#(Dew DOES get a very happy ending though don’t forget that) | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

onecanonlife · 4 years ago

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careful son (you got dreamer's plans)

Wilbur gasps back to life with mud between his fingers and rain in his eyes.

Wilbur was dead. Now, he is not. He can't say that he's particularly happy about it.

Unfortunately, the server is still as tumultuous as ever, even with Dream locked away, so it seems that his involvement in things isn't a matter of if, but when.

(Alternatively: the prodigal son returns, and a broken family finally begins to heal. If, that is, the egg doesn't get them all killed first.)

Chapter Word Count: 11,809

Chapter Warnings: swearing, manipulation, mind control, blood, violence, su.icidal ideation, panic attacks, and temporary character death

Chapter Summary: Dream’s broken out of prison.

(masterlist w/ ao3 links)

(first chapter) (previous chapter) (next chapter)

Chapter Eleven: take a drink of that promise land

His thoughts fly apart. His heart pounds in tandem with his feet. There is room for one thing in his mind and one thing only, the words curling around themselves, the end running into the beginning, and it’s Sam is dead and Dream is coming Sam is dead is dead is dead and Dream is coming Sam is dead and Dream is is is—

And under that, Sam’s words echo: As long as I live, he will never set foot outside this prison. Delivered with such confidence, meant to be a reassurance, a promise. But Sam is dead.

He bursts into the Egg’s chamber at a dead sprint. And then draws up short, eyes darting around the room. There: Puffy, arguing with Bad, Sapnap by her side. Next to Bad: Ant, Punz, Ponk. Standing back from the Egg a bit: Tommy, Tubbo, Techno, Phil, Ranboo, a measure of distance between the former two and the latter three.

But they’re all alright. None of them are bloodstained. There are no cries of pain. No clash of weapons. No eyes gone blank and empty, no items scattered across the floor to indicate a first or second death. They’re all alright, haven’t even come to blows yet, it seems, and for a moment, Wilbur is the only one in the room who knows. He is the messenger, and he must deliver the news, even though he doesn’t want to, doesn’t want to voice it, doesn’t want to make it real. It’s a crushing weight in his chest, stealing his breath, making his head spin. He holds his communicator tightly in his hand, a death grip. Checking it one last time changes nothing. The words are still there.

No one’s seen him yet.

“—did not sign up for this,” Techno is saying, an aside to Phil that he doesn’t bother to keep at a murmur. “I’m here to fight, not watch a domestic dispute. This is really awkward, Phil. They’re just screamin’ at each other.”

“Feels a bit scuffed,” Phil agrees, voice slightly distant. His eyes are fixed on the Egg, his fingers absently fiddling with his sword hilt.

“Dream’s coming,” Wilbur says.

He doesn’t say it as loudly as he intends. His voice cracks slightly on the second word. But the room goes silent, and all eyes turn to him

(and it’s a terrible imitation of things that once were, of his voice strident and powerful and his words potent and inspiring, and his speeches commanded armies, once, led people to die for him, but this is not that, and he is as much a harbinger as the crow that perches on Philza’s shoulders)

at once.

“What?” Tommy says, his voice a pale shadow.

Mutely, he holds out his communicator, as though they can read the print from this distance. But it provokes all of them into pulling out theirs, and he watches the transformation, watches the realization dawn. Watches Techno raise an eyebrow, watches Phil frown, watches Puffy’s face contort in visceral horror. Watches Tommy mouth the words to himself, disbelieving. Watches him look up, make eye contact, and there is a sheen in his eyes, a desperation for this to be untrue, and he wishes he could give him what he wants. Wishes he could say that this is some kind of prank, a joke in poor taste.

If there is anyone laughing, it isn’t him.

“Well, shit,” Phil says.

“No,” Tommy says, “no, no, no, no, no, there’s no way, the prison is supposed to be secure, there’s no way this is real, oh holy shit, holy shit what are we going to do—”

“Does this have to mean he’s out?” Tubbo asks, practically a plea. His ears have folded back, almost plastered against his skull. “There’s no way that he could still be in there? And that he just, got in a lucky shot or something?”

It’s a possibility, technically. A possibility that Sam let his guard down around the prisoner, that Dream somehow managed to overpower him, even after months in solitary confinement, muscles atrophying, managed to get one over the man armed to the teeth and wearing full netherite armor. A possibility, but not a likely one, and he knows in his heart of hearts that it isn’t true, knows that

(you looked at that mask at that blank smiling mask and you did not need to look in his eyes to know what lurked did there did not need to look to feel his gaze crawling down your back and you bloodied his nose and yet he looked on you like dirt like an insect like a puppet)

Sam would never have been so careless. If Sam is dead, has lost a life to Dream, then Dream is out.

“How could this have happened?” Puffy asks. “Sam would never have let his guard down!” There is more than fear lining her words, but Wilbur can’t pay her much attention now. Because Tommy’s breaths are coming in quick, shallow, edged with a hint of a whine, and he knows very well the beginnings of a panic attack when he sees one.

(and it was never supposed to happen to Tommy to his little brother to his baby brother and he doesn’t know if it was the war but if not the war it was everything that came after and the blame all comes circling back to him in the end)

Phil steps forward, concern written on his face, but Wilbur brushes past him.

“Tommy,” he says, and takes Tommy’s hand in his, keeping his grasp light and loose, so that Tommy can break away if he wants, “breathe with me, alright? In and out.” He breathes, loud and exaggerated, and it is a miracle that he can keep the rhythm steady when he was so scared only a moment ago, when he still is scared, when he expects footsteps to echo down the corridor at any moment, the worst nightmare become reality. But this is for Tommy, and for Tommy, he can put aside his own fears, can forget where they are and what they’re doing and push away the growing static and do what needs to be done. Do what he has promised to do.

Tommy grips his hand so hard he can almost hear his bones creaking. But gradually, he comes back, and his darting eyes focus on his face, clarity shining back through, though the fear does not dissipate.

“He is going to have to go through all of us before he gets to you,” Wilbur says lowly. Another promise. This one, he will be better about keeping to the letter. But Tommy shudders.

“That’s what I’m fucking scared of,” he says, in a voice that tries to be harsh but instead just sounds young.

(child soldiers, child soldiers, lives too short and graves too long)

“I’m not going to let anything happen,” he says, and wishes Tommy would believe him. But he cannot fault him for his lack of faith. Not after anything. Not after he’s grown so accustomed to family letting him down time and time again, not when he’s grown so accustomed to being burnt every time he extends a hand. Wilbur has wielded that fire himself. He can hear it even now, crackling around the edges of his consciousness, held at bay now only because he can see its destructiveness for what it is, can look past the horrible glory to the inglorious horror.

Or. No. That’s the Egg. The crackling is whispers.

He’d almost forgotten. He’s been focused on the other problem, almost forgetting about the first. But the Egg is here, gleaming red, pulsing, blood-drenched. He blinks, and his vision wavers, and there is blood beading on its surface like condensation, like dew, rolling down its sides and pooling beneath it. Spreading outward. Reaching for him.

People are talking. Discussing.

“He’s not going to go through all of us,” Techno is saying. “Don’t be so dramatic. He’s not that good. And he’s homeless again. I’m not goin’ down to some homeless man.”

“Do we even know that he’s coming here?” Phil asks. “He wouldn’t have any way of knowing where we are, right?”

Bad is soaked in it, soaked in the blood, and Ant, and Punz, and Ponk are soaked in it, and it is creeping up onto everyone else, staining their trousers, and he can hear the whispers, can hear the promises, can hear it again he can hear it again—

Sing blood, sing fire, it says to him, sing a requiem, sing of sleep, sing of what you want, if only you choose, if only you give in, I can give you all you’ve wanted, I can fulfill your dreams, and you ran once but you have returned to me now and I am in your blood and so is the fire and so is the void and you cannot deny yourself for long, gunpowder child.

(please not again please not again please no he won’t he won’t he won’t)

Tommy yanks on his arm.

“Wilbur,” he hisses.

(it asked you to hurt Tommy it asked you once and it will ask you again stop listening to it stop stop stop)

He blinks again, and the blood is gone, though the room is still bathed in red, from the egg and from the lava. Tommy is pressing something into his hand, a bottle of holy water, and Wilbur takes it with only a second of hesitation. The water goes down cool and fresh, and his mind clears. Not all the way. But enough. The whispers dissipate back into the static, indistinguishable from white noise.

“Sorry,” he says.

“Just keep your head on straight, big man,” Tubbo says, and—oh, it’s Tubbo who gave him the water. Tommy’s still holding his hand, but Tubbo’s pressed close to both of them, and whether he’s looking to protect or to be protected, Wilbur doesn’t know. Perhaps both.

“So obviously, this changes things,” Ant is saying, slow and considering.

“Does it?” Puffy asks.

“Of course,” Bad says. “We think that Dream should be in prison just as much as you do. He did bad things. He should be locked up.” He pauses, tilting his head, and Wilbur thinks that this is the most like the old Bad that he’s sounded. “So, how about we have a truce? We work together to take care of this, and maybe you’ll see how much the Egg can help, and then we won’t have to fight at all!”

“Right, because teaming with the people we were about to commit extreme violence against five minutes ago is a great plan,” Techno says. “I don’t see what could go wrong with that at all.”

Wilbur’s glad he said it. He understands the idea, of course, understands the concept of the enemy of my enemy is my friend, but he cannot work with those he does not trust, and he does not trust Bad or Ant or Punz not to stick a blade in his back as soon as he dares to turn it. Wouldn’t, even if there weren’t a mind control egg involved, even if they didn’t follow the very thing that has attempted to coerce him into betraying the only thing left he holds dear, the only people. Even if he still didn’t feel the thing sticking its tendrils into his mind, trying to find purchase.

He takes another swig of water. Tries to loosen his grip on the neck of the bottle, and fails.

“I don’t know that we have a choice,” Puffy says. Her shoulders slump. “If Dream is coming, we can’t be fighting among ourselves. We have to present a united front. Anything less, and he’ll walk all over us.” Her face is tight, but there is no real fear in it. Just pain. Perhaps regret.

(and you know that face you have seen it before that is the face of a parent who believes they have failed their child their light their beloved gone wrong and snuffed out and unrecognizable and they wonder if they could have stopped it and do not know which answer would be worse)

And as if the words are a summons, there are footsteps.

Footsteps. Unhurried, casual. Echoing down the corridor, loud as drumbeats, loud as a death knell. Footsteps, and the room goes quiet, unnaturally so. The Egg, that constant hum, stops, and that is the most terrifying thing of all. The world balances on the edge of a coin, teetering, ready to fall one way or the other. An anvil hangs overhead, waiting for the lever to be pulled, an anvil if the anvil knew the taste of blood and longed for it. An anvil if the anvil delighted in the death it caused.

(that day is blurry and out of focus, all its darkest implications slipping from Ghostbur’s memories like butter. he remembers showing Friend to Techno. and he remembers a flash of gold, brilliant and consuming and orienting the sky on a new axis. was the idea planted then, he wonders? the possibility that Ghostbur sought out so ardently? trade a ghost for a villain and try not to count too dearly the cost?)

“Shit,” Phil mutters, and just like that, everyone in the room takes on a defensive position, eyes trained on the entrance, half-hidden by vines as it is. Phil and Techno shift closer together, in sync as they always are. The Egg’s cohorts bunch up together. Sapnap strides forward a few paces, standing just a bit in front of everyone else, and no one moves to stop him, not with the scowl his lips are twisted into, not with the ready way he holds his sword.

(he is coming he is coming dark and twisted the poison at the core and you are all out of time)

Wilbur places himself between the entrance and the boys. It probably says something that they don’t try to stop him, that Tommy doesn’t call him out for babying him, that Tubbo doesn’t protest.

The sword falls into his hand. He hates

(himself, what he can do with it, but he has no crossbow so he must carry something and this sword is what he has even if he doesn’t want it but he doesn’t have a choice in the matter and self-loathing is thick in the back of his throat)

it, but he can use it, and that’s what matters most. Has always been what matters most, ever since the day he left home, guitar strapped to his back and songs on his lips and eyes still bright and curious, not jaded and dull as he knows they are now. He could use a sword, then, of course; Philza would never have allowed him to leave without the ability to defend himself. But it did not call to him, and it does not call to him now,

(but there is only one thing that calls to him now)

but there is no longer any room to worry about callings. The dog days are over, and he has been a general, and he has been a president, and he has been a traitor, and he has been a villain, and now, he will settle for being a protector. If just this once.

Dream steps into view.

It has always been odd, the power that he holds to command a room. Part of Wilbur knows that it is more their fault than anything; he can command a room because they give him the power to do so, because even after all this time, they still fear him. But Dream steps into view, and he cannot tear his eyes away, even though Dream is only a skinny man in a hoodie and a smiling mask that a five-year-old could have drawn.

It is something in his bearing, perhaps. The way his head is held high even after weeks of imprisonment. The way he strides forward, confident even though he is far outnumbered. The way his actual mouth, just barely visible under the edge of his mask, curls up in a smirk.

(you look at him and he is wrong he is wrong watch the shadows watch what dogs his steps do you see it you must see it)

Or perhaps it is the blood that stains his hands. It glints in the lava light, tacky, not yet dry.

“Hope I didn’t keep you waiting too long,” he says. Too calm. Too even.

“Shit off,” Tommy says, and Dream’s gaze snaps to him.

“Oh, come on now,” he says. “Don’t be like that, Tommy. After all the fun we had together? I had to work hard to make this little visit happen, you know. I’d think you’d be a little more thankful.”

“Okayyy—”

“You’ve got no right to—”

“Oi, you can’t just—”

“Don’t you fucking talk to him—”

“Yeah, I have to say, that’s pretty cringe of you—”

The chorus of voices that comes to Tommy’s defense, including his own, is gratifying. And it seems to bolster Tommy’s spirits, too, makes him stand just a bit taller, defiance flashing in his eyes. But then, one rises above the rest, and Sapnap takes a few steps forward, holding his own sword steadily out in front of him.

“This is the only warning you’re going to get, Dream,” he states. “Go back to the prison, now.”

Dream laughs.

(a laugh, not a wheeze, and that tea-kettle whistle is a distant memory, belonging to brighter days when no storms brewed on the horizon and all of them were friends and the war was a game, once, before it was real)

“Are you threatening me, Sapnap?” he asks, voice light. “What do you think you’re going to be able to do?”

“You know I am,” Sapnap replies, still steady. “I’m sure you’ll take down a few of us. But not all of us. Not all at once. We united against you before, and we’re going to do it again. You remember what happened last time, right? And I’m not holding back, Dream. I’ve told you. I don’t know who you are anymore. So, last chance. Go back to the prison, now, and we won’t have to do it the hard way. And I won’t have to try and take your final life.”

Dream cocks his head, as if he’s actually considering it.

“You say that as if you think I didn’t know you were all here,” he says. “Like I didn’t know exactly what I was doing. Think I’m going to have to take a hard pass on that one. If you want me back in the prison, you’re going to have to kill me first.”

A flurry of motion. Sapnap swings, and he is no Technoblade but he no amateur, either, and there is power and speed behind his blow, and Dream just stands there. Unmoving. Puffy shouts. Dream still doesn’t stir, and Wilbur feels like he’s watching in slow motion as the blade approaches Dream’s chest, and it can’t be this easy, he wouldn’t just stand there and take it, not when he’s down to only one life, so what is he—

And then, at the last second: Dream’s hand darts out, lighting fast, grips Sapnap’s wrist, and tugs him forward. Sapnap stumbles, off-balance, crashes against Dream, swing going wide, and before he can recover, Dream isn’t there anymore. It’s like he was never there in the first place; it’s just Sapnap, two steps away from losing his balance completely, though he recovers, looking around wildly.

What—

“The thing is, it was interesting at first,” Dream says, and his voice is coming from somewhere else, is coming from behind them, and Wilbur wheels, pushing himself between Tommy and Tubbo and positioning himself in front of both of them, arms outstretched to shield them, perhaps, or to keep them back.

(there is something so very wrong here and if he cannot see what then he will do this much, and if it his life for theirs, so be it)

Dream’s sitting on the Egg. Criss-cross, hands in his lap, swaying side to side slightly. Even the visible parts of his face are cast in shadow, and his mask gleams in the red light.

“Hey, don’t—Dream. Get down from there,” Bad says. Like a parent admonishing a child.

“The prison, I mean,” Dream says. “I didn’t see it coming. I was pretty mad about it at first, but I mean, I can adapt to things. So I thought I’d see how it turned out.” He sighs. “But I’m done playing games now.”

“What the shit,” Tommy murmurs, behind him, “what the shit is he talking about, how the fuck did he get up there—”

“It’s been fun,” Dream continues. “A lot of you break the rules a lot, but I can do that, too, so it was fine. It’s been a good game. But you know, there comes a time when even the best games come to an end. You decide to go for checkmate. Or you run out of cards.”

A jolt runs down Wilbur’s spine. He knows, knows without any way to know, really, that Dream is looking at him.

(his gaze on you is like stinging hornets is like oil poured over your head and down your throat is like a black hole opening in your chest and the black hole watches and cares nothing for your life it is not in the nature of a black hole to care)

“And I have to say,” Dream says, “you guys are kind of irritating. You and your prisons and your rules and your hypocrisy, all of you. I wanted to unite the server, once, and I guess I did that. It was kind of nice to see, in a way, all of you coming together against me. But it’s all fake, in the end. All of it. You play nice with each other on the surface and turn around and stab each other in the backs. This server’s turned into something awful, and it’s your faults.”

“I am about ninety percent certain that’s not accurate,” Techno says.

“Yeah, what the fuck?” Tommy bites out. “You’re the issue here, you bastard. Everything was good until you decided to, to fuck us all over. We’d all be fine and dandy if we’d never met you.”

Wilbur opens his mouth to agree and then

(remembers ravines dark and deep and buttons upon buttons upon buttons and Dream gave him the means but he stood in that room and made the decision himself and he cannot assign more blame than exists, cannot say that Dream is the only thing wrong with this server, cannot say that he, too, does not trail devastation in his wake)

shuts it again.

“You can think what you want,” Dream says amiably. “I don’t really care. Like I said, I’m done playing. I just don’t know how you can call me the villain when half the people here have blown up a country.”

“An interesting line from the man with literal blood caking his hands,” Wilbur says. The words come out soft, but they echo like a gunshot. He’s not sure where they came from, but he knows he’s not wrong. He can’t stop staring, can’t stop thinking about it. He’s seen plenty of blood in his life, has been covered in more than his fair share of it, but given the circumstances, there’s only one person that blood can belong to.

He wonders how much it hurt. If Sam was scared.

(he had all three lives as far as he knows, so he’ll be fine, but fine is miles from good, and Wilbur remembers the first he lost, remembers the pain and the shock and the betrayal and the terror, not just for himself but for the comrades, for the family he dragged down with him, dragged into a traitor’s trap, and how must the warden have felt, dying with the knowledge that he failed in his charge?)

“Are you sure I’m the only one?” Dream returns, just as softly, and Wilbur doesn’t know what the fuck he’s trying to get at, except he’s bowled over by a sudden, irrational fear that there is blood on his hands, that he’s been dripping with it this whole time and didn’t know it, and there is panic and there is static and the Egg is humming and crooning of blood and decay and the desire to be fed, and he can’t stop himself from looking.

His hands are clean. But they don’t feel it. They itch, like a thousand ants, like a dozen layers of mud caked dry and crackling.

“Leave him be, Dream,” Phil says, overlapping with Tommy’s much louder, “Shut the fuck up!”

Wilbur swallows dryly. Downs another sip of holy water. It makes him feel better, though only marginally. There’s not much left in the flask.

“I really think you should get down from the Egg, Dream,” Bad says, slightly more severely than last time. So, a mildly more disappointed parent.

(it occurs to him then: someone should shoot him. he’s unarmored, no weapon in his hand, a sitting duck. someone should shoot him, should take care of the problem right now, while they can, while the opportunity is there, before Dream pulls whatever he’s sure to be planning. so why haven’t they?)

Dream stays silent for a moment.

“I don’t think I will,” he says. “I like it a lot.”

His blood runs cold.

(no)

No.

(but you know the feeling of its claws in your mind slimy and prying and seeking and you know the feeling of Dream’s gaze on your face suffocating and slick and they are similar so very similar they are two of a kind two of a pair so it makes sense but it doesn’t all the same and there is something still that you do not know)

Hello, the Egg croons, hello divine blood corrupted, hello to my brethren, hello to the void that seeps in the cracks, hello to the creature you are now and goodbye to the weakling you were, soft and caring and despicable, and we can do great things together, you and I.

He looks around wildly. No one else seems to hear it. But he’s certain it wasn’t directed at him.

“So, here’s what’s going to happen,” Dream says. “I’m going to keep sitting up here. And you guys have two choices. You can give in to the Egg. Join it. That’d be fine. If you don’t, they’re going to kill you, and I’m going to help.” He tilts his head upward, and his own smile becomes visible, wide and toothy. “You like those odds better, Sapnap? You think I can take out more than a few of you now?”

For a moment, Wilbur allows himself to hope that Bad won’t go along with it. That the desire to see Dream put away will overpower the Egg’s directives, whatever they are. But Bad’s expression goes from doubtful to considering to determined, and the red of the room deepens, becomes more vibrant, pulses with a steady beat, with a hum that sounds like victory and power and a thousand dissonant voices calling for blood.

The Egg has accepted the offer. Has welcomed Dream into the fold. They will find no ally in Badboyhalo. No ally in Antfrost, Ponk, Punz.

(the fold is the wrong word. Dream is still separate. somehow, inextricably, he knows that this is an alliance of equals, that Dream has surrendered nothing and gained everything)

(do you begin to see on some level you already know)

An arrow slices through the air. Dream jerks to the side. Its barbed head slices open the sleeve of his hoodie, but draws no blood. A second later, and it would have.

“Fuck that,” Sapnap says. “And fuck you.”

It’s as if it’s a signal. Phil laughs, no mirth in it, the Angel of Death at the surface. He grips his own sword tighter, and behind him, Tommy and Tubbo are shifting, their breaths coming quicker with the anticipation, with the promise of a fight. Their blood runs hot, and they are still afraid, he knows, but they have allies by their side, and that makes all the difference, and six versus six

(is it six versus six? where is he getting those numbers from? those aren’t the numbers from where he’s standing)

is terrible odds when Dream is on the opposing side, but they have the Blood God and the Angel of Death and they will all of them fight to the end, and he was too quick, maybe, to give in to despair, to fear.

(but his mind is still screaming that something is wrong something is wrong)

The Egg’s lackeys stand at the ready. Any second, now, any second—

Blood, the Egg sings, there must be blood and I shall drink of their veins, and we shall drink together, you and I, and what is in me is also in you, and you are not of me but you are greater than yourself, and they are all yours for the taking, are ours for the unmaking.

Dream laughs. Not in submission, but in agreement.

And like a lightning flash, Wilbur understands.

“You’re the same,” he says, and just like that, the momentum of the room is arrested, all attention back on him once again. He doesn’t know what’s going to come out of his mouth until he speaks, but the words ring true. He looks at Dream, perched atop the Egg like a demented kind of bird, and understands that something, intrinsically, about them is the same.

Dream grins. Rises to his feet with a jump, balancing easily on the domed surface.

“You’re starting to get it,” Dream says. “I wondered if you would, Wilbur. We come from the same kind of place, all of us. You know what the void is like. You’re not quite like me, but you know what it’s like, to have something whispering in your head.” His grin widens further. Wilbur blinks, once, a sudden irritation in his eyes, and when he looks again, the smile on his mask is wider, too. More crooked. Has it been that way all along?

Another two arrows. One from Sapnap, one from Puffy, now, slightly off target. He dodges both easily.

“I tried to fight at first,” Dream says. “But it turns out it was right all along. I’m greater now than I ever was before.” He pauses, tilting his head, and when he speaks again, it is thick with condescension. “If it’s any consolation, Tubbo, you tried your best. Not your fault you didn’t have a clue what you were doing. Once you let something in, there’s no going back.”

He dares a glance around the room. There’s confusion, irritation, no understanding. He has no idea what Dream’s referencing, knows only that something dreadful is within him, and with that comes the thought that he cannot possibly be human, and that they have never understood the first thing about him this whole time. But Tubbo jolts, goes pale, takes a step back.

“Wait—” he says, “no, what are you—are you saying—but we got rid of it, we got rid of it—”

“Tubbo, what the fuck is he on about now?” Tommy demands, but Tubbo just shakes his head. Rapidly, panicked, and then there is no more time for explanations, because the Egg’s voice rings out in his head once again, a wash of red takes over his vision, and the world tilts, and it is more than just the Egg, it is the Egg and something else, something deeper rooted, something more toxic, something that permeates the air and the water of this server, something sickly and creeping and dark and powerful, something that says you are all mine my puppets my own to dispose of and I will have you.

(you see it now, too late)

By the time he can make sense of things again, he’s on his knees, his hands clutching his hair, and there’s so much noise, so much noise all around him, and he’s lost time, he must have lost time, because everyone’s fighting, finally, the strange tension that held the room in sway broken at last. But his head spins, and he can’t keep track of where everyone is, the combat nothing but blurs of motion between the red hanging vines.

Dream’s still on the Egg. That much he can tell.

(it was a signal a command a directive and you heard it but did not follow you did not follow you will not follow it brought you to your knees but you will not follow)

“—come on Wil, don’t do this again, not again, please,” Tommy is saying, and Tubbo is holding him by the shoulder, keeping him upright, and he didn’t mean to collapse, hates that he’s apparently so susceptible to this, but if there is a silver lining it is in that it has kept his boys by his side, not in that mess, people clashing together with movements that are difficult to track with pounding head and stinging eyes.

He fumbles for the holy water and comes up empty. Nothing left.

“I’m with you,” he manages. “Sorry. Egg was being shouty. Not fun.”

“Oh, well, if it’s not fun,” Tommy says, visibly relieved, and his attention moves from him to track the battle. It must make more sense to him than it does to Wilbur at the moment, because he frowns. “Stupid fucking Eggers aren’t letting anyone get to Dream. Wish we could kill the fuckers. That’d make it easier.”

“Sapnap keeps firing off shots when he can, but he keeps dodging,” Tubbo adds. “It’s only been a minute. We were gonna join in, but we didn’t want to leave you alone.”

“Okay,” he says. “That’s—okay, that’s good.” Now that they’ve said it, he can pick out the combat easier. Bad’s fighting Phil and holding his own, Punz and Ponk are keeping Puffy and Sapnap busy, Antfrost is barely fending off Techno, and Dream’s overseeing it all from on high, making no moves to join in. They sit in an oasis in the midst of it all, no one seeming to pay them much mind. He’ll take the reprieve while he can get it. “Tubbo, what was he talking about?”

“I don’t—” Tubbo’s face twists. “I don’t know how you picked up on it. But months and months ago, Dream was possessed by a demon. A dreamon, we called it. But we got rid of it. Me and Fundy. We exorcised him for sure. And he’s not, he’s not acting like he did when that was going on, it was so obvious back then, like, his voice was all weird and deep and doubly—”

“Okay, okay, we can figure it out later,” he says. “We can—”

Demons. Dreamons. What the fuck?

(Dream might be possessed but that doesn’t sound right, doesn’t feel right, but it would account for the oil slick gaze and the way the darkness gathers, the shivers down his spine whenever he looks at him, but it’s not quite right, but if Dream is a demon and he and the Egg are the same then what does that make the Egg and none of this makes sense at all)

(he misses the days when the worst they had to worry about was Sapnap trying to arrest them for starting a drug van)

As he looks on, Techno shoves Ant in Phil’s direction, and Phil takes on a second opponent easily, the two of them as in sync as they always are. Phil holds all of Ant’s attention, leaving Techno free to pivot toward the Egg, and the man who still stands there. He holds out his sword, points it at him, a threat, an invitation, made easily as breathing, and Wilbur is reminded that Techno has fought Dream before, many times.

“Has prison made you a coward, Dream?” Techno asks, an obvious taunt, and Dream holds himself very still for a moment before laughing, short and sharp. An axe drops into his hand—and when did he find the time to get that?—and he springs forward, rearing back to strike a blow. It’s like

(it is)

watching a clash of gods,

(and how is Dream so strong after so long locked away?)

and the sound of metal on metal rings out as their weapons connect. Techno grins, fierce and wild, and Wilbur doesn’t have to be able to hear them to know what his voices are chanting.

(blood for the blood god)

And then: a realization.

The Egg is unguarded.

Dream is occupied with Techno, now. Bad and Ant are on Phil, Ponk and Punz on Puffy and Sapnap, and the fighting is spread throughout the room, but centered in the middle, where everyone has the most space to move. The Egg is unguarded, and the three of them have been left out, so perhaps they can still do what they set out to do.

His eyes trace the room. If they hug the wall, they can make it to the corner without attracting too much attention, hopefully. They can—

What is Ranboo doing?

He’d forgotten he was here, honestly. He’s been so quiet, so still. He’s hovering by the wall, hands clenching and unclenching, but other than that, he is unmoving, and he doesn’t seem to be tracking the fight. His eyes stare straight ahead, glazed, and this is something they can’t afford. He’s not sure why Ranboo came in the first place, but he’s a sitting duck where he is right now, and all it will take is one of their enemies seeing the state he’s in before he gets used against them.

Alright. They can do this. Alright.

“Open season on the Egg,” he murmurs, meeting Tommy’s eyes, then Tubbo. He keeps his voice low, inaudible to anyone else. Hopefully. “We creep around the side. Grab your friend along the way.” He jerks his head toward Ranboo, and they both understand what he means immediately. He redistributes his weight and stands, and counts it as a win that the wave of dizziness only lasts a moment. He gestures for them to follow him, and starts picking his way through the vines, keeping his movements as soundless as he possibly can. The noises of battle will work in their favor, that way.

Ranboo doesn’t react to their approach. Wilbur has seen states sort of like this before, has seen people caught up in flashbacks, dead to the world around them, so perhaps that’s what this is. But if that is the case, it’s odd that his face is so blank, that there is no expression there at all, that whatever he is seeing, he is barely reacting to it.

“He sleepwalks,” Tubbo whispers. “He told me. He might be sleepwalking.”

“He—” Okay. Okay, this is fine. “Alright, one of you two grab him. We’re not going to leave him here like this.”

Tubbo grabs his hand instantly, barely waiting for him to finish speaking. Tommy rolls his eyes. Wilbur glances back and forth between the three of them, then turns his back and presses on, inching his way along the outskirts of the room. No one takes notice of them, no one seems to realize what they’re up to, and even the Egg itself doesn’t seem to pay much mind; its hum remains constant, a continuous presence that neither wanes nor waxes.

And then, they’re crouching behind it. Tubbo tugs on Ranboo’s arm, and he sits with them, still absent.

“Alright, big man,” Tommy says. “We just gonna stab it to death? I think we should stab it to death.”

“It’s probably the first thing to try,” he concedes. He peers around its thick shell; the fights so far are inconclusive. Techno’s taken a scratch to his cheek, Dream a slice along his forearm. He doesn’t know how much time they have, and up close, the Egg’s shell is thick, hard. Even a netherite sword is going to need some heavy leverage behind it if it’s going to pierce through, and being this close to the thing makes his head swim, even when it’s not talking directly to him.

“Okay,” he says, and places one heel against a vine behind him, bracing himself. The sword feels unwieldy in his hand, awkward and too heavy, but it’s not as if the Egg will be hitting back. Strength is what he needs here, not finesse.

He brings his arm back, and then—

Weary son, restless son, it croons, its voice scraping against the insides of his skull, you needn’t fight me, wandering son, you only fight yourself and why fight when you can have what you want, that deep sleep, unending peace, the void still calls to you, calls of a world black and unending and eternal, and I can return you there, and you can lay down your steel at last, lay down your iron, lay down your arms at last and only sleep.

He wavers. But—

“Get out of my head,” he grits out, and the other two suddenly look very alarmed. “Shut up, get out, I know your games now, and I’m not falling for them again. Get the fuck out.” But though his voice is angry, it is weak, thin, threaded with pain, and his brothers can hear it, and he knows the Egg can feel it, knows the Egg can burrow inside of him and stick itself into all of the unstable places, all of the hollows in his heart, and tease out temptation.

(but he’s made a promise)

He inhales. Prepares himself again.

If not you then it will be him, it says, and he freezes, that darling boy of yours, golden haired sunshine gone limp and dead and eyes dull and blank and rotting in his skull, if it is not you then it will be him, if I cannot have you then I will have him, we will have him, for he does not hear my voice so he must die, and his blood will nourish my roots and I will grow strong on his life, I will kill him if you let me, and will you let me, blood child, child of death, shall you allow me my due?

“Shut up,” he whispers. “Shut up, stop, I won’t—I won’t let that happen. Shut up.”

“Wil,” Tommy says, “Wil, here, let me, let me do it, okay?” And Tommy’s hand is on his, gently lowering his sword arm, and then he steps forward, his own blade raised defiantly. “Take this, omelet bitch!”

I will kill him, I will do it now!

“Wait, Tommy, wait—”

Tommy drives his sword against the Egg’s shell, and two things happen. The first is that the blade skids off against it, leaving a slight dent, perhaps, but no more than that. And the second is that Tommy goes pale, doubles over, and wraps his free hand around his stomach, wheezing, eyes bugging out of his skull.

“Holy shit,” he gasps, “holy shit, that hurt, what the hell—”

“Tommy?” Tubbo demands. “Tommy, what is it, what did it do?”

“It hurt me,” Tommy says, like he can’t quite believe it. He straightens, some of the color slowly returning to his face. “The bastard hurt me. It was like, like fucking fire in my chest or some shit, what the hell?”

“It said it was going to kill you,” Wilbur whispers. “That’s what it said to me.”

“Oh.” Tommy stares at him. “Well, um, it didn’t. Obviously. Still kicking.”

“But it will,” he says. “That’s why it didn’t bother to try and stop us coming up here. That’s why none of the Eggers care. That’s why Dream felt alright leaving it alone. If we try to hurt it, it can hurt us back. Physically.”

They stay silent for a moment.

“Well, shit,” Tubbo says. “What are we supposed to do now, then?”

He doesn’t know. He doesn’t know. The entire plan revolved around them being able to destroy the Egg. They thought that the people under its control would be the worst problem. And then Dream came along, and that was out the window, but he thought—he thought that he could make sure that this was worth something, that this would bear some fruit, even if they’d have to deal with an even bigger problem afterward. But now, it’s all fallen apart, and the room is still full of the sound of fighting, and what are they fighting for, if they’re not going to be able to accomplish anything without—

I shall spare him if you give in, if you let yourself go, I shall give you peace and keep it from him, my ally wants him alive and I can make concessions, I can be generous, so I put it on your shoulders and the choice is yours, child of—

“Shut up,” he screams, hoarse and jagged, and the red in his vision now is anger, pure and undiluted, and the sudden surge of strength does not feel like his own, and the movement he makes does not feel like his own, because it is impulsive and ill-conceived, but he drives his own weapon into the Egg’s bulk, and understands only moments later what Tommy was talking about, because all the breath leaves his lungs at once, and his chest is set aflame, like there is fire

(fire all around him, fire, fire, fire, beautiful and fitting, fitting that it should end this way, in this utter annihilation of one of his greatest creating, a torch taken to his legacy, and he set down the pitch himself)

racing across his skin and in his heart, in his heart, and his heartbeat stutters, and then just as quickly as the sensation began, it ends, and he is left winded, exhausted, unsteady.

“Oh my god—”

“You stupid asshole, why would you—”

“Sorry,” he manages. “Sorry, it just, it pissed me off. You hear that?” He turns toward it. “You’re pissing me off, you great breakfast food. You are a terrible buffoon, and I hate you.”

You cannot hold out forever, void child.

He winces, bringing a hand up to his forehead. But he glares.

“We’ll see about that,” he states.

And then it all goes to shit. Even more than it’s gone to shit already. Because Dream is still fighting with Techno, and Wilbur hasn’t been paying attention to them for the past few minutes, but they both still seem to be going strong, and his attention is brought back to them by Dream calling out—

“I think I’ll call in that favor, Technoblade!”

And Tommy says—

“Oh, fuck no.”

And Tubbo swears, soft and vehement, and Wilbur is confused, because since when does Techno owe Dream a favor? How would he allow himself to be indebted to the man in the first place?

(another remembrance: following the flash of gold, following the fighting that he paid no attention to at all, because he had Friend and how exciting it was, to have a blue sheep, a blue sheep who he loved very much, who he could show everyone and perhaps make them happier because who wouldn’t love Friend immediately upon seeing them, but on the edge of the square there is a figure cloaked in green)

“Oh yeah?” Techno asks. He sounds unconcerned, but that’s just Technoblade. He takes a step back, disengaging from their fight, and Dram does the same, twirling his axe in his hand. “I’d be careful with that. You never know when I might inexplicably go deaf.”

“You can’t avoid it when I’m right in front of you,” Dream says.

“You’re underestimatin’ my powers of—”

“Listen to the Egg, Technoblade,” Dream says. “That’s the favor. Just stand there for a minute and listen to it. Let it really get to you. Let it sink in. You like blood, right? The Egg likes blood, too.” He shrugs, infuriatingly casual. “A bit messy for my taste, but whatever works, right? I don’t mind getting my hands a little dirty if I have to. We’re the same, in that way, you know.”

“Oh, fuck no,” Tommy says again, and then he’s starting forward, and Wilbur barely catches him by the shoulder in time. He doesn’t want him near Dream. He doesn’t want either of them near Dream. And Dream has to have something up his sleeve, with the way he’s brought this up so suddenly.

(the air feels electric, feels like something is awaited, feels like something is building, building to a breaking point, and he doesn’t want to know what is about to shatter)

“Wait,” he hisses, and Tommy glares, but he ignores him, taking in the battlefield again. Nothing has changed since last he checked, since before they hunkered down in this corner, by the Egg, and that is what is wrong here. It’s all too neat. Sapnap and Puffy have their fight, nicely contained, and Phil has his, and Techno his, and no one has dealt any serious damage against anyone else, and he knows that their side is constrained by not wanting to seriously injure anyone who is currently being mind controlled, but what is holding back the other side?

It is all too neat in a way that battles never are, because the first rule of combat is to keep your head, the second is not to drop your weapon, and the third is that no plan survives combat with the enemy. And yet, here they are, all opponents evenly matched, no side winning, and where is the chaos, the bloodshed?

If there is no chaos yet, it is because it has yet to be unleashed.

“I mean, I hear it,” Techno says, and has it been a minute? Surely not. Tommy and Tubbo have both gone tense. Ranboo is still crouching, right where Tubbo put him. He doesn’t know if that’s typical behavior of sleepwalkers. He doesn’t have time to think about it right now. Because Dream told Techno to listen to the Egg, and it’s a favor, and Techno always honors favors, no matter what, so he’s doing it, he’s listening to it, and somehow, that’s not what he’s most worried about,

(because there is something holding its breath, a leashed tension, a match held loosely, about to drop, and it’s been growing all this time but he senses it only now, only here, only watching his brother face down a nightmare forty paces away, and he thinks he hears the Egg in his mind and he thinks it sounds smug)

“But I hear a lot of voices,” Techno finishes. “Can’t say I find this one very compelling.”

(it should be a relief, a relief, a relief to know that the Egg will not take its red and shove it into Techno’s mind, that he will not look into his eyes and find a monster in his place, but his heart races and something is building, building, building, and there is no way that Dream staked everything on this play, on bringing Techno to his side, so what is the plan here, what is his plan?)

“I wondered if you might say something like that,” Dream says. He doesn’t sound at all like someone whose plans have just been foiled, who has just wasted a favor from the strongest fighter on the server. “I had to try, you understand.”

“Of course,” Technoblade says.

(there is a dam and the dam)

He feels it, then, and he thinks everyone else does too, and Tommy and Tubbo press against him, hands gripping each other for balance as the two of a kind united now and I lend my power to you and together you will succumb or you will perish and I no longer care for which you have spurned me for the last time locked me away and stripped me of the power that is mine and I reclaim it now and our power united united now my strength to yours revenge is sweetest when it is hot and the blood is fresh.

(bursts)

The vines.

The vines on the ground twitch. The vines hanging down sway. He moves his foot as the vine nearest to him spasms like a dying animal.

“What the fuck,” Tommy whispers.

A shout crawls up his throat. It dies on his lips.

It happens too quickly to process.

One moment, Techno is standing there, and the next, there is a red vine around his neck, and the crack should not echo through the room as it does, but it is all Wilbur can hear. All Wilbur can see. One of Techno’s hands comes up, and then it falls limp. His body goes slack, held up by the vine and the vine only, the vine still encircling his neck, the vine that digs into the skin under his helmet, the vine that—

That can’t—

That can’t be—

Technoblade never—

He doesn’t—

And then, before he has time to understand at all, before his mind can shake off the numbness that’s taken him, the complete and utter lack of comprehension, the ringing in his ears that is, oddly, interspersed with an enderman’s distressed warble, before he can come out of it—the world explodes in a brilliant flare of light, golden and pure, a rush of energy that sings of the universe, that sings of life and renewal and second chances, a soul tethered, kept back, returned, re-tuned, and for a split second, he is floating in the void again as the fabric of reality shifts, as the light dances, as the rules are rewritten, and he can see everything, and he is one with the universe and the universe is with him and there are hundreds of thousands of voices chanting—

“Technoblade never dies!” Techno crows, and the golden light of the totem flickers and dances in his eyes, visible even from here, and Techno is sure to feel that later, when his adrenaline comes crashing down. But for now, the laugh that springs from Wilbur’s lips is giddy and relieved and joyful all at once, and the grief that barely had a chance to gather at all dissipates like smoke in the wind.

“How many of those things do you have?” Tubbo yells, right in his ear, and then Phil laughs too, and he brings his sword hilt down on Bad’s, and Bad’s own weapon skitters across the floor and Phil wheels on Ant in the next motion, and Ponk and Punz are being pushed back, and Techno swirls his sword again and leaps for Dream, and suddenly it’s like the tide is turning, like maybe they can win the day and they’ll have time to work out the rest, except then Tubbo shouts again, a warning this time, but there is no time to move before a vine rips the others from him and he is slammed against the surface of the Egg, hard, and—

He can—

He—

(it’s on him it’s on him get it off get it off off off off off off off)

(it’s trying to consume him trying to take in all that he is and spit out nothing not even the bones and if he lets it there will be nothing left of him if he lets it and he fights he struggles and it’s on him and trying to cover him and blood is dripping over him and he can’t breathe he can’t breathe he opens his mouth and the blood pours in and he thrashes but its grip is inescapable and he’s panicking and he can’t he can’t he doesn’t want no rest is worth this)

And then hands are on him, pulling him forward, two pairs, and he opens his eyes, not realizing he’d closed them, and he lets himself be tugged away, his lungs inflating, and he expects to see Tommy and Tubbo, but it is Tommy and Ranboo, and Tubbo is hacking away at the vines that attacked him, that slammed him against the thing that tried to—

“Wilbur!” Tommy is shouting in his face. “Wilbur, don’t be an Egghead, don’t, don’t let it fucking eat you, you—”

“It wasn’t my idea,” he gasps out.

“Oh, good, you’re okay,” Ranboo says, perhaps a little hysterically, but there’s no time to calm him down, no time to puzzle over why he’s suddenly awake. “I’ve got no idea what’s going on. Why’s Dream out?” His voice is about an octave higher than Wilbur remembers it being, but at least he’s functional.

“We don’t know,” he says. “We’re dealing with it. Well. Dealing with it. Sort of. Everything’s gone a bit shit. Did you know you weren’t awake?”

“I mean, it happens,” Ranboo says. “I never know at the time. That’s not, um, that’s not how it works? I’m sorry?”

“No time, boys,” Tommy says. “We have, we have so many problems right now.”

The vines writhe, twist, lash out, and it is not all of them, not nearly all of them, because if it were all of them, they would be shredded like mincemeat, but it is more than enough to be a major issue, because suddenly, everyone has to focus on their foes and foliage all at once, and Techno and Phil seem alright, but Puffy and Sapnap begin to struggle under the onslaught, and they’re not going to win this. These vines attack with purpose, with blood lust, and they are seeking their deaths and they need to go. They need to cut their losses, as much as it stings, before someone who doesn’t have a totem loses a life.

(it burns the general in you to retreat now because there is always some part of you that will think in terms of tactical sacrifices and acceptable losses but there is also a part of you that can see when a battle is beyond its turning point and this battle is far past that and it was not in your favor so it is time to sound the horn time to perform an about-face and try not to be burned too badly in the leaving)

“We need to go!” Puffy calls, as if she’s read his mind. “We need to go right now!” She and Sapnap start to back slowly toward the entrance, covering each other as best they can with Ponk and Punz and fucking plants all after them.

“Wait, what? We can’t just—” Tommy starts, but he shakes his head, cutting him off.

“She’s right,” he says. “We stay here, and someone’s going to die. For real. And I’m not going to let that be you or Tubbo.” Tommy’s expression sets into something mulish, but he continues. “We’re not fighting anyone, we just have to make it to the exit. We all cover each other’s backs, and keep an eye out for the viney shit. Nobody’s losing a life to plants today.”

He doesn’t intend to use the old general’s voice, but Tommy and Tubbo both straighten, soldiers called to their posts, and he knows he can trust them in this, at least. They have their orders.

What could possibly go wrong?

(you can still feel him, can feet it, can feel both of them, but you can feel his presence grating up against yours, everything dark and corrupted and poisonous, you can feel it in the vines and in the air like sandpaper against your skin and he is not done yet do not turn away he is not done yet)

He doesn’t even get to take a step. Dream ducks under a blow from Techno and then looks to him, and even from across the room, he can feel his gaze pinning him, piercing him, and

(something is about to happen)

there is a flash of movement, too quick, too sudden,

(but you cannot fight the void, the absence of him, the howling pit that is he and that is it and that is them together)

and Tommy yelps, and then he’s gone, right out from under his hands, being dragged across the room, toward Techno, toward Dream, and times slows down. He lurches forward, hand outstretched, but he’s too slow, too slow, and he is still reaching out, is still stumbling forward, as if that will do anything, as if he will be able to cross forty paces before that vine, thick and red, deposits Tommy at Dream’s feet, and he is useless, powerless, and Tubbo is beside him, shouting, charging forward with more strength than he has in his own weary muscles, more power, but he will not be enough either.

Techno’s eyes widen. He tries to step forward, tries to hack away at the vine that has Tommy in its grip, but Dream leaps forward with another onslaught, so Techno is forced to focus on that and not his little brother, their little brother, now staggering to stay upright, now too close to Dream.

He keeps pushing forward, and his legs strain like he’s moving through molasses. Vines lash out at him, tearing at his clothes, his hair, his skin, and he can feel blood, warm and sticky, trailing down his leg, though there is no pain. Tubbo is beside him still, and Ranboo on his other side, and their swords sing but more and more vines move, now, and there are too many, too many to fight, and the room is filled with a red haze, and they’re closer now, but they’re not going to make it before Dream does something—

Dream launches himself into the air, flips over Techno’s head. He’s going for Tommy.

He’s going for Tommy.

(you promised to protect him you promised you promised and now death stares him in the face and you are now fifteen feet away fifteen feet and closing but fifteen feet too distant fifteen feet too late you cannot watch your brother die but that is the role you are consigned to spectator useless and reaching out for a hand that will never hold yours again)

Then, Techno is there. Techno pushes Tommy to the side, hard enough to fall to the floor. But he has no time to move out of the way himself, no time to bring his blade up to parry, and Dream’s axe sinks deep into his exposed throat, and Dream smiles, and Wilbur knows that this was his plan all along.

All the world goes still.

A crow caws, low and mournful.

He thinks he is screaming, but there is no sound in his ears.

Dream pivots lightly. Yanks the axe out. Blood spurts. Tommy’s mouth falls open, a rictus of horror. Technoblade’s jaw works, and his hands clench, unclench. He says something, and Wilbur can’t hear it.

(he has another totem he’ll be fine he’ll be fine please let him pull out another totem because Technoblade never dies Technoblade never dies please he never dies don’t let him die)

His inventory spills across the floor, and dust dissipates on the air.

Sound rushes back. As one, all of the communicators in the room chime. Just like that, Techno is gone.

“How many people are gonna have to sacrifice themselves for you before you learn?” Dream asks Tommy, axe dripping blood on the ground, and vines crowd him, vines weave around him, absorbing the blood, lapping up the blood, Techno’s blood.

(but Technoblade never dies Technoblade never dies Technoblade never dies)

Time resumes its normal pace.

He reaches Tommy’s side in the next instant. Dream just stands there, observing them, and the smile on his face is the cruelest on he has ever seen on a person, on a human,

(and that includes the times he’s looked in a mirror, seen dark bags and a sallow face and lips twisted into something too dark to be a smile)

but Dream isn’t human, is he? Can’t be. And Wilbur doesn’t know what he is, doesn’t know if he’s a demon himself of if he’s possessed or what, but he takes a split second to look Tommy over for injuries, finds none, and then joins Tubbo in starting for Dream, blade in his hand, even though he has no chance, they have no chance, not even together, because Dream had to resort to dirty tactics to defeat

(but Technoblade never dies so why why is he how can this)

Techno, but even he and Tubbo together do not a blood god make.

Dream holds out his axe. Saying, come get me, then.

And his heart is in his throat because his brother, his brother

(his brother is dead his brother is dead his brother has two lives left but his brother is dead)

was right there two seconds ago and now he has not, and a large part of him

(all of him, since childhood, since the first time Techno went out and came back bloodied and grinning and carrying an inventory full of loot)

has always assumed that Technoblade was invincible, that there is nothing in heaven or hell that could stop him, and that was why he let him into Pogtopia in those early days, because the world was shrinking in around him and there was no one he could trust but Technoblade was the strongest there was and he needed the strongest, needed the power of the blade, the power of iron and steel to take back what was his.

(and part of you looked in his eyes met crimson with your brown and knew deep within yourself that your brother was here for you here for you both and maybe you could let your guard down just a little let yourself be protected let yourself trust and you did, if only for a moment, even if it didn’t last, didn’t save you or anyone else in the end)

They cannot defeat Dream. He, especially, cannot defeat Dream. Not through combat. But Ranboo crouches by Tommy, and he steps up beside Tubbo, and raises his sword.

Phil gets there first.

His blade knocks into Dream’s axe so hard that he almost loses his grip, and Phil doesn’t let up, aiming another strike against his head and another against his chest and another against his arm, and it is all that Dream can do to block the blows, and this, this is the Angel of Death, and there is fear on Dream’s face, and then he is gone, standing atop the Egg again, and Phil almost follows after him.

But then, a mass of vines raises up, all around them. Too many to fight off, even together. Wilbur braces himself, and then there is something around them, covering them, shielding them, something massive and black, and Phil grunts, and—

(and how many times has he protected you like this now)

And his wings—

Thorns sink into Phil’s wings, which are out on full display, and Wilbur can’t stop staring, because Phil’s wings are tattered and torn, and his feathers are sticking out every which way, clearly not cared for, but that isn’t even the worst part, because there are holes in them, holes in his wings where Wilbur can see straight through to the opposite wall, and there are featherless patches covered in scarred skin, and there are places where bone lies exposed to the air, sticking out from flesh and plumage, and he can’t fly on these. There’s no way that he can fly on these.

(explosions around him and the heat scorches his back and he smiles and laughs and then Phil is there wrapping his wings around him and Phil cries out in pain as the walls go down as the fire licks at both of them scorches both of them but he didn’t think to care then and oh gods what has he done what has he done)

(and Phil’s wings are bleeding now as the red thorns dig in and it’s happening again happening again before his eyes and how many times will people have to sacrifice themselves for him before he learns?)

(your father’s bones blackened and twisted by heat and do they hurt do they hurt bones are not meant for the open air and surely the scar tissue aches and they are ruined they are ruined his pride and joy ruined and your father will not fly again will not feel the wind at his back and he loved it he loved it and he gave it up for you and yet you are here again still asking for a sacrifice always asking for a sacrifice at least once more)

He’s panicking. He’s panicking, and he needs to stop panicking, because there panic has no place on a field of battle, and that is a lesson he learned long ago, at the knee of his country, his beautiful country, and for a moment, he is on the walls, orange and black, and he is fighting for his nation, fighting for his people, and then he blinks, and Phil has gathered Tommy in his arms. Tommy doesn’t protest, blank shock painting his face.

“We need to go, Wil,” Phil says. “I need you all to guard me while I get Tommy out.” His voice is steel. No room for argument.

He nods, numbly. Moves mechanically. Doesn’t pay heed to the way the vines slash at him, as long as they’re not slashing at Tommy. There is blood on him.

(but it is his own, so that is alright)

He blinks, and Puffy and Sapnap have joined them. Sapnap’s white shirt is stained red. Blood sheets down from a wound on Puffy’s forehead. But they are alive.

(Techno isn’t)

(Technoblade never dies but Technoblade died and what do you do when the immortal figures of your childhood are no longer so?)

Bad and the rest do not stop them. The Egg does not stop them, though he can feel it, still, humming a victory march in his mind.

Dream, from where he stands on its top, does not stop them. He chances one glance back; Dream offers a mock salute.

(they are letting them go, they are letting them go as the cat releases the mouse, sure of its ability to follow the limping blood trail, sure of its chances of having a meal later, when it is more hungry, when it will be all the more satisfying. they are letting them go, and it is no mercy, and they will be driven forward like vermin, but they have no choice but to go, no choice but to run)

And then they’re going up the stairs, up the ladder, and into the sunlight.

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childrenofthenightt · 4 years ago

Text

only the black rose (chapter 3)

pairing: jimmy page x layla porter (oc)

warnings: vague sexual references, two mentions of keith richards and a whole lot of fluff. also poetry about jimmy page because i’m a simp.

words: 3.4k

summary: in the blink of an eye, it’s 1975 and layla’s suddenly joining led zeppelin for their north american tour. throughout the chaos, the band take a liking to her, she builds friendships with the boys, and love blossoms. but all good things must come to an end.

author’s note: not beta’d as always! this story does follow a playlist of mine, because i put too much thought into things. also this chapter is full of jimmy moments (finally) so i hope you enjoy :)

masterlist

playlist

chapter one

chapter two

----------

“He’s coming!”

Hushed whispers echo through the studio as amps become hiding spots, and instruments camouflage the people crouched behind them, anxiously waiting. Layla finds herself kneeling next to Bonzo and Jonesy, Robert a few feet away, giggling silently at the anticipation.

Feeling for the leather handle of the prize slung over her shoulder, Layla smiles wide, excitement dancing in her eyes like a perfect waltz. Hearing soft footfalls on the tiled floor drawing near, a charged silence falls over the studio. Sun-kissed curls poke out from behind the amps to spot the intruder. With a subtle nod to hidden companions, chaos erupts.

“Surprise!” A chorus of voices yell in near unison, startling the intruder, who puts a hand to his racing heart.

“Happy birthday, Pagey.” Robert trots up to his friend, grinning impishly at the stunt he had pulled. Jonesy and Bonzo follow suit, hugging the guitarist, while Peter lumbers out of his hiding spot, knees groaning from his crouched position. A pat on the shoulder and smile gracing his face, Peter wishes the man a happy birthday as well. Minutes pass, packed with greetings and formal well-wishes, until misty green meets warm brown once again.

“Happy birthday, Jimmy.” Layla starts towards the man, pulling him into a familiar hug, his unruly curls brushing her cheek like the soft caress of a lover. The hands that wrap around her back finally feel the handle of the weathered guitar case, and he pulls away, confusion creasing his handsome face.

“Layla, is that a guitar? I didn’t know you played...”

“This isn’t for me… It’s, uh… It’s your birthday present.”

“You…”

“Well don’t just stand there gaping at her, Pagey! Open it for God’s sake! She picked it out herself!”

Hands quivering almost imperceptibly, long fingers reach for the clasps of the case, snapping them open with a click. A soft gasp permeates the tense silence as the lid is opened, revealing the beautiful instrument. Lifting it out of the case delicately, Jimmy’s face fills with awe, eyes shining, clear ponds of morning dew. Running a hand down the neck of the guitar lightly, Jimmy looks back at Layla, then at the instrument once more, mouth opening and closing like a floundering fish.

“Layla… It’s… Thank you so much.”

“Of course, Jimmy,” Layla whispers almost shyly at the gratitude of the man before her, “I hope you like it. I saw it and thought it was perfect for you, but obviously you don’t have to use it if it’s—”

She is cut off by the sensation of long arms around her once more, cradling her as though she was a precious gift. She is once again surrounded by the dusky sweet scent of smoke, pine and citrus. Ebony ringlets tickle against her cheek once more, and she is home.

“You know,” Jimmy starts, voice a calming rumble against Layla’s cheek, which is pressed to the tall man’s chest, “I may not be great with words. That’s why everyone else writes the lyrics. But believe me, petal, I’ll never forget this.”

“Petal… That’s a new one, Jim.”

Layla and Jimmy jump apart then, laughing shyly at the intrusion. Hands wringing together, desperately searching for a distraction, their eyes meet once more. Twin blushes rise on their faces, and they turn to face their friends.

“Well, I do believe it’s time for the cake!” Peter claps his hands together, signalling the end of the awkward moment that had transpired, “Boys, let’s go get everything ready. Except for you, Pagey. You’re the birthday boy, we’re not gonna let you lift a finger to help today.”

“But—”

The only response is the patter of footsteps against the floor, signalling their exit. Layla chances a look at the man next to her, and finds him looking back once again. Mulling it over in her head, she decides to ask the question she’s been contemplating since the beautiful guitar was uncovered.

“Jimmy, you said you weren’t great with words,” Layla breathes out, hand rubbing at the back of her neck, eyes downcast, “Would you be able to play something for me? You obviously don't have to, but—”

“Layla, I’d love to. I need to try this beauty out anyways, might as well do it while you’re here to witness it.”

A smirk sits familiar on his stubble-dusted cheeks, dimples just visible. It’s obvious he was joking, but the thought of him playing something solely for her, on the guitar that she gifted him, was a lot for the young woman.

“Do you have any requests, petal?”

“Not really, but I’m sure anything you play will sound amazing.”

“Oh, you flatter me too much,” A hand moves to the crown of his head, graceful fingers scratching nervously, a betrayal of the man’s attempt at nonchalance. Jimmy stops then, cogs almost visibly turning in his brilliant mind. “… This will have to do.”

He sends a smile to his companion, and launches in, a flurry of beautiful chords resonating from it’s polished wooden body. Layla is in awe, watching his deft fingers slide across the fretboard with practiced ease, never missing a note. It’s when he starts singing, quietly, under his breath, that Layla’s eyes shoot up to his. Jimmy’s eyes are closed in pure concentration, a small smile dancing playfully on his lips. She can barely make out the words that float from his mouth, until he hits the chorus.

“God only knows what I’d be without you…”

He opens his eyes then, a smile growing at the open-mouthed expression of the woman next to him. He hums the rest of the song quietly, smirk never leaving his face until the very last note. Taking a deep breath, he turns to the woman, ducking his head slightly, the confidence leaving as though it had never been there at all.

“So… What did you think?”

“Here’s what I thought, Jim,” Layla says, a mischievous smirk of her own present on her face, as she stands looming over the guitarist. Soft lips meet the apple of a stubbled cheek, a sharp inhale of air punctuating the complete silence of the studio. Layla moves back, taking in the shocked expression on the angelic face of her companion, “Now, I think it’s time for a birthday celebration, so I’ll meet you in there, birthday boy.”

Layla, walking to the door, chances a look back at the guitarist and find him in the same position, staring off into space dazedly, a hand pressed to his cheek. Layla laughs lightly under her breath, and leaves the room. She finally meets up with Peter and the boys, who take one look at the smile that hasn’t left her face, and snicker amongst themselves.

“So, Layla, what were you and Jimmy talking about? Anything important that we should know, birdie?”

“Nothing at all, Bonzo. I do appreciate the concern, really, but don’t you worry your million dollar heads over it.”

“You know, that smirk isn't very reassuring, little dove. How do we know you didn’t break him somehow? I told you that outfit was gonna be a lot for him.”

“Well, I’m glad that someone had the balls to do something about the tension between you two, but I didn't think it’d be you, Layla.”

“And why not, Jonesy?”

Jonesy’s reply is cut short by the clacking of shoes on the floor, approaching the group. They look over, and Jimmy, seemingly recovered from the shock of lips meeting skin, walks into the room with a large smile creasing his pristine features. Taking hold of the glass of champagne Peter passes him, Jimmy tips it back.

“Tough night, Pagey?” Peter jokes, sipping from the glass in his hand, smiling as wide as ever.

“Not at all, Peter. Actually, my night got even better,” He sends a subtle glance over to Layla, confidence back in place, “Let’s get this party started.”

----------

What feels like daggers appear to be piercing her head as Layla awakes, mouth feeling like a barren desert. She turns over and is assaulted by the bright morning light, and shields her eyes from the onslaught. Finally adjusted to the sunlight streaming through the open windows. Layla takes in her surroundings, confusion evident on her drowsy face until she remembers the events of the night before. Jimmy’s birthday at the studio. The impromptu performance, the first sip of Jack Daniels burning its way down her throat like a kerosine blaze. Then it goes hazy, flashes of booming music and drunken dancing pound invisible fists against the inside of her head.

Layla, arm resting over her eyes to block out the world for just a little longer, misses the light click of the door opening, and startles when cold, callused fingertips press like droplets of rain to her sleep-warmed cheek. She looks at the offender, and sees wispy dark hair framing a porcelain face. Kaleidoscope eyes gaze into hers, a content smile resting on rose pink lips.

“Good morning, petal.”

“‘Morning, Jim.” Layla yawns, subtly pressing into the hand that now cupped her cheek.

“Are you feeling any better? Didn’t think a spitfire like you would be such a lightweight.”

“I’m gonna choose to ignore that comment,” Layla grumbles, wincing at the light chuckle Jimmy lets out. “I’m feeling a little better, thanks.”

“I’m glad. There’s some coffee waiting for you in the studio if you’re up for it. I’ll, uh... let you get dressed.”

Layla immediately becomes aware of the friction of the soft blanket against bare skin. The woman was left in her undergarments, thankfully, but the clothing she had been wearing from the night before was nowhere to be seen. Layla gasps, grasping at the retreating hand, the guitarist turning around to acknowledge her, cheeks blushing scarlet as he glimpses her exposed shoulder.

“Jim… Did we…?”

“What?”

“...”

“Oh. Oh, no. Last night, you indulged a little too much in our selection of drinks and, well… spilled about a litre all over your clothes,” Jimmy says, smirking at the woman in front of him. “I took you up here, and got the clothes into the wash. Don’t worry though, I turned around. There’s a change of clothes on the end of the couch.”

Layla laughs, squeezing the thin hand clasped in hers in thanks.

“Besides, petal, you deserve more than a drunken birthday fling. I’d kick myself if I didn't do this right.”

At this, the guitarist turns around, and walks out the door. Layla’s eyes bore into his retreating back, mouth hanging open at his admission and quick retreat. Standing finally, her eyes find the change of clothes on the end of the couch, just like Jimmy had said. A pair of black slacks, and a familiar silk shirt, a deep maroon in colour. Slipping them on and tying her hair into a low bun, she slips out of the room. The decadent smell of coffee tickles her nose as she walks on to the studio, and, nearing the door, she is met with the ever-present sound of laughter.

“Ah, look who finally decided to grace us with her very presence. I’m so honoured.”

“I’m just here cause I was promised coffee, Jonesy.”

“Cold, little dove. I thought we had something special here.” Fake tears are wiped from sun kissed cheeks, Bonzo and Jonesy hiding their smirks beneath their hands. Jimmy, who had been tasked with the making of the coveted coffee, looks over at the woman, chuckling softly.

“Well, blondie, if we had something special you’d have known that I need coffee in the morning to function,” she takes the steaming mug that the guitarist hands over, and takes a sip, a dreamy look on her face, “Jimmy is automatically the best out of all of you. He can make a great cup of coffee, and that’s enough for me.”

“Sure, that’s why he’s your favourite…”

“What was that, Bonzo?”

“...”

“Exactly what I thought.”

“Note to self: don’t talk to Layla before morning coffee. Got it.”

“Finally, you’re learning!”

The sound of footsteps approaching punctuates the end of the conversation, and Peter Grant rounds the corner, smiling ear to ear. Spotting Layla in the mix of his boys, Peter sends her an amicable wink, which earns him a grin in return.

“Good, you’re all here. Layla, are you all packed, dear?”

“Yep, all packed.”

“Wonderful. Our plane is due in just a few hours, so we’ll stop by your flat on the way. Next stop: Netherlands.”

Cheers sound from around the studio as the excitement for the upcoming tour ramps up. Peter silences the group, laughing, a tell-tale smirk settled on his lips.

“I must say… I think you’ll all find the ride there quite enjoyable. Even you, Pagey.”

----------

“A private jet?!”

“Her name is the Starship, but we’re accepting suggestions if you have a better idea.”

“Peter… This is…”

“Didn’t think it was possible to make the birdie speechless, I only know one person who can,” Bonzo meets Jimmy’s eyes then, a blush rising on the latter’s pale face. “Good job, Grant.”

“How did you even afford something like this?”

“My dear, I did mention that this was a very famous band, did I not?”

“Well, yeah, but… I was expecting like… The Black Keys level of popularity, not like, One Direction.”

“... Who?”

Layla catches Jonesy’s gaze, and when the man shakes his head minutely, eyes wide, she knows she messed up. Shit.

“Uh… Exactly! You guys are good, sure, but I thought you guys would be like… more underground, or something.”

Good save.

“Little dove, we’re like… one of the most popular bands in the world at the moment. You know, you really did pick a good day to almost get a concussion. Who knew that our Mr. Grant would be there?”

“Oh god… Boys… what if she had been snatched up by The Rolling Stones instead?”

“I have heard that Keith Richards has been getting all the women lately…” Jimmy says, hand moving to rub at his arm in mock anxiety, callused fingers catching ever-so-slightly on the lush green silk of his shirt. The mischief written all over his face exposed the ruse.

“Okay,” Layla starts, a smirk growing on her face in anticipation, “As much as I actively avoid saying it… you guys are pretty great. I’m glad I met all of you, and I won’t leave you for the Rolling Stones. How was that?”

“Acceptable.”

“Very sorry to interrupt this lovely moment, but the Starship awaits.” Peter says, smiling sheepishly at his intrusion, hand raised to show the majesty of the plane before them.

Piling into the aircraft, Layla is met with sleek silver and dark upholstery, yet another inkling as to how famous the boys really were. Strolling through the aircraft, Layla is stunned by the presence of a fully stocked bar, expensive spirits gleaming in the waning morning light. Walking to the comfortable sitting area, she gapes at the beautiful fireplace to her left.

“Is that safe?” she mutters under her breath, eyes wide as saucers, amazed at the level of luxury. This jet is more expensive than anything she’s ever seen, and she gets to experience it with her boys. As much as she’d like to return home, to her own time, this is a pretty great experience.

A sudden tap on the shoulder of the woman in question snaps her out of her thoughts, and, finally raising her eyes to spot the offender, she is greeted by the handsome face of Jimmy Page staring right back at her.

“Hey, petal. Do you mind if I sit with you?”

“Well…,” Layla jokes, giggling when she spots the hesitant look on the man’s face. “I’m just kidding, Jim. Of course, take a seat!”

Plopping down onto the couch beside her, the guitarist turns his body to face Layla, his full attention on the young woman beside him. Knee to knee with him, Layla can just barely smell the expensive cologne the man wears, mingling with the scent she now associates with the man: light accents of pine and citrus infused with warm, heady tobacco. Layla looks up at Jimmy then, and is struck by his beauty. His ebony ringlets fall to his shoulder, and, backlit by the afternoon sun streaming through the open plane windows, gives the impression of holiness. A sprinkling of subtle freckles look like stars falling across his cherubic face, and his eyelashes frame his perpetually tired eyes like a precious work of art. His eyes, a deep vivid emerald that she could get lost in forever, search the woman’s face, and it is when she looks down to study his angelic lips that she sees he is trying to speak to her.

“Earth to Layla,” Jimmy says, smiling shyly once he realizes that Layla was staring. He’s not as used to this silent reverence as he had expected. “Hello, is anybody in there?”

Shaking herself out of her reverie with a nod of her head, chestnut curls bouncing with the movement.

“Sorry, got a bit…. distracted… What were you saying, Jimmy?”

“I could tell, petal,” Jimmy scoffs, not unkindly, and Layla can see a pink tinge rising on his cheeks. “I was just wondering how you were doing. I mean, with everything that’s happened, of course.”

“You’re sweet, Jim. I’m… doing much better than I had expected,” Layla says, eyes softening as they roam over the worried face of the man next to her. “I woke up after the accident and thought I was done for, and then I met Peter, and… you, and the boys, and you were all so incredibly kind to me. I’m still trying to find a way to repay you guys.”

Her eyes stray from his face, then, to meet her shoes, preparing herself for what she is about to express.

“I know I can be too sarcastic, and I hold my cards too close to my chest, but I really do appreciate all of you. Even if I don’t always say it.”

Layla lays her hand on his then, looking into his eyes earnestly. Placing his own hand on top of hers, warmth seeping from one to the other, he shakes his head vehemently.

“Petal, you’re not some kind of burden that was left outside our door. I’m… We are glad we found you when we did. You’re not going to get rid of us that easily, Layla.”

“Damn, that was my goal.”

“I knew it. There’s another talented, devilishly handsome band you’re affiliated with, isn't there?”

“Jimmy, how do I say this… I’m so sorry. It was Keith Richards. I was lying to you guys earlier.”

“Just as long as it wasn’t Jeff Beck, or I’d have to have a talk with him.”

Smirks grow slowly on their faces, and they let out twin giggles, unconsciously drifting closer to one another. Their laughter soon fades, and they are left enraptured with each other once again, eyes never straying from their gaze on the other. Finally, Jimmy breaks the eye contact between them with a forced cough, and the pair turn away, hands still clasped absentmindedly.

Layla chances a look at the guitarist, who is apparently set on never looking at her again. Noticing how their hands are still interlocked, she gives his a light squeeze, and he looks over once more.

“Jimmy, I just… I really do want to thank you. For checking up on me, and for making me laugh, and just… Thank you.”

“Layla, it’s my pleasure,” Jimmy says, reaching a faintly shaking hand to push back a stray curl that had fallen in the woman’s face. “I care about you, and I want you to be happy. If I can make that happen for you, then I’m going to do it.”

Speechless, Layla can only squeeze his hand once more. Finally noticing the slight tremors that run through it, she looks up at Jimmy, whose jaw is clenched tightly, tension clear on his face.

“Jim, are you alright? Your hands are shaking…”

“Oh, I’m fine, petal. I just get a bit nervous on planes is all. It’ll pass.”

An idea comes to Layla then, and she stretches out her legs, shifting forward once more.

“Put your head in my lap and sleep through it, so you won’t be a bundle of nerves the whole time.”

“Layla, it really is fine—”

“Jimmy, just do it. You’ll never relax otherwise.”

“...Fine.”

Jimmy’s head comfortably placed on her lap, Layla threads her fingers through the tastefully messy curls, and, minutes later, Jimmy is out like a light. Satisfied, she leans back, hand still buried deep in the raven locks, and dozes off as well. The pair sleep on, oblivious to the snickering of the rest of the band, and the shutter click of Robert’s camera.

----------

taglist: @jimmys-zeppelin @salixfragilis @timetraveller4 (let me know if you want to be added!)

#led zeppelin #led zeppelin fanfic #jimmy page #jimmy page fanfic #jimmy page fanfiction #classic rock fanfic #only the black rose

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fencesandfrogs · 4 years ago

Text

cloudtail’s daughter au

so i decided to do a full write-up of this au instead of doing a second post to cover books 4-6 and then everything will be self-contained.

the essence of this au is pretty simple: dovewing does not, imo, fulfill the prophecy by being the granddaughter of firestar’s nephew, because that’s at least 3 “kin” away from him. so while i think she’d actually have to be princess’ daughter to fit, i’ll let her be firestar’s grandniece and call that “close enough” because it’s better.

anyway, there’s no real reason for this to change anything, but i think given who cloudtail and brightheart are, and how close dovewing and ivypool are to whitewing, it would probably change quite a few things.

[4k words. 15 minute read. proper section headers.]

this is a big summary so i’m sure i’ll forget things, i’ve already had to add in the events caused by the dovewing/tigerheart romance/conflict that carries through the first three books, and that cloudtail being an atheist has a major effect on ivypaw. i know i wrote a detailed summary of the first arc, where i didn’t forget any of that, but nothing exists for the second arc. anyway this au is tagged cloudtail’s daughter and apparently i have a lot to say about it so i’m sure if you click on the tag you can find info about it. assuming this isn’t the first thing i post. which it might be.

section one: things that don’t happen

so i don’t want this to be a po3 rewrite, which means i’m going to take a moment to explicitly discuss what doesn’t change.

first, po3 stays pretty much exactly the same. i want jayfeather to be a warrior too. i also want him to be dovewing’s brother. but the au where brightheart gives birth to dovekit, anxiety child, and jaykit, blind, and feels like a failure despite the fact that its not like her half-blindness is genetic, is not this au. that is another au.

anyway, hollyleaf does keep herself more together, because she needs to be alive for some family drama. she’s in background character hell (BGCH) for a while, though, especially the first book.

she still goes to the tunnels, mind, she just comes out sooner.

but otherwise, despite my personal tastes, i’m not changing po3 very much.

section two: brightheart’s litters

okay so cloudtail and brightheart have four children, i believe, and my choice is either to replace whitewing, or to replace the others. now, i don’t particularly care for either of these options, but i’d rather they have their second litter younger, so we’re replacing amber/dew/snow. this still lets you have old queen drama, but not so much that you’re like “brightheart how on god’s green earth did you have 3 children with no issues”

instead, she’ll have dovekit and ivykit at about the same time whitewing had them.

now, for complicated cat genetic reasons, cloudtail could have been a black cat. now, here me out: what i mean is, if he wasn’t white, he could be black. basically, white is a masking color in cats, it goes on top of whatever pattern they would have displayed. both he and brightheart would have to inherit one dilute gene (princess was not dilute, so she had to carry it), and then either dovewing or brightheart are tortie, and that’s the best i can do for keeping dovewing grey.

i, personally, lean towards tortie brightheart, because i always pictured her that way, but i have seen some pretty cute tortie dovewing.

ivykit inherits red from her mother, and is tortie either way, because tortie ivypool is cute.

in fact, i’ve been tinkering with the idea that ivykit and dovekit have kind of mirrored grey and cream spots. not, like, perfectly mirrored, because that’s not how tortoiseshell/calico (they would technically be calico, since they have white) works, but close enough to be cute.

section three: arc one (summary)

these books are going to have six protagonists (dovekit, lionblaze, cinderheart, hollyleaf, jayfeather, ivypool, in that order) with a secondary character who gets less chapters but the most important b-plot (ivykit, hollyleaf, lionblaze, jayfeather, cinderheart, dovewing).

arc one focuses on “two braincells” i.e., dovewing, lionblaze, and cinderheart (sorry bb, ur not like the other two, but i’m putting you somewhere) and the main theme is dovepaw learning to manage her power. it’s a tug and pull between dovewing: glass canon, and dovewing: can’t do shit.

cinderheart and lionblaze also have a romance going on, which irritates ivypaw, who has a bit of a catalyst with the dark forest in the middle/end of the arc (like in the original). we only get this through external perspecives, though, because when this happens, lionblaze is in the secondary position.

one of the ways to fix this book series is to decouple it from ivy and dove, much as i love them. both the beavers and the dark forest make up a b-plot in this arc, while the quest for the third prophecy cat, as well as growing tensions between clans, take center stage, and lionblaze and cinderheart work in the second and third book to give us the adult perspective of the tension that dovekit and ivykit can’t in the first book.

mostly, this is fairly low stakes. part of that is because characters are having stakes appropriate for them, rather than smeared around in a book. (looking @ u, flametail buddy). so dovekit/paw spends her first book worried about apprentice things and doesn’t get to narrate again until the end of the series.

section four: book one — growing shadows

i think the fourth apprentice is a stupid name, okay?

so book one is dovekit and ivykit, for pretty obvious reasons.

although actually i’m pushing off the beavers in this to book two or three. i’m not 100% sure where i want that, yet.

so anyway, dovekit is born and wow is she anxiety child. (i call dovewing anxiety child a lot, because, well, she is? i feel like it’s sort of implicit in the books and i’m making it explicity.) anyway, she’s in sensory overload like 100% of the time. see, she was born late, and so she didn’t have her powers kick in over time like lionblaze and jayfeather. nope. she got the adult version right away.

so she spends a lot of time hiding with cloudtail because he’s big and fluffy and not complicated to look at. cloudtail and brightheart are understandibly pretty worried about her, because no one really knows what to do about it. she’s skittish and distractable and extremely sensitive. she hates going out in the rain, hates bright sun, etc.

(side note: dovekit’s powers extend to pretty much all her senses. she can see, hear, and smell much farther than she should, and she can taste and feel much more strongly than an other cat.)

ivykit doesn’t feel unloved, but she does know her sister is getting more attention, and that always kind of hurts, even if you’re understanding.

cloudtail and brightheart work to try to help dovekit get on her feet, but they’re not super successful. she learns to cope enough to be able to function as a kit, but she’s always kind of a strange, quiet kit. she doesn’t know how to talk about seeing too much because she doesn’t realize its too much.

dove is given to cinderheart, because lionblaze is a terrible mentor for small anxiety child, and ivy is given to lionblaze. this will also create drama later, just wait.

so the main plot of this book is keyed into dovepaw learning to hunt. the stakes are pretty low, honestly. they’re mounting around dovepaw and ivypaw, but the girls are too young to properly understand everything.

dovepaw is initially successful hunting due to some luck and being good at spotting prey, but she can’t replicate it. ivypaw only trains with her a bit at first, and she sees this success, and feels like her parents’ attention on dovepaw made dovepaw better than her.

this gets ivypaw into the dark forest. this is the b-plot: ivypaw training, realizing she made a mistake, and not knowing how to get out. plus, she doesn’t have to mind her sister. (ivypaw is raised by an atheist, so while she’s smart enough to eventually work out that these cats are evil, she doesn’t have a sunshine and rainbows view of starclan. that’s the only way i can justify her not being smart enough to nope the fuck out of there, even if she is really young and really angry.)

in clan life, ivypaw knows she needs to look out for dovepaw. she doesn’t mind, but she gets to experience a life without that in the dark forest.

dovepaw does mind how everyone treats her like she’s made of glass. she sees cinderheart talking to brightheart and jayfeather and firestar and feels like everyone thinks she’s useless. so she decides to go out on her own and prove she can function.

dovepaw starts sneaking out at night and she finds the tunnels. her senses dampened, she panicks, running deeper and deeper, getting lost. fallen leaves will find her, and help get her strength up and then get her out. kind of like with hollyleaf, who is out of the caves by now.

ivypaw sees everyone searching for dovepaw and starts to feel guilty about wanting more attention, and the fact that part of why she wants dovepaw back is so people pay attention to ivypaw again. she also feels responsible for this.

cinderheart is distraught, because she really did care about dovepaw, and it’s been three days, her scent tracked to the tunnels but it was raining and no one has seen her since, so she’s probably dead.

ivypaw, grieving, refuses to accept that dovepaw is dead and she hunts outside the tunnel mouth until she thinks she hears something.

dove and ivy reunite and return to the clan. ivypaw’s convictions that dovepaw needs to be protected are strengthened, and dovepaw knows she failed in her goal. everyone is happy to see them.

we get some fretting about how washed out everything is, how the rain didn’t even stick because the soil is so dry. that’s a cue to the drought, which will be a bigger deal next book.

section five: book two — fading echoes

honestly i’m not attached to book titles, but this works here too.

so this book is split between lionblaze and hollyleaf. i’m pretty sure hollyleaf is out of the caves by now, but i haven’t decided if she’s rejoined the clans. she feels strongly for fallen leaves: they’re listed as mates on the warrior cats wiki, and if hollyleaf and jayfeather are both going to have ancient dead ghost mates, she’s at least going to visit hers. her end goal is to get him to starclan so they can be together after her death.

anyway, this is beavers book. i don’t have a ton to say about it because it’s pretty much the same, except hollyleaf goes with dovepaw and cinderheart and she’s our pov as dovepaw falls for tigerheart because (and this is my understanding of her logic in the books to begin with): “big fluffy tom is safe fluffy tom.”

lionblaze feels the disconnect between him and ivypaw, but he can’t help that cinderheart is away. ivypaw is clearly preoccupied, but he can’t tell with what. his larger conflict is in finding the third cat.

this isn’t a filler book, per say. the tree falls and that happens, and lionblaze gets thrown into rebuilding camp. ivypaw feels doubly abandoned. lionblaze tries to win her affection, but he doesn’t know how.

beaver crew gets back. dovepaw has stars in her eyes. ivypaw is close to passing her warrior assessment, but lionblaze can tell she’s holding back because she doesn’t want to leave dovepaw. dovepaw can hunt by now, but she can’t really split her attention.

she’s scared of going into battle.

after a border skirmish where dovepaw just freezes, ideas of her being a medicine cat are raised.

ivypaw sees tigerheart in the dark forest, and she goes all bluefur being like “snowfur ur bf has rabies” on dovepaw, who is not happy with this. ivypaw pushes dovepaw to be a medicine cat because of this. the sisters are squabbling and barely talking.

book ends.

section six: book three — distant whispers

again not 100% sold on the names.

so this is cinderheart’s book, and she’s going to figure this out, because dovepaw and ivypaw are falling apart, and dovepaw deserves to be a warrior. so she convinces firestar to let her and lionblaze take ivypaw and dovepaw to the mountains. she believes, well, i’m not sure i haven’t worked that part out.

anyway, they go.

the tribe is like “yeah the world sure is a big place with a lot to look at. that’s why only half of us look.” (i know that’s not exactly how cave guard’s work but close enough.)

cinderheart is like “hm. what if, dovepaw, just a thought, what if you just, you know, avoid battles? i know it’s part of clan life but judging by the two souls crammed into my body, i’d say there’s been very few major conflicts over this and, reasonably, you should be able to avoid being chosen for battle control.”

dovepaw says, “but cinderheart, i’m a main character! unless i’m being punished or taught a lesson about duty, i’ll be automatically registered for every battle patrol until i die!”

cindheart says, “you’re right, i’m so sorry. hey ivypaw, [whoops yeah ivy and lion are here too sorry i forgot to mention that] what if you two learn to work as a team.”

dovepaw says, “i don’t want to work with her.”

ivypaw says, “that’s a great idea.”

because dovepaw talks very quietly (she forgets not everyone can hear as well as her), ivypaw wins.

they spend at least a month in the tribe, maybe longer, i’m not sure. eventually, they decide to go back. dovepaw is never happy in the tribe, it’s way too loud all the time, but she does manage to sort out her hunting issues, and so fighting is left.

so there’s still a big push for dovepaw to consider maybe being a medicine cat.

but that is not this au. this is the jaywing/dovefeather au where they basically switch roles. there’s a really good fic where dovepaw goes to riverclan for a while that i love and anyway this au is a as-close-as-possible to canon au for me to rectify my issues with dovewing in canon (nominally, i don’t have any, but i think her character was displayed…curiously, and i’m mad about the prophecy.)

ivypaw is team medicine cat. cinderheart and lionblaze are struggling. cinderheart eventually teaches dovepaw an extension of the techniques of the tribe, and they work out that dovepaw can kind of, track the cats she’s with to anchor herself in battle. this means dovepaw no longer is tied to ivypaw for her success, and so they both become warriors.

while they’re still in the tribe, ivypaw has time away from the dark forest and lionblaze finally puts two and two together, and that basically makes up the b-plot for the back half of the book, lionblaze trying to get ivypaw to admit what’s going on and then trying to help her.

dovewing’s senses begin to return but since they come back slowly she’s able to manage them. so she quickly excels in hunting.

ivypool cottons on to the dark forest breeding loyalty between its members, not to their original clans, and realizes that this is going to threaten all four of the clans.

end book with a bang, end first arc. we will now turn to the actually-have-more-than-two-braincells crew (sorry cinderheart, you don’t deserve to be in this group, but your prefix doesn’t end in -y, so you can’t be with jay/holly/ivy in the brainy crew.)

section seven: arc 2 (summary)

so this arc is when the main conflict (dark forest battle) becomes obvious. dovewing’s problems have been sorted out, so she’s pushed into BGCH for a little bit while the smart adults sort things out.

book three ends with ivypool realizing the dark forest isn’t a personal problem, but a clan-group (like, all of the clans together? not sure how to call it) sized problem. ivypool, jayfeather, and hollyleaf together manage to sort out a lot of the dark forest’s eventual plan, and they try to sort out a way to solve it. then the battle happens. that’s basically the summary?

in here, the clans start working together way sooner and the prophecy comes out way faster.

section eight: book 4 — the forgotten character

alright, hollyleaf is liberated from BGCH. actual title is still the forgotten warrior.

hollyleaf and ivypool start to bond, and hollyleaf is convinced all the clans need to know about what’s up.

ivypool disagrees, and they talk about it like rational people.

hollyleaf and fallen leaves are still cute.

jayfeather has his timetravel thing in this book so he can do flametail’s job in the next book. he gets to talk to hollyleaf and fallen leaves about it.

i don’t think i’d mess with jayfeather and briarlight’s relationship in this au, because i think it’s sweet in canon as is, but you know i have thoughts about half moon and briarlight. anyway, jayfeather gets his book next, this is about hollyleaf.

fallen leaves helps hollyleaf learn to control, idk, spirit dream travel? jayfeather helps with this too. hollyleaf has to share extra hard with jayfeather because she took up a disproportionate amount of time in lionblaze’s book.

so anyway, hollyleaf is learning to travel into the dark forest. similar to the way dark forest cats leave it? but in reverse. this is the main plot.

like the second book, it’s not really filler, so much as lower stakes, and like the second book, i don’t have a ton to say about it because the plot is self evident. unfortunately, hollyleaf has the two “chill” books. sorry bb.

anyway, this is building into jayfeather going all angry old man yells at sky at starclan next book, so the biggest conflict in this book is hollyleaf realizing she can just, leave. she can go back in time the way jayfeather did, but on purpose, save fallen leaves, and they can be alive.

i mean, that wouldn’t actually work, not the least because i’m not keen on hollyleaf being a reincarnation, espcially in the reincarnation-lite universe, but also because she can’t save fallen leaves, then he wouldn’t be a sharpclaw, not really, and like a whole host of other issues but anyway

at the end of power of three, hollyleaf runs away from her problems. this book is about her standing up to defend them.

i don’t know if she explicitly breaks up with fallen leaves, but they have a falling out that won’t get resolved until after the great battle. this is a mutual/not mutual thing where they both know that fallen leaves is stopping hollyleaf from fully committing to helping her clans now, but they love each other.

relationship conflict that isn’t forbidden romance.

speaking of, ivypool getting close to hollyleaf means that the two of them start to reconnect with their siblings. hollyleaf’s actions alienated her from jayfeather and lionblaze and she kind of just was sad and apologetic but they didn’t want to forgive her.

(sorry hollybush, says jayfeather,

that’s not my name, says hollyleaf,

oh, says jayfeather, guess i forget. well anyway, i have a new sister now. her name is dovewing.

dovewing?, says hollyleaf. but you don’t like her.

it’s okay, says jayfeather, she never tore my family to shreds and then abandoned me to deal with the fallout.)

(jayfeather and hollyleaf always seemed closer to me than lionblaze and either of them, until hollyleaf’s whole event. anyway he remains petty about everything and lionblaze stands by him because, well, he’s not wrong, also dovewing is important to cinderheart so he feels like he should be on her side on this which means jayfeather’s side. even though cinderheart is friends with hollyleaf look i said lionblaze is a loveable dumbass already, didn’t i?)

so anyway hollyleaf is sad and ivypool sees that and is like “hm maybe i shouldn’t be a petty bitch for no reason” and this is fine until after this series is over when dovewing and tigerheart are like “bitch we gon b together”

dovewing’s emotions get jayfeather to, well, not go back on his actions, but recognize hollyleaf is the most effective person to work with. because lionblaze and dovewing are just. so dumb.

and yeah this book ends with things feeling almost hopeful.

section nine: book 5 — sign of the moon

i cannot overstate how little i care about the titles of these books.

anyway, jayfeather and cinderheart.

i don’t have a ton of thoughts about this one. jayfeather reunites starclan, cinderheart helps convince ivypool and dovewing to work together. this is the book where clans find out about the propechy but not the dark forest that is for next book

they know something is coming, but everyone agrees not to give ivypool away yet. they like her, you know, alive.

anyway, i don’t have much to say because it’s pretty obvious what happens, because this is just a bunch of events from other books crammed into this book, now, and they’ve been written and i don’t see the need to make many changes.

cinderheart and lionblaze have kit drama, maybe? cinderheart counsels dovewing about tigerheart, maybe? my point is it’s not super important.

the book ends with the two warriors to every camp. and dovewing, jayfeather, and lionblaze, are going to get split up.

this is my biggest change so far imo because it’s the most plot relevant.

dovewing is going to shadowclan with ivypool. jayfeather is going to windclan with…i’m not sure yet? i don’t want him going to riverclan because leafpool has ties to riverclan and, well, i want jayfeather to get a chance to stand on his own. and lionblaze goes to riverclan, with either cinderheart or hollyleaf.

jayfeather is super grumbly about this, but admits that it’s important as a show of unity, and also, he’s pretty functional in wind clan? like they’re all playing to their strengths.

jayfeather learns to navigate pretty quickly, dovewing appreciates quiet and also not being that-strange-cat who everyone is super careful around, and lionblaze is big and gregarious and enjoys riverclan being chill and friendly. so yeah, people get a chance to chill and be happy.

ivypool is in position to be angsty next book.

end book.

section ten: book 6 — the last hope

despite my claim that the biggest change is sending the three to different clans, i don’t have a lot to say about it.

basically, well, okay

first, we see ivypool and dovewing again. reminder that last time we were in one of their heads, they were apprentices. in book one.

dovewing couldn’t even hunt last time we had her pov.

so there’s a few chapters to some characterization that happens. dovewing is no longer anxiety child. she’s somewhat shy, she’s soft spoken, but she’s not skittish. you can’t surprise her. and she’s intense. she’ll just stare at you with wide eyes if you come talk to her until you say something she wants to respond to.

ivypool sees why dovewing and tigerheart are good together. she’s still not supportive, but, like, he understands her. he doesn’t treat her like she’s fragile, but he also is kind and forgiving and soft to her.

plus he’s a total simp for dovewing. that helps.

anyway, ivypool gets along fairly well in shadowclan. i don’t have ton of thoughts about this.

ivypool, hollyleaf/cinderheart, and jayfeather’s companion, as well as half of the other cats away on missions, are acting as messengers between their host clans and their home clans. that’s how ivypool gets to find out about info. they meet on the island every morning. or something.

anyway, this bit is where i most hate the set up of this with two pov per book hard cap because it’d be cool to see into everyone else’s head but that’s for novellas and side stories.

the battle happens.

everything sucks. dovewing has basically committed to tigerheart, but bramblestar’s storm messes with the timeline.

and that’s pretty much it.

section eleven: what’s next?

so i swore i wasn’t starting new fic and then i thought of this and now i do want to write it so, maybe?

the most important thing is:

tl/dr: the reason dovewing shouldn’t have been a prophecy cat is because she’s not the kin of firestar’s kin.

#dovewing #ivypool #jayfeather #cinderheart #lionblaze #hollyleaf #warrior cats #cloudtail's daughter #mine #txt #22nd #February #2021 #February 22nd 2021 #q #essay #long #lovewing dovewing

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unpopular-bishop · 4 years ago

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protective team and injury

Win is very tired. He’s been very tired for about four days now, which is how many nights its been since he and Team got into that stupid argument. They’ve since made up, but Team hasn’t been coming to his room and Win knows that it takes time, that Team got spooked and is just working the nerve up to start coming to him again. He knows that. He knows that.

Still, Win is very tired. He can’t sleep now, knowing that Team is probably sleeping as badly as he is, if not worse, and is just - staying in his room, probably staring at the ceiling, which is his floor, so it’s almost like Team is staring up at him, just daring him to rush him in this. Win won’t rush him; Win’s working on his part of this relationship the same as Team is and he’s trying not to be pushy or demand more than Team is able to give. That means that he needs to give Team space and time. He can’t just demand Team come back and be comfortable in bed with him. It wasn’t a knockdown, drag-out fight but it was definitely their most serious argument and it hadn’t lasted more than a night, but it was enough to shake them both, just a little. Team will come back to bed soon; he’s already sitting next to Win at lunch again. Yesterday, they held hands under the table. At the beginning of practice today, Team kissed him outside the locker room while the rest of the team was getting changed. Win just has to be patient and in the next few nights, he’s sure his boy will be back in bed and they can both get a good night’s sleep without a worry.

But that’s in a few nights. Right now, Win is very tired.

Very tired and not willing to put up much of a fight when he gets cornered after practice by four nongs who are supposed to be cleaning up the pool and locker room this week.

“Please, Phi?” Book drops dramatically to his knees while Key and Mew clasp their hands together and shake them wildly, “We’re so behind on class and there’s a project due tomorrow!”

“Why didn’t you finish your project earlier?” Win can’t help but ask, smile tugging at his lips despite the drag of exhaustion behind his eyelids. He’d wanted to go home and take a nap, maybe hold Team’s hand and conveniently forget to let go until they were already in front of Win’s door and it would only make sense for Team to come in with him and maybe nap too.

“We didn’t realize we’d need to spend so much time in the library,” Dew pokes at the squeegee broom he’s leaning against, looking put out and stressed, “I’m sorry, Phi. It’s really rude of us to ask so suddenly. You probably have other stuff you need to do that isn’t covering for your idiot nongs.”

“You aren’t idiots.” Win pats Dew’s shoulder firmly, trying to come off as a reassuring vice president and not an exhausted senior. He regrets not ducking out as soon as practice ended like Dean had. Where was Pruk when Win needed him? Probably off with Manaow and Del, the traitor. Win glances around and doesn’t see Team, which does not make his heart sink just a little, not even a bit.

“Well…” he starts to say slowly, reluctantly, “It wouldn’t do for you guys to get a bad grade, especially so close to meet season. We need everyone on top of their grades and their game. This can’t happen again, okay?”

“Yes, Phi.” All four of them chorus at once and it makes Win laugh despite the little jabs of annoyance in his stomach.

“I guess I can do -” he gives in, already reaching for the squeegee broom - and then there’s a loud crash from inside the locker room and a familiar squawk of pain and surprise.

Win doesn’t actually remember moving or even recognizing the voice that had just yelped like an angry bird. It’s more that...one moment he’s standing by the poolside, talking to his nongs, and the next he is inside the locker room and taking in the site of Team clutching his leg close while he sits on the locker room floor in a pile of cleaning supplies.

“Team!” He kneels at Team’s side, hands hovering awkwardly over Team’s skin and then busying themselves with shoving aside the buckets and mop handle still laying on top of Team, “Are you okay? What happened!?”

Team doesn’t answer for a few seconds, just curled over his leg with his head bowed too low for Win to see his face, but when he finally looks up, it feels like Win’s brain has shortcircuited.

Team has tears in his eyes.

“I just tripped.” Team sniffles, slowly rubbing circles into his knee. He’s wearing his street clothes already, sweats and one of Win’s shirts, though he’d never admit that he picked it up from Win’s floor one day and just refused to give it back. His back is damp from the floor, still wet from after practice, and Win feels it when he carefully rubs a comforting hand along Team’s spine.

“What happened to your leg? Did you sprain your ankle? Pull a muscle?”

“I dunno,” Team wipes his face quickly as more footsteps echo from the hall. Win had forgotten his nongs were still there. “It just - hurts. I think I hit it when I fell down.”

“We need to take you to health services.”

“I think so too.”

“I’m taking you to health services. You could have really hurt yourself.” Win narrows his eyes at Team, and then has to stop and process because he was fully expecting Team to argue with him, not agree.

“P’Team?” Key says from the doorway, sounding worried, “What happened? Is everything okay?”

“It’s fine,” Team says at the same time that Win says, “Team fell. I’m taking him to health services.”

“Hia,” Team starts to complain but Win doesn’t give him the chance, just stands up and pulls him up, too.

“You guys can just clean up around the pool and then make sure the floor in here is dry today,” Win says to the four other team members in between forcibly pushing at Team until he acquiescence to letting Win piggyback him. “And make sure these supplies are put away. Come back tomorrow after class but before practice and finish cleaning up.”

“Yes, phi.” Book says and Win would take a few seconds to apologize for leaving them after just promising to clean up but Team needs him now and is a heavy, solid weight on his back. It’s the closest they’ve been in four days and it is already driving Win crazy.

Team doesn’t struggle too much, just slings both of their bags over his shoulders so Win has more free movement with his arms and Win is out of the locker room and then the gym and then the main street in a matter of minutes.

It isn’t until they’re well away from the pool and the club that Team finally taps at Win’s shoulder and huffs into his ear, breath warm and gentle where he’s so close.

“You can put me down now.”

“I don’t think I will.” Win decides as he continues down the sidewalk. It’s late enough in the day that most people are either already left campus or found their camping spots for the next few hours.

“Hia, I’m really okay.”

“I’ll put you down when there’s a doctor to look at your leg.”

Win feels Team press his face to the skin of his shoulder exposed by his tank, more warm breath and warmer lips as Team brushes against him. “Hia, I didn’t hurt my leg. I don’t need a doctor. Can we just go home?”

Win stops, processing that with a brain that doesn’t really want to process anything right now. “You didn’t hurt your leg? Then what happened back there?”

“Can you put me down first?”

“No.”

“Hia!”

Win tightens his arms around Team’s legs, bracing for a struggle, but Team just sighs explosively and shifts his weight to force Win into turning toward the parking lot where his bike is parked. Win staggers but gets his feet under him again and reluctantly turns away from health services in exchange for parking.

“Happy? Now explain.”

Team doesn’t explain. Win has long given into the fact that Team will never speak when he doesn’t want to, that Team’s preferred method of torture is the silent treatment and that Team’s go-to response when he’s unsure is the same thing. It can make figuring out if Team is upset with him or just processing a little harder than Win is used to working to make sense of people, but Team has always been worth the extra work.

He’s confused and now he’s curious, but he lets Team have his time. He’s been so stressed the last few days, so tired, and guilty for his part in the argument even after apologizing. He’s missed Team. Now he has Team, a warm weight on his back with his arms draped over Win’s shoulders and his thighs strong and firm under Win’s hands. When Team’s forehead thunks against the back of his neck, Win has to breathe in slowly and tilt his head back so he’s resting it on Team’s. Just for a few seconds. Just for a few seconds.

They’re both quiet. The campus is nearly empty, the weather is nice, the air smells fresh. Win has a beautiful boy in his arms and is heading home with him. He feels relaxed for the first time in days, even with the confusion.

They still have a few minutes before they reach the parking lot when Team finally speaks up. When he does, it’s muffled against Win’s skin.

“You’re too nice, hia. People take advantage of you.”

Win smiles, looking straight ahead even though all he wants to do is figure out how to keep holding Team like this while also staring at him.

“I’m not too nice.”

“You are.” Team asserts, “You were gonna stay and clean up everything on your own, weren’t you? Even though it was their turn and you’re supposed to have a partner, anyway.”

“It’s my job as a responsible phi -”

“Too nice.” Team interrupts and tugs at his hair to make a point, “You’re getting taken advantage of. Why do you think they asked you and not anyone else, huh?”

Win doesn’t have an answer for that.

“So what happened with your leg?” he decides to change the subject but Team just sighs again, like Win’s being excessively thick about things.

“I really did fall.” Team admits, “But I didn’t actually get hurt. I just wanted you to take me home.”

“You could have just asked!” Win can’t help but ask, “I would have!”

“You would have felt bad for Mew and the others.” Team shrugs, “It was a risk I couldn’t take, hia.”

Win nearly drops him he’s laughing soo hard. He finally has to relinquish his hold so he can bend over, hands on his knees. It shouldn’t be this funny, but the delivery of the line was so serious and straightforward like Team really meant it, despite the ridiculousness of it. He’s so stupidly fond of this kid.

Team stands with his arms crossed, not quite pouting but looking close to it, brows crumpled above his eyes in annoyance. “Stop laughing, hia, I’m serious.”

That just sends Win off again, but he manages to chortle standing up this time and doesn’t hesitate to grab Team’s hand and squeeze it as he starts to walk.

“Thank you for saving me, then, Team.” he says and hopes Team can hear the sincerity. It’s really, really funny, but he can see that Team just faked an injury to get him out of cleaning the locker room for what it is, and he appreciates it. In ten years, he wants to tell the story to their kids.

Team just huffs, but he holds Win’s hand back. In fact, he tangles their fingers together and steps closer.

In the end, Win doesn’t even need to pretend to forget to let go of his hand. Team follows him to his room without complaint and they take a nap.

#until we meed again #winteam #mine #tags: winteam week 2020 | day 4/5: protective team and injury | there is no pride in love and cleaning the locker room #wc: 2k #ao3 link on first line

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thanidiel · 4 years ago

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Prompt Seventeen: “Faded”

[Very vaguely placed post 5.3 Shadowbringers MSQ]

“Why does it all fade away…? …Ah, I understand. It feeds on my spite. On my suffering…”

Of everything that has come to pass, and will pass, it is Yotsuyu’s legacy that forever stings in dream and step. It does not haunt, it does not plague; it is not so invisible, so transparent. It imbeds. It sinks. It calcifies, and in that, the burden never leaves the body.

Not unless you wrench it out, intrusion and all.

But she doesn’t want to.

It feels… wrong.

Out of balance.

In-yo; yin-yang; dark-bright - do they not all ache with the weight of their duality? The pain of nurturing the leaden pearls of their other? How could she toss away what was the most precious thing ever shared with her? Deny the nephrite duty placed and cradled into her hands as though she were this fable of creation’s luminance?

Well.

She could chalk it all up to this poetic bullshit. And she does half of the time, in all honesty. It’s comforting to place the blame on cosmic things, as though there were no control to it, as though Fate had simply made things exactly so. It’s easy too, to retreat back to the neat columns of endless artistry she’s poured through over her life. And what comes easy, makes better sense than being upset in the dark.

But she should be honest with herself if she’s not going to be honest with anyone fucking else.

It feels wrong… because of all of that. And it feels wrong because how can you rip out the sorrow of someone who was exactly like you? Just because you don’t like it nesting there, because it’s uncomfortable? To be reminded always that you, too, were a doll on Garlean payout?

That’s just unfair.

These are the people that are most important to remember.

Not the heroes, not the villains, not the innocents, and not the bystanders. Not your loved ones, or hated ones, or ones you don’t think about until it’s convenient to give them a fond look about the roles they’ve played.

It’s every person who walked down the exact same road you did.

And for whatever reason, you lucked out, and they didn’t.

It is not what stirs in this soul, this person, her, that makes her any better than Yotsuyu. It doesn’t matter how special everyone thinks she is, whatever names and memories she sparks in wights that should have toppled over long ago.

Fact is, happy endings have nothing to do with the person.

Some people go tumultuous and ugly into the Lifestream just because that’s how it is, and there’s nothing bittersweet about it. It’s a whole bundle of meaninglessness that everyone forgets until they have that friend, or that sibling, that parent or child, that just always seems to be slipping on the banana peel every time they try to fucking get back up and walk with the rest of us.

So maybe being a hero is less about cockblocking the next disaster, and more about understanding why you aren’t much of a hero after all.

And understanding how close everyone else could have been in your not-heroic place too.

Because then it highlights that you, yourself, are one banana peel into getting all of those boots in your face just like them.

In-yo.

Yin-yang.

Dark-bright.

Come Moon - come Sun.

You’re always one moment away from being the antithesis of everything you once stood for.

The only thing you can do is know this, and keep the balance.

Let the light sing baleful against your skin; let the night dew dampen it.

Don’t let your mirror be forgotten.

…yeah, fuck, she’s getting poetic again.

#first wol au gentle on penetration please #xiaohu #wol au #writing #xiaowol #FfxivWrite2020 #yotsuyu goe brutus

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lovemesomesurveys · 4 years ago

Text

“she acts like summer and walks like rain”

The power goes out. What are three things that you have taken for granted? I mean, it depends how long it goes out for. I’ve only experienced that for a couple hours at most from what I can recall, so. Although, the worst to me is when it happens for any length of time during the summer because it instantly feels like a sauna in my house and it’s absolutely miserable. D: It happened a few times this past summer during a heat wave with triple digit temps... not fun. But yeah, that’s the only thing that really bothers me from my experience. I just mess around on my phone, play Animal Crossing, read, or just chill with the fam. My dad acts like it’s the end of the world lol like a couple minutes in he’s like, “what are we going to do for food?? I think we might have to get a hotel or something, we can’t stay here with no power.” lol.

Have you ever done the Polar Bear plunge on New Years? I’ve never done it and never would. Nooo thanks. I don’t swim or get into the ocean, lake, or river for one, for two, diving into freezing cold temperatures sounds horrific. It’d probably shock my body and kill me.

Name lyrics that include the word "baby" in them. “Oh baby, you got what I need, but you say I’m just a friend.”

You get to choose your middle name! It must begin with the letter H. Nah.

Have you ever had a Halloween party? Yeah. I had one when I was in like 2nd grade and invited kids from my class over. I had a few smaller, more just like hangouts, with my cousins or friend as well. The most recent was like 4 years ago. I’ve been to more Halloween parties than I’ve thrown, though.

Would you rather have a plant cactus or venus flytrap? A cactus.

Are you better at crosswords or word searches? I love word searches.

Would you rather have a water balloon fight or a paint ball fight? I’ve only had water balloon fights, back when I was a kid. I wouldn’t want to have either one now. Running around and getting hit with stuff just doesn’t sound fun. I don’t have the energy for all that. Also paint ball fights sound especially painful.

Do you like being told what to do? In some cases I might need a little push or can’t decide on something so I’ll sometimes ask someone what I should do. Doesn’t mean I’ll listen, but it can be helpful. I don’t like when someone tells me what to do as a command. I’m super stubborn, so being told to do something just makes me not want to do said thing even more, even if I already planned on doing it.

What would you do if you were attacked by thugs? If I was attacked by anyone I wouldn’t be able to do a whole lot.

Do you have a favorite word? I can never think of one on the spot when asked.

On what circumstances would you break up with someone? If they cheated on me I might, but I can’t say for sure. It would depend on a few things. I’d also like to think I would if there was abuse. I feel like I would, but I’ve never been in that situation and I know it’s not always that simple.

Have you ever been kicked out of a store? No.

What's your worst subject? Math was always my worst subject.

What are 3 things that make you happy? God, my family (including my doggo), and vacations.

“baby, let me be your last first kiss”

Have you ever been pampered? I get my hair done fairly regularly (not so much now... I can blame covid this year, but let’s be real the past few years I started slacking).

Are you going to force your kids to be in activity or let them choose? I don’t want to have kids; however, IF I did, I wouldn’t force them to. I would certainly encourage and support, but it’d be their decision. If they didn’t enjoy it, I wouldn’t push it. It should be enjoyable for them, not torture.

Do you watch Toddler and Tiaras? Nah, I never got into that.

What was the last band t-shirt you bought? Nirvana.

If someone asked you to go to war today, what would you say? Uh, no???

Are you passionate? I feel like I haven’t been passionate in years. Like, even things I like I don’t get as excited about like I used to. I just feel unmotivated and deflated.

Do you usually get nervous before taking a test? Always. I had major test anxiety.

True or false : Your middle name begins with the letter J False.

Are you more comfortable in public or in your house? Most definitely in my house. This is my safe, comfortable place where I’m not judged. My self-esteem has always been crap, but these past few years it’s been even worse. I’m very self-conscious. I also just don’t like being around a lot of people.

Do you own an old vintage typewriter? No.

Do you hate how dogs bark every time someone comes to your house? No, I want my doggo to do that. She’s not excessive about it, though. And she’s not a little yappy dog that barks when an ant walks by lol. My neighbor’s dogs bark a lot, feels like it goes on forever and it’s annoying.

What's a commercial that you cannot stand? I don’t pay much attention to commercials.

Mountain Dew or Dr. Pepper? Dr. Pepper.

Do you say "mate?" like Hello, mate! No.

What makes you rate a survey? I don’t rate them. I decide if I’m going to take a survey by skimming over the first few questions and seeing if they’re of interest to me and if I’ve already done it before (well, at least to see if I’ve done it recently).

“I can’t explain loneliness”

Do you drink Mountain Dew? I haven’t had it in probably like 10 years. I used to love the red and blue one. Oh, and I liked the AMP energy drinks Mountain Dew used to(?) have.

How many weddings have you been to? Three.

When you smile, are you confident? No.

Have you ever not done something because you were afraid of getting in trouble? Yeah.

Was the weather beautiful today? It’s finally been feeling like fall, which I love.

Do you have to have a fan on when you sleep? Yes. During the hot months I have 3 going at all times in my room. I still have 2 of them going even though I’ve been needing a blanket now. I love it, though. If I turned them off I know I’d get warm again. I’d love to have it be cold and need a blanket year round. Would you rather have an orange, red or gray bedroom? Out of those, I guess gray.

Would you ever dye part of your hair blue? No. I dye my hair red and I just want to keep it that color.

Have you ever gone to a private school? My UC is.

Is Finding Nemo a favorite movie of yours? No, but it’s cute.

Does/Did your school have a uniform? My preschool did. Turn on the TV. What channel are you on? It is on, it’s on MTV.

Does your house have security cameras? Yes.

What's your favorite Another Cinderella Story? The one with Hilary Duff.

Does a popsicle sound good right now? No. I’m not a popsicle kind of gal.

“0 of your friends are online - yup, I feel like a loser.”

Do you drink more water or juice? Definitely water. I don’t like juice, so I never drink it.

Sweater weather or tank top weather? Which do you prefer. Tank top weather all the way, no competition. I hate summer. I also don’t wear tank tops.

Do you always carry a purse with you? Not lately. The other day was the first time I had one, well it was my Baby Yoda mini backpack, in several months.

Do you update your Facebook relationship status when it changes? It’s never changed since making my Facebook in 2008 :X Joseph and I had our thing, but it wasn’t an official relationship. If I were to get in a relationship I wouldn’t rush to make it Facebook official cause who cares, like that wouldn’t be my first thought, but I could decide to change it at some point. Ha, maybe I would do it right away cause it’d be so surprising and shocking that I’d have to share it with everyone lmao.

Have you ever kissed a Zachary? Nope.

Do you hate when people try to embarrass you? Uh, being embarrassed certainly isn’t fun... I wouldn’t want someone to purposely try and embarrass me. Do you like in October when a bunch of haunted places open up? I like October for many Halloween-related reasons, but not for ghost walks or haunted houses - those aren’t really my thing. <<< Same, I don’t do all that.

Did you tell someone you loved them today? No.

Do you watch the show Ghost Adventures? I’ve never heard of it before. I’ve heard of Ghost Hunters - my father enjoys that show. <<< Ha, my dad really likes one of those as well; I forget which one. I’ve never gotten into shows like, though.

When it's dark, do you always tell someone to drive safe? No.

Are you love sick? No.

Do you want your own house someday? My family and I do. We’ve only ever rented.

What color are your curtains in your bedroom? Dark blue.

Are you superstitious? I do the knock on wood thing, but I think it’s just habit now.

Is there a cat in the room you're in right now? No, I don’t have a cat.

“it only takes a second to fall in love”

Have you ever read the book The Guardian by Nicholas Sparks? Nope.

Have your parents ever said you're ruining your life by dating someone? No.

Are you excited for anything? I’m looking forward to starting my Christmas shopping.

True or false : It's past 9:22 PM True, it’s 2:43AM.

Do you hate when artist change their music? No, not necessarily. It can be cool to see them try different genres. Does your house have a doorbell? Yep.

Would you ever name your car? *shrug*

What's worse : Two-faced people or fake people? Isn’t that the same thing?

Are you wearing a necklace? No. I haven’t worn a necklace in years.

Have you ever saved someone's life? No. Do you hate when your makeup smears? I always hated how my eyeliner smudged in the corners. I say “hated”, past tense, because I haven’t worn any makeup at all in like 3 years.

Are you good at giving advice? I think I kinda used to be, but not now. I was the one friends always came to. I used to also participate on teen message boards when I was like 12-14 and tried to offer advice and resources to people when I could. Sometimes I IMed with people who needed advice, too. That’s when I knew I wanted to help people in some way and it was in high school when I discovered what psychology/ a psychologist was. I majored and got my BA in it, too... now it’s just collecting dust and I don’t want to purse it anymore....

Have you gotten into any fights within the past week? No.

How often do you go to the kitchen? I don’t know.... probably like a handful of times.

Are you strong? Nope. Not mentally or emotionally, and certainly not physically.

“bring her back to serendipity”

When you choose your golf ball for put-put, what color do you pick? I’ve never played.

Have you ever ate the tip of a pencil? The eraser. No...

When was the last time you wore earrings? I got cute rose gold Minnie Mouse ones for Christmas last year and wore those for a couple months until they started messing with my ears for some reason. It was weird because it was like they were getting sucked into the hole? I’ve never had that happen.

You can dye your hair red or neon green. You pick? I already dye it red.

How many Juliet's do you know? I don’t know any.

What's your current mood? I don’t feel well.

What time is it? 2:55AM. Do you own any colored pants? No.

What color of eye shadow do you wear? I haven’t worn eyeshadow in several years.

Hamburger or steak? Hamburger, definitely. I don’t like steak.

When was the last time you ran through a sprinkler? Not since I was a kid.

Can you do a cartwheel? No.

Do you believe you have the perfect parents? No one is perfect, but my parents are quite amazing.

Do you own any Converse? I still have one pair. I used to have a few.

How tall are you? 5′4.

“Right now, I just wish you were here.”

Would you ever try a workout video? Or have you? Maybe a fun dance one if it involved a lot of arm movements that I could do. Do you like your ice cream in a cup or cone? It’s gotta be a cup or waffle bowl for me cause I take too long to finish my ice cream and it gets super messy otherwise.

Are fireworks your favorite things ever? I like how pretty they are, but I definitely don’t enjoy the sound that they make. <<< Ugh, saaaame. I hate the sound.

Is your cat orange? As I’ve said, I don’t have a cat.

Is anything in the room your in striped? My Adidas have 3 stripes on both sides.

What song do you hear playing? I’m not listening to music.

Have you ever found a four leaf clover? Yeah. Back in elementary school we used to hunt for ‘em on St. Patrick’s Day.

Do you think you've been in love? I believe so. Twice.

Have you ever read Romeo and Juliet? In the 9th grade, we were required to in English class. <<< Yep.

Were you ever in the plays in school? No.

Whose eyes do you have? Pretty sure they’re my own. Haaaa. My eyes are the same color as my mom’s.

When was the last time you bought a pair of new shoes? I haven’t bought my own in a long time. I often get a new pair for my birthday and/or Christmas from my parents, usually my dad. He’s a total shoe guy, so he likes to buy shoes quite a bit for himself and as gifts for my family and I.

How many gray shirts do you have? I don’t know; a few.

Have you ever cried because you missed someone so much? Yes. Especially after the death of loved ones.

Do you hate waiting for things? I’m very impatient. Waiting makes me nervous and anxious.

#personal #text #survey #surveys

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let-it-raines · 5 years ago

Text

Not Your (soul)Mate {11/15}

Killian Jones doesn’t like the idea of soulmates. He sees how happy his friends are with theirs, but he still doesn’t like the idea, not when he’s found love and lost it time and time again only to still not know his sign. He has no markings on his skin, no voices in his head, but then one day he meets Emma Swan and everything changes. Because, well, he may not have ink on his skin to tell him who to love, but the very first time that he hears Emma’s voice he knows that she’s the one for him. Then again, that could simply be his desire talking. After all, for every word she speaks, he becomes aroused.

It’s not the worst thing in the world to be incredibly attracted to a beautiful woman, but things aren’t that simple when she doesn’t have any interest in being his soulmate.

He’s screwed. And not in the good way.

Rating: Mature

A/N: Hey, hi, hello! This is one of my favorite chapters in the entire story, and it’s accompanied by one of my favorite pieces of artwork by the lovely @captainsjedi 💙 It perfectly captures the chapter and the story, and I still can’t believe she’s kind enough to make these pic sets for me!

Found on AO3: Beginning | Current

Tumblr: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15

Tag list: @initiala @snowbellewells @karenfrommisthaven @skyewardolicitycloisdelena91 @scientificapricot @captswanis4vr @a-faekindagirl @emmas-storybook @searchingwardrobes @spartanguard @ultimiflos @jamif @idristardis @dreameronarooftop15 @nikkiemms @resident-of-storybrooke @tiganasummertree @wellhellotragic @bmbbcs4evr @onceuponaprincessworld @jennjenn615 @mayquita @captainsjedi @teamhook @kmomof4 @ekr032-blog-blog @superchocovian @ultraluckycatnd @cs-forlife @andiirivera @qualitycoffeethings @jonirobinson64 @mariakov81 @xellewoods @thejollyroger-writer @galaxyzxstark @cssns

-/-

After loading the last children’s life jacket into the back of his jeep, Killian closes the hatch and listens to it slam in place before opening his front door and climbing in. He’s got his windows and roof down, his radio turned onto a station that’s playing hits from the eighties since he’s really into that lately, and he doesn’t think Storybrooke has ever experienced a more perfect day weather-wise. It’s not going to get above eighty degrees, and there are no clouds in sight as the sun rises higher and higher in the sky.

If he had to put how he feels about today in a word, the word would be excited.

And he’s not entirely sure that it encapsulates how he feels like there’s a bit of a bounce in his step and that he’s gone back five and a half years to being in his twenties and thinking that everything in his life was ahead of him and simply waiting for him to achieve it. Technically, that’s true, but it also wasn’t true back then. It’s fine, though. The past is the past, and he’s ready to, not forget it, but move on from it. Tomorrow, when the festival is over and the sun isn’t shining as brightly, the breeze not as pleasant, he may feel differently, but that’s something for him to worry about on another day.

Some of the streets are closed today, especially the ones around the beach and his apartment, so it’s a bit of a difficult situation to get to Liam’s house to pick up Luis and Luca. He’d wanted them to simply be dropped off at his apartment since it’s infinitely easier, but just because today is the summer regatta doesn’t mean that everyone in town has off of work. He’s not sure the place would function if that were true, but it’d be nice for the twins to get to spend time with Elsa instead of her having to go into work. He thinks that he and Liam are pretty awesome, but they definitely don’t compare to Elsa.

He might be slightly too fond of his brother’s wife, but she’s felt like his sister since the day they met.

When he gets to their house, he turns his key to turn off his jeep before getting out and walking toward the front door, his sneakers melting into the dew-covered grass before he’s walking up the few steps on the porch and stepping into their house. At one point in time, he was mortified of walking in on Liam and Elsa, but now that they have kids, he doesn’t really think he’s going to find them going at it in the entryway before eight in the morning.

Well, he hopes not. And he’d really rather not think about it. Some things will never not be scarring.

No one is running around the entryway or the living room, but he does hear a bit of movement from the back of the house near the kitchen. That’s where he finds Elsa and the kids sitting at the kitchen island with bowls of cereal and a plate of fruit in between them. Yeah, they’re definitely going to beg him for junk food later. At least he’s not the one who has to put them to bed while on sugar highs.

“What? Nobody was going to invite me to breakfast?”

Three blonde heads turn to the side to look at him, and he smiles a bit at how similar they all look. It’s uncanny really.

“You can have some of mine,” Luis offers, holding his bowl up.

“Thank you, lad.” He walks over to them and stands next to Elsa behind the counter, pressing a kiss into her cheek before reaching forward and grabbing a grape from the plate of fruit. “But you can eat your food. I think you might need it so you have energy for today.”

“What are we doing?”

“Oh, well, I’m going to have you two racing the sailboats. You’re just going to swim right along with the boats.”

“Are we really?”

“No,” Elsa laughs, hitting him in the back, “you guys are not doing that.”

“Mom,” they both whine, the way they match up eerie.

He nudges Elsa’s shoulder. “Yeah, Mum.”

Elsa rolls her eyes before leaning down to prop her elbows on the granite, her blouse sleeves riding up a bit. “You two are going to the festival with Killian and going to play the games at the booths and eat lunch with him until your dad gets off of work.”

“What about you?”

“When I get off of work, I’m going to come to the pier too, so you guys have to make sure to save some fun for me.”

“Eh, maybe,” Luca shrugs before flicking her braids over her shoulders. “I heard that there’s going to be a sandcastle contest, and I want to do it.”

“What time is that? Do you know?” Elsa asks him.

“Not until the evening, so you and Liam can likely do it with them.”

“What? You don’t want to spend all day with kids who aren’t yours, and you’re just going to shove them off to the parents?”

He winks. “Exactly.”

After getting the twins dressed in their swimsuits and cover-ups, being handed two backpacks full of things that he knows he’ll have to carry around all day instead of the two of them actually carrying them, they all bid Elsa goodbye as she heads to work and Killian drives them back to his apartment, working through the already congested traffic to pull into his parking spot. The twins barely let him turn the key before they’re hoping out of the jeep, and he has to shout for them to stay still while he gets their bags and their life jackets from the trunk. He idly wonders if they would be okay wearing the life jackets all day so he doesn’t have to carry them, but he thinks that’d probably be a little excessive since they won’t need them until Liam takes over.

Probably.

He still might do it.

“Can we get something to eat?” Luis asks when they turn the corner on the pier and start walking down the pathway full of booths, colored banners hanging on strings between every stall to bring a bit more brightness to the area. “I’m hungry.”

“You just ate.”

“I’m a growing boy.”

Killian rolls his eyes and pats Luis on the back over his bag. “We’ll get lunch when we can. What do you guys want to do? Do you want to play games?”

“Can we go out on a boat?”

“Not until after the races.”

“I want to play the ring toss game.” Luca points up ahead of them to a booth where several other kids are standing. “Do you have any money?”

“Darn. I knew that I forgot something.”

“Uncle Killian,” she whines, tugging on his t-shirt, “please.”

“I have money, love,” he laughs as he gently yanks at one of her braids. “Luis, do you want to play that one too?”

“Sure.”

If Luca and Luis were anyone else’s kids, he knows that they would not be nearly as calm as they are. He loves Roland, thinks he’s the sweetest thing, but he’s also got a bit of a wild streak that can be hard to contain. Luca and Luis, though, are basically small eight-year-old versions of Elsa and Liam. They’re calm, collected, usually very focused on the task ahead, and he swears that he could spend all of his time with them.

No part of them are calm, collected, and focused today.

Scratch that. They are extremely focused, but it’s usually on what game they can play next. They finish one booth, get their prize (which he carries), and then they have to move onto the next one, nearly sprinting back and forth on the pier while sweat gathers at the nape of his neck. A part of him wishes that the games were like carnie games where everything is rigged, but since the Storybrooke city council puts this thing together, everything is always fair and kid friendly. Even if it would cost him more money, he kind of wishes that maybe it took them a little longer to push the boat toys across the small man-made ocean in their miniature race.

But they’re having fun, and that’s all that really matters to them, and when it’s time for the actual race to start, he has to tug the two of them away from a booth that is selling goldfish (there is no way in hell he’s going to be carrying those around all day for them to simply die from the jostling) to head toward the end of the pier that juts out into the ocean so that they can have a better look.

Really, Killian should notice her before he does, but with the sounds of the waves crashing around them and all of the extra people in the town for the festival and holiday weekend, he doesn’t hear her until he’s standing right next to her at the railings.

“Hey, Killian,” Ruby greets, and when he’s lifting his hand in greeting, Emma turns her head around to look at them, her lips parting the slightest bit. And if she didn’t have on sunglasses, he’s sure that her eyes would be widened. “Why aren’t you racing? Aren’t you, like, the boat guy?”

“Unfortunately, I don’t own my own.”

“And he’s watching us until our dad gets here,” Luca adds in for him. “Hi, Ms. Emma.”

“Hey, guys,” Emma cajoles, a bright smile on her face as she waves at the twins before she tugs on one of her two braids that’s resting over her shoulder. “I like your hair, Luca.”

Luca gasps, almost like she’s seen a unicorn, before coming to his other side and looking up at Emma with all the admiration in the world. “Your hair looks just like mine, but you have a different color blonde.”

“Well, that’s because you have your mom’s hair.”

“I like yours.”

“I love yours,” Emma promises, reaching down to adjust the bands on Luca’s braids while he smiles down at her, his stomach fluttering the slightest bit. Of course she perfectly gets along with children. She only fluctuates on her feelings when it comes to him. “So you guys are stuck with your boring uncle all day?”

“Just half of the day.”

“Hey,” he groans, pressing his lips back in into his face as he tries to take a few breaths to calm the bit of heat that’s rising on his cheeks, “don’t act like you’re not excited just because someone else is here.”

A whistle blows, and he twists his head to the side to see several sailboats start to make their way out of the marina, slowly maneuvering around the water and over the waves, and he takes the opportunity to point it out to the twins, Luca moving back to his right so that she’s in between he and Luis while Emma shuffles a bit closer to him, the crowd pushing everyone around. She smiles at him, this soft little thing that he wishes he saw more often, that he wishes he could elicit from her more often, before turning back to talk to Ruby, her voice quieter than usual, though it doesn’t mean he can’t hear it. He fully expects her to move away, to try to find another place to stand, but as the minutes go on, she doesn’t move.

Huh.

Today must be some kind of weird day, but he’s not going to complain, not since he currently isn’t sporting a hard on from having her talk to him for a bit.

The twins are fascinated with the race, something he knows that they get from Liam, and he barely has to explain anything as they spend most of the time trying to explain things to him, using technical terms that make his chest puff up in pride. Since they seem to know everything, he relaxes, leaning forward on the railing and letting his hands fall over the railing as he taps his fingers against the wood next to Emma’s. She’s got such slight fingers next to his, and her skin is paler, almost porcelain even with the tan she has, and it surely doesn’t help the difference that his forearms are covered in dark hair while he can only see the slightest bit of blonde over her freckles. She’s covered in freckles, really, like a miniature constellation spread out over his arms, and he finds that her skin imperfections are much different than his, the red scars stretching over his wrist and onto his palm far less attractive. They’re more obvious today, something that happens in the sunlight, and for a moment, his mind flashes back to the accident and the awful pain that he felt before he focuses on something else: particularly, the proximity of his left hand to Emma’s right.

Is he fifteen years old? He may as well be.

She sometimes makes him feel that way.

In what he hopes is a sly move, he glances to his left to look at Emma only to see her looking down at his hands, her gaze obvious now that her sunglasses are resting on the top of her head, mixed in with her braids. He almost yanks his hand away, but then Emma’s reaches to cover his, her finger tracing over the red lines. His skin vibrates, all of the hair standing on end, and he swallows the gulp that’s stuck in his throat as he watches. It’s been...no one has traced his scars since Milah, and Emma’s currently doing just that. Why? He has no idea, and he’s obviously in too much shock to say anything.

There’s also the fact that it feels so damn good, and he could melt into her touch.

“I’m sorry,” she gasps, dropping his hand and grabbing onto the railing. “I don’t know - I - it wasn’t - ”

“It’s fine,” he promises, smiling at her to try to calm her down a bit even as his body aches for the loss of her touch, the flames still flickering down his spine. “I was in an accident, in the Navy. We were being shot at, and I was standing in the wrong place at the wrong time. There was an explosion, and my hand got crushed in some metal. Luckily, I only managed to get these gnarly scars when I very well should have lost the hand.”

Emma nods her head, her jaw ticking a bit, and he wonders if he’s spoken too much, both because of how much he’s told and how aroused he’s likely making her. “I’m sorry. Thank you for sharing that with me. I - ”

“You think the scars are hot,” he teases, hitting his shoulder into hers to try to keep her from bumbling around for more words. “I know, I get that a lot.”

“Shut up.”

“That’s your go-to phrase.”

“Uncle Killian, do you have my Sour Patch Kids?”

“In the backpack, Luis.”

Luis nods his head before shuffling around in his backpack until he pulls out the bright yellow bag that he won after throwing darts at one of the booths. Killian doesn’t think anything else about it as the sailboats circle back around toward them, until Luis hands him the bag, offering him the gummies. He reaches in to take one, offering the bag to Emma and Ruby, before popping one in his mouth and letting the slight sourness melt on his tongue.

“You’re like a Sour Patch Kid, Swan. You’re all sour on the outside, but when you get to the core of things, you’re actually pretty sweet.”

He hears Ruby snicker, but Emma huffs, reaching for the bag again and taking several more into her hand. “You’re comparing me to sour candy?”

“I said you turned sweet.”

“That’s a pretty accurate comparison,” Ruby adds in, leaning forward so he can see her wink. He likes the lass now that he’s gotten to know her a bit. Ruby. Not Emma. Though he’s fond of Emma in a way that he isn’t with Ruby.

“Exactly.”

“Well, you’re like the nasty tropical fruit version of Sour Patch Kids.”

“Oooh, not your best insult, love.” “Whatever.”

Hot and then cold.

That’s Emma. Just like the damned candy.

Sour and then sweet.

“Killian, do you want to bring the twins to get lunch with us?” Ruby asks, and he doesn’t miss Emma stomping her foot down on her friend’s.

“Can we please get food?” Luca begs, leaning a little too far over the railing for his liking so he has to pull her back. “Can we please? Please? I want a burger.”

“Sure, love,” he smiles, switching his gaze between all three ladies while Luis continues to watch the regatta, not a care in the world other than the ocean in front of him. “Let’s go get lunch.”

They turn around to make their way back down to the food stalls that surround the regularly standing restaurants only to find that everyone else seemed to have the exact same idea about getting food. But they’ve promised eight-year-olds food, so he, Ruby, Emma, and the twins make their way through the crowd, Luca holding onto Emma’s hand and Luis holding onto his, and after getting pushed and bumped around for fifteen minutes, they finally make it to the little stand that’s selling all of the junk food and is not-so-coincidentally the most crowded. He tries to convince the twins to go somewhere else, but since they’re pretty set on it, all five of them wait in line for thirty minutes before getting their baskets of food and then facing the issue of finding a place to sit.

There’s nowhere.

Absolutely nowhere.

“What about down that way?” Ruby wonders, holding her basket of food and pointing to a little alcove of seats.

Emma shrugs. “We might as well try. It’s too hot to sit on the pier.”

They quickly wander down the few feet to the new section of seating, and while nothing catches his eyes immediately, Ruby, ever the one to take charge, grabs onto Luca’s hand and starts weaving in and out of the crowd where she finds an empty table...without enough chairs. But it’s likely as good as it’s going to get. Ruby sits down in a chair before telling Luca and Luis to share one, and that leaves...oh, well, that leaves one chair left.

At this point, he’s starting to believe that his life may be a bad romantic comedy.

He turns to look at Emma, and she motions toward the chair, nodding her head instead of speaking.

“No, you can have it, love. I don’t mind standing.”

“I sit all the time. I can stand.”

“Swan, please, let me be a gentleman.”

“So you’re a gentleman now?”

“I’m always a gentleman.”

“Oh my God,” Ruby groans, tossing a fry at the two of them, “just suck it up and either one of you sit down or share the freaking chair.”

If he was chewing on food, he’d definitely choke on it, probably never to be revived. His entire body is already heated from Emma talking and the sun, the workings of an erection beginning even if he thinks he’s controlling himself pretty well today, and Emma sitting on his lap would definitely be a recipe for disaster.

Definitely.

“I’ll share with you, Rubes,” Emma offers, reaching to place her burger down only for Ruby to shove it across the table.

“I’m not letting your bony as - bottom sit on me. Uh, uh. If you wanted the seat, you should have gotten here earlier.”

“Seriously? You took Luca and ran.”

“Luca and I are just awesome like that. Right kid?”

Luca reaches up from her food to high five Ruby. “Right.”

“Just suck it up and share the chair,” Ruby murmurs, dipping her fry into some ketchup. “I swear you guys have so much sexual tension going on you need something like this. I mean, really, you need to sit on another part of Killian, but I can’t say that with children here.”

“Ruby! Oh my God!”

“What’s sexual tension?” Luis asks, and he seriously contemplates going to dive into the ocean to get away from all of this.

“Eat your food,” he deflects, huffing enough and feeling enough frustration that he hastily takes the empty seat, letting the back of his thighs burn a little bit at the heat of it. “It’ll get cold.”

“Are you seriously not going to give me the seat?”

He looks up at Emma and pats his thigh, a cocky smile forming on his face because as torturous as this day is, it sure is a hell of a lot more fun than he thought it would be. “I did, darling. You didn’t take it, but I am more than willing to share.”

Emma pulls her bottom lip between her teeth, her foot tapping on the wood, and when she looks up at the sky, he knows the decision she’s made. “Fine, but don’t be weird about it.”

“I would never.”

Emma moves her food on the table and slowly settles herself down onto his thigh, her skin under her dress pressing into him and making a warm buzz fall over every inch of him, his stomach pleasantly rolling and his heart wildly beating in his chest. It’s insane how being this close to her is affecting him after weeks of simply texting and writing those damn letters, and if he didn’t need air to live, he may stop breathing.

It might be worth it.

“I can feel your dick,” she quietly huffs, adjusting herself on top of him while his hand moves over her stomach to keep her still. By now he realizes they probably could have simply had Luca and Luis sit in their laps, and if the smirk on Ruby’s face is any indication, she realized it from the beginning, the crafty lass. Not that he’s going to complain. She’s basically been his secret little helper with Emma for weeks now, always encouraging them to be closer together. It’s probably because she heard him joke about fucking Emma on Granny’s kitchen counter.

He leans into her ear, his teeth clenched from trying to live with Emma sitting on top of him, and whispers, “It’d be kind of hard not to.”

“Is that a size joke or a hardness joke?”

“Definitely size.”

“Shut up.”

“Stop squirming.”

“There’s not enough room.”

“Are you Killian’s girlfriend?” Luca asks, and he nearly breaks one of Emma’s ribs from how tightly he squeezes her into him, making her cough up what must be one of her lungs and the cheeseburger she just took her first bite out of.

“No, no, no,” Emma sputters out, hitting at her own chest, and he squeezes her a little bit more then, wondering if he should have made a joke about how hard he is because her voice and her ass sitting on top of him are definitely not the best combination. “I’m not your uncle’s girlfriend. Definitely not.”

“You don’t have to act so repulsed about it, Swan.”

“I’m not repulsed.”

“So you do like me then?”

“Oh my God,” she groans, leaning back further into him, and even if he feels like he’s being tortured right now, this might very well be one of the best days of his life. “You know what I mean.”

“Do you know how to sail a boat, Emma?” Luis asks, bringing him out of how distracted he is over Emma. God, he likes her, and it’s so hard for him to even attempt to deny that, not that he even really wants to. He’s gotten to know her so much lately, and all of these random little quirks that she has are making him fall harder and harder. Them spending the day together like this is both a dream and a nightmare. “My dad makes boats.”

“I don’t know how to sail one, but I’m very good at riding.”

He knows that she doesn’t mean it, but at the same time that she says the last word, she adjusts herself in his lap, and it’s his turn to nearly hack up one of his lungs. He might as well hack up both and accept that fate is taking him over because damn, this could not possibly get any worse (better.)

“Killian,” Ariel shouts.

Okay, it could get worse. It could definitely get worse.

“Killian, Emma,” Ariel repeats, moving through the crowd with her nearly eight-month pregnant stomach with more ease than either of them had. When she gets to them, he notices her eyes scan over the two of them, but then again, which one of their friends wouldn’t do that? “Oh my gosh, what are you guys doing out here? You should come into the restaurant and get some air conditioning. It’s crowded, but I can let you sit in the office.”

“Hey, A. The kids didn’t want to eat at Eric’s place. No offense.”

She waves them away, a bright smile on her face even though he knows she’s seriously hating the latter stages of her pregnancy. They went out and bought her a new chair for her desk two weeks ago because her back was killing her. He’s definitely going to steal it when she’s on maternity leave.

His temporary secretary can have her old chair.

“No, I get it. Hamburgers and chicken are much better than fish. Are you all going out on the water later?”

“I’ve been trying to hint at it to Killian,” Ruby nudges, raising a perfectly groomed eyebrow at him, “but I don’t think he’s gotten it.”

“Ruby has never been subtle a day in her life,” Emma quietly says into his ear, her breath hot on his skin as a shiver runs down his spine.

“I heard that.”

“No, you didn’t.”

“Anyways,” Ruby sighs, waving her finger in the air, “apparently we’re dropping the munchkins off with their dad after lunch, and then I’m pretty much going to beg Killian to take us out sailing since he’s the only one who knows how.”

“If you bribe him with some kind of fruity dessert, that usually works.”

“You are not supposed to use your knowledge as my secretary against me.”

“What else am I supposed to use it for?”

“Your job.”

“You keep saying that like it means something.”

He rolls his eyes, unable to stop himself, and he can feel Emma’s stomach move with her laugh, the muscles twitching underneath his fingertips. He still can’t believe that this is his day. But he’s simply going to roll with it.

-/-

“Oi,” Will shouts, leaning over the railing a bit too far in a way that makes Killian’s insides twists, “I think we’re out of beer.”

“You don’t need anymore, sweetie,” Belle placates as she pats his knee.

“I’ve only had the two.”

“Yeah, but your personality really doesn’t need the help of alcohol,” Emma teases him as she rises from her seat and adjusts the strap of her dress from where it’s fallen off of her shoulder. “It’s already like you’re drunk when you’re sober.”

“Shut it, Swan.”

“Creative insult there, Scarlet,” Ruby sighs, propping her legs up in the seat that Emma just abandoned while Ariel works on another bottle of water. She’s gone through at least five.

They’ve been out on the water for three hours now, their little ragtag group. They’d tried to get more people to join them, but everyone else was working, unable to get off for the afternoon. Or, like Liam, they’re with their kids. Emma almost didn’t join them, making some excuse about taking a shift so that David could spend time with Leo, but then they’d run into Ashely who had very kindly let them all know that she and August were handling patrol since they are, after all, patrol officers while Emma and David are detectives. Sometimes he wonders about this town’s law enforcement. Everything seems to be all over the place, and yet there is very little crime.

He probably shouldn’t think about it too much.

So they’d all loaded up onto a rented sailboat, even Ariel despite the fact that she is extremely seasick whenever they’re idling and rocking on the waves, so he makes sure to keep them moving as much as he can without using the engine since they’ll likely be out here for a good while. It keeps him away from everyone, at least a bit, but he’s honestly okay with that. He can join in on conversation whenever he wants to, but he doesn’t have to be an active participant.

Which is good because of Emma and what happens when he hears her voice. He really doesn’t think they’d like to give into their desires on a rented sailboat in front of all of their friends. He doesn’t know about Emma, but he’s not much of an exhibitionist. That’s something he should probably know about her, right? He feels like he knows several little trivial facts that make up who she is, which really makes the facts far from trivial.

Every part of him is fascinated that she’s so particular with her sweets, especially hot chocolate as he learned, and that she has read more novels than him despite him having several years over her. She’s secretly a history buff, thus her obsession with the History Channel, and she loves running and boxing more than any other workout, though running has been her thing lately. But not in the mornings, as she’s not really a morning person, and she prefers cold weather to hot so that she’s not dying in her jeans and can wear her boots. He also knows there was apparently an incident with karaoke, but he’ll likely never know anything more than that.

So he feels like he knows her, knows more little things that he’s discovered through her letters and her texts, and even if he doesn’t know the deep secrets of her past like she doesn’t know his, he feels like the little things are enough to firmly cement the fact that he is absolutely enamored with Emma (no middle name apparently) Swan. It’s obviously a physical thing, a spark that they can’t help, but she also makes him feel almost giddy in a way that he hasn’t felt in years.

And he’s still confused by her. Some things never change.

Emma: Are you going to sail us too far away from the shore, Captain?

Killian looks up from his phone to look toward Emma, but she’s not looking at him, her gaze turned toward the sea so that it’s silhouetted around her, her small frame miniscule compared to the vast blue of the ocean. Beautiful. And if her hair wasn’t in braids, he can imagine the curls blowing in the wind.

Killian: Absolutely. How do you feel about England?

Emma: Are there more people like you there?

Killian: Swan, there’s no one like me.

“Are you supposed to be able to text and sail?” Ariel shouts at him while her hands run over her belly. “I feel like that isn’t safe.”

“The only way we won’t be safe out here is if we let Will be our Captain, love.”

“Hey!”

“Oh, honey, you know he’s just telling the truth.”

Emma: Are you sure that’s a good thing?

Killian: Absolutely.

He moves his fingers across the screen to text her back, to try to get the conversation to keep going, but his eyes follow her as she gets up, using Ruby’s shoulder as a bit of leverage before she’s walking toward him and stepping up the few steps that lead to where he’s sitting behind the wheel, casually turning them so that they can make their way back to shore since he’s pretty sure that Ariel isn’t going to make it that much longer out here. And he’s definitely not delivering a baby out here.

Emma doesn’t say anything, simply sits down on the seat next to him, and he twists in his chair to look at her, pressing his lips into a smile as she seems to be playing with her split ends before her lashes flutter up to look at him.

“So I hear that we’re the best man and maid of honor in some impending nuptials,” he starts, unsure of whether or not to talk to Emma, unsure of how much he can talk to her.

“Those are the facts, Jack.” He raises a brow at that particular phrasing, and she shrugs her shoulders, her lips parting in a beatific smile. “So Will asked you then? They’re not even getting married until next summer.”

“It’s never too early to start planning.”

“Considering I don’t even know what I’m doing tomorrow, I don’t agree with that philosophy.”

“Work? Or is that just optional for you?”

“Shut up,” she laughs, and the sound sends vibrations down his spine, and when Emma reaches over to slap at his leg, he has to bite his cheek. “I meant besides work. Like, after work. Wait, scratch that. I have to pick up Ariel’s baby shower gift.”

Shit. He needs to do that.

“Well, then, it sounds like you have plans.” His eyes glance over toward Emma to see if she’s folding her hands together in a fist or clenching her jaw, and when she seems to be fully relaxed, her shoulders not tense and her feet propped up on the dash, he wonders why they’re not as affected by each other’s voices today when they’ve talked more than they ever have. Maybe Emma’s better at hiding it, and something with him is...not working today. That’s not something he really wants to think about. “So, Swan,” he continues, “at this wedding do you think I’ll get a shot at dancing with a pretty lass?”

“Eh, I’d say your chances are slim. According to our friends, you struggle to get a date.”

He barks out a laugh loud enough that he’s sure all of the creatures in the depths of the ocean can hear him, but none of their friends seem to pay the two of them any mind, all of them continuing on in their own conversations.

“That is a subject for another time, but for the record, I have no trouble getting a date. It seems that the only thing I’m interested in is seeing if a certain blonde will dance with me at a wedding.”

“I don’t really dance.”

“Oh, Swan, all you have to do is pick a partner who knows what he’s doing. Besides, I wasn’t even referring to you.”

Emma maneuvers her legs around to kick at him, but he easily grabs onto her ankle, keeping it away from him as he rests it on his thigh, his thumb running over her ankle without much thought. And when Emma doesn’t pull away, he doesn’t stop. They sit in companionable silence as he guides them back to shore, the buildings over Storybrooke coming back into view as the sun sets behind them, an orange glow falling over the water and over all of them as he watches Emma yawn, placing her hands over her mouth while her nose and eyes scrunch up. He’s exhausted from spending his entire day outside, but there’s something about right now that has him never wanting to spend a second wishing that he could be asleep in bed.

After he docks, he helps everyone off of the boat, especially Ariel, before they all start moving in opposite directions so that they can go home. He notices that Emma lingers with him, her steps a little slower than they should be, and he smiles a bit to himself at this development that they’ve had today.

“For the record,” she starts, kicking at the boards on the dock, “if you asked me, I would dance with you. As long as it wasn’t for a dance where I had to grind my ass on you.”

“Damn,” he laughs as he stops his steps, “you’ve foiled my plans.”

“I thought so.” Emma brings her bottom lip between her teeth, rocking back and forth on her heel. “Thanks for today. It was fun.”

“It was my pleasure.”

Without really thinking about it, or maybe thinking about it too much, he dips his head down and quickly brushes his lips over Emma’s cheek, feeling the softness of her skin and the slight taste of salt before he quickly pulls back, tucking her hair behind her ear and murmuring a quiet goodbye before she does the same, waving at him before she practically jogs down the docks to get away from him.

Maybe. He doesn’t really know, and he’s a little bit too scared to find out. He’s going to try not to question anything about today, even if he already is, and enjoy the fact that Emma’s cheeks flushed red after he kissed her.

God, it almost felt like it was the first time, that it was the most intimate thing, but he’s already kissed her once in a way that was much more passionate and intimate than that.

Right?

“What the bloody hell was that?” Liam questions, a hint of teasing evident in his voice as Killian turns to the side and sees Liam walking down the docks, a smug smile on his face. Of course. Of course his brother saw that. “Did you just kiss Emma goodbye?”

“A kiss on the cheek isn’t kissing someone goodbye,” he lies, shaking his head a bit as he takes a deep breath. “I kissed Elsa on the cheek this morning. It’s simply a friendly gesture.”

“Whatever that was, well, it was not a friendly gesture.”

“Bug off,” he groans as he reaches up to push back his hair, the exhaustion from the day beginning to hit him as he tries to figure his way out of this one. “What are you even doing down here? Where’s your family?”

“Elsa took the kids home early, and I was doing inspections to make sure no one damaged any of our boats today. But I’m really rather more interested in what’s going on with you and Emma. I didn’t know the two of you were courting.”

“Are you from the eighteenth century?”

“Possibly.”

“We’re not courting. We’re - ” He hesitates, not sure what to say and really rather distracted by the twist in his stomach that comes from the thought of he and Emma dating. That’s what he wants, what he desperately wants, and even though he’s not sure what’s going on in Emma’s mind, he knows that she must feel some of it. “Shit,” he mumbles under his breath. “Shit, shit, shit.”

Liam raises a brow and crosses his arms, something he always does to make himself seem bigger and like more of an authoritative figure. He’s about to use it to get Killian to spill what’s on his mind, but Killian is already halfway there. Before Liam can say anything, though, Killian waves his hand and shakes his head, the disbelief mixing in with the twisting and fluttering stomach.

“Let’s go to my apartment. I’m going to need a drink for this.”

-/-

“Wait, wait, wait,” Liam chuckles, throwing his head back as he wipes tears from his eyes, his rum glass nearly full while Killian’s already working on his second, “when the two of you hear each other’s voices, you start sporting a boner? Are you fifteen years old?”

“Obviously not. I can’t help it.”

“That’s what a fifteen-year-old lad would say too. Why does this happen?”

“I, uh.” He reaches up to scratch behind his ear. “I can’t tell you.”

“Excuse me? Why the hell not?”

“I told Emma I wouldn’t tell anyone, back when we first figured out it was happening, and I’ve probably already told you too much.”

“Killian,” Liam sighs, placing his glass on the coaster on the coffee table, “something is obviously bothering you, and you can’t just tell me that you two turn each other on for no reason and then not explain more unless...holy fuck,” Liam gasps, slapping his knee while Killian sinks a little further into his couch, “is Emma Swan your soulmate?”

Heat immediately rushes to the tips of his ears, which is the opposite of where heat was rushing earlier today, and he wonders if it’s possible for him to melt into the couch cushions. It was a mistake to invite Liam up here, to tell him about the predicament that he and Emma are in. Liam knows him better than anyone else on earth, and he should have known that even spilling a little bit would be too much.

The rum was likely a mistake, too.

“Yes,” he admits, knowing it’s pointless to lie, before downing the rest of his glass in one gulp, the rum burning him.

Liam’s face breaks out into a smile while Killian’s stomach fills with dread, and he doesn’t think there’s ever been a larger dichotomy between reactions over the same fact.

“Killian, that’s fantastic. I mean, you were so heartbroken over Milah, over the loss, and if there’s anyone who deserves to have found their soulmate, it’s you. I can’t wait to tell Elsa. We’ve been hoping for this for so long.”

“No,” he insists, sitting up and holding his hand out, “do not tell Elsa. You can’t tell anyone. Seriously. No one.”

“Because Emma doesn’t want anyone to know? I’m sure that was just when you two first started dating she wanted to keep it a secret, but you two have been spending so much time together. Surely, she’d be fine with it now. This is something to be celebrated.”

“We’re not dating. We’re not...we text a bit, spend some time together, but it’s all very confusing. We used to say one word to each other and were ready to sleep together, and now we can have conversations and that only affects us a little bit. I don’t - Liam, I don’t know what’s happening. All I know is that I’m very well falling in love with this woman, and she has no interest in any of that. What am I supposed to do if my soulmate doesn’t want to be with me?”

Saying the words doesn’t make any weight lift off of his shoulder. In fact, it makes him feel heavier, his shoulders unable to hold his head up high. He knows that Emma feels some kind of affection for him, that they are getting to know each other, that she’s willingly getting to know him, but not knowing what’s happening, not knowing if Emma is ever going to accept the two of them, is terrifying.

Falling in love again is terrifying, especially since he’s not guaranteed a soft landing even when this is the one time he should be.

Even thinking the words shakes him to his core.

“Killian, I don’t have any great words of advice because I’ve never been in this type of situation before, but if the blush on Emma’s cheeks and the smile on her face were any indication as to how she feels about you, I don’t think you need to be worrying yourself sick over this A man unwilling to fight for what he wants deserves what he gets.”

“Yeah, maybe.”

He’d like to fight for Emma’s heart if she’d let him.

#Not Your (soul)Mate #cs fic #cs ff #captain swan fic #captain swan

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tarithenurse · 5 years ago

Text

Stranded - 2 of 2 (or 3)

Pairing: Loki Odinson x fem!reader Content: A bit of drama, but mostly fluff. Some errors due to lack of proof reading. A/N: So people liked the original (see Masterlist) and asked for more though I’d meant for it to be a one-shot…and then I thought: why not? There will be one more part after this if you guys are interested, other wise I’ll let this be the last.

Pacing back and forth, Loki only listens half-heartedly to the nonsensical babble of his friends. Lady Sif is entertaining Thor and the Warriors Three with her latest news from the training of the newest guard – she had assisted Tyr in a mock battle which he and his team had lost.

“Loki?” the victorious warrior call out.

The long strides carries the prince in question to the door where he has to turn around. “Yes, marvellous. Well done, lady Sif.”

Raucous laughter finally causes Loki to pause.

“Oh, brother mine,” the deepest voice hollers, “your thoughts are so far astray a skirmish may break out and you would not notice.”

Fandral, at least, finds a smidgen of compassion. “Is it the fate of the Midgardian that troubles you?”

There is understanding to be found despite the mirthful twinkle in his eyes and Loki admits to the worries. The Midgardian has been called before the All-Father, interrupting the stroll through the gardens that she and the raven-haired prince were enjoying after lunch. The two of them spend nigh all their waking hours in the company of each other as though each day is the last, they have together – it may as well be because lady [Y/N] is bound to return to her homeworld sooner rather than later.

Always. A word spoken so easily, taking their willing hearts captive. But always and forever will end eventually, Loki knows, as his father is ill-inclined to allow the use of Bifrost for the youngest son to travel to and from Midgard once [Y/N] has returned to a home she has no longing for.

“But this is simple!” Despite Volstag’s enthusiasm, the rest of the chamber’s occupants wait silently for him to elaborate. “If you cannot go to her then she must stay here.”

Loki frowns. “As much as I would love this, we all know how Odin’s attitu–“

“Yes, yes!” Fandral picks up on his friend’s idea. “A young maiden can easily be disguised among the people of Asgard or Vanaheim for a while until the All-Father’s attention has shifted and he has forgotten about the foreigner –”

“– at which point the young prince conveniently forgets the cause of his broken heart when he finds a new love,” Volstag completes, the two friends beaming.

… Reader …

You had decided with yourself on the very first night in Asgard that you like Frigga. The queen is kind, smart, and wonderfully wise to the point where you’re beginning to suspect that she’s got a lot more to say in terms of the affair of the kingdom than she officially is supposed to. Right now that’s a good thing. Sitting face to face with king Odin all on your own would have been nerve wrecking (the guard in full armour and with a fabulous but rather lethal looking spear might not help either) so you’re thankful for Frigga’s presence.

I wish Loki was here. It’s not the first time the thought presents itself during the audience, but you try your best to keep calm. This is about him too, though. Odin is ignoring that detail quite brilliantly, however, as he talks about your future without pausing for you to get a word in.

The thing is: as a so-called Midgardian, you’re not supposed to have come to Asgard at all. Now that you happen to be there, the quasi-mythological ruler is worried if other people might suddenly pop up from either Earth or anywhere else, really, and as you haven’t been able to explain how you managed the trip…well, it’s hard to put that concern to rest. The next point that Odin wants to discuss (or rather, monologue) is how you were to handle the knowledge you now have of Valhalla and the “realm” once you do return home. At this point, you take a risk by interrupting the old god to promise that of course you wouldn’t say anything to anyone, and at least Frigga supports you (and further adds that no one would believe you anyways which hurts but is true). Odin? Not convinced.

A song you can’t quite remember enough of keeps bouncing around in your brain: Should I stay or should I go now…unfortunately, you can’t recall more of it so it only adds to your frustration. Seeking Frigga’s gaze, you’re seconds away from losing your temper.

“Perhaps, then, we must consider the simpler of two options?” Frigga winks quickly at you, making sure her husband doesn’t see. “It appears to me the best solution would be to have [Y/N] stay. I am certain that she can make herself useful, and although it will be hard to leave everything behind…it time, she might find happiness here?”

You don’t dare to say anything or even breathe as you wait for Odin to make up his mind.

Tugging softly at the beard, the king mumbles to himself. “It would eliminate the risk of the wrong people obtaining any information, exploiting it…”

“Indeed, dear husband.” Frigga has clearly counselled like this before. “Of course…accommodating lady [Y/N] need not be your concern. Such trivial matters could be dealt with by, say, Loki?”

The beard gets an extra tug before the god lights up with a smile, his eye nearly disappearing between the wrinkles. “He has taken quite an interest in you, has he not?” For a second, you recognize Thor in that face.

“Y-yes, your highness, prince Loki-i is very uhmm kind to me.” Nooo, why do I have to stammer?!

“So it shall be,” Odin declares with a grand gesture, “you must remain here...or on Vanaheim if that is more agreeable. Loki will be informed of this and he shall be in charge of your settlement.”

To his right, Frigga winks again, a mischievous smile at the corner of her mouth. “Do not worry, dear girl, I will be delighted to ensure everything is fine.”

It’s clear the audience is over and you get up, making sure to bow (which makes the king guffaw quietly) and thank them both before you rush out.

Every cell of you is aching for Loki with the exception of your braincells that are working overtime to make sense of what just happened. I’m staying? Odin never asked what you wanted and maybe he knew already from the queen whom you’ve talked a lot with about your home and the situation there, but it still feels odd to have someone else make a decision on your behalf as though it isn’t actually your life at all. But…I wanna stay. Pausing briefly next to a statue of a stern-looking Viking, you feel the warmth of the golden metal reflected in your chest and stomach. Yeah, staying feels right. For a moment, you bask in the soothing serenity that everything only can get better from now on.

But…what if…? A new wave of disastrous possibilities rise to engulf you, drown out the joy. Fighting the tide is useless as you own mocking voice pokes fun at you and questions everything you might just have gained. What if Loki doesn’t really want you around? Or if he does, for how long then? A simple “Midgardian” really can’t hold his interest for very long, the sing-song voice in your skull jeers.

A strong arm wraps around your shoulder, bulging muscles squeezing a bit too tight for comfort as they pull you into the shadows behind the golden statue. Too surprised to say anything, you automatically follow the order to remain quiet whispered by a deep voice.

Thor peers at you with gleaming eyes. “Lady [Y/N],” the whisper sounds like a distant rumble of thunder, “do not be alarmed.”

Easy for you to say! The heart is stuck in your throat, hammering frantically. “Oo-kay?”

… Loki …

Urging the stead out of the stables, the young prince resigns to the fact that he will not have a chance to double-check the hastily packed supplies - at the very least the trip to Vanaheim should not last more than a few days, though, now that any official passages are out of the picture.

Loki lingers for a few seconds, looking wistfully at the golden-capped towers of Valhalla before he spurs the horse into a gallop out of the city.

Leaving has never been this hard before. He knows he will return, forced to keep up the charade until the All-Father has forgotten the incident of the Midgardian intruder, but in this very moment, he has left the fate of his true love in the hands of his friends.

The plan is simple. Loki will wait until the cover of darkness at which point Fandral will smuggle [Y/N] out of the castle. Thor will stay behind to distract their father and mother, however in case that is not enough then Lady Sif, Hogun, and Volstag will remain as well to give credibility to any scenario established to throw the king (and potentially Heimdal) off the tracks.

The raven-haired prince prefers to leave with his sweetheart (and argued vehemently for this until Sif commented that he would be the first to be kept under observation as soon as Odin’s mind was made up). No, it will be better that he already is out of sight, and as he is needed to navigate the hidden paths between realms, then this is the only other option.

…

No rest for the wicked. Anxiously pacing around and around the same tree, Loki’s mind is a mess and his guts are filled with alternatingly lead and butterflies. There has been no comfort in the company of his steed as the animal has found a patch of sorrel collecting the evening dew. Now the last bird sings goodnight, ending its tune on a soft twirdle that echoes through the dusk before stilling.

The shadows grow deep. Loki’s horse decides it is time to settle in for the night, rubbing the saddle that lies on the ground into position before lying down with its head upon the embossed leather. The man walking in circles find no rest.

When a light finally can be seen, moving between the trees as a glowing orb entrenched by sharp teeth of darkness, Loki’s heart stops. One horse. He supposes it shouldn’t surprise him. Do Midgardians ride horses nowadays? A tentative breath makes room for normal breathing until he realizes that the single horse only has no rider while merely a single shape walks beside it. Fandral…where is [Y/N]? It is as though a bottomless crevasse open before Loki’s feet, invisible currents trying to pull him in, making him stagger as he steps forward to wards the blond man.

“Where is she?” Loki is aware how his voice shakes, but it does not matter. “Has Odin sent her away already?”

The mischievousness beneath the gentle smile is similar to Loki’s own, yet he cannot abide the sight of it and nearly looses his temper before Fandral finally answers. “As surprising as it may be, our carefully laid plan turns out to be unnecessary for a different reason. Come, my friend.”

… Reader …

You’re steaming with indignation, but thankfully for your surroundings a sense of appreciation for the (misplaced) helpfulness is creeping in…or maaaybe it’s the abashed apologies on repeat from Thor.

He’d scared the life half out of you when he grabbed you, and pretty spot on compared to the myths the guy had carried on with the “plan” without listening to any of the objections launched at him with an increasing amount of violence. Admittedly, your fists probably weren’t the worst pain he’s imagined through his life. It wasn’t until you’d been brought to the rest of the gang that you get a word in, stopping the outrageous escapade.

“We truly were just trying to –“

“I know!” You interrupt Thor a bit harsher than intended. Oops. “I know and I…I’m thankful…it’s just…” you sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose for a moment, “perhaps it’s best to ask next time if the help is needed?”

The blond warrior slash god has the decency to agree before making himself scarce to see if someone elsewhere needs any help.

Left alone, you finally have a chance to look around the room. It’s not your own but Loki’s and although you’ve been in there before, it’s the first time you really have the time to look around – or more correctly, it’s the first time you’re not being distracted by Loki in all his kind and brainy splendor.

…

Mesmerized by one of the few books you can actually read (honestly, you’d just wanted a peek to see what sort of literature the god likes) the sound of running footsteps barely manage to register with you before the door is slammed open to reveal a dishevelled Loki in front with a Fandral and Thor behind (both looking appropriately apologetic, still).

“[Y/N]…”

The silver tongued prince is rarely in lack of the right thing to say and you would have felt smug about it if it wasn’t for the desperation in his eyes. Large, roaming your face and shape in sign of any sign of distress before they light up with the intensity of a winter’s sun, stealing your breath away and making your knees go soft. An impractical change as you’ve just stood up. But of course, within a split second he’s there, practically sweeping you off your feet and into a lover’s embrace, lips meeting soft and hungry.

When next you become aware of your surroundings, it’s nice to see that the door has been closed to provide the two of you with some privacy.

“I thought…” Loki’s breath fans your cheek and neck. “If only I had dared to imagine father would let you stay…”

Pulling back slightly to kiss his nose, you share the anxious shiver of what could have been. “Your mom probably had something to do with it, to be fair.”

“I shall be sure to thank her.” He is somehow able to lift you and carry you to the bed without getting tangled in the dress you’d been told to wear today by a maid, and for a second it’s like you’re a real princess. “My love.” The plush mattress rises to hold you instead as the gentleman of a god kneels before you. “I could not stand the risk of losing you, not now and not ever…”

Waaaaait a second…

“I have no token to offer you in this moment as a symbol of my undying love, yet I must ask…” At this point you’re certain you feel your brain implode. “Will you take me as your husband?”

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silverandarsenic-hcs · 5 years ago

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Ghost BC x Murder

im a simple girl. i have mental illness. i fantasize about being brutally murdered. is this problematic? 1000% yes. am i going to get canceled for this? 1000% yes. Have I been posting on borrowed time since that little caesars post? again, 1000% yes. Here’s this anyways.

TW: murder, blood, gore, manipulation (Papa II, Papa III), stalking (copia), domestic abuse (Papa III), substance and drug abuse (Papa II), Suicide (Papa II and Dew), Sex crimes - all consensual (Dew) these are about how they would murder you so im sure you can imagine the types of bad things it will entail.

Papa I: For him, it’s a fit of emotion that drives him to kill. One thing piles on top of the next, frustration turns to anger, anger turns to rage. He doesn’t mean to hurt people, but when he gets so worked up, theres nothing that can stop him. All he can see is red until he’s snapped back into reality and sees the red staining his hands and his favorite robe. With you, all you had to do was walk into his office after a few bads days in a row, more bad news in tow, and that’s all it took. He loses his temper on you before your brain can even register that you should run. Before you can even scream. He’s not particularly a weapon guy, he’s more likely to choke you to death or anything he can do with his hands. If he feels so inclined, he’ll grab the nearest solid object to crush you with. He feels remorse, in the end, but still covers it up and hushes the room when they speak about your disappearance. Decently classic case of homicide - its usually someone you know, crime of passion, unplanned.

Papa II: This one hurt me very deeply to write. His case was classic, when he was a kid. Everyone says that when an adult loses it, you could tell from the time they were a kid that they had cracks - too abnormal, or too perfect. Papa had odd behavior but Nihil never had him tested or even looked at for anything because his ego got in the way, and nothing could possibly be wrong with his son. And nothing was really wrong with him. Something just wasn’t right. He felt things strongly: love, hate, depression, elation, anxieties. Sometimes it was too strong for him to cope. Sometimes he would turn to things that would help him deal with the emotional rollercoaster he couldn’t get off of. Other people just got on with him. He started smoking weed in his twenties. That wasn’t enough. He started drinking heavily at 25. By thirty that wasn’t enough either. Stronger, more potent vices were what he needed. Cocaine. Heroin. Anything to make him feel okay - anything to make him feel. And you, you were the light of his life. The only good thing he’d ever known. You were the only person he had met who could keep up with him, but keep him safe at the same time. But eventually you got swept up in the parties and drugs and drinking too. Lost more control as the months and years passed. And one night he thought you were pussing out. Not being fun. That you were being boring and killing his mood. He pushed you until you did more lines, and kept pushing you and pushing you until your nose began to bleed. But he was so gone he didn’t realize. He pushed you and you accepted it because it was the first time you had ever truly been afraid of him. When you overdosed and died on the couch in the living room of your shared apartment, Papa had already passed out in the bedroom. It was three days before he sobered up enough to wake, and when he found you, he called the police and said there’d been a murder. But he knew what happened. He knew what he did. Cocaine has a funny way of making things stick like that. He hung up the phone, and before the police could arrive, took his own life the same way he took yours.

Papa III: In the beginning, he has a silly little crush. He steals glances your way. He brushes up against you and makes you blush. As you two talk more, he falls deeper. You two become a couple, an item. You tell each other you love them. Years could pass. You move in together. You don’t notice any cracks in him, but he sees them in the relationship. He saw you talking to the new guy at work today. What’s that, you had lunch with him? That’s interesting. He sees the way you look at the barista when he says your name, and hands you your coffee. You say he makes it the best. He sees the way your friends look at him. He goes through your phone once, when you’re sleeping, and doesn’t find anything. he kicks himself for months about invading your privacy and promises himself that he’s going to stop digging. But he can’t tear himself away. When youre in the other room, he’ll go through your purse. The next time he sees you smile at another man in passing, when you get home he confronts you. you say he’s being crazy. he says your crazy for cheating on him. he just loves you. cant you see? he loves you. when he finally chains you to the radiator in the bedroom so you won’t leave him, you’re shocked at how a man you once loved could be this way. When he finally kills you he’s begging you, with his hands around your throat, to understand that he’s not a bad person. He's not a bad person. He's not a bad person. He’s not a bad person.

Cardinal Copia: He stalks, but never gets close. Not like III. He’s aware of the mistakes of his predecessors. He’s smarter than that. More calculating. He would learn you schedule - morning routine, where you work, what you eat, when you get home, night routine, how long you sleep for. When you touch yourself. When you see your friends. At first it was from interest, but he begins to hate you. The way you walk, the way you talk, who you love, who you hate. And he wants you dead for it - but he wont be hasty, no, he’s still smarter than that. he has to remain calm and collected to pull this off. Hate you as much as he wants, he still knows you’re smart. Not as smart as him, but smart. Its thursday night, and you’re home alone getting ready to go out to the new bar in town with your friends. he climbs into the kitchen through a window he knows you leave unlocked for when you yourself forget your keys and need to break in. In the end, he slits your wrists with a knife he pulled from the wooden block on the counter. Good thing he followed you to work and school, he knows your handwriting wonderfully. He watches you bleed out on the floor while he writes your suicide note. You have never met him in your life. Good thing he always wears those gloves to keep everything clean of fingerprints, because the cops never suspect any foul play, and no one has a clue.

Swiss: He doesnt get close to his victims - he doesn’t have time. When you’ve gone through this many people, you start to forget their names, if you even knew them from the start. He takes jobs as an assassin when he needs the money - and it does pay well - but whenever he needs to blow off steam he’ll really go at it. Get creative. He’s a weapons guy, gun by choice but he’ll really use anything, and he knows each in his collection very very well. But in his eyes he isn’t doing anything wrong, he’s killing people that deserve to die, for good reasons (Edward Cullen who??). Racists, fascist, misogynists, homophobes. He was on the news once for throwing a brick at a nazi. You’re the anomaly on his list of victims though. You were an accident of sorts. He got sloppy with one of his jobs, got noticed, and the vic took a hostage - cue you walking into the back room at work at the wrong time - the only way he can get his shot in without risking his own life or alerting others is to shoot right through you. And now that he’s been noticed, he can’t give up the job and run. He memorizes the details of your face before he pulls the trigger, and kills you and the man with his arms around your torso in one shot. He feels the worst out of everyone. Attends your funeral, but stands very far back. Something about your face, the look in your eyes when you died. He thinks about you often, for a long time. When the exact dip of your nose and contours of your cheekbone begin to fade, he pulls a picture of you he cut from the newspaper from a shoebox under his bed. If he regrets any of the bad things he’s done in his life, it was hurting you.

Aether: He’s the one you don’t expect and he knows it. He’s the cult leader of the group - but that doesn’t make sense. He’s not even a leader in any capacity. He’s no Papa, not even a Cardinal. He doesn’t even lead the ghouls, really. But people trust him, and respect him, and that’s enough. The most pull he has in the church is being what you would compare to an advisor for the cardinal. helps him make decisions here and there. They get more drastic as things go on, and the church slowly burns itself down, but Copia is the only one people blame, including Copia, because Aether makes him believe every choice he made was his own idea. Eventually, when the cardinal has become useless, Aether will have him removed. By whatever means he has to take, but ideally not murder, it’s too early to have blood on anyone else's hands in his name, and far too early to have blood on his own hands. Aether promises to rebuild the name of the church, and fix everything the cardinal destroyed, and make things better.. Make people happy, and health again. And every single person drinks the kool-aid. Soon, rather than worshipping any Dark Lord or Old God, people are worshipping Aether. People believe in him with their hearts and souls. People believe he’s the savior. You are the anomaly. You were close with Aether before all of this started, before he was even the cardinal’s advisory. You just think the power has gone to his head, and blame the cardinal with the rest of him. But when you start digging, you realize it’s been his plan all along to have complete and total power To start his own cult. To be worshipped like a god in a place that was built for it. Your death is a stepping stone on the path for Aether to achieve ultimate power, but of all the stones cast, yours was the only one that meant anything. He didn't want to have to kill you. He didn't want you to defect, and put everything he'd worked so hard for at risk. He couldn’t have that. But the road to his ultimate power ends with his own death too - you can’t really be appreciated for everything good you've done for the world until you die, and he knows that. But until then, he will think of you often.

Dewdrop: Kills you for sexy reasons. Not because you wont sleep with him, or he wants to actually hurt you, but because you both got too swept up in the moment. There’s a movie called Sexual Predator and he’s pretty much the guy in that. One minute he’s got his belt wrapped around your throat, tugging on it hard while he’s hitting it from behind. He’s too caught up in the moment to realize you’ve gone limp on the bed. He doesn’t realize anything is wrong until he finishes. And it’s bad. Oh it’s bad. Unlike every other crime he’s committed, he calls the police, and he’s honest about what happened. He’s disgusted with himself. He’ll never have sex again. He’ll never wear a belt again. He’ll never touch another person’s throat again. He’s sentenced twelve months incarcerated along with probation and some hefty fines. Everyone knows what he did, how he did it. You were friends with all his friends - You weren’t together, but you were friends. And they all know he killed you. If any of the above are likely to have their own suicidal thoughts after the murder, Dew is the most likely to do it. He can’t stand the way everyone treats him after he did it. He can't stand living knowing what he did to you and what hes capable of. He can’t go on like this.

Cirrus & Cumulus: When they kill it’s for each other. In a LOT of other HCs i mention that II’s solution to things is to simply “kill them” if they’re bothering you, but the girls actually just do it. If someone touches Cirrus in a club, Cumulus will absolutely pull a gun out of her back pocket and blow their brains out right there. Good thing for the masks. They’ll spend the next few months or years on the road, saying under the radar until it’s safe to go home again. The ghoulettes have a lot in common with Swiss - they kill for what they believe to be a good reason. The difference is that Cirrus and Cumulus aren’t opposed to the more gorey ways of doing it. Torture, manipulation, blackmail, you name it they’ve probably done it. They know a lot of dirty things about a lot of big people, and at their whim they could have all their hearts desire. Trouble is, knowing everyone’s secrets is just a little bit more fun than that. They’ll kill to protect their friends and family, anyone who has ever unintentionally hurt an animal, and anyone that’s standing in their way. They’ll even collaborate with Swiss on a job if it’s gonna take some more elbow grease, and he needs people he can trust to get the job done without leaving behind a crumb trail of evidence.

- Kat

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somemellifluouswords · 5 years ago

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Get Away

Wow has it been forever. I tried to get back into some writing and this isn’t my finest work but that’s what happens when you don’t write in forever! I’ve missed you all and hope this will help get the creative juices flowing. No promises on when I’ll post more frequently but I hope you enjoy. Feedback much appreciated as always! Thank you all for being amazing as always! Love you! (This imagine is all cringe mushy gushy lovey dovey stuff!)

- 🌻

Some mornings you wake up with an urge to do anything and everything. Determined to defeat all purpose of daily life and what is expected. Driven to sacrifice all that you wake up for and just once play hooky. Today is the day they forget the world exists.

It’s Sunday, yet barely Sunday. The sun has yet to rise. The moon still shines bright and the sound of crickets fills the night in song. Inside it’s warm. She’s cuddled into his side, breathing faintly into his neck. He’s awake, gently stroking her hair with the tips of his fingers. Something inside of him wants her all to himself today. The world cannot have any of her today.

He’s driven to give her everything he can. Let’s get away he thinks to himself. Let’s get away right now. And it’s as if she reads his mind in her slumber. She moves against him, her hold around his torso wearing off. Her lips press to the neck if his skin. His free arm wraps around one of her thighs and she breath the feeling of her lashes fluttering against his skin.

“Are you alright?” She whispers faintly waiting for his answer. He’s quiet and she focuses on his breathing trying to keep her eyes open. The sensation of his fingers in her hair soothes her like a lullaby.

She’s tracing patterns on his bare skin, her finger rising and falling at his every breath. “Ethan ...” she whispers again, just loud enough over the crickets.

He smiles to himself, wide awake and ready to drive away. “Let’s get out of here. Let’s just get out of here”. She doesn’t hesitate to lift herself up, surprising him with a firm kiss to his lips. When she pulls back she’s got a soft smile on her face. “We better hurry”

Within minutes they’ve thrown clothes, toiletries and other miscellanies objects into their bags and dressed ready to go. They’ve presumed it’ll be a warm day. He’s got on a pair of jeans and shirt. And she’s wearing his favourite little white flowy dress, the one thats been worn far too often but holds a special place in his heart. She slips into sandals, throwing her hair quickly behind her ears. Scanning the room they search for anything they might have missed, but they soon realize it doesn’t matter. They just want to get away.

They’re the only ones up at the early hour. The sun is slowly making its way up and the crickets have quieted down. The Chevy pickup roars to life, and she’s already got her feet up on the dashboard. She’s got a map in her hands and a pencil in between her teeth. The look of deep concentration on her face as her pretty orbs scan over spots they circled in the past for adventures they’ve awaited to pursue.

Windows are down. The radio plays soft tunes of songs they’ve woken up to, made love to, and sang on foreign adventures. He’s slowly driving down the main road, every so often watching her. She mumbles to herself, making a list of pros and cons as she always does. She’s so damn smart he thinks to himself.

When he pulls up to a red light she’s emitted a sound of satisfaction. “The cabin” her face gleams and he wants to kiss her right there and right now. “Let’s go to the cabin” He nods in agreement, a smirk on his face as he leans over the console planting a soft kiss to her lips.

“Eyes on the road my love” she teases sinking further into her seat with pink cheeks. He clicks his tongue continuing on down paths he’s recognized all to well.

The drive has been quiet so far, small talk of the nature they’ve seen, the songs they’ve heard and the frequent glances to one another they’ve caught red handed. Her legs haven’t moved from the dashboard and her dress has risen up but she’s far to innocent to notice. He’s smitten, the dress sits just far enough revealing only skin and he doesn’t tell her anything. She’s far too infatuated with what’s before her. And he wouldn’t have I any other way.

They pull over for a stretch and some breakfast. The sound of her stomach growling and the explosion of giggles that proceeded it from within her sends his heart fluttering. They jump out of the truck and onto concrete. The pit stop is empty for a few truck drivers and a small family of four.

She absently reaches for his hands and when they join they stretch their arms till they’re on their heels. He’s relieved to stand and with an arm around her shoulders they proceed to a small diner for a quick breakfast and then it’s back to the road.

For breakfast they feast on pancakes and coffee. Secluded in the back of their pickup they watch the sunrise close to one another’s side. It smells like dew and maple syrup. They come up with ideas of what they’ll do for the day. Lunch by the lake. Flower fields and flower picking. Reading to him by the campfire. Endless talks on the couch with the fireplace keeping them warm. And whatever else more.

When it’s time to go back on the road the sun has fully risen, and she adores the way it gleams down on him. His dark hair seem a dark brown and she imagines his hazel eyes glowing under the sunglasses. She loves the way he drums along to the song playing.

Her hair flourishes with the wind. She doesn’t seem to mind because she’s far to deep into her book. Her legs are crossed beneath her and she’s wearing her favourite jean jacket to keep her warm. He awaits the minute her sunglasses will fall back before her eyes. Currently they sit atop on her head, holding back hair threatening to fall before her face with the wind.

“We’re a couple minutes away” he announces as they pull up to a red light. They’ve been on off roads with no one around and lights are scarce. He chuckle to himself because she doesn’t hear. Completely tuned into the work of The Great Gatsby. He resorts to keeping it that way, far to infatuated by her concentration.

“Want me to drive?” She asks as he pulls over for another stretch. He rests his head against her shoulder and her fingers gently wisp through his hair. He closes his eyes for a few seconds before responding with a mumble. After allowing him time to stretch she’s in the drivers seat. Always a little to short she’s perched up, leaning slightly forward. Her sunglasses remain where they were minutes ago, and the last thing he see’s before he drifts off to sleep is her smiling at him telling him “I love you babe”

“Eth! Ethan! Get up sleepy head we’re here!” When he opens his eyes he’s met with her figure outside his door, gently shaking his shoulder. She smiles in content and rests her head on her arms folded on the open window. “Hello sleeping beauty.” She raises her eyebrows in amusement and he can’t help but laugh. “Now are you going to get out or not Eth?” She teases, before running off into the field of flowers.

Her jean jackets is falling off her shoulders. The sunglasses still sit on the top of her head, and when she looks up towards the sun she looks heavenly. Breathing in the pungent flavours of nature’s greatest beauty he’s mesmerized at how glorious she is. Sun paints her skin in gold. Like a layer of paint. Her eyes are shut and she’s breathing, breathing it all in. Alive and well. Never felt better.

He pulls his shirt over his head allowing the heat to sink into to his skin. He makes his way to where she stands and looks far out to where the flowers in a scatter of colours never seem to end. “It’s beautiful isn’t it?” She asks, a wide smile on her face. He chuckles, infatuated with how happy flowers make her. Her tips her glasses down before eyes before planting a kiss on her cheek. “Very”

Soon they’re sitting in their Chevy. Her jean jacket lays in the back discarded. His shirt beside it. They’ve got all the doors wide open. He’s seats pushed all the way back and she’s seating in his lap. Her legs hug his torso, and she’s mumbling sweet nothings as she makes him a flower crown. He watches her face intently, holding waist gently. His lips is filled with golden flowers and she’s picking off the tiny beauties, dropping their stems outside. Carefully and with every detail she places flowers into his hair, the soft tendrils enlightened with golden hues.

She giggles when she’s done pleased with her work. She hands him another flower still on its stem. Confused he takes it, careful not to move as she reaches over to pull out a Polaroid camera stored under the passenger seat.

“Smile in 3 ... 2 ... 1”

Catching him off guard he opts to place the flower between his teeth, a foolish half smirk on his face and eyes crinkled. The photograph comes out and she shakes it to reveal his reflection. She laughs amused and he can’t help but agree. “What a babe” she mutters before pulling him closer to her. “My babe” she mutters in between kisses. The flowers fall from his head. Her dress slouches from her body and there’s nothing more than he desires in this moment to feel every inch of her skin, painted with the yellow sun and smell of dew.

The cabin is warm. Smells of fire wood and honey. They place their luggage in their bedroom and she’s already hungry for a new adventure. Quickly they pack a lunch and she’s rushing him out the door. To the lake they go.

The walks hand in hand talking of the past , present and future. Nothing can seem to spoil their day today. Nothing else exists except for them. For lunch they enjoy sparkling apple cider and an arrangement of cheese and grapes. She’s made her infamous grilled cheese sandwiches, he eats two with content. Like children they play to see who can catch the most grapes in their mouth. To his surprise she wins. After it’s a game of tag.

They run barefoot. The grass is slightly wet, and it prickles their toes. It doesn’t matter though because he’s it, and she’s running for her dear life. The air fills with their cheerful laughter and playful threats. When he catches her he can’t help but hold on. And for a while they watch the water, his head on her shoulder. Arms wrapped around her and her hands resting atop his.

It’s almost dark when she pulls out her copy of The Great Gatsby. They sit together on the couch. He’s laid down, his head resting on her lap. And he closes his eyes as she reads, her voice like a song. And every so often she trails her finger through his hair and everything is perfect.

She doesn’t realize how long she’s been reading for and it’s dark out. Sighing she glances down to her lover who’s fallen asleep. He seems so peaceful she doesn’t have the heart to wake him but she knows he must get to bed. Gently she leans down and plants kisses all over his face. He wakes with a smile before grabbing her cheeks and planing a firm one to her lips.

“Didn’t know Gatsby bore you this much” she teases as he gets up. He can’t help but laugh, leaning his head back on the couch as she smiles at him eyebrows raised. “I was just comfy” he retorts. “You should sleep Eth, you’re exhausted” her voice is laced with concern and she rubs the back of her hand softly against his cheek.

He responds with a disapproving look. “Not at all. I’ve got a surprise for you” she’s smiling now, putting her book to the side as she sits on her knees facing him. “Are you being serious?” She asks. He smirks and can’t help but rush her out. “I’ll meet you on the balcony in 40 minutes. Go to our room and open the closet. I’ve got something there for you” before she can respond he’s up rushing towards the kitchen.

When she arrives in the room and opens the closet a beautiful dress awaits. It’s a pale pink. Thin straps, three little buttons on the front and the most delicate of flows on the bottom. Her hands run over the fabric and she almost misses the pair of nude heels sitting below the hanging dress. Whatever he’s got planned she’ll go with it. Because there’s no stopping Ethan.

After bathing and combing out her hair she’s in the dress and the heels. The slightest of makeup to enhance her features and a soft pink lip. She admires her reflection in the mirror. She feels beautiful. She hears him call her name, and she knows it’s time. One last glance in the mirror and she’s out the bedroom door.

Upon arriving to the balcony, which is lit with hanging lights, she gasps as he waits by a small table arranged with a delicious dinner. “I hope you don’t mind another round of grilled cheese” he smiles at her and she shakes her head smiling at him. “My goodness Ethan ... this is perfect” she’s breathless as he walks towards her dressed in a white dress shirt and black formal jeans. He spins her and take her all in. “Beautiful” he breaths out as he leans in to kiss her. She tastes like her lipstick and apple cider. And she smells like her perfume.

As they enjoy grilled cheese and another round of apply cider the moon shines bright. The night is warm and quiet. After dinner they proceed hand in hand to a log and soon he’s started a fire. He wraps himself and herself in a warm blanket. Together they prepare and eat s’mores. All throughout their meal kissing, laughing, and talking of whatever and ever they can think of.

Soon they’re dancing under the porch lights, swaying together with music playing from his Chevy. He sings to her softly. She listens to his voice and the way his heart beat is loud in her ear. They hold each other close. And when the song ends he slowly backs her up against his truck. Her cheeks turn crimson, dark enough that he can make it out with the bare light they’ve got. Admiring her he wants this to never end. Her breath hitches in her throat as he leans down and kisses her. She reciprocates. Their lips mould into one and they kiss like it’s the last time. The song starts again, but they don’t dance they just kiss.

He sits in bed with nothing but his trousers. His head rests against the headboard and his eyes closed. The bedroom is warm and smells of her perfume. When she opens the bathroom door he doesn’t open his eyes. So she takes it upon herself.

Feeling exhilarated and curious she carefully makes her way across the room. Swiftly she blows out the candles farther to their bed and soon she’s at the bed side. With ease she lifts one leg at a time and soon she’s sitting in his lap. He opens his eyes in surprise.

She sits before him bare faced, wearing his dress shirt and her soft naked legs wrapped around him, knees sinking into the mattress. He knows the look in her eyes, innocebt yet fierce, and he’s not one to stop her. “What are you up to babe?” He can’t help but tease, because he loves the way her cheeks burn red and her eyes fart anywhere but to meet his. He smirks in content and reaches out to grab her waist and hold her in place when she’s ready to remove herself off him. He leans in closer his forehead meeting hers. “I didn’t say I didn’t like it” he watches her lips curl into a smile.

She leans in and kisses him softly. He’s gentle with her. Her dainty hands roam his muscular arms. As the kiss intensifies he’s find his hands under her knees hoisting her up. She pulls away and is pleased with the look of dissatisfaction from his face. “Patience Eth patience” she teases. He gulps letting his head rest back against the head board when she bites her lip.

Hesitantly her digits work through the buttons of his shirt she’s got on. He bring out his hands to the collar when she reaches the last one and swiftly he pulls down the shirt. She reveals to him lacey undergarment. He has to catch his breath, and he’s stunned. Pretty in pink she is. His eyes skin her over countless times filled with immense love and admiration for the girl he calls mine. They’re lips meet again, the shirt hanging at her elbows. Soon it’s on the ground and she emits sounds of pleasure as the rough fabric of his jeans rubs against the skin on her inner thighs.

She loves the way his lips feel against her neck. She loves the way he whispers sweet nothings into her ear. She loves the way blood rushes to her head every time he bites her lip. Eventually she’s beneath him allowing him to kiss every inch of exposed skin. She crumples the silk sheets within her own hands as his lips near her own lotus. One last kiss to her inner thigh and their eyes meet again. His hips gently push against her as is she’s glass. Her nails delicately scratch his back and he can’t help but love the way her mouth emits mellifluous sounds. With ease he boosts her up, his legs off the bed feet firmly on the ground and her legs wrapped around him. His bites the softest spot on her neck sending a wave of warmth through her.

“Ethan” she breathes out before he unclamps the lacey garment off her sternum. He pulls away from her neck. He examines her kiss swollen lips. Her burning cheeks and passion filled eyes.

He nods at her to encourage her to go on, his hands supporting her back. She gently hold his cheeks. “I don’t want to go back” she whispers. “I want to stay here with you forever” he smiles at her words.

“I can’t keep you here forever babe” he whispers back, gently placing a kiss to her lips. She hums in response searching for an answer she would like to hear.

“But I can take you away for a little while” and with that her back meets the mattress , their bodies mergee into one, silk feels like milk against the bare skins, and for a little while longer it’s just him and her. Her and him. The world doesn’t exist.

#dolan twins #dolan twins imagine #imagine #ethan dolan #ethan dolan imagine #imagines #dolan twins imagines #blurbs #ethan dolan blurb #ethan dolan imagines

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owlinaminor · 5 years ago

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if you're still taking prompts, can I request some taz wlw? canon, non-canon, amnesty, balance, romantic, platonic, whatever you're vibin with atm, the finale was a rough one for me and i love women being happy

thanks for the prompt, anon; I totally feel you, and I hope this helps—I ended up combining amnesty wlw and balance wlw for maximum power. also, spoilers for the amnesty finale, kinda.

“Aubrey.”

Aubrey sits up fast, all her limbs moving in tandem asthough pulled by invisible magnets. Sherubs at her eyes, adjusting: the soft light of dawn shifting the shadows betweenthe trees, the thick scent of resin and charcoal that hangs throughout theseplaces where the Quell had its strongest hold, the birds calling out to eachother to greet the morning. And Danileaning over her, eyes very wide and very blue.

“What’s up?” Aubrey asks, starting to unzip her sleepingbag. “Is something wrong?”

“No—I just—the opposite,” Dani replies. She sounds breathless, as though she’d justbeen running.

“Okay, so—something’s right?” Aubrey fumbles with the end of the zipper thenstarts to swing her legs out. But Daniputs a hand on her chest and lightly pushes her back down, then sits on theedge of the fabric.

Aubrey takes her hand—her palm is cool, like the morning dew. “Seriously, what’s up?” she asks. “You’re making me nervous.”

“They’re back,” Dani says. “I got to the part in the finale. I thought they were gone, I cried for an hour, and you just let me,you let me believe they were gone, but they aren’t, they’re backand it’s so beautiful Aubrey I’m about to start crying again—”

Her grip on Aubrey’s hand is tightening as she talks, hervoice getting faster like an engine revving up—and then she does startcrying, lifting her other hand up to her face to cover the sobs.

“It’s so beautiful,” she says again. “It’s so beautiful.”

Aubrey uses their joint hands to pull Dani closer, closeenough to press their chests together, Aubrey’s ratty MCR T-shirt against Dani’shomemade Amnesty Lodge sweatshirt, Aubrey’s other hand coming up to rub circlesinto Dani’s back. Aubrey could use atleast one more hour, full sunlight, and two cups of coffee to figure this out—actually,make that three, there’s no way to brew real coffee out here so they have tomake do with an electric tea kettle and some instant bullshit that tastes likecaffeinated pondwater. But Aubrey doesn’thave any of those things, not even the caffeinated pondwater. She only has Dani, shaking softly and sayingsomething like, “You’re safe now, we’re all safe now, we’re all safe now”—

Wait a second.

“Dani,” Aubrey says. She takes Dani’s shoulders in her hands and pushes her gently out,enough that she can see Dani’s face. Herhair is falling out of her ponytail, blonde curls shining faintly in thegrowing sunlight, and her eyes are red-rimmed from crying and her lips arechapped from weeks in the woods, and still Aubrey forgets her train of thoughtfor a second, because this is the most beautiful girl she’s ever seen and sheneeds to remember this so that she can write it down later.

And then she remembers that this beautiful girl is literallyher girlfriend, they travel the world together doing heroic shit,and she pushes forward.

“Dani,” Aubrey says. “Wereyou, by any chance, listening to part two of Story and Song, the finale of The AdventureZone: Balance?”

Dani nods, and when she lifts her head she’s smiling. “Yeah,” she replies. “I thought that was obvious.”

“Alright, alright, I’m sorry.” Aubrey presses her face into Dani’s shoulderto hide how it’s starting to go red. “Itis obvious, it’s totally obvious, I had the exact same reaction when I heardit. Not only are Sloane and Hurley notdead, they’re fucking kickass dryads that save Merle’sdaughter from the Hunger? It’s like,fucking Griffin McElroy heard everyone yelling at him for burying the gays and—”

“And unburied them!” Dani says. “I know! And now they’re like, deliberately placed in the narrative as rolemodels, and protectors of their city, and—”

“I know.” Aubrey sits back up, embarrassment fading, to look at Dani better. Her eyes are still red, but she’s smiling now—andthen sun might as well go back to sleep for the rest of the day, because thisis all the energy Aubrey—no, Sylvain—no, fuck it, the entire universeneeds.

“You gotta keep listening though, babe,” Aubrey tellsher. “It keeps getting better.”

“How can it get better than Sloane and Hurley returningfrom the dead—”

“Trust me. You dotrust me, right?”

“What a stupid question. And yeah, come on, we can listen together while we get breakfast going.” Dani untangles herself and stands, thenoffers a hand to Aubrey. Maybe it’s becausethe morning is coming on, or it’s because she’s been leeching heat from Aubrey,but her palm is warmer now. A tiny fire,or the reflection of Aubrey’s.

She pulls Aubrey up, and then Aubrey pulls her close—they needto get breakfast going, and they need to finish listening to this fucking Dungeonsand Dragons podcast, and they need to bring life back to Sylvain, yeah, okay,but first: Aubrey needs to kiss Dani, soft, under the trees. Just to celebrate that they’re both here,both in these bodies with all their bones and arteries. Both breathing.

according to my gf (who has been a taz listener from the beginning), the balance fandom on ao3 started out as a bunch of wlw who were really into sloane/hurley?!! what a beautiful time. also, don’t ask me how dani is listening to balance in the middle of the sylvain wilderness, it literally doesn’t matter.

anyway: send me taz amnesty prompts! i will do a couple more in the next few days

#danbrey #aubrey little #taz dani #taz amnesty #sloane/hurley #taz amnesty fic #taz #fanfic #writing #betsy does amnesty prompts #amnesty finale spoilers #taz amnesty spoilers #dani's reaction was basically my reaction i can't lie #Anonymous

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ask-the-clergy-bc · 5 years ago

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What would be some character flaws that the Ghouls have? (And I'm not talking about Dew/Ember eating soap) I mean like real things that they really should work to be better people/Ghouls.

I totally forgot there was a thing about Ember eating soap! XDXD Don’t worry none of that here.

Sit down lovelies, we are going into GHOUL PSYCHOLOGY AND CHARACTER STUDIES!! Era IV style!!

Ember: You might think it’s his aggressiveness or temper. But it’s not that simple, nor straightforward. Typically, that type of demeanor is common for fire ghouls and very natural. Not so much a flaw for them. Ember’s actual problem is how he uses his anger or volatile emotions to cope. Aka, instead of actually dealing with his problems he gets angry or wildly upset. Ember isn’t used to being in a situation like he is on Earth. He’s not used to forming all of these relationships so quickly, being worked so hard, AND having to show up to a standard set by humans. It;s a lot for one human to take in, let alone a ghoul. So to have a wide variety of emotions so suddenly, and so much STRESS? Ember can;t help but react by lashing out. It’s easier for him than to just sit and process how he feels. It’s a defense mechanism.

Nimbus: A huge character flaw comes form how, even though she is friendly, she doesn’t take a lot of the humans or situation as seriously as she should. Nimbus finds humans very quaint and funny. Nothing like ghouls, nor does she think they could amount to being as strong as her own kind. This causes her to underestimate her situation. As far as she’s concerned, this is all just fun and games. Yes, she’s bound but not forever. She tends to underestimate humans like Imperator and Copia. Hell, Nimbus sometimes does the same to other band ghouls! Even though she has a motherly vibe, she kind of brushes off a lot of her kin. Or sometimes even speaks down to them, not taking their concerns seriously. She has a habit of making someone feel stupid and talk down to them like a child that needs explanation. Nimbus can be a little too confident and cocky that things CAN’T go wrong.

Gale: Despite her amazing chemistry on stage with her fellows, this taller ghoulette is actually very guarded and over protective. She has a lot of trouble letting herself be vulnerable- both emotionally and PHYSICALLY. Gale is always fine performing, where no one can touch her and she can be herself. But off stage? Completely different ghoulette. It’s easier for Gale to close herself off to outsiders NOT part of her social circle or band group. She doesn’t like to open up, nor does she trust others easily. IT took a LOT for her to work well as a band… it’s one of the reasons they had to get a second air ghoulette. To a lot of siblings she is quiet, stand offish, and curt. Deep down she is afraid of getting hurt or taken advantage of. Or even worse, making ties only for them to be severed.

Aether: Aether is a very generous and giving ghoul. Aether tribes tend to be the healers and the guardians of others. But Aether gets so wrapped up in helping others, and being everyone’s friend and guardian- that he forgets to take care of himself. He often has huge burn outs that only get worse because he refuses to take breaks. He’s CONSTANTLY is pushing himself both physically and emotionally. Aether wants to please so bad, especially now that he is stuck on earth for longer than anticipated. Even when he burns out he’s STILL GOING. But it makes him feel like he let’s others down if he rests. Aether cares very deeply, and his emotional bonds are super important to him (it’s all he has left since he was summoned from home.)

Rain: Rain is far too passive in the eyes of many. Don’t take him for granted- he’s still a ghoul and can tear ANYONE to shreds. But he absolutely hates conflict- even amongst other ghouls. So much so that he rather be bossed around than have a fight. Rain is happy to be a ‘yes’ man, so to speak. He freezes up during any sort of conflict and wants to immediately run from it. Even at the cost of his own peace of mind or well being. For instance he never WANTED to be a band ghoul… but he didn’t know how to say no. (He was glad he didn’t in the end!) Rain just has trouble standing up for himself outside of extreme circumstances. It’s a reason why he’s so pushed around by the Clergy and even other ghouls.

Mountain: Even though he doesn’t find it a problem, many have accused Mountain of being far too stoic or unemotional. Which, he thinks, is not true. He has a lot of emotion and love for his peers… he just doesn’t show it. Mountain doesn’t emote very easily, and it comes off as very cold or uninterested. And for a lot of things? He is uninterested. Mountain has never been one to relate to people when it comes to small things in life. He doesn’t understand small things that matter to so many people; like appearances, how others think of you, or even fitting in. He’s always been happy to be alone. Nor does he easily show how excited or happy he is. This has put off a lot of people who think he is being unfriendly. Mountain just thinks there is a time and a place for these things. He IS capable of looking excited, but he doesn’t see a point.

Swiss: Swiss can be incredibly fickle (especially with relationships or commitments). He’s self aware of it, but he tries to just ignore it. Deep down, he doesn’t mean to be so shallow or just chasing a good time. But it’s how he works through things. For Swiss, it’s a lot easier to just have fun and not take anything seriously. You can’t get hurt if you don’t take it to heart in the first place! Ever since being summoned, it’s hard for him to hold something down. I think on a certain level he is ALWAYS afraid something will be taken from hi,. So for this ghoul, if you just go with the flow, have fun, and not take it to heart you are a-ok! But it doesn’t always work like that. He needs to learn to face his problems and buckle down. Swiss knows he has to… but he won’t. Not until he really bites him in the tail.

#the band ghost #ghost bc #Ghost headcanon #Nameless Ghouls #Era IV #aether #swiss #ember #gale #nimbus #ghoulettes #mountain #rain

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artificialqueens · 5 years ago

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intents wicked or charitable (trixya) 10/10 - beanierose

AN: I have been enormously lucky since joining this fandom because I’ve gotten to meet a lot of really amazing people. In particular connyhascontrol, JoanneElizabeth and mattepinkallshades. You ladies have supported me from the very beginning and I’m so grateful, thank you.

And stutter. I will never, ever be able to thank you enough for everything you do for me. Thank you for looking over this story a thousand times, talking me down from a hundred crises, and holding my hand through all of it. I couldn’t ask for a better soulmate. I love you.

(read on ao3) | (find me at katiehoughton)

[one.] [two.] [three.] [four.] [five.] [six.] [seven.] [eight.] [nine.]

a practical magic au for the spooky season. there’s a curse on any man who dares love you? love a woman, instead. | 5,281 words

The world outside is sleepy and pink-hued and Trixie wrinkles her nose, refuses to open her eyes to it just yet. There’s a weight on her chest and between her legs, one long length that’s squirming. Tiny, insistent kisses litter her jaw and neck and then teeth scrape. Trixie, stung with pleasure, sucks in a sharp breath and opens her eyes to Katya’s face hovering over her.

“I love you and good morning,” Katya says, and nudges her nose against Trixie’s. “What did you dream about?”

Trixie huffs a little noise and brings her hand up. It’s not warm in the bedroom even with the two quilts and with Katya laying on top of her. When she cups Katya’s cheek the cold of the ring makes her let out a little yelp.

She wears it on her middle finger, because Jinkx very seriously informed them both that the middle finger is associated with Saturn, and therefore represents eternity and wisdom. Trixie’s not sure she believes that, but she loves Katya’s aunts and she likes the idea of eschewing hetero tradition.

They aren’t married — they can’t get married — but Trixie wears a gold band with a tiny black tourmaline set into it, and Katya has a sigil tattooed onto her own middle finger because rings make her itchy.

“I dreamed some rotted ghoul woke me up for no good reason,” Trixie says, but she lifts her chin and Katya comes in close, kisses her softly. “Good morning. I love you, too.”

Katya has her elbows either side of Trixie’s head, but she’s letting most of her weight rest on Trixie’s chest. She likes it, will often wrap her arms around Katya on the couch and tug until she drapes herself over Trixie.

“Happy anniversary, baby,” Katya says softly. “Our first one. Our last one.”

She’s got that concerned little crease between her brows again. Trixie works her knuckle into the meat of Katya’s forehead until she laughs and snaps her teeth. For long, lazy, indulgent moments they kiss and kiss. Katya tastes like herbal tea and it makes Trixie aware of her morning mouth. She refuses the invitation of Katya’s tongue at the seam of her lips, turns her head instead so Katya will kiss her cheek.

Katya’s fingers are inside of Trixie’s sweatshirt and travelling upwards, warm and careful. Trixie arches into her and winds one arm around Katya’s neck, tosses her head back against the pillows.

“Babe, you know Dela said we don’t need to worry,” Trixie gets out. Katya has one arm hooked beneath her leg to encourage her knee up towards her chest. She feels split open, sticky and aching. “It’s- oh. It’s gonna be fine. It’s not our last anniversary. You’re being dramatic.”

“Am I dramatic, or am I right?” Katya says. She’s working on Trixie’s underwear, taps her hip with two fingers so she’ll lift up and help her get them off.

They land on the floor with an embarrassing wet thwack when Katya tosses them behind herself over her shoulder. She starts sliding down the bed then, rucking up the quilt as she goes as if she’s tugged on a loose thread and made the whole thing pucker. Trixie lets her knees fall apart and then closes them around Katya’s ears.

“Did you- oh, my God, Katya.” Trixie fists both hands in Katya’s hair and tugs so that she lifts up a little bit, grins at Trixie. Her face is shiny even in the pink light of the morning. “Is everybody fed?”

“Everyone’s fed, everyone’s fine. Let me celebrate.”

Trixie has no interest in arguing that.

Afterwards, Trixie lazes with Katya’s fingertips resting against her lips. In the last year she’s gotten more tattoos, ones she doesn’t have to hide beneath her sleeves. Trixie opens her mouth in invitation and Katya pushes two fingers inside. She has a snake on her index and Trixie touches her tongue to it.

When she bites down Katya gasps and wrenches her hand free. “Brat.”

“Are you really scared?”

Trixie has a hypothesis that Katya only monologues about the imminent end of the world because she likes when Trixie shuts her up. She reaches over Trixie to the floor for her t-shirt and pulls it back on, lets it sit crooked so the ball of her shoulder is exposed. Katya leans back against the headboard and drops her hand to the top of Trixie’s head, pets her absentmindedly like she does Dolly.

“I absolutely am,” Katya says very seriously. “Trixie, no more automation. No more computers.”

“You hate the computer.”

Trixie gets up, all the way out of bed to collect her robe from the back of the door. She knots it at her waist and turns away, heads for the hall. A moment later Katya comes thundering along after her, bare feet slapping on the hardwood. Getting down the stairs is difficult, because Katya has both arms around Trixie’s shoulders from behind and she’s chattering in her ear about the catastrophic ramifications of the new millennium. At the bottom she trips on the pile of their mingling, discarded shoes and has to catch herself against the banister.

The dog rouses herself from her blissed-out heap on the couch and pads over, butts her head against Trixie’s thigh. Trixie stoops to kiss her good morning and stroke her silky ears. When she straightens Katya is waiting for her in the doorway to the kitchen, pointing a spatula at her.

“I didn’t make you a romantic breakfast because I know you think me cooking is a criminal offense.” She circles the spatula in the air a couple of times, and when Trixie reaches her she stretches on tiptoe to tap the top of Trixie’s head with it. “But know that the intention was sure there. It’s the thought that counts, right baby?”

Trixie snorts a laugh and takes the spatula from her before she can be assaulted with it any further. She makes eggs, because it’s easy and fast and requires minimal concentration. She can allow herself to be distracted. Katya’s hands are on her the whole time she’s cooking, stealing kisses and sifting her fingers through Trixie’s hair.

She still feels a bit quivery, like her skin is charged, but they have things to do today. They have a lot to do today. It’s a cold morning but they eat on the porch, looking out at the water and listening to Cash and Guthrie bleat in the barn. Trixie has a blanket around her shoulders and Katya’s warm feet in her lap.

All summer they’ve been out here. Trixie has loved padding out in her bare feet to the grass sticky with dew and the fresh, cool air. She loves it still in the fall, these last few days where it’s been just on the right side of too cold to sit out in the mornings. Katya does yoga on her mat in the grass and then comes sweaty and gross all the way into Trixie’s lap most days.

“Remember there’s both containers for later, babe,” Trixie says. Katya mops up the last of her breakfast with a corner of toast and chews it happily, her face crinkled with pleasure. “Do you want me to run you down in the car?”

Katya flexes her biceps and does a little half-turn in her chair to let Trixie see them both. She’s goofing off, but it still makes Trixie’s mouth dry. “I can carry them. Don’t you want to see me carry them?”

Rather than admit how much she does want that, Trixie gets up from her chair and collects their plates and glasses to bring inside. Dolly stays out with Katya, even though Trixie is her best hope for scraps. A year in, some of the jealousy is abating. Trixie likes to see them, one dark head and one blonde bent together.

Once the dishes are done, she has to go and collect Katya from the backyard. It made sense to sell the farm: Katya’s house is closer to Verbena, and bigger, and has been in her family for generations. Dela officiated their rites at the end of the spring, and instead of a honeymoon they built a paddock and a coop for the chickens and moved everybody in.

Every once in a while, Trixie misses the view from the kitchen window at the farmhouse. She misses standing at the sink and looking out at Katya with a chicken balanced on her shoulder and another in her arms. But at nighttime now, she gets to sit on the little bench at the end of their garden with Katya’s arm around her shoulder and listen to the susurration of the cove and the hum of the cicadas.

“We’re gonna be late to open,” Trixie says, and fists both hands in the bottom of Katya’s sweater to haul her back against her chest.

She goes easily, willingly, turning as she does so she can loop her arms around Trixie’s neck. The morning feels crisp and shiny and golden and Katya is warm in her grip, her mouth open and teasing.

“That’s the whole point of owning our business, baby. We can be late to open. We can be so late that we’re early for tomorrow.”

“That doesn’t- mmf,” Trixie kisses back, of course, always does. She dreams sometimes still about the week she didn’t have Katya, and she’s glad for it. It means she never forgets to be grateful now. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

Trixie untangles herself from Katya and starts towards the house again, hears Katya and Dolly both come bounding after her. They’ve talked some about getting another dog, now that Dolly is at home by herself so much of the day. It’s one of the conversations they have that to Trixie is planning for the future and to Katya exists entirely in the abstract.

The gold band of her ring is beginning to heat up now and Trixie worries at it with her thumb. She likes to feel it there, and she likes even more how Katya will take her hand in the evenings and stroke along her fingers while they watch a movie.

Trixie drives the two of them down into the town and parallel parks outside of Verbena. In the passenger seat, Katya is cradling two Tupperware containers in her lap. Trixie was up late into the night decorating cookies in the shapes of ghosts and pumpkins for Katya to take to the kids this morning. She kisses her goodbye at the door and heads off down the street in the direction of the elementary school.

Violet is waiting for them, leaning back against the storefront with one foot flat against the wall so her knee is bent. When they opened the cafe it had been Katya’s idea to try and poach Violet. She had jumped at the chance, with as much enthusiasm as Violet ever shows, so the arch of one brow and a muttered sure, whatever.

“Hey, sorry we’re a little late.” Trixie gets the door unlocked and holds it open for Violet to come inside as well.

“Anniversary, right? I’m surprised you like, made it in at all.” At Trixie’s raised eyebrow, Violet shrugs. “Your wife has been telling me all week how excited she is for today.”

Trixie elbows the row of switches to flip the lights on and washes her hands, starts pulling things out of the refrigerator to prep. In the mornings most of the people who work in town come in for coffee and sometimes a pastry, and Trixie’s comfortable letting Violet handle that.

It had taken until the middle of January for Trixie to get restless. She didn’t miss Los Angeles or the restaurant, but she did miss feeding people and keeping her hands busy. Turning Verbena into a cafe had been Katya’s idea, and it had taken eight months of work to get all of their permits and the renovations completed. They opened officially last month.

They’ve been open for an hour and a half when Katya comes back, empty Tupperware in hand and her cheeks pink with pleasure. On her way behind the counter she ensnares Violet in a brief, tight hug that makes her mutter under her breath. Katya comes in to the kitchen and kisses Trixie’s cheek, hoists herself up to sit on the vacant prep counter.

“Honey, those cookies. They kept asking me if I’d magicked them. Wanted to know if they had newt brains and eel eyes in them. I said no magic, you’re just that good at cooking.”

“It’s baking, not cooking. Get your ass off my counter,” Trixie says. When she looks up from the tomato she’s slicing Katya is staring at her, slack-jawed, and the arrhythmic drum of her heels against the counter has stopped. “What? What?”

Katya shakes her head and a grin spreads slow and wide across her face. “I love you.”

“Okaaay,” Trixie says slowly.

Katya hops down from the counter and takes the knife out of Trixie’s hand. She circles her arms at Trixie’s waist and leans back to see her. “That was the last thing. That’s what I manifested. The person I love will have magic too.”

“I thought you said I already showed everything you wished for.”

From the moment Katya had mentioned wishing for qualities, Trixie had been unable to ignore the itch beneath the surface of her skin. She wanted to know. Of course she wanted to know. After they had settled into their life, after Katya had stopped waking up in the middle of the night screaming and clutching at Trixie like she was unspooling in her hands, she’d gotten up the courage to ask.

Katya had fed them to her piecemeal over the course of several days, rewarding Trixie after dinner or with her legs over Trixie’s shoulders or, one time, waking her up at three in the morning just to whisper it to her.

“I thought six out of seven wasn’t bad,” Katya grins, and leans in to kiss Trixie properly. She very nearly hoists her up onto the counter, but they have only about an hour until the first lunch orders start coming in and there really isn’t time to disinfect her surfaces again. “But here you are. You really are my dream girl.”

That makes Trixie scream out a laugh, loud enough that Violet pokes her head through the serving hatch with a hand over her eyes and says “you two had better not be naked back here.”

“We’re not, we’re not,” Trixie says, circling her fingers at Katya’s wrist to tug her hand out of the back of her pants. Violet eyes them both for a long, uncomfortable moment but says nothing and disappears out to the front again.

Trixie takes a step back from Katya and presses the flat of her hand to her shoulder so she can’t close that distance again. “We had a handfasting ceremony.”

“Yep.”

“Your aunts were there.”

“Mm-hmm,” Katya grins. She steals a slice of tomato from Trixie’s cutting board and seems to remember that she hates tomatoes half a second after it’s in her mouth. Trixie watches her chew it with her face all scrunched up and she offers her a hand to spit it out into. She doesn’t, she swallows it, and a shiver of revulsion goes through her.

“You’re just now deciding I’m right for you?”

Katya threads her fingers through Trixie’s at her shoulder and lifts her hand to her mouth, kisses the heel of her palm. When she lets go, Trixie leaves her hand cradling Katya’s cheek. Katya’s eyes flutter closed and she hums a contented little noise.

“I decided you were right for me the second I saw you,” she murmurs. “But it’s nice to have it confirmed.”

“Will you tell me again?” Trixie asks. She remembers, is certain she’ll remember for as long as she lives, but she likes to hear Katya say it all the same.

Katya counts each one out on her fingers. “They will have two shadows, cheeks like roses, hearts for freckles.”

Their first night together, Katya discovered the one freckle shaped like a heart on the back of Trixie’s shoulder. She’s been obsessed with it ever since. One of her favourite ways to wake Trixie in the morning is to tug the quilt down and kiss her there, linger until Trixie opens her eyes and rolls over to kiss her properly.

“They’ll be very brave. They’ll be from a far away land.” That makes Trixie snort a laugh. Wisconsin is pretty far, but Katya makes it sound like she was off battling dragons before they met. “They can turn invisible. And they can do magic, too.”

“I still don’t think me being a recluse counts as turning invisible.” Trixie tilts her head. “You’re so specific. I just wanted somebody warm and kind.”

Katya laughs and wraps her arms around Trixie in a hug. She hides her face against the side of Trixie’s neck and rocks the two of them back and forth. The bell over the door jangles and Trixie hears Violet greet the customer, has to untangle herself from her wife.

It’s not like anybody minds. People know that they live together, that they own the cafe together. People still come up to Katya in the street to thank her. Every time it makes the tips of her ears turn pink and she clings tight to Trixie’s hand. Still, Trixie likes to try and be professional when they’re at work.

Their afternoons tend to pass quickly. Trixie stays in the kitchen, Violet out front, and Katya drifts back and forth to be useful wherever she’s needed most. They still sell a lot of her products from when Verbena was an apothecary, so from time to time she will allow herself to be completely distracted by an inquisitive customer and spend a half hour with them running through the entire itinerary. Mostly though she helps Violet make coffee and toast sandwiches in the press.

After the lunch rush is over they let Violet go home. She’s going to a party in the city tonight and it’s a couple hours’ drive even before she has to get into her costume. As always she is surly and aloof, but she lets them both hug her and she lets Katya kiss both of her cheeks as well.

“C'mere baby,” Katya says when the door is closed behind Violet.

She holds out her arms and Trixie steps into them, winds her own around Katya’s little waist. They kiss lazily for a while. Katya’s hands are in Trixie’s hair; most nights when she combs it out before bed she finds she has a matted patch at the base of her skull from Katya’s fingers.

They have to break apart when the bell over the door goes. Trixie pats at her mouth with the back of her hand, tucks her hair behind her ears. It’s Peter, dropping in as he does two or three times a week to ask if they need anything. He sent Katya a gift basket on her birthday, filled with fruits that she wrinkled her nose at but Trixie got to enjoy over the next week or so.

“I think we’re all good for right now, hon,” Katya says. She’s still got one hand in Trixie’s back pocket and she squeezes. Trixie is maybe a little more proud than she should be that she doesn’t move, doesn’t make a sound.

“Cool,” Peter says. “I’ll see you tonight?”

Katya grins widely and darts a small glance at Trixie like she thinks she ought to check. “You surely will.”

For the last hour the kitchen is closed and Trixie gets to hang out behind the counter with the love of her life. They don’t both work every single day, sometimes one or the other of them will take a day off and every now and then they’ll close so they can spend the day together. Most days though, she’s here nourishing the town and watching people come in to the cafe just to say hello to Katya.

It’s quieter toward the end of the day, so Trixie gets to hear all about Katya’s morning. Once a month she goes into the elementary school to teach a nature class to the first and second graders. They are all head over heels for her. Every time they’re out they seem to bump into at least one of her kids and Katya will always crouch down in the middle of the sidewalk to be eye level with them.

She’s so patient and kind; she listens so intently. It makes Trixie’s chest hurt. Neither of them are sure if that’s ever going to be in the picture for them. At the end of June, they went into the city for Pride. Katya had been jittery for several days before, and on the morning of the parade she recited an incantation for them both invoking protection and safety. Next spring, there’s suggestion of a march on Washington for the new millennium. Katya’s not usually a planner, but she’s already talking about closing the cafe for a few days and heading across the country to be there.

Trixie sends Katya home ahead of her. She’s not all that helpful when it comes to the cleaning and organising that needs to be done at the end of the day. As it’s started to get dark she’s gotten more and more anxious, so the walk will do her some good. Trixie leaves the cafe pristine and spotless as she always does and makes the short drive back to the house.

“Babe? Do you want a quick dinner?”

Katya appears at the top of the staircase already in the tight pants and white blouse she’s had hanging on the back of the door all week. Her hair is spilling out all over her head in wild curls that look like she’s used an entire thing of hairspray.

“No. I need you to come and kiss me before I do my makeup.” She leans over the bannister to look down. “Come kiss me, Trixie. Now!”

Trixie laughs and hurries to get out of her shoes and coat. Dolly is hopping excitedly around her ankles and she follows Trixie up the stairs in a sleek, dark blur. At the top Katya grabs for Trixie and backs her up against the wall, pins her hands either side of her head. Their kiss is wet and deep and Trixie arches against Katya. She slides her knee between Trixie’s legs and Trixie ruts against her thigh. She tries to touch Katya’s hair and her fingers come away sticky, make her breathe a little noise of distress into Katya’s mouth.

She lets her hands fall down instead and splay wide at Katya’s ass. When these pants came in the mail Trixie had pestered her to try them on all day and when she had, Trixie had collapsed dramatically backwards against their pillows in a paroxysm of joy and fanned herself until Katya came to straddle her.

“You’re so fucking sexy,” she says against the side of Katya’s jaw. “It’s really not okay. You’re a teacher.”

That makes Katya scream a laugh and separate from her, shaking her fists. She disappears into the bathroom again and Trixie follows her in there to get started on her own makeup. It takes her a while, because it’s been a long time since she’s really worn any. She has to get in close to the mirror and she can see Katya from the corner of her eye giggling at her concentration face.

Katya splashed out for the good fangs, the individual ones that cap her incisors instead of the plastic strip ones they found at the party store. They have plans to use them after tonight, so Trixie insisted it made sense to get the good ones. She’s done a red and burgundy eye and her mouth is the same vivid jewel tone. Trixie keeps messing up the little crescent moon she’s trying to draw onto her forehead every time she looks at Katya.

“This is really so stupid, you know that?” Katya hoists herself up to sit on the bathroom countertop and poke Trixie with her toes. “This might be the dumbest thing we’ve ever done.”

“It’s ironic.” Trixie finishes the last of the little black dots she’s put carefully around her eyes and between her brows.

Her own clothes are hanging in the closet in the guest room. She’s borrowing robes from Dela and boots from Jinkx and topping everything off with a cheap velour hat they picked up from the party store.

Tonight, Trixie is the witch.

They’ve been planning it for a few weeks. It isn’t necessarily the kind of event that necessitates a costume, but they won’t be the only ones dressed up. Trixie feels good, powerful and sexy. She isn’t ready to examine the effect the blood dripping from Katya’s mouth is having on her.

“I’m so excited!” Katya says again. She’s told Trixie about a hundred times on their walk down to the bonfire. Trixie’s got Dolly’s leash in one hand and she’s holding tight to Katya with the other like she’s a little kid who might bolt at any moment. The dog is wearing an orange sweater with a pumpkin on it that Katya knitted for her and she wriggled with pleasure and licked both of their faces when they first put it on her.

Their clasped hands swing between them as they walk. As always, Katya is absurdly warm on Trixie’s left side. The air feels crisp and charged tonight and they can hear the noise from the town before they see anything. The moon overhead is round and enormous, peering down at them.

“Remember last year?” Katya says, and tugs on Trixie’s hand to stop her.

They’re almost at the field where the bonfire is set up, and there are a few families making their way along the sidewalk close to them, but it’s dark enough that it’s somewhat private. “I remember.”

“You came to my door in that absurdly huge pink sweater and I wanted to kiss you so bad. I wanted you so much, all the time, but that night-” Katya shakes her head. “You were so goddamn cute. And you held my hand.”

Trixie kisses her cheek, right at the corner of her mouth. They’re safe, they’re lucky, but she still doesn’t always feel okay kissing Katya out in the open. “Can’t believe you let me yell at a bunch of kids for you.”

“Uhm-” Katya starts, her voice pitched up in indignation. Trixie lifts their clasped hands to her mouth and kisses Katya’s knuckles, to apologise and to shut her up.

“Come on. They’re waiting for you.”

The bonfire is usually lit by whichever hyper-macho dad needs to wield the matches and soothe his ego, but this year they’ve asked Katya to do it. A crowd has formed all around the perimeter of the bonfire and a hush descends as Katya walks up to it. Trixie stays close by, keeping Dolly at her side with a short grip on the leash.

Katya holds both of her hands out and closes her eyes. By now, Trixie must have watched her do this hundreds of times. She always likes to make a show of lighting the fire in the hearth when they come home for the night, sometimes gesturing vaguely at it from across the room without even looking. One time she lit it from upstairs and startled Trixie, alone in the living room, so badly that she screamed out loud.

Just like last year, everyone is watching her. Trixie spots a few of the kids from Katya’s class having to be restrained by parents so they don’t charge at her. Katya’s murmuring something very softly to herself and then she gestures upwards suddenly and flames burst into life with a noise like a gunshot. The crowd erupts with cheers and scattered applause and Katya turns to find Trixie in the crowd. Her mouth is wide open with joy and it comes spilling out of her as she manoeuvres her way to Trixie’s side.

“Did you need to do all that incantation stuff?”

“Not at all,” she laughs. “Just wanted to put on a show. Come on baby, I owe you a powdered donut.”

Their progress over to the food stands is slow, because people keep stopping them to compliment their outfits or ask after the cafe or thank Katya for whatever little kindness she’s shown them lately. The air is already thick with the smell of woodsmoke and barbecue and Trixie feels woozy with pleasure, is grateful for Katya’s arm hooked through hers.

“Miss Zamo! Miss Zamo!”

A tiny voice stops them both in their tracks and they turn to see a little girl with dark hair hopping excitedly up and down on the spot. Dolly strains towards her and Trixie grips the leash a little tighter. She trusts Dolly completely; she doesn’t always trust little kids with her. Katya has crouched down to face the girl.

“Hi, Jessie. Happy Halloween, sweetie.”

“Look!” Jessie holds the tattered skirt of her dress in her hands and spreads it out away from herself, does a little curtsey. She’s wearing a crooked hat that matches Trixie’s pretty closely, and now that she’s looking properly Trixie sees that her face is green. “I’m you. I’m a witch!”

Katya laughs loudly and gives Jessie a high five. Her mother is catching up to them now, a bit out of breath, and she rests a hand at the top of her daughter’s shoulder. They chat for a little bit and Trixie wanders away. She’s content in the knowledge that Katya will come find her when she’s done.

Sure enough, two thin arms come around Trixie’s waist from behind while she’s in line at the donut stand. Katya’s lifted up on tiptoe — Trixie can feel how she lets her weight rest against her back — and she kisses the soft skin right in front of Trixie’s ear.

“Should we have a kid?” she says quietly. “No, probably not, right? Right?”

Trixie turns around to see her and accepts the whole length of her into a hug when she drops back to flat feet. Some of the ghoulish white foundation she caked on earlier is starting to come away at her jaw and around her nose and Trixie likes to see her pink skin peeking through.

“That would be super difficult for us,” Trixie says. The line is moving and she lets Katya nudge her backwards, trusts her not to crash them into anything. “I don’t know if we could do that.”

Katya tilts her head in consideration of that. At their feet, Dolly has given up waiting and lays down on the ground, rests her long head against her front paws. She makes a little braying noise of irritation and they both laugh. Katya cradles Trixie’s face in her hands. They’re so hot; later Trixie will ask Katya to warm her up and get to feel heat travelling all the way into her toes.

“I like our life,” Katya says, so sincerely that Trixie bursts into a fit of giggles she feels in the centre of her chest. “What? Don’t laugh at me.”

Trixie manages to stop laughing and leans in to kiss Katya’s cheek. “Sorry, babe. I’m not laughing at you. I like our life, too.”

The line starts moving again and Katya glances over Trixie’s shoulder, tips her head to gesture for her to step forward.

“We’re next, honey.”

#rpdr fanfiction #trixie mattel #katya zamolodchikova #trixya #magical realism #tenderness #isolation #slow burn kind of #iwoc #beanierose #complete #lesbian au

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