#God may be putting him through the spin cycle right now but he still holding on

[youknowwhoyouaremeep]

My dad is literally the funniest person alive he's 6'2 built like Stoick from httyd but has chronic social anxiety he listens to sad country songs and passes out at the sight of blood truly the perfect man

[zet-sway]

Spiritual Shrios Summer Fill: Godless

This is a prompt fill for @rosenkow's Spiritual Shrios Summer! Prompts | release | oasis | moan | delirium | pray | sweat | whisper | afterlife | contaminated | skin | worship | incense | godless | petals | taste | nectar | caress | mirage | ripe | sundown | hallucinate | salt | intoxicated | soul | embrace | hunger | wet | adrenaline | breathe |

PROMPT WORD: GODLESS | WORDS: ~1800

Rated: "G" - General Audiences AO3 Link: "The Frozen Sea" Pairing: Thane / FemShep Summary: The ocean licks at her knees - not to claim her, but to mark her. 'One foot in the grave,' as the human adage goes.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Shepard looks forward to being the first one up and awake.

Her cabin is suffocating. There are nights when she appreciates the privacy, but the silence of her isolated quarters makes her insides itch in an uncomfortable way. Just before the common area lighting begins to grow from the dim cadence of the night cycle, she leaves her room and greets the morning, intangible as only time on a starship can be. First she checks on the night crew, then starts coffee for Gardener. Finally, she makes her way down to the shuttle bay for PT. Alone.

It's unexpected when she has a visitor one quiet morning.

"Sere Krios," she says, rising from a deep stretch on the mat.

He smiles warmly, equally as surprised to see another soul at this hour. "Commander, good morning. And please, just Thane if you wouldn't mind."

Thane is the newest member of her crew and they've only spoken twice before. Maybe it shouldn't come as a surprise that he has his daily rituals as well, given his condition. He's dressed simply. Black pants, a sleeveless shirt, his defined, green chest exposed for all the world. Drell and humans share some attractive qualities. He's easy on the eyes.

She's staring, she realizes, and looks away. Thane takes his place on the mat and begins his own warm-up.

Day after day, he joins her, and they build a routine. Together, they begin with stiff, groggy stretches; then there's cardio, sweat, and strength training. Their conversations are light and technical. He respects her silence. She respects his discipline. On leg day, they limp back into the elevator in tandem. If she's lucky, she has time to join him and the crew for breakfast after her shower.

When she's alone, she quietly recalls how the light bends around the contours of his body.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

He's there as usual when she steps off the elevator and into the shuttle bay. Fully armored, helmet under one arm, weapons holstered, but ready.

"Shepard. No training today?" He rises from his place on the mat where he's been exploring the human practice of yoga, per her suggestion. It suits him. Yoga is all about breathing.

"I was beginning to think you tired of my company."

She gives him a weary smile and shakes her head.

There's a new, abnormal tension between them and by his gaze she knows he feels it too. She likes Thane. She knows hardly a damn thing about him, but he's a comfortable presence, follows orders... doesn't ask intrusive questions. However, she's breaking their routine unexpectedly, and in the moment, his gaze is almost painful.

"Is there something I should know about Alchera?"

Okay, maybe he does ask intrusive questions.

His voice is a hot knife through her muddy thoughts. The detour to Alchera hadn't been on their flight plan, but somehow, he knows. Times like this, his eidetic memory puts her on edge. She asks herself how many other kernels of obscure knowledge are locked away in his mind.

Stepping up to prep the shuttle, she weighs the consequences of lying to his face. Only six people on the ship know where she's going and why, and she doesn't want to talk about it with any of them. The words are too hard to say out loud. This is where I died.

"Alliance HR," she says finally. A partial truth.

His brows rise and his posture straightens just a bit. "Human remains." Fuck if he isn't perceptive, but if he has questions, he keeps them to himself.

She nods once, happy to have stopped this conversation in its tracks. Then she changes the subject.

"PT tomorrow," she offers with a smile. "I can't be lifting without my spotter."

"Of course, Shepard. The pleasure is mine," he responds with an acknowledging nod. She feels bad for interrupting his training as he leaves on the elevator, but she doesn't want to face her team until her task is done.

Let's just get this over with.

Alone with her thoughts, she exhales a breath she didn't know she was holding and starts her pre-flight checklist.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

It's well past dinner when she comes to him. The doors at his back swish open and she stands quietly inside the threshold. A fistful of clinking metal dangles from her hand and he knows she's come to have the conversation she avoided earlier.

"Did I catch you at a good time?"

"You did," he says smoothly. "Was there something you wanted to discuss?"

She sits across from him and the metal spills from her fist. Dog tags. Twenty of them. Her gaze is fixed on them and she appears shrouded in a fog of thoughts.

"Did you know them?" The question is gentle, he's almost afraid to know the answer.

Shepard takes a deep breath and blinks slowly. "Yeah. They were my crew."

Thane can feel a chill, as though the icy surface of the planet is still clinging to her long after she's left it. "Your ship went down on Alchera?"

She nods.

"...and you were among them."

"Yes."

He realizes now why she brushed off his words earlier. It strikes him as odd that she would bring this to him instead of Garrus, Tali, Joker, or Chakwas. All of them served on that ship with her, although he isn't sure if they were on board during the attack. She chose him for this, maybe because he'd asked, unknowingly, down in the shuttle bay. Regardless, she's here now and he struggles to understand her needs.

Thane refocuses. There's a pile of dog tags before him and each one represents a human life, now in the arms of Kalahira.

"May I read them?"

She glances up at him then, surprised. "Won't you remember them forever?"

"I'd like to."

Her lips twitch just slightly in the most cautious of smiles, and she nods. "Knock yourself out," a quietly uttered and somehow charming human expression.

Thane picks up each tag one by one and passes his eyes over them. Every name, a life extinguished. Stories unfinished. Loved ones mourning for years without closure or a body to bury. Memories percolate in his mind and he pushes them back because now is not the time. For each name, he offers a silent prayer to the goddess for their eternal peace. When he finishes, the tags are a neat horizontal stack before them.

Hands folded, he looks at her. "I don't see your name."

It's less of a question and more of an observation, but she dips one hand into her shirt collar and produces a pair of clinking metal tags. They dangle from a new chain but the metal scorched and scuffed almost to a state of illegibility. One from the Alliance, the other from the Spectres. Her name is heavily embossed into each one.

SHEPARD DECEMBER HUMAN SYSTEMS ALLIANCE

His expression lifts and he smiles, hopeful. "You survived."

Shepard shakes her head. "I was spaced."

"But you must have-"

"No, Thane." Her tone is firm, unwavering. "I was spaced."

Her intense green eyes pierce through him. There's a twinge in her voice that makes his insides clench. "I read the data on Project Lazarus. I died."

It feels like the air has been sucked out of the room. Thane tries to control his features but her assertion shakes the very foundations of his faith. Many had said she died, but he'd always understood it as a metaphor - a near death experience.

He reaches into himself for calm and a memory rises, unbidden. "Jesus and Lazarus, from the Christian bible. '...I am the resurrection and the life.'"

"Kalahira..." he breathes. "Shepard, I didn't know."

She grunts out an ugly, short laugh and tears her eyes from his. "I can't believe you read the bible."

Her words fly past him without acknowledgement. He sees her as though through fogged glass, thoughts spinning. "Kalahira released you from the sea." When the words leave his mouth, they sound like irrefutable truth.

There's silence while she fidgets across from him, and then she asks, "Do humans go to the sea too?"

"We believe all life does."

He has a thought, then. "What do you believe, Shepard?

Her expression is mildly uncomfortable. "Before or after I died?" But then she shakes her head, reconsidering. "The universe is grand enough that maybe it is god's design. But I don't think god gives a damn about us. Agnostic, I guess." Shepard pauses and looks at him, but her eyes are distant. "Maybe I'd like to believe in your sea. Right now it feels easier to accept."

"To bring comfort in dark places is the purpose of spirituality. It does not matter what you believe as long as it brings you peace."

"Some humans would disagree with you."

Aware of the myriad of human religions and their conflicts, he brushes off her statement. "This is my truth. Their opinions don't concern me."

Shepard's gaze is searching, revealing the cracks in her armor, slivers of well-hidden vulnerability. "So I went to the sea. And now I'm back."

"If I am to accept what you say, I can offer no other conclusion." He doesn't ask what she remembers, he knows he might not like the answer.

"Then what am I now? Besides a soggy, undead cyborg?"

Her voice is laced with sarcasm but Thane thinks over her question carefully, aware he will be turning it over in his mind for days to come. Kalahira, Irikah, Siha, the gods and their angels, his lover and confidant, memories and oaths... regrets and comforts.

A heavy veil of epiphany descends on him, awestruck, painfully aware of his mortality, and prickling with a primal, deeply buried fear. Once human and now something in between, she is Commander Shepard, avatar of the Sea, chosen of Kalahira. The ocean licks at her knees not to claim her, but to mark her. 'One foot in the grave,' as the human adage goes.

The fist of tension in his gut calls to mind the image of Irikah's eyes in his scope all those years ago. I thought she was the goddess Arashu. But it's not Arashu who sits before him now, but Kalahira. Her icy breath howls across the inhospitable surface of Alchera, her unfathomable currents gathering those courageous enough to follow her into the abyss. How appropriate that she appeared just as he sought his demise in the Dantius Towers. She will be the one to ferry him into the unknown when they finally breach the relay. He prays she will be merciful.

Placing one hand over hers, Thane squeezes reassuringly. He doesn't linger, the gesture is as much for him as it is for her; he wants to know that she is real, as he finally answers her question.

'Then what am I now?'

"A woman with a purpose so great, the goddess herself answered the galaxy's cry for your return."

[nitannichionne]

If He Was YOUR Fan Chapter 15: Sunday, Sunday (A Henry Cavill Fan Fic)

Chapter 15: Sunday, Sunday

                        “It is quite beautiful.” You look around at the beach and water. “I guess the storm is over?”

“I think so,” Henry nods throwing a stick for Kal to fetch. “Like it?”

“I’d like to sit here with a notebook sometime,” you inhale deeply. “Serene.”

“I run here, come here to think,” Henry shrugs with a smile. “The waves are still a bit high today, you know, because of the storm.” Kal brings the stick and he pets him. “Good boy!” He throws it again.

You sit down on a larger rock and stare out at the waters a safe distance away from getting wet, hugging yourself against the chill of early morning. It is a beautiful day. The rocks watch the skies and waters make peace after two long days of turmoil, and you feel like a spectator, listening to the lull of the gentle wind and waves with the occasional but welcome sounds of Henry and Kal playing on the shore. If there was coffee, the world would be perfect.

You reviewed the weekend in your mind, trying to commit every detail to memory. You don’t know how long this is going to last. Henry seems wonderful, and you don’t want it to end, but you want to be as prepared as possible if that is the case.

You hear a click and turn, startled to see him smiling at you with his phone pointed in your direction. “Henry!” you laugh, shaking your head. “I look horrible.”

“Not to me,” he trots to you and sits, pulling you across his lap. He watches your legs wrap around him almost instinctively, and he grins up at you. You both stare into each other’s eyes remembering this was the position you were in last night in the middle of the bed under the moonlight as it peeked through half open shutters. He filled you in so many ways you almost wept, your emotions were running so strong.

You kiss his forehead, his eyes, his nose, and tilt his head back to rub your cheek against his. You sigh heavily and dreamily, holding him close. He was tender, yet a force to be reckoned with in so many ways. He was intelligent, yet at times, well—thick. You chuckle at your thought, and then rub your cheek against him again. He is strong yet vulnerable, like you.

He pulls away gently to look at you. “What are you thinking?”

You are thinking how this weekend changes everything, but you are not sure what that change is. This is daunting and delightfully new territory. You’ve never done this before-and him? You realize maybe you should be more scared and guarded. The man was known for trysts and liaisons, not holding on to anyone longer than a year. You try to keep the sadness from your face and mask it with a small smile.

“So, now, you do know that if Archer does anything at all, I’m taking care of it?”

You blink. “What?”

“Game’s over for him, is all.”

You frown at him. “Game?”

“He didn’t respect my interest in you,” he says, his arms cradling you as his hands splay your upper back and he kisses your neck before sayin, “and now he’d better.”

“Henry-!” You hear desire and danger in his whispered tone. You look at him, and he has a look that tells you this could be an argument. “You can’t—"

He frowns up at you and says, “I’m sorry, I just don’t take kindly to how he acted. Tomorrow, I’m getting to the bottom of it at the gym.”

“What?” you feel a sudden panic. “What?” Your mind is racing.

“I just feel like your being left was not accidental,” his voice is deep again, his blue eyes sparking. “and it was in bad taste, not to mention dangerous.”

“But I’m alright—”

“Yes, but that is not his doing,” he bit out.

“How about you let me talk to him?” you ask, framing his face with your hands. The look on Henry’s face looks like he is going to hurl accusations, not investigate. “I may be able to find out what really happened.”

“Did you talk to Stella?”

“Yes, I did,” you say slowly. “She was still upset about the whole thing, and she said that Archer had turned around, but then you came.”

“Hmm,” Henry’s eyebrows furrowed in deep thought. “So, what about Hannah?”

You sigh. This was what you didn’t want to talk about. “She and I aren’t close.”

“But you, Stella and Hannah came from the Palmer,” Henry replied, searching my eyes. “I remember her-your bunkmates? She and Stella saw us that morning.”

“Yes, and she saw me at the job interview.”

Henry’s exhale ended in a look of displeasure. “Do you think she is capable of such things?”

“I don’t think so,” you say quickly, but Henry’s look silently demands the truth. “I don’t know.” You brighten on purpose. Tomorrow is day away, and you no longer want to talk about it. “Kind of a chilly day. How about some cajun soup?”

“It’s Sunday—”

“The ingredients are at my place, I was going to bring them over and cook for you.”

That made him smile. “Let’s get them before we hole up again, hmm?”

Hours later you are back at his place, and the whole house smells of bread, coffee and spices. Henry insists on making bread to go with your soup.

You serve him up some, and he digs in. He gives a small cough. “Spicy.”

“Take your time, you can’t wolf that down,” you warn. “The spices demand their respect.”

With a raise of his eyebrows, he spoons out the soup more slowly. You cut some bread and bring him and butter  with it. He looks at it and looks up at you. “Thank you, darling.”

“No prob,” you smile.

“Sit with me.”

“Dishes.”

“I’ll help you with those.”

You raise an eyebrow.

“Sit with me, please?”

You can’t say no when he looks like that. You serve yourself a small bowl and cut the warm bread, buttering it with ease. “This is going to be good.”

“Mmm-hmm,” he nods. He looks at Kal, who is eating his food in the corner of the kitchen and then back at you. He stares at you.

“What?”

“You look nice in my sweater,” he smiles at you.

“Thanks—oh!” You realize you forgot to get clothes! “I forgot my clothes, babe!”

His smile widens. “It’s okay. Remember you never really used that change of clothes—well, except the underwear.”

You realize this is the first time you called him anything other than his name and feel a flush of heat. You feel a little embarrassed, but he’s been calling you all sorts of endearments. It was bound to happen and it isn’t a bad thing.

With the exception of studying his script and running lines, the day is very laid back. You both smell rain and take Kal out before it does.

As night falls, you start getting ready for Monday. You shake your head at Henry, who is on his hamster wheel of an exercise bike.

“What?” he huffs.

“I cycle.”

“Ah, what is this?”

“Spinning.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yes, you don’t have to maintain core balance, so it’s just cardio and motion.”

“That’s right, you cycle-love not being at point A or point B but someplace in between.”

Another quote from one of your web pages. “Trains have that effect, too.”

“Well—” he smiles widely. “Give it a try.” You hear a beep and he swings off. “Five minutes?”

You smirk and you swing on. “Can I have something to look at?”

“What a baby!” He teases. He pulls turns his computer screen toward you. “English countryside?”

“Sure.” You smirk.

He starts the video and sets the bike. “There—” he smacks your rear soundly. “off you go!” He throws his towel over his shoulder and walks away.

You do the short program and realize the difficulty levels are a decent leg workout and you break a sweat. You still prefer cycling outside though. When you are done with the program you realize he set it for ten minutes instead of five, the stinker! You swing off, and move through the house. “Henry, you butthead, you set the bike for—” Your voice dies in your throat.

“Ah, just in time,” he smiles, his eyes full of humor as he walks by in nothing but a towel. “Shower?”

You start undressing as you follow him, leaving a trail of semi-sweaty clothes behind you. By the time you step in the water is running and he has already begun bathing. He stops, however, to grab you by your waist and draw you to him.

“God you’re slow.”

“Am not,” you retort childishly. “you had a headstart—” You are cut off my his kiss as he washes and shampoos. His eyes are closed and you get to just stare at him.

He turns away. “Get my back?”

You take the sponge away from him and alternate between scrubbing and gliding over his skin.

“Ah, I had a feeling you would do that,” his voice sounds soft and breathy. “Would it be too much trouble for you to—”

You go lower to his lower back and glutes, making him laugh softly. You then put the sponge in your other hand and return to him, moving your hand to cup him where he is soft, gently massaging and caressing him, then moving over his growing shaft as he spreads his legs and puts his palms against the shower wall, moaning.

“Darling, darling if you keep….ohhh….” he hisses, surrendering to your caress as his hips begin to sway to meet your movements and your thumb caresses the tip alternately. You hold him close with your other hand, kissing his spine and rubbing up against him. His soft moans blend with the sound of the shower until he whispers your name in that certain way and you feel a wave warmer than the shower water move over you. You hope to hear him say your name like that again, and you never want to forget it-the tone, the volume, the heat-never.

Monday’s going to be interesting isn’t it? Stay tuned, and if you want to be tagged, let me know. Follow if you want to look at other Cavill stories. 

Thanks, Tagmates:

@mistress-of-ward @nuggsmum @messyinsomniacbookgirl @jencanbeyouryengeralt​ @sweetdreamsofgelato​ @maryann84 @omgkatinka​ @the-soot-sprite @viking-raider @keanureevesisbae​ @henryobsessed​ @summersong69​ @kinbhot4henners​ @sunshine96love​ @michelehansel​ @radofrivia @thelastsock​ @michelehansel @tumblnewby @henryobsessed @defffcc @tenaciousneckpartypainter @rn7rocksn @mrskikkirazz @daydreamin83 @ruthoakenshield @musicartmayheminmyheart @michelehansel

Hope to hear from you all-love comments. Wisdom and wellness to you!

[muilkyu]

𝗧𝗿𝗲𝗮𝘀𝘂𝗿𝗲 𝗥𝗲𝗮𝗰𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻 𝘁𝗼 𝗬𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝗣𝗲𝗿𝗶𝗼𝗱

🐷 Hyunsuk

"Should there be that much blood? You're not dying right," the face would actually be kinda cute if he didn't look so disturbed, but you reply anyways.

"Yes and it's the normal amount now will you please just bring me a towel?"

"You know what you seem like you have it all figured out I'll let you do what you have to do and then you just call me when you want cuddles," Hyunsuk is already speed walking out of the room before you have the chance to reply.

God he's an idiot you think.

He loves you but periods just make him to nervous

He will give you all the cuddles in the world

He will NOT buy you pads or tampons no matter how much you ask

He is terrible at dealing with the mood shifts

🐼 Jihoon

"Babe what size do you need?" Jihoon questions over the phone.

"I need Regular and the brand doesn't matter," you respond.

"Are you sure the brand can also be important. I don't want you to feel any discomfort love."

You coo at your boyfriend and reassure him that as long as he picks regular you are fine.

100% would make a midnight run for you

He has a heating pad ready as soon as you mention your period

Buys you chocolate and snacks when you ask

Has ibuprofen or Tylenol for you when the cramps get to much

He says it hurts to see you in pain and wishes he could take all the pain away

🐯 Yoshi

"Do you want a hug or maybe a massage or I don't know...do you want me to leave?" Yoshi questions pacing around the carpet in your room.

"No but can you please stop moving your’re giving me a headache," you say holding you head.

"Okay so I should stay?" He questions sitting down on the bed next to you.

You hum and he pulls you close, tucking your head into his neck while rubbing your head.

Confused yet really wants to help

He isn't sure if he should leave or stay while you have mood swings

Claimed he would be able to help you through your period because of his sister, but he was actually clueless

He instead just cuddles you through all your cramps and headaches

🐨 Junkyu 

"Can we get ice cream on the way back," you whine pointing to a nearby Baskin Robbins.

Junkyu pauses and thinks for a moment, "I don't think we have time if we want to make it to the movie."

This doesn't sit well with you and the whiny face turns to one of sadness. You pout and slowly nod, "Okay. To the movies it is then."

Noticing your sudden shift in mood your boyfriend laughs in an attempt to lighten the mood, "Okay, we do have a few minutes to spare."

Doesn't want to but with a little push will do anything for you

He doesn't know much but is willing to learn

Doesn't want to make you upset so he just complies

He isn't a big cuddler but when your on the verge of tears from a strong cramp he turns to butter

🐹 Mashiho

"No, don't cry. I didn't mean to hurt you," Mashi says crouching down to be the same height with the couch.

You hold on the side of your stomach which he accidentally hit while trying to show you a new flip he learned.

"I didn't hit you in the stomach, why are you crying," he whines, voice becoming a little bit high pitched and it's cute.

"I get sore everywhere you fool,"

He looks a bit astonished at the new information, "Really?"

You look at him with a small glare but let up when you can still see the curiosity and remorse in his eyes, "Yes and now I need a pain reliever and a glass of water."

"I'm on it,"

He treats you like a piece of glass

All the information he knows about periods are from dramas and tv so he is really interested in learning

He doesn't want to make you cry or sad so he try to be the perfect boyfriend

When your having a bad cramp he talks in his cute voice and you smile (he considers this an victory)

🦁 Jaehyuk

"Say ahh," Jaehyuk says holding out the spoon ready to feed you a bite of bulgogi.

"You know I can feed myself right," You question back.

He pouts," I am aware, but you're already going through so much. Let me take care of you."

He looks so determined to help out so you end up letting him feed you through the rest of dinner. Even though you got a few stares from the other dinners around you.

"Let me take care you" he takes it to a new level

Anything that he can do for you he does

He makes sure your alarm is set and you're up in the morning

Makes sure you have extra tampons or pads in your purse

He also cares around a pill or two of ibuprofen

He made sure to do his research on periods to make the experience better for you

🤖 Asahi

"We should do something today," your boyfriend suggests.

You glance up from your phone, eyebrow already raised, "You want to go out."

"Sure why not. The sun is about to set and I know you want to go take pictures," Asahi replies. You smile already getting on a pair of slippers.

"To the roof we go!" You shout.

-

"The sky is so pretty look at that cloud," You exclaim, spinning around pointing at the pink and blue sky.

Ashai smiles at you. It's the first time this week he's seen you happy all week.

It's just a normal week for Asahi and you

Your cramps aren't as bad this week but Asahi despite being nervous takes care of you

He does little things that make your life easier. Such as making food for you, washing the dishes, and bringing you a glass of water without you even asking

🦊 Yedam 

"We should go to the park today," Yedam says over the phone. He can hear him shuffling with papers in the background, probably some lyrics or homework.

"I can't today. My period decided to attack me this morning. Maybe next weekend." You say.

"Ahh, well we could just stay in then." He suggested.

"No, I'll be fine, enjoy your free weekend and we can plan next weekend."

"Nope, I'm coming over and we are gonna eat Ramen and I'll sing you a song to sleep." He says.

"Okay, let's have a sleepover then."

Drops everything he is doing to be by your side

Sings you to sleep even over the phone if he has to

Sleepovers are a must for your relationship

You both love spending time together and when your cycle starts Yedam just holds you all night

He won't ask you about any of the details of your period but if he has to he'll will make you tea for your cramps

🐰 Doyoung 

"Can we make a special stop?" You ask.

Doyoung looks at you confused, "For what?"

"I need to stop and get something you just wait here and I'll be right back."

Doyoung still looks puzzled but then it clicked, "Ah, you mean feminine stuff."

A shy smile makes its way onto your face, but you nod anyways.

"It's okay we can go together." He says, already making his way to the isle.

Is comfortable with periods to an extent

Knows what to do when you have cramps or are out of pads

May have asked his mom for advice but won't admit it

Cooks for you when your hungry

Is just the perfect boyfriend when your not feeling the best

🐏 Haruto 

"It hurts. You don't understand it's painful," You groan holding your stomach.

"It can't be that painful come on."

"You know I love you but you're really clueless."

He sits down next to you, head in his hands," Okay, I know nothing about this at all. Tell me what I can do to make you feel better."

"Can you just hold me?" You ask.

"Of course. Anything to make you feel better." Haruto smiles.

"And order me pizza."

"Don't push it."

Doesn't really understand periods

He is willing to learn although he doesn't know anything

Decides to just be a good boyfriend and do whatever you ask

🐺 Jeongwoo

"Okay, I got you a chocolate chip cookie, popcorn, jelly, and orange juice and apple juice because I didn't know which one you would like. Oh and I also picked out a salad because all this sugar isn't good for you." Jeongwoo says placing all the food he picked up from the convenience store on the corner.

Chuckling you reach for the apple juice, "I didn't need all this food. All I asked for was a pack of gum."

"Yes, I know but what if you get hungry then you have more options."

"Awee, that's so cute," You coo standing up to give him a hug, "Thank you for thinking of me." Before you can give him a proper hug through he moves away.

"Sorry I love you but what if you bleed on me or something."

"Omg, really? Please tell me how I could bleed on you from giving you a hug," he opens his mouth about to respond but you put your hand up silencing him, "Don't answer that just make me my popcorn please."

Trying to be there for you

The overall fear takes over him though

Makes up any excuse to not touch you he's too afraid to make something worse

May have googled 'how to help your girlfriend through a period'

the advice didn't help

🐮 Junghwan

"Eww, no please just pick it up," Junghwan cringes pushing the pad away from him with the end of his pencil.

You laugh picking it up, "It's just a pad it won't kill you."

"How do you know that?! Anything could magically grow legs," he debates.

"I can't believe we are having this conversation right now," you say pushing the pad back into your book-bag.

You don't even get to talk about periods with Junghwan

He avoids the topic at all costs

The sight of a pad makes him feel weird

But when your having a bad cramp or just in a bad mood he will bring you a bag of jelly's or sweet bread (it makes you smile)

I hope you enjoyed!

Requested by: @kataaa2005​

[thiswasinevitableid]

82, Sternclay, NSFW if possible? Ty so much for all your great fics <3 -☀️

You’re welcome! I hope you enjoy the fill. It’s NSFW, and involves mating cycles, because my A03 stats suggest a lot of y’all like that.

82. you knock on my door at 2 in the morning because your very white cat got out and you need help trying to find them in the three feet of snow we have

He has no one but himself to blame. 

Stern is always so careful about shutting the doors in this cabin, as the old hinges and worn frames can send them swinging open when coupled with a strong wind. He thought he had that same care when he came in with more firewood from the basement, which can only be accessed through by going out of the house and then down to the locked door. 

Apparently not. At one, he went to check on Yeti and found the back door open and the faintest shape of feline paws leading into the darkness. 

They’ve got two feet of snow on the ground, with another foot forecasted to fall by morning. And Yeti is sleek and snow-white.

He’s wandered the perimeter of the house, left her favorite blanket out on the covered porch, and tried in vain to follow the tracks, filled in by the falling snow. He’s been outside for an hour now, with no sign of her. Not even the jingle of her collar in the cold air. He’s shivering, but he can’t stop the search; Yeti is out here, cold and scared and it’s all his fault. 

As he’s crunching through the snow, warm light spills onto the trees. His neighbors  (a loose term out here) house. He couldn’t stand waking Barclay up to help him, but if he’s already awake…

Stern raps on the door, and four seconds later it opens, his neighbor looking like a lumberjack centerfold given life, even in his sweatpants and brown sweater. 

“Joe? Is something wrong?”

“It’s Yeti, she got out without me noticing and I can’t find her, I’ve been out here an hour and there’s no sign. I, um, I know it’s a stretch but can you help me look for her? We can cover more ground that way.”

Barclay gives a small, worried smile as he nods, “Yeah, of course, lemme get enough on so that I don’t freeze and I’ll join you.” 

He waves Stern inside, passes him a box of tissues before disappearing upstairs. Here he’d hoped the tears from his brief panic and self-blame spiral hadn’t left evidence. He’s good in a crisis, has handled much more stressful incidents with grace and calm. But for some reason every time he musters up those emotions, gult rips them to shreds. Yeti is his to look after, he’s supposed to keep her safe, and one careless move has her out in the woods, in freezing weather, with predators, or thin ice, or, or, or-

His brain is excellent at generating contingency plans on the fly, but tonight it directs that ability to making him think about all the bad things his error could cause. 

“Okay, got my headlamp so I can keep my hands free. You got a light?”

Joe holds up his flashlight.

“C’mon, let’s go find the Yeti.” They set off side by side in the snow, “where do you want to look?”

“Fan out near the creek, I think. The snow isn’t as deep there, so she might have gone that way because it was easier to move.”

“She’s a climber, right? So how about this; we go on either side of the creek, you look on the ground and I’ll look in the trees?”

“That makes sense.” 

It’s slow going, both of them being meticulous, shining their lights on every branch or under every bush. Stern’s always appreciated how careful Barclay is; he assumes it comes with a profession where being messy slows you down, but the first time he saw his well-organized kitchen his heart did a little dance of delight. 

In the month and a half he’s lived here, the cook invites him over at least twice a week to try out a recipe. He works at Amnesty Lodge in the nearby town of Kepler, and spends some of his nights there. Still, he’s at his cabin often enough that Stern’s been able to invite him over some evenings. Though it’s odd he’s up so late on a work night.

“Do you not have to go in tomorrow?”

“Yeah, I’m taking this week off. I have some vacation time and when I get back it’ll be the holiday break rush until New Years. I got caught up in the latest Agent X novel and didn’t see how late it was until you knocked. How about you, staying up researching again?”

“Yes. I was trying to keep the fire going because it’s nice to work in that little living room but, um, going out to get the wood is how she got out. If I’d just gone to bed-”

“Whoah, hey, none of that.” Barclay stops, turning to face him, “shit happens, even when you’re careful. This isn’t your fault, Joe.”

“I know. It still feels that way.” He starts forward again, feet freezing in spite of his snowboots (chosen for optimal weight to insulation ratio). Part of him wants to keep talking, because Barclay is interesting to talk to, his years playing “Lodge dad” giving him endless anecdotes and the ability to be honest without being cruel. 

It helps that his baritone voice makes Stern think of brown sugar; rich, complex, just the right kind of sweet. 

After a solid hour of searching, Stern is so cold he’s having trouble getting words out. Barclay sets a big hand on his shoulder, guiding them towards Sterns cabin.

“Joe, you’ve gotta take a break. Worried your lips are gonna go as blue as your eyes, and then tonight will really suck.”

“But I haven’t found her.”

“And you won’t if you freeze to death or get so chilled you can’t think straight. At least sleep for a few hours.”

Stern’s about to protest as they reach the door, but then his knees buckle and he slumps against a broad chest.

“I’ll do one more spin into the deeper woods on my way home, and leave some blankets out on the porch in case she makes her way to me. She’s smart, just like her owner; I think she’ll get home okay.”

“Right. Okay. We’ll be okay.” 

Barclay hesitates mid motion, then pulls Stern into a hug. Stern is not small, and at Six feet zero inches he’s used to being the tallest person in a room. Barclay always feels like he’s dwarfing him, though right now that’s the most comforting sensation in the world. 

“I’ll check by in the morning.”

“Thank you, for everything.” He mumbles into Barclay’s scarf.

“Any time, Joe.”

----------------------------------------

Barclay waits until Joe is inside and the upstairs light switches on to leave the back porch. God, it’s so fucking cold tonight. He doesn’t blame Yeti for getting curious, but she could’ve picked a less awful time to do it.

He’s glad the other man came to him for help; he hates the idea of Joe out here alone and stressed, searching carefully and kicking himself the whole time. He’s glad Joe took the suggestion to sleep. 

He’s glad the other man came to be his neighbor. 

Ironically, they’d met when Joe came over and asked to borrow a cup of sugar. The dark-haired man was short on what he needed to cook, and Barclay was happy to supply it. It’s not everyday a cute guy asked him for some sugar. 

They ran across each other in town, and Joe even came to eat at the Lodge, usually at off hours where Barclay had a chance to talk. That’s how he learned Joe was here to research a recent Bigfoot sighting. 

“I used to be in the FBI, investigating the same thing. Then I got so frustrated, no one really believed in the possibility of unknown creatures, and the few who did saw them as having some sort of use to the department of defense. Great idea, find something so rare it’s existence is unproven, and then lock it away or blow it up.” The sip of coffee is more aggressive than usual. 

“Won’t they get mad if you spill their secrets?” It was only half a joke. 

“I doubt it. They weren’t too interested in my theories when I worked there; odds are they’ll keep an eye on me a little while and then ignore me. Unless I find Bigfoot, of course, in which case they may want me back. I’m not interested, from now on I monster hunt in the name of science.”

Barclay hopes Stern never finds Bigfoot and stays in his cabin, writing and researching and consulting and coming over to Barclay’s for dinner twice a week. He has a whole menu in his mind titled, “foods for seducing Joe” that he’s going to whip out in the next few weeks, he swears it. 

He’s been swearing it for two weeks. 

Joe is sophisticated, smart, has really good taste in books and food, and Barclay feels so listened to when they talk. Barclay starts blushing whenever Joe smiles at him, which would be embarrassing except Joe does the same thing whenever Barclay drops his voice a little. Besides, he likes it when Joe smiles. 

Barclay would give anything to make Joe smile tonight. Which is why he’s tromping into the spot where they lost the last of Yeti’s footprints. He stands, listening for any sign of human life. 

Then he slips the woven bracelet off his hand, and his foot-prints almost double in size. 

It’s a bad idea, he’s not all that far from other houses or the road, but in this form his sense of smell is twice as strong and his night-vision a bit sharper. It’s also the reason he’s taking this week off work. Yes, he likes to rest up before the winter rush; but his heat, which comes ever fourteen years, is due in the next few days. He’s actually a little worried turning into his Sylph self will make his brain fuzzy enough to forget his mission. So he reminds himself, as he tromps through the growing blizzard, that he is doing this for the person he’d most like to impress in this world, and that does the trick. 

A whiff of the same, non-human scent he stole a noseful of when hugging Joe catches his attention. He follows it to a disused burrow, gets down on his belly, and finds reflective eyes blinking back at him. 

The animal hisses. 

“Man, please be Yeti and not a bobcat. Duck’s gonna fucking kill me if I harass the wildlife.” He reaches into the burrow and hears a telltale jingle. Yeti, surrendering to her fate, goes limp in his hold. When he puts her against his chest she chirps, curiously sniffing him. As soon as the bracelet is on she blinks once, then purrs as he bundles her into his coat. She’s cold and damp, but she’s in one piece. 

“C’mon cousin, let’s get you home.”

The lights are all still one, and the front door is wedged open the exact amount a cat would need to get inside. He steps in, kicks the wedge free and shuts the door. The fire is low, and there’s no sound of anyone moving around. 

“Joe? Whoa, careful Yeti, I know you wanna get warm but we should show him your okay.”

“Mew!” Yeti bites the fringe of his scarf. 

He tries again, “Joe, you still up? Got someone for you?”

A scuff and groan from the kitchen, “Huh? Oh, shit, I fell asleep, one second”

Yeti shifts her focus while Barclay is distracted. In one graceful leap she rips his bracelet away, lands, and bounds to the kitchen.

“Yeti! Thank the lord, there you are my little cryptid, I was so worried about you, don’t ever do that again, thank god you’re okay.” Joe’s voice goes muffled, as if he’s holding the cat to his face and talking into her fur. Barclay is frozen, not wanting to be seen but even less wanting to have Joe spot Bigfoot dashing into the trees. 

“What do you have--Yeti, it’s rude to take things from the man who saved you from being-” Joe rounds the corner, cat in his arms, and gasps. Yeti, uninterested in the unfolding drama, tumps to the floor and scampers upstairs. Joe’s hands fly over his mouth the instant she’s no longer in them. 

“Hey” Barclay waves.

“What the fuck?”

“I’m, uh, I’m Bigfoot.”

“What the fuck?” Joe isn’t moving, and Barclay decides now is his best chance. 

“I’m just, uh, gonna go get my bracelet back.”

“No, you’re going to explain everything.” 

“I really, really can’t, some of it isn’t mine to explain. I mean, uh, I can explain some bits later-” He creeps toward the stairs. Joe steps in front of him. 

“Barclay, this can’t wait. You, you’ve been him the whole time, my entire world view is simultaneously being proven and flipped over, would you please just talk to me?”

“Mew?” Yeti is halfway down the stairs, watching them with the bracelet still in her mouth. Without breaking eye contact, Joe reaches up and out, plucking it from her teeth.

“You’re not getting this back until you explain.”

“Babe, please, I promise we’ll talk about it tomorrow.”

“No, wait, what did you call me?”

“Uhhhh” Barclay lunges for the bracelet instead of answering. Stern twists out of the way, sprinting for the kitchen. Barclay gets an arm around his waist and yanks backwards, sending them both over the back of the couch. Joe elbows him and scrambles up. Barclay only just manages to block him from going up the stairs, stalks him back onto the rug and tackles him. It succeeds in bringing the man down and keeping him pinned. 

It also sends the bracelet flying onto the floor, where Yeti snatches it up and disappears up the staircase. 

Barclay realizes he’s growling, stops so that he won’t frighten Joe, only for it to start up again as a reflex.

“Barclay, I swear, if you hurt my cat-”

“I won’t, I, that’s what not that noise is for. Or, uh, I mean I’m pissed you played keep-away with something I need, but I also have some bad news about Sy--uh, Bigfoot biology. Uh, so, first thing: I have a heat, which is why I was trying to stay away from people. Second thing: my kind uses a very intense game of, uh, chase as part of courtship.”

Stern shifts his thigh, “That explains what I’m feeling.”

“Fuck, I’m sorry. Look, can you go get the bracelet and then we can, like, have some tea and talk about this? I’m sorry, I feel so bad for making you deal with this.” The growl rumbles up again. He gears up another apology when he notices Joe’s blue eyes getting wider.

“Is this, um, only because of your heat? I mean, if you tackled some passerby, would the same thing be happening?”

“No.” Barclay squeaks. 

“Then I’m not seeing how this is a bad thing, big guy.” He grinds his thigh up, making Barclay yip and pin him to the rug while touching as little of him as possible. 

“Joe, this doesn’t make me like, mindless or anything, but if you say you want this you are signing up for several days of as much fucking as I can manage.”

“I don’t have any deadlines.” Joe’s eyes remain fixed on Barclays crotch. 

“I’m serious, if you say stop I will, but if you don’t you won’t be able to get out of bed for days. And, uh, I can put my disguise back on, you don’t have to fuck me like this, I know it’s weird.”

“Barclay, I built my life’s work on weird.” Joe pets his arm.

“Yeah but not on fucking it.”

“How do you know? Lots of my time with the UP is classified.”

“Joe…” it’s a warning, the heat in  his brain suggesting a dozen things to do so the human can’t be touched by another cryptid ever again.

“I want you, Barclay. In both forms. As long as you promise we’ll talk after, I’m okay with doing this first.”

“I promise”

“Good, because otherwise I was going out to see if there’s another bigfoot in the area who was interested.” Joe smiles, moves to pull off his shirt. He doesn’t get to; Barclay snarls possessively and drops onto him, biting his neck and ripping his clothing into a flurry of fabric scraps. The human moans, gasps when Barclay makes short work of his own pants and reveals what’s waiting beneath. Barclay doesn’t give him time to process, shoves his legs as far apart as they’ll go, and finally sinks into him.

“JesusfuckingCHRIST, ohfuck, ohmyfuckinggodAH!”

His cock is more thick than long, splitting the human open while bottoming out on every thrust. Joe’s fingers knot into the rug, his words morph into sharp, ecstatic sounds. Every creature in the forest can probably hear him. 

Barclay clamps his hand down over the humans mouth, “shut up babe, don’t want anyone else in the woods getting any ideas about how good a fuck you are. You’re fucking mine.”

A muffled moan and, when he pulls his hand back, “Y-you really think I, fuck, I can keep quiet when you fuck me like this?”

“Thought they taught FBI agents discipline” he drags his claws across Joe’s chest, relishing the shaky, happy noise that gets him. 

“There’s discipline and, AAHnnn, there’s inhuman restraint.”

Barclay slams the hand down again and growls, pleased, when Joe’s posture turns submissive.

“Here’s the deal; you keep quiet and take it like a good mate, and after I cum in you, can be as loud as you fucking want, because anyone who gets near you’ll know belong to me. I mean” he jerks his hips, “they’ll be able to tell that from the fact I’m balls-deep in you too, babe.”

Joe nods, replaces Barclays hand with his own as the Sylph hooks his knees over his shoulders. The next minute goes in a heat haze, his brain and body united in the desire to cum in Joe, to claim him,  while the human stifles his screams and grows slicker with each thrust. 

He tips his head back with a howlgrowlpurr as he cums, leaving faint clawmarks in Joe’s legs as he holds them open to make sure he takes every bit.

“Lord almighty” Joe’s hand falls to the floor, “that, that was amazing, why on earth were you acting like this isn’t something I’d waaAAAAAntohgod.” He whimpers as Barclay starts up again, fucking his cum up into him.

“Shoulda known you’d like it; you’re perfect, Joe.”

A blush and a shy moan, and he leans down to kiss him gently.

“You are. You’re the perfect man, the perfect mate, and we are gonna have so much fucking fun together.”

“And fun fucking?” He looks pleased with the wordplay.

He snorts, “Glad to know that sense of humor sticks around when I’m filling you up, oh, ohfuckyeah” another orgasm hits, milder this time. 

“Are they near constant when you’re in heat?” Joe eyes the trail of cum sliding back down Barclay’s cock.

“No, just easy to have. So” he flips the human over, squeezing his ass appreciatively, “let’s try it from  behind this time; wanna find out how it feels to cum in you while I get you off.” He slips his hand over Joe’s thigh and between his legs, “and you better fucking do it too, of I’ll drag you outside and fuck you against a tree so anyone passing by can see how fucking eager you are for me.”

“Please, we’ve spent so much time outside tonight.”

He thinks as kisses along Joe’s shoulders, “You’re right. I’ll fuck you against the door instead.”

-------------------------------------

When Stern wakes up, snow is falling in the grey light and his clock reads 2:30 P.M. Downstairs there’s a homey clink of pots and pans, and the smell of coffee winds it’s way to him. 

He fell asleep around five, he thinks, when the cumulative exhaustion of his day overpowered the thrill of being with Barclay. Honestly, he’d have kept going, but Barclay was adamant he rest. So they finished with him fucking Stern’s slack, sleepy mouth, before the cryptid bundled him into bed and snuggled up to him with those deep, rumbling purrs that Stern now loves.

The bracelet is gone from the nightstand (Yeti didn’t eat it, thank god), so the chef must be making breakfast in his human form. Now would be a good time to go down and talk. 

“Mew” A weight lands on his chest as Yeti kneads the blankets, purring when he reaches you and rubs her head.

“You know, little monster, this almost makes the heart attack you gave me worth it.”

“Mew?” The cat stares hopefully out the windows. 

“Not a chance. I can’t take that stress again. Besides” he scoops her up, “we need to unbox that new toy I ordered. Barclay and I need some time to ourselves today.”

[bi-outta-cordonia]

Sky and Moon, Part II

This thing has been kicking my butt for weeks now but it’s done and I’m done with it! Part 2, where the thing happens and maybe these idiots will actually start trying to make something of this. Maybe!! This is part of a running thing at this point and Tyril is officially the character I’ve written the most for at this point. 

Blades of Light and Shadow. Tyril Starfury x f!elf MC (Ashala Venralei). sfw, mostly T rating for some mentions of mature situations. Tags include: Tyril is kind of a coward but listen he’s trying, some big make outs I’ve been a lil too eager to finally get to, uh also some fights, mostly practice, but Tyril has been just a bit irritating for my poor girl to deal with.

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

Gallius, the Unmoving. She swallowed her sisters and became the immovable, bare-naked creature that looms over all Morella. Her cracked surface and scattered pieces were the final result of her violent consumption, so the legend says. While her sisters accepted their fate, their bodies writhed and screamed when it came time to fulfill that destiny.

Confronting the inevitable remains difficult even for the gods it seems.

The moon hangs high in the sky, bathing the earth in pale light that faintly illuminates all the move about the realm. The first thing he notices is that Imtura remains missing from camp. Her words to him may change things depending if his stubbornness continues to hold him hostage. Nia sits absently scratching a sleeping Threep, an occasional smile tugging at her lips when he purrs and rubs at his face with a paw. Tyril remains in the shadows for now and watches carefully as Mal slowly trudges through the camp.

“She was trying to kill me,” he sighs, exasperated. He drops onto the log he was sitting on hours ago and ignores Nia’s stifled laughter.

“I’m sure you would’ve been dead by now if she desired such a thing!” she explains.

“You think you know her sooo well until she’s got you pinned between a rock and a hard place while she’s,” he frantically waves a hand, “throwing fireballs about! I want to be happy that she’s getting better at battle magic but then she singes my arse and I have to remind myself she’s trying to kill people when she does that.”

Tyril’s head bows—Ashala came to him on a night he was keeping watch asking about elven battle magic. She’s still searching for answers to questions she isn’t ready to know. 

Even with the markings on her and the extensive teachings her parents bestow upon her, she is not fully knowledgable of elven practices. He gave in then, the culmination of their late nights together leading him down a path of curiosity he’s apparently decided to indulge.

Mal sighs and props himself up on his arms. “That Ashala is something else.”

“You’ve mentioned that before,” Nia says, gently setting Threep on the ground. She rises and reaches out to warm her hands over the fire. “Would it be too forward to ask if anything…er…if you two might…?”

A heavy silence hangs between the two of them for a long while and Nia looks up. Mal’s entire game is deception and sleight of hands—if there ever was a moment he let his true feelings slip through, he’s done well to conceal them. Tyril waits, his gaze briefly flicking towards the direction beyond the trees where Ashala still remains.

“It’s been tense around here,” Mal says instead. A part of Tyril seizes up but he remembers himself quickly. Mal’s eyes focus straight ahead and his brow furrows. “Tyril and Imtura still out there?”

Nia shrugs. “I saw Imtura a little earlier but Tyril hasn’t come back yet.”

“Figures…” Mal mutters, lying back down.

He tries to ignore the venom dripping off the tip of his tongue. The resentment Tyril harbors isn’t for Mal—it should be for his own indecisiveness and for the coward that still crumples at the first sign of something gone wrong rather than facing his shortcomings.

“Hey, Nia—” She lifts her head and looks at Mal again. “You ever feel like you know something’s about to go wrong but you keep on wishing something else would happen? Like there’s a storm brewing—and it’s definitely coming—but some tiny part of you still hopes it’ll change course?”

Nia doesn’t answer for quite some time, choosing instead to stoke the dimming fire with carefully constructed orbs of light. Her magic bursts over the flames, reigniting the embers licking at the empty air all around.

“Sometimes,” she finally responds. “The way I’ve come to think of this world—all the bad things that happen in it—there are just some things out of our control and some things that just happen no matter how hard we try to change that course.”

Mal lets out a bark of laughter. “Of all the people! I thought you were going to rave about putting faith in the Light!”

Nia sighs. “I do believe in the strength and kindness that can come from trusting in the Light. I choose to believe that there is good that can come from what I’ve learned and that I can use that knowledge to help others. But all too often, people forget that the Light does not grant us omniscience and it cannot change fate on request.”

Tyril recedes further into the shadows, eyes briefly shutting and boy shuddering as he takes a breath. He knows the game of give and take, push and pull—Undermount shows him that the Light is a boon where faith is waning but it is not a being that grants wishes so easily. It gives knowledge and takes parts of the soul in exchange. Nature must maintain its balance.

“Is it wrong that I want something bad to happen?” Mal asks. “Not necessarily to a person, but just—say for a situation instead? As in I hope something doesn’t turn out a certain way so I don’t have to wonder if I’ve been wasting my time…”

Tyril shakes his head and beats down the bitterness that rises up in him. His ears twitch when Nia responds.

“I think its natural to wish for things to turn out in your favor. No one wants to lose anything—we all want what we truly desire in life. But even still, we can fail. Despite that, I choose to move forward and do what I can. I would rather try and then fail than rest on my laurels waiting for an outcome I can’t predict.”

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

Each white mark is strategically placed, forming a trove of patterns that look all too familiar. His father once told him of a story about a house that submerged itself in the power that came from knowledge as opposed to the power that came from playing the grand political game. It was a house that dealt only in rediscovery. They often searched for old philosophies, literature, techniques, and magics—the only thing that mattered to them was reclaiming all the lost remnants of the Old Kingdom that were left in the wake of the Shadow Court’s destruction.

Ashala’s brands are similar to the ones his father described back then.

Lumeniese and Sabien: the tragedy of the twin trees,

Myyori, the Wandering Maiden,

Thyrithet and the White Bull—

She conceals the rest behind long black robes and the best leatherwork she can afford. His face heats and his eyes dart away thinking of all the times he laid up on nights wondering what the full work looks like.

Ashala’s hands extend out and away from her body, palms turned upward and brilliant balls of light pulsating in each hand. Energy pours from the marks, stirs deep inside him as her subconscious draws from the power all around her. It gives and she takes. Dew droplets from the tiniest blade of grass, a hidden insect stirring heat as its tiny legs frantically move—circling and funneling through that conduit that is her body into the flat of her palms. Nature provides and demands in the same breath, it cycles but she is smart enough to ask for the minimal. There is no need to be greedy with the Light.

He steps through the clearing and she ignores him.

Tyril’s fingers part and stretch slowly—the bitter taste of electricity from the skies tingles on his tongue and the crackle of static ripples up the length of his arm, raising locks of his hair on end. Sparks tingle through heated skin and his lips tremble. Small bolts of lightning pop and crack the air, some shooting out of his palm into the very ground around Ashala’s feet.

Her head perks up but she keeps her back to him. Ashala’s fingers twitch and her magic swallows the bolts of power he scatters at her feet. Piece by piece, she consumes everything. They’ve done this song and dance a million times—a process of giving and giving until the reserve deep inside him quivers just a bit. When she consumes enough, he drops his hand and shakes his head so his hair falls back into place.

Stray wind rustles the trees surrounding the clearing. He grips the hilt of one of his blades.

Fire blazes towards him and he leaps, crossing the distance in three strides before his blade collides with a transparent barrier. He grits his teeth and she barely tilts her head. Planting his foot, he pushes off the invisible construct and throws a hand up as bolts of ice fly past him. Fire arcs through the black night and cracks at his feet like a whip. The orange trail breaks from her palm and speeds towards him, its form shifting as blackened eyes and fangs descend from a burning maw.

Tyril cuts through the creature and pivots easily, blocking Ashala’s knife stabbing straight at his heart. Her golden eyes finally meet his, controlled rage swirling within the depths, and he throws his weight behind his blade. His mouth opens and she cracks him across the face with a wave of raw telepathic magic. He wipes the blood from his lip and slams her in the stomach with a blast of his own.

She flies back but tumbles onto her feet, skidding across the wet ground, and slaps the ground with her hand, raising a wall of dirt and grass from the bowels of the earth. Tyril braces, harnessing the subtle wind blowing through the clearing and halting it in place. He takes up a defensive stance with his blade and spins, cutting the first pillar of rock she throws at him right down the middle. Blow by blow, her hands mold and shape the earth, shooting piece by piece of stone at him. One by one, he switches, turns, and spins as the wind shapes his blade and in turn cuts down every block of earth coming towards him.

There’s a small shout that comes from her end and the wall comes careening towards him. A flick of his wrist and he quickly sucks the dew from the grass and traps the wall of dirt behind a cage of pure water. Tyril yanks the wall to the side where it collapses uselessly in a heap of mud.

He barely manages to catch her wrist still bearing the knife and arcing straight for his heart. The blade grazes his armor but her free hand lifts and he’s forced to drop his sword to grab the wrist holding a ball of fire in her palm. They stare deep into each other’s eyes—the controlled anger is no longer controlled.

Hurt flits through her gaze and he wants to shrivel up. Yearning follows, but the tears well up in the corners of her eyes and he knows what this is about. He squeezes her wrist painfully tight, pressing his thumb and middle finger on her pressure points, forcing the blade out of her hand. His body pivots and they both go tumbling to the ground. One knee pins her body and he slams her wrists to the ground, funneling enough of his magic to drown out the power that courses through her.

Her head snaps back and a bitter laugh bubbles in her throat.

“Submit!” he snarls. “Ger avet tina’lashen!”

“Speak plainly, fool!” she spits back, body thrashing under his weight. “I won’t give in to something I don’t understand!”

It cuts.

She can’t know the way her words slip through the chasm of his ears and buries deep in his head—he hasn’t exactly made this easy for either of them. Tyril squeezes her wrists and she finally looks at him, anger and confusion mixing in an uncomfortable union within her eyes. A tremble rises in him and he stares at her, dark hair falling all around her in a dark curtain.

Ashala holds his gaze for only another brief moment before she turns away. “Get off me.”

Tyril rises slowly and does nothing when she climbs back to her feet. He watches her back for a time as she tears through the belongings wrapped on the ground. His mouth opens but no sound comes out.

Fixing things—he’s supposed to be fixing things. But every action rips open a new wound. He takes and she does nothing but give. How is he meant to fix this? How does he even start?

“What else would I expect?” His head snaps up in her direction. “I don’t know what you want. I try to see you and you won’t show me anything. I’m trying, Tyril, I am trying!” When she snaps towards him, his heart further shatters. Tears streak down her face but her furious expression doesn’t change. His fingers twitch and she angrily rubs her cheeks. “I just want you to talk to me!”

“Ashala—”

“I’m so tired, Tyril.”

He rises to his feet, both hands raised in the air. Silence hangs over the clearing, not a sound between them even as her tears fall and his heart slams violently against his ribcage. On her own, she seems so small.

Sex for the sake of it, romance built on political mobility, and a genuine love he ran away from because he couldn’t stomach the idea of being responsible for someone else’s feelings for him—everything about this couldn’t be further from the types of love he’s come to know.

Tyril takes a step forward and swallows a shaky breath—she doesn’t move.

“Throw it,” he says.

Her brow furrows. “Throw…it?”

He gestures at the item in her hand—a bottle of salve wrapped in a cloth. Tyril takes another step forward and points to his head. “Throw it.”

She looks at him as if he’s grown three heads. For all the awkwardness he’s generating, he might as well have. Her gaze flits to the bottle and back to him.

“I will do no such thing,” she says.

“Humor me—”

“No.”

His lips press together. “I just—”

“Throwing a bottle at you is not going to temper the frustration inside me.” She stuffs the bottle back into her pack and rounds on him, crossing her arms. “I do not exercise violence against the ones I love when I am angry at them.”

His hands flail.

“You just—” He looks around at the damage they’ve done—scorch marks streaking across the ground, a giant pile of mud and grass, and magic still teeming in the air. “You just tried to stab me!”

“Because I hate you.” He tries to ignore the way his heart shatters at the words finally tumbling from her lips. Ashala averts her gaze for a moment. Her hands gently rub at her arms. “I hate the way you look at me. I hate that your mouth opens but nothing real comes out anymore. I hate…a lot about you right now.” His head bows. “And you’ve done nothing to reverse these feelings,” she continues. “I never thought I’d yearn for the version of you I met in the beginning, always bemoaning humes and the simplistic education of elven culture they provided me. At least you—”

“I don’t!” He snaps, flinching as soon as the words leave his mouth. “I’m sorry…I didn’t…That wasn’t right of me to criticize—not then and certainly not now. What you’ve managed to learn—what your parents taught you—was impressive on its own. I never should have said those things.” She stares at him for a moment, eyes boring deep into him as he slowly approaches. He stands directly in front of her now but ensures there is an appropriate chasm of space between them. A rueful smile tugs at his lips. “I like to think I’ve changed. Or rather, that I’m trying to.”

“I…suppose you have. Somewhat.”

“Not in the ways that matter, unfortunately,” he says, laughing just a bit. His hands go limp at his sides because he knows he can’t trust himself. He can remember the last time she let him touch her unprompted. His hands flex recalling the memory of soft wrists and overworked hands. “The truth is stranger than you think. Or maybe it isn’t—I’m not entirely sure. I’m not usually this unprepared.”

“I can see that,” she says. Her silence is profound and he wonders for a moment if pressing any further is even worth the damage he’s already done.

“I would’ve been married by now.” He waits for her expression to change but it doesn’t. She knows enough about matters of nobility to know the idea isn’t unusual, but he hasn’t exactly been forthright either. “My wife would’ve been a good marriage match but I never would’ve slept with her. Ours was a bond built on friendship and our union would’ve been purely political.”

Her eyes search his. “And she was good to you? She cared for you as you did for her?”

“This is…” His voice wavers at first. “I want to say ‘yes,’ because she did in the beginning. She changed—her demeanor shed and her words became more cruel as time went on. It’s…” Tyril shakes his head and pushes on. “This…This isn’t what I…I was trying to...”

She gives him the room to let the silence fester for a moment, neither one of them quite sure how to proceed from here. It’s a story for another time but there is a fundamental purpose. He swallows and stares at her.

“I’m afraid of you,” he starts. “People tried to kill me in Undermount—outside of it too, but I was never afraid of what came next. I was damn near a child when my parents decided my place as heir and I shouldered that burden without question.” He thinks of the bright eyed boy he once was—the arrogant prince and the studious pupil. A life a luxury and all he ever wanted was always at his fingertips, yet none of that could prepare him for this moment. “The first person who told me he loved me—I ran away from him. His family discovered our relationship and encouraged him to use me for their gain—he told them he would be disowned first and confessed to me later that week.”

Her eyes widen and her mouth opens. “Why?”

“Because I was a fool,” he answers and scrubs a hand through his hair. “Love is so perfectly defined in our culture yet it isn’t until now that I’ve realized just how terrifying the notion truly is.” Tyril pauses for a long moment. “I’ve run from so much—from Lusehene, from my shame… I’m tired too, Ashala. I’m so incredibly tired.”

She touches his shoulder and the act almost steals the breath from him in an instant, the very thing he’s wanted since he saw her hours ago—a gentle and warm hand, heat pulsing through her palm. She pulls away too quickly but her mark already lingers. He can’t bear it anymore.

“You are running from me?” she asks. She pities him and he hates it. He hates that she can understand his meanings so quickly when he’s not trying and he hates that he has to show her all the mangled emotions inside of him when he finally wants to let her understand. “Was that all it was? Was I so blinded by my anger that I refused to see it? Perhaps we are both cowards, Tyril. Maybe we both aren’t so good at anything.”

“No, don’t. It was me that ran away,” he whispers.

“Yet it’s always you that comes back,” she counters. Ashala shakes her head. “You claim you are afraid but you want to try anyway? I’ve never known a more indecisive man.”

“Indecisive…” He repeats, lips quirking a bit.

His choices used to be so easy when everything was for house and glory. Casting another house into ruin was a feat he could pull off without a second thought. Playing on old feuds and manipulating others was an art he mastered as a child. Love was no less a political tool. Love built on powerful friendships, love built on romantic and sexual bonds, love of family, love of all kinds has always been ingrained within Undermount’s society, holding up its foundations and crumbling just as easily when the moment calls for it.

But it isn’t as simple as knowing how to use and shape it when necessary. He knew what his former lovers meant when they told him they loved him—safety, security, and escapism. Undermount is a society that demands much and relies on total obedience to the systems that keep it running. Playing the game is how one survives.

He could love them—he did love them. But he loved the system that provided him comfort much more.

He loved knowing his feelings were his own and his motivations didn’t need further interrogation. He loved knowing he was protected because he knew how to play the game correctly. He loved so many and they loved him too, but he loved knowing that he never had to worry about getting hurt because the game was the best lover he ever had—it would only betray him if he didn’t play it right.

“I’m afraid of you,” he says softly, eyes locking with Ashala’s. His body angles closer and she doesn’t move. He wishes she would move. Do something—run away from him. “I am afraid of what this is doing to me—what this will inevitably do to me.”

She blinks. “Speak plainly.”

Tyril stares deep into her eyes and he lifts his hands, gently and slowly. Fingertips graze the dark fabric clinging to her shoulders and her warmth weakly filters through the barrier. The first time he laid a hand upon her was her shoulders, strong and sure, the weight of the entire world resting on each as her journey pulls her along. She flinches very slightly but doesn’t break their gaze.

“These feelings in me are entirely new,” he starts. He shuffles closer, fills the entire space between them. “Trepidation, hesitation—I open my mouth to say something and my thoughts are overwhelmed by what my heart feels. I know the parts of me that have felt something like this before and my instinct is telling me that the cost outweighs the…the pain that vulnerability brings…” Ashala watches him quietly. His jaw works and his fingers curl, scraping the fabric clinging to her body. “I care about you. It’s strange even to say it out loud because it’s everything I swore I wouldn’t do out here. My mission is supposed to come before everything.”

“Why?” Her hands clasp his on her shoulders. “Why treat yourself this way? To what end?”

“It’s how I survived Undermount. Love is not foreign but it isn’t as freely given either.” Arrindale, Pythia, Lusehene—all he gave but each coming with insurmountable cost. What would he give in exchange for these bonds? What would they give in return? “Lovers, marriages, friendships—everything I ever felt and felt with someone outside of family was built on costs and benefits. What did a friendship earn me? What would I lose in exchange for a night of unattached sex? Thoughts, feelings—everything was a weight on my back. You called me indecisive but back then? Every choice I made was clear.”

Her quiet conceals a building storm, the surge of which will either break his heart for the last time or terrify him even further.

“Tyril…” She grips his wrists. “I don’t—”

“The first man I ever laid with seduced me for the sake of advancing his family’s station,” he interrupts. “Our relationship was built on a love that was fleeting at best but our intentions were clear. When I laid with a woman, our love was built on physical desire only. She needed an outlet and I used her as she used me—we understood the intent clearly.” His fingers spread and he squeezes her shoulders. “I have always been sure, always. I have taken risks and weighed the outcomes so many times in my head it even happens in my sleep. But now? Now I’m risking it all knowing that this fight—this war against the Shadow Court—could very well snatch it from me again!”

She grips him by the shoulders and pulls him close. Their foreheads touch and the breath rushes out of his lungs. Warmth abound everywhere and he missed this. He missed her touch, her skin, her smell, her power—and he’s so afraid of how quickly everything comes down all around him at her gentle urging.

“Tyril…” Ashala whispers, arms winding around his middle now. “Oh, you foolish, foolish man. Who told you to do this alone? Why would you think the burden is only yours to bear?”

“Because I am a prideful idiot,” he answers in a shaky breath. His hands cup her face and they part so he can look into her eyes—her haunting golden eyes that have kept him up at night and stolen every minute he’s spent in his dreams. “I care for you. I want you. I told myself I wouldn’t do this until my mission was completed but I care for you so much it hurts. I care for you so much it frightens me.”

“Of course you wait until now to say these things.” Tears prick the corners of her eyes and he catches them with his thumbs. “You are such a confusing man, you know? Irritated one minute and then thoughtful the next—you say things that make me wish you’d let me grow close and now you say I scare you?” She leans into him and smiles. “I see this man—beautiful and regal—an elf like I dreamed of once. A prince, even. Then you ran into me in the street and almost drew a blade on me. I hated you but then I saw you. You showed me and I showed you too. I stopped trying to show anyone anything about me for so long and then you…”

“I don’t know what happens from here,” he says, gently resting his forehead upon hers. “I don’t know if it’s...if I’ve squandered what we have but I wanted you to know. I needed you to know that my feelings—complicated as they are—remain genuine.”

They are trembling in each other’s grasps, shaking and breathing in shuddering gasps as the weight of everything lays itself bare beneath the moonlit night. Ashala tucks her head to his chest and he lets her listen to his heart beating hard in his chest. Tyril wipes stray tears from her tattooed cheeks and carefully tucks her locs away so he can see her—really see her.

He feels her shift and pulls back. Their distance leaves him yearning but she does not go far.

“Then show me,” she says. “No more guessing. You show me this truth from now on and you claim it if this is your desire.”

“It is,” he answers quickly. He slides a hand down her neck and soothingly rubs his thumb along her jaw. “I want this—I want you. But I cannot promise it will be easy now that the truth is known.”

“Show me anyway.” She offers the softest smile he has ever seen, the trepidation in her eyes still prevalent but the relief in her is just as apparent. He shares a smile of his own and he can feel it in his heart too—the fear and the anxiousness. “If we knew all the answers, things would be so simple but the world does not work this way. We take risks. We try things anyway because it’s within our nature.”

The old him would’ve disagreed. The old him was a man ruled by logic and the art of tipping the scales in his favor. That man was a fool.

And in many ways, he still is.

“My hands are still shaking,” he says, looking down where one of her hands now intertwine with his. She squeezes.

“Mine are too.”

When their eyes meet, he is lost along a golden path that winds around junctures and roads that seem never-ending. There is confusion but some parts certainty, calm but flutters of nervousness, and he wonders what she can see in the depths of his eyes. He gently lifts a hand and caresses her cheeks with his thumb—

And then her jaw—

Until he reaches her lips.

Tyril swallows.

“Can I…I want to…” he whispers, leaning closer. He glances up and golden pools swirl with heat, curiosity, and desire. Her hands lie flat upon his armored chest.

“Say it…” Tyril pulls her in, lips just barely hovering over hers, and her eyes flutter as she inhales sharply. Her fingers curl and scrape along the metal plate. “Say it, please.”

Time slows and the world around them dissolves into darkness save for the pale moonlight shining down on them. A tempest builds within him. Something ancient rumbles in his heart and branches throughout his body. Static ripples from fingers, down to his body, legs, and ends in his toes. Energy gathers all around, bits and pieces adding to the power already stirring within.

“I want to kiss you…”

Her lips—beautiful, wondrous lips—part and he shivers.

“Come.”

Slowly at first. He wants to savor it—hold it close to him when he dreams at night and find himself yearning miserably when the morning takes him away. There is no telling which presses forward first but they meet in a clash of heat and crackling energy. A sweet taste rolls across the tip of his tongue and when he draws a short breath, a stream of flame trickles down his throat. He gasps again, parting and looking into her eyes.

Molten and golden depths...

Again and their lips connect while their hands scrabble for purchase, bodies molding into each other, and pure fire burning them from the inside out. His grip hardens as he lures her in with a hand on her neck. The other slips down and settles at the small of her back, trapping her to him, and a gentle sigh slips from him as her fingers rake through his hair and grip back.

Oh, so many sensations he will commit to memory. Billowing smoke floods his lungs as fire steadily funnels through every muscle in his body and brands her desire onto his very bones. Nails drag through his tresses and burrow into his scalp, pulling and soothing him in one as their lips part and their breathing grows more uneven. That ancient and terrifying power buried deep bubbles and cracks through the surface, sparks snapping beneath his fingertips and he swallows the moan she releases.

The raging storm swells within him and raises bumps along his flesh, draws small gasps from her throat, and further stokes the flame roaring within her. It happens to all with the affliction—magic draws from nature and the body is perfectly natural in all its splendor. Where his power sparks, hers consumes. They feed each other—feed from each other—hands searching, lips tasting, tongues tracing, and hearts swelling as they devour every bit of desire the other provides.

It ends as soon as it begins with both struggling to catch their breath. Tyril rests his forehead upon hers, eyes still closed and hands still squeezing her tight where they rest. She is sweeter than the sweetest wine he has ever tasted and he swears he will never get used to this heady feeling.

His eyes crack open and he watches her carefully. A trembling hand hovers close to her lips but she dare not touch them. Their magic lingers where their bodies touched, burning a sensual path along skin and hair. Her golden eyes meet his and his heart thrums anew.

A long time passes before either of them speak.

“This is dangerous,” she whispers hoarsely. Tyril slightly bows his head but his face remains passive. Ashala rests her hand on her chest and trails her fingers up her neck, grasping at his hand still gently clutching her. “Moon and stars—you might kill me well before this grows into something much deeper.”

He blinks at first, ears twitching as he repeats her words in his head, and then a mischievous smile spreads across his face.

“Then I apologize in advance,” he shifts his hand and gently brushes a thumb across her cheek, “because I truly don’t want to return to how things were before.”

“Gods forbid, I refuse to tolerate that again.” A guilty look flashes in her eyes and she presses when he says nothing in return. “But we understand each other now, yes? Is it safe to claim that there is something here that we both want?”

His heart flutters—we.

“Yes…Yes, I want you,” he affirms. He opens his mouth but then closes it. It is far too easy to move too quickly after this but he knows better. At least, he hopes he does. “I cannot promise that this is going to be easy moving forward. This is still very new to me but I won’t drag my feet as I did before. What we have,” he drops a hand and laces their fingers together, “I don’t want to lose this feeling any time soon. I want to continue nurturing it for as long as you’ll allow me the privilege.”

She rolls her eyes though a smile still spreads across her face.

“These words you string together…they’re lofty. But I do trust that you are earnest in this desire of yours,” she says. Ashala squeezes his hand and raises her head. “I’ve known others that had the gift speech, much like you do. Many of them had no qualms about using that gift to attain things I should not have given. Words are lovely but…there’s always more. More to show, more to give…”

His lips quirk though his heart still pounds in his chest. Undermount taught him many lessons critical to his survival outside the walls, but there are some things he is all too glad to shed. Concealing the truth for personal gain works only for so long, but even still there are thing he knows they both aren’t ready to reveal just yet.

And it’s alright.

Not knowing what happens next won’t terrify him as much now that things are more certain. He can proceed—they can proceed—and he will teach his hardened heart that there are other ways to feel aside from cautious.

They walk back in silence, nothing stirring save for the rustle of the leaves and their boots crunching twigs beneath their feet. Tyril looks down at Ashala and she looks back up at him, their shoulders brushing against one another as they quietly make their way back to camp.

[maidenof-thesea]

Snakes & Butterflies | Part VII

Pairing: Jimin x Reader

Genre: Soulmate Au!, Fluff, Angst, Smut (in the future)

Words: 3.2k

Warning: minor swearing

Note: Part 7 is here! I hope you enjoy. I have decided to add a lot more fluff and a just a little pinch of drama. I love you guys !! 

Reminder: * conversations in Korean *

Once we separated Jimin from Taehyung, the adventure to the museums commenced. I decided to leave my Jeep and opted to ride with the guys, since they had such a big car. Jin wanted to drive there but I decided to drive since I was more familiar with LA traffic. Jungkook was my navigator, so he had to sit in the middle, right next to me, much to Jimin’s disappointment. 

Once we were on the highway, Taehyung started to play music and the car became a karaoke party. After hearing Namjoon and Yoongi rap to Eminem’s Lose Yourself, I was convinced that they were not human. I mean, I knew Jungkook had a beautiful voice but I never imagined that all of them were so talented. Taehyung’s vocals were husky, yet rough that made it sound warm and soulful. Jin’s were very even and yet sweet sounding. I could tell from how Hobi was vibrating in his seat that he was full of passion, if I remember correctly, Jungkook did mention that he was dance major and he specified in hip hop. I had yet to hear Jimin’s voice, which had me a bit excited. Once Charlie Puth’s ‘We don’t talk anymore’ I was not disappointed. 

“We don’t talk anymore, like we used to do” Jimin sang. “We don’t love anymore. What was all of it for?” 

His voice was what I would describe as heavenly. It was very sweet and crisp and combined with Jungkook’s soft and smooth vocals, I may have been the first person to thank God for LA traffic because I’m sure I would have crashed. To my surprise, I looked in the rear view mirror, and I was attacked by Jimin’s intense stare, as if he had already been staring at me as he sang. I quickly averted my gaze back to the road and put both hands on the wheel, even though the traffic was so bad that we hadn’t even moved an inch for the last five minutes. I gulped my nonexistent saliva, and I realized that my throat was really dry. I should have brought water. I risked another glance at Jimin, and he was still staring at me, but this time with a smirk. I quickly rolled down my window and prayed that there was some wind. The audacity.

“Y/N,” Taehyung said from behind me. “You’re next. What song do you want to sing?”

“I-I” I stuttered. I tend not to listen to music since most songs portray love but I was definitely not gonna be singing some club banger.

“Noona,” Jungkook said. “You liked that one song by Ariana Grande that I showed you. You should sing that one.”

“Are you insane?” I spluttered. “I would butcher that song.”

And they all started to chant my name and I quickly rolled up the window since some of the other drivers were giving me weird looks. 

“OK!” I exclaimed with a slight eye roll and the buys erupted in cheers. “Play Breathin’ by Ariana, Taetae.”

“Coming right up,” Taehyung said. 

“I actually have never heard it before,” Yoongi said with Hobi nodding in agreement. 

The music began and almost immediately I began to sing.

                                    Jungkook

I bopped my head along to the beginning of the song as Noona started to sing and the car was real quiet. Too quiet and her voice wavered a bit from what I reckon was nerves. So in order to help her relax, I started humming along.

“Sometimes it’s hard to find,” Noona sang now, getting in rhythm and swaying back and forth with me, “Find my way up into the clouds. Tune it out, they can be so loud. You remind me of a time when things weren’t so complicated. All I need is to see your face.”

Once the song ended, Noona’s face was flushed from embarrassment but erupted into her signature smile as the hyungs cheered and complimented her.

“Liars.” she started pouting with a small smile, but I could tell she felt a bit proud. “You guys sound like angels and over here I sound like a dying whale.”

“I like your voice Noona,” I said automatically and she turned and gave me a grateful smile but she nervously looked into the rearview mirror and back to the road. Traffic was starting to move and she focused on driving. For some reason the back of my neck was feeling real hot.

*

“You are a brave boy Jungkook,” Namjoon whispered from the passenger seat next to me. “But let’s not test Jimin’s patience anymore okay?”

“Yes hyung,” I said with a gulp, remembering the punch Jimin gave Taehyung earlier.  

*

“We’re almost there!” Y/N said in excitement and the boys sighed in relief, even though the SUV was big, it was slightly uncomfortable for eight fully grown adults. Once Noona paid for the parking, in spite of Jin’s insistence to pay, we were finally off and exploring. We relatively kept together as a group as we explored the museums, which were all conveniently within the same area. One of the museums had a German history exhibition, much to Namjoon hyung’s delight. Him and Noona stayed behind to look at more historical artifacts and photos. 

Jin hyung had dragged all of us outside to take selcas and Yoongi and Hobi hyung were heading to another exhibit on the opposite side, which looked like an indoor garden. Jimin sort of lingered outside of the group, almost as if he wanted to go back inside.

“Hyung,” I whispered to him and he hummed in response, not really paying attention. “Just go back inside, Namjoon hyung may get lost, and Noona will panic, you know her.”

“Should I?” He said even though he was already taking a step towards the building. “Does she really panic like that still?”

“Yep,” I nodded. “If anything she’s gotten worse.”

Jimin then took off without replying and I couldn’t help but smile and feel relieved. A big arm wrapped around my shoulder and Jin hyung sighed from between me and Taehyung. 

“Always needing encouragement,” Jin said with a hint of endearment. “It’s the first time I’ve seen him act this way towards a girl..I never thought I would actually ever witness it.”

“He deserves it,” Taehyung said with a small sad smile. 

“They both do.” I said with a twinge of an unfamiliar emotion in my chest. 

I noticed that Namjoon had a tendency to wander off in curiosity, since it had already been twice that I lost track of him. I was incredibly thankful for his height, otherwise I would have had a full on panic attack at being left alone in a room full of people I don’t know. I kept hold of the sleeve on his hoodie, just in case though but he didn’t really seem to notice. We were both currently looking at a photograph of a statue of a leopard carrying a child, when a small statue caught my eye. I looked at Namjoon and he was still reading the facts about the photograph. With a slight sigh, I released his sleeve and made my way to the small secluded statue that no one paid attention to. 

It was a replica of a gravestone found in Germany in the 1850’s. It was of a butterfly and a snake. The snake was devouring its own tail, while the butterfly was in the center. The butterfly reminded me of my own drawings from when I was a little girl. I lightly traced the henna tattoo and I let my mind wander back to my dream. I haven’t had any dreams lately, to my disappointment.

Don’t cry too much

I wonder what Cassandra meant by that. I shrugged, I had been a tad bit more sensitive lately but I figured my cycle was due. I look back at the statue one more time and this time I focus on the snake devouring its own tail.

“I’m jealous,” Jungkook said with a sigh. “Your Mark is so cool! The snake looks so real!”

“I like yours Jungkook,” another voice said. “It suits you, you are like a hawk: quick and agile.”

“But I like Y/N’s the best,” the voice continued. And I felt a warm pressure on my hand. Almost as if someone had squeezed my hand. “Monarch butterflies are really pretty.”

When I looked up at the voice, the sun was too bright for me to make out the person. I looked back down squinting from the sting of the sun. 

“You’re home now Noona,” Jungkook said with a teasing tone. I felt my eyes water slightly. “Don’t cry Noona I was only joking!”

“Jungkook,” the voice said sternly and I was quickly enveloped in a hug. “You didn’t have to come, I could have walked her by myself.”

“I was only joking Jiminie!” Jungkook whined. “I’m sorry Y/N!”

“Jimin,” I said wrapping my arms around him. Not really wanting to let go. 

“Yes?”

“Jimin,” I repeated once more, hugging him even tighter. 

“Are you okay?”

And I was startled, almost as if I had fallen asleep. 

“I’m sorry,” a familiar voice said, as big hands steadied me. “I was talking to you earlier but you seemed lost in thought, Y/N are you okay?”

“Yes,” I said quickly, regaining my surroundings. “I must have dozed off in a daydream. Wait..”

“Minho?” I asked once I recognized the man in front of me. And I was right. Minho was in front of me and he chuckled at my expression. 

“You really were dozing off,” he chuckled once more. “As I was saying, you never gave me a call...I was wond-”

“Y/N?” Namjoon sighed in relief, he was panting and his glasses were askew. “Where have you been? Jimin and I have looked all over the place-wait I need to call him before-”

“Ladies and gentlemen sorry for the announcement but we have a missing child: her name is Y/N L/N. She is wearing a black V neck shirt with a jean skirt. She has long black hair-”

Before I could hear the rest I covered my ears in horror, while Namjoon scrambled through his pockets. I have never been so embarrassed in my whole life. Not even my mother would have dared-

“Jimin!” Namjoon said into his phone. The rest of the conversation was in Korean and Minho chucked a bit. 

“Wow,” He said as we both heard a pair of running footsteps. Before I knew it, I was wrapped in familiar arms and Jimin’s chest was constricting with exertion against my cheek. 

“Jimin,” I said as best as I could. “I’m-”

And he spins me around inspecting me and then his hands are on my cheeks.

“Why did you go off by yourself?” He said his eyebrows scrunched in worry. “Do you have any idea how worried I was?”

“Aren’t you twenty four, Y/N?” Minho said in amusement. I felt my face turn red in embarrassment. Jimin’s eyes hardened, and he took my hand in his and took a step in front of me, almost blocking me from Minho’s view. “Didn’t know you were a child, almost foo-”

“I’m sorry but who are you?” Namjoon said before Jimin could. He was now fixing his glasses and straightening his coat. He had his hand on Jimin’s shoulder.

“He’s an acquaintance of mine,” I said side stepping around Jimin, who tried pulling me back behind him. “It’s okay, his name is Minho Lee.”

“Nice to meet you,” Minho said bowing. “You guys are Korean as well right? I’ll speak comfortably if that’s okay?”

“Aren’t you already speaking comfortably?” Jimin said, his tone brazen, causing Minho’s smile to falter and his gaze darted to our clasped hands. I felt my face turn even more red and I tried to tug my hand but Jimin only squeezed more. “Keep still.” He whispered. 

“How do you guys know each other?” Minho asked, his eyes held a hint of amusement. 

“I’m actually their host-”

“We’re friends,” Jimin answered. “Since we were children.”

“But we’re actually staying where she works,” Namjoon clarifies. “An Airbnb.”

“Did you quit your job at the hotel Y/N?” Minho asked. “Did you quit the same day you saw me there?”

My eyes widened at that, and Jimin quickly glanced at me with a question in his eyes. I had forgotten to mention that I worked at a hotel as a part time outside of the summer.

“It’s a long story,” I sighed, pushing my hair back with my free hand.“I’ll give you a call soon to plan a meeting with you Professor Lee.”

“But-”

“You’re a professor?” Namjoon said with a surprised tone. “You seem young..”

“Ah,” Minho laughs. “Yes, I just started lectures at Y/N’s university. We’re both from the Anthropology department.”

That piqued Namjoon’s interest and before me and Jimin could even stop him, Namjoon’s curiosity got the best of him.

“What do you specify in?” Namjoon asked with his head inclined. Jimin quietly sighed and he wasn’t alone there, I was always open to hearing Namjoon rant and answer questions but I didn’t really have patience for it right now.

“Origins of the Nethanderals,” Minho replies. Almost immediately Jimin and Namjoon stiffened. I hummed in confusion and Jimin shook his head. His phone vibrated and he quickly whispered in Namjoon’s ear. Namjoon nodded as well.

“Well,” Namjoon says, extending his hand to Minho. “I would love to hear all about it sometime Professor Lee but we really must get going, the rest of our group is looking for us.”

“Oh that’s too bad,” Minho says smiling as he shakes Namjoon’s hand. “Do you perhaps have a moment Y/N?”

“She actually can’t,” Jimin replies before I even open my mouth. “She brought us here, and she’s showing us around so-”

“It will only be a minute,” I said with a hint of annoyance. Before Jimin could protest, I managed to pull my hand free. I lead Minho towards a secluded section, missing the way he shrugged at Jimin, who took a step in his direction but was held back by Namjoon.

“Okay,” I sighed. “When are you free so we can chat?”

“Your friend is funny.” Minho said with a hint of mischief.

“I’m not here to talk about Jimin,” I said rolling my eyes. “So if you have nothing to say I can go?”

“Wait!” Minho says attempting to grasp my arm but I crossed my arms. I was honestly annoyed with these guys trying to manhandle me. “I was just joking. I’m free whenever after the morning.”

“Well I’m having a barbecue tonight if you want to come?”

“Will that be alright with your guests?”

“It should be,” I shrugged. “You can talk to me about your research then.”

“Do they know about your?” He asked, gesturing to my arm. 

“No,” I sighed with frustration, only Jungkook knew. “How about after, the barbecue shouldn’t take too long?”

“That’s fine.” He said, sounding a bit pleased. “It’s a date.” He said that last part a bit loud and I turned around to glare at him. 

“Or not.” He shrugged. “It’s not a date.”

“I’ll meet you at the hotel around 8.”

“Bye!”

And I walked back to Namjoon and Jimin. Namjoon was reading the facts on the statue of the snake and butterfly, while Jimin was staring at me intensely. 

“Jimin,” I sighed was I was in his proximity. “I’m not a child anymore, you didn’t have to make an announcement.”

“Oh excuse me,” Jimin said with an brazen tone once more, causing my eyebrow to arch. “Didn’t mean to interrupt your reunion.”

“Jimin, I-”

“Never mind,” Jimin sighs. “Hobi hyung wants to have lunch.” 

And he left me and Namjoon standing there. Me more in shock and Namjoon scratching his head. I look at Namjoon for an explanation.

“We were worried, Y/N,” He says sighing. “With what’s been going on lately how could we not?”

“I understand that,” I sighed in defeat. “But he seems upset for another reason.”

“Well that guy was a bit weird,” Namjoon mutters. “He didn’t know how to take a hint.”

“What?”

“Nothing,” he says smiling. “Let’s go. I’m hungry.”

                                    Namjoon

*

“What the hell happened?” Jungkook whispered to me as Jin was showing me all the pictures he took. I sighed as I looked at what he was talking about. Jimin and Y/N were both sitting next to each other but facing the opposite direction, not even acknowledging one another. But it was funny how the maknae line still managed to get them to sit next to one another. 

“He sort of asked the museum to make a missing child announcement.” I whispered back, causing Jimin to roll his eyes. “It was embarrassing.”

“What?” Taehyung and Jungkook both said. 

“Why didn’t he just call her?” Jungkook whispered. 

“Not all of us have her number,” I reminded Jungkook.

“What are you talking about?” Taehyung said, pulling out his phone. “We have a group chat.” 

He was right. The group chat was on kakaotalk and already there were several messages.

*

“Taehyung,” Y/N said with a confused expression. “What’s this app, it’s all in Hangul? Wait, my whole phone is in Hangul?”

“Oh!” Taehyung laughed. “Sorry I still have trouble with English! I’ll fix it for you!”

Taehyung reaches for her phone but Jimin quickly grabs it. 

“Hey!” Y/N whined, but Jimin just gives her a pointed look and she blushes. “Oh thanks..”

“You forgot to add me to the chat Taehyung…” Jimin muttered in annoyance. “But he added you Namjoon…”

“Really?” I said surprised. “I actually haven’t heard anything..oh it’s on silent.”

I did a derp face while everyone but Jimin laughed. He rolled his eyes and handed Y/N’s phone back. After lunch, we went to other museums and this time we made sure to stay together, which pretty much meant we went through everything fairly quickly, to my disappointment. There was one garden or a greenhouse that we all did not want to leave though.

“Y/N!” Hobi exclaimed with excitement. “You’re gonna love this place, me and Yoongi loved it!”

                                         Jimin

Hopi started to lead Y/N to this greenhouse that seemed to be packed with people. I felt myself get a bit nervous by the crowd so I decided to keep a close watch on her. Once we had entered, Hobi had covered Y/N’s eyes, who pouted and I opened my mouth but Yoongi hyung shushed me. 

“Wow…” Y/N said once Hobi let go. And wow was right. What must have been a trillion monarch butterflies flew just about everywhere. Some landing on people’s faces, shoulders and hands. The others had walked further in, leaving me and Y/N to stare in awe. I cupped my hands and sure enough a butterfly landed on my hands. She squeals in joy and does the same, but a butterfly lands on her Mark. Her sword Mark was bleak compared to the butterfly. I couldn’t help but wonder, how her Mark looked. Did it look like mine? Was it cracked and broken as well? Did she have it removed and got a tattoo of a sword. I wasn’t quite sure. I look back at her face and her smile was gone and her eyes shined with unshed tears. She stared at the butterfly that had yet to fly away. 

“Are you okay?” I asked.

“Jimin,” Y/N said. “I remember.”

“Remember what?” I asked. My whole body was on alert and I could feel my blood ringing in my ears. She looks up at me and a tear fell, I go to wipe it but she catches my hand.

“I remember you,” She says and I felt my heart drop. 

Shouldn’t I be happy?

Prev / Next 

Masterlist 

[iloveyouthree-thousand]

real or not real?

Peter couldn’t sleep.

Sleeping meant dreaming, and the last thing he needed was to feel separated from reality. Again.

Quentin Beck had gotten into his head and turned everything Peter thought he knew into a big fat question mark. He couldn’t tell if he’d been living in the illusion for minutes or hours or days because the second he thought he was out of it, that this was real, the picture changed.

Tony finds him on the porch swing, clutching his knees to his chest.

Peter’s eyes go dark when the figure registers, clouded over with doubt.

“Hey,” Tony says tentatively, moving toward the kid in slow, non-threatening strides. “Can I sit?”

He just stars at the man, his face only faintly illuminated by the glow of the moon.

“Are you--,” Peter starts to speak, but stops just as quickly. He wants to cry. He wants to scream. He hates this, hates that his world is so upside-down that he doesn’t know what to believe anymore.

He doesn’t have to finish the question, though, because Tony already knows what he’s going to ask. He can see the war going on in Peter’s mind, the constant fight to distinguish between fact and fiction.

"I’m real, Pete. It’s me.”

As if to prove his point, Tony gently takes the seat next to him and sits just close enough that their shoulders are bumping. His good arm wraps around Peter and he lets the weight fall on the kid’s shoulders.

“How do I know?” Peter whispers, shying away from Tony’s touch.

“If I wasn’t real, I wouldn’t know you have a scar on your knee from when you and Ned decided to three-legged roller blade. Or that the smell of peaches makes you queasy ever since that time you ate an entire pan of May’s cobbler only to throw it all up thirty minutes later. Or that you and your aunt put milk in the bowl before the cereal like heathens and now Morgan’s started doing it, too, because ‘that’s how Petey does it’."

Tony pauses, searching the kid’s face. The crinkles of frustration that were previously etched into his forehead have been smoothed over.

“Do you need me to keep going?”

“No,” he says, finally burrowing into Tony’s side, “I believe you.”  

It’s been a week since Peter came home from what was supposed to be his vacation, but Tony still only knows bits and pieces of what happened.

He knows that Quentin Beck had a vendetta against Tony and decided to take it out on an innocent teenager. He knows that Beck manipulated said teenager, messed with his head and put it through a spin-cycle. He knows that Peter went through all of this, alone, refusing to call Tony until it was all over.

The snap had stolen most of Tony’s mobility, and even with state-of-the-art prosthetics, he’d probably never be able to don the Iron Man suit again.

Still, the kid could’ve called.

“How long have you been awake?”

Tony feels Peter’s shoulders tense up underneath his arm, and he wishes, for the millionth time, that he could've done something to help.

“A couple hours, maybe. I’m not really sure. I’m not really sure about anything anymore.”

Tears prick at Peter’s eyes, and the urge to scream comes boiling back to the surface.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Peter opens his mouth and takes a breath, like he’s ready to finally let it all out, but one look at Tony shuts him up again.

"Pete, talk to me. Please.” He’s begging now, begging the kid to just let him in this time.

“You were dead. He--I saw your headstone. I was at your funeral. You snapped your fingers and then... you were dead, Mr. Stark, because I didn’t do enough. I couldn’t save you.”

He’s openly sobbing, now, burrowing his head into Tony’s side like the man might up and disappear.

If Quentin Beck weren’t already pronounced dead by S.H.I.E.L.D. operatives, Tony might’ve killed him himself. An anger unlike anything he’s ever felt before rises in his face, but he wills himself to dampen it down. He can’t do anything about Beck anymore. 

All he can do is try and meld Peter back together again.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Tony promises, holding him tighter, “It wasn’t real.”

“It felt real,” he says in between breaths.

Tony gets it. He’s been there before, when Wanda swirled her hands and twisted his brain and he saw all of them--the Avengers--dead at his feet.

“I know it does, but I need you to believe me. None of that was real. This, me and you swinging on the porch, that’s real.”

Peter’s still not convinced, but Tony has an idea.

“Remember when you made me read the Hunger Games?”

“Yea,” he sniffs, “you were so against it but you ended up finishing the whole series in like, two days.”

“Turns out that sometimes you have decent taste. Sometimes. Anyway, that’s not my point. Do you remember that game they play? Real or not real?”

The kid pauses for a second, realization dawning on him.

“You don’t have to do this, Mr. Stark.”

“Please. Please let me try to help you.”

Peter takes a breath, sees the hurt in Tony’s eyes. He needs to do this for Tony as much as he needs to do this for himself.

"I was dead for five years. Real or not real?”

Tony’s inhale is sharp.

“Real. God, I wish it wasn’t, but that was real.”

“We beat Thanos.”

“Real.”

“Captain America is old.”

“He was always old, kid.”

Peter rolls his eyes.

“That’s not how the game works.”

Now Tony is the one to roll his eyes.

“Fine. Steve is old. Real.”

“Aunt May and I live with you, now.”

“Real. At least, it’s real for the time being. And, before you ask, May and Happy staying in the guest house together? Also real. And I think it’s gross, too.”

“You’re mad that I didn’t call you.”

Tony thinks for a second.

“Not real. I’m not mad. I was worried out of my mind, though.”

Peter finds a spot on the ground and locks his gaze on it, guilt creeping into his cheeks.

“I didn’t want you to worry, that was exactly why I didn’t call you when this whole thing started. And I didn’t call you after because, well... I really thought you were gone. He made me believe--it felt real. You were gone.”

Tony goes quiet.

“There was a time when I thought you were really gone, too. And when I got you back--it took me a while to fully believe it. I didn’t think I’d ever see you again and then, five years later, that portal opened and you were right there and I just... it’s still hard to believe, sometimes. So I get it--the hesitation--but this isn’t an illusion, Pete."

Peter thinks back to that moment on the battlefield, when he’d come back and Tony had hugged him like they were the only two people in existence even as a war raged around them.

“You love me,” he whispers, “real or not real?”

"Real,” Tony says without a hint of hesitation, “of course that’s real."

They sit in silence for a few moments, breathing in the heavy night air.

“I love you, too.”

And he does, can feel it in his bones. That’s real.

His head is still spinning, and he still kind of wants to tear his hair out, but, with Mr. Stark here, it feels a little more manageable than it did before.

“I’m going to be okay,” Peter whispers, “real or not real?”

Tony leans down, presses a kiss to the top of the kid’s head.

“Real. I don’t care how long it takes. I won’t rest until I know that you’re okay--that you’re better than okay.”

Peter swallows thickly, letting a breath he didn’t know he was holding escape from his lungs.

"Thank you, Mr. Stark.”

Tony smiles softly and presses one more kiss against Peter’s hair.

"Anytime, kiddo.”

They’ve got a long road ahead of them, but right now, all that matters is that Peter is right next to Tony and Tony is right next to Peter and they’re both alive. 

Right now, this moment: it’s as real as it gets. 

[fenrys-moonbae]

A Bright Star in Centuries of Darkness--Chapter 4

Eleanor had been avoiding the male like the plague, skirting around him in the palace like a mouse desperately fleeing a hunting feline.  She’d been at this since their awkward exchange days prior when he’d come to check on her and she’d halfheartedly muttered her thanks before claiming she felt faint and shooing him out.

Not that he’d been seeking her out; on the contrary, he’d been a right gentleman about respecting her space.  She hadn’t caught a glimpse of him since that night, and she fully intended to keep it that way until he departed.

Grousing internally, she pulled her scarf about her shoulders and frowned.  Men weren’t allowed to be that endearing, weren’t allowed to be that sincere and certainly weren’t allowed to be that pretty.  He should have been a ripe ass, full of ego and entitlement like the other men she’d had the misfortune of knowing.

It was unnatural.

Walking briskly, she slipped into the hallway and down the stairs, taking them two at a time as she shuffled toward the kitchen hoping to snag a tray of tarts and some stew before lunch was served.  She’d been skulking around in the shadows, only leaving her room when she was certain she could avoid running into anyone.

As far as Glaston was concerned she was still recuperating, healing from her unfortunate accident and unable to handle company and therefore free of her hosting obligation.  Even as gossip ran rampant through the palace like a pox, every recollection of the tale growing grander and more outrageous.

These retellings had included such nonsense as the fae soldier having faced fifty feral boars with nothing more than his bare hands to protect their dear and precious princess.  Eleanor had nearly wept when the tale had cycled back to her, Evalin in fits at the absurdity of it all as she recounted all the stories she’d gleaned.

Eleanor noted that it was most unfortunate they did not possess a moat in which she could drown herself and be rid of such nonsense. Perhaps if she died she’d return as a banshee, wailing her woes and drowning the servants who kept the wheel spinning.  

They’d learn to stop moving their lips then.

Eleanor was nearly to the kitchens when she heard the tap of footsteps and cursed as she glanced around. What if it was Gavriel?  She could not bear to face the male any more than she could bear to sit through another of Dennor’s nasally speeches.

Quickly she darted to the great window on the left of the hall and slipped behind the golden curtains, pulling the thick fabric around her.  Surely even the fae warrior wouldn’t notice her if she remained entirely still and held her breath?

She waited several long seconds, breathing slowly as she heard the footsteps pause before rapidly approaching.  She squeezed her eyes shut and turned her head to the side as the curtain was torn back away from her.  She could just pretend she wasn’t there---

“Elle, what in hell’s realm are you doing?” She peeled open one eye, relieved to see Evalin holding the curtain back instead of a certain golden-haired male.  She deflated.

“I was dusting!” She ran her hand over the window, already immaculately scrubbed.  “See? Good as new.” Evalin narrowed her eyes in a way that assured Eleanor that she didn’t buy into such nonsense for a second.  “Are you still hiding from our guest?” Her cousin pointed a lovely finger at her slippers.  “A word of advice: if you’re going to hide, do so in a way that your shoes aren’t sticking out from the bottom of your hiding spot.” “Did you ever consider that the curtains may have started wearing shoes?” Eleanor poked her head out from behind the curtain, glancing sidelong to ensure she and Evalin were alone in the hallway.  “It’s the newest in Adarlanian fashion, as you should know.” Evalin rolled her eyes as she dragged Eleanor out from behind the fabric.  “I’ll make sure to note it.  When was the last time you left the palace?  You look dreadfully pale.”

“Not since the incident, if that’s what you’re asking.  Do not fear, dear cousin, I’ve taken to the idea of becoming a cryptid, pale and monstrous, lurking through halls at night and preying on the innocent.” “Enough nonsense out of you,” Evalin shoved Eleanor forward, “you’ll go outside this instant, or so help me.” “Fine, fine!” Eleanor grumbled, stumbling forward as her cousin guided her toward the archway leading to the gardens.  “Might we grab tarts first?  I’m famished.” “You’ve eaten nothing but sweets for a week,” Evalin clicked her tongue.  “Too much sugar.  Get something with more sustenance.”

Eleanor rolled her eyes.

“Of course, Nan, forgive my ignorance.”

Evalin flicked her ear.

“Ow! Anneith’s bosom, Eva, I have need of that.”

“Then don’t call me Nan.”

She’d still snuck a tart regardless of Evalin’s lecturing after they’d taken an early lunch, nibbling on the edge of the pastry as they strode through the extensive gardens.  Many of the flowers were dormant with autumn beginning to take hold over the earth, but the gourds and changing leaves provided an easel of color for their enjoyment.

Eleanor sincerely hoped the winter might bring a rare ice storm, though with the temperate climate it was highly unlikely.  It did not stop her from wishing for it though.  She’d always had a love for the cold, for the scent of pine and snow she’d had the pleasure of experiencing once on a trip to one of the mountain estates that their family owned.

She’d always wished to live in it, to enjoy the brisk chill and warm herself by the hearth.  Not the continuous drone of heat and humidity that Wendlyn provided.   And perhaps she’d get the chance, if she chose to follow Evalin.  Gods knew she’d been getting her fill of snow when she went north to Terrasen.

“You’re going to become a queen of ice,” Eleanor murmured as she strolled lazily down the path next to Evalin, “encrusted in snow and holly.  We should add more fur to your wardrobe.” Evalin gave a small laugh, her slim shoulders shaking. “You do know there are summers in Terrasen, yes? It was quite lovely during my visit.”

“Oh yes, they brought you there to give you the impression of how lovely it is before it’s buried beneath heaps of frozen ice crystals,” Eleanor put a hand to her mouth, Ashryver eyes twinkling, “I do hope that Prince of yours will be enough to keep you thawed in the dark, frozen nights.  I have heard he is quite . . . delicate.”

A lie.  Eleanor knew just how athletic and strong the young Prince of Terrasen was, but what fun was acknowledging that when it came to teasing Eva?

“He . . . he’s just yet to grow into himself,” Evalin griped indignantly, giving a rare flush as she defended her husband.  “He’s very lean, mind you, and fast as an adder.” “Mm, excellent in a battle but agility will do little when you are turning into an icicle,” she finished off her pastry and dusted the powdery sugar off her fingers.  “You will be queen; however, you can always hold a tourney to acquire yourself a bed warmer.  Or two.”

“I refuse to be as uncouth as my dear aunt,” Evalin’s lips downturned, her features pinching.  “I have no intention of keeping men as pets for my own pleasures.” “Really? That’s the one thing I think that queen got right, I’d be quite content with a palace full of lovely, pretty men to do my bidding.” “Funny, considering you won’t even talk to one of those pretty males.” “Note the difference there, dear cousin, males not man.  I prefer mine mortal and capable of death. What point would there be if I couldn’t become a widow if the need were to arise?” Evalin stopped, looking incredulously at Eleanor.  “You jest.” Eleanor kept her face neutral, willing seriousness to her features even as she felt a smile creeping onto her face.  Evalin merely sighed and shook her head.

“Well, at least I shall never have to fear for your wellbeing.  I’m starting to think I should be more concerned for your future love, however.” “That would be the wisest course of action.” She winked at her cousin, who gave a breathy laugh in reply.

“Nonsense.  You speak nothing but nonsense.”

“Not nearly as much as the rest of the stuffy airheads in court,” Eleanor barely realized they’d wrapped around to the gardens in front of the palace, the training grounds stretching out before them where the palace guard sparred, the sound of practice swords clashing echoing across the grounds.  “Have you heard the newest deliberations?  Apparently, the latest argument is over whether the minstrels for the spring ball will wear blue or teal.  It’s preposterous.” “I’m not even certain Glaston could tell the difference between those colors,” Evalin mused, stepping over a loose stone on the path.  “He’s likely letting them bicker amongst themselves to buy himself a moment’s peace.” “Not a bad strategy, honestly,” Eleanor turned her attention towards the training grounds, hoping to spy some of the young and shirtless recruits training.  “It’s the sole bit of proof that we’re related to soulless husk he’s become.” “He has changed in recent years,” Evalin agreed, longing entering her eyes as she no doubt reflected back on her brother’s youth when he’d been nearly as fierce as the two princesses in the garden.  “Ruling has done him no favors.” Her voice trailed as though she thought to say more.

Eleanor took her hand and squeezed it reassuringly.  A decision had formed in her mind as she spoke, one she’d been mulling over for the last few days when she’d confined herself to her room to wait out the rumor mill.

What better time to tell her than now?

“I assure you will never become so unbearably stuffy, it’s not in your nature.  Besides I will be there to shake sense into you if you ever start acting so foolishly.” She squeezed her hand once more, hoping to the gods her cousin understood.

Evalin wheeled on her, blue eyes sparkling at the implication. “You intend to come?”

Eleanor shrugged noncommittally, “I suppose Terrasen couldn’t be too dreadful,” she nudged Evalin gently, “especially if the men are lovely enough to enrapture someone as levelheaded as you are.”

Evalin took both of Eleanor’s hands in her own, true joy sparking across her lovely features.  “Swear it to me, swear you’ll come, and we’ll never have to be apart.” Eleanor rolled her eyes before conceding.  “I swear it, Eva, I’ll join you in your little castle of ice.” Evalin swept her into a hug that nearly squeezed the air from her, her cousin’s grip tighter than any vice.

“You have no idea what joy hearing that brings me,” Evalin stepped back, relief glazing her features, “to know you will be by my side.  I could ask for no better news.” “Don’t forget, Eva we’ll still have to break it to Glaston.”  Eleanor wasn’t exactly keen on telling her cousin and family that she’d be flitting off to a foreign land on a whim, especially when she hadn’t so much as asked their approval to do so.  “We might want to serve him several decanters of wine before we broach the subject.”

“We’ll make it work, I swear it.”

“I’m certain, but in the meantime,” she nodded toward the training field, “I would like to continue our walk and enjoying the view.”

Evalin gave a high laugh before linking arms with her cousin.  “Well, don’t let me keep you from your afternoon’s entertainment,” her voice dropped down to a conspiratorial whisper, “perhaps they’ll take off their shirts off if we’re lucky.” “That is the hope.” Eleanor murmured back just as quietly, her spirit lighter than it had been since Evalin’s engagement.  “If needed I can throw a bucket or two of piss on them to encourage it.”

Evalin snickered.

They quickened their pace as they trailed down the stone path, keeping quiet as they approached on silent feet.  The sound of swords clashing, and shouting grew louder as they approached, trying to keep their presences unknown.  How many times had they made this very walk as teens, feigning interest in their training when all they cared for were the bodies doing the training.

“Oh look, Captain Liam’s even joined the fray,” Evalin’s eyes were fixed on the man she’d held unrequited love for the better part of her teen years, a fleeting infatuation that had crumbled when Evalin came to the harrowing realization that said captain had a wife and a child nearly her own age. “Must be someone keeping him on his toes if he’s getting involved.” Eleanor rose slightly on her tiptoes, trying to see past the dark-haired Captain’s heaving back as he circled his opponent, the sword in his hand held tight, his movements calculated.  It must have been some new recruit with exceptional skill, she’d never seen the man so much as winded when he trained.

She leaned closer, willing Liam to move more quickly so she could get a peek at just who was giving him a run for his money—

She sucked a in breath of disbelief, her eyes glazing as she caught sight of Gavriel circling on the other side of the captain, looking all the world like a storm of seduction that had her clamping her knees together.  She hissed.  What god deemed it appropriate to give him a torso like that, rippling with lean muscle?  Even in his thin shirt she could see the panes of his taut stomach, smooth and no doubt glistening with sweat.

And his hair, pulled up in that half ponytail showing off that elegant jaw--

Were all the fae this forsakenly beautiful?

It was a sin for someone to be that damned attractive.  Tawny eyes flickered briefly towards her before focusing back on his opponent as the captain rushed him in his moment of distraction.

“By the gods, Eva,” she wheezed, her eyes trailing over the thin shirt that clung to his torso, “look at him.”  She missed the look of amusement that overtook her cousin’s features, even as her own eyes kept trailing toward the training warrior.  “He’s not real, I swear it to all the gods.”

She watched, transfixed, as he easily sidestepped Liam’s blow and matched it with one of his own, sending the Captain of the Guard flying.  Liam hit the ground with a resounding thump and let out a groan of pain.  Gavriel immediately sheathed his training blade ad strode forward to offer a hand to the grounded captain, easily lifting him to his feet.

Evalin clicked her tongue.  “He’s a bit broad for my taste.”

Eleanor’s dress suddenly felt too warm, too tight and chaffing, the words mindlessly tumbling out of her slack jaw as she murmured, “I wouldn’t mind if he walloped me like that.”

“Excuse me?” Evalin inquired, laughter coating her tone.  Realizing she’d said the words aloud, Eleanor snapped her mouth shut, heat racing up her cheeks.

“I mean training, perhaps I should ask him to train me,” she finished weakly, her knees wobbling a bit beneath her dress.  He was nothing but a menace in her life, a pest that needed to take its beautiful self back to Doranelle at the earliest convenience—

Gods, even the way he moved was enticing.  She watched as he strode for the table set beside the training ring, his thighs and backside lovely in his tight breeches, and lifted a pitcher of water and promptly dumped it over his head before shaking the excess water free, sending glittering droplets dancing into the late afternoon sun.  She nearly squealed.  She needed to leave right that moment—

“Come on, Eva,” she started tugging at her cousin, willing her to move as she dug her feet into the stone path beneath her.  “We should head back to the palace, go do some needlework or something, anything—”

“Why?” Evalin’s lips had quirked as she remained solidly rooted to the spot.  “He’s headed this way to say hello, I think we should stay and greet him.” “Eva, please—”

“Your Highnesses.”  Eleanor snapped her attention towards Gavriel as he approached, his tawny eyes alight with the rush from sparring, broad shoulders shifting beneath his now translucent shirt—had he no decency?  “I am glad to see you are finally well enough to be up and about, Princess Eleanor.” He stopped opposite the path and inclined his head toward her.  “I assume your shoulder is not giving you any trouble?” She swallowed, letting go of her hold on Evalin’s arm before turning to face him, scrambling for the words.  “It’s . . . fine.”

How terrible would it look if she just bolted for the palace?  She could claim she’d got a severe case of nausea, feign illness again--

“Good, I had hoped as much.”

“I see you’re training,” Evalin noted, nodding towards the training ring, something tightening in her voice, “I assume our training protocols are satisfactory to you.  I know they are vastly different than what you are accustomed to in Doranelle.”

Eleanor hadn’t expected the bite that came with the question, the way Evalin had straightened her shoulders as she stared him down.  It took her a moment to realize the reason for Evalin’s discomfort—she feared he was gleaning tactical information, noting their forces and their abilities.

Understanding filled Gavriel’s tawny eyes.

“Ah, you’re correct, Highness,” he nodded over a shoulder, looking almost sheepish as though he hadn’t thought about what he was doing.  “Some of the men asked if I’d be willing to show them a few of our maneuvers during my stay, I’d hoped to help them, and as I’ve had a large amount of free time . . .”

Even though it shouldn’t have, hearing the words from him gave Eleanor comfort, his tone lacking the manipulation and hatred she’d expected of one of Maeve’s personal soldiers.  It seemed Evalin felt the same as the tension fled her shoulders, her tone softening. “Then please continue, do not let our presence hinder your drilling.  I imagine the men are grateful for any instruction you have to offer them.”

“I’m happy to teach what I know.” He gave a polite smile, “It was a pleasure to see you both.”

“Likewise, my lord,” Evalin said with a curtsey, something like shame flitting over her features.  From the way Gavriel bowed graciously in return, Eleanor got the feeling he did not blame her for the suspicion.

Which was such foolishness, given that he was one of Maeve’s personal guard.

“And, my Lady Eleanor,” a nod to her, “might I expect to see you tomorrow for our early morning ride?”

Eleanor went rigid.  “Err, I suppose so.”

“Then I shall meet you in the stables at sunrise.” Another smile brightened by golden sunlight.  “Hopefully we can avoid any wild boars this time.”

@seekingformangoes

[crushedbyhyperbole]

Beyond Broken - Chapter One

Summary:  Thor struggles with his failure after losing The Infinity War to Thanos.  He spirals into depression, leaving both The Avengers and his Asgardian kin behind.  He is unable to cope with the scale of his loss so he seeks solitude in a small seaside town in Connecticut, where no one recognised him.  There he meets a woman (Jess) who has also lost everything.  Their connection leads to happiness but something looms on the horizon and threatens everything Thor holds dear.  Just as night is to day, light follows darkness, but as the couple learns in an all-too-bitter twist of fate, darkness comes right back around again to finish the job.

Famdom:  MCU, Thor, Avengers

Words:  30k WIP

Warnings:  Survivor’s guilt, depression, self-loathing, angst, sexual content (explicit and fluffy), mild/hinted homophobia directed to secondary character, violence of the canon-typical variety, bit of stalking, and probably some bad language (as standard).

A/N:  This is the first MCU fic I ever started writing, and I hope to do the characters justice.  It’s an angsty tale with feels but it’s likely to have an unhappy ending, so you have been warned.  There are spoilers for Endgame in here for those who still haven’t seen it, and eventually the story will come to be an alternate plot for Endgame. Once again, it’s going to be dark at the end, but there are other universes than these and this is but one of the fourteen million possible endings spoken of by Dr Strange in Infinity War ;)

For more chapters see my Thor Odinson Mobile Masterlist

The Life of Jessica Walker

It had been ten months to the day when a once happy-go-lucky girl lost her whole world.  Jess Walker remembered that day as if it were only yesterday. Each day since had felt the same; hollow, broken, desperate.  The emptiness was ravenous.  It engulfed and ravaged, sapping all but the bleakest of emotion from her.  Ten months without him.

Will Tanner had been the love of her life.  He’d been with her through the loss of her father and then, soon after, the loss of her mother.  They’d made a life together.  Had a nice house in New London.  Good jobs. Pet iguana.  Holidays around the world.  And an engagement ring with an open-ended shelf-life; they’d been married in every way other than the piece of paper that confirmed their status.  Eight years of love and commitment lost in a finger snap.

She’d awoken that morning to the blaring ringer of the bedside telephone.  Groggily she’d answered to a hysterical David, Will’s younger brother.

“Jess.  It’s David.  I need Will.  Mom’s gone.”

Confused and still shrouded in the slovenliness of sleep, it took her a while to realise that David was saying that their mother had passed away.

“Oh my god!”  She gasped, tears instantly springing to her eyes. Turning quickly on the bed to rouse Will she saw he was not there.  “Hold on, he must be in the bathroom.”  She said to David before calling for Will to come to the phone.

There was no response.

She shuffled out of bed quickly, taking the cordless phone with her out into the hall.  The bathroom door was open and the light was off. None of the lights were on.  Had Will stepped out for a walk or to get some breakfast takeaway.  The clock said 9.15am.  Shit!  They were late for work.

“David, I’m so sorry, I don’t know what to say.”  Jess returned to their bedroom.  Will’s suit hung on the wardrobe door where he’d put it the night before, ready for work. “He’s not here.  Let me try his cell and call you back.”

David sobbed as she hung up without waiting on a reply.

Jess had been frantic after ringing Will’s personal and work phones to find them both in his briefcase. She’d scoured the counters and bedside units for a note he may have left.  It was then that she noticed the dust.  It was all over their bed, under the covers, swirling in the air as she moved the blankets.

What in God’s name was going on?  Maybe Will had somehow heard the news of his mother and left in a hurry, but both sets of car keys were still on their hooks.  Her panic increased.

It wasn’t until later, after an hour of stressing and crying, consoling David, speaking to friends and co-workers that she finally understood what had happened.  There’d been some kind of alien attack and half of the population had been disintegrated.  She didn’t know the ins and outs, she never kept up with the news because it was depressing but she turned the TV on now to see all channels reporting the horrors that had happened in the night.

Numb, and with the heavy lump of despair sitting in her chest, she stared but didn’t really see the TV as the news caster described the events.

They were saying the effect was world-wide, fifty percent of all life on earth, at random, all gone, turned to dust.  And her William had been one, his mother too.  Her friends and co-workers also, she’d not gotten responses from some, had they been vanished as well?  And Iggy? She looked over to the large vivarium but that too was empty.

She sobbed again, even their pet was gone, she truly had nothing left of their life save material possessions and memories.  She was alone.

Ten months on she still felt the pain of loss but she knew Will would not have wanted her to spin out in a downward cycle of despair and depression.  In some ways the world had moved on, in others it was impossible to fully accept the catastrophic changes.  Jess continued to work as a Dentist, she was lucky that the practice had not folded like so many other businesses, although she was just going through the motions each day.  It was difficult to plug away day in day out when you knew life could be sucked away in the blink of an eye.

Ever since that first day, she’d been as supportive to David as possible.  He took it very hard, losing mother and brother in the same day.  It gave her peace to know that she could help them; David and William Sr. were the last ties she had to the life she’d thought she had secured.  She’d found a purpose in this new world of broken things.

Jess finished at the practice and gathered her things to meet David.  The sky was overburdened with ominous dark clouds and the air was thick with the tension of an oncoming storm.  She walked the three blocks to the little coffee shop on Neptune where she and David met five days a week.  He was waiting for her outside with a cup of her favourite tiramisu hot chocolate, a genuinely warm smile, a soft kiss on her cheek and a yappy Papillon called Daisy Duke.

“It’s nice to see the weather has changed.”  She raised a sarcastic eyebrow, accepting the warmth of the paper cup in both hands. It had been weeks since she’d seen the sun.  She sipped and sighed.  “How are you?”

Today was Tuesday, the first day in her David support week.  Sundays and Mondays she had to herself, but Tuesdays were usually his worst. They walked towards the park.

“Not good.”  He shook his head, hunching his shoulders against the chill carried off the ocean by a strengthening wind.  “Dad’s pretty demanding, I can’t deal with his disappointment.  It’s like, even now, he can’t accept that his other son died and to treasure the one he has left.  To him, the wrong son died.  It’s crippling me, Jess.  You don’t even see it!  He acts differently when you’re there.”

“It’s hard for you both, you’ve lost so much.”  She gave him a reassuring squeeze on the forearm.  “Is he still going to that support group for survivors of Disintegration Day?”

“Yeah, he is.”  David looked at the ground.

“Well that’s great! That should help him loads.”  Jess beamed, her enthusiasm dropping away when she saw the look on his face.  “Why do I get the feeling that it’s not though?”

They crossed the street to Ocean Beach Park where David let Daisy off her leash.  The sky had darkened further with the downward progression of the obstructed sun and the thickening of the clouds.  He kicked pebbles as they walked the paths of the park.

“I dunno, Jess.” David sighed, defeated.  “He’s great when he’s getting ready to go out. Sunday afternoons are nice.  He’s chipper, you know?  Almost happy.  He goes to group in the early evening and it’s like he’s how he used to be when mom…” He swallowed hard.  “But then he comes home, sees me and it’s like he’s disgusted.  Like maybe he knows.  But I’ve been so careful.  I dunno what to do anymore.”

She drew him into a hug and squeezed him tight.  His arms tightened around her back as he sniffed into the shoulder of her jacket. Jess once thought, if she closed her eyes, it almost felt like holding Will again.  After all, they were the same height and build, slim and lean. She knew then, just as she knew now, that she couldn’t ever go down that road, no matter how much she wanted to keep Will alive it could only be in her heart.

“It’s not you.”  She crooned.  “You’re only trying to be happy, David.  No one can blame you for seeking something bright in times as dark as these.”

“I know.”  He nodded, pulling away.

“You’ll feel better once you’ve blown off some steam and that hot man of yours.”  She wiggled her eyebrows comically, grinning the goofiest smile she could muster.

Her reward was a genuinely abashed laugh that burst from him involuntarily.  It both soothed and pained her heart.  He reminded her so much of Will sometimes it nearly killed her.

“You’re terrible!” The blush suited him.  He stuffed his hands into his pockets and settled into a slow walk at her side.  “So what’s new with you since I saw you on Saturday?”

“Oh nothing much, you know me.  Same shit, different day.”  It was easier for him if she didn’t burden him with her feelings.  She knew he struggled enough with his own issues, and for the time being she was coping.   The mantra I can do this chanted over and over in her head each morning seemed to work enough to get her moving, and once she had momentum it was easier to follow it through the day.

At seven o’clock on the dot his phone rang.

“Got to go.”  He handed her the leash.  Daisy was still sniffing around the shrubberies and grasses nearby.  “I’ll meet you back at Neptune’s at ten?”

“Yep, the usual.”  She offered him a weak smile.

“Thanks so much for continuing to do this, Jess.  I dunno what I’d do without you.”  He grinned and dashed off in the direction of amazing sex and short-lived happiness.

It wasn’t that Jess resented being David’s wingman, so to speak, or that he was essentially living a lie. She didn’t even mind that she’d put everything else in her life on hold to be his anchor, or that five days a week she was out in the cold being a dog-sitter.  It was that he’d made no effort to help himself.  No counselling, no psychiatrist, nothing but her; he’d latched onto her almost immediately and she’d gone with it.  She wasn’t exactly one to talk about self-help, mind you, she’d gone to therapy two, three, and four months after Disintegration Day. She’d got to a point where she couldn’t see past the emotions she had, couldn’t see anything else for herself and she’d accepted that as her reality.  Accepted this as her life now.

Daisy came back with a stick, which she threw for the dog again and again.  She seemed to have boundless energy and be completely care free. Jess wished she could feel the same but the sickness of loss had settled too deep, so deep in fact, that she thought she’d never feel any different.  But that was all on the inside, and she covered it over with a warm smile and a bright disposition.  Smile even when the inside is nothing but ash.

Walking the boardwalk with the wind buffeting her hair into a wild mess, Jess was alone.  It was well after nine, all of the people had left save for a few coming and going from a gym up at the top of the park.  She’d been strolling and playing with Daisy for hours, thankfully the dog loved her so it wasn’t a hardship.

Jess hummed a tune into the wind as she walked, it was the most peaceful she felt on any given day. Just her, the ocean, the briny air, the sting of the wind on her cheeks and in her eyes.  The tears that welled up could have been attributed to the blustering wind but they weren’t.  When they fell hot on her cheeks and chilled instantly she swiped them away with her jacket sleeve.  She’d cried enough.  The next droplet to land wasn’t a tear.  The rain had begun.

Urging herself forward she picked up her pace, heading back to the café before the rain became a deluge. Ahead there was a man sat on one of the benches.  The lamp above illuminated his large form, hunched over, elbows resting on his knees. He wore a grey jersey hoodie with the hood up, grey jogging pants and a pair of running shoes.  The peak of a baseball cap poked from under his hood.

The rain had darkened his clothing over his head, shoulders and the tops of his thighs already, and he showed no sign of moving.  As she passed she felt a jolt of fear.  Muggings were rare in New London, but there were still those who sought a thrill in harming or terrorising defenceless women.  She wasn’t exactly defenceless.  She clasped the can of mace in her pocket tightly until she felt safe. The man hadn’t even looked up at her as she’d passed and several glances behind her told her what she needed to know; through sheets of slanting rain he sat there alone, unmoving.

David was apologetic and late.  The barista in Neptune’s had patiently allowed her to remain in the shop even after ten o’clock closing on account of the rain.  He accepted his, now cold, latte with pleading eyes.  A large hickey low on his neck told her that he’d well and truly enjoyed the unplanned overtime on his secret tryst.

With Daisy stuffed inside his jacket they ran the three blocks back to the practice.  In the underground parking garage David babbled about how amazing Silas was, how in love they were, how he wished they could just run away together.

Jess nodded and ahhh’d in all the right places, listening to the happiness bubbling out of him.  It was nice to see him smiling for more than a brief second.  Something must have really happened tonight to make him this excited, but she didn’t pry, he’d tell her eventually, he always did.

Home alone Jess flopped onto the cream leather couch still in her wet coat, where she fell into a troubled sleep.

The rest of the week things panned out in much the same way.  The storm that had blown in on Tuesday night was gone by Wednesday morning only to return again on Wednesday night, Thursday night and also Friday night. By the time she got home on Friday Jess had taken the hint and packed a long waterproof ponceau and some knee-high boots into the trunk of her car, for next time.

David had been late every day that week, leaving her waiting in the rain when the Neptune’s staff had inevitably had to leave at well after eleven o’clock.  Jess had been less than impressed with him, it had felt disrespectful. She soon felt guilty for being annoyed with him, and her frustration hadn’t lasted long.

Each night, on her walk along the boardwalk she had encountered the ‘lonely man’, as she internally named him.  It was as if he sat awaiting the rain, watching as the sky blackened and the air filled with cascading torrents.

On Friday the park emptied earlier than usual, the regularity of the rain driving people away back to their homes.  Jess had no such luck, having to wait on David and his booty call.

“Don’t be bitter.” She muttered to herself.  “He’s happy.”

She’d paused midway along the wooden decked walkway, watching the last of the light die, shrouding the rolling clouds in night.

A noise behind her made her jump.  The lonely man sat on his usual seat, in his grey hoody and jogging pants.  Maybe her talking to herself had disturbed him, maybe her presence distracted him from his meditations, but he looked at Jess with one piercing blue eye. The other was in shadow under his hood.

Daisy was pulling on her leash to go sniff the man.  He didn’t seem phased at all, or indeed amused by all the huffing and puffing the little dog was doing, straining to get closer.  He was stoic, troubled even, obviously wanting solitude.  She could relate.

“Don’t mind us.”  Jess offered a quick smile and a nod before scooping the dog up in her arms and turning back to the waves crashing on the beach.

Half past nine came and there was no rain.  Thunder grumbled in the distance but the sky did not weep.  Jess could almost feel the electricity in the air.  When this storm came it was going to be massive.

AC/DC Back in Black played from her pocket, shocking her out of her daze enough that she nearly dropped the dog over the railing onto the sand.  Fumbling for her phone she swore bitterly.

“Hello, David is everything alright?”

“It’s ten, where are you?” He sounded stressed.

“Still down by the beach, I lost track of time.”

“Seriously?”

“Oh I’m sorry, am I keeping you waiting this time?  Shoe’s on the other foot is it?  At least it’s not raining.”  She snapped.

“Ok I deserve that. Where are you, I’ll come down?”

“I’m by marker twelve. See you in a few.”  She stuffed the phone back into her pocket and repositioned the dog in the cradle of her arms.

David approached at a jog, breathless when he arrived, planting a hasty kiss on her cheek before accepting Daisy into his own embrace.

“I was worried.”  He said with gravity.

“You don’t get to lecture me on punctuality, David, you kept me waiting for hours in the rain three nights in a row.”  Jess let her annoyance flow into her tone.

“I said I was sorry!” He pushed back.

“Yeah, let’s just go.”

Jess turned to leave. The lonely man met her gaze with an amused half-smile, he acknowledged her with a slow blink and a nod.  She returned the gesture and looped her hand through David’s arm as they left.  Part way up the pathway lightning crackled its way across the sky and thunder boomed gun-shot loud overhead.  There was a pregnant pause, a long sighing sound of rain rushing over water and sand, before the curtain closed around them and they were soaked.

Jess glanced back at the lonely man.  He occupied her spot at the railing, his hood down now and face up turned to the sky. There was beauty in the sadness displayed there, in the way he sought to connect with something bigger than himself, maybe the rain washed away that which he wished to be free of.

They hurried to the car and were silent on the drive to drop David at home. Jess packed waterproofs in her trunk before turning in for the night.  Her bed just didn’t feel right, almost like it had those first weeks without Will.  She tossed and turned fitfully late into the night.  Sleep was just beyond reach.

[bedbellyandbeyond]

Kent’s Twins

Story Post

“Nathan, we may have to reconsider the timing of this pregnancy.” With the wolf side of the month over, Nathan came in for his semi-monthly check up. They'd started with a typical physical then an ultrasound to better assess the twins' development. “What do you mean?” Nathan asked, rubbing the side of his stomach where he'd started developing a rash. “Well, when you came in today, you appeared bigger than I would have expected. Now looking at these sonograms, I can confirm, you're further along than you ought to be since the last imaging.” “So, you're saying what then?” Nathan said.

“I'm saying, last time we determined you were approximately fifteen weeks along,” Reid elaborated. “Now, two and half weeks later, the twins have developed twice fold and now appear a month ahead. We're looking at a twenty to twenty-one week pregnancy.” “So... My pregnancy is sped up?” Nathan said. “Like...like cheating in the Sims?” “Well, I don’t know what that is but sure,” Reid lied. “I'm tempted to think the wolf has something to do with this. Give me a moment.” He woke up his computer and did a couple google searches and then a few calculations. “Ah... Yes. That I suppose makes sense. Laddie, wolves gestate 4 times as fast as humans. You're a wolf for about one fourth of each months considering only at night for half the lunar cycle, so your pregnancy moves twice as fast when your in the wolf times. This means that since the last time we assessed you, the twins have developed a whole...” He checked his notes. “Approximate five and a half weeks more, rather than 2 and a quarter.” “Let me get this straight... I'm not a math teacher but you're saying I'm now going through this in, what, half the time?” Nathan tried to determine. “You'll have a pregnancy roughly 57% the length of a human,” Reid said. “So a little more than half.” “Oh my god.” Nathan rubbed his forehead. “So how much time is left?” “Well if you're at about twenty and a half weeks now, then you're half way through. The last twenty weeks will finish in the next eleven and a half weeks approximately.” “Wait, say that again.” “Aye, pay attention,” Reid said. “The twins development is the same as a twenty and a half week pregnancy. This means you're approximately eleven and half weeks along and have another eleven and a half to go.” “Eleven weeks?!” Nathan couldn't fathom it. “That's...only two and a half months! I'll have these kids by the New Year!” “Yes, approximately,” Reid said nodding. “Start painting that nursery, as they say maybe.” “But wait... When... When we told Kent I was pregnant, back then we assumed I was like fifteen weeks along. But then wouldn't it have been less time?” “Oh, that's true. Maybe eight and a half weeks then?” Reid said. “But he admitted to having sex with me fifteen weeks before, not eight and a half.” “Correct.” “So...was he lying or...or what?” “Well, a few things could be true,” Reid said. “He could've misremembered. Or he could've lied about how many times you've made love. Or he could've been telling the truth, but someone else impregnated you. But I'd hardly believe that since one twin looks to be a bear in the womb when you're all transformed.” “No, it was him,” Nathan said. “I swear—wait, did you say you can tell what animal they are?” “Did I not tell you?” Reid rubbed his forehead. “I'm sorry, laddie... Yes, when I did an ultrasound on the wolf, it was apparent that one twin is bear while the other is wolf. I'll show you.” He turned to his computer and pulled up an image of the wolf's ultrasound. Nathan got up and walked over. He'd never seen an image of the wolf like this before and it was very hard to believe it was himself. But he could clearly see the two fetuses developing in the wolf's womb, and they did appear different. “One's bigger than the other,” Nathan observed. “Yes, that one would be the bear,” Reid said, circling a few features that also hinted to ursarine appearance. “The odd thing about bears is that they're born smaller than wolves but they’re also born prematurely. Considering how you become a wolf and not a bear, it's safe to assume you'll carry them full term instead so the cub has had a chance to surpass the other twin in size. They are however about the same size when human.” “But then... If it gets bigger...” Nathan inquired. “If the wolf gives birth, wouldn't it be too big?” “Aye, that is possible,” Reid said, rubbing his knees. “I'm thinking it's best if we don't wait to see when you go into labour and just perform a C-section while you're human. It feels like the safest birth for all of your health.” The thought of how soon he'd be going under the knife and all the possible risks made his head spin and Nathan had to sit back down and hold his head. “...Reid... I don't... This is so much to process...” “Take a deep breath, Nathan. It's alright,” Reid said getting up and going to the sink. He filled up a cup of water for Nathan and brought it over to his patient. “I know it's a lot. I'm sure you're worried about the risks and our timeline, but we have it all under control.” “Under control? You call this under control?” Nathan glared at the doctor. “You only figured out today that I'm breeding as a fast as a fucking rabbit! I'm not prepared for any of this! What are we going to find out next? A vagina will appear down there when the time comes? They'll be able to fly? Oh, god I feel sick...” He covered his mouth and bent over, trying to swallow it back. “Don't swallow, hold on.” Reid grabbed his trashcan and handed it to Nathan. “Let it out...” Nathan took the bin and immediately made sick in it. Reid went over to sit beside him and rubbed his back. “There, there... I'm sorry,” Reid said, placing a cloth on Nathan's knee. “All of this is new and we're doing our best here. In every moment, I am trying to have the most accurate information and my priority in this case is for you to be safe and healthy. But I need you to trust me.” Nathan used the cloth to wipe his face and set the trashcan down on the floor. “I wish Dr. Aias was here...” Reid chuckled, solemnly. “Honestly, me too. Their input would be greatly appreciated in this... But they're not here. I am and I'm doing my best. Nothing's happened to you yet.” “I got pregnant.” “Well, that's not really my fault, is it?” “If I'd known I could get pregnant...” “It still would've happened. You don't have control of the wolf. What would you have done?” “Insisted on staying here sooner.” “Well... Maybe that's true, but we can't change the past. We can only plan for the future.” “How are we supposed to plan for the future if something's different every time I come here?” “Nathan...” Reid sighed. “That is the nature of most all occurrences here at APID. We're dealing with extraterrestrials and the supernatural here for Christ’s sake. It's a learning experience no matter what. We can't change that. But I can't say I know any place better suited to handle this.” Nathan was just quiet for a bit, wiping his eyes on his sleeve. Then he stood up and rubbed his neck. “I need to go for a walk.” “Alright. Do you want me to come with you? I assume not.” “No, I'm good. I'll come back, I just... I need a few minutes.” “Aye. Be safe. I don't have another patient for another hour so take your time.” Nathan nodded and left. It felt like he had a big weight on his shoulders. A pressure he couldn't relieve himself from. He hadn't changed his mind about the twins, he knew he still wanted them, he just didn’t know how to flip it around into something to look forward to like when he first found out about the pregnancy. He'd be on leave even sooner than he thought and before APID E, he was going crazy not being in the classroom. But then again, he loved teaching and that's what parenthood was, right? Teaching his own kids should be just as rewarding if not more. A few minutes later he found himself in the lobby of the retainment centre where Kent had been held. The same guard was there and he looked up from his book to see Nathan walk in. “Sorry, guy. He's not here anymore,” the guard said. “I know... I just...” Nathan rubbed his arm. “Can I just take a look around?” “Nope.” “Oh.” “You need clearance. But...” The guard slid something under the guard cage. “This was left here. It's you right?” “What?” Nathan walked up to the cage and looked down at the envelope the guard had pushed through. In big letters were written the word NATE. Nathan grit his teeth, feeling both the overwhelming feeling of loss and the ire of Kent still managing to make fun of him beyond the grave. He took the letter and put it in his pocket. “Thanks.” “I guess he figured you'd come back down to visit me,” the guard said smirking. “I know my sunless good looks are too irresistible.” “...You don't get out much, do you?” Nathan asked. “No. I really don't. But it's cool...” the guard said. “I get a lot of hours in LoL back here.” “What's your name?” Nathan asked. “Walter Bridge.” “Do you hit on everyone who comes down here, Walter?” “Yeah, mostly. It's lonely down here. But you are pretty cute. I like tall.” “I'm a combo deal. Side of kids.” “Yikes.” “I know, right?” He waved to Walter. “Thanks again.” “I suppose I won't see you again, so have a good life.” “Maybe I'll visit.” “You won't.” “Chin up, Walter.” “Yeah, yeah...” Nathan got back in the elevator and pressed the button for the medical ward. The letter burned in his pocket but he didn’t want to open it just yet. It was a comfort in itself, just the fact that Kent had actually thought about him before leaving. When he got back to Reid's office, he found the doctor typing something out on his computer. “What are you working on?” Nathan asked. “I'm updating your file,” Reid said. “I feel like you'd benefit from talking to your case workers.” “Oh, okay...” Nathan pulled up a chair beside him. “Did you find what you were looking for?” Reid asked. “Hm? Looking for?” “On your walk.” “Mm.” Nathan pulled out the letter and placed it Reid's desk. “Well, I meant something like...clarity or resolve...” Reid flipped up the letter and looked at it. “But something tangible might be good too. Is this from him?” “Yeah...” “Are you going to open it?” “At some point.” “What are you waiting for?” “I don't really want to hear his words in my head right now.” “Ah, that's entirely fair.” Reid he slid it back to Nathan. “Would you like me to schedule an appointment with Korsgaard and Camilo for you?” “Sure.” He pocketed the letter again. “How does Thursday morning, 10am sound?” “Sure.” “Alright. It's set.” “Doc?” “Aye?” “Am I making a mistake?” Reid looked up from his computer and turned to Nathan. “A mistake?” “Bringing these kids into the world. Kids who are like me. Kids who'll have to suffer like me. Who'll know the agonising pain of not knowing what’s happened, where you are, who you've hurt, night after night.” Reid brushed a hand through his hair. “Nathan...” “You don't have to answer that...” Nathan said standing up. “I know I ask a lot of difficult questions. Only I can really answer that one, I guess...” He looked down at the doctor. “I'm gonna head out for today, I think. I'm pretty hungry. Lunch should be started.” “Eat well. Remember, lots of protein but you still need dark greens in your diet too.” Nathan nodded and headed out.

[littlemisssquiggles]

It seems like the majority of the FNDM, even the folk at RWBYRW plus Shannon has taken the notion that Ozpin will take over Oscar or that the merge is parasitic in nature. How do you feel about it?

Honestlyanon-chan,I’ve never viewed the Merge that way. I acknowledge that the Merge is a seriousphase that both Oscar and Ozpin will essentially have to go through once thattime comes. But if I’m being completely truthful I’ve always leaned more towardsthe positivenotion that Oscaris going to be completely fine by the end of the change. It’s whyI’ve never quite dug the idea of other fans treating Oscar as Ozpin or as ifhe’ll just come out as another carbon copy of Ozpin. Technically… any mannerisms we’veseen Ozpin do that Oscar adopts as well came from Ozma. I’d like to think that theWizards inherited traits from their past lives, not just Ozma. Just as how theyall adopted Ozma’s formal way of talking, my belief is that the Wizard personais comprised of traits inherited from all past lifetimes.

Anyways,I’ve always first and foremost viewed Oscar as his own character with his own personality, story and journey to take in this plotthat differentiates him from Ozpin. It’s mainly why I’ve been vocal about thecanon fleshing out Oscar a lot better. Thus far, RWBY hasn’t frankly done muchfor Oscar, despite having source material that’s practically begging on itshands and knees to be used. I’d love to thinkthere is a lot more to be desired of Oscar as his own character besides hispart to play in the Ozma Reincarnation Cycle.

I’deven like to raise the point that there has been canonical evidence to highlight that Oscar isn’t the one who isexpected to change with the Merge. I talked about that in this musing post right here. Backin V5 when Ozpin was explaining his curse to RNJR for the first time, hedescribed it more along the lines as something he has to go through.

Ozpindidn’t even talk as if he was one person. He described himself as culmination of men—ofall the lifetimes that the Wizards have spent combating Salem and her forcestrying to save humanity.

Ozpintold the group that with each rebirth, his soul iseventually merged with another and he is changed but his memories remain.

Ozpintold RNJR that hewill change. He never once said that Oscar is going to change. Hedidn’t even describe it as if he and Oscar are going to change. Ozpin is theone destined to be affected the most from the Merge. For this, I stick with myown theories. My theory is that the closer the Merge approaches, it’s going toaffect both Oscar and Ozpin in different ways.

ForOscar, he’ll probably start to have frequent, dreams that involve him reliving memoriesfrom the lives of past Wizards as if the memories were his own. I’d actuallylove to see Oscar dream about the Great War with the King of Vale because he’sone life we have yet to learn more about.

Andas for Ozpin, Ozpin is going to begin to look more like Oscar physically. Forthe longest while I’ve been hoping that the CRWBY would give us a visualrepresentation of what the inside of Oscar’s mind looks like. When Oscar told the JNR_QRWBY that Ozpinlocked himself deep inside his head, I got super excited at this because Ifigured it would mean Oscar ultimately deep diving into his mind to bring Ozpinback home.

Y’know have Oscargoing on his own little journey to Oz  tofind the Wizard locked inside his lonely Emerald tower deep within theuncharted corridors of Oscar’s psyche behind curtained doors that contained themost cherished and forgotten pages of Oscar’s past.

Theidea I had was that the CRWBY would reveal more about Oscar’s life through his memoriesas we looked at his mind. My idea even was that Ozpin had hidden himself behind a painfulmemory thatOscar had repressed; buried so far in the back of his mind that hedared not look at it again because it’s a memory he hasn’t come to terms with;even as a teenager.

Mytheory was that Oscar was going to have to face his past in order to findOzpin. AJourney to Oz about a farm boy in search of a wizard who he wants to take home. That was my hunch and it’s one I hold dear to myheart because it’s a Pinehead headcanon Irefuse to let go of.

Although we got Ozpincoming back briefly in the V6 finale, I’m still holding out for this. Why Iwant the show to highlight Oscar’s inner mind palace or the Dreamscape as I dubbed it is because I personally want to seehow Ozpin appears inside Oscar’s mind.

Howdoes Ozpin look to Oscar inside his head? Right now I’d like to believe that ifOscar were to meet up with Ozpin inside his head, the old Wizard would probablytake the shape of his previous form—the one we’re most familiar with. The personaof Professor Ozpin, headmaster of Beacon Academy.

Butmy idea is as the Merge draws closer, Ozpin will come to physically resemble Oscar as aclear indicator. I got this idea from Ozma’s lifetime as Henkle. During that moment withHenkle having dinner with his family, you could see Henkle kind of acknowledginghis other soul—the past Wizard before him but what was very interesting to meis that the past soul looked exactly like Henkle but exhibited all the seriousnessof past Wizards before him.

Whenwe first met Henkle, he and the past Ozma before him has already co-existedlong enough that they were now working together in unison. The last time we sawHenkle, it was when he was an old man, possibly years after the Merge hadhappened. So by this point, the two souls has become one.

I am notscared for Oscar with this Merge. I stand firmly by my hunch that Oscar is notgoing to lose himself to the Merge. Ozpin is not going to take over and all essenceof Oscar won’t be erased. I don’t think any of that is going to happen. On thecontrary, all this talk about Oscar becoming someone else he doesn’t recognize—thatmore sounds to me like a reflection of Oscar’s fears of the Merge. Oscar is the one who believeshe is going to disappear while in reality, I think he’s going to be made whole.

Besides,even if I’m proven to be wrong and the Merge does become as serious as everyoneelse imagines it to be, nevertheless, I still stand by my hunches and anotherone I gave is that Oscar’s experience with the Merge is going to be differentthan any other Wizard before him.

MyPineheadheadcanon is that Oscar is meant tobe the last life. He is one I expect to change it all or at leasthelp to end it all. There are a few canonical signs pointing to Oscar’sscenario being different.

Oscaris the youngest of the Wizard reincarnates. There is also the titbit in theseries to suggest that Ozpin’s pairing up with Oscar might have been unexpectedand premature. The villains all reacted profoundly surprised that Ozpin wasback so soon.This is why I shared this musing post talkingabout the Ozma Cycle.

Thenthere is the detail about Oscar and Ozma—the first form, sharing the same VA.This could be just a coincidence here but…again I am sticking to my guns. Mytheory is that Oscaris special. He is meant to be the last life because I think Oscar is one truereincarnation of Ozma.

WhenOzma was first revived, he never got back his original form. Instead it’s been his soul that’s been revived and paired up with the souls ofother chosen warriors throughout the years. Although Ozma’s soul returned timeand time again, his body never did. Or…so we believed.

Iknow this assumption sounds like a stretch however this squiggle meister stubbornly believes that Oscar is the reincarnation of Ozma’s originalform reborn in Modern Remnant. I have watched too many anime overthe years where a character who was another person in a former life gets rebornas someone else in modern time. Although RWBY has brought its own spin toreincarnation with the merging of souls, the thought still remains. It ends where itall began. Ozma was the first. He was the one who started all this. Butthe Gods never granted him back his old body. The unfortunate thing about thecycle is that the Gods had Ozma rope other innocent men and people into his warwith Salem which is where all the guilt and mistakes lie.

Butit began with Ozma so naturally it should be him tofinish it. If Ozma was the beginning then Oscaris the end because Oscar is not like the others. He’s not another life for Ozmato life. He is the last life. Oscar is Ozma. His true reincarnate.

Iknow in a cycle where one man has been paired off with other men to the pointthat we don’t know if it’s either him in control all the time or him plus allthe other men in there, putting all that into consideration, this hunch soundsweird. Buuuuut…dagnabbit, I’m running with it. Even if I have to stand alonewith this theory, I’m sticking with it. You can’t deny that there is somethingvery unique to Oscar’s situation that will set him apart from all the others.

Anotherinteresting detail that I liked that connects Ozma to Oscar is that Ozmasignature colours that he can be seen wearing during his scenes in the LostFable are the colours that correspond to Oscar’s name. Ozma is wearing pine green with oscar gold. Coincidence, I think not.

Ican’t sit by and join the brigade in saying my precious freckled farm boy isgoing to end up just like his predecessors when the very show itself has toldme otherwise. So until then, I’m on the side that believes Oscar will be justfine in Merge and I’m also (probably all by myself) on the side that believesthere will be a twist to Oscar’s story with the Merge. 

The twist that he is Ozma’s trueincarnate. He may not look like it now but I have a feeling as Oscargrows older and matures into a fine, young huntsmen, he’ll begin to resemble Ozma.But y’know, as always, these are just my views.

~LittleMissSquiggles (2019)

[aintnouseofpretending]

You’re not usually this quiet...

Summary: Although things have not been working well, you still come and fulfil your promise to go picnic with your best friends; Freddie and his boyfriend Jim, Mary, and the other three boys and their significant others. Well, not really. You ended up just with Freddie, because Jim and Mary got something urgent in their workplace, and Freddie is too angry to listen for any more excuses from the other boys. It doesn’t take long for Freddie to notice something is wrong with his best friend.

Pairing: Freddie x Jim. 

Warning: Angst. Fluff. Freddie is with Jim, so he’s your best friend instead of a boyfriend. Apologies for any Freddie’s stan.

Word Count:

Inspired by: Friends Will Be Friends. Spread Your Wings. Keep Passing The Open Windows.

Dedicated to: Those who need the kindest of words, the highest of spirit, and the softest of reassurance. Do not give up. It’s okay to fall, so long you get back up again. You are important.

Perma-tag: @ohmygoditsanthonyedwardstark

+—-—+—-—+—-—+—-—+—-—+

You sighed deeply. You try not to, but you can’t hold yourself back. It is simply too heavy, too stressful. You cannot comprehend what happened anymore, things just crumble one by one, falling into you. Every single one hurts. From getting evicted due to the late payment, you’re fired because of some arsehole customers, and because of all that accumulated stress, you take it out on your friends and cause a big fight. So right now you’re at your parents' house, in your childhood bedroom. You’re completely relieved from your parents’ understanding of your situation, but it still felt bad and embarrassing.

You’ve already cried all night, sleep until the afternoon, and hardly eat. Mother can tolerate one day of break down, but after the third day of the same cycle, you couldn’t blame her to get worried. You put an act, to wash down the worries that were fortunately easy to do. Seeing her getting affected by your blue only adds to the bleeding wound, something impossible to bear. But you did it. One accomplishment after a clusterfuck that has happened. One small celebration that quickly makes you feel worse for your dishonesty, to your own mother.

“I’m so fucking pathetic.” It’s a raspy whisper at eleven pm. The room is dark, you left the windows open, letting the remaining spring’s wind in. You didn’t even bother to cover yourself, you think you deserve to get sick at the beginning of summer. Deserve to feel every layer of hurt and pain for making things much worse. You wish to cry, to let the pain out, maybe sobbing uncontrollably like before. But no tears came out. Your eyes’ so dry, every time the wind hits you it became very itchy.

One bright thought fly about in your brain, it was the famous saying in Japanese; “Only idiots catch a cold in summer. I am an idiot enough to deserve it, at least.”

Things get boring fast. You can’t cry, you can’t sleep. You’re hungry, but you don’t want to wake your parents by making noise in the kitchen. You’re too scared to touch your laptop, afraid it will remind you of your friends that you already hurt. Another thought is floating around, it has been since the day you’re home, every time you see an open window. The night sky is just too beautiful sometimes it makes you lazy. You really wish you have the energy to do something and have your mind distracted from the thought. Far too occupied thinking a way through, you almost miss the sound of a phone call. You leave it to ring only to die, and it repeats thrice before the caller are forced to leave you a voicemail.

“Whatever you’re doing, dear y/n, to ignore my call like this, I hope you’re having tons of fun. But don’t forget about our promise tomorrow, please? Picnic by the lake. We’ll see you at the usual rendezvous point. A bottle of wine as an apology is required! Au revoir!”

You feel a tingle of hope after listening to your best friend, Freddie, cheerful voice. He’s clearly drunk, he’s clearly with Jim and Mary from the chatter in the background, and he’s clearly isn’t pleased by something else beforehand to be pissed off by your typical interest lack thereof. And nothing could annoy him more than those three boys; Bri, Rog, and John. But that doesn’t bother you, the fact that you feel like there’s another option to get your mind off of all the terrible things that weigh you down give you the power to get up and message him; “Copy that.” And removing any bullshit excuses or lies that should’ve come after that. As always, he left you on read, and you try your best to assure yourself that he’s not mad at you, it’s just Freddie being Freddie—he even left Jim on read, and you’re absolutely sure more than he does to you.

“I still can’t sleep.” You talk to yourself as you sit at the edge of the bed. Your room is a complete mess, just like your life currently. But the light from the lamp post in the garden falls on your favourite blue top on the floor. At least you can prepare for your clothes tomorrow and iron them, make yourself presentable you thought. Maybe some late night snack too when you have the energy to make some jam on toast?

“You’re already awake, hun?” Your mother greets you as you prepare breakfast for your parents. “How are you today?”

“Much better.” You shrugged. “PBJs, coffee and tea for you and dad.”

“Lovely! Thank you so much, dear! How about you, honey? Have you eaten breakfast yet? You have been skipping a meal here and there, you have to eat.” She asks as she takes a seat, sipping upon the warm tea you made.

“Already ate. I'm going picnic with Freddie and his friends, so I better get going now. See you later, mum.” You kiss her cheek as you pack a bottle of wine. “Oh, and may I have this? I wouldn’t be out for too long, and I can buy your groceries in exchange, just message me the list?”

“Sure, dear! Have fun! I bet Freddie would be impressed with how you dress up!”

You bite back the reply He might not and instead said; “Absolutely, mum! It’s Freddie after all!” You try to lie to yourself that what you’re saying is indeed true, that Freddie will make things better, if not, his friends will, which technically because of Freddie too. You try to distract your mind from the creeping ugly memories that keep saying you shouldn’t have fun. That you should’ve just stayed and suffered for your own doings. To take the full consequence and feel bad about it, and must find the solution and fix it before you’re allowed to enjoy summer. You scroll through your camera roll to see the pictures of Freddie and his friends. Although unfortunately all of them already taken, you still can enjoy looking at the cute faces of Brian, Roger, and John. You don’t really care about a relationship right now—especially not right now when you feel like shit and your existence will absolutely be a burden rather than the opposite of it. Before the bad thoughts could fight back, you receive a call from Freddie.

“I’m five minutes away from the site. How’re you?” You answered.

“Hungover. Badly. And out of ten people picnic today? Only the two of us could make it.”

“Pardon me?”

“You are pardoned. And yes, darling. Only the two of us could make it. You have to forgive me, after the third excuse that came after Mary—and was from Jim too, what a bad luck it was,—I’m really not in the mood to hear anymore without starting a fight and potentially severe my friendships with those bastards. Not with this bloody headache. So I told them to go fuck themselves for cancelling our summer picnic we have planned after six fucking months—.”

“Are you driving?”

“God, thanks for reminding me, I almost hit a passing grandma.” His sarcasm was left unanswered by you. “I'm shitfaced and careful, so I will be arriving a wee later. I stole Roger’s car. But once I’m there, you’re driving, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Good. See you soon, love.”

“See you, Fred—.”

You can feel the anger boiling inside of you when your anxiety trying to make of Freddie’s hanging up as your fault. In your mind you told yourself that Freddie was already angry, besides, he’s driving, and it’s bad to drive and call at the same time, so him hanging up without hearing you saying goodbye is perfectly justified. But your hand shakes still, a small panic starts rising, you quickly close your eyes in response, calming yourself down. You’re glad when reality soon catches up as the bus give out the ding, you’ve arrived at the Seaside Cafe. It doesn’t take long too for Freddie to arrive with Roger’s favourite car, fortunately, unscathed.

“Hop in, dear. These buildings and peoples didn’t help my pounding head.” He jumps on the passenger seat once you open the driver seat door. “Oh, you bring foods and wine? Absolutely fantastic! I know I can count on you, my lovely y/n!”

You smiled and nod as you slowly hit the gas. You’re glad your friends didn’t tell Freddie and his gang about your fight with them, so at least you don’t have to deal with that problem for now. Not until you’re ready to face it again. But that thought is coming back; in between Freddie’s gossips, him offering you one Roger’s leftover Marlboro and light it up for you, or the fact that he drinks the rest of Roger’s wine that was left on the back seat as he comments how disgusting it tasted so glad he didn’t give the rest to you. Only when the silence comes you notice you haven’t been paying any attention to Freddie, too caught up fighting your anxiety back.

You give him a couple second of side glance; he’s busy lighting another smoke that you’re pretty sure are his fourth since he found the pack. He inhaled it deeply before exhaling it depressingly slow outside the window. The mood swiftly turned sour and heavy, and again, your anxiety knows how to spin it and make it as your fault. And you’re starting to believe it. You grip the steer tightly as you try to hold back the shaking. Your heart rate raises, and you start to feel that cold sweat running down your temple and your breaths getting shorter.

“You’re not usually this quiet with me, darling.” He almost makes you jump, although you successfully hold back your body reaction by blinking repetitively. “Whose breaking your heart?”

“Myself.” You answered before you could even think. “Let’s not talk about it when I’m driving, smoking, and cannot breathe.”

He snatches your smoke on your lip and has it off on Roger’s dashboard. That’ll start a huge fight later, you’re calling it.

“I need a bit of wine to calm myself.” You cut him off when he’s reaching for your mum’s bottle of wine. “Later, Fred. I’m driving. We might die, but Roger wouldn’t be happy if I cause any dent on his baby.”

“So we’ll die either way.” He laughs, already tipsy. “Alright, darling. Go drive like a champ.”

The rest of the ride was unexciting but feels much better. Freddie gives you space to breathe and to focus on driving. When the lake is visible, you already feel like your stress is slowly deteriorating. Shame really, only you and Freddie could come. The more the merrier they say. Or at least if that’s the case, you don’t have to promise Freddie and tell him all the batshit crazy things that have been haunting you. You’re not sure you can start without breaking down, and all of the sudden the tears that are non-existent last night will pour down like a waterfall. You’re betting on that. But, that’s your anxiety talking again.

“Move, darling. I’ll park the car, you lay down the cloth for us to sit. Make sure you pour a full glass of wine for me too, hmm?”

You listened to him obediently and taking the picnic basket you’ve prepared all night with you. It cost you a good night sleep that never came. The wind immediately welcomed you outside the car. The sky is decorated with small white clouds, giving the stage all for the sun to warm every inch of your body whilst the some of the spring breezes felt like the nostalgic cooling with past lovers, completes the satisfying feeling that describes how summer should feel. You can’t enjoy it for long as Freddie soon catch up, trying not to fall over walking on the tall grass.

“What’s on the menu today, dear chef?” He says, practically fell on the cloth right after you tidy them. “Sandwiches I hope? We’re having a picnic after all. Oh, and the wine, where is it?”

You pour him almost a glass full of it whilst you’re trying not to lose yourself and only pour not even two fifth of your glass. You’re glad he doesn’t comment on it.

“Ah! Some fruits too! Magnificent! Jim would be extra jealous to know you’re preparing this well!” He quickly eats the grapes you brought. “Sour and juicy! A little bit of sweetness! Like life! Ah, cheers to that, darling!”

You raise your glass whilst slowly sipping the sweet wine. It was delicious and strong. Maybe your mum knows your condition quite fully, giving you a lot of space to deal with it, and thus allowing you to have her favourite bottle of wine in hope to give you more way to let it all out. You take a mental and a phone note to make sure you buy her favourite cakes later as a thank you. She already sent you the long grocery list, you might have to borrow Roger’s car for a little longer.

“So, dear? Let’s not pretend like you don’t have something to tell me, yes? Don’t bottle it in, darling. It’ll crack and eventually breaks. We don’t want that, surely?”

You take a good amount of consideration whilst to prepare yourself mentally and emotionally. After staring at your wine and at Freddie, you finally add more wine in your glass and drink them in one gulp. Better cry now than later. And so you tell him everything. What has been happening in one month flat. As if having the sky falling down on you and destroys everything you’ve built. And you make it worse by destroying the rest that is left in blind frustration and rage. Now you’re here. Regretting every bits and piece of it, blaming every single bad thing you just experienced on yourself only. You feel too powerless, too overwhelmed to get back up. What are you supposed to do? How to get rid of the sadness that keeps coming and building in you? How to fix everything when there’s nothing left to fix?

“Cry, darling.”

“I have. There are no more tears left in my eyes.”

“Then scream.”

“Pardon?”

“There’s no one here. Even if there is, do you think you’d care? Scream, dear. Scream it all out. How unfair it is. How you feel sad and pathetic and useless. How everything is your fault. Do it, love.”

“O-okay?”

“Go on now.” He pours more wine into his glass. “I will be here. The lake is all yours.”

At first, you hesitate. Not really sure how to properly start a screaming session. Trying to ask Freddie since he’s the proper vocalist, only to receive his impatient glare as he slowly sips on his wine. You then awkwardly stands up, taking off your shoes, just in case, and get closer to the lake. The green scenery blown you away with its beauty, and to truly feel the summer again on your naked skin calms you, making you wish to take a nap. Again, Freddie is getting restless and he makes sure to tell you that by coughing quite forcefully.

“H-how am I to just scream? I never screamed for no reason before.”

“Well, change that, darling! How difficult is it really?”

“A little demo?”

It’s a hard no from the man. He fans himself with his hand as he waits. You no longer have a choice. At least nothing else that you can do, he has given you an option to choose, have you come up with anything better?

You try to yell at first. Saying you’re sad, why are you sad? Oh, right, all the shitty events that took place before that day. Are you stupid? Clearly, you are. You don’t even know why you’re blaming yourself for the things you have no control with. But what about getting angry at your friends for no particular reason? Well, maybe that’s your fault? Yeah! Why did you do that? You’re stressed? Why are you stressed? How to undo everything? Impossible! You don’t deserve the life you have before.

Eventually, you’re getting louder and louder to the point you almost hurt your throat. You keep asking questions that you answered. You don’t even know anymore whether anxiety is the one asking the question, or answering them. It’s a devilish cycle to the point you don’t know what question or answer lead to that, and you’re getting frustrated. Why are you like this? Why can’t it be simple?

“Because it can’t, darling. You’re human. Capable of any sort of emotions.” Freddie walks to your side, handing you your glass of wine that was half full. “That’s the beauty of it. Your problems have successfully kicked you down to the ground. You feel worthless? Feel it with all of your heart dear. But that doesn’t mean you aren’t a strong woman. You’re still here. You come, forget to sleep just to prepare all these?”

Freddie gently shakes the wine in his glass. “If you were truly have given up, I don’t think you’d be screaming. Even if you don’t come and cancel our plan like all of those pricks, then dear, I want you to scream. Get unreasonably angry at your pillows. Punch it. Kick it. If you can’t do that, write. Whenever there’s something in my mind, I write it down. I turn it into songs, then I will scream my lungs out as I sing it.”

“What if I can’t do all that, Fred?” You ask, voice hoarse.

“Then call me, love. Call me. Call Jim. Call Mary. Call everyone. Tell your parents. Don’t be shy, don’t be nervous. Every human has their up and downs. Just tell me everything. How it might not make any sense. Tell me, dear. You’ve got best friends that’ll help you get on your feet again. Darling, drink.”

You stare at your glass of wine. You can’t think straight, but you know you mustn’t drink too much. A sip. Two sips. Three sips.

“Y/n, you’re important. Your life is much too precious to be thrown away. You’re a brave, strong, girl. Even a hero has their time of weakness, dear. This is your times of weakness. And it’s perfectly fine to feel worthless and pathetic, feels as if there’s no light to guide you out the dark scary tunnel. But believe me, dear, you have to stand up, even just by an inch, a centimetre. Let your hands search the darkness. Reach out. If you can’t stand by yourself, reach out. And I will gladly pull you up. Any of your friends will pull you up. If you feel unloved, we will give you love.”

You can feel your eyes start getting teary. Finally, you thought. But is it true? What Freddie told you? You’re important? You’re brave and strong? Are you really worth their time? Worth their love?

Freddie touch your face, softly lift it up to face him.

“Darling. Whenever you feel lonely, you need a shoulder to cry on, you have your friends. You have me. Your best friend. If you don’t want my words, dear, then let me be there even in silence. Listen carefully, hmm? Your existence gives meanings to your friends. No matter how long it takes, we will be there for you. We will make you laugh. We will make you forget. We will make you face it with newfound motivation and self-worth. Because you are worth it. Okay? We love you. Don’t ever think you’re unloved.”

His thumb wipes the single tear that manages to escape. You hug him tight so suddenly his wine spilt on the grass, but he doesn’t mind. He returns your hug, just as warm, just as tight, and you both stayed like that for a while. Long enough for you to feel secure. That you’re not alone. That you will never be alone. You know deep down you’re strong, no matter how small those feelings are, hiding so it can survive the massive amount of self-doubt. You can stand up. You will stand up. Whatever it takes. Freddie will help you stand up again. Get you strong on your feet again, like what he has done right now.

“Thank you, Fred. I really need it.” You whispered after you finally let go of the hug. “Thank you.”

“Not a problem, darling. Just remember I will always be there if you need me, yes? And thanks for this.” He lifts up his glass. “To my courageous heroine, y/n! Come! Toast for yourself! You deserve it!”

“To me!” You smiled as you bring your glass up. “But that’s enough drink. I still have to drive.”

“Ah, boo! Party-pooper!” He sticks out his tongue. “Come, dear, let’s eat the food. You must’ve been hungry fighting yourself day and night! You need the energy to recover and heal! Don’t be shy, don’t be shy!”

Freddie tries not to spill any more of his wine as he walks towards the basket. He gestures you to follows him, smiling kindly and warmly. He even offered his hand when you’re getting closer, a hand that you whole-heartedly reach out and hold onto.

It’s been three days since the picnic with Freddie. A day after that you’re eager to look for a new job, your parents’ make sure to supports you mentally and emotionally, understand that you can stand by yourself, but make sure to be there when you fall again and in need of aid. But that’s not all. You contact your friends again, ask them if you can meet them to apologize for face to face. You’re already nervous when none of them is available that week until they follow up and give you date next week.

Half of the problems are fixed, you sighed in relieve. Although you still can’t find a new place yet even after contacting friends and looking around. It’s barely three days, you assure yourself. You still have plenty of times. Don’t rush or you might stumble and fall again. Do things slowly. You’re still recovering.

You check your phone after you’re out of Seaside Cafe for a job interview. Freddie and his friends blew it, nearly a hundred notifications from before you’re called for the interview. All of them asking how you’re doing. Some came straight —of course, it’s Brian and Veronica that’s worried the most—and say that Freddie is telling them about you being down, believing in his version of the truth that even after screaming at the lake you still feel sad and insecure. Freddie told you that he has taken care of slackers that cancel the plan on the date, making sure they don’t repeat it again.

“Another picnic, dear. Next month. What do you say? Specifically for you.”

“I really appreciate it, Fred, I really do. But don’t you think it’s a bit—?”

“Oh, shush! No buts! Yes or no?”

“Sure—.”

“It’s a yes, people! You’re only allowed to cancel five days before the date! Hey, listen, darlings! Five work days! And I won’t hear any objection! Especially not from you, Roger!”

You can hear in the background that Roger is still not through with Freddie tarnishing his dashboard with his smokes and his wine. You purposely tuned out the inappropriate bits about Freddie stealing his something and something related to “stuff” Roger would use on his date with his girlfriends.

“Let’s talk again later, how about that, Fred? My bus is here.” You say, although your actual excuse was that the conversations in his line have become so dirty you feel like you have to take a shower once you’re home.

“Of course, darling! Be careful on your way home! Remember this, y/n, we’re here for you. Alright?” You smiled.

“Copy that.”

End.

[kallura-icedcoffee]

poppy: body/role swap

A flower that blooms in the desert

Plance x Kallura Week 2018

A/N: Hi, I’m late to everything :) Also this fic is a continuation of sorts of this drabble. If you don’t want to read it, long story short, Allura needs to work on her quintessence wielding.

Mix & Match: There’s a little bit of you in everything I do

The first time Keith and Allura had swapped quintessence, so to speak, it was more than they had bargained for and they ended up seeing each other’s entire lives through each other’s eyes. It was a lot, it was overwhelming and it should have been a one time thing, but now they couldn’t help themselves. The addiction of feeling each other so intimately was real and they often stole themselves away to engage in this practice of cycling their life force into one another with Allura as the conduit.  

Except this last time.

“It’s MY console!”

“It’s OUR console!”

“You helped get it for me! Me! Not you!

“I crawled into that damn fountain and nearly got arrested by mall police! That baby is as good as mine as it is yours!”

“That was a gift! You don’t try and take a gift you gave to someone else!”

“Ugh, can you guys please settle this?!”

Pidge and Lance had stormed into Allura’s room at the Garrison, completely ignoring the part where Keith and Allura were sitting on her bed, hands held in a meditative state.

“I’m the one who wanted the video game in the first place! It should stay with me!

“But you wouldn’t even have it without me!”

The two paladins continued to squabble over custody rights, and the fighting got louder and louder, and Allura’s eye twitched and her mouth curled into a scowl as parts of herself and parts of Keith were flowing in and out of her body and they wouldn’t shut up about this goddamn game and finally…

She just…

Snapped.

“ENOUGH!” Allura screamed and in the process, a burst of energy rippled from her epicenter and moved outward, knocking Keith back and sending Lance and Pidge into a wall before they slumped over onto the floor.

“What was that?!” Lance blinked as he came to.

“A reminder not to piss Allura off.” Pidge held a hand to her chest trying to catch her breath.

“I’m so sorry, is everyone all right?!” Allura looked over them with concern.

“We’re ok. I think.” Keith’s thoughts felt jumbled and he himself felt disoriented.

They dusted themselves off and nothing seemed immediately out of place so they chalked it up to just a random experience, an “Allura is doing her weird magic stuff again” and went to bed without giving it a second thought.

When Lance woke up the next morning he didn’t think he felt any different. Breakfast went normally and it wasn’t until he spotted Pidge in the hallway that he sensed something was off but couldn’t figure out why.

He had never seen her wear makeup since he’d known her, but here she was dolled up, hair styled and surrounded by a group of young cadets. She was chatting away, laughing, being playful.

“Scott was it?” She smiled while autographing a slip of paper before sticking a lipstick kiss on it.

Lance’s brow arched.

“I can’t believe we know THE green paladin of Voltron! Can we get a selfie?” The boy asked and the others nodded in agreement.

Pidge stood, nestled in her little harem and smiled at the camera being held out, hands formed into finger guns. There was something about this that seemed awfully familiar and the entire scene had Lance seething. First of all how dare she look this gorgeous so early in the morning and second, how come she never giggled and slapped his arm like that while telling him how funny he was? He stormed over and snatched her away just as they finished up the photo session.

“Ow! Chill much?”

“What are you doing?!”

“Making friends.”

“Flirting! You were flirting and frankly you should be ashamed of yourself, do you even know those boys?”

“No, but who cares, they know me.”

She took a compact out of her pocket and began checking her lipgloss. It wasn’t until she stared at her reflection that she seemed to snap out of her…whatever it was that had come over her.

“What am I doing?” She looked up at him.

“You tell me lovergirl!” He placed his hands on his hips.

Their conversation was interrupted by Pidge’s father, who approached them with clipboard in hand.

“Lance, Katie.”

“Hi dad.”

“Did you forget you promised to help us brainstorm options for creating a cloaking mechanism for the Atlas?

“Do a what for the what?” Pidge looked at him utterly confused.

“A cloaking mechanism for the Atlas” Lance repeated. “Realistically you have a few options. We could use optical camouflage or reduce temperatures of the outer surface of the ship to lessen electromagnetic emissions.”

Sam and Pidge stared at him, mouths agape. Sam’s glasses slid down his nose.

“What?” Lance shrugged.

“Lance you can barely remember what you had for breakfast, how the hell do you know about cloaking techniques?” Pidge asked incredulously.

Lance went to answer except, he wasn’t quite sure. It had sort of just rolled off his tongue naturally.

“Something’s wrong” Pidge blurted out.

“Very” Lance agreed.

Meanwhile Shiro and Hunk were sitting in the dining hall with Keith, gawking as they watched him eat. Not only had Keith come to breakfast with his hair neatly gelled and brushed back, but he was currently sitting with impeccable posture while cutting his pancakes into perfect identical pieces. A napkin was unfolded in his lap and after he took each bite he’d sip his juice delicately, never slurping, that was bad manners.

“Keith…”

“Yes Takashi?”

Shiro and Hunk glanced at each other before he continued.

“Is everything ok?”

“It’s splendid, why do you ask?” He smiled.

Another flicker of eye contact between the captain and yellow paladin.

“Nothing. You just seem…different” Hunk chimed in.

“Well I feel fine. Although…”

They both leaned in.

“Yes?” Shiro urged.

“It’s silly.”

“Just tell us.”

“Well,” Keith placed his fork and knife down on the table, “I’ve been feeling a little self conscious this morning. I woke up and I just thought…well my ears are just so ugly.”

Tears welled up in his eyes.

“Wait what?” Hunk nearly did a double take.

“They’re just so round!” Keith erupted into a blubbering fit, snatching the napkin to hide his face. “How will Allura ever love me with ears like this?”

He blew his nose into the napkin with a loud exaggerated honk.

Shiro’s face perked up while Hunk was still dumbfounded.

“I’m sorry, did you just say ‘how will Allura ever love you’?”

Keith realized what he’d just said and his face turned fifty shades of pink before he quickly got up from the table.

“E-excuse me, I have things to attend to!”

Shiro and Hunk watched him run out, not sure what the hell had just happened but pleased that they now had blackmail on the black paladin.

Keith darted out into the hallway when he nearly collided with Pidge and Lance.

“Keith! Thank god we found you. Are you feeling, y’know, ok?”

“Honestly? I just had a rather humiliating exchange in the cafeteria that I would rather not discuss, but yeah I’m not ok. I know it sounds crazy but I don’t feel like myself.”

“Oh my god us too!” Pidge grabbed him by the arms.

“Are you wearing mascara?” Keith sniffled as he dabbed his nose with the cloth.

Pidge quickly let go of him with a glare before quickly changing the subject.

“You guys don’t think this had anything to do with that incident last night do you? When Allura got all mad and did that little blasty thing?” She tapped her finger to her chin.

“The shockwave of concentrated quintessence caused by the princess’ momentary emotional outburst could be what’s causing the current abnormalities and changes in personality traits that we’re currently experiencing” Lance said nonchalantly.

Keith and Pidge blinked at him silently.

“What?” Lance looked at them, puzzled.

“Let’s find Allura. Now!” Keith shook his head and marched off with the other two in tow.

After asking around they finally found Allura in an empty hanger. She was climbing on top of a hover bike that clearly did not belong to her.

“Thank goodness we’ve been looking all over for y-”

“Are you stealing that?” Pidge pointed to the cruiser the princess was currently perched on.

Allura sat up on the bike. She had her hair down, some of it obscuring half her face. Her cadet jacket was off and tied around her waist, revealing the white fitted tank top she had on underneath.

“I’m not stealing it, I’m just taking it for a little spin.” The normal lilt in her voice was gone, replaced by a deeper tone dripping with attitude.

“Princess taking things that don’t belong to you is wrong.” Keith’s brow furrowed.

Allura scoffed and rolled her eyes before leaning over on the handle bars and narrowing her eyes at Keith.

“So then you don’t wanna ride?” She bit her lip.

“I’d love to” Keith blurted out, stumbling toward her before Lance grabbed him by the collar.

“Allura that blast you hit us with last might has us all messed up, you’ve got to fix this!” Lance pleaded.

The princess pondered his words. She had felt off all morning, and irritated, and every time she saw James Griffin she wanted to deck him in his chiseled jaw.

“Perhaps you have a point. Keith and I were in the midst of exchanging our quintessence when you interrupted. I may have accidentally exchanged all our quintessence.”

“Well can you put everything back?” Pidge asked.

“I’m sure I could…but I’m gonna go for that ride first.” Allura smirked starting up the bike.

“Are you serious?!” Lance yelped.

“Very. Coming?” She winked at Keith who was looking at her, utterly smitten.

“Yes!” He pushed Lance and Pidge aside and slid on behind her, wrapping his arms around her middle, holding her tight.

Lance and Pidge watched in dismay as they took off into the desert leaving a cloud of dust in their wake.

“So what do we do until they come back?” He pouted.

“Lay low I guess…” Pidge shrugged.

There was an awkward silence, before Lance spoke up again.

“You weren’t really hitting on those guys earlier were you?”

“Worried?” Pidge gave him a knowing grin.

“No! I’m just curious is all.”

Pidge giggled and patted his shoulder.

“You have nothing to worry about. My relationship with those guys is purely planetonic” she assured him before walking away.

Lance sighed with relief before his face twisted into a perplexed state.

“Wait a second, THAT’S NOT EVEN A REAL WORD!”

AO3 LINK

[nutslovesdolts]

My Take on Angsty Dragonslayer (kinda)

(I got permission to use the idea for this from the original person also this is a different spin on it)

(This goes off Yang being a Mother that experiences periods of intense depression and or sadness after birth being near the baby so yeah)

(In my Dragonslayer stuff if theres a kid involved I'm gonna have em named Amber so yeah)

...............

Yang's point of view: *It had been a year since Yang left... she ran away from Jaune and her newborn Amber almost 2 weeks after her birth... but why? Every time she looked at her, she felt so much dread... so crushed... she couldn't tell Jaune... he was so happy... so she ran... and ran*

*by this point Yang was falling apart... not a minute went by where she didn't want to go back and be with her husband and child... but how could she... what could she say... how could anyone ever forgive what she had done... she had become Raven and she hated herself for it...*

*She had even been keeping tabs of the two, and Ruby who had stepped in to help Jaune after their attempts to search for Yang had failed... Ruby stepped in to help take care of another...*

*Yang began to cry quietly into her cracked and dirty hands, the tears pouring out as they always did...*

This had to end...

...............

Jaune's point of view: *1 year... 2 weeks past his daughter's first birthday.. a year and two weeks since the love of his life... his wife... his reason to live... had left...*

*all through that time he wanted to shut down... to give up, but he wouldn't complete the cycle... he wouldn't be the Tai to his Raven... but even that thought always just added to his sorrow*

Ruby: Jaune...? *Ruby asked placing a hand on his shoulder, knowing full well what was wrong*

Jaune: ... sorry... I just... ... sorry

Ruby: ... It's not your fault Jaune... you've been a great father to Amber and you know she needs you

Jaune: *smiling sadly* but not without the help of her Auntie Ruby... I can never make this up to you you know...

Ruby: you don't ever have to, besides... Yang... she was basically my mom for a good part of my life... she... ... I owe it to her at least...

Jaune: ... Ruby...

Ruby: hmm?

Jaune: do you think she's ok...?

Ruby: Amber? Jaune you do such a good job taking care of her oh co-

Jaune: No... Yang... *looks at Ruby with tears in his eyes* I just... miss her so much...

Ruby: *softly hugs Jaune* ... me too...

Jaune: *crys into Rubys shoulder until he hears Amber crying updtairs* Thank you Ruby...really *he goes upstairs leaving Ruby on the couch*

............

Ruby's point of view: *she and Weiss had been helping to take care of Amber (and if he was really honest, more so taking care of Jaune) ever since Yang left... Ruby was so worried Jaune would just shut down like her father did but somehow he stayed strong... or as strong as he could... Ruby just couldn't understand how Yang could have left him, they were so madly in love and she was SO excited to be a mother... Yang always spoke to Ruby in private how much she wanted to give her child everything her own mom had denied her...*

Ruby: *sighed for a long while and got up for a snack, checking the cabinets she found very little... Weiss had been helping financially support Jaune for a while even offering to have Jaune and Amber come live with her and Ruby, but Jaune was very adamant about staying in case Yang came back and no one wanted to push him, that being said Jaune was never very good at taking care of himself, case in point the empty cabinets (minus the stacked baby food filling most of the leftmost cabinet)*

Jaune: Amber is asleep, hopefully for the night, she was pretty tired after all that running around with you today haha

Ruby: she's not the only one haha, also Jaune, you may want to run down to the store, all you have is leftovers and tea

Jaune: oh right... I ment to go earlier hehe *he said rubbing the back of his neck* I'll run over there now

*he grabbed his coat and went to the door* If she wakes up just sing to her, you know she loves it

Ruby: I will, be safe!

Jaune: I always am *he said knocking his shield and walked out the door*

................

Yang's pov: *She had seen Jaune's breakdown from afar, but what hurt more then anything was watching him sing to Amber to calm her down... she could read his lips... it was the same song he always sang to help calm Yang down whenever ptsd struck or she would have a panic attack... he was always there for her... but she left him...*

*she slid down the limb of the tree she was perched in and started sobbing... not quietly like always, but unhindered as if all that she had done came back at once... she fell out of touch with the world around her... and neglecting to see the blond haired warrior walk down the path in the direction she was perched...*

................

Jaune's pov: ok so I have to get milk, flower cookies *he smiled at both Ruby and Amber's favorite snack, a small bit of the cloud over him lifting for a brief moment* eggs, vegetabl... * he paused as he thought he heard a voice*

*he strained to hear where the source may have come from as he followed the sounds forward down the path*

*as he got close he thought it sounded a bit like Yang... but it couldn't be... he crouched and crept quietly forward*

*he kept onwards until he was at the foot of a tree looking up he saw a woman crying, her hair was torn dirty and matted, her clothes were patched up so baddly it seemed like none of the original material was there at all, but what caught his eye the most were her arms... or arm... one was muscular but thin compared to the other... and the other was...*

*Jaune went completely still for a moment... her other arm was a metallic rusty color, where there had once been yellow paint there were now red stains and scratches, the yellow only helping to highlight the damage...*

*he felt tears fill his eyes but forced them back... she was shaking, and sobbing... his Yang needed him...*

............

Yang's pov: *she could hear something climbing the tree... she knew it was probably a Grimm coming to kill her... with how many negative emotions she was spewing it wouldn't surprise her if she was attracting every Grimm in Remnant... ... it was ok... she deserved this... she would just let them take her... she was finally defeated...*

*she tensed up tightly as she felt something touch her real arm before realizing it was comforting... not painful, something had wrapped itself around her...*

.............

Jaune's pov: *he was holding her again... his Yang, his wife, his love... but she never looked up, not stopped her tears*

Jaune: *he knew what he had to do... he started to sing...*

((Admin note add your own favorite song here, I won't make you try to figure a tune out))

Yang: *she started freaking out more, it was Him... it couldn't be him... not like this... not to her...not after all she had done... ... but here he was, holding her... loving her, calming her like he always used to...*

*she heard his voice shake a bit and felt tears on her sholder... she still couldn't move... sh just couldn't, what could she do...*

Yang: .... Ja... I....

Jaune: *hugging her tighter* shhhh... Just... please don't leave... pl..please... come home... *he put one arm under her legs and his other behind her back* can I take you home? *he gazed into her Lilac eyes for the first time in what felt like an eternity, he wiped her hears away and stayed there for a moment, just resting his hand on her face*

Yang: *she couldn't speak... she couldn't move, afraid that if she did her body would carry her away again... so she just gazed back longingly into his eyes*

Jaune: *this was all he needed, he slid off the branch with Yang in his arms and hit the ground with a heavy *Thud* before walking back to the warm glow of their house in the distance*

.......

Ruby: *she heard the door opening again* Jaune, what did you forget? There's no way you made it there and back alre-

*she dropped the tray of tea she was holding letting it shatter on the floor... in the doorway there was the Knight, holding in his arms her lost sibling, very much worse for wear... she wanted to be mad, she wanted to SCREAM at her how could she do this... but instead she just felt happy sorrow welling in her chest...*

Jaune: Ruby... she can't talk yet, can you go draw up a bath...? I don't think she has had one in a long time... *he said giving the still frozen Yang to Ruby hesitantly*

Wait before you do *Jaune began to take the rusted metal off of Yang's arm and got no protest, the skin where the arm was connected to was raw and dirty, giving the impression it hadn't been off in a very long time* I'm not sure I can... see... Yang like that for a bit... or if it's even right to... sorry

Ruby: *gently taking Yang from his arms, with a knowing look* I'm her sister, it's alright

Yang: *Jaune had never in their relationship passed up a chance to see her without clothing before... it actually hurt hearing his words..., she was almost glad Jaune had taken her arm, it was something she couldn't live without meaning she couldn't just run again*

...........

Jaune: *he took Yang's arm to the now dusty workshop and placed it on the table, before she left Jaune had become quite a master of maintenance on the prosthetic, always earning a reward from Yang for a job well done... the thought made him sad for a minute before he looked at all the work thag had to be done*

Jaune: at least this'll take my mind off stuff...

..............

Ruby: *she had stripped her sister with much difficulty, her clothes had practically fused with her skin, the number of cuts and scars with dried blood made Ruby wonder how the heck she hadn't gotten infected... she then realized she hadn't *

Ruby: you know... *she started, never looking at Yangs eyes as she lowered her into the water* ... I may never understand... but you're my sister and I'll always be here for you... but dad... well... when you're ready you need to talk to him...

Yang: *any calmness she felt after being placed in the water was now long gone hearing about her father... oh god what had this done to him...* I...

Ruby: don't... just don't try yet Yang... please... ... just pull yourself together... *Ruby said running her hands through Yang's now matted and disheveled hair*

Yang: *she just began to cry again...*

.....................

To be continued in Part II if anyone wants it,... yeah this was a nightmare to write on a phone... also yeah I may have hit the word/paragraph limit and yeah... so stay tuned?

[austennerdita2533]

A/N: Here’s an exploration of Klaus’s final thoughts while dying because why write happy AUs when I can suffer in canon hell instead? Loosely inspired by (THIS) gifset.

**ALLUSIONS TO MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH**

(A03)(FF.net)

Happy reading!

xx Ashlee Bree

There are few constants in this world. Though it’s not the most revolutionary thought to be archived, there is none more relevant to a monster who’s currently stretched thin and waning piece-by-piece into the cityscape, his mind drifting off like flecks of paper as he expends his last gulps of borrowed air into the dusk until he disappears.

Such a stark truth helps to put everything back into perspective. His eyelids can flutter closed with one less regret now because he knows…yes, because he knows…

Hardly anything stays the same here.

The sun rises then sets, only never in the same way twice. Opportunity gushes forward when it should trickle in instead. Blood sustains but it too runs dry the longer his fangs cling to the carotid of some nameless human’s neck, that prayer for help already fallen silent on the tip of a person's tongue so it’s gone before the gods can hear it, before they answer it - that is, if there truly are any gods left.

Perhaps they still exist somewhere, or perhaps they never did?

Klaus wouldn’t know since humanity’s fickleness deletes old beliefs faster than it ushers in grander ones on spools of sacred carpet. He doesn’t care because a thousand years have lapsed, and he’s never seen one. Never heard from one, either. Not a’once.

It seems only the agents of hell reign here. So either he’s indebted to them, or cursed, or he’s a member of their demon dregs? It doesn’t matter which one it is.

There aren’t many consistencies to be found around him regardless. There’s little to no predictability.

Sometimes, though, a giggle will leave its mark in surprise or in dread, in humor or in cruelty, so that it echoes in his head. Not that such a sound matters at all to the wind carrying it like a letter, because how could it? Why would it? There is no promise it shall arrive again before it’s missed.

Thoughts, cultures, foods, and dreams all disappear in the seconds it takes to sneeze.

Klaus snaps his fingers and the Berlin Wall tumbles, he whistles and soon the arctic ice thaws into puddles of boiling salt that raise the seas. Applause turns to duels and duels turn to kisses faster than he can flip to the next Shakespearean act and read it all the way through looking for hints, searching for clues that will tell him what to expect at the end.

Another extinct language is continually born to die in ashes that were made to flicker after they fall. Some embers drift away unseen almost as readily as others which remain behind, stacked higher than gray ant hills. Those are the ones built to thrive and condemn all who come into contact with their illegible numerals in the first place. With no ears to listen, and with no hands to point or shoes to kick it along, the fiery wind above delivers a message that may or may not be read by those who remain below, still standing; the lot of them still stuck in a moment they’ll soon learn to forget because they can, because to survive they must march ahead.

Nothing stops in this world, and Klaus knows it. He’s seen it.

History blows past everything with a wink. He feels the edges spinning away from him day after day - splitting into shreds he’s too slow to catch.

Transience is a terrible companion for a man like him, for all creatures who ache for perpetuity or an anchor of sorts to brace them against the onslaught, but sometimes that’s all there is. Sometimes fleeting brevity is all one gets.

Rain often washes the paint and charcoal from his fingertips, for example. Snow likely cools the fury he wears curled under his breath before exchanging it for mercy, or the precious little of it he still possesses. Hope can be moister than a stick of gum when he tucks it back against his molars, but it never stays fresh. The taste is sweet at first, then more and more sour when the mint decays into chalk along the inside of his cheek and drills a hole of white through his tongue, the bloody thing a grave which opens deeper with every smile and charming word he speaks. Cementing like an abscessed cavity when he must count his losses in soon-to-be-archaic syllables.

New species of flowers proliferate then wither in his palms over and over again. Leaves green before they redden, orange, yellow, and brown so as to hibernate with all the foes he doesn’t know exist, or hasn’t bested yet. Time becomes nothing more than a string of multiplying paragraphs before it starts to unravel at the seams to make it impossible to remember where one fantasy begins, and another reality ends.

Barely anything Klaus touches remains steady. Most of it crumbles, turning to sawdust in his lap.

“Permanent” is neither a word he applies to many things in this universe nor to an existence which has done its damndest to convince him of its rarity.

His whole life already buoys on a globe of volcanic nothings, does it not? He’s observed how it perches precariously on a bed of tepid somethings which is always moving, always changing in a rhythm that quakes until it turns deaf from the relentless pound pound pound of his fists. The fog billows around mountaintops so the centuries pass in a whisper, or so year after year zooms by in a screech so loud it could perforate the eardrums. Yet each one remains special somehow because it cannot be weathered by anything else except progress. And evolution. And transformation.

All the lightness and darkness in him blurs while bourbon drowns the red screams that come from another city’s throat. Then from another…and another…and another…ad nauseam. The cycle continuing in squawking refrain because—oh, how the Endless hurts!

Buildings wobble. Cobblestone rots. Parchment crinkles, yellowing at the edges. Lanterns light a crowded alleyway which soon will be filled with rubble, with parking spaces or picnic tables, with ghosts of people he met too long ago to recount every individual face with clarity.

Hills and meadows and streams, and gravel and grasses and blacktopped streets—they crack beneath his feet the longer he treads on this earth with the continents drifting apart, with the waves crashing back together in a lover’s chaotic embrace because that’s how reunions spark throughout the ages: violently and with no care to preserve the prettiness of the land it once abandoned. And that’s okay. It’s this thirst and hunger for uproar which sprinkles life in destructive beauty. It’s what makes eternal adjustments so spontaneous, so thrilling.

The truth is Klaus is no stranger to changeability.

Nor is irregularity a foreign concept to a cunning mind like his that’s forever plotting, always considering new plans for domination or survival, so none of that scares him. Nothing of the erratic sort can, or should, or will unsettle his thoughts enough to drag him from sleep to brew a war which blazes inside of himself because he’s lost a hold of something the world never gave him, something it never promised he could keep.

He's acknowledged all the while how inconstancy is more likely to web around and throughout him as he continues forward into the eclogues of forever. He’s accepted it, breathed it in like the oxygen he no longer needs.

So what terrifies him isn’t that variables still abound as they always have but that he’s stumbled over something much more disconcerting in the pulse of his own throat, in the wretched tremble of his knees as a single look or word pins him to the floor on all fours, willingly damned like some besotted fool straight out of every bloody Victorian novel that was ever penned. It’s how he’s unearthed a kind of endurability in himself where none should be yet is in spite of all he knows or may confess in truths yanked from his soul like teeth—and that’s her. She’s the singular point of alarm behind everything.

Caroline.

She’s equal parts beautiful, infuriating, and fierce. She’s impossible and inescapable, she’s the answer behind every question he’s too afraid to ask out loud. In the forgotten silence, it’s her voice carrying everything he wants to hear: a ‘so long’ sweeter than a peck on the mouth, a slap of reckoning, a right ‘ol pinch in the arse for being disappointing; light that never dims, never burns down to black; charm and kindness with a dash of audacity, the loveliness of an elbow to the gut when it’s warranted, since it often can be with Mikaelsons around; and hope so pure it covers him like heaven’s own golden sleeves.

Klaus was struck by her the moment they met. He continues to be so every minute, hour, year, decade of time he’s fortunate enough to know her. See her. Wondering about feelings she may or may not reciprocate even as a peculiar heaviness starts to settle over his limbs, then robs him of any action except thinking.

Permanent in a way that will never fade, irrational love for her is the one truly indestructible thing he owns. It belongs to him completely. It’s the thumping heart of his entire universe, but then again...so is she.

However, with Death’s fingertips about to shut a lid over him and all they could’ve been one day, a single thought scratches hauntingly through Klaus’s mind; a final pang shoots across his heart before goodbye rots his lungs for keeps because it’s not until then that he realizes:

Caroline will never learn how much she’s cherished now, will she?

There are few constants in this world. It’s a fact, not a mystery. Yet while physics may write the laws and answers for everything else, for him, she - only she - is a perpetual feeling.