#(this is largely jest I am not terribly pressed)

[revvethasmythh]

actually the reason I like Gale is because I can be sarcastic to him and he plays along with my bits (see: nymph convo). Simultaneously, the reason I never talk to Astarion is because I can be sarcastic to him and he always tries to one-up my bits

[hieroslee]

Mika x Freminet

A/N: My second work to be posted on here ever. Constructive criticism is welcome, I hope you enjoy the story.

The geography of Fontaine is one that many cartographers would consider "impossible". Even the most renowned cartographer would have no choice but to concede to the watery terrain that overtakes the country.

After all, how could one possibly create a map when majority contains bodies of water, and barely any land to take mark of?

That is where our surveyor, Mika Schmidt comes to play.

He, as a front-line surveyor to the Knights of Favonius, has a long term dream to be an expert cartographer.

And what better way to prove his skills than to map a country considered impossible?

Sitting by the Marcotte Station, he lightly presses his graph onto the parchment, another piece underneath incase he makes a big enough to warrant a replacement.

He was tasked to create a map, one underwater and another above water. Whilst he had no clue what they would be used for, he had no qualms against it.

He did quite enjoy cartography after all.

"Hm… Marcotte Station's trail takes a 26° curve that leads over to the Fountain of Lucine… and then the Fountain of Lucine has 2 parallel 90° turns, one destroyed and another leading to…"

He pauses, looking up from his map to check around once he realized he was mumbling. Fortunately, only an old man was nearby, and he seemed to be quite amused.

"Oh- I- I'm sorry Sir. I hope I didn't disturb you." Mika stutters out, feeling flustered at possibly disturbing this man, who seemed to enjoy his time by the pond.

The old man huffed. "Please! It's no bother young man. Say, you're making a map, yes?"

He perks up. "Yes, indeed I am! I was tasked to map out the area and survey Fontaine for a while."

The old man sighs, before chuckling in amusement. "You're quite bold, young man. Fontaine is quite hard to map out after all, with the large bodies of water that takes up majority of your map."

Mika only grins shakily, eyebrows furrowed as a shaky breathe escapes his lungs. "Well… I do think that venturing deep into the water would be- terrible if trying to sketch out a map. But it's necessary. No matter how hard it is, just putting a bit of effort would allow you to at the very least get the general locations that may be of import." Mika explains.

"And- quite honestly I'm terrified of the ocean. I don't think I could continue swimming and diving for hours without going back up to the surface no matter how easy it may be for me to breathe underwater. But I'm also the surveyor so I should at the very least understand the locations we deal with as a team."

"It would be terrible of me to just- neglect my duty due to my fear of the deep and possibly put others in danger. They don't have my experience after all, and I know that they too wouldn't be able to handle the deep. Mondstadt never had such deep waters before so it's still new, but I'm sure I'll adapt!" he paused, before shrinking, catching himself.

"Sorry, was I rambling?"

The old man didn't stop his laugh, hand to his stomach as he wiped his tears. "You're a funny boy, but also a worry wart."

Mika smiles hesitantly, unsure if he were talking down to him or merely praising him.

"Well, you should get on with your map then, and be careful around the water." The old man warned.

"You can go ask one of the divers to join you underwater, though you should seal your parchment before diving anywhere. Wouldn't want your map to be ruined, do you?" The old man jested, to which Mika smiled in shyness and appreciation.

"Yes, thank you Sir! I'll do my best!"

(((♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡)))

Well.

He didn't… really do his best.

He had been taking a Fontaine Aircraft, finding it convenient when sketching out the general terrain shape before he adds any details…

When the aircraft suddenly started turning.

At first, he hadn't noticed, much too busy sketching the Beryl Region to notice the slow tipping of the ship.

Soon enough, he started to realize the tilted flooring.

"What the-?" He muttered in confusion, pulling away from the edge of the aircraft to look around the floor. He felt himself slowly slip, and so he unconsciously held onto a pole.

A large gust of wind suddenly came.

And the aircraft tipped over.

"Oh gosh-!" He yelped, hand gripping onto his items as he held onto one of the poles on the aircraft.

"No no no no no no no no no not now-!"

He tried his best to grip onto the metal pole, hoping that the aircraft would tilt back and this was just some false alarm.

Unfortunately, it didn't seem to be the case.

He slipped.

His eyes widened as he felt his body turn weightless, knowing that the height of the fall making the impact all the more painful.

He gasps right before he hits the water, map in hand as he feels himself submerged. His back ached, his ears popped, his eyes shut tightly as he threatened to get out.

Once in the water, his eyes opened, and his body was heavy. He couldn't help the panic that arose in his system when he felt himself sink deeper.

No no this can't be happening-! He thought, tears emitting his eyes as he tried to move his body.

But he was shocked and frozen due to the impact, not a single muscle cooperating with his body.

The fall had punched all the air out of his lungs, making him wheeze as he tries to breathe in.

To think that he would die, all because he dared to map a country of water.

He felt his vision start to blot, black dots fading in and our of his peripheral vision as his eyelids grew heavy.

"No- wait-!"

He couldn't do anything, body fully out of commission.

Before he fell unconscious, he caught sight of a person with a helmet. A diving helmet.

He couldn't help but reach out.

The person swam at him quickly, hand touching theirs right when he finally falls unconscious.

He couldn't help but wonder, ever so slightly.

Perhaps they wouldn't mind helping him map the underwater part of Fontaine?

♤♡♤♡♤♡♤♡♤♡♤♡♤♡♤

He chokes, coughing as his body lurches. Now sitting upright, he spits out and coughs out water, body shaking as he greedily breathes in the air he used to take for granted.

After an experience like that, no person would take breathing for granted again. He thought bitterly, tears running down his cheeks as he wipes his mouth clean.

His eyes turn back to the person who had saved him, seeing them in the helmet and casual clothes.

Do all Fontainian's wear such casual clothing while diving? He wondered, but quickly shoved this thought aside.

"I… I thank you." He stammers, voice wispy and hoarse as he shakily smiles at the other. "I… I didn't think anyone would be able to help me-"

The other only nods, awkwardly standing up as they fiddled with their hands.

Mika guessed they didn't quite like speaking, so he didn't bother, checking his messenger bag. He couldn't help but groan, regretful and disappointed. "I lost my graphite… and the map." He mutters.

"The map." He shook when he heard the voice, turning to helmet wearing person, who awkwardly fiddled with their pockets, before pulling out parchment covered in… is that slime condensate?

"I… I wrapped it in slime condesate. To keep it... dry-ish before it got thoroughly soaked." The person spoke, coughing before offering it over to Mika. He hesitantly takes it, opening the rather slimy parchment, only to see the writings intact and- barely wet.

He couldn't help the smile that appeared on his face, turning to the helmet person with a smile. "Thank you-! I had- I thought I'd have to remake it, all this progress… Gosh, i-" he stumbled, standing up really quickly.

"Thank you, truly! I- I'm Mika Schmidt. A front-line surveyor for the Knights of Favonius!" He puts out his hand, eagerly waiting for a handshake.

The other freezes but hesitantly shakes his hand. "I… I'm Freminet. Professional diver."

While Mika was quite a shy person… well, Freminet did save him after all. I'm sure he had all the rights to try and befriend his savior.

"If you weren't there, I would've passed on! Please, allow me to treat you or something. I owe you my life." Mika pleaded, much to thankful that this random person had not only saved his life, but had saved his hard work.

Freminet awkwardly waves his hand. "Its fine, really. You don't- need to treat me to anything." He awkwardly stutters out.

Mika hums, eyebrows furrowed before sighing. "Ok, but-! If… if its no bother. If you don't mind…" he hesitated.

He wished to ask Freminet questions about the sea terrain of Fontaine, since the other was a diver after all.

But then again, the other had already saved his life.

It seems Freminet noticed his hesitation and cleared his throat. "You… you can ask me questions." He awkwardly allowed, to which Mika beamed, a hint of embarrassment on his face as he grabbed his surprisingly-dry notepad from his not-so-dry bag.

"Thank you…! I promise I won't take much of your time."

(((♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡)))

Mika seemed to be going back on his word often today, as he had somehow roped Freminet into a conversation for about 3-4 hours. The previously bright and cloudy now dim and dreary.

"So you're saying there are waterproof mechs that currently circulate around Fontaine's water terrain?" Mika asked in astonishment, as Freminet nodded energetically.

"Indeed. It was placed there to survey and patrol the waters. Specifically to search out, repel, and exterminate any life forms that may threaten any of the underwater equipment."

Freminet shrugs. "Fortunately, there are quite few of them, usually only hanging around underwater sites and underwater shipwrecks. So there is no need to worry about accidentally encountering them."

Only now did Mika notice that Freminet hadn't taken off his helmet throughout the 3-4 hours they had conversed. But it was… quite far into the conversation already, it'd be rude to ask for him to take it off.

Instead, he writes the information down, a smile on his face as he thinks of what he's learnt.

"Fascinating. Its absolutely admirable that Fontaine deploys such helpful mechanisms. Yet then again, it's Fontaine. The country is quite known for its innovation after all. Though, it makes me wonder if the mechas run on any type of energy that's particular only to Fontaine? It'd be quite useful if Inazuma would be able to harness it, able to warn ships if they are to head into electro-infused waters-"

He continued rambling on, thoughts pacing through several opportunities that underwater mechanisms could possibly help in achieving.

All the while Freminet watches Mika with amusement and fondness in his eyes. He fiddled with his helmet, not even noticing the small smile that had appeared on his face since he was interrogated by this… curious surveyor.

He's quite a chatty one, isn't he? He thought to himself, chuckling quietly.

He had actually been quite panicked earlier, when he had noticed Mika fall from the aircraft and sink down into the water. He never even thought he could swim that fast, until the adrenaline kicked in.

Although, he felt guilty.

What would've happened if he hadn't gotten there in time?

What if he was just a few seconds too late?

What would've happened to Mika?

He shook his head, rattling the helmet as he did. It was no use to dwell on what could've happened. For now, he was… just glad he was able to save the surveyor.

"Oh, I'm sorry. Did I ramble too much again?" Mika's regretful voice rung, snapping him out of his thought as he nervously laughed.

"Oh! No, sorry I was just surprised by how much you've considered." Freminet answered softly, as Mika smiles hesitantly. "I mean… I'm a surveyor, so I kinda need to take everything into account, especially if I want to make sure everyone in the team is safe…"

Mika pauses, eyes flickering to the sky before he stood up, shocked. "Oh goodness, I'm sorry, I must've taken up so much of your time."

Freminet clears his throat, hiding his involuntary giggle as he stood up as well, dusting off the sand that might've stuck onto his clothes.

"It's fine, really." Freminet says gently. "I didn't really have anything else to be doing anyway. And I quite enjoyed the conversation." Mika flustered, smiling with a chuckle.

"Then I hope it'll be alright if I were to seek you out again?" Mika asked, hope in his voice. Freminet paused, feeling his heart start to beat.

His palms turned sweaty, and he felt himself hesitant.

He… didn't find Mika's company terrible… but for someone to seek him out…

It was just…

He snapped out of his stupor, awkwardly answering. "Sure! I mean- sure. I don't- I don't mind. If- if you have any questions. I don't mind answering them."

Mika couldn't help the quiet laugh that bubbled out of his chest due to how Freminet reacted, but nodded.

"Then, thank you again for saving me and the map I had worked so hard on. I hope you get home safe."

Fremient nods stiffly. "You too. Uh… hope the- aircraft doesn't get tipped like before." He tried to jest, but the awkward delivery only made Mika giggle.

"I could only hope. It'd be a shame if I fell like that again." Mika sighed in helplessness.

On a sudden whim, Freminet spoke. "I… I'll try to catch you the next time you fall."

Silence overtook them, both parties equally shocked by the sudden comment.

Before Mika laughed, and Freminet placed a hand on his helmets screen.

"...forget I said anything please." Freminet pleaded, whilst Mika tried to silence himself.

"I'm sorry I just- pfft"

Mika's laugh was contagious, and Freminet found himself laughing along. His voice and laugh being just as distorted as his voice, which only made Mika laugh even harder.

"I- I'm sorry. That was rude." Mika finally found his composure, covering his mouth as he turns pink in shame.

"Its- its fine. I mean, it was kinda funny." Freminet rubs the back of his neck.

"Well… I don't mind if you catch me next time I fall." Mika replied, a soft smile on his face. "I mean, you've saved me once. I think I could at least guarantee that you'd save me again. Then, I'd owe you my life twice."

Freminet grunts in slight embarrassment. "I would save you regardless of you owing me."

Mika huffs in helplessness, shaking his head before waving. "Well, I'll be actually going now, Freminet. I'll see you when I see you."

Freminet waves hesitantly, watching as Mika turns his back and starts walking away.

And while usually Freminet wouldn't mind others not knowing his face…

He quickly took off the helmet, wiping his cheeks to hide his blush as he called out.

"Mika-!"

The surveyor paused, turning around in curiosity before his eyes widened in shock. He had accepted early into the conversation that Freminet was more comfortable with his helmet than without it.

But…

He didn't think Freminet was this handsome.

Mika felt his face turn red as Freminet smiled at him wonkily.

"Uh- don't hesitate to call me if you see me around the Court!" He said, voice raspy and shaking.

The Mondstadtian couldn't help the endeared smile that appeared on his own face. "Sure! I'll show you my maps once I'm done. You deserve to see what you've saved, after all."

And with that, Mika left.

With a semi red face and his bag clutched tight around him.

Whilst the entire Fontaine Aircraft was traumatizing…

"I'm sure Sir Varka wouldn't mind me asking for more parchment if a few more of them get wet.." He muttered, lips in a giddy smile as he ventured towards the large fossilized skull in the distance.

He got a friend out of it.

Perhaps water wasn't that bad after all.

[isolemnlyswear]

ooo could i request a remus x fem! reader where both of them are very shy so it takes lily, james and sirius to push them together. and whenever they talk to each other they stutter a lot?

always have, always will.

a/n : guess what! i made this way too intense again. i can't help it; its so much easier for me to write a really fucking intense love rather than a crush IM SORRY !! the end is the only cute part the rest is shite

HAPPY (very belated bc i don't have any motivation) BIRTHDAY REMUS MY BEAUTIFUL BOY

taglist : @oldschoolkiddo @amourtentiaa @anchoeritic @faeinorbit @tomriddleswifey @inks-and-jinx @jxsperhxle @punkrific @the-gazette-of-tea @krasivayadarling @orifortheweeknd @fallin-4-ya @incxndio @daisyyy2516 @hoe4cedricdiggory

young!remus lupin x fem!reader

---

"Oh." you sigh, blinking when you see Remus inside. Your huff isn't one of discontent; rather, as you enter the common room, you're simply nervous, timid to deal with the boy. As soon as you want to speak in front of him, to tell him that you really, really like him, you start blushing, turning into a stammering mess.

Alas, you swallow your fear, sitting down on the plush maroon chair opposite him and Sirius; Lily is on the floor, flipping through a potions book, and James is sprawled across your coordinating chair. Remus is lying against the side of the couch, knees up with arms wrapped around his legs. He's smiling, laughing at a joke Sirius told prior to your arrival.

Your heart is aching in your chest, and you try to will it to stop yearning for this boy, but there's a voice inside your head. One that tells you that he's all you could ever need.

Such thoughts reduce you to mush when Lily notices your arrival.

"There she is! How are 'ya?" the redhead greets you happily, and such a simple question is blocked out by your tunnel vision; you can only focus on one thing at the moment, and it's Remus.

You don't speak for a moment, zoning out, but when your eyes meet those of Remus, you quickly snap out of your trance, shaking your head.

"'M fine. J-just tired, I think 'm gonna go upstairs-" you manage to say, but you're cut off by an incredulous Sirius.

"S'five in the afternoon!" he says with a laugh, and you nod.

"And?" you quip, focus now returned when you tear your eyes away from Remus.

"Y'gotta stay down here, dinner's soon!" Lily replies, and you glare at her. She knows exactly why you want to leave at the moment, rather, she knows about how in love you are with one of your best friends. She raises her hands in mock surrender, and you sigh.

It's almost painful, the next hour. You're trying so hard to not make it alarmingly obvious concerning your... issue, but it's proving to be quite difficult.

And then, finally, it's dinner. You're able to get away with not talking, as you pretend to be eating anytime you're asked a question, and Remus is silent as well.

You eventually can sneak away to your dorm, wanting to sleep to rid yourself of the thoughts that give you no reprieve during the day.

But, of course, your dreams are of Remus.

---

Unbeknownst to you, and Remus, the entire rest of the marauders (and about half your year) are painfully aware of your affection for the boy.

And his for you.

So they hatch a plan; it’s simple, but effective.

You're all lounging in the common room -a typical Saturday afternoon - when James poses an odd request.

“Hey, Y/N? D’you wanna go look at something for me?” he asks, fighting back the smile that threatens at his lips. You nod, eager to get away from the tension that you and Remus are swamped by.

“What is it?” you ask as he gets up, leading you up the stairs and to his dorm room. You're confused, eyebrows furrowing and hands wringing nervously.

“You'll see.” James grins at you as you enter the dorm room - which has four beds, three of which are littered with laundry and other teenage boy things, but one is impeccably neat, and you assume it to be Remus’s.

“James, what-” you begin, but he shushes you with a laugh.

“Lily’s cat won't get out of this closet, y’see, and I know you're good with animals and the like, so could you...get it? For Lily, f’course, ” he asks, pointing to a rather large closet in the corner of their dorm.

You raise your eyebrows, but nod, opening the doors and getting in, eyes searching for Lily’s feline friend.

But as soon as you drop to your knees, a soft thud reverberates through the closet. James had shut the doors, and the closet was big enough to where you weren't claustrophobic, thankfully. But there is no cat in sight. None.

Downstairs, however, James had strolled in nonchalantly, and Lily’s grinning.

“What did you do this time, Prongs?” Remus sighs, unaware that the others around him are all aware of their little plot.

“Maybe you should go upstairs and find out,” James says ominously, raising a dark eyebrow. Remus glares at him, sighing.

“Where’s Y/N?” he asks, still holding his gaze on the brunette. Lily giggles, and Remus shoots her an impatient glare. “What did you do to her?” The question is directed at no one in particular, but the irascible tone in the lycanthrope’s voice demands an answer.

“Once again, go upstairs and find out, mate.” James’s tone, however, is one of amusement.

Remus takes in a querulous breath, turning to stomp up the stairs.

Undivulged to him, James is sneakily creeping up the stairs behind the boy.

You're pounding at the mahogany of the closet door, and you've forgotten your wand downstairs, leaving you helpless in the space. You ponder why James would do such a thing, but you brush it off, figuring it was another prank, one of all too many.

“Y/N?” Remus questions hesitantly into the empty dorm, and your ears prick up at his voice.

“I'm in here!!” you shout, pounding at the closet door, and Remus rushes to open it for you.

But as soon as he's inside, helping you up, James, with a flick of his wand, shuts the door.

You're locked in.

With Remus.

And it's absurd, really, how quickly your heart is beating in your ribcage.

“Prongs I swear to Merlin-” Remus starts irritably, but stops himself with a tremulous inhale.

“Fuck,” you whisper, cowering to the back of the closet. Remus’s scent is surrounding you, the honey and chocolate and dark cologne enveloping you in a blanket of bliss. You’re thankful for the dim nature of the closet, for your cheeks are rouging with embarrassment.

Little known to you, Remus’s heart is pounding in his ears, and he’s even more entranced by your scent, what with his dog-like sense of smell. It's his favorite scent in the world, truly, one he could get lost in forever.

“Sorry,” the boy whispers, slumping down across the space from you, and you quirk a brow.

“W-what are you sorry for, Remus?” you ask quietly, wrapping your arms around yourself.

“I got us locked in here, didn't I?” You can hear the soft smile in his voice, a bittersweet one.

“But that isn't too bad, is it?” you say, courage surging through your bones as the darkness shields your nerves.

“Oh yeah?” he asks under his breath, laughing softly.

“What, am I that unbearable?” you tease, tucking a strand of fallen hair behind your ear.

“No,” Remus says remarkably quickly, and then he hesitates for a second. “Quite the opposite.” His voice is barely above a whisper, but his words ring in your ears like a mantra.

“That's quite cryptic,” you say, taking in a deep breath.

“Y’gonna make me spell it out for you?”

“If you mean what I think you do, fuck, either I'm being terribly idiotic right now or...” you trail off, noticing that Remus is closer to you, now.

“Or what?” he breathes, and you close your eyes slowly.

“Or...if you're, um, insinuating what I think you to be, and I get words out correctly enough to respond...” you leave the rest of the sentence unsaid, words trapped in your throat.

“What then?” Remus says ever-so-quietly, and you take in another breath, eyes still pressed closed.

“I'd be making the best decision of my life.”

You can hear the boy’s breath hitch in his throat. You open your eyes to see that he's next to you, now, and the soft light from under the door that illuminates you as the sun lowers is glimmering on his skin, bouncing off the scars in his skin and the gold flecks in his eyes.

“Perhaps... Perhaps it’d be right of you to make that assumption. That I'm saying what you think I am, that is.” He breathes slowly, and your eyes flick to him again.

“This conversation is the most cryptic thing I've ever heard,” you say quietly with a laugh, and Remus nods in agreement.

“We’re getting the point across, though, aren't we?” he jests, and you giggle. Your expression then turns serious, and you turn so that you're facing the boy.

“Could I... Could I take you up on that offer of spelling it out?” you say breathlessly, and Remus smiles gently.

“We could say it on three,” he suggests, and you laugh.

“Merlin, we're like toddlers. Fine, on your count, then,” you reply with a nod, heart a jackhammer in your chest.

“One... Two...” he pauses for a second, and you let out a breath.

He's fully facing you, as well, and you see a glint in his eyes that's so familiar yet so new.

“Fuck this,” he says before the last count, and your eyes widen. “I love you, Y/N. I'm- I'm in love with you.” he admits, shutting his eyes like he's ripping off a particularly menacing bandaid.

You don't respond for a moment, mouth open in shock. But as soon as you snap out of your trance, you notice the boy’s posture; he's nervous, recoiled as if he's worried you wouldn't say it back.

You place a delicate hand on the side of his face, thumbing over his cheek, and he relaxes at your touch, still not opening his eyes.

You softly press your lips to his, and he responds instantaneously, one hand reaching to pull you in by your waist, the other resting on your cheek.

There's a fire exploding inside you, and it’s glorious, golden sparks erupting after being kept inside for so long. Your lips are dancing in a delicate rhythm with his, like they were meant to. He tastes like chocolate and bliss, and his hand wraps in your hair, tongue swiping over your lips gently.

After what feels simultaneously like an eternity and no time at all, you break away for air, resting your forehead against his.

“Now it's my turn to infer from that,” he breathes after a moment, and you smile.

“Not quite as cryptic, you'll find.” You smile, kissing him again. “I love you, Remus Lupin. Always have, always will.”

[author-morgan]

Your work is so good, you should do this for a living! Your Ivarr stories are treasurers! Because quality Ivarr content that matches up exactly with my fantasies are rare, and I'm shit poet...

Could you please do one where the clan's dainty sweetheart secretly has the hots for Ivarr but avoids him because she doesn't know how to act around him.

He's also into her but thinks she hates him.

She gets terribly drunk for first time ever, throws herself at Ivarr...

Confused but also turned on, he internally struggles because doesn't want to take advantage of her.

He puts her to bed/or gets someone else to do it? Ubba? Because he doesn't trust himself to be alone with her?

Finds her when she's sober and not hungover, confronts her because drunken words are sober thoughts. She's embarrassed but they end up having really great sex!!!

i do write for a living, just not creative writing oh the joys of academia. apologies for the long wait, but here's more Ivarr! hope you enjoy! ♥ i kind of went overboard (like 3.3k words overboard) but it's Ivarr and i'm thirsty as hell for this bastard. Ivarr the Boneless x fem!Reader

EIVOR SHAKES HIS head. His arms crossed with a frown playing on his lips. He doesn’t see what you do —why of all the people in Midgard, you only have eyes for Ivarr the Boneless. Even Ubba would be a better choice, he thinks. It’s in Eivor’s nature to worry over and protect the ones he loves after all he’s lost. You are another example of Styrbjorn’s charity to those he considered friends, just as he is Sigurd’s brother in all but blood, you are their sister and have been for many years —becoming a temper for the two rowdy boys, favoring the healing arts over swordplay and battle.

Since Eivor’s initial meeting with Ivarr in Repton, there’s been something about his methods and outlook that sets Eivor at unease, even more so now that he’s caught Ivarr’s gaze lingering on you —like now during the autumn feast. Some jest, saying opposites attract, and while that seldom seems to be the truth, it is for you and Ivarr. He is cold iron, warm blood, a harsh winter —and you’re soft silks, a cool breeze, fresh spring blooms.

He’s seen the looks you share with Ivarr. Fleeting and flirtatious, but that is nigh all you share besides few rushed words in passing. Ivarr cuts an intimidating presence, and you’ve never been quite sure how to converse with warriors beyond your brothers. It’s nigh as difficult for Ivarr —all he knows is bloodlust and his fellow drengrs— finding the right words to say is not a battle he thinks he can win. There’s fondness between you, almost everyone can see it, but there are times when Ivarr is left to wonder if you truly like him or if your soft smiles and kind words are only a product of his reputation.

Ivarr’s feelings are clear to himself, though, especially as he watches you among the people of Ravensthorpe, partaking in the autumn festivities. Seeing you wear a crown of gold and amber leaves, dancing with Ceolbert to the drunken tune of Bragi and his tagelharpa with a tankard of Tekla’s mead in hand makes his heart beat faster, and his mouth go dry. He keeps to the benches, reminding himself that a drengr does not dance —at least not this type of dance.

The evening fades, but the festivities don’t. Soma claims her clan throws the best feasts, though you’re tempted to challenge the jarlskona for the title since Ravensthorpe has grown. You look around, searching for your brothers, but Sigurd has retired for the evening, and Eivor is slumped over on one of the tables, asleep —his hand still curled around the handle of his mead cup. Sighing, you find Ivarr’s gaze in the hazy air of the longhouse, half-shocked by the intensity and darkness, half-eager to return the lust-laden stare with your own.

Emboldened by the mead, you gather another horn and move across the longhouse where Ivarr sits. With a smile, you offer him the horn of mead before taking the empty spot on the bench next to him. He eyes you, curious, as he turns up the horn —downing the mead in a few gulps— and turns his attention to you. Spurred on by the moment, you lean closer, twisting to drape your legs across his thighs, squirming more than needed. “What game are you playing at, little dove?” Ivarr asks, his gaze dark and tone dangerous. You only smile, flitting your eyes up to meet his as you tip up your cup.

The soft plucking lyre strings and the low thrum of the tagelharpa are nigh enough to lull you to sleep coupled with the stillness. When you start to sway, both from the trance of the music and the heaviness of your eyes, Ivarr brings you closer to his side before deciding it best to see you off for the night —lest he is on the receiving end of Sigurd or Eivor’s anger. Ivarr pushes the bench back from the table, slipping his arms around your shoulders and beneath your knees, rising with you cradled in his arms —head resting on the leather of his shoulder pauldron.

When Ivarr places you on the straw and rag stuffed mattress of your cottage at the eastern edge of the settlement, you are not eager to part with him —the bulge tenting his britches tell you he’s not eager to leave you either. “Don’t” —you hiccup, lips turning into a pout as you lift the hem of your skirt to show the bare skin of your calves and beyond— “don’t you want me?”

Gods, Ivarr wants you. Just the thought of lying with you sets his blood hot and racing —like a giddy boy before his first battle. He doesn’t think he’s ever wanted a woman more. But he can smell the mead on your breath and see the weariness hiding in your eyes. Ivarr knows it is the drink speaking for you, and he will not be the one to dishonor such a woman as you. “You’ve too much drink, little dove,” he chides in a rough chuckle, uncurling your fingers from their hold on his tunic. “Sleep,” Ivarr says, sitting back on his haunches —drinking in your appearance for a final time, “I doubt you’ll say the same thing come the morning.”

MORNING BREAKS AND so does your uneasy rest. The scent of smoke and mead clings to your skin and clothes, as does a dried sheen of sweat. Rising, you strip out of the soiled clothes and into a linen shift. With the hour still early and some only just retiring for bed from the feast, you gather up a cake of soap and boar-bristle brush, heading toward the small waterfall and pool at the northern edge of the settlement. Sparing a quick look around and now certain you’re alone, you strip, stepping into the clear, cool water with a sharp inhale.

Humming a soft song, you wring the suds from your hair and cross toward the bank where your clothes lay, but the snap of a branch underfoot stops you. Gaze darting around, you see him emerge from behind the trunk of a large tree near the stables. “Ivarr,” you greet, not shying away from his wandering gaze. His silence and the look in his eyes make you smile as you wade in his direction, stopping when the water brushes the underside of your breasts. “Are you watching me?” It’s a redundant question that needs no answer besides the hungry look in Ivarr the Boneless’s eyes.

“What you said last night–” he starts, voice surprisingly cautious, but you cut him off with a wave of a hand and scolding grin. “I was not that drunk, Ivarr.” Tekla’s mead had not dulled your senses, only gave you the courage to act on buried feelings. He lifts his brow and rakes his hand through his parted hair. “And yes. I meant it,” you tell him, wearing the same look now as you had last night nigh begging Ivarr to have his way with you. If Ivarr is surprised by the truth of your feelings, he hides it well. You motion to the pristine pool of water and bite down on your bottom lip before finding his gaze again. “Join me?”

Ties and buckles rustle as he hastily kicks away his boots, drops the fittings of his armor, and does away with his britches and tunic. Ivarr circles you like a wolf eyeing his wounded prey, and then he pounces, wrapping an arm around your middle, pulling your back flush against his chest. He leans forward, trailing his nose along your shoulder and neck —rough hands trailing up your sides and around to your breasts, squeezing them and teasing your nipples between his thumbs and forefingers.

When you gasp, he bites down on your shoulder and rocks his hips into your ass with a low chuckle. “You know who I am?” He means it as a warning —a warning of his bloodthirsty and unkind nature, that he is not a man to sing sweet songs or offer tender caresses. You already know that, having been privileged to witness Ivarr the Boneless in battle and know him outside of his craft.

“I do,” you answer, unwilling to shy away. He sucks in a sharp breath when you turn to face him, stepping closer and look up at him under lidded eyes with a wicked smile that sends blood rushing to his already half-hard cock. Careening toward Ivarr, you brush your lips across his jaw, settling one hand over the dark tattoo of Yggdrasil on his breast. “And if I wanted gentle,” you breathe at his ear, nipping at his neck, “I would fuck one of the Saxon monks.”

Ivarr laughs, grinning, but it falters when you reach below the water and squeeze his cock and balls, giving no doubt to your intentions or your wants. “Careful, little dove,” he hisses, tilting your chin up. He hunches, ashen hair half-falling before his face as he leans down and kisses you, warm, open-lipped, and intoxicating.

You pull back with a groan, and Ivarr chasing your lips, stopped only by your hands cupping his face —thumb tracing the deep scar on his cheek. “While giving the gods a show sounds delightful” —Ivarr’s lusty eyes take on a twinkle at the thought. Suddenly he’s picturing you splayed out on a Christian altar, spent from his love with his seed dripping from your cunt. His cock twitches, pressed tight against your belly— “Sigurd or Eivor finding us like this is less enticing.” Had it been anyone other than Ivarr, your brothers would have turned a blind eye, but neither have particularly liked the interest you and Ivarr show in one another.

Stepping back, you grip onto his wrist, staying his hands from their wandering assault, and pull him toward the waterfall and the small cave beyond. Before Ivarr has a chance to move again, you smile for him in the dim light, sliding an open hand to the nape of his neck, drawing him closer. With your lips pressed against his, Ivarr can only reciprocate —he parts your lips with his tongue, hands curling into your hips in a vice grip. But when the kiss breaks, you shimmy from his grasp and trail your lips to the dip in his neck —licking and laving.

“Having your lips on my skin is torture,” he inhales, hand fisting in your hair as you move down to the tattoo of Sleipnir at the center of his chest. You laugh softly and lean back, his eyes piercing through you. The smile on your lips is roguish, but you do not let up, making your way to his abdomen where a few small scars are clustered. Ivarr moans above you, and you haven’t even touched his aching, dripping cock yet. His hand reaches for your breasts, but you knock it away, having yearned for this moment for too long to let it slip away.

He titters at your enthusiasm and rolls his hips forward. Not dissuaded, you press your lips to the scar next to his navel, right below one of the dark runes tattooed on his abdomen. The hand still twined in your hair tightens, pushing you down to your knees. Ivarr’s legs are powerfully built, the muscles of his calves and thighs flex as you run your hand over them appreciatively, still finding small scars to trace and kisses, purposefully ignoring the hard cock pressed against his stomach. His hands clench as you kiss the skin of his thighs, your hair tickling the underside of his cock.

You smile at his surprised gasp when you drag the flat of your tongue along his cock, tracing along a vein running up the length of his shaft. Ivarr’s unable to hold back his groan when your fingers wrap around his girth, giving a few heavy strokes. And then, without warning, you wrap your lips around the head of his cock. He tastes of salt and iron and something forbidden and dangerous. Taking his cock as far as you can, you press your tongue against the underside, silently humming.

Above you, Ivarr chokes your name like a ragged prayer —it fills you with pride to know the son of Ragnar Lodbrok is coming apart at your hands and mouth, unable to say anything but your name. The lords of England may fear the whisper of his name, but right now, he is at your mercy.

Slowly, he begins to thrust himself into your mouth, but he makes no move to command your movements. Instead, his impatience wins over. He pulls you away from pleasuring him with your mouth. “Enough,” Ivarr says, his voice ragged as he crouches down, hand sliding from your hair and down to tweak one of your pebbled nipples, then lower still until he comes to the warmth between your thighs, slick with arousal. You whimper, gripping onto Ivarr’s shoulder when he pushes two fingers into your cunt, curling and thrusting. “On your knees, little dove,” he rasps. He warned you, and now he means to make good on his silent promise.

You struggle to gain your balance on the uneven ground of the small cave, but soon did, only to nigh lose it again when Ivarr slides the blunt head of his cock through your slick folds —thrice over before gripping onto your shoulder with one hand and guiding himself into your warmth with the other. Ivarr’s moan when he sinks inside you is breathless and airy, a misplaced sound from the likes of him. He grips you tight —one hand on your shoulder still, the other on your hip— holding your squirming body still as he eases his way into you. Your shoulders curl forward at the sudden wide spread of his cockhead into your body, fingers digging into the soft earth beneath you.

Ivarr pants against your shoulders —you can feel the open brush of his mouth along the sensitive skin of your spine and neck— as he draws his hips back and slams his cock back into you. You buck your hips back in time with his thrust, and Ivarr growls. You move with him as he fucks into you, squeezing with your inner muscles and whimpering in loud gasps. “Ivarr,” you chant, over-and-over.

He’s pounding hard immediately, giving in to the hunger that’s been consuming the both of you for far too long to be decent. His fingers are strong, streaking against your skin as his grip slides, something to discolor and bruise you by evening. But it feels so fucking good. You toss your head back, finding a glimpse of his face in this aching position with back arched, teeth shining in the low light, and eyes burning on you. He’s feral and ruined, and his fingers bend on your skin.

The building tension fades when he draws back, leaving you aching and empty. Ivarr spins you to face him as he reclines. “Ride me,” he commands, kissing you quickly, with an open mouth and teeth scraping your bottom lip. You pull away from the kiss, moving so you could sit atop him, straddling his hips, his back against a smoothed boulder. Breathless, Ivarr cannot be bothered with the loss of control —reckless abandon shines in your eyes, and he cannot help but grin as you slide down on his cock. He grunts enthralled at the feel of your warm cunt around him, walls clenching to feel every ridge and vein.

Moments pass, and you begin to move on top of Ivarr, rolling your hips into his. He groans, rough hands torn between holding onto your hips or pawing at your breasts. Instead, he decides to push himself up and let his lips attack your jaw and throat —biting and suckling— and annoyed at the slow in pace, Ivarr thrusts his hips up into yours, a sign to move faster. You don’t hesitate —lost to the exquisite bliss, clawing, desperate and eager. Holding Ivarr’s face in your hands, you try finding his lips with your own, but all you can do is moan and pant with him into his mouth, lost in the craven pleasure.

Ivarr bites hard in the crook of your shoulder and neck as he repeatedly drives his hips upward, chasing his and your releases. One of his hands slips between your bodies —his calloused thumb teasing your clit in a way that makes your hips stutter and body trembles, nails clawing into Ivarr’s shoulders. He grits his teeth, wondering if his little dove had broken skin. The burst of pain fades quickly as he watches your body bounce in time with his thrusts and listens to the moans and pants echoing off the cave walls and water.

He knows he’s close, his pants ragged and thrusts sloppy and desperate. The hitch in your breathing when he presses his thumb against your clit tells him you’re close to. It’s the boiling heat between you that takes hold, curling your toes and parting your lips in a silent throe, hands digging into Ivarr’s biceps as he chases his pleasure —teeth bared and bright eyes burning. Several thrusts later, his body tenses, and a dull warmth spreads between your connected bodies, and still, he is not done with the thrill of how you tremble and whine above him, but the rhythm soon slows, and you fall forward, resting your head on Ivarr’s chest.

You sit there, savoring the last twinges of carnal gratification, with your bodies rising and falling as you breathe in unison. And when the haze clears, you trace the small scars near his shoulders and follow the blue-black runes tattooed on his middle.

After what feels like an eternity, you feel him shift underneath you, sitting up on his hands. Ivarr glances over you —the small purple marks at the base of your neck from his lips and teeth, how your nipples are still hard, begging to have his mouth on them, and how your bodies are still connected. His cock is soft now, his seed seeping from your cunt and drying on your thighs —Ivarr thinks it a glorious sight. He hisses as he pulls himself out of your warmth, slowly, relishing in the gasps and whimpers you make at the resultant empty feeling it leaves between your thighs.

With flushed cheeks and swollen lips, you tell him you must go —this escapade would have already made you late for your daily duties, and the last thing you wish is for one of your brothers or Valka to find you in this state. He follows you from the cave behind the waterfall, back to the bank where his and your clothes are strewn. Gentler than you’d imagine, Ivarr kisses your cheek, then the corner of your mouth, before cupping your face with strong, rough fingers and moving your lips back to his. You let him move you, kissing you back, smiling against his mouth. “Come to me at nightfall,” you breathe against his lips, parting to gather up your clothes and shoes.

Ivarr grins, swatting your ass before pulling you against his chest, keeping you from reaching for your linen shift —his chin resting on your shoulder as his hand slides between your legs and two fingers sinking into your cunt, still slick with your essence and his seed. “That eager for my cock again, little dove?” He laughs.

He’s silenced when you grind back into his hips with a glint of mischief shining in your eyes. Ivarr lets you go, though reluctant, and watches you dress from the corner of his eye. It’s impulse driving you when you decide duties can wait. Smiling, you grip onto Ivarr’s wrist —he’s only half-dressed in his britches and boots, tunic in hand— and drag him away from the waterfall and toward your home in the settlement. Consequences be damned. It feels as though the gods made you and Ivarr for one another, and you aren’t willing to let another moment be wasted.

[taglist: @elizabethroestone @kitkitvm @elluvians @fullmoonwolfer1 @ghostieisalone @boodaga @southsideslutt @dynamite-with-a-lazerbeam @lizlovecraft @heathensith @alexisp787 @nobodyydobon @certifiedlittleshit ] if your name is italicized, tumblr wouldn’t let me tag you. if you want to be added to my taglist for Ivarr, just let me know in the replies or a DM!

[owlespresso]

witching hour: 1 am

getou suguru x reader

anxiety keeps you awake in the late of the night. geto helps distract you from the growing storm.

warnings: none

One in the morning, and wide awake you were. 

A thick, brumy fog swept in, clouding the windows and chilling the air. It sunk down to your bones, paired with the constant thrumming of your anxieties. Though you would not retire for another few hours, you had a nagging hunch that sleep would evade you should you try. You were no stranger to nights like these, when fears of the future descended upon you like a bitter spector, dangling the deaths of your loved ones in front of you like a rotted carrot in front of a horse.

If your stubborn brain wished to cling so desperately to consciousness, then idling and wallowing in your own self-pity would do you little good. You needed something, anything to keep your mind and hands busy, away from the burgeoning anxieties and terrible what-ifs that plagued you.

The bedroom was far from this side of the house, your partners kept safe from most sounds in the kitchen. Satoru was especially perceptive, but you could be especially quiet if need be. You nearly felt like an intruder in your own home, tiptoeing across the floor and delicately lifting the tools and baking sheets you required. 

The light above the oven was turned on, the rest of the room left dim as you amassed your ingredients and laid them on the countertop. Like clockwork, you cycled through familiar steps, eyelids hooded as you submitted to the monotony of the task. Exhausted but wired awake all at the same time.

What you needed was sleep, but you supposed an inordinate amount of sugar would also do. The wide, rectangular pan laid atop the countertop, a piece of baking parchment settled across its bottom. The batter was for the most part finished, the dry and wet ingredients beaten to a near pulp. 

You reached into the large mixing bowl, ready to ball the dough. A sweet smell already clung to the air, a perfume that your paramours would likely awaken to. 

The haze that settled over your overworked mind vanished into startling alertness as two large, warm hands pressed against your hips, a chin resting atop your shoulder. A firm, warm body pressed up against your back. You jerked in his hold, startled at the suddenness.

“Sorry,” Geto apologized, hands sliding from your hips to wrap around your waist, pulling you tighter against him, bottom nestled snuggly into his hips. The soft sleeves of his robes brushed against the bare skin of your arms. He enshrouded you, made you feel like a hatchling cowering underneath a hen’s full feathers. “I didn’t mean to startle you.” 

“It’s alright,” you murmured. And how could you ever stay mad at him when his voice was so soft, his embrace so meaningfully tender? His face dropped into the crook of your neck, the sound of his inhale quiet yet audible. Heat rushed to your cheeks as your lips curled into a wobbling simper, eyes shutting. For but a few stolen moments, you allowed him to rock you back and forth, cradled so delicately. The night remained quiet around you, as though maintaining a sacrosanct vigil.

“Satoru loves those,” he remarked idly, looking up from his makeshift shelter. “Are you trying to surprise him?” His head lifted to bring him back to his full height, cheek rubbing idly against the top of your hair. 

“Not intentionally. I just wanted something to do.” you confessed. “I just kept… thinking too much. Figured keeping my hands busy might help… but now that you mention it, I would like to surprise him.” You wondered when this became your go-to recipe for cookies, when you began to hold their preferences in such high regard. 

“Your secret is safe with me.” he assured you, a hand slipping free to return to your hip. His fingers squeezed the ample flesh. Hardly ever was there a moment when Suguru was not touching you. An arm around your shoulders, a hand in yours, as though he feared you would up and vanish. Every piece of your body was a blessing, he told you through grasping fingers and words whispered, lips brushing against exposed skin. “Is there anything you want to talk about? Anything bothering you?”

“No, nothing much,” you lied through your teeth, finally reaching for the dough. You squinted as you rolled it between your palms. It formed into a lumpy ball within a few seconds, made a wet splatting sound as you dropped it a tad too carelessly onto the baking sheet.

“Let me repeat myself. Is nothing bothering you? Or is something bothering you?” he said, voice slower, purposeful.

“Just anxiety.” you confessed. There was no reason to burden him with the litany of intrusive thoughts you experienced, no reason to detail any of the specific, wicked scenarios your mind saw fit to conjure and play out inside your head. Not when the sound of his voice and the firmness of his touch was so present, so in front of you.

“Mm,” he hummed, quieting. “And I suppose I can’t persuade you to come to bed,” he lamented with a sigh, momentarily unwinding himself from your body to stand beside you. “Let’s get your mind off it.” 

“You’re giving up?” you inquired, momentarily taken aback. No schmoozing? No attempting to coax you with everything and anything he had to offer? You were unsure if you should be afraid or concerned by his lack of stubbornness.

“An idle mind is the devil’s workshop,” he droned in dry jest, “–and I’m not gonna invite him into bed with me. I’ll stay with you until he’s gone.” He plucked a portion of dough from the bowl and mimicked you, rolling it into a smooth ball between large, warm palms. You jerked your gaze away from his hands as you began to imagine them elsewhere.

“Quit getting religious on me. You don’t even believe in all of that,” you huffed, sucked into the calming lull of the banter.

“Hush, I’m trying to be kind,” he scolded lightly, nudging you with his arm. You gasped, hands shoved together, squishing the ball of dough you had been so diligently shaping. “See? That’s where your sass gets you.” 

Your protests disassembled into begrudging little grumbles, attempting to salvage the poor, squished bundle of dough. 

Attempting to suppress the beginnings of a smile that threatened to curl your lips, the fears and horrors chased away by the distraction.

[giggles-and-freckles]

Can you do "I'm just a little cold, I'm okay, really. Let me sit with a blanket or something" with anakin (cause desert kid) and obi wan and cuddles?

from these extremely exhausted starters

“And that one?”

“Bassin Minor.”

“Good,” Obi-Wan nodded. Anakin tried not to sink too deep into the pride Obi-Wan seeped into their bond. “You’ve been studying.”

“You don’t let me do anything else,” Anakin said to shield his own joy at Obi-Wan’s praise. He was a teenager now; Obi-Wan didn’t need to know that Anakin still cared about his opinion.

“Ah, yes,” the older Jedi surveyed the star map thoughtfully. “I had a lapse and momentarily forgot what a terrible, totalitarian teacher I am.”

“I don’t know what that word means, but it sounds like something you’d be.”

Obi-Wan rolled his eyes. “Perhaps you should focus on your politics now that you’ve mastered constellations.”

Anakin shifted in his seat. “Politics are stupid.”

“Very good, Padawan,” Obi-Wan beamed in jest. “A lesson better learned early on.” A dismal frown replaced his smile. “Unfortunately, they still dictate a large part of our lives.”

“I dictate my own life,” Anakin said with all the confidence of a thirteen-year-old who knew everything. He leaned back in his seat and put his feet on the holo-projector.

Obi-Wan shoved them back to the floor.

“We’re landing soon. Get your parka.”

It was music to Anakin’s ears. It seemed like they’d been flying forever and he wasn’t even being allowed to pilot, so all he had for entertainment was a star map, a broken mouse droid (which he’d finished repairing six hours ago), and Obi-Wan.

Anakin needed off this kriffing ship.

He stood from his seat, quickly–and immediately fell back down. His head suddenly felt heavy and his vision swam. Weird.

“Anakin!” Obi-Wan called from the small room in the back of the ship. “Parka! Some time today, please.”

“Coming,” Anakin groaned, standing again–slowly this time–and holding his head as he walked.

Every step toward the back room tugged at muscles that shouldn’t be sore. Maybe he’d just been sitting too long, but it seemed strange for him to suddenly ache all over, when he hadn’t even done any physical training in a few days.

“Here,” Obi-Wan shoved a parka into his chest as soon as he got in the doorway. “Make sure it’s zipped.”

“Okay, okay,” Anakin mumbled, sliding it over his robes. 

“If your feet get cold, tell me. I don’t want a repeat of–”

“Master. I’ve been to Halak IV before.”

“Yes, and I practically carried you the entire way back to the ship because you were whining.”

“Oh,” Anakin grinned sheepishly, tugging on his earmuffs. “Right.”

Obi-Wan moved past his Padawan into the main hall. “I’m going to check on the cargo bay and see if everything’s secure for landing. You go ahead to the cockpit and supervise the autopilot.”

“Can’t I put it on manual just for landing?” Anakin pleaded.

“No. Now go.”

Anakin watched his Master walk away with a sour pout. Obi-Wan was no fun when he was stressed–and he was almost always stressed. 

He made his way to the cockpit and settled into his seat. Supervise the autopilot. Stupid.

Nothing was visible through the thick atmosphere they were flying through, but they must be getting closer to ground-level because the air in the room ran cold and Anakin barely managed to contain a shiver.

It was strange, because even though his body was freezing, his head felt warm–and still so heavy. He leaned against the back of his seat and tried to pinpoint the pressure. Maybe this atmosphere had less oxygen than they had anticipated?

That could be a problem.

“Hey, Master?” Anakin tried to shout to the back of the ship, but quickly clamped his mouth shut. Obi-Wan had always been impressed with his ability to speak at obscene decibels, but suddenly, Anakin found that his throat was tight and unable to produce more than a whisper.

It had been a little sore earlier, but this was ridiculous.

He rubbed at his throat with a frown and tried again. “Master Obi-Wan!”

The throat only tightened and the pressure in his head amplified. He was so distracted by the pain, he didn’t manage to catch himself before shivering along with the next wave of chills that overtook him.

“What’s wrong?” Obi-Wan’s voice came from behind him.

Anakin spun around his chair and winced. When his feet planted themselves on the ground, the room didn’t stop spinning. “I think–” He pressed on his temple, willing the pain to go away. “I think we read the–stats wrong. The atmosphere seems...ugh, highly pressurised. And not oxygen based.”

Instead of insisting they hadn’t read the stats wrong because Obi-Wan Kenobi didn’t do anything wrong as Anakin expected, the older Jedi only stood in the doorway of the cockpit and studied his student with a frown.

“What?” Anakin asked, uncomfortable under his gaze.

“What’s wrong with you?”

“Huh? Nothing.”

“You’re shivering.”

He shrugged as casually as his headache would allow him. “Just cold.”

Obi-Wan didn’t look like he was listening. Instead, he dropped into a crouch in front of Anakin’s chair and laid a palm against Anakin’s forehead.

“You’re burning up,” Obi-Wan said quietly. Concern flickered through their bond.

Anakin pulled away. “I’m fine.”

“Have you been feeling like this all day?”

“I’m fine, Master.”

“You’re staying on the ship.” And, like that, Obi-Wan was back on his feet and walking out of the cockpit.

“What?” Anakin cried, jumping up to follow. Immediately regretted it. His head–ow, ow, owww.

He fell back into the seat with a groan. “Master!” he yelled, his voice straining and stretching

“You have a fever, Anakin,” Obi-Wan called from the main room before striding back into the cockpit with a heap of emergency blankets. “I’ll drop off the supplies. You stay and rest.”

His voice came out garbled behind all of the blankets, but Anakin understood enough to scoff in protest. “No way, Master! I’ve been stuck at the Temple for your last two missions. I–oof.” His words were cut off as Obi-Wan unceremoniously dropped the heap of fabric into his lap. “Master Obi-Wan.”

“Don’t Master Obi-Wan me. You’re sick and I won’t have you going out into the freezing cold and getting even sicker. Now strap in. We’re landing.”

Anakin made sure to click his seatbelt as loudly as possible and give a disdainful groan to make sure Obi-Wan knew just how unfair this was.

…

He wasn’t sure when he’d fallen asleep or how long Obi-Wan had been gone, but it had felt like hours since his Master had gotten off the ship and locked it behind him, leaving Anakin frowning under a few hundred tons of blankets.

But suddenly, he was being lightly jostled and–

“Master?” he slurred, blinked up at the face hovered a couple inches above his.

“Oh,” Obi-Wan said, pulling back. “You’re awake.”

“Why are you on top of me?”

“I’m trying to undo your seatbelt.”

“But you always say that safety is–”

“Anakin.” Obi-Wan sighed, but the corners of his lips quivered. “We’re on the way back to Coruscant. The mission went off without a hitch. I have auto-pilot set. Go to the back room and sleep.”

“Not tired,” Anakin lied. 

“Bed.”

“I'm just a little cold, I'm okay, really.” Anakin scrambled to sit up and realised he was, in fact, very cold. “Let me sit with a blanket or something.”

“Padawan,” Obi-Wan said, gently. Why was Obi-Wan being so nice? “I’m worried about you. I’d feel better if you were getting real rest in a real bed.”

“That’s not a real bed,” Anakin pointed out.

“Please.” And something about the way he pleaded instead of demanded it. Like it was a personal favour he was asking his Padawan to complete–

“Okay.”

Anakin didn’t need help walking to the back room, but he let Obi-Wan guide his shoulder anyway, because something told him it’s what Obi-Wan needed.

And it definitely didn’t count as a real bed, but maybe Obi-Wan had been right, because it sure looked more inviting than the stiff seat in the cockpit. He stumbled into it and Obi-Wan’s hand didn’t leave his shoulder.

“Are you hungry? Thirsty?” the older Jedi asked and, for the first time in Anakin’s life, he thought maybe his Master looked a little unsure of himself.

“No.”

“Okay,” Obi-Wan nodded quickly to himself. “Okay. Okay.”

“Master?”

Obi-Wan’s head snapped up. “Yeah?”

“You said that three times.”

“Oh,” Obi-Wan breathed and then chuckled awkwardly. “Sorry.” Then, he looked back at Anakin. “Do you need more blankets?”

Anakin grinned, looking down at the mountain of fabric on top of him. “I think I’m set.” But his teeth chattered anyway and Obi-Wan’s frown deepened.

“I don’t have any medicine,” Obi-Wan muttered to himself, his eyes flickering around the room as if he had the ability to speak it into existence. “I could comm Bant and see if she could–

“Obi?” Anakin asked, too tired to be embarrassed by the old nickname that tumbled through. “I’m okay, but would you–would you just stay?”

He felt like a youngling again–like the nine-year-old who had known nothing about this life and had relied completely on his Master. Obi-Wan had been there for him every single time, even in the midst of losing his own Master. It was something Anakin had only recently found the time to process and be grateful for. 

Obi-Wan’s face softened and Anakin felt warmth through their bond. “Of course.”

Anakin moved as far toward the wall as he could and Obi-Wan’s eyebrows lifted of their own accord, like he’d only just realised what Anakin meant by ‘stay.’ In that moment, Anakin’s bravery crumbled–he was so stupid. Too old to ask Obi-Wan to sleep with him. Too grown, too big, too independent–

Obi-Wan climbed into the tiny bed and rested his back against the wall, dropping his hand to rest on Anakin’s head, his fingers absentmindedly moving through the small curls that had formed in the absence of a haircut. 

“Hey, Master?” Anakin said, his voice coming out quiet and croaky. Relieved. At peace. Safe.

“Yes, young one?”

“You’re good at taking care of people.”

The tiny movements in his hair froze for a moment and Anakin wondered if he’d said something wrong. But then–the movements resumed and Anakin didn’t need to see his Master to sense his smile. Obi-Wan’s smiles were always like this. The genuine ones anyway. Blinding and merciless in the way they spread through a room, touching every heart in their path and almost always pulling smiles in response.

Anakin thought he was pretty lucky to get to be on the receiving end so often.

[txemrn]

Cute Without the "E"

Happy 100 weeks of fluffy, angsty and smutty prompts,@wackydrabbles! Thank you so much for all you do to create such a fun environment here on tumblr! I am participating this week with prompt #100: "This is huge--we need to celebrate!" (The prompt will be in bold)

Book: The Nanny Affair

Warning: language; brief allusions of promiscuity and sensuality

Word count: 1267 (+/-)

A/N: What happens when you message your amazingly talented TNA sister and friend in the wee hours of the morning about Sam and Robin being in an emo band? I think it's obvious...@sfb123 I. Can. Not. The pic is absolutely AMAZING! Thank you so much for donating your time and creativity to make me laugh! You NEVER cease to amaze me. Love you, dearly! Big thanks to @chemist-ana and @shannonwrote for pre-reading! These characters belong to Pixelberry.

Title of the Fic/Lyrics in Fic: "Cute Without the 'E' (Cut from the Team)" by Taking Back Sunday (undeniably the BEST emo band to have ever existed)

***

“Okay, I’ll be right there.”

Ending his phone call with a hushed tone, Sam quietly pulls the door shut to his bedroom. He tiptoes carefully across the hardwood floors, carrying a large duffle bag. He turns the corner to the foyer; now, all he has to do is make it down the elevator, and his secret rendezvous remains just that: a secret.

“Sam?” He freezes mid-stride. “Where are you going?”

“Brynn!” Sam startles, turning on his heel. “Hi, baby!” His voice cracks in the midst of his unnatural peppy tone. He casually drops his bag behind his back before reaching out to hug his girlfriend. “Is, uh--” he kisses her as she raises an eyebrow, “--is the conference call with Tokyo over?”

“Dr. Matsuo is having technical difficulties,” Brynn’s eyes dart to the large duffle bag on the floor before glaring at Sam. “--so we’re taking a break for him to grab another computer”

“Oh, well, in that case--” Sam bounds to the kitchen, “--let’s grab you some coffee. You want some dessert?” He turns around, discovering that Brynn didn’t follow him. “Brynn?” He panics, jogging out of the room. “Brynn?”

“Whoa!” They collide in the hallway, but Sam tries to play it off by tangling his hands in her hair, forcing her into more sweet kisses. She puts her hands up in surrender, pushing his body off of hers. “You’re acting weird.”

“I’m not acting weird.” His words are quick, almost mumbled as he shoves his hands into his pockets.

“See?” She scoffs into a snicker. “That was weird.”

“N--No it wasn’t.”

Brynn’s eyelids lower, glaring at her boyfriend. Her eyes quickly shift to the duffle bag, then back to Sam. “What are you hiding?” She subtly turns towards the foyer.

“Hiding--?”

“What’s in the duffle bag?” Brynn and Sam slowly look at the duffle bag before glaring back at each other. An eerie silence hangs in the air as if a challenge has been issued. In an instant, they both sprint to the bag. They crash painfully into each other before falling to the floor. “C’mon--Sam--” she grunts as she pulls on the handles. “Let! Go!”

“There’s--nothing--to--OW!” He suddenly screeches, letting go of the bag. “Fucking Succubus! What are those? Talons?” Sam massages his hand as a satisfied Brynn sits cross-legged in victory, locking eyes with him. She puts her fingers on the zipper, taunting him. She slides her hand inside a front pocket.

She gasps. "What is this--?"

“Okay, wait--" he warns.

Brynn pulls out an ornate invitation with silver filigree that says, 'Class of 2002'.

"I can--I can explain."

She continues to read until she abruptly smiles at Sam. "Sam! It's an invite to your twenty-year high school reunion!"

"Yeah, well--" Sam rubs the back of his neck timidly.

"We're going, right? I mean, this is huge--we need to celebrate!"

"Yeah, I mean, of course. I mean--" his face drops as he sighs. "I kinda, sorta have to."

"Why? Is everyone just dying to see what became of the homecoming king?" She jests, booping him on the nose.

"Nominated. I was nominated for homecoming king.”

“Of course, you were,” she rolls her eyes before giggling. She turns her attention back to the bag when Sam interrupts her again.

“Okay, Brynn, look--" he searches for the right words. "--there's a lot about my past--about me in high school you don't know about yet--"

"Sam," she chuckles with a knowing smile. "I already know about the girls from the cheerleading squad--"

He sighs with irritation. "Fucking Robin--!"

"-- and the girls from the JV squad and the captain and co-captain of the pep squad--"

"Fuckin' A--!"

"--at the same time!" Brynn bites her bottom lip to stifle a laughter. "And then he mentioned some girl named Delaney--?"

"-- Jesus Christ! Robin went on one date with her! One--!" He drags his fingers down his face in frustration.

Brynn grabs his hands in amusement. "My point, Mr. Dalton, is I know full-well that you were a bit wild in your youth. You even told me that. Let's see," she starts to count on her fingers, "you vandalized the opposing school's basketball gym; you totaled your dad's Bentley--"

"Okay, you can stop now--"

"--and then you let Robin take the blame!"

Sam snickers under his breath. "Dad was so pissed, had Robin packing his things to kick him out--"

"Sam!" Brynn playfully pushes his shoulder. "You’re such an asshole!"

Sam playfully grabs Brynn’s arm. Pulling her into his lap, he gives her bottom a swift spank, making her yelp with glee. "Am I still an asshole?" He presses his lips into her supple pout.

"Mmmm,” Brynn licks her lips, lowering her voice. “One that needs to be punished--"

"Ooooo--" Sam crashes his lips into her mouth again, nibbling on her lips. "--Daddy likes."

As their kissing becomes deeper, enthralled with passion, Brynn finally pulls away from his tongue. "But wait a minute," she grabs the duffle bag, "what's with you being so shady? What's even in this bag?"

“Um,” he swallows thickly, “well--”

“And why do you ‘kinda, sorta have to go’?” she air-quotes, mimicking his deep voice.

“Okay, fine.” Sam sighs, rubbing the stubble of his chin. “You really want to know?”

“What gave you that impression, Sam?” Brynn sasses, pinching Sam’s arms.

“Okay, smartass,” Sam chuckles before becoming serious. “In high school, I was in a band.”

“That’s it?” She punches out a cheeky laugh. “Sam, I’ve know that since, gosh--” she puts her hand on her forehead,”--shoot, I know it was before your engagement party.”

“Really?”

“Yes, because when we were dancing, I was shocked you had such terrible rhythm--” She widens her eyes, watching for his reaction.

“Hey! I’ve got rhythm,” he says defensively.

“Uh-huh. Sure, you do,” Brynn nods sardonically. Sam begins to tickle Brynn, causing her to jump, straddling his lap.

“Want me to prove it to you?,” he bucks his hips into Brynn, bearing an impish grin. Brynn lets out a hearty laugh, wrapping her arms around his neck.

“Okay, now that?” she seals his lips with hers as she rocks her hips into his. “You do have impeccable rhythm.” She combs her fingers through his hair as he grips tightly to her ass. She teases him, licking his top lip. “So, the band is why you have to go?” Her eyes widen with joy. “Oh my God, are you playing at your reunion?”

Sam leans back on his hands, chuckling. “You guessed it, and I have practice tonight.”

“Sam! That’s incredible!” she endearingly strokes his cheek. “So, tell me: what kind of music did you play?”

Suddenly the elevator dings of someone’s arrival to the penthouse, forcing Brynn to dismount from Sam. As the doors shuffle open to reveal it’s passenger, Sam and Brynn are greeted with the gravelly growl of a singing baritone.

“... and will you tell all your friends

You've got your gun to my head

This all was only wishful thinking…”

Brynn stands up in disbelief. Wearing an old black Ramones t-shirt is Robin, complete with skinny jeans, a studded belt, and a pair of Chuck Taylors. His long, chestnut locks are spiked out. “Robin?” Brynn curiously approaches the sight. “Are you wearing guy-liner?”

Abruptly, it hit Brynn like a lightening bolt as she zips open Sam’s duffle bag. “No. Fucking. Way.” She dumps out the contents of the bag: a black shirt with a skull on it, black skinny jeans, a black pair of Vans, and Brynn’s favorite Urban Decay eyeliner.

“Oh my God, Sam!” She stares at him in shock, trying to hide her smile. “Were you in an emo band?”

***

TNA tags (please let me know if you would like to be added or removed): @ao719 @charlotteg234 @chemist-ana @choiceskatie @forallthatitsworth @jessiembruno @kat-tia801 @khoicesbyk @lovelyladyk88 @lucy-268 @neotericthemis @nestledonthaveone @sfb123 @shannonwrote @shewillreadyou @somersetmummy @thefrenchiemama

[carnelianns]

hi! i really loved your hcs about mc making depreciative jokes, could you please do that for isaac, mozart, vincent and comte please? thank you!

anon was talking about this post if anyone’s interested .. also this is so long (*´ー｀*)

tw: anxiety, depression

Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart

Mozart is very supportive in his own, roundabout way, and also has quite the humour (or lack of it — you’re not really sure) so when you do make one of your infamous jokes, you always have to think whether or not to take his reply seriously.

“Are you alright?” You nod, shooting him some finger guns. “Yeah, I’m totally fine, just need to set myself on fire is all.” 

He stares, the silence stretching out for a while, then, “Do you need help with that?”

When your self-depreciation does, however, fall on the slightly more serious side, all he can do is frown at your silence, mind running miles and miles to find something that could get you to show him that smile he’s fallen for once again.

Because, he admits, nothing pains him more than knowing the one he loves, the one he’s decided to lean on, is facing struggles he can barely wrap his head around.

“Can you.. hold my hand?” Meek and tiny is your voice as it breaks the silence of his room, Mozart preparing a teasing remark before he turns his head, the sight of your weary eyes and forlorn expression bringing his mouth to a close.

Wordlessly, he moves from his desk towards your snug form on his bed, taking it upon himself to hold your hand in his larger ones, gently shifting your head to rest comfortably in his lap as he soothingly rubs slow, soothing circles on the skin of your hand — just the way you like it.

When he hears your soft sigh of bliss, he allows his motions to continue in silence for a few more moments, before voicing out with furrowed brows, “Why did you suddenly ask for my hand?”

Mozart feels you tense up briefly, though he makes no move to stop his calming ministrations. Said ministrations only come to a pause when you reply.

“It might sound silly but… I felt like if I didn’t feel your warmth, you’d leave. Slip away, like you do so frequently in my thoughts.”

“I’ve never met someone as foolish as you in my whole life,” he mutters lowly. You’re a second away from frowning when he brings his soft fingers to your face, tilting your head to meet his gaze.

There was a certain look of pain in those violet eyes of his, the frown you deemed unfit on his face communicating each and every thought filtering through his brain. Vulnerability was never something Mozart paraded around, yet that exact quality seems to be the only thing he ought to show to you at this moment.

“Why would I ever leave the only person I wish happiness upon every waking second?” His cheeks only redden as he continues, not once leaving your gaze, “I would never leave you. Get that fact into your terribly tiny brain.”

Despite his aversion to, well, affection, Mozart had, in one way or the other, made his words clear throughout the whole day, be it the way he pressed his leg against yours at the dining table, or how often your shoulders touched whilst walking around together.

Actions do speak louder than words, after all.

Vincent van Gogh

The little ray of sunshine is unaware that your gloomy words are mere jests (most of the time), and he still is at times, even after you explained. He has a slight frown on his face whenever you make these jokes, only causing you to regret even opening your mouth.

“How are you feeling today, schatje?” “Oh, I’m not.” You answer listlessly, only straightening up when you see his lips curl downwards. “I mean, I’m not feeling.. Bad. Yes. Haha.” Nice save.

In all honesty, he doesn’t quite understand your self-deprecation, or, well, you. And it eats him alive. The only thing he wishes for is your happiness, but how can he do that when he can barely understand your sadness?

He often partakes in conversations with you regarding your views, always ending up reassuring you in any and every way that he cares, that he loves you.

“You’re going to hate yourself in the morning if you don’t fall asleep right now, you know?” His sleepy murmur against your forehead only brings you to scoff slightly, snuggling in closer to his chest.

“Jokes on you, Vincent, I’m going to hate myself no matter what.”

Your tone is joking, though it does nothing to stop him from tensing up, the better part of his brain urging him to wake up. Furrowing his brows, Vincent manages to calm himself down, slightly glad that you’re unable to see his worried countenance.

“Do you mind telling me why?”

He finds himself listening intently to your words, only pulling you closer to his chest as you explain. It’s heartwarming, really, how someone loves you this much, to listen to the ramblings you’ve deemed “pointless” and feelings you thought “unnecessary”.

“Well.. you know...” he starts, gently pushing your chin up to meet his intense gaze, one you often see when he’s immensely focused on one of his paintings. “I love you. I always will, and I won’t stop, even until you figure out how to love yourself.”

It should be illegal, for someone to say such honeyed words in that gentle tone of his. For someone to say such words, and mean every single one.

You’re helpless as you burry your sniffling form into the chest of the man you love, Vincent only humming softly as he rakes his soft fingers through your hair, urging you to sleep, to bathe in his warmth.

Isaac Newton

Whenever you let out one of your self-deprecating jokes, Isaac always manages to furrow his brows, process it for a few seconds, then proceeds to scoff, scolding you lightly.

“Why is it so easy for you to talk badly about yourself, but so hard for you to stop?” He asks one day, sending you a look. You roll your eyes, “An object in motion stays in motion, genius.”

“... I can’t believe you used my words against me like that.” His lips were permanently twisted into a moue that whole day.

Isaac is quite used to both receiving and giving vitriolic remarks, though he can only remain silent when those remarks are from you, directed to yourself. He can shoulder any amount of criticism, any amount of malice, but when it comes to you — it’s a whole different story. 

He’d rather you direct those “jokes” to him than yourself, in all honesty, if it meant taking the burden off your shoulder (which he knows it won’t).

"You’re looking awfully thoughtful today.” His statement reverberates through the empty living room, slowly making his way towards you and the faraway look clear in your eyes.

“Thinking about sleeping but forever...” You murmur absentmindedly, unable to notice the frown marring his features as he sits himself to your left in your zoned out state. “Do you think it would be nice?”

Hesitance broods over his features as he struggles to form an answer, his mouth falling closed and open in a seemingly endless cycle. A frustrated groan brings you out of your daze, your head snapping towards just in time for Isaac to tackle you into an unexpected hug.

“Of course it wouldn’t be nice, you idiot,” he hisses, his grip on you tightening ever-so slightly, as if to keep you from doing what you had just suggested. “Don’t do that. Don’t even think about it.”

His words float through the room, your eyes widening in surprise at the slight rancour in his tone. Though confused, your arms slowly snake around his chest, obvious that he isn’t letting go anytime soon.

“If you do, then who am I going to be loving?” His gentle words are barely audible, but the room is far too silent for his confession to simply fly away.

And usually, you’d be teasing the probably flushed and reddened man, though today you simply opt to hug him just a little bit tighter, inhaling his sweet scent.

It takes a while for the both of you to move from your position on the cushioned sofa. The fact that your lover also pushed away both Dazai and Arthur’s teasings only caused your heart to warm even more.

Comte de Saint-Germain

There isn’t many things that are able to get a reaction out of the always poised man, but your self-deprecating humour always induces quite an unexplainable expression on his handsome face. A confused smile, a worried look, and a slight frown mixed all together is the closest words can get.

“Quite frankly, ma chérie, your life is falling apart,” he says, bemused at your current kitchen situation — cooking without Sebastian is a difficult feat, you’ve learned.

You only wink humorously at him, some sort of concoction dripping from your fingers. “Your life can’t fall apart if you never had it together.”

Cue The Look™.

He can’t deny that his thoughts drift to you a lot. More specifically, to your thoughts and feelings, if it hadn’t already before. Don’t be surprised if you see the man randomly lurking around near you — just a mere check up, as per usual of the worrisome man.

“Ah, ma chérie.. pray tell me why we’re in this position again? Not that I mind, of course.” Confusion is evident in his ever-smooth voice, slowly rubbing his large hands up and down your back as he rests his head on your shoulder.

Not many times do you burst into his study, wordlessly nestling yourself into his lap — much like a koala, he thinks — and staying in that position for quite some time, but it does happen. He can’t say he’s not used to it.

“... You know how you’re perfect?” You ask, briefly looking into his golden eyes before setting your head down once more into the crook of his neck. “Yeah. I have to keep reminding myself that you won’t be leaving this self-deprecating self of mine.”

He inhales softly for a moment, before you hear that comforting voice of his right beside your ear, gentle and deep, and not going anywhere.

“You know that I will never leave you, mon coeur.” My heart. Your own heart thumps slightly at the rare nickname.

A meek nod is the only reply you can muster. He continues, “And you know that I love you.”

Another nod. Then, finally, he turns your head towards his own with the tip of his fingers, a sweet, slightly pained smile painted on his face. Lithe fingers caress your cheeks, bringing you to lean into his warmth. “And you know, that I will love you until your next life, and the one after that, and every, other—”

You immediately cut him off with a kiss, one which he only smiles mischievously into. Curse the immortal for knowing exactly how to get you all hot and flustered.

Not once did he lie though. And he isn’t planning to, especially when it comes to the one he loves.

[thero0ks]

Broken Dishes <Arno Dorian>

Another fic I had posted on AO3, but not Tumblr. Please enjoy ♥

The pile of books never seemed to dwindle. Novices had a terrible habit of never returning books where they found them. Of course they didn’t hold a candle to the master assassins who liked to take their books for a walk. (Y/N) was currently searching for a particular volume the council was requesting. She’d searched every nook and cranny of the library, but the book was nowhere to be found. “It couldn’t have grown legs and wandered off.” She muttered, when it dawned on her that several master assassins visited the library yesterday. Someone had taken the book to their study, and she was on a mission to find the book before the council berated her endlessly for the misplacement of the precious tome.

She found herself climbing the spiral steps in the Cafe Theater. There were several rooms to search, and she went to work knocking on each door inquiring after the tome. She’d made it to the end of the hall with no such luck. There was only one room left to check, and she felt nervous interrupting its occupant. She hoped he wouldn’t answer, so she could search his desk for the novel and leave a note. She hesitantly knocked three times, but much to her disappointment she could hear shuffling inside the room. Finally the door swung open revealing Arno Dorian the master assassin himself.

“Pardon monsieur, it seems a tome has gone missing from the library, and I’m trying to locate it. Do you happen to have the copy of Ezio Auditore’s journal entries?” Her hands fidgeted with her robes absentmindedly.

“Oui, I didn’t know it needed to be back so soon.” He teased lightly, opening the door fully to let her in.

“Normally no, but the council needs it, and I will be reprimanded if it isn’t in their hands by noon.” She explained.

“Ah, I see.” He said grabbing the book off his nightstand, and placing it in her hands.

“Merci beaucoup.” She said letting out a relieved sigh taking the book from him. "You can have it back as soon as the council deems it." She said over her shoulder, causing the man to chuckle. Chocolate eyes watched her figure disappear. He’d seen her in the library on several occasions, and he could not deny that she was a beautiful woman. It was at that moment that Arno decided to make more frequent trips to the library to speak with the pretty bookworm.

* **

Pascal wrapped his arms around her (p/l/c) frame, "missed me?" His voice was husky in her ear.

"Pascal?" She asked spinning in his arms wrapping her arms around him. "When did you get back?" She asked pulling back to inspect him. Her eyes running over his frame looking for any new scars, and taking in his features.

"This morning.” He said planting a kiss on her lips. “A rose for mon ange." He bowed presenting her a blood red rose.

"Merci mon amour." A sweet scent enveloped her when she brought the rose under her nose.

"Can you bare to part with your books for only a moment mon ange?" The blond inquired tapping her nose.

She blushed, "I will have one of the novices clean up tonight. I will meet you at four."

He smiled pressing a kiss to her hand. "It's a date ma belle ange." He slipped away into the shadows leaving her stomach fluttering. She closed her eyes engulfed in the flower’s scent once more.

Arno pressed himself against the bookshelf clinging to the shadows as Pascal passed. He peeked around the corner to see the pretty scholar lost in her own world. Something inside him urged him to follow Pascal. He tailed the man through the crowded Parisian streets. The man stopped at a social club hesitating to survey his surroundings to confirm he wasn't followed, before slipping through the door.

Arno found a place at the bar, which was crowded allowing the master assassin to easily blend, and observe the man completely undisturbed. His chocolate hues widened when another woman greeted the man at his table. Arno could assume the rest, but he couldn't leave without being completely sure of the affair.

Pascal's fingers trailed the green eyed vixens cream skin as he placed the pendant on her neck. Soon his fingers were replaced with lips, and the two were lost in each other.

Arno had witnessed enough. He quickly placed a few francs on the bar slipping back into the street. Exposing the man's true character seemed like the best course of action. If he told the librarian she may not believe him, but she deserved to know. His heart ached for the woman. She appeared to be taken with Pascal, and the man was an ass.

* **

He found her at a table in the library flipping through a large novel. “Salut.” Arno’s soft voice echoed across the empty library. She glanced up her eyes taking a moment to bring her back to reality, “Salute monsieur Dorian.” She said offering him a soft smile.

“A secret admirer?” He inquired nodding at the blood red rose that sat beside her.

A blush crept up her cheeks, “non." She said simply.

"A lover?" His eyes lit up, and a small smile crept on his face at her soft innocence.

"We've been seeing each other for some time." She confessed, playing with the pages of her book. Her mind seemed somewhere else.

"Is there something troubling you amie?" He inquired, taking a seat across from her.

Her teeth sunk into her lip, rolling it nervously deep in thought, "he seems different as of late."

Arno nodded his head a sign for her to go on. "He's gone a lot during the day. Which wouldn't be odd, but…" she said trailing off.

"What is it?" His hand found her’s gripping it for support. A friendly gesture to ensure he was listening.

"Well he told me he was on a mission a few weeks ago, but that same morning his mentor approached me asking where he was. His mentor was under the impression he was with me, and I was-"

"Under the impression he was with him." Arno finished her sentence with a grim face. She dipped her head in confirmation the cowl blocking her features for a moment.

"I do not want to seem paranoid, but I'm not a fool either." She said simply.

"Does a woman with red hair and green eyes mean anything to you?" He inquired gageing her reaction to the question.

Fine brows furrowed deep in thought, but she shook her head slowly, "non." She hesitated her eyes fluttering closed for a moment to gain her composure. "What do you know?" Her (e/c) eyes snapped open in a flash.

Arno let out a heavy sigh, "I overheard the two of you in the library this morning. Something about him was...unsettling, so I followed him." Arno said running a hand up the back of his neck. Admitting his snooping filled him with shame.

"And what did you find?" Her voice came out hard, and flat.

"A mistress...his mistress." He clarified at the end. Her jaw was set, and there was a spark behind her (e/c) eyes. She stood up abruptly, grabbing the rose and mangling it beyond repair.

Arno's brows shot up at the scene unfolding. "That lying connard!" She seethed. Her hands picked up the large book, angrily forcing it back into its place on the shelf.

"(Y/N), let's think about this rationally." He said in attempts to calm her.

"I'm going to give him a piece of my mind." She said simply storming out of the library, Arno hot on her heels.

"You know you cannot kill him." Arno said plainly as she stormed up the hall towards Cafe Theater.

She scoffed "monsieur Dorian. You think me so rash? I was only going to threaten...then use force if necessary." She added at the end.

Arno gripped her by the shoulders, "you need to breath, and think about this."

"If you're waiting for me to break down and cry you'll be waiting a long time, because he doesn't deserve the satisfaction of hurting me. I won't allow it!" She said throwing her hands up in anger. "I decided a long time ago that I get to choose who hurts me. My tears won't be wasted on someone like him." As soon as she said it, she ran out of steam and her composure fell.

Her back hit the stone wall and her feet slowly eased her down until she was sitting on the cold floor. "What am I doing?" She mumbled the back of her skull hitting stone.

Arno took a seat next to her, "Heav'n has no Rage, like Love to Hatred turn'd, Nor Hell a Fury, like a Woman scorn'd."

Her eyes gazed up at him tuning her head to face him, "The Mourning Bride?" He'd caught her by surprise."A well read master assassin who helps damsels in distress. Monsieur you are full of surprises." She teased nudging his shoulder.

"Arno." He said softly. "Please just call me Arno." His eyes were soft gazing into hers. She could see the faint scar running across the bridge of his nose and cheek. His face was hypnotizing in the candlelight. He had eyes that she could get lost in, and before she found herself slipping into a sea of chocolate she cleared her throat.

"I need to speak with Pascal." She said pushing herself up from the ground. "Thank you Arno."

"Would you like me to come with you?" Arno asked scrambling to his feet.

"Could I stop you?" She inquired. He let out a breathy laugh with a shake of his head. "Then I suppose I'm stuck with you." She jested, a ghost of a smile on her face.

"I believe we have dinner reservations to ruin." Arno said lightly gesturing towards the end of the hall.

The pair made their way down the hall to find Cafe Theater alive with music, and voices melting together. Her eyes locked on Pascal seated at a table by the stage. He hadn't noticed her peeking into the room. He was out of his robes, sporting a smart emerald jacket, and his blond locks were plaited with a ribbon.

"What's the plan?" Arno inquired leaning against wall. His arms folded across his chest playing the role of a mysterious stranger perfectly.

"Don't have one." She said her eyes darting around the room for a woman with red hair and shamrock eyes.

"Wait. You don't have one?" Arno asked straightening up.

She waved him off, "believe me. I did this all the time on missions. I'm much better at winging it. Pissed Bellec off." She snickered.

"You told Bellec you were going to 'wing it'." He asked trying to hold back the laughter.

"No, of course not. I told Bellec he was going to watch me wing it." She said waving him off.

"Pray, how did he take that news?" Arno asked with a an uncontrollable smile.

"Usually he’d say: I want the last words you think about before you die be 'I told you so.'" She said attempting to imitate Bellec's gruff voice. Arno shook his head at the image. It was exactly the kind of thing his old mentor would say. Her voice brought him back to the dimly lit cafe.

"That's her isn't it." She said spotting the redhead a couple tables away from Pascal. Arno peeked around the corner, and with a nod of his head confirmed her assumptions. "Come on." She said dragging him by the front of his robes.

"Mon amour." She greeted sweet poison dripping from each word.

"Mon ange." Pascal greeted. "Late at the library again?" He teased.

"Monsieur Dorian was filling me in on some research he did." She said taking a seat at the table. Arno followed suit curious what the woman was up to.

"Oh, a book lover as well?" Pascal inquired. "Master Dorian, what is the sudden interest with a lowly scholar?" He inquired.

(Y/N) had to refrain from rolling her eyes. The man was cheating on her, and he had the audacity to get jealous that Arno showed an interest in her. “A brilliant mind, and a beautiful face is rare in this world mon ami.” The word ‘ami’ had a hint of warning laced in it.

Arno turned to (Y/N) with a thought flickering in his mind, "are you in love?" Arno's voice was like silk.

"Out." (Y/N)'s voice came automatically.

A glint showed in Arno's eyes. He was unsure if she would understand, but there was no doubt now. "Of love?"

"The one I love doesnt love me." Her voice came soft. "Shakespeare?" She questioned, but she already knew the answer.

"Oui."

Her jaw was set as she turned on her old flame, sparks coming to life behind her eyes, "you dared bring her here?"

"Bring who amore?" He shifted uneasily caught in his lie.

"Her. Your mistress." Her head inclined towards the red haired woman. "You couldn't be shamed enough to keep it private?" Her voice cracked at the end.

"Mon ange, she's nothing." His voice came out quiet. "I love only you."

Her eyes grew sad, and her mouth went slack studying him for a moment. "Pascal, you do not break those you love." The chair legs on the wooden floor made a loud echo in the room as she stood. She left the theater without a glance back.

His footsteps were silent, but she didn't need to hear him to know he was there. Paris' streets were empty and the lights sparkled off the surface of the Seine. The marble railing was cool on her legs as she leaned against it waiting for him to speak.

"Who broke you?"

Her hood was thrown back and the cool breeze trailed across her skin. She weighed the question her eyes boring into him. A sigh released, and he knew he'd gained her trust. "My father. That was a long time ago. I put the pieces back together, but a broken dish will always be a broken dish." She said with a shrug of her shoulders. Her gaze drifted over the obsidian surface of the river, as if she were attempting the shake the emotions that bubbled to the surface of her mind.

Arno shifted on the cobblestones unsure what to say. "Death broke me. Maybe we're all just broken dishes in the end."

She snorted, "what a sorry title for a life."

Arno stepped closer to her. Her frame was silhouetted in the moonlight, and he finally realized that she was a tragic beauty. Held together by only sadness and empty dreams. Books were a solace for her, because she felt everything so deeply. She hadn't the tears to spare anymore. Living in perpetual sadness lead her to greet sorrow like an old friend. It was then that he realized that some people found beauty in sadness. Some women were like flowers, and sunshine. Others were like silk and midnight, but this girl was a raging storm that would swallow you whole and spit you right out. She'd weathered too many storms to settle for anyone who couldn't handle the tidal waves and driving rain.

"Maybe our broken pieces would fit together." If it hadn't been for the empty streets she wouldn't have heard the soft whisper of his voice.

For a moment he was worried she hadn't heard him, but she pushed herself off the railing to stand in front of him. "Are you going to be there when my world comes apart? I've given too many pieces away to support everyone else."

He looked down into those soft (e/c) pools. "Then I'll give you some of mine." He said softly. It was in that moment he knew she needed to be kissed, and he’d be lying if he said he didn’t want to kiss her. Her cheeks were flushed, and her lips slightly parted. Long lashes gazed up at him, one hand cupped her face and the other tangled in her (h/c) locks. When their lips touched the world seemed to float away. The only real thing in the world at that moment was the two of them entangled in a kiss. When they finally parted, their lips were swollen, and there was no room for anything but love in their eyes.

"You have the kind of eyes a girl could get lost in." She said softly. There was no room for anything above hushed whispers. "I cannot bare to say goodnight."

"Then tell me good morning." He said softly kissing her once again. Hands entwined he lead her to his room. On a feather bed they wouldn't have to part. Their souls could become one, and they’d never have to say goodnight.

__

Tag List:

@pink-polarfox @marshmallow—3 @jstar1992

[loverofthousands]

Punishment or Salvation// Fyodor Dostoevsky

A pale yellow light hung from above your heads, providing the only light in this tiny room. Neither you nor the man who sat opposite from you spoke, leaving only the incessant tapping of your fingernails on the wooden table to break the silence.

His violet eyes stared deep into you, observing your every move. The tapping stopped as you sighed and met his gaze with yours. "If you please, sir. I humbly ask of you to not be unkind." You smiled as kindly as possible.

His lips curled in response. "In what way have I been unkind, miss?" Fyodor says, resting his head on his hand.

"Has no one ever taught you that staring at a lady is rude?" You mimicked his movements, resting your chin to the back of your hands.

"My apologies, then. However," he continues. "I didn't realize that someone such as you dabbles in earthly affairs."

This time you offered him a toothy grin, teeth slightly sharper than what would be considered as human. "Do be careful," You say with a voice much deeper than the last. "Your choice of words border on insults, sir."

"I never had the intent to offend." Fyodor was no longer smiling, but rather opted to once again observe you. His mind, no doubt, trying to figure you out. "But I hope you understand, I have no such experience in dealing with..." He paused, thinking of a non-offensive term. "Your kind."

And just like that, the feathery whites that lay mounted to your back twitched. You blinked, stretching your wings slightly. "Why have you brought me here, human?" Your voice was velvet and pleasant to the ears; drawling out your words hypnotically, but it just garnered more caution to the man in front of you.

With just a single glance, you knew that Fyodor was an incredibly smart and cunning man. Deception and trickery lurked from beneath his violet eyes. But even in his own cleverness, neither you nor him had expected in a million lifetimes that both of you would meet in the way that you did.

In the quiet of the night, a bright light had cut through the darkness, catching Fyodor's attention as he was walked through the dark alleyways of the city. From afar, perhaps it looked like a shooting star, but from his perspective you could see that it was much closer than any star should have been. In fact, it appears it would crash into the ocean in close proximity to where he stood.

The fall created large ripples of waves in the water, the earth slightly rumbling due to the impact. From the distance you can hear cats skittering about and the birds flying in fright, surprised by the sudden movement. Curiosity gripped him, his mind fighting a war between the logic of investigating or retreating just to be safe.

But before he made a decision, the sudden surfacing of a figure in the water brought him back to reality. You emerged from the water and, although cloaked with a hooded cape, provided the same incandescence of the moon to your surroundings.

Only when you were finally on land did you notice the man a stone's throw away from you. You both looked at each other from head to toe. Fyodor took note of your clothing's dryness despite having landed on water. And when your eyes finally met, you smiled.

The meeting was only a few hours ago. After that he led you, or rather, you followed him back to this place where both of you now sit, the pale yellow light flickered three times as if sensing the tension in the air.

Fyodor threw a folder to the table creating a slight thump sound. You looked down at the folder with the words "Decay of Angels" written neatly on it. You smiled inwardly at the use of the word angel. "What is this?" You met his gaze once more.

"It is an organization I am apart of." He taps the folder slightly. "I would like to ask you to join us."

Fyodor never disclosed what it is they actually do but perhaps something in you, even just an inkling of a feeling, already knew. Instead of answering, you looked at light above. "Tell me, sir. What do you live for?"

"What do you mean?" He says, following your gaze.

"Humans are such interesting creatures, wouldn't you agree? I have taken such a keen fascination with your kind. And one thing I learned about humans is that they have something they live for. The reason they are alive. Otherwise, they are just merely surviving." Your eyes snap back to him. "So tell me, why do you live? What is your purpose? Your reason?"

Fyodor smiled once again, amusement decorating his face. "I simply want to eradicate all sinners called ability users walking in this earth."

"Sinners, huh?" You pressed a finger to your lips, entertained by the thought. "Do you think you fancy yourself a God then?"

"Does it matter? God or Demon. I'll do both if I must."

Fyodor then saw how you looked at him as if he was being ridiculous, his eyes widened in both horror and disgust as you laughed at him, at his arrogance. He gritted his teeth, and glared at you with growing annoyance. "Does it displease you or your God?"

You simply hummed in response. "On the contrary, I find the thought very amusing. I just wish it did displease Him though." Pressing your lips in a thin line, you swayed your head side to side lightly.

"I take it you don't like Him very much?" He asks, but you didn't seem to hear him. You were too engrossed in your own thoughts. Finally you looked at him once again. "I'm terribly sorry for insulting you. In fact, I have taken quite the liking to you. It's very interesting and admirable to see you care about humanity to the point that you are willing to sacrifice yourself in order to change it."

Fyodor was clearly taken aback by your sudden compliments. He cleared his throat. "And what of your God?"

You clicked your tongue. "What of Him? Damn Him! He doesn't care about you. Nor does He care about the so-called Humanity. Maybe He once did, but not anymore. Not after..."

"After what?"

You shook your head. "Nothing you should know or be concerned about. What's past is past." Your words hung between the both of you as silence enveloped the room. He was the first to break it.

"Who or what exactly is He then?" You looked at him with a grim look on your face. The light flickered yet again.

"Does it really matter who He is? He is All and All is He. In fact, He might even be in this very room." As you said that, it felt like the room grew colder despite having no windows. "No words created by man can possibly begin to describe him. God is simply God." You laughed cynically.

That was when Fyodor first noticed that you have grown dull. No, not you, it was your light that became dull. It's become muted like the moon when covered by clouds. You were still entrancing, of course. Your beauty was not of human standards. It was unsettling like the beauty of a shipwreck. But in his eyes, you have never looked more human.

You took note of his silence. "Perhaps it's a bit confusing? You would come to know what I mean if you see Him yourself."

"And would you take me to Him?"

You offered your hand, wings spreading wide. "If you would like me to." He looked at your outstretched hand, and then back at you.

"It was a jest." You took back your hand, laughing quietly. "Unfortunately, you weren't amused."

"My apologies," he says under his breath. You barely even heard him. "I couldn't help but notice your extreme liking for Humanity, miss. Was that the reason for your fall?"

"Who wouldn't?" You laughed. "One such as myself who lacks Humanity is incredibly curious of it. Human Behavior, Heart, Good, Bad, Morality... All such interesting things!"

Fyodor leaned back on his chair, arms crossed and a small smile playing on his lips. "If you are looking for humanity, then I'm afraid you'll have to look elsewhere. I've long given that up."

"Oh, but don't you see? It is because of your humanity that you do all these things." His eyes widened ever so slightly. You smiled sadly. "Be glad for your humanity, Dostoevsky. Becoming a God, I found, is the loneliest achievement one can attain."

You paused then, your gaze never tore away from his but unlike before, your eyes were glazed over, as if you were no longer seeing him but rather something much deeper, something beyond even his human knowledge. And for the first time in what seems to be forever, Fyodor felt a chill run down his spine.

He has no idea why both of you met at this fateful night. Why did you fall exactly where he was? Were you fated to meet? He laughs to himself. Could it be? Has his years of sin finally caught up to him? Were you his punishment?

Fyodor now looked upon you with new found contempt. But he was shocked to see that instead of looking back with the same contempt, you instead looked at him emphatically. The kindest look anyone has ever offered him all his life.

And now, Fyodor entertained the thought that perhaps rather than his punishment, you were his salvation.

[starrysupercell]

Second paternal-centric piece, centered on the highly dramatic Graveyard Fam! The patchwork family <3

Do I put way too many serious thoughts in things? Maybe. But I am a storyteller.

Heavily headcanon based that I've mentioned before.

Warnings: mentions of formerly living in a toxic and neglectful environment, and a current abrasive and struggling relationship between Mortis and Frank.

Ask to tag.

~

🧟‍♀️📱 Picture Perfect 🦇🎧

Emz awoke naturally, opening her eyes, and blinking away the sleep. She stared up at her ceiling blankly. What a good day's sleep!

She pulled her arm from the tightly wrapped blanket around her and slipped it under her pillow to grab her phone.

She held it above her face to replace the ceiling as the point of interest in her line of sight. It was around 1:30 pm. What have people talked about ever since she went to sleep earlier that morning?

She began to scroll through posts, ready to begin her morning regime of giving only a few hearts to a handful of posts, and maybe even one or two coveted comments from her. (It was best to leave them wanting more!)

However, she froze in her browsing when she quickly noticed a trend in today's posts. A long winded paragraph by some random of how lucky they were, a meme about single mothers, grilling pictures.

Oh, today was no day to lay in bed for half an hour before beginning her day! It was Father's Day. Emz twisted around, trying to roll out of her bedsheets.

"Ogh, stupid covers--!" She grumbled despite the fact that she loved twisting herself up in them. It helped her sleep at night.

The zombie rolled too far one way and gave a cut off yelp as she fell clean off the bed and landed on the ground painfully on her stomach. How embarrassing, she huffed, peeved. She slapped the ground in frustration and pushed herself up with the same palm. She sat on her knees and leaned on her bed, fixing her hair with her other hand. Okay, fail, but at least nobody saw that.

Absent-mindedly, the teen brought her phone up again and unlocked it fluidly. She scrolled through a few posts and ended up giving the first like of the day.

"Wait, no," She said, looking up. She had a plan for today and everything! Emz stood up and slipped her phone into her back pocket. First up, the gifts!

She bounded over to her closet and opened it. There they were. Two gift baskets for today. One for her Uncle, and one for Frank. Emz smiled. They were handmade of course, because premade goodie bags were absolutely lame!

As if she would settle for giving anything less than perfection. No, she hand picked what would go into each basket, decorated and placed it to be aesthetically pleasing, and wrapped it up with a gorgeous ribbon. She's even refrained about bragging about any of this online, to keep it absolutely secret. Man, was she just amazing or what? That was rhetorical, of course. She knew she was flawless already.

Like an instinct to survive, Emz had her phone out of her pocket and in front of her once more, camera open. She winked and stuck her tongue out with a smile, and took a picture. She grimaced.

Ugh, she had to go through her morning routine first and then take another picture afterwards. This was a terrible excuse for a selfie. With that thought in mind, Emz stretched properly, and strolled to her bathroom.

~

"Talk to me, Franklin. You know it's a mutual effort." Mortis said, poking Frank's cheek. He was leaning over the back of the couch where Frank was sitting at. The big guy tilted his head away with a grunt. His eyes were trained on the television as he tried his best to tune out the vampires.

"...Is this still about the dishes?" Mortis decided to guess since he refused to answer. "I'll have you know that I got started on them the other day. But then I got a call that simply couldn't go unanswered." Mortis paused and studied the lack of change in grump level in Frank. Okay. Maybe not that. "...If this is about my bats, I am not making them sleep outside. They like it in here. Only Robata likes it outside." Still no answer. Mortis tapped on his chin. What else could possibly be on his spouse's mind? It was already hard to believe that Franklin was mad at him, but he was just not budging in giving any hints. (Yet again!)

"Ugh," Frank grunted. "It's not just about the dishes or the bats." He started to explain quietly. Mortis leaned in attentively with a small smile on his face. Oh, it was such a rare treat now when Franklin opened up to him. Even if this was about an argument, Mortis adored the fact.

"It's about the fact that you still make excuses for your laziness." He finished.

Mortis frowned. Except for when he spouted spiteful lies and insults! "They aren't excuses! I'm telling you what happened. You know, you're not the only who lives here, Franklin. There's a thing called--"

"Good afternoon~!" Emz called out, stepping down the staircase with flourish.

Mortis ruffled Frank's hair and lowered his voice. "Hold that thought." With a pirouette, he shot a cheerful grin at Emz. "Poisoned Apple! Good afternoon!" The gravedigger greeted. Frank was annoyed, but he held up a hand to wave at Emz pleasantly. With his other hand, he turned the volume down on the show he was watching.

"Hi!" Emz said, stopping right before she reached the bottom. She was using the railing to hide the baskets. "You guys know what today is, right?"

"....Sunday?" Mortis questioned happily.

"I guess so, yeah," Emz said, "But beyond that."

Frank blinked and shook his head lightly.

"It's..." Emz paused for dramatic effect, and then lifted the baskets into view. "Father's Day! Look what I made!"

"Ooh," Mortis smiled, fangs glinting. He held his arms out as Emz walked forward to hand him his basket.

"This is for you and--" she moved on to Frank. "--this is for you!"

Mortis marveled at the items he could see, and turned it to see it from a different angle. The plastic wrap crinkled as he did this.

Frank smiled at her as she passed it over to him. With just a glance, he could already see some of his favorite things in there, he placed it aside and stood, prompting her for a hug as he walked around the sofa.

Emz was wrapped and lifted up in his large stature, pleasantly smiling. "I'm glad you both liked it." She laughed, muffled.

"Naturally," Mortis remarked, "Your craftsmanship is to die for!"

Emz was finally let go by Frank, landing on the floor. "Oh, tell me about it," she smirked. "I stayed up a couple of days ago finishing those up and they turned out perfectly!" She flipped her hair with an obvious flourish. "You can go on gushing," she said, only half jokingly as she brought out her phone to idly glance through any messages.

Mortis laughed in amusement. Frank smiled patiently. Emz was sharp around the edges, but she was endearingly so. As long as she didn't go too far...

"Oh, yeah!" She put her phone away. "You should both, like get dressed up. There's an event on the beach later on tonight, and I was thinking we could go out today. Like... my treat."

"You?" Mortis voiced for both he and Frank. "You have money?"

"Yeah? I save up. Don't you?" She asked haughtily. "Or do you just not want to go?"

Frank gave short laugh, and patted his stomach in jest. Mortis shrugged in amusement, catching on to Frank's joke. "Well, if you think you have enough for Frank, we'll be your guests, sweetheart."

~

"Oooh, futuristic," Mortis marveled, taking off the wide-brimmed hat he wore as the Trio walked inside. They were at the Zero-Gravity diner. It was a part of Starr Force's attractions.

A bored-looking feline straightened up in attention as the doors slid open. "Welcome, Civilians!" She greeted from her silvery podium. "Feeling low on energy? If you want to help out Colonel Ruffs in his quest against the Dark Lord, you should fill up while you've got the chance." She recited in character, "Luckily, you're safe here, and we've got plenty of foodstuffs that'll fill you up! So, how can I help you today?"

Emz scoffed. Did Kit not recognize them or something? "You could have skipped the spiel. Like, you know that we're Brawlers, right?"

The cat blinked slowly, resisting the urge to roll her eyes. "Okay. What do you want then?"

"I've got a reservation for three, under Emz."

Kit shifted her focus to the high-tech screen right beside her. It was see through. From the perspective of the Graveyard Trio, the images, texts and buttons were flipped.

Kit pressed through a few buttons, navigating through menus, and then confirmed Emz's arrival. "Alright. If you'll follow me." She picked up three devices from her podium, and began to lead the way through the restaurant. Her tail swished as she walked along.

When they got to the table, Kit waited until they were seated and placed the devices in front of the three. "Press the blue button to activate your menus." She said.

Mortis pressed it, and a holographic screen flashed into view, akin to Kit's own screen at her podium. He laughed. "This is spectacular! We should add a horror-themed restaurant to our section. It would be a hit!" Mortis exclaimed. "What say you two?"

"Ooh, that'd be sooo cute! I can run it." Emz said.

Frank grunted, and pressed the menu button. It didn't spring to life like Mortis' did, so he pressed it again, and then once more even rougher. It broke under his strength.

"Oh," Kit reached over. "Sorry about that. You can hand me the pieces, and I'll get you a replacement menu. I'll be right back." Frank did so, a bit embarrassed.

As soon as Kit was out of earshot, Emz laughed. "Our place won't have cheap stuff like here though."

Mortis grinned. Frank was less than amused and gave a shrug. It was simply an accident, and they shouldn't be rude about it.

Kit returned and activated the device before handing it to Frank. "Here you go. While you look through that, what can I get for you to drink?" She asked, readying a tablet.

"I'll have a peach iced tea." Emz told Kit.

"I'll have a glass of Merlot." The mortician decided.

Great. Now he'd have to drive. Frank rolled his eyes, and looked through the sodas.

Mortis looked over at him. "What would you like, Franklin?"

After eyeing the selections, he pointed out his choice. Mortis made a face and looked at Kit. "He'll just have a Coke."

"Okay. I'll get that to you. A waiter will be right out to get the rest of your order." Kit said. She departed from the table.

Emz hummed and stood up. "I'll be right back. Remember- order whatever you want! I'm paying." She reminded, smoothing out the cute dress she wore and then walking off towards the restroom.

Mortis watched her go, and then moved aside the menu device.

"Okay, Franklin. Let's talk." he interlocked his fingers like this was a business deal.

Frank ignored him, swiping through the menu.

"This is a fancier restaraunt. Emz is treating us, and you can tell how important this is to her, can't you? I hope you do."

Mortis paused for any telling gesture or expression, but Franklin remained quiet. The mortician continued. "Well, it'd be great if you'd drop the pettiness, if only for tonight. This is between us, not Emz."

Frank glowered at Mortis. Pettiness? Him? The big guy shoved aside the device now. He was tired of Mortis' tone and habits and everything.

"Don't even think of causing a scene here, Franklin," Mortis tensed up. "Think about Emz!" Frank frowned.

"Here are your drinks, Sirs." the black cat returned. She either didn't notice or chose to ignore the quiet tension at the table as she put the drinks down and then left.

Frank grumpily put his face in his hand. "Fine. But you're being a dick." Frank said.

Mortis was offended. "How!?" He asked indignantly.

"Drinking without even asking me, nitpicking what I want, and those are on top of the bats and dishes. And I bet you're ready with some excuse now too." Frank listed.

Mortis clamped his mouth shut. He was going to point out that it was only one, and that plain old coke at a more fancy place, really? But, that would just prove Franklin right. "Well," he struggled on what to say for only a second before finding a string. "You always keep things to yourself! How am I supposed to guess what you're thinking? You wait and get mad and then out of the blue, you just attack me!"

Frank furrowed his brows and looked aside, feeling a bit guilty.

"Hey!" Emz arrived and sat down, and scooched up in her chair. "You guys are being an itty bitty loud, you know? I'm sure you don't want people staring."

"Uhh..." Mortis said. "I suppose not. So... Franklin." He said awkwardly, trying to think of some different topic. "I think... our Brawl Ball strategy should change." He sighed, disappointed in himself. How weak of a subject.

Emz was puzzled and looked like she wanted to say something. So, of course, she did voice her thoughts. "Weren't you guys talking about, like being mad or whatever?"

"No....?" Mortis said. "Nobody's mad here. Am I right, Franklin?"

"Uh. Yeah." The big guy shrugged.

Emz pursed her lips. "Right... So this afternoon too?"

Mortis gave a tight smile. "This afternoon?" He pretended.

Emz was merciless in completely demolishing this lie. "This morning, when I walked downstairs, Frank was on the couch with the T.V. on. It wasn't muted, even though you were beside him presumably chatting. That's some weirdo way to talk if you weren't mad at someone." She said, matter-of-factly. "You think I don't know body language?"

"...." Mortis was stunned. Frank laughed at the absurdity. She had guessed it perfectly!

Emz crossed her arms though. She waited for Frank's chuckle to die down. "So, what gives? You two are going to start lying to me all of a sudden?" She looked between the two, waiting impatiently for an answer.

".....No." Mortis said finally.

"Then?"

The vampire faltered. "It's just that... well, you know. The discussions Frank and I gave, ah, doesn't have to do with you? So... why involve you?" Mortis managed.

"Okay? But, like, why lie about it." She repeated. She had an inkling about it now, given both of their awkward glances and fidgets. Her sharp tone softened, and she sighed inaudibly. Guess it was sappy truth time.

She looked down at the table, focused on the closed menu device. "I know you two argue. Like. Duh. That's normal. And, I'm guessing that you want to pretend like everything's peachy because you don't want to remind me of... well, you know who already!" She shook her head. "But I'm okay, really. I actually wake up on my own and not from endless yelling, and I'm not picked up hours late from wherever because you never agreed on whose turn it is to pick me up.." Emz paused, feeling quite at unease from sharing this, but pushed through. This was just another step at breaking her own tough shell. "What I'm trying to say is, simply arguing isn't going to remind me of my 'parents.' You two are leagues better, okay? I know you actually care about me. So you dont have to lie to me. Bicker and argue all day until your jaws fall off. You wouldn't be my Uncle Mortis and Frank without it." She smiled up at them.

Mortis had his upper face covered, just about already to cry. "Emz... I don't know what to even say..."

Frank leaned to her and gave her a kiss on her head. "It means a lot, sweetheart..." he said genuinely. Maybe he still had things to learn... He glanced over at Mortis who happened to look up then from his heartfelt pause. "I think I speak for the both of us."

They exchanged a soft smile.

"How about a picture?" Emz asked as she held her phone up.

"That sounds grand," Mortis sighed contentedly. Frank nodded with a smile.

The graveyard family bunched in together to fit into Emz's screen that she held up for all of them. On their way to posing for the perfect picture, their glasses were knocked down. The mixture of the three drinks short-circuited the menus, stained the white tablecloth and started to drip on the floor. Kit was walking by at that moment to check on another table when she saw the damage. That troublemaking team. Her tail swished around dangerously. She pulled a communicator out of her pocket and held it up to talk into it. She never took her eyes off of the Graveyard Trio. "Colonel Ruffs. This is MerXanary Special Agent Kit. Over."

"Roger!" He answered. There were squeaks in the background. No doubt the new Private was fooling around.

"There's Brawlers here giving me trouble. I'm requesting backup at the Zero-Gravity Diner. I'm going in now. Over."

"Willco." Colonel Ruffs confirmed. Kit pocketed her radio transmitter, and readied to Brawl.

Emz's camera flashed, capturing the moment.

[darisu-chan]

whatever our souls are made of (his and mine are the same), pt. 21

Hi!

Welcome back!

Hope you guys like this one-shot too.

You can also read it here.

See ya!

i’ll be there to hold you in the dark

Prompt: supernatural

 Summary: Ichigo and Rukia watch a horror movie. What could go wrong?

There are many things that Rukia adores about the human world.

 From juice boxes to video games to, very recently, social media.

 And Ichigo enjoys showing her every single one of them.

 He particularly delights in watching her face light up each time she discovers something new.

 But, of course, there are some human things that Rukia likes more than others.

 Movies are one of them.

 With Yuzu she has watched several animated and romantic movies.

 He and Karin tend to prefer action films or comedies, and Rukia sits and watches them too.

 They have tried to watch several genres.

 Even dramas and tear jerkers.

 But there is one genre that they haven’t explored yet.

 Horror films.

 And it is not that Ichigo dislikes them.

 He just doesn’t care for them.

 Honestly, when you’ve been able to see spirits from a young age and when you’ve fought several battles against Hollows, Quincy and other Shinigami, they just aren’t very scary.

 He never would have thought Rukia would enjoy them anyway.

 After all, as a spirit herself, she’d probably find them unrealistic or insulting even.

 So, he’s never showed them to her.

 That is, until now.

 It is a Saturday and it is sunny outside.

 They’ve been out all day.

 First they strolled in the park, then they ate burgers in the mall.

 Somehow they ended up in front of the cinema.

 “Ichigo! Let’s watch a movie!” She says as she scans the posters for the current films.

 Ichigo chuckles and nods to her.

 “Sure. Choose one.”

 It’s not like they’ve got any plans and watching a movie does sound nice.

 Besides, there are a couple of good ones out there.

 An action movie, a drama based on a book Ichigo’s read, an animated film that seems interesting.

 Hell, he’d even watch the newest rom com if Rukia wanted.

 However, she doesn’t choose any of these options.

 Instead, she stands directly in front of a black and white poster and grins at it.

 “That’s it! I wanna watch this one, Ichigo!”

 His gaze moves over to the poster in question and he actively gapes at it.

 There is a woman ─ or at least he assumes that’s a woman ─ with long, black hair, dark eyes, inhumanly pale skin, an open mouth and her hand reaching out.

 The rest of the poster is black with red letters announcing the film.

 It is definitely a poster for a horror film.

 He believes it is that movie people have been hyping all summer.

 The one that has made grown men leave the theater crying.

 And that’s the one Rukia had chosen.

 “Sure you wanna watch that?”

 He asks her, just in case.

 “Of course! It looks fun!”

 Her answer comes off as strange until Ichigo remembers Rukia is an avid horror manga reader.

 Remembering her taste in books, the film is right up her alley.

 Because, instead of finding them frightening, she finds this genre funny for some reason.

 “Alright, but you better not grab me in the scary scenes.”

 He jests as Rukia rolls her eyes.

 “Please. As if I’d get scared over something like that.”

  So, that’s the end of the discussion.

 Two tickets, one large popcorn box and two large sodas later, they are sitting down on their respective seats, waiting for the movie to start.

 Rukia is positively excited.

 She can’t stay still as she waits in anticipation.

 Ichigo is much calmer.

 Although he has no interest in the film, he enjoys observing Rukia.

 Seeing her so happy makes him happy in return.

 So he relaxes and prepares himself for two and a half hours of comedy.

 Rukia follows suit and, as the lights go down, she positively beams.

 The movie starts with the death of a woman and her child and then the suicide of the husband.

 It is grotesque.

 And it is as cliché as Ichigo expected it to be.

 There’s a curse, an abandoned house, two spirits, and lots of killing.

 The gore is not excessive and the jump scares are fine, he supposes.

 It’s not groundbreaking or anything, though.

 He doesn’t scream or jump, although the rest of the audience certainly does.

 What it is really surprising is that Rukia is one of the ones to scream.

 At one point, she grabs his arm and starts digging her nails into his flesh hard.

 He would have teased her about it if it hadn’t been for the fact she was clearly scared.

 And, that is something he has never seen.

 Rukia.

 Frightened.

 Well, that is not true.

 He has seen her scared before.

 But only in life or death situations, when it was possible one of them wouldn’t make it.

 Furthermore, he had seen her scared for him.

 For his life.

 But never like this.

 Who would have known a dumb horror movie would make her react like this?

 And, maybe he can understand.

 The actress portraying the main ghost makes a good job seeming unnerving.

 She crawls and moves around unnaturally.

 Then each time she opens her mouth, a terrible guttural sound can be heard.

 All in all the film is eerie and it is dark inside the cinema.

 So he can understand why Rukia’s so scared.

 What he doesn’t anticipate is that, after the movie is over, she is still frightened.

 As they walk home, the sun starts to set.

 The darker it gets, the jumpier Rukia becomes.

 She grabs his arm and looks at every corner or at bushes, trees, or anything that could remotely conceal something.

 It would’ve been sort of funny to see a ghost frightened of seeing another ghost, but she is trembling.

 It’s clear the film had an impression on her.

 And not a great one.

 Yet, Ichigo figures that once they get home, she’s going to forget about it.

 And for some time it seems like she does.

 She has dinner with the family like normal.

 She and the twins talk about several topics, with Ichigo and his father chiming in every now and then.

 She makes fun of him as they tidy up the kitchen together.

 And Rukia even has the time to read one of her manga before going to bed.

 He figures she’s over the movie.

 There is no reason for her to be scared anymore.

 And so Ichigo goes to sleep without thinking too much about it.

 Until Rukia wakes him up in the middle of the night.

 Like around 3 am, she throws his door open and practically sprints towards his bed after closing the door.

 She’s trembling and, are those tears in her eyes?!

 “Rukia! What’s wrong?” He asks her once he takes a good look at her. “Are you sick?”

 She hurriedly shakes her head as she holds herself.

 “Nightmare.”

 Oh.

 Well that explains it all.

 “Because of the movie?”

 He questions and when she nods, he just sighs.

 “Come here. I’ll keep you save from ghosts.”

 He jokes as he scoots over so she can get in bed with him.

 “Not funny.”

 Rukia sniffs before looking around his room.

 “I want to sleep close to the wall. The closet’s scary. Something could jump out of there.”

 Ichigo is dying to reply that the only spirit that has ever come out of that closet is Rukia herself, but he bites his tongue.

 Now is not the time for that.

 He stands up and lets her crawl in bed until her back hits the wall.

 Then he follows suit.

 She scoots over towards him and presses her face on his chest.

 Like a reflex, he holds her tight.

 He looks up at the ceiling waiting for her to stop trembling.

 And it suddenly dawns on him that they are cuddling.

 That Rukia is in his bed with him.

 At night.

 In a cramped space.

 And they are cuddling.

 He blushes.

 It figures that the first time Rukia is this close to him would be because she’s scared and not for any other, far more agreeable reasons.

 That’s just his luck.

 So he pushes any weird thoughts out of his mind and focuses on the girl in his arms.

 She hasn’t stopped trembling.

 Not yet.

 “Are you that scared, Rukia?”

 Ichigo has to ask her.

 She simply nods with her face still pressed on his shirt.

 He turns her over.

 “Look at me.”

 He commands.

 And when Rukia turns, there are still tears in her eyes.

 It is such a pitiful sight.

 A lieutenant of the Gotei 13 had been reduced to tears because of a dumb movie.

 Ichigo needs to fix this.

 “Hey, don’t worry. I’m right here and I’ll protect you of anything, okay? So don’t be afraid anymore.”

 Rukia gives him a teary smile.

 “Okay.”

 And she closes her eyes, finally relaxing.

 He smiles and buries his head on her hair.

 Tomorrow she will probably deny any of this.

 She might even give him hell for his cheesy lines.

 But it doesn’t matter.

 Because as of right now, he’s going to hold her and keep it close for as long as she needs.

 (Also, after this incident, horror movies will be banned from the household)

[therealjordan23]

HAPPY CANADA DAY, JORDAN (I remember you ranting about how Americans don’t use the letter ‘u’ in certain words, so right off the bat I knew u were Canadian😂🇨🇦🇨🇦) can you possibly write some debbigail? If you’re not too busy lighting up some fireworks?😆

LMAOOOOO, thank you!! And don’t worry, I always have time for some Debbigail :DD Enjoy!

ooo

"Dewey? What's this?" Webby questioned. 

"What's 'what'?" Dewey came up behind her and peered into the fridge.

Webby straightened up, an unmarked package of cheese in her hand. "This. What is it and where did you get it?"

Dewey's face lit up. "Oh, that's my special cheese!"

"'Special cheese'?" Webby wrinkled her nose in disgust. "What makes it special?"

"Sometimes the deli gets shipments where some labels have come off so they sell it for really cheap. I think that cost me a buck or something," Dewey explained, clearly proud of himself for finding ways to save money and still feed himself. "The boys know I'm on a tight budget so I always get first dibs."

"All right, well, I'm afraid 'the boys' are going to need to find a new sucker to sell their special cheese to," Webby said, walking over to the garbage and preparing to throw away the vile package.

"Wait! What are you doing?" Dewey asked, concern evident in his eyes. "That's perfectly good cheese!"

Webby turned to look at him. "Dewey, I'm not going to play nurse for you after you contract food poisoning from some dodgy cheese sold to you by the boys down at the deli."

Dewey's eyes gleamed. "You'd look really hot in a nurse's outfit, though. I'm sure we could find a naughty nurse costume for you. The hat…the skirt…the stethoscope…the blood pressure thingy…" His voice trailed off as he began to imagine the sight of Webby in a naughty nurse costume.

Webby took advantage of this momentary distraction and pushed the pedal down to lift the lid of the bin. However, before she had a chance to drop the cheese into the bin, she found herself wrapped in a bear hug from behind and lifted off of her feet.

"Dewey! What are you doing? Let me go!" Webby cried, struggling to break free from his grasp. Unfortunately, he had her arms pinned to her sides so tightly it was like she was in a straitjacket.

"Not until you hand over the cheese," Dewey grunted, walking backwards out of the galley kitchen.

"It's for your own good!" Webby protested, still trying in vain to free herself.

"And so is this." Dewey deposited her rather ungracefully on the couch and flopped down on top of her, effectively immobilizing her underneath him.

"Oof!" Webby's breath left her completely. But, before she was able to get it back, Dewey's fingers had found the perpetually ticklish spot just below her ribs and were exploiting the fact that she was completely helpless.

"Okay, okay! I give! Uncle! Uncle!" Webby shrieked, gasping for breath in between giggles.

"Not until you hand over the cheese," Dewey replied, his fingers poised to recommence the tickling.

"Fine," Webby grumbled, managing to pull the cheese out from where it had been squashed between her body and the couch.

"Thank you, darling," Dewey said, a note of triumph in his voice. He dropped a kiss on Webby's nose then rose. "What do you say to grilled cheese sandwiches for supper?"

Later that night, the two of them were curled up on the couch watching Ottoman Empire. Webby's head nestled on Dewey's lap while he absent-mindedly ran his fingers through her silky hair. A large bowl of popcorn and two glasses of red wine sat waiting on the small end table on the other side of Dewey.

"The show's really lost its edge," Dewey complained after a few minutes. "I remember five years ago when the sketches were actually funny. Now, it's just…crap."

"You're just saying that because they got rid of Randy," Webby said soothingly. 

As always, Webby fell asleep just after the newest Ottoman was built, and was woken up by Dewey nudging her gently. "Webbs? Sweetheart, it's time for bed."

"Is the show over?" she mumbled, struggling to sit up straight.

"Yeah, it is," Dewey laughed quietly.

"Did I miss anything?" Webby asked.

"Besides some terrible ottomans? Absolutely nothing. C'mon, beautiful. I'll tuck you in."

She automatically raised her hands so that he could pull her up. With a chuckle, he tugged her up onto her feet and into his arms, which automatically wrapped around her waist and pulled her flush against his body. She snuggled into his warm embrace and breathed in his scent. He pressed a feather-light kiss to her brow, and then to her cheek, before capturing her lips with his own. It was not a frantic, fiery kiss with clashing tongues and teeth but, rather, one that was slow and tender, making her feel treasured and desired more than any passionate kiss ever could.

She broke the kiss and laid her cheek on his chest; he rested his chin on her head and gave her a tight squeeze. Without words, he reached for her hand and laced his fingers through hers before leading her down the short corridor to their bedroom. Out of habit, his thumb automatically began to rub the band of the ring resting on the third finger of her left hand, almost to reassure himself that it was indeed still there and that she had actually agreed to be his wife. She smiled and squeezed his hand to silently reassure him that he had nothing to fear; he dropped a kiss on the top of her head in response.

"So, what are your plans for tomorrow?"

"Lena and Violet are meeting me for a late lunch before we go shopping for some new weapons. You?"

"Ottoman Empire marathon with Huey and Louie."

"Promise me you won't be trying to build ottomans for the next month like you did last time?"

"I will make no such promise."

"Aw, Dewey…"

"This is just who I am, you're going to have to love me as I am."

"Oh, the things we do for love," Webby said dramatically, half in jest, half in truth.

"Then it's a good thing you love me more than life itself," Dewey waggled his eyebrows at her before swooping in to steal another kiss.

"Always, Dewford," Webby smiled against his lips. "Always."

[niqhtlord01]

Humans are weird: Threatening a human does not end well

The Cosmic Federation was a governing body that composed of some 87 different species which at times ruled over a single planet to seven entire solar systems. The Federation’s purpose was to maintain peace and stability throughout the galaxy and was hailed as the shinning beacon of freedom and justice. In reality it was nothing more than a front for power hungry governments.  There was a time when the Federation still had some teeth and was actually respected. However, over the years the power of the federation was chipped away at by none other than its members themselves, granting more and more autonomy to members until the real power was held by some ten species in the Cosmic Federation. Each one with their power base and sphere of influence which often overlapped causing feuds and at the worst of times open conflict. The only thing that kept them in check was incidentally each other. Whenever one of the ten would begin rising higher than the others the rest would converge on them and chop them down to size. That was the way it had always been, until now...... ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- The room on board the pleasure yacht was as opulent as it was breath taking, but nestled on the top deck of the ship was the most prized room of all. A glass dome on the top bathed in the light of the surrounding nebula. The waves of vibrant greens and yellows coupled with the softest of reds made the entire room look like a living work of art. Truly majestic sight...that was entirely lost on the people currently in the room, one of whom was so caught up in rechecking the table for the twelfth time.   “Is everything ready? We only have one chance to win them over.”  Misilla straightened the silverware one more time then stepped back to examine her work once again. The table was set for five of them with their guest being given the seat of “honor” at the head of the table. She had done her background on their guest and his peoples traditions indicated that the one at the head of a table held the most power.  “You should really let the help take care of that.” Misilla was too busy to turn around and acknowledge Brumark’s statement. He was standing around a waiting table off to the side of the room pouring two drinks. He handed one to Tilith beside him and took the other for himself. “Agreed.” Tilith said as she sipped it through her mandibles. “We are people of stature, we have help for such lowly tasks.”  Misilla slightly shifted a napkin and glass to the right before stepping back one more and letting out a sigh of relief. She went over to the two of them and poured herself a drink now as well. She took it and downed it in a single go. “The help sometimes make mistakes, I do not. That is why when something important comes up, I take care of it so it is perfect.” Brumark rolled his eyes and made to pour another drink when Misilla did it for him. “Your peoples micromanaging will be the death of you one day you know.” He chuckled. “My peoples micromanaging is what gave us a 20% increase in trade profits last quarter while your people have had to apply for no less then 17 intergalactic loans from my people.” She smirked at Brumark’s blushing face.  The scene playing out between the three of them was one not many would believe. Misilla was a Parziean, a race of blue skinned humanoid beings where the females dominated society. Brumark was from a people also confusingly called “Brumark’s”. It was a weird tradition of his people that all would be named after their god, Brumark. However, his people did have the exclusive ability to change pitch when pronouncing the name so that to them they can instantly distinguish each other. He was large and grey skinned with a Mohawk running from his head down his back. Tilith was the most odd among them as she was a member of the insectoid Hive. Her appearance was that of a humanoid body fused to the top of a spider body. Her people had initially attempted to expand violently but quickly realized that an entire galaxy turning against them was a terrible idea. So they sued for peace and switched to the long game. Even going so far as to partially cover their insect face to put others at ease, the silver strands that ran down her face rustled every time her mandibles moved when she spoke.  Each of them were members of the inner ten that ran the Federation from the shadows, and each of them would never be seen together in the open. It ran the risk of exposing them and if one of them was caught they would become a huge risk to the others. This was a special occasion however, even all three of them chatting like friends and having drinks was part of the plan to win over their guest. They needed them to feel as if they could trust them, that they could be relied on, and that becoming partners with them would be to their benefit.  The doors to the room open and all three of them turned to see who was entering. The fourth member of their little group stepped in, Joba. He was a squat and piggish in appearance, but his people were some of the finest miners and bankers the galaxy had ever seen. His fingers were adorned with a wide variety of gems that sparkled like a rainbow and wore a robe of the finest silk.  As he saw the three he raised his arms to them. “Ah my friends! I am glad to see you have already started the party without me. I was worried you would become bored with my delay.” Brumark raised his glass. “Joba my friend, if I had been truly bored I would have drunk half your supply by now and be passed out the floor!” He let out a booming laugh that all of them joined in on.  “My friends, let me introduce our honored guest.” Joba stepped aside and waved in the figure behind him. A clacking sound could be heard as the figure stepped out from the shadow of the door frame and into the light. The simple walking stick is what first drew the attention of the three. A simple wooden staff with a birds head carved into the headpiece, a “eagle” they think it was called. Next were the clothes, simple but with a hint of the guests former military career showing off them as they were wrinkle free and pressed to near perfection, something that Misilla took note of instantly. Finally rising to look their guest in the face they saw the mustached face of the human representative Earl von Morgan, a former military general who had been recently elected to speak for his people. As he approached the three he extended his hand. “It is an honor to finally meet my fellow members, and such respected ones at that.” Earl spoke with a thick German accent. Brumark stepped forward and shook Earl’s hand, though given the size difference it was safer to say Brumark’s hand enveloped Earl’s and they just shook. “The honor is mine. I read over your history, you were a great warrior to your people.” Burmark saw an angry look on Joba’s face at the past tense mention but before Brumark could correct himself Morgan laughed. “You are too kind my friend. I was but a general at the end of my career. The most dangerous thing I had to do at the time was avoid getting paper cuts while signing forms!” Morgan laughed again and Brumark joined in.  Next Morgan moved to Misilla. As she extended her hand Morgan took it and bowed down to kiss it. Misilla was taken aback slightly by this and did not know how to react. Seeing the expression on her face Morgan realized he may have offended her. “Forgive me if I have disgraced you, my people’s customs are deeply ingrained in me. On my planet this is how a man greets a woman respectfully.” He followed up with a bow. “You truly are a gentleman Mr. Morgan.” Misilla chimed and bade him to rise. “It is I who should be apologizing. I find it rare among my people to find a male with such degrees of respect and was taken aback.” He rose and smiled at her.  Finally Tilith stepped forward but did not extend her hand. “I understand my species is considered horrific to many others and would not wish to force you into a situation you detested.” Morgan looked puzzled for a second before smiling again. “My dear, beauty is always in the eye of the beholder. One should not hide themselves for you hide yourself from those that wish to gaze upon your beauty.” He extended a hand towards her regardless and Tilith looked at it for a moment before taking it and watched puzzled as he repeated the same gesture of bowing and kissing her talon hand. “You know,” he said as he rose, “there are people on my planet that would find you most attractive.” Tilith tilted her head to the side. “Surely you jest.” Morgan shook his head. “I swear to you that I am not. I dare say some would be lining up to try and court you.” Tilith continued looking at him in silence to see if he was telling the truth while the others remained silent, unsure how to respond to this awkward situation.  Morgan released her hand and continued smiling at her. “Remind me to tell you after our meeting about a place called “Japan” on my world.” “That is most flattering of you to say and I must say I am intrigued.” she said as she bowed, her mind now distracted with questionable ideas the human had put in her head.  Joba stepped in. “Now that we have introductions out of the way I insist we must eat!” He motioned everyone to their seats. As he led Morgan to his seat Morgan suddenly stopped. “I couldn’t possibly sit at the head of the table.” He said while looking down at Joba. Joba looked concerned as if he had slipped up something in his research before Morgan continued. “You are the host of this party, it would be incredibly rude of me to take the head seat.” Joba let out a sigh before patting Morgan on the back. “Come now my friend, you are our guest! Please, I insist!” He waved him over once again and Morgan finally relented and accepted the seat and gazed down at the others.  “Now, for our first dish.....” ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- After several meals all of the guests were content.  “Did you enjoy the meal?” Misilla asked Morgan. He patted his stomach and happily gazed back up at Misilla. “The food was so good it made me honestly consider getting surgery to enlarge my stomach so I can have more. Please pass along my compliments to your cooks.” She smiled at the remark. “ I am sure they will be most flattered to hear your words.”  Misilla reached for a bell on the table and rang it. A group of servants rushed into the room without a word and quickly removed all of the plates and cutlery from the table while laying out new drinks and glasses before leaving again.  Joba poured himself a drink. “Now that the meal is out of the way it is time to discuss the real matter for this meeting.” As the others poured themselves drinks shutters began closing around the glass dome cutting off the light until only the candle light was present.  Joba moved to pour a new drink for Morgan who politely declined. “I had a feeling there was more to this meeting than just a introduction.” “Indeed there is my friend.” Joba put down a device and with a spark of light it suddenly projected a map of the galaxy. Color coded borders soon began forming and showed the displacement of the larger governing bodies. “It is widely known that the worst kept secret in the Cosmic Federation is that there exists an inner group of members that holds all the true power. What isn’t known is who those members are specifically.”  He gestured to the other members at the table. “We, are four of those members.” They all looked towards Morgan for a response but he merely clasped his hands and looked on in silence.  “Recently,” Joba continued,”one of the other ten has become increasingly profitable and threatens the balance between the other nine.” “I assume you are referring to the Poltarks?” All of them stared at Morgan in surprise. “How did you know?” “We humans may be a young species but we are not a stupid one. We can put two and two together.” Morgan chuckled at their confused faces.  Joba coughed and continued. “Yes. Despite our warnings the Poltarks have been increasing in power over the last generation to the point that they are now easily as powerful as three of the ten put together. If this is left unchecked they could become a threat to all of us.”  “So why do you need my help?” Morgan cut in. Brumark turned to him and laughed. “What makes you think we need your help?” Morgan smiled. “Like I said, we humans can put together two and tow at times and this scene isn’t really knew to my people either.” He gestured to everyone. “A new member suddenly meeting with the top leaders out of the blue, topped with how all of you have been so polite to me. You’re trying to butter me up and win me over.”  None of them spoke. It seems that humans were more politically savvy then was initially thought. “We do not need your help in taking down the rouge member,” Tilith said,”we are more than powerful enough to do that ourselves.” “What we need from you is to merely stand aside.” Misilla said as she leaned over the table slightly. Morgan looked at her and smirked as he saw through her terrible attempt at being seductive.  “You share the largest border with the Poltarks. We were hopping you could convince your leadership to stand aside when we make our move. In return, well, we’ll have an open seat on the ruling ten that will need to be filled.”  Joba smiled as he outstretched his hand to Morgan. “What do you say?”  There was a long silence as Morgan looked down at Joba’s hand. He chuckled. “Thank you for the dinner but I am afraid I will have to decline your offer.” Joba’s hand twitched slightly. “I beg your pardon?” “I said humanity will not be taking you up on your offer, tempting as it may be. Though I do hope we can build better relationships to further understanding between our peo-” “SHUT IT!” Joba shouted, smashing his hand down on the table. “HOW DARE YOU YOU RUNT!” Morgan was unphased by Joba’s outburst and it looked like he would continue before Misilla put a calming hand on his shoulder.  “May I ask why you decline?”  Morgan shrugged. “Simply put we have a defensive alliance pact with with the Poltarks for several years now. We have no just cause to break it and are obligated to defend them if they are attacked.”  “Secondly, given how easily your inner circle seems to turn on each other at the slightest change, even being a member would hardly be a stable footing for us to build relationships on considering you all would be likely to destroy humanity at any moment.”  “And finally,” Morgan letting out a smirk, “it never seemed to dawn on any of you why the Poltarks had become so increasingly powerful out of the blue.” He glanced around the room at their confused faces. “For all your research into human culture you didn’t even spend time researching our trade agreements did you?” Still, only faces of confusion met him.  “Oh my Gott. You really are going to make me spell it out aren’t you? Humanity has been trading with the Poltarks, we’re the reason they became so powerful.”  The others looked on in shock. “Impossible!” Brumark said. “It is hard to believe given your...” Tilith began before stopping herself. “It’s alright, we know we are technologically inferior to you all.” Morgan chipped in. “But it turns out we have a cash crop that the galaxy loves and only grows on earth for some reason. Everybody loves the potato so we use the Poltarks as a go between to sell it and then get a cut of the profits while they get a booming trade industry.”  “That does not make sense.” Misilla cut in. “Why would you give them a monopoly when you could have it all for yourself?” Morgan shrugged. “Simply put we are testing the waters.We can cut the supply at any time but for now we are content getting a cut and a powerful ally in the mix.”  “This changes things then.” Joba said quietly. Morgan nodded and rose from his seat. “I’m glad I could change your minds about your move against the Poltarks.” “Allow me to show you back to your ship.” Tilith said as she also rose from her seat. “I would be delighted to share the pleasure of your company a bit longer Hive Lord Tilith.” he said while smiling. Her head cocked to the side for a moment making morgan smile even more. “I did my research on you all as well my friends.”  The two began moving towards the door to leave.  “You misunderstood me Earl von Morgan.” Joba cut in as they pair had just reached the door. “I said it changes things, but I did not say how.” He flicked the controls on the holographic map to show the Poltraks territory being carved up and divided. “We’ve tried playing nice, now we play dirty. If you do not adhere to our demands and remain out of the coming conflict, you will be next.” The map began changing showing human territory being attacked and divided up as well. “Do you understand runt?”  Morgan’s smile faded away. “I’m sorry.” He said as he began walking back to Joba, his cane clanking ever louder as he got closer. “It seems in my old age my hearing is failing me.” He stood before Joba who still sat down in his seat. “I could not hear you from way,” he motioned to the door where Tilith was waiting,” over there. But it sounded like you were threatening me Joba. Surely though I was mistaken.” It was Joba’s turn to smirk as he took his glass and sipped from it. “You heard right you stupid primate. Do what we say, or you will be the next to fall.” Morgan glanced at Misilla and Burmark. “And you two feel the same?” They said nothing, but nodded. “Right...well then.”  Calmly, Morgan detached the head of his cane which turned out to be the handle for a concealed revolver. In one swift motion he shot the glass Joba was holding in his hand sending glass fragments flying. Misilla dove under the table and Brumark made to rise before Morgan leveled the gun at him. Brumark froze in place until Morgan motioned for him to sit down.  Joba was still staring at his hand that was now bleeding from the shattered glass and mumbling incoherent words.  “Smart enough to get a gun past your fancy guards and detection fields though, aye Joba?” Morgan leaned down to say into Joba’s ear. “Do I have your undivided attention now?” Joba nodded rapidly. He turned to Brumark. “What about you, do I have your attention?” Brumark nodded. Morgan looked for Misilla who was still hiding under the table. “My dear if I had wanted to kill you I would have shot you first. Now will you please take your seat.” She slowly got up from under the table and sat down. “Was that meant to comfort me?” she asked shakily. “I’ll admit it’s not my best line, but it got you out from under the table.”  He took a step back and sat back down at the head of the table, his gun still leveled at Brumark. “I honestly want us to be friends.” he said, his pearly teeth showing. “So as a friend I will give you all this warning and hope you will take it seriously.” After confirming he had their full attention Morgan continued. “Do not interfere with Humanity or our allies. But more to the point, do not ever, ever, think you can threaten us by saying you will destroy us. You think you know the meaning of the word but I assure you my people have lived it and we are more than happy to share our understanding of its meaning should any of you be foolish enough to drag us into a war. We will not just meet you on the battlefield, oh no, that would be too easy.”  He tapped the gun against the table.  “We would meet you in your homes as well. And your places of work, and your schools, and your supermarkets, your parks, your water treatment facilities, your power plants, your space docks, your farms and fields, your hospitals, and your places of worship.” He emphasized the last point while staring down Brumark.  “We will turn your entire world into a warzone and any notion of peace and stability will be thrown out the window as every morning you will wake up in fear if your next meal has been poisoned, will your vehicle suddenly explode when you start it up, will that friendly looking neighbor of your strangle you as you walk by. A life of fear will be your new domain.”  They looked at Morgan’s face to see that he was dead serious.  “I am an old man, far out of his prime.” Morgan gestured to himself, waving the gun up and down his body. “Yet I was able to sneak a weapon into a room with some of the most powerful leaders in the galaxy on their most “secure” boat.”  “It’s a yacht actually.” Misilla stammered, unable to stop herself. Morgan nodded to her. “Pardon my error Lady Misilla. I was able to sneak a loaded weapon on to your yacht and should I have wanted murdered all of you and then stroll out of here.” “You do not want to see what our black ops division operatives can do when they are actually in their prime. They’d have your governments gutted in a week and have the weekend off for partying over your rotting corpses.”  He pointed the gun back at Joba. “Do we have an understanding?” Joba’s eyes flashed between the gun and Morgan. “Yes, yes we have an understanding.” Morgan tucked the gun away into his cane and began walking back to Tilith. “Excellent. I just bought this suit and I wasn’t really in the mood to have to explain to the dry cleaner why it was covered in blood.” He reached Tilith and extended an arm. “Shall we my Hive lord?”  She looked back at the table and then back at Moran. She gently wrapped a talon hand around his arm. “We shall.”  ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- They both walked in silence back to Morgan’s ship. Tilith glanced over at him every now and only saw his gentle smile as he gazed at the passing artworks hanging from the walls.  “Tell me,” she said after finally working up the courage,”why did you not threaten me as well?”  Morgan laughed as he continued walking. “Because out of all of them I could see you were the only one with any actual interest in my people.” This puzzled Tilith. “How did you come about that conclusion?”  He raised his cane and nudged it towards his eyes. “I could see it in your eyes my dear Hive Lord.” “But you can barely see them through my shroud?”  Morgan shrugged. “True, but having eight of them does help with that.”  He turned to face her. “I’ve been meaning to ask you. With so many eyes what do your species glasses look like? Or do you wear contacts instead?” Tilith laughed honestly for the first time in a long time. Here she was with a man who had just threatened the most powerful people in the galaxy with a gun, and yet he was as calm as a river asking about glasses.  “I will tell you only if you uphold your promise from earlier and tell me of this “Japan”. It is rare for my people to be welcomed openly so this place does intrigue me.”  “Of course I will, and dare I say that I also think this is the start of a friendship that will rock the galaxy to its core.” 

[hashoterhatov]

No place like home | אין מקום כמו הבית

You're engaged to Eitan, and thus Yona will teach you her ways in the kitchen, because after all, you're going to be a Konfino.

*

Eitan Konfino X Female Reader

A huff of laughter left your lips as Eitan threw a peanut in the air and rather ungracefully caught it in his mouth, several crumbs of peanut shells scattered all over his shirt. You sat snuggled against his side, legs pulled up onto the sofa, your father-in-law sitting a little away, his feet put up on the coffee table.

“You better clean that up.” Yizhar grumpily complained to his youngest son, grabbing the handheld vacuum cleaner from the floor and proceeding to clean up the crumbs on his own chest before handing it to Eti.

“Of course, dad.” he replied with a nearly unnoticeable roll of his eyes, but he didn’t start cleaning himself of the residue left by your midday snacks before feeding you another one - you didn’t particularly like peanuts, but you ate them anyway.

“(Y/n)?” Yona called from the kitchen, causing you to look up.

“Yes?” you quizzed, but there was no answer.

“Go look what she wants.” Eitan said to you before pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. You arose and stretched your arms before heading to the kitchen. Eti’s hand reached out to playfully slap your ass, but a raised eyebrow from his father halted him in his tracks, causing him to recoil and crack open another nut.

You entered the kitchen and found Yona with an apron around her waist, another one held out for you to take. The table and counter were filled with fresh produce, ready to be handled.

“What can I do for you?” you asked her, stepping a bit further into the kitchen. She wiggled the apron from left to right, smiling a little as a few brown curls fell in front of her eyes. “Take it.”

You did as she asked, curious about what she was up to. After tying it around your waist, she gestured to the sink. “Wash your hands.”

“Okay.” you said with an amused hum, heading to the tap to run your hands under lukewarm water before drying them on a tea towel.

“Since you and Eti are going to get married soon,” she began, “It is time that you learn how to cook Shakshu-Konfino!”

Your heart jumped in your chest. “Really?” you asked in slight disbelief, “You are willing to share your secret recipe with me?” Tears appeared in the corners of your eyes at the idea - Yona’s Shakshuka was heavenly.

“Of course, (Y/n)!” your future mother-in-law told you, “After all, it’s important that it stays in the family.”

She winked at you and it made your body warm with the knowledge that she really saw you as her own daughter, the one she never had, and she soon handed you a knife to start working on the tomatoes.

“Tomatoes, a whole bunch of them.” she told you. “Don’t be afraid to do it off the cuff. One tomato more or less never made a difference. Well, it does, but the more, the better. However, it’s the spices you need to be careful with! Too many will spoil it, too little will make it bland.”

Yona went to dice two onions and tossed them into a large bowl. As soon as you had finished chopping a whole bunch of the red, unskinned fruits, you put them in as well.

“Really good. Now, yellow bell peppers, four cloves of garlic, two hot chili peppers, and the spices. Why don’t you chop the peppers while I go prepare the garlic.” You took two hot chili peppers and looked at Yona from the corner of your eye for a second before grabbing a third one. A smirk tugged at the corner of her lips. “See, you are going to be a Konfino after all.” she praised softly.

Cooking together made it light work, and soon, Yona was already heating up the pan with a dash of olive oil, spreading it around to cover it evenly. She placed it back upon the stove so you could take it, and she threw in half of the vegetable mix of what you had chopped up alongside half of the garlic.

Within mere seconds, the kitchen was filled with the delicious scent of grilling veggies, enriched by the many flavours mixed in. You shuffled a spatula around the frying pan to keep the food from burning, and after a while, Yona tossed in the rest of the garlic as well as a can of chopped tomatoes in sauce.

Stirring it through, you watched as she took a bunch of herbs, sprinkling them into the pan with generous amounts. “Cumin,” she said, “Salt, pepper, some sweet paprika.”

“Got it.” you said, “And what else?”

Yona smiled at you before reaching into one of the kitchen cabinets. “The secret ingredient is… A dash of this .”

She showed you a tiny glass jar on which was scribbled the date on which it had been made.

“My homemade baharat . I should teach you to make it someday. It will change your Shakshuka game for the rest of your life!”

You nodded, smiling. “I’d love to learn from you.”

“Good.” she replied, tapping a small amount of the mixture into the pan. “Now stir thoroughly.”

Yona was a good teacher - not that you were a terrible student - in just twenty minutes, a steaming pan of shakshuka was nearly ready to be served.

“Now for the eggs. Make a small hole into the Shakshuka with the spatula and I will drop them in.”

She cracked twelve eggs into the sauce. “Now we just let them poach for a bit and it will be perfect.”

“(Y/n)...” you suddenly heard Eitan’s voice from the threshold and you turned around to find him smiling with a twinkle in his eye reserved only for you. “You’re making Shakshu-Konfino.” he softly mused.

“I am.” you replied, approaching him, your hands starting to undo your apron. “After all, I’m going to be a Konfino.”

His smile grew and he reached for your cheek to tuck some hair behind your ear “At least one of my boys is settling down.” Yizhar said with feigned exaggeration, hoisting himself out of his chair before walking to the kitchen.

“Meyron is married.” Eti commented, but Yizhar let out a scoff.

“Yes, with some woman from America who we have never met, even after all these years. We never would’ve known it either if it weren’t for Danny and you telling us.”

“Well,” Yona breathed with a smile, “At least we will have grandchildren living close to home this time!”

“And I will be able to make them Shakshu-Konfino.” you said with a wide grin, and Eti opened his mouth to reply when the front door opened and Danny announced his arrival.

“I’m home!” the cop exclaimed, “What is that wonderful smell?”

He placed his hands on his hips as he joined the little gathering on the kitchen’s threshold.

“Hey there Danny!” Yona greeted happily, pushing herself through the small gap in between you and Eitan to kiss her middle child on the cheeks.

“How was work today?” “Busy as always, mom.” he started to explain, and you retreated into the kitchen to see how the eggs were doing, Eitan following you suit.

“That smells really good.” Eitan told you, wrapping his arms around you from behind before kissing the top of your head lovingly. “And the Shakshuka, too.”

A blush spread over your cheeks and you let out a light laugh. “Oh, stop that.”

“I keep wondering why I’ve ever deserved you. I’m so lucky to have you.”

Your heart climbed into your throat and you smiled, tearing your eyes away from the eggs in order to look at him.

“Well,” you began, “I think I’m the lucky one to have you. ”

“(Y/n), don’t-” “No, Eti, really.” He showed you a boyish smile and you cherished it, for it wasn’t every day that you made him blush like a teenager with his head in the clouds. Still, whenever he was with you, he certainly felt light-headed and all the worries in the world seemed to fade away.

“I can’t wait to marry you.” he murmured. “Me neither.” was your response before standing on your tip-toes to press your lips to his. He cradled his fingers around your face and tilted up your head, and you allowed his mouth to claim yours, his tongue just slipping over your bottom lip, requesting entrance.

“Is that Shakshuka?” Danny announced his approach and Eitan pulled back right away, giving you an apologetic look. You shrugged - it wasn’t like he could help it.

“ Shalom Eti, Shalom (Y/n).”

“Good to see you, Danny.” you greeted him, kissing his cheeks before he turned to your fiancé in order to give him a hug.

“Been a while.” he commented. “Too long,” Eti added, ruffling his older brother’s hair, which made for a funny scene - after all, Eitan stood several heads above Danny.

A head of brown curls popped around the corner. “Boys, why don’t you lay the table?”

Yona ushered her sons out of the kitchen and walked towards you to look upon the eggs. “Perfect.”

Within a minute, the table was laid and it was time to start eating. Carefully, you carried the frying pan to the dinner table.

“That looks delicious, (Y/n)!” Yizhar praised, shifting in his seat.

You placed it in the middle and sat down next to Eitan, his hand immediately resting on your thigh, lovingly so, with a tinge of possessiveness. He had every right to do so, and it warmed your skin through your trousers.

“Thank you,” you told Yizhar, “I learned from the best.” Yona gleamed with joy. “Let’s see if it tastes as good as we know it.” Danny jested, reaching over to the pan to dip some bread into the mixture. The poached eggs were perfectly runny and pride filled your chest.

In pleasant silence, you all ate from the dish for a while before Yizhar spoke up. “(Y/n),” he began, wiping his mouth with a napkin. “For many years, Yona has made me the most delicious Shakshuka in all of Israel. And I’ve made it for her in return, which she always loves…”

“ Almost always, Yizhar.” she corrected, and for a second, a rare smile spread over his lips.

“Which she almost always loves,” he resumed, “And I still believe that there is no Shakshuka better than Shakshu-Konfino in this world… This… ”

He pointed at the food on his plate, nodding. “ This is Shakshu-Konfino. You are a true Konfino, (Y/n), and I can taste it in every bite.”

“Look at that, (Y/n).” Danny spoke, amusement lingering in his voice “Our father is becoming sappy because of you. His age is making him soft!”

“Oh, shut up Danny!” Yizhar exclaimed over the laugh the rest of you let out.

Eitan leaned down, pressing a kiss onto your temple. “I’m proud of you, baby.” You smiled contently, leaning into his touch.

Looking out over the table, you looked with fond eyes upon the people you could call family in all ways but by law - and you soon would be able to do so.

You wouldn’t change it for the world.

Never before had you felt more at home than in that very moment.

[catte-bard]

Future Musings

(Something self-indulgent af I decided to write. Didn’t know where I was going with it but I used this prompt to help get me started)

All was quiet and still. Moonlight spilled into the room through the parted curtains, offering some illumination in the dark. Thancred knew not what time is was—late in the night he imagined. The Crystarium fell into peace around this time. Most of the denizens of the city having already taken to their beds.  

Bellona laid on his chest, her stillness told him that she was fast asleep. However, sleep for Thancred remained somewhat elusive. Perhaps, a few times he had managed to doze off but he found his mind constantly snapping awake. 

Thancred had not experienced such restlessness since his first days on the First. The surreal experience of being on a completely different world had almost been too much for him. 

He hummed softly to himself to entertain his restless mind. It was an old song he didn’t know the name of. Limsan sounding—probably something he had heard years ago in his youth that he took a liking to. 

His hand ran through Bellona’s hair, fingers combing lovingly through dark locks and brushing against her ears. He always enjoyed touching her there, her ears were so incredibly soft it was almost soothing to touch them. And he was proud to say he was one of the few people she’d permit to do such a thing. 

Why some days he swears she even purrs when he touches her like that. However, Bellona would always deny it. 

He felt her perk up suddenly and make a soft noise. “Are you humming?” She quietly asked. Her voice still laced with sleep. 

Thancred ran a hand down her head, smoothing out her hair. “Apologies,” He whispered, “Did I wake you?”

A long yawn.  “You move around a lot when you’re awake. But it’s fine. It’s...it’s rather nice. You should hum more often.” 

His hand trails down to her back where he rubs small circles. “There’s just been a lot on my mind lately.”

“Like what?” He heard her hum.

Thancred smiled. “You don’t have to make yourself stay up just to entertain my thoughts.”

A grunt. “But if you don’t speak your mind you’ll stay awake and that’s going to keep me awake.”

That’s fair. 

He chuckled. “Well I suppose I was just thinking about what happens next once this is all over.” 

Bellona yawned again. “We head back to the Source, stop whatever new machinations the Empire has created, and make sure a certain Garlean prince stays in his grave.” She said in a matter-of-fact way.

Thancred shook his head. “I meant when all of this was over. Our business on the First, dealing with the Empire, defeating the Ascians…”

Bellona made a thoughtful sound. “I don’t know...I never thought that far into the future.” She mumbled. “Honestly, I always thought I’d get myself killed long before any of this ended.”

That surprised Thancred. Though he supposed he was guilty of such pessimistic thoughts sometimes. He’d been on plenty of dangerous missions where he wondered if he were cutting his life short by keeping at such things.

“Come now, you must’ve at least fantasized about the perfect respite once this is all over?” Thancred tried to coax. “You must want something once this is all over?”

She tilted her head in thought. “I guess I’d want to go somewhere else—settle down in a place where no one would know who I am...A peaceful place where I wouldn’t always be known as the Warrior of Light.

“Maybe somewhere in Yanxia? I always thought it was beautiful there. And it always seemed like a good, quiet place to live.” He could hear the smile in her voice as she spoke. “And you could come along if you’d like.”

The man arched a brow. “Oh I’m invited am I?”

“Of course, I promised you I’d take you to the Far East with me one day.” 

“I see...Well I don’t mind settling down in Yanxia then. We could get a little cottage,” Thancred murmured as he combed his fingers through her hair, “Somewhere far away from the cities and their chaos. Somewhere by the sea, with a beautiful view. And I suppose I’ll have to take up a new career too. If we’re going to be able live comfortably and put food on the table.”

“And what is it you exactly plan to do? I don’t think you’re very good at many trades.” She looks up at him, resting her chin upon his chest.

He chuckled. “Maybe I can take up fishing? I’m rather decent at that. Life as a fisherman does sound rather pleasant doesn’t it?”

“Perhaps, but you’ll come home always stinking of fish.” Bellona wrinkled up her nose.

“I could always bathe?”

“You’d still have the entire cottage reeking of fish. Asides, I hate fish, so I’d rather it not become a large part of our diet.”

“You hate fish? But you’re Miqo’te!”

That earned him a half-hearted slap.

Thancred laughed, wrapping his arms around her and pressing a kiss atop her head. “Alright, aright. That was poor of me, I take it back. Anyroad, I think it’ll be nice. A simple life. We settle down, start a family, and have nothing else to worry about.” He mused. “I like the sound of that.”

The mention of starting a family surprised Bellona. She blinked, feeling a strange fluttering within her chest. “You...want children?” She sheepishly asked.

Thancred winced, catching himself. His face suddenly felt very hot. “Well I...uh well that is unless that’s not something you want. A family does not need children to be complete.” 

Bellona chewed her lip and  looked away from him. Briefly, Thancred worried he may have broached a rather uncomfortable subject. He was about to apologize and change the subject when she spoke up.

“You really see us becoming parents in the future?” Bellona’s voice was soft, a hint of amusement in it. “I mean marriage and settling down is one thing. But parenthood is another; especially with a pair as disastrous as us.”

Thancred smiled. “Well, it’s not a definite thing I would want.” He replied. “It’s been more something I’ve entertained. A “what if” situation I suppose.”

Bellona returned a smile and laid her head back down on his chest. “Tell me about it then.”

“Well, I’ve always imagined a daughter—maybe two?” He hesitantly replied.

“No boys?” Her tone teasing. 

He snorted. “Their father would be a terrible role model for them.”

“I wouldn’t say that. I still fell in love with you despite all your obvious flaws.” Bellona jested.

And what a lucky man I am for that. Honestly, there were still some days when he wondered what she saw in him. But he’d not complain about it.

“Girls are easier to raise—so I’ve heard anyway.” Thancred went on. “I wouldn’t want twins though. That way I could relive spoiling the other when the eldest one felt too old for such things. I’d protect them. Cherish them. They’d be the most important thing in my life...next to their mother.” 

A snort slipped from her. “You speak as if you think I’d be a good mother.”

“I think you would.” Thancred glanced down at her. “You’re kind and caring and responsible. I think you’d be a lovely person for them to look up to—so long as they don’t inherit your stubbornness.”

He laughed at the affronted sound she made and rubbed her back to soothe her.

She looked up at him, meeting his eyes and her expression suddenly serious. “You’d really want that with me?” Bellona asked, her voice hushed and timid. “A family?”

Honestly, it seemed like a foolish fairy tale. A quaint little cottage, the pitter patter of children’s feet running around, a peaceful life...But Thancred wanted to believe they had a happy ending in all of this.

“Of course.” He said and he cupped her cheek. “And if you aren’t comfortable with any of that it’s fine. As long as I get to be with you it will be all I’ll ever need.”

She seemed stunned into silence. In the moonlight, he thought he saw the glistening of tears in her eyes but she buried her face into his chest before he could be sure. 

“What’s wrong?” He asked, trying to coax her to look up at him again.

“Nothing.” Came her muffled response. “I guess..it just makes me glad to know you feel that way.”

Thancred blinked. “How else am I supposed to feel?” 

When she said nothing he chuckled and wrapped her arms around her again. “Is it such an odd thought for me to love you that much?” He asked. “I want a life with you—I want a life for us. That is...if you’d allow it.”

Bellona was quiet for a few moments. So still that Thancred wondered if she had nodded off to sleep again. But then he felt her arms shift to hug him.

“I...I think I’d like that.” She softly said. 

Another warm chuckle rumbled through him and he rested his chin atop her head. A content sigh slipping from him as he enjoyed the feeling of her closeness. “I’m glad.” He murmured. 

And with a new warmth in his breast, he soon found himself able to finally close his eyes and sleep.