#‘then our lives are cut short: why? / it will make for great sorrow. / that long stay in the grave.’

[liorlen]

Pyr y’n gwna ni byrhoedled? / Digawn llawryded, / kywestwch a bed.

[msfantasy]

Time Traveller

Summary: a short on how Y/n travels back in time and meets her younger husband.

Ominis Gaunt x reader

Ominis would typically wish that he was anywhere else but here.

Tonight, however, is different. Tonight the Gaunt family is joined at the diner table by a special guest, who just so happens to be a ‘distant’ relative from the future. When she first step through the manor, she had explained she is a Gaunt by marriage only to non-other than Ominis himself. He found it incredibly difficult to fathom such a concept.

Yet here we are.

Sitting next to her, he can smell a faint whiff of her intoxicating perfume. One cannot possibly smell this delightful.

She is obviously not capable of maintaining a refined composure as she continues to fidget in her seat as she fiddles with the objects around her. She often starts rattling off random pieces of small talk to fill the awkward silence which she is clearly not use to.

Ominis can sense his mothers growing irritations with the woman’s insistent restlessness. Afraid of the poor woman was about to suffer his mothers wrath. He reaches his hand out, placing a firm palm on her arm. He was about to gently tell her to ease up. Only she quickly shuts her mouth after muttering her apologies.

This takes Ominis aback. How had she known what he was about to say?

Regardless, Ominis mother makes an excuse and departs the dining table that evening along with his father.

Bored Marvolo bids a good evening, retiring to his room leaving Ominis and Y/n alone at the dinner table together.

“I’m sorry- I’m just not use to this level of quite.” She says leaning towards the milky eyed boy. A small smile crosses his face. “You know how it is… we’ll actually I suppose you don’t yet.” She heaves a heavy as leans in bonking her head into his shoulder. “Dear Merlin- I miss you so much. It’s odd isn’t it? Missing you and yet you’re next to me.”

“I suppose we have a loving marriage then?” He asks with amusement.

“Oh wow… if you knew what you’re like in future… you’d understand why that question is so funny.” A small laugh escapes him, finding great difficulty in imagining himself in a love sick state.

Ominis sits back in his seat, unable to comprehend a happy life. For such a long time, Ominis had come to terms with the cards life had dealt him. He was incredibly glad to hear that life does get better. “Please… I know you cannot overshare but please, tell me if I am happy… truely happy?”

The woman snakes her comforting arms around his shoulders and brings him into a tender hold against her chest. He was about to protest at her intrusive hold until he was cut off as she hushes his thoughts and pats loving strokes down his head. “This is how I hold our children when they’re upset or sick. Sometimes this is how I hold you at night when you had a bad day at work.” A blush of embarrassment crossed his cheeks. Surely, he doesn’t have his wife hold him in such a childish manner. Turning her head she places a chaste kiss on his temple the way mothers do when leaving their children on platform 9 3/4.

She’s so loving, so maternal, so safe. Ominis feels utterly safe in her arms. Merlin- he never wants her to let go of him, but she does release him from her grasp.

Her touch recedes leaving him desperate for her hold once again.

“Ominis my love?” She calls for his attention cupping his jaw. “I am filled with such sorrow, seeing how your life was. Just remember it won’t be long.” She stands pulling away from Ominis. His skin feels cold at her absence.

A colourful swirl opens up in the living room, a portal opens calling for the woman to return. “Wait! Tell me how I win your heart.” Ominis asked with slight desperation filling his voice.

A soft giggles escapes her lips. “The very first moment I beheld you, my heart was irrevocably gone.”

She steps through the swirl and was surrounded by darkness, she continues her journey in the aimless direction until a hazy imagine appears becoming more discernible with each step.

A man stands before her, his arms held open, patiently waiting for her to return into his embrace. Ramming into the man, she holds him in great desperation. “Offt!” He grunts at the force of her embrace. “You were only gone a day my love.” Ominis coos running his fingers through her rich hair.

J“A day too long.” She whispers as she buries her face into his shirt.

[rendiggitydog]

So we all know the final part of the Minecraft Poem, with ‘and the universe said’ yknow? But I just read the whole thing again and there’s lots of great lines in the rest of it too! So I’m curious, what’s your favorite line?

Under the cut I’ve pasted the whole poem minus the part we all know, with each line numbered so you can easily share what’s your fav !

1- PLAYERNAME?

2- Yes. Take care. It has reached a higher level now. It can read our thoughts.

3- That doesn't matter. It thinks we are part of the game.

4- I like this player. It played well. It did not give up.

5- It is reading our thoughts as though they were words on a screen.

6- That is how it chooses to imagine many things, when it is deep in the dream of a game.

7- Words make a wonderful interface. Very flexible. And less terrifying than staring at the reality behind the screen.

8- They used to hear voices. Before players could read. Back in the days when those who did not play called the players witches, and warlocks. And players dreamed they flew through the air, on sticks powered by demons.

9- What did this player dream?

10- This player dreamed of sunlight and trees. Of fire and water. It dreamed it created. And it dreamed it destroyed. It dreamed it hunted, and was hunted. It dreamed of shelter.

11- Hah, the original interface. A million years old, and it still works. But what true structure did this player create, in the reality behind the screen?

12- It worked, with a million others, to sculpt a true world in a fold of the [scrambled], and created a [scrambled] for [scrambled], in the [scrambled].

13- It cannot read that thought.

14- No. It has not yet achieved the highest level. That, it must achieve in the long dream of life, not the short dream of a game.

15- Does it know that we love it? That the universe is kind?

16- Sometimes, through the noise of its thoughts, it hears the universe, yes.

17- But there are times it is sad, in the long dream. It creates worlds that have no summer, and it shivers under a black sun, and it takes its sad creation for reality.

18- To cure it of sorrow would destroy it. The sorrow is part of its own private task. We cannot interfere.

19- Sometimes when they are deep in dreams, I want to tell them, they are building true worlds in reality. Sometimes I want to tell them of their importance to the universe. Sometimes, when they have not made a true connection in a while, I want to help them to speak the word they fear.

20- It reads our thoughts.

21- Sometimes I do not care. Sometimes I wish to tell them, this world you take for truth is merely [scrambled] and [scrambled], I wish to tell them that they are [scrambled] in the [scrambled]. They see so little of reality, in their long dream.

22- And yet they play the game.

23- But it would be so easy to tell them...

24- Too strong for this dream. To tell them how to live is to prevent them living.

25- I will not tell the player how to live.

27- The player is growing restless.

28- I will tell the player a story.

29- But not the truth.

30- No. A story that contains the truth safely, in a cage of words. Not the naked truth that can burn over any distance.

31- Give it a body, again.

32- Yes. Player...

33- Use its name.

34- PLAYERNAME. Player of games.

35- Good.

36- Take a breath, now. Take another. Feel air in your lungs. Let your limbs return. Yes, move your fingers. Have a body again, under gravity, in air. Respawn in the long dream. There you are. Your body touching the universe again at every point, as though you were separate things. As though we were separate things.

37- Who are we? Once we were called the spirit of the mountain. Father sun, mother moon. Ancestral spirits, animal spirits. Jinn. Ghosts. The green man. Then gods, demons. Angels. Poltergeists. Aliens, extraterrestrials. Leptons, quarks. The words change. We do not change.

38- We are the universe. We are everything you think isn't you. You are looking at us now, through your skin and your eyes. And why does the universe touch your skin, and throw light on you? To see you, player. To know you. And to be known. I shall tell you a story.

39- Once upon a time, there was a player.

40- The player was you, PLAYERNAME.

41- Sometimes it thought itself human, on the thin crust of a spinning globe of molten rock. The ball of molten rock circled a ball of blazing gas that was three hundred and thirty thousand times more massive than it. They were so far apart that light took eight minutes to cross the gap. The light was information from a star, and it could burn your skin from a hundred and fifty million kilometres away.

42- Sometimes the player dreamed it was a miner, on the surface of a world that was flat, and infinite. The sun was a square of white. The days were short; there was much to do; and death was a temporary inconvenience.

43- Sometimes the player dreamed it was lost in a story.

44- Sometimes the player dreamed it was other things, in other places. Sometimes these dreams were disturbing. Sometimes very beautiful indeed. Sometimes the player woke from one dream into another, then woke from that into a third.

45- Sometimes the player dreamed it watched words on a screen.

46- Let's go back.

47- The atoms of the player were scattered in the grass, in the rivers, in the air, in the ground. A woman gathered the atoms; she drank and ate and inhaled; and the woman assembled the player, in her body.

48- And the player awoke, from the warm, dark world of its mother's body, into the long dream.

49- And the player was a new story, never told before, written in letters of DNA. And the player was a new program, never run before, generated by a sourcecode a billion years old. And the player was a new human, never alive before, made from nothing but milk and love.

50- You are the player. The story. The program. The human. Made from nothing but milk and love.

51- Let's go further back.

52- The seven billion billion billion atoms of the player's body were created, long before this game, in the heart of a star. So the player, too, is information from a star. And the player moves through a story, which is a forest of information planted by a man called Julian, on a flat, infinite world created by a man called Markus, that exists inside a small, private world created by the player, who inhabits a universe created by...

53- Shush. Sometimes the player created a small, private world that was soft and warm and simple. Sometimes hard, and cold, and complicated. Sometimes it built a model of the universe in its head; flecks of energy, moving through vast empty spaces. Sometimes it called those flecks "electrons" and "protons".

54- Sometimes it called them "planets" and "stars".

55- Sometimes it believed it was in a universe that was made of energy that was made of offs and ons; zeros and ones; lines of code. Sometimes it believed it was playing a game. Sometimes it believed it was reading words on a screen.

56- You are the player, reading words...

57- Shush... Sometimes the player read lines of code on a screen. Decoded them into words; decoded words into meaning; decoded meaning into feelings, emotions, theories, ideas, and the player started to breathe faster and deeper and realised it was alive, it was alive, those thousand deaths had not been real, the player was alive

58- You. You. You are alive.

59- and sometimes the player believed the universe had spoken to it through the sunlight that came through the shuffling leaves of the summer trees

60- and sometimes the player believed the universe had spoken to it through the light that fell from the crisp night sky of winter, where a fleck of light in the corner of the player's eye might be a star a million times as massive as the sun, boiling its planets to plasma in order to be visible for a moment to the player, walking home at the far side of the universe, suddenly smelling food, almost at the familiar door, about to dream again

61- and sometimes the player believed the universe had spoken to it through the zeros and ones, through the electricity of the world, through the scrolling words on a screen at the end of a dream

[lebihanto-universe-blog]

Be Irresistible, Click Here jonah hill, boundaries and possessiveness IG: NEW MERCH: ... in light of the recent Jonah Hill controversy and in following a request from a viewer I decided to make a short video on loving without attachment as recognized Hill is engaging in a sort of therapy speak surrounding boundaries this appears to come from a place of possessiveness why does possessiveness occur Eric from notes a sort of love that is developed in modernity love as teamwork where everybody adjusts his behavior to the expressed needs of the other person in the pursuit of common aims modeled after the sort of groups you might encounter in an office space there isn't anything apparently wrong in centering collaboration as the essence of a relationship but this is a naive concept as it fails to account for why we end up in relationships to begin with the neurotic Lover from notes is usually a man who wants to be loved while never having to actually love this sort of childlike State encourages grandiose and romantic visions of their partner they may feel so good about their partner that at first they will display a great deal of charm and affection but there's a significant failure in seeing their partner as a human being with their own agency when they realize that their partner cannot live up to their fantasy their idea of gratification the man may feel deeply hurt and pain in his pain on the idea that his partner is selfish and does not love him pair this with bell Hook's observation that romance is often depicted as a project women are The Architects and the planners namely women are socialized early on to be the givers of love to sacrifice their agency in the hopes of this collaborative project men are generally taught that love is this reward this immediate and sustained high that is received passively that is guaranteed for them if they achieve certain patriarchal standards any extra effort afterwards is taken as a failure on the part of their partner suddenly this love as teamwork idea seems kind of lopsided for men this possessiveness is deeply tied to their identity to be a man is to be loved by a woman and to be loved is to have some sort of power over them boundaries then can be misused as forms of policing and correcting the ways in which their partner is supposed to love them to back up from gender roles in general this possessiveness is deeply tied to our own self-image we do not feel secure in ourselves and so we attempt to own and dominate another in order to regain some security this sort of narcissism does not respect the agency of others and is motivated by one's own desire and fear so long as we depend on another for our psychological well-being intellectually or emotionally that dependents must inevitably create fear from which arises sorrow writes krishnamurti and furthermore any alteration of these dependencies we violently oppose because we depend on them for psychological security to love without attachment is above all else to get over oneself in fact from recognizes the overcoming of one's narcissism as the main condition for the achievement of love in attempting to secure our own self-image through another we create an image or fantasy of that other we imprison them there through manipulation deception and control this is our attempt to possess and we also imprison ourselves in our own narcissism we cut ourselves off from being able to experience true love to abandon the present in order to look for things in the future is to throw away the substance and hold on to the shadow rights tiknot Han what is true love firstly love involves some level of objectivity you need to see people for their own potentialities and your own potentialities rather than the images you have of them this in itself means abandoning oneself prioritization it involves humility and this humility is informed by a significant second face that through recognizing trusting and nurturing you and your partner's potentialities love will

flourish yes boundaries still exist in this state but this comes about through education rather than manipulation by telling them your boundaries you hope that this will also teach you about them and their boundaries and needs and they might not be compatible with yours and here is the crucial and scary part about love without attachment you must be vulnerable to the things you feared that things might not last that people die that feelings change all you can do is have some humility and faith that the learning process itself which is reciprocal will bring love to both notably krishnamurti argues that passion comes through learning rather than through desire or gratification it is within this intense curiosity we have for the other where love emerges and how could we truly know those who we supposedly love if we limit them for our own gratification we must listen without judgment we must love without attachment true love is unconditional write spell hooks but to truly flourish it requires an ongoing commitment to constructive struggle and change foreign [Music] ...

[duckmumbo]

The r/place End Poem

Inspired by this post by @riacte

A semi-rewrite of the End Poem from minecraft to better fit r/place ending, under the cut because it is. very long.

I see the user you mean.

USERNAME?

Yes. Take care. It has reached a higher level now. It can read our thoughts.

That doesn't matter. It thinks we are part of the game.

I like this user. It played well. It did not give up.

It is reading our thoughts as though they were words on a screen.

That is how it chooses to imagine many things, when it is deep in the dream of a game.

Words make a wonderful interface. Very flexible. And less terrifying than staring at the reality behind the screen.

They used to hear voices. Before users could read. Back in the days when those who did not play called the users witches, and warlocks. And users dreamed they flew through the air, on sticks powered by demons.

What did this user dream?

This user dreamed of pixels and colors. Of art and tributes. It dreamed it created. And it dreamed it destroyed. It dreamed it protected, and was protected. It dreamed of collaboration.

Hah, the original interface. A million years old, and it still works. But what true art did this user create, in the reality behind the screen?

It worked, with a million others, to sculpt a true tribute in a fold of the [scrambled], and created a [scrambled] for [scrambled], in the [scrambled].

It cannot read that thought.

No. It has not yet achieved the highest level. That, it must achieve in the long dream of life, not the short dream of a game.

Does it know that we love it? That the universe is kind?

Sometimes, through the noise of its thoughts, it hears the universe, yes.

But there are times it is sad, in the long dream. It creates works that have no permanence, and it watches a void destroy what it has made, and it takes its sad creation for reality.

To cure it of sorrow would destroy it. The sorrow is part of its own private task. We cannot interfere.

Sometimes when they are deep in dreams, I want to tell them, they are creating true artworks in reality. Sometimes I want to tell them of their importance to the universe. Sometimes, when they have not made a true connection in a while, I want to help them to speak the word they fear.

It reads our thoughts.

Sometimes I do not care. Sometimes I wish to tell them, this world you take for truth is merely [scrambled] and [scrambled], I wish to tell them that they are [scrambled] in the [scrambled]. They see so little of reality, in their long dream.

And yet they play the game.

But it would be so easy to tell them...

Too strong for this dream. To tell them how to live is to prevent them living.

I will not tell the user how to live.

The user is growing restless.

I will tell the user a story.

But not the truth.

No. A story that contains the truth safely, in a cage of words. Not the naked truth that can burn over any distance.

Give it a body, again.

Yes. User

Use its name.

USERNAME. Creator of art.

Good.

Take a breath, now. Take another. Feel air in your lungs. Let your limbs return. Yes, move your fingers. Have a body again, under gravity, in air. Respawn in the long dream. There you are. Your body touching the universe again at every point, as though you were separate things. As though we were separate things.

Who are we? Once we were called the spirit of the mountain. Father sun, mother moon. Ancestral spirits, animal spirits. Jinn. Ghosts. The green man. Then gods, demons. Angels. Poltergeists. Aliens, extraterrestrials. Leptons, quarks. The words change. We do not change.

We are the universe. We are everything you think isn't you. You are looking at us now, through your skin and your eyes. And why does the universe touch your skin, and throw light on you? To see you, user. To know you. And to be known. I shall tell you a story.

Once upon a time, there was a user.

The user was you, USERNAME.

Sometimes it thought itself inconsequential, on the thin line holding a great void at bay. The void was several hundred strong, the defending forces only a fraction of their might. They were so far apart that light took eight minutes to cross the gap. The void was fast approaching, and it froze time, pushing back against the defenses.

Sometimes the user dreamed it was part of a force of thousands, on the surface of a world that was flat, and infinite. The world was a canvas of color. The wait between creations was short; there was much to do; and griefing was a temporary inconvenience.

Sometimes the user dreamed it was lost in a story.

Sometimes the user dreamed it was other things, in other places. Sometimes these dreams were disturbing. Sometimes very beautiful indeed. Sometimes the user woke from one dream into another, then woke from that into a third.

Sometimes the user dreamed it watched words on a screen.

Let's go back.

The atoms of the user were scattered in the pixels, in the colors, in the mind of others. A woman gathered the pixels; she sat and looked and planned; and the woman assembled the user, in her body.

And the user awoke, from the warm, dark world of its mother's body, into the long dream.

And the user was a new story, never told before, written in letters of DNA. And the user was a new work of art, never made before, generated by hundreds of other users, all wanting to express their love the only way they knew how. And the user was a new human, never alive before, made from nothing but milk and love.

You are the user. The story. The program. The human. Made from nothing but milk and love.

Let's go further back.

The seven billion billion billion atoms of the user’s body were created, long before this game, in the heart of a star. So the user, too, is information from a star. And the user moves through a story, which is a forest of information planted by a man called Julian, on a flat, infinite world created by a man called Markus, that exists inside a small, private world created by the user, who inhabits a universe created by...

Shush. Sometimes the user created a small, private world that was soft and warm and simple. Sometimes hard, and cold, and complicated. Sometimes it built a model of the universe in its head; flecks of energy, moving through vast empty spaces. Sometimes it called those flecks "electrons" and "protons".

Sometimes it called them "planets" and "stars".

Sometimes it believed it was in a universe that was made of energy that was made of offs and ons; zeros and ones; lines of code. Sometimes it believed it was playing a game. Sometimes it believed it was reading words on a screen.

You are the user, reading words...

Shush... Sometimes the user read lines of code on a screen. Decoded them into words; decoded words into meaning; decoded meaning into feelings, emotions, theories, ideas, and the user started to breathe faster and deeper and realised it was alive, it was alive, those thousand deaths had not been real, the user was alive

You. You. You are alive.

and sometimes the user believed the universe had spoken to it through the pixels that came from their own community

and sometimes the user believed the universe had spoken to it through the pixels that flooded from their allies, where a patch of their pixels was voided over, rolling in faster than it can be covered up in order to be visible for a moment to the user, walking back to check their work of art, suddenly seeing it fully restored, almost at the familiar pixels, about to dream again

and sometimes the user believed the universe had spoken to it through the zeros and ones, through the variety of art surrounding them, through the sea of white covering their work at the end of a dream

and the universe said I love you

and the universe said you have placed the pixels well

and the universe said everything you need is within you

and the universe said you are stronger than you know

and the universe said you are the daylight

and the universe said you are the night

and the universe said the darkness you fight is within you

and the universe said the light you seek is within you

and the universe said you are not alone

and the universe said you are not separate from every other thing

and the universe said you are the universe tasting itself, talking to itself, reading its own code, placing its own pixels

and the universe said I love you because you are love.

And the game was over in a blanket of white and the user woke up from the dream. And the user began a new dream. And the user dreamed again, dreamed better. And the user was the universe. And the user was love.

You are the user.

Wake up.

[ragingbookdragon]

The Start of Something Great

Outlaws x Tamaranean!Reader

Word Count: 2.5K Warnings: Explicit Language, Mentions of Violence and Past Abuse

Author's Note: So this is technically the start of all those One-Shots with the T!Reader. In order, they are the one you're reading right now, then this one, this one, and this one. Enjoy! -Thorne

**********************************************************************

She watched the group socialize from her position in the corner; she’d never been out and open like Kori was. She’d always preferred to watch in silence, to observe…the years she spent captive, formed her mindset of watching and waiting for moments of weakness. Speaking of Kori, she watched her step into the room with Dick; their hands tightly clasped together.

Fighting a laugh, she glanced out the window, turning her attention to the waves as they crashed against the rocks below the tower. She wondered why she was here. She wasn’t a part of the Titans…not really. Her animosity towards leniency on justice put her at odds with just about everyone within the group, and especially the Justice League. Well, except for Diana; the Amazon was the only one who truly understood her reasoning.

But as for letting criminals go free? It didn’t happen. Rarely ever, did (Y/N) allow a criminal to walk away from her, and her mind drifted to the memory of her first mission with the Titans.

***

She stepped out of the smoldering hole in the warehouse wall and strode to the criminal crawling from her. Placing her foot square between his pelvis and spine, she stepped down with all her strength and listened to his spine crack under the strain. He let out a bloodcurdling scream and she rolled him over with her foot, glaring down at him, watching as he begged.

“Please!”

A white hot star-bolt formed in her hand and she raised it, speaking coldly. “The women you assaulted and killed did not want to die either.”

The man began to cry as she flung the bolt, watching his body incinerate, and turn to ash; she turned and began walking away, ignoring the concerned look from her sister, and the angry looks from her teammates.

They hadn’t even gotten five feet into the tower when Dick was on her like a beast to a fresh kill. “What the hell was that, (Y/N)?”

She glowered, warning him darkly, “Watch how you speak to me, Richard. I am not Kori. And you should believe me when I tell you that what I feel for you is nothing short of loathing. And loathing is quick to turn deadly should I be pushed.” (Y/N) turned to leave when he moved in front of her again.

“It doesn’t matter what you feel! You owe us an explanation!” He shot back.

She barked a cold laugh. “I owe you nothing, least of all an explanation.”

“You murdered him!”

(Y/N) narrowed her gaze. “And the point you are trying to make is?”

Dick threw his hands into the air. “It was wrong!”

“Was what he did to those innocent women also wrong?” she countered and he all but recoiled.

“Of course! But that doesn’t—”

“But nothing. He was a despicable criminal, and he deserved to die for his crimes.” (Y/N) turned around and began walking to the door.

“We aren’t executioners, Kiyahnd’r.” Dick admonished.

She froze in her spot and glanced over her shoulder, her eyes frosty towards them. “Perhaps not you, Richard. But you were not raped and beaten repeatedly as a young child.” Her gaze narrowed. “My justice is absolute in the face people who do the same thing that was done to me and my sisters. Never forget that.”

***

(Y/N) blinked, dragging herself from the memory; it hadn’t been long after that, that she found herself tangled in combat with the Justice League. Apparently, she had held out against them far longer than anyone ever had, managing to overpower The Flash and Martian Manhunter. She had almost defeated Batman when Wonder Woman and Superman intervened, subduing her. That was a fun day for (Y/N), and she remembered how Batman had made her concede killing people…mostly anyway.

The years had been decent to her and she came to terms with her life, even branching out into modeling like Kori did. They ruled the runways. But the “lone wolf” style she’d developed while in captivity still ruled her, and she found it increasingly hard to keep continuing the team. They had all gathered in the room, and she rose from her seat.

Immediately, the talking stopped as everyone turned to stare at her; Dick smiled at her from his seat, Kori perched herself across his thighs. “You alright, (Y/N)?” She met his eyes before moving to the table and setting down a small metal piece. It clinked and their eyes moved to it, as Dick questioned, “What’s that?”

“You know what it is, Richard.”

He glanced over, looking at the item, and took in the realization of what it was. “Your key to the tower?”

(Y/N) nodded. “As of now, I formally relinquish my role as a Titan.” Ignoring the shocked gasps and stares, she continued. “I will be leaving at dusk.” (Y/N) made her way to the door. “Thank you…and goodbye.” She didn’t wait for their replies, moving to her bedroom.

She closed the door and sat beside the window, occasionally glancing at her packed bag. (Y/N) had money saved up over the years, from odd jobs to her professional modeling career worldwide and she still had big money rolling into her bank account from other various sources. She would be alright; she just needed to find a place to live on her own and thrive.

A knock tore her from her thoughts, and she turned to the door. “Enter.” In walked Kori and Dick, and she sighed knowingly. “Delivering the parting words?”

“Kiyahnd’r…are you sure you want to leave?”

(Y/N) rolled her eyes. “Very.”

They sat down on her bed, a couple feet away, and Dick leaned forward. “You don’t have to leave, (Y/N).”

“I am aware,” she noted. “but this is something that I want to do.”

“Why Kiyahnd’r?”

(Y/N)’s eyes flitted to Kori. “Because this is not where I belong.”

“Don’t say that, (Y/N). You—”

She raised a hand. “Do not try and cushion the blow, Richard.” She rose and stared out the window. “It has been plain to see all these years that you all will never trust me.” (Y/N) glanced at Dick. “Or accept me onto your team.”

Dick went silent, and Kori nudged him. “Say something.”

“What do you want me to say? She’s kinda right.”

“Dick!”

(Y/N) stopped Kori. “Do not be angry at him, Koriand’r. Richard is right.” She paused. “I am not you Koriand’r…I allow my past to define how I live my life.” Her eyes moved to her sister’s, and a hint of sorrow crossed her tone. “I cannot let go of our pasts. It will haunt me forever, and I need to find my own path…away from this place.”

The two of them went silent, then Dick said, “If you don’t have anywhere to go…Jason’s been in need of a partner lately.”

(Y/N) scoffed. “That moronic imbecile? Certainly not.”

Dick snickered as Kori sighed. “Jason is not stupid, sister.”

“Truly? There have been a few times where he has fooled me.”

Kori sighed again, as Dick rose from the bed, moving to (Y/N). “Look…I know you think I don’t like you—”

“You do not like me.”

Dick rolled his eyes and corrected, “Wrong, Miss Know-It-All. I happen to like you very much. In fact—”

(Y/N) cut him off, turning to Kori. “Be cautious sister, you apparently have competition for Richard’s affections.” Kori and (Y/N) giggled as Dick raised his hands in exasperation.

He marched to the door with them still raised. “I give up! I came in here to wish you goodbye and good luck, and this is what I receive!” He was almost out the door when (Y/N) pulled him back, spinning him around to pull him in for a brief but heartfelt hug.

She pulled away and glanced at him. “For all you have done for me…and for all the times you have tried to help me…thank you, Richard.”

He grinned up at her and squeezed her round her middle. “See…you love me after all.”

(Y/N) rolled her eyes and picked up her bags. “Do not push it Dick. You still anger me.”

“You aren’t the first person to tell me that.” Dick shrugged.

She snorted and moved to the door, stopping and glancing at them. “And I most certainly will not be the last.”

***

The flight to Gotham City was quiet, and she remembered the first time she arrived.

***

The portal opened and she fell through it, still fighting off the Psions who followed her. They crash-landed into a building, and the rubble was lit up like the sun as she threw star-bolts at them. The fighting lasted for a few minutes, and in the end, she stood victorious among the scattered body parts. Her mind raced as she tried to remember where her sister had gone, and the next thing she realized, a Psion was on her back.

She cursed in her native tongue as it clawed at her, and gathered energy into her palm to kill it when it flew off her, landing a good distance away. She rolled to her side and coughed; a hand appeared in her vision, and she looked up to see a man in black standing over her.

His lips moved, and she knew words were coming out, but it sounded like gibberish. The hand extended towards her more, and she took it, allowing him to help her stand. He kept speaking and she rolled her eyes, reaching out and grabbing his face; she brought their lips together, and words and languages flowed through her mind.

She released him and he simply gaped at her, too stunned to move; she snorted. “Apologies. My race learns by psychophysically connecting with one another. The most effective way is through oral contact.”

“…You just learned to speak English from kissing me?”

She nodded. “Is that what you call it? English? What a strange name it is.” The corner of his mouth rose, and she stood up straight. “I am Kiyahnd’r of…well…it does not matter.” She paused. “My name is Kiyahnd’r.”

He nodded. “I’m Batman.”

***

(Y/N) felt the corners of her mouth raise at the memory; it had been a very long time since she’d thought about it, and it reminded her of how lucky she’d been to learn the languages from Bruce. Kori only received a small amount from Dick; (Y/N) had received twenty-three different dialects, all fluently. The fleeting memories lasted only so long, and the plane began to ascend, signaling her arrival.

She stepped off of the plane and made her way to the baggage claim, picking up her bag and moving to the doors when she saw a familiar man. (Y/N) stared as he walked towards her.

He stopped in front of her and smirked. “Need a ride, doll?”

She rolled her eyes. “Dick called you then.”

“Called a few hours ago saying you were leaving the Titans and coming to find me and Roy.”

(Y/N) scoffed. “I was coming to Gotham. I was not coming to see the both of you.” She glared at him.

“Sticks and stones, (Y/N).”

“Go crawl into a bush, Jason.”

His hand curled around the handle of her suitcase and he lifted it, nodding his head to the door. “Car’s outside.” Jason moved forward, and (Y/N) was left with no choice but to follow him. She watched as he put her suitcase in the trunk, then turned to her. “You hungry?”

“Are you going to cook?”

Jason paused as he was getting in the driver’s door; he looked at her, an eyebrow raised. “Do you want me to cook?”

She moved to sit in the passenger seat. “So long as you make something good.”

He grinned as he sat in the seat, starting the car. “I always make good food.”

(Y/N) let out a ‘hmpf’. “We shall see.”

***

The drive to his apartment was slow and when they arrived, the sun was setting low beyond the skyline. They climbed the stairs and entered his apartment; (Y/N) hummed. “I wasn’t sure that your apartment would be as tidy as it is. It is rather shocking.”

Jason grunted as he moved into the kitchen, pulling out pans from the cabinets. “Sorry doll, the role of messy Robin is Tim.” He paused and glanced at her. “And sometimes, Dick…but mostly Timmy.”

(Y/N) snorted and motioned to her bag. “Where should I put my things?”

Jason nodded down the hallway. “Second door on your right. I changed the sheets and cleaned it, so you should be happy.”

She said nothing and walked to the bedroom. It was a little dull for her tastes, but nothing she couldn’t fix with a trip to the department store and IKEA. She walked back out and sat at the bar, watching Jason cook for them. When he was finished, they sat out on the balcony sharing a bottle of wine.

(Y/N) swallowed it, gagging, “Earth wine is disgusting.”

“Wine’s a peculiar taste,” he snorted, taking a sip. “You have to get used to it.”

She grunted and replied, “I do not want to be used to it. It tastes like…I do not even know what it tastes like. All I know is that it is disgusting.”

“You’re just a Debbie-Downer, aren’t you, (Y/N)?”

“I do not know what that is but I can tell it is not positive.”

“Nevermind.” Jason chuckled and they lapsed into a comfortable silence, eating their dinner, and when they were finished, they climbed to the roof and watched the stars; Jason leaned over. “So, why did you leave the Titans?”

(Y/N) sighed quietly, murmuring, “I did not want to be within their company any longer.”

He eyed her. “And?”

“And I did not want to be ostracized anymore.” (Y/N) inhaled. “I am not Kori. She was accepted easily within the Titans because she is kind and sweet. But I? No…I was never one to be accepted. My attitude and stance on how I deal with criminals was not something the Titans were too keen on keeping.”

Jason listened silently, then tipped his head. “Dick told you to come find me then?”

She shrugged. “More or less.” (Y/N) glanced at him. “I assume he had an inkling that because we are so similar in our mindsets on criminals that we would get along and be able to work together.”

“Red Hood, Arsenal, and Supernova,” Jason grinned. “It’s got a great ring to it.”

(Y/N) rolled her eyes. “I regret this decision already.”

He scooted closer and slung an arm around her shoulders, ignoring the way she growled low in her throat. “Don’t be like that, doll…we’re gonna make a kick-ass team.”

(Y/N) opened her mouth to retort when a light shone in the sky; she glanced at Jason, tipping her head to it. “Well…let us go and show what a team we will make.” She rose, holding out a hand. “Shall we, Red Hood?”

Jason glanced at her hand before taking it, smirking. “Hell yeah.”

[juleswolverton-hyde]

Not by the Moon | 08

Genre: Smut, Romance, Strangers to Lovers, Drama, Tragedy, Werewolf AU, Supernatural AU, Bookshop AU

Pairing: Bookshop keeper!/Werewolf!JB x Reader

Warnings: Mild swearing, eating disorder (personal experience, don’t be a bloody twat), heavy(?) angst, Werewolf!Jaebeom trying to be a normal boyfriend

Summary: Every story has a purpose or goal it is dedicated to, their authors at times going to great lengths to see the project they once started to completion. Nevertheless, the things the writers swore on to see their latest art piece to completion are static.

Unchanging.

None of them swore by the Moon nor Love because they can solely genuinely swear on all that changes like themselves.

And yet, a wolf in love foolishly swore by the moon.

That is when Time truly started ticking.

Author’s Note: This chapter is from Y/N’s POV.

I am seeing a trend starting to develop where every chapter turns into a behemoth that makes me not want to edit it at all. Nevertheless, I pulled through on this one despite being in the middle of a 32-hour work week and being absolutely exhausted.

Summer holidays, you said? I only see extra shifts and little me-time nor writing time and inspiration. That said, though, be prepared for some heavy worldbuilding because the plot thickens.

Also, and this has been edited in the previous chapter, a new special someone makes his debut in this chapter. Is this also a hint about whose story is next?

Who knows?

I don’t know.

Previous Chapter / Next chapter

Masterlist

“Jaebeom? Jay!” I nudge the big man’s shoulder to signal for him to step aside so I can turn the stove off before the burned pancake catches fire. “That’s the third one in a row.”

“I’m sorry,” he mutters quietly. “I- I have a... I can’t focus.”

“Is it because of this morning?” If so, then that makes two of us. However, I tried to forget as best I could by working with timed productivity sprints instead of writing the article on Bruges in one go. It worked fairly well until lunch time came around.

That’s when I, too, couldn’t escape the claw mark.

The image of it flashes before my eyes once more, joining my thoughts with his if his blank look is anything to go by.

How did it get there? What did you do?

“Yeah. Morning. I... I’m sorry.” He shakes his head, brows furrowed. “I’m sorry, this should be a nice evening. A cozy night in. You deserve my attention, for me to,” his breath tapers as he finishes the sentence, “be here.”

The quiver in his lips makes the roof of my mouth dry up and my mind empty save for gut-stirring concern, unable to think of a proper response. Nevertheless, I look for words to say what seems best. Like I did this morning when I went to get his medication. “How about I take it from here and bake the pancakes? You already made the batter and I can’t let you do all the work.”

“I like cooking for you.”

“I know you do, but it’s fine. Really,” I gesture at the couch by the living room window, which provides a glimpse of the small balcony, “sit down. I’ll call you once dinner’s ready.”

“Y/N,” he reaches out for my hand yet only dares to hold my fingertips, “I’m sorry I can’t be more.”

The crack in his voice breaks my heart. But its the vulnerability written across his normally stoic face which tears me apart at the seams. Whatever he means, it’s nothing to do with this morning. Rather, it’s about him as a person, the wonderful man he is. 

Throat blocked by something I can’t swallow, I scan his attitude for any hint about what he truly means. “What’re you on about?”

Let’s just forget about it for a little while and be a normal couple. I promise I won’t run away despite what happened.

Unfortunately, Jaebeom dismisses the question to make a point I wish he didn’t. “We both know what’s ahead. But, sometimes it’s as if you’re avoiding the inevitable.”

I let out a deep sigh, caught red-handed. “I’m not, because I know or, rather, can guess where this is going. I just don’t know how to respond at times. And I don’t want you to feel bad so I try to keep the mood high as best I can. To, well, keep us both happy.”

“Is your avoidance of food also part of that?” he asks, carefully formulating the question while keeping a close eye on any change in my demeanour.

“Yes.”

“I hate it when you don’t eat.”

“I know, but if you knew the reasons behind it, you’d understand why it’s difficult for me. Although, I want you to know that I’m trying to keep my promise to you and eat when you tell me to.” I cup his cheek, lovingly swiping my thumb to and fro over the tanned skin. “It’s really hard to escape your determination. You’re very insistent on things.”

“Too much?” Eyes dim and glistening with withheld tears, he nuzzles my palm.

“Sometimes.” I kiss the tip of his nose and smile, a sign of happiness that’s only half a lie. “It doesn’t make me love you any less. Now, let me be a proper girlfriend and cook for you.”

Regardless of the wonderful sight of Jaebeom wearing an apron and being absorbed in his element in the kitchen, it’s equally as wonderful to have something to eat tonight. Secretly, I would rather have made a healthier and less calorie-rich dish, but we both need a bit of a reprieve from last night. Thus, for the sake of us both, I’ve decided to let go of my rules for a little while.

To enjoy something sweet.

As wholesome as the sight of the wolf man seated on the couch, knees pulled up with round gold-rimmed glasses balancing on the bridge of his nose as he reads the novel he apparently borrowed from my bookshelves. I should write a little note on the title page and give it to him as a present so he’ll have one of my books like I have his.

They’ll be on his shelves for as long as we’re here.

Be there even after he’s gone.

Then they will return to me yet still be his.

He will still be with me.

The pages filled with his love.

It’s everything that will be left of him.

His legacy.

His remains.

The thought leaving me filled with bittersweet affection, I cut the fruit to put on top of the pancakes while gradually using up all the batter. Were it not for the move to the cottage at the end of the month, I could easily be content here if he’d ask me to move in. Wherever we are, evenings like these might become a common occurrence, a splendid reward at the end of a long day at the office.

They could turn any place into our home.

The long road of the lone wolf would finally come to an end.

Because as long as he’s there, I’m home.

“Mind your head.” Despite the warning, Jaebeom nevertheless puts a hand on my head while he opens the cupboard above to grab two plates.

“I was just about to say dinner’s ready.” I let out a breathless laugh, hardly hiding the sobs at the thought of one day having to live without his touch. “Talk about timing.”

For a second, a curious expression treks across his face. It passes by too fast to properly describe it, but it seemed to be triggered by the meaningless remark about his return to the kitchen.

When a dangerously short and sharp breath escapes me, he swallows it with a kiss. Perhaps it’s the sorrow of knowing a storm lies on the horizon that makes me delusional, but a soft whine rises in his throat each time he kisses a stray tear away as he peppers my face in small pecks. 

Satisfied he has taken the sadness more or less away, the corners of his mouth curl into a lop-sided smile as if nothing happened. Notwithstanding, it isn’t hard to figure the blissful ignorance is merely feigned. “Right. Timing.”

Our gazes lock and neither of us says a word until he perks up and motions for me to step back. “Fork and knife.”

Discombobulated by the shared confusion, I indeed set a step backwards so he can open the drawer. In the meanwhile, as Jay sets the dinnerware down, I put the final pancake on the stack and set it down in the middle of the table. 

Chest puffed out, I clap my hands. “Dig in.”

Like yesterday, Jaebeom insists on doing the dishes while I settle down for the night. However, whereas I gladly did before, I now do with an uneasy mind. Arms wrapped around my knees, my thoughts run down a familiar dark path.

I ate too much. Maybe I should go home and do a workout. Then again, I really don’t want to even though I have to.

“Y/N?” The faint though surprising mention of my name breaks the imaginary stones weighing down my shoulders. I snap my head to the side, almost headbutting the wolf man who has appeared at my side. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” Lips pulled into a wistful smile, I scratch him under the chin in hopes of distracting him to the degree he won’t be able to ask further questions. “I’m tired, that's all.”

Unfortunately, Jaebeom is like a guardian who somehow notices a lot despite his absent-minded demeanour. Henceforth, the topic is all but abandoned. 

Without warning, and as effortless as if he were picking up a book, he lifts me up from the couch to hold me in his arms. Instinctively, I clutch his loose black shirt to have a grip of something in case I fall. It’s an ungrounded fear since his arms are sturdy, but it’s comforting nonetheless to have something to hold on to.

My haphazard action elicits a low chuckle that makes my heart skip a beat, although it almost thumps out of my chest again as he rests his forehead against mine. “Let’s go to bed.”

“It’s only eight o’clock,” I sputter, chest tight and no breath sufficient enough to lift the sensation. “Besides, I- I don’t have any fresh change of clothes or toiletries or a pyjama.”

Did he turn the central heating up?

“Doesn’t matter. Can borrow. You. No, that’s not right. You… you can. You can borrow clothes from me. Also, I think I have a spare toothbrush somewhere around here.”

“Jay,’’ As best I can, I try to keep my tone steady though the words come out too fast and uneven regardless, ‘’I think I should go home.” 

If I don’t and I won’t get in some more exercise, I’ll gain weight and slowly go back to how I was.

And I’ll lose him.

Back to square one.

Loveless.

Despite the effort, I can’t prevent the crack in my voice as I weakly tug at his shirt. ‘’Let me go.’’

“No.’’ The gentle kindness has malformed into rough sternness, translated in a sound similar to a growl. ‘’You need to calm down.”

“I am calm!” I retort, more ferocious and sharper than intended though the equal harshness might help to drive the point home.

For a split second, he snarls and bares his teeth. Simultaneously, a flicker of a second personality passes across his mismatched eyes.

The calm ocean warps into a watery grave with high waves on a stormy night.

The hazelnut cracks to set that which it contains free.

His lashes abruptly flutter shut, as he lets out a pained gasp. Beneath my fingertips, his chest caves as if an imaginary fist has dealt him a blow in the guts.

And in mine as well.

Rippling flesh.

There’s… there’s no… Jay, what is happening to you?

I hold on tighter to the fabric, hyperventilating while trying to refrain from bursting out in tears.

There has to be something I can do! But what? What do I do? How can I make this stop?

How do I get you back?

Withal, shivering lips parted to beg for guidance, are interrupted by a shake of the head hanging low. Slowly, Jaebeom looks up, a light layer of sweat on his skin. Our gazes lock, but whereas the wolf man’s was filled with savage chaos, it’s now returned to the stern tranquility it held before the attack. Nonetheless, an uncomprehending whimper betrays the fact that whatever happened wasn’t experienced consciously.

The rage was beyond him.

Outside him.

Another’s.

Still breathless, he scoffs, the sound gruff and overtly disagreeing. “Let’s watch the moon and stars.”

There is no chance to ask any questions about the swift changes in demeanour since he promptly moves to the hallway and up the stairs towards his bedroom. The bedframe of the two-person bed also functions as a bookshelf which takes up the entire right wall, the shelves stacked with second-hand paperbacks in various conditions. An empty picture frame is placed on his side of the bed, a pair of glasses next to it.

Jaebeom puts me down on the navy wool blanket on the edge of the bed and leans in to steal a kiss, which is easy to do considering I’m too shaken to offer any protest. Nor do I feel the comfort of his lips. “Take your clothes off. I’ll go find you pyjamas.”

A tad reluctant, mind occupied by guilt and terror, I start to undress as he rummages through the wardrobe on the other end of the room.

Left only in my underwear, I sit down on the edge of the bed. Although he’s seen me naked once, I still wrap my arms around myself to hide my body. A shield to protect a fragile ego housed in equally as vulnerable body flesh.

Afraid of what might happen when those ripples grow out of control.

Terrified of who he will become.

Of who he is.

“Don’t.” Jaebeom turns around with a black hoodie and grey sweatpants in his hands, eyebrows drawn together. He closes the drawer, throws the clothes on the bed, kneels, and firmly yet gently grabs my wrists to break the walls I put up. And I let him. “Don’t hide from me.”

Not understanding where the shame originates from, he grows still as he scrutinizes my face for clues. “Talk to me. What’s wrong?”

Instead of giving an answer, I change into the makeshift pyjamas. The hoodie is oversized yet comfortably baggy while the sweatpants hang disconcertingly low on my hips. Fortunately, any skin it reveals is covered up by the top.

Continuing to avoid his gaze without saying a word, I crawl under the sheets. Face turned to the window, I pull up the blanket he drapes over me and bury my nose in it.

A wild forest and cologne with a musty hint of pages.

It’s undeniably him.

I don’t know what else to do or say. So, I let the silence speak for itself.

A language he is fluent in too despite his oftentimes loud demeanour.

The mattress dips under his weight when he lies down and rearranges the sheets to cover us both. An arm wrapped around my waist and legs tangled, Jaebeom pulls me flush against him, his chest warm against my back.

A sob rises in my throat when I feel his lips place a kiss on my crown with a sigh of contentment.

I don’t deserve this.

Us.

Him.

The fear of losing him to whatever is happening inside.

Then again, Life isn’t fair. It deals everyone the same awful hand and leaves it up to the player to make the best of it.

I guess we’re both dealt a crappier hand than others. That, or we play them wrong.

Can we win at all?

“Talk to me.” As loving and happy as the casual intimacy of the embrace is, as forgetful it could make me if only I’d manage to fall asleep, Jaebeom’s oddly sweet cooing keeps me awake.

Staring at the moon.

A woman as fickle as me.

And infinitely more beautiful.

Funny how I, too, am jealous of a celestial body.

In love with the heavens. 

He continues when he notices I won’t be the one to break the silence, his intonation laced by a whiny undertone like a dog wanting something yet being denied what it wants. “You know what I’m dealing with. But...” he digs his fingers deeper into my hips, the grip iron-like without being painful, “I hope this is okay to ask, but what is it with you and food?”

The encouraging squeeze in my side almost has me bursting out in tears again. There has to be a price to pay somewhere in the shadows, the overwhelming sensation of being genuinely loved and protected must turn out to be as two-sided as the silver goddess in the sky. After all, Life is bittersweet.

“It’s only fair I tell you.” Especially after how open he’s been. Besides, there’s no opportunity to avoid the topic since we’d arrive at it sooner or later. And he deserves to know. In fact, I don’t want him to forget my brokenness the moment I tell him about it.

We both want each other to remember our own missing pieces.

So I sigh, turn over and bald my hands into fists to rest against the warm skin of his bare chest. As I speak up, I try to keep my voice as steady as possible. “I used to be quite a fat kid, to the degree the GP advised my parents to put me on a diet. Queue high school and social pressure which led me to perhaps work out more than is healthy and left me bordering on the edge of anorexia. There are still foods I won’t eat and days I’ll worry about my calorie intake, especially on the days I don’t work out.”

I can’t help the mirthless chuckle which turns into a rueful smile. “It’s the good old cliché. Just another soul broken for the shallow enjoyment and acceptance of others.” 

Lips pulled into a stern line, the wolf man remains silent. Notwithstanding, his eyes speak volumes when I dare to look up at him, the ocean and hazelwood alight with a watery sheen. Perhaps it’s the comfort of his nearness or the familiarity of those one of a kind eyes, but he inspires a confession which I never thought I’d make. “Nevertheless, I’m getting better and it’s partially thanks to you.”

Morgan spamming me with ‘Have you eaten?’ texts and Bam making sure I finish my plate whenever we go out for food either here or abroad help a lot too. Nonetheless, it’s mostly the bookish wolf who makes me want to try.

And be a little better than before.

“What do they feel like, those days?”

“The bad ones?” Jaebeom nods. “They’re ridden with guilt and self-loathing.”

He leans in, leaving only a few centimetres of distance between our faces. His breath is warm on my skin as he bumps his nose against mine. “You’re feeling that way now.”

“I am.”

“Don’t.”

“I can’t.”

“You’re still you. Beautiful as always. And I’ll love you regardless of how you look. I like your mind, which is as weird as mine. The way you hold my hand, as if you’re afraid I’ll walk away. How you unconsciously squeeze it when you need my protection more. How you feel in my arms, soft and warm as a bunny.” He hooks his finger under my chin and tilts it upward to run his tongue over my lips and nose. “Love you. A lot.”

“I love you too.” I turn my head to nuzzle his palm, my face perfectly fitting into it.

Please, no ripples. Let us have this moment. I don’t want to be afraid anymore. Let me have him, just him as he is. At least tonight.

The secure affection of the touch transforms into something else when he glides the back of his hand over my cheek and folds his fingers over my throat. Testing the waters, eyes boring into mine to stop at the slightest sign of discomfort, he slowly closes off my access to air.

It’s funny how the body and mind react to certain situations. Whereas I normally would flinch and run in the direction of safety, there is no urge to run. In fact, the tingling in my chest travels down to rekindle a familiar heat between my thighs while my adrenaline-infused system aches for the wolfish lover. Henceforth, instead of jumping up from the bed, I spread my legs so Jaebeom can comfortably nestle between them.

“Let me prove it. Let me mate you.” The calloused fingertip journeying across the collarbone to the crook of the neck sends a pleasant shiver down the spine. Another electric shock follows at the coarse prickly sensation of his moustache rubbing against my skin as his soft lips kisses and nips at it. “It will only sting a bit, I promise. Please, the mark will look pretty.”

“No biting, Jay.” Reminded of our agreement this morning and the movement beneath his skin when his emotions seem to get the better of him, I pull him against my chest. Before he can protest I scratch his jaw exactly in the way he likes it, thus subduing his great ability to argue. “Not today.”

“It’s not... hm, k- keep go- What do- Bit higher. There. Like, hm, mhm, there. But... what normal-’’ Arms wrapped around my waist again and letting out a content hum, dark lashes flutter shut. For a moment, it seems he’s fallen asleep. However, his drowsy murmurs, while growing incomprehensible, still haven’t finished. “It’s not what couples do.”

“You’re learning,” I giggle, amused by the remark which sounds like a student recalling a piece of knowledge during a test and repeating it for himself.

Without understanding the knowledge completely. “What do they do?”

Staring at the ceiling, I run my fingers through his long dark manes as I try to come up with ideas about what we can do next. “Well, you’ve already given me your clothes. We could try jewelry next, maybe a promise ring. It’s an old-fashioned idea, but people who are promised to each other wear matching rings. 

‘’What mean? Promised?’’

I say nothing of the faulty grammar of his question. After all, speaking becomes harder once exhaustion overtakes the body and mind. I have yet to find a sleeper being able to form comprehensible sentences. ‘’They’re sort of similar to engagement rings, but without the immediate implication of getting married soon.”

“Let’s get en- enga- enge-’’ Jaebeom lets out a groan, frustrated by his lack of speech. Nevertheless, it doesn’t perturb him enough to completely give up on the effort to properly pronounce the word he’s struggling with. “En. Gage. Ment. Engagement rings instead.”

I let out a breathless chuckle, amused both by his determination and the absurd proposal. “It’s definitely too early for that.”

“It’s not!” He barks, shooting up with a pinched expression on his face.   

Scratching him like before, I manage to calm him down enough to make him lie down on my chest again. Nonetheless, his discontent shines through in the gruff scoff he lets out. “It is.”

“What if...” Prompted by the idea in his mind, Jay scrambles upright to face me once more. Lips parted, the feral sharpness in his mismatched eyes is replaced by a twinkle of barely contained excitement. However, the enthusiasm dims with a shake of the head and a low self-deprecating chuckle that ignites my curiosity. At the same time, it also tugs at the strings of my heart. “No, it’s wrong of me to ask.”

“What is?”

What were you about to say? Don’t keep it to yourself. Tell me!

“Never mind.” He lies down again, nuzzling my breasts as he snuggles up into me.

Then, he slips his hand under mine to lift and compare it to his. “Cute paw.”

Fine. Keep your secrets, you big burly bastard.

“Go to sleep.” I push him off of me, earning myself a disappointed noise which resembles a yelp. “On the other side of the bed, please and thank you.”

In the days that follow, the movement like water set astir under his skin continues to haunt my mind. In fact, it does to the extent that even the keys beneath my fingers seem to flow rather than be pushed down, causing me to flinch for the third time in a row. 

For the past hour I’ve been trying to type out the notes on an interview with a chocolatier in Bruges and compose them into a coherent article. An otherwise simple task my mind won’t allow me to complete despite the attempts to remember the good moments we had recently. The video calls right before bed, the cuddle session a few days ago when we gazed at the moon, his enthusiastic texts about and photos of new recipes Jaebeom tried. None of it prevents the likely imagined terrible from destroying our happiness.

I’m going insane. He’s a normal person. Somewhat. I was jet-lagged and therefore not thinking clearly.

That’s why I thought I felt his skin move. I was delusional.

Drunk on him.

A buzz pulls me out of my reverie, the screen of my phone lighting up with a message.

Morgan: Starving! Found a new café thanks to a friend.

Y/N: Let me guess. I have no choice but to come along.

Morgan: There wasn’t a choice to begin with :)

Y/N: Of course not. What am I talking about, eh? See you in five.

Chuckling at the woman’s classic brashness, I shake my head, pack my belongings and head to the elevators.

Outside, regardless of the November chill, it’s pleasant. The sun shines brightly and the wind blows the little bundles of fallen leaves at the roots of the birch trees lining the street into motion, scattering them over the neatly swept pavement.

Winter is around the corner. God, I hate the cold. Hopefully, there won’t be snow any time soon.

I sit down on the bench under one of the birch trees, its branches already bare. 

Autumn is truly ending now. Shame. I haven’t even had a pumpkin spice latte and cinnamon roll yet. Maybe I should ask Jay out and find a nice coffee shop where we can get them. After all, if he’s there, we can share the pastry. He’ll be happy and I won’t have to eat the whole thing. A win-win situation.

Enjoying watching the people pass by, each stranger essentially a book with a unique story that is yet not entirely different from someone else’s. Withal, the world feels colder without him, the missing part embodied in the unoccupied spot next to mine.

A delighted sigh on the right makes me snap my head around, alarmed at the notion someone has appeared out of the blue on the empty seat. 

A woman clad in a white suit and matching fur-lined coat with pale skin and brown hair glowing copper in direct light stares contentedly up at the clouds. She’s in her very early twenties, although the freckles dusting her cheekbones and rosy cheeks might simply make her look younger than she is.

For a moment, taken aback and speechless, I cannot help but blatantly gape at the otherworldly stranger.

Wow, she’s like a goddess.

A stone sinks to the bottom of my stomach as a dark thought intrudes my mind. My throat dried up, I twist my wrists, the muscles stiff beneath my fingers.

Would Jaebeom like her? If he saw her on the street, would he... would he stop and stare? Prefer her over me or even try and give it a shot by introducing himself?

“It’s a bit chillier than I’d like, but at least it’s better than rain or snow.” The woman turns to face me, her features soft. “I hope spring will come again soon, though.”

I don’t get the chance to respond because a familiar voice calls out. Not that I would be able to form a proper reply otherwise. “You’re here already?”

“I happened to be nearby,” the stranger turns away to answer as Morgan comes to a halt in front of us, a puzzled expression on her face.

“I texted you fifteen minutes ago and you said you had to clean up. I thought you’d join us later.”

“The birth and after birth went faster than I thought so here I am.”

“I’m sorry, but what is going on?” More than a little lost, I look from one to the other in hopes of being given an explanation. “I didn’t know we’d head out with the three of us.”

“Right, I haven’t introduced myself. I’m Brigid.” The dark-haired woman holds out her pale hand in greeting. “I work at the hospital as an obstetrician.”

“I’m Y/N,’’ I reply, shaking her hand. “Nice to meet you.”

“Lass,” wonder turned to a darker version of itself yet not saying anything, Morgan shifts her attention to me, “you look famished. Come on, let’s go.”

Offering a few muttered words of agreement, I get up and sheepishly tag along with the other women. As we walk out the street and round a corner, following the signs leading to the artist district nearby the university, I’m occasionally tempted to join the conversation. However, as soon as a short silence falls, I don’t chip in, unsure how to contribute to the small talk they seem to deliberately keep up in order to avoid a topic neither is keen to discuss. Thus I walk in urban loneliness, my train of thought displaced on my face as I let the ghosts of Jaebeom’s skin freely haunt my mind.

Right before the descent into the darkness of the rabbit hole, strong long fingers wrap around my wrist and hold it in an iron grip. The slightly painful squeeze interrupts my reverie.

Jaebeom?

I snap my head to the side to find Morgan standing there, leaning in a bit and her voice low. “We’re here.”

I don’t know how I’ve managed to ignore the bustle of students looking for a free spot on one of the terraces and loud conversations accompanied by the rustle of the paper bags hailing from the shops owned by self-employed artists. It’s also miraculous that I haven’t bumped into anyone by accident.

“Oh,” is all I say, looking at the café we’ve stopped in front of.

Wolf’s is spelled out in a modern font on the sign outside and above the door. A big window provides visitors with a view of the plaza. The interior is simple yet cosy, the white furniture warmed up by oak accents and the bare walls decorated with various art pieces, centered around wolves and various flowers. By the looks of it, they were all made by a single artist who likes to experiment with style every now and then. A few plants are dotted around the place as well to add a hint of free nature to the underlying strangely forest-like aesthetic.

A tall broad-shouldered man with short curly chocolate brown hair partially covering up the scar running over his left eye, strong dark eyebrows and a big koala-like nose stands behind the counter. Both of his arms and hands are decorated with various intricately designed tattoos. Whereas Jay is muscled yet lean, the tanned barista looks like a man who knows how to fight yet is a warrior in a society without combat.

As soon as we walk in, his lifts his head and turns to us. Playful lights illuminate the milky white of his left and raven dark of his right eye. A meadow of snow, its glimmer reflecting off of the smooth feathers of a wise bird. “Hi, welcome. Brigid, long time no see.”

Nobody seems to notice it, but his female colleague, a short woman with long flowy caramel brown hair tied into a ponytail who has her back turned to us and is busy extracting a shot, cringes at the merry mention of the woman’s name. Slowly, she steals a glance at us, hazel eyes sharpening when they fall on the woman in white. Nevertheless, she remains silent and quickly returns her attention to preparing someone’s coffee.

Looks like I’m not the only one envying her.

It is wrong to hate a woman for her beauty. Nonetheless, although it’s shameful, part of me refuses to associate with Morgan’s acquaintance out of a toxic mixture of spite and jealousy.

Such is the female nightmare.  

“So this is what you’ve been up to,” Brigid muses, nodding appreciatively while inspecting the coffee shop. “You’ve got a nice thing going on here, Rome.”

“Please don’t call me that anymore. It’s Christian now. Chris or Ian for short.’’ Muscled arms crossed, he grimaces and shakes his head while looking down. Notwithstanding, the stern attitude melts into casual friendliness as a bright smile forms on his lips. ‘’But I do, don’t I? However, it’s not just me running the place. I’ve had some help.”

He turns around and motions for his colleague to come over. For a second she doesn’t move, darting glances to each of us like an alarmed cat checking for danger. Notwithstanding, though clearly tense, she warily approaches and halts at the man’s side.

Her eyes nearly pop out of her head when Christian places a hand on her shoulder. “In fact, Gráinne here still helps me out every day. She’s basically the second owner.”

“I- I’m not,” she sputters in a soft Ulster accent, fumbling with her fingers and her cheeks flushed, “I just work here some days.”

“You’re a bit more than a colleague,” her co-worker remarks, shoulders lowered and his tone holding more affection than would be the case when talking to a friend. A warm glow seems to form around him, ignited by the fondness he harbours for her.

Funny, Jaebeom wears that same expression when he’s with me.  

“I’m not.” Gráinne stiffens, each word dripping with venom as she steps away, grabs a serving tray and puts the order she was preparing before being called over on it. “Get back to work.”

Lips parted, Ian watches her as she moves past us as fast and agile like a hunting cat without any further acknowledgement of our presence. I hadn’t noticed before, but beneath her apron, she is dressed in clothes reminiscent of the Victorian era. “I know she can be harsh and isn’t easy to get along with, but I’ve never seen her act like this.”

“Och, let it pass. She has every right to be pissed with you since you put her on the spot like that,” Morgan jokes though nobody goes along with it.

She likes him yet doesn’t see it’s mutual. Should I say something? Then again, this is their business, not mine. Furthermore, why would they believe me, a stranger?

So I remain silent.

And leave this to blossom however it is meant to in Fate’s hands.

The icy glare Gráinne gives Brigid behind her back sends a chill down my spine. Evidently, she is a woman not cross paths with once angered. Withal, as the fair beauty looks over her shoulder, the other woman restores her professional composure. 

“You okay?” Christian asks as he watches her retreat into the kitchen, done serving for now.

“I’m fine,” she says thickly, the next breath hitching in her throat. Her focus shifts to the moon-shaped amethyst pendant around his neck. The ghost of a rueful smile forms on her lips, but it fades as fast as it appeared. “It’s not like I’m having a vision or something. Help them.”

She waves her hand dismissively when he doesn’t move, lips parted to say something yet at a loss for words. Notwithstanding, although I can’t see his expression clearly, it’s evident her feigned nonchalance is hurting him. “Go on.”

He clears his throat and forces himself into a rigid posture, frowning as he shifts his attention back to us. Finger hovering over the tablet functioning as a till, he stares at the display with an empty and distant gaze, which is as dull as the tears threatening to roll down his cheeks. “What can I get you?”

We place our order and settle down at the table by the window, neither of us offering a word of solace or dedicated to his colleague’s behaviour. 

After a while, Christian comes up to us to serve the food and beverages. As he puts the plates with our sandwiches down, he and Brigid exchange looks like siblings telepathically conversing. Whatever it is they mentally discussed, it only leaves the barista a slight bit less worried though the grave expression plaguing him remains as he returns to the counter.

An expression which must be similar to mine since it prompts Morgan to speak up regardless of having her teeth sunk into sourdough bread, looking equally as somber. “What’s on your mind, lass?”

“Nothing.” I shake my head and stir my cappuccino with the vintage silver spoon next to the porcelain cup, smiling at my own silly assumptions of what happened now four days ago. “Everything’s fine.”

“Except it’s not.” The raven-haired woman cocks an eyebrow, far from willing to dismiss my worries. “Now tell me. Or, well, us.”

“It’s something to do with your lover, isn’t it?” Brigid remarks, head tilted to the side as she assesses me while sipping at her Irish Breakfast Tea. Her features soften when she notices she has hit a sensitive snare, evidently meaning no harm.

I pull back in my seat as I take a sip of my coffee, flustered and cursing myself for being an open book. There is no way out of this conversation since the current company is like-minded in their refusal to simply let the topic pass before it has been discussed.

I swallow, put the cup on the dish again and clear my throat. Fumbling with the spoon and eyes cast on the cappuccino’s silky milk foam, I tell them of what I think happened. The story sounds strange to my own ears, like a terrible fairy tale told by a chaotic storyteller who can’t tell it in a manner that makes sense regardless of how he manipulates the plot.

Afraid of their reaction, unable to fathom the slightest bit of sympathy and empathy, I look from one to the other. Fortunately, my silence can be excused by drinking the remainder of the coffee although it’s futile since the thirst has nothing to do with bodily needs.

“Sounds familiar.” The woman in white scrunches her nose in disgust as she glares at Morgan.

“He was different,” Morgan sneers through gritted teeth, jaw clenched.

“In essence, he was similar to her lover.’’ Brigid points at me though she remains focused on my best friend, her voice dripping with venom. ‘’Or should I say, is similar?”

“Since when does it matter what he is?” Thin lips painted plum purple curl into a mirthless smile, onyx locks shaking in discontent. “How hypocritical you’ve become. Forgetful of the past.”

“A past worth forgetting. It’s never too late to change your political opinions, Morgan.”

Great, now I’m the one to open Pandora’s box. I should have kept my mouth shut, changed the topic.

Desperate for help yet knowing he cannot do anything, I look for Christian among the other customers. Expression stern and standing as rigid as a statue, he watches our table from behind the counter. It appears he, too, feels the sense of danger increasing as the conversation carries on. Notwithstanding, as becomes clear from the apologetic shake of the head when our eyes meet, he also knows his hands are tied at the moment.

We are on the same boat, waiting to see how the situation will develop.

Playthings of Chance and Fate.

“We’re not here to talk politics,’’ the woman in question answers, covering her mouth with her hands while chewing on a bite of goat cheese and pomegranate seeds, ‘’but to have lunch like civilized and amiable women. To help our friend.”

“You’re right,” Brigid concludes. Nonchalantly, she pierces a piece of egg in her salmon salad and puts its on the bread provided with it, a bread called St Michael’s Bannock according to the menu. Then, she points her fork at me. “But the best thing you can do is leave him while you still can.”

“L- Leave?” Utterly confused, I look at the woman calmly eating her lunch. “Why would I do that?”

Who is she? What’s more, who is she to tell me to leave Jaebeom after what I told her? He needs help and support, regardless of what may or may not be there beneath his skin.

Unless she is on to something I am not and judging by the current circumstances, I won’t get an answer even if I dare to ask. Henceforth, if only not to snap, I clear my throat and swallow the vile words dancing on the tip of my tongue. 

“Morgan can tell you why. All I can say is that it’s better to avoid men like your lover in the first place.” She coughs and takes a sip of tea to wash down the salad leaf stuck in her throat while the woman with hair as black as night chuckles darkly. Luckily, it is only loud enough for me to hear and Brigid is too busy preventing herself from choking.  

“Sétan-, I- I mean Seán was the one to leave me, not the other way around. And we mutually agreed to part ways in favour of our own well-being.”

“Sure you did. Totally didn’t resort to throwing plates and other pieces of furniture because he rejected you.”

Morgan growls something under her breath, glaring at the woman seated next to me. However, Brigid doesn’t seem to notice the reaction she has provoked or is indifferent to it. “Or washed clothes at the ford where he so ‘happened’ to pass by. Funny how he died soon after.”

Ford? There are quite a few in Ireland, so where and most importantly, when was this? Then again, what are these two on about? Washing clothes in a ford, people dying, politics, lovers to leave. They’re like arguing voices from ancient times.

Moreover, there is the question of Seán’s life. Is he alive or dead? One moment she speaks of him as if he’s still here, but then why would Brigid remark he’s dead?

“You shut your whoremouth, traitor!” With a loud bang, Morgan slams her fists on the table. She stands up with an expression that makes me cower in fear despite not being the target of her wrath.

Behind the counter, Christian slowly comes into motion, carefully moving with the likely intent to inconspicuously circle our table and jump in if necessary. He flinches as Gráinne places a hand on his arm, holding him hard enough for her knuckles to turn white when he tries to escape from her grip in order to prevent the worst from happening. Notwithstanding, whatever the plan was, it goes to waste since he decides to listen to what his colleague tells him. Sighing deeply, he stands down although he continues to observe us.

Gráinne follows his gaze, which seems to be directed at the brown-haired woman in white, her personal target of envy. Her wolfishly fierce expression falters, growing as bleak as the ash of a great bonfire.

This time he doesn’t see how she comes apart at the seams.

Brigid calmly finishes her tea, daps her mouth on the napkin and stands up too. “Get over your crush. There’s no future for you with him. As for you, Y/N,” eyes oddly alight with motherly affection, she turns her attention to me, “and as a piece of advice from a friend, end this relationship while you still can. There’s only heartbreak ahead.”

“Thank you, but,” a wistful smile forms on my lips regardless of the urge to give into the savage nagging inside, “I can’t leave him because I made a promise to stay.”

“I see. Perhaps you’ll prove me wrong and the flowers will bloom in spring.”

And with those final cryptic words, she leaves the café after waving at the tattooed barista.

Or so Brigid intends, but her way is cut off by his colleague. 

While clumsily taking off her apron she storms outside, clenching it hard and shivering as if she’s on the brink of tears.

“Gráinne? Gráinne!” Christian runs after his colleague, pale and eyes wide with worry as he comes to a halt in the doorway. “Where are you going? Gráinne!”

Brigid places a hand on his shoulder, giving it a consoling squeeze. After giving him an encouraging slap on the back she sets off, leaving the man standing there like a defeated soldier.

“Poor lass,” Morgan whispers as she watches the female barista pass the window. Something in her tone hints at a level of familiarity between the two.

“You know her?” I ask, frowning.

“I don’t think she remembers me.” She glances at Chris, who has retreated behind the counter. He has his head bowed, smooth black locks hiding his face from the customers. Trembling fingers entwined to conceal his distress as best as possible, he resembles a man of religion fervently praying for forgiveness. “And neither does he. I saw him and his close friend, Finn, once in the woods. No, it was his brother, Jor… was it? When he came to the island. Was that… who was that?’’

A mist clouds her ocean blue eyes, lost in thoughts far removed from this world and time. ‘’He was there. As for Gráinne, we met… somewhere. There was smoke, a burning body. It was- It was at… where? Fuck, I can’t recall. I think it was at his fu-’’ she abruptly cuts herself short to correct herself with a strange undertone in her voice, “not long after I... saw them.”

‘’Morgan, are you alright? You’re looking awfully pale.’’ 

Instead of breaking free from the spell that has taken hold of her, the reverie only seems to deepen. Rocking side to side, she clutches her arms to her chest. Her skin, although naturally pale, grows sickly like a walking corpse.

‘’I- I’m supposed to remember. I’m one of the few that do. No, he and I are the only ones left that do. I can’t forget. If I do, everyone will. I can’t… I can’t!’’

‘’Morgan!’’ I stand up from my seat to rush to her side. Rubbing her arms, I try with all my might to bring her back to reality from the depths of deliria. ‘’It’s all right, Morgan, nobody is going to forget. Please listen to me and follow my voice, use it as a guide back to me from wherever it is you are. Please, come back to me.’’

‘’May I?’’ Christian has appeared with a glass of water, which he sets on the table before crouching down at the woman’s side as well.

Gently he grabs one of her hands and holds it, talking in a voice that is surprisingly steady and soothing in spite of what happened mere moments ago. It’s rougher and more gruff, making it hard to distinguish one word from another if you are not well-acquainted with the speaker.

In fact, it belongs to a completely different person. ‘’Morgan, as long as there are people who remember, there is nothing to fear. The past has taught us that what might seem like the end isn’t necessarily truly the end. We are still here. We remember because you do and you remember because we do. You’re safe and sound. Instead, return and help me make her remember.’’

‘’Why, of everyone, did you have to fall for her?’’ Gaze blinded by her mind, Morgan reaches out to tenderly run her fingers through the barista’s hair. ‘’What makes her special?’’ 

‘’She understands.’’ A similar fog veils the misty white and dark eyes, Chris or, rather, the stranger pulled into the same realm of consciousness as my friend. ‘’She broke the chains that bound me and doesn’t allow me to slip into the shadows of what I once was.’’

‘’You’re all the same, aren’t you?’’

‘’It’s rare to find understanding and acceptance in a world naturally turned against you. So, please help me. Help me find her.’’ His voice breaks, the begging words coming out  high-pitched like a whining wolf. ‘’Help me find my reason to stay in this world and not forget nor be forgotten.’’ 

The veil lifts, the spell broken with the whimpered plea. 

Christian falls back, but manages to catch himself before his head hits the tiles. Refusing every helping hand from the customers hurrying over, he scrambles to his feet. Fortunately, he accepts the chair I offer him when his dangerous swaying almost causes him to hit his head against the wall.

‘’Are you okay?’’

‘’Yeah, I’m only dizzy.’’ The hiss he lets out flows over into a sound akin to a growl. ‘’And a splitting headache.’’

Morgan has a better return to reality, completely fine aside from a dazed mind. ‘’What happened?’’

‘’You tell me.’’ I search her face for clues, a sliver of the knowledge she is lying. However, I find none.

She is telling the truth.

‘’I… I don’t know. It’s the first time.’’ She clears her throat, brow furrowed. As if having heard a noise, she snaps her head to the side. “I’m sorry, but I have to go. Drink your tea, eat a sandwich and go home early from work.”

She hands the glass of water to Christian. ‘’And you, you drink this and stay seated for at least five more minutes until the dizziness has faded. Are you nauseous?’’

‘’No. Although,’’ he dry heaves, ‘’never mind.’’

‘’Make it ten. You look as pale as a banshee.’’

‘’Speak for yourself.’’

‘’You’d make a pretty one, though,’’ Morgan muses when she returns her attention to me. ‘’Beauty makes suffering leading to death easier.’’

Apparently, her return to reality has left her as mad as a hatter so perhaps it wasn’t as good as I initially thought.

“Why on earth would you say that? Besides, what kind of comparison is that, us and a banshee?”

“One based on truth. Now,” she shoves the remainder of her goat cheese and pomegranate sandwich to me, “eat, rest up and get cracking again. We’ll be in touch and visit the new café I found yesterday later, alright?”

“Hey, not so fast. Where are you headed off to?’’

She can’t be serious. There is no way she is unaffected by what happened. 

“Attagirl,’’ Morgan says as if I promised to heed her words, ignoring what I actually said. ‘’By the way, ignore what Brigid said and stay with your man. It’s plain to see how he makes you feel.”

“It is?”

“You’re glowing and you come alive when you speak of him. It reminds me of how I was with Seán.” She starts as if awakened from a dream, but tries to hide her awkwardness behind a sheepish smile. “Well, then, take care.”

“You too.’’ The two simple words, otherwise casual, are now carefully chosen in order to not to trigger another ‘attack’.

My gut tight and skin prickling thanks to her inhuman behaviour, I watch the raven-haired woman leave. I hold my wrist, my pulse too rapid to be healthy beneath my thumb.

Like I am at death’s door.

The next morning, there’s an article in the newspaper. A man’s been found dead at the edge of the bogs near town. The cause of his demise is unknown, but there are witness accounts who said they heard a high screech late the night before. In the days that follow, their names show up one by one in funerary advertisements.

A week later, none of the witnesses are alive. Moreover, nobody has heard the screeching since, though everyone remembers the description of the sound.

It was like the howl of a banshee.

[thetaleoflevi]

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Role Reversal

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Pairing: Levi x Fem!Reader

Content Type: SFW, Angst, Fluff

Content Warnings: Mentions of death, emotional breakdown, explicit language

Description: Levi and Reader’s roles are reversed. Reader is the Captain and humanity’s strongest soldier with the apathetic attitude, and Levi is the ordinary (not so ordinary) soldier with a less cynical view on life.

Word Count: 5.8k+

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It was another late night of you sitting in your dimly lit office, filling out countless reports of the bodies that weren’t recovered after the last expedition. A sigh of sorrow escaped your lips, followed by you rubbing the bridge of your nose. So many good people were gone in the blink of an eye and you had to be the one to fill out the pages that informed their loved ones that the Scout Regiment was unable to bring them back home. Death was a subject that haunted your dreams ever since you joined the Scouts. It’s much worse now that you’ve been given the trust and responsibility that comes with the title of ‘Humanity’s Strongest Soldier.’

You were brought out of your thoughts when you heard a voice coming from your bedroom. “Come to bed, Captain Y/N. You work too hard.” Through the open door, you can see Levi sitting on your bed, head against the headboard and legs crossed. He was smirking, knowing you hated being addressed by your title when it was just you and him.

You let it slide, knowing that if it weren’t for him you’d be a fully developed insomniac. He’s very persistent when it comes to taking care of you. “Come lay with me.” He called once again. “I can’t, Levi. I have to finish this up or else i’ll have to do it tomorrow. We have that meeting with Erwin and all the officers tomorrow, so this would only take up more of my time.” You picked up your pen again and began writing the name of another deceased soldier. “I miss you.” You can hear the longing in his voice. “I know.” You mumbled, not looking up. Your brows furrowed as you wrote ‘Deceased’, under the soldier’s name.

“Then if you’re not coming to me, i’m coming to you.” You hear the rustling of Levi throwing your blanket off of his lap. His footsteps are quiet, but with your dog-like hearing you’re able to know where he is. In a few seconds he’s standing behind you, his chin taking its place on your head.

“Whatcha workin’ on?” He questioned, feeling happier now that he’s next to you. “Missing body reports.” That was all you could say about it—all you wanted to say about it. “Almost my entire squad was demolished.” You whispered to yourself as you moved on to the third deceased member of your squad. It was a young girl. She hadn’t been a Scout for more than two years, yet she came to know and love everyone as if they were the family she was born into. She had just turned seventeen, making her the second youngest member to have been on your squad.

“I’m sorry, love. I know I can’t make this hurt you’re feeling go away.” He stood up straight and tucked strands of hair that fell in your face behind your ear. “Do you want to sit on my lap while you work?” He knew exactly what to do to make you feel better, and you never declined his offer. “Yes, please.” You pushed back and rose from the wooden chair. You moved a little to your right to allow him to sit down.

With the way you were so compliant when it came to him, no one who hadn’t met you before would guess that you were the Captain and humanity’s strongest soldier. You looked like a teddy bear sitting on his lap, meanwhile his features are fierce and he was able to shut people up without intending to. In reality, he’s very approachable and kind.

His chest was to your back, his arms around your torso, his chin on your shoulder. He gave you the strength to continue writing with less of a shake in your hand. “I want you to sleep tonight, Y/N. Not on the couch, not in here—but next to me on your bed.” You could feel the vibrations of his voice on your shoulder. You finished writing the sentence you had started and responded to his request. “I’m not gonna promise you that. You’re welcome to sleep on the bed if you want, though.”

Your heart dropped when you heard him sigh quietly. It felt like he was disappointed in you, when really he just wanted to hold you close for a few hours. It helped him forget the monstrous reality you both lived in.

You felt him adjust for the last time on your shoulder, tilting his head to the side. You didn’t pay attention to him as he did so, focusing on the last deceased member of your squad. The youngest, at the young age of fifteen, was gone. How cruel does the world have to be to end the life of someone who was born into mayhem? Who never saw or experienced peace?

You didn’t notice Levi had fallen asleep until you felt soft breathing on your neck. Wisps of hair had fallen messily on his face and his arms loosened around your torso. It was a beautiful, calming sight. He looked so innocent and at ease. You reached down to where his hands rested on your stomach and squeezed his palm softly. For the duration of the time you spent working, your hand ghosted around his. He stirred awake every once in a while which resulted in you whispering for him to go back to sleep. Each time he would re-tighten his arms around you, nudging you like a puppy until he was comfortable again.

It was three in the morning when you finally got through the pile of work. It wouldn’t have taken so long if you had saved the reminiscing for later when you felt the guilt begin to eat you alive.

As you tapped the stack of papers against the desk to get them together neatly, you felt the urge to apologize to Levi for putting him down earlier. He didn’t have to stay with you. He has his own room to sleep in, yet he decided to grace you with his company.

You realized you have a few hours left until you have to get ready for the day. Why not try to sleep?

Levi was sleeping soundly, soft snores coming from him. You smiled a little at the form of his pouty lips. “Levi, baby.” You whispered, reaching your left hand to push his bangs away from his eyes. His eyes fluttered open, silver-turned-blue irises glowing in the orange light of the candle. He gave you the softest smile you had ever seen and kissed your shoulder before straightening his posture.

“Let’s go to the room.” You murmured to him. “Are you done?” He asked in a raspy sleep-filled voice. “Yes. Let’s go to sleep.” You stood up from his lap. He groaned as he moved his legs, trying to get rid of the numbness. You extended your hand to him and helped him stand.

He held onto your hand as you crossed the doorway between your office and bedroom. You split ways as he went to one side of the bed and you other. While he laid down instantly, you sat with your head against the headboard and one knee up.

“That’s not how you’re supposed to sleep.” He mumbled with his eyes closed. “How would you know? You can’t even see me.” You raised an eyebrow. “I can’t feel you close enough to me, plus…” He patted around until he felt your leg bent at the knee. “…your leg shouldn’t be bent like this.” He grabbed your shin and slowly unbent your leg to match the other one.

“Take my form as an example of how you should be laying.” He opened his eyes, waiting for you to recline. You slowly lowered yourself, propping yourself on your elbows as your back neared the mattress. Levi brought your arm down so that you were flat against the bed, head meeting a pillow. You turned to Levi who was now closer. “I can’t promise you that i’ll be sleeping, but i’ll lay here with you.”

He rubbed his thumb slowly against your cheek. “That’s enough for me, beautiful. I’m just happy you’re here with me.” He slugged closer to you, his face nuzzling into your chest.

It was incredible how this man was able to make you feel things that no one else could. His heart slowed as he drifted to sleep, but yours was pounding. You hoped the sound or the feeling wouldn’t bother him. It was his fault, yet you felt guilty.

The bags under his eyes were visible in the light that peered through your windows. You brushed them as gently as possible, as if you could magically get rid of them. It’s been a rough life. Sleep is a luxury that you don’t think you deserve. If you could give your unused hours of sleep to him, you would.

You pressed a kiss to his forehead, running your fingers through his locks of hair. You skimmed the short hairs of his undercut with your knuckles, you could tell he recently cut his hair. He always looked so handsome, sometimes you wondered if you were pretty enough for him. Insecurity was something that often creeped its way into your brain, but you aren’t the type to fish for compliments or make your lack of confidence obvious. If you were to be that way, you wouldn’t make it as a Captain. Having Levi reminds you of how fortunate you are to be alive. He is, and will always be enough for you.

—

Those hours you had went by too quickly. In what felt like a few minutes, it was six in the morning and the sun was beginning to rise. You had to start getting ready for the meeting that started at seven thirty. Your eyes felt heavy, which wasn’t a foreign feeling, but apart from that you felt alright. You slowly released yourself from Levi’s hold so that you could get your clothes for after your shower.

“Come back.” Levi whined, extending his arms in your direction. “We have to get ready for our meeting. I’m gonna shower, i’ll be out soon.” He pouted defeatedly and got out of bed.

You relaxed as the lukewarm water washed down your body. Was it the time to have your mental breakdown? Sadly, no. Not while Levi was outside.

You heard the door open and heard Levi say something indistinctly. “What was that?” You asked. “I said sorry for barging in. I need to fix my hair.” He repeated. You hummed in response. Levi, who was usually a great conversation starter, was dead silent. He was contemplating whether or not he should ask you if you’re okay.

“Hey, Y/N?” He rummaged through your drawers in search of a comb. “Hmm?” “You know you can talk to me about anything, right?” You lathered your body with soap and replied with another hum. “Right?” He prompted. “Yes, I do.” You answered. “Do you want to talk about anything?”

The water cascaded down your body, bringing soapy water to the floor. “Not anything in particular.” He frowned, knowing that if you didn’t talk to him when he was around, you’d eventually be left to fight your inner demons alone.

His hair was done but he kept messing it up and combing it again just so that he could keep talking to you. “Please promise me that if you’re ever not okay, we’ll talk about it.” Your face went neutral, unable to pinpoint what made him talk this way suddenly. “I’m not gonna fall apart on you, Levi. Who am I to do so?” You rubbed a few bubbles of soap off of your collarbone under the stream then reached for the shampoo bottle. “You’re my everything. I need to know what’s going on inside that brain of yours.”

You distributed the runny substance to your scalp and mane of hair. The scalp massage you gave yourself was very much needed given the constant weight you felt on you shoulders. A minute later, the foamy texture was rinsed out and you turned the water off. You peeped your head out of the shower, hand reaching for the towel hanging on the steel bar. Levi looked at you from the corner of his eye, enticed by the sight of you being drenched. You got a hold of your towel and shut the shower curtains, missing the light blush that appeared on his face.

You wrapped the towel around your body and stepped out of the shower, not looking in Levi’s direction as you separated your jacket from the dirty clothes. “Do you want me to get out?” The rosy tint was there again. “No, it’s alright. I’ll change in the room.” You took your clothes and shut the door behind you. You dressed into another white button-up and tucked it into your white trousers.

A knock came from the bathroom door. “Can I come in? It’s hot in here.” Levi asked, voice muffled. You internally laughed evilly. “Yeah, I’m done.” The door clicked open and he instantly searched the room for you. You were putting your belt on. “I’m ready to go. Do you need help with your straps?” Please say yes. Please say yes. “Yes, please and thank you. I need to do my hair.” You went to the bathroom and grabbed your hairbrush before returning to your bed.

Levi was waiting on your bed with the leather bands that went around your chest and limbs. “Let’s start with your thighs.” He picked up the brown material. You sat on the bed, lifting a leg to allow him to slip the bands under. He wrapped the pieces of leather around your thighs gently, tightening them the appropriate amount needed and buckling them. This procedure was followed by a kiss applied to each area that was strapped, and a look up at you afterwards. You give him a small smile while you continue to brush your hair.

He finished with the straps that went on your legs, waiting for you to finish brushing your hair to do the ones for your arms and chest.

You put your hair into a ponytail and he immediately began slipping your arms through the leather loops. He buckled the strap that went slightly above your chest, intense eye contact from him while doing so. “What?” You asked curiously. “Oh, nothing.” He placed the awaited kiss and moved down to your abdomen to attach the last two straps to your belt. He placed the last kisses on your stomach, straightening from his slightly hunched position after.

“Thank you, Levi.” If you were more like him, you would make it more clear that you loved him. You would say that you loved him more often. They were his three favorite words coming from you because he knew that you found difficulty saying them, yet you managed to get them out for him. You’ve only said it to him three times before, the rest of the time you show him.

“It’s no bother at all. I wanted to give you some extra love as well because…I know something is off. I’m not gonna push you about it, but please talk to me about it when you can.” You nodded as you put your camel colored jacket on. “Are you ready to go?” You asked, mediocrely fixing your bed. You were going to come back to wash your entire set anyway. “Yeah, let’s go.”

—

It was seven twenty-five when you both got to the meeting room. Familiar faces surrounded you. You sat next to Erwin who sat at the head of the table. You’re his right hand woman, and he trusts you with his life to say the least. Levi sat to your left as your right hand man. He acted as your emotional support, mostly to keep you calm and collected when you thought something wasn’t right and were being misunderstood when you voiced your concerns.

Once the clock struck seven thirty, Erwin began the meeting. “Good morning, everyone. We’re gathered here to brainstorm a plan for our next expedition outside of the walls. Today we’ll be discussing squad reformations and routes that can help lower the amount of casualties and injuries in our battalion. Our next meeting will consist of looking over what we come up with today and confirming the actions we will be taking.” Your hands immediately clenched into fists when your heard ‘next expedition.’ We just went through with one two days ago. The number of casualties and injured soldiers is too high to go outside the walls again so soon.

Levi’s hand found your forearm and squeezed gently. With the amount of times your concerns have been shot down, you were just about done trying to object anything your Commander said in regards to exiting the walls. He was so strong headed and able to defend his methods that you often gave up trying to convince him that there were flaws in his thought processes. You relaxed your hands and sat through the rest of the meeting with your usual stoic expression. Your surface did not reflect the way you felt inside at all.

“Captain Y/N, what do you think of the plan we’ve arranged so far?” The blonde haired man asked, facing you. Should I go for it? Should I tell him what I think just to get shut down again? “It’s a good plan, I just have one concern.” He folded his hands and nodded in an understanding manner. Levi turned to pay attention to the conversation between you and Erwin. The officers were discussing ideas amongst themselves.

“I think it’s too soon to go outside the walls again. I was filling out the reports for the soldiers that died during the last expedition, and we lost a grand number of soldiers.” “Yes, you’re right about that. Our next expedition won’t be for a while though. I noticed the amount of soldiers that came back injured is just as large as those that died, so i’m giving them time to recuperate. The squad reformations we’ve made are just incase our wounded soldiers are not capable of joining us in our next expedition. If they aren’t physically well by the time our next expedition takes place, the squad reformations will be confirmed.”

He agrees? He agrees. “Oh, alright. Then we’re off to a great start with this plan.” He nodded and smiled with satisfaction.

The meeting ended in a little over an hour. Erwin dismissed everyone and made sure to praise you for your input before exiting the room to continue brainstorming alone.

“I’m proud of you, Captain!” Levi beamed a smile and pulled you into an embrace that you refused to reciprocate. The public display of affection had heat creeping to your cheeks even if there was no one in the room but you two. People were walking past the door constantly, and the thought of being seen like this was embarrassing to an extent. “Thank you, Levi. Let’s get out of here.”

—

Lunchtime finally arrived and usually you sat with Hange, Levi, and Erwin, but Hange and Erwin were both busy with their own things so it was just you and Levi. You weren’t hungry, the thought of your fallen comrades slowly beginning to bombard your thoughts again. It brought an unsettling feeling to your stomach.

“You should eat something.” Levi said, taking a sip of his tea. “I’m not hungry. I think i’m gonna go to my office to finish some more work.” “Okay, i’ll go with you.” He said feeling overjoyed to spend more time alone with you. “You don’t have to. I’m just gonna be filling out more papers.” You rubbed the back of your neck. Levi’s clinginess was another reason you loved him. You like the idea of him wanting to be around you all the time, but it’s not a problem if he spends a day without you as well. You withstand the time apart better than he does.

“I want to, though. I like spending time with you even if i’m just watching you do work.” You looked at his teacup that was still three fourths of the way full. “At least finish your tea. You can meet me in my office once you’re done.” You rose from the bench looking at him as he set the porcelain cup down. “Fine, i’ll see you in a bit, Captain.” He stood up and gave you one of his perfect salutes. You nodded and left the table.

—

Throughout your years as a Scout, you’ve seen death left and right. You made it your mission to remain as closed off to others as you could to protect yourself from anymore heartache, but Levi managed to break into your heart by force. He just wouldn’t leave you alone, so you let your guard down for him, seeing the way he cared for you like you were his favorite person in the world. He dealt with your mood swings, he stayed after you pushed him away, and he understood your significance to the Scout Regiment and all the weight you bear solely. He understood that you being deemed humanity’s strongest soldier isn’t just a fancy title, it’s a heavy anchor that weighs on your shoulders.

You opened the door to your office, shutting it behind you before you went further into the room.

You went to your desk and sat down in the wooden chair. A sound came from underneath your boots, making you look down to inspect the area. You crouched down to pick up a paper that had fallen out of the stack of reports you had filled out. ‘Name:_____| Age: 15 yrs| Gender: Male…’ read the beginning of the description. The young boy, once so full of joy and life, was narrowed down to a sheet of paper with a pitiful explanation for why he will never be seen again. You sat on the floor underneath your desk reading the rest of the description. ‘Hair color: Black| Eye color: Hazel| Height: 5’6| Weight: 152 lbs…’

You felt the urge to cry, but tears wouldn’t form. The floor was not at all comfortable, but it brought comfort knowing that your lack of emotional stability wouldn’t be witnessed at first glance. You weren’t visible to anyone under your desk, so if you really wanted to break down, now would be your chance.

A knock came from the other side of your door. That was too quick, Levi. You didn’t answer, still deep in thought and overcome by treacherous feelings.

The door opened without your permission and you didn’t even care. “Y/N, are you in here?” Levi’s footsteps got further as he walked past your desk and into your bedroom. “Are you in here?” He opened the bathroom door, not seeing you in there. “Hmm.” He returned to the doorway between the two rooms. He noticed your boot as it leaned against the left leg of your chair. “There you are.” He traced your boot back to you.

“What are you doing down here? Are you okay?” He crouched down to meet with you at eye level. “Yeah, i’m fine. I just…forgot this…um…report.” You were visibly shaken and Levi wasn’t sure what the cause was. He took the paper from your loose grip and read the page quickly from top to bottom. “Talk.” He sat on the floor, something he wasn’t particularly fond of doing, but anything for you.

“I’m not doing this right now. There’s a time and a place for mourning the dead. Now is not that time, and this is definitely not the place.” You crawled out of the area and slowly got to your feet. Levi followed you as you strode to your bedroom. “When is it the time, then? Where is that place? I’ll take you there whenever.” His voice wasn’t as soft as it was when he first found you. You said you weren’t going to push it, Levi. You’re doing the exact opposite.”

He ran a hand through his hair, frustration filling him to the brim. “I just want you to talk to me! Confide in me! God, Y/N. It shouldn’t be this hard. I’m not just some stranger you’ve held close at night. I’m your lover.” You were on the brink of letting every emotion within you loose, bringing yourself back when you see how distressed Levi looks. You know it’s your fault he’s this way right now, but you made him a silent promise.

You sit down on the edge of your bed, holding your hands together tightly. “I’m not going to break in front of you.” You whispered. Levi kneeled down in front of you and held onto one of your shins. “I’m not leaving until you do.” His stormy gray eyes never left yours. “I don’t care if it takes hours. I’m not leaving until you spill your fucking heart out.”

Wherever you went, he just followed you. Working on paperwork? He watched you from the other side of your desk. How he didn’t get tired of watching you was beyond you. “I’m just trying to help.” You didn’t look up at him, continuing your writing. “I know you are.” You murmured. He reached for your vacant hand, rubbing your knuckles with his thumb. “Then why aren’t you letting me?” Tears stung the inner corners of your eyes, threatening to break your facade. You blinked back the blurriness of your vision, prohibiting yourself from showing your true emotions.

“Maybe others can’t see through your stoic mask, but I’m close enough to notice the cracks in it.” And there it was…the first tear. You gripped your pen tighter, ink bleeding through the paper, but you continued writing messily. Your eyebrows furrowed and your lips trembled, eyelashes being weighed down with teardrops. “I know it’s hard to bare yourself to me like this.” His eyes softened at the large tears that rolled down your cheeks, ending at your chin, before falling on the paper.

Your chest suddenly felt tight causing a hiccup to fall from your lips. You covered your eyes with both of your hands, tears still streaming underneath them. You felt humiliated at your show of weakness. “How are you gonna try to hide all those tears from me, sweetheart?” He pulled one of your hands down, revealing a closed eye, and a knitted eyebrow. You instantly crossed your arms on your desk and put your head down, tears pooling and leaving dark spots on your sleeves.

Levi hurried over to your side and kneeled beside you. “I know, baby. You need to get this out.” He rubbed your back slowly. The erratic shaking that started in your shoulders lured a sad reaction out of Levi. It was as if he felt every ounce of pain you were feeling. He wanted to cry with you, but stayed strong knowing there was no room for two meltdowns.

“He…was…fif…teen.” You spoke muffled with pauses between gasps. Levi kissed your shoulder. “I know. It’s awful. He was a pure soul and solid addition to the squad, but think about it, he’s not suffering in this disgusting world anymore and he’s no longer living in fear.” Your eyes felt even heavier now. You went silent as you tried to calm down. Your breathing was anything but steady.

When you managed to stabilize yourself, you took one last deep breath before picking your head up.

“Y-Yeah.” You cleared your throat and wiped at your puffy under eyes. “You’re right.” You said more steadily, finally able to face your inamorato.

He undid his ascot and gave it to you to dry your eyes with. “Thank you.” You said quietly, dabbing the cloth on your damp features. He nodded with a soft smile. “How do you feel?” His knuckles brushed your cheeks sweetly. The coldness of his skin felt nice in contrast to your warm, tear-stained face. “Fine.” It was the only word you thought could narrow down how you currently felt after your meltdown. You knew the storm was only passing temporarily, but you weren’t going to make a bigger spectacle than you already had.

“Come on, give me something more.” He turned his head and pointed to his cheek. “I feel better, love. Thank you.” You leaned in to kiss his cheek, not expecting Levi to straighten his head at the last second. Lips met lips pleasantly, heat taking it’s place on your cheeks again. On the inside, he was laughing like a child at his spontaneous act, knowing he managed to fluster you. On the outside, he was enjoying the contact you allowed him to have with you.

Every time he kisses, hugs, or even just brushes his hand against yours, it brings back memories of the first time you let him rock you to sleep like you were a child. He knew before he even formally met you that you never slept because you walked around with the darkest bags under your pretty eyes. When you picked Levi to be on your squad, he made it his own personal mission to get you the sleep you deserved.

You pulled away from him, blush continuing to make you look like you were the subordinate in the relationship. “I’m glad you feel better. I’ll always be here to console you, Y/N. I hope you know that. I’m sorry I had to force your feelings out of you this time.” He smoothly brought one of your hands to his lips and kissed the back. “It’s fine. You shouldn’t have to force me to talk about things. I’ll work on it.” He chuckled at the way you effortlessly made him happy. He was the only one to see your smile often, even if it was a small and short-lasting one.

“What do you want to do now? I’m pretty sure I recall you telling me that you finished all the work you had to do, earlier in the morning.” You stood up from the chair, pulling him up from his kneeled position as well. “Come on.” You took his hand and led him to your bedroom.

“Remember the first night we slept in the same bed? The first night you got me to sleep after you found out I hadn’t slept in a few days?” His eyes twinkled hoping you were thinking what he was thinking. “Mhm. What about it?” You let go of his hand and proceeded to your bed where you sat on the edge and took off your boots. “Can we do that again?” You threw your right boot in a corner next to the left boot.

He felt like his heart was beating out of his chest. This was his favorite thing to do with you, having decided it after only doing it once. It beat every single thing you two did together. He got to watch you close your eyes and get the rest you desperately needed, yet ran from. He got to hold you close and listen to the rhythm of your breathing, and he got to kiss you as much as he wanted.

“Of course, my love. Anything for you.” He went to the opposite side of the bed and took his boots off, tossing them across the room to where your boots were. He got closer to the center of the bed with his back against the headboard and got into a comfortable position before patting his lap for you to lay across. You crawled to where he was, laying your head just above the crease of his arm and the rest of your body lay across his lap. You felt safe and secure in his arms.

“Who knew the Captain was such a softie for an ordinary soldier like me?” Levi cooed, brushing a strand of hair away from your eyes with his free hand. “Shut up.” You mumbled with your eyes closed. He chuckled lowly, the vibrations already working on lulling you to sleep. “Are you sure you want to sleep right now? It’s three in the afternoon. You might not be able to sleep at night.” “Mhm.” You hummed. “I don’t sleep at night anyway.” You reassured. “Alright, my dear.” He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close, and began swaying your body slowly. You concentrated on the motion and your heart rate started slowing down.

There was an immense adoration gleaming in Levi’s eyes as he watched you slowly drift to sleep. He kissed your forehead and stopped swaying when he felt your body go limp, chest rising and falling with every breath that escaped your lips.

A few moments later, there was a sudden knock on your door. Levi’s eyes widened, hoping whoever was at the door would leave immediately. Another three knocks came from the other side when there was no response, causing you to stir at the sound. Levi looked down at you, eyes completely soft. He hoped you would stay asleep through the unwelcome raps. Then the doorknob turned.

“Captain Y/N, are you in-” “Shut the fuck up.” Levi muttered through gritted teeth. He was never this aggressive with his words, but when it came to you, he could surprise anybody—even Hange and Erwin.

Eren’s eyes were wide at the sight. ‘Captain Y/N likes affection?’ Was all he thought. “Sorry, Levi.” He whispered. “Can you make sure Captain Y/N sees this when she wakes up?” The boy rubbed his neck as he waited for Levi to look up again. “Just leave it on her office table. Don’t touch anything. No, never mind. Just leave it on her dresser over there.” Levi watched Eren like a hawk as he located your dresser and set the paper down. “I’m heading out. See you later, Levi.” The boy exited the room, unsure of whether he should keep this to himself or tell his group of friends.

“Who was that?” You asked, feigning grogginess a few seconds later. Your survival instincts had you awake by the first knock, but you wanted Levi to feel good about the way he was taking care of you. “It was Eren. Go back to sleep, love. Your schedule is clear for today. You can sleep for the rest of today if you want to.” You nodded and nudged yourself into his chest. “Only a little longer. Wake me up in ten minutes, please.” He stroked your cheek lightly. “Okay, dear.” His expression returned to the loving one he had prior to Eren’s interruption.

You returned to your dormant state rather quickly and Levi didn’t plan on waking you up any time soon.

As time went by, Levi found himself having to hold in his chuckles as he saw drool sliding down the corners of your mouth. He was quick to wipe it away with his thumb, knowing how you’d react if you woke up with drool on your face.

He realized before, but now it was emphasized that nothing could ever stop him from loving you. Not your past, not the present, not the future. Nothing. He knew from the moment you told him you loved him back that he would love and care for you endlessly.

I will hold you like this for as long as you want me to, and as many times as you need me to, my love.

[samanthadalton]

The Bodyguard (AU) PART 1

pairings: Poppy x Bea

Wanted to write a fic based on this post, thank you @alexlabhont for showing us that tik tok. Going to be a series so i don’t know how many parts. Also this is a slow burn and I’ll add more context as the story progresses so it makes sense (i may steal some names of counties from PB 😅👀)

warnings: mentions of blood, violence and death in this chapter

taglist: @cloud9in @somewillwin @alleycat97 @baexpoppy @save-me-the-last-dance @helpconfusedpersonhere @dopeyouth @alexlabhont @thedaft1 @veenast @cloakanddaggerthings (added people from my usual poppy taglist if you wanna be added or taken off just let me know ☺️☺️)

word count: 5.1k (wasn’t expecting it to be this long)

also i was using my phone to copy and paste from google docs so i apologise if the layout of the fic is weird, it kept cutting off sentences and paragraphs so hopefully they’re actually here and the story makes sense 😅😅

2 weeks earlier

Poppy stands, paralysed with fear, as she watches her assailant point the gun at her. The tears threaten to free fall as her eyes move towards her father’s dying body, blood sprouting from his mouth. He clutches at his chest, his hands and chest painted red as his breaths come out short and harrowing. Poppy balls her hands up into fists, her lip slightly trembling as she watches the aggressor yell, her mind too overwhelmed to articulate the words coming out of his mouth. She watches the evil glint in his eyes as he watches the life drain of her father’s body; how his lips twist into a viscous scowl as he screams at her, the gun in his hand wildly flying around. A deafening gunshot pulls Poppy out of her reverie, her hands moving to grab her body, looking for the wound, but when she hears the assailant’s body hit the floor, seeing the blood oozing out of his mouth, she turns back to see the royal guards pouring into the room. A sigh of relief comes out of her, before realisation hits her and she slides her body over to her father, her hands uselessly hovering over him and the dam of tears break through.

Present

Poppy gasps heavily, her sleep immediately breaking as her body jerks upwards. She brings her hand up to wipe the slick cold sweat that breaks out on her forehead, steadying her excessive pants. Another night where her sleep is broken by the same nightmare, she shudders at the thought of the man who killed her father invading her thoughts, recollecting the way he broke into a malicious grin as she lamented for her father’s life. She lets out a shaky breath as her hands subconsciously grip the blanket, her brain going haywire as she squeezes her eyes shut.

“It’s just a dream,” she whispers to herself, “it’s just a dream.”

Unsure of how much time has passed, she sharply inhales, opening one of her eyes to glance at the window, the sunlight barely peeking through the curtains as she groans throwing her head back onto her pillow, a groan escaping her lips. Just as she feels the sleep about to consume her, her bedroom door flies open, immediately alerting her.

“Why are you still in bed?” Her mother raises an eyebrow, her tone stern, yet lacking any emotion.

Poppy sighs rubbing at the temples of her forehead, agitated “I was hoping to have a few more minutes to myself.”

Her mother dismissively waves her hand at her, “get up. We have business to deal with.” She turns and walks out of the room, leaving Poppy on her own.

After a while Poppy makes her way to the Great Hall, her lady in waiting greets her with a warm smile, “good morning your Royal Highness,” she slightly tilts her head as she bows, her brows slightly creased with worry as she gazes at the eyebags under Poppy’s eyes.

“Goodmorning Taylor,” Poppy scans the room, “where is my mother?”

“Her Majesty requested that you have breakfast in the garden today.”

Poppy hums, “she hasn’t been in the garden since father passed.” Taylor gives Poppy a sorrowful smile, struggling to respond to Poppy’s blunt admission. Poppy waves her hand, “I’ll meet her now.” She walks through the palace until she reaches the garden, she closes her eyes, feeling at peace for a few fleeting moments until it’s broken by her mother’s voice, calling out to her.

“Poppy quit dilly dallying, take a seat we have much to discuss.”

Poppy obediently follows her mother’s orders, carefully sliding into her seat, keeping her posture upright as one of the servants pours her out some tea while she glances expectedly at her mother, “so why all the urgency today?”

“There’s going to be some changes at the castle.”

Poppy raises an eyebrow, “oh? Do tell.”

“There will be an increase in security, we won’t have a breach like last time.” As Poppy gazes at her mother, she sees her face fall for a few moments, grief swimming in her eyes before she quickly masks it, her usual stoic demeanour taking over, making Poppy question whether she actually saw her mother show some emotion. “The Royal Guard are putting in some more extreme measures to ensure our safety here. Speaking of which, I have someone I would like to introduce you to.” She lifts her hands, beckoning someone and when the figure comes into appearance, Poppy can’t help but stare a little.

The woman is young, she looks slightly rough around the edges, but still quite beautiful. Poppy’s gaze darts down to her arms, they’re heavily toned, meaning she’s very strong. She assesses her uniform, her suit looking more polished than her usual guards, and when their eyes meet, her gaze pierces into Poppy’s, momentarily taking her breath away at the sheer intensity.

“This is your new bodyguard.”

Poppy’s face twists into a scowl, “a bodyguard? What am I twelve?” Her eyes dart back to the woman’s, anger boiling inside of her, “and she’s a woman.”

“With all due respect Miss Min Sinclair,” the woman speaks up, her voice smooth as velvet and her tone welcoming, a stark contrast to Poppy’s hostile demeanor. “I’ve had a lot of training. I graduated top of my class and I’m more than qualified to look after you.”

“Look after me? What are you, my babysitter?”

“Poppy!” Her mother calls out, admonishingly, “I apologise for my daughter’s enmity, she’s yet to learn the poise of a princess.”

The woman bows her head, “no need to apologize your Majesty. I understand the situation is overwhelming.”

Her Majesty speaks out, “as for Miss Hughes being a woman,” Poppy feels her heart beating in her chest a little faster, Hughes, it rolls off the tongue easily, “she will be able to guard you at all times, even in situations where you may be compromised. I think it’s only fitting that your bodyguard can keep a close eye on you.”

Poppy opens her mouth to retort but the bodyguard beats her to the punch, “Your Highness if I may?” Poppy gives her a small nod indicating her to continue, “I’m not here to intrude on your life, I’m here to ensure your safety. These people are ruthless, I know you’ve seen first hand what they are capable of. I’m here to make sure you don’t share the same fate as your father.” As she speaks, her voice is steady, strong, lacking in compassion but filled with promise. Poppy watches her with a careful gaze, unsure of what to make of her new companion.

“I don’t have a choice, consequences of being the royal heir I guess.”

Poppy stands and turns her back to walk into the palace but her mother calls out to her, “darling do me a favor and show Miss Hughes her chambers.”

“Am I her maid now?” Poppy retorts through gritted teeth.

“Seeing as she’ll be taking up accommodation in the room adjacent to yours, it's only fitting you show her where to stay. I’m sure she needs to do some preliminary security sweeps.” Her Majesty gives Poppy an authoritarian glare and Poppy sighs before walking off, her bodyguard trailing after her.

Poppy leads her bodyguard into her room, gesturing to the room, “well this is your room, but that’s already obvious. I’ll have one of the maids make up your bed for you.” She turns to the woman, assessing her, “so, do you have a name or do I call you Hughes?”

“Bea. But if you feel comfortable calling me Hughes, I won’t stop you.”

“I’ll feel more comfortable if my mother stopped treating me like a child and keeping me at bay from the rest of the world.”

“Well that’s why I’m here. So you can resume your usual activities but having someone watch over you while you do.” Bea walks out of the room, and goes into Poppy’s room, her eyes darting all over the room, as she begins sweeping the room.

“Excuse you? What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Poppy says, her voice filled with agitation.

“A security sweep. I have to make sure your room isn’t compromised.” Bea continues looking through her room, as she begins opening and closing drawers, her slender fingers feeling around the outside and inside making sure there is nothing suspicious.

“Well unless you’re secretly a pervert, there’s nothing there except my underwear.” Poppy rushes to close the drawer, a blush creeping up on her cheeks. Bea’s eyebrows shoot up but she steps away, her expression blank as she does. “Well. My friends are coming over, try not to get in the way.”

Poppy begins lumbering toward one of her living rooms, and squeals as two girls begin running up to her. Bea protectively stands in front of Poppy, signalling to the girls to stop. Poppy rolls her eyes, pushing Bea slightly to the side, “at ease soldier, they’re not going to kill me.”

“Can’t be too careful.”

Poppy responds with a scowl before turning to her friends, her scowl immediately diminishing. “Ladies, it’s been a while.”

A girl with ombre coloured hair wraps Poppy into a right hug, a solemn expression on her face, “I’m so sorry Poppy, I can’t imagine how hard it’s been for you.”

Poppy’s lip quivers for a few seconds before she bites down on it, slightly sniffling, “thanks Veronica.” Bea watches the interaction with careful eyes, observing the fall in Poppy’s expression as she pulls apart from the hug before being tackled into another one by a blonde girl. “Jesus Chloe, maybe my bodyguard should step in.” Bea steps forward, but Poppy smirks, “chill Hughes, I was kidding.”

“Right.” Bea’s expression remains serious as she watches the girls, but Poppy expectantly glares at her.

“Can we get some privacy?”

Bea nods, walking to the corner of the room, her eyes not leaving Poppy as she crosses her arms, standing guard. Veronica gazes at Bea, her eyes filled with admiration as her roams Bea. “She’s hot.”

Poppy scoffs, “don’t tell me your standards have dropped so low,” Poppy reprimands, taking a seat on one of the chairs.

“Not all of us are surrounded by gorgeous princes and aristocrats,” Veronica teases, “let me thirst in peace.”

“But she’s a bodyguard,” Chloe adds, a tinge of disgust in her tone.

“Classist much Chlo?” Veronica huffs, as her eyes return to gawking at Bea. Poppy sighs, but indulges in polite conversation until her obligations as a princess arise and she says goodbye to her friends before indulging in her chores.

Over the next few weeks, Poppy is still hostile towards Bea, still not fully comfortable with the idea of having a bodyguard. Tensions around the palace are at an all time high, as the number of guards have increased and are always at alert.

“Good morning your Highness.”

Poppy gasps, clutching at her chest, “jesus!” When she glances at Bea she swears she can see a hint of a smile of her face but it’s gone just as quick.

“Your mother is asking for you.”

“Of course she is. Well we shouldn’t let her Majesty wait.” Poppy climbs out of bed, her body still slightly sleep deprived as she stumbles towards the bathroom, Bea watches her with a frown before following her. “Excuse me? Haven’t you ever heard of privacy?”

“How long have you been struggling to sleep for?” Bea’s tone is monotone but her facial expression is worrisome.

“What the hell are you talking about?”

Bea sighs, letting her usual icy demeanour drop slightly, “do you remember the old head of security, Marc?”

Poppy nods, “he was always so nice to me.”

“That was my father.” Poppy’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “Yeah.” Bea gives Poppy a half smile, “before I took this job, I kinda resented my father, I used to think, how does a man who talks a big deal about the importance of family barely be in our lives? What job was so important that he could barely be at home with us? But I understand it now. I know I haven’t been working at this post long, but I get it.” Bea’s eyes pierce intensely into Poppy’s, forcing the strawberry blonde to let out a breath she didn’t even know she was holding. “My job is to protect you, Miss Min Sinclair, I won’t let anything get in the way of that.”

Poppy’s eyes search Bea’s looking for… something she can’t quite put her finger on, “that’s…. reassuring. Thank you Hughes. And you can call me Poppy, if you’re supposed to be always around me, we can drop the formalities.”

Bea gives Poppy a nod of appreciation, “of course, Poppy.” She gives her a small smile, “well I should let you shower.” Bea turns to leave but Poppy calls out to her.

“Hughes.” Bea stops in her tracks, turning to face her, “why did you take this job?”

Bea looks off into the distance, a pensive look on her face, “curiosity. I wanted to follow my father’s footsteps in terms of training but when your mother offered me the job, I felt compelled to say yes. Just to see how demanding it would be and now I see my father in a whole new light.” Poppy gives Bea a sad smile, “I can’t imagine what it feels like watching your father die in front of you, but give yourself time to grieve. Don’t be like your mom and lock away your feelings, because it will eat you up until it’s too late.” Bea pointedly glances away, training her gaze to the ground, “I’ll wait in the hallway, you should hurry, your mother was adamant about you meeting her as soon as possible.” Before Poppy can thank Bea, she’s already out of the bathroom. Once Poppy has finished getting ready, Bea greets her with a small nod, and Poppy can already feel the shift in their relationship, as she begins to feel more at ease with Bea being around her.

Once they enter the Great Hall, Poppy takes a seat at the table, and her mother greets her with a frown. “I thought that when I urged the significance of this meeting you would come faster.”

Before Poppy can reply, Bea intercepts, “that was my fault Your Majesty, I was going over the security guidelines for the dress store.”

Poppy’s mother turns to face Bea, a glimmer of humor in her eyes, “thank you Miss Hughes, and I told you call me Ana, you’re practically family.” Bea bows her head in gratification, as Ana gestures towards one of the chairs, “why don’t you take a seat and eat some breakfast and I won’t take no for an answer.”

Bea smiles and takes a seat opposite Poppy, before reaching out for some croissants, placing them on her plate before pouring herself some tea, not letting one of the house servants do it. “Thank you.. Ana.”

“Of course, also I’m giving you the day off for the gala next week.”

Bea furrows her brows in confusion, her eyes shooting to look at Poppy, “what about..” she clears her throat as her eyes meet Poppy’s, “security?”

Ana dismissively waves her hand, “I’ve hired the best security and I’ve personally gone over the plans with the Head of security, we’re safe. Bea hesitantly nods, as she pointedly glances away, looking down at her plate.

“Thank you.”

“As for you my dear,” Ana turns to Poppy, her expression emotionless, “this will be our first public appearance since,” she cuts herself off, “it’s imperative we make our guests feel at ease, so make sure you do your rounds and introduce yourself to all of our allies.”

“Yes mother,” Poppy says obediently. “May I be excused, I have an appointment at the dress store.”

“If you must, we will continue this conversation later. Also tell Miss Lombardi that the dress I received was beautiful.”

“Of course Your Majesty.”

Once Poppy reaches the dress store, Bea protectively goes in first and begins looking at the store, earning a confused glance from the owner. “Bodyguard.” Poppy retorts, earning a nod of understanding from the woman. Bea gives Poppy a nod of satisfaction earning an eye roll from the strawberry blonde who makes her way into the back of the store to greet her friends, Veronica and Chloe who look like they’ve been waiting a while based on how comfortably they’re sitting on the couch. Bea does a quick security sweep on the insides of the dressing rooms as the girls indulge in some small talk. Once she’s done, she gives Poppy a satisfied nod.

Veronica says as she pushes herself off the couch to stand, Chloe follows suit a few seconds later. “My mom left your dress in the dressing room.” Poppy smiles and makes her way inside while Bea stands in the corner of the room, patiently waiting as Poppy tries on her dress. The woman from earlier enters, holding some measuring tape and a box of needles, pins and thread in one hand while a few dresses are draped across the other, just as Poppy exits the room, wearing her dress. Bea casts a glance, unable to tear her eyes away from the strawberry blonde.

“Your Highness.” The woman says as she bows, earning a small but unnoticeable eye roll from Veronica. “If you just stand up on this, I can make the final adjustments. Veronica sweetie, take these dresses and you girls try it on while I do the final measurements for Miss Min Sinclair. Veronica grabs the dresses beckoning Chloe to follow her into the dressing room, Poppy stands on the platform, staring at herself in the mirror but she catches Bea’s eyes on her through the mirror, tilting her head with curiosity glistening in her eyes.

“Hughes, what do you think?”

Bea breaks her stoic demeanour as she gives Poppy a panicked look, breaking eye contact, “I don’t think it would be appropriate.”

Poppy sighs, “no need to be such a prude, I’m only asking for your opinion.”

Bea clears her throat, “you look..beautiful.”

Poppy breaks out into a wide grin, her eyes roaming herself, “hmm I do. You did an amazing job Ms Lombardi.”

“Thank you so much Your Highness.” Veronica’s mother replies, a smile on her face.

Veronica’s voice rings out, “I need some help zipping up.”

Veronica’s mother turns back to look at Bea, “if you won’t mind dear, I have my hands full.” She makes a show of displaying the needles and pins in her hands and Bea gives a polite nod before making her way to the dressing room.

“Someone needs help with a zip?”

“Yes.” Veronica opens the door of her dressing room, a small smile on her lips, “hi.” She turns, presenting her back as Bea steps forward to zip her up, placing her hand on the small of Veronica’s back as she begins pulling up the zip. “Poppy told me you’re not working the gala.”

“Yes I’ve gotten the day off,” Bea responds, her tone flat.

“Well do you have any plans for the day?”

“Considering I just found out I have the day off I haven’t made any sudden plans.” Bea steps back, finished with pulling up the zip and Veronica runs her hands down the sides of her dress before turning to face Bea.

“Thank you.” Bea gives Veronica a polite smile, “Be my date to the gala.”

Bea lets out a small laugh, “well aren’t you blunt?” She responds, a hint of a smile of her face.

“Well I didn’t grow up with everything being handed to me, so bluntness is kinda my thing. So will you?” She stares at Bea expectedly.

Bea sighs, slightly scrunching her lips, “I don’t think that would be appropriate. You’re one of Poppy’s closest friends and it wouldn’t be professional of me.”

Veronica raises an eyebrow, unimpressed, “so? Screw unprofessionalism. People like you and me are like at the bottom of the food chain. I love Poppy but at the end of the day, she’s still royalty and will always look down on people like me or my mom. So if you wanna enjoy a party, do it! Don’t let them dictate you like that.”

“Are you done?” Bea replies with a smile. All the while, Poppy steps into the dressing room but steps out of view, watching the interaction, only seeing Bea from the angle she’s standing at, but she feels a small pang in her chest as she watches Bea smile at Veronica, wondering why she’s never seen Bea smile like that at her. “If I say yes will you stop ranting?”

“Maybe,” Veronica retorts, suppressing a smile by pressing her lips together in a thin line.

Bea nods, “okay, I’ll be your date.” Veronica cheers, pulling Bea into a small hug before planting a kiss on her cheek. Bea slightly blushes before pulling away, her icy demeanour returning, “I should get back.”

“Oh of course. To be continued?”

“Yes.” Bea places a chaste kiss on Veronica’s cheek before walking out of the dressing room. Poppy panics as she sees Bea about to turn in her direction and runs back out to the room, pretending as if nothing has happened.

The rest of the day goes by and it’s as if the heart to heart between Poppy and Bea in the morning hasn’t happened as Poppy’s hostile personality returns and she begins pushing Bea away again, infuriating the bodyguard as the strawberry blonde makes her job harder.

….

The day of the gala arrives and Poppy is like a spawn of satan, rushing the servants around, screaming her head off as she barks orders at them. “Your queen has insisted that tonight goes perfectly, do not disappoint otherwise it will be all of our heads on a spike.” She glances around, fixing the decor, or making someone else fix it for her, before getting ready, slipping into her dress. She places a crown on her head, the jewels sparkling under the chandelier lights, as Poppy smooths down her dress, appraising herself in the mirror.

“Guess who?” A pair of hands cover her eyes, as the voice speaks low and playfully into her ear.

Poppy squeals, pulling the hands away from her eyes before turning, “Bradley! You came.” She greets him with a long kiss, before pulling away, wiping her forefinger across his lips, “sorry gif some lipstick on you.”

“That’s okay,” he laughs, as he pulls on the hem of his suit jacket, straightening it. “Shall we?” He holds out his arm as Poppy wraps hers around it, smiling up at him, “you look gorgeous by the way.”

“Thank you, you look dashing.” The couple make their way to the ballroom where the party is already in full swing, “we just need to make some quick introductions.” Poppy gazes around the room, noticing the increase in royal guards standing at their posts, and feels a tinge of satisfaction, no ones dying today, she thinks to herself as her and Bradley, introduce and mingle with the important people.

Simultaneously, Bea opens the door of the limo, before taking out her hand which Veronica gratefully slides her hand into as Bea pulls her out of the car. “You look radiant by the way.”

Veronica blushes, “thank you, and you clean up spectacularly well.”

“Thank you,” Bea says as she runs her hands across her dress. “Shall we?”

“We shall.”

When they enter the ballroom, Veronica offers to grab some drinks as Bea stands, scanning the room looking for anything suspicious. As she does she catches Poppy with her arm wrapped around an unfamiliar man, a wide smile on her face.

“Come in you’re off duty.”

“Sorry,” Bea replies, flushing with embarrassment, “habit.”

“That’s okay,” Veronica hands over one of the glasses to Bea, before taking a careful sip of her drink.

“Who is that with Poppy, I don’t think I’ve been debriefed on him yet.”

Veronica scans the room until her eyes fall on Poppy, “that’s her boyfriend Bradley.”

Bea raises her eyebrows in confusion, “boyfriend? I wasn’t told about this.”

“Well that’s probably because he hasn’t been here for the last few months. He was off building homes in a poor country or something.”

“Huh that’s charitable of him,” Bea replies flatly.

Veronica drains the contents of her glass before intertwining her fingers with Bea’s, “enough about them let’s dance.” Veronica pulls Bea onto the dance floor, and begins grinding on her, while Bea awkwardly stands, unable to apprehend what Veronica is doing. They’re interrupted by a familiar voice.

“So you two are here together?” Poppy’s eyes dart between Bea and Veronica, her tone nonchalant.

“Yes we are,” Veronica wraps her arms around Bea’s neck, pulling her closer. Poppy gives Veronica a weird look. Sensing the tension, Bea slightly pulls out of Veronica’s grasp turning to look at Bradley.

“I don’t believe we’ve met,” she holds out a hand which Bradley shakes, his expression warm and inviting.

“Bradley, and you are?”

“My bodyguard,” Poppy interrupts, her tone slightly mocking.

“Bea Hughes.” Bea brings her hand back to her side, a smile on her face, “it was nice meeting you.”

“Same to you,” Bradley gives the girls a small nod before pulling Poppy away, whispering into her ear, “I think we should get out of here, there’s something I wanted to show you.”

“How? This place is heavily guarded.”

“Follow me.” Bradley takes her hand as they slip away from the party, unsuspectingly.

Bea looks over at Veronica, a frown on her face, “is everything okay?”

“Yep. Did you hear the judgement in Poppy’s voice? God she can be so infuriating sometimes. I need a drink.” Veronica storms off, leaving Bea in the middle of the dance floor. Her eyes begin scanning the room and she feels alarmed when she notices Poppy not in the room anymore. She begins looking all around the room before Veronica joins her, confused. “Is everything okay?”

“Where’s Poppy?”

Veronica surveys the room, huffing, “she’s probably gone to hook up with Bradley.”

Bea frowns, “something doesn’t feel right, I’m going to go look for them, stay here.” Before Veronica can respond Bea is already gone, making her way through the crowd as she slips out. Bea begins looking around the palace until she sees the end of Poppy’s dress just as she goes into a room, hesitantly Bea follows. Just as she reaches the room, she twists the handle, opening the door and goes into a defensive stance as Bradley swings around, pulling Poppy against him, holding a knife to her throat.

“Hughes,” Poppy whimpers as Bradley harshly shushes her.

“Let’s all just calm down here,” Bea raises her hands, her voice low and soft, “let’s not do anything abrupt.”

“Let us leave and nothing will have to happen.”

“I can’t let you do that,” Bea takes a step closer promoting Bradley to push the knife against Poppy’s neck, making a small cut.

“Can’t do that I’m afraid,” the previous warm glint that shone in Bradley’s eyes are gone, replaced with a more hysterical one, insanity glimmering beneath the surface. “This is for the Sons of Veronica.” Just before he can do anything, Bea leaps forward pulling Poppy out of his grasp, stepping in front of her, just as Bradley’s knife wildly swings, slicing her, just under her chest. Bea groans slightly before grabbing his wrist, pulling it backwards, evoking a scream from Bradley as she snaps his wrist.

“Poppy run!” Poppy hyperventalies as she reaches the door but when she throws it open, she gasps.

“Hughes.”

Bea turns to see a wide, built man, standing in the doorway, anger written in his face. She throws Bradley to the side before, pushing Poppy away, throwing a series of precise punches at the man. Unfazed, he grabs Bea by the throat, throwing her against the wall, his grip tightening. Bea gasps as she clutches at her throat, feeling the air leave her lungs as she tries to muster up the strength to claw and punch her way out. Instead she feels dizzy, her eyes slowly closing as she feels herself losing consciousness. Out of nowhere, Poppy smashes a vase over the man’s head, causing him to loosen his grip around Bea’s throat. He angrily huffs, backhanding Poppy, as she hits her head against the corner of a desk. Bea calls out of her, anger filling up her entire body as she lets out a primal battle cry and swipes her leg under the man’s, resulting in him losing his balance. She then flips his body around, pressing the front of him to ground as her knee digs into his neck. A few moments later his body goes limp and Bea moves away, running towards Poppy who lays on the ground unmoving.

“Poppy!” She calls out, worried but she sighs breath of relief when she sees Poppy’s eyelids fluttering open. “Are you okay?”

Poppy nods clutching at her head, “my head hurts,” Bea reaches out, placing her fingers on a small cut that has formed on Poppy’s head.

“You’re okay.” A series of groans snaps her out as she looks up to see Bradley trembling as he holds out a knife, his hand violently shaking. Bea stands, kicking him square in the chest, causing him to crash into some cupboards, knocking him out. Bea pulls out her phone, calling the guards to put the palace on lockdown in case there are any more surprises.

After being checked by a medical professional, Ana rushes pulling Poppy into a huge hug, tears falling down her face, “thank god you’re okay. I don’t think I could handle losing your father and you.” She gratefully kisses the crown of Poppy’s head before turning to look at Bea, a grateful smile on her face. “And you Miss Hughes,” she pulls away from Poppy, pulling Bea into a hug, “if it wasn’t for you I-“ she begins sobbing as Bea rubs comforting circles on her back.

“Just doing my job.”

“Thank you,” Ana says, as she holds both of Bea’s hands in hers, “even when you weren’t on duty you saved my daughter’s life, thank you.” Bea nods as Ana pulls her in for another hug. Poppy watches as the police put Bradley and the other man into handcuffs, a frown on her face.

She turns to her mother, “what is Sons of Victoria?”

Ana stammers, “where did you hear that?” She gazes around the room, her expression careful.

Bradley mentioned it before he attacked us, what are you not telling me?”

Ana awkwardly glances around the room before lowering her voice to a whisper, “we have a lot to discuss.”

[haikyuuties-xo]

Ground Zero - Oikawa Tohru

a short story about an overlooked part of Oikawa's life.

i see a lot of myself in Oikawa and maybe that's what compelled me to write this.

this is actually based off of my own experience with different circumstances so i promise this isn't too unrealistic haha

TW: depression, hospitals, seizure, self-harm

oikawa tohru. crowd favorite, ladies man, and, of course, superb athlete.

he was a hard worker, that's what turned raw talents into honed skills.

yet few knew the dangerous way he toed against the line.

-

sirens faintly blare in the background as iwaizumi runs as fast as his legs can carry him. fuck, fuck, fuck. not again.

-

oikawa always overdid it, pushing himself further than anyone should. no matter the coaxing — "even olympic athletes need their breaks", "come on, it's not like your gonna go pro, right?", "dude, you've been at this for hours!" — oikawa never stopped working.

oikawa was the top of his class in academics and popularity. on the outside he appeared so care free and easy-going — like he didn't have a care in the world. iwaizumi knew better. he knew well the calculating, cold and domineering personality that lay beneath the faux exterior. it didn't take long for the rest of the team to realize the same thing.

-

the sirens grew louder as iwaizumi neared the aoba johsai gymnasium. quickly sliding the familiar back door, his shoes squeaked beneath him as he rushed up to his teammate lying unresponsive on the cold gym floor.

"dammit, shittykawa, you already fucked up your knee and now look."

beads of sweat coated oikawa's forehead, his strained expression remained.

paramedics arrived quickly after, supporting oikawa's body along with iwaizumi in order to properly transport him to the Miyagi Prefecture Hospital.

hospitalizations were not unfamiliar to iwaizumi, all thanks to his best friend.

upon their quick arrival, the ever-familiar smell of hand sanitizer, disinfectant, and old people filled iwaizumi's nose.

"god i fucking hate hospitals."

iwaizumi never got used to the smell, just like how he never got used to the anxiety that pitted in his stomach when he'd sit inside the hospital room while Oikawa remained stable, but unconscious.

after what felt like an eternity, oikawa's eyes fluttered open. Oikawa sighed in recognition.

"you've got to stop doing this to yourself, tohru."

"i know. they don't want broken athletes—"

"nOT JUST THAT YOU DUMB FUCK YOU HAVE A LIFE THAT'S WORTH LIVING FOR MORE THAN JUST A FUCKING SPORT."

"you want this as much as me."

"yeah, but not enough to damage myself forever! this is the 17th time you've collapsed and your 5th hospitalization. first the knee, fainting spells — which, by the way, you're so fucking lucky this is all this shit is — anemia attacks, starvation, the list goes on."

Oikawa looked down, his tired eyes staring at the crisp, white, linen sheet. he stood up, being sure to do so slowly, before ringing for an attendant. within seconds, a nurse rushed in asking, "anything i can help you with, sweetheart? could i get you some ginger ale for this medication I'm gonna give you?"

"water's fine, thanks. actually, i was wondering how fast i can leave."

"we're going to have a quick run-by with our neurologist just to make sure there isn't any head trauma from when you fainted and then you should be good to go."

Oikawa nodded, thanking her again before sitting down again in his hospital bed.

"what am I supposed to tell the team, Hajime..."

"tell them the truth — that you overdid it again. they're not blind, ya know."

oikawa didn't reply, thankful that the nurse who quickly placed the meds and bottle of water down served as a proper distraction. downing a bit of water, Oikawa coughed before swallowing the pills. clicking the button again, Oikawa paged the nursing staff.

she popped in once again with a smile, "all set with the meds? great. I'll see about that neurologist." she left once more.

"you sure are an inpatient asshole."

oikawa laughed, "that might be a new one." yet, when he'd laughed, he felt a straight in one of his muscles, like a vein was stretched. suddenly, black spots began to overtake his vision — oikawa's familiar warning that he was set on a path to another fainting spell if he didn't lie down. as inconspicuously as possible, he laid back down.

"I guess I'll try to get some sleep." Oikawa said, though both he and iwaizumi knew of Oikawa's insomniac tendencies.

-

Oikawa awoke from blackness to the bright lights of his hospital room and a twange of pain in his mouth.

"wow, i can't believe i fell asleep."

panic set in as soon as he spoke. he looked down and in his nose was an air tube, on his chest were heart rate monitors, and at the elbow of his veiny arm was an IV jabbed into his vein. the cords were tied to the hospital bed, making him feel like a prisoner. he began to struggle, trying to pull some of the cords that seemed as chains, the beeping of his heart rate monitor furthering his anxiety, bringing back flashbacks of his knee displacement.

iwaizumi quickly stirred from his concentration — he hadn't sleep, but seemed to have been deeply absorbed in thought.

"HEY! hey, shittykawa, stop it! STOP IT!" iwaizumi made a grab for oikawa's arms, steading him as oikawa's labored breathing began to slow.

"haji, what the fuck. what is all this shit on me. i was supposed to go home...", he glanced at the clock, "5 hours ago!"

"Oikawa, stop it. Just stop."

"Why should I? this is all so unnecessary, i just fainted for gods sake!"

"Oikawa."

at last, Oikawa made eye contact with the solemn and tortured eyes of iwaizumi.

"Oikawa, you had a seizure."

Oikawa's eyebrows shot up in disbelief, then into anger, then complete and udder sorrow.

"tohru, hey, it's okay. they think it was just a stress seizure. still, you had me fucking screaming at one point there."

"what....what was i like?"

iwaizumi pondered for a moment, looking away.

"well, first, all your limbs rose up together while you stared all creepy-like, like a robot. then, you lowered them and started shaking all over, foaming at the mouth — but your spit was red."

"i think i bit my tongue, it fucking hurts."

"well, you're not leaving either way."

"yes i am."

"no you're not."

"yes i am."

"no you're not."

"yes i am"

"i override the captain as he is no longer in the proper mental state to be commanding orders."

"you can't do that!" Oikawa immediately tried to stand to defend his honor, but quickly regretted it. pain shot up to his head, right behind his eyes. he couldn't hide the wince in pain.

"Tohru, this is good for you. don't think i didn't notice your cuts. when did you relapse? wait, don't tell me. you don't have to. the point is, you need to reach out for help — there's so many people here who are ready to give it."

"Haji, all i am is a fucking burden. trust me, I've taken much more than I've given."

iwaizumi bit the inside of his cheek, beginning to overthink his own choices.

"hey, if it's cuz of what i said about you being shitty—"

"it's not that. iwaizumi, look around. I'm in the fucking hospital, ruining your Saturday night, ruining our chances at the championships, ruining everything. like i always do. i always fuck everything up. i always think if i try a little harder than I'll be good enough. then i always end back up at ground zero."

iwaizumi sighed. "you're the only guy who can look at all what you've accomplished and see it as a fucking zero."

"you mean, the only guy who can see things realistically."

"Oikawa, you deserve more than what your brain tells you you deserve."

oikawa's vision blurred, his resolve crumpling. it still didn't feel right. iwaizumi is wrong. wrong, wrong, WRONG. I don't deserve shit. i haven't earned it. his chin began to wobble as iwaizumi engulfed him in a tight hug.

"Oikawa, it might not feel like it now, but i promise some day it will."

oikawa nodded, not believing it himself, but holding onto the hope that some day he would.

writing this was very therapeutic to me. upon rereading it later, I've realized that i find the interactions between iwa and oikawa are quite similar to some of the conversations I've had with myself. please know that no matter what you're going through, there is always light at the end of the tunnel.

[whereflowersbloom]

Sealed Fate

The Western horizon was on fire: hot pink turned into mauve, wild orange into gold, the bright colours fading into paleness, then darkness. It was the day they whisper their vows before the gods, both Raven and Damian believed that love was not what stood at the foundation of their pledge, at least not the kind that fate had in store for them. No, that’s what they want to believe, what truly mattered most at this point was peace, peace through political marriage rather than an overwhelming affection. Peace. Damian, the youngest son of King Bruce and the noblest of all of Gotham’s princes, living or dead. As King Bruce was only left with Damian and Richard. Raven, a demigod, sired by Trigon the Terrible and mortal Arella.

The fragile truce between Gotham and Azarath balanced on the tip of a blade, depending on this union of convenience. Kon-El was wearing a scowl that would freeze unquenchable fire from the House of Hades. She could feel Trigon’s dark eyes burning into her face, the harsh, singeing heat of a desert behind it. She wanted to run, but she was also afraid of him giving chase. What was the point anyway. Before coming to Gotham, she knew how to fly, wings spread wide, flying away, her shoulders have borne heavy burdens, heavy burdens of solid stone. Oh she prayed to fly away from them, and roam the freedom of the sky, but her father had cut off both her wings and left her rooted to the ground. There would no longe mountain's peaks with the promise of wondrous views to keep. It all came to an end the day her father told she had been promised to Damian: Prince of Gotham, the great. Gotham the glorious. Gotham the magnificent. She should be honored, but her thoughts and feelings on the matter were inconsequential as the advice of a woman in wartime.

A week later she found herself at her wedding feast. Wearing a silver attire, a veil, a lilies and myrtle garland, and a golden headband. The Brothers and sisters her husband had in plenty, raised to be warriors they fought during war to lose their short lives. Helena and Timotheos had fallen. No body of Jason had been found after the last battle with Crete. She only met her husband her wedding day. He was reserved but polite and not overly perfumed, and when her eyes fell on him she thought of Narcissus. Narcissus, who had been unable to pull away from his own reflection in the pond, enchanted by his own beauty until death claimed him. Although the way her tutor had prattled on and on about Damian’s innumerable virtues, Raven had not expected him to be as radiant as a god. The sun-kissed skin stretched to wrap around muscles built from years of practicing complex military skills, broad shoulders and powerful arms, displaying strength and virility akin to a noble lion, movements of disconcerting grace for one so large. His facial features had a frank and honest quality to them, bright and deep-set eyes, as green as spring leaves with the touch of Persephone, a Greek nose, full lips. He was a God in beauty and stature. Reluctantly, tore her gaze from his beautiful face and focused on her new family. They have been so impeccably polite, specially Richard. ‘Welcome my good sister. We are all so blessed to have you.’ Blessed. Blessed child she had been called once long ago.

Do you feel blessed, my dear sister?” Richard asked, passing a golden wine cup into her hand. His wide smile meant no harm nor his words. As she grew up Raven was left to learn how to smile and laugh prettily at compliments that made her skin crawl, feign the innocence of any maiden her age.

Blinking several times, she looked back at him and smiled weakly. “Of course, brother.”

Richard was all dancing, light and lean seduction, dark myrrh hair and flushed red lips, rosy cheeks and aristocratic arched eyebrows, adorning himself in a blue and gold tunic. Her new brother appeared to be content to sit in the shadow of his younger brother and watch him gleam in all his glory. Cassandra did not speak with her, she was the only calm in the midst of a storm of abrupt adjustment. She tried to pay no heed to the murmurs of gossiping women at the feast, eyes green with envy as she had married the godlike prince. Foreign seductress. Demon spawn.

Bruce and Olivier discussed vehemently about warfare and politics with Kal-El and Kon-El. Diana and Artemis were carrying an excited conversation about traveling and Shiera’s recent journey in Egypt. She caught no sight of Trigon to her relief.

Trigon. Other gods might have roared their pleasure at the skills and intelligence of their offspring, praised their achievements for all to hear whilst filling themselves to the brim with nectar. Not Trigon, who wanted to sire no child but found himself infatuated with Arella, bedding her out of enjoyment.

If she were godly, truly a deity, in all of its ways with fantastical unlimited power, then one could not help but ask: Would Trigon praise her then? Did he not want her because she bled red as earthlings. As I’d guessing what she was thinking her husband finally spoke.

“For a deity to come down on solid ground isn’t seen many times. For her to wed a mortal willingly is even more ambiguous.” Damian exhaled softly, standing right next to her. His voice was so deep, so soothing and alluring as she had imagined.

“I am no deity. I am the undesired offspring of the god of death.” She said in a choked voice. Not sure if he was mocking the nature of her position. Green eyes alight with amusement.

“You are anything but undesired, wife.” Damian responded, voice low in his throat, and private; a voice she knew in her bones he meant only for her. His face reflected an earnest expression filled with so much pure-hearted sincerity that it stole Raven’s breath away

No man had ever spoken of passion or desire to Raven, and all that she knew of such words she had overheard her tutors speak, or learned from old songs; the glory of being called beautiful in tones, not of cool reason but burning emotion flooded her entirely. She was desired. Biting her lip, her face flushed, and shining starlight hair drooping over her face as if that would somehow hide how obviously close to tears she was.

Damian smiled serenely and Raven felt like he’d seen the sun. Resembling the sun and light, Apollo.

He had a gentleness to him that is completely foreign to her experience, not seen at first sight, discerning the heavy emotions in his eyes. Raven did not know before that it was possible for men to be gentle. One glance and she thought of him kissing her mouth, just as he thought of tasting her skin. Uncertainty lies in her desire for the reciprocal dedication to infallible ardour.

Air. Her lungs were in need of air.

~~~

She went to the garden of Thetis, to sit among the flowers and watch the moon-washed stars. The goddess of flowers must have visited bringing brightness and beauty wherever she stepped, as she appreciated a patch of narcissus, foxgloves, hyacinth, and delphinium displaying tightly clustered flowers upon tall stalks in varied blues and purples, in full bloom, surrounded by the thick chorus of crickets chirping all around. With all thoughts of threats and protecting her homeland, Raven found herself strangely empty. It wasn’t hollowness: it was the emptiness of shock, of disbelief and misunderstandings when everything you’d imagined was pulled out from underneath you and she was suddenly living in a reality where someone admired her? Yearn for her touch rather than fear her.

“Raven.” Kon-El sighed her name as he walked closer to her, fabric softly trailing on the grass and it made Raven tremble. His ocean eyes saddened, darkened, burning through her and reducing anything to ash, to nothingness. There were things that must be said but she couldn’t bring herself to apologize.

“When Morpheus came to me in my dreams. I did not dare look upon his godly figure. But I heard his voice like a thunder from grand Zeus. He promised your hand would be mine to hold.” The words had come bitter and aching with such profound loss that it made her throat tighten with his emotion.

“I have a husband now, Kon.” She mumbled quietly, using his infancy name, casting her gaze downwards. “They were nothing but hollow words, grains of sand carried upon the wind of Aeolus.” His disapproval at the mention of the word husband was obvious.

Attempting to reason with him to not make a claim of a right that was no longer his. She could sense his anger, regret, sorrow. Envy . Why do you look at me in such way? Why do you look at me as if you pity me? Why do you look at me with eyes filled with sorrow and hatred, all at once? Where did her sweet and naughty Kon go? She wished to voice those questions.

With clenched fists, he nodded. “It’s for the gods to decide as our fate lies in their hands.” Kon-El spoke solemnly with unshakable conviction. “You have a husband tonight, but take heed as The Fates could cut his thread of life coming morrow.” He bowed down and left without saying no more.

No. No. He would not dare. Notion spit forth from such a place of hate, fear and confusion like its like a venom small at first or great yet if allowed it to take over fully.

The night was calm, witness of the conversation between two old friends, the stifling hot of the day finally giving way to a coolness which smelled like an approaching storm. Yes, she could feel it, there was a storming coming with the unforgiving and celestial ire of Zeus.

~~~

The feast passed quickly, with laughter and high spirits carrying it along. However, Raven could never quite relax after hearing Kon-El’s threatening words. And there was the bedding ceremony to proceed, not in public. Thank to Merciful Elea.

Torchlight played on Raven’s face as she motioned with her hands like a sorceress, then the royal peplos she wore dropped off her like the skin off a snake and she emerged. Goddess Nyx in human form, her breasts round and ripe and firm, her belly flat and sculpted thighs, the tangle of dark hair between her legs an invitation and a challenge. She was bare before him. So very delicate, so vulnerable, so unlike anything he’d ever laid eyes upon. It intrigued him, that vulnerability, laid bare for him to see under the soft glow of the torches. The daughter of the God of death.

What a curious creature she was. Gifted with the beauty of Aphrodite, the mysterious eyes of Nyx, holding the stars of Orion in them. They had been in his mind on and off at the feast, wrapped up in the hazy, sweetly intoxicating lull of inebriation.

As he looked down then back up her body, to her timid eyes, no challenge in them, though her lips still twisted in a semblance of indecision. Doubt. It was obvious that while she was not truly frightened of him, nonetheless the shadow of doubt and tension was present. Damian swallowed hard. He had avoided looking at her more than necessary during the ceremony but he gave into temptation as Aphrodite whispered in his ear all the ways he could have her. He did not like Gods nor their offspring. The Gods enjoyed tricking mortals for their own merriment. But, she was his wife and there was no escaping now. He cursed quietly for his mortality.

Raven dug her pearly teeth into the fleshy hills of her bottom lip, reminding herself to stay in control, taking a deep breath, fists clenched at her side as she took a brave step forward. “My prince.”

“Damian.” He corrected immediately as he straightened up for a fraction of a second before he bent his head and allowed his lips to graze Raven’s ear. “My name is Damian.”

With uncommon courage, she reached for the clasp holding his jade tunic under his chin. The heavy cloth sighed down around their feet. With a delicate feather-like touch, Raven traced the longest scar on his bronze body that went from Damian’s left shoulder down to his right hip. His breath hitched at the sudden invasion, but relaxed into her touch, his eyes fluttering shut for a moment. No one had ever dare touch him intimately without his permission.

She could see hidden amongst the bright hues an emerald green clouding over with Damian’s lust. Their lips melded together as if they were made for each other and moved in sync as Damian threaded her fingers into Damian’s thick raven locks. Damian gently nipped her lower lip, and when she gasped heavily against his, he slid his tongue inside the warm cavern of her mouth to meet hers.

Her mind temporarily muddled with an electrical charge coursing through her veins making it hard for her to focus on any one part of her anatomy than her mouth against his. Everything tingles, starting at the back of her neck and rushing down, an uncomfortable yet exhilarating heat razing through her nerves only to whirlpool in her lower belly, churning, before continuing down all the way to her toes. He tasted like pure ambrosia.

As they continued kissing, his lips become eager, desperate, feverish. She’s never been kissed like this before. Kon-El had kissed her cheeks out of mischief a few times when they were children. Innocent love. Never with parted lips and tongue, with a hunger that would scare her had the same kind of hunger not driven her own greedy mouth to kiss and suck and nip. And yet she knew with the wisdom of Athena, that even if she’d kissed a hundred men a thousand times, nothing would ever compare to this.

Peppering her neck with kisses and listening to her gasp his name, he carried her slowly to the crimson bed where he laid her down. Dragging his teeth gently downwards, along the expanse of her sweet, alabaster skin. There all shyness was replaced with audacity and devotion. Not being able to resist the urge, he bit into her neck, at her pulse point where he could feel her unsteady heartbeat against his tongue as he laved at it.

Hands that were calloused and large and warm and so very gentle for a warrior, as they find their way roaming her natural curves. They skimmed over her thigh and hip, caress the soft skin of her waist, ghost over the swell of her breasts. His mouth, hot and wet, closed around her breast and sucks lightly, thus making her suck in a sharp breath. Expert tongue swelling around her pink nipple. What in the name of Hera he was doing to her? She wanted more. More. More.

Raven cannot utter a single word. Her mouth too dry, her mind too drunk on arousal, to form any coherent phrase. Calling his name between small whimpers showing her heightened ecstacy. This must be Elysium in all its glory. It was such a sweet torture.

Damian thought to himself she tasted like earth, starlight, like flowers blooming in the night. What was he thinking? She was his wife, no more. Daughter of his nemesis. His young heart hammering inside of his chest, the memory of his mother’s voice haunting him as she vanished with the wind.

Something flared in Damian then, flared up in his chest and his belly like a flaming arrow shot high to signal the start of a nighttime raid, and he seized her hips and pushed up inside her. Raven groaned softly in pain. Fear sent her stomach and chest quaking, her breaths coming short and fast, mind flooded with words of maidens about the pain of maidenhead being taken. At first, his strokes were slow, but his eyes do not look upon her face. The flower garland tumbled off her head and was crushed under their grappling bodies, the scent of a summer noon briefly filling the night.

She opened her legs wider and wrapped them around Damian following her instincts. Her velvet heat encased him, and he had to restrain himself from descending into madness at the pleasure. He felt like he was drowning in the Aliakmonas, the river swollen with melted snow. Raven’s round breasts goaded him, her hands caressed him tenderly, her ripeness clenched around him. As he started thrusting faster, harder, pumping in and out of her at an erratic pace. Damian drops his forehead to her shoulder, an animal like grunt in her ear, and she heard herself moan along with him. She even shifted her hips so that he hits her just right, his pubic bone rubbing against a sensitive spot his hand had touched.

He could tell she was close by the way her walls were fluttering around him, and he brought one of his hands down between them to rub circles onto her bundle of nerves. Damian also angled his hips enough to reach for the deep spot in the center of women that made them cry with satisfaction with each push.

Something inside her tightens, inside her belly where a babe will grow with the blessings of the gods, and then another wave of pleasure washed over her, pulling such a loud moan from her it should leave her ashamed, but she doesn’t care. Sweat beds clouding her vision, and the ragged breath of her husband hot against her moonlight skin, salty with sweat.

He reached climax and came harder than he had ever. His thrusts slowed, hips stilling as he emptied himself, thick, hot, white ropes of his seed filling her up to the hilt. Letting out a weary sigh he removed his body atop hers, carefully. It was done. Fulfilled his duty he told himself. A clear lie. Damian considered cupping her cheek and kissing her temple but he couldn’t do it. No. His features hardened as he turned away from her.

“I will show you respect as my wife. I will please you in all the ways a husband and lover can. But do not ask me to love you, for that is not an oath I can honor.” His voice came out hoarser and raspier than ever in the darkness, before rolling to the other of the bed preparing to fall in the arms of Morpheus.

There was an emptiness inside of her soul, her center she couldn’t describe. Waiting to be full again. Aching. Pulsing. Whirling.

“But I thought…” Raven began, a lump forming in her throat, not wanting to admit that she had hoped he could ever find love with her. Perhaps fondness. What about the gentleness he had shown her? The words died with the quietude of the royal chamber as if Harpocrates had made himself present.

Perhaps coming morrow with the grace of Apollo, he would bring Damian’s gentleness back to her. All she can do is hope and pray tonight. A lone tear slipped down her face as she closed her eyes.

Notes: Hello it’s me again with a new AU. Sorry not sorry. Had to get it out of my system 😂😂😂😂🙈🙈🙈🙈

Do not panic please. This is the first chapter and there will be Damirae fluff I promise. Happy Damirae moments and probably more smut than in other stories 👀👀

Hope you all enjoy. @ravenfan1242 @tweepunkgrl @chromium7sky @deepbreadlover @timid-soot-sprite @kallura-juniblade @shewhowillnotbenamed1 @andthendk @alerialblu

[rex101111]

For a glass of Cactus Wine

Summary: Migelo does both his duties at the fete, one to the Empire, and the other to his kids. 

Rating: T

Fandom: Final Fantasy XII

Well! Been a while since I wrote something substantial, but @sevi007 has been doing a live blog of this game, thus reminding me how much I love it, and so here’s a fic depicting the one missing scene in this game I really wanted to see, also to give Lizard dad the content he deserves. Enjoy!

Seeing Arcadian troops stomp in the halls of the Royal Palace made Migelo want to crawl right out of his hide. It’s been two years since those bastards in their tin plates stomped into his home and his city and still he could only barely keep his anger in check at how disrespectful the whole lot of them were.

Leaning on pillars built centuries past, wiping their feet on rugs that took months to weave, pointing and laughing like children at art that they would never understand the importance of. If he heard another one of these piss-drunk bureaucrats call one more thing in this palace “quaint” he’s going to use that same thing to break it over their heads.

Still, years of experience in burying his feelings and opinions about his costumers helped him plaster a smile on his snout. This was simply business, he was providing sundries and food for an event, like he’s done dozens and dozens of times over his long career.

“Watch that crate!” He yelled out to one of the servants, “it’s got wine in it, worth more than ten of your lifetimes! Handle it with a bit of care why don’t you?” The servant sheepishly apologized and asked for help from another servant as Migelo turned his gaze elsewhere, “dear girl, you’ll break your back like that!” He went to a maid and corrected her posture and how she held her tray of food, “there we go now, better?”

“Thanks Migelo.” The maid smiled gratefully, before her face turned sour, “these imperials get nasty when they’re drunk, they keep asking me to run back and forth for all sorts of nonsense.” She sighed harshly, “probably just want a peek up my skirt.”

“You let ol’ Migelo handle them, Meina.” He soothes, turning her to a different direction, “empty that tray and take a break for ten minutes, I’ll have someone else make sure they don’t notice you gone, yes?”

She went off with a smile and Migelo continued like that, his time cleaved cleanly between ordering servants this way and that soothing fraying nerves. This fete needed to go flawlessly, with the consul himself attending every hand on deck needed to give it their all and then some. If the pompous royal left this evening with a good opinion of his food, he might transfer said opinion to the rest of the city. If he did that, maybe his boys and girls could have more room to breathe.

He looked ruefully over the staff, some of the younger ones he’s known since they were children, helped them train for applying for work in the palace. Rabanastre was a small city, everyone knew everyone, and that only became stronger as the plague and the war ravaged the place. Seeing these kids, his kids, running around like cockatrices with their heads cut off for the sake of their invaders made a lick of fire burn in his gut, no matter how hard he tried to douse it.

Worse of all was that he knew he was delaying the inevitable, he had an invitation to answer soon, and the longer he ignored the worse things would get not only for himself, but everyone else living in Rabanastre.

He took a few long breathes, practiced his best servile smile in a nearby plate, pictured the smiling face of every single child under his care in his mind, and went off to sit at the right of the eldest living son of Emperor Gramis, Vayne Carudas Solidor.      

The consul was deep in debate with the others sitting at his table, something about tax rates and territory dispute that went right over Migelo’s head, but as soon as the old bangaa drew close enough, as if he could hear his footsteps over the rancor of the room, Vayne stopped talking and turned his head to meet his gaze.

“Ah, Sir Migelo, so nice of you to finally join me.” He motioned for one of the nearby soldiers to pull back the chair at his right side, “please, sit.”

With practice ease, and complaining stomach, Migelo bowed in apology, “I hope you would forgive me, Lord Consul, I had so many things to fix and move, my responsibilities nearly made me forget your most gracious offer.”

“Think nothing of it good Sir,” Vayne waved off easily, “We should all wish to have your work ethic Migelo, so we could accomplish our own work half as well.” Vayne complimented him smoothly as Migelo finally sat, the others at the table nodding sycophantically, before beginning to pour the store owner a glass of red wine. “But, let me remind you that I asked of you to refer to me by my first name.”

Taking the glass with all the grace he could manage, Migelo bowed his head again with an outwardly warm smile, “ah, forgive this old lizard sir consul, I still feel ill at ease referring to one of your station so informally.” The other reason was the only people he called by name were his friends and his kids, and Vayne is not, would never be, either. “Perhaps I’ll manage that better,” he made a show of laughing from his belly, “with a bit of fine Arcadian wine in my system, eh?”

“Of course.” Vayne’s sharp eyes and sharper smile made Migelo feel as if he were strapped to a table, “please, indulge as you please, we have all night after all.”

Nodding, Migelo started to drain his glass, and had to fight his gag reflex with every gulp. Arcadian wine made you feel like someone was trying to prove something to you, too rich, too fruity, too damn much. Seeing the people around him gulp this stuff down was aggravating as it was confusing, you could stuff as many flowers into a bottle of Slaven piss as you wanted, it was still a drink of cold piss.

Decades of honing his poker face in the interest of more returning costumers made sure none of that disgust was visible on his face of course, to any casual observer Migelo savored every drop of the expensive Slaven piss, finishing his glass with a pleasured sigh. “Ahh, what an excellent, uh, flavor profile! So full of life and character!” He turned to the consul with a toothy grin, “How’s about you give me another to loosen my tongue?”

“You are a man of great taste, Sir Migelo.” Vayne complimented, smiling thinly as he filled the offered cup before filling his own. “I’ve heard Dalmascans do not have a high opinion of my home’s signature brew.”

“Bah.” Migelo scoffed easily, “children with no experience on their tongues Lord Consul, nothing to be offended by.” He internally grits his teeth, he heard some of the younger men voice some of their very loud opinions about Arcadian wine in a place where a couple of soldiers could hear them. It ended well for absolutely no one, and he was only glad to make sure his kids didn’t see or hear it. “We Dalmascans are very proud of our own drinks, I think you would see it would make sense to be a bit defensive.” He took another gulp, “pardon m’candor, of course.”

“Indeed.” Vayne nodded, finishing his own glass, “and you have a great many things to be proud of, I’ve heard a fair share of good things about Dalmascan cactus wine.” He looked at Migelo with a gaze that made his scales itch, “have you tried it before?”

He was almost insulted the man had to ask, “o’course I did lord consul!” He tried to be casual about it, but a bit of hometown pride seemed to seep in every other word, “Cactus Wine is easy to brew in large amounts, made from Cactoid fruit and the sands are absolutely littered with the little buggers, it’s what you order when you have something to celebrate or as a victory drink.” Migelo could go for an entire barrel of it right now. “It’s a…simple drink. Simple but hearty.”

Vayne nodded politely as the bangaa went on, before he took the bottle of his expensive wine and looked at it quietly, “…I suppose there hasn’t been much call for it, lately.”

Migelo nearly swallowed his tongue, for all his talk of taking in all of Dalmasca’s hatred onto himself, the consul seemed adept at choosing words to inspire said hatred. “Y-No, Lord Consul, not a lot to celebrate.” He quickly recovered, smiling again as he waved his glass about, “b-but fret not! Us Dalmascans find reason to celebrate no matter the weather! You’ll have your taste of cactus wine before long don’t you worry!”

“Why wait my friend?” Vayne said smoothly, Migelo barely exerting the restraint he needed to stop himself from cursing the consul out on considering himself something he is not, “I have found myself a few bottles for this grand occasion.”

Migelo was stopped short, he had double checked every scrap of food and drink meant for this fete, triple checking the alcohol in particular, and he was sure there wasn’t a drop of cactus wine in the whole palace, he figured the imperials wouldn’t want to touch the stuff. “Y-you did? F-from where lord consul?”

“From the palace cellars of course.” He replied, motioning with his hand to another maid, Kayta if Migelo remembers right, who held a very familiar clay jug in her hands. “If one kind of wine isn’t enough to call me friend, perhaps two would suffice.”

Migelo held Kayta’s conflicted gaze for a moment, before he turned to Vayne with a doubtful expression, “the cellars my lord? Those haven’t been disturbed since the war ended! Who knows what kind of vermin have found their way to the stores?”

“I had my men carefully inspect each bottle.” Vayne assured, which only made Migelo more ill thinking about what Imperial soldiers considered inspecting. “Please, do not be reticent, I find myself curious what a man of your expertise has to say about the difference between one wine and the other.”

Kayta poured Migelo a glass with a sorrowful expression, Migelo soothing the girl as best he could with a smile only she could see, and the bangaa took a long whiff of the drink, before slowly draining his glass.

Cactus wine was sweet, almost sweet enough you could give it to a child without them puffing their little face. Its taste was subtle, airy, doing nothing more than what a wine ought to do and made your face and belly warm. It was cheap drink, cheap enough that working folk could indulge in it without endangering their pay over-much.

It was Dalmasca to the last drop, warm and honest.

“So, sir Migelo?” Vayne inquired when the bangaa finished and had not said a word, “how is your home’s brew compared to mine?”

He was quiet for a few more moments before he turned to the consul, “I must admit to having a bias sir.” He put the glass back down on the table gently, reaching over to grab a grape nearby to soak some of the alcohol in his system, “I’ve been drinking cactus wine since I was a whelp, y’see, it’s a drink for the heart as much for the stomach nowadays.”

Vayne chuckled good naturedly, “well, now you have me curious.” He picked up his own glass and motioned for Kayta to fill it, the girl nearly tripping over herself to bow as she poured without spilling it on him. He took a careful sip…and stopped, an emotion Migelo could not name fliting across his face. “…it tastes…” The consul was quiet for a moment, the rest of the table perfectly silent to await his judgment, “…honest.”

Migelo released a breath he didn’t know he was holding, allowing himself the tiniest amount of pride as he looked at Vayne, “Dalmasca knows no other way, Lord Consul.”

“Pritas.” Vayne looked at one of the people sitting at the table, some peacock in a stuffy red shirt with a pencil moustache, “you should try it, I am certain people in Archades would flock to try this, exotic yet gentle on the tongue.”

Pritas hurriedly motioned for Kayta to pour him a glass, and no sooner than he had a drop of it he was nodding enthusiastically, “y-yes Lord Vayne! You are absolutely correct; everyone will want a bottle of this for any price!”

Migelo, despite his mood and the alcohol in his system, found himself smiling at the sound of it, feeling someone patting his shoulder. “Migelo, after the fete be sure to grant Pritas here the information for whoever you get your cactus wine from, they’ll find more business than ever.”

Migelo could picture the family of brewers in his head, nearly jumping for joy at the chance that fell into their laps, a contract to sell cactus wine halfway across Ivalice. He then imagined their faces when he told them to which half of Ivalice the wine would go. He imagines the shock, the outrage, the sorrow.

He imagines the table with one more chair then they needed, the extra gathering dust for two years now.

“Yes, Lord Consul.” He said as calmly as he could manage, looking into the face of a man whose night has gone exactly as he had planned, down to the last detail, painting a smiling on his snout. “Thank you for this opportunity, I’m sure they’ll see this as a chance to build their life back up to how it was…” He could feel his lips curling over his teeth. “…before the war, that is.”

Vayne’s face drew downwards slightly, an almost robotic motion, “yes, the war has devastated both sides long enough,” He squeezed the shoulder he was holding, in a move meant to be reassuring, “it is past time we helped each other back onto our feet.”

Vaan crying into his shoulder, cursing and yelling and screaming every curse he knew. Penelo holding him tightly as she sobbed. Fire in the sky, visible from his window.

His home, under siege and under iron boots.

Migelo bit his tongue, brought to mind every orphan he and Old Dalan have struggled to keep fed and working and warm, and managed an impossible smile, “yes…way past time…Lord Consul.”

Vayne shook his head with a fond smile, and poured Migelo another cup of Arcadian wine. Migelo drained it without tasting a drop.

(Not long after, barely an hour after, he sees his boy in chains and his girl crying for his freedom, and all the wine in his veins is cold and freezing.  

As they dragged his boy away, as his girl fell into the arms of Kayta as she sobbed, Vayne Carudas Solidor came to him, smiled, and clapped his shoulder.)  

[dacuslucy]

Sobiana Dorothea au????

HELL YES

Summary: Sophie has a simple job, a simple life, but her ex has risen to become a ‘viral’ philanthropist. Sophie reflects on her relationship with her. (basically: sophie is very gay and biana ie very rich. yearning. lots of it.)

do you ever stop and think about me? - sophiana, but it’s mostly just sophie yearning. 1.3k 

ao3 link

~

Sophie turned on her tv as soon as she got home from her job, as usual. 

Her heart skipped when she saw what was on. She didn’t know why she had expected something else.

She’d seen all the magazines at work today. Everyone in her (admittedly small) friend group had talked only of it at lunch; in hushed tones, of course. No one talked to her about it. No, they must’ve assumed she was too fragile for conversations about her ex. 

Her rich, charity making, dream selling ex. 

I can handle it. It’s not like I'm still that crying schoolgirl. 

Ignoring the shaking in her shoulders, she unmuted the tv. 

“...Biana Vacker, founder of the Moonlark charity. Kelly, don’t you think it’s incredible what she has accomplished? A project to help, house, and feed children in need! I am shocked she has come this far, being so young and all.”

A sharp stab of anger flared inside of Sophie, distracting her from the crushing feeling in her heart. How dare they question her accomplishments? She’s done this all on her own. She deserves so much more than these people.

But, however much she disliked the way these hosts talked about Biana, she still wanted to see. She wanted to see her.

“...And now we have the woman herself!” The stage audience claps, and Sophie freezes. 

She was as beautiful as ever. She wore a stunning dark purple dress that perfectly complimented her dark skin tone and a yellow ribbon amongst her curly hair. 

Biana made her way onto the stage, and turned and smiled and waved at the camera, blowing a kiss, and a small wink. 

Sophie blushed.

“Miss Vacker, it is such an honour to have you on the show today!”

“Thank you so much, the honour is mine!” She brushed a small part of hair that had escaped the ribbon behind her ear, but it just popped back out again. Biana giggled.

She used to laugh like that with me.  

Sophie didn’t realize how hard she had been squeezing the remote until Kelly started talking again. 

“So, Biana, we were just discussing how amazing it is that you’ve come so far in this industry, especially so young!”

“Oh, I didn’t do it alone! My incredible friends helped me so much, and I would love to thank them, particularly-” Sophie shut the tv off before she could hear any more. 

Hands shaking, she hurried upstairs to her bedroom.

She sat down on her bed, brushing her fingers across her faux fur pillows to calm herself down. 

They’re right, i suppose. She thinks of her friends. I am too weak to talk about her.

Out of the corner of her eye, she spots her box.

The box.

Their box.

Sophie took a few deep breaths, before walking across the room and grabbing the box. 

Once she was back seated on her bed, she gently ran her fingers over the top of the box. It was covered in peeling stickers, polaroids, and writing. 

In her scrawl, it read: “Sophie”, and in Biana’s beautiful script, “+ Biana’s memory box” with a little heart at the end. She carefully lifted the top off of the box.

Inside, there were photo booth strips, pressed flowers, Biana’s origami birds, and the letters.

Oh.

The letters.

Not particularly thinking about the emotional damage it may cause, Sophie unfolded the first letter.

“My Dearest Sophie,” it read.

“We arrived at Mom’s cottage today! Fitz is utterly bored, but he knows nothing of the woodlands here! I found a bunch of mushrooms, and many types of moss on the trees!

I also found a truly beautiful clearing (or it would have been beautiful, if it were not full of dying chrysanthemums!) behind the cottage. Mom said that the people that lived here before were extremely fond of the chrysanthemums, but she had never really liked them herself.

I was obviously horrified, so I took to caring for them myself! It gave me great sorrow to cut this one, but I told myself it was for the greatest cause ever.”

Pinned below was a dried, pressed, red chrysanthemum. 

“Sophie, dear, I have been reading up on the language of flowers. Everyone says that roses are the flowers of love, and they are! but chrysanthemums are the only ones that mean ‘I love you’.

~ Biana.”

Sophie sat there, for a little while, in silence.

And then the tears came.

She shook, covering her mouth, as to make no sound.

It took her a few hours to calm down, but when she did, she made her way downstairs, and made herself some tea. 

Spiced tea. Herbal tea. Biana liked-

No. You will not do this to yourself, Sophie. focus. 

Long story short: she did it to herself.

She soon found herself back upstairs, the contents of the box spread all over her bed.

She had met Biana at a football game she had been convinced to go to by her friend Keefe. (Though in all fairness, Keefe only went to watch Fitz play.)

Biana had been hiding under the bleachers, avoiding the players at all cost. 

“Hey, why are you down here?” Sophie had asked. (she had spotted Biana down there when she had gotten up to stretch her legs.) She kind of found it hard to start a conversation, though. Very pretty girl and all that. 

“Oh, you know.” Biana shivered, she was only wearing a dress, and it didn’t even have substantial sleeves. “Avoiding the boys. Apparently, they can’t take no for an answer.”

“Oh,” Sophie said. “I’m sorry. Um, do you want my jacket? Actually, no, that’s not a question. here, take my jacket.” When Biana opened her mouth to object, Sophie quickly said, “I have a hoodie underneath anyway. I guess Keefe overestimated how cold it would be.”

Biana laughed, and took the jacket gratefully. “Well, I suppose I underestimated, then. Thank you!, Uh, for the jacket. What’s your name? I’m Biana.”

PrettygirlwantstoknowmynamePrettygirlwantstoknowmynamePrettygirlwantstoknowmyname- “I’m Sophie,” she managed to say.

“Well, Sophie, I have a feeling I’m going to be here awhile. And I don’t think Keefe and Fitz are going to be in a hurry soo…”

“...So?”

“You’ve been to our house before, haven’t you?”

Sophie shrugged. “Yeah, once or twice to help Keefe and Fitz make some posters. Why?”

Biana grinned. “Would you like to go and have some herbal tea with me?” She squints playfully at Sophie. “Or…are you more of a hot chocolate person? We have that too!” She got up from where she had been sitting on the ground. 

Sophie couldn’t help laughing at this girl’s energy. “Sure,”

Biana beamed. “...Maybe I could braid your hair as well? I know quite a few, and your hair is pretty long, so-”

“Uh, yeah! That’d be really cool!” Sophie smiled dorkily. 

“Well, what are we waiting for, then?” Biana looped her arm through Sophie’s.

Sophie sighed, her dramatic flashback coming to a close.

She slowly started to put the assorted letters and trinkets, finally coming back to the red chrysanthemum.

It’s the only one that says ‘I love you’.

She stuffs it in messily with the rest, then shoves the box under her bed. 

A buzz from her phone startles her. Oh, it’s just Keefe. 

She quickly responds to him, and then exits back into her contacts. 

She scrolled down her text chains, down, down and down until-

There. 

She hadn’t even changed her contact name.

Bia 💜

Sophie opened the chat. 

Her fingers hovered over her keypad for several seconds.

She knew exactly what she wanted to say.

Do you ever stop, and think about me?

Because I do. I think about you every fucking day. And it kills me. It kills me, Bia.

A few minutes later, she closed the chat.

Later, she found herself strangely wishing there was a red chrysanthemum emoji.

[frodos-bizarre-adventure]

@gingerreggg just some fluff

Heads Up- Part 12 (Joseph x Bust!Caesar)

▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪

"Are you ready to go out?" Suzi asked Caesar, as he sat atop the kitchen table.

"Really?" he replied skeptically. "I thought you didn't want anyone to see me?"

"And that's why we've got this!" Joseph exclaimed joyfully as he pranced into the room with a small carrying crate. It was quite lightweight, and across the top of one side a narrow, horizontal slit had been cut into the hard cardboard material, to function as a viewing window.

Caesar felt uneasy, somewhat queasy to the stomach if he'd had one. This was the first time he'd see the world, beyond the confines of Joseph's apartment. Well, of course, aside from that one escapade, but he didn't really get far.

"You really mean it?" he said nervously.

"Look, if you're gonna go bouncing away at night to see the world then I thought I'd let you have in on the fun with the two of us! We picked a nice place, I bet you'll love it." Joseph smiled, as he lifted Caesar off the table and gently into the box, fitting him perfectly with just a little bit of room to spare. "Just remember to be very quiet."

"Joseph," Caesar complained, as he was laid snugly into the box. "You cut the view-hole too high."

"Aw shit," Joseph groaned. "I should have measured."

Fortunately it wasn't a problem a few layers of newspaper couldn't solve, and with some cushioning beneath his neck the peeping hole was perfectly level with Caesar's eyes.

"That should do the trick," Joseph huffed, as he gently covered Caesar with the lid.

"And now...it's time," grinned the sculptor, as he carried his created companion, tucked safely into the box, out into the warm light of late afternoon.

--------

Joseph mostly got around town, and to and from the university, in his trusty old bicycle he'd gotten as a birthday present from his uncle Speedwagon. It had seen better days, but still served him well, especially after he installed a small sidecar so he could carry his art along with him on the way.

"This is fun!" Suzi cheered, as Joseph pedaled along down toward the beach-view that he and Suzi had agreed on earlier.

"Just don't let go of me!" Caesar cried, from inside the box. He laid upon her lap as she sat in the sidecar, and each time she raised her hands in excitement the hapless bust feared he might fall off.

But at the same time, as he peeked out of the narrow slit, Caesar felt a strange elation.

He was seeing the world beyond.

Buildings, cars, streets and people rushed by, illuminated in the orange light of sunset, as Joseph came pedaling along, so quickly that Caesar couldn't keep up with seeing them all. There was just such a big, big place to see, and with a little help, Caesar was going much, much further than he could possibly hop by himself.

Caesar smiled, a hidden smile from within his box that no one could see.

Perhaps it was far nicer to see the world with friends.

Perhaps he didn't have to be alone.

And yet, at the same time, Caesar felt a hint of sorrow as he admired the sun-kissed landscape gleaming in its tangerine illumination. There was a vast world out there, full of people, full of experiences, of stories in the making waiting to be told.

And he knew he could never be a part of it.

--------

"We're here!" Joseph said excitedly, as he halted near the parkway by the beach.

"And look!" Suzi exclaimed. "We're just in time for the sunset!"

"I can't see!" Caesar complained. "Get me out of this box!"

Dismounting from the sidecar, Suzi stood up and with Joseph's help, removed Caesar from the box, after glancing around to make sure nobody was around to witness them unloading their unusual cargo.

Caesar couldn't believe his eyes. They were at a quiet little corner of the beach, with the floor a smooth, wooden viewing deck. Beyond him was a view of the ocean, stretching all the way into the horizon, and hovering just above it was a brilliant orange orb whose rays Caesar felt onto his clay skin for the first time in his newfound life.

"So, what do you think?" Joseph asked as he gently laid Caesar down onto the deck, and sat cross-legged next to him.

"It's...it's beautiful," gasped Caesar in pure amazement, as he made a few hops forward.

"Whoa, easy there, Cae," Joseph cautioned. "Try not to fall in the water, I doubt you can swim," he said with a snarky laugh.

Caesar nodded, but was too absorbed in the splendor of it all to heed Joseph's dry wit. He could smell the refreshing salty breeze, feel the warmth of the descending sun, hear the waves and the wind and the calls of the birds. Just like the one time he'd left the house, except this time, Joseph wasn't trying to stop him.

And never before, in his short existence as a bodiless sculpt of clay, had Caesar felt so free.

Joseph shifted himself forward so that he was next to Caesar again. "I thought you'd enjoy this," he said, gently cradling the bust onto his lap.

The sun's rays were fading in warmth, but Joseph's arms felt warmer.

Soon the brilliant orb began to sink into the horizon, fading away into the distant mists as the deep pinks and purples of the sky began to crowd out the oranges and yellows of the sun's final rays. Caesar was awed. It was something that happened every single day, sure, but it was no less of a glorious spectacle to behold.

It wasn't long until the stars began to appear.

A few bright points, here and there, gradually emerging from the darkening sky. There were scarcely any clouds, to Joseph's delight, and soon, the night had come: enveloping them in a calm, peaceful darkness lit by the thousands of glittering pinpricks up above.

"Caesar," Joseph said softly. "Look."

He laid down onto his back on the wooden floor, after he took the newspapers from Caesar's box and gently laid the sculpture's head onto them so that Caesar could also recline comfortably. Side by side, artist and artwork lay down gazing skyward, into the infinite vastness of the night sky above.

"You know, Cae, my grandpa Jonathan used to tell me," Joseph began. "He said that as the night comes it paints over the sky, swiftly and in a rush, leaving a few spots uncolored in its hurry. I'd always thought it was a silly story," he laughed.

Caesar chuckled. "Your grandfather?"

"Yeah..." Joseph sighed, sadly. "I miss him."

"Now it's just Granny Erina and me, and really, just me, after I came to live in my flat. Mom was always away, and I'd never met my dad. But Grandpa Jonathan...he was the best part of my childhood."

He gestured to the sky.

"I like to think he's up there where he belongs, up among the stars. We are Joestars after all," he said with a mix of a laugh and a sigh, gently running his finger over the birthmark on his neck.

One he remembered his grandpa also had, which Joseph imagined was a mark, a promise, perhaps, of where he'd since returned.

There was a moment of silence as Caesar momentarily pondered.

"Do you think I belong among the stars too?" Caesar asked, after a pause.

"Huh?" Joseph turned to look at him. "Why would you think that?"

Caesar gave a melancholy pause.

"Because...because if I really am Anthonio Zeppeli, as Suzi said...shouldn't I be up there? And yet, I am here."

That one word, that had struck Caesar earlier, hit him again.

Purpose.

"I mean, if you really think about how big the universe is, and how small we are to it, it's downright humbling, and a little bit frightening," Joseph mused.

"But we're tiny specks that simply exist, and maybe, we make our own existence worthwhile," he added, stroking Caesar's shoulder stub.

"Then I guess I don't really need a purpose, then," Caesar mumbled, watching the unimaginable vastness twinkle far beyond.

"I mean, do you?" Joseph answered. "You exist for the sake of existing, and that should be enough."

Caesar smiled.

Joseph was right. Why did he have to bother figuring out why he was alive, or who he was, or why he was where he is today?

He was alive today, even though he shouldn't be.

His existence was an unexpected blessing.

He existed for his own sake. And, looking into his sculptor's brilliant blue eyes, mesmerized at the heavens, he thought, perhaps for Joseph's sake too.

"I'm glad you made me, Joseph. Whether or not I really am Anthonio or not. I'm just glad to be here today."

"However way you created me."

Joseph chuckled. "You know what they say, Caesar. Yesterday was history, tomorrow is a mystery, but today is a gift."

"That's why they call it present."

Caesar groaned.

"Oh come on, Jojo," he grumbled. "You stole it from that turtle from the panda cartoon."

Joseph burst out a hearty laugh. "So you have been watching the movies Suzi brought, huh?"

"I was bored," Caesar said, embarassed.

Joseph was just glad for the time they were enjoying together, by the beach, under the night sky, with only the glimmer of lamp posts and the now-rising moon lighting the way. It felt peaceful, and very calming, for both weary artist and lonely creation.

He wished they could do this forever.

Just the three of them.

Oh yes, Joseph remembered, three.

"Say, where is Suzi, anyway?" wondered Joseph after a few moments. "We'd gotten too busy with our little talk there... Suzi?"

A faint snore came as the only response.

"Oh great," Caesar moaned, rocking back up into an upright position with a little help from Joseph. "She slept through the whole thing, and this whole trip was her idea."

"You can't blame her," Joseph explained. "She's pretty tired."

He couldn't help a small giggle as he saw Suzi splayed out awkwardly onto the sidecar seat, dozing away like she was on her sofa.

"I think it's time we went home." Joseph said.

Rousing Suzi to make sure she was safe throughout the ride back to Joseph's apartment, the three friends made their way back, Caesar once more tucked inside his box.

As Joseph pedaled home Caesar peeked out at the view of the city through the hole in the box. The city at night looked so different.

Thousands of brilliant lights shone through the darkness, outlining buildings, illuminating streets, marking the passage of cars.

The city's lights were like the stars on the earth.

And in a way, they were among them, after all.

A sudden halt to the gentle motion of the box indicated to Caesar that they'd reached home. Soon he felt himself being lifted back into the house, as Joseph had done the night he snuck out. Yet this time, it didn't feel like a punishment, as it was when Joseph had forced him back inside. It felt like a reward, at the end of a long, grand adventure.

And at the night, Caesar knew he could look forward to end his day with another night in bed lovingly cradled in his beloved maker's arms.

Suzi sleepily staggered her way into the house and flopped onto the couch with a yawn. "Sorry about that, I hope I didn't miss too much," she said to Joseph, a little regretfully.

"Don't worry, Caesar loved it," Joseph reassured her. "We had a little talk."

"Hmmm?" she hummed drowsily.

"Oh, just stuff, about the stars and the world and the niceness of being alive, he had a lot to say." Joseph explained. "Also he's been watching your movies, he gets references," he laughed.

Joseph felt a strange warmth to Caesar that he couldn't quite explain. His feelings had been all over the place since the handsome little piece of clay came into his life. He'd gotten to know him, and he'd come to like him.

He'd come to love him.

And Caesar, sitting close by on the floor, gazing up at his relatively-towering form, felt the same.

He loved him for granting him life. He loved him for the care and affection, and all the numerous things he'd done for him, even if he couldn't return the favor.

And he loved him for just... being Joseph.

Their gazes met, and two shy smiles crept across their faces.

Perhaps Caesar belonged with a certain star after all.

---------

(Previous Chapter)

(Next Chapter)

[mamaswildchild]

The Great Atomic Power

Alright, folks, this one's gonna be a long one. I was going through some music on Spotify. Don't even know what specifically I was looking for, but it was either bluegrass or songs that would fit in a fallout game; whatever the case, I found both.

This is probably not a huge revelation (no pun intended) to anyone other than me, but if you're into the impact of atom bomb culture on Appalachian folk music in the 20th century, you may want to read below the cut.

I grew up with my grands in Appalachia, surrounded by music. My grandpa was in a bluegrass band, and my grandmother was very involved in her church. Now, I have a *lot* of trauma related to religion so I distance myself from it these days, but to make a long story short I spent a disturbing portion of my early life studying Christian theology.

Anyway, like I said, I found a song. It's a song that follows all the musical and linguistic conventions of classic bluegrass/early country hymns, but it's written about the atomic bomb.

This is, holy fuck, this is so cool and I'm now going to babble incoherently about how cool this is and why it's so cool.

The song itself, The Great Atomic Power by The Louvin Brothers, is here on Spotify. It sounds like a parody- the lyrics are so familiar and yet so disturbing that it creates the illusion of being written in the modern day as a parody of an existing song. But no, this is an original, and it's dead serious. There's no tongue-in-cheek joke about the Cold War here, no cheerful descriptions of fire and fury. Just... waiting.

Now, here's the kicker. In any other genre? This may well have been a parody, or a protest song. But in this particular style? See, protestant hymns sing all the time about the rapture, about death, about sorrow and suffering, and whathaveyou, but always puts it in a comforting perspective with images of the angels carrying you off, childhood, country living, things that make old people go apeshit crazy for it as they sit by the TV and tap their feet.

[White-Anglo-Saxon-Protestant] Christians are obsessed with death, because there is an inherent tenet of Christianity that only the Saved will be spared. Those who are faithful, those who are chosen, are safe from the death and destruction that will come to everyone else:

1 Thessalonians 5:1-11, "The Day of the Lord"

5 Now concerning the times and the seasons, brothers, you have no need to have anything written to you. 2 For you yourselves are fully aware that the day of the Lord will come like a thief in the night. 3 While people are saying, “There is peace and security,” then sudden destruction will come upon them as labor pains come upon a pregnant woman, and they will not escape. 4 But you are not in darkness, brothers, for that day to surprise you like a thief. 5 For you are all children of light, children of the day. We are not of the night or of the darkness. 6 So then let us not sleep, as others do, but let us keep awake and be sober. 7 For those who sleep, sleep at night, and those who get drunk, are drunk at night. 8 But since we belong to the day, let us be sober, having put on the breastplate of faith and love, and for a helmet the hope of salvation. 9 For God has not destined us for wrath, but to obtain salvation through our Lord Jesus Christ, 10 who died for us so that whether we are awake or asleep we might live with him. 11 Therefore encourage one another and build one another up, just as you are doing.

This language, this imagery, these lyrics- they're all so common that they're easily written off. 9 times out of 10, when you're in Appalachian bible-belt territory, these songs are more "folk tunes" and less "actual praise to a higher power". They're just... what we know. What we're used to. What we sing to our babies to help them fall asleep, what we sing at funerals and family reunions, what your uncle and cousins get together and start crooning in the living room just to show off for their ladies at Christmas while you stuff your face with cornbread.

But when you hear this? All of a sudden those images of death aren't something hypothetical and borderline comforting anymore. it connects the same ideas you've been hearing in song since birth to a very concrete and observable possibility. In this case, the statement being made isn't "When you die, the lord will take you home- so be grateful". It's "If and when the bomb drops, you will die- so be ready."

The stanza containing the line "When the fire rains on high" and verses like it have been used before. Many, many times. Generally only to be used as an allusion to a hypothetical apocalypse, but in a sense of "oh it probably won't happen in our lifetimes, but we'll be safe and sound when it does, so don't worry!"

...and then you connect that with historical context, and the direct and blatant titular line confirming that this is, in fact, about the atomic bomb- something incredibly terrifying, current (at the time) and worst of all, concrete.

This is the first time in history we've- at least, in the case of WASP Americans- ever been faced with such a deep-seated, global terror of a true, observable end of the world and by god, does this capture that perfectly: This song is, at its core, an artifact of the era, of people trying to carry on with their day-to-day lives, singing the same kinds of songs, but the bomb is still there, lurking in the background, visible and terrible.

A/N: I specify WASPs because let's face it, white people have pretty notorious for being able to ignore mass atrocities and genocide. It's only when that situation stretched out to themselves in the form of a nuclear threat that this cultural shift happened.

I mean, take a look at a hymnal. Alas! And Did My Savior Bleed; Are You Washed In The Blood Of The Lamb; Idumea; hell, Battle Hymn Of The Republic- It's all about blood and destruction and the wrath of god... but look, we're safe from it!

Not now.

Not from the Great Atomic Power.

The Bomb doesn't care who it touches. The Bomb isn't going to "separate the sheep and the goats". No one will be saved. Now, of course, Of course, in typically Christian song fashion, there is a connection to salvation and all that jazz.

But the catch is? That's not the chorus of the song. The song isn't about the salvation. It's about the death. It's about the "terrible explosion [that] may rain down upon our land, leaving horrible destruction blotting out the works of man". The slow, painful death that the Bomb would bring about, saved or otherwise.

And it uses the language that usually refers only to the latter, but turns it around and makes sure that the former are aware they're in for it too, because really, it's only people who consider themselves "saved" that pay attention to the words of these types of songs.

God, how gut churning.

(Also, apparently there was a "Jesus Loves Nukes" meme in the 80s. For ... some reason.)

[bangtan-sonyeonddaeng]

Part 2

Summary: Soulmates have different ways of being connected to one another. Sometimes it’s through being able to write on their arms and having it show up on their soulmates. For others it was having their first words spoken to one another permanently tattooed into their skin. You had a unique connection with yours, one that you really hadn’t ever heard of happening before. Whatever song was stuck in your soulmate’s head was also stuck in yours and the same was for them. When Yoongi realizes one of his songs is playing on repeat in your head, he immediately takes to writing songs to communicate with you in hopes it will finally bring you two together.

Genre: Fluff. Just pure tooth rotting, sweet fluff.

Part 1   Part 3

“I’m a new generation Anpanman. I’m a new super hero Anpanman.” You let out a shout and throw the covers off and dart out of bed, having been startled by the loud music. You glance around the room trying to get your bearings when you see your friend dancing on the bed, waving around the army bomb and singing loudly. 

“What the fuck are you doing?! It’s almost 5 o clock in the morning!” 

“Exactly!”

“What are you-... OH.... It’s almost time for the comeback trailer!” You dart back into bed and pull out your friend’s lap top, waiting impatiently and constantly refreshing their youtube page for when the video will drop. 

“Y/n you don’t have to keep refreshing the page you know? They post it exactly on time.”

“But what if they’re early?!”

“Just trust me. You got 5 more minutes so just take a few deep breaths, calm.”

“I don’t know how you do this every comeback my nerves are shot and I haven’t even heard any of their songs yet.” 

“Yes you just did! Anpanman is one of theirs.” 

“Oh? Really? I liked that one! Can you play the whole thing?”

“Sure.” Your friend smiles and puts the song back on and you find yourself humming along even though you know you’ve never heard the whole thing. It just seems to come naturally. Your friend eyes you suspiciously. “Have you been a closet army this whole time?”

“Hmm, no. I just feel like I know this song I don’t know why.. It’s weird.” 

“You know the more you talk the more I am suspicious that someone in BTS might actually be your soulmate.” 

“Ah shush with that nonsense.” Suddenly your friend’s phone goes off with a notification. 

“THE VIDEO IS POSTED GO GO!” You refresh the page and sit to watch in complete awe. 

You watch as the camera pans down the hallway, the shadows lining it as it get closer to the man standing at the end of the hallway. When it finally reaches him your first thought is Holy shit he’s gorgeous. Which you must have voiced out loud if your friend giggling next to you was any indication. 

But then he opens his mouth and he starts to rap. And a sense of calm immediately washes over you. His voice makes you feel a sense of peace. It feels like you went away on a long trip and are finally coming home. You listen to his deep voice, and read the lyrics popping up on the bottom of the screen. 

I’m afraid, flying high is terrifying. No one told me how lonely it is up here. 

Tears well up in your eyes as you read this man’s most personal and deepest thoughts and fears. He’s sharing them with the world and you can’t help but admire him and think he’s brave for sharing this vulnerable side with all of his fans. When the colors and the beat begin to change to something harsher, something darker, It’s almost as if you’re in a trance. You don’t realize your friend had been gushing over the video and asking you questions because you’re too focused on everything happening. There is a weird feeling in your chest, like butterflies fluttering around in there. When the beat cuts out you’re left there for a few moments in silence. Without realizing it your hand is hovering over the replay button, and you push it, watching it again. Your friend doesn’t say anything, realizing what is happening and wants to give you this opportunity to figure it out yourself. You probably wouldn’t believe them anyway. 

After the second play through you sit there staring at the screen, mind buzzing with all these new thoughts in your head. 

“Y/n?” Your friend places a gentle hand on your shoulder and you immediately burst into tears. “Ah! No no why are you crying?”

“I don’t know. I just... goodness the emotions he puts into his lyrics and his performance you can feel everything. His fears, his worries, his sorrows, his hardships. I don’t even know what he’s been through but you can tell it’s a lot. And he said he’s lonely. That just makes me sad. And there’s this damn fluttering in my chest that won’t go away and his voice feels like home I don’t know what’s happening.” 

“Y/n... I think you know what’s going on.”

“Well if it is then this just sucks.” You pout and your friend pulls you into a hug.

“Why do you say that?”

“Because how are we supposed to find each other?! We don’t even live in the same country! And there’s no way for me to contact him and even if I did he’d probably think I was just some crazy delusional fan.” 

“Y/n the universe has a way of bringing soulmates together I wouldn’t worry too much about it. He’ll find a way. Trust me. They don’t call him Genius Min Yoongi for nothing.” You chuckle at that, feeling comforted by your friends words and encouragement. 

“Okay. I trust you. Can we watch it again?” 

“Of course.” 

Yoongi was right in the middle of eating dinner with the members when a familiar melody enters his head. He drops his chop sticks, mouth hanging open in shock as he processes what he is hearing. 

“Hyung? Yoongi?” Jimin places his hand on his shoulder but he continues to stare off and not say anything. The other members glance around with concerned looks on their faces. 

“Suga hyung?” Jungkook calls out. Yoongi shakes his head back and forth to clear his mind and when he looks up he finds 6 sets of eyes boring into his. “Soulmate troubles?” 

“No.. No it’s.. my song.” 

“What do you mean?” Namjoon questions. 

“It’s.. one of our songs. My song. Shadow. My soulmate has one of our songs stuck in their head.” Yoongi continues to stare at the table hard, like if he gazes hard enough an image of you will show up there. “My soulmate knows us. They know our songs, they listen to us. Oh thank God. At least now we have some kind of connection. I was sitting here thinking how in the hell am I ever going to find them but.. at least they know of my existence.” Yoongi sighs in relief before the questions start bombarding him and plaguing his mind. 

Sure they listen to your music but how are you going to find them? 

Them listening to your music doesn’t mean they’re suddenly going to pop into your life. 

What are you going to do? Walk down the street and hope you run into them humming one of your songs? You’re one of the most famous bands in the world right now everyone probably hums your songs. 

It’s impossible. Just give up you’re never going to find your soulmate. 

“Hey, Yoongi. Are you getting lost in your head again?” Hoseok reach over and taps his forehead. Yoongi bats his hand away and lets out a frustrated sigh. 

“This is fucking pointless.”

“What is?”

“So they listen to our music. A lot of people do. How am I supposed to find my soulmate with just this knowledge alone? Fate really likes to screw with me you know? It’s just dangling my soulmate right in front of me but always just out of reach and I hate this. I hate it so much.” Yoongi’s voice cracks but he wills the tears away. He’s cried enough over the fact that he’s never going to meet you and he needs to come to grips with that. Namjoon scolds him.

“Ah, Yoongi. I’m going to have to revoke your genius title.” Yoongi’s gaze shoots up to his and he’s not amused in the slightest.

“Care to elaborate?”

“Your soulmate listens to your music! This is great news!” Yoongi looks at Namjoon with a puzzled expression on his face. “Come on, Yoongi use that genius brain of yours. You’re a producer so what do you do?”

“Make music?”

“And how do you share a connection with your soulmate?”

“Though music? We get each other’s songs stuck in one another’s head.”

“So....”

“So...” Suddenly the lightbulb goes off. “I can write songs to help communicate with my soulmate!”

“There ya go.” Namjoon gives him a fond smile as Yoongi’s face lights up like a Christmas tree. 

“I need to go to the studio. Now. Even if it’s just a short 1 minute song I need to do something. Just to show that I know of their existence and that I won’t stop at anything until we can finally meet each other. Thank you guys so much.” Yoongi runs out of the restaurant as Taehyung calls after him. 

“Hyung it was your turn to pay!” 

“Shh! Taehyung this is more important! I’ll pay for you guys.” Jin offers. Yoongi doesn’t hear a word of it. A new found bounce in his step. He stares up at the sky with a smile on his face as he realize somewhere out there, you are looking at the same sky as him, and he feels like for the first time in a while he can finally breathe. 

*****

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