always that one person Chris Evans tended to turn to when he was not in a committed relationship, Raina Morrison. He could confide in her about things going on in his life that he did not feel comfortable talking to his family or close friends about. Chris and Raina were able to establish a way to openly communicate with one another, but also being respectful of the other’s time and needs. It was the only constant “relationship” he had, but without all the nonsense of trying to build a life together. A “friends with benefits” situation. However, what happens when Chris starts rethinking his “relationship” with Raina and if either are willing to pursue something more?

Chapter Summary: Raina and Chris are having trouble dealing with their time apart. Long-distance relationships suck.

Chapter Rating: PG

Warnings: None

Word Count: 2,258

Author’s Note: I was having trouble with this chapter. I had to end up rewriting it because I was not feeling the first draft. 

Italics represent flashback conversations.

Sadly, I do not know Chris Evans or anyone in his family, and this is just a fictional take on his life. I do not permit this fic to be reposted on other platforms.  

Tag List: @patzammit​

Three months. That is how long Raina and Chris had been apart. She continued to star in the Broadway version of Moulin Rouge as Satine. Shows were constantly selling out. Reviews were acclaimed. Unfortunately, Raina was feeling bored. The same routine was beginning to annoy her. She didn't like that there was no room to change things up. Being in a Broadway show was vastly different from her concerts. Raina knew it would be.

Jerry had warned Raina that Broadway was a whole different ballgame than what she was used to or experienced. "You won't be able to change or add things from show to show. It is more rigorous than what you are used to, kid," Raina remembered Jerry telling her one day before she accepted the role. 

Raina wanted a challenge. She wanted to do something different. There were times where Raina felt stagnant in her career. Plus, Raina was now considered an aging pop star, so she had to begin the process of branching out into different fields of entertainment. 

"You should do the voice," Jerry would always suggest, which Raina repetitively turned down. It wasn't that Raina looked down on voice competition shows. She didn't want to open that door to be on television every week for months on end. She was a performer, not a judge.

Again, three months. Three months since Raina had physically seen her boyfriend. They talked on the phone and skyped regularly, but it was not the same as being in the same room. She missed Chris terribly. And he missed her.

Chris had been pretty busy himself, first having to take Dodger back to Boston before getting ready to go to Toronto. With Raina's busy schedule, she would not have been able to take care of the canine. For a week and a half, Chris would attend the Toronto Film Festival to promote the movie Knives Out. Raina wished she could have gone with him. Chris wished she could have gone with him. 

After the film festival, Chris didn't have much downtime. He rushed into working on A Starting Point with Mark to outline the website and coordinate interviews with politicians. 

Raina made it a point to steer clear of conversations about ASP. Truthfully, she didn't find the idea appealing or exciting. Yes, Americans needed to be informed about certain aspects of politics and important issues. But many outlets already offered what Chris and Mark were trying to do. She asked Chris one time what made ASP different from the others. She was surprised that he wasn't quite able to come up with a sufficient answer. Raina knew Chris meant well. 

"Chris," she spoke up one day before he left the City, "You know I will never bullshit you, and I won't ever blow smoke up your ass. That has never been the kind of friendship we had. Nor is it how we want our intimate relationship to go."

He looked at Raina and told her to go on. "Sometimes, I have noticed, is that you tend not to be able to look outside of your privilege, Chris. You know what I am saying?"

Chris turned to his girlfriend. He was confused about where she was getting at. "No. What are you saying?"

Raina sighed. She could tell Chris was on the verge of getting defensive. "Nothing," she said, throwing her hands up in defeat. "Look, let's no…argue about…stupid stuff, okay." Raina pleaded and walked up to Chris to put her arms around him.

He reciprocated by doing the same. Leaning in, Chris captured Raina's lips. "I don't want to argue either. Especially not before I have to leave," he whispered in her ear.

There would times when Raina would look back on that exchange between her and Chris. She felt weird about how Chris became so defensive. Yeah, she could have worded things better; however, why should she? 

Truthfully, Chris was a privileged white male. If he took the time to recognize his privileges, it would make him a better ally to those who represent underprivileged groups. Raina was worried about any possible backlash Chris could face with a project like AS, which was not what she wanted for him. She understood that this was a passion project for Chris and Mark as well. Raina only wanted Chris to make sure that everything was in order and that nothing would be thrown at him unexpectedly. She knew Chris wasn't able to take criticism very well, even when it was constructive, mainly when it came to projects he was enthusiastic about; she understood as she was the same way.

With their time apart, Chris had to miss her birthday, October 19. Chris made sure to send Raina an enormous flower arrangement he could find, along with an array of goodies from Dylan's Candy Bar store. Chris knew the gifts would something Raina would appreciate. However, he still felt guilty that he was not with her to celebrate her birthday in person.

"Hey, birthday girl," Chris greeted Raina through skype on the day of her birthday. He laughed when he saw that she was holding the cupcake pillow he got her.

"I love it!" she exclaimed happily. "And I love my three-tier candy cake. I can't believe you got me that," Raina pointed out as she adjusted the laptop camera to show Chris the candy cake. "I won't be able to eat all of that."

"Yeah, you will," he laughed.

"I miss you," Raina said to Chris. "I didn't think being away from you would be this hard."

Chris sighed, "I miss you, too, sweetheart. But we'll see each other for Christmas, right?"

"Yes, of course. I made sure to schedule that time off. I still plan to come up to Concord for Christmas. My dad has already made plans with Diane for not only Christmas but Thanksgiving as well. So he is taken care of," Raina revealed. "Speaking of Thanksgiving, what are you doing?"

Shifting in his seat, Chris shared that he would spend it in Concord with his family. He noticed the slight disappointment on Raina's face and shift in her demeanor. "You don't want to come here and spend the holiday with me?" she asked solemnly. She didn't want to press on the issue but wanted to hear Chris's reason. 

Raina understood that Chris always liked to spend the holidays with his family, but deep down, she hoped he would change it up this year. "It's just been two and a half months since we saw each other," Raina began but stopped. The last thing she wanted to do was to make Chris feel guilty. "Do you have any time off before then?"

"Like you, I'm completely booked up until Christmas. Mark and I are still working on the website for A Starting Point for the rest of October, then when November comes around, it is all press for Knives Out and premiers. Trust me; I would rather be with you than have to do press junkets or walk red carpets," Chris acknowledged.

Raina grabbed a piece of candy from her three-tier candy cake. She just sat back in her chair, not looking at the computer screen. Raina focused on the candy. She didn't want to look at Chris because if she did, tears would begin to form. For some reason, missing Chris and wanting to be with him felt like the equivalent of homesickness. It was a feeling she had never experienced when it came to another human being. Even when she was a teenager touring across the world, she never felt homesick. Her relationship with Chris brought along a whole new set of feelings for Raina, and part of it scared her. 

She suddenly asked herself, 'Am I becoming too dependent on Chris?' The last thing Raina wanted to be, was co-dependent.

Raina shook her head and sat up in her chair. She looked at Chris and smiled. "I'm sorry. I know you're busy. I don't mean to pressure you or make you feel bad."

The two continued to talk a bit longer until Chris noticed Raina yawning. "Okay, sweetheart, I will let you get to bed."

"No, I can still talk. It's early," Raina whined like a child.

"It's a quarter after eleven, and that is now your fourth yawn in the last fifteen minutes," he pointed out. "You need to get to bed."

Raina sighed, "Alright, boss. I'll get to bed. Talk to you later or when either one of us is available. Bye, honey. Love you."

"Love you, too. Bye."

Thanksgiving rolled around faster than Chris expected. Time flies when one is busy. He continued to talk to Raina via phone or skype. However, Chris was also beginning to get frustrated at their time apart. Currently, he was home, sitting in his living room with his brother and brother-in-law, watching a football game between the Buffalo Bills and Dallas Cowboys while his mom and sisters prepared dinner. Lisa would poke her head from the kitchen, asking the boys for help from time to time. His niece and nephew were running around playing with Dodger, who appeared to love the attention. 

It was almost perfect, except one person was missing. Raina. He called her earlier that day. She shared that she was celebrating Thanksgiving, Chandler Bing style, with some of the Moulin Rouge cast. 

"What the Hell is Thanksgiving, Chandler Bing style?" Chris asked, confused. 

"Damnit, watch friends, Christopher," Raina scolded teasingly. "Chandler Bing doesn't celebrate Thanksgiving. Because that was the day his parents told him that they were getting divorced. So, instead of all the turkey fixings and stuffing, we have grilled cheese sandwiches, tomato soup, and a family-size bag of Funyuns as an appetizer. We have lots of booze, so don't worry. Oh, and pumpkin cheesecake. Good times, right."

Chris only laughed. "You're living the dream. I don't think what Ma is making could compare."

"Just be sure to tell her to make her spaghetti for Christmas dinner. Or at least make a small pot of it just for me, okay."

"She's planning to, so don't worry. What are you watching? I hear gunfire," Chris enquired.

"I'm watching my husband, Tommy Shelby, shoot at the Italians," Raina informed as she watched Peaky Blinders. "I love Tommy Shelby. I tell you, Chris, if Tommy Shelby showed up at my door asking me to marry him, I would most likely say yes."

"Is that so."

"In a heartbeat. Sorry, hon, but Tommy Shelby, the things I would let him do to..."

"Thank God he is a fictional character," Chris interrupted. 

"Not in my dreams he isn't," Raina taunted.

"Okay, I'm hanging up now."

"Alright, I'll stop lusting after my fictional husband while I'm on the phone with you," said Raina and switched topics.

The two continued to talk until Chris was ordered into the kitchen by his mother. It was his turn to help.

Chris was chopping carrots and celery when his mother asked how Raina was doing. 

"She is doing fine. Raina wishes she could be here."

However, Lisa could tell something was bothering Chris. He could never hide his emotions from her. "What's the matter, Christopher?"

Chris continued to chop the vegetables until he stopped to look at his mother. "I didn't expect being away from Raina would be this hard, Ma."

"Of course it is. You love Raina," Lisa stated as she continued cooking. 

"I do. But in the past, I had girlfriends who I loved and had to do long-distance," Chris explained. "None of those worked out."

"Because you weren't truly in love with them," Lisa pointed out. "Don't compare what you have with Rain to your past relationships. Every relationship is different. What you and Raina have now is not something you have experienced before, which is real love. True love. Everyone always knew that you two would end up together, except you and Raina. You both are so cute but also clueless at times. You both will get through this. The work commitments will die down. You both will be reunited. Everything will be fine."

Chris took in what his mother was saying. He knew she was right. He had things to look forward to beginning the start of the new year.

"Raina is the first person I dated, well since Jessica at least, that I have really begun to think about marriage and kids. Part of me is scared because it's all so fast. We have only started dating back in mid-July. I don't want to rush anything. I don't want to scare her off. I don't want her to get bored of me," Chris confessed honestly. 

It was heartbreaking for Lisa to hear. She gestured for Chris to sit down at the kitchen table. "You need to stop, Chris. You are allowing your anxiety to get the best of you. Just take a deep breath, okay," she instructed her oldest son. "Raina will never get bored of you. She loves you very much. Don't think about the past; only focus on the future. You and Raina will be fine. More than fine. Yes, there will be hard times, along with good times. It is normal for every functional relationship. You can't have the good without the bad, the sad without the happy, the ups and the downs. The universe needs balance."

"Okay, Oprah," Chris joked. "I get what you're saying."

"Do you?"

"Yeah, I do, Ma."

"Good. Now get back to chopping," Lisa ordered, and Chris went back to cutting vegetables for Thanksgiving dinner. 

[sif-the-tsunami]

Hello friends,

This is a small sample of the fantasy series I’ve been working on for a few years. I would love to get some kind of feedback. Positive, negative. Lay it on me. I want to know what you think.

This is a rough draft, barely edited. 

Summary: A young warrior starts the path to her destiny. 

Rated: PG-13, this will probably read like YA but there wont be any sexy times. Just talks about violence and death (this doesn’t mean that people under 18 can start interacting with my blog. I mostly post smut.)

The attack on Dawnforge came without warning. Raiders, dozens of them, descended upon the small community surrounding a rural temple. The invaders poured violently out of the woods. In the cool shade of the temple’s grove, Ellisif Thrace’s mossy green eyes shot open from her late afternoon nap when she heard the Keepers sound the alarm. The war horns had only been blown ceremonially for as long as she could remember. The second blast echoed off the stone walls and summoned her to action. The young woman sat strait up, and listened for another moment to see if she could find out what direction the alarm was coming from.  She thought she could hear the Keepers shouting towards the east although she couldn’t make out what they were saying just yet. Always eager to be of assistance, Ellisif picked up her belongings and started running towards the commotion. Ellie, as she preferred to be addressed, had been learning defense and fighting techniques since she was strong enough to pick up a sword. Her father had been a knight errant and thought it was important that his children should know how to keep themselves safe.

Another blast of the horn let her know she was running in the right direction. Soon she heard the sound of weapons being thrown and bashed into the thick wooden gate. The Keepers were directing the villagers to leave the area, a man that Ellisif thought was named Erik told her to go home. He couldn’t have been much older than she was, his skin was sun kissed, with a little pink on his temples and cheekbones. Erik looked scared, brushing his reddish blond hair out of his face.

“I’m here to help, give me a sword!” She shouted.

“Little Sister, you need to go somewhere safe.” Erik ordered. As he was saying this, the Commander put his hand on her shoulder.

“Erik, Ellie is to join the Order at the Feast of Lyria. Let her pick up a shield, if they make it through our defenses, she knows how to handle herself.” The older man told Erik. He handed their recruit a wooden shield with metal studs, “Ellisif, make your father proud.”

Erik rolled his eyes as the Commander went to go hand out more tools. “They are going to break through in a matter of minutes. Take an ax. If they make it past us, cut the fuckers down. And don’t you dare get killed.”

Ellie pulled the cord she had on her wrist to tie her hair back. Her thick dark chocolate brown curls were pulled back out of her face and she said a small prayer to her favorite Goddess. I don’t want to have to kill anyone, but if I do, please let me do it quickly. Her heart pounded in her throat, her trepidation rose with every new crack emerging from the gate. The wood finally gave way, and she watched the horde of mismatched heathens break into her town. The Keepers had set up as much of a barricade as they could. Carts where pushed on their sides trying to create a funnel and direct the invaders to the villages best fighters and war priests. The Archers were doing what they could to thin out the herd. Ellisif inched closer to the battle, she tightened her grip on the handle of her ax just in time for a raider to jump over the stack of crates that had been near where she was standing. She raised her shield to the long sword he was swinging at her and it became stuck in the hard wood. Then it was as if her brain shut off and her body took over.

The warrior would never truly be able to recall everything that happened that afternoon. The surviving Keepers would tell her that she was brave, surgical with her actions and moved like she had been doing this all her life. In her state of shock, she would just say she had really good teachers. They would congratulate her for surviving her first battle. They thanked her for saving lives that day. Not a single invader made it past where she stood her ground.

Ellie looked up at the white stone buildings that were beginning to glow pink with the setting of the sun. What would they do with the bodies, she wondered vaguely. She leaned against the warm stone wall and slid down. What should I be doing? She closed her eyes for a moment, trying to make the sickness in her stomach go away.

“Where is she? Where is my sister, where is my Ellie?” a familiar voice was shouting. A couple of the Keepers pointed towards where she sat with her knees tucked to against her chest, her head resting on the wall behind her. Sarah thought she look more pale than normal.

“I’m right here.” Ellie croaked. Her throat was so dry. The healers had looked at her briefly, said she would be fine but to be prepared that she would probably have some pretty bad bruising on her forearms.

“Oh my Gods, why are you covered in blood? We’ve been so worried! Mama is going to skin you alive. Are you hurt? What were you thinking?” The thin woman stammered together as she fretted over her younger sister.

“I’m fine, the blood’s not mine. At least I don’t think so.” Ellie said, “What was I thinking? I was thinking that this is what I’m supposed to do. I’m supposed to run toward the fight. Do you have your water on you? I need a drink...”

The Commander strutted over like the fine peacock he was and pressed a bottle of ale into Ellie’s open hand and said something about how proud he was. She didn’t care. Ellie just wanted to be able to swallow without her throat feeling like sandpaper. The strawberry ale was sweet and warm, it made swallowing a little easier but after the third mouthful it became clear that the ale was doing nothing for her nausea. There might have been something said to her about how he was looking forward to seeing her take her oath, he chuckled and walked off. Sarah started trying to clean the viscera from her sister’s face but before she got too much grime off of her face, Ellisif turned her head and wretched.  She groaned, “Let’s go home.”

They walked home, arms wrapped around each other. It wouldn’t be until they reached their little home that Ellisif would start talking. The words slipped out of the young woman, still dazed. She looked down at the ax she was still holding onto with white knuckles and whispered “The one who gave this to me, Erik… I don’t know. He was killed. I killed someone today, Sarah. I killed several someones…”

Sarah, as gently as she could, wiped the tears off of her sister’s face, “You did what Daddy taught us to do. You helped keep our family safe, you kept or town safe. Lyria would be proud. She would be thrilled to know you will be defending her temple. Daddy would be so proud too.”

The older sister took her partner in crime into their house, and tucked the battle wary woman into her bed. The ax fell to the ground with a sickening thunk, and Ellie rolled over and fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

Sarah went to the kitchen and put a kettle on to brew some tea. Their mother, Kyra, had gone to the temple to help bandage up wounds of the Keepers and anyone else who took up arms. She eventually grabbing the heel of the loaf of bread from the pantry and slather it in homemade butter, pulling out her book of herbs. If Ellisif was more athletically inclined, her sister was definitely more well read. Sarah propped the book up and began plaiting her silky hair as she read the well loved tome. The front door opened quietly, the family’s matriarch came back after a long night of bandaging up injured young people and comforting the loved ones of those they lost.

“The Pale Mother now has a few more attendants now,” Kyra sighed, she and Sarah’s looks were similar, though she had more silver in her hair now. They both had dark brown eyes, almost black.  “Those poor souls. The Council and the High Priestess has asked that we all gather tomorrow at the Temple. They found their leader and they are interrogating him. He seemed to not understand that the forge our town was named after has been closed for generations, thought he could arm his merry band of miscreants. I heard Ellisif did her duty. How’s our girl doing?”

“She might have gone into emotional shock. I put her in bed, she’s going to need something strong in the morning. I was just reading up on something that will sooth her nerves, she was covered, and I mean covered, in blood. Evidently none of it was hers, which is good. Daddy taught her well. The Keepers were saying she showed a lot of potential.”

“Your father was the best knight I have ever seen wield a sword, I can only imagine what he taught her. The Temple will have never been safer if she is half as good as he was.” Kyra grabbed another hunk of bread and helped herself to some cheese. “I wish you could have seen him. I’ve never seen anyone burn with righteous fury like he could. When he would swing his sword in the tourneys he fought in, I swear that it looked like it was on fire. It was beautiful and absolutely terrifying. Ells has that same spark. When she was little, I saw it in her too.”

“I told her daddy would be proud.”

“He would be. He would also be profoundly sad for her. Sweetheart, you should go get some sleep. Tomorrow is going to be very long.”

Ellisif slept until nightfall the next day. Siggy and Kyra left her to her mild unconsciousness to attend the meeting at noon. The temple slowly filled with the mourning villagers. More than a dozen Keepers had died that afternoon, it had been a decade since there had been any attacks on Dawnforge like this. It would be weeks before the damage the raiders did to the town could be repaired. The surviving raiders were told they could bury their dead on the other side of the ravine outside of the walls and then to assist the town in its repairs to try to make amends. The Thrace women where given the instruction on how they could help by the High Priestess. As soon as they where able to, Sarah and her sister would be going to the schoolhouse. They thought that having a couple extra adults around the kids would help make them feel safer.

Most of the school age kids knew Ellie. Two years ago she had won the combat tournament on the Feast of Seraphina, the Scarlet Mother. Usually the winners give the bouquet of fire Lilies to their significant other, she instead pulled out individual flowers and gave one to every little one who was around the ring that day. Her father had done the same thing the last time he had won the tournament. She enjoyed being their hero that afternoon, Sarah remembered as she and their mom walked home with their orders. The night of the feast, Ellie was asked attend the dance that was be held in the town square. Sarah had never seen her sister so happy as when she came home giggling, barefoot and a little in love.

When they made it to their home again, they saw evidence that Ellie had been up and moving but she was no where to be seen. Kyra suggested that they leave her be for the time being, they were kind in letting the young woman try to recover at her own pace. After a few days of her sleeping more heavily than she ever had, Ellisif needed to be in the forest behind the temple. She wanted to feel the presence of the Green Mother and ask her for guidance. There was a small clearing there, where a large stone acts as an alter for Lyria. It was a large piece of granite that always seemed to be covered with moss in all the directions, not just north. On the morning of Lyria’s feast day, the sun would align itself with this slab perfectly, and that is where she would be taking her vows to join the ranks of the Keepers. They were originally called the Temple Keepers, as the community grew, the area they kept safe grew with it. Once Ellie joined, she would be binding herself to the fate of the town. She could get married and have a family if she chose, but traveling would be almost impossible. If the Empire of Oril ever declared war on any of the other kingdoms, they were almost always the ones that were conscripted.  

While Ellie had wanted to become a Keeper for as long as she could remember, as of this morning, the idea of joining gave her a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach. Her mother had always talked about how even masters of their craft could have their confidence shaken if the seeds of doubt had taken root in their minds. Was this a seed a doubt she had been warned about?

“Lyria, divine mother, I come here to beg you for forgiveness. I never wanted take someone’s life. I thought they would yield if they got hurt. How could I have been so stupid...” and for the first time since the attack, Ellisif’s strength gave out. There she spent the rest of the day sobbing and trying to figure out what she needed to do. Her body shook violently as the waves of emotions crashed over her. In the back of her mind, a small notion crawled its way forward, seeping into her thoughts likes a strong tea in hot water. Devoting herself to the temple may not be the right choice. Ellie cleaned her face of the mess that the sobbing caused. The moon had risen, her family would be worried.

She made it into her home moments before they would begin searching for their missing member. There were hugs and more tears. They remained silent as Ellie made her way to her bed, she prepared herself for the night.