#Even in fics they usually revolve around each other like the sun and moon

[unicornslayerofd000m]

Day 3: Larger circle @silvergiftingweek

"The both of them are still joined at the hip apparently-"

"It is good to see Lord Celebrimbor so happy-"

"Why must it be Annatar though?"

[maxemilianverstappen]

Hey I am a new f1 fan and i have to say Lestappen is the reason I actually got into f1 recently and I jus realised that Lestappen is the most followed ship tag on f1 tumblr. Why do you think ppl seem to navigate towards Lestappen even though as a ship, we hardly get content as opposed to some other ships, say, Maxiel piarles carlando etc.

Like the amount of fics for Lestappen or their dynamic in general seem to attract more fans than the usual f1 ships. I wonder why. Is it cuz of the enemies to lovers trope or cuz both of them are cuties who have a seemingly intriguing vibe between them or ?

Hello new fan 👋

I can't speak for everyone, but I can talk about why I came to like them:

Purely from an aesthetic perspective, they look absolutely irresistible together. They are both very handsome/pretty guys. They really have this beautiful and vibrant energy around them as individuals, and when they are together, they look like someone's fever dream. So, it is very understandable for people to look at them and think: "Wow, these two would look so fucking hot doing nasty/bad/good/horrible/lovely things to each other, let's write them down so everyone can agree with me."

But it is never just this simple.

Lestappen's true allure lies in the way that their destiny seems to be literally intertivined from day one.

Their past before their F1 careers is filled with so much lore as I am sure you're having fun reading about. They have literally been racing against each other since they were toddlers. Everyone who knows them both says that they are of equal talent in different flavors. That they are generational talents and if they're given the machinery and team atmosphere that they deserve, we'll be in a delicious few years of them fighting for championships against each other (i am looking at you, ferrari). So, the childhood rivals narrative is already grand. At this point, I need to say that I liken them to a reverse Brocedes (brocedes were childhood best friends who broke apart as adults due to their championship rivalry. Lestappen is childhood enemies who as adults became closer and I hope if they get to fight for a WDC, they'll get even more closer like Launt and Makkinen.)

They fit all the popular media tropes both as a couple and as individuals:

They are the Sun and the Moon, the Red Oni&Blue Oni, the Fire and Ice/Water. All the best dichotomies you can think of... Dichotomies are attractive for people and in narration because they generally deal with people sewn from the same cloth who have turned out different due to their circumstances, meanwhile being fundamentally the same. Like both sides of a coin...

They also both fit into these contrasting roles and subvert the trope, too. (I am on the 'subvert the fanpopular assigned roles' team because people cannot be fit into simple stereotypes.)

More than the Enemies to Lovers trope (which i always approach varily because most people write Max like a brute and Charles as a helpless damsel), I think the Fated/Starcrossed Lovers, the Mirror of One's Self/One's Better Half/Soulmates tropes are much more explorable and lend themselves to character study better. Because, their situation looks both simple and yet very complicated.

Of course, I am speculating here as a fanfiction author who works on what I can see/read about these men, but apart from the "differents attract" and the "twink/hunk" flavoured fics going around, what pulls people in is how they seem to have been literally created for each other, this connected by the red string of fate thing they have going on. Their whole worlds seem to be revolving around each other:

They just can't help themselves about showing their fascination with each other (one more so openly and loudly, the other is a bit reserved about it, but slowly slipping and it is delicious to watch).

They are each other's both destinied and chosen rivals (God, the intimacy of this shit right here... leaves no room for anyone else to even be an "afterthought" as long as they have each other in their sights as their target).

The single minded attention they have for anything the other does even if they pretend to not pay attention (they do).

The tension between them. (Sometimes spicy with adrenaline and the need to best the other and sometimes tasting like soft, years long unnamed yearning).

Unnamed, unlabeled... as if the moment they put a name on it, call it friendship, joke about it as a bromance, it will turn into something especially Charles doesn't seem that ready to embrace. Yeah, this is them... They have certainly been something for each other for years, since they were kids... That something grew with them, evolved, sometimes had very sharp edges, sometimes soft and fluffy... the way it never died off, never tapered off even when you think Max has become everything Charles has ever wanted to be, gained everything he has ever wished for meanwhile Charles can only watch and possibly blamed himself for falling short and feeling admiration warring with jealousy in his heart whenever Max looks back at him with an expectant smile as if wanting to share his happiness with him. Possibly hoping that one day, when Charles achieves his dream, he will also look at him with a soft smile and be happy with him, too.

God, it must have twisted Charles' heart so badly when he realized that Max genuinely wants to share his joy with him instead of how he expected him to rub it in his face like many others have done to each other and many people believed Max would have done to him. The way Max is so soft and sunny and kind and thoughtful when Charles must have been expecting a merciless killing machine ready to tear him apart both with his words and his on track moves. But the reverse happened and it is so compelling, like, how the hell Max can be so soft for this guy who repeatedly said he hated him in the past as if he wanted to keep the distance as stable as possible. Lol, it is like we are watching an ice castle named Charles crumble irl, and I bet it is a spectacle for the people of the fandom.

And also, the way Charles can be written as someone who thinks he has more to lose if he falls for/accepts his love for Max, because he might feel he is always going to lose to him and never win against him in a meaningful way... (Here, I must say I don't like the fics where they write Max willingly losing to Charles after they become an item. Charles wants a fight and wants it especially from Max, because in his eyes only Max's kind of fight is both "just" and on par with the way he believes what racing is actually about. This is what made him fall in love with the sports and also with Max.) This right here is soooo juicy to pass for the lovers of angst. You can write Max as his mirror that he both wants to smash and also adore like narcissus did, the way you can write them as soulmates in which Charles feels trapped by his fate, the way you can write them as My Better Half whom I hate....

They elicit a huge emotional response in the fans/consumers of fanworks. So, it is only understandable for people to seek out those strong emotions again and again. They induce heart palpitations and it is an addicitive rush of serotonin and dopamine, so who are we to deny ourselves the pleasure of enjoying them?

[stanzoeywade]

Tiptoe - Poppy x MC

Taglist: @somewillwin @uhh-the-green-thing @jmojellybae @simp-pony @made-me-deep-blue @uselesslesbianfr @it-lives-in-braidwood-manor @belvoiresqueenbee @alexlabhont @samanthadalton @crazzyplays @sparring-hyena @baexpoppy @cloakanddaggerthings

Summary: Poppy and MC meet in summer and they were dating but broke it off, not related to free falling dhaisja don't ask about ch3 idk either.

A/N: uhm hi I've been a ghost for like months lol but I heard from a little birdie that queen b is coming back in September and I'm so ready to clown for my wife Poppy again. Based on song below which is a bop. I also did not check my spelling or grammar I die like a dumbass. My one braincell would like to thank u all and Gabi for this fic 💗

There's hardly anything in this world that captivates you, until you see her. Her flawless skin, her blonde hair and those deep chocolate orbs that you just want to stare at and drown in forever. Who knew such a beauty existed? It boggles you to know that the Min-Sinclair heiress is perfect. One might say that you're jealous but deep down you know that's not the case. Jealousy? No, it's not jealousy, you're enthralled by her. It's not even because of how fucking gorgeous she looks, it runs deeper than that. There's just this weird sense of kinship that you feel when you look at her. She's more than the ranking, she's vulnerable and actually cares, something you saw when you went to the animal shelter.

The way her eyes sparkled when she saw the rescue animals, the way her mouth curved into that gentle smile. Who knew the queen bee of Belvoire had a heart? Her vulnerability is further shown when you realise that the golden girl of Belvoire has her own scars, her pride a by-product of the hurt caused by family and so called friends.

Having seen the forefront of it all, Belvoire is cutthroat. Everything matters, the clothes you wear, your family name. It's a free for all, no one cares who gets burned, low blows exchanged, it's all a big mind game and those who fall under pressure lose not just their reputation but everything they have worked for. But apart from all of that, she's still the first thing that makes you smile.

It's damning, the way your mind and heart races at the thought of Poppy. The way her eyes light up when she flashes that gentle smile, where one look is all it takes to make your knees weak and the blood rushing up your cheeks. You've never seen such a beauty, her smile is like a soft ray of sunshine, warming you up. However, she's also as mysterious as the moon, especially since she acts so sweet and the next minute she's as cold as ever. It's enough to give you whiplash.

Such gentle and delicate features, yet her personality is as fiery as the sun, I guess it's true what they say, the sun is beautiful yet staring at it can become painful.

It's confusing as to why Rosie's fallen so hard for Poppy, they've been rivals from the start, with each other's goal to come out on top. Things have definitely changed after the night they slept together, Poppy's words have no actual bite to them. If she were brave enough Rosie would've called Poppy out on it, but she's so confused on where they stand that she doesn't want to risk this newfound "friendship" if one can even call it that.

It suddenly hits Rosie like a brick. 'Wait, has Poppy been courting me in her own weird way or am I imagining shit?' She becomes more confused as Poppy seems to stare at her longer than she ever did, sometimes Rosie would meet eyes with Poppy who seems to have a longing stare as if she has so much to convey yet has no courage to do so. Sometimes it gets to the point where Poppy blushes after she realises that both of them have been staring at each other for too long. Both of them being a flustered and blushing mess, looking away as if they've been burned from getting too close to a fire.

Most people in Belvoire would argue that its not longing and wistful glances that the two are exchanging, they'd say that those were intense glares formed from the ongoing rivalry that the two have established in public, but anyone who personally knows Poppy and Rosie would say differently. There's also an ongoing bet between the students of the school. Some argue that Poppy and Rosie are secretly dating whilst the rest argue that they absolutely loathe each other and the ongoing stares are to intimidate each other to give in and leave Belvoire.

Zoey and Veronica are secretly in cahoots in which they bet that the two are definitely dating or in Veronica's words "those two are definitely fucking" which earns her a fond smile as well as a roll of the eyes from Zoey. Chloe suspects something between Poppy and Rosie, considering they genuinely don't seem to put energy behind the insults they throw at each other. She doesn't think that the two are lovers but she definitely thinks that they're secretly friends.

It's not until Veronica sees Rosie wink at Poppy when she thought nobody was looking, and she was certain that the blonde would glare at Rosie but imagine her surprise when Poppy flirts back by winking back. In which she's all too excited to text Zoey about. "Omfg bitch, you won't believe what I saw today, like holy fuck the two gays were flirting when they thought no one was looking." All she gets in response from Zoey was "show receipts pls."

Rosie can feel herself falling for Poppy, both of them know that things have changed. Neither seem too interested in fighting and when they do argue, it's all for show, after all no one knows that they're secretly pining after each other. She suddenly remembers how they met.

-Flashback-

Being relatively new to New York, Rosie was eager to meet new people and what better way to start off than hooking up with strangers from a random bar? After all, the city was big and it's been a while. As soon as she arrived someone immediately caught her attention. One Poppy Min-Sinclair, dressed to the nines, she was definitely Rosie's type. Not really expecting anything Rosie struts towards her, in hopes of beginning a conversation.

At first Poppy seemed uninterested, scoffing and she felt a presence near her. She didn't really want to deal with anyone considering they're usually just random guys who wanted to hook up in the bathrooms or worse they're drunk as fuck trying to flirt with her. However, imagine her surprise when she looks at the person that dared to sit by her. Poppy would be lying if she said that the girl in front of her wasn't her type. She seemed sweet, and had a gentle smile. It was also a bonus that the girl seemed to know how to dress herself.

When their eyes met, there was this lightning spark that just fit into place, the two had chemistry. It was undeniable, the two just knew how to push and pull. The banter was there, so was the attraction.

Poppy wasn't shy about showing her attraction, obviously checking Rosie out, which earns her a low chuckle from the other girl. "At least buy me dinner first before you undress me with you eyes?" said Rosie with mirth dancing around her eyes, whilst Poppy just laughs, soft and languidly slow. At which point Rosie knew she was screwed, the blonde in front of her looked like she just walked out of the runway, and her laugh was definitely something Rosie wanted to hear more of.

She's pulled out of her epiphany once Poppy speaks, voice sultry and pulling Rosie in like a siren. "My name is Poppy Min-Sinclair, and I do what I want sweetheart." The confidence she exudes is shown in her voices. It's addicting the way the blonde presents herself, every move calculated and poised. Every word that leaves her lips is deliberate and elegant in her own unique way. If she was in her right mind, Rosie would've been terrified by how enraptured she was by this girl in front of her.

Rosie wasn't one to back down from a challenge therefore she decides to tease the girl in front of her. "Is your name supposed to be important? I've never heard of it. Anyways, since you've introduced yourself so nicely, my name's Rosie." Poppy just raises an eyebrow at her semi-surprised that the other girl hasn't heard of her. "Sorry babe, the whole world doesn't revolve around you." said Rosie with a cheeky smile and wink and before Poppy can retort Rosie finishes off by saying "but it definitely should revolve around you, I mean look at you, you're mesmerising."

If it were any other person, Poppy would have definitely rolled her eyes and walked away, but Rosie seemed to mean it. The other girl definitely looked like she wore her heart on her sleeve, and it was just so damn endearing that Poppy, against her usual M.O., she decides to stay and talk to the other girl. 'She looks cute enough, but if she's gonna be annoying then I'll just ditch her later.' thought Poppy.

Both women were intrigued by each other, and one thing led to another. Before they knew it they were together in a hotel room. Neither of them cared about who made the move first, all they knew was that they had to have each other one way or the other.

Despite her pent up desire and lust, Poppy still cared about her reputation, after all even if she was on break it didn't mean she can be careless, plus she didn't exactly want to expose Rosie to Belvoire's dirty laundry, the girl seemed nice enough and Poppy wasn't about to mess with this girl. Sure she's a fucking bitch but that doesn't mean she wants people to suffer because of her unless they've wronged her or any of her friends in some way. She's petty but she's not that petty.

God knows Belvoire is a shithole.

They're definitely closer than what should be conceived as acceptable, considering Rosie is literally one step away from kissing Poppy. Not like either of then cared considering they were too focused on each other to pay attention to their surroundings. It's only when the bartender coughs that the two pull away from each other as if taken out of their seemingly lulled state.

Rosie's about to say goodbye, considering the blonde seems like she's torn between leaving or staying, but she's caught by surprise when Poppy yanks her arm back. "Where do you think you're going, little lamb? I didn't say I was done with you yet." The way it was said was enough to make Rosie shiver. The way the Min-Sinclair heiress said it so confidently, it didn't help that she looked to be the epitome of lust and desire at that moment, but from then on Rosie knew she was fucked, both literally and figuratively.

Before she knew it she was pulled into a car headed to the nearest luxury hotel, which just so happens to be a presidential suite at The Ritz. Rosie didn't show but she was shocked. She knew the girl was rich, I mean come on her clothes are fresh off the runway and the blonde exuded power and wealth. But this was like a bucket of ice water being dropped on Rosie's head, this was definitely something she wasn't expecting.

NSFW AHEAD

She's taken aback by the inside of the hotel suite, she expected it to be fancy, but nothing could prepare her for the plush king sized bed, as well as the overall layout of the room. It looks like something straight out of an IKEA magazine, Rosie can't help but think.

"Well, are you just going to stand there or are we actually going to fuck?" says Poppy. Rosie is taken aback from how bluntly Poppy put it. Speaking of which, the blonde girl is already half way through removing her clothes. She couldn't help the gasp that escapes her as she gawks at Poppy and the way her body looks so perfect, unblemished milky white skin that looks so soft, all Rosie could think of is leaving marks in her wake. She licks her lips in anticipation as Poppy gives her the come hither gesture, and Rosie is immediately lured in, like a moth drawn to a flame.

Her hands immediately raise up, helping Poppy out of her clothes, until all that remains is Poppy's underwear. Her eyes scan Poppy's body and out of the corner of her eye she can see Poppy's satisfied smile. Rosie is pulled in, her body pulled in flush against Poppy. Her eyes dart over to Poppy's lips as she leans in to kiss Poppy. A hand covers her mouth as she hears "Not yet Hughes, it's unfair if I'm the only one in my underwear."

Rosie's ears are definitely bright red at this point and she's pretty sure that her whole body is flushed, but she gives Poppy a show as she takes each article of clothing slowly, piece by piece as if testing Poppy's already short patience. As she takes her blouse off, Poppy's staring at her so intensely she can feel her legs wobble. The look conveying an unspoken promise. It's enough to make her a little self conscious, but her confidence is regained as soon as she sees how flushed Poppy is. It also helped that she saw Poppy gulp, looking at her like she's the only thing in the world. "See something you like, Min-Sinclair?" she can't help but tease and the blonde rolls her eyes.

"You were doing so well until you started speaking. Just get your ass over here. I'm not used to waiting for things I want." said Poppy. Rosie struts over to Poppy.

She's immediately back at Poppy's side, the Min-Sinclair heiress looking her up and down which makes Rosie nervous as the way Poppy stares is intense. Her doubts are quickly quelled as she's soon tugged harshly the collar. Poppy pulls her in roughly for a kiss, as their tongues dance and weave against each other, battling for dominance. They both step forwards towards the bed, and the noises that come out of Poppy is irresistible and music to her ears. She sounds incredible and Rosie can't get enough and with a flick of her tongue Poppy is putty in her hands.

They both fall towards the bed, Poppy ending up under Rosie. They pull away quickly to catch their breath, and Poppy's eyes are blown so much so, her pupils are dilated like a cat ready to catch its prey. Her lips parted and bruised, taking in oxygen as if all of her breath has been taken away. If Rosie thought she was in charge, she's got another thing coming. Their position is switched, as Poppy expertly flips them over, landing her on top of the other girl. Rosie ending up with her back against the bed as Poppy straddles her. "You're a good kisser, Hughes." she says and Rosie smiles mischievously "I try." she replies.

Poppy's quick to kiss Rosie again, as if she's her only lifeline teetering her to the world. Every kiss shared feels like sparks flying, the intensity and passion leaving them both breathless. It's not like Rosie's gonna give in and let Poppy top her, she quickly pull Poppy by the waist, bodies completely flushed against each other before rolling over so that their position is once again switched. This time Rosie comes out on top.

Before the other girl can complain, Rosie's quick to shut her up but trailing kisses from lips to her neck. Poppy smells like fresh cherries and vanilla, which for some reason is very fitting. After all cherries are sweet but the fruit itself can be dangerous, however there's a hint of danger. After all cherries do have cyanide in the seed. The whimpers and moans that come from Poppy's mouth are sensual and spurs Rosie on even more. She can't get enough of the blonde.

She can feel Poppy's nails taking across her back, and she's sure that those are definitely going to leave marks, not like she minds considering she's too far gone from the sound of Poppy's moans and whimpers.

Rosie looks at Poppy and she can't help but admire how beautiful Poppy looks under her, eyes half lidded and chest heaving. "You look better when you're quiet, Princess." said Rosie, but instead of reporting Poppy just pulls her back in and their lips are clashing against except this time its rough. Poppy pulling and tugging at her hair, while leaving small nibbles on her lips. Rosie knows that her lips are going to be all sorts of red and bruised the next morning.

Rosie's hand finds their way to the waistband of Poppy underwear, and she can feel the wet patch. She slides her hand inside and moves her fingers to find Poppy's clit, where she rubs small circles, and she feels the blonde jolt from the sudden contact and Rosie is about to apologise until she hears Poppy's breathy moans. "I swear to god, if you stop I'm going to fucking kill you." whimpered Poppy.

Rosie just smiles against Poppy's skin as she continues teasing Poppy until the other girl is a panting and whimpering mess. "I need your fingers inside me Hughes, stop fucking around and actually start fucking me." It's said so desperately Rosie finally grants the blonde her wish and starts pumping her fingers in and out until the blonde cums, back arched away from bed and a loud and filthy moan is all the can be heard. Rosie helps the other ride out her orgasm by cooing gentle words and leaving kisses that are definitely going to leave marks on the Poppy's unblemished skin.

-NSFW END-

-FLASHBACK END-

The casuak hook up turns into dates and outings, and both of them start to catch feelings for each other. As much as it surprises Poppy she genuinely enjoys the time that she spends with Rosie. The other girl always making sure to make Poppy smile. It doesn't help that Rosie had this weird way of knowing when Poppy was upset or stressed in which she'd always do something to help the blonde feel better. Rosie's become a constant, a home away from home in a sort. Always there even on Poppy's worse days, not giving in even when Poppy's relentlessly cruel and bitchy. If she weren't so fucking smitten Poppy would have thought that Rosie was a Saint considering how patient she is. However, she refuses to confess her feelings to the other girl first, after all she's a Min-Sinclair and they don't confess ever. People confess to her.

They're both stubborn, therefore they both refuse to even acknowledge their budding feelings for the other. Though there have been too many times where Poppy has gotten jealous when people stare too much at Rosie, though it's reserved and usually subtle. Poppy quietly stakes her claim by always having some sort of physical contact with Rosie. It could be something as simple as a hand on Rosie's forearm or wrist. But the real warning comes from her passive aggressiveness when others get too close to Rosie or the glares that are given if anyone is dumb enough to try and flirt with the other girl.

It's not like Rosie is any better. Whilst Poppy is subtle with her jealousy, Rosie is not. She's always quick hold Poppy's hand as if to signify that the blonde is hers and it's even worse if anyone ignores that. She becomes more physically affectionate. She hugs Poppy as if her life depends on it. There's also been a few times where if Rosie's patience was tested she'd get really jealous and the next time they're intimate she always leaves marks where no one but her or Poppy knows. It's also when she becomes quite dominant in the bedroom and it genuinely entertains Poppy so much so it's become her second favourite past time. The first definitely being their intimate moments.

It gets to the point where both of then get so frustrated they confess how they feel that the same time, which becomes one of their inside jokes considering they both felt like idiots for not confessing their feelings sooner.

However, it's not like summer lasts forever and both of them end up breaking it off, since Poppy actually likes Rosie and she refuses to put her through the shit that goes on in Belvoire. "It was fun while it lasted, Hughes, but I'm sorry. I have to go back and I'm not sure I'll ever see you again." said Poppy, voice cold as ice as if the whole thing didn't matter. Poppy would be lying if she said that it meant nothing, considering she's never been happier. The other girl definitely had a special place in her heart but as they say if you really live someone you have to let them go. She might be cruel but she's not about to fuck Rosie's life up by involving her in the stupidity of Belvoire, she deserves better. Maybe after unibersity she can find Rosie and they can try again.

Rosie's quite sure that she's never going to find anyone that makes her feel the way Poppy does, but she's not one to make things more complicated. "I'm glad I met you Poppy Min-Sinclair, it's been fun while it lasted. Maybe someday we can meet each other again."

Imagine her surprise when it turns out that Poppy attends Belvoire, both of them shocked to see each other again. The only difference being that Poppy seems much colder than the one she met before. Her eyes didn't have that shine or hint of mischief. It looked too detached. "What are you staring at?" said one of the girls following Poppy. Her eyes widened in surprise as the person her roommate Zoey warned her about was Poppy. She's barely acknowledged by Poppy as she just walks away without a word.

Things start to get more complicated as both of them are put against each other, as they compete for the top spot. It's not like Rosie really cared about the fucking thing, in all honesty she didn't even want to compete with Poppy but it's not like she had a choice considering no one cared that she didn't want to compete with Poppy. It gets to the point Rosie avoids Poppy altogether, not really wanting the unsolicited drama with the other girl.

It becomes even worse when rumours start that th reason why the two girls avoided each other like the plague was because Carter was cheating on Poppy with Rosie, and this gets blown out of proportion during the football game in which the screen shows a poorly photoshopped photo of Rosie and Carter kissing.

The way Poppy looked at Rosie broke her heart. Poppy looked tired and upset. She looked like she was betrayed and worse of all the look was directed at her. It's made even worse when Poppy wordlessly looks away, tears on her eyes as she runs to get away from the stadium.

Things change when Rosie chases after Poppy. It's the first time she sees Poppy cry, and it breaks her heart because how can she be so foolish. This was the person she fell for, and it sucked because she was the reason why Poppy was upset.

She approaches Poppy carefully, and as soon as she's noticed. Poppy's eyes narrow into a glare. "What do you want Hughes? Haven't you done enough already?" she yells, her voice full of venom. The words sting, but Rosie marches on, as she apologises. "I know I'm the last person you want to see, but I wanted to say I'm sorry. You didn't deserve all of that." She reaches out to try and comfort Poppy but she stops as remembers that she's the reason Poppy was crying in the first place. They both stand there in a tense silence, both not wanting to speak until they both say something at the same time. "Why didn't you tell me that you go to Belvoire?" they both say in sync.

Rosie lets Poppy speak first. "If you said that you were going to be attending Belvoire, maybe things would have been different." she says and this catches Rosie's attention. "Different how?" she asks and Poppy looks at her eyes softening as she says "I would have admitted that I was falling for you."

That's how they got back together.

[lelenoir]

pairings: soulmate!na jaemin x reader and a small dash of mark lee x reader

word count: 5.3k+

warnings: profanities, one suggestive scene, also some historical inaccuracies [since i don’t know how to speak oldsey timesy english], if you feel like you’ve read this before it’s because you have, in my old blog.

synopsis: a person’s life is destined for a purpose. in this world, everyone revolves around one purpose and that purpose floats around one person, a soulmate. throughout the majority of a person’s life, they are all set to a journey to find their other halves. some lived to be hundreds of years old in their pursuit. but it was all worth it when two souls finally meet.

taglist: @mikasrecs

note: big big thank you to my future wife @jimjamjaemin for reading this fic in its baby days and to @jenoir for being one of my constant motivators and helping me fix my horrible grammar. i love u both :( 💕

Greece. 650 B.C.

A person’s life is destined for a purpose. In this world, everyone revolves around one purpose and that purpose floats around one person, a soulmate. Throughout the majority of a person’s life, they are all set to a journey to find their other halves. Some lived to be hundreds of years old in their pursuit. But it was all worth it when two souls finally meet.

Na Jaemin was a firm believer of the soulmate bonds. He was a sucker for it, often slipping into countless daydreams of him meeting his other half.

He imagined it to happen in a vast field of flowers, the sun shining bright with no one in sight but him and his soulmate. Every second would go in slow motion, with him savoring every moment of it. His mother often scolded him for it, telling him off whenever he over baked the bread or mixed up the customers’ orders due to him zoning out.

His best friend, an upper class, named Lee Jeno got his tattoo months before him. It made the younger boy giggle every time he recalled the memory. The way Jeno’s parents gasp at the words engraved on their son’s skin like it was an abomination. And in the traditions and beliefs of Ancient Greece, it was.

Before Jaemin could even stifle his chuckle, Jeno walked through the door of their shop. He sported a colorful tunic, a contrast to the plain white one the younger boy was wearing.

“Big day tomorrow,” Jeno remarked, a happy tone lacing his voice as he strolled towards the counter, eyeing the bread displayed all around.

Jaemin couldn’t help but beam at the thought. Tomorrow was his eighteenth birthday and in his world, eighteen is probably considered the most important age a person will turn to. It was the age of independence. The age where you are thrusted into a very long journey. For some that journey might last for a year, maybe five or ten. And those people are considered very lucky because for some that journey could stretch up to a hundred years. Because at eighteen is when you receive a tattoo. Not just any tattoo, but your soulmate bond.

After that, a person’s age will be stuck to eighteen until they meet their other half. Thus, the journey ensues.

“What do you think the sentence will be?” Jeno asked, throwing a glance over to the boy.

“As long as it’s better than yours then I’m good.” Jaemin teased, making the other scowl in return. It was an ongoing joke the pair had. The sentence written on Jeno’s wrist in bold were the words; ‘nice going, asshole!’ making the older feel embarrassed by the obscene words his soulmate will throw at him. Since then, he wore a long bracelet to cover the tattoo. “Anyways what do you need? Not like I can give you much since we only sell bread here.” Jaemin said, leaning his hands on the counter.

“Just the usual,” the older answered, “some relatives are stopping by.”

Jaemin nodded, going to the back where his mother bakes. The heat from the ovens made the boy readjust the tunic he was wearing. He took one of the white bread from the rack and wrapped it up for his friend.

“Thanks,” Jeno said, taking the food before giving the payment for it. “Goodluck tomorrow!” He called over his shoulder, offering one last smile before exiting the shop, leaving the boy to go back to daydreaming.

That night Jaemin couldn’t sleep. How could he? He waited his entire life for this moment. Carefully, he lit the small lamp on the table next to his makeshift bed. He watched as the light touched every part of his small room. The chilly breeze of the night crawling up to his back, making him shiver. He took the large blanket on his bed before wrapping it around his body.

His eyes bore on the skin of his wrist, waiting. He shifted, tapping his foot impatiently on the floor. He turned his attention to the window to look at the glowing moon surrounded by its many stars. It should happen anytime now. He assured himself. Of course the onslaught of his anxiety didn’t stop after that. Every second felt like an hour to him and every hour felt like an eternity. His eyes shot fire to his wrist as he continued to stare intensely at it. The tapping of his foot grew more frantic by the minute.

He almost couldn’t contain himself as specks of black started to appear, the small tickling sensation making his lips part into an amazed 'o’. He pulled the cloth on his shoulders closer as the black swirled around the surface. His smile grew wider as time went by and the words started to become more distinguishable.

Jaemin could almost see it; the way his soulmate’s eyes would gleam, he could almost hear the sound of their laughter, and feel the electricity when their fingertips touch. Would you be as happy as him when you two meet? Would you even get the jokes he’d tell? How long will he wait for you?

He hoped it wouldn’t be long. But he also wouldn’t mind if it took a long time. He knew it was worth it. The simplest of questions ran through his mind but all of it stopped as the final word started to take form.

'you dropped your phone.’

His eyebrows furrow at the strange word. Phone? He can’t help but wonder what that was. Was it some kind of foreign food? He didn’t think so, but if it was then where was it made? The East? He heard a lot of exotic food was made there. There was a ship about to go on another expedition up north. Should he go now? Drop everything here to search for you? All that Jaemin could do was wonder. Happy thoughts filling his mind again once again, now that he thinks that he is one step closer to finding his soulmate; to finding you.

France. 1888.

“Come on, Mark!” You called out, dragging the boy as you marvelled at the tall unfinished tower. You hear the boy catch his breath next to you, resting his hand on his knees. You chuckled at his exhausted state before looking back to the sight in front of you. “How long do you think they’ll take to finish it?”

He looked confusedly at you before shifting his attention to the front. He scoffed, “probably a few more years. A hundred?”

You rolled your eyes at his answer. “Nonsense, Lee. You’ve seen how mankind has evolved a lot. Who knows? They might finish it next year.”

“You mean, you’ve seen how mankind has evolved.” He told you, putting more emphasis on the 'you’. “I’ve only been around for seventy years. That’s like a teaspoon compared to how long you’ve been alive.”

You hummed in reply, a sad smile settling in your features before quickly pulling yourself together.

True, it has been a long time since you were born. You’ve met so many people, practiced so many traditions and saw the world age right before your eyes. At this point you were slowly making your way around the globe; starting from your hometown and going west to whatever is out there.

You’ve met Mark in the ship that brought you here. The two of you hitting it off almost immediately. He told you about his life in Canada and about the happenings in the countries next to it. He was a young doctor, currently travelling the world to study medicine from different regions. On the way here, he gushed about the many plants, herbs and spices he had studied over the years. It was incredibly fascinating how he was so passionate about his work. You bet he could go on and on about his studies without ever going bored.

In exchange for the many information—and you know they were a lot—you told him about some of your very own adventures. You told him about the war you joined when you were nineteen and also told him about your time as a healer. You haven’t seen someone look so ready to take notes in your entire life. And you’ve been alive for years.

It was charming to say the least, the way the boy held onto your every word. You felt the first signs of subtle infatuation course through your veins whenever he looked at you. You wondered if this is what it felt like when you meet your soulmate: the loud pounding in your chest, the heat that spread across your head and lastly, the intoxicating feeling of having him around. It’s probably the loneliness speaking but you loved having him around.

This went on for days, the two of you hanging out wherever and whenever. It wasn’t new when the two of you headed out at night, the lights of Paris illuminating the streets as you and Mark walked along them. It’s only been a day but it felt like you’ve met him all your life. He loved sailing across the sea, he lived for the wind blowing against his face, and he had a passion for serving others and taking care of them.

You wondered what would happen if the whole soulmate ordeal wasn’t real. What if in this moment the both of you are just a bunch of runaway tourists bumping into each other. The first step to what could’ve been an amazing love story.

It was a funny thing, wasn’t it? The whole soulmate business. It punished you to no end but at the same time you wouldn’t have met Mark without it. You should be dead by now, you think. If it wasn’t for the partial immortality it gives, you would’ve died of old age. You wondered what would’ve been your life if it was.

Mark noticed your sudden quietness, his steps slowing down to meet yours as he looked up at you. Unaware of his stare, you continued to get lost in your own ocean of possibilities.

The touch he graced your shoulders made you jump, squeaking a bit as you looked at him in surprise. Mark chuckled at your response. He shook his head in amusement before finally having the nerve to call himself down. “Penny for your thoughts?”

You scoffed, smiling lightly at the boy. “Liked you’d ever spare anything for whatever’s going on in my head.”

“Well… why not?” He said nonchalantly. He pursed his lips together to further emphasise his point. “You’ve lived hundreds of years. I’m pretty sure everyone would like to know everything about you.”

You hummed, entertaining the thought a bit. “Are you?”

You don’t know where the boldness in your words came from but you thanked the stars for helping you build up your facade as you looked at Mark in anticipation.

He raised his eyebrow at you for a moment. His eyes showed you how much they scramble to gather his thoughts and make sense of your gaze and words. “Yes.”

Soon you found yourself locked with him in his room. Tongues moving against one another in a frenzy and hands gripping on any and every part of him. His lips tasted like honey while his touch felt like fire against your skin. His body set yours ablaze as he laid you down, sparking up every single desire he could find until you finally let him take you.

“Is this okay?” He asked. You nodded your head quickly while his fingers continued its job to untangle the knots of your dress. A sheepish smile adorning his face as he kissed you once again.

After that night, the two of you grew closer to one another. A sudden shift in the once platonic tide. The secret whispers and kisses shared when no one was looking. In another universe the two of you would’ve looked like a young couple in love. However you weren’t living in another universe. You were living in this one. One where kissing someone that isn’t your soulmate is forbidden. An insult to the gods. But you just couldn’t help but fall deeper. The world dizzying around you as you frolicked around this daydream with him. It was all wrong and you knew that. But why did every second with him feel so right?

The answer, however, slams into you as a cold harsh no. It wasn’t. And it never would. The universe, as cruel as it could be, broke you apart before you could savor it some more. Soon enough the two of you had to part ways, you were going to travel to the U.K. while he was going back to America. The both of you were unwilling to compromise so you found it best to separate.

In your last night together, Mark held you close to his chest. He whispered sweet nothings in your ears, those which were filled with hope and wistful promises. In another world, this would’ve lasted.

“In our next life,” he said, pressing a kiss on your forehead. “I hope it will be ours.”

There, as you wave your hand goodbye like someone would with their lover, Mark smiled down sadly from the ship. His hand held up as well to bid you farewell. The loud horn almost deafening as he began to drift away.

You stood by the docks frozen as the wind began to pick up. You pulled your coat closer, snapping yourself out of your trance. Turning your attention to the sea, the ship was now gone, taking Mark with it. Along with the soulmate bond, promises a lifetime of heartbreaks. You just never thought it would feel this harsh.

United States of America. 1989.

After the day he got his bond, Na Jaemin was even more determined. His life worked like a clock, his daily routines consisted of waking up, helping out in the bakery, sleep and repeat. His parents withered away while Jaemin remained the same. The regulars who came to the bakery changed as well with business slowly dwindling away, wars came and gone and Jaemin managed to live through it all. Jeno accompanied him across the years, both boys living up to the ages of old men but still appeared like they were just about to see the world. When in fact, they’ve seen it all. They travelled around it together, watched history play in front of their eyes, they got to see the world evolve into things they never imagined. But at one point, even Jeno had to leave him.

It was around 1989 in a land now called the United States of America, by this point the first handheld phone was invented. And once it did, no one was more excited for it than Na Jaemin. The words on his wrist finally making sense after years of questioning.

Jaemin didn’t miss any opportunity to subtly drop it whenever he could. This made Jeno laugh every time the phone would end up either broken or, even funnier, stolen. But on the rare instances that the stranger was not an asshole, it was always a “you dropped this” or “your phone dropped” or any version of the words written on his wrist but never those exact words. It was baffling how the universe seemed to love teasing him about who his soulmate is. He blamed himself for being such a hopeless romantic.

Jeno met his soulmate during one of their late night drives across Chicago. It just finished raining and the empty streets were filled with mud. The wind was cold, and the air was still a bit dense. Jaemin had told Jeno to put the roof down so he could recreate one of the scenes in a movie they recently saw. One of the best things people ever invented, he once said in the middle of one. The older just scoffed at his remark, recounting the different times Jaemin had said the same phrase about numerous other things.

Currently preoccupied, Jeno didn’t notice the person standing dangerously close to the edge of the sidewalk nor did he notice the huge puddle of mud he was about to cut through that, unfortunately, lay in front of the person’s feet. The car sped through it, causing a huge splash of brown to befall on the unlucky person.

Jeno abruptly stopped the car to apologise, only to be slapped back with a loud: “nice going, asshole!” before he could even utter out a word.

At that moment, Jeno was in love. Only whispering a small 'wow’ followed by a “you have no idea how long I’ve waited for someone to call me an asshole.” And the rest was history.

Soon Jeno began to age while Jaemin continued being eighteen. When his friend started to have a family of his own, he started trying to live by himself, no more depending on his friend. He hated to admit it but the hundreds of years of living in this world only became bearable to him because Jeno was there. He always thought he’d have his friend by his side no matter what but now that Jeno’s hair was turning gray, he couldn’t help but shiver at the thought of facing another hundred years all by himself.

United States of America. 2030

The time came when Jeno had to finally say goodbye. Jaemin stood next to his friend’s kids as they gently put the casket down. All the people that surrounded him were filled with Jeno’s spouse’s family and friends, some of them looking older than he is while the other half could pass off as his 'peers’. Jaemin was the only one there that was Jeno’s.

It felt odd. Standing amongst strangers that aren’t supposed to be strangers. They should be his friends, yet Jaemin never felt so alone in the middle of a crowd. They lowered Jeno’s coffin but before they could throw the first patch of dirt, Jaemin threw a few purple and blue hyacinths. A symbol for constancy and sincerity.

After the ceremony, Jaemin stared up at the sky. The stars made him feel small as tears escaped his eyes. Some scholars back in his day would often say that the stars were the souls of the dead. Jaemin liked to believe his friend was there. He took in a deep breath, preparing himself to face this world all over again. Only this time, he’d be all alone.

Japan. 2031.

Meanwhile, you were miles away. The day Jaemin lost his friend, you were on your way to make a talk at one of the top universities in the country of Japan and you’d been staying there ever since. It was now the year 2031 and it was rare for someone to live hundreds of years without their soulmate, even rarer that that person played a huge role in history.

The moment the words came to your wrists, the elders in your village knew you were destined to live a long life. You were a strong warrior who fought and defended your country from colonizers. You were also a healer during the revolution and helped some prominent figures in history.

After Mark, you continued to travel the world, mostly alone, and met a handful of friends. Although none of them stuck around long, you enjoyed the temporary company. Still, your mind would always drift back to the young doctor you’ve spent Paris with.

“Anyways, after this you have another talk in Chicago next week so you still have a few days to explore.” Your assistant, Donghyuck said as the two of you walk through the halls.

You scoffed lightly, “I’ve walked through Japan more times than anyone, I feel like I already know it at the back of my hand. In fact, I feel like I know the world at the back of my hand at this point!” You sighed out exhaustively.

“I-I’m sorry…” Donghyuck stuttered out. You frowned at yourself for taking your anger out on the boy. The hundreds of years you’ve walked in this Earth really took a toll on you. You were frustrated with how long this journey was taking, the friends you met through the years have all gone to the stars. The people you used to gush about and talk to have now withered away, leaving you to years of loneliness.

“No, I’m sorry Donghyuck.” You said, giving him an apologetic smile. “I shouldn’t have gone off on you like that… Let’s just get this over with.”

Donghyuck nodded his head. Although his lips were upturned to an encouraging smile, his eyebrows were furrowed in a small frown. A subtle sign of pity.

You couldn’t blame him really, even you would pity yourself if you were in his shoes. Most people meet their soulmate after at least five years after getting the bond—heck some meet theirs after a year if you’re lucky—and that could stretch to at least a hundred but that’s it. You hold the record of being on Earth for the longest time without finding your soulmate, the second one was a guy who lived during Ancient Greece. You don’t really know much about him since he tends to lay low. Unlike you, you liked the money. If you were gonna live for hundreds of years, you atleast want to spend it rich.

After the seminar, you slumped yourself on the comfort of your bed. Hands grabbing hold of the bottle of alcohol sitting on your nightstand. You took a long swig of the drink, the liquid burning down your throat as you swallowed it all. You wiped the spill off your lips, head already spinning and eyes threatening to shut. You wondered how your soulmate was doing, or if he even was alive by now. You could wait for another hundred years but you wished they’d come soon. In your haze, you let the alcohol consume you. Turning to your side as you let go of the bottle to the carpeted floor. You were getting tired of this life anyways.

United States of America. 2031

When you arrived in Chicago, you couldn’t hide the dull look that encompassed your features. A distinguishable difference to the boy next to you, Donghyuck couldn’t help but be giddy at being in a new country. You almost laughed when he ran out of the plane excitedly, jumping around and pointing at things he rarely saw when living in Korea. His reaction made you nostalgic on how you were when you first went to a foreign country. Now it just felt like nothing. The excitement was gone and all that was left was boredom.

You suddenly remembered Mark. He was buried around here. He found his soulmate three years after Paris. You received a letter from him, describing the ecstasy and the warmth and all the things you felt with him. He wished you all the good things, hoping for you to find yours soon just like he did. You spent days in the confines of your room, inconsolable. The world was an unfair place filled with unfair people. Everything, the universe, just loved to watch you burn. You wanted to scream at them, tell them how cruel they were for doing whatever they did. But you could never do that. Not to Mark. Never at Mark.

A year later, you found out he died of tuberculosis. The young doctor didn’t even get the chance to spend a whole lifetime with his soulmate. The world was an unfair place, even to someone like Mark.

“Hey Hyuck, do you know what time the seminar will start tomorrow?” You asked, walking side by side as you made your way to your car.

Donghyuck went silent for a moment, looking through his tablet mindlessly. “Around three pm,” he replied briefly. Ever since you went off on him the week before, you’ve noticed he’s been more cautious with his words around you. You took a mental note to talk to him later.

“Okay, I need to go somewhere beforehand. It’s really important.” You told him. He nodded in reply, muttering an “okay” before turning back to his tablet and continued to scroll through it.

Jaemin had been a wreck. It had been weeks without Jeno and the boy couldn’t even will himself to go outside. He almost didn’t know what the sun felt like on his skin anymore, having drawn his curtains down since the funeral. His supply of ramen, his only source of food at this point, was already starting to go nil which meant he had to get his ass up sooner or later. He groaned to himself, pushing his body off the couch. A strong surge of dizziness attacked his brain because of the sudden movement. His hands instinctively went to his head to ease the pain.

After the sensation faded, he turned to look at himself in the mirror, cringing at his paleness. He splashed water to his face to wash off the oil, grabbed his phone and wallet then left the dingy apartment he called home.

Walking around the city felt strange now. He didn’t know why but something felt different. He chuckled to himself, of course everything was different. The world changed hundreds of years ago when he and Jeno had fled Greece due to the many wars and invasions that were happening. The world changed when he was forced to forget all that he knew and grew up to leave everything behind in order to move forward. The world changed when the people changed, gone were the days when he could get by by just baking bread, now greed roamed rampant and he’d been doing jobs he never even imagined doing back when he was in Greece. His world changed the moment Jeno met his soulmate and he was suddenly thrusted into this world he’d lived all his life in but now felt so foreign. And finally, the world changed when Jeno died. Leaving him on his own while the world continued to move forward. He adapted this far, surely he could do it all again on his own now. Everything felt difficult now. When everything felt difficult back then, he had Jeno. But now Jeno is gone.

He sighed to himself, making a turn to one familiar alley. It felt weird coming back here after weeks. He could almost imagine the ghost of his friend walking alongside him as he made way to the cemetery.

The both of them used to loiter around here a lot, watch the people come and go as they try to decipher their stories. This was where they observed their behaviors; what to do and what not to when they first came here. It was one of the two reasons why they want to be buried here instead of in Greece. They pretty much knew a lot of the names in this cemetery. The people dating back to as early as the 18th century.

His legs felt like they had a mind of their own, dragging the sullen body of Jaemin with it until they’ve reached their destination.

“Hey there,” Jaemin whispered, eyes trained down to the gray slab of stone. “It feels weird not having you around anymore but I’ll be okay. I just stopped by because… Well to be honest I don’t know. I guess I missed you? There, I said it. You’re probably laughing in the sky now or whatever. But yeah I miss you, bud.” He continued to stare at it as if waiting for a response of some sort to come. He shifted in his feet every once in a while. He sighed, “I hope you’re doing okay… wherever you are.”

With that, he turned around, kicking the bunched up pebbles on the ground as he did so. He straightened out the hoodie he was wearing before setting off to leave.

Mark’s grave was located at the farthest point of the cemetery. His was one of the oldest and most well kept graves in the section since you try to visit him whenever you were in the country, which was about at least once every two years.

The wind felt soft against your skin, making you hum at the touch. The sky was a beautiful shade of blue, adorned with white puffy clouds and a bright rayed sun. It was the perfect day. You could hardly remember when you felt this calm on such a day. Usually, these weather conditions made you nostalgic of how the world was back then but today felt different. You couldn’t quite put your finger as to why.

The leaves crunched with every step you took. You managed to look around the cemetery, seeing a handful of new gravestones as you walked. You could barely remember this part as an open field back then, now it was almost filled. However, in a field full of tombstones and dead leaves, one person stood on top of it. He was a bit far from you, almost a speck in the field. He had this weird aura around him, almost drawing you in without doing anything.

You found yourself hypnotised by the figure, your legs turning to the direction of the man. What was once a speck in the distance soon became a clear form of a sad man, and oh my god he was beautiful. He had blue hair, like the sky. His eyes, although you could barely catch a glimpse of it, looked like it could hold the sun with the way it shone. His lips, downturned to a frown, made you want to come up to him for a smile. You’ve never been so enthralled by a person before. Your heart pounded in your ribcage and you were afraid that he could hear it.

He straightened himself up, your eyes suddenly distracted to the thing that fell off from one of his pockets. You rushed to him just as he was about to leave, quickly grabbing the object then tapping his shoulder.

“You dropped your phone.”

Jaemin stopped in his tracks. He turned his head to the soft voice. His eyes took in every single feature of your face, taking in every freckle, mole, eyelash and all the small details. He wanted to memorize it all.

He couldn’t believe it. There you were, in front of him in all your glory. He could feel the tears well up in his eyes as he stared at you.

You smiled at him awkwardly, eyes shifting as you wonder what was happening. Your hand—the one that wasn’t holding his phone—made its way to the ends of his shoulders, snapping him back to reality. Although he wasn’t really sure if this was actually reality. He wondered if this was just one fucked up dream he’s having. Another cruel joke the universe decided to pull on him. He pinched himself just to check.

Your eyes furrowed at the action. An awkward laugh left your throat at the weird interaction. Any normal person would have left at this point already but you found yourself mounted on the spot. His magnetic aura pulls you in even at the scary behavior he’s exuding. Something about him felt familiar.

His hand took yours that was still on his shoulder. He held it with such gentleness, it almost made you blush, an electrifying feeling travelling up to your heart that was still pounding in your chest. His free hand then went to the side of your face, making you grip the phone that you were still holding. Your breath now caught in your throat as he stared at you with so much love, you felt the butterflies storming in your guts.

Was this what Mark meant in his letters? The familiarity? The magnetizing aura? All these ran through your head as you stared at the stranger in disbelief. Tears welled up on the sides of your eyes, a shaky breath leaving your lips. Suddenly, you felt his arms around your form, a relieved sigh leaving his lips as he held you. An overwhelming euphoria washed over your bodies as you hugged him back, closing your eyes to savor the feeling of having him in your arms.

“I’ve waited lifetimes for you to find me.”

No matter how long it takes and no matter what the circumstances may be. The phenomenon when two souls, meant for each other, finally meet is always worth it.

[saras-almanac]

writers month #11: the sun and moon - joe/nicky, nile [the old guard]

writers’ month prompt 11: light

summary: Nile tries to figure out how Joe and Nicky are as a couple. Nile POV

Notes: I have no idea what this is or why it came out this way, but here were are. I expected this to be different as I started it but then this fic came out and that was that. 

Nile wasn’t entirely sure what to expect when she settled down with Joe, Nicky, and Andy after their ordeal with Merrick and Booker. Training with Andy was obvious and actually something Nile was hesitantly looking forward to. As much as she was still getting used to, well, everything, the training would be something slightly familiar.

But maybe what she really didn’t know what to expect was Joe and Nicky. Nile hadn’t really lived with any couples—apart from her parents before her dad died—but she had been around them enough to know that they usually fell into two camps: constantly all over each other and loved up or sniping and bickering over every little thing. Knowing that Joe and Nicky had been together for almost—or maybe over?—900 years made Nile sure it was going to be the latter. You couldn’t live with the same person for that long and not know every way to irritate them.

Though perhaps if they were constantly all over each other, it’d actually be more difficult to manage because it would be a constant and never-ending reminder that they had each other and she had no one.

It shocked her that neither of those were the case with Joe and Nicky.

They definitely were together more often than not, but it usually didn’t feel like they were trying to block anyone out. It was like… they orbited each other in a way. They were always aware of where the other one was and didn’t need to constantly search him out. The only time she’d even seen anything close to need from them was the other day when Joe had fallen asleep on the sofa as he watched a movie with Nile. He blinked awake and immediately sat up and looked around, his eyes wide and frowning.

“Joe?” Nile asked.

And then Nicky was walking into the living room. He set the cup of tea he was carrying on the table by the sofa before bending down to kiss Joe’s forehead. They whispered something back and forth and Nile tried to keep her gaze focused on the movie. After a minute, Nicky handed Joe the cup of tea and went back to the kitchen to continue whatever he had been doing.

It sat with Nile for a while, wondering exactly what had happened. It was like Joe had woken up from a nightmare but he hadn’t shouted or startled awake. He just sort of got up and seemed confused. But Nicky had seemed to just know that without even being in the room. She’d awkwardly asked Nicky about it later that night while Joe showered. Nicky had smiled softly and said, “Joe is like the sun. He’s bright and warm, but it’s noticeable when clouds dampen out his light.”

Nile had nodded and left it at that because, as poetic as it was, it still made sense. Joe was like the sun. He was kind and thoughtful, full of life and excitement. He was always going on about some new television show or movie or book coming out, or desperately dragging Nile and Nicky sightseeing even if he’d seen these places numerous times.

But if Joe was the sun, then Nicky had to be the shadow, right? The silent guard, the other part that’s always present. Nicky didn’t need the spotlight or attention. He preferred to stand aside and simply watch those he cared about enjoying themselves.

It wasn’t until a mission she went on a few months later that she got a fuller picture.

It hadn’t been a large mission, nothing worrying or troublesome. Just a simple staged assassination attempt. Copley set up the details and said they needed a sniper to take a few shots at the mark in order to try and get him to begin to comply with the security measures. Something that Nile figured they’d never do, but Andy thought it’d be good for Nile to get some more mundane—if that’s possible in this situation—practice in, so she’d sent Nile and Nicky alone.

Nile expected Joe to put up a fight, if Nile was honest, but he didn’t. He’d squeezed her shoulder and wished her luck.

“No, ‘You better watch his back’ threatening speech to give me?” Nile asked as she threw a few more things in backpack.

Joe had laughed. “You’re not planning on betraying him, are you?”

“Of course not,” Nile said. “I just figured, you know, you two have been a team for centuries. You might feel weird about me being in your place, watching his back and stuff.”

Joe hummed and glanced to the door to his and Nicky’s room. “I’d prefer to be there, but really only for my peace of mind. But Nicky is an excellent sniper and is more than capable of taking care of himself.”

Nile had nodded and then a few minutes later her and Nicky were out the door and on their way to their meeting location. Once they were at the location, it was quiet between them. Nicky preparing himself and his gun, while Nile stood next to him, scanning out the window for any sign of people paying attention to them.

“Something on your mind, Nile?” Nicky asked her.

She hesitated before just giving in to her curiosity. “Doesn’t it bother you to be here without Joe?”

“Do you mean do I miss him? Yes. I miss him any time he’s not beside me,” Nicky said.

“No, that I’m here in his place,” Nile said.

“We’re all a team, Nile,” Nicky said gently. “You’re not in his place any more than I am.”

“You’re the only sniper.”

Nicky smiled at that. “I’m the best, but not the only one capable. Do you feel uncomfortable being here with me?”

“No,” Nile assured him. “I just… I know that you two like to be together that’s all.”

“We do,” Nicky agreed. “But it doesn’t mean we’re incapable of being parted.”

“But you’re his shadow,” Nile said.

Nicky furrowed his brow. “His what?”

It was ridiculous, to get into this while they’re setting up camp in a sniper’s nest. But it was out there now and Nile was nothing if not extremely blunt when she wanted to be. “You called Joe your sun. And he is. I get why you call him that or think of him that way. But that makes you his shadow, always there to tether him to earth, ground him, and just… you know, be together.”

“Ah,” Nicky said, as if anything Nile said made any sense. “You think that because I follow him I shadow him? That I exist only in relation to him?”

“Well, not like in a bad way,” Nile said. “But sort of. I’ve just not seen you guys apart before.”

“You remember why Yusuf is my sun,” Nicky said, turning his attention back to his preparation work. “And you think that my world revolves around him. You’re correct, in many ways, but I’m not his shadow, though I do agree that I can act like that occasionally. I just, like making sure he’s safe and happy. But he does the same for me. I like to think that because we are together, we are better than we are apart.”

“So not like a shadow,” Nile said.

Nicky laughed. “Not quite.”

She let it drop, but felt like she had a cleared picture. Joe was the sun, there’s no doubt about that. Almost everyone who looked at him could see that. But Nicky, Nicky was like the moon. Quiet in his brilliance, even now, but no less present.

[littlekatleaf]

There’s no time in the bardo, no time in the in-between

If you’re feeling extra: listen to this while reading - it inspired this fic. No Time For Love Like Now ~ Michael Stipe

No time for breezy No time for arguments No time for love like now

“7 sharp, boss. Time to knock off. Sasha’s got a table at the pub. Martin’s almost packed up.”

Jon looks up from the statement he’s reading … is he? Can’t quite remember... to find Tim lounging against the door jamb. “Pardon?”

Tim exhales, his usual long-suffering sigh. “Oh no you don’t. You are not worming your way out of this one.” He pauses for Jon to roll his eyes at the truly horrible pun. Which he does. “Everyone must needs leave this place once a fortnight. Even you.”

“All right,” he says, but as he stands up he’s suffused with a disorienting wash of vertigo. Wrong, this is wrong. Tim is… Tim is gone… and so is Sasha…

He blinks and the room revolves once, slowly, rearranging itself into his office but somehow different. Everything feels like it’s off by a couple of inches. It’s not Tim lurking in the doorway now, but Martin. And he’s frowning. “Are you certain you’re all right, Jon? You look… peaky.”

“I’m fine,” he says, even as the words stick in his mouth. Maybe he is ill? It would explain the odd cloudiness of his vision, the way Martin feels both so close and also so distant.

Martin is still frowning. He crosses his arms over his chest. “Every time you say that disaster follows. What are you not telling me?”

“Disaster does not follow.” The indignation in his own voice settles him slightly.

“It most certainly does.” Not joking, like Tim. Earnest, worried. “Jon, please. Tell me.”

He wants to try, because Martin might understand. Martin might help. But the words don’t come. “I… I’m all right, Martin. Just…”

Martin doesn’t let him finish the sentence. “Should have known you wouldn’t trust me. Peter told me you wouldn’t but I didn’t believe him. How would he know? But he was right.” He turns abruptly, walks away.

Jon wants to call after him, to explain that something is wrong, that everything is wrong, that he trusts Martin even when he trusts no one else, that he needs… but the waves of vertigo lap higher.

There’s no time for dancing No time for undecideds No time for love like now

“Why do we never do this,” Daisy asks, voice loud over the thump of bass. The sound echoes oddly in Jon’s head. She’s leaning against Basira and she must be more pissed than Jon suspects because that’s not a question any of them would ask were they sober.

“Would you like the list in alphabetical order, or just as it comes to mind?” Basira asks.

Daisy bites Basira’s shoulder. “Shut up and dance with me.” She tugs her away from the table, onto the dance floor. Basira makes a face but Jon knows she’s just attempting to keep up the appearance of annoyance. He blinks, slowly. Stares down at the nearly empty pint on the table in front of him. Is he pissed? It would explain the way the music sounds vaguely muffled, the crowd around him shadowy and indistinct. He rubs his eyes, squints but it doesn’t help.

He drains the last sip from the glass and as he sets it carefully back on table there’s a flash of strobe and he catches sight of Martin from across the room. He’s hovering on the edge of things looking awkward and uncertain in his jumper and khakis. Jon smiles to himself, an unexpected fondness welling in the center of his chest.

Martin catches his eye and weaves his way between dancers. “Hey,” he says, “didn’t expect to see you here.” Even though the music is still throbbing in Jon’s ears, Martin’s voice slices through the noise. Jon Knows, even though he doesn’t want to he can’t help but Know, under Martin’s veneer of vague displeasure a burst of happiness squeezes his heart as it does Jon’s.

“Wasn’t going to come, but…” Jon shrugs.  

“Me neither. Daisy is surprisingly persuasive.”

Jon huffs a laugh. “She is.” They just look at each other for a long moment. Behind Martin the crowd shifts and moves. “I...I’ve missed you,” Jon blurts. He regrets in the second the words leave his mouth.

The connection broken, Martin rubs a hand over his hair, steps away. “Yeah. Well. Um… I forgot something, at the Archives…”

“Martin, I’m sorry,” he says though for what, exactly, he’s not sure. All of it, maybe.

“I… better go.”

“No, yeah. It’s late…” He doesn’t want to agree, doesn’t want Martin to leave, but can’t figure how to make him stay. The world is wavering again, dizziness making thoughts hard to catch. He reaches out, even as Martin moves away.

There's no time for honey No time for psalms and thresholds Whisper a sweet prayer sigh

“Jon?” Martin’s voice is weary, wary.

Jon turns his head and the surroundings swim into focus. Safe house. Bedroom. Light from a bedside lamp, gold as honey, spills over Martin, making it look as though he’s glowing. “Martin…” He wants to ask why it feels like he’s floating; why his thoughts feel so foggy; why there seems to be nothing at all beyond the circle of light from the lamp.

“How are you feeling?”

How is he feeling? Jon frowns. He’s not sure he feels anything. Not sure he has a body. “Am I… am I really here? Really… real?” He feels ephemeral, about to dissolve into the darkness waiting beyond. Maybe he’s just the Eye, just Beholding and nothing more.

“Of course you’re here. You’re real as I am.” Martin smiles, but Jon isn’t reassured. Martin’s hand presses to his forehead then, and he solidifies at the touch. “I think the paracetamol’s taken the fever down some. How about tea? Might help your throat?”

“No!” He reaches out and this time his hand closes over Martin’s wrist. “Please, stay,” he says, voice not much above a rough whisper and even so it makes him cough.

“All right.” Martin is still smiling as Jon draws him down onto the bed. As their bodies align, Jon feels his edges becoming clear, even as the world beyond the circle of light fades deeper  into darkness. They fit together as puzzle pieces, as lines of poetry. As no one has fit with Jon before and no one will again.

Martin’s hands skim over Jon’s skin and the sensation is almost too intense. He’s being drawn back down, back into a body that burns and aches and shivers. Yet when Martin lifts a hand, he yearns forward again, into the touch that’s like a prayer, like a hymn.

“Martin, whatever happens… whatever comes…” he forces words through dry, cracked lips. “Shh, Jon, don’t…”

Jon shakes his head slightly, and the pillow is cool on his cheek. “I have to. I have to tell you. You have to know. I lo…” he tries to shake the words free but his thoughts are tangling again, the vertigo is rising, and the tide pulls him out.

Where did this all begin to change Lockdown memories can’t sustain This glistening, hanging free fall

Silence presses hard on Jon’s ears, on his thoughts. When had the Knowing fallen quiet?  Was it when they came in sight of the Panopticon? When they crossed into the Eye’s realm? When he Knew what he had to do? When he knew that he would? Didn’t matter. No need to Know anything anymore.

He should tell Martin, warn him, explain. But he can’t. He doesn’t know how to say, doesn’t have the words… So he takes Martin’s hand as they climb the stairs and he tries to make it clear through the press of flesh to flesh. Tries to say goodbye. Tries to say I love you.Tries to say I’m sorry.

And then it’s all over and the flames are rising and the sparks are swirling up into the dark and the smoke and the glow and Jon knows it’s time, Knows it has to be now, and he steps back once, twice, and his foot goes over the edge and his balance shifts and for a moment it’s like he’s back in the Vast and he’s hanging and then he’s falling, falling...

Martin reaches for him, even as he’s falling and even though he knows Martin can’t catch him, Martin shouldn’t catch him, needs to let him fall, Jon reaches back because maybe one last touch of their fingers, one last brief brush...

I turned away from the glorious light I turned my head and cried Whatever waiting means in this new place I am waiting for you

Oh suddenly he Knows -- knows in all of the permutations of the word. Knows the ocean entire now. And beyond the ocean the light, oh the light. Brighter than the moon. Brighter than the sun. Brighter than Martin’s eyes in the dawn. Light that doesn’t burn, light that soothes, light that heals, light that promises, light that is love. He wants to crawl to that light, wants to walk, run, fly… he wants to open his arms and embrace that light… wants to dissolve in that light.

But he won’t. He won’t. He turns his head away, even as tears slip down his cheeks. Because he will wait, on this shore of the ocean, with the light shining on the other side. He’ll wait until he can feel that hand in his again. Can see those eyes. Can hear that voice.

Your voice is echoing love, love, love, love, love I hear it far, far away And I am waiting for you Yes, I am waiting for you

*flash* Blue eyes met green, communion passing between them on their breath as they took the final steps to panopticon, to Jonah, to the end and his voice, “I love you, Jon.” *flash* Hand in hand, trudging through the endless desolation of the aftermath, crossing one Entity’s realm to the next, Martin squeezes tighter. “Love you, you know.” *flash* Curled around each other, rain pattering down on the roof, Martin’s chin on the top of his head, “Jon, my love…” *flash* Walking out of the Archives the last time, as Jon turns away Martin wraps his scarf around Jon’s neck, “It’s cold, love.” *flash* *flash* *flash* Martin leaves a cup of tea on his desk, a cup of tea on the table beside his cot, a cup of tea at his elbow and with each cup the steam that rises whispers ‘love’...

Waiting for you, Martin. I’m waiting….

… Jon waits

[samwpmarleau]

inside the pocket of your ripped jeans

2,500 words of me throwing hands with TVD’s post-S5 depiction of Caroline and Tyler’s relationship.

Inspired by this fic by @cbsnforeverandalways, this post by @zalrb, and @fredsythe’s salt.

It hits her at the oddest times. She could understand the faint sense of loss if it only happened on their anniversary, or when the moon is full. Stefan understands when she’s a little mopey on those days; after all, he has days like that of his own.

It’s when it happens on days that don’t have any significance that gets her the most, though; those, she can’t tell Stefan. Because he’d look at her all half-judgy, half-sympathetic, which makes her feel the entirety of the hundred-and-fifty-year age gulf between them. Not that she wants to examine it even to herself, granted.

It would be one thing if she knew when the missing him would strike her, but it comes on without warning.

She and Tyler will be talking, as acquaintances or friends are wont to do, and there’ll be a moment. This spark of magnetism between them that used to always be there (when it was allowed to be there). And she knows he feels it, too, because she can see it in his face, and that makes it worse, because that means it’s not a figment of her imagination. She tells herself it’s just them reconnecting, because they were friends long before they were lovers, but she knows it’s a lie.

Other times, she’ll flip through a photo album and smile rather smugly at her favorite photo of her and Stefan because they are just perfect together — but then she’ll see a picture of him and Elena and the dark beast of doubt and envy will pool in her stomach, and then she’ll see a picture of her and Tyler, and now guilt and wistfulness join the party. Because how can she be jealous of the way Stefan and Elena look together, the way they just fit, when she looks at her and Tyler and they just fit, too?

Still other times, she’ll be toying with her daylight ring and will flash back to the day her father had tortured her, when Tyler and her mom had come to her rescue and he’d slipped the ring back onto her finger. He’d practically been down on one knee then. She remembers reliving that moment later, once the pain of that day had passed, only in a much more scenic locale where Tyler would present her with a ring ring, not just the lapis lazuli. When he proposes, she’d thought then, not if — even back then, when their relationship was barely in its infancy, it had felt...permanent.

Caroline still doesn’t have a ring ring, but she has a wonderful boyfriend and a wonderful life that’s not with Tyler and that’s that.

She’s fine.

Really.

* * *

She dreams of him, sometimes.

She’ll fall asleep to a vision of dark eyes, and she thinks that they’re Stefan’s, which is acceptable. But when she falls truly asleep, it is not Stefan that she sees. She sees Tyler, smiling at her the way he never quite does anymore, a smile absent of betrayal and hurt, like she’s the sun his world revolves around. Even before they’d gotten together, when they were still just friends figuring out their supernatural identities, that smile had set her heart fluttering. She’d passed it off at the time as the usual jitters of being a new vampire.

She dreams of all the times he’d swept her off her feet, or pressed her up against the wall, or stared at her in that intense way he did right before he kissed her breathless. She dreams of falling into bed with him (or onto the couch, or on a desk, or…), every nerve alive, every inch of skin alight. Sex had never been just about passion for them (though there certainly was plenty of that), it was their way of connecting when words weren’t quite enough.

She dreams of them arguing, which they did often. But it’s not a bad dream — she’d liked that she could speak her mind with him, that they could call each other out on their bullshit and that he didn’t treat her like she couldn’t defend herself. She’d liked that instead of letting issues fester or keep secrets, they hashed things out and got to the bottom of them. She’d liked that no matter the problem, he never made her feel bad about herself.

When she wakes, there is always a moment where she fully expects to see Tyler lying beside her. Perhaps she’d kiss his chest, his neck, his jaw, his lips until he stirred awake. But it’s Stefan lying there, not Tyler, because of course it is, and for that brief moment there is an overwhelming sense of disappointment.

* * *

It’s trivia night, when their entire group is supposed to hang out together, but Elena, Matt, Jeremy, and Damon had all bailed, so it’s just Caroline, Tyler, Stefan, and Bonnie, with Bonnie and Stefan currently tied for the lead. Bonnie swears she hasn’t used her powers to get ahead. Caroline’s not entirely sure about that: she still bitterly recalls the incident in fourth grade when Bonnie swore she didn’t move the Ouija board pointer and then the next year revealed that in fact she had. She’s peeved about Stefan, too, because she doesn’t think it’s exactly fair when he has so many more years’ worth of trivia knowledge. Bonnie ends up winning the battle for first place, and thus becomes the mediator for Caroline and Tyler’s battle for third.

“We should probably just give Caroline the crown right now,” she snorts as she reads the card. “ ‘In The Real Housewives of Orange County, which housewife departed the show between seasons two and three?’ ”

With hardly a minute’s hesitation — and just a split-second before Caroline recalls the name — Tyler answers, “Jo De La Rosa.”

Bonnie and Stefan stare at him, dumbfounded. “Uh...correct,” Bonnie says. “How do you know the answer to that?”

“Just from around,” Tyler says with a wince. “It’s not like I watch that reality TV trash or anything.”

Caroline, huffy at having lost, objects, “No, I have it on good authority that you enjoy this ‘reality TV trash,’ Tyler Lockwood. You watched every episode with me.”

“Yeah, because at the end of each season you gave me a bl — ” He abruptly cuts himself off, glancing at Stefan. “—ueberry muffin.”

Caroline desperately hopes her blush isn’t visible. It was blowjobs she gave him in exchange for watching the show with her, not muffins. In fact, Tyler’s allergic to blueberries, and by the dubious expressions on both Bonnie and Stefan’s faces, it’s clear they know of that particular allergy and further don’t believe a word of Tyler’s fumbled explanation.

“Well,” Bonnie announces, “that’s my cue to leave.”

“I’ll walk you out,” Stefan offers.

Caroline waits until the door closes behind them, then remarks, “That was awkward.”

“It’s not like they don’t know we were together,” Tyler says, helping clean up the game. “What, does Stefan think all we did was make out or something?”

“No, but still.”

Tyler looks a bit perturbed at that, though doesn’t reply. She used to be able to read him like a book, but now she can’t decipher at all what he wants. What, is she supposed to talk about their sex life in front of their friends? In front of Stefan? That sounds like something pre-werewolf Tyler would do, not the selfless, sensitive Tyler she dated for over a year.

She doesn’t want them to part on bad terms, though, so she goes to give him a hug goodbye. She intends for it to be brief, but when they embrace, she finds herself unable to break it. As a hybrid, his vampire half cooled his body temperature to more or less that of any other vampire; she’d almost forgotten how warm werewolves get, and it sends a shiver down her spine. More than that, she’d almost forgotten (or perhaps willed herself to forget) just how good it felt to be close to him. He’s shorter than Stefan, but she kind of likes that her head rests next to his instead of against his chest, his pulse a temptation. His arms are tight around her, his hands low on her waist, and it feels…right.

She pulls away because that most definitely isn’t right, not anymore, but she makes the mistake of looking up at him. It would be dangerously easy to kiss him right now, if she wanted. And the way his eyes are dilated and his lips slightly parted, somehow she knows he would kiss her back. She blinks a few times to try to clear out the lustful fog, ashamed of the fact that despite the acrimonious way they ended, despite the fact that she’s now dating Stefan, she wants to kiss him.

She steps back more fully and says, “Well, drive safe.”

“Yeah. Sure.”

She watches him leave, and feels an odd sense of emptiness. Worse still, the sound of the door shutting triggers that deep-set déjà vu that she’d endured for so long; a closing door, after all, always followed a goodbye. A goodbye and not knowing how long it would be until she would see him again, or even if she would see him again. That’s not the case now, he’s not leaving for good, but it still makes her chest constrict.

A few minutes later, the door reopens, and her heart, not her head, leaps. Perhaps he’d forgotten something, or perhaps he’d returned for something else entirely that they would both surely regret. But that guilty, hopeful sensation falters when she sees that it’s Stefan who enters, evidently done fending off Bonnie’s gloating.

“Are you all right?” Stefan asks with a frown.

Caroline fixes her expression, waving him off. “You know me, I just don’t like losing.”

It’s an accurate enough statement, so Stefan accepts it. He helps her collect their empty beer bottles and puts the popcorn bowl in the kitchen. It was an aberration, she tells herself. It’s natural to still feel an attachment to your ex for a while, right? It means absolutely nothing.

She just wishes it felt like nothing.

* * *

Matt doesn’t have to repeat himself when he calls to tell her Tyler’s dead by Damon’s hand. She can hear just fine, thanks very much, and the information registers. It’s not the first time they’ve lost a friend and probably won’t be the last, and Tyler and Damon had always hated each other anyway, so really it was just a matter of time. She hadn’t even talked to Tyler in months.

“After everything we went through, I guess I just always assumed that he would be there,” she tells Stefan. It’s truer than she can express; even when he was gone, he was constant. He was white noise, always there even when he wasn’t, even if other things drew more attention.

She’s not sure whether Stefan simply doesn’t hear her or ignores her, for he switches focus from Tyler to Damon. She ends up comforting him when it was her ex-boyfriend who was murdered, and she wonders if that’s normal.

The first funeral is interrupted and so later they have an informal gathering at the empty carnival grounds. Everyone says nice things, but it doesn’t quell the pain.

“I loved him,” she says. God, she loved him. But Stefan’s here and she doesn’t want anyone to read anything into it, so to be safe, she qualifies, “You know, we all did.”

Talk then switches once more to Damon. Someone makes a casual remark about how Tyler’s not even the first Lockwood Damon has personally killed. They talk about how to save Damon, how they can bring Damon back from the brink, how lost Damon must feel, as though something like this is remotely out of character for him, and Caroline excuses herself to go throw up in the bushes.

She doesn’t get any time to herself afterwards; Stefan convinces them all to enjoy the carnival’s offerings, and then there’s the chaos with the twins, chaos in general, and life moves on because it has to. She figures she’s buried all of it — we hadn’t talked in months — until one day she’s doing some spring cleaning and empties out her jewelry box, systematically untangling necklace chains and setting aside rings to be polished. From the pile, she slowly pulls out an old charm bracelet, the silver now tarnished but its origin unmistakeable.

She runs her fingers over the charms — a paw print, a football helmet, a heart, a cheerleader, her initials. They were broken up at the time, Klaus’s sirebond in the way, but it was her eighteenth birthday so he’d gifted her the bracelet anyway. She stares at it, and stares, and stares, and the grief slams into her all at once. She clenches the bracelet in her fist, cries until she can’t breathe and then cries some more.

He’s dead. He’s dead.

Klaus had been mistaken when he said Tyler was her first love. It was Matt who fit that bill. Matt was the sweet, innocent love of youth, where everything seems both too much and not enough.

But Tyler…

We’re immortal, he’d said. He was wrong about that. She stayed immortal but he didn’t.

We will find a way, he’d said. He was wrong about that, too. They never found a way.

What if we don’t? she’d said. She was the one who was right. She, the eternal optimist, had become the pessimist, and she was right.

It would be silly, wouldn’t it, to still call him the love of her life? She’d thought he was at the time, because obviously. She was in love and their relationship at that point was a patchwork of goodbyes, sex, and yearning, filled to the brim with thoughts of, If we can only get past this hurdle, we’ll be home free, so of course she’d thought it would last. People always think love will last, don’t they, in the moment?

But here by herself in this great big house, she can admit the truth. What she has with Stefan isn’t just different, as for so long she’d assured herself. She’s content and comfortable with him, but it’s…less. She doesn’t feel complete when he’s near nor empty when he’s gone. The noise and worries of the world don’t fade when she’s in his arms. She doesn’t feel alive.

Because the truth — the truth she will admit now with the silver bracelet in her hand and her chest overflowing with sorrow — is that she gave away her heart a long time ago, her whole heart, and she never got it back.

And it doesn’t even matter because Tyler’s fucking dead, and she’s going to live forever. There will be no closure to be had, no apologies, no amends, no nothing.

I’m not moving on from anything, he’d said. I love you.

She polishes the bracelet until it’s gleaming, fastens it around her wrist, and thinks, I never really moved on either.

[a-lonesome-darth-vader]

Which fanfictions with vader in them would you recommend to people looking for accuracy?

Ideally, fanfics that meet the criteria listed in this post:

I can overlook certain OOC or exaggerated aspects of fanfic!Vader, if the writer handles his temper properly.

Now then, here are my fanfiction recommendations!

⊱ ──────────── ⊰

Reliance by Zany_the_Nerd

What started out as simply answering a distress signal quickly spirals into something much greater for Luke Skywalker. When hit with a strange energy wave, Luke finds himself in the body of his eight year old self stuck with Darth Vader, who has also had a bit of de-aging himself. Now Luke and Vader must work together to find out who is responsible while trying to remain low key. (Shameless father/son relationship) [Not incest. I would never recommend that kind of fanfiction.]

⊱ ──────────── ⊰

Violence in the Library by ArdentAspen2

Four weeks after Bespin, Luke Skywalker still isn't fully back to active duty yet, and he's getting a little stir crazy. On the advice of his friends, he takes a short trip to the surface of a nearby planet, said to host an extensive library that includes information from the Clone Wars era that managed to escape Imperial censors.

On his way, Luke picks up a distress signal and finds several stranded passengers from a malfunctioning craft on the moon's surface. Out of kindness, he agrees to give them a lift to the library.

He soon discovers they have picked up a very deadly stowaway.

⊱ ──────────── ⊰

Hostage by Slx99

AU in which Luke grows up as the Prince of Alderaan and Bail and Breha Organa’s son. When Luke is sixteen Bail becomes too outspoken against the Emperor, who sends Lord Vader to take the young prince as a hostage and cow his father into submission. Held captive aboard Vader’s ship, Luke is faced with the unpleasant reality of being the pawn in this power play under his captor’s watchful eyes; until they both realize a thing or two…

⊱ ──────────── ⊰

Star Wars: The Funeral Pyre by Anendda_Rysden

The planet was a fetid swamp under a dying crimson sun. At the time, Piett had been flabbergasted by how easily the Dark Lord could shrug off pain, killing the creature even after its three-foot barb had pierced his shoulder – but that’d been over an hour ago, before Vader’s hand had begun to shake, and before the notion of poison had first entered the panicked Captain’s head.

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Ashes by monims

Set after the events in Empire Strikes back. Shocked by Darth Vader's revelation of his parentage, Luke makes a faithful leap that leads to his early death. Unsettled by his sons death, the dark lord of the sith, is haunted by visions of his long forgotten past, and an uncertain future. Or is he...?

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When Deception is Exposed by stuffilikeiwrite

"You're not going to return me to Alderaan, are you."

"I am not."

⊱ ──────────── ⊰

The Mask of Death by stuffilikeiwrite

She heard the breathing before she saw him. The room dark, black as night. Empty, cold enough to chill her skin; to turn her own breath to mist as she exhaled.

⊱ ──────────── ⊰

Help, Unrequested & Unexpected by goldtracing

He had always wanted to get to know his daughter the second he learned of her existence. Sharp-tongued and temperamental as she is, he can’t help but marvel at her sharp mind, especially when an argument takes the turn for the better.

⊱ ──────────── ⊰

Luke & Vader One-Shots by Slx99

Series of one-shots and short stories revolving around Luke & Vader and their relationship, usually about Vader finally capturing Luke. Some will be more fun, some a bit angstier. Mostly absolutely AU.

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Under the Stars by Slx99

A space battle goes wrong, Luke and Vader end up shooting each other down and crash land on an uninhabited planet. Vader reaches the crash site of the rebel snub before his adversary has regained consciousness. With Imperial search crews slowed down, Vader decides to interrogate the rebel pilot and then dispose of him. That is, until he realizes who exactly is in his hands.

Or

Luke and Vader have an (involuntary) father/son camping trip, well sort of.

⊱ ──────────── ⊰

The Family Tree by frodogenic

In which Luke Skywalker is stranded in a tree waiting for a flash flood to recede. Too bad he's got company... Post-ESB oneshot, can be read as canon-compliant.

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The Tyranny of Kinship by amarielah

The presence of an Alliance mole aboard the Death Star leads to Bail Organa learning quickly of his daughter's capture. With the dissolution of the Senate, only one option remains for him to save her life: telling Vader the truth of her parentage.

⊱ ──────────── ⊰

Home by monims

Padme survives at the end of Revenge of the sith. Set approximately 4 years later, she is alone with her twins in hiding, as a memory of the past comes back to haunt her. Will later be Vader/Anakin and Padme story. Its for those romantic hearts out there like me, but also with plenty of angst.

⊱ ──────────── ⊰

I'll keep adding fics to this post!

[made-me-deep-blue]

choices secret Santa - give you the world (m!hunter x mc)

To the beautiful @aloehasrose, I’m your secret Santa this year! I hope you love this fic as much as I did writing it as I tried my very best to include as much of the things that you prefered within my comfort zone x

Based on the song ‘Give You The World’ sung by Jessica Karpov from the anime ‘Carole and Tuesday’! Hope you like it <3

Props to @andi-the-cat for hosting this secret Santa! Lots of love baby xoxo

-

Camille liked silent nights.

Something she’d favoured and preferred whilst growing up. A night where it was only just her and nature.

With fate having its own plans, Camille didn’t have much time to take a breather, something that she pretty much enjoyed while she was still ‘trapped’ at the library with her horrendously, dry job. Thank goodness the library had collections of romance novels to keep her company.

The lady stared at her wine glass for a moment, before scoffing and shaking her head, laughing to herself. “Thank goodness this is something I poured out myself. I think I’m going to be staying away from wine, any kind really, from now on.”

“A wise choice, my lady.”

The male voice intruding her seemingly silent night made her choke on her drink. 

Camille didn’t let the anger and annoyance rise so quickly, however. After getting her body back (thank the gods) from the hallucinations and terrible symptoms that the god-damned Cantarella was giving her, she felt like needed to...sink into the feeling of having her emotions and her body, really, in control. 

But that felt way out of her league at the moment. She felt like she couldn’t bring herself to display some good emotions and attitude.

So Camille spun on her heel, shooting King-Regent Hunter Fierro an icy glare from where he was leaning against the doorframe.

“First of all, I’m even surprised dear Vasco didn’t even intervene in your timely visit, Your Regency,” Camille drawled. “Second of all, whatever could you possibly need from my personal sanctuary, Hunter?”

From the way she phrased her words, Hunter immediately raised his hands in silent defence, using one of them to close the door gently behind him. “Pardon the intrusion then, my lady. I just...wanted to check on you. I hope that’s alright with you.”

“Is that your way of flirting with me, Hunter Fierro?”

“H-Hey! I was just being concerned and gravely worried for you, alright? I hope that answer...suffices, Camille,” Hunter looked at the floor sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck.

Camille laughed, a melodious and shimmering sound carrying across the air and into the late night. She waved a dismissive hand in front of her. “I’m just teasing, Hunter. But do be warned, I’m not really in the best mood since you decided to intrude my night alone.”

Camille liked the way the King-Regent acted around her, compared to the very calm and composed, cheeky and flirty demeanour he usually displays whenever he was on his duties at court or during social events where ladies would flock to him like birds. He was always reduced to a puddle of an awkward and dorky mess every time she was around him.

However, given how his twin sister Renza had broken that trust they had formed during their time together, despite not being part of her scheme, Hunter needed to redeem himself as Renza’s twin brother.

Maybe the poison had already eaten too far into her mind and senses that she couldn’t even tell reality and the dream world apart. 

You keep me holding on Bated breath, it's always something

Hunter walked closer, carefully, to be exact. He didn’t want to overwhelm the woman he loved so dearly, especially when she just recovered from the poisoning she didn’t know she had been receiving at all of those social events they were attending the past few weeks. And when it was his sister doing all the dirty work.

“I know with everything going on revolving around my sister and...my House, in general, you still might not trust me,” Hunter’s boots clicked against the polished marble floor. He soon joined Camille at the balcony. “I want to rebuild that trust between us...if you would allow me.”

Camille felt the mood built in the atmosphere, but she couldn’t help tease the King-Regent again. Ah, a true lady of House Rosario, indeed.

“Sure, I’ll consider that proposal, Your Regency,” she mused, with a raised eyebrow. “If you would do the pleasures of having a private dance with me right now. You know, the one that your very lovely, Crown Shield stole from you on the night we first met.”

Baby, you like to play your games Messing with my brain like it's nothing

Hunter then laughed, the manly but yet soothing voice, music to Camille’s ears. “Kayden isn’t usually easily intrigued, mind you. She only pays attention to suspicious people—”

“Oh, so you’re saying that I’m suspicious?” Camille placed a hand on her hip, sipping on her sparkling tonic. “My, my, Your Regency, I might tell dear Kayden tomorrow that I favour her more than the Regent whom she protects, who is also very poor in terms of courtship—”

When you call, I come running right over the edge And I'm falling, mmhmm

As fast as a shooting star, Hunter swept Camille into his powerful and strong arms, tucking his head into the crook of the woman’s neck. Camille felt his fingers lightly pressing into her small of her back, the heat radiating from the pads of his fingers reaching her through the thin fabric of her nightgown, which was doing a fair job of covering her lower half.

“I was going to finish my sentence, Lady Camille,” Hunter murmured into Camille’s skin, causing the woman’s skin to turn pebbled. “And if you’re going to address me by my title again, I’m afraid you won’t have your private dance.”

Camille giggled, unable to keep up with the banter they were having. Her sour mood was getting lighter by the minute, surely improved by the Regent’s presence. She gently pushed Hunter away, hands firm on his chest. “Alright, alright, I’ll cooperate with you.”

She slid her left-hand tentatively up Hunter’s right arm, allowing her hand to rest on his bicep while he brushed his left hand up her back, cupping her left shoulder blade. Camille and Hunter locked eyes while his hand wrapped around hers.

Got me chasing these eight letters, three words, just say it "I'm all in"

“Allow us to start off with a simple box step, shall we?” The question came out softer than intended. Like it was an intimate moment shared between them. 

Camille gladly welcomed that affection Hunter offered.

“Lead the way.”

Don't you know, baby I would give you the world?

With the moon shining gracing her presence onto Cordonia, its silver light seemed to heighten Camille’s beauty, capturing all the intricate features which no ordinary man could ever describe as how Hunter would. The light in her emerald green eyes was like the pearls of the Cordonian seas; he wanted to plunge deep into the depths of those eyes and drown himself into the sea of Rosario green.

But you take it from me

He definitely could not forget the soft, rosy lips that he managed to relish on his very own that night after they had returned to the estate, escaping from The Legacy.

They were now slightly parted before him, their breaths mingling between their close distances.

Hunter hesitated, but looked away, catching Camille’s attention.

“What is it, Hunter?” She asked.

“Are you…” Hunter grumbled to himself, trying to grapple onto the right words. “Can I kiss you?”

Can't you see I would do Oh, everything for you?

Camille’s breath caught in her throat and shyly nodded as her answer. 

I'd steal you the moon, and the sun, the stars, every one If you would just say I'm your girl

Both of them pressed closer together, feeling the heat in their exchanged breaths increase as they met in the centre with a gentle kiss; a promise that neither will break the trust. After they got used to feeling their lips on each other, they kissed with a little more passion, not fervour; a promise to have each other, forever and a day.

I'd give you the world, I'd give you the world, oh-oh

As they pulled apart, Hunter rested his forehead against Camille’s, catching their breaths in this moment. Together. Under the moon and stars. The King-Regent looked into those green eyes again, reflecting Camille’s House’s colour, and admired the light in them. Like a moon up in the sky.

“I’m sorry, so sorry, for whatever that has happened to you, Camille,” Hunter whispered, though Camille thought that she heard his voice crack. “I promise to gain back your trust, no matter what. And then I’ll protect you, with my body and soul, from what fate offers us in her plans. To whatever end.”

Camille squeezed Hunter’s hand, basking in the warmth radiating off his body. “To whatever end?”

“To whatever end, my dearest lady.”

I didn't want no one I was over love, always something

“I’m sorry about losing trust in you though,” Camille said, guilt casting over her eyes. “The poison really ate away into my mind and senses. I couldn’t really distinguish whatever that was real or the hallucinations that I’ve experienced.”

Hunter shook his head. “No, it’s not your fault at all. And as it was mentioned, no one could have known what my sister was up to all this time.”

Baby, you caught me off my guard And held me in your arms Heartbeat pumping

Camille pulled away, looking into Hunter’s brown eyes. Despite it not being in the day, she could see hazel brown under the silver moonlight. “You’re a good person, Hunter. You’re out here as King-Regent, trying to be the best leader out there for the Cordonian people. You may have like an exact carbon copy like you out there scheming for your demise, but what’s important—”

Camille tapped on Hunter’s chest, where his heart lay.

“—is that you are strong, here.”

When you touch me, I melt In your hands like your fire in December, yeah

Hunter laughed, a song to Camille’s ears, as he gathered her in his arms and spun her around in a circle. “Quite a speech, my lady,” he smirked as he pulled apart. “I can’t wait for you to say more of those when you become my Queen.”

“Oh?” Camille raised an impressive brow, a smirk tugging at the end of her lips. She slid her hands up Hunter’s shoulders and cupped the back of his neck. “Bold of you to assume, Lord Fierro. Do you really have whatever it takes to make me your Queen?”

But no matter how close we get You never seem to surrender

Hunter chuckled, a rumble in his chest. “A true lady of House Rosario indeed. Of course, I will do anything in my power as the King-Regent to have you by my side.”

He then positioned themselves back to where they originally were positioned before they were in each other’s arms. “Now, my lady, shall we finish our dance together?”

“Yes, Your—” Camille smiled, feeling looser and better than she was in weeks. “I mean, yes, my lord. We shall.”

Don't you know, baby I would give you the world?  

Their feet carried them across the balcony, back and forth. With Camille and Hunter exchanging elegant moves with little effort. Without care to the world around them, whether it was crashing down and burning or it was the end of the universe, they would forever be together. Right here and now, in each other’s company.

But you take it from me 

Hunter’s eyes did not leave the woman before him, following his moves with quick precision and elegance of a swan. To think that she knew that much whilst being a library scribe before her world seemed to change overnight with a fateful night at the royal masquerade.

He had met Camille’s adoptive older sister, Annalisa, shortly after she awoke from her coma. Indeed, she was also pretty (as do all of the ladies he had come across in his life), but it somehow did not reach the tier of the beauty of how he saw Camille in his eyes.   

Perhaps it did not run in Annalisa’s blood as well.

Can't you see I would do Oh, everything for you?  

“Are you alright, Hunter?” Camille asked. “You’re doing that scary thing where you faze out whilst looking deep into my eyes.”

“Can’t I admire them?” Hunter rebuked, earning a smile from his lady. “Or shall I dance with you blindfolded?”

Camille purposely stepped on Hunter’s boot, causing the Regent to bite his lower lip hard to keep his painful howl of protest in, careful to not draw any unwanted attention to Camille’s chamber. “You’re awfully horrible at flirting, Hunter.”

“Please do know that I am, trying my very best.”

“Visibly so,” Camille chuckled, easily following along as Hunter swept his foot in an arc and brought her low. “You have your dashing looks still, so you do not need to fret.”

I'd steal you the moon, and the sun, the stars, every one If you would just say I'm your girl        

“But my dashing looks are only for you,” Hunter purred, his breaths coming in hot against Camille’s throat as he dipped her. “Why do you think I picked you to dance with that night at the masquerade then?”

Camille turned contemplative. “Maybe...to look for a new prey? Besides, those ladies around you that night were definitely your familiars.”

Hunter grinned smugly as he brought Camille up, pressing her closer into his warm embrace. “How assumptive of you, Lady Rosario.”

I'd give you the world, I'd give you the world, ooh-ooh-ooh  

Hunter held onto the sides of Camille’s waist tight, preparing for a lift. 

From where he stood, seeing Camille’s hair flip as she was raised into the air—    

Oh-oh-oh-oh-oh I'm giving you all of my love          

His mouth went dry.

Oh-oh-whoa-oh-oh But boy, it's been long enough, oh Oh-oh-oh-oh-oh-oh     

Camille Rosario was definitely an angel sent from Heaven. It was like she was the embodiment of Aphrodite. Or perhaps even the goddess herself in this human body in his hands.

And when their eyes met in this heat of the moment, Hunter tried his best not to open his hands and drop her onto the ground in awe.

Gods, when did he get so lucky?

Don't you know I would give you the world?

After her feet touched the ground, she spun away from Hunter and then spun right back into his embrace. Next, a twirl, raising up the lady’s arm and conjured her in a spin. Resuming their waltz positioning, they allowed their feet to take them away. To end of their night together.

But you take it from me

Hunter tightened his grip on Camille as he led them, spinning in circles together. That caused the melodious laughter from his dance partner. An angel’s voice.

As he let go and they faced each other, they exchanged a bow and curtsy at the end of their private dance. Hunter then instinctively grabbed ahold of the woman and pulled her in for a passionate kiss.

Can't you see I would do Oh, everything for you?

It took everything in Camille to lightly push away Hunter and tapped the tip of his nose playfully before she could let things escalate, ignoring the guttered look in his beautiful eyes.

“No...not today, Hunter,” Camille said. She slowly slid her hand to cup Hunter’s cheek. It felt warm to the touch. Something she needed tonight. “Perhaps...you could hold me tonight?”

She turned away slightly, as if sheepish and guilty of her answer. “...please?” 

The word nearly turned silent on the last vowel, as if from a request turning into a plea, which made Hunter’s heart ache.

I'd steal you the moon, and the sun, the stars, every one If you would just say I'm your girl

Understanding filled Hunter’s eyes. He hooked Camille’s chin with his index finger and tilted it upwards so that he could see her directly, into those lovely, green emeralds he had always admired. From the night they met.

“Yes,” he murmured. He pulled Camille into his well-built, protective arms, allowing her to bask in the warmth of his embrace. 

Hunter took in her scent. A lingering scent of lavender, with a hint of cedarwood, lacing together in perfect harmony. He committed it to memory.

“Anything for you, Camille,” Hunter murmured into Camille’s hair. “Anything.”

I'd give you the world, I'd give you the world, oh-oh, oh-oh

Perhaps not all will be lost, if there were more people like Hunter Fierro, in this gods-damned world.

And everything will be alright.

I'd give you the world

[pastelbatfandoms]

O.C Character Survey

1. Your first OC ever? My WWE one Roxy,I wrote her when I was 13. I also made Naru aka Molly from Sailor Moon a Sailor Senshi named Sailor Sun. She had a yellow sailor fuku with a blue bow. 

2. Do you have a personal favourite among your OCs? I’m not sure. I will say that my easiest one’s to write are Renee from The Flash and Suzanna from TWD.

3. Have you ever adopted a character or gotten a character from someone else? Kinda. my Ex let me use his OC’s in stories. He has Alien Races called The Cartanians and Tarians and a Vampire Nightmare lord named Shirowen. Who is based off of the lead singer of Dimmu Borgir.

 4. A character you rarely talk about? Carrie aka The Carrion Crow just because I haven’t been interested in finishing My Gotham fic,or I have been but just never wrote anything down...

5. If you could make only one of your OCs popular/known, who would it be? My Vampiress Levathia for My Original story. Just because then I can make all My other OC’s known by extension. 

 6. Two OCs of yours that look alike despite not being related? All the Tarians and Cartanians look like each other lol (it is a race that has all white hair and red eyes and a race that has all different shades of green hair and purple eyes)

Image Photoshopped by me of Tessa,Soven and Aahren 👇👇👇👇🏻👇🏻👇🏻👇🏻👇🏻

Otherwise I think that the actresses I used for My Characters Esme (From Descendants) and Helena (From AHS) look alike. 

7. Are your OCs part of any story or stories? They’re part of all kinds! I guess I could list My Non Original stories lol (only going to put one Actress for each,although My Characters are played by multiple Actress’s.)

Mughead (Riverdale)-Michelle Riley

  Wells of Hearts (The Flash)-Renee West

The Carrion Crow (Gotham)-Carrie

Mischief on Wings (Marvel/Loki)-Amara 

The Alpha (Teen Wolf)-Marianna Mccall

Kings and Queen of Destruction (TWD)-Suzanna Greene

Half God Half Devil (AHS Apocalypse)-Helena

The Dream Lovers (Freddy Krueger)-Rika

Strange Days (Stranger Things)-Mandy Moorington

Gods and Pirates (The Descendants)-Meghana

The Snakes and The Raven (Harry Potter)-Rihannon Hickleberry-Black

Ash Vs Evil Dead-Ashlee

8. Do you RP as any of your OCs? If you do, introduce one of your RP OCs here! No.

 9. Would you ever be willing to give any of your OCs to someone else? Maybe.

10. Introduce an OC with a complicated design? Looks wise I assume, I’m going to go with a non Fanfic Character and say Shirowen,He still looks like a vampire with long black hair and fangs,but he also is decayed looking,like he might have the plague and is pretty terrifying really. But being the lord of Nightmares that suits him just fine. He also has a very Black Metal look to him. 

 11. Is there any OC of yours you could describe as a “sunshine”? lol no

 12. Name an OC that isn’t yours but who you like a lot 

13. Do you have any troublemaker OCs? I have tons lol 

 14. Introduce an OC with a tragic backstory. All of My Characters have a bit of a sad past.Mandy,Renee and Suzanna’s parents died,Marianna’s parents left her ect. But I think the saddest is probably Helena,read My AHS story to see what I mean!

 15. Do you like to talk about your OCs with other people? Yes

16. Which one of your OCs would be the best at biology (school subject)? I don’t know

 17. Any OC OTPs? I mean I pair up My OC’s with my favorite character of the show usually. So I’ll just list those.  (Crackship gifs make by me)

MichellexJughead Jones

I love Renee with ALL The Wells’s but I feel like Eobard Thawne was her OTL. 

MariannaxPeter Hale

had a hard time picking between Suzanna’s Current Bou Negan,her ex The Governor or Merle. But in the end I think Merle was her ride or die,he was her first in basically all aspects and if he hadn’t died they would still be together. 

HelenaxMichael Langdon

RikaxFreddy/Robert Englund (Their basically the same person in My Fic)

Steve Harrington was Mandy’s first crush but I really think despite there ups and downs that Billy was her OTL,even though her and Steve became endgame after Billy died.

MeghanaxHadesxHarry Hook (because I can’t make up my mind!)

EsmexChad Charming

18. Any OC crackships? Already did lol

 19. Introduce an OC that means a lot to you (and explain why) 

20. Do any of your OCs sing? what kind of songs do they like? Only ones that sing are In My Descendants Fics. So Esme and Meghana.

 21. Your most artistic OC. I would say Michelle since she’s loosely based on me,also Renee since she went to collage for Fashion and Graphic Design. 

22. Is there any OC of yours people tend to mischaracterize? If yes, how? 

 23. Introduce OC that has changed from your first idea concerning what the character would be like? I don’t really change my characters rough drafts lol if I have idr how. 

24. If you could meet one OC of yours, who would it be and why? I should say Helena or Carrie so...yeah them.

25. The OC that resembles you the most (same hobby, height, shared like/dislike for something etc?)  Michelle,we were both Goth in HS,had a big group of friends,dated someone “misunderstood”,wrote poetry and fanfiction and like dancing. 

26. Have you ever had to change your OC’s design or something else about them against your will? Against my will?! lol no

 27. Any OCs that were inspired by a certain song? Not certain characters but Relationships or stories definitely.  TWD Kings and Queen of Destruction title is based off of Queen of Destruction by Lana Del Rey,Esme and Chad Charming’s song I wrote was inspired by Taylor Swift’s Miss Americana and The Heartbreak Prince. But yeah I have entire playlists revolving around My Fics and Characters. 

 28. Your most dangerous OC? Helena obviously. She is married to The Anti Christ,and is pretty much the queen of hell. 

 29. Which one of your OCs would go investigate an abandoned house at night without telling anyone they’re going? Michelle,though Jughead and Betty would show up,wondering why they weren’t invited.

30. Which one of your OCs would most likely have a secret stuffed animal collection? Marianna or Mandy.

 31. Pick one OC of yours and explain what their tumblr blog would be like (what they reblog, layout, anything really) I have a headache and don’t feel like going into that much detail. 

32. Which one of your OCs would be the most suitable horror game protagonist and why? Helena for obvious reasons.  Also My Original Story character Seezee,she’s pretty much created from a horror story since she has a split personality and killed her father. Although Ashlee would make a perfect protag. Considering she’s a part of The Evil Dead universe. 

 33. Your shyest OC? Mandy at first,until she moves to California. Amara when she’s younger. 

34. Do you have any twin characters? No

35. Any sibling characters? Yes. Marianna is Scott Mccall's Adoptive Sister and I also made Aladdin and Jasmine Daughters,as well as a son Ali. 

 36. Do you have OC pairs where the other part belongs to someone else (siblings, lovers, friends etc)? No...?

 37. Introduce an OC who is not quite human  Well Helena’s a reincarnated Witch who later becomes half demon,Amara’s a Valkyrie,Marianna is a Hybrid WereWitch,Levathia is a Vampire,Renee has Lightning powers,plus there’s all the Aliens,Gargoyles and Half Were’s running around. 

 38. Which one of your OCs would be the best dancer? Michelle

 39. Introduce any character you want 

 40. Any fond memories linked to your characters? Feel free to share! 

41. Has anyone drawn fanart of your OCs? If yes, maybe show a picture or two here (remember sources & permissions!) 

42. Which one of your OCs would be the most interested in Greek gods? I mean Meghana obviously,seeing as she is one.

 43. Do you have any certain type when you create your OCs? Do you tend to favour some certain traits or looks? I suppose I have an affinity for Brunettes and Redheads lol 

44. Something you like about your OCs in general 

45. A character you no longer use? All My Original story Characters,i should use them more,I just never get inspired too. 

46. Has anyone ever told you that you treat your OCs badly? Nope

47. Has anyone ever (friendly) claimed any of your OCs as their child? lol No

 48. OC who is a perfect cinnamon roll, too good for this world, too pure. Um again probably an OC I haven’t used in forever,Windy. She is half Demon/Cartanian (Alien) but is actually really sweet (unlike her Mother) and wants to become a part of The CTA (Cartanian Tarian Alliance) when she grows up. 

49. Which one of your OCs would most likely enjoy memes 

50. Give me the good ol’ OC talk here. Talk about anything you want

[sapphireswimming]

til we come face to face (and UnDeadwood fic)

Summary: “Brings up an interestin’ point,” Sharpe had said, punctuating the words with a gloved finger in Aloysius' direction. “Survival. That I can understand.”

Warnings: major spoilers for episode 4, canonical character death, gunshot wounds, and painful painful irony

2k words, rated T, angst

Also on ao3 and ffn

______________________

“Brings up an interestin’ point,” Sharpe had said, punctuating the words with a gloved finger in his direction. “Survival. That I can understand.”

And Aloysius could too.

Survival was a way of life out here in the west – the only way of life, really. Not much else mattered this far into the Dakota hills, where they were days’ ride from any city of note, weeks from anything that might properly be considered civilization.

The grasp of the law was tenuous at best.

Anything was fair game, so long as you could get away with it. It’s the reason Cy Tolliver had been able to establish such a lucrative business here in Deadwood, dealing in any number of firearms under a barroom table. How E.B. Farnham could proclaim himself mayor and somehow procure dozens of plots of nearby land without anyone in town becoming the wiser. Why Al Swearengen was so worried by the prospect of unidentified parties digging where there wasn’t any gold that he’d hired the strangest assortment of folks Aloysius had ever had the pleasure of seeing doing business together.

It’s the reason why anyone on the run from the law, anyone with a personal history they’d rather leave behind, came west.

Without any real law to speak of – only as much as the local sheriffs were capable of taking on, just enough to keep the semblance of peace – fistfights would break out in saloons and spill out onto the main thoroughfare as gunfights nearly every afternoon.

It didn’t so much matter if you were in the right, so long as you could fight your way out of a tough spot. Some greenhorn with the devil’s own luck might live to see the next sunrise while the toughest sonnuvabitch in the county could get taken out in the crossfire of another man’s drunken dispute and never even see it coming.

Men would die in the street every day without anyone so much as batting an eye.

So you did what you had to in order to survive and, for men like them, for men like Aloysius and Sharpe, that meant always keeping your coat open, your trigger finger near your gun. It meant growing eyes on the back of your head so you could keep tabs on every other patron in a saloon, believing beyond the shadow of a doubt there were eyes on you when the hair started standing up on the back of your neck. It meant instinctively understanding when the mood of the room had shifted, had turned from a friendly game of Blackjack to something more dangerous, something that meant a man was liable to end up with a knife pinning his hand to the table. And not hesitating to act when your gut told you it was high time to move on to the next place. Or, at the very least, to get out of town.

Seemed like as soon as you’d slipped out of one close shave, there was another one waiting just around the corner, ready to shave you even closer. And that meant that any advantage you could lay hold of might just be the difference between living and dying – you had to grasp it with both hands and hang on for dear life.

Didn’t matter much whose extended arm you reached for, trying to claw your way out of a pit filled with the charred corpses of men and demon snakes, or who watched your back in a gunfight against the undead so long as someone did.

And if it meant betting a piece of their own souls to be able to emerge from the shadows, fists blazing with unholy power, well, it was all worth it in the end if they lived to get there, now, wasn’t it?

Aloysius had survived so much already – his childhood as a slave on the plantation with the merciless sun beating down on their backs as they bent over endless rows of crops, picking over the stalks until their fingers bled. His time in the war before he’d found his chance to slip away unnoticed into the fog. That bloody, awful war that turned blue and grey woolen uniforms alike into masses of dull, matted red as shots rang out from every direction and the screams of the dying grew louder, then softer, then stilled. The years since, after he’d remade himself into Aloysius Fogg, a bounty hunter who could track down anyone, no matter how many false personas they’d shed as they fled further and further west.

Given how much keeping yourself to yourself could extend your life expectancy in this half of the country, it was no wonder that men could reinvent themselves so easily, hiding for months and years at a time without ever being caught.

And that’s what had brought Aloysius to Deadwood.

These fugitives had done their best to run from the law, each and every one of them committing any number of heinous crimes in order to stay free, to stay alive. Just like Sharpe had done, since he’d disappeared nearly fifteen years and who knew how many lives before. Amos Kinsley had begun with one murder to his name, but had ratcheted up his body count to untold quantities ever since, killing everyone who’d dared come close enough to sniff him out. No one had been able to so much as touch him, despite the ever increasing bounty on his head.

Survival.

It was something they both understood well, a language they spoke fluently.

But now they’ve reached something of an impasse, because now that he knows exactly who Clayton “The Coffin” Sharpe is, there’s no way he can just let him walk out of here. The things they’ve been through together don’t do a single thing to change the fact that he’s the murderer he’s been sent here to find.

The others don’t understand when he cocks his revolver and holds it against Sharpe’s head, but the outlaw does, and, once it becomes clear that there’s no talking his way out of this one, simply asks for one more whiskey before they settle things once and for all.

Aloysius agrees, but doesn’t lower his gun.

The last drink of a condemned man is Sharpe’s by right, and a part of him can even allow that he’s earned it, after everything. This is the only concession he can make, but there’s nothing he can do to stop the rest of it, no matter what Arabella tries to argue, or the Reverend has to say, or how passionately Miss Miriam pleads for them to stop this.

This is justice. And it’s been a long time coming.

Years of laying low, remaking himself in one town after another, even if he’s used his skills as a gun-for-hire to protect the interests of others, doesn’t erase any of the things Sharpe has done in the past. Innocent lives have been taken and that’s something he’ll have to answer for.

It brings Aloysius no pleasure to be the one to do it, but he has a job to do.

Sharpe finishes his drink, clinking the glass against the polished wooden counter before slowly pushing up from the barstool and moving toward the door. Aloysius follows, limping slightly, and with the snakebite still throbbing with every pulsing heartbeat, but the gun in his had does not waver as they walk out of the saloon.

He keeps it trained on Sharpe as they all file through the door.

They leave the others behind them on the porch of the Gem, silently pacing off their steps and then turning to face each other once they’ve taken up their positions.

The air is cool and the otherwise deserted street is silent, bereft of the usual nighttime noises. There are no hooting owls or howling coyotes, and even the wind seems to have stilled. It’s as if the town itself understands, as they do, as the others didn’t, why only one of them will walk away after this fight.

The next few minutes will decide which of them it will be - the man who’s never stopped running or the man who can track down anyone.

Aloysius watches warily, eyes fixed on Sharpe’s but alert to every whisper of movement: the slightest twitch of his gloved fingers, the soft flutter of his coat, the determined set of his boot as he shifts his weight.

He pays no mind to anything else, not the way Arabella and Miriam cling to each other, horrified, or the way the Reverend’s clutching his cross to his chest.

Survival.

He knows that Sharpe understands just as clearly as he does that they won’t both survive this – can’t. Knows that in the blink of an eye, only one of them will still be standing.

Aloysius watches, hardly daring to blink as the bright light of the nearly full moon bathes the street in a softer glow than lamps hanging from the nearby establishments.

A shadow passes overhead.

He breathes in deeply.

And between the inhale and the exhale, something changes, shifts. In an instant, Aloysius is reaching for his gun, pulling it free from his holster, and shooting.

The shot goes wide, but he can be forgiven for that. Neither of them are at their best tonight.

He absorbs the recoil and turns back in time for Sharpe to hit him in the chest. Not in the heart – a couple inches to the left, buried in the soft muscle near his arm. He recoils from the impact but the bullet wound barely even stings. It’s not a fatal shot.

Not fatal, from mere yards away.

Not fatal, from the best sharpshooter in the Badlands.

Not fatal, from the man who said that he could understand survival when everything else in their lives had been turned higgledy-piggledy with the introduction of snake-like creatures and The Dealer offering magic that coursed through their veins with a supernatural light.

Aloysius stares at him, eyes glittering hard in the lamplight, and moves to fire again.

Sharpe reacts with almost unnatural speed, managing to get his shot off first, but it goes so wide that the bullet buries itself in the building behind him, splintering one of the wooden steps with a sharp crack.

And then Aloysius slams back the hammer and squeezes of a shot of his own.

It hits Sharpe right in the gut.

He staggers back for a step, and then another, but somehow manages to stay upright. He stares at him for a long moment, ragged breathing harshly breaking through the silence around them.

They’re both hurting – badly – but they know that this won’t truly be over until one of them goes down.

Sharpe tremulously raises his gun. He aims so obviously for his gun hand that it’s the work of a moment to pull it away to avoid the shot.

Aloysius breathes evenly as he steps back into place, cocks his revolver, and raises it again. He returns fire and his shot rings true, flying straight into the heart of the outlaw.

Sharpe falls backwards, crumpling into the dust of the street. He stares up at him for a moment as the blood begins to blossom on his chest, soaking through the layers of his dark clothing as it joins the growing stain just below it.

And then he smiles.

It’s ironic, unsurprised. His teeth are coated in blood.

Aloysius ignores the desperate cries of the others as he watches the blood trickle out of the corner of his mouth, watches it pool beneath his chest.

Sharpe doesn’t even try to say anything before the spark of life begins to fade from his eyes.

Slowly, Aloysius limps forward.

Survival, huh?

This coming from a man who’d only drawn his gun because Aloysius had held one to his head first. Who hadn’t shot at him with the intention to kill, aiming for his hand instead of his heart not once but twice, even though he knew full well what that would mean, what the only other outcome could be.

He crouches down beside the body and reaches out a gloved hand to close his blankly staring eyes.

It was an interestin’ point indeed.

[ask-the-guiding-light-cast]

Guiding Light turns two years old today!

It’s crazy to think this all began only a couple of years back... and also hilarious it falls on the same day as “International Mystery Dungeon Day” over on Twitter. More after the cut. This is gonna be a long one, so I appreciate anyone willing to read this. ^^

For a long time, I had been a casual consumer of fan fics. It started in the late 2000s when I was in a Spyro craze thanks to the more story-driven Legend of Spyro trilogy. I had an itch that I needed scratched and FFN fulfilled that to some extent. I also looked at some Mario fics, including Paper Mario: The Temple of the Sun, which I greatly enjoyed and thought did a good job adapting the formula that made Paper Mario: The Thousand Year Door so beloved and putting a unique spin on things.

But it was until the early 2010s that I actually started getting back into Pokémon games with Gen V. After Emerald, I fell out of touch with Pokémon for a time. When Gen VI came around, I dipped my toe into the fandom through Twitch livestreams, but also through reading a few anime-based fics that are very long and still going, even now. 

At the same time, I ended up buying PMD: Explorers of Sky... and damaged my cartridge before I could properly finish the game with my Vulpix/Riolu team. So, I watched cutscenes for what I missed on YouTube, then got Gates to Infinity and, later, Super Mystery Dungeon and had fun with both of them... though more for the stories and characters than the actual gameplay. Truth be told, I don’t care much for roguelikes at all.

It was during the gap in time between Super’s release and the first official footage of Sun & Moon in mid-2016 that I found myself hit with a recurring thought: “What if someone made a PMD story where the hero and the partner are forced to fight one another with the fate of the world at stake?” I wound up (loosely) brainstorming an idea for a PMD story revolving around an antagonistic Hoopa character who would use its ring portals to collect entire communities, including the Pokémon living in them... all so that he would never be bored. This would lead him to “collect” the partner to add to his “toys,” so when the hero shows up, he’d sic the partner on them.

But that was as far as I got with the idea. I ended up graduating college and took a job with late evening hours. It left me pretty tired and exhausted and unmotivated to do much of anything. I withdrew from the parts of the Pokémon community I was involved in.

Then the Generation VII games came out and, while divisive in the fandom, I found myself really liking some of the concepts. There were so many times when I thought, “Gee, I wonder what this would be like if it were in a PMD game?” For example, one of the ideas I had was a sort of edgy rival rescue team akin to Gladion, which would have a Midnight Lycanroc, a Zoroark, and a Type: Null character in it.

So, toward the end of 2016 and early 2017, I started creating an idea for a Choose Your Own Adventure story with the intent of putting it on this really small forum I was a part of. It would be a Gen VII-themed PMD story, but because I didn’t think that sounded interesting enough, I decided that, not only would the human keep their memories, but they would be from the real world and be a major Pokémon nerd. The idea was that the choices the readers made would affect the relationship between the human and partner. I even came up with a point system. The more points the readers earned for their choices, the “closer” the relationship the hero and partner would have and the happier an ending the story would get. If the hero and partner couldn’t stand each other, one of them would likely end up working with the bad guy and winning. If they became steadfast friends, they’d work together to save the world.

Unfortunately, the forum shut down before I got too far into planning it, so I shelved the idea and continued focusing on my job. And things stayed that way for several months, until I ended up getting into med school and scrambling to move.

During the downtime I had when I wasn’t doing moving related stuff, I decided to look at FFN again and found Pokémon Mystery Dungeon: Defenders of Warmth. I wound up reading through the entirety of the story quite quickly. I guess you could say it sparked something in my head. The fic itself focuses on what, at the time, was the newest Gen (Gen V). It also has multiple humans and is set on a continent separate from the canon locations (which were just the Air and Grass Continents, since Gates and Super didn’t exist when the fic was written). In short, it renewed my desire to pursue my idea of a Gen VII-flavored PMD story.

So, I set about creating my story outline. It is so... so much different from the actual story, though I’ve gone into that in previous posts (search for #amby answers). Originally, I used Mario & Luigi: Partners in Time as the framework for the fic: an alien invasion in a colorful, comedic world. I took more specific cues, too. Zero was meant to be a (mostly) silent antagonist a la Princess Shroob, for example.

The problem was, I really didn’t have much confidence in myself or my abilities. I’d like to say I was writing for myself, but I really did want validation, too. I think any author is lying to themselves if they say they don’t feel this way at some point. Because of this, I figured if I put the fic on FFN, it would get ignored. The site’s huge! There were, at the time, around 85k fics in the Pokémon section alone. (That number’s since gone up to over 90k!)

Given I had experience with forums, I decided to post it to Serebii, because the fic community seemed much smaller and more open to giving feedback to one another. In an effort to try and, y’know, establish some connections, I actually read other pieces and reviewed them before posting any stories. This also helped me build up a backlog of chapters and prove to myself I enjoyed writing this enough to keep going.

When I finally did post the fic, it was a bumpy start, for sure. I do think I made a lot of mistakes out of the gate, including uploading chapters way too quickly for readers on Serebii to (reasonably) try to keep pace. That probably cost me a few potential readers... or made them silent readers who I never ended up hearing from. Which is why I’m especially thankful to @girl-like-substance (who I can seem to tag, drat) for all of the well-thought-out feedback given throughout the fic’s run. I don’t think I would’ve made such significant strides in my writing otherwise... and there are plenty of long-running fics where the quality tends to stagnate.

In any case... it was thanks to a request from @deliriousabsol to put the fic somewhere more mobile-friendly that I chose to mirror Guiding Light on FFN starting in October 2017. I would’ve kept going on Serebii had she not asked so nicely, so she’s the one you can thank for it showing up there! (She’s a fellow author who does cyberpunk-themed fics and art and her characters have cameoed in the fic.)

And, honestly, I’m just... beyond shocked at what wound up happening to the fic once it hit FFN. Well, actually, for the first several months I was lucky if I even got a comment when I put up a chapter. I’m not sure any of the people who first commented on FFN still follow the fic anymore. I haven’t seen/heard from them at all, so I assumed they moved on with their lives.

In any case, around March of 2018, the word count on FFN passed 300k and... somehow, the fic starting getting more attention. Like, a lot more attention. This was... not really something I was even remotely prepared for.

(Yes, this means there’s gonna be a giveaway. More on that later.) I never would’ve thought I’d reach a number like this. I never imagined I’d meet another PMD author who’d be willing to do a fun collab (thanks @virgil134, Spiteful Murkrow, and Namohysip). I really did not imagine that I’d ever get fanart of characters that I wrote (huge thanks @thebreak-ofdawn, @ask-nicky-and-others, and @cresselia92). I mean, above everything, I not expect the fic or characters to resonate with anybody the way it wound up.

A part of me feels like I don’t really deserve it. I’ve made a lot of serious gaffes with writing this. When initial Serebii feedback had people intrigued by Shane’s jerkass attitude (when I didn’t actually intend for him to come off as a jerk), I dialed things up in the hopes I’d keep their attention. It probably cost me readers. Then there’s the slow pacing of the early episodes and the mistake of making Special Episode 3 as long as it was... which my speaks to my (bad) tendency to give into some of my strongest impulses even though I had an outline I was trying to stick to.

And, I mean, there’s also some of the “shamlessly shameful” stuff I’ve done with the fic. I’m not fooling myself. Guiding Light has grown progressively more furry and, uh, probably fanservicey, too. All the big furbait (and some scalebait) ‘mons are accounted for. There’s a lot more sexual humor when I initially promised myself I would stay away from romance and keep everything platonic. I practically turned Xerneas into waifu bait, if some of these asks are anything to go by. This blog certainly didn’t help in that regard. Maybe I’m just being my usual nervous self? 

I am worried that this fic’s performance has, somehow, affected my thoughts and behavior. There are very popular fic authors who let their popularity get to their head... or chose to open up Patreons (something that makes me uncomfortable) or start doing things like taking commissions for written pieces, which is understandable... though I think it’s an easy way to lose your passion for writing. I guess some of that worry stems from a debacle I learned about on a Discord server I’m in, but that’s not something I’m comfortable discussing publicly. 

And I haven’t even talked much about the blog itself. Like, it somehow passed 100 followers? Where? When? How? I don’t actually draw stuff like many other Pokéasks. And, like, for a lot of folks, I have no idea if they’ve actually read the fic or just check in on the blog. It’s the same with the fic, I suppose. If you’re a silent reader/follower, I would really love to hear from you! I promise... I don’t bite or anything. I’d love to know what (if anything) you’re thinking. And if you’re a blog that’s following this one and we haven’t interacted, please feel free to reach out! It’s honestly hard to tell if people like what I’m doing, so any feedback is always appreciated.

In any case, if I haven’t lost you by now, I guess all I can say is... thank you. Thank you all so much for all of the support... whether it’s on the fic, the blog, or both of them. I really do hope this final episode can meet your expectations. I’ll try my very best to make this an ending to remember. Nothing would make me happier than to hear you guys enjoy it and feel it does justice to the PMD series.

Sorry for all the rambling. The inbox is open again if you’d like to send any messages for the ficaversary. Again, thank you all so much! You’re the best!

[coffeeandtin]

Mag7 Snuggles!

Anon requested headcanons about The Seven and snuggling. Because that had already been done, I opted to write some mini-fics that heavily feature cuddling, or being close. 

Goodnight      

              There was no moon, and the candles and lamplight in your hotel room had long since been extinguished. You and Goodnight lost yourselves in idle chatter. You knew the two of you might well continue on like that until the sun rose.  You both laughed; and in the darkness, your worlds consisted entirely of each other.

              “Good to have you all to myself again,” he said as he kissed your shoulder, and squeezed your hand.

              “Likewise.”

You drew his arm tighter around you and took joy in the way you were so perfectly aligned with him, and the way his chest was pressed to your back. Warmth, and underthings, and bedclothes created sleepy, comfortable friction. You didn’t need to be able to see him to know how his hair would be mussed, or the way his eyes danced, even in the darkness.

              “Your feet are cold,” Goody said as one of his feet rubbed over yours.

“Yours aren’t,” you observed, as your own feet played with his. You both broke into laughter, though neither of you could have said what was so funny.

              “Darlin’?” he said as he kissed your shoulder again.

              “Mmm?”

              Your cheeks were beginning to smart from smiling so much.

              “Tell me a story?”

Jack Horne

               The sunset was red. It might have looked violent were it not for way it gave every surface a rosy tinge. You walked over to where Jack was seated on the front steps of his cabin. You almost asked what was wrong, but paused when there was no apparent reason that you should. You had instinctively noticed how still Jack was, before your mind acknowledged it. Jack usually kept his hands busy with a project or some form of work, but they rested on his knees.

               “Nice evening,” you commented.

               You planted yourself next to Jack and tucked yourself beneath his left arm. Obtrusive? Perhaps. But Jack smiled, and let you take his right hand in both of yours.

               “Whatcha doin’?” you asked.

               “Thinking,” Jack said after a moment of consideration, and ponderous shrug of his shoulders. “Praying.”

               You laced your fingers tighter with his, and nodded. You thought that those two acts could seem mutually exclusive, but where Jack was concerned, maybe they weren’t. You cozied closer, and closed your eyes, relaxing in the moment; in Jack’s spirituality. You wondered if you were included in his thoughts and prayers.

               “Amen,” you heard Jack whisper before squeezing your hands, and bumping your head with his own.

Sam Chisolm

               Upon waking you filled your lungs, and stretched. The sun had only just risen, but you were no less surprised to find that Sam was still next to you. You were not surprised, however, that he was already awake. He lay on his back, and looked up at the ceiling, both hands resting between his pillow, and his head.

               “Hey,” you greeted, your voice still softened by sleep.

               “Mornin’,” he said, and draped an arm over you as you shuffled closer. It contented you to see a smile on his face.

               You rested a hand on his chest and wondered how long until he would leave you in favor of chasing after another bounty. You decided that the way Sam brushed his fingertips along your arm was one more thing that was going to make his departure unfortunate.

               “Thought I’d take a couple days before picking any more warrants,” he said as though he’d read your mind. Hell, for all you knew, maybe he had.

               When you didn’t reply, he shifted and looked at you with arched brows.

               “If you’ll have me,” he said.

               “Of course,” you said nestling closer.

               “Alright, then,” he said as though he’d just struck a very favorable bargain.

               Sam smiled, and kissed the top of your head before lying back down, and closing his eyes.        

Vasquez             

               Out of the corner of your eye, you spied Vasquez’s pearl-handled revolvers. The night before, he’d set them on the nightstand between himself and the door, within easy reach. In the unlikely event that someone took pains to attack you on that ugly, gray morning, however, you would have had to roll your unconscious lover off of you so that you could defend him. And that would have been no easy task.

The bristle of Vasquez’s beard was present on your shoulder, and his face was half-hidden in the crook of your neck. One of his arms and a shoulder covered you, and one of his legs pinned yours. The weight of his long body pressed you into the mattress. You would enjoy it while you could. The scent of tobacco still clung to his hair. You refrained from running your hand through his curls. After all, you were happy to see how soundly he slept in your presence. Rain hammered down on the world outside. There was nowhere else to be. Even if there had been, the feel of each of Vasquez’s breaths pushing against you would not have been easily abandoned.

You rested your head against his. The rains seemed intent on washing away everything else as your mind replayed every sensation from the night before.

Billy Rocks

               You dozed as you rested your head on the bare flesh of Billy’s side; and he toyed with your hair in comfortable, but absent motions as he looked out the window. The room’s window only afforded you a view one of the neighboring saloon’s walls. It was not a particularly fascinating wall, as walls went, and so you wondered what thoughts were keeping Billy from rest.

               You moved your hand form where it rested on his belly, and over his hip. When you dragged your fingertips down his thigh, Billy’s skin broke out in gooseflesh, and he made a little noise in the back of his throat that could have qualified as laughter. He looked down at you, where you were offering him a grin that was as wicked as it was well-meaning. He smiled before stretching, and continuing his vigil. He also resumed playing with your hair.

               “Billy Rocks,” you said as drummed your fingers on his thigh, and wondered how ticklish the assassin really was, “I’m afraid if you don’t tell me what’s wrong, I’m going to have to resort to extreme measures.”

               “That so?”

               His voice was unimpressed, but his smile and the furrow on his brow told you that he would put up a very agreeable fight.

               “Mm-hmm,” you said as your fingers brushed over his thigh again, assuring him of your seriousness.

Joshua Faraday

               “That was fun,” you commended as you tossed yourself backward onto a pillow.

               “Oh?” Joshua panted. “What was?”

               The feigned cluelessness might have been convincing had it not been for his breathless voice, and his smile that was both lop-sided and salacious.

               He buried his face in his pillow and laughed. You joined in, and batted at him for his little joke. He propped himself up on his elbows, and you enjoyed the way the muscles in his shoulders bunched. A satisfied breath escaped you and rolled onto your side, hooking one of his legs with your own. You ran a foot up and down his calf, and he looked at you with questioning gray eyes. You had never seen uncertainty play across his features, and so you paused.

               Drawing each other close after lovemaking had never been your custom. It had been unspoken, and, perhaps even unrealized, until that moment. But Joshua grinned as he took his lower lip between his teeth, and settled his head onto the crook of one arm. He watched you all the while.

               “Feels good,” he confided.

               He reached out his arm, and experimentally ran calloused fingers over your shoulder, down your arm and back up again.

Red Harvest

          You followed Red Harvest, naked, into the hot spring. The water wasn’t what made your cheeks go warm; it was the way the cold moonlight fell on Red Harvest that accomplished that. He watched you as intently as you watched him, and when he extended a hand you accepted. He took a step backward, and you pulled in the opposite direction as you admired the way the water swirled about his hips. The mischief in his grin matched your own. He sank down until he was seated on a submerged stone, and without warning he pulled, and spun you down. With a graceless yelp and a splash, you found yourself seated between Red’s thighs, and encircled by his arms. Your mingled laughter was honest, and clear in the otherwise quiet night.

              You let out a breath and relaxed against his chest; he didn’t lessen his grip, though. The rock beneath you, and the water around you only served to call attention to how smooth and firm Red was by comparison. His lips travelled over your shoulder, then up your neck.

              “Red?” your voice hitched when his teeth found your earlobe.

              “Hmm?” he paused.

              The way his one-note query rumbled against you bolstered your conviction.

              “You’re really good at that.”