the world would be so different if you were here

You know, people love to say that opposites attract. And maybe that’s why I tried so hard to make us work. The girl who measures two teaspoons of sugar to put in her tea and the boy with calloused palms, climbing every mountain he can because he likes the way the stars look when nothing is in their way. Frothy milk and adrenaline. We looked like idiots together. You at my charity dinners in a poorly tailored sport coat. Five o'clock shadow. Bad jokes. And me scaling the rock climbing wall with slippery hands. Two feet above ground. A loose cotton dress. But laughing. Both of us always laughing. At me and you and this stupid world for working in a way that let the two of us need each other so desperately. Opposites. You’re damn right they attract.
     But attraction and commitment were never the same thing. Maybe you always knew that. And that’s why you laughed. Because you knew that one day, your girl would stand on Everest. Scream to the stars. Drink her coffee black. But me, I’m still learning. Learning as you tell we want different things. Learning as you drop off every piece of myself I’ve left at your place, nothing folded, the toothbrush tangled with hairs. Learning as I sit here writing about the boy who bounced from cliff tops to see the stars and the girl whose feet never left the ground, whose eyes only ever knew how to watch him walk into clouds and disappear altogether.
—  the truth about you and me
We talk with Toby Froud about Netflix's upcoming Dark Crystal prequel!

Yesterday, the faerie community, and indeed all those who love beautiful and fantastical storytelling, received momentous news when Netflix officially announced their upcoming project, slated to begin filming in fall. A prequel series to the beloved 1982 Henson/Froud film, The Dark Crystal, it will run for ten episodes and include state-of-the-art puppet creations from the imaginations of our own friends and Faerie Magazine contributors, Brian and Toby Froud. The series is called The Dark Crystal: Age of Resistance, and our minds are racing with guesses as to what characters and stories might be included.

The original film, The Dark Crystal, featured a world imagined by renowned fairy artist Brian Froud (conceptual designer) that was a surreally accurate three-dimensional recreation of his artwork. Froud’s imagination combined flawlessly with Jim Henson’s vision and skill, and the film is now considered a fantasy masterpiece. With Jim Henson’s Creature Shop and Brian and his impressively-skilled puppeteer and artist son, Toby, involved in the project, we have no doubt that the project will be a rousing success.

Deputy Editor Grace Nuth was able to give Toby Froud a quick phone call to ask him some questions about the project.

Faerie Magazine: How hard has it been to know this project was happening and not be able to share it?

Toby Froud: We’ve been on this around five weeks or so. When people have asked us “will Dark Crystal ever happen again” and things like that, my mom and I have had to keep quiet, and say “well, possibly,” and things like that.

FM: Way back at the first Faeriecon, your parents were guests, and announced the possibility of another feature film, so this has been a long time coming.

TF: It has! The idea of doing a sequel has been kicking around for twelve years or so. They did the Power of the Dark Crystal stuff for this big sequel feature, and it never really got off the ground. But then after the resurgence from the Hensons doing all of these competitions, [ex: Jim  Henson’s Creature Shop Challenge on SyFy] and having the fan base be what it is today, it just so happened that they caught the idea doing of a prequel, using all of the writing and lore of the world that now exists in recent years. Netflix said yes, so it became this idea that the Hensons would think in a different way, a prequel instead of a sequel. And now here we are.

FM: Were you and your father directly approached by Netflix, or by the Hensons?

TF: By the Hensons. It’s a Henson-Netflix production. We are a part of the Hensons’ development to build the creatures and world under management of Netflix.

FM: You and your father have worked together in creative capacities informally throughout your life. Was the creation of “Granny” for Lessons Learned the first time you had him create a creature, and you then translated it into a three dimensional puppet?

TF: It was, for a film together. We certainly have done a lot of puppets…Ignatz [Toby’s Froudian puppet, seen at many fairy events like Faeriecon] was my father’s design, and my creation. But Granny was our coming together for film.

FM: Do you anticipate the creations on this Dark Crystal project happening similarly, with him creating the concepts and you interpreting those concepts in three dimensional puppets, or do you and your father plan to work together to create the concepts as well?

TF: We are doing both. What’s very interesting is I am working alongside my father right now in the conceptual designs. I am translating his designs still as well, into three dimensional forms. What is bigger and is the amazing part is the translation of them into puppets. My father and I are giving them these characters; we are developing these ideas with the Hensons…and Louis Leterrier, and Lisa Henson and my father and I are figuring this out, creating this visual. Then the team of the Jim Henson’s Creature Shop, this amazing team, are creating the puppets for us.

FM: Has work already begun on pre-production?

TF: I am in the studios in L.A.! I’m working with them on a daily basis, designing and also fabricating with them. Then my father is in England, and he is designing from there. So work has begun fast and furious!

FM: Of course you can’t tell us anything about new creations, but what is your favorite type of creature in the world of the original Dark Crystal film? Are there any that you are especially eager to bring to life?

TF: Ooh…That is a tough question. I love them in different ways: To revisit all of the Skeksis…To be able to build a Mystic again, things like that. To be able to envision in the new world with new technology and modern times, bringing these creatures up to date in certain ways. I am so excited to see Aughra on screen as well. So that sort of thing is what I can’t wait for. I’m excited to see the new creatures of the world and also the expansion of the world itself. And then we are revisiting certain things of the old world too…that’s what I’m excited for.

FM: Will your mother be assisting on this project as well, or just a father/son duo?

TF: Wendy is certainly consulting on this, especially with the Gelflings, because she did Jen and Kira originally. So I’m working closely with her and also my father. But she was the sculptural designer for those, and so she’s invaluable to our new process.

FM: How does it feel creating a large-scale work that your young son can grow up watching, just as you watched Dark Crystal and Labyrinth growing up?

TF: It’s…I mean it’s amazing. Beyond amazing. This project is very interesting because it’s a legacy. It’s a dream to do this. What is fascinating is that I am the same age my father was when he started The Dark Crystal. So what’s really interesting is that that’s coming to light. It’s wonderful that I get to work with him and the Hensons on this thing. It’s far more than just another project. And yes, to continue that, and to have my son grow up and see this project eventually. It’ll be interesting.

There’s a lot of pressure from fans and from the world. We’re trying. And what will be wonderful is actually the new: the new ways, new look, new feel. The director coming in and putting his vision into this, and the producing team, and Netflix. It’s quite an interesting and wonderful marriage. I think it will benefit, in a lot of ways. I’m excited to see what director Louis Leterrier does: bringing the camera to life in new ways I think the audience will really enjoy.

Netflix is an amazing juggernaut of a company that has great creative taste in what they’re providing the world, and things to come. It’s brilliant. A very clever match.

Current Underrated Boy Groups [Part. 1]

F.T. Island 

Fave Songs: “Pray”“To the Light”“Puppy”“Memory”

Reasoning: Honestly bands aren’t acknowledged enough in the Kpop world, not that there are many to begin with. They are an extremely talented group. And Hongki’s voice is amazing. It’s so unique and different. You really need to listen to him. 


Fave Songs: “Don’t Flirt”“She’s Mine”“Someday”

Reasoning: Seriously I feel like so much could have been avoided had U-Kiss had more popularity. I mean I won’t talk about all the member line up changes and stuff here but honestly I think things would have turned out better for U-Kiss if people didn’t sleep on them all the time. Their vocals were/are really good and their songs are good too. [Well maybe not so much their earlier stuff but you know..]

Highlight/previously Beast

Fave Songs: “Beautiful Night”“Yey”“Good Luck”“Breathe’“12:30″“Shadow”“Gotta Go to Work”“How to Love”“Plz Don’t Be Sad”

Reasoning: Seriously if you are still sleeping on Beast/Highlight…I don’t know what to say to you. Amazing songs, amazing talent like….what else could you want. Sadly Beast is no longer Beast and now only 5 members but in my heart Beast is still Beast and I’ll forever be a Beauty. 


Fave Songs: “The Eye”“Bad”“Back”“Last Romeo”“Be Mine”“Before the Dawn”“Destiny”“Request”“Man in Love”“That Summer”“Hey Hello”“Paradise”“Come Back Again” [I have second hand embarrassment from this last song though….like why did they debut this way hahaha]

Reasoning: UGH WHY SLEEP ON INFINITE!!!??? They are amazing, all members can sing well. They are literally known for their synchronization. Their songs are amazing. Like what is there not to like? And all their personalities are different so I promise there will be one that you like. Also check out their non title songs as well. I swear that list of fave songs is so long like I can’t even put them all on there. LOVE INFINITE I’M BEGGING YOU! Also check out their sub units: Infinite H, Infinite F, and Sunggyu’s solo albums and Woohyun’s solo album. 

Teen Top

Fave Songs: “Miss Right”“Rocking”“Ah Ah”“Crazy”“I Wanna Love”“Love Fool”“Walk By”“Snow Kiss”

Reasoning: Honestly Teen Top is so underrated. Like they are super talented, their songs are really good and like still they hardly ever get noticed at all. 

The Boss/DGNA

Fave Songs: “Lucky Man”“Rilla Go”“Why Goodbye”, “Love Power”

Reasoning: Well….have you heard of them? I honestly happened to just stumble upon them and fell in love with them. Sadly their sales are pretty much shit in Korea and so they mostly promote and release songs in Japan which unfortunately are not as much of my taste. I like that one that I listed. But their Japanese singles don’t fit them as well as their more manly Korean ones. But whatever money talks and they do what sales. That’s why you won’t see them promoting much in Korea.Sigh….if only they were more popular. 


Fave Songs: “Breathe”“The Ghost of Wind”

Reasoning: Honestly has anyone even heard of them? Do you know them? Most people don’t. Except maybe now with Hyunsik making waves in the acting world. But still….they are relatively unknown. Unfortunately they are on hiatus, there was a statement that the group disbanded but members themselves have said that’s not true. So maybe when they eventually come back more people will know of them. 


Fave Songs: “Solo Day”“A Lie”“Lonely”“Beautiful Target”“Sweet Girl”“Tried to Walk”“What’s Happening”“Baby Goodnight”“Baby I’m Sorry”

Reasoning: Truthfully they are much more popular than most that will be on this complete list. But they honestly don’t get the amount of recognition they truly deserve. They are so talented; Sandeul and Jinyoung’s voices are so beautiful. CNU and Gongchan are talented as well despite not being the main vocals. Baro’s rapping is great as well. Their songs are all amazing and a lot of them are upbeat and cute and playful and I love it. They are so adorable you should honestly listen to and love them. 


Fave Songs: “Witch”“Bounce”“Janus”“I-Yah”“On & On”“White Out”

Reasoning: Boyfriend is one of the most looked over 3rd generation idol groups. [that’s debatable but in my own little system they are 3rd generation] Anyway point is they aren’t very popular, you hardly ever see them on any variety shows, they haven’t even had a proper comeback since 2015. Their company screws them over and has basically thrown them in the basement not to see light of day while they focus on their other more popular groups. Someone support Boyfriend please omg! 


Fave Songs: “Just Tell Me”“Too Very So Much”“Baby I’m Sorry”“Just That Little Thing”

Reasoning: Have you heard of them? Probably not. They aren’t very popular, aren’t promoted well. And basically no one hears of them. But I really like their songs and they are really talented so you should at least give them a chance. 


Fave Songs: “Run & Run”“Excalibur”“Black Out”

Reasoning; I’ll be honest I’m not like stanning them in the sense that I know their names or personalities or anything like that. But I do enjoy their music and when they do come out with new stuff I always make sure to check it out. You should too. Honestly they deserve more popularity. 


Fave Songs: “Hey You”“Still 24K”“U R So Cute”“Secret Love”

Reasoning: Again I don’t know their names and all but seriously they are worth a listen to. At least one good listen. They are far more talented than they get credit for. 

Big Star

Fave Songs: “Run & Run”“Moonlight Sonata”“I Got the Feeling”

Reasoning: I swear no one has heard of them, they are never on any shows. I seriously only know one member because I’ve only ever seen them on one show. So I haven’t really got to know them. But what I do know is they are talented and I like their music so you should listen to them. 


Fave Songs: “Movie”“I’ll Be Your Man”“Wow”“You’re So Fly”“The Winter’s Tale”“Insane”“2nd Confession”“Remember That”“When I Was Your Man”“You Can Cry”

Reasoning: Seriously BTOB gets mistreated and underrated all the time. Even some music shows don’t like to have them because of their unpopularity. It’s so ridiculous I just don’t understand why they aren’t popular. They are adorable and cute and sweet and talented. They are versatile too. Originally being a normal kpop group but they have transformed into an absolute beautiful ballad/pop group. Honestly they are amazing you should love them. Everyone should love them. 

Our Booth ~ Jughead Jones

Okay, I have quickly become extremely obsessed with Riverdale, and mainly Jughead! I love the new twist on the character, and I absolutely love the way that Cole Sprouse portrays him, so I needed to write something for him.


   You had just moved back to Riverdale after three years of being away. You were excited to see all your old friends again and to see what they were like now; especially your old best friend, Jughead Jones. You had both been pretty devastated when your mom told you that she had gotten a job that required you to move. You two had kept in touch for almost two years after that, but it faded to a couple text messages here and there, until the two of you just completely stopped. For the last two years you hadn’t seen or heard anything from your absolute best friend in the entire world.

   Your mom had sent you to pick up your takeout at the local diner and your personal favourite place to eat; Pop’s.  Jughead and you used to come here all the time, every friday night you would sit at the same table and just talk about life, that booth was your happy place. Walking in, Pop comes from behind the counter to greet you.

“(Y/N), I didn’t know that you were back in town, how are your parents?” He asks.

“They’re great, they actually sent me to pick up our food. You know that none of us can resist your burgers” you smile at him.

“Well, I will get that ready for you, it’ll take a minute so, make yourself comfortable.”

“Thank you Pop”

    You look around the room and notice that the place is completely empty except one person; you didn’t expect anything different at this time on a Friday night. The boy looked to be about your age with black hair covered by a beanie, he was typing away furiously on his laptop.

    Damn, he is attractive!

   He also happened to be sitting in your favourite booth. You decide to go talk to him, maybe you’ll have a friend before you start school in a couple days.

   Standing next to the table, you greet him, “Hello, would you mind if I sat?”

“Why?” He asks, not looking up from his laptop.

“I don’t know, maybe so we can have a conversation? Doesn’t seem like you’ve got a line up of people wanting to talk to you.” I sassed.

“Fine, whatever” he agrees, not looking at you still.

“Thank you” I reply politely, sitting down across from him, “I’m starting to understand why people aren’t fighting to be your bestie.”

“I really don’t care if people like me, I’m fine on my own.” He rolls his eyes at you.

“Wow, you’re really hot, shame about the personality though” you snark

“Well, I don’t think anyone could ever be as lovely as you” he tells you sarcastically.

“Whatever. What are you writing?” You ask, pointing to his laptop.

“A novel” he answers.


“What happened here this summer, the murder of Jason Blossom” he says flatly.

“Interestic topic” you try.

“Order for (L/N)” Pop says, bringing the bag of food to the table and placing it in front of you, “ It’s good to see you two back together again, and in your booth too. You know (Y/N), Jughead never sits at a different table, even in all the time that you were gone.”

   Pop smiles at the two of you before making his way back behind the counter.

“(Y/N) (L/N), is it really you?” Beanie boy asks you, losing the grumpy attitude instantly, closing his laptop he just stares at you wide eyed.

   He searched your face like he was trying to memorize it. he had a look of pure joy on his face and you assumed that you had the same look. You had missed him so much, and now he was right here in front of you again, you were overjoyed to have your best friend back.

“The one and only” you answer happily, “ you look different Jug.”

“So do you” he answers with a grin, “I didn’t even recognize you.”

“Did you really always sit here?” You question.

“Every Friday, six O'clock on the dot” He answers, “I guess I just hoped that one day you’d come back through those doors and everything would go back to the way it used to be; you and me against the world.”

“That is the sweetest thing I have ever heard Jug” you say, causing a blush to appear on his cheeks, “I guess your wish finally came true.”

“I guess it has” he smiles, “come on, let me walk you home, I haven’t seen your parents in ages.”

The two of you stand and he packs up his bag, before throwing the strap over his shoulder.

“They have definitely missed you” you beam, “but, not as much as I have.”

“Good to know (Y/N), cause I have missed you to” He says, pulling you in for a tight hug.

  You stand there for a minute, just hugging, trying to make up for the years without eachother. His head rests on top of yours, while yours is laid on his chest.

“Damn, you got tall Jughead.” You laugh from your place in his arms.

“I like it, I’m the perfect height to rest my head on yours” you don’t have to see his face to know that he is smiling.

“You’re such a dork.” You laugh.

“I know, I got that from so many years of hanging out with you” He jokes as the two of you pull away from the hug. He grabs one of your hands in his, intertwining your fingers as he grabs the bag of food with his other hand.

   You pay for your food and exit through the front door of Pop’s into the chilly September weather, walking together down the sidewalk, hands clasped together tightly.

“Now, what’s this about me being hot?” Jughead teases you lovingly.

“Shut up.”

Just In Case (Olicity, 5x23 spec)

(what we’re all assuming will happen based on this tweet)

They’d been here too many times before.

She wanted to say that. She wanted to scream it from the treetops so everyone would hear how frakking ridiculous it was that just when they were on the cusp of having everything, something swooped in and turned the entire world upside down. Really, you think she’d be used to it, should even expect it. But it always surprised her, every single time.

This time was no different.

Felicity stared up at him. 

The words were on the tip of her tongue, everything she’d kept at bay since last summer - everything buried under fear and anger and hurt and regret - but she didn’t say any of it. Now was so not the time, and at the end of the day, the words weren’t necessary. She didn’t have to say any of it, not anymore. They both knew. They always had. So instead she gripped his suit, so tight her fingers hurt, pouring every ounce of love she felt for his man into these few precious seconds.

He did the same, and the love and gratitude and openness staring back at her took her breath away.

The conversation they held with their eyes lasted all of a second, but it also felt like it encompassed an eternity.

Felicity nodded, her lips twitching in a small smile. It was reassuring, confident, strong, as much for him as it was for her. He returned it, but his had an edge of sadness hooked to it. She understood exactly what it meant - it wasn’t sadness fueled by regret, but sadness that they were back here, again, always.

Well, she thought, that just meant that when they got out of this, she was going to tell him to absolute hell with taking things one step at a time. She wanted him, she always had, and the wall that had been between them since the very beginning - the very, very beginning, since always - was finally crumbling and she was ready to kick it down the rest of the way so there was nothing left but them. She was going to ask him to dinner, or have him over, ask him if he wanted to cook, but maybe not because she hadn’t done anything food-related in the loft kitchen since he left. Everything was dusty and unused, almost like it was all waiting for him. Sort of like her, she mused to herself, waiting for her to come back to herself, to him, to each other. So yes, definitely dinner, but maybe going out for dinner, like their first attempt at a date, only this time…  

Oliver’s lips twitched up again, this time with something softer - with pure, radiant love - like he could read her thoughts. With a reverent, “Felicity,” he stepped forward, closing the distance between them. He barely left Felicity a second to react, for her lips to form a startled, ‘Oh,’ before he wrapped his arm around her waist and hauled her up against his chest, his lips slanting over hers.

It was their first kiss in months, but it felt more like years. Decades. So much had changed and evolved and shifted over the last year and all of it was summed up in this one single moment, of them finally coming home to each other.

Just like their silent conversation, the kiss was short, but the weight of it made it feel longer, and Felicity knew it would resonate inside her for the rest of their lives. 

When they pulled apart, Felicity was a little breathless as she asked, “What was that for?”

Oliver licked his lips, brushing his forehead against hers before he set her down, stepping back. 

“Just in case,” he whispered, his fingers interlacing with hers.

It wasn’t sad, or tragic, or filled with any fear that they might not find each other again. 

The kiss was a symbol of a simple fact: he loved her.

Felicity pulled him back to her, grasping his hand tightly as her other came up to cup his cheek, to pull him down for one more kiss. 

This was one was quicker, but it was just as powerful.

Oliver’s eyes were closed when they pulled apart, his brow furrowed in question, and when they fluttered open, finding hers, Felicity smiled. 

“Just in case,” she said.

I love you, too.

anonymous asked:

More Vietnam AU please!!!

Vietnam AU

Claire blissfully settled back a bit on the bench, resting her head against the whitewashed siding of the barn, watching a red squirrel scamper through the clearing and chase a gray squirrel up a fir tree.

Jamie’s Fraser forebears had built a few stalls in the 1760s. Right after the main rooms of the Big House – Lallybroch, after the estate they’d lost in the Highlands following the disastrous ’45 Rising – had been completed. Governor William Tryon had given another James Fraser a spectacular land grant, which still formed the core of the family’s farm and landholdings. They had farmed this land – poured their blood and sweat into the dirt and trees and fields – for more than two centuries.

And prospered.

How she enjoyed just listening to Jamie’s rich, melodious voice spinning incredible tales of valor and love and sacrifice. Without breaking a beat, he handed her an apple from his rucksack – exchanging it for the remaining half of the roast beef sandwich Jenny had made him this morning – smiling at how she’d chewed around the tomato slices.

“Not a fan, hmm?” he teased.

Her teeth crunched around the apple. “Never liked them – too slimy.” Smiling.

“I’ll have to remember that, then.”

She didn’t think her heart could beat any faster.

“And then Simon Fraser, my grandfather, decided to expand the whisky operation – we still use the caves he carved out to age the bottles. Murtagh always talks about going more commercial, but I prefer keeping it all in the family.”

It had probably been several hours since they’d been able to stop just staring at each other, and Jamie had led Claire by the hand into the sunshine outside the barn.

Suddenly shy around each other, Claire had grasped at something – anything – to keep them talking.

“Tell me about your family?” she asked gently, gesturing toward a bench tucked against the side of the barn.

And then he’d laughed.

What she wouldn’t give to hear that every single day for the rest of her life.

“How many generations back?” he’d teased, eyes flashing. Still holding her hand.

“Your parents will do.” Her thumb caressed his injured hand. Carefully. Gently.

“Ach, no way! I’ll tell you the entire history of this place. It’s in my blood, you see?”

And it was – it clearly was. Never had she seen anyone so proud of his family – and what so many generations, united for the same purpose, had accomplished.

So they had spent the next several hours talking – and laughing – and genuinely getting to know each other for the first time. Jamie was a born storyteller – charming, witty. Flirtatious.

And as the hours passed – and they shared Jamie’s simple yet delicious lunch – they began to relax.

They did not discuss why Claire had come. What she had been doing. What Jamie had been doing, since they’d parted on the helicopter pad at Chu Lai.

That would come. But now – now they celebrated the simple fact that they were with each other again.

It was overwhelming. Claire had had weeks to mentally prepare – Jamie had had no notice.

“Don’t you have chores?” she asked after a while – now that lunch was over, Jamie’s rucksack tucked away, and their hands had found each other again. “Don’t you need to fix that saddle, or whatever you were doing when I interrupted you?”

He shrugged, eyes facing forward out into the forest. So quietly green and lush. The woods he had grown up in.

“It doesn’t matter. None of it matters anymore. You’re here.”

Claire pursed her lips – sensing an opening. She turned on the bench to face him directly.

As always – he was right there to meet her.

“What happens now, Jamie?”

He took her left hand between his, tracing his thumb around the base of her ring finger. Eyes strong on hers.

“Why have you come, Claire?” His voice was soft, vulnerable. “To tell me you’re well – or so that we could make a life together?”

“I’m not married anymore,” she breathed. “I went home to him, like you asked me to. It took me until Christmas to see him. And I told him we would move forward, as husband and wife.”

She closed her eyes – suddenly overcome with shame.

Jamie waited.



Tears trickled from her eyes. “He told me he had fallen in love with someone else – and that our marriage was over. He didn’t even want to try.”

A soft, soft touch on her cheek.

Jamie’s lips, kissing the tears away.

Kissing the apple of her cheek. Her nose. Her forehead.

Cherishing her.

Infusing her with strength.

She opened her eyes – and he was right there in front of her.

“We got an annulment. And I got into medical school, in Boston.”

Jamie had such a beautiful smile.

“And then I had a chance to come down to App State – to work with Dr. Beaton. I want to help people find their voices – to help them heal from tragedy and injury. To help them find themselves.”

She twined their fingers together.

“You have a knack for that, Claire,” he breathed. “You can do *anything* you set your mind to. Don’t you know that by now?”

He held her eyes. She felt invincible.

“I do,” she said after a long while. “I do.”

“Good. But Claire – you didn’t answer my question.”

She shifted a bit on the bench. “I don’t think it’s only my decision, Jamie – it’s yours as well.”

He licked his lips, dropping his gaze to his knees.

“My life is yours, Claire.”

She reeled back – stunned.

“I – Jamie, I – you can’t – ”

“Yes, I can. And I will. You saved my life, at Chu Lai. You restored me to myself. I owe you a debt. So it’s up to you to decide what we shall do – where we go next. My heart has been yours since the first time I saw you, and you’ve held and healed my soul and my body between your two hands – and kept them safe.”

None of this was real. Real people didn’t talk like this.

But Jamie was real, all right – more real than anything had ever been to her. More than Frank – more than school – more than anything else that had ever mattered in her life.

“Do you know what I was saying to you, all that time when I was locked in my mind? When my mouth couldn’t form the right words?”

He nudged his knee with hers, getting her to look up. To see the tears shining in his own eyes.

She shook her head. “No, I don’t. Tell me?”

He tilted his head. “I was telling you how beautiful you are. How you remind me of the fairy stories my Mam told me as a child – of the sorceress who bewitches the mighty warrior. The kelpie who comes from the sea to claim a human man as her love. The enchantress whom the brave hero is compelled to fall for.”

He took a deep breath. “And then I’d tell you of my home – of here, Lallybroch. And how I knew you’d fit right in to life here – how happy we would be here, together. Of the life we’d have, if things were different.”

Claire’s cheeks pinked at his words – at the praise she felt she did not deserve. “What do you mean, if things were different?”

“If I’d met you at a different time or place. If you weren’t married. If I could court you properly, the way you deserve.”

He straightened his back, licking his lips.

“So. I will ask you a third time, Claire. Why are you here?”

Preparing himself for anything – including rejection.

But those were words that would never fall from her lips.

The next words she had asked him so many times in her dreams. It was the most natural thing in the world.

“Will you have me?”

An extraordinary look of terror and joy and jubilation flashed across his face.

He grabbed her hands, kissing them feverishly.

“Yes,” he rasped. “Yes, I’ll have you.”

A Steve/Bucky + BDSM Fic Rec

Do you have a weird fascination for Steve Rodgers covered in blood and bruises? Did that one highway fight scene in TWS turn you on a little too much? Do you find your mind wandering when you see Steve and Bucky throw punches at each other? Does the cliche-ness and predictability of 50 Shades put you to sleep? Well luckily for you, below the cut are a few of the best BDSM Steve/Bucky stories out there. Take a seat (or better yet, lie down), grab a snack, and strap in folks.

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Good Mornin'

I’ve gotten some messages (anon of course Bc it would take COURAGE to do so otherwise) asking why I’ve been posting homosexual couples. I wasn’t even going to respond but it’s weighing on me so here we are.

First of all its Pride month, so why the hell not!?!

Second of all although I am a white, heterosexual young woman I KNOW not everyone else is. I’m trying to make this blog a place where people of all different races, sexual orientations and cultures can come to find inspiration and enjoyment. How boring would this world be if we were all the same?

Third of all why the hell does it bother YOU!?! Like seriously you may want to do some soul searching as to why you felt the need to send a message as such and why two people of the same sex in love offends you?

And lastly, if you are lucky enough to find someone you want to spend your entire life with, you are lucky enough. Love is a beautiful thing! And it’s just a guess but I’m thinking you may need some more love in your own life. Happy people don’t get offended by other people’s happiness.

I don’t plan on stopping such content so maybe this blog is not for you. I wish you well on your life journey.

Diabolik lovers Lost Eden Ruki Mukami (heaven 3) ~translation/traducción~

Heaven 1, heaven 2, heaven 3.  _(´ཀ`」 ∠)_ 

This translation was made by @ariadnasmtk

Place: Pool

Yui: (Yuma-kun told me that Ruki-kun was here so I came here to have a look, but…)
Yui: (Where could he be…Ah!)
Yui: (Ruki-kun is swimming…!)
Yui: (It’s the first time I’ve seen him swimming, he’s swimming so good that I want to see him more…)

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“Life is such a wonderful thing.”

“If you say so.”

“You do not agree?”

“Wars, famine, anger, jealousy, hate, the lists go on and on. It must be nice walking around with blinders on.”

“I could say the same to you. Love triumphs over all negatives. You only have to believe that it’s there. So let me ask you, what is your belief?”

“I’m a nihilist.”

“I know nihilists who would argue that the world isn’t evil. We just are what we are.”

“And what would you say we are?”

“Human. You can choose to see, be, feel, think whatever you want, but that doesn’t change the fact that we are human. We were taught to be this way which is sad, but always remember that the choice is yours. Make a difference. Change the world for the better.”

“Nice words and all, but you’re not exactly changing the world here.”

“Depends on your perspective. I change the world every time I decide to leave my house. I maybe a florist, but my job is to bring smiles to people’s faces in the form of flowers. All these flowers in this shop were grown by me and me alone. You may think my profession is meaningless in the grander scheme of things, but it’s the lesser jobs that can sometimes make an impact as well.”

“I’ll admit. Talking to you always seems to brighten my day for some reason.”

“Like I said. It’s my job.”

Seth Rollins - Took you long enough

Prompt: Could I make a Seth Rollins request? Something cuts and fluffy where the reader has been with him for a long time. Even before him getting into wwe. And they’re still not engaged/married yet and the reader is wondering when he’ll propose. I just have this image of Seth sneaking peeks at her Pinterest to get ideas for a ring and stuff. Idk if that makes sense at all but I hope it does 🙊
Requested: by anon
Warnings: None
Words: 1800+

You and Seth had been together for a long time. You went to the same high school back in Davenport. He was popular, known by everyone and you, well you weren’t the bottom of the food chain. You had your group of friendships and you didn’t really stray from them. You knew Seth from the moment you started high school. He didn’t know you. Your first official meeting was when he joined your local gym. You were both 16. You quickly found out that both of you had a love for wrestling and wanted to get into the business. From then on you spent every day together, working out and training together. At first, you just hung out at the gym but your friendship soon evolved to hanging out at school and people quickly noticed. When the two of you started dating you were the talk of your school. 

No one thought your relationship would last but then you made it to a year and then graduation. And now here you are over 10 years later, still together and now in the wwe together. Your relationship has been through a lot. Both of you decided to follow your dreams to become wrestlers that caused some problems in your relationship. Distance being the main one and injuries for both you and Seth. Over the years you went to different promotions and Seth was offered a wwe contract before you. You travelled the world while Seth worked through NXT and onto the main roster. 

You were so proud of him. Eventually, you had made a big enough name for yourself on the indies that you got offered a contract. You were in NXT for a year and now here you are, finally with Seth on raw. 

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Chaos in the Pantheon (Part 3)

((A/N: Another chapter! Hurray! I *promise* if you can get through this, it’s about to get real and maybe we’ll see some heroics. If you’re the type that doesn’t like build up… I apologize. But I wanted to introduce the gods and get a sense of who the reader is. Not everything is as simple as it may seem…

Pairing: Bucky Barnes (Ares) x Reader

Word Count: 2.5k

Warnings: Language! [it’s a joke, you’ll see] 

Catch up! Part 1// Part 2// ))

Clint couldn’t help but smirk at your eagerness, already realizing why the others had been so taken by you. Spirited would have been an insult as there was so much more going on. He understood the enamoring nature of who you were. He understood the impact you would have on a man like Ares so dedicated to his own cause. It made sense.

“Well, first things first, you need to talk to Poseidon. The man’s been so at odds with the other gods he’s neglected most of his duties. If you get him to stand down and assure him you’re working to resolve this, at least one of your main concerns will be dealt with.” There was a raised eyebrow by Clint, as if to turn on a lightbulb in your head. It was true that your family relied heavily on fishing as a source of income and general livelihood. It was also true that despite your father’s heavy dedication towards the worship of Poseidon, there had been almost nothing.

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anonymous asked:

This is for for everyone who is pro choice. You were all a fetus at the very beginning. If your parents decided to abort that fetus you wouldn't exist. Therefore abortion is actual murder. Its really no different than killing a baby. Like a fetus, nobody has actual memories as a baby. This is the one issue with liberal ideology that bothers me. Please think about it.

This is such a ridiculous argument. Murder is a legal term so it’s quite definitely not murder.

If my parents didn’t have me then I wouldn’t be here and the world would be slightly different. Maybe they had another kid, maybe that kid would have been more effective at life and would have the cure for cancer. Who knows.

Iffing and butting isn’t an argument. What I do know is that pregnancy is an ordeal and NO ONE should EVER be forced through it.

Never again should people be forced to resort to unsafe methods of termination, never should their bodies be held to ransom for hypothetical scenarios.


Behind the Rear Window - Ch.1

Rear Window AU. When injured photojournalist Jughead Jones thinks he sees a man murder his wife from the window of his apartment it’s up to him to convince the police, and socialite-cum-girlfriend Betty Cooper, that what he saw actually happened, and what starts out as an investigation may just be the key to unlocking a few of their own skeletons in the closet.

First chapter of my multi fic! Rear Window is one of my favourite films and when I was watching it recently I realised just how easy it would be to slip these characters into the world of Hitchcock’s movie. This film, for those of you who haven’t seen it, is very observation and conversation heavy, so while the plot is pretty much the same here it’s those aspects where it will differ some. Anyway, I really hope you enjoy!

(special thank to @formergirlwonder for reading over this chapter! She’s an absolute gem!)

Read here on AO3

Jughead Jones had always known that bricks and mortar did not make a neighbourhood. His thoughts were only confirmed every time he regarded the rear windows facing the shared back alley courtyard from the vantage point of his second story apartment. The last hints of pink and orange faded from the sky, revealing another clear, sunny Riverdale day as the clock crept closer to morning. Each window frame became a small screen, most with cracked and peeling off-white paint. As he sat sleeping in his wheelchair, performances played out behind the open shutters and ajar glass panes; the tiny colony was beginning to bustle.

The man who spent his nights camped out on the fire escape, mattress and all, stirred as the first blinding rays cast their glow over his closed eyelids. His name wasn’t known to Mr Jones, but he certainly knew his wife’s was Ginger, given the amount of times he heard it pleaded at all hours of the day and night. To Jughead, he was simply ‘Mr Screw-Up’. The man stretched, rubbing the heel of a palm into his sleep encrusted eye, before standing precariously on his broken spring mattress and wobbling his way to the open window. He glanced furtively inside, checking left and right for signs that he could make an attempt to gain access back into his abode for the morning ritual of washing, shaving, and listening to early morning advertisements on the radio. Guaranteed, he’d be back sulking on the stairwell before eight thirty.

Jughead flinched on the edge of sleep as cawing crows swooped a little too closely to his window. He had left it ajar to combat the oppressive heatwave invading his apartment, which had left beads of sweat balancing in miscellaneous constellations atop his slightly wrinkled forehead, but his effort appeared to be in vain. Blinking into wakefulness, Jughead swiped at the moisture, which tickled while it dripped down his temples. As he came to, still in his chair by the window, he glanced down at his leg, adorned with a cumbersome cast stretching from his toes to his pelvic bone. Jughead sighed; he’d hoped that this time his hindrance really would have been a dream. His eye caught the bold, black pen strokes against the slightly discoloured plaster, and he allowed himself a chuckle as he read once more the words, “rather a broken bone than a broken spirit”, written in the hasty cursive of his superior, Kevin Keller. His chuckle turned to a grimace as a twinge turned to an itch, fate conveniently placing it directly out of reach beneath the bulky aid to healing.

The glint of a copper penny stole his attention, though, returning his gaze to the array of scenes awaiting his audience for yet another day in the listless stretch of weeks that he’d been chained to a chair for. The copper belonged to the girl opposite and to the left, her window a few brick widths higher than Jughead’s. Dubbed ‘Miss Legs’, the girl’s flaming red hair hung past her waist in perfectly arranged waves, often mirroring the light as it swung this way and that while she danced before her window. She was a nonstop whirlwind of kicks and strides and spins, low melodic tunes of her record player, thankfully, barely reaching Jughead’s apartment; but he couldn’t deny even he was captivated by her talents. He assumed, she embodying what was considered conventionally attractive, that most other men would be jonesing for the chance to have a glimpse at her in her brassiere and matching briefs as she paraded herself about her household chores. To Jughead her overly full lips, painted a shudder inducing crimson more often than not, seemed suffocating. The train of dance partners that appeared every so often in his line of sight confirmed his suspicions, however.

As she tripped out of view his eye caught a scurrying of burnt umber as the miniature daschund, affectionately cooed after under the name Caramel by Ginger multiple times a day, set its sights on a neighbourhood cat and decided to give chase. Millimetres above the game of cat and dog, Jughead lifted his scrutinising blue eyes to ‘Miss Lonelyhearts’. Still young, attractive though somewhat plain, the woman that earned such a title made frequent habit of setting the table for two, eating for one, and then crying herself into a stupor as the empty chair opposite failed once again to partake in the evening’s conversation. Her thick, mousey hair frequented a tight twist at the nape of her neck, round glasses perched just so on the bridge of her delicate nose, eyes wide and unassuming. Her usual dress was erring just slightly on this side of try-hard, but Jughead had seen her at her worst – tattered, flowery hand-me-downs shrouding her fragile figure as she knocked back the wine poured for her, and then the wine poured for her date. Having never seen another soul in the apartment in all their days occupying the same courtyard he only knew her real name by her woeful, self-pitying cries of “oh, Geraldine” that always rang out when he was just drifting off, jolting him back from the edge of unconsciousness.

The next curtain pulling up moved his eye away from her tired face to the window directly above. A worn looking man with dark skin and deep set eyes trudged through his apartment, pulling up the shades as if he were reluctant to face another day. His balding head shone with perspiration in the early morning heat, shoulders dropping several degrees as he exhaled a mournful sigh, head turning to his left. An overly long pause passed before he began to move again, disappearing from view for a moment before the shades covering the next window along rippled and rose, revealing a bedroom. Crumpled sheets were occupied by an elegant woman in her mid-thirties, probably once the height of beauty but now looking as if she’d seen better days. Her frame was withered and meek and her hair hung limp and lifeless around her face. Her smile, Jughead noted, had not met the same foibles of time. She beamed at her husband, head tilting to one side as she spoke, looking more the young girl Jughead imagined she once was in that moment. Her husband nodded, slow and mechanical, before moving back to the kitchen, collecting a tray of breakfast foods, and then returning, setting it gently over the ridges of her legs under the blankets. He leaned in to place a chaste kiss against her cheek before retiring to the adjoining bathroom. His attentive, husbandly duties had earned him the title ‘Mr Caretaker’.

The sight of breakfast made Jughead’s own stomach rumble in anticipation. He wheeled back from his usual perch, rolling past the cabinets and shelves holding countless camera parts – flashes, lenses, bulbs – all stacked and presented perfectly. A tower of copies of the latest issue of Life magazine took up the side table by the front door, his photograph adorning their front covers, staring back at him in duplicate. The rest of the apartment was an unorganised disarray of knickknacks and keepsakes. Broken mechanical parts, overly read and worn copies of his favourite books, boxes upon boxes of old yellowing magazines he called ‘inspiration’ flooded the space. His old typewriter, barely breathing amid the flurry of tat on his desk, took centre stage.

The shrill ringing of his telephone pulled an exasperated sigh from Jughead’s lips as he just managed to manoeuvre his way to the kitchen’s threshold. Reversing a couple of inches he shoved the discarded dress shirt out of the way before picking up the shiny, black receiver.

“Jones,” he spoke into the phone, voice slightly hoarse from disuse. He cleared his throat.

“Well, it doesn’t exactly sound like you’ve been celebrating,” the voice of his assignment manager at the magazine, Kevin, crackled over the line, his tone taking on a minor lilt of amusement that had the skin of Jughead’s back prickling, and not from the excessive heat.

“What exactly is there to celebrate, Keller?” Jughead asked, rolling his neck slightly to ease the tightness he’d suddenly become aware of.

“Have I got the wrong day? Seven weeks since Wednesday – that cast should be coming off by now,” Kevin answered, confused. Jughead huffed a disgruntled breath out of his nose, pressing his lips together.

“Right day, wrong week,” he lamented, throwing a dirty look at his offending leg. Kevin’s laugh rung out of the speaker.

“I told you to stand further to the left,” he chastised, referring to the incident that caused Jughead’s current predicament. He’d been given the go-ahead to stand directly on the track for an in-action shot of the racers in the Grand Prix. Only Jughead would have had the balls to do it, Kevin thought, watching him stride purposefully onto the tarmac to get the snap of a lifetime. He’d worked it all out, what he thought was perfectly. What he didn’t account for was the slight nudge one car gave another as it attempted to undertake on the sharp bend, bumper clipping the rear door and sending it winding off course for a moment, long enough to clip Jughead in the hip, throwing him into an ungraceful heap against the barriers.

“Still got the shot though,” he returned, tone and expression equally smug as he remembered the way he cradled the camera against his chest during the fall, concerned only for the protection of the precious roll of film inside. He distinctly recalled the flicker of satisfaction he’d felt as his finger pushed the button, the way the light flashed as it had seemingly heralded the end of his life.

“It’s quite the shot indeed,” Kevin agreed. “Story isn’t half bad either.” The corners of Jughead’s mouth tilted upwards at the deprecating compliment. There was only the distinct static of the line for a moment as neither man attempted to speak. Eventually, Kevin sighed. “Well, if you’re still cooped up for another week then I guess I can’t offer you this assignment.” Jughead’s back straightened as he sat up. He noticed, briefly, that Miss Legs was practicing pirouettes as she scrubbed a dish.

“What’s the job?” he asked, fingers tightening around the receiver, itching to get the camera in his hands once more. Six weeks had seemed an eternity.

“South America, month or so, heading into the camps,” Kevin recited, keeping the details vague. It didn’t matter, however: Jughead was already hooked.

“Can it wait a week?” he asked, trying to keep the desperation out of his voice, leaning ever further forward in his wheelchair until the irksomely hard edge of his cast digging into the soft planes of his stomach prevented him.

“Going stir crazy, huh?” Kevin guessed, a slight note of sympathy creeping into his voice. Jughead sighed, settling back against the leather backing of the chair. Mr Screw-Up was blowing unfurling smoke curls into the air as he rested against the metal railings. He was early today. Jughead briefly considered deducing what Screw-Up had done this time, before dismissing the notion as boring.

“You have no idea.”

“How much time have you spent at that window of yours?” Kevin asked suddenly, catching Jughead off guard. He bristled.

“A while,” he retorted with a stubborn air. Mr Caretaker sat on his couch and put his head in his hands as Kevin’s airy laugh echoed in Jughead’s ears. He felt the sudden, overwhelming desire to hang up.

“Careful, Mr Jones, only the lonesome and embittered spend the majority of their time observing life instead of actually living it,” Kevin joked, and Jughead could practically hear him shaking his head gently in mock disapproval. The words struck a chord with Jughead, the image of his father springing before he eyes before his mind even allowed it.

The old man (salt and pepper beard, greying streaks in his hair, slightly sunken cheeks) drifted before Jughead’s eyes. Even while awake the picture haunted him, bottle in hand and grimace a permanent fixture on his features. He sat, moaning and complaining about the state of the world, sour to the umpteenth degree about the unfair hand he’d been dealt. He chose instead to dish out biting insults and the occasional brisk smack rather than making any effort to fix the mess he’d made of himself and join the rest of society. Moving past the war had taken its toll on everyone who fought, but on none more than F.P. Jones, Jughead recalled as an acrid taste invaded his mouth.

Jughead shook himself out of his revere, telling himself the fading sting in his right cheek was only a mere ghost. He turned in time to catch Caramel hopping into the basket contraption Ginger employed to haul the pup up onto her fourth floor balcony, its little legs unable to handle the climb. Kevin’ voice drifted back to his ears.

“You should get married. They say there’s never a dull moment…” Jughead ignored him.

“Hold the story. One more week,” Jughead commanded, already lifting the phone from his ear. He barely heard Kevin’s exasperated replies.

With a nearly audible eye roll, Kevin muttered, “Who is in charge here?” to no one in particular. A distinct ring cut through the stifling air, signalling that the call was over. 

3| Pas De Deux

Pairing: Jimin x Reader
Genre: Ballet au, Romance, Angst
Warnings: None
Wordcount: 2811

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You woke up to the loud sound of banging on the door. Groggily you glanced at the clock next to you. Six thirty. Who the hell was waking you at this unearthly hour? You moaned and rolled over, pulling your pillow onto your ears. “Shove off!” You mumbled, right before you realized where you were. Ballet School.

Crap! You shot up in bed to find the whole of dorm staring at you. They were already out of bed. You spotted Minjee further down. She was smirking at you, and then she turned her gaze to whoever was standing at the door. You flipped a round in bed.

Madam Hyejin stood there with her hands on her hips. “Good Morning to you too, Miss (Surname).” She said curtly.

“Oh crap – I mean, sorry.” You shut your mouth before anything else could get out.

“Am I a little early?” She chimed, then glanced at her watch. “Shall I come back at say, ten?” You heard Minjee snigger behind you. You threw off your duvet and stood up, trying to look dignified in your blue and white polka dot pyjama pants and singlet.

“Sorry, Madam…I’m just not used to this.” Yeah, it sounded seriously feeble.

She raised a perfect eyebrow at you, then turned her attention back to the dorm. She clapped her hands. “Hurry up!” She ordered, and left the room.

Minjee snorted and burst into laughter. “Good job (Name).”

You pulled a hand through your messy hair, rolling your eyes. “Shut it, snarky.” You muttered, and opened up your trunk to find some clothes. It was still dark outside. You didn’t do early mornings well, and grumpiness was part of the package for waking up early. But not to Madame Hyejin. You cringed mentally. God! You quickly yanked out a black v-necked camisole, leo, pale pink tights and a cardigan and knitted shorts for between classes. The academy’s dress code wasn’t too strict – so long as your leo was predominantly black and you had pink tights, everything else was alright. Then you headed for the showers, knowing people would almost certainly be laughing at you in the dorm.

The warm water was just the wakeup call you needed. You stretched and rolled shoulders as the water cascaded down your back. You were starting classes today…the thought sparked the first of many nervous pangs in your belly. Oh god, what would your teachers think of you? What would everyone else think of you? What if you were seriously bad? There was a reason why you had been put with the first years.

You shut off the shower and got changed, just praying that you weren’t going to make an utter fool of yourself today, though of course, you reminded yourself, you already had achieved that. Then you pushed your hair back and twisted it into a simple bun. The girls around you were doing intricate plaits down their scalps and weaving in ribbons which matched their leos. You sighed, looking at your plainness, then you coated your head in hairspray and left.

As soon as you got back to the dorm, Jiwoo came up to you, grinning. “If I say Good Morning, will you bite my head off?” She tried saying it with a straight face.

You rolled your eyes but grudgingly smiled back. “I’m really not used to this whole waking up early thing. My old school started at quarter to nine.”

“Well, you better, because Minjee’s going to wet herself laughing like she was.”

You sighed. “So what do we do now? Run ten laps?”

She laughed. “Dorm inspection. Make your bed, tidy up your area, make sure you look tidy.”

“I never saw the point in making beds.” You muttered.

“Try telling that to Madame Hyejin, she’s a perfectionist.”

“Like every ballet teacher.”

She nodded. “Indeed.”

You began straightening out your duvet. You were just tugging the last corner when she walked in. “Ready, ladies?” It was a rhetorical question. She marched right in, stopping in front of people and pointing out if their tights were laddered or if their hair was messy. It made you feel as if you were in the army. Perhaps a salute was in order.

When she reached your bed she nodded at you, in recognition of your screw up earlier. You knew the whole room was waiting for her to pour her sarcasm all over you, but she just gave you a once over and moved. Thank God.

When she’d finally finished, she walked back past the beds, her heels clicking on the floor. “Have a good day, girls!” She said happily, with a flounce of her arms the proceeded to walk out the door.

“Jeez, these teachers are so unpredictable.” You told Jiwoo as you walked down to breakfast. She’d dressed in the same black and green leo from yesterday, her hair done up in an elegant swirl.

“Oh I know.” She said. “But they’re very good – strict, but good.”

You took a deep breath, nerves thrumming again. “I hope they don’t murder me today.”

“Why should they have a reason to?”

“Ugh!” You moaned, putting a hand to your head. “I’m sure they’ll find one.”

“You don’t know that.” Jiwoo said.

You entered the dining hall, the sunlight was just beginning to come through the windows. You looked to the teacher’s table, where they sat sipping coffee and reading the papers like they were just sitting in a normal household. It was comical, really. Many people had already finished and were heading out. You watched them go as you collected your fruit salad and orange juice. “Is everyone an early riser here?” You asked.

“Yes, but don’t worry. You’ll learn fast, (Name).”

“Yeah, after today’s episode it probably won’t be a problem.” You muttered.

Jiwoo and you took seats at the same table as last night. At the moment, only Kwangsik was there, dressed in black tights and a tucked in white T-shirt.

“Hey Jiwoo.” He said, smiling at her.

“Hey.” She said back shyly. “…are you good for class today?”

“Yeah.” He said. “You? Mistress Zhang pushed you pretty far yesterday.”

She looked down at her bowl. “I thought no one had noticed.” They lapsed into to a silence. Not exactly awkward, but more like both of them were waiting for each other. You tried not to grin as you began eating your fruit salad. You were glad breakfast was light here. Dancing on a full stomach made you feel ill.

“Hey!” Came that over-enthusiastic voice you had been sub-consciously dreading. “It’s Ballet (Name)!” You turned and tried to smile as Kihyun took his seat right next to yours, putting a bowl of muesli on the table. Like Kwangsik, he wore black tights and a tucked in white T-shirt. “Ready for today?” He asked, turning to look at you.

“Ready as I’ll ever be.” You muttered.

“Don’t worry, I’ll be with you all the way.” He assured you.

“Kihyun.” Chastised Jiwoo. “I’m sure she’ll ask if she needs a faithful puppy trotting around after her. Come on (Name), let’s go.”

“Thanks.” You said as you walked up to the first floor.

“No problem.” She said. “Kihyun likes to take ‘nice’ just a little bit too far sometimes.”

“Agreed. So where are we going first?” The knot in you stomach was tightening. You pulled out your schedule. 8.30 – 11.00am: Technique, Studio Eight. “You are in my class, right?”

“Yeah, of course.” She said. “For most things. Are you music level one or two?”

“Two.” You replied. You had gotten to choose that yourself, when registration forms came through. You were alright at piano, and, more importantly, you got rhythms easily.

“Damn, I’m in one.” Said Jiwoo.

You walked down the same corridor you had gone down last night, where you had seen Jimin. Subconsciously you looked to that last door on the left, somehow thinking he might be there, but of course it was just a normal room now, with dancers pouring into it. Finally you reached the room marked 'Eight’ and went in. It was a pretty normal studio, complete with barres and an upright black piano. The floors were shiny and polished, the lace curtains of the large windows pinned back to the white walls. The front and right side wall were full mirrors. Above the mirrors on the front wall was the Academy Crest. The Crest of Kwon Seongmin. You later found out It was in every classroom.

The teacher wasn’t here yet as you pulled your ballet shoes out of their bag and sat down to put them on. Pointe shoes were always both a burden and a gift. A burden because they gave horrible blisters and when you were tired, they hung of your feet like bricks…but when you danced in them. The extra height, the grace of them, it was like you were something more than just yourself. It was also the fact that you could do something most people couldn’t. Of course, this weren’t the case here. Right now, all the other girls were lacing up their pointes as well, and they were just as proficient as you in it.

You glanced at your pointers; they were covered in the traditional pale pink satin, the ribbons winding delicately around the bottom of your legs. You have had them for a few of months now, and they were less than perfect. The fabric was wearing down to reveal the toe box, where your toes were supported. You knew you would have to get new ones. These were the same ones you had used for your audition three months ago. God, so much had happened since then.

The nerves in your stomach were coiled up tight as you stretched. It was the unknown that was frightening. You didn’t know if you would be able to keep up with everyone, if your late entrance into the world of ballet would show up clearly in this prestigious place. It was different when you were in Gwangju. In Gwangju you had been in the advanced class. But that was because there weren’t enough dancers to have a true advanced class, like the seniors here. But to be placed in the bottom class in the school was a hit to you, even when you knew you weren’t really that good.

You sighed and shook your head, trying to rid it of such thoughts. You started trying to play out a tune in your head. Of course it had to be Claire de Lune. Nothing else worked…but then after watching Park Jimin dance to it, it had taken on a whole new meaning, one which you weren’t entirely familiar with and to be honest. Right now you needed familiar.

“Good Morning Class!” Came a loud voice. A woman was walking in, dressed in a long sleeved prune coloured leotard and long black peasant skirt. Her dark brown hair was done up in a high, regal bun. She was followed by a thin man with studious black glasses. He took up his place at the piano without hesitation. The woman, however, stood at the front of the room, her lined face smiling darkly. Everyone stood up and you were quick to do the same.

“Good morning Madam Choi.” Everyone chorused, curtsying or bowing. You looked around surprised, but probably shouldn’t with the room inspections and 'Masters’ and 'Madames’. It was kind of cute…

“Alright, everyone to the Barres. Mister Ghim if you would please.” She indicated to the pianist. He started up a medium, plonky tune. Everyone hurried to the Barres. You felt your heart swell in anticipation. It was good to be back in the studio. “And a one two three four.” Madam counted. “And a Demi plie in first if you please. And down two three four and up two three four.”

You lowered down easily, you legs bending effortlessly, and then up again, feeling the happy pull of your leg muscles. “Grande plie and down two three four and up two three four. Now four more if you please.” She began to walk round the class. “Pick up your arm Miss Sung and now tendus in front in one two three four and side two three four and back two three four. And again. Keep those heads up!”

Everyone continued on and on, the simple exercises that every technique class begins with. The barre lesson went on for a good twenty minutes more before you got to Pointe. “Now ladies plie in two three four and up on the Pointe two three four and down to fourth two three four and up again two three four.” You were onto your platforms and back easily, relieved that you hadn’t failed to get up like you used to.

The lesson continued on the barre for almost the half of it. It was near the end of the barre exercises when Madame Choi drifted over to you, watching as you did arabesques to the best of your ability. It was supposedly simple – just one leg up behind you, but on Pointe things were a bit more challenging. “Keep that arm long.” She instructed, walking round you. “Chin up, very nice, very good. You’re the new one, (Name) (Surname)?”

“Yes, Madam.” You said as you came down from the arabesque.

“Hm, very nice.” She just repeated, and went to the next person.

Feeling your confidence rise slightly, you went onto the centre, where there was no barre to hold on to. Like before, the combinations were simple and then got harder. Much harder, but you seemed to be keeping up. You were tired, though. The longest lessons you had were an hour and a half. This was two and a half, and Madame Choi’s commands was unrelenting.

For the last few combinations, Madame Choi showed everyone the combinations and then called you up in sixes so that you had enough space. “None of you are getting this! It’s four steps then pique left and right then and step turn step turn and two steps grand jete and two steps grande pirouette, then end in an arabesque, left leg back.” She clapped her hands. “Come on, better this time!”

You somehow ended up in the front row with Minjee on your right and Seohyun on the left. “Alright and a one two…” You stepped up to point, then did those tiny steps across the floor, your arms rising and falling, then two quick steps out on either side. Then you launched into a leap, feeling the air whoosh past you. You felt so free! “Keep those legs strong Miss Ahn! Very nice Miss (Surname)! And now a step turn, step turn step turn, and into the pirouette. Good keep it going and arabesque!”

You let you leg out behind you, balancing on just the toes of your right foot. “Now hold it, hold it!” You heard Minjee drop away on your left. “Hold it! Hold it girls!” Your leg felt sore, but you toughened your resistance, reminding yourself to breathe. You heard the others break behind you, but you held on, breathing in and out, in and out.

“Ow!” You heard Seohyun cry. The piano stopped abruptly.

“Keep holding it, Miss (Surname).” Commanded Madame Choi quickly, taking no notice of Seohyun. You looked in the mirror, something you strangely didn’t do often, and saw that Seohyun was on the ground, holding her ankle.

Madame Choi gave you an analysing look, as if she was trying to figure you out. You just tried to stay standing, unnerved by her stare. Eventually, as if she’d decided something, she snapped her fingers.

“Mister Ghim continue playing.” The pianist started up again.

“Slower this time, if you please, adage, adage.” He slowed down into a flowing tune.

“Alright Miss (Surname), let me see you to turn, keep your posture, yes, that’s it, all the way round.” By now your leg were getting extremely sore.

“And now down into fourth.” You lowered, remembering to keep your composure, even though you wanted nothing more than to clunk it down and go have a break.

“Alright now into a front arabesque, raising your arms. And a back arabesque, same leg. Very nice. And now step to your left, let’s try a developpe.”

She took you through several more moves, some you hadn’t even done before, but managed to perform. When the music finally finished, your class clapped from behind and you blushed a bright red. “Well done, Miss (Surname).” Said Madame Choi with a short, probably rare smile.

“Alright!” She said, turning to everyone else. “Class dismissed.”

Instead of leaping up and charging out the door like a normal class would, everyone stood straight – aside from Seohyun, who was still on the floor.

“Thank you, Madame Choi.” They chorused again, with the same curtsies and bows. Realizing you were right in her line on sight, you quickly did the same, feeling like a idiot. Then everyone started packing up. You went over to Seohyun who was already being helped by Minjee and Kwangsik.

“Hey are you okay?” You asked.

Seohyun turned her snarky face to yours. “Don’t need you here, show off.” You rolled your eyes.

“It’s just a twisted ankle.” Supplied Kwangsik, with an apologetic smile for Seohyun’s bitterness.

“Right.” You said.

Jiwoo and you then finally sat down together to take off your Pointe shoes. “You were amazing, (Name).” She said, beaming at you. “No one else could get that combination right. And Madame Choi hardly ever takes an interest in someone like that.”

You couldn’t help but smile. After the morning’s stress, you realized you might not have as much to worry about. As Jiwoo and you walked out, Kihyun patted you on the back. “Really, that was great (Name). I wasn’t sure when you first got here, but now I see you’re a great dancer.”

“Uh…thanks?” Wow, that’s really a lovely thing to say… 'I thought you were going to be crap but you were actually okay.’ However Kihyun didn’t notice your slightly-pissed off expression, and kept talking until Jongsoo drew him away to go to their conditioning class.

You pulled your cardigan back on and together Jiwoo and you made your way down to the gymnastics centre. Minjee and Kwangsik were helping Seohyun down the stairs. “We have our own physiologist and doctor.” Jiwoo told you. “They’ll sort her out.”

Having never done gymnastics before, you were at loss to know what to do. Jiwoo had to help you through pretty much everything. The gymnastics teacher, Master Woo was just as unforgiving as Madame Choi, and made you do things again and again until you got them half way 'perfect’. After that class you came out half dead. Your arms were screaming from thousands of handstands and wobbly cartwheels.

After gymnastics, you had a short twenty minutes break to have a snack. You of course sat with Jiwoo and the rest of you classmates. But the time went far too quickly and soon it was time to classes again.

The day went on and on, with the only reprieve being a music class. Otherwise, you were on your feet the whole time. You had never in your life felt so worn out. After music, you went on to Character Dance – pretty much ballet, but focussed more on the attitude and character within the dance. They were in the middle of rehearsing a traditional Scottish dance, and you were far behind. After character, you went into another studio for contemporary. Having only taken strictly classical lessons, you weren’t used to the, waving arms and more modern music.

The teachers took no pity in you and you couldn’t ask them questions. There were in other words, no 'first day of school’ kindness or introductions. Some teachers didn’t even notice the new addition.

When you finally got a round to lunch, you were completely and absolutely drained. Kwangsik, Minjee, Jongsoo and Kihyun were already at the table when Jiwoo and you arrived, carrying your chicken salads and water. “So what have is next lesson?” You asked, stabbing a bit of salad with your fork.

“Ballet History.” She grumbled. “Highlight of the day.”

“Sounds dull.”

“It is.” Jongsoo assured.

Lunchtime passed quickly, with Kihyun’s enthusiastic blather and Minjee’s snarky looks. Every so often you would glance over at Jimin’s friends. You envied them. They were all your age, and yet here you were sitting with these guys. You could only have an interesting conversation with Jiwoo or Kwangsik, though he was really quiet. You hadn’t had many friends in Gwangju, as you were busy with ballet and homework and school.

Ballet history passed with excruciating slowness. Even the teacher wasn’t that enthusiastic about teaching it. You sat there next to Jiwoo, bored as hell. It was half way through when you glanced at your schedule.

3.45 – 5.30 Pas de Deux/partner class.

You shot up straight in your seat. “Jiwoo!” You whispered hurriedly. It took her a moment to get out of her bored doze.


“I’ve never done partners before!”

“Don’t worry, it’s fun.” She whispered back. “Lots of lifts and pirouettes and stuff. And it’s nice with a guy holding you.”

“Jiwoo, I haven’t even kissed a guy. Let alone let him do all those arabesque lifts and stuff.” Your heart rate was coming close to breaking point. “I mean, his hands are like…there.”

“(Name).” She put a hand on your shoulder. “You just have to be professional about it. Whoever it is, he’s just your partner. You’ll be fine. And we don’t do those sort of lifts all the time.”

“Oh God.” You put your head on the desk.

The history class suddenly sped up, and you found myself sitting in yet another studio, tying up your Pointe shoes.

“You’ll be fine, (Name).” Jiwoo was saying. “Don’t worry about it."But the nerves from this morning were coiled tight in your stomach once more. You didn’t know how to dance that close to someone else… You weren’t used to having the restrictions of someone else close to you…oh god, oh god, oh god!

(Name) breathe, you scolded yourself mentally.

But then Kihyun walked over to Jiwoo and you. "Hey (Name), I guess since Seohyun is not here we’ll have to go together.” He smiled at you, as if he expected you to be joyous. You just stared at him.

“I can’t – ”

“Good Afternoon Class!”

Your head snapped a round, recognizing that smooth, rich voice.

i can see diana growing up on themyscira hearing about “man’s world” and thinking that means everybody there is a man, and then going out into the outside world and being like !!!!!!oh my god!!!!! oh my god there are women here. she sends a letter home by carrier falcon or some shit like, mom, why didn’t you tell me there would be women your stories were so misleading i have seen so many different kinds of women and it is only day 5???? for example,

and then the rest of the letter is just a five page account of every woman she’s met

boom boom; no one asked but here is my perceptive on the ‘i want to be mare but i am white- what should i do/ would i get the role?’ topic.

please no hate, i’m allowed to state my opinion.

The answer to the question (for me) is very simple: no. personally, i do not think you would get the role. you might be the best actor in the whole world, but pale as hell, and i don’t feel as if you should get the roll. there are so many different reasons why (here are a few):

1. the casting/ directors would get a TON of backlash. Mare is latina, and if they were to cast a white person in her role it would be whitewashing. some people might refuse to go see the movie which could make it drop in popularity, and income, which would all in all be terrible. it could be taken out of theaters sooner, and ruin jobs for the casting, and director. 

2. there needs to be more representation in the media. red queen has a huge following, and if everyone in the fandom tells all there friends and families to see the rq movie (when it comes out) who have no previous reading experience to the books, it will get more population, thus more ads on tv. more people will see it. and the best part would be– that there would be a non-white lead!!! i mean think of how big that would be, i know there have been leads in the past who have not been white, but i mean a latina lead would be amazing! it would make people see past race and say (or think) ‘hey not every white person is the hero, heros can be anyone, any race.’ And for people who havent read the book think back on the movie think mare is white, remember her as white– which she isnt. it would also open peoples eyes to different races in big screen media.

3. In book one, mare’s skin is paled to fit into silver life. think logically here guys, if mare was cast as a white person how would they do this? throughout the series mare struggles as who she is always saying ‘im not Marena (idk how to spell it give me a break)’ what would happen for this scene? honestly? would they just take it out of the movie? its half of the red queen book! and even if you got a ‘spray tan’ to try and not be pale, or make yourself look more ‘latina’…… dont. dont even think about doing that. one, you shouldnt try and change your damn race for a role its not appropriate at all. two, just dont. seriously.

4. If a younger generation saw the movie, it could make them looking up to mare. i mean hell, who doesnt look up to mare? shes a badass. but it would influence the younger kids (or something) to look up to different people of different races, expanding there line of intrest.

some additional mini-rants/ points:

- acting is just the half of it, looking the role is also looked upon at casting calls and is still very important.

Now for the answer for ‘what should i do’: I think you could still try out if you are white. you CAN try out for mare, i am not stopping you at all, just be remembering my points. if you dont get mare just dont be salty. dont let race stop you from living your dreams, 

add what u guys think!! (if u want im not forcing u)

how did I live so long (without your lips on mine)

 aka First Kiss

Originally posted by solorenskywalker




Cassian x Reader


Series Summary: Cassian and Reader Firsts – from meeting each other to the first time, first kiss, first fight, first “I love you”, to their (first) last breaths (maybe…that might be too depressing)

Time Cassian and Reader have known each other: 9 months

Chapter: 6/20

Prompt: Anonymous- “firsts” for cassian x reader please?!? (like first date, first kiss, first fight etc) :-))

Author’s notes: Phew sorry I was hoping to have this up earlier but life…so here you go! All I have to say is KISS KISS KISS KISS KISS KISS KISS MY FAVORITE PART OF FANFICTIONS

Ever since you had realized you loved Cassian your world had been different. You felt lighter and lit up every time you saw him. Your heart would skip a beat when his hand would brush against yours. And when he touched your back you would lean into him as far as you could. Though Cassian definitely noticed how much happier and touchy you were being he didn’t say anything, instead he would just smile and pull you closer.

Though you had finally admitted to yourself how you felt you still weren’t sure if you should tell Cassian. Did you really want to ruin one of the best friendships you ever had? Did you really want to risk losing the one person you loved more than anything? Did he even love you back?

There was only one way to find out.

As you went to find Cassian, a week after the realization, you couldn’t find him. He wasn’t in his room, the mess hall, the intelligence center, or even his (unused) workshop. Your last stop was the hangar.

His ship was gone.

What? You knew that he didn’t have a mission, because he hadn’t said goodbye, and Cassian always said goodbye.  

After asking around, you couldn’t get anyone to give you a straight answer. You searched for General Draven or one of Cassian’s supervisors, but none of them were on base as well.

As the day passed, you grew more and more frustrated and began to see people outright avoiding you, which only made your suspicions grow.

You were finally able to corner General Draven, who had just arrived on Yavin 4 a few minutes before. He informed you tersely that Cassian was on a covert mission that was need to know only.

Before you could take out your anger on Draven, he was already halfway down the hallway. Seeing as the last time your yelling had damaged his hearing, you didn’t blame him.

The days passed without any communication from Cassian. After refusing to call him the first few days, because you were mad he didn’t tell you he was leaving, you caved and sent him 7 messages within five minutes even though Draven had told you Cassian wasn’t allowed any form of communication.

As the days passed, your anger subsided. You knew it wasn’t Cassian’s fault and he was just following orders, but you were annoyed and had to take it out on someone. And that someone soon transferred onto an unsuspecting rebel.

Unsuspecting rebels had become the focus of your annoyance for the past few months.

Ever since you had become friends with Cassian you had been receiving more attention on base. You used to be able to slide under the radar, but because of the base wide bets and drastic declarations of love, people definitely knew who you were now.

At first you didn’t mind the attention. Just hellos, small talk, and friendly gestures, but over time it began to become more.

More meaning your fellow rebels began asking you out.

They would try to impress you with epic stories of their adventures and daring rescues. Usually you were able to scare them off with a sly smile and a flick of your gun. Sometimes when that wouldn’t work you’d look desperately to Cassian, who would growl at them until they quickly scurried away.

What was the probability that a new cocky pilot would join the rebellion the exact week that Cassian was away?


This new pilot was impressive. But he was also cocky, arrogant, and annoying. And you had somehow caught his attention.

It started gradually with him trying to talk to you and sitting next to you during meetings. But it quickly grew to him bringing you food, trying to carry your belongings, and constantly asking you to go out with him.

You declined multiple times, but he wouldn’t give in.

He knew that you were available. He told you that he had heard all the rumors about you.

You weren’t sure what that meant, but it made things hell. He would act like he knew all about you, he would bring you your “favorite” food or “favorite” flower, but he never got one thing right.

Since Cassian was gone you had no one to complain to or help you scare him away.

So instead of dealing with the problem you avoided it (like you did with everything else). You would stealthily travel through the base to avoid him, peering around corners, hiding in alcoves, and you even climbed into an air vent one day. You had barely eaten, because every time you went into the mess hall he would pop up, no matter what time.

After he found out where your room was you took to hiding out in Cassian’s room.

It was in his room that you came up with your master plan.

You were going to kiss a guy to prove that you liked someone else and weren’t interested in him.

Time to find a guy.

After going through the list of men you had worked with in the past, you chose a mechanic. He still owed you a favor after you had picked him up rare parts for the R2 unit he was building.

After shooting him a quick (desperately begging) message he agreed to meet up the next day. You went to his workshop and you were somehow able to convince him of your plan. He had laughed (for a little too long) and agreed before you could even start begging.

A few days later you left Cassian’s room. Instead of ninja walking around like usual, you walked through the halls with a purpose.

Just as you passed by the training room you heard someone scream your name, the pilot.

You swiftly changed your direction and headed towards the hangar. The pilot screamed your name again, but you pretended like you didn’t hear him.

As you entered the hangar you frantically scanned the room, trying find your mechanic.

There he was. Right next to his ship.

You sighed steeling yourself, and quickly took off toward him. His back was to you so he didn’t see you coming. Instead of calling his name, you just grabbed his shoulder, turned him around, and kissed him.

The second your lips touched his, he froze. At first he didn’t kiss back, which was strange, so you pushed yourself harder against him, your hand reaching up to pull him closer. His lips became soft under yours and his arms came up to wrap tightly around you. One hand snaked around your back while the other rose to weave into your hair, pulling you even closer to him.

When you finally pulled back your heart stopped. It wasn’t your mechanic, it was Cassian.

Cassian whose face was the picture of confusion and longing?

You both froze, Cassian’s arms still tight around you.

After a beat, his arms slowly loosened and you quickly took two steps back.

Before you could even think about what to say your pilot “admirer” cleared his throat behind you. Without taking another look at Cassian you turned quickly to face the pilot. 

He apologized for “romantically” pursuing you and hastily sped away. You heard Cassian snort behind you and was just about to turn around to face him when you saw your mechanic friend walked into your view. He smirked at you and you threw him a glare. Just as you opened your mouth to tear him a new one, Cassian gently touched your back.

You whipped around to face him your face bright red.

Before you could even apologize for jumping him, he smiled, “Well, that sure was a hell of a welcome home.”

You sighed punching him on the shoulder, “Welcome home! Fuck, Cassian I didn’t even know you left!”

“Hey now, don’t change the subject fierabrás.”

You tilted your head, “Change what now?”

Y/N. Come on. That kiss, I mean-“ Cassian sighed taking a step toward you, his eyes shining.

You mirrored him by stumbling back a few steps, “Listen I just wanted to get that guy off my back. I- I didn’t even mean to kiss you. I mean I was supposed to kiss Beron, you know the mechanic? It didn’t mean anything.”

Your heart dropped as the light in his eyes dimmed and his body seemed to visibly deflate, “Oh. I-okay then.“

With plans to meet up later you both went your separate ways. Cassian looked as if he had been kicked in the stomach while you felt completely broken.

You could slap yourself. A week ago you had been ready to tell Cassian how you really felt. Why had you wimped out? Now you had fucked it all up. There was no coming back from this. How could you tell him now? This was for the best right?

But how could it be right not to be with him though? You couldn’t get the feel of his lips out of your head. All you could think about was how perfect they had felt on yours. How safe you had felt in his arms. How he had held you so tight you could still feel his hands on your body. How you longed to feel his lips on yours again. 

But he hadn’t fought for you. If he had truly wanted you he would have told you. Right?

And so you both moved on.

So you thought.

Tagged: @ly–canthrope  @misswinchester221b  @heyjess-marie

Next up: I hoped you wouldn’t notice (how I hid my darkness from you) aka first time avoiding each other


T is for TEQUILA 🍹

Here’s my contribution to @simons-thirst-squad‘s ABC’s of Simon challenge.

I started writing this straight away and it’s taken me ages to write/redo cos I wasn’t happy with it. Hopefully you guys like it! This is my first ever Simon fic so please be nice :3

Notes: This chapter is 1 of 3. There’s only 3 in total. I feel it ended where it needed to otherwise I’d be dragging it out and it would be shit. 
It started off as a short oneshot but I just couldn’t stop adding to it so here you go! About 9.5k words in total!!

This is a reader pov story starring the beautiful Simon and a little bit of Negan. Mostly Simon(hope that’s ok!)

Chapter 1 is 3,683 words.

Tags: @simons-thirst-squad, @readinginmymeadow
(gif courtesy of google image search and its creator)
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Chapter 1

You’ve been doing this for a while; stealing alcohol from Negan. You felt such a thrill the first time; you couldn’t only do it once. You have to have some way of coping with being trapped here at the Sanctuary.

You’ve been here from when the whole world went crazy. You were a different person then. You were unsure and terrified about the new world much like everyone else, so you made the decision of joining the Saviors. You thought it was the smart choice but it was also one that would haunt you for the rest of your existence.

You’ve been a member of the Saviors for little over three years now. You’re surviving. You know what the Saviors do. You’ve witnessed it a couple times when you’ve been on the runs to take half of everything some poor unlucky community had gathered in fear of Negan. You didn’t feel sorry for them anymore. You didn’t feel anything. You just wanted to get on with it and leave. The previous version of yourself, your pre-apocalyptic self wouldn’t recognise you today. You’ve learnt to handle yourself against most people and walkers. You had to. You reckon that’s why Negan kept you around for this long. He knew you didn’t take any crap from anyone at the Sanctuary, including him.

You rebel often by talking back to Negan, Simon, Dwight and anyone else who thinks they’re superior to you, but ultimately give into Negan after a while because you don’t want to push him too far and end up with a scorching metal iron to your face. Negan has come close to raising a hand to you before now because of the way you mouth off. When he stops himself his excuse is he enjoys your “Couldn’t give a rat’s crusty-fucking-ass attitude.” He also has admitted to admiring your guts and wit, amongst other things. You don’t take yourself too seriously but are willing to stand up for yourself and others to an extent. You think that’s why Negan’s taken quite the liking to you.

In Negan’s twisted way of keeping you second guessing him, he hasn’t killed you yet but instead a couple of months ago he placed you in a scavenging team. You scavenge with your party as often as you can. It gives you the chance to leave the Sanctuary and taste the smallest bit of freedom you crave.

To keep the boss man sweet, whilst scavenging you occasionally find things you think Negan will like; more often than not he approves of the items you return to him. It’s the same every time after scavenging; you’re taken to Negan, then he searches your bag thoroughly as he knows what you’re like by now. You’ve snuck a gun and bullets back to your room after a run before. The boss personally rifles through your rucksack every time you return. He doesn’t trust the words that leave your lips when you say you’ve given him everything you found whilst you were gone.

On one of the days once he’s satisfied that nothing is lurking in your bag, he gives you a grin and hugs you for longer than what’s considered comfortable. You stiffen your body into the embrace and pat him awkwardly on the back then Negan pulls away to hold your shoulders. You can see it in the way he looks at you he knows you can’t stand him, but it just eggs him on more. He then dips his head so his face is close and stares into your eyes.

“Thank you Y/N! Now I know you know, but I need to hear it again… Who are you?” Negan’s arrogance made you grind your teeth. His gravelly voice made a faint echo in his large living room. He’s holding onto you close to the door that you can’t wait to leave out of. A couple of his wives were also present; two were standing by the small bar drinking straight vodka from glasses and two sat on the black leather couches off to your right. In your peripheral vision you saw Simon, Negan’s right hand man, standing tall beside you. You felt Negan squeeze harshly at the tops of your arms as a sign of impatience for an answer. You clenched your jaw and glared back into his face.

“I’m Negan.” You replied in a flat tone. Negan’s black-leather-gloved hands run down your forearms to your hands. Feeling him stroke your arms gave you a chill down your spine. Negan held your hands gently and smiled at the floor. Your heart was racing at the uncertainty but then your focus was on the searing pain as Negan crushed your fingers together in his grip. Your yelps of pain were drowned out from his soft shushing noises. As you quietened down and dug your front teeth in your bottom lip, tears formed in your eyes. You listened to every syllable as you bowed your head to the man in front of you.

“Less of the stink eye next time baby.” Negan ordered with a dark tone. You nodded frantically. When a tear spilled out of your eye and ran down your cheek, his large hands threw yours away from him. You rub your tear away then massage your throbbing fingers trying to soothe the pain. Negan stood up straight then poked his dimpled cheek with his long, gloved finger and pulled a menacing smile up with his mouth. You sighed not wanting to and stepped forward to peck his bristled cheek. Once again, Negan made you do what he wanted. You’re aware this is an intimidation tactic. You just hate that you have to go along with it. A small, deep chuckle escaped from Negan’s throat then he shooed you away. Simon who didn’t leave your side, led you out of Negan’s room and escorted you to your room.

You hated being handled by anyone and being pushed around by Negan’s men. You couldn’t do much about the shoving when you were followed back from speaking with Negan. You aren’t as strong as some of Negan’s men, like Simon for example. That guy is huge. When you were introduced your first thought was: it would probably only take one punch and he’d probably kill me. You expected him to be like Negan’s other henchmen; pushing your shoulder every now and then from behind to keep you in line, but you soon noticed that Simon had never once been forceful with you. His presence alone was intimidating so you’d regularly walk back in silence. You preferred when Simon would walk with you. You wish you could think of something interesting to initiate a conversation that would last more than a few seconds and not have you fumbling your words when you’d hear him speak.

You aren’t very physically strong but you are people smart. You’ve noticed you’ve picked up the knack of manipulating people; sometimes for the right reasons and sometimes for the wrong, it all depends on who’s asking. Before the world went to shit you were interested in Psychology and studied the subject for a couple years. It ended up teaching you a lot about human behaviour.

You got to know Simon a little better whilst on runs together. You thought it was cute when he’d try his hardest to make light of the situation whilst guiding you from your meetings with Negan. He was making an effort for you to warm to him. You began to see his less intimidating side, sort of. Simon is far more intelligent than the majority of the Saviors, but he could also have a laugh and joke around. Some of the Saviors are so serious all the time. You just didn’t fully trust Simon; you would regularly misjudge his reaction to certain situations. That annoyed you. You couldn’t read him easily. It made him fascinating.

Your listening and observation skills were put to good use. After about two years of having no choice about being a Savior, Negan assigned you as the camp counsellor in a sense. You were hesitant to accept his offer at first, as you knew there had to be a catch. Negan simply said whilst raising his palms to you “No catch sweetheart. It’ll keep you out of fucking trouble and I want you to be useful that’s all.” That’s all? Yeah right. You soon came to realise he wasn’t doing this out of the kindness of his heart, but instead for his own benefit so you’d feel like you had a purpose at the Sanctuary and guilty if you ever left your responsibilities and tried to escape. Mind games in other words. That’s what being a Savior was. You stuck with it regardless as it distracted you and kept Negan off your scent. You’re poorly qualified for the role of course but no one knew or had any proof of the matter. As long as you acted as though you knew what you were talking about and used a few long psychological words now and then from the old days, you could fool anyone.

You did your rounds; visiting anyone who wanted to talk. It was a small amount of people as most of the folks at the Sanctuary didn’t trust you’d keep details from their sessions a secret because they knew that eventually you’d have to tell Negan when he ordered you to do so. The small amount who did want to talk just stuck to the basics of what worried them about dealing with the world the way it is, whether it be critical life skills or having to deal with walkers. You were there to give your support and lie to them. You found yourself repeating the words “it’s ok, everyone feels like this. This is how the world works now” etc.

You were made to visit Negan’s wives on occasion. You were there to listen so his wives could tell you what was bothering them or what worries they had. You were under strict oath to not give them any advice Negan wouldn’t. When Simon gave you these instructions on your first visit, you just scoffed softly which made him arch one of his eyebrows; confused you found what he said funny. You enjoyed the effect of interacting with Simon had on you. Speaking to Simon made your heart beat a bit faster.

Guards outside Negan’s room reminded you on countless occasions before entering that you are not to get too involved with his wives’ problems. You are there for them to vent. You will not give advice; you will be there for the sole purpose to listen and for them to get things off their chest, and nothing else. It was drummed into your head so frequently that you could recite it word for word when his minions spoke it.

You had an inkling that the recently amped up security was due to one of the wives confessing to Negan about you and Sherry’s hidden friendship and planning of something. You didn’t know which one spilled the beans but you thought you could trust them. You were hurt.

Whilst Sherry was at the Sanctuary you two were very close. She told you her whole life story about her and Dwight and her deal with Negan. It made you sympathise and have a little more patience with Dwight. You’d leave notes for each other instead of actually speaking in person in risk of getting caught. Burning the notes after reading them was agreed upon too. When Negan or anyone else was present you and Sherry acted as though you two hated the guts of one another. In reality it was quite the opposite. You admired her selflessness and bravery. When she told you she was planning to escape, you wished her all the luck in the world. The last thing you said to her before she escaped was “We’ll see each other again soon.” Some part of you really hoped you would. You stopped yourself leaving with Sherry; you had to use all of your will to do so because god knows you yearn for the freedom, but you didn’t want to jeopardise her chance of a better life outside the walls so you decided against leaving the same time.

After listening to Negan’s wives, you would reward yourself with a glass of alcohol he had on offer. Of course no one was aware of this treat but you couldn’t resist. Good alcohol was a luxury and only the best was saved for Negan.  Sometimes when you felt extra courageous you’d try and steal a full bottle of something alcoholic in your messenger bag. You never had enough time to do so and instead opt for the small airplane bottles of liquor that mysteriously made their way into your rucksack after your visits.

You leave one of the wives’ rooms after a brief visit and her bedroom door clicks closed behind you. It leads out to the main room where you have your meetings with Negan. You’re about to leave but as you pass the drinks cabinet, a bottle of tequila with a yellow plastic sombrero on the screw lid caught your eye. The liquid twinkled from the light that poured in from the window at the end of the room. The large room was empty and the air was still; waiting for you to make a decision. You jog over to the small bar at the end of the room and squat down behind the drinks cabinet. You hear blood pumping harshly in your ears as your hands quietly slide the bottle of tequila into your messenger bag draped over your shoulder. It sags as it rests on the floor whilst you’re squatting.

You stand and can feel the weight of the bottle as it hung suspended in the bag. The door knob rattles then the door swings open. You positioned the strap comfortably and turn to make your way toward the door. The pit of your stomach turns when you see Simon leaning on the doorframe. The bicep he chose to hold his weight on is perfectly outlined by the material of his shirt. The tanned skin on his forearms is visible as he’s rolled the long sleeves of his shirt up to the crook of his thick hairy arms. Your eyes become very wide out of fear of being caught and at the attractive sight before you. You feel your pulse in your throat.

“You finished Doc?” Good, he didn’t see you stealing the bottle of tequila.

“Yeah.” You reply uncomfortably. You watch Simon’s beautiful brown eyes try and detect the reason of your awkward vibe. After scanning Negan’s living room and finding nothing out of the ordinary, he turns back to you.

“Good. Let’s go.” Simon smiles a toothy grin and his moustache turns up with his mouth. He waits for you to exit with his thumbs resting in his belt loops. You’re uncertain of his demeanour, something’s off. When he stands aside to give you space as you’re walking out the doorway, you twist your neck to glance at him. He just raises his eyebrows at you and hangs his muscular arm out in front of you. “Lead the way Y/N.” Simon takes his usual position and follows close behind you.

It’s an unsettling walk back to your room with Simon. The glugs and sloshing noises the bottle of tequila is making when you move or adjust the bag on your shoulder gives you heart palpitations. Can Simon hear it too? Your footsteps on the tiled floor seem louder than usual and Simon’s whistle echoes in the hallway.

“What do you carry around in that bag of yours anyway?” Simon’s low voice booms in the corridor as well as his heavy work boots, and belt buckle jingling as he marches behind you.

You keep your head forward. “Not much. Some bottled water maybe a pen and paper so I can write notes or follow up questions for my clients.”

“Ooh Clients. Aren’t we posh?” Simon mimics you. A small air of silence lingers before he speaks again. “… seems a bit heavier than a bottle of water and a pen n’paper…”

“It’s a big bottle of water.” You lie through your teeth keeping your eyes fixed firmly on the wall in front of you before turning the corner.

“Thirsty girl are ya?”

“… Yeah.” You reply uneasily. You focus on the stillness for a couple seconds. Simon’s boots make a light stomping noise as he walks. You adjust the strip of material hanging from your shoulder as a way of doing anything with your hands and distracting yourself from the tenseness of the situation. Simon takes this as a sign you’re struggling to carry the bag. You’re uncertain around Simon at the best of times, why was he being so weird? Why are you more aware of what you do or say around him?

“It’s heavy huh? Jam packed full of notes and stuff?” Simon watches for your reaction.

“No-it’s-fine. I’m fine.” You rest your palm on the top of the bag as you walk. Simon’s eyes stare at your hand then you can almost feel his eyes burning holes in the back of your skull.

“Suit yourself.” He shrugs his heavy shoulders.

The two of you stop when you reach the door to your room. You’ve walked this route about a hundred times. As you turn the doorknob and go to step inside, a large hand grips your shoulder to turn you around. You feel the heat from Simon’s grasp through your shirt. He reaches his other hand onto the shoulder where the strap from your bag hung. You stare up into his face hoping he can’t read your mind. He’s smart but not that smart… hopefully. You notice how much his moustache moves when he speaks.

“Now Y/N. You know you can talk to me about anything. A lot of folks come to you to get things off their chest. You need that too.” Genuine concern was out of character for Simon. You weren’t sure if he was winding you up or not. It made you nervous. Does he know about the alcohol?

“Ok…?” You acted like you didn’t know what he was hinting at.

“Do you wanna talk? About an-y-thing?” Simon’s speech slowed so you could hear his every word. He hung on every syllable, and watched you intensely, bowing his head slightly making his eyes seem darker and more sinister. You couldn’t or didn’t want to pull away from his gaze. You felt so small in his hold around your arms. His tight shirt strained around his wide shoulders.

“Uh… no. I’m fine.” You swallow and give Simon an uneasy smile whilst staring into his coffee coloured eyes. He knows I’m lying. Simon waits for your confession but it’s a long wait and you don’t deliver. His grip on you weakens and his arms swing back to him. He sighs, places his hands on his hips and motions with his head for you to retreat into your room. You nod and disappear into your room shutting your door behind you and quickly locking it.

With your back against your door you inhale deeply to relax your heartbeat then breathe out slowly. After dumping your bag onto the small dining table, the glass from the bottle does a muffled clink when it hits the wood. You make small shushing motions towards the inanimate object and brace yourself for Simon to burst through your door, but there was nothing. You tell yourself you need to calm down and what better way to calm your nerves than with a glass of liquid courage. You grab a short glass cup that was draining by the sink and place it on the dining table next to your bag. Little did you know, Simon was leaning casually on the other side of your door with his ear pressed upon it; listening for the familiar twist sound of a bottle seal breaking and the glug of alcohol being poured.

After tugging your boots off you carefully bring out the bottle of tequila from your bag and prevent it making too much noise. You push your bag to the floor then break the seal of the bottle with a twist of the cap and begin to pour some of the amber liquid into your glass. You sit the bottle down on the table and swirl the glass around. It sloshes against the light coming in through the small window at the top of the wall to your left. Your nose inhales above the rim of the glass making your mouth moisten. You’ve longed for the taste of a good drink. No turning back now. You sigh and throw the liquid down your throat. It’s been so long since you’ve had Tequila this strong so it instantly makes you cough when it burns your throat on the way down. Your hand pours another shot but before you can pick up the glass to drink it, you jump; startled at a loud thump from a fist on your door.

“Y/N? You’re gonna wanna open this door. NOW.” You hear Simon’s brash voice on the other side of the wall. You can hear in his tone that he’s not very happy. You suddenly start to panic.

“Just a second!” You frantically try to hide the bottle back in your bag that’s on the floor.

“NOW! BEFORE I KICK IT THE FUCK DOWN!” Simon bellows through the door.

“Alright! Gimme a minute.” You throw the glass cup in the sink not caring if it smashes on impact and scream as your door is being kicked off one of its hinges from the force and strength of Simon’s leg. He’s now standing in your room blocking the doorway so there’s nowhere to run. Shit.

“I said, now.” His eyebrow is arched and his eyes are scary. Why are you turned on at this moment? You glance down and frown at your door that’s hanging on the doorframe and probably won’t shut properly again.

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[Chapter 2 coming soon!]