#ANYWAYS I SPENT WAY TOO MUCH EFFORT ON THIS ITS ALL DOWNHILL FROM HERE

[clouvu]

The Utena Pose™

[i-did-not-mean-to]

Feb challenge event- dancing/dipping with your partner // Haldir or Thranduil or Legolas // 😊 Please enjoy

Hello Thrandy-anon...

Here we go...the follow-up to the Bonus-Thrandy story

Dancing in the moonlight

Words : 1,7 k

Characters: Thrandy x reader

You were given a room, a bath, and a set of clothing that was magically exactly your size, probably to make you look less like a ‘strange creature’.

Really, your ears were completely normal, you were dressed casually, and you were still a bit vexed that you were the peculiar one.

When a very taciturn person – looking like a walking statue – came to fetch you for dinner, you wiped your moist hands nervously on the velvet garment they had lent you; the silken underwear felt divine on your skin, and you smelled faintly of lavender.

In short, you had never felt so exceedingly lovely in your whole life, and you wondered if it was a waste to spend the rare moments where your confidence reared its cowardly head with a ‘man’ – you were not sure if he really was a man per se – as fantastical as the king of the dark trees.

When you saw him pacing to and fro in front of the dining room though, you had to revise your assessment; he had changed as well and was now wearing another long cape that billowed in the light wind despite looking heavy enough to smother someone in it.

Thranduil looked like a flame in the last rays of the day; gilded by the warm light that gave his hair golden reflections, he now stood tall and straight – looking out over his immobile subjects – while threads in all the shades of the precious metals for which men and women died day after day in your world shimmered and glistened on his exquisite garments.

If he was to walk down the streets of your hometown, he’d be attacked and mugged before he could even make it to the corner shop, you thought, but here, he looked so right; he was untouchable.

“Your Majesty?” you called softly to him, a smile blossoming almost instantly on your face upon seeing the quiet pleasure in his expression when he glimpsed you standing there – awkward in those unusual clothes – just observing him.

“Legolas calls me vain,” he sighed, “but I thought I’d make an extra effort for our select company tonight.”

You were almost certain that Thranduil never looked anything but perfect, and that he took too much pleasure in changing his robes every few hours to forego that joy even when he had to dine alone.

Within a few steps – fluid as water running downhill – he was at your side and offered you his arm to escort you into the dining room as if you were about to step into a Disney-fantasy.

Distracted and dazed still, your mind leaped from that asinine thought to the last movie you’d seen and, naturally, you started humming a few notes of ‘We don’t talk about Bruno’ under your breath.

“Oh? You are fond of music?” Thranduil turned to you in genuine surprise and excitement.

“Isn’t everyone, oh eminent king?” you replied with a small, embarrassed chuckle.

“Please do not call me that, it sounds very strange within my own dining hall,” he said, frowning, “you may call me Thranduil…because that is my name.”

“Alright, Thranduil,” you agreed; you liked the way his name felt on your tongue, conjuring up the taste of the best wine you had ever had in your whole life.

“So…do you like music?” he asked insistently; for some reason, this seemed very important to him.

“Yes,” you replied hesitantly; maybe it was a crime to like music in this realm because it disrupted the discreet chirping of the birds and the soft whispering of the trees.

The king didn’t give any answer to your acquiescence though; he merely smiled to himself as he drew out a chair for you at the dinner table.

“Yes, and well…Pepa…her mood controls the weather or has an impact…anyway…”

You had spent the whole dinner explaining the plot of ‘Encanto’ – and the notion of a movie – to the entranced audience made up of Thranduil and his beloved son.

“And that’s a miracle?” Thranduil didn’t sound very convinced, “My dearest lady, you are in for an awful surprise then.”

“Ada,” Legolas cut in, frowning, “could you please not disparage your kin so? It isquite remarkable.”

“I wish seeing the future was reason enough to ban someone into the walls,” Thranduil muttered, “or messing with the weather.”

“You said the one who could talk to animals was cute though, no?” he leaned forward with an eager gleam in his eyes.

“He’s a small boy, so yes,” you nodded, wondering if Thranduil could talk to animals himself; somehow – given his unearthly beauty and renowned strength – that would not even have surprised you.

“Oh father mine, you are much more like the frightening apparition apparently sporting rats along his back and so on,” Legolas chuckled; they had made you sing them all the parts of the song separately after explaining every single character in detail.

“Rats?” Thranduil sounded horrified at first, but then he shrugged declaring that he was everybody’s king. You came to understand that he literally meant ‘every body’, including the smallest critters crawling in the shade of the tall, dark trees.

Interrupting their bickering with compliments about the truly delightful food, you made it to the end of the best dinner you had had in a very long while, almost forgetting how strange and unreal the whole situation you found yourself in was.

“Do you want to sing us another song?” Thranduil invited you as the plates were cleared away and – in a moment of blind panic – nothing better than Anna Kendrick’s ‘Cups’ came to mind, especially because you didn’t have any instrumental backup.

“You have a good voice,” Thranduil praised you, “you should come with me to the terrace and sing to the trees, they like it.”

Now, you definitely had questions pertaining to his sanity; did he stand on his balcony in the evening and serenaded trees?

“Sing to the trees?” you asked – confused – and cocked your head inquisitively.

“And let them sing to you, yes. Do you dance, Milady?”

You were almost certain that Thranduil was not thinking of ‘The Floss’ or twerking, so you just shook your head slowly – there was a smidgen of regret blossoming in your heart at the thought of what you were missing – but, to your surprise, the king only gave you a very soft and slightly mocking smile.

“You can learn; I’ll lead and you’ll follow.”

You didn’t know what folly overcame your senses then, but – after every single crazy thing that had happened since you had stepped out of your world and into another one – you felt more brazen than you ever had before; the idea of being held in those gracile, strong arms, floating across a balcony as the trees hummed a lullaby in a language your heart understood while your mind barely acknowledged it, sounded too good to be easily passed up.

His hand in yours was cool and smooth as he led you out on a colonnaded parapet overlooking the vast forest extending like an ocean of softly rustling leaves and breathing like a huge beast fast asleep in the moonlight.

“What do you want me to sing to your trees then?” you asked, still not entirely certain that he was not having you on.

“Sing them a song about your heart,” Thranduil recommended, leaning against the railing, and waiting for you to decide.

After a few bars of ‘Caruso’, you could not deny that it seemed as if the forest was waking up to your song; there were whispers and movements in the darkness that filled your heart with an unknown warmth.

“Oh,” Thranduil gasped, “apparently even the forest has grown tired of my voice. It very much welcomes the change.”

He seemed delighted about that and extended an inviting hand to you.

“May I have the honour of a dance?” he asked – cloaked in dignity and starlight – as he slowly spun you around where you stood.

Who were you to refuse a king? Especially one whose eyes were soft as a summer spring now, deep as the fountain of youth, and shimmering like the great oceans of your world in the midday sunlight.

“There’s no music,” you tried to deflect, but – as soon as you allowed his presence as much as his bodily strength to steer you across the smooth stone tiles – the world around you came alive.

And so you danced to the song of the gurgling river and the whispering leaves, to the melody of the whistling of the wind and the humming of the earth, and to the rhythm of the strong heartbeat of a creature you had only just met.

“Trust me,” he begged in a low voice, “let me give you that miracle you’ve been waiting for.”

The peaceful soundscape rose to a crescendo, submerging your heart and mind with emotions and sensations thrilling and new as much as strangely familiar and sorely missed.

You did not contradict; maybe, you were much more like Mirabel than you had thought and – melting into his arms and into his voice whispering things you felt more than understood – you found yourself falling without being afraid a single second.

His hand was splayed on the small of your back as he let you flow backwards; Master of the trees, Thranduil bent you like a reed and let you flow through his arms like a river of velvet and flesh.

Completely stunned, you looked up and sighed.

All you could see was him, wreathed in darkness, crowned in starlight, bedecked in the otherworldly cloth of a nightly secret; he was gorgeous in ways no man ever could be, and you could but stare at him in wonder and amazement.

Your hair almost brushed the ground underneath you, but you felt as comfortable in his palm as if he had laid you out on a bed of finest down; your prediction turned out to be correct: Thranduil had made you float, he had made you hover, he was keeping you suspended on his gaze and cradled in his hand even now.

In that second, you truly felt magical yourself; you were the one to walk between worlds, drifting weightlessly between heaven and earth, beholding a sunny sky in the middle of the night, and you could feel the living power pulsate through every fibre of your body.

“May I?” Thranduil asked, a breath, a whisper, a heartbeat away from your lips.

Again, who were you to deny a king?

@otakumultimuse-hiddlewhore @myselfandfantasy there we go :D

[thisnoodlewritesao3]

CONGRATS ON 100 FOLLOWERS IM SO HAPPY FOR YOU!!!!!! YOU DESERVE IT ALL!

So a soulmate event aye? I'm here for it.

I was thinking this prompt

- A red string tied around your pinky is connected to your soulmate’s pinky (when the two of you are in a certain distance)

With Atsumu or Osamu? I have a thing for those 2 and i just love them so much and they deserve nice things and just yes.

I hope you're taking care of yourself!!!!!

omg i sort of popped off on this one and it ended up just a lil longer than i thought it would and omg. i have no words for myself at this rate. look, i will not be judged for my sudden and random love this boy, but um. you’ll see

thank you for participating! I am taking care of myself most of the time so eh ya know

----

Your yearly visit to Japan wasn’t meant to be anything special. Just a trip to Japan where you’d meet your cousins again.

When the three of you stood next to each other, you could see why no one thought that you, Kiyoomi and Motoya were related. Alas, you were, much to the world’s surprise. It didn’t even help that you weren’t from Japan, so your grasp on the language was laughable. You coped and so did they.

“A volleyball game?” You quirked a brow at Motoya as he grinned widely, taking the seat opposite you and snatching an onigiri off your plate. A glare formed quickly on your face and you pulled the plate close to you, shovelling another in your mouth.

“Not just any game, but nationals.” There was a shine of excitement in his eyes and you shrugged.

“I guess I could go, not like I have any plans.” Your parents often described you as a perfect middle between Kiyoomi and Motoya; not quite an outgoing puppy, but not really hating the idea of people either. There weren’t too many things you and your cousins could agree on; it wasn’t that you hated each other, but you just never had the time to bond with them like they had. Still, when you got together, things weren’t awkward. They just… were.

“Do you ever have any plans?” Kiyoomi snorted, leaning against the kitchen counter. Resisting the urge to throw the plate at him, you settled on glaring at him.

“For your information,” you said, pointing at him, “I have plenty of plans when I’m back home.”

They both laughed. Motoya decides to cackle like a hyena, Kiyoomi chuckles softly. Was it really that hard to believe? Okay, so, sure, you didn’t really have that many friends - that didn’t mean you couldn’t have plans! It just meant that you’d spend more nights alone than you’d like to admit - they didn’t need to know that though. Not like you were going to tell them anyway.

What you hadn’t expected - from the brief description Motoya had given you on the way to the stadium - was that volleyball would be one of the most boring and thrilling things in your life. There were parts so filled with tension and passion that you could have drowned in it. And then some rallies would go on for what felt like days and you’d lose interest, only to be pulled back into it a second later.

Your cousin wasn’t the number one ace in the country for no reason; he played with a level head yet intensity beyond his years. You didn't even fully understand why Motoya was leaping across the court, or what a Libero was, or what was happening. How you’d never agreed to come before was beyond you.

But something is amiss, and you don’t notice it until a red string floats into your vision, like it’s purposefully making you aware of its presence. Your breath catches in your throat just as Kiyoomi slams down the ball.

It was almost funny that the year you decided to watch the volleyball game Motoya had been inviting you to for forever that you’re soulmate would suddenly burst into existence. You can’t help the sinking feeling in your stomach, because if you’d stayed back in your home country this year like your dad had asked, then you never would have gotten this opportunity again.

It didn’t take much internal convincing for you to start following the string. Looping through halls, twisting and turning around people. Anticipation built up, one you’d felt so many times today, but this was a different kind of anticipation. A swelling in your stomach, a flutter of butterflies that had been startled awake. Something so primal, an urge inside of you, yet something so calm at the same time.

The closer you got the more your mind urged you to run. As crowds formed, you couldn’t help but think back to your parents' comparison of you and Kiyoomi (because even if you didn’t hate people as much, crowds were your worst enemy).

You pushed through, ignoring the urges of your heart because God knows when you’ll get this chance again. That was the point. You probably weren’t going to get this chance again. Not since you would be starting University, your parents wouldn’t just be sending you to another country for a month - even if it was for family reasons - this was your final chance to meet your soulmate.

God, if you’d have known that your soulmate was in Japan this whole time then you would have begged to live here as a child, but you didn’t. Especially being the older of your cousins, you couldn’t help but feel slightly more anxious.

Barely 18, ready to live your life, and now you’d found your soulmate. Motoya would be excited for you, Kiyoomi would probably offer his apologies depending on who it was.

Thoughts wracked with who it could be. What they would look like. How they would act. Sound. Talk to you. React. You didn’t even notice how close it had gotten until a hand was pulled in front of your eyes; the person it was connected to looked down at you, tears in his eyes, though seeming generally disinterested.

Your heart stopped - whether from anxiety or excitement, you’d figure out later - he met your eyes and you couldn’t help but blush.

Just as you were about to speak - make your debut moment to your soulmate - a wave of people suddenly surrounded you and you froze. Like all the air had been taken from your lungs. Your heart - previously stopped - now worked in full force. If it weren’t for the buzzing in your pocket, you might have passed out right there.

Your soulmate was staring down at you as you shakily reached into your pocket, answering the call without any question. “Where are you?” Motoya’s voice rang clear. You blink slowly, trying to catch your breath enough to speak.

“S-soulmate…” the word feels so foreign on your lips (reasonably so). He instructs you to pass the phone to him - it takes a lot of effort, but you manage, ruling the phone away from your face and to him. He takes it - albeit hesitating - and starts a conversation with your cousin.

The string looks so strange wrapped around your finger but it was something simple you could focus on. Breathing was painful, and the crowd didn’t seem to be clearing. You didn’t catch the conversation but his face shifted and he reached out for your hand, looking around quickly.

He must have seen something that would help because he weaved you in and out of the crowd towards a corner with a group of people standing in it. You didn’t recognise them, so you could only assume this is where you were going to die.

You were too busy saying your prayers when he pulled you closer to him. “Who’s that?” Asked a boy with bleached blond hair, scrunching up his nose. You were probably hallucinating - and in the  off chance you weren’t, you were asking for more prayers - because the boy with the bleach blond hair looks almost identical to your soulmate.

He looked down at you with contempt, but you didn’t have the energy to care, not as your soulmate pulled you closer away from him. You could just imagine a smirk forming on his lips. Somehow, his presence calmed you just enough that you could focus.

He talked with - who you quickly learned to be - his brother and the rest of his team. Miya Osamu - your soulmate - kept you close by, still looking at you with disinterest. It didn’t take long for your cousins to find you, but even after they did, you didn't leave Osamu’s side.

Motoya pulled you into a hug and talked to you softly, Kiyoomi muttered exactly what you thought he would, “you’re an idiot.” But there was something caring in his tone.

Motoya was explaining to you that they made it to the second round, but you weren’t paying too much attention. Of course they made it to the second round, they always did (well, you weren’t sure of that, this was the first time you’d been here).

Throughout the rest of your visit to Japan you spent more time on your phone to Osamu than you would willingly admit to the boys. Considering he was from Hyogo, and you were staying in Tokyo, it only made it harder. You joked and said it would only prepare you more for the long distance you’d have to do when you returned home. You didn’t miss the sad look in his eyes. So many countless nights spent on the phone, pretending like you didn’t want to be in his arms.

Long distance was harder than you could have imagined; between opposing time zones, schedules, and just general life things, it was hard to find time to talk to Osamu. You made a promise to each other, that if you ever happened to go no-contact (whether by accident or on purpose) that you would find each other eventually.

That was what happened.

With so much work, you were losing sleep, your grades were slipping, everything was stressful. The same for Samu; he was too tired to practise, grades going downhill. You were the most worried when Tsumu stopped teasing his slightly younger brother and started actually caring.

Contact slipped until it just stopped. It wouldn’t be another five years until you’d see Samu again. 

You finally made the decision to move to Japan - specifically Hyogo - you’d claim it was because Kiyoomi lived there, but really it was because you hoped for a chance encounter with Osamu.

Kiyoomi made the decision to introduce you to his team and you were met with one overly excited Miya Atsumu. The boy - although now he was more of a man - recognised you immediately as his brother's soulmate. He stepped away from you briefly, claiming he had an urgent phone call to make and you didn’t question it - you had no reason to after all.

Not until that familiar red string floats into your vision as it had done all the years ago and you turn around to see Osamu standing there, a little out of breath but so happy. You act on instinct, throwing yourself into his arms and promising to not leave his side again.

----

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[lorelexi]

Too Bad I'm not Heather

"There were a few things that Kuroo Tetsuro found that he loved, and when he did, his eyes would brighten up. Some of these things included volleyball, Kenma, stupid chemistry jokes, and now, Heather.

There were a few things that Kuroo Tetsuro loved, and you were not one of them."

Word Count: 3.2K

Genre: angst

A/N: this is based off of the lyrics to the song "Heather" by Conan Gray. I'm trying to work on writing longer fics so here's my first attempt 😬

☆

The December air nipped at your cheeks and at the tip of your nose. Winter was quickly approaching and you mentally prepared yourself for the upcoming weeks when the first snow of the season would finally fall. You regret not having worn a real coat over your uniform blazer as you rubbed your hands up and down your arms, hoping the friction would create enough warmth to suffice for the lack of fabric covering your body.It was only the 3rd day of December but with every day that passed, it became increasingly colder. Just a week ago your winter uniform and a scarf would have been enough to get you through the day but now, you were sure your nose was gonna grow icicles from how cold it was. Nevertheless it was too late to turn back now, you were more than halfway to school at this point so you were just going to have to deal with some shivers for the rest of the day.

The closer that you got to the school, the faster you willed your legs to move, eager to get into a warm classroom as soon as you could. As the gates of the school came into view, so did a flood of students who-like you- likely longed for the warmth of their respective classrooms. 

With hands still making weak attempts at keeping your arms and torso warm, you let your eyes scan over the crowd and toward the gym, searching for a familiar head of messy black hair.

Almost as if on cue, the boy you searched for stepped out of the boys gym, following behind the group of his more rowdy friends, jumping around and heading their separate ways to their respective buildings and classes.

“Kuroo!” You call out his name and his head turns to look toward the sound of your voice, with a smile.

He stands in his place and waits for you to come to a halt in front him.

“What on earth-” is the first thing that comes out of his mouth when he sees you up close. He even has the nerve to laugh a little, a smirk adorning his face. A smirk that sends chills down your spine, that are arguably worse than those from the cold. 

“You look like you've been stuck in a freezer for the past hour. If you shiver any harder you might knock yourself out yn.”

“Shut up, Kuroo. Some of us did not have the privilege of being in a warm gym for the greater part of the morning.” you pouted up at him, your hands finally coming to a stop, now just resting on your arms.

“Well where’s your coat? That could have decreased your problem by like at least 40%” He inspected your outfit and gazed up at you pointedly.

“40%?” You remarked with an eyebrow raised, ignoring how you involuntarily swallowed hard at the way that he looked over your form.

“I don’t know.” he laughed. “I’m just tossing up percentages.” 

You rolled your eyes at this and he shook his head and spoke before you could start to tease him.

“That’s off topic though. Your coat?” 

Tossing your head to the side you opted to blankly watch the other students walk by you than to look at him any longer.”I didn’t think it would be this cold today, and by the time I realized I might need a coat, I was already nearly half way here. I decided that I’d rather be cold than late.”

Kuroo sighed, “I shouldn’t even be surprised. When are you ever prepared for anything.”

The moment the words left his mouth and traveled to your ears, your face scrunched up and you whipped your head around to glare at him. “Hey! That’s not even true Kur-”

A hand being placed on your head stopped your sentence in its tracks.

“Yeah, yeah, I know.” he paused for a moment before removing his hand from your head. “Hold this.” he commanded abruptly, practically throwing his bag at you. 

You were too busy huffing to even think about why Kuroo was taking off his sweater.

“Here, I’ll trade you.” He took his bag back from you and placed his sweater in your hands in return.

You looked down at the dark blue fabric in your hands. “Hey, wait-”

“Nope! Shhhh. I already know what you’re going to say. ‘Oh thank you Kuroo, my dearest friend, you’re so kind, how would I ever live without you.’ Really, it’s okay, there’s no need to thank me.” He dismissed your protest with a wave of his hand as he began to walk toward the main building where both of your classes were.

As you watched his slowly retreating figure, you pretty much gave up any further protest knowing he was going to insist on you wearing his sweater anyway. Putting your arms through his sweater and adjusting your bag on our shoulder, you ran to catch up to him.

The two of you walked side by side for a few minutes, talking about your class activities and how his volleyball practice went.It didn’t last long however. Not after he saw her walking up about 20 feet ahead of you.

Kuroo’s eyes widened and he hurriedly wrapped up the conversation you'd been having.

“Hey, I see Heather up there, I’m gonna go catch up and head to my class, but I’ll see you later okay?” He didn’t actually give you any time to respond before he was running toward her, matching her strides when he finally caught up beside her.

Heather was a girl in Kuroo’s class. They hadn't been friends for that long but even then, it didn't take very long for them to start hanging out more often. Whether it was in school or out of it, it was like she was just constantly in his thoughts. You thought back bitterly on all of the times that he’d been texting her when he was supposed to be spending time with you.

You knew it was none of your business, but you couldn’t help the sinking feeling in your stomach when you saw the way he looked at her.

There were a few things that Kuroo Tetsuro found joy in, and when he did, his eyes would brighten up and there was something warm that swirled through them.. The gold of his eyes gleamed and you could almost see the joy radiating off of them. Often you’d see this happen when he played volleyball, or when he got kenma to laugh at a particular stupid chemistry joke; there’d even been times when he’d looked at you with those eyes.

You weren’t even sure if he knew he was doing it. If he knew just how mesmerising this look was. You’re sure that if you brought it up, he would deny it, but it’s the same look- the same glimmer in his eyes-when he looks at her.

☆

It’s mid-March now. Winter had come and gone, and as the seasons changed, so did your relationship with Kuroo. 

December third was the day when you first noticed the way his eyes brightened whenever he looked at Heather. December third. That one stupid day was the exact moment that it all started to go downhill for you.

You and Kuroo slowly stopped hanging out as much. If he wasn’t with Kenma, he was probably with her. He stopped walking home with you and he stopped waiting for you in between classes. Now, those were things that he did for her.

Given all of these things, it was no surprise to anyone who’d had the opportunity to see them in the halls, or in the courtyard-or literally anywhere- that they started dating not long after winter began.

It was a frustrating thing to watch. To watch her slowly gain everything that was yours while it slipped away from your fingers at a rate that was much too fast for your liking.

You’d spent the majority of your friendship with Kuroo harboring feelings for him. Part of you always hoped that it would work out some day; that one day he’d finally realize just how much you liked him, and that then you’d finally get what you had been hoping for for the past few years.

But that’s not how life works, so you tried to make yourself feel better. You tried telling yourself that you should have known that it would never work out.

Why would it? She was everything you weren’t.

You tried to focus all of your effort into trying to ignore the feelings you had for him. Whenever anyone asked you what was wrong, you’d dismiss them, making up some excuse about being tired or distracted by your classes. Everyone knew what was going on, you missed the pitied glances that they threw your way whenever you saw Kuroo with Heather, or whenever he’d talk about her during practice or when you all were hanging out.

All you wanted was for Kuroo to be happy. If him being happy meant him being with her, instead of you, then you would just have to get over yourself and let him be.

As time passed you got better at it. You’re almost certain that the feelings you held for him never truly went away, but rather you just forced them into hiding. 

It was something that you figured you may be able to do until Kuroo decided to finally just stop talking to you all together, but the limits of your willpower were tested every time Heather passed you in the hall-offering you a wave and a smile- while she wore Kuroo’s sweater. That same sweater he’d given to you all those months ago. 

But it wasn’t December anymore. It was almost spring now, and whatever you had with Kuroo, he left behind in the cold.

☆

This series had continued for months. The more time that had passed since Kuroo and Heather had started dating, the further he got away from you. You had originally hoped that you two would remain friends after they’d started dating, thinking that nothing would change too drastically, but you were wrong. The more time you spent around them, the more it hurt you. Eventually you started to push yourself away from Kuroo almost entirely- even further than he had unintentionally pushed you. Being around them hurt you too much and you decided it was just better if you kept yourself out of his life as much as possible.

Honestly you would have said you had been doing an alright job at it. You avoided Kuroo as much as possible and tried to stop thinking about him, but when graduation rolled around, coach Nekomata decided to do something nice in honor of the third years. A nice graduation dinner was planned and it was made clear to you by your friends and the coach himself that you were more than welcome to join them.

You denied at first, wanting to spare yourself the inevitable sight of Kuroo and Heather being all mushy together, but you were somehow convinced to go by a few of the boys saying something about it being their last opportunity to hang out with you before you graduated.

It was a cute set up, despite being in the boy’s gym, the decorations and lights that adorned the walls in nekoma’s signature colors did a lot to provide a nice an simple atmosphere, contrary to the loud sounds of squeaking shoes and volleyballs hitting the floor that usually bounced off of these walls.

Staying close to Lev and Yamamoto for most of the night-too scared to be near Yaku or Kenma in fear of attracting Kuroo- you watched the team have a good time and focused your attention on anything that wasn’t Kuroo, with his arm wrapped around Heather’s shoulder.

Much to your surprise, most of the night had passed with little to no interaction with Kuroo despite the close confines of both of you being in the gym for this long.

You let out a small sigh of relief at the thought of not having to go through TOO much torment tonight. Just watching them was enough heartache.

Unfortunately it seemed that your sigh of relief jinxed whatever you had going for you that night, because then Kuroo walked right up to you, a lopsided smile adorning his features

You hated the way that he walked, looking so effortly attractive, having absolutely no idea that each step further that he walked was another piece of your heart being chipped away.

Your chest felt heavy and your throat felt dry when he finally stopped in front of you.

“Hey y/n, how’s it going?” The absolute shamelessness and ignorance of the way his words made you feel began to anger you.

Without saying anything you simply glared at Kuroo with an expression that nearly screamed to be left alone.

“Don’t look at me like that.” He let out a light laugh recalling the way that your face reminded him of the way that Kenma would look at him when he bothered him while playing a new videogame.

“We haven’t really hung out much at all lately, let’s catch up.”

“I would rather not right now.” Your shoulders hunched, attempting to make yourself small under his gaze.

“Why not?” Oblivious. “I’d say now is the perfect time to catch up.Y'know before we graduate and such.” He shrugged, tilting his cup of soda, watching the liquid swirl.

“Whatever,” You huffed. You were starting to get more and more annoyed the more he spoke. “Don’t you have somewhere else to be right now?” Your eyes finally met his, your challenging glare attempting to pierce through the oblivious air that surrounded him. You just wanted him to get the hint and leave you alone.

“No?” Clearly your plan wasn’t working.

“What about your little girlfriend?” you sneered.

“Uh, she's fine? She's talking to Kai right now.” Kuroo was extremely smart-one of the smartest you knew- but his inability to understand you in this moment was infuriating.

You weren’t sure if he really didn’t have any clue what was going on, or if he was just playing dumb, attempting to avoid ever bringing it up or talking about it. The latter seemed much more likely, he was probably just trying to spare your feelings. Although that didn’t explain why he was so intent on speaking with you now despite your fairly clear reluctance to carry the conversation.

Thoughts spiraling in your head, you finally cracked.

“Oh my god Kuroo! Can you just leave me alone!? Please.” The room became quiet at the sound of your exclamation.

Without much thought to your belongings, you hastily rushed out of the gym to avoid the prying eyes that loomed around you.

Once outside, you stood in silence for about 30 seconds, berating yourself for losing your cool now, of all times, after all the time you had spent working to keep yourself together, holding everything in.

Head in your hands, and eyes shut tight, you heard footsteps approach you slowly. When they came to a halt behind you, a voice accompanied them.

“Hey, what happened back there?” Kuroo tossed his head back toward the building, referring to what had just gone down inside.

“If something is going on you know you can talk to me about it right?” He looked at you with eyes that flooded with concern, but you didn’t even have it in you to revel in the attentiveness of his actions.

You whipped around to face him quickly, eyebrows scrunched together, a frown evident on your face, and feelings and thoughts of frustration quickly bubbling up and past your throat before you could even think to stop them.

“Oh come on Kuroo. Don’t do that.” you shook your head at him incredulously. “Don’t act like you have no clue what’s going on.”

Kuroo looked taken aback by the aggressiveness of your voice.

“What do you mean ‘act’?” he retorted. “I have no clue what the hell has been going on with you lately. We never hang out anymore and you never seem like you want to talk to me or be near me anymore, so what’s your deal y/n?”

The way he said it, more like a demand than an actual question, broke the dam you had been desperately trying to keep back even after your little outburst in the gym.

“It’s because I like you stupid! I’m in love with you!” your hands remained close to your sides, fists clenched as you continued to plead with him. “And I know that I shouldn’t be because I know how happy you are with her but it’s just so frustrating.”

The words fell past your lips and you ducked your head down, hoping to hide away from him the frustrated tears that pecked your waterline. “Do you understand how hard it was to just watch you fall totally head over heels with someone who I knew I could never be?” your voice faltered and you felt yourself crumple more when the words from your mouth met your ears.“I can’t even stand to be near you when I know it’s not me that you’re with. God, I don’t even know why I ever thought that I’d even have any sliver of a chance with you. Obviously you'd choose someone like her. She’s popular, she’s nice, she’s in your class so she's obviously way smarter than me too, and to top it all off, she’s definitely prettier than me. I’m not even nearly half as pretty as her. I was stupid to think that I’d ever be anything that you wanted.”

Standing there, defeated, you began to rub the tears away from your eyes.

Kuroo didn’t even say anything. He just stood there.Whether in shock, or pity, or empathy, you didn’t know. You weren’t even really sure you wanted him to say anything. In your perfect world maybe he would have wiped away your tears and told you that he’d loved you all along.

There was no use thinking about it anyway. It wasn’t going to change the reality that he chose her over you. He chose her and not you.

And so you walked away that night outside the gym, brushing past Kuroo without a word, back into the building where you avoided meeting the stares of your friends, grabbing your things and heading toward the door, ignoring the few calls of our name from those who wanted to make sure you were okay.

You walked home alone that night. It hadn’t been the first time, and it likely wouldn’t be the last, but the loneliness and the ache in your heart felt different this time. Because now you knew for sure that you were never and that you would never be Kuroo Tetsuro’s first choice.

It’s too bad you’re not Heather.

[not-sewell]

i'd had this idea floating in bits and pieces in my mind for weeks now and i've now been able to string it together with some semblance of coherence, so here we go:

[i don't even know what this is classified as but it comes under soft hours, i guess?]

Foiled Date Plans Leading to Time Spent Better.

i imagine that the LI and the detective haven’t been able to hang out, go on a date, for ages because neither of them could find the time for it, both of them being swamped with work. so when the opportunity presented itself, they jumped at it.

only for things to swiftly go downhill at different times on the day of their date

N and the detective found that they both were to get off their duties early one day and quickly made their plans for a nice, evening together. the detective chooses to go big this time: booking a reservation at a fancy restaurant, where they could enjoy good food, sip on some wine and listen to some smooth music. yeah, that’d do. it's all pretty smooth-sailing until their plans are foiled by a pile of unfinished paperwork that they had promised to help Tina get through. as much as they would rather be someplace else, they decide to help. they’re pretty committed to fulfilling their promise. not that they can deny Tina when she’s making those puppy eyes at them anyway. making a quick call to N to let them know what’s up (and promising to be there on time), the detective gets to the paperwork. it is only when N appears at their door that they realise how late it actually is. well, shit. there is no way they'd be able to make it to the restaurant on time. they should've quit while they were ahead. but they didn't, and they may have just ruined their date plans and this day just sucks. and it's all their fault. N finds a way to fix this before the detective spirals further into whatever headspace they were getting into, though. soon, the couple is at the detective's home, cooking a homely (yet fancy, of course) meal, N pulling the detective by their hand to sway to a light melody of jazz music playing in the background, wrapped in each other's arms – whispering sweet nothings, singing softly. well, okay, maybe the day doesn't suck as much anymore.

F is all too excited to finally get to go out with the detective. the detective had a day off, so they thought of showing F around the town: the places that the detective had discovered over the years, places that one wouldn’t necessarily include in their ‘Places to Visit in Wayhaven’ list. it seemed like a cheery day – maybe they could rent bicycles and go biking around town. this was a good idea. it felt nice to be biking again – it had been a while since they’d done it. the wind gently making its way through their hair brought a soft smile to the detective’s face. but it was only a few minutes before F decided they could ride faster, and the detective followed, the Wayhaven tour long abandoned. the wind in their hair getting progressively less gentle seemed to have an effect on the detective. F’s whooping also helped, maybe. soon, the two are speeding past people, laughing, low-key trash-talking each other and— this was not a good idea. the first thing the detective registers is the nearly blinding pain in their arm and F’s extremely concerned eyes staring down at them. any movement that shifts their position sends a searing pain up and down their forearm. well, fuck. soon, they’re at the doctor’s clinic, having received medical attention. F is uncharacteristically quiet, throwing worried glances their way. it obviously takes a lot of reassurance from the detective to quell F’s worries. then a long pause. and then laughter – belly laughter that only seems to get louder. the walk back home is now far lighter and less painful than it would’ve been. F offers to stay the night, of course. what follows is a day full of F fussing over the detective’s condition, and lots of ice-cream, popcorn and trashy Netflix movies. sure, the injury part sucked but it mattered far lesser.

M has probably rolled their eyes for the hundredth time now. the detective refuses to accept that they've fallen sick. it doesn't take M their hypersenses to recognise what is beginning to sound like the start of rales in the detective's breath. it's ridiculous, the way the detective refuses to acknowledge that they're unwell, especially with the amount of effort they've been putting to even sit upright. it takes a big coughing fit from the detective for M to put their foot down and take them back to the detective’s bedroom. yeah, no, M doesn't give a shit about the date anymore. they'd like the detective to be very much alive, instead, thank you very much. glaring the detective to bed, they run their hand more fondly than they expected over the detective’s head before making their way to the kitchen and call F to relay some solid, 'how to care for a sick partner' advice from N: hot and cold compresses, some VapoRub, soup and maybe a warm glass of milk with turmeric in it and lots of care (which they would take care of by snuggling with the detective, should they ask). the detective wakes up early next morning to find M asleep on the bed – seated next to the detective, having leaned their back on the headrest – their hand in the general area of where the detective’s head is. the detective had never really pinned M down as someone who could be so tender but hell, no one’s complaining.

A admits: they were really looking forward to the date. they didn’t know what the detective had planned – they wouldn’t tell them (maybe it involved wine-tasting?) – but it would’ve been nice to finally get to spend some time with the detective. anyway, that doesn’t matter right now, does it? they were here on a stakeout in a hilly area with probably the worst partner ever: the detective. it’s got nothing to do with the detective’s skills or attitude – they’re more skilled and dutiful than most. it’s the effect their presence has on A: their focus on the scene before them is off-kilter and they’re certainly not thinking about their mission as much as they would like to. they chide themself for being so distracted. they really need to learn to maintain their focus regardless of the company they have (just the detective but okay). gah, they need to pull themself together. even as they chide themself, they find their gaze drifting towards the detective. again. this time, they find the detective’s eyes on them too. this has been going on for a while and they both know it needs to stop. and yet, they just cannot seem to. at least the evening’s been very uneventful. it’s close to dawn when N and M join them to take over. the couple is on their way back to the Warehouse when the detective gasps softly, the way they do when they think they've got a great idea (which is usually true, but they don't necessarily need to know that). they turn to A with a bright smile. "i know of a spot," they say, "come with me!" as they pull A by their hand. they're right on time to catch the most beautiful sunrise A has seen in a long, long time. and the detective turns to look at A just in time to see the softest, most carefree smile grace A's beautiful face. they're almost too lost in their thoughts to catch A whisper a small 'thank you', interlacing their little fingers together. the day is instantly brighter.

[yenslilac]

Why Sansa Hated Daenerys

Many reasons have been brought up before, but I thought I would beat the dead horse a bit more :)

Sansa hated Dany in Season 8, for reasons that aren't truly explained in the show, and it has been left to fans to try make head or tail of it. These range from Author Inserts to plain old Jealousy. In my opinion Sansa was not written to hate Daenerys for any one specific reason, more just to sow the seeds of discord within the story. However, I still that Sansa did hate Dany for a specific reason, even if the writers did not intend that way (because lets face it, they didn't intend anything), through the story already set out, common sense, and Sansa' s character established on the show. Make sense? Not too confusing? Good. Let's get into it.

Lady Sansa, Queen-to-be

Sansa was the eldest daughter of House Stark, one of the Great Houses of Westeros. She would have known from a young ish age that she would be married to another heir from a Great House in the South, where she wanted to be. She was most like her mother in the fact that she had an affinity for the South, rather than her home the North. She adopts a 'posh' Southern accent. I'm going to say that even though her siblings also have southern accents, probably because child actors are often just not capable of Yorkshire accents, and I feel Sansa would have done that anyway.

It was probably discussed, or accepted before the events of Season One, that Sansa would marry Joffrey. Sansa is infatuated with him and makes her best efforts to have him like her back. So it's easy to understand that for most of her life, Sansa would have expected to marry the best nobility or royalty.

This slightly changes with the realisation that Joffrey is, well, Joffrey. But Sansa is then quickly moved in the direction of Loras Tyrell. The Tyrells are a rich, Great House and Margaery, the future Queen, would be her sister in law. Sansa would not be losing much. A few more problems are thrown into the mix, but they don't properly shake Sansa from her social standing or access to riches.

She is married to Tyrion, who does not abuse her and respects her (I'd like to reiterate this is show only) and as the uncle to the King, yes she is not free of Cersei and Joffrey but Tyrion does his best to shield her from them. Again he is rich as a Lannister and she receives an invitation to Highgarden. She is still a Lady, with some stigma, but she attends royal banquets and her wedding looks like it was expensive.

In the Vale it starts to go downhill, but even though she is outwardly not a Stark, she is still treated as a sort of nobility. She is also informally promised to Robin, which would make her Lady of the Vale, another Great House. Of course she is emotionally and physically abused by her aunt, who is then killed, and this is when it all spirals. I won't talk about Season 5, that is an obvious terrible part of her arc and she had nothing good in it.

Heir to the North

So fast forward to end of Season Six. With Littlefinger's army, the BotB is won and Jon is made King. I do not think Sansa was very happy about this - I think she was half expecting to be praised or credited with saving the battle by getting Littlefinger to bring his army. But Jon is crowned King instead. No matter, Sansa is still a Princess AND here's the the golden nugget - Sansa is heir to the North. Jon is unmarried and has no children, making Sansa his heir. Sansa, no doubt, figured out that she had a very good chance of inheriting the North.

Why? Well, the North was not out of the woods yet. Their armies were depleted and they were facing an enemy on two fronts. The Army of the Dead in the North, and the Lannisters in the South. Jon had proved himself to lead by example. That's a nice way of saying he plunges headlong into battle alongside his men. Looking at this, even if Sansa was the loveliest person in the world, she still would have thought "There's a very high chance that he would die in either battle." It's fair to say that Jon's (second) death was quite likely, especially against the Army of the Dead.

So Sansa's claim to Winterfell was pretty good even with the arrival of Arya, who as a younger sister didn't have a claim over her, and any and all incriminating evidence against Sansa was probably destroyed in Season Seven.

Here Comes the Bride Queen

And everything is thrown on its head in Season Eight. Jon has pledged the North to Queen Daenerys Stormborn. And everything that fell into place for Sansa has tumbled down.

Sansa probably remembers the conversation her and Littlefinger had back in Season Seven

Jon is young and unmarried. Daenerys is young and unmarried. Together they would be difficult to defeat.

Uh oh. Sansa sees Jon is in love with Dany, and probably hopes to marry her. And Daenerys? Sansa sees an eligible bride for Jon, who, to her knowledge, is capable of bearing heirs. Not too mention that the Kingdom of the North doesn't exist anymore. So in a short time Sansa finds herself without a kingdom to inherit, and probably a life spent a Lady of Winterfell far away in the North. "But Sansa began to love the North!" Some of you may cry. Well.... I think Sansa appreciated the North after coming back. But I think she also wanted power. With the North independent, the power would be in Winterfell. She would be at the center of the North's power. If the North stayed part of the Seven Kingdoms, the power would be in King's Landing. Far, far away from Sansa. She would be stuck in an isolated land away from everyone she knows.

Dany is threat to Sansa, NOT BECAUSE she is taking away Jon, but because she is taking any power Sansa had been given by others. Sansa is eager to betray Jon's trust because if he becomes rightful King, she can wiggle her way into a high position or convince him to make the North independent. Daenerys was not likely to do those things, as Sansa had already undermined her many times. No smart ruler would grant extra power to a tricky ally. So Sansa manoeuvres her 'downfall'. It was actually a bit of a dumb move - Sansa had no way of knowing how loyal Tyrion was to Dany, and she didn't know how Jon would react to her betraying him and spreading secrets. In a normal situation it probably would have blown up in her face.

To Conclude

Sansa hated and betrayed Daenerys because of her hunger for power and control. She was probably jealous of Jon for the praise he gained from the Northern Lords, and betrayed his trust to get a pretty crown, but did so very clumsily and obviously that she didn't deserve and Queenship or a reputation as a smart character.

[luxusnoname]

Glory Is A Whisper (Part One)

Summary: All his life, Braig dreamed of the honor and prestige that came along with being a hero from the stories of old. So when an opportunity to find a legendary weapon falls right into his lap, how can he say no? But if those stories are anything to go by, things never turn out quite as expected. Part one of (?) in a series. For Day 6 of @apprenticeweek : AU.

Characters/Pairings: Braig, Dilan, Aeleus, bg Dilan/Aeleus. More to come in the next part 👀

Rating: T; some alcohol and swears

Word Count: ~2.1k

Author’s Note: Will be posting part 2 tomorrow for the free day! I started writing this as a one shot but it quickly spiraled out of control. You know what they say: once you start using fantasy name generators for your towns and mountain ranges it’s all downhill from there.

~~~

Glory Is A Whisper

“I just don’t get it,” Braig pondered aloud, kicking his feet up on the rough-hewn tavern table as he tipped back precariously in his chair. “What do all of those legendary heroes have that I don’t?”

The fairy-tales always made it sound so easy. Sure, there was usually a dragon guarding the princess or some ancient necromancer with an army of undead to protect a magical artifact, but the hero's path always seemed to lay out nicely before them. Sometimes it appeared in the form of a magical mentor, sending the hero on a quest or guiding them to great power. Other times it was a prophecy, a pre-destined event that one was born and molded for their entire lives. Braig had neither of these going for him. So what then was an aspiring glory seeker to do?

Dilan, one of Braig’s only friends in the village, sighed and sloshed the liquid in his tankard around. How many times had they had this conversation before? He didn’t look up from his ale as he responded sharply.

“Manners, for starters. Feet off the table, Braig.”

The smaller man gave a dramatic groan, but obeyed. “I’m serious! I’ve got charisma-”

“Debatable.”

“-good looks-”

“Don’t make me laugh.”

“-and my skill with a bow.”

Dilan grumbled; he unfortunately couldn’t refute that. If there was anything that could be said about Braig’s potential for greatness, it would be attributed to his keen marksmanship. He was also quick and far more clever than most would give him credit for, but he often acted carelessly on impulse. His personality, boisterous and cocksure, left much to be desired. 

He was a man through and through - by all accounts, the least remarkable race in the realm. And if one asked any of the villagers of Dunstead that knew Braig, he in particular was even less so.

“All I’m saying,” Braig continued, “is that there’s gotta be something more to life than… This.” He gestured to the rest of the tavern and its rowdy, drunken patrons. The irony that he was one of them went completely over his head.

Dilan scowled. “You’re the one who wanted to come here in the first place.”

“You know what I mean! Yeah, I like to come here because sometimes people come through with stories. Stories of places and treasures far away from here. But if this is all I have to look forward to for the rest of my life? What’s the point?”

“I think you’ve had too much ale and it’s muddling what little sense you have left.” He shook his head. “Perhaps it’s time we leave. I have to be at the blacksmith’s first thing tomorrow morning.”

Braig waved his hand dismissively. “I’m not nearly as drunk as you think. You can go if you want, but I’m going to stay a while longer.”

“If you say so.” Dilan stood up with a grunt, digging around in his pocket for a few silver pieces. He set them on the table. “Give these to the barkeep before you leave. Do not pocket them.”

“Give ‘em to him yourself then. Aeleus likes you better anyway.”

He watched his companion leave the tavern, and out of the corner of his eye, he saw Aeleus doing the same. Braig rolled his eyes. Their mutual infatuation was so obvious to everyone but each other, yet Dilan called him the simpleton. He kicked his feet back up on the table and closed his eyes, listening for any threads of conversation that might be mildly interesting.

“They’re not so much from me as they are an apology for him having to put up with you,” he quipped, with a quick glance at the ginger man behind the counter. “Besides. He’s busy right now and doesn’t need me distracting him.”

Braig shrugged. “Whatever you say, Dil. Have a good night.”

He had spent many a night like this in Dunstead’s tavern, listening to rangers and travelers and peddlers exchange stories in hopes of finding a legend to follow. Preferably something that required his skill with a bow to slay a dangerous beast or defeat a great foe. His fingers itched for a more challenging opponent than the rabbit he hunted for dinner last night.

But these were not the sorts of stories he heard. Most of them were boring and none were even close to anything he would consider legendary. Sure, killing a rabid wolf that had been slowly picking off members of a nearby village was worth some bragging rights, but where were the riches? The grandeur? He wanted recognition and reward for his efforts, but he was beginning to think the opportunity would never come.

And then the tavern door creaked open and the din of the crowd quieted ever so slightly. Braig cracked an eye open and glanced toward the newcomer. It appeared to be an older man judging by his gait, but a heavy cloak obscured his face. He wasn’t a Dunstead local, that much was for certain. More than a few pairs of eyes followed him to the bar where he seated himself. There was a heavy and distinct air of otherness about him that Braig couldn’t put his finger on. He seemed… Powerful. Important.

Maybe he’d had too much ale after all, because he didn’t even think before he stood from his own table and swiped up the money left by Dilan, making his way to the bar. He seated himself next to the stranger and beckoned Aeleus over.

“A pint of your finest for myself and this gentleman here.” Braig handed him a silver piece with a flourish. “You can keep the change.”

Aeleus nodded and set about pouring their drinks. Braig turned to the old man, who had watched the exchange passively. It was strange; even up close, he couldn’t make out any distinguishing features beneath the cowl.

“I appreciate the kindness, stranger.” The newcomer's voice came as a deep and gravely rasp. “Do you often buy drinks for weary travelers?”

“I guess you could say I’m in charge of hospitality here,” he grinned. “The name’s Braig.”

The man dipped his head in acknowledgement. “A pleasure.”

“Your drinks, gentlemen,” Aeleus interrupted, shooting Braig a brief ‘I know you’re bullshitting this man but I’m going to stay out of it’ glance before setting their tankards down and leaving to serve another patron.

Braig lifted his drink in a toast, bumping it with the stranger’s. “Welcome to Dunstead, my friend!”

As they drank, Braig got the feeling that this reclusive stranger was privy to some secret knowledge or power. He just had a feeling. And so he found himself crafting a very elaborate and very false story about how he was a famed archer in the region and basically the hero of Dunstead. He recounted a tale in which he single-handedly defended a young prince who’d been attacked by bandits while passing through the hills on the east end of the village, and was rewarded handsomely for his valor. Most of the money was donated to widows and poor families in town, of course. He peppered in other small, more believable acts of kindness as well, and the stranger listened with rapt attention.

“A shame your deeds are not known elsewhere,” the gentleman hummed at the end of it all. “It is to be expected, of course. Such heroic men are usually only acknowledged in the pages of history. But it would appear I’ve found a legend in the making.”

“Eh, maybe so,” he shrugged nonchalantly. “But helping others is a reward all its own.”

“Me? A living legend?” Braig laughed, playing up his modesty. “As if. I’m just a guy who does the right thing, regardless of reward.”

“Oh, but that selflessness is what qualifies you to be a hero,” the stranger continued. “You’ve risked your life for others with little regard for your own safety. Don’t you think that’s deserving of something more than just the respect of your fellow man?”

“But what if I told you that it doesn’t have to be?”

Braig’s façade almost cracked as whatever he’d been about to say died on his lips. His shock, however, was quickly covered up with an easy grin. He knew his act was working as intended, but he hadn’t expected to get to this point so quickly. 

The man dug around in his robe for a moment before procuring a rolled parchment. He laid it on the bar to reveal a map of the realm. Braig had seen one like it once before, a traveling peddler’s map marked with safe trade routes and profitable towns. But this map… There was only one destination marked on it. An inconspicuous spot at the foot of the Skarnfell mountain range.

“Tell me, Braig, have you heard tales of Whisperwind?”

His jaw nearly hit the floor. Of course he knew of Whisperwind, as did every other child who’d ever heard a bedtime story. It was a legendary elven bow, enchanted so that as long as the target was in sight, its wielder would aim true every time. He hadn’t allowed himself to believe it was real since he was a boy that dreamed of discovering it. Most dismissed it as a legend.

The stranger gave a low chuckle. “I can tell by your expression that you have. Now, don’t you think such a weapon would be fitting for a hero such as yourself?”

“But… I thought the elves left this region long ago.”

“That is what history has told us, yes. But their last settlement before moving on, a city inside the mountain, still stands. And inside, they left behind one of their greatest artifacts.” The man pointed to the spot on the map to reinforce his point. “I’ve searched for it myself, but lack the wits I’d had in my youth. Perhaps you’d fare better?”

“I-I don’t know what to say.” They were the first honest words he’d spoken to the stranger so far, a sure sign of his shock. “I appreciate it, I do, but… Why entrust something like this to me?”

The stranger laid a hand on his shoulder, eyes beneath the cowl silently penetrating his very soul. Was that a flash of gold he saw?

“You are a great man in word and deed, Braig. As I said before, I believe you are worthy of more than just praise alone. This is your opportunity to become something more. A true legend.”

Maybe it was just Braig’s imagination, but was the man’s grip on his shoulder tighter? Or was he just nervous, already imagining the journey ahead? This was what he’d always dreamed of, after all. A legend to chase after. His chance for glory.

His destiny.

“Take this map home with you and think on what I’ve said.” He let go of Braig’s shoulder and rolled the parchment up once more. “A gift, for entertaining this weary old man with tales of valor and generosity.”

Braig stood up, tucking the map into his pocket and shaking the stranger’s hand. “Thank you, mister…” He chuckled awkwardly. “Y’know, this whole time we were talking, I never did catch your name.”

“My name is hardly important. But I’ve affixed the corner of the map with my symbol. If you discover Whisperwind and make it into the pages of history, I would like to be named in your story. My symbol will suffice for such a purpose.”

Braig nodded dumbly, head still reeling from the revelations of the past few minutes. “Yeah, of course. I’ll never forget your kindness, sir. Truly.” He turned to walk away, but stopped short. “Wait, do you have a place to stay tonight? If you don’t, it’s the least I could do to offer you mine.”

The man laughed, deep and rich. “You needn’t put yourself out on my account. I have money for a room at the inn tonight. I’ll be moving on tomorrow morning.”

“Alright, well. I bid you a good night then. And safe travels.”

“Likewise, young man.”

As Braig left the tavern, he nodded to Aeleus, who was doing his best not to make eye contact with Braig. Bless the man, he really did mind his business… Oh right, he almost forgot the tip! Braig stopped just outside the door and dug in his pocket for the silver coins Dilan left, but his fingers found nothing. Huh, maybe he’d dropped them on the way to the bar. They were probably long gone, swept up by some vulture. Not that it mattered, anyway. What was a few pieces of silver to a great weapon from the age of elves?

Braig hardly got a wink of sleep that night. The stranger told him to think it over, but he’d already made up his mind. He packed a bag and was ready to leave at sunrise. The journey would only take a week, so he really had nothing to lose. The most difficult part would be the day spent navigating through Willowmire forest at the northern border of Dunstead. But as long as he stuck to the path, he’d be fine. He had to be, for his destiny awaited him.

[derkastellan]

Musings: Quo vadis, Fallout?

(I had this one in my drafts for a long time and I think I’ll polish and publish it now.)

Where is the Fallout franchise going?

I’ve been sinking quite some time into Fallout 4 and I wonder at myself. In many ways FO4 is a meh game, but yet I keep playing it. With 120+ hours it clocks in at more play time as my Steam copy of Fallout: New Vegas, but that discounts the time I sank into this game years ago before I even got Steam, IIRC.

FO:NV is one big quest tree. The design team put lots of effort of making your decisions and actions count and also impact the endgame. Minor factions align with you and you align with a (or make your own) major faction, and the whole landscape plays into this. There are detours and sidequests but the war between Caesar’s Legion and the NCR overshadows the whole setting. Decisions matter and dialogue makes all the difference.

For comparison, without modding FO4 doesn’t even tell you what you will say. Not many important decisions are left to you. Organizations you join may tell you you’re the boss but flood you with quests, setting your targets for you. FO4 has an addictive element because it has a gratification delay tuned so that you don’t mind its boring main quest and nonsensical main loop. You go places, explore, fight, kill, collect trash, and then return to work benches to improve settlements and gear. There are not so many advantages to building settlements - they can act as bases, produce food, water, safe stashes, caps, and allow crafting. But at the same time they throw up constant annoying distractions in the vanilla game.

FO4 has a barely passable setting builder that I nevertheless spent lots of time with. Carelessness or bugs however prevent you from making settlement defense matter (unless you’re there to help defend it). For a key element of the game it’s in many way more like an afterthought, more designed to limit than to enable the player - and again modded. I never had the sense of being on a meaningful quest and have explored the Commonwealth on side quests, roaming, exploring, clearing areas. I turned off respawning because the idea of doing it again seems nonsensical to me - just to up my level??

Let’s call it “world-building”

But where FO4 is truly the successor of FO3 and truly has chosen not to learn much from FO:NV is the lay of the land. The Commonwealth is big, lots of nooks and crannies, but also lots of samey-same. Supermutants, raiders, different raiders, ghouls, mirelurks, molerats. Some themed raider gangs and locations beat the monotony. The size of the Commonwealth has resulted in repetition, and you can tell how “unique” locations have been thrown in to hide that fact. Also every settlement except Diamond City has either failed or is one of these puny ones too small to be self-sustaining without the Minutemen.

That’s the joy of FO1, FO2, and FO:NV - to walk into settlements and learn their stories. It’s how people chose to survive, and also how these ways change. Great care has been put to make sure the settlements of FO:NV each have their own story and character. In this sense, FO4 only has Goodneighbor and Diamond City. And that matches up with its other major world-building flaw: Where are the damn people?

In Obsidian’s Fallout games people cluster together and try to eke out a living. There are clearly populated areas away from the dangers. In FO4 people talk about Diamond City like they go there every other month but realistically speaking that means passing through the Boston wasteland full to the brim with Supermutants, raiders, and more raiders. If people followed the highways in FO:NV they have a decent chance to make it to New Vegas, or at least had until some recent events made the route more dangerous - just in time for the player to play a role, of course.

In FO4 your potential settlements are often sitting in the wide open, much easier to attack than raider settlements, usually undefended and without fortifications, whereas the raiders, busy like beavers, always manage to make top-notch hideouts. (And then are too stupid to defend them - running towards noise and out of cover all the time.) It’s of course up to the player to add that little detail. Oberland station is the best example - it’s just a tall wooden building with a bit of crops next to it. The building offers space for three beds. The only advantage the settlement can offer is higher ground - which is not much. Raider attacks on the settlement were frequent until I switched them off and showed that the place was kind of pointless.

Don’t get me started about “Sanctuary” Hills...

In general, the populace of the Commonwealth seems unable to huddle together on their own, their militia has failed, raiders are rampant, and people die due to the many dangers. People roam alone without livelihood or defense in a region with great danger, yet reliably hear radio messages and follow them to Minutemen locations.

Sins of their “rule of cool” fathers

The logic of world-building is, however, in FO4 well above the one in FO3. I remember leaving that game for good when I learned about the quest where I need to bring an old lady a violin - a lady living in an isolated house in dangerous territory with no defenses but her own radio station. Get me that violin and you get caps. (And the violin would be in some axe-crazy museum location, of course.) And if you entered her house while followed by monsters, the game engine itself would show you how stupid the location was. (Or a quest to make “survival guide” by going on one dangerous mission after another...) FO3 tried to have “wouldn’t it be cool” locations but all of them are illogical and suck. The settlement on top of the highway is basically indefensible, too small, and while you’re there you’re prone to Mirelurk attacks. The miraculously remaining apartment towers have been completely sealed off with concrete walls - leaving not even a yard to grow some damn food in. Getting to the real town requires traveling mutant-saddled routes.

There is simply no sense in FO3. There’s no logic. Why do I do things? Why are things here? It seems like the team who made it had no idea. In FO:NV threats to settlements and their placement make some sense. Humans are the main threat to humans. And human warfare makes them vulnerable to other dangers. FO4 also makes no sense, like FO3, but not as blatantly.

The world-building of FO4 is that of a shooter game. It packs areas with enemies and designs them for shooting. It never concerns itself with the fact that the human and Supermutant baddies outnumber the humans. The size of its busy map requires it to have enough baddies around whereas FO:NV could allow empty spaces because it was set in the Mojave desert. Raiders are like predators - they cannot outnumber the prey. In order to eat, raiders have to hunt. For that to work they have to traverse a dangerous wasteland which makes their lives hard. Why would raiders then invest time in silly manhunts (like at the start of the main quest)? What would they gain from hunting for example the Quincy massacre survivors? (They already have taken over Quincy as their base.) The whole lot of them has two items of gear. Nobody but a cannibal (or worse) could get anything out of them.

Raiders have hideouts and prey on settlements. Like in FO. Like in FO:NV where their settlement actually makes sense - a camp in a canyon. In FO4 there are no viable settlements in most places until you make them. In other places, they are endangered by something that calls in questions how and when they have been erected in the first place. The chain of causality is often in question.

And that’s only one thing. If you think about the environment of FO4 nothing much makes sense, either, on a deeper level. Why are there lots of trees but none of them have leaves? Why has a dead forest not burned to cinders in wide areas? Why is there radioactive rain? Heavy isotopes have settled out the atmosphere long ago and don’t rise with evaporation. Lighter isotopes probably would have already stopped emitting life-threatening doses of radiation. (Radioactive Caesium halves over 30 years - 210 years after the war that’s 7 cyles, and that means that less than 1% of the original radiation remains.) Radioactive sandstorms make sense in comparison - in a dry environment radioactive dust can be blown about indefinitely, including heavier isotopes not bound into the soil.

We’ve come a long way... but it was mostly downhill anyway

In comparison, the original FO games explained how nuclear war worked and what fallout as a phenomenon actually is. What a grim lecture. But understanding things and making them go together with some sense didn’t make it into the Bethesda area. FO3 is like a fantasy game in how it makes sense, but lacking the underlying copout of magic to explain all inconsistencies away. Elder Scrolls: Fallout...

FO, FO2, and FO:NV kept their world-building wthin reasonable bounds. The story of a regrowing human civilization centuries after the war is largely sensible, and FO2 nods to human ingenuity when the old Core Region basically has it figured out by then. Okay, oceans being toxic sludge was just childish “Oh, look how dark and depressing everything is!” for its own sake, but all in all the games strike a balance between their dark setting and some kind of sense. (Yes, FO2 had goofball humor interludes. Nothing is perfect or safe from some silly Monty Python jokes.) 

FO3 and FO4 don’t. They go for effects, emotions, Rule of Cool. They are games first and stories as an afterthought. Their main quests are quite frankly crap and the decisions left to the player negligible. Do you really ever feel like you are impacting the world in a lasting way? FO and FO2 did some really cool things with a few decisions and slides to match, making you feel like you decided some key junctures of life in the Wasteland.

I’m not holding my breath for FO5. FO5 is mostly a shooting gallery, FO76 is a multi-player shooting gallery. Just like Fallout Tactics ditched the cool, story-driven roleplay for endless tactical battles, all Bethesda-bred FO games have ditched what made the FO, FO2, and FO:NV great. I don’t need more of that, not with better shooting mechanics, not with a half-broken settlement building, not with anything. Give me a good story and sensible locations first and foremost. Or I don’t care where you are going, Fallout.

(Looking forward to the Fallout tabletop role-playing game, though, if the 2d20 version ever sees the light of day...)

[harryhighkey]

happy valentines day

hi hi i’m back w another one shot!!!!! and this one is holiday themed!!!!!!!!!!! this is my first holiday themed one omg, i’m p happy with how it turned out!!!!! it’s kind of angsty (as usual) but also cute!!!!! idk don’t wanna spoil and also its 3:27am so i need to sleep but hope u all love it and HAPPY VALENTINES DAY

___________________

You were never a valentines day type of person. At one point, you weren’t really sure if anyone really was, or if it was just something people got excited over in movies. Maybe because you hadn’t ever actually been in a relationship properly when the day came around. 

Well, except the one relationship that had ironically ended terribly on what was meant to be the day of love.

Any other time the supposed romantic day came around, you never actually realised. It always took someone else wishing you a happy valentines day to have it even click in your head that February the 14th meant something else to other people. 

That’s why I’ve been eating so much chocolate lately. 

It was always on sale at this time of year, and you couldn’t ignore your favourite sweet snacks sitting right at the check out waiting to be picked up. Conspircary theory videos warned you about this, but you let the supermarket manipulate you anyway.

It wasn’t quite the 14th yet, though. It would be in about twenty minutes, although you were sure someone at the party you were at tonight would announce valentines day at midnight. Someone had made a joke earlier in the night about doing a count down like it was new year’s eve.

On the 13th - or valentines day eve - in the morning, you’d spent your time on a plane. It was one of your closest friends you’d made during your time spent in LA, engagement party. And honestly, you were a little nervous for it at first. The airport had lost your luggage, and you were taking it as a sign it wasn’t going to be a good night.

The people here tonight were also friends with your ex-boyfriend. Harry Styles.

In fact, you probably met a majority of them through him, and you hadn’t seen him since the two of you split up. You made a real effort to have a detox of sorts. You got too caught up in the LA lifestyle, or that’s what you told yourself in a coping mechanism of not accepting you were moving because of him. But when your relationship ended, so did your time in LA you decided. You had even gone as far to switch all your social media’s to private accounts, and in somewhat of a petty notion you blocked Harry so he couldn’t access them.

You had your reasons though, it wasn’t what could be called the smoothest of breakups.

-

“You’ve been gone for months, Harry!” You were furious, he was too. You’d gone to a show with your friends. A show in which you had obtained tickets for months ago. Maybe you had forgotten to tell Harry you wouldn’t be home from work due to heading straight to your friends place to get ready, but how you were to know he was planning a romantic surprise for valentines day. You didn’t even register that it was valentines day, to you, this day had always been when you were going to see Troye Sivan with your friends.

“That’s my fucking job, Y/N!”

“I fucking get that, but you don’t get to come back and get angry at me for having my own life.”

“I’m not,” He stepped closer to you then, and if you didn’t know Harry well enough you would have found it frightening. He could get a little scary when he was this angry, his deep voice boomed with volume and as he came to stand close to you, his tall framed loomed over you and you unconsciously took a step back. “but it’s fucking valentines day.”

“And so fucking what?”

“See, it’s that attitude. I’m so sick of it.”

“Sick of me?”

“No, sick of how you are!”

“That’s the same thing.”

“No, it’s-”

“No, you know what?” You cut him off then. “Fuck you, Harry. Not everything revolves around you. I told you I got these tickets ages ago.”

“You didn’t think to invite me?”

“Obviously not!”

“I could’ve gotten your seats upgraded. Probably even backstage passes.” Usually when he said something like this, he was being genuinely kind. Trying to treat you because he loved you. However now, he was saying it with venom.

“Wow, you’re gonna be like that now? Sorry we’re not all millionaires and as good as Harry fucking Styles.”

“Y/N, no,” His tone shifted then, as did his expression for a second as you saw the quick moment of guilt in his green eyes. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Yeah, you did.”

“No, I didn’t.” And just like that, you two were back on the downhill slope.

“I’m not fucking doing this, I had a really good time with my friends and I come home and you’re just ruining it.”

“You ruined it when you didn’t fucking turn up on valentines day!”

“Fuck valentines day! Who even celebrates that shit?”

“Me, and you’re not appreciate of anything I’ve done for you.”

“Oh my god.” You frustratedly ran your hands through your hair and turned around then, you were both running in a circle but couldn’t ever reach other at this point. “I didn’t even know, Harry. I said I was sorry!”

“You couldn’t reply to a message? Answer my call?”

“No, I was fucking distracted.”

“It’s like you don’t even care I’m home.”

“Of course I care, we’ve been together constantly since you got back. It was one night I didn’t tell you.”

“It’s been more than one night. And tonight was valentines.”

“I have a life. I’m not going to stop seeing my friends because you’re used to having the attention of thousands of girls every night. You’re not on tour anymore, get used to it.”

“Do you know how easily I could have another girl here?”

That was it. That was the moment that did it.

“You know what? Why not bring one of them over? Because I’m done.”

-

You couldn’t lie, you were relieved when you arrived earlier and you totally thought you were seeming subtle in scoping the place to see if Harry was here, but you must not have been because a friend came up and whispered,

“He’s not here, he’s working.”

So eventually you relaxed into the night, easily finding your groove back with the friends you had made when you lived out here. People were beginning to leave at this point, now that it was 11:55pm on the 13th of February, valentines day only a mere five minutes away. And being around your friends made you know that when you went back, you really would miss them so much more. You did miss the life you’d made here. You missed Harry.

Suddenly you felt a little pull in your chest and you couldn’t quite pick it. You knew you were feeling quite nostalgic with your friends and because some people left and you were planning on escaping before it was officially valentines day, you thought it might be that. But it was different. There was the sad farewell made by NASA for Oppy today had made you shed a tear earlier on. But that wasn’t what you were feeling right now, either.

Then you heard someone announce, “Ah, look who made it, after all.”

Fuck.

You knew who it was, you didn’t even have to turn around to look and you wouldn’t. Right now, you were thanking the angel of Oppy that you had chosen the spot you did to not face directly to the front door, instead you faced away from it and towards your friends. A few looked up to see what was going on and a few were looking at you to see your reaction.

You heard his laugh first, it wasn’t his proper laugh, when he found something really funny. It was his polite laugh he did to keep a mood light, to make others around him feel good. “Finished late in the studio, but wanted to stop by and say congratulations.” Harry spoke, and suddenly you wished you were sitting another way just so you could have one small look. The tiniest of glances.

So you did and, fuck, did he look perfect.

You’d made an effort to try and not stay up late lurking online to find out about him. But of course you couldn’t avoid it at all, he still was who he was, after all. Lately, though, he’d been laying really low-key and you weren’t seeing any new news about him. He was smiling as he made small talk, he hadn’t spotted you and you took this as your chance to leave.

Once again, you were thanking Oppy you’d already said your goodbyes as you made a swift exit out the front door. You managed to avoid any interaction with Harry, but by how your body was reacting, you wouldn’t think so.

Your heart was pounding so hard you could hear it loudly in your ear drums. You could barely see your own feet as your walked down the driveway, too focused on how he looked to think about where you were going. Which is exactly why you almost tripped over the letter box. And when you finally unlocked your phone to book an Uber, your hands were shaking.

“Y/N?”

Maybe you hadn’t avoided him.

You took in a deep breath and looked up from your phone and sure enough, there he was. His was longer, a little messier and he had a bit more scruff growing on his face than usual.

“Hey.” Was all you managed to get out.

“Hi.”

You laughed and so did he.

“You look beautiful, Y/N.” You met his vision again, the both you stopped laughing. His compliment caught you off guard, even though maybe you had taken a little extra effort when getting ready for tonight in thinking a scenario where you had a run in with your ex was going to happen.

“Thank you.”

“I-” You both went to speak at once, but quickly stopped when you noticed the other was beginning to talk.

“You go.” You got that in first, letting him have the first turn to speak.

“I was going to say, it’s good to see you...” He admitted. “I missed you.” He continued and you could feel the faintest stinging in your eyes.

Fuck. You didn’t want to cry right now, you’d done your fair share of crying over him. A lot of it. Dropping your head down, you let your hair fall around your face, chewing the inside of your lip as a further attempt to keep the tears from falling.

That’s when you noticed the time displayed on your phone screen.

12:03am.

“It’s valentines day.”

“What?”

“It’s valentines day.” You spoke louder that time.

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“I tried calling you.”

“I know, I ignored them.” You looked back up at him as you said that, but he was looking to the side. He was uncomfortable, too. “How are you getting home?” You decided a subject change would be good.

“Cars just up the road a little bit.” He answered and looked back to you. “Where are you staying?”

“I don’t know.”

“What?”

“I don’t know.”

“Yes, I heard you, but, Y/N, you don’t know as in you can’t remember the name or you don’t have somewhere to stay.”

“Well, kind of don’t have somewhere to stay.” You admitted, sighing as the warning notification of low battery popped up on your screen. 

“Come hop in my car and put it on charge.” Harry noticed it too.

The two of you walked in silence and you were pleasantly surprised at the scent that filled his car.

“Green apple?”

“Yeah, you really got me hooked on it.” He smiled and so did you. He always had a vanilla scent in here and you could never stand the smell of it. He changed it to your favourite, green apple just for you. “Did you fly in?”

“Yeah.”

“Where’s your suitcase then if you don’t have a place to stay?” He was genuinely concerned but you completely forgotten about the misplacement of your luggage by the airport.

In a response, you groaned and dropped back against the passenger seat with a huff. “The airport fucking lost it.”

“Shit, Y/N.” His hand landed on your thigh then and once it would have been what comforted you, but now your head snapped up as quickly as he snatched his hand back. “Sorry, didn’t mean to- I just-”

“It’s okay.”

“What are you going to do?”

“About what?”

“A place. To stay.”

“Oh, right.” It shouldn’t have been this hard to stay on track with the conversation, but the light speed physical contact really did have your mind whirring. “I was just going to get an Uber and go to the closest hotel or whatever.”

“Do you want to stay with me?” He asked cautiously, and the thought hadn’t even crossed your mind. Once upon a time, you would have just shown up at his front door, but now it was like treading on very thin ice. You didn’t realise you had stayed silent for so long, but it was long enough for him to start talking again. “It’s late anyway, Y/N, at least I’ll know you’re safe.”

“I mean, are you okay with that?”

“Of course I want you to.”

“Okay, thanks.” You clipped your seatbelt in and he nodded at you in reply before starting the car up and driving. “Harry?” You spoke after a few moments of silence.

“Mhm?” He kept his eyes on the road.

“Happy valentines day.” You were smiling, and for a moment he looked over at you, a dimple present in his cheek as he smiled but also shook his head at you.

“Happy valentines day, Y/N.”

[suckerfordeansfreckles]

Dean Winchester has no Control over his Mouth

Pairing: Castiel/Dean Winchester

Word count: 1,638

Rating: Teen (some swear words and nudity, I guess)

Read on AO3: http://archiveofourown.org/works/11840748

Summary:  Dean has had a huge crush on one of the members of the opposing football team.

When he finally gets a chance to talk to the guy alone, he finds Castiel in a very embarrassing situation and can’t help but blurt out the first thing he’s thinking. And it pretty much goes downhill from there, up until he finds out that the blue-eyed guy is more than just a stranger to him.

Note: A week ago, a good friend @thoughtfullysmilingbutterfly and I had a talk about fanfiction. When I told her about my interest in unusual soulmate-aus (for example: swear words or obscene sentences tattooed to your skin) we decided to give each other a soulmate-sentence and write a fic about it.

And because she’s such a sweetheart, she gave me this one: “This situation right here is what I usually masturbate to.” Of course, I had to turn it a little more innocent, just because :)

Dean is running off the football field, helmet in his hand, damp hair sticking to his head. It hadn’t been a particularly good game today, but they had still beaten their rival college’s team, which is what’s important when it comes down to it. His entire team is still celebrating their success on the field, but Dean feels sweaty and disgusting and altogether just isn’t in the mood for all of this pretentious crap, so he’s heading to the dressing room to take a shower. It had taken him some time to untangle himself from his team’s way too enthusiastic group hug, though.

If he has to be honest, him rushing to reach the showers is mainly motivated by his hope to cross paths with one of the guys from the other team. Since they all already left to shower and get changed immediately after the game ended, it’s possible that number 5, with his incredibly blue eyes, is still around. Dean has had a silly crush on the guy since… probably since the first time they���ve come close enough to each other on the field for Dean to actually see the man’s face. He doesn’t even know his name, but he’s been having embarrassing fantasies about him for months.

In his defense, number 5 is ridiculously attractive; tousled dark hair, shining cobalt blue eyes, fucking amazing cheekbones and those legs, Dean could talk about them for hours. The whole football equipment doesn’t look bad on him, either.

Dean has spent countless nights thinking about how to start a conversation with the gorgeous guy, but he has never actually dared to make a move and talk to him. See, the problem is Dean’s soulmate tattoo. It’s on his left forearm, prominent black words on pale skin. “Oh, so you are the person that made my life a living hell.” Ever since the mark appeared on his skin, he has been scared about meeting his soulmate and finding out just what he had done to make them angry. It got him to the point of being afraid to start a conversation with new people.

Dean is actually super careful about what he says, how he talks to, and about, others and especially how he approaches strangers. He has never insulted, let alone bullied, anyone; he actually gets along with everyone he knows. But you could say that he has lost so much sleep over his tattoo, that he’s practically overthinking every single conversation he has these days, because you can never know who barges in and listens to one of your sentences.

Castiel has tried to give his best during today’s game, but his team has lost nevertheless. Thanks to his coach, who had threatened to assign him a seat on the bench for god knows how long if he doesn’t up his game today, he’s been running as fast as never before. His legs are already quivering and all he can think about is going home and spending the rest of the day in a horizontal position without having to move again. But at least his coach has been satisfied with his performance and had actually acknowledged his efforts.

Cas took some extra time on the field to let his team retreat to the showers first and grabs his duffel bag to walk into the building about 15 minutes later. The reason for him to let them go first is that he’s pretty embarrassed about how he’s currently more waddling than walking. His legs hurt like shit and he really doesn’t need his teammates to make fun of him on top of that.

When Castiel enters the dressing room, all of his teammates have already finished and there’s only one man left, who is currently putting his shoes on. Cas dumps his bag on the bench across from the showers, grabs his towel and throws it over one of the shower rods. Hoping that the warm water is going to soothe his aching muscles, he’s quick to pull his shoes and clothes off, grabs a shampoo bottle and finally closes the shower curtain behind himself.

It’s only been about two minutes when he first starts to feel his legs getting weaker, but he ignores the feeling in favor of enjoying the refreshing shower.

Considering all of the signs, what comes next really shouldn’t be a surprise to anyone. When he tries to turn his body to face away from the steady stream of water and towards the shower curtain, he slips on the soapy tiles of the shower. Immediately, his thighs give in and his legs are not helpful at all in trying to prevent a fall.

He scrambles to catch himself from crashing to the floor by holding onto the shower curtain, the only thing separating him from a room full of god knows how many members of the local football team.

This, of course, only makes matters worse- and Castiel has nobody but himself to blame for that. Naturally, the old, plastic shower curtain isn’t able to support the weight of a full-grown, well-trained, nineteen-year-old football player.

The curtain rips from the rod, Cas loses his grip on it, crashes on the floor of the dressing room and is basically visible to anyone who might be in there. He lands on his knees, butt-naked, the curtain on the tiles next to his knees.

And because the whole situation isn’t already embarrassing enough, Cas finds himself eye-to… well, eye-to-crotch with a guy. A guy who has apparently been in the middle of undressing, considering that all he’s wearing are tight, green boxers. Fuck, he really doesn’t want to take a look at the face of whoever’s crotch he’s currently staring at. Instead of checking who he’s kneeling in front of, he starts grabbing for the shower curtain and quickly scans the room. Okay, at least this guy’s the only witness to the shit-show that is his life.

Dean’s pretty sure that his brain simply collapses as soon as it takes in the full glory of number 5- fuck, he should really find out what his name is- naked, tan skin wet from head to toe, dark hair damp, blue eyes wide and on his fucking knees, right in front of his crotch.

That’s the only reasonable explanation for the thought he’s about to voice out loud. The last thing he registers before the words practically shoot out of his mouth, without any kind of permission of his brain, is that the guy is apparently scrambling to grab the shower curtain to cover himself.

“This situation right here is what I usually masturbate to,” he chuckles. And fuck, he could slap himself right in the face for that sentence. Way to make a good first impression, Winchester.

The man in front of him stares at him with wide eyes for about five seconds, huffs out a breath and answers in a completely calm and serious voice. “Oh, so you are the person that made my life a living hell.”

It only takes a few seconds and a quick glance at the guy’s exposed wrist for him to figure it out. Shit. SHIT! Well, at least he finally knows what exactly went wrong. The one time he lets his dick talk… and his soulmate has to live with its words tattooed on his arm. Wonderful, the guy’s parents probably hate him. The guy himself probably hates him. Fuck.

“Fuck, I’m so sorry! I’m usually so careful with what I say to people!! I know, um. I know this is stupid and, honestly, I’d get it if you hate me and all that, but… I’ve been waiting to meet you for so long and now I fucked it up, dammit.” At this point, he’s straight up rambling, but he can’t stop himself either. “Maybe I could try and make it up to you? I um, I know a place that serves the best apple pie ever. Well, it’s like two blocks away. I could drive us there- If you want, that is.”

He doesn’t even need to see the grin on number 5’s face to realize that, on top of his embarrassing rambling, his face had turned scarlet red. He brings his hand to his neck and tries his hardest not to let his eyes wander from the face they are currently locked on to stare at his soulmates exposed body.

Damn, the guy looks adorable with a blush. Not that he wouldn’t look good without it; broad shoulders, toned tummy, plush lips, spiky blonde hair, freckles and amazing green eyes. And he seems genuinely embarrassed about what he said earlier in the heat of the moment… maybe he deserves a chance?

“Honestly, I’ve always wanted to get to know the person that would throw a line like that at someone they don’t know at all. So, yes. Let’s go get some pie.” He gets up from his kneeling position, looking way more confident than he feels, turns around, leaves the shower curtain on the floor and reaches for his towel. If he happens to push his butt into the other man’s direction a little more than what would be necessary- well, it isn’t as if he hasn’t already seen him in all his naked glory anyways. When Cas turns back around, lower body finally wrapped in his towel, he raises his hand. “Castiel Novak, by the way.”

“Awesome!” The guy shakes his hand with a shy smile. “Um, Dean Winchester. I’m just gonna take a quick shower, change and we can go- if that’s alright?”

“Okay. I’m going to finally put on some clothes. You know, to spare myself further embarrassing situations,” Cas laughs.

“Just so you know, I wouldn’t mind it if you’d decide to spend some more time walking around naked!” With a cheeky grin, he pulls his boxer shorts down, winks at Cas and saunters off to take a shower.

Tag list: @planetahmane @th3se-tacos-taste-funny-to-you @agathamorse @justyourordinaryfangirl @castielinparadise @carefreegirlat221b

If you want to be tagged in future fics, let me know with a short message :)

[aurumaiz-blog]

David Attenborough's "a day in a life of a broken hearted moron"

(Warning - I have decided not to go through this and edit is as it is honestly straight from a am deep thinking session and everything written is straight from the heart - so excuse poor grammar and please don’t hate me)

They say that during a break up, it gets easier over time. That as every day slowly rolls past,  every sleepless night that you endure, it gets a little better. This is a stigma designed to just try and make you feel better. I’m sure that in some cases this may be true to a certain extent, but with every day comes more time, and with more time comes thought.

When it happened to me, it was expected. University is a difficult position when it comes to a long-term relationship; the fact that new memories with new people are being made; new places without the original person. Every young couple has the “we can try it through university” talk and it's the same story every time:

“oh did you hear about that couple that broke up?”

“Yeah but we’ll be fine”.

…

At the time this may be true, life is good! Every day you’re seeing your significant other while making the best moments and having the best time. Yeah there will be issues and arguments but the dreaded phrase “if its meant to be it’ll work out” is unfortunately true (to a certain degree). I was certainly in this situation where I was the happiest I could possibly be. Obviously issues arise and shit storms come and go; hell, my friends take the piss out of all the things i go through! Yet I have always lived by the “one foot in front of the other method” and so far in life it has got me this far. In the words that I used to describe my experiences to other, there really are bigger things happening in the world! It doesn’t make it any easier. When you think you and your partner are happy but it turns out one of you isn’t, it's the worst feeling in the world. The idea that you aren’t capable of keeping the girl that is your best friend and most important thing in your life happy is killer. Having that text conversation where you know exactly how it is going to end is devastating. Emotions are raw in your mind and mistakes are made. Of course being the idiot I am, I talk too much. I first felt surprise and then anger, almost as if I had been cheated. “But you aren’t even making much of an effort? Blah blah blah blah stupid pointless argument blah blah blah” - followed by instant regret.

At the end of the day, the outcome won’t change. As a quote I hold to my heart to this day: “If it's in my mind now, what about the future? That’s unfair on you” and it’s true to a certain extent. I could go on about the details of my break up but in the end I deserved it. Maybe one day i’ll learn to control my words. Hah not likely!

There’s that limbo stage where neither of you want to talk but you’re still technically not broken up. Let me say now that those few days were quite honestly the worst of my life. You constantly want to try and save it; to try your hardest to prevent the eventual outcome but alas, there is nothing to be done. Every heartbeat there is a new thought and with every thought there is a new possibility, a new outcome. At the end of the day I am honestly extremely proud of her for having the strength to drive to me and talk to me in person about it; as far as a break up goes i’m glad that my first real one was done properly. Cliché time! It was a freezing cold night at around 11pm when we sat in her car and just cried together. 3 years is a long time to get to know someone and be with them. But to grow up with them, to experience once in a lifetime memories with them and to be there for them in horrible situations (and vice versa of course). THAT is when its different in my opinion. I’m not saying my situation was the worst in the world because of course somewhere someone has had it worse. As far as my relationship goes, it was the best 3 years of my life and to this day I would not trade it for the world. That’s what made it so hard. 3 years coming down to this day. We sat there and while I practically begged for a way to try and sort it out, I could hear it in her voice that her mind was set the minute she first thought it. That's the worst part. Knowing that the other half has already made their decision. It’s heart wrenching. In the end i settled on an “ok” as i concluded I needed to try and let it go. She has never been brilliant at making big decisions in her lifetime so the fact that she made this one was truly a big important moment in her life. She demonstrated her strength and I greatly respect that. With a final “ok” and a final deep breath, I got out the car and walked home.

Being alone in an empty house in the middle of nowhere without anything or anyone to talk to is lonely enough. But to have this situation added on top of it was awful. I can’t count how many hours I sat in the bath (or lied down on the tiled floor), how many hours I looked at old photos and how many hours I sat contemplating talking to her. Every minute of every hour of every day you are wondering “is she thinking about me?” “does she feel the same way?” and every minute you are praying for that phone call or knock on the door to say “yeah this was a mistake, please, let us fix it”. Realism was never my strong suit, always been a benevolent dreamer. I must admit, moments of weakness overpowered my mind and I did send messages. “Are you sure this is what you want?”. Things like that. Every response was the same message in different words, essentially summed up as “yes, this is what I want”. May sound dramatic but literally I had 2 days of not eating. It wasn’t a good week i suppose. Every day you think of the memories you made and the memories that you want to make. I’m not ashamed to say that despite what happened, I was and still am so deeply in love with this girl that it breaks my heart every day not waking up next to her. She was my best friend, and I lost the battle for her.

A common saying during a big break up is that “always talk to friends” and to that I say this is true. But you need to pick the right friends to talk to. For that I’d like to say a huge thank you to Nev, Abby, Olivia and Philip. All 4 of them always checked up on me every so often and the simple 5-15 worded sentences always made me smile. It’s nice to be cared about. I'm sure that from reading this I come across as suicidal. I’d be lying if I said the thought didn’t cross my mind but suicide is never an option and of course thoughts were immediately erased whenever they cropped up. Not being able to properly talk to someone sucks and they say that you should always talk to someone, but it really isn’t that easy. To let your guard down and just vent to someone is a big thing and people should realise that. Maybe its my personality of not wanting to be a hassle but the idea of the person you venting too feeling obliged to check up on you because they are worried is the worst feeling in the world, and with that I apologise to those who i dumped this on. With that said, knowing that you can just phone a person and be with them the next minute is reassurance that I’m not sure what I would’ve done without.

Acting strong and non-caring is easy, it is something I have always been good at doing and it is something that she knew I was capable of doing. Sure, moments of weakness express once every while but generally speaking I pull it off easily. People commonly think or say “yeah but I can see your not” as its cliché, they probably have no idea, let's be honest. But these are the people who need to be kept closer to you. They’re the ones who make you think about the situation you are in and they are the ones who you should always vent to (Thanks Philip and Abby xo) Sometimes it’s healthy to just sit down and have a good ol cry because crying proves how important it is. Anyway, waffling...

Going to the party on new year's a week after being single was probably the hardest experience of my life, but i am glad i went. To begin with all was good, the walk was long but it was the first time I had actually properly used my legs since the event so it felt healthy to get out. But you know, for the past 3 new years its been the same; It's been spent with the best person in the world, so to suddenly have that change is dramatic. I’d like to say I’m pretty proud of how i was doing at the party, I spoke to people and generally had a good time. Then i saw her photo and it went downhill from here. She looked so beautiful with a light blue ribbon in her hair, her glossy red lipstick and her gorgeous black dress. This was the girl I had lost. I can’t remember how many times I had to step outside to just have a little cry and think about what I had lost but I managed to do it without ruining anyone elses night so go me. She looked so happy in her photos, but of course the point was raised that I looked happy in mine. Still, the doubt gnaws away at your mind like a poison working its way through your body. New years was fine; i honestly appreciate everyone for making it a decent night and having a good time. But (and i'm sure she would agree), 4 words that I constantly dread to hear; “Are you doing okay?”. Everytime someone said this my mind wanders and I regret to say I did have a little break down in front of some people in the bathroom but it's okay, someone peed in the bath so i wasn’t the worst mess in the room!). I don’t know what I thought would happen but I was driven by the idea that she would come see me or try to talk to me that night. Nothing happened and I was heartbroken all over again.

As previously stated, it’s honestly not true when people say it gets easier over time. In my experience, it got worse. Every day that passed was  another day where I lost more influence on the girl I thought I would die an old age with. In a moment of 3 am stupidness, I sent a speech about how I still love her etc etc and i’m an awful person for doing that. Im making it out that only I am affected by this; that's extremely not the case and of course she has had all the challenges to face as well. My only hope is that she is stronger than me (which is probably true as evident by the fact i was always the one who caved and messaged her). Sending this speech I imagine was the deal breaker. I went on to talk about the memories we had and how i pray to god that one day I will be able to use it in my wedding speech to demonstrate to any young couples out there that the bad moments are worth fighting through. The realistic result is probably just unnecessary pain to her. This was selfish on my part and for that I am truly sorry. More and more sleepless nights followed and it was here when I finally found my courage and told myself to just let her go. At the end of the day, I will always cherish her and adore her for the rest of my life. I will always deeply regret how it ended and forever wish the outcome was different. But this is one sided and so as a final act of love, I tried to let her go.

It is currently 2 and a half weeks after the whole ordeal and I am still praying for that phone call of “i am on the train to bournemouth, i’ll be there in 15 minutes” but this is unhealthy. I have spoken to her best friend and I thank her for her opinion on the right move as it was horrible for me to put her in that situation. I spoke to 3 of her closest friends and asked them to look after her because she does not deserve to ever be hurt and deserves the best life ahead of her. I pray that whoever she gives her heart to is deserving of it and is able to make her happy as i failed to do so. I told her to phone me if she ever needs help out of a situation because the truth is I will always be there for her, to get her out of an awkward or unsafe situation because I will always love her with all my heart. There is no doubt that she will be more successful than she thinks she will be and with that I will always be so proud of her.  I will always be questioning what I did wrong and what I should’ve done but thats life and as my motto goes, I will continue to put one foot in front of the other until the next hurdle is needed to be overcome.

I will not re-read this or edit the mistakes because this was a 2am vent from my heart and so I apologise on how dramatic it may seem, but whatever has been written is truly written with intent. No one will probably ever even read this other than myself so i guess see you in a couple of years when this comes back to bite you hard in the ass. If someone is reading this, give me my email back or get off my computer.

                                                                                                                                           (Time stamp - 14/01/2018 01:58)

Thought i’d just jot down a bit more just to document everything cause who knows, maybe being able to share an experience with someone else would help them. General progress in life has been good i suppose despite everything happening. Results are going well so far and the alcohol is vastly being consumed so thats a 1up for sure. Sure, for once im starting to feel better but it doesn’t change how shitty the whole situation is; every so often you get the awkward question of “how is your girlfriend” and you have to make that person feel like a dick when you reply with the situation but their fault for asking.

In terms of the last few weeks/month (i don’t actually remember when I wrote the previous section) we’ve been talking and its more or less certain that whenever we talk she instantly wants me to “fuck off” so to speak. At least that is how it feels. We’ve settled on the whole kinda “being friend” thing but realistically it wont work, i think she knows that as well as i do but I don’t know what her game plan is so i guess just settle for wading through! Sleep is still shitty but that would probably be due to the stress and alcohol; at least it's good for my body in a sense as apparently the only way I can get to sleep is through running at 2 am - nothing more exhilarating than having to pick up your pace due to a drunk person following you and with Dawnism for dummies, if i get caught then i clearly wasn’t fast enough! My friends are once again pretty much the only reason i haven’t clawed my head to pieces with stress although it just makes me miss them more. Oh yeah, i stopped a couple from breaking up so at least i’ve done something useful! Nothing worse than seeing people fight over petty things but of course I can’t be hypocritical because I was always like that. On the lines of hypocrisy, I really shouldn’t look at her snap chat. I can’t really speak about it in the sense that I have done it but seeing her snap chat story with other guys makes me just want to curl up and start the whole grief stage again but what can I do. Like I said, I've done it but I’ve always done it in groups, not a 1-1 basis but anyway, this is me being petty and stupid. God I’m actually whining about snap chat, this really is 2018 isn’t it... Honestly though, it changes you as a person in a way. I’ve lost a lot of perks such as my confidence (which I used to have a fair bit off in a non-i’m-a-cocky-idiot sense) yet gained some perks like being open to trying new things and wanting to meet new people. Clubbing used to be the bane of my existence and yet here I am going out 4 nights in a row just to be with friends. It’s an odd experience to say the least.

Anyways, just wanted to quickly update myself because I think documenting this experience is important. Being able to tell someone and show that you know how they are feeling is important in helping them “dig down” and overcome what is honestly one of the worst experiences to experience.

Ciao and thanks to anyone who took the time to read this :)

(Time stamp - 3/2/18 - 00:44)

[thepunisher]

A Bottle Marked ‘Poison’

Tony Stark/Bucky Barnes | E | 3842 words | 1/? |

ao3 link

Summary: The headstones are clean and well preserved and surrounded by fresh, colorful flowers when he reaches them. Not lilies, never lilies. But roses and sunflowers and violets. Someone has been taking care of them for years. (Not him. He can’t even take care of himself.) There’s names and dates and pictures. There’s quotes. Beloved mother. He has a split lip, his eye is a nasty shade of purple and he’s still nursing three bruised ribs. Somehow this hurts more. OR On the anniversary of their deaths, Tony visits his parents’ graves. He has an unexpected encounter. Things go downhill from there.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Can you believe I started writing again? Yeah, me neither! Many many thanks to @superbatfleck for being the awesome friend that he is and betaing this and to @timmyjdrake and @imissyourbattlecries for always being so supportive and kind. I love you guys and I don’t deserve you ❤

Chapter One: Loss

At the temple there is a poem called “Loss” carved into the stone. It has three words, but the poet has scratched them out. You cannot read loss, only feel it.

Arthur Golden, Memoirs of a Geisha

He’s close to having a major breakdown, so it’s just typical that a squirrel is giving him the stinky eye. A man like him can’t really fall apart without a judging audience. Everyone’s a critic. Go figure.

It’s a sunny day, the kind where birds are annoyingly chirpy and the wind can’t seem to stop blowing against trees leaves. The kind you fool yourself into thinking it’s going to be warm enough to taste like spring and yet the cold actually seeps into your bones and consumes you from the inside. The kind where apparently even squirrels are not above mocking you when you’ve been sitting pathetically in your car for over half an hour, too afraid to face your demons.

Squirrels can smell cowardice, who knew.

Tony doesn’t know if it’s fitting or not. The sun, the peace. Even the peanut gallery. He’s always lived under the spotlight, after all. But he supposes that rain or hail or fog would have probably been better companions to his mood.

It takes him another ten good minutes, mostly spent with his hands holding the steering wheel way too tight, before he finds some sort of resolution and he gets out of the car.

He feels a couple of stems dent under his vice-like grip and curses when he notices that he ruined the flowers already.

He’s terrible at this, no wonder he never did it before. He’s not even inside yet and he already fucked up.

(Not unusual, he fucks everything up.)

The lilies are delicate and beautiful, and their smell feels like a punch to the stomach.

Maria loved lilies and breathing them in is like jumping on a time machine that takes him back forty years in one second.

Their mansion in New York, the one that sat uninhibited for over two decades, would always smell like lilies, like her. Jarvis would put fresh ones around almost daily.

It doesn’t now. Not anymore. It doesn’t smell like home either.

If the guard at the gate recognises him, he doesn’t show it. Whatever the reason, Tony is glad for small mercies. He battled intergalactic aliens hellbent on ruling the universe and shook the hands of people who stomped on his broken heart this past year, yet he doesn’t think he could master faking a smile for a stranger right now.

(Untrue. He’s been faking his whole life.)

The cemetery itself is mostly deserted, which is a relief. The atmosphere is creepy, with a touch of horror movie beginning, probably, but at least there’s no one to witness his sorry ass.

Maybe it’s the early hour. Maybe other people have better things to do so close to Christmas than chase ghosts at dawn.

(He wouldn’t know, he’s always been haunted.)

There’s an overabundance of marble, of angels, of those stupid birds still chirping way too happily for his own taste, but his mind is too loud and racing to focus on anything around him.

You’d think a grown man wouldn’t have to struggle at the thought of visiting his parents’ graves.

(You’d think the fact that he’s considered an adult wouldn’t be hilarious.)

He doesn’t know how people do not get overwhelmed walking among rows and rows of headstones, of grass, of stories ended sometimes too soon, sometimes too brutally.

He hates every second of it.

Perhaps it’s a matter of practice. He wouldn’t know. The last time he visited the cemetery was the day he put his parents and his youth six feet under. That was twenty-six years ago.

He takes at least 4 wrong turns, and he tells himself it’s cause this place is a fucking labyrinth, but he knows he’s just trying to stall. Again.

(He’s always been a coward.)

The headstones are clean and well preserved and surrounded by fresh, colorful flowers when he reaches them. Not lilies, never lilies. But roses and sunflowers and violets. Someone has been taking care of them for years.

(Not him. He can’t even take care of himself.)

There’s names and dates and pictures. There’s quotes. Beloved mother.

He has a split lip, his eye is a nasty shade of purple and he’s still nursing three bruised ribs. Somehow this hurts more.

He sighs.

The lilies’ stems are ruined, but he still sets them carefully inside one large vase. He doesn’t think Maria would have minded, their whiteness stark against the other flowers.

There are benches nearby. Iron things with pointed and curly embellishments and peeled off paint and marble flat things that look uncomfortable as hell, but he just bends his knees and sits on the floor, the ground under him cold.

He sits there for a long time, his elbows resting on his knees, grasping his hands, breathing in the scents of winter and grass and mourning.

He knows a lot of people come to this place to talk to their loved ones, but Tony finds himself speechless.

He doesn’t think Maria would have minded that either.

And what to say anyway? Hi, mom. Not dead yet and not for lack of trying. You proud?

It all feels so anticlimactic, he’s a bit disappointed.

For all the courage it took to bring him here, now he’s unsure of what to do.

He looks at the grass, green and growing over his father’s grave and all he can remember are his ever disappointed eyes. All he’s ever felt and all he thought he would ever feel for him is resentment.

He looks over his mother’s grave and he’s struck by the sudden realization that he can no longer remember the sound of her laughter.

Tony doesn’t know how long he stays there like that. His ass is a bit numb and sore and the sun is starting to bathe everything in its pale light when he feels it.

Goosebumps raise across his flesh, the hair at the nape of his neck going straight. It seems even the chirping has died down.

Prey have a preternatural awareness; they always know when a predator is near.

He doesn’t have enhanced senses, but he knows he’s being watched.

It’s a feeling he experienced a few times since everything went to hell and then somehow it didn’t. Since they defeated Thanos.

His stalker is a quiet shadow. He always is. So much that Tony thinks not for the first time that perhaps it’s all just inside his head. The fruit of his twisted imagination, the product of his wary paranoia, the delusion of his alcohol ruined brain.

(In his nightmares there are always shadows.)

But he knows the feeling of those eyes on him and for as much he wishes he were, he’s not deluded.

(Would he know if he truly were?)

He is angry though.

It took effort and courage and willpower to come to this place, to march across this sea of emptiness and face his monsters. How is he to battle another one when he’s already so unprepared?

His blunt nails are biting the flesh of his palms and as usual, pain is his anchor.

He’ll go away in a while. He always does.

He just looks and looks and looks, his eyes like coals burning Tony’s skin each time it happens, but he always leaves.

Tony is thankful for that cause he doesn’t know what he would do otherwise. What he would say.

He knows what he should say and he knows what he can’t say. But he doesn’t know what he would actually do, given the chance.

So he stays where he is, pretending he has things to say to his parents, waiting for him to just go, so he can go back to clawing at the scabs of his heart.

He doesn’t.

Tony waits and waits and waits but his shadow doesn’t vanish.

There’s rustling eventually, and then like gravel crunching under boots. It’s not loud, but it’s hard to miss in the silence around them. He knows it’s deliberate.

A cold blooded assassin doesn’t make any noise unless he wants you to hear him.

Tony’s heart speeds up when sees him approaching from the corner of his eye, a blur of dark clothes and purposeful strides.

He briefly thinks of the suit in the car and the gauntlet watch he has on his right wrist, its weight a mute comfort. He feels stupid for even contemplating it, cause it’s not like the Soldier is here to kill him. He’s hanging with the heroes now. Living with them and all.

(He doesn’t. But then again he’s never been a hero.)

The urge to laugh a bitter laugh is strong, but Tony manages to contain it. He bets he already looks mad enough, sitting on the floor of a cemetery at the break of dawn.

He is tired. His bones feel hollow and his chest numb. Maybe that’s what finally drove him here.

Weariness.

This conversation has been a long time coming and perhaps they both dragged it out for longer than they should have.

There’s no point to rage, resignation taking its place.

He doesn’t turn even when the Soldier stops only a few steps away from him. From the grave of the people he murdered.

Tony’s brain gingerly supplies the footage of that fateful night, his mother’s anxious, broken voice calling for Howard on a loop in his ears.

He wonders if the Soldier hears that too sometimes. If it keeps him awake at night. He wonders how many such screams he must have heard in his lifetime as the Grim Reaper.

None of them says anything for what feels like hours.

Tony can see the Soldier’s -Barnes, his name is Barnes- shoulders tighten every once in awhile. His breath hitches as if he’s about to speak, but no words ever come out.

Ignoring him in the hope that he’ll disappear like a figment of his imagination doesn’t seem to be working, and so Tony dares to look at him.

It feels like he never really did that. He looked perhaps, but he never really saw.

He certainly didn’t the time they almost killed each other. All those memories are tinted in red, and he doesn’t remember much of that trip to Siberia beside the agony tearing at his chest, the cold taking residence inside his bones and the mute sound of Steve’s boots when he left him behind.

He didn’t really pay too much attention to him when they were all fighting for their lives against Thanos either, too busy trying not to die. They crossed paths a handful of times after that, but it’s not like he was really looking.

He’s tall, as tall as Steve, but he’s hiding his hands inside the pockets of a black hoodie, shoulders hunched down. Tony can’t really say if it’s to make an effort to appear smaller, less intimidating or to conserve body heat since it’s fucking freezing and the man is not even wearing a jacket.

It’s December for God’s sake.

His hair is longer than he’s ever seen it, kept in a messy bun on top of his head, strands falling in front of his eyes, dark stubble dusting his face and dark circles under his eyes that look like bruises.

Tony has pictures of him from before. Pictures of the Howling Commandos, Howard’s mementos. Moments of laughter stolen among the cruelty of war. There’s one in particular that used to be his favorite back when he was young and stupid. Rogers is laughing at something that maybe Barnes or maybe the person behind the camera must have said. Barnes is smiling, a small genuine smile that reaches his eyes and lights up his whole face.

Tony always thought they both looked so damn handsome then. Unreachable.

There’s not much of that man left in the man in front of him now. One sits on top on the other like double exposure, two images overlapping, no neat edges.

He doesn’t think Barnes smiled in a very long time.

He looks tired. Like perhaps he hasn’t slept in a century. Maybe he hasn’t.

Tony can almost relate.

Barnes meets his stare nearly unblinking. Tony is surprised when he’s not the first one to look away.

After that, Barnes takes two more steps and sits right there, a few feet away from him, in one graceful moment.

Tony stills, unsure. Barnes has never attempted to interact with him before. They always skirted around each other the few times they’ve been in the same room. They never even acknowledged the other’s presence. And for how often he’s felt him lingering just around the corner of his mind, the idea of actually talking to the man has always felt alien, distant. As if it belonged to a different man. One who would know what to do.

He never prepared for it, something for which he feels very stupid now, considering how inevitable this moment has always been.

He becomes suddenly very aware of his hands, of his breaths. Of how uncomfortable is the ground under him.

It’s a long time before any one of them speaks.

“I lied,” Barnes says eventually, his voice both raspy and soft, as if he hasn’t used it in a while.

Tony closes his eyes.

“I lied,” Barnes repeats. “Before. When you asked-” he takes a deep breath, releases it slowly as if to steady himself. As if this is hard for him too. “You asked me if I remember them. I said I remember all of them. I don’t. I lied.”

Tony turns his head to face him.

He’s as unmoving as the statues around them, his profile a beautiful thing of soft lines and long lashes.

He’s looking in front of him, but Tony is almost certain he’s not really seeing the headstones, not really seeing anything.

He has a faraway look in his eyes like he’s not really here at all. Tony wonders where he is. He narrows his eyes, pissed at the wayward thought. He doesn’t care.

They’re both silent.

Some time later Barnes turns his head towards him, and it’s like he focuses again on where he is, what he’s doing, who he’s talking to.

“I’m sorry,” he says.

Tony stays quiet. He puts one hand on the ground, picks up some gravel, a few small rocks. He rolls them in his palm. He sighs. “Okay,” he says, because he doesn’t know what else to say.

He has the most delirious thought that breathing is the easier thing in the world until you’re aware you’re doing it. Then somehow it becomes impossible, the muscles not responding properly, as if they’ve forgotten how to do it on their own.

Words of forgiveness are stuck on his tongue and he’s not brave enough to say them.

(He’s not brave at all.)

Intellectually he knows, he knows it’s not Barnes’ fault.

Nothing that ever happened to him is his fault. Nothing he ever did was his fault. He’s as much a victim of Hydra as all the people he killed.

He doesn’t even need to ask or guess what they did to him, what he was forced to endure, how he was transformed into a mindless weapon. He’s seen the videos. He’s spent one too many nights throwing up hugging the toilet after watching them. He knows.

He knew even before that, really. He knew once the blood in his veins had stopped boiling, cooled by the cold of Siberia. Once the rage lifted its veil from his eyes.

Anger is a terrible fuel, really. It burns too fast and it leaves you barren and it doesn’t really take you anywhere.

And yet. And yet, he is still the executioner. His is still the punch that hit his father’s face until his bones caved in. His is still the hand that took the air away from his mother’s lungs.

He’s the truth that washed away a lifetime of rancor based on lies.

If he forgives Barnes, he has to forgive Howard. And if he forgives Howard, he has to learn how to forgive himself and he doesn’t really know how to do that.

He doesn’t think he can.

(How could he ever forgive himself?)

But Barnes seems content enough, like he doesn’t really expect Tony to say anything at all. Like he only wanted to get those words off his chest, as if they sat there for too long.

“I didn’t know you were going to be here,” Barnes says, when it’s clear that Tony is not going to fill the silence, and then he takes one hand off his pocket and goes as if to run it through his hair only to stop halfway there. It’s his left hand. New and shiny and made of vibranium. Barnes stares at it for a second before putting it back into his pocket.

He clears his throat.

“I didn’t mean to intrude. I know this is a private moment. Especially today . God, I-” he looks at Tony. “I am. Sorry. I’m sorry. For this too,” he says, though he makes no move to leave.

He takes both hands off his pockets then, and he shoves his fingers through his hair, almost yanking it out.

The act is so human, it takes Tony by surprise. His words, his gestures, are the first things that make him look like a real person. Tony doesn’t know why, but it makes him mad.

It’s so much easier to hate him when he thinks of him as something else.

“I like it here. It’s quiet,” Barnes says some time later, and Tony realizes that the more he talks the more he can hear Brooklyn in his accent.

A few indelicate comments about that statement cross Tony’s mind in rapid succession. Sarcasm has always been his first language.

“I haven’t been here since their funeral,” he blurts instead and he’s so bewildered he hastily shuts his mouth as if afraid some other shameful confession will escape.

But Barnes nods almost solemnly, as if what he just heard makes perfect sense.

“I used to have a sister. Before. Her name was Rebecca. I read about her,” Barnes says, what must be minutes later. “I don’t remember her. Not really. Sometimes I think I can almost-” he does a little motion with his flesh hand, his head turned sideways, eyes squinting. “I remember… singing. I think she used to sing. She had a beautiful voice.”

Tony is staring when Barnes turns towards him.

“She died. Some time in the 80s. I haven’t gone to see her yet.” He looks at his hands. “I can’t.”

Tony doesn’t reply.

Of all the ways he thought this conversation would go, he never thought it would be this.

Of all the people who would get it, he never thought it would be him. He hates that it’s him.

“And yet, you’re here,” he says, eyebrow raised, perversely hoping to hurt him.

He feels like a bastard for it, but he can’t help himself.

“Yet, I’m here,” Barnes agrees.

“Why?” Tony asks and there’s no concealing the sudden fury in his voice.

“Why I’m here?”

“What are you doing here? Why today of all days? Why them? Why… her? God, why her ?” Tony says. It’s not what he meant to say, but the words slip out so fast it’s like he’s been waiting his whole life to know. He has. “What do you want from me? What do you expect me to say?”

Tony shakes his head before putting it in his hands. He sighs. It seems like that’s all he’s been doing since he got here. “If it’s forgiveness you want, I can’t give it to you.” He turns towards Barnes. “I can’t .“

Barnes looks at him, and Tony is almost afraid of what he might see. He feels like all his nerves are raw, uncovered. As if a gust of wind might undo him. The day started out as an emotional roller coaster and he can’t wait to get off of it and throw up.

“I know,” Barnes says, and he sounds sincere, earnest. “I know you can’t. That’s not why I said it. I just… I needed to say it. I needed you to know it.”

Tony says nothing.

“I come here sometimes.”

Tony’s head whips around so fast he’s sure he strained something.

“It’s peaceful,” Barnes says again. “Not sure Howard ever did peaceful, to be honest. He used to be so… loud.” A soft chuckle. “But I didn’t know him all that well. He was much closer to Steve, I think, than he was to me. I don’t know. I don’t really remember.”

He seems to somber up, the half smile on his lips turning into a grimace.

“He made a working version of the serum. Like Steve’s. Well, more like mine, I guess. Hydra wanted it and they wanted him dead. That’s why. She…” He looks Tony in the eyes, draws in a deep breath. “She was just collateral.”

Tony closes his eyes, his hands fists so tight his knuckles are white. “Collateral,” he says, his tone as dead as he’s feeling.

His mother. His beautiful mother, with her kind smile and her smart eyes.

“Yes.”

Tony exhales. He can’t do this. He thought he could, but he can’t. He can’t have this conversation. Not here, not today. God, not today. Perhaps not ever.

He stands up, dusts off his slacks, starts to leave.

“Stark,” Barnes calls, and Tony wants nothing more than to reach his car and get inside his suit, inside the only place he ever felt safe, and fly high, so high the city, this place, this pain will all be too far away.

(Let go, let it all go.)

He wants to scream. He wants to wreck havoc. He wants to cry.

He needs to leave.

He doesn’t. He stops, but he doesn’t turn. He can’t look at Barnes. He can’t see the regret and the guilt he’s sure he’ll be able to read on his face.

“I know you hate me,” Barnes says. “You have every right to. Hell, I hate myself.” A self-deprecating chuckle. “I know it’s not worth anything but… I am sorry.“

Tony closes his eyes again. He thinks about his mom saying goodbye that day. He thinks of all the things he never told her.

He thinks of the 611 million dollars he spent to try and get over it.

He thinks of Obadiah showing up in the middle of the night. Of his face when he told him they were gone. Of the four years he spent on a drinking binge. He thinks of Rhodey, plummeting towards the ground, too fast for him to stop it. He thinks of Steve and his arc reactor crunching under his shield.

He thinks of his whole world falling apart.

“I know,” Tony says.

And then he leaves.

[adamcoled]

change pt. 3 | pete dunne

pt. 1, pt. 2

A/N: The last part of this lil series! [’: Pete is so fun to write and I hope I wrote him well. 

Tag Friends: @heelturn-timesten, @crookedmoonsaultpunk, @lahey-trash, @xfirespritex, @blondekel77, @nickysmum1909 (I tagged the same people as last time!)

Neither of us felt particularly inclined to reveal to many people that we were dating. There was no reason to, and if we did, most would probably hide their shock and disbelief that Pete Dunne could be anything more than a one night stand behind forced smiles. The kind of smiles that show a million stories beneath it easily. It wasn’t that we were hiding it, just that we opted to keep it subtle. Our closest friends knew, which included Tyler, who couldn’t even try to suppress his surprise at the news. He was happy for us, happy that Pete had finally waken up from whatever emotionless coma he fell into over a year ago, but it was the way he struggled to find words at first that told it all. There was, and always would be, a lingering worry that Pete hadn’t really change. Habits are hard to break.

I couldn’t blame him; it was a thought I had too, though I wished I didn’t. Relationships depends on trust, which I had in Pete, but there were occasional doubts when I remembered his past with women. And Tyler had known Pete longer than I have, knew him better, and he’d thought he would never see the day Pete tried commitment again. My months knowing him had nothing on Tyler’s years.  

Only a little over a week after things between Pete and I became official, Tyler and I found ourselves sat upon a couch in my apartment as I waited for him to speak; he’d turned to me, opening his mouth to say something before he stopped himself. When I didn’t look away, he sighed, realizing he couldn’t drop the subject there.

“Pete really has changed, huh?” he finally settled on, his words chosen wisely. It was a sensitive subject, since he didn’t want to stir any trouble or qualms.

“It seems so,” I half-smiled, fiddling with my fingers absentmindedly.

“I’m glad you’re the one who knocked some sense into him. Got him to actually feel somethin’,” Tyler returned my smile before it faltered ever so slightly a second later, “I know it may seem like Pete is confident about everything, but let me tell you something between you and me.

“He hasn’t got a clue what he’s doing. I mean, he’s doing a pretty good job so far, but I’m tellin’ the truth when I say he’s come to me for advice on this whole thing more than once. It’s all new for him and…And I’m just asking you to stick by him.”

His sudden speech confused me entirely, its origins and meaning blurred by how cryptic the whole thing seemed. Did Tyler doubt I was in it for the long run? Had Pete said something that spurred on this spiel? The whole thing seemed odd, making Pete seem like the vulnerable one for once. Tyler had every right to protect his friend, but Pete wasn’t someone who needed protecting.

I turned on the couch to face him, even though he remained looking forward at the movie we’d long forgotten. He only made brief eye contact with me, refusing to turn my way. “I will,” I assured him, my voice stern as I hoped to convey my utmost dedication, “Where’s this coming from?”

Finally, Tyler shifted towards me a bit, releasing yet another sigh. “It’s gonna take him some getting used to and I truly think you’re the best thing that could’ve happened to him. I don’t want to see him go back to the shitty things he was doing if he loses you.”

Little did Tyler know, I had signed up for crazy, not for easy. I had every intention to stick by Pete, even when things got hectic or even if it wasn’t a typical relationship or if he wasn’t good with admitting his feelings. So far he had done a damn good job of keeping a smile on my face and anyone who could do that deserved a chance.

Word got around about us two months later, when we’d become more obvious in our actions and everything was going oddly….perfect. I’d watched as Pete became more and more open, a genuine gracing his face often as opposed to his signature snarls and smirks. It didn’t take very long to decide I liked a smile on him best.

He’d even taken on acts that threw me off at first, them being out of his element entirely. Like carrying me from my bed all the way to the couch at 8 in the morning.

“Pete,” I groaned, knowing full well it was too early without even looking at the clock, “Put me down and let me sleep.”

He chuckled, setting me down on the couch with ease. “I gotta leave soon, didn’t you say you wanted to send me off?”

While he was right, I needed at least another two hours of sleep and/or a cup of coffee to wake me up properly. The night before, I’d told him to do whatever he see fit to wake me up before he had to head to the airport. It was a decision I was regretting massively right now. Then again, I couldn’t let him leave for a week without even getting out of bed to say goodbye.

“Nope. Just go.”

It was a joke, he and I both knew, but I couldn’t help but get a little worried when I heard his footsteps make their way to the front door and an “Alright…”slip past his lips.

I shot up from the couch, suddenly wide awake, peering over it to see him by the door, albeit empty-handed. He wouldn’t have even thought about leaving like that.  “You know I’m kidding. C’mere,” I grinned, standing on my knees on the couch to match his height, since he was standing directly behind it. He was in front of me in a flash, immediately burying his head in my neck and biting harshly at the skin there.

“Wish we had more time,” he growled, annoyed by his restrictive schedule, pulling back before he could get too distracted.

“Me too,” I sighed, “In a week.”

My reminder did little to satisfy him, in fact he looked all the more irritated. “A week,” he repeated, “Too damn long.”

“That’s nothing. I’ll be right here waiting for you.”

“Well, if that’s the case, I betta get going so I can get back as soon as possible.”

The whole thing seemed straight out of a romance movie or something of the sort, yet I was living it with Pete of all people. I’d have laughed at myself for imagining such a scene in the past, never believing it could ever come to fruition. Now that it had, I was absolutely enraptured by it. If you focused on moments like these specifically, ignoring our challenging circumstances and his daunting past, you could almost believe nothing set us apart from any other couple. Besides his career as a WWE-employed wrestler and forgotten habit of casual sex, that is.

But so far, so good. I knew it couldn’t stay so good forever, because good things never last, right? At least I could hold onto this tiny fragment of perfection, knowing that a storm will always await.

And so it stormed. It was gradual, starting with arguments over curt replies or lack of time together or lesser important topics like him leaving trash around when he stayed over. Eventually, it progressed into days spent apart, not because of distance, but because neither of us wanted to see each other. At some points, I considered ending it; clearly, things were going downhill and would end in a break up, anyway. Why not get it over with sooner?

Before I could act upon these thoughts, I’d remember Tyler’s words and the unspoken promise I’d made to do just what he asked. It was easy to say I would stick by Pete when all was well; when we were arguing more often and going without contact until someone decided to end the childish silence treatment, it was much harder to stay true to that promise. But, it would be incredibly weak to run away the minute it got difficult, and so I forgot my idea and instead decided to fix things.

I’d stopped worrying about the little messes left behind following his visits and stopped the stupid bouts of ignoring each other. My hope was that if he saw my attempts and determination to stay with him, the one who had proven himself time and time again throughout our seven months of dating, he’d make the effort, too.

When that didn’t happen, I just wanted to know why. Why was he suddenly so disinterested, so different, so similar to the Pete I’d never gotten to meet, the one he left behind? Why was he not trying to hold onto what he’d tried so hard to build? Finally, he had something worth holding onto in his life, and he was just going to let it go.

What was really sad was that I couldn’t do the same.

Coincidentally enough, when he ended it, it was raining quite hard and the thunder was pounding ravenously. It had come with a vengeance, seeking some darkness after all those months Pete and I had spent happily. We were lying beside each other in complete, utter silence, the only sound being the heavy rain hitting the roof relentlessly and the booming thunder that struck every so often. I wasn’t asleep, I was glancing out of the window, watching the chaos outside, deciding the chaos that lie right in that very room was even worse. I didn’t know if he was asleep, since we hadn’t said a word to each other since hours ago.

The bedsheets rustled and I felt him turn, meaning he was now facing my back and if I just turned around myself, we’d be face to face. Something was preventing me from doing so, and so I stayed in place, eyes never leaving the gloominess outside.

“This has to end,” he announced suddenly, his voice raspier from how late it was. It didn’t take long at all to figure out what he was implying, and I wasn’t very shocked when he finally said it. Those words must’ve been on his mind for a while now.

“I just want to know why, Pete,” I replied, voice dejected and broken and a lot calmer than it should have been, “I tried so hard and you didn’t try at all.”

Thunder stole his words, louder than any of the recent ones we’d heard. “I know. I’m sorry for that.”

Though he didn’t say the words specifically, I was relieved he didn’t. I didn’t need to hear them to know what this meant and I wasn’t sure I could take hearing them, either. And when I came home one day to notice all of the clothes and belongings that had made home here because of his frequent visits, I knew for certain he was gone.

We didn’t keep in contact, which left me wondering if I was grateful for it or resenting it. The closest connection I had to Pete in the days and weeks to follow was Tyler. There was no way I could cut him out of my life, too.

When he found out what had happened, I’d made it clear that I tried tirelessly and Pete took it all without any intent of reciprocating. Maybe his old ways had kicked in, but for so long we seemed so happy. If it was all a ruse, Pete was an outstanding actor and he put on a hell of a show.

Tyler, on the other hand, was convinced it wasn’t. He knew Pete well enough, but when he insisted this wasn’t him reverting back to his old self, I couldn’t help but doubt his words. There was no other explanation I could think of, and this seemed like a pretty solid conclusion.

I didn’t know the lengths Tyler was willing to go to to prove his friends case until he invited me to his apartment, a seemingly innocent act. When I arrived, however, I stood outside of the door, hearing an ongoing conversation from inside. Just as my hand went to knock, I recognized the voice speaking- of course, it was Pete. And I was the subject at hand.

Tyler had planned it all out, for me to arrive when he and Pete were discussing me. Curse him for being so damn clever.

“You really fucked up,” Tyler quipped.

“You think I don’t know that, mate?” Pete growled, his face definitely contorted in anger, “I didn’t come here to have you state the obvious.”

“Right, you came here for advice, because you really haven’t got a clue how to let good things happen. Don’t get all pissy when I say this, but I think you’re scared.”

Tyler paused for a moment and I could assume Pete had opened his mouth to make a rebuttal, but Tyler had moved on before he could get the words out.

“Just listen, alright? You’re afraid of how she makes you feel, right? Because you’ve never felt that way. And you don’t know how to act, so you just broke things off. A really bad decision, might I add,” Tyler finished, the silence on the other end making it unclear if it was the truth. I hadn’t even thought for a second that Pete’s actions may have stemmed from fear. The word didn’t even seem right in the same sentence as Pete.

But if they somehow were the truth…

Without giving it a second thought, I tapped my fist on the door in quick succession, the door flinging open moments later. Tyler was on the other end, since it was his apartment, but my foolishness had me wishing it was Pete. Rather than greeting me, or saying anything at all, Tyler called out to Pete instead. “Pete! There’s someone here to see you.”

My eyes widened, unprepared to face him after all this time, my mind completely lost as to what to even say. I had thought of a million and one insults and questions, but when he was right in front of me for the first time in weeks, all of those disintegrated and were replaced with an overwhelming desire to be his again.

“You’re welcome,” Tyler said before pushing Pete out and shutting the door, the sound of the lock resonating behind us.

“Tyler did this, didn’t he?” I asked, even though I already knew the answer. Then again, I didn’t even know if Pete had any idea of my arrival, either. The whole thing could have been, and probably was, concocted by Tyler without either of us having a clue. It was impressively thought-out, but still didn’t eliminate the bit of aggravation I felt. Clearly, Tyler was trying to do something good for the both of us, and I was grateful for that. But that didn’t mean he had to arrange something like this, leaving Pete and I standing in the hallway uncomfortably.

If Pete felt any of the annoyance I did, he didn’t show it. He took this as his chance, offering his hand before retracting it once he realized it wasn’t in his place to do that anymore. “Come on,” he instructed, “Let’s go for a drive.”

And so I followed him to his car, getting into the passenger seat I’d sat in so many times before, the atmosphere feeling almost identical to those previous experiences. It was almost like there was nothing wrong between us, until we sat wordlessly for five minutes that would have been filled with teasing and laughter a month ago. This awkward, tense situation reminded me of what we’d let go of, ripping me from the brief recollection of happier days.

My fighting was over. I had fought on my own for our relationship, now it was Pete’s turn to do the same. I wasn’t going to be the one picking up the pieces and gluing them together only for them to crumble back to shattered pieces. It was one thing to say that to myself, it was another to actually act on it and demand him to try for once. “What are we doing, Pete?” I questioned tiredly, running my hands over my face in distress, “If you’re not going to talk, then just take me back to my car.”

“I’m trying to gather my thoughts. You know this isn’t easy for me.”

If I was supposed to feel sympathetic, I didn’t. This entire situation wasn’t easy for him, but nothing about us was ever easy and if I had done it, he sure as hell could do it too. My fingers tapped impatiently, a wordless sign that he had limited time to say whatever it was he wanted to say.

“I made a huge mistake,” he finally settled on, “I know I did. And I’d be lyin’ if I said I don’t regret it every second. I don’t know if you’ll eva take me back, not after how I left ya. But I was a coward.”

He chuckled, unfit for the situation, though he must’ve been laughing at how he was admitting such a thing about himself. Pete Dunne who had girls lined up for him, screaming his name and vying for his attention, Pete Dunne who was a huge star and had a bright future and not a single fear, was a coward. I almost laughed, too.

“I worry that I’ll fuck this up somehow and that you’ll leave. I guess it wasn’t you leaving that I had to worry about,” he finished, and while it seemed like he had plenty of other things to say, I took his silence as a plea for me to say anything at all.

When I tore my attention from the scenery outside the window, I took note of how tightly his fist was clenched around the steering wheel and how his face was devoid of any emotion. I had seen a lot of expressions from Pete, but none at all was a first. “You fucked up real bad,” I agreed, causing his grip to get a little tighter as he sensed the conversation wouldn’t be going how he intended, “And yet I still can’t get you out of my mind.”

There was no use in hiding that face, it was the plain, simple truth and I wanted him to know how invested I was in him. I wanted him to know that I wasn’t going to leave, so long as he didn’t push me away. It was a two way street.

“I miss you, I really do. But how am I supposed to trust that you won’t just walk out again? Or that you won’t just give up?” My voice was getting a little louder by now, my emotions getting the better of me as I stopped trying to bury them beneath some strong front. Tearfully, I confessed how he had broken that trust he’d worked so hard to build and silently cursed myself for letting the tears fall.

When he reached out, wiping the droplets away before they could slide down my cheek, I cried even harder because truthfully, there was no way I could ever be certain he’d stay this time, and I knew my heart couldn’t take a sudden disappearance once more. Even knowing all this, I couldn’t help but embrace his touch, finding comfort in it as I waited for his reassurance.

“I don’t have an answer for you,” he admitted, pulling his hand away, “All I have to say is that seeing you cry right now made me damn sure I never want to be the cause of it again. I swear, this time it’ll be different. I swear it.”

Pete was a man of his word and from then on, he stuck true to that promise. People say promises are meant to be broken, but then again, they also say people can’t change. And I had witnessed the purest form of change in front of my own eyes, witnessing Pete go from someone I would have hated to the only man I’d ever truly loved.

[buyaheartfiction]

02|F Is For Friends...

“I’m outside.”

“I’ll be down in a minute.”

Looking in the mirror I took in my appearance making sure to take note of my face. There were no physical signs of my inner turmoil and I wanted to keep it that way. Throwing my hair over my shoulder I went to let Tristan in. Upon opening the door, I could feel his eyes roam over my figure as he licked his plump lips. I guess my denim shorts were doing something for him.

“Hey.” He reached out pulling me into a hug. The scent of his cologne invaded my nose as I relished in his touch. The moment of contact ceased as I stepped aside allowing him access to my home.

“Do you want anything to drink?” I asked.

“Nah, I’m good.”

I went to the kitchen anyway and grabbed myself a bottle of water. Returning to the living room I found Tristan had made himself quite comfortable. His shoes were off and he was channel surfing as if we were really going to be sitting here watching TV. After settling on some cartoons he turned to me.

“What’s up?”

“It’s August. You not hot as hell in that Brooklyn jersey?”

“Stop being a hater. You know I look good.”

“The only thing I know is you’re making me hot with that damn thing on. How about we take this off?”

Moving closer I wasted no time straddling his lap as I attempted to unbutton the first button, but he stopped me.

“Whoa, slow down Trinity. It’s been a minute since we’ve kicked it. You finally hit me up after all this time and now you’re just ready to have sex. What’s going on with you?”

“Shhh.” I said placing a finger on his lips. “I don’t wanna talk. I just want you to fuck me.” I whispered before kissing him.

My hands cupped his face in an effort to feel connected to him. He didn’t need to know what was going on with me all he needed to do was help me regardless if he realized it or not.

Flipping me over he detached our lips as he hovered over me.

“Trinity.” He growled. “You think I don’t know you. This isn’t you. Something is going on and I’m not going to ask you again.”

‘Damnit Tristan!’ Why did he have to be so damn persistent? Why couldn’t he just let it go?

Closing my eyes for a brief second I looked up at him. “Fine! Like you said it’s been a while and it just hit me how much I’ve missed you which is why I invited you over.”

Not exactly a lie, but undeniably not the whole truth: omission was key here. Pulling him closer to me I spoke up once more. “I just figured you'd miss me too," I said placing a peck on his lips with each word.

He just looked at me not saying a word and I didn't know whether to take that as a good thing or bad thing. Tristan wasn't lying when he said he knew me. It wasn’t like we had just become friends the other day. It had been seven glorious years between us so I was almost sure he could tell I was putting up a facade but he had no idea why. Just like he knew me, I knew him. I knew he had a soft spot for me even though I had treated him like shit once I found out. Once everything had gone downhill I took the initiative to place distance within our relationship and it seemed to serve its purpose, but after tonight if I had my way it could possibly all come crumbling down. I was willing to take that risk for a moment of sanity on my behalf.

I brought my lips to his ear as I whispered. “Please, Tristan. I need you.” I pleaded before my lips landed on his neck where I gently bit and sucked. Finding his lips once more there was no resistance as our warm tongues found each other in a hot, messy kiss. Our hands explored each other like it was our first time together. I frantically removed his jersey as if he was going to disappear from in front of me at any moment. I took a second to admire the body he’d spent countless hours building in the gym.

Dipping his head into the crook of my neck he sucked on the skin like he was trying to hurt me and I loved every second of it. The marks that would decorate my skin in the morning would be a reminder that this couldn't happen again. No matter how many times I told myself that we ended up right back here in the same position. It wasn’t that Tristan was bad for me. It was quite the opposite. I couldn't give myself to him the way he needed me to, but yet I had no problem using him for sex when I needed to get one off.

I let the thought go along with my shirt as he pulled it over my head. My bra was next as he took my nipple into his mouth. Moans flew from my lips from the sensations his warm tongue caused. He showed my other nipple the same attention before he continued to shower my body with kisses as he removed the barely there denim shorts I dawned.

"Look how wet you are for me." He said as he ran his hand over my pussy before inserting two fingers. His fingers moved in and out of me slowly, but effortlessly. He knew all the right spots to touch as my body continuously responded to him.

He was touching me but I wanted to be touching him and feeling him. My hands found his zipper and I wasted no time seeking out my prize. His dick stood at attention just ready for another wild night between us. As I stroked him in my hand my mouth couldn't help but water. The way he tucked his bottom lip in between his teeth made me wanna see what he'd do when it was my warm mouth instead.

My sounds of pleasure grew in volume, as my breathing got deeper. I was so close to the edge I could feel it and then all of a sudden nothing. His fingers stopped moving inside of me and when I opened my eyes to figure out what was the hold up he just stood there looking down at me with a stupid ass grin that I could smack right off his face.

"I had to get you warmed up."

I punched his chest and he just laughed.

"I'll make it up to you baby."

A slip of the tongue on his part, but I said nothing because I knew this game all too well.

"Condom?"

Shit. I forgot to bring one down.

"I left them upstairs."

A yelp escaped my lips as he scooped me up and headed upstairs to my bedroom. We kissed and groped each other like two horny teenagers the whole way there. Pulling a condom out my draw upon arrival he quickly opened it and shielded himself. Backing me into the bedroom door he hoisted my body against the wall as he lined up with my entrance and slowly pushed forward.

My body welcomed him as we collectively let out grunts. The cold wall against my hot skin felt wonderful. My nails ran over his back, not doing any damage yet. His strokes were nice and slow. They were deep allowing me to savor every inch of him.

"Oh yes. Just like that." I encouraged.

"You like these slow strokes?"

"Hmm Mhmm." I responded not able to coherently let him know how I was feeling.

"But I thought you wanted me to fuck you." He switched up pulling my body down onto his dick as he thrust into me harder knocking the wind right out of me.

"Is this how you want me to treat you?"

"Fuck, yes."

Moving over to the bed he placed me down pushing my knees as far as they could go before he pounded into me. The slapping of our skins could be heard along with how wet I was. I could almost see the satisfaction oozing from him knowing that he was giving me what I wanted.

He brought his palm down to my ass continuously and the stinging from it felt deliciously good as I moaned out his name.

Placing my hands on his chest, I attempted to slow down his strokes, but he simply swatted my hands away.

"You wanted this shit and now you gotta take it."

"I can't. I’m gonna cum."  I let out the loudest scream as my orgasm ripped through me. My body convulsed like none other as I tried to regain my composure but Tristan didn't care or give me time to recover.

Smack!

My ass stung once more.

"Turn that ass over and arch it up for me." I did exactly as told. Several seconds passed before he spread my legs and his lips began to greedily devour me.

"Oh my god!" I screeched almost falling out from the sudden contact. His tongue beat against my swollen clit like a boxer beating a punching bag. I had to scream into the pillow and that’s when another smack to the ass came.

"Don't hold that shit in. I wanna hear you." He mumbled against my hot skin before going back to work.

My hands clenched the sheets as I let everything out like I was speaking in tongues and it seemed and if he was the only one who understood me. His tongue gave me one last lick before he slipped back into my warm carven. A yelp left my lips as his hands yanked my hair. We were right back where we started with this fast hard hitting thrust that filled me up making me whimper in appreciation for him being here giving me just what I needed.

This is what I wanted: these moments of bliss to make me forget about the aching of my heart and so far it was doing exactly that.

Bringing my legs closer I smirked as he let out a hiss. My walls were hugging him quite snuggly and with the way, his strokes were growing sloppy and erratic meant he was almost ready to go. His hands found my swollen clit and began rubbing in circles.  I could feel those coils of pressure ready to pop at any second. No warning as I came all over the condom coating it in my juices. A few more matches for his strokes and he was letting out grunts of his own as he exploded into the condom. Getting out of the bed he returned a few minutes later all cleaned up. He pulled me into his side as we eventually fell asleep together.

—

The comfort I’d been seeking never came. I laid wrapped in his arms, but I couldn’t feel anymore disconnected from him. The sex had only temporarily taken my mind off things, but now the reality of my situation hit me in the face and it hit me quite hard. My mother was still in a coma fighting for her life and to make it worse I'd brought Tristan into the situation, making our situation all the more complicated. Everything from calling me baby to cuddling after sex was a recipe for disaster.

My alarm blared throughout the bedroom causing Tristan to groan and pull my body closer as his snores permeated the air once more. Extending my hand, I hit the snooze button before untangling our limbs. Sitting up I stretched as the cold air hit my naked body. His grumbles filled the air before the bed moved.

“It’s 4 in the morning Trin.”

“Okay. Don’t act like you don’t know I have to get to school.” I said getting up as I looked for clothes to wear. I could feel his eyes watching my naked frame.

“How much longer are we going to do this?”

“Do what Tristan?”

It was too early for this redundant conversation. There was never a resolve so I was almost sure he just liked hearing the sound of his own voice when it came to this particular matter.

“This shit. You know how I feel –” Turning around I held my hand up cutting him off.

“And that’s where you fucked up. No one told you to catch feelings. You knew what the agreement was.”

“Clearly you feel some type of way too. No one is going to fuck someone they’re not feeling. Maybe if this was a one night stand I’d be saying some other shit, but we haven’t spoken in how long and now you’re hitting me up and on my dick.”

A scoff left my lips.

“And you still can’t get enough of this pussy unless you would’ve brought your ass home and left me the fuck alone! Don’t play with me Tristan cause I’m not them little girls you can speak to  however you feel like it.”

A chuckle left his lips before I heard movement coming from the bed.

“Watch your mouth! You the one getting crazy and you think I’m not about to buck back. Nah fuck that. I’m tired of playing this game with you. You’re being a brat and I’m not about put up with this shit.”

There was that word again: brat. But that wasn’t even that part that hurt. It was the fact that I needed to admit to myself that his words held some truth. Instead of allowing him to see the effect his words had I went to the linen closet and retrieved a towel. Returning to my bedroom I threw it at him.

“You’re more than welcome to shower if not lock the door on your way out.”

Leaving him with my parting words I went to prepare for my day.

-

These past five days had probably been the most difficult in my life. My mother was still in a coma and school was stressing me out.  With my mom’s situation, it was taking a toll on me and that trickled down to my school work. I couldn’t focus long enough to actually study. We were getting ready to move into our next rotation and had just wrapped up shelf exams. I know I hadn’t been on my P&Q’s and my attending physician took had taken notice because I was sitting in her office.

“Trinity, how’s everything going?”

Did he want the truth or bullshit?

“Considering everything pretty good.”

“Well if that’s the case can we talk about your shelf exam score? You’ve been doing well so far so to say the results of these are disappointing is an understatement.”

He handed me the test and I’d managed to get a 60%. I didn’t feel super positive about the test, but I didn’t expect to bomb it the way I did.

“Do I have to retake the entire rotation? What does the mean for me moving forward? Dr. Michaels I-”

“Relax Trinity.” Dr. Michaels said with a chuckle. “This failure isn’t going to determine your worth. You won’t have to retake the rotation and you’ll have a chance to retake the exam in a month. You’re a smart girl and I see an extremely promising future for in whatever field you choose to pursue.  You can talk to me, Trinity. I was in your shoes and I remember what it was like.”

“Thank you, Dr. Michaels. Things have been a little rough the last few days with my mom still in the hospital, so when I’m not here at Bellevue I’m at Methodist but I’ll be back on my A game soon enough. I’ve come too far to let this define me.”

“I’m sorry to hear about your mother. I don’t know the dynamics of her case, but I’m sure she’ll pull through.”

“Thank you.”

Letting me go I exited his office to immediately feel my phone vibrating.  

“Hello.”

“Hi, it’s Doctor Adams. Am I speaking to Trinity St. James?”

My chest felt tight. Per my request, I had asked him to call me if there was a change in my mother’s condition. For the sake of everything, I was praying he was going to deliver good news.

“Yes, this is she.”

“I’m calling to let you know your mother condition has improved. She’s woken up from her coma.”

“I’ll be there soon. Thank you so much.”

—

Excitement buzzed through my veins as I practically ran through the hallways. Rounding the corner, I bumped right into a man sending the hot drink in his hand right to his jacket.

“Oh my god. I’m so sorry.”

I began wiping at his shirt as if my hands were going to magically get the stain out.

“It’s alright ma. It’s just a jacket.”

Looking up at him he threw a smile at me and I was glad he wasn't upset. Rummaging through my bag I pulled out my wallet and retrieved a ten dollar bill.

"Here," I said handing it to him. He could at least get a new cup of whatever he was drinking and the rest could go towards his dry cleaning.

"Nah you good."

"It's the least I can do for sending your cup flying all over you."

"How bout you do me one better and join me?"

Heat rushed to my cheeks as I averted my gaze to the floor.

"As flattered as I am I have to get to someone."

He nodded in understanding. "Well don't let me keep you."

I gave him a small wave as I walked off and headed in the direction of my mother's room. Placing a small knock on the open door I stepped forward. A smile immediately covered my face seeing my mother up and running.

"Hi, mama."

"Hi, baby." I immediately took notice of her slurred speech.

Walking over to her bedside I grabbed the nearby seat and pulled it closer before making myself comfortable. Taking a hold of her hand the room stayed silent. The tears broke free from my sealed eyelids why momma just ran her hand through my hair in an attempt to soothe me.

"Mama I was so scared. These last few days without you have been the worst."

The saying you don't know what you got until it's gone rang true. Don't get me wrong I didn't take my mother for granted, but coming home to an empty house had been something new for me. It threw me off my game, but now that mama was back everything would return to its state of normalcy minus her stroke recovery time.

Hearing footsteps I turned my head to see Dr. Adams entered the room.

"Hello, Trinity."

"Hi, Doctor Adams."

"Unfortunately, we won't be discharging her tonight. I still want to watch over a little bit before sending her home to you. From the few test, they've run it seems the left side of her brain suffered a bit of damage which is where the slurred speech is coming from. I'm sure speech therapy will help with that. We've also noticed she can move her legs but she can't walk. Seems like the leg muscles were weakened with the stroke so she's also going to need some intensive physical therapy."

With each word fleeing his lips it felt like someone was stabbing my heart and twisting the knife. My mother was my everything and to see her suffer, hurt. She'd need all this help, but how was I suppose to give her that when medical school was taking over my life. I wiped at my face trying my best not to break down in the middle of this hospital room.

"All that aside if everything else turns out good to go she'll be home in no time."

“Thank you, Dr. Adams.”

Trying not to dwell on everything Dr. Adams said we just held a typical conversation. When she was ready to really dive into everything going on I would oblige but for now, I just wanted to enjoy quality time with my mama.

Visiting hours were up and I was on my way out to go start studying and attempting to eat. Tear stains still decorated my face. I’d done my best to keep it together while in front of mama, but now everything was getting to me all over again. The news Doctor Adams delivered was news I should’ve been delivering to “my” patients.

“Hey.”

Halting my steps, I turned to see the stranger I’d bumped into earlier. A wave of embarrassment washed over me. I probably looked a hot mess, but yet he still wanted to talk to me.

“Hey,” I replied.

“I really think you should make that cup up to me. Let me buy you some ice cream. There’s a Haagen Dazs shop like 5 minutes away.”

Alarms should’ve gone up, but they didn’t. I didn’t know how to handle my emotions. Instead of tackling them on my own I depended on other people to help me cope.

“Sure.”

Entering the elevator, we rode in silence. It wasn’t until we exited that we broke it.

“Name’s Jamal by the way.”

“Trinity. It’s nice to meet you circumstances aside.”

He chuckled and I managed to take him in immediately noting he towered over my 5’6 frame. His caramel skin along with his neatly trimmed facial hair was winning me over. Not to mention that smile was killer and I was a sucker for them.

“I look and feel like shit, but for whatever reason, you’re still asking me out. I’m flattered.”

“I’d have to disagree and that’s honestly all the more reason it’s a good idea you’re letting me take you out. I’ll put you in better spirits.”

“Is that so?”

“Sure is.”

We walked again in silence as I mulled over his words. I hadn’t been out in forever and Jamal seemed nice enough. School was all I knew and I did deserve a little break especially with everything going on even if that included some time out to treat my sweet tooth. The humid summer air hit our skin as we stepped outside and I immediately wanted to backtrack into the hospital.

The walk over we made conversation and it wasn’t awkward considering we were two strangers. The minute we entered the shop I was grateful it wasn’t crowded and the air conditioner was kicking.

“Sir you’re starting this friendship off all wrong. That walk was definitely longer than 5 minutes.”

“Friendship. I like that sound of that.”

“Oh God! Your head doesn’t need to get any bigger.”

“Hey,” Jamal said feigning offense. “My mama said I would grow into it.”

I let out a laugh that I didn’t know I needed.

“There goes that pretty smile.”

I bit my lip as I placed my hair behind my ears at his compliment. Trying a few samples, we finally decided on what flavors we wanted. We sat down and conversation flowed. Almost an hour later we were still in the shop ice cream melted and all.

“Let me get you outta here, med school. Need you alert in the morning.”

It was getting pretty late by my standards since I was waking up at the crack of dawn most days. Disposing of our trash we exited the ice cream shop.

“So considering how great tonight went I definitely would like to get your number.”

“Great? It was alright.” I said hiding my smile.

“You like to play hard, dontchu?

“I don’t know, you tell me,” I said with a look of contemplation as I toyed with the pop socket on the back of my phone.

“Damn it’s like that?” Jamal asked?

I laughed handing over my phone. He shook his head as his tongue ran over his lips before he put his number in. Once my phone was back in my possession I hailed a cab. Getting in I rolled the window down.

“Goodnight Jamal.”

[thehikingviking]

New York Mountains High Point from Keystone Canyon

Asaka was 7 months pregnant but she still wanted to go on hiking trips, so I planned a 3 day road trip to the Mojave Desert. The main objective of the trip was New York Mountains High Point. The Corona Virus fears had already begun to grow, and my company had an early start in the work from home mandate. I drove down to Barstow on a Thursday afternoon, listening to Dr Radio on Sirius XM as we crossed the lonely desert. After spending the night in a Barstow Motel, I took my conference calls at the local McDonalds and was free to do as I pleased for the rest of the afternoon. With plenty of daylight remaining, we decided to climb Cave Mountain on the way to the New York Mountains. This peak only required about 1,500 ft of gain, and even with a slow pace this would only take us a few hours.

We approached from the western side of the peak following some dirt 4x4 roads. While I could have driven a bit further, I stopped short of roads end because I had a nice turn around spot and the road was getting a bit sandy for my liking. There was a slight chance of rain in the forecast, but our exact location would stay dry for the rest of the afternoon.

After following the road for a short distance, we took a left and headed cross country towards the top of the southwest ridge.

We simply followed the top of the ridgeline all the way to the summit.

Small patches of showers were visible across the desert towards the east, while the weather was clearing up to our west.

The ridge had intermediate use trails that disappeared and reappeared. The route got steep towards the end but never exceeded class 2.

We bypassed several false summits along the last quarter mile.

There were several boulders near the top which competed for the high point. I first climbed the point marked as the summit on the topo map.

To the south were the Cady Mountains.

To the west ran Highway 15 towards Barstow.

To the northeast were the Cronise Mountains and the Soda Mountains.

To the east was the Mojave River Basin.

Below us to the southwest ran the Union Pacific through Afton Canyon along the Mojave River.

I walked over to some of the challenger points on the eastern side of the peak, where I had views of Highway 15 heading towards Baker.

We retraced our steps back towards the car.

Once at the car, we drove to Baker where we stopped for some Mexican food. After that we continued east towards Ivanpah. At one point we were blocked by a stopped train, so I had to find a roundabout way along dirt roads which allowed me to drive underneath the tracks. We then drove to the Keystone Canyon Trail trailhead where we planned on spending the night. At first I wanted to set up a tent, but the wind was too strong so we slept in the back of the Jeep instead.

There was no need to get off to an early start the following day. The hike was short and we had nowhere to be afterwards. My main concern was the summit block. Some reports called it class 3 while others called it class 4. I also wasn’t sure if there would be snow near the summit rocks, which would make the climb more difficult. Normally I would feel decently confident in Asaka’s ability to climb a class 3-4 pitch, however she was carrying my future son, so the potential penalty was now doubled. To mitigate the risk, I decided to bring a rope along with our harnesses. This would be my first lead climb, and I spent the previous week watching YouTube videos and reading “Freedom of the Hills.” I felt I would at least be able to jury rig something that would minimize the risk somewhat. Once all our gear was in order, we started hiking up the road.

It turns out the road conditions were pretty solid beyond the sign, and we could have driven a little further up the canyon, but hiking this beginning section was easy and enjoyable.

There were several forks in the canyon and I had to be diligent about making sure we took the right path.

At one point I took the wrong fork, so Asaka and I had to bushwhack back to the correct road. One thing that took me by surprise was the amount of water running down the mountain. It did rain heavily the day before, but even so, this was the first time I’ve ever encountered so much water on a desert hike.

The decimated road to the mine above formed a nice creek bed which channeled the temporary flow of water.

At the end of the road, we reached the mine which I recognized from the photographs in previous trip reports. This was probably one of the coolest mines I’ve ever visited. It was easy to visualize the process flow of how the rock was taken out of the mountain, transported via a mining cart and deposited to a truck bed.

Off in the distance were the Castle Mountains.

From here the climb followed steep use trails up the loose slopes above. There were some very green rocks strewn about. I’m not sure if this coloration was a by product of the mining operation or if that is how the rock was supposed to look.

We continued up this loose section passing several other mine shafts along the way.

The steepness was giving Asaka difficulty, as the pregnancy had restricted her lung capacity. We kept it slow and steady. There wasn’t much distance remaining.

We reached a saddle of sorts at about 6,700 ft, then sidehilled into Caruthers Canyon. The summit was blocked by clouds.

I found the occasional cairn but no use trail that maintained our elevation. There seemed to be no universally accepted good route, but the cross country wasn’t too difficult. Once at the bottom of the canyon, we continued due west up the creek towards New York Benchmark, also known as New York One.

We alternated between following the creek bed and sidehilling above, unable to decide which required the least amount of effort. As we climbed higher the canyon lost its shape, but our direction stayed the same. Things were going reasonably well until I stumbled. In an effort to regain my balance I put my hand down right onto a cactus. The light gloves I was wearing did little to stop the spines from penetrating my skin. I took a few minutes to remove most of the spines, however one or two still lingered, being too small for me to pull out with my bare fingers.

Once at the top of the ridgeline we were only but a short distance away from New York Benchmark. 

I scurried ahead of Asaka and found the benchmark tucked away among some rocks.

I know how Asaka’s brain works. If she recognized this as a peak, she would be content with her effort and request to wait there while I climbed the second peak. Since the second peak was the primary objective, I made no mention of this being a bonus peak, and implied it was just a mere bump along the ridgeline. While it lies in Andy Zdon’s “Desert Summits,” New York Benchmark is not much of a bonus peak anyways, so she continued along without suspecting anything. 

The true summit was now in view just a short distance away. We made quick time across the sandy ridgeline towards the base of the rocky summit area.

I stayed towards hikers left, passing a nice camp along the way, expecting to find the easiest route on the northeastern side. 

We had a tight squeeze through some rocks, but found a route of minimal difficulty. There were no cairns or indications that we were on the right track, but it felt right. 

The route ahead of us was easy class 3, but Asaka wasn’t fully confident with her pregnant abilities. It was hard for her to do certain climbing moves. I let her go first and pick the route, staying just behind her to spot her if needed. Her lack of confidence and overthinking led her to picking a sub optimal route, but I didn’t want to sound like a know it all so I followed close behind. To avoid adding further difficulty, I retook the lead and we slowly inched our way towards the summit. We had a tight squeeze between some large boulders before we finally reached the base of the summit block.

My plan was to free climb the summit block, set up an anchor, then belay Asaka up. I took the most direct route up the summit block and reached the top within seconds. I looked around and threw a couple slings around the best rock I could find. I then tied myself in and set up the system that I learned from “Freedom of the Hills.” Once I was ready, I tossed down the rope to Asaka and she tied in. There appeared to be an easier route than what I climbed, so I directed her to what appeared to be stiff class 3 or low class 4.

A few seconds later she joined me on the summit. The system appeared to work, and Asaka even told me good job.

Rather than taking her off belay, I found it simpler to lower her back down. She down climbed with no issues and returned to the backpacks where we had lunch stowed. I took the liberty of signing in the summit register for Asaka.

I broke down the anchor, packed up the rope, then went off by myself to a nearby rock that appeared slightly higher. This entailed some more stiff class 3. I did it as quickly as I could so as not to keep Asaka waiting too long. This alternate point appeared higher, but the benchmark and summit register were on the first pinnacle. The surrounding views were obstructed by clouds.

I returned to the alternate summit and informed Asaka that I would now begin down climbing. While I was prepared for a rappel, it did not seem necessary. Along the way, I passed by a cool granite window.

I reunited with Asaka and we had lunch between the boulders sheltered from the wind. Afterwards we carefully down climbed the easy class 3 section.

We headed back down Caruthers Canyon, making quick time on the soft dirt.

From the saddle, it was a steep hike down to the road. I was relieved to have only easy downhill road hiking remaining.

We made it out to the car with a lot of day light left. I had originally planned to spend the night in the same place and find something easy to do nearby the following day, but I decided that we would drive to the Old Woman Mountain trailhead instead. After a series of long dirt roads, we eventually reached Highway 40, and soon after encountered the Route 66 problem. The year prior Asaka and I were going to climb Old Woman Mountain with Josef Nuernberger, but were dissuaded after road closure signs blocked Highway 66. We were not to be denied this year. I blew through the signs and dove along the empty freeway until reaching the turn off for Wheel of Fortune Mine. I saw no other vehicles along the way. I made great time on the dirt roads and we arrived at the Wilderness Boundary before dark. It was less windy than the previous night, so I set up a tent next to our car. This was the ultimate form of social distancing.

Asaka made delicious Thai fried rice for dinner, and moments later I was happy with every aspect of my life.

[180abroad]

Day 189: All Good Things

Finally, after more than six months abroad, the end of our adventure was upon us. Jessica and I had spent 189 nights in 48 different rooms, but after rising from our beds this morning, we would not lay our heads to rest until they were reunited with the long longed-for pillows of our own beds back home.

But we still had half a day to kill before our flight, so we figured we might as well explore some more of Reykjavik while we had the chance.

The Church of Hallgrimur proved just as stunning in the light of morning as it had in the evening two nights earlier.

Just downhill from the church is an area known as the Neighborhood of the Gods---so called because all of the streets are named for Norse mythological figures like Odin, Loki, and Thor.

(The Icelandic letter “Þ” is equivalent to the English “th,” so Þorsgata means Thor’s Street.)

Like I said, we had time to kill.

We saw some of the older buildings in the center of Reykjavik dating back to the late 1800s. (When it comes to architecture, at least, Iceland is on the same time scale as California.) But what really stood out to us were the statues---some more explicable than others.

Behind the memorial to the Unknown Bureaucrat, we came upon the Tjornin---a serene, glassy pond in the middle of the city.

The Tjornin is famously full of birds well fed with tourist bread (though still no match for the swans of Stratford-upon-Avon). Jessica and I laughed to see Nic receive a small measure of the avian intimidation tactics we were faced with back on our way to Liverpool from Wales.

Truly, when you stare into the eyes of a waiting duck, it is the void that stares back.

Next, we took a nice stroll along the Reykjavik harbor before stumbling onto an indoor flea market that's only open on the weekend.

Wandering back into town, we spotted another statue at the top of a hill, so naturally we climbed up to see it. It turned out to be a statue of Ingolfur Arnarson, the Viking captain who first colonized Iceland and gave Reykjavik its name, which means "Smoky Bay."

From the top of the hill, we had a decent view of the surrounding cityscape. Reykjavik is definitely a city on the rise. Construction and renovation projects were underway everywhere we went.

We still had a couple hours left to kill, so we went back to the main tourist street and did some window shopping.

There was one incredibly cheesy but impressively committed Viking-themed souvenir shop, as well as a smaller but more interesting shop selling trinkets inspired by Viking culture and mythology. I bought a pack of Norse god themed playing cards, and Jessica got a pack of cards featuring the Yule Lads.

You see, Iceland doesn't just have one Santa Claus, it has 13. The catch? They're a band of impish degenerates with self-explanatory names like Bowl-Licker, Sausage-Swiper, and Window-Peeper.

If for some reason you still want to send these lovely lads your Christmas wishes, you can deposit them in a specially designated mailbox outside the shop.

Finally, after a perfunctory lunch at Subway, we picked up our bags from our host Ingi, then made our way to the pickup spot for the airport shuttle. Somewhat unfortunately, there weren't nearly as many pickup spots as drop-off spots, so we had to walk about a mile across town to the nearest one. Still, it gave us a chance to enjoy the minimalist architecture and brisk subarctic air.

We also discovered that Reykjavik has a Brewdog, the TV-famous Scottish craft brewery that we'd visited with my Dad in Edinburgh.

Keflavik is a pretty small airport, and we'd arrived a couple hours early like we were supposed to. Still, we barely made it through security before our plane started boarding. Icelandair has done a great job of attracting people to Iceland with budget prices and easy stopovers, but it seems like the airport hasn't quite caught up. The people there were perfectly nice and respectably fast, but there were just too many people in line.

In fact, it was so crowded that we barely had time to fill up our water bottles---the line for the fountains was a good five minutes long.

The gates opened on schedule, but it was well past the flight time before they’d finally gotten everyone on board. Icelandair is a good value for the price, and I'd happily fly with them again, but they don't quite seem to have their act together when it comes to scheduling.

Oh well. No harm, no foul.

We walked out onto the tarmac to meet our plane, and I stooped to touch the ground one last time before we left for good. As we buckled up in our seats, it really started to hit us that the trip was really over and we were finally heading home. We didn't know whether to be happy or sad.

The flight was long and uneventful. A nice additional perk of our stopover in Iceland meant that the return flight was a couple hours shorter than our original flight from Oakland to Barcelona. It was still a long flight---9 hours---but when every hour in the air feels longer than the last, the difference between a 9-hour flight and an 11-hour flight is huge.

Of course, it may have helped knowing that we didn't have a full day in a foreign country ahead of us once we landed.

The one somewhat unpleasant surprise was that there was no food service unless you paid. And I'm the sort of cheap jerk who would rather go hungry than pay for mediocre, extortionately priced food.

Finally, we landed in San Francisco, just a few hours after we'd left Iceland, thanks to the time zones. Surprisingly, getting back into the US proved far easier than getting out of it, and we were soon reunited with our parents at the curbside pickup. My uncle Steve---Nic and Jessica's dad---had rented a preposterously large SUV to pick us all up together with my aunt and both my parents.

There were happy tears all around, but by this point the three of us were delirious with hunger and fatigue. At least, I was. And I was too far gone to notice how anyone else was doing.

We were swept away in our big black four-wheel-drive chariot.

We were at Super Taqueria enjoying the burritos we'd been waiting six months for and barely tasting them.

We were at Nic and Jessica's house saying goodbye.

I was home, simultaneously reunited and separated in ways that were perfectly natural and yet somehow strangely new.

I was in bed---in my own bed, with my own sheets and my own pillows---drifting off to sleep, no different than any other night, as if nothing had happened at all.

But it had happened. It had all happened. We have the stories and the pictures and souvenirs to prove it.

Epilogue

It's strange to be back home after all this time, which I guess isn't all that strange. But at the same time, one of the eeriest things is just how easy it was to slip back into all the old routines.

For a while, I felt a bit like Tom Hanks at the end of Cast Away as he looked at all the untouched food on that buffet table at the airport. Only instead of food, it was stuff.

That first night back, as I was getting ready for bed, I had a groaning realization that all my stuff was still packed away in my backpack downstairs. Just as I'd resigned myself to getting it, I realized that I had a drawer full of sleep clothes and a bathroom cabinet with toothbrushes and toothpaste to spare.

Having my desktop again was nice---though it was less nice when I booted it up on my first morning back and remembered that it was perilously near death when I had left it. It would be a frustrating, hours-long process just to get it back into shape, and what I really needed to do was buy a bunch of new parts and rebuild it from the case up.

Why put so much time, effort, and money into a desktop when I'd been perfectly happy with my laptop for the past six months?

Easy: games. And laptops cost more in the long run if you use them all the time. And, and, and…

Still, one of the biggest lessons of the trip for me---apart from opening my mind to other places and cultures---was the realization of just how little stuff we really need to get by. Which is a bit ironic, considering all the cool things I wanted so badly to buy in so many places but didn't have room to carry.

Looking back on the trip, I think we did an impressive job for two introverts who'd never really done anything like this before. I'm glad we got to see so many different places, and Airbnb made an incredible difference in the cost and quality of the trip.

Our parents being able to join us one by one over the course of the trip was also a brilliant idea and an absolute blessing.

If we were to do it again, though, we'd probably do a few things differently. We'd spend more time in fewer cities. Maybe take a weekend here and there. As much as we enjoyed seeing so many different places, it was exhausting and wore on our nerves. I'd also like to try and put myself out there more when it comes to interacting with locals---though that's far outside my comfort zone. And it would be nice to see what some places look like after dark.

And we'd probably skip Lausanne.

But besides that, I'm satisfied with everything we did, even the not-so-good bits. Getting sick in the Sahara and finding ourselves homeless in Rome were terrible experiences, but they're also some of the most vivid and interesting memories of the trip.

Anyway, I guess I'm just rambling now. This story may be over, but I'm sure there will be others to tell soon enough. One thing about living out of a backpack for six months and getting by on hardly any money: it kind of changes your perceptions of what is and isn't possible.