#I LOVE THE WIND RISES SO DEARLY

[palletical]

"I asked the spring to bring you, to me.”

[missugu]

sleepy - buddha | record of ragnarok

⊹︎ in which: buddha falls asleep under his favorite tree and really doesn’t want to let you go

⊹︎ warnings: none, fluff

⊹︎ word count: 1.08k

the air was chilled as it drifted by. goosebumps rising in the wake of the breeze on your skin.

it wasn’t too much yet. just a slight discomfort creeping slowly in, you could definitely ignore it. especially when your mind was pulled away from the cold, your attention shifting to the man lying beneath you.

he’d moved for a moment, his legs tangling with yours even more than they had before. for a second you weren’t sure if he’d woken up, but once he stilled again you got your answer.

trying your best you moved to look up at him, wanting to capture his face as he rested.

buddha was so pretty, especially with the tiniest of smiles that pulled at his lips when he slept. today was no different and you found your eyes glued to him.

warm light shining through the leaves of the branches above you danced with the shadows on his fair skin. his hair fell from the large messy bun on top his head, framing his face in the prettiest way. you couldn’t help but try to paint the image in your mind.

it was hard to memorize every detail of someone though, even if you’d seen him like this a thousand times before. every time you looked at him as he slept under the great oak tree he loved dearly you noticed something new, and today it was his glasses.

usually buddha liked to take them off before sleeping, just in case he were to roll over, but he nodded off too quickly this time. they rested nicely against the bridge of his nose, the right side dipping slightly lower than the left. you’d never known they were crooked, it brought a smile to your face.

slowly you took the glasses from his face, trying your best to not disturb him. once you placed them to your side you brought your hand back to his face, cupping his cheek ever so gently.

his skin was soft and just a bit cold. you hummed quietly, tracing your thumb across his cheekbone you wondered if he even felt the wind getting colder.

“what’re you doin’?”

you jumped at his voice. he hadn’t even opened his eyes so you figured he was still soundly asleep.

“don’t scare me like that,” you breathed out, feeling your heart pick up its pace a bit now. removing your hand from his face you pushed back a little. “i thought you were sleeping.”

“mmm, sorry.” buddha smiled and opened his eyes just enough to take in your face. “you can keep touchin’ me, i don’t mind.”

“when did you wake up?” you ignored his teasing even though it widened your smile as well.

“not sure.” he couldn’t remember exactly, but he knew it was before you woke up. his hand that had been resting on your hip moved up, running up and down your upper arm slowly. “you’re cold.”

“mhm.” you leaned back into him pressing your lips against his softly, only staying for a second you pulled away before he could respond.

“heyy.” he pouted, bottom lip pushing out in a dramatic fashion only he could pull off. “that was rude. don’t tease me with a fake kiss.”

“i’ll give you a real kiss if we can go back inside?” you offered, hoping he’d catch what your were trying to say. the sun had almost fully set now, there was barely any light coming over the horizon and it was starting to get even colder. you hadn’t dressed very warm.

“m’comfy here.” buddha yawned loudly, moving his arm to tuck you in close to him. “i can warm you up if you want.”

“or we could go inside?” you countered, pushing your hands against his chest trying to get out of his hold that was only growing tighter. “it’ll be much warmer in your room.”

“hmmm.” he opened looked up at you through heavily lidded eyes, you knew he was starting to fall asleep again.

“fine, you stay here and i’ll go sleep in your bed.” you sighed, still trying to get out of his arms.

“nooo, i’ll go with you.” he mumbled, pulling you back down against his chest fully. “gimme five more minutes here.”

“deal.” you gave in, knowing that he wasn’t going to budge. “only five minutes, then your room, okay?”

“‘kay.” that was all he answered, shutting his eyes once more.

“can we bring a blanket out here next time?” you rested your head against him, tucking it neatly under his chin. you could feel his breathing slowing and you weren’t sure if he’d heard you.

“m’not warm enough for you?” he teased though he was starting to feel the chill himself now.

“nope, sorry. i might have to find another god that is hotter.” you teased back and immediately you felt his body grow warmer.

“that is not happening.” buddha sounded serious now, but you could still hear an amused undertone in his voice.

“no it’s not.” you mirrored his words, pushing up to press your lips against his once more. this time you stayed, waiting for him to respond to the soft kiss.

you could taste the lingering flavor of blueberry on his lips, and you didn’t have to tease him this time, he lazily kissed you back in such a way that was special to him. it still never failed to twist your stomach into butterflies and pick up your heartbeat just enough for you to feel it in your chest.

“i thought you were gonna to wait until we went in.” he mused, his warm breath drifting on your lips once you finally pulled away.

“i changed my mind.” you closed the gap between your lips and kissed him again, your tongue parting his lips slightly to dance with his. you treasured the small moan you coaxed from him, but only for a moment before you pulled away abruptly, using his distraction as a chance to slip out of his hold.

“oh you’re mean.” buddha stared up at you, pouting once more, he couldn’t believe you’d tricked him like that.

you only smiled innocently down at him, knowing that was enough to make him decide to get up. he slowly accepted the hand you offered to him, smiling when you immediately laced your hands together.

“c’mon, i’m freezing.”

“yeah, yeah.” buddha shook his head at you before being your hand up to press a small kiss to the back of it. “let’s go warm you up.”

[the-scythes-pen]

Dream within a Dream

Inspired by seeing/hearing Blade caring/being gentle with his allies hhhhhhh also walking around with him in the new area but otherwise no spoilers here

also hello why does my inspiration come back only for angst

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

Deep within the dreamscape, where few tread and the world falls silent, a man neither young nor old walks.

His shoes click along the stone; their path familiar yet not often walked. He remains impassive, neither joy nor sorrow on his handsome features.

He has long since become numb to lesser emotions.

The longer he walks, the further away from the world he becomes. The high-rise buildings fade away, the gaps between them growing and growing until they last forever.

Very few remain here.

Soundlessly now, the man travels on, navigating through invisible twists and turns and thriving communities of nothingness.

This deep in the dreamscape, in this general direction and in a place that time forgot, lies a small pocket of memory- neither this man's, nor it's inhabitant's.

It is a dream within a dream, built on a foundation of hope and love and roofed with regret and despair.

This place is not his home. But it is the only place he would dare to call home now.

An unused pocket in his tailcoat lies a key, to which a once steady hand reaches for. The man unlocks the door to this dream, and is greeted by it's suffocating stillness.

So, so different from where he came from; from the dreamscape outside of this pocket. Here, no wind blows, and dust settles upon unused furniture.

This house has no colour, yet the man's presence brings just the faintest of splatterings as he rouses the dust from it's sleep.

"Yingxing?" A sweet voice calls to him, and it steals the breath from his chest.

It always has.

And the man dressed in black brings his dull colours deeper into the house, towards the voice- and stops in the doorway to an old living room.

A face he hasn't seen in a long, long time greets him. This face is old, yet no wrinkles mar it's features. A smile pulls on this person's lips, and a crinkle forms in the corner of each eye.

The man, formerly known as Yingxing, walks silently over to the lone, colourless person.

"How long has it been?" They ask with that same kind, sweet smile. A smile that the man had always adored.

"….two centuries."

He speaks, his voice rough and quiet.

That smile he cherishes so dearly faulters. It's pained, now.

"I see. I missed you."

The man who no longer uses his name walks up to the familiar face- who stands up to greet him- and his strong arms wrap around the person.

"…Yingxing…"

In this embrace, the man can feel nothing. There is no one there- not really, but it's still somewhat unsettling to feel nothing when there is something.

"…you're cold. Would you like some tea?"

The voice is so, so sweet; so kind and gentle, just how he remembers it. He doesn't want to pull away but he does.

"Yes, please."

And the man follows them out to the old kitchen, floorboards creeking beneath his feet- but not theirs.

"I'm guessing you still haven't found a way to…?"

An obvious question that needed not be finished. The man still brought colour to this lifeless memory- and thus, he was still alive.

"…no. Not yet. But hopefully…" He trails off, his thoughts drifting to his promise.

"…it's ok. I told you I'd wait as long as necessary, didn't I?"

The man sits at the homely kitchen table, dust ignored as if it were nothing more then air.

"…forgive me." He still replies as his intense gaze follows the homeowner.

The person clicks their tongue, a sad smile on their lips as they join him at the table with a teapot and teacups. There is no familiar clink of porcelain when the teacups are placed, and when the tea is poured, nothing comes out.

He does not comment on it. Nor will he ever.

"I'm just happy to see you again." The person across from him says.

His crimson gaze flickers from the tealess cup to his other. His throat closes up, and he nearly chokes on his breath.

"I love you." He manages to blurt out.

That sad smile only grows sadder. He hates when you look sad.

"…and I will always love you as well."

Their hands meet on the edge of the table, a thumb that isn't there brushes over his bandaged hand.

"…how much longer can you stay?" He asks quietly, pain clawing at his chest.

"…I don't know." The person replies simply.

The man looks down at the teacup once more. Within the cup are dreams, memories, laughter, hope, and love.

He brings the porcelain to his lips and takes a sip. There is nothing there.

His mouth is filled with the bitter taste of ash and the harshness of dust.

But he doesn't care. He never has, and he never will.

To preserve this phantom dream, he would endure the harshest of pain.

"…Blade."

He lifts his head to find his other half standing before him now.

This meeting was so, so brief.

They always are, now.

He remembers how soft your hand always felt when it cupped his cheek. He tries so desperately to recall that memory when your hand meets his skin, yet he still feels nothing.

The dream before him looks into his eyes, searching wordlessly for everything he is unable to say to them. All the emotions, the memories, the pain…

"Let me- let me do it. Please." He begs so uncharacteristically.

The smile slips from your face, and he's not sure what he hates more: seeing you with a sad smile, or without one at all.

"…I'll hold out. I told you I'd wait as long as it took, and I will."

"You can't promise that anymore."

The man they now call Blade has only ever wished for death this strongly once before. He wishes he could die with ever fiber of his being.

That sadness returns to your face, but you don't smile.

He determines he hates that expression the most.

"Blade-"

Before you can say any more, his lips crash messily into yours. And it is here- and only here- that he finally, finally can feel such a beloved memory.

The warmth of your lips. The pressure of your mouth against his. The taste of your love.

Your love tastes like dust.

His colours, dull as they were, grow stronger only when kissing you; and his colours seep into your memory, bringing life back to your black-and-white dream.

He feels the sting of old wounds resurfacing, the hiss and growl of this sin of eternity digging it's fangs into his soul. But Aeons, he'd do anything to keep you around just a little bit longer.

The kiss breaks, and the colour he imparted to you dissipates swiftly after.

The pain in his chest is almost unbearable. He wants to claw out his heart and all the abundance flowing within him.

You've returned to nothing but a dream; a colourless memory devoid of life. So why, pray tell, why are your tears so vibrant?

"…I miss you. So much." Your voice is broken and pained. Blade places his hand on top of yours, still cradling his cheek. He nuzzles his face into your touch, his own eyes closing as he tries so, so desperately to feel something from your gesture.

He would even take the disgusting warmth of your blood over this nothingness of a dream.

"…I'm sorry. I promise… I promise I'll find a way to return to you. Just… wait for me."

When he opens his eyes, he is surrounded by nothingness. Once again forced into solitude, with nothing but the ghost of your sensationless touch on his skin.

The bubble of memoria flickers before him, as if attempting to comfort him. But there is no comforting a man who's sin has stolen him from his love.

Colourless tears cascade silently down his pale face. Excruciating pain feels like it's tearing his body to shreds.

The memoria flickers and floats. It has no emotion, yet feels so sorrowful and empty.

A bandaged hand, once strong and steady as a blacksmith, now trembling ever-so-slightly from the pain of a broken shell of a man, reaches out to hold this forgotten dream. To cherish it, and beg for it to stay.

But just like you, the bubble flickers in and out of existence, before falling limp in his hand; cascading to the floor in an oozing mess of memoria.

"I'm sorry…"

He murmurs to the dream, and prays that the strength he gave it will allow it to revive itself when next he returns. Perhaps this time he may need to wait a couple thousand years before it will be stable enough to enter again.

After a moment or two of mourning, the man clenches his fist; blood oozing into the bandages as pain shoots through his arm. Wounds old and new, internal and external, all bleed for his loss, cursed to be eternally painful for imparting his life to sustain this dull dream.

In a few minutes, Blade will leave this dreamscape and return to the world of reality. A reality where you are long since gone, and Blade is nothing more than a nickname for a man who has lost everything. A reality where he feels very little except pain and regret.

But right now, in this moment, even if it's nothing more then an oozing mess of memory- you are with him. And right now, that is all that matters.

"I love you."

His broken voice echoes quietly into the nothingness.

[gtgbabie0]

Rainy mornings

{You and Rhaenyra enjoy a peaceful morning together}

Hope you enjoy my lovelies!! 💕

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

It’s raining almost constantly on Dragonstone something you have come to love as time goes on. Especially in these moments when you wake up beside your beloved wife, her soft, white hair falling out of her once neat braid.

The back of her hand grazes against your cheek gently as you slowly begin to stir from your sleep. She props herself up on her elbow as she looks down at you with kind eyes, full of love and there's something about the warmth of the moment that seems to protect you from the harsh morning winds that whistle through the castle.

“Good morning my sweet girl” she smiles, keeping a hushed tone as she leans down to press a kiss to your cheek. Her hands soothe against the curve of your bare hip as he continues to press light kisses along your jaw smiling against you when you let out a small delighted sigh.

Rhaenyra watches as you rub your eyes, a yawn escaping your lips and she can’t help but let out a breathy giggle at the sight, but who could blame her? When her beautiful wife, lays naked beneath the white sheets, bathed in the morning sun as it rises. The happiness that blooms within her chest escapes her through soft giggles.

“Did you sleep well, my dear?” You ask, voice still laced with sleep. A gentle hand reaches up to brush away the hair that frames her face pushing it behind her ear, the back of your fingers grazing against her cheek.

“I always sleep well beside you,” she responds voice just above a whisper, before dropping a kiss to your shoulder. You shuffle closer to her, bringing the sheets with you as you rest your head against her chest. Rhaenyra traces her fingertips along your spine leaving goosebumps in their wake and the sensation only makes you nuzzle into her neck further, seeking out her warmth.

“Breakfast should be here soon so don’t go back to sleep my love” she whispers against your forehead, pressing her lips to your hairline as her hands still work their way up and down your back, enjoying the way your body feels against hers.

The familiar heavy sensation weighs against you, and you fight so hard to keep your eyes open, but the sound of the waves crashing against the rocks and the way Rhaenyra's hands feel against your body makes it really hard.

“You’re certainly not making it easy,” you tell her with a soft chuckle.

Before she can defend herself there’s a knock at the door, and a voice from the other side, “Breakfast m’lady”

She pulls the sheets over your shoulders to cover your modesty before telling the maid to enter. She leaves two silver trays, full of warm pastries and fruit, on top of the stone table that sits at the end of the bed before leaving with a curt bow wishing the pair of you a pleasant morning.

“Come on my sweet girl, let us eat,” she says, watching as you move away from your very comfortable position, and suddenly she’s left very aware of just how cold it is. You sit with your back against the headboard, robe wrapped tightly around your body as a gust of wind pushes through the room.

“Eating in bed are we?” She smiles at the tired nod you give her in response.

“Yes, because you love me dearly and it is simply far too cold,” you tell her as she brings the trays over to the bed placing them down on the mattress carefully before sitting back down next to you, and as if out of instinct you lean closer to her searching for her warmth yet again.

“I do, I love you more than words could ever express,” she says with such sincerity that it leaves you breathless and it certainly doesn’t help when he presses a loving kiss to your lips, her hand caressing your cheek ever so gently.

The pair of you indulge in the food, feeding each other the different fruits and sweet pastries and Rhaenyra can’t help but admire your beauty, the way you seem to practically glow under the morning sun as a smile embraces your beautiful features. She truly loves you, even if you’re leaving crumbs on the bed.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

[lina-lovebug]

You Are Mine, pt. 2

Background: Reader is Neytiri sister and has mated with Quaritch.

Stuff in italics in the Na'vi language

Warning: sex, mentions of sex, hurtful language

_

"Miles," I moaned, completely connected to him both spiritually and physically.

He didn't want to connect us in a lab, so he unlocked my chains and carried me out into the forest. But before we could connect, I wanted to feel my home again. My feet beating against the forest floor, my hair howling in the wind - it was home.

He laid me down gently against the grass and kissed me. His mouth ventured past my lips, down my neck to my breasts, and down to where I could not even begin to describe such pleasure.

"I love you," I breathed out, my eyes staring into his as he stretched me out.

"I love you too," and I believed him. The look of complete ecstasy and love in his eyes told me the truth, and I sang his name like it was a chant.

Miles Quaritch couldn't believe that this had happened to him. He never felt like the hateful man he saw in the video diaries and felt a strong pull to every piece of nature in Pandora. He would be lying if he said he didn't believe in Eywa everytime he saw you smile.

"We're mated for life," He said, completely in awe of you and he knew that what he felt was more than love.

"You are stuck with me," I smiled.

"And I would not choose anyone else, sweetheart," He kissed me, his lips molding into my own.

"What do we do now?" I asked, as the sun was on the rise and Spider was still inside.

"Take Spider with us, and go to your people. I want to make amends for what I did-"

"For what Colonel Quaritch did," I stopped him, "not what you did."

"They won't see it that way," He was doubtful. Go to her people and express how he feels like an absolute fucking asshole and how he knows the pain he caused can never be repaired. They might just kill him on the spot.

"We must go to my mother. She is Tsahik, and she will see what I see," I was sure of it.

"But let's get our son first."

_

"My child!" Mother cried out, enveloping me in a hug. I missed her so dearly, but this mut wait.

"You. . .you are mated," She realized, sensing the difference in me. She pulled away.

"Who is the man who has taken my daughters heart? Have you brought him here?" She questioned.

"I have, mother. But. . .you will recognize him. I trust you with all my being, and I know that you will see that he is a changed man," She was becoming nervous.

"Miles, approach my mother," She stepped back when I spoke English, her nerves wracked by who the man I have chosen might be.

When he emerged from the bushes with Spider, her eyes widened.

And she pulled out her knife.

"Mother!" She ran at him, hatred fueling her motives and luckily, Miles grabbed her hands and kept her from him.

"You demon! You foul monster!" She cried out, tears brimming her eyes.

"Mother, please, he is not the same man! I swear this to you on Eywa!" I pleaded, but she managed to take a swipe at his chest and draw blood.

She licked it.

"You. . .you are different. You are the man who carries this name, but you are not him," She said, still shaken up as her hand clenched around the handle of her dagger.

Miles could see my mothers conflict and got on his knees before her.

"I am Miles Quaritch, and I have the memories of a hateful man who burned your home to the ground. I wished I had never awoken. I wish I could face Colonel Quaritch and kill him myself because this place. . .it's not meant for taking. It's meant for living, for breathing, for loving," He looked at me.

"But I love your daughter. She has shown me the beauty of your home, but if you wish to kill me for my crimes, then I will not stop you," He hated himself. He hated who he was.

"You have mated with my daughter, but I sense no other motives than the love that a noble man has for a woman he respects and treasures," She put her hands on his shoulder, "but my people are wounded. They will want for blood."

"Mother, no," I pleaded.

"Please don't," Spider pleaded, "He's not the same."

"That does not erase the crimes he has committed," She stated.

"I understand," Miles had already accepted his fate.

"You will be responsible for my eldest daughters life. You will bear her every burden and shoulder her every cry. You will be a good mate, and you will take any ounce of pain from her. Miles Quaritch, you will be the best Na'vi man for her, and if you ever give her a reason to doubt you, then I will personally kill you for all to see," She swore to him. She watched her daughter laugh, cry, love, and lose in such a short lifetime.

She will not watch it happen again.

_

"Your sister is home."

From that moment, I knew that I would have to stick by my heart.

"Hey," Miles grabbed my hand before we could go see Jake, my sister and the children.

"What is it?" I asked.

"If Sully tries to take a swing at me, just let him. He deserves it," He scratched the back of his neck, still uncomfortable in the traditional garments of our people.

"Of course."

As soon as we were in viewing distance, I saw the smile on my sisters face. But as she got closer, and Jake saw him, all hell broke loose.

"Sister, get away from that man!" Neytiri hissed, keeping the children at bay.

"Neytiri, calm," Her face was of utter shock when mother told her to calm down.

"I know who this man is, and I know what he has done, but your sister and him are a mated pair. Eywa have him a second chance at life, and now he has chosen his path," Morher explained to them, and they still looked at him with murderous intent.

"He's lying to you. That's all he does," Jake insisted, "once he's done with you, he won't stay. He doesn't care about you (Y/N)."

"You are not welcome here!" Neytiri hissed at him, her tail flicking wildly.

"Neytiri, I have chosen him," my hand wrapped in his, "He has freed me, but not only that, he has shown me who he truly is. He is not the same man as before, but he has grown to love our home. Jake was once an outcast, and you were meant to bond with Tsu'tey."

Neytiri paused, remembering a time when Jake was just an outsider and not Taruk Makto. That her life would be drastically different if she bonded with Tsu'tey.

"That has not changed what he's done," Jake pointed out.

"It never will, and for that, I'm sorry," Miles spoke up, "I see the memories of who I once was and I do not recognize who that is. All I see is hatred, and all I see is death."

"He will not change, sister! Don't be blinded by his lies!" Neytiri pleaded, but Kiri felt indifferent to all this. Her own aunt, the woman who has sworn to protect her and her siblings since they were born, would not make a rash decision.

Meaning this love between them had to be real.

They met for a reason.

"I want no more hostility between anyone," Mother interrupted, tired of this rage filled tension.

"Get to sleep. We have much to discuss tomorrow."

_

"My Miles, what are you doing?" My sentence ended in laughter as his hands tickled my stomach and his lips planted kisses along my neck.

"I just wanted to see you smile. You seemed so unhappy after what happened," Miles never wanted to see you unhappy, and it was such a strange feeling to him. He only ever cared about his own feelings, about himself, but now it's like his world has shifted.

All he cared about was you.

"I just pray to Eywa that my sister does not stay mad at me forever," I confessed as his kisses trailed down my neck, giving me small marks as he gently bit me and I let out a soft whimper.

"I don't want to hear you mention anyone that makes you upset. I want to see you smile, or in pure ecstasy right now," And he would do anything to keep it that way. His hand trailed down my body, ghosting my skin as his lips came to mine.

Mother had given us our own space somewhat away from everyone, which secretly made Miles happy because then they could have all the alone time they wanted.

His fingers ghosted me, and I whined into his mouth for any friction. I could feel his smile, his fingers starting to slowly make their way inside of me.

It was slow and agonizing, and I knew he was doing so to get me riled up.

I mated with an absolute tease.

"Miles, please," I breathed out, his two fingers still going in and out of me at a slow pace.

"Please, what? You've got to use your voice, sweetheart," He chuckled, absolutely loving seeing you so hot and bothered. You were so needy for him and it made him so much more needy for you.

"Please touch me," I pleaded. I never felt like this with anyone before. It was like I needed him to breathe, and if anyone was to dare to take him from me, I would have to set the world on fire to bring him back to me.

My back lay against him as his fingers worked faster, my breathing getting quicker as his other hand teased my breasts. His fangs lightly trailed across my neck, sending shivers up my spine.

"Oh great mother," I moaned, my face flushed from the noises I made. It still felt so embarrassing, so say such things, but how else would I express how much I craved him?

"Say my name," He whispered as he gently bit into a sacred spot upon my neck. My head fell back as his thumb started to work my clit.

"Miles," I bit my lip, "I'm so close."

He was amazed at the sight before him. His mate, his (Y/N), completely falling apart at his hands. Her cute moans and mewls, her quiet begging for him to touch her - it was like he was on cloud nine.

"Come for me, my (Y/N)," He whispered in my ear, and to silence my cries, he turned my head towards him and kissed me. I felt so good, coming down from my high, but I wasn't done.

I turned around, my gaze full of lust, and shoved him on his back. I straddled him and said, "my turn."

[this-is-ris]

rainbow — for the single-word drive!

"If only you could see yourself as I see you. The beauty of your stirring aether- dancing upon the winds and oh so stunning with unbridled happiness. It reminds me of home... where the greens in the jungle were vibrant and aether abundant. Full of life and free to do as nature pleases. I see you not just for you, but also for the raging tempest within. The deep ocean of uncertainty that you've rised above, despite the relentless tides. Life is not always an easy road, and while yours is still being navigated I want you to know you've come so far and I am proud, my love. You are real, we are real. Isn't that wonderful? This is more than just a dream"

A Vieran love letter from Ris, to her dearly beloved @qara-wen. Full of love and affirmations to keep him grounded while she is away.

Ris is gifted with a form of aethersight that can read the emotions of one's aether, which makes for very lovely imagery. Sometimes, just the sight of two lovers in an embrace, or friends having a hearty laugh is beautiful enough to move her to tears; being able to see how souls interact with one another in a rainbow of color is truly mesmerizing to her.

How would your OC's aether look to her?

[sweetly-yours-and-mine]

Blood

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!Reader

Word Count: 1.7k

Summary: Joel comes home to the smell of blood.

Warnings: PLEASE READ angst without a happy ending, death of an infant, death of a child, main character death, loss of a child (stillbirth), loss of a partner

A/N: Please read the warnings above. If any of them feel even remotely uncomfortable for you, please do not read this fic.

I don't own photos, dividers or characters.

Over the past twenty years, Joel’s become familiar with blood in ways he’s never wanted. 

He’s known it dripping from his daughter, himself, Tommy. 

One time he tried to list off all the people he’d seen bleed, whether or not he knew their names. 

It smells sickly and sweet. He thinks the smell is the heat of life as it swirls up and out of the wound and into the air. 

He never knew how warm a human being truly was, until that early September night, Sarah panting in his arms. 

It had been an abnormally hot day for the month, the relentless Texas summer still lingering in the air, like a sun-warmed sidewalk, autumn still not fully committed to its task yet. He had been so hot all day, and through the night, as he screamed and ran and ran and screamed. 

There was a faint trickle of sweat going down his back, his shirt sticking to his skin. 

But when his daughter gripped at him, when he pressed his hands against her stomach and pressed down down, the blood had seeped through. It was hot, uncomfortably so. It ran down his wrists and made his fingers slippery, stained his arm, stuck his fine hairs to his skin till the blood crusted over into brown. 

It burned him wherever Sarah touched him, red handprints imprinted onto his skin that he punched Tommy over when he suggested that maybe he find something to wash them off. 

Joel didn’t like blood. Didn’t like it even when it meant his survival, that his heavy boulder of a life would live to see another roll up and down the mountain. 

Even in Jackson, he hated it. 

The sight of it sat in his stomach like hemlock, the smell filled his lungs like tar. 

When Joel saw blood, blood poured from his eyes. 

So, when Joel comes home from patrol, the house he’s worked long and hard to call home, has made sure to keep the slither of blood away from, he has to stumble to the kitchen table to catch his breath. 

The sweet smell hangs in the air like mustard gas. He sees the yellow fog of it twist and turn each corner and hang heavy at his ankles, grave-like and sombre. 

He wants to throw up. 

He follows the fog, follows the smell. The nausea rises and falls inside him like the tide, relentless and without fail. The impassivity of the ocean terrifying. The threat of eternity. 

When Joel opens the door to the bedroom he shares with you, the bedroom he’s worked long and hard at to call his, the bedroom he’s rearranged for you dozens and dozens of times over the past eight months as your nesting had gotten stronger until his back gave out, he stumbles and holds onto the doorframe to catch his breath and finds it doesn’t come to him. 

You’d traded a lot for those floral sheets. Had worked long hours to be able to afford them, and cooked as hearty a meal as you could when you finally got your hands on them. 

There’s so much blood that it’s turned the bedding and your dearly-loved sheets nearly black. You’re holding something grey and covered in blood to your chest, rocking it gently, sweat stuck to your forehead. 

You seem the ghost of the woman he knew. The one who got up and sang off-key without any music for a full house at the Tipsy Bison and stole Joel’s heart in one fell swoop of an eagle’s wing, your voice sounding like wind chimes. There’s a brush of blood on your forehead, the roots of fingers following a palm. 

Your eyes are hazy and delirious but still they light up when they see him, “Hi, Joel.” 

He walks into the room, he hears himself talking to you but doesn’t realise when he managed to do that. He sits down on the bed and it’s warm and wet. A few seconds later, he feels the blood crawl into his jeans. 

You mumble something and with a butterfly of a smile you hold out your arms to him. Joel finds himself stroking the face of his daughter, running his hand down the bridge of her nose, smaller than his pointer finger. 

One of your breasts is out of your shirt, milk runs from it and pools down into an oasis of white. There’s a dribble of it against his daughter’s mouth. 

You’re saying something again, “...eager to see you, Joel, to see her father.” 

Joel doesn’t know where you’ve found the strength to be talking like this. When he touches your forehead, you’re burning. He remembers that one night when he took you out dancing. Where he watched you move like a sirocco from the bar counter and got you drinks to cool off. He remembers pressing his lips against your hot skin, right below your hairline, he remembers your arm, strong and steady as it wrapped around his waist. 

It had been a long time since Joel had done anything of the like in public like that. When he pulled away he found his heart beating out of his chest without control. He was scared you would be able to see it moving against his shirt. A rapid rise and fall like the beat of a rabbit’s foot. 

“Isn’t she pretty, Joel?” 

He swallows and nods, says that she is because it’s the truth. The scrunched up, wrinkled face, colourless and lifeless, is beautiful because she was inside you for eight months and Joel spent those nights he spent with you talking to his daughter inside your womb. He hasn’t seen anything more pretty. 

“Lovely,” his voice is hoarse, and he hates how his tongue is cottony. He wants to say more and he only repeats himself, “Lovely.” 

You shift and groan but keep moving until you place your child in his arms. Your hand remains on her head, brushing your thumb back and forth, “Aren’t you happy?” 

“Why didn't you call for someone?” 

“I love her so much, I didn’t think it possible to love someone like this…” you let out a tired sigh and Joel feels the faint heated brush of a bit of your life pass against his neck. You lay down against your pillow. “She’s not latching…” 

Something inside him hallows out. Joel feels wind churn in every corner of his chest, braiding in and out between his ribs. His bones feel dry, the insides of them empty of any marrow. They hit against one another as the bleeding thing inside him continues to beat. 

“I’ll go get Maria-” 

He wonders why he didn’t think of this sooner, of getting help, why he didn’t run straight out the door when he smelt blood in his house, when he saw you in bed, more of your blood outside of you than in. 

“No,” an urgency hangs against your voice like an anchor. You reach out to him, “Stay with us for now.” 

Joel’s jeans are dipped in your blood, he feels it press mercilessly against his skin. 

He looks down at the baby in his arms, viciously silent, heartlessly still. 

Sarah had a set of lungs on her when she was born. Had screamed so loud it filled the room. 

“Alright.” 

When Joel dips his head to kiss your hairline, you smell like blood. One time, in the low light of your fireplace, before you’d moved in with him, you’d pressed your head against his neck and murmured that you used to use Dior perfume, that it was the only luxury you permitted yourself before the world set itself on fire. 

After he’d have sex with you, you smelt like sweat and Joel and skin. Heated and vibrant with life, Joel would press his front teeth into your upper arm until you pressed him away and called him an animal. 

When you came back from your shifts in the garden, you smelt like earth. Something rich and dark. Some mysterious force of nature clinging against your clothes and body, making you glow. 

He wonders if he would have fallen in love with you back when you sprayed yourself with designer perfume. If you would have let him into your life enough to have him put a piece of himself inside you to grow. Selfishly. 

His daughter lays heavy in his arms. 

He always noticed that, once the haze of the blood had cleared. When the blood had cooled down and the life had left its cells empty and deflated. 

How weighted Sarah was, when she wasn’t carrying herself and entirely dependent on his arms and strength. 

“Joel?” 

Nausea crawls up his throat like a slug, and he swallows it down. “Hm?” 

“Aren’t you happy?” Your voice is meek and small. He feels he could cup it in the palm of his hand and have room to spare. 

“Are you?” A childish smile grows on your face, your eyes glazed over, slightly out of focus. He supposes your happiness is his, and he nods before you respond, “I am. Very much.” 

You’ve made him a father again, after all. 

He leans down and kisses your baby. She’s still warm to the touch. He wonders how long ago this had happened to you. 

He wants to be mad at you for not getting help, for not calling for Ellie or him, or Tommy or Maria or any person in this black hole of a settlement. 

If he said he was happy though, he supposes he’s happy. 

“I’m tired, Joel.” 

“You’ve good right to be.” 

If he closes his eyes, he’ll feel the gentle movements of his daughter against his chest. 

“I think I might sleep.” 

Your lips have lost colour. There’s a dull certainty inside your voice now. 

“You do that, baby.” 

There’s so much blood in his jeans he fears he won’t be able to wash them out, that he’ll have to throw them out along with the mattress and the bedding. 

Thanks for reading, if you liked it, please consider leaving some feedback! I don't usually respond, but I obsess and re-read reblogs and comments constantly.

Masterlist here.

[exielimon]

My inspiration comes to me in the worse moments, did I write this instead of sleeping how I should have been doing? absolutely.

Enjoy some bunnies, this is-

Do not interrupt ravioli

(914 words ahead)

“Finally, some time for ourselves” Legend shut the door of his room with a sigh, Ravio had his own room but Legend had been away too long and there was no way he wasn’t going to spend as much time with his husband as possible, if a bit secretly.

So Legend crossed the room and sat on the bed, Ravio was immediately beside him, rubbing his shoulder in a side-hug and pressing feather kisses to the side of Legend’s face.

Legend let out a heavy sigh as he melted into it, finally surrendering to the affection after a couple of hours of holding back in front of his brothers, in his living room. And after even longer of being away from home.

He was just glad Ravio didn’t take offense when Legend didn’t show much affection besides hugging him as a greeting and sitting beside him, understanding his embarrassment and not pushing it. “I’ve missed you” he murmured, eyes closed.

“I’ve missed you too, so dearly” the clad in purple whispered behind his ear, low but not without that dramatic accent Legend secretly found nothing but endearing.

Ravio kissed the tip of Legend’s pointed ear before using his hand on his husband’s cheek to turn his face and press their lips together. Legend sighed at the contact and didn’t hesitate to return the kiss with all the love, warmth and excitement he’d saved for his husband for months now.

Now the thing is: Legend had missed his dear husband, and… well, they were married, a bit of desire was expected. And alright, it wasn’t like he wanted to take him now, not with the chain just downstairs but he still wasn’t going to be satisfied with just a side kiss, not if they were alone in a room.

Legend snaked an arm around Ravio’s waist and without pulling their lips apart, hoisted him up so he was sitting on his lap, knees digging in the mattress at each side of legend’s thighs. Ravio responded by wrapping his arms around Legend, fingers digging into soft, pink-streaked hair.

“Let yourself relax, my hero. I’ve got you” Ravio whispered again, pulling away just enough to say it. Legend surrendered into his husband’s comforting embrace as the other pushed him lightly to fall backwards on the bed, now Ravio was above him and he couldn’t be more happy.

Legend’s hands were on Ravio’s hips as their lips danced together, tongues digging into each other. Legend was happy, his lover was with him and he was safe and between his arms and his family was in his house with him, Legend let himself relax and feed into the passion in the kiss.

Of course, someone had to interrupt.

The door swung open, revealing an uncertain Wind, looking at something outside the room in the direction of the stairs. “Hey Ledge,“ Ravio flinched up, pulling away but not rising, snapping his wide-eyed gaze to the direction of the interruption before Wind turned and took in the situation mid-word “do you th- oh-“

Legend was honestly more annoyed than embarrassed, he sighed “is Sheerow eating window sealer?” He sent an annoyed glare at the sailor.

“N-no? but can Wi-“

“Then don’t bother me” Legend cut Wind off, reaching up to pull Ravio by the collar down to press their lips again, Legend repeating the other’s earlier move by wrapping his arms around Ravio and comb his fingers through the dark hair, to which Ravio surrendered easily.

“A-alright, Wild will make dinner in your kitchen then” Wind rushed his words and closed the door as soon as they were out of his mouth. Wind sighed outside the door and scoffed “tax purposes my ass” he rolled his eyes and walked downstairs with a smile, happy that Legend had found love.

Legend, the moment the door was closed, wanted to make sure it didn’t happen again, but he also didn’t want to break the already weak moment.

He pushed up and off the bed, standing but not breaking apart in a stubborn act. He made Ravio walk backwards and gently pressed his husband’s back to the door, one hand to his waist and the other hand reaching out to the knob to put the lock on.

Ravio chuckled against his lips as Legend’s hand returned to caress Ravio’s cheek and keep kissing for a few more minutes.

And now just the final touch; being comfortable.

Legend crouched a little settling his chest to the level of Ravio’s waist, hugging him close and hoisting him up to carry him back to bed and settle beside him to keep the kiss, his husband giggling through it all.

After a while they had stopped and settled on just cuddling in bed, Legend clinging to his husband tightly and Ravio welcoming him into his chest, between his arms, calmly silent, just basking in each other’s presence.

“I love you, you know”

“I know. I love you too, you know?”

“I know.”

Was murmured into each other.

There was a knock at the door followed by Wind’s voice again— good at least he had learned to knock— “Dinner’s ready, come down if- if you’re hungry.” The uncertain, muffled voice called, before steps sounded down the hall and the pair knew they were left alone to decide.

“C’mon, you have to try Wild’s cooking, it’s amazing”

“ooh~ do you think he’ll share a recipe or two?”

They came downstairs with their hands intertwined, lips swollen and hair messed up.

(thx for reading!)

[fleet-of-fiction]

Jake Kiszka x Narrator & Sam Kiszka x OC.

Chapter One

Summary: The Jones Family are new additions to the sleepy community of Beech Run. A tight knit scattering of rural houses, where everyone knows everyone. Deeply religious and overbearingly strict, the daughters of the family are kept under lock & key by a fanatical Father and submissive Mother. They watch from bedroom windows as their neighbours, The Kiszkas, draw intense curiosity and desire to be free. Madness of youth , hope & obsession collide to bring the danger of forbidden love to poetic ends. (Era A/U)

A/N: I want to dedicate this fic to all my beautiful friends who have loved and supported me through what could only be described as a difficult time. Their belief in me as a person, who tries to be good even though I'm prone to making hellish mistakes, has been unwavering and as such I wanted to create a piece of writing that I felt they would enjoy and immerse themselves in. So, this ones for you @writingcold @sanguinebats @thewritingbeforesunrise @takenbythemadness @edgingthedarkness @katuschka @lvnterninthenight @its-interesting-van-kleep @jakekiszkasbuttsweat @gretavangroupie and everyone else who has been with me on this journey.

Warnings: Religious trauma. Parental trauma. Intense emotions including desire, obsession, grief and yearning. Loss of virginity. Explicit sexual activity. Heavy praise kink. Severe edging. Oral sex m/f. Fingering. Masturbation. Dirty filth talk.

Summer 1984

The Kiszka's were like catching that scent of freshly cut grass on warm summer air. Nostalgic for something I'd never had. Books that I dare not open because my love for the cover meant that I was too afraid to start something I knew I'd never be able to put down. They were Sunday morning distractions, like I'd never known a day without putting my hand to glass and letting their chaos drift in through the open window.

The first time I saw them I didn't know the sound of laughter could make my heart want to die. The sort of rambunctious envy I felt was a thief to any joy I might have found, standing in the dust as I carried boxes into the new house. Theirs was a summer of freedom. And mine was like trying to find solace in the darkness.

The girl was pretty when she smiled. I thought, perhaps, in some other life she and I could have been friends. Sometimes I imagined it, that she would knock on our door and ask for me by name. A delusion I centred within myself whenever I saw her ride by on the yellow push bike that was always leaning against their porch steps. The boys weren't like that, though. No part of me could imagine myself in that wild entanglement. Fires and swearing, ripping their shirts off in the midday heat to wrestle in the dirt. Guitars littering their garage door, riffs that drifted in on the wind making me want to rise from the doldrums.

It just wasn't like that for us. Any hope that I'd carried into Beech Run was dashed the moment my Father shook hands with the patriarch of our neighbours, and immediately insisted that we weren't to go near those people. Godless and bohemian. Without decency. Without enough fear of a faceless, impalpable being that seemed to rule over nobody save for us.

He was a pastor and we paid for that dearly. With our curfews and our diligence and our punishments if we didn't honour God precisely how we should. I stopped believing that an almighty power would have chosen this life for me a long time ago, but nothing felt more certain until we moved to Beech Run. Only the devil would have put us next to the Kiszka's.

"They're so pretty."

Jolene was sitting on the windowsill, playing with her hair as she admired them. She had that faraway look in her eye that most girls had when they were seventeen. Romanticising them, giving them entirely fictionalised morals and wondering what her name would sound like on their lips.

"Come away from the window." I warned, the torture of it something I had already decided I would not endure all summer.

She would bite down on her lip and sway against the glass. Insufferable. Lost in a sea of their sweaty bodies tearing across the front lawn, having water fights and jam sessions in the garage. All the things we were denied. She and I, lumbered with reading lists and prayer groups that made me want to rip out my immortal soul and offer it to the highest bidder.

"The tall one, he looks as if he might sweep you off your feet. He keeps tucking his hair behind his ear, I think I'd like to do that for him."

No good would come of it. I could see the whispering angels and demons perched on my sister's shoulders. Consorting with her. The fathomless ages of young girls who had come before her in their tragic echoes, doomed to desire and the shadow of a breaking heart hanging above her head.

"Come." I encouraged, "Sit and read with me a while. And then shall we see if Ben will take us into town?"

The freedoms allowed to our brother were tantamount to our lack of it. He was the eldest and therefore had the privileges of that. He was male, and existed in a world that Jolene and I did not encompass. Sometimes he would take pity on us and drive us into town to get an ice cream or watch a movie. Sometimes he would be cruel and drive there without even telling us.

"I'm fine here." She sighed, and I suspected she wanted them to see her.

I was far too practical to follow her into that folly of romance. I thought myself immune to it, happy to just read about it in books that would remove me from my present circumstances. Something which had made me a target, previously, for underhand comments as I walked down the school halls or sat in the library just turning pages.

"Fine, until you send yourself silly with all this nonsense." I sighed, putting my book aside and shimmying to the end of my bed.

"I want to know what it feels like, don't you?" She was a dreamer, a conjurer of a fate I could already feel the chill of spilling down my back. "To be taken for a ride in a car, and have them open the door for you. And kiss you goodnight, making you feel like you're the prettiest thing they ever saw. Don't you want that, Bonnie?"

If I had ever wanted it, the moment had passed. Perhaps I was hopeful once, but then hope could be so easily dashed. My sister was beautiful in an uncommon way. Simple and understated, the sort of beauty that was caught at the right angle and once perceived, it was devastating. With long auburn waves and a set of dreamy blue eyes, she had lips that were full and round in complete contrast to what I had to offer.

"No." I replied without hesitation. "I don't want deal with any foolishness, least of all from a man. Don't we put up with enough of that from our own dear brother?"

She rolled her eyes in contention. "It's not the same, and you know it's not. Brothers are nuisances. In the same way Dads are."

With that, I couldn't disagree. Ours was a formidable creature who liked to keep us so pure it was as if any man would contaminate us by breathing the same air. Something which had begun to take it's toll. I had given up, and Jolene was merely awaiting her chance to break all the rules.

"Oh, but not these boys." She sang, returning her gaze to the frivolities unfolding across the street. "These boys are handsome and good. I just know that they are sweet and kind and up close I bet they have all these little nuances that only stand to make them even more handsome."

She would walk into a pit of fire if it promised to love her and adore her. Willing to walk to her heart break like ascending to the gallows with a smile upon her face and would willingly do it all over and over again just for a taste of something like passion. A part of me envied her.

"Maybe you're right." I agreed, deciding it might be worth a peek. "Maybe they are handsome and good. And maybe they will take you riding in a car and kiss you goodnight. But that doesn't change the fact that Dad would never allow it."

There were three of them. The elder of the twins was a lithe and charismatic thing. With a mop of curls and a penchant for wearing his pants low enough that my Dad had balked at the sight of him upon introductions. The younger twin was a little more reserved, hiding behind a curtain of long dark hair. His smile was entirely unexpected just by looking at the depth and darkness of his eyes. Neither of which were mirrored in their younger brother, who had all the hope and exuberance of a puppy dog that hadn't been trained on how to behave around company.

And Jolene was right. They were so infuriatingly pretty. All three of them with the same magnetic curse that had drawn my attention whether I wanted it to or no. I was no better than she, leaning my hand against the glass so that I might see them better. Rolling my tongue around in my mouth as I tried to appear calm.

"I'll jump out of a thousand windows before I ever let Daddy tell me who I can or cannot love."

I believed her. There was something in the way she stared out of that window that made me truly believe she would never let such a thing come between her and her desires. And as I looked down at the object of her affection, he saw me for the very first time.

Shirtless and sweaty, his hair wet and slicked back. He raised a hand to his brow and stared directly into our bedroom window. His brother, coming to see what had distracted him, followed his line of vision. Raising his hand, the two of them drenched and flushed pink as they stood at the end of their driveway regarding us. And we, against our better judgement, stared back.

I often stood in front of the mirror alone, wondering how I might be regarded by another. It was a terrible thing to be young and have innocence imposed. I would trail my fingers down my breasts and imagine that the handsome boy who had peered into my window was standing in the darkness behind me.

I couldn't see him. He wasn't a perfect image. His face was blurred from the distance of where he'd stood in my memories of that day. But it was him that I summoned whenever I touched myself. There was no other who came to mind. It was always the younger twin, the one with the long hair who had dared to stand and watch.

Perhaps it was his boldness that had made him stay with me. There was something bookish about his demeanour, like he'd been written by a woman for other women to fantasise about. Simply by standing there in the summer heat, taking note of me. Like I wasn't a ghost, after all.

"Open the door, Bonnie."

His voice ran through me like the prickle of a stinging nettle against flesh. To hear it whilst I stood there, naked, made my skin crawl.

"Just a second." I replied, pulling on my robe and hurrying to obey.

My Father was on the other side, standing there with a sourness that questioned precisely why I had been in the bathroom quite as long as I had. He would ask if I had been partaking in a sin, but at the same time he wouldn't speak it into existence. He simply cleared his throat and nodded at me.

"Your Mother and I were thinking, for the service this coming Sunday, that you and your sister would like to say a few words about how welcoming our flock have been since we arrived here."

His suggestion drew an audible sigh of disappointment. That I would be expected to stand in front of our neighbours and peers as if I were somehow grateful felt like a deception in the house of God. I could imagine their faces, thinking us good little Christian girls and what perfect examples of the lord's word. A credit to our loving Father. And our Mother, who would sit there in her perpetual silence and allow it to unfold without so much as an uttering against it.

"Of course." I replied obediently, "As you wish, Daddy."

He nodded his approval, clenching his jaw as if he'd anticipated a different response.

"I'd like the congregation to see what lovely girls we have." He mused, the grey flecked moustache that sat above his upper lip twitching. "They need to see that their pastor is the head of a good, solid foundation."

I had already agreed to his demand. There was no requirement for him to stand there and justify it any further. I was consciously aware of my state of undress, and felt it necessary to continue to nod my agreement as I scurried back to my room.

"Oh, and Bonnie?" He caught my arm, firm but not enough to cause pain. "Please make sure your sister stays away from the window tonight."

He would feel superior and I would feel beholden to it. As I smiled and nodded, as if I somehow held the reigns of my sister's deeds. He was smug and I was left wondering how he even knew that she'd been standing there.

"Yes, Daddy." I muttered, knowing it would have been futile to try and convince him otherwise.

She was feigning sleep as I came into the room. Making rudimentary noises and shuffling about as if in dream. I dressed quickly and quietly and it wasn't until I had switched off my lamp and laid my head down that she decided to end her performance.

"Bonnie?"

I flicked the lamp back on. "Yes?"

"Do you think Daddy will let us go to down to the creek this summer? I heard the Kiszka's talking about it outside. They said there was going to be a heat wave and all the kids from Beech Run and the next town over would be heading there. I sure would like to go."

There was an effervescent hope in her voice. That somehow, if she could only say it out loud, it might make it come true. I ruminated on the right way to tell her I couldn't see it being a possibility, not wanting to shatter her dreams entirely.

"Perhaps, if Ben is there escort us, there might be a chance." I offered, knowing that our brother had no intention of escorting us anywhere during his first summer in a new place with all the freedoms and folly of a youth that was extended to him.

She was leaning on her palm. Playing with a thread on her pillow case, her mouth all smushed up as she contemplated what I'd said.

"I just want to be like all the other girls." She sighed, before turning over and signalling the end of her part in our conversation.

"Dad wants us to say a few words at service this Sunday." I told her, plunging the room back into darkness, "Maybe we'll tell them all how he keeps us here like prisoners."

I heard a small, almost indiscernible titter from Jolene's side of the room. But I let her be. Sinking into my bed sheets and trying to imagine I time where I'd ever been satisfied.

He was there, again. Standing in the darkness. Haunting me. His imperfect face just beyond where I could see, the shape of him calling out to me. A set of deep set brown eyes appraised me, squinting through sunlight to get a better look at me. And I replayed it over and over until it was scratched into my memory like an old cassette that had worn it's self down to white noise.

I just wanted to know his name.

It was a Thursday evening. When the wall clock in the kitchen stopped. Summer rain began to fall. My Mother lost her most treasured thimble whilst sewing a set of curtains in the chair by the front window. And my Father was berating us for a less than exuberant attempt at writing a speech for the up coming church service.

He had us standing there like sentinels. Brushing his disappointment over us as if we were his canvas. I could feel the hairs on the back of my neck begin to prickle, a deep rooted need to protect my little sister from this sort of tirade starting to bubble away beneath the surface.

"I don't feel your gratitude, Jolene." He scorned, scrunching her script up in his hands like it was a tissue he'd used to blow his nose. "Try something a little more heart felt."

She was on the verge of tears. I could see them welling up in the corners of her eyes. I looked over at my Mother and felt a sense of abandonment whilst she was still in the room as she searched for the thimble she had lost. Silently willing her to step in, to say something. Anything.

"We'll have something appropriate drawn up by Sunday." I assured him, waiting to be dismissed.

His dominance was always at it's most ferocious when I dared to even tread into defiance. Sometimes I wondered if he took pleasure in it. The way Jolene trembled beneath his word and I tried and fought in vain to protect her. I wasn't the one prone to rebellion and yet it felt as if I always took the brunt simply because I always tucked Jolene behind me, safely squirrelling her away from his overbearing eye.

"See that you do." He simply replied, waving a cursory hand that allowed us to leave.

I heard my Mother rejoice as the lost thimble was found. My heart sinking that this was her biggest joy. That she had barely taken note of her daughters and our pain and the way we were slowly sinking into oblivion. Why was I even trying to obey?

Perhaps I closed my bedroom door a little more aggressively than I'd intended. It caused the pictures on my wall to shudder. The bottle of perfume on my nightstand rolled over. And Jolene fell into her pillows, leaving the stains of tears in the folds of fabric.

"They'd never convict him a court of law because he doesn't beat us." She sobbed, screaming silently into blankets.

Perhaps he would have if the marks would've been translucent. I often wondered if my Dad had ever thought about beating us into submission. Sometimes the bloody veins in the whites of his eyes and the tiny speck of spit in the corner of his mouth as he raged at us made me wonder if he curled his fist up at just the right moment if he would strike.

"I thought, when we moved here, that things might be different." I dared to wonder, "But if anything, he's worse."

Jolene's face was all blotchy and pink. Sodden with tears and her hair stuck to her wet cheeks.

"He knows, Bonnie." She sniffed. "He knows that if we were given half the chance we'd be across the street. With those boys."

Would it have been so bad? To have known a summer of love? I was eighteen years old. Never been kissed. Never been taken on a date and had a door opened for me. I had tried so hard to ignore it, but I could no longer look away from it. The way I'd been spending more time on it, touching myself and imagining him in the place of my own hand.

"You don't care, anyway." She added, with a little more malice. "You don't want any of it. You're always trying to stop me from looking at them. You're always burying your head in a book, as if that will help."

Perhaps I deserved that. I didn't dare tell her that I'd had a change of heart, of late. That my usual stance had begun to shift. Where once I'd thought the wanting had passed, it had started to become an insatiable curiosity. Even my waking thoughts were plagued by it.

"That's not true." I confessed, laying a careful hand in her hair. "I'm sorry if I ever made you feel alone in this. I promise, you're not."

Her nose wrinkled as she looked at me. As if seeing me for the first time. Allied in our awakening interest in the boys across the street.

"I can't stop thinking about him, Bonnie. Every night before I sleep and every morning when I wake up. I wish I could wash him out of my mind. But he's there, all the time, looking up at our window."

"I know, I know..." I soothed, "I've tried to forget that they exist, too."

I'd forgotten to draw our blinds. In our haste to appease our ever demanding Father, I'd left the curtains open too. From the corner of my eye I noticed a light flicker on outside, drawing my attention. I turned and took note of the Kiszka house, the glowing square in the upstairs left quarter was like a beacon against the rural darkness of our street.

"Look." I said, waiting for my sister to follow my gaze.

It was the elder of the twins who appeared. A towel sat snugly around his waist as he ruffled another through his hair. He was lean and perfectly cut, not dissimilar to his counterpart. I felt a sudden shame at watching him, but there seemed to be no care for his close proximity to the window.

He was talking to someone. His mouth moving in soft intervals, as if engaging in a conversation we could not hear. I was enthralled, nonetheless. Wondering what he was talking about. Who he was talking to. He carefully ran his hands through his curls, making sure they were perfectly sculpted. His stomach taught and his arms raised above his head, but it was only inquisitiveness that made me continue to look.

I felt nothing until he appeared. Tossing his brother a clean t-shirt. Doing nothing of value. Padding around and making me feel like the most detestable of voyeurs.

"He's the one, isn't he?" Jolene asked softly, taking note of my how my breath hitched as he appeared. "We can't just pretend like this isn't happening."

"They don't even know we exist." I dismissed her, forcing myself to look away.

"That's not true." She replied fluidly, her voice rising like a song. "We were introduced when we first moved here. They've seen us watching them. Even if it's the only thing they know, it's that we exist."

I wanted so badly for it to be true. I watched him stand there poetically in the window, talking to his brother and running a hand through his long hair. Casual. No care within the world for him. And I envied not only the fact that I couldn't be close to him, but also that I ached to be him.

I didn't settle at all that night. Fretting, feeling as if I held all the anguish in the world in the pit of my stomach. Jolene had nodded off as soon as the light across the street went out. But I continued to stare at the void a while longer. Silent tears streaking my cheek, the salt on my lips like a bitter reminder that it was all I could do to let it out.

I could see my reflection in the glass. A spiritual spectre that didn't have a voice. I stood there in my white linen night gown, ruffled at the sleeves and thought myself truly a ghost. The window was cold to the touch. The night was cool and calm whilst within me raged a tempest.

I didn't want to go to bed and lay down and have my thoughts ruin me. It would have been nightmares that came to me, ones about being locked in a cage. And so I stood there, in the window I had promised not to let my sister stare out of.

That warm glow from across the street reignited. It almost made me flinch. The way the darkness was all consuming, and then there it was. The light on in the room upstairs. I held my breath, as if somehow they'd be able to hear me. Lip trembling as he reappeared, this time alone. A look of forlorn sadness in his face as he went to pull the curtains closed.

He thought he could see something. He thought himself mad as he peered out further, squinting into the darkness as he caught the sight of me. It was in my mind to turn and disregard him, but I was rooted to the spot. Afraid that if I moved I would never feel again the way I felt right then in that moment.

I knew that he could see me. Certain as I knew that he was watching me right back. I could feel the pull of my heart strings dragging it down, into a flurry that churned my stomach like butter. He stood there, his forearm against the glass as he rested his head against it. Staring at me as if he couldn't quite believe I was real.

And then he raised his hand and waved. And I, inexplicably, waved back.

I sat in the choir loft as parishioners began to filter in. Gripping my insincere little speech in my hand, the paper felt as heavy as granite as I turned it in my hands.

I'd barely slept. Keeping vigil the past two nights, waiting for Jake to appear. That was his name. So graciously given to me, scrawled on a piece of paper as we exchanged messages from our respective windows.

It felt like poetry in motion. The first time he held up a crude scribble and asked for my name. It felt like I had been truly seen. I'd hastily scrambled for a pen and a notebook, holding it against the glass whilst he nodded his understanding. Waiting with my heart beating a muffled drum within my chest as he wrote something back.

He asked me why we never came to the creek. Why we never seemed to linger in the wide open spaces all around us. Why we were always in town with our brother. He seemed intrigued. Telling me about his passion for his guitar through page after page of rushed sentences.

The last of which had told me to wait for him in the choir loft before Sunday service.

Only a fool would have agreed to this. To sit there in my Sunday best, knees clicking together in consuming nerves of what I was about to do. Keeping a watchful eye on my Father as he stood at the podium and graciously welcomed his congregation. I'd never seen Jake or his family at church on any Sunday since we'd moved there. I questioned why he'd asked me to wait for him up in the rafters, but not enough to stop myself from agreeing to it.

"Bonnie?"

I clutched the hem of my skirt, knuckles white and my cheeks pale as I swallowed hard. He slid into the seat behind me. Graciously foregoing the seat beside me, I kept my eyes focused forward and felt as if I might melt into the very grain of the wooden pews. He leaned forward, resting elbows on the back of my pew, his breath warm and silken against the curve of my neck.

"Jake." I replied, my mouth suddenly ravenously dry.

What did I even anticipate that the pay off of this risk would be? Just to feel my own heart beating so wildly in my chest that I thought, perhaps, that I might pass out? To have a moment of stolen sin? I could smell the soap he'd used to wash with that very morning and the hint of coffee and toothpaste in the warmth of his breath. Was this ever going to be enough?

"You don't know how long I've wanted to talk to you." He confessed in hushed tones that forced me to close my eyes against the sincerity of the words. "Ever since you moved here. You've been somewhat of an enigma."

Nobody had ever spoken to me like that before. With careless want and an honesty that threatened to choke me. I could feel my palms grow sweaty, a compelling heat rising in my cheeks.

"We're not allowed to talk to boys." I replied earnestly, opening my eyes to a reality I did not want nor could I any longer tolerate.

He scoffed at the insinuation that he was a boy. "I'm twenty years old, I'm hardly that."

There was an innocent playfulness in the way he chased his brothers around their front yard. Their boyish natures belying their true age. I envied more than ever that they'd been granted that. Feeling naïve that I could have ever considered him a mere boy. Now that he was sitting so close to me, I could feel the urge to sin like effervescence bubbling off his skin. Something only men could feel.

"Forgive me." I faltered, bowing my head in solemn regret that I had been so fruitless in my estimation.

But he didn't berate me. "Oh, you're a caged little bird aren't you?"

If I could have let myself cry, he'd have witnessed a dam bursting. I sat there twisting my skirt, almost ripping the paper against it, letting hatred and regret and desire course through my veins. I hoped, more than anything I'd ever hoped for before, that he couldn't see the anguish.

"Are you ridiculing me?" I dared to ask, turning my head ever so slightly to catch him in my periphery.

I could see his lips parted as he lingered at my ear.

"No, never that." He reassured. "But I've seen the way he keeps you behind glass. I've seen you standing at the window watching us. And I tortured myself wondering if you knew that we had been watching you, too."

My breath stilled. "We?"

He boldly leaned a little further forward. Joining me in my gaze as I stared down at the growing crowd below. His chin almost rested on my shoulder, his hair almost brushed against my cheek. I couldn't stand it, the close proximity and the way I felt as if I couldn't move an inch.

"My brother Sam, and I." He confirmed. "He thinks your sister is damn near the prettiest little thing he's ever seen. But I told him no, that's not true. There's more grace and beauty in the older sister. She is where my mind runs to when I look towards your house."

To consider that he had thought of me made the centre of my chest begin to throb with a yearning I had never endured before. It filled that empty space between my ribs. Aching to crawl out and consume the rest of my body. I could scarcely breathe. My hand instinctively dropped the hem of my skirt and flew to my collar bone. Resting there as I tried to calm my beating heart.

"I didn't think you knew we even existed." I whispered, letting his confidence shine down on me, a part of me feeling fearless enough to make these confessions.

"On the contrary." He replied, sweeping his breath across my cheek bone, quite unintentionally as he lingered close to me. " I've thought of you often ever since you arrived. Wondering if you were ever going to make friends with my sister so that I could have the opportunity to talk to you. It was the greatest disappointment when we realised it wasn't meant to be."

His dream had been mine. The two of us worlds apart, and yet staggeringly close. Wanting the same wants. Needing the same needs. Laying his head down each night with that same blurred image of me that I had kept of him, too. God had finally answered my prayers.

"There is nothing more that I want that that." I replied wistfully, "But he would never allow it. We'd be punished. Called wicked. Or worse."

Jake shook his head and slinked back, taking away the heat of his body and leaving me cold.

"There's nothing wicked about the desire for connection." He surmised, tucking his hair behind his ear and pulling out a cigarette from his shirt breast pocket. Putting it between his lips for later. "You tell that air headed brother of yours to bring you down to the creek tomorrow."

"Ok." I replied quietly, feeling the essence of hope leave with him as he scurried away.

He didn't linger. I couldn't see his face in the crowd as I stood at the podium. He'd slipped out as easily as he'd slipped in, and I was grateful. I didn't want him to see me up there. Making a breath full of lies for ears that would have listened to any old garbage I could have come up with.

It was all I could think about as I talked about how the sanctity of strong family values held our bonds with God together. Something about honouring thy Father. As I pictured Jake sitting behind me, hot breath on my skin and the scent of his cologne still in the air I breathed. If I was wicked, I was already going to hell.

Ben was sitting in the car, his arm draped casually over the back of the passenger seat. His hair was neatly combed to the side, his shirt tucked into his slacks as he checked his teeth in the rear view mirror.

"We don't want to go into town today." Jolene complained, slumping into the back seat with a pout that she would never let our Dad ever see. "Why can't you just take us to the creek?"

He turned and pointed an ominous finger. I was inclined to bat it out of my way as I slipped in beside Jolene. Knowing she wasn't going to take no for an answer.

"You're going to town. I got a date with Harriet Dinsmore. I've been trying to pin her down for weeks. So don't start with all this going to the damn creek nonsense." He spat, carefully running a palm down the perfectly sculpted slicked hair that made him look uncannily like our Dad.

Jake had been unflinchingly correct in his estimation of our brother. For Ben, life meant never having to use much intelligence. He would fly off the back of our Fathers coat tails. No doubt becoming a pastor himself. Not for God but for the glory of it. But whilst he still held the keys to the car in his hands, I'd be smart.

"Oh, come on." I rallied, "You don't want your little sisters moping around while you try to court a pretty girl. We're better off at the creek. You can pick us up after."

I caught him roll his eyes in the mirror. "You would have me lie to Dad?"

Jolene popped her bubble gum, smirking as she stared out of the window over towards the Kiszka's house.

"It's only a lie if you tell Dad you're taking us into town with you. Has he asked where you're taking us?"

She knew there'd be a presumption made. But would use the semantics to her advantage. I felt a cool sense of pride in her, exchanging a knowing look as Ben rolled the thought around in his tiny little mind.

"Harriet Dinsmore? Isn't she the girl who works at the ice cream place?" I feigned interest. "She sure is pretty."

All it took was a few soft words about her hair. Her eyes. The way she served ice cream so deftly. She never spilled a drop. I wondered if he'd been so pliant before, if we'd had opportunities missed because we were so afraid of what our Father might do if he found out.

I was fuelled by that simple demand. That we get our air head brother to bring us to the creek. For what purpose, I didn't care. But I knew that if I didn't try I would reek of regret. And once Ben agreed to take us, I felt a sense of accomplishment that I'd never managed before.

Jolene was ratified in her excitement. Staring out of the window, beholden to a freedom so rarely afforded to us. We were given fair warning, of course, to keep to ourselves and not talk to any interested boys. To be on our best behaviour and not give him him any cause to have to tell Dad where we had been.

I did wonder what went through his mind as he dropped us at the side of the road, where the gate that lead down to creek stood open against a rickety old fence. I could hear voices in the distance. Jovial ones. And suddenly I was stricken with the stupidity of what we were about to do.

"Did he really say that?" Jolene asked, pulling down her little linen shorts and pulling fingers through her loose curls. "Did Sam Kiszka really say that I was damn near the prettiest thing he'd ever seen?"

If not for her, then for who? I set aside my reservations. Flattened down the pleat in my sun dress and pulled down the edge of my hat. I would make a fool of myself if it meant that she got to have just five minutes talking to the boy she liked. No more standing at the window wondering.

"That's what I hear." I replied, taking her hand as we sauntered through the gate and down the incline of the field towards the river bank at the bottom.

The tall grass weaved between my bare legs. Brandishing sleek little kisses against my inner thighs. The tips almost brushed against my crotch, each step like a feather dancing against my flesh. And it did not serve me well. I could see him standing on the embankment. Shirtless and long hair blowing in the warm breeze. I felt my stomach tie itself in knots over the sight of him, feeling as if the grass itself was inviting me to arousal as I walked towards him.

"Are you nervous?" Jolene asked, her hand still clutched firmly in the curl of my own. "I'm real nervous."

"Just stay close by." I soothed, "Don't leave my side, and we'll be just fine."

There were pockets of people dotted up and down the tree lined incline. Some were splashing around in the creek bed, where it met a wide opening that created a shallow pool, others were bathing in the sunshine. An array of colourful bathing suits on display. It was hot. The sort of hot where everything felt sticky and wet. There were balls and frisbee's being tossed around. Music playing from a boom box hanging from a broken tree branch. Beers sitting in coolers. Cigarettes and a sense that perhaps I'd bitten off more than I was willing to chew.

They were all there. All three of them and their sister, sitting in folding chairs and on blankets dotted around the clearing next to the water. There were a few faces I didn't recognise, too. Friends, no doubt. I didn't know where to look. It felt as if perhaps we were intruding, on account of the fact we weren't dressed appropriately for the occasion. We didn't even own bathing suits. It was apparent that we'd made a mistake.

Everyone was staring at us. Eyes boring into us as we approached. Jolene's hand squeezed mine. A silent plea for whatever we had walked into to stop feeling like a trap. Why did it feel as if I was feeding not only her, but myself to the wolves? They appraised us like creatures who belonged in a zoo. Eyes widened and sun shades slipped down their noses to get a better look at the Jones sisters.

"You came." Jake said breezily, greeting us at the edge of his little pocket. "I didn't think you would."

It was still in my mind to turn around and head back. But there was something in the way he wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand that made me willing to stay.

"You said to come." I hedged, every inch of me burning from the curious stares.

He was wearing a pair of denim shorts, cut at the knee. With a waist band so low I could make out the edge of whatever he had on underneath. With his body on unapologetic display, I didn't know where to politely look. There was only his eyes that could have accepted my gaze appropriately. And they were so intense I could feel myself wanting to back off.

"I did." He agreed, "And here you are. Let's get you introduced."

We accepted the seats we were offered. But declined the beers. Jolene sheepishly grinned as names were thrown at us and I tried so hard to commit them to memory. There was the Kiszka's; Jake, Josh, Sam and Ronnie. Danny Wagner and another friend from school, Lewis Dinsmore. Who's poor sister was stuck on a date with our unbearable brother. I was grateful for it, regardless. It provided an initial talking point which ingratiated us into the group, enabling me to calm my nerves as I sat there trying to act as if I didn't feel like a duck out of water.

"So, Bonnie. Are you a senior or did you graduate?" Ronnie Kiszka asked, hands on her hips as she supped on a bottle of beer and eyed the length of my dress.

"Umm, I graduated." I replied, "At our last school, in Ohio."

"So, what's the plan? College?" She continued, her questions posed innocently enough. But I felt like I was under the microscope. "I'm going to Michigan State in the fall."

"Oh, that's great." I tried to keep my voice steady and casual. "I'd love to go to college, but I'm needed at home to help my Mom."

Josh was sitting on a blanket, resting on his palms with his chin tilted up towards the sky. Languishing in a similar state of undress as his brother.

"Oh, is she sick or something?" He asked, pushing his shades up into his mess of curls as he looked over at me.

"No." I replied, looking down into my lap. "No, nothing like that..."

Jolene was more than happy to answer their questions. The intrusion didn't seem to phase her, she lapped up the attention like a neglected pup as I sat there wondering what they must have thought of us. Uncomfortable at the idea of it. Of them knowing our Dad would keep us at home rather that receiving a college education. That we were supposed to be somewhere else, and I wondered if any of them would know to keep our being there under wraps.

I couldn't hide my disdain. I smiled and nodded where required, but offered nothing in the way of conversation. I sat in the shadows whilst my sister took the reigns. Her desire to be part of something beyond our house was being fed to bursting and I could see the colour rise in her cheeks the more they enquired. Especially when Sam addressed her directly, their eyes finding each other in undeniable attraction. And all I could do was witness it unfold, hoping that my silence wasn't being mistaken for ill manners.

"You wanna get out of here?"

I looked up. Jake was standing at my feet, his hand extended for me to take.

"I probably shouldn't leave Jolene." I fretted, seeing how much she didn't need me.

"Probably shouldn't." He echoed, keeping his hand firmly offered. "Or is it because you're afraid of what might happen if you do?"

He'd been so kind. So humble. Introducing us to his friends and family. Like we weren't the spectacle we'd been when we first arrived. He'd been hospitable. Making jokes and including us in them. He'd made me laugh. Not just a giggle, but from my belly upwards. Making me radiate a smile that had been hidden for so long I hadn't even known I could smile like that.

"Afraid, of what?" I asked, although I suspected it was what he'd wanted.

He didn't say it out loud. There was only a hint of it in the way he curled his fingers up and urged me to go with him. I thought, perhaps, that he could see my uncertainty etched there in my face as I tried to fit in. All the things I wouldn't confess to. That I was afraid I'd spend my whole life never knowing what it truly felt like to be adored. Afraid that I'd always be a vessel for thoughts and feelings that would never be allowed to be expressed. Afraid that I'd never get to explore what it meant to be a woman. Fears that seemed to go unspoken. And yet, he heard me.

Jolene was sat with her chair practically on top of Sam's. Their heads bowed together in a conversation nobody else was invited to. I could see his hand edging towards coming to rest upon her knee, but he kept graciously stopping himself. Peering into her eyes instead, letting her ramble on about nothing in particular. Enchanted by her. And she, in turn, seemed entirely smitten with him. Blushing every time he tucked his hair behind his ear. Every time he threw his head back and let out the most infectious laugh I'd ever heard. He was being gentle with her.

"Come on." Jake said, "I know a spot we can go to."

Nobody seemed to care as he took one of the blankets and began to lead me away. Jolene looked over, silently watching as he took my hand. Too afraid that if she made a comment she would break the spell between her and Sam. I tried not to think too hard about it, grateful that people had finally gotten bored with our presence.

I would have let him take me anywhere. It felt like a sonnet that hadn't been written yet. The way he held my hand so casually, leading me back into the tall grass. All I could do was watch the way his hair moved in the breeze. Dancing against his flexing shoulder blades. His hips moving gracefully as he stepped between the long blades, blanket tucked under his free arm. The afternoon sun was beating down so hard, my cheeks began to burn. Grateful when he finally led me to a shaded area of tree's a little further down the creek where nobody else had bothered to venture.

I watched him as he laid the blanket down, flattening the grass and making sure we were shrouded by it. Inviting me to sit with him, the sound of flowing water and leaves moving in the dull wind as our soundtrack.

"You ever just lay in the grass and look up at the clouds?" He asked, rolling onto his back and placing arms behind his head.

I wrapped the hem of my dress around my knee's, conscious of the breeze as I laid down beside him. Through the canopy of the tree's around us, I could see wisps of cloud moving slowly against the brilliant blue.

"Not since I was a little kid." I replied, trying to remember the last time I'd done anything quite like this.

He was quiet for a brief moment. But it didn't feel like it needed to be filled.

"I hope you didn't get in any trouble yesterday. I don't think anyone saw me talking to you." He said, pulling out a small bottle of something honey coloured out of his pocket. "Sometimes people can't see what's happening right under their noses."

There was a flash of something in his grin as he lifted his head to take a swig, offering me some before dashing it onto the blanket at his side when I declined. I liked the way his side profile looked as I turned my head to look at him. There was something about the way his nose pointed at the tip, the way his mouth had the most enigmatic curl at the corners. It was obvious that he hadn't brushed his hair that day, but it didn't matter. It only served to suit him well.

I started to feel as if I could climb on top of him. The way he laid there, the muscles in his arms flexed as he laid them behind his head. I'd never been close enough to ever drink him in. I tried to commit to memory all the little nuances that were entirely him, knowing that I'd think of him later in more detail than I ever had before. It made me nervous.

"Clever." I surmised, impressed by his critical thinking. "Do you often do things right under people's noses?"

He smirked and turned his head, knocking me off my steady perch and into a panicked mess as his eyes met mine. I didn't dare look away. I didn't want to make the obviousness of my gaze even more obvious. I hoped that he couldn't tell I could hear the great whoosh of my own pulse when he looked at me. But I suspected that he did, letting his eyes fall down the rest of my body before coiling back up.

"Not everything." He damn near whispered, leaning up to rest on his forearm. "Some things I prefer to do where no one else can see."

It was getting hotter. The air felt warm in my lungs as I breathed. Even in the shade, it was sticky and sweltering. My dress was becoming increasingly drenched, beads of sweat pooling between my breasts. He was glistening in the sun light, his neck saturated as sweat ran down the peak of his adam's apple. Both of us tangibly giving in to the impetuous heat.

"Like what?" I asked, reaching for the bottle to quench a dry thirst that was forming in my mouth.

It tasted like fire. Did nothing to alleviate the dryness, only served to almost choke me and make me cough. Much to his delight as he placed a hand to my back and waited until I'd composed myself before offering his arm for me to lay against as I sank back down.

"Wouldn't want your Daddy catching us here, like this. Would you?" He asked, the sweat of his arm sliding against the back of my neck. "Wouldn't want anyone catching us here like this. I like being here, with you, just the two of us."

The weight of what was transpiring between us almost felt too heavy to bear. I could feel it, travelling up and down my body in waves of undulated panic and arousal. He wouldn't stop staring at me. Making it harder for me to deny myself.

"I like it too." I confessed quietly, allowing him to curl his arm up, making me inch closer to his face.

All the hours of wonder couldn't have stood up to the reality of him. The sweet and gentle nature of him coveting me, with nothing more than a simple gaze and the support of his arm beneath me. He made no attempt to touch me further, and I almost felt like begging him would have ruined the moment.

"Don't you get lonely up there sometimes?" He asked, grazing his bottom lip between perfectly set teeth. "I see your face sometimes and I can't stand the way you look so sad."

Oh, he'd noticed. My heart soared and broke all at once. That he had known not only that I existed, but taken the time to notice my mood made me feel as if our lives were not merely shadows.

"Not lonely." I shrugged, settling on a different word. "Perhaps, sometimes, it's a little melancholy."

He wrinkled his nose and thought about it. Reaching for a blade of grass behind him and ripping it from the ground in order to satisfy his need to keep his hands busy.

"If you were mine I'd never want to see anything but a smile on that pretty face of yours forever more." He said, running the blade of grass against my cheek playfully.

I shrank away. The sensation of it too intimate for me to appropriately deal with. I giggled, but my unease was there in the way my eyes couldn't settle back on him.

"I'm sorry." He apologised, throwing down the grass and trying to settle the vibe between us back into something a little more innocent.

But it was too late. I could feel a familiar throb begin to beat away between my thighs. Latent misery in being unable to satisfy my desires kept me tethered to the blanket, unable to confess that I wanted him to do it again.

"Don't be sorry." Was all I could say, a little more passionately than I'd intended. "I'm just...well, I'm no good at this sort of thing."

He seemed to go quiet all over again. Looking down at our bodies side by side. Swallowing so hard I could see his throat flex. Like he, too, was lost in a sea of words he so desperately wanted to say but couldn't.

"You're not like the other girls." He gulped, pointing out one of my deepest flaws. "I don't want you to be like the other girls. They aren't worth the risk like you are."

How could he have known my worth? Beneath that starry eyed exterior, was he just as nervous as I was? It seemed to me that he could scarcely hold himself back as his eyes moved between my lips and my gaze. Flitting up and down as if in conflict.

"All I've ever wanted was to be like the other girls." I sighed, noticing for the first time that he had moved closer. "Other girls get to be taken out on dates and have doors opened for them. And have goodnight kisses."

The subtle shake of his head intimated that none of that mattered.

"Other girls don't write their name for me in notes I can only see from my window." He said earnestly. "Other girls don't drive me crazy every time I see them come out of their front door on a Sunday morning wearing those pretty little dresses."

I felt like I'd fallen asleep and I'd woken in a dream. I could smell the liquor on his breath he lingered so close. The heat of the day dissipating as the heat of his body took over.

"Other girls don't make me write songs for them, before I've ever even spoken to them..." He stopped, right before his lips would trespass against mine.

"You...wrote a song...for me?" I breathed into his mouth, fingertips digging into the blanket folds at either side of my stilled body.

"For a good Christian girl, you sure do make me feel damned." He posed, speaking with his lips a feather light touch away from mine. "Damned to write songs for a girl I can't ever have."

Was it not enough that I dwelled beneath his touch? Whatever madness made him think he could not have me, I wished for such a fallacy to be gone from his mind. If God had put the attraction that was so palpably clear between us within our hearts, why would God punish us for acting upon it?

True. I was a little apprehensive. Not for the punishment of God, but from a Father who truly believed his word and actions stemmed directly from the all seeing eye above. But, like Jake had already so pointedly said, we were here alone. Just the two of us. No other man nor God in sight.

"Have me." I whispered.

I heard him hold in his breath. Already so close to my mouth, all he had to do was let it happen. Nobody was ever free from temptation, and I was sordidly aware of my need to walk directly into it's aching path.

If God truly did exist somewhere between this mortal coil and the thereafter, I believed that he would not blindly lead me to be tempted beyond my ability. That I may be able to endure it. My spirit and my body in unison for the very first time.

"You would hate me if I did." He whispered back, "I'm wicked, Bonnie. So much more wicked than you could ever imagine."

I didn't believe that anyone quite so beautiful as him could ever truly be wicked. Perhaps wicked in the ways that only brought pleasure, if you were so inclined to allow yourself to enter into that sort of thing.

Was I? That sort of person? He was only two years older than me but exuded an experience which far surpassed mine. Even with his boyish charm and child like nature, he was a man nonetheless. A man that held me in his arms on a hot summer day with the wind chiming through the leaves above us and the softness of the ever trickling water as it ran over rock and earth.

Heaven.

"I ache to know wickedness." I pleaded, feeling insanity wash over me as he still refused to kiss me. "It's not for anyone else to decide."

That one sentence brought him to his conclusion. I could see it there as his brow knitted together delicately, his gaze intensifying.

"You don't know what you've done."

Perhaps not. But I didn't have space for regret. Not when he let our worlds collide. At first, there was nothing but the gentle feel of his lips as they brushed against mine. Softly venturing, exploring what depths he could take with me. A solemn pull back as he checked in with me, I could feel his hand against my balmy cheek. Alabaster turning pink as the blood began to pump harder in my veins. I was breathless without even having to move.

When he'd ascertained that I wanted it, he returned to me. Pressing his lips against mine a little harder. Letting his head tilt to the side, our noses pressed flush into each others cheeks.

I don't know what it was that I expected. Certainly not the rush of adrenaline as he opened his mouth. Nor the moisture gathering between my legs that was certainly not due to the weather as I felt the slippery tip of his tongue converge into my mouth. It was soft and slow, only brushing against mine with subtle intimation that he wanted more.

I suspected that this was purposeful. Nobody had watched us as closely as he had and not drawn the conclusion that I had never been kissed before. I suspected that he knew this was my first time. And he treated it as such. Sweeping his thumb against my cheek bone, letting me whimper softly into his mouth as he pulled away only to slake his hand around the back of my neck and pull me up into an embrace that had more meaning behind it.

And then he stopped. Forehead rested against mine, breathless and lips drenched in each other. He didn't let me go, clutched me harder in fact. Made me wonder if patience truly was a virtue.

"I have thought about this moment over and over." He swallowed, kissing me again so briefly I barely had time to reciprocate before he'd pulled away again. "And always, I'm painfully aware of your virginity. I don't want to hurt you, Bonnie."

Maybe it was the heat. Maybe it was something else. I let my knees unfold, the hem of my dress crawling up my thighs. Immediately I was aware of just how tightly I'd been clenching them, my body immediately softening in his grasp.

"Take it." I offered. "It is yours."

He would have it. Retrieving his senses at the shock of such a thing, he ran a gentle palm down my stomach and his hand came to rest at my waist.

"You're not a good Christian girl at all, are you?" He ventured, kissing me with a little more fervence.

Although the presumption was made based on my willingness to part with my virginity and give it up to him, I knew I'd been a sinner for far longer than I cared to admit. My thoughts had been impure before we moved to Beech Run. The levels of depravity increasing ever since Jake had made his presence known. I wasn't a good Christian girl at all. Not behind closed doors. Not anywhere where thoughts were free.

"I've committed all manner of sins in my mind." I replied honestly, my tongue lilting against my teeth, prepared for another kiss. "Wouldn't you? If you couldn't do anything? Have anything?! Wouldn't you imagine what it felt like?"

"Oh, I would." He replied, licking into my mouth with all the urgency of a man who had been granted his greatest wish. "But I don't want you to imagine anymore. I want to give you everything you've ever wanted."

He laid me back down. Sinfully slow. Taking in the sight of me, hair fanned out on the blanket and my lips swollen. My breasts sitting comfortably beneath a modest neckline, my sun dress being something I would have worn to church. Wondering if he felt the same fear that I did.

"Give it to me, then." There it was, that little beg that had been threatening to spill out of my mouth ever since he'd put the blanket down.

His hand travelled further south. Parting my knees. He ripped another blade of grass and settled it between his thumb and index. Teasing it above my face in the air, making me nuzzle into his chest as I tried to run from it.

But he didn't run it against my cheek. I soon realised it was for a far more nefarious purpose. I dared to peek out from his embrace. A look of total devotion there as he swept the blade up my inner thigh. The almost breath like touch of it reminded me of how it had felt as I'd walked towards him. I held my breath. My dress sat just below where my underwear could be seen, everything else on display. And he unashamedly caressed me, using the blade as his guide.

"Soft little babygirl." He crooned, "It'd be almost cruel to ruin you."

I didn't need his protection from it. The inflection of annoyance at his suggestion that my virginity was something I wanted to keep was hard to hide. My expressions betraying me as I looked up at him.

"Lucky for you, I can be cruel." He added, marking his territory on my heart. "Would you like me to be cruel?"

"If the devil so wishes." I replied, "I fear I'm already ruined by my own intrusive thoughts."

The tip of the blade ran down the fabric which sat between it and my naked flesh. At it's most vulnerable spot.

"You don't have to be virtuous with me. Not anymore." He promised, "I'm not your Daddy."

It was clear invitation to step into my desires.

"Tell me I'm a good girl, Jake." I needed it. "You can be as cruel as you like, just tell me I'm good."

I don't know why I needed to hear it. Maybe there was a part of me that still dwelled in the church where I needed to be holy in order to exist.

His eyes widened at my demand. Staring at me, like I was Jesus on the cross and he had come to worship. He let the blade of grass go. Preferring to run his hand up my thigh instead. I shuddered. Let my lip curl into my teeth. Never taking my eyes off him as he brushed a fingertip against my moist crotch.

"Such a good fucking girl." Partnered with the curse word, his praise left me bound to him. "Does my good little girl want to get fucked?"

The abruptness of his question left me open mouthed. I wasn't shocked because it offended me, I was shocked because the answer was an unequivocable yes. They way he claimed me with that one, solitary use of the word my left me dizzy. Of course I was his. And all I could do was nod my consent.

"You tell me you're innocent and beg to get fucked with the same mouth." He breathed against my lips, hooking a solitary finger around the fabric of my panties, his knuckle brushing against my slit. "That's my extra specially good girl, isn't it?"

He was playing with me. Strumming me like his guitar, like a song written just about me. Pulling down my underwear until they sat at my knees, I was completely at his whim.

"I'm not going to fuck you, though." He said softly, raking those same calloused fingertips that had held my face as he kissed me through the sodden valley of my pussy lips. "Not yet."

I knew it was futile to beg. Not when he so gently and pliantly planed his fingers down the edges of what I could tolerate. He would bring me to the brink and tell me it was what I needed. Dancing with the devil, my sinful thoughts brought to light. I'd never been happier than I was right there on that blanket in the tall grass. In the shade of the grove of tree's that surrounded us, in the hottest summer I'd ever recall.

"You're so fucking beautiful." He said, leaning back into a kiss that was now familiar, his tongue edging into my mouth enough to send a flood onto his fingertips. "You tempt me so..."

"Anything, Jake." I breathed, "Anything you want, just tell me what to do."

He softly ran the pad of his thumb over my aching, swollen clitoris. I moaned, let my eyes close, turned my face away in fear that I would look ridiculous to him. I'd never dared to venture to that part of myself before. Letting the throb ebb and flow whenever I was aroused, never allowing myself a moment to indulge in it.

"Pull my zipper down." He instructed, rutting his hip into my side. "It's kinda uncomfortable down there."

In the furore of him touching me, I'd failed to notice his maddening bulge. I felt foolish and girlish, stupid for not realising he was aroused too. My hand wasted no time in releasing him. Pulling down his zipper and opening the button of his denim shorts. I didn't dare put my hand inside, still feeling a little trepidation of touching him back. But the relief was there as he eyes rolled back, grateful just to be free of the constraints against his hard on.

"I want so badly to sink my fingers inside you and ruin this pretty little pink thing." He murmured against my ear. "Tell me it's ok. Tell me I can feel you from the inside."

I couldn't bear it. The need to be penetrated coupled with the fear of whatever pain might accompany it. But he was too beautiful to deny. The tip of his nose pressed against my cheek, his breath warm and like fire.

"I'm ready." I replied, even if my mind had not been quite up to speed with my body, I still would have let him have his way.

Not simply because of the way he turned me on. But the way he made me feel so cherished whilst doing it.

"Relax for me, sweet girl." He whispered, lips pecking kisses against my temple, hands opening my thighs a little wider. "Just let me take care of you."

The sting of a single digit cast aspersions throughout my body. He was slow in his intention, hissing back a soft moan as he let it slide all the way to his knuckle. I fought against my body's responses to cry out in pain. It hurt. But everything else was a welcome distraction. His voice. His scent. The feel of his body next to mine. All of it.

"Look at you." He praised, railing his kisses back down to my mouth. "The goodest of all girls."

He began to slowly pull it back, savouring the way my mouth opened at the sensation of him sliding it back inside. He didn't attempt to add more fingers, or ruin me the way he'd promised. He simply enjoyed the way I felt. The way I showed him my devotion in simpering moans and errant panting. His middle finger buried deep inside, palm pressed against my wet clit. Completely at his mercy.

"You've bewitched me, Bonnie." He confessed in soft whispers, "With your tight little innocent pussy. And that fucking smile, I can't stay away from you..."

No church girl could ever do witchcraft any justice. But I believed him.

"Then don't" I urged, not knowing what it would mean when the time would come for us to pick up this blanket and leave.

"Never..." He buried his tongue into my mouth, venturing deeper than he had before. "Will you cum for me, pretty little sweet thing?"

I didn't know what he meant. And I wouldn't spoil whatever spell I had managed to weave by asking him. If I were a flower I could feel my petals begin to wilt and fall. How could I tell him that I didn't know what he asked of me? I didn't want him to stop until I was completely deflowered. And whatever it was that he meant by cum, I hoped that I could do it for him.

"Anything...anything you want." I moaned, louder, arching my back to feel his fingertips deeper.

"That's it, oh, you're close..." He said, curling his finger up inside me, in a beckoning motion that almost sent me over the precipice. "You'll know when you get there, my little Ingenué."

His use of another language was unexpected. And his face said it all as I bashfully smiled into another insatiable kiss. He was right, though. I did know when I arrived. There was nothing about it that was anything I could have expected. With no knowledge that such a thing even existed, I was ebbed towards it like I was blind and seeing for the very first time.

At first it was like a muffled song I could hear from another room. The melody was there, I just couldn't pick up the lyrics. All I could see was those beautiful, deep brown eyes of his with the dark circles beneath watching me in wonder as it cascaded over me. The song no longer muffled, the crescendo of a great symphony in my eyes as I finished against his palm. The way he looked so satisfied letting me know that I'd done good.

"Ssssh...sssshhh..." He soothed, "It's ok sweet girl, I promise...it's ok."

I didn't know that there were tears falling down my cheeks until I tasted the salt of them on my lips. The sweet relief of something I hadn't known I'd needed filling me up from the soul upwards. He slipped his finger out and pulled up my panties, making sure that I wasn't hurt.

"I feel so foolish..." I cried, "How could you want me? When I'm like this?"

"It's because of this that I want you." He reassured me, grabbing the length of his aching cock beneath his boxer shorts and adjusting himself to a more comfortable position. "Don't you get it? It turns me on. The thought of nobody before me. That you'd be mine, entirely. And I can promise you here and now, I will protect you no matter the cost."

I couldn't wrap my head around what the cost might be. Only the way he didn't expect me to touch him back in that moment. He started to soften eventually as we laid there together, his hand running gentle strokes through my hair as I calmed. And he tucked himself away, promising that he would save it for another time.

The afternoon was growing late as we packed up and sorrowfully left our quiet little spot. The grass where we had laid all flattened in the perfect shape of where our blanket had been. A sorry reminder that the moment had fleetingly passed. I kept catching his eye as he tucked it underneath his arm, and he reached out to take my hand again.

"What now?" I asked.

"I don't know." He replied, with equal sadness. "But something tells me it'll be worth it."

We walked back in contemplative silence. Content just to be together a few more moments until it would be cruelly snatched from us. I could see that some of the crowds had already begun to disperse as we headed towards the plunge pool. A little less heavy on the noise. I could see Josh and Danny standing by their little group, deep in conversation whilst Ronnie packed up the boom box and cooler. Lewis was idly folding chairs, stacking them up ready to be carried back to the road.

"Where the fuck did you guys go?" Josh asked, watching us approach hand in hand. "Was about to send out a search party. We might have to, if Sam and Jolene don't get back here soon."

I had no concept of the time. I could feel the coolness of late afternoon on my skin, where once it had burned. The sun was still beating down as earnestly as it had been, but it was a little further towards the west.

"Shit, what time is it?" I asked, bile rising in my throat as I began to wonder if Ben was waiting for us up by the gate.

"It's a quarter to six." Josh replied, shaking his wrist as he checked his watch. "Why?"

I let go of Jakes hand. Circling the area for a visual of my missing sister. I couldn't see her anywhere.

"No, no this can't be happening...Ben will be here to pick us up in fifteen minutes..." I panicked, visibly shaking as I ran down towards the creek edge.

I called out her name. But there was no reply.

To be Continued...

.

.

.

@caprisunsister @thewritingbeforesunrise @takenbythemadness @katuschka @its-interesting-van-kleep @lvnterninthenight @writingcold @jakekiszkasbuttsweat @edgingthedarkness @velveteencatch @lyndz2names @nina-23-45 @itsafullmoon @vikingisthenewsexy @char289

[ladyinred2248]

King of the North, Part 8

Warnings: Mature. Minors DNI. Sexual themes. Violence. Angst. Mentions of SA. Mentions of self-harm.

Three months later.

The Prince of Ulaid stood on the endlessly tall battlements of the palace, his hands in front of him gracing the stone wall as his deep brown eyes looked out to the horizon. Nervously he fidgeted with his rings and chewed on his lower lip. His intuition had been wrenching him for some time now, a twisting feeling in his stomach he couldn’t ignore.

Ronan was tall, with dark brown hair and eyes that complimented his fair skin, akin to his true father’s handsome features. The young Prince was kind to people of all walks of life and steadfast with loyalty, remaining untainted by the royal family and yet burdened by his own duty, just as Finan had been so many years ago. He had been loved dearly by his mother, who had seen his father in him more every day as he grew, and it had planted seeds of regret in her heart regarding her first husband’s fate. Ronan was raised to know Conall as his “father”, but in all his years had not spent any time of measure in his presence.

“My Prince,” Amelie, a servant girl, beckoned from behind him. “You are troubled that your father has not returned?”

Ronan shook his head softly to her. He had been left in charge of the palace in Ulaid for what was supposed to be a month or so, but now so much more time had passed. Yes, his nerves were getting the better of him. But it was more than that. It was a feeling of unease, a rumbling in his mind that mirrored the storm clouds in the distance.

“I am quite alright, my Lady. Don’t fret,” he winked at her, ever charming her as she felt a faint blush rise to her cheeks. He always called her Lady, even though she couldn’t be further from a woman of nobility.

“Can I assist you with anything, Your Grace?” Amelie spoke quietly again.

Ronan shook his head, reaching over to take her hand in his and placing a kiss to her knuckles. “You may retire for the night. Thank ya for checkin’ in.”

Amelie bowed to him with a girlish giggle, then looked out to the horizon that seemed to eternally hold Ronan’s gaze.

“Take care, Your Grace. The lightning is near.”

He gave her one last soft smile, then looked out to the distant horizon once again and hummed. “A storm is coming.”

The normally calm and collected teenager continued to pace the grounds long after his servant had left, wondering when his adoptive father, Conall, would return. He attempted not to show his worried emotions too easily, as his younger brother, Cinaed, was still reeling from the death of their mother. Ronan was seventeen summers old, and Cinaed was only three summers younger, and yet he lacked emotional maturity and held a more tumultuous temperament.

Cinaed was often free to roam the palace grounds at his leisure, while Ronan had been bound to duty from the very beginning being the first born child and heir. The young prince had been praying that Conall wouldn’t return, the brute that he was. The Kingdom itself was in turmoil, as Conall had been a tyrant of sorts, denying assistance to the poor and collecting hefty taxes regardless of the poverty stricken lands. Danish raids had been striking the coasts relentlessly, further threatening the people of Ulaid and seemingly breaking any spirit they had left. Ronan accepted that it would one day be his duty to overturn the strife that had been continually bestowed upon the people since he was a child. He took in a deep breath, feeling the winds pick up and brushing across his face as storm clouds rolled in closer. He could see the coast just barely in the distance, and his intuition made him take yet another speculative look, but there was nothing to be seen.

Ronan, unlike his younger brother Cinaed, knew the truth of his upbringing. His mother, Dealla, told him the story when he was old enough to truly understand. Dealla strangely had sympathy for his true father’s fate, though she would never admit it in front of Conall for fear of his wrath. Finan and Dealla’s marriage had been arranged for alliances between Kingdoms, and although she had never fallen in love with Finan, she had deep respect for him. She had actually understood to some extent why he had forsaken the Crown. She was plagued with the same noble duties, the same golden cage. They had become at the very least good friends, holding an understanding of one another. Finan treated her kindly, and they assumed their duties, up until Finan had escaped Ulaid.

What followed was painful to live and to watch for his former wife, and Dealla held a tinge of jealousy to know he had fallen in love with another woman. Regardless of their circumstances, she thought Finan would be a capable father to her children, and she felt betrayed. The woman Finan had fallen in love with, Conall’s wife no less, was killed brutally. So the price had inevitably been paid. But Dealla would have simply banished them both if not for Conall’s insistence. She winced in pain whenever she thought back to the day he was caught and beaten, his lover raped and killed. Conall was a monster, and Dealla knew it before that day. She took Conall as her new husband, pressured once again by honorable duty and sealed to a miserable fate. And so began years of strife and political conflict. Ronan had never taken a particular liking to Conall, but Cinaed was younger, more malleable and easier to influence. The younger child and Conall held a bond with one another, while Conall secretly resented Ronan for his likeness to his former brother.

When Ronan came of age to begin the duties necessary to assume the throne, Dealla felt it was her own duty to tell him the story of his most noble father. She told him of the arranged marriage and of the moment the two of them met, how their fathers bargained an alliance with their lives. Furthermore, she spoke of Finan with the utmost respect. The warrior who surpassed everyone in sword craft. The kindest man in all of Ulaid. The man whose smile and laughter would light up the entirety of the King’s Hall. Her greatest friend. She told her son everything. Even the fated tale of Finan being stripped of everything.

Dealla fell ill in the early Spring that year, and her health took no measure of recovery. She was resolved to the fact that she would not live to see her son wear the Crown, however Ronan’s strength and resilience, along with the attributes she loved most about her late husband, were evident in his every movement and actions. She cursed herself for allowing Finan to be sold to the slavers on the coast on that fateful day. He surely hadn’t survived. This was the one lasting regret she had when she closed her eyes one summer evening and never opened them again.

Constantin, Domnal, and the Scottish forces had traveled to the North with you in tow and taken you to your birthplace, back to your homeland once again. The palace where you grew up no longer had the warmth and grace it held before. It was your own personal dungeon, a cage of sorts that held no meaning nor semblance to the peaceful home you had created in Coccham with your lover… your husband, you were painfully reminded every time you thought of him. No, it was only a shell of a predetermined life, one that you had willingly let go of the moment you had met the love of your life.

No longer did you hold the light in your eyes that made Finan beam with longing and lust. Your hopelessness gave way for a seething rage, a deep bitterness that had settled into your body once you knew that there was no resolve to be made. You had been separated from the other half of your soul, forevermore, the worst part being that Finan had resolved to let you go. You understood why he had allowed it, but it shattered your heart just the same.

You had decided to spend your days training in sword craft, either to give you something to look forward to or something to pass the time, you weren’t sure. Regardless, you were through with being a helpless woman of nobility. You would garner strength, and you would someday be capable of defending the child who grew in your belly. You accepted that his or her father might never be there again to protect the both of you. As time went on, it was difficult to hide the growing child in your belly as five months had passed since your last blood. But your father had not yet found you a hand in marriage, and thankfully knew nothing of the bastard child, as he would refer to it. Soon, your father would find out and his plans would be disposed, as no noble man would take you as his wife knowing you had been “ruined”. You scoffed at the thought. At least that was one silver lining to this miserable debacle.

Every time you held the sword in your hands you imagined Finan’s large, calloused hand curling around yours, as if wielding it for you until you had the strength to hold up the heavy blade in any position. Your body now held the resilience to strike quickly and the agility to hold off other offensive blows, your opponents often coming to their knees to defend themselves.

A woman like you needs to be brave.

The words that came from Finan early in your relationship rang in your head over and over with each devastating strike. You were no longer the young woman who was sought out by old men in pretentious castles. You were a force to be reckoned with, so brutally scorned, you simply had nothing left to lose and nothing to gain. Your fury engulfed you so intensely now that you simply had no fear. All of it had melted from you. It had dissipated from your bones the moment you were pulled from his arms, and it was replaced with an unyielding and ungodly fury.

You found as time went on that your preferred weapon was a bow. It was easier to wield given your current state, and you had quite the knack for it as you practiced and managed the craft. You could hit a target from a far distance away, and it helped to imagine your cousin, Domnal, at the end of the target. The liar and betrayer he was. No more loyal to Finan than he was to you. These men only sought out their own ambition, or to cowardly save their own hides. Finan’s fate was sealed the moment he met the Scots, Domnal whispering in his ear and influencing him from the very beginning.

Your heart ached at this thought. You had cried yourself to sleep for months, and the sting in your chest had lessened over time, but time did nothing to ease the pain when you simply brought your mind to your lover and the joyous past. The fleeting moments you held, the joy of getting to know one another. The memories of his laughter and his cheeky grin as he spoke of something that triggered your own laughter. The way his body melted into yours so effortlessly and the way he worshipped you. You took a deep, shuddering breath at the thoughts. His hand intertwined with yours, or searching your body in a passionate frenzy. Nothing had ever felt so natural as when he took your body fervently and passionately. The very act of which gave you the most precious gift, the only thing you had left of him, now slowly growing inside you. You set down your bow as you choked out a sob, falling to your knees and hugging yourself with your arms to brace yourself for the wretching pain.

You loved him more than life itself. You would have put an end to your own life by now if not for the blessing he had bestowed upon you. Your child… your only saving grace. You stood from your knees. You would find Finan again. You would return to him, or you would die trying.

Unbeknownst to you, Uhtred and Finan along with Sihtric and Osferth had devised a crew of men that would accompany them in their travels to Ulaid. The journey thus far had been brutal, but after several months they had finally made headway. They had to cross the sea momentarily and find horses to journey to the palace, but they had made it. It was a grueling journey for Finan, one of hope and of despair. He was without the woman who made him whole, the other half of his soul. The woman who gave him hope to survive, the drive to carry on. He had traveled months to reach his objective, and now that he was faced with it, his fears were plenty. He would meet his own sons. The ones he left behind with such cowardice and foolishness. Would they turn him away? Would they spit in his face? Would they arrest him on sight? Perhaps he didn’t care anymore.

Finan trusted Uhtred more than anyone in the world, and he knew that his Lord would help him see this through. As he had during the siege of Wessex, Finan sought out his own rage to endure the journey, to stay steadfast in his quest. He prayed for your safety and resilience. This whole journey, his whole life’s purpose ever since he had laid eyes upon you had been for you. He would give you his sword, he would lay his life at your feet without a second thought. His love for you was endless and unwavering, and so he endured the torture of coming to the lands of his birth once more.

Ronan was startled as the shouting of an Ulaid guardsman’s voice rang through the hall.

“Your Grace, riders approaching the gates!”

Ronan stood, feeling his own heartbeat in his throat. He would need to address this, as a King would, just as he would need to address everything until Conall’s return. The responsibility gave him a shudder, but he calmed himself with a slow, deep breath.

“Archers to the ramparts.” Ronan commanded loudly. “Do we know who they are?”

“They look like Danes, Your Grace.”

Ronan’s breath hitched once again as he tried to remain calm. The fortress will hold, there is nothing to worry over. Perhaps they are traders. Yes. Perhaps.

Ronan took himself to the stoned battlement, finally allowing himself a gaze of the foreigners who approached the gates now with horses and a band of men that did indeed look like Danes. One of them in particular had his hair shaved on the sides, weaved with braids, and he held himself as if he was their leader as he rode slightly ahead of the rest of the men. Ronan and the Danish leader locked eyes from a far distance, and the Dane shouted up to him.

“Your Grace, we come peacefully. We only wish to speak. I am Uhtred of Bebbanburg, oathman to King Alfred of Wessex.”

The Dane Slayer? Ronan thought. He had heard of him by tales of reputation. He was Alfred’s sword and shield. Conall had traveled South to Mercia with a promise of betrothal by the Scot’s, so perhaps this was a related matter? He looked over the band of men behind the Danish leader, a strange mixture of Dane and Saxon men, one in particular close to Uhtred, a Saxon no doubt, cloaked and hooded mysteriously with a thick beard. No sign of Conall with them, which piqued Ronan’s curiosity. Perhaps they had word of his travels. Regardless, he could not let his guard down. These men had traveled far for a reason of importance, surely.

Ronan cautiously gestured for the guards to lower the drawbridge before shouting down to Uhtred once more. “Welcome to the palace of Ulaid, Uhtred Ragnarsson.”

Finan shuddered at his son’s voice. The current events were now all too real. He had waited for this moment impatiently but loathed it just the same. Uhtred turned his head to look at him, giving Finan a nod, a sympathetic look in his eyes. Not only was Finan likely traumatized to see his homeland and the place he grew up, but to see his firstborn full grown and commanding his guardsmen…it had to be quite the riveting experience.

Uhtred led his men inside the gates, cautiously looking around and observing the stoned fortress, marveling at the craftsmanship and differences between this fortress and the ones he knew well in Wessex and Mercia. The Irish definitely held some advantage when it came to their preparations. Several guardsmen looked in their direction suspiciously, their weapons already drawn.

Uhtred, Finan, and the others dismounted their horses, and a few Ulaid guardsmen quickly came to lead their horses to the stables, much to Uhtred’s surprise. He continued to gaze at the scenery, for it was impressively fortified, a tantalizing sight. Before he knew it, a young man with dark hair and eyes, dressed in noble clothing and surrounded by several guards was coming towards him. Anyone could see plainly with one glance that the young man was a child of Finan’s. It was a sight to behold.

“Lord Uhtred,” Ronan gave him a soft smile, “Welcome. How can I be of assistance to ya?”

Uhtred’s eyes grew soft as he pinched his lips together to hold back any emotions. Inevitably, it was astonishing to see the young man standing before him. Unbelievable even. He could only imagine how Finan felt at that moment.

Uhtred paused to speak. Ronan looked at him suspiciously, then turned his head to look at his guards, then back again at Uhtred. “Uh…Lord?”

Uhtred grinned. “My apologies. This is quite an honorable experience… you have my brother’s eyes.”

Ronan could feel his heart beating strongly in his chest. What was this man talking about? Was this some kind of trick to catch him off guard? He felt his cheeks turn hot with rage, or rather, fear.

The bearded man next to Uhtred suddenly threw the hood of his cloak back, his dark eyes glistening. The guardsmen surrounding Ronan all let out soft gasps, sounds of weapons clashing lightly in preparation and anticipation. Ronan knew then who was standing before him, whether by his eyes or by his heart, he wasn’t sure.

Finan stepped closer to him now, passing Uhtred, and Ronan’s hands trembled as they stood before each other. He had never seen anyone, besides Dealla and in some ways Conall, who bore such resemblance to himself.

Ronan let out a choked whisper.

“You’re alive?”

Finan cocked his head to the side.

“…You know who I am?”

“…I do.”

Finan softly smiled at him. His son was so tall and dashing in his armor. Such a brave young man to be standing here in front of foreign invaders. His nobility shined through him like he was born to lead, and he was.

The silence between them was deafening as Ronan walked even closer, giving Finan a firm nod.

“I am glad you are alive.”

Finan’s glistening eyes finally let a tear escape, rolling across his cheek. He couldn’t help himself any longer. He trudged forward, grabbing his son up into a strong embrace, which made Ronan’s tears escape as well.

“I am so sorry about yer mother, Lad. I am sorry for everything. I am here now… if ya will have me.”

Ronan felt more vulnerable than he had ever felt in his entire lifetime as he wrapped his arms tightly around Finan. He sobbed into him relentlessly now as Finan returned the tight embrace. They had never met, and yet here they were, so naturally bonded.

Sniffles were made between Uhtred’s men at the sight. Most of the guardsmen recognized Finan, and it was a sight to behold seeing him back again, his own son in his arms.

Ronan pulled away slightly, wiping tears from his face on the back of his hand. “Come. I feel there is much to discuss.”

Finan smiled, patting his son on the back as he looked over his shoulder at Uhtred, who gave him a smile in return.

>>>Part 9

Note: I used the same name for Finan’s first wife as some other Fics have, to keep some continuity established by the Fandom. :) hopefully that’s alright with everyone. If not, feel free to reach out 💖

Taglist: @gemini-mama @persephones-journey @alexagirlie @justanother-sihtricgirlie @whitedarkmoonflower @bcon24 @ficnation

[x-moonsoul-x]

TL;DR Hey, I’m reading into stuff (character design, I will never stfu about the rottmnt character design) again. Overthinking it like a true Donnie kinnie 🫡

So, I thought the mask tails were in order of age in rise. But, I’m unclear on which mask tails between Donnie & Mikey and Leo & Raph’s are longer/shorter. BUT. Another thing with their mask tails is that the two younger have shorter mask tails and the two older have longer mask tails (I’m a firm younger twin Donnie believer.) Furthermore, when we look at, for example,

MIKEY’S mask tails, they’re quite symbolic of him as a character.

They’re the only ones that are really rounded to that extent (Leo’s are more rounded too, but in a longer and less bubbly/circle way) Mikey is a fun, bubbly, optimistic character. Hence why Mikey=circle. They’re also shaped kind of like a paintbrush - the actual brush part, that is - which is interesting.

LEO’S are more triangular and curve much like his sword. Also, since they’re longer, we don’t see them very often (same with Raph’s) because of how the physics of the mask tails work.

The reason for Leo being a triangle, I’m not entirely sure. But my working theory (haven’t read anywhere why, though it’s likely somewhere) is because a lot about him is sharp. Sword, markings, face, body shape, mask tails. However, his personality is, ironically, the opposite. He’s also the more fun type, and definitely not a villain - even if he may see himself as one or, at least, the ‘blame’ during the movie - (sharp angles in character design are typically associated with villains) But his mask tails being a rounded triangle is really interesting. It’s like he’s smoothing out his personality (cough, cough, face man.) but he’s still “sharp” (loud, ‘annoying’, funny, quick-witted.)

RAPH, I don’t know too too much about, however- you also don’t often see the tails of his mask (because it, like Leo’s, is longer.) It’s jagged like his shell (again, ironic, because he’s pretty much a big softie - although on both the exterior and interior, he is/can be very tough.) He’s harsh on himself more so than he is on his brothers, taking it as his duty to protect them, to lead them, to keep them from harm.

I refuse to retype what I just typed, so I took a photo:

OK, so for DONNIE, I don’t have really anything to say (because I’m tired and my phone’s overheating ^^ he’s still my favourite and I love him dearly.)

But, his mask tails are more rectangular. Donnie = Rectangle, as we all know. (Galactic forehead, cough cough) And Donnie’s mask tails, with him being a younger brother and his mask tails being shorter, are more visible (again, physics.)

That’s it, he’s a rectangle. Shape language and such that goes more into his personality, yadda yadda, like I said - tired.

Anywho, that’s also a big part of a point that could be made about the episode(s) where they went through more formal training and their outfits were completely the same. They were one, completely. Raph and Leo even mind melded. But, that also means they weren’t themselves (we be we, baby.)

This is also a very long winded way of saying Donnie is the younger twin (I accept no other answers (jk ^^))

So, I hope somebody actually reads this rant. And, remember, I know this likely might not actually mean anything. I’m an analyst. I love their character designs I WILL NOT BE SILENCED.

But, that’s just a theory… a game theory!!

xoxo

[veras1ne]

“Sweet Dreams.”

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ Summary 🕊️: You accompany Anakin on a diplomatic mission, returning from which you are to simply state, exhausted. As Ani pilots your aircraft, you find yourself drifting into a deep sleep, softly snoring against Anakin’s shoulder.

: ̗̀➛ WARNINGS🐾: You have been warned for the following: Nothing! This is pure, tooth-rotting fluff 🫶🏻

As always, my inbox is open for any comments, questions, or suggestions and I hope to see you all for the next post! Love ya🫶🏻🦢

Missions with Anakin were ultimately exhausting.

Between him losing his lightsaber and the deep cut that had made itself apparent on your lower lip, it was safe to claim that adventures with your partner were rather reckless and, at the very least, stressful.

The air surrounding you was cold, yet comforting, as you looked at the stars surrounding you. The silence between you and Ani was not uncomfortable, but welcoming and almost sweet as words fell quietly on your tongue. No words had to be exchanged for the pair of you to understand each other; no glances or looks had to be shown for the two of you to remember that the only thing that mattered in the moment was your love for one another. There didn’t need to be words spoken, not between two Jedi. There was only the warmth and peace of the moment—a moment of peace and acceptance that both felt. That, alone, was enough.

Anakin sighed beside you, the faintest sound reaching your ears: "I’m glad we were assigned this together. I think if I had gone with Master Kenobi, I would have blown a kriffing bantha." His quiet snickers made a smile appear on your tired face. You hummed in reply, knowing he was speaking to you even though his head remained facing towards the endless sky above him, staring off into space with unfocused eyes. "Language Ani.. just focus on the sky, love; we have time for conversations later," you whispered out into the night. His eyes shifted from the sky back to the openness in front of him, smiling as he listened to your tired voice reprimand him.He chuckled quietly before settling down into contemplative silence once again.

The comfortable silence that you always enjoyed basking in quickly turned to the hushed hum of winds brushing your ears.You took comfort in being close to Anakin, and you knew he did too. He could always tell when you were tired, even without looking at you. After being together for years due to similar upbringings and finding comfort in each other, remembering your habits became clockwork for him.

When you started to yawn, he knew what was coming next. After sharing years of quiet nights and hushed giggles within your rooms in the temple, he no longer needed to speak to know your slowed breaths would turn into droopy eyelids and sleep would overtake your active mind. A small smile crept up onto his lips as he pushed stray strands away from your face and pulled your body flush against his own, sharing his own warmth with you and welcoming it as if a blanket were covering your cold body. His rising chest began slowing with your own slow breaths and falling with his slow heartbeat until your breathing synced with his and you began to drift off. Your force signature alone was enough to give him peace, but the physical presence of someone he held so dearly made his loud thoughts quiet and controlled.

Your soft snoring filled his ears as you lulled into a dream of your own. He bit his tongue before speaking, not wanting to interrupt your calm stature.

 "Sweet dreams." 

[mads-weasley]

Epiphany Pt. 5: Breathe

Lewis Nixon x Reader

Masterlist

Series Masterlist

A/N: two posts within a few days?? what's this?? anyways, this is a short kind of filler, so i hope you enjoy! this is about the fictional portrayal of easy company on the show. nothing but love and respect for veterans on this blog!

Summary: People say that absence makes the heart grow fonder, and that is nothing but true after (y/n) and Lewis are separated in the aftermath of Market Garden.

Word Count: 1.9k

Warnings: mentions of wounds, straight fluff pining

OCTOBER, 1944: HOLLAND

For Lewis Nixon, the remainder of September had passed in a haze of numbness, and before he knew it, the calendar had turned to the first week of October. The once-warm Dutch air had seemingly overnight transformed into a chilling autumn breeze. On that crisp October day, he found himself in the Battalion CP, meticulously going over recovered German intelligence alongside Colonel Strayer. 

Amidst their focus, a knock echoed through the small office, momentarily breaking the officer’s concentration. Colonel Strayer, engrossed in his reports, responded without looking up, “Come in.”

The door creaked open, and Vest stuck his head inside, offering a brief salute to the ranking officers before holding something out for Nix. “Cap’n, I have a letter here for ya.”

His heart leaped in his chest as he accepted the letter, instantly recognizing the familiar handwriting on the envelope. It was (y/n)’s handwriting.

Three long weeks had passed since she had been evacuated to the field hospital, and if he were honest with himself, he didn’t know how much longer he could endure her absence. The void left by her departure was suffocating, and he felt as if he couldn’t breathe without her by his side. The mere sight of her handwriting brought a mix of emotions – hope, longing, and a sense of connection he had sorely missed, regardless of how they left things.

Sensing the importance of the letter, Strayer dismissed Nix with a friendly slap on the shoulder. “That’s enough for now, Captain. You’re dismissed.”

Rising to his feet, Lew quickly saluted his superior and stepped out of the CP, the chill of the autumn wind hitting him as he found a quiet corner to read the letter. His anticipation was palpable as he carefully tore open the envelope. 

As he read (y/n)’s words, he felt a rush of emotions that seemed to fill the void her absence had left behind. Her words were like a lifeline, connecting him to the woman he missed so dearly. 

September 29th, 1944

Lew,

How have you been? I hope you’ve not given Dick too much trouble yet. We both know how mischievous you can get without me there to supervise you. I miss you and the men dearly. 

The hospital is filled to the brim with injured men from Market Garden. Was it really as bad as everyone's said? Apparently, the British took more casualties than us. 

As far as my recovery goes, I’m feeling better by the day. It still hurts to breathe, and it’s also hard to walk without my stitches pulling painfully, but I’m gonna break out of this prison and come back to easy as soon as I can. This place is driving me crazy, Nix. Thankfully, the doctors said I should be out of here within the next few weeks. But will I wait that long? We’ll see. 

On another note, I didn’t get to properly apologize for the way I treated you before. Sure, I did say I was sorry, but we also thought I could die, so it felt a little rushed. So, I’m sorry for getting upset with you about Eindhoven. I know you were just trying to protect me. I hope you can forgive me. 

I’ve got to go on my daily walk around the hospital, so I’ve got one thing left to say…please don’t drink yourself away. If I hear one peep about you being drunk on duty, I will not hesitate to write Dick and ask him to throw out your stash. Just because I’m stuck here doesn’t mean you can stop taking care of yourself. 

Please stay safe,

(Y/n) (y/l/n)

Lew lowered the letter with a gentle sigh, a warmth spreading through him. She was recovering well, and that was the best news he could hope for. A soft smile played on his lips as he reread her words. In his mind, he could hear every sentence in her voice.

“If I hear one peep about you being drunk on duty, I…” he muttered to himself, chuckling at her playful threat. Even while confined to a hospital bed, she still was trying to take care of him.

“That from her?” A voice asked.

Nix looked up with a smile to see Dick approaching. “Yeah.”

"How is she?"

“Good,” he chuckled. “She threatened to get you to pour out all my whiskey if it became a problem.”

Dick shook his head with a grin. “I would do it, you know.”

“Oh, I know you would,” Lew replied, raising his eyebrows.

Silence settled between them, both men lost in their thoughts. 

“How are you doing?” Dick asked. “I know we haven’t been able to talk much with everything going on.”

Nixon grabbed his flask from his pocket and took a sip. “I’m alright. I miss her like crazy, though. It’s like…I don’t know, Dick. I think I’m in love with her.

The ginger’s eyes widened, locking onto Lew’s face, which bore a boyish smile. ”I’m glad you’re finally admitting it.”

“Now what do I do?” Nix chuckled bitterly. “We’re in the middle of a warzone and I’ve gone and fallen in love. They should put that on the recruitment posters, huh?”

Dick sighed, scanning their surroundings. “When she gets back you tell her.”

Lewis furrowed his eyebrows. “What if she doesn’t feel the same way?”

“Everyone can see that she does, Nix. Trust me.”

A faint smirk tugged at Nix’s lips. “You know, Dick,” he remarked. “You’re not as bad as they say.”

Dick rolled his eyes and checked his watch. “I’ve got a meeting with Sink about our Market Garden casualties.”

“I’m glad I don’t have to be a part of that.”

Dick started to walk away but stopped and turned back to Nix. “Lew, be careful. You know there are rules, and the last thing I want to see is one or both of you getting in trouble.”

Nixon nodded. “Well, nothing’s happened yet, but I know. I will.”

With that, Dick walked around the corner, leaving Lewis alone with his thoughts. He took another gulp from his flask, the warmth spreading through him. Dick didn’t have to know every detail about his drinking habits.

Once (y/n) got back, though, he decided that he was going to reign it in. But until then, he reasoned, he could continue with whatever he needed to cope with the emptiness that had settled in his heart during her absence.

OCTOBER 31, 1944: AMERICAN 24TH EVAC HOSPITAL

(Y/n) lay in her uncomfortable cot, staring up at the blank ceiling as she had done for the last month. Although the nurses tried to give her some privacy by hanging sheets around her bed in the corner, it did little to block the sounds of snoring coming from Webster beside her. 

She shifted, trying to find a more comfortable position, but her side still ached from the wound. The pain was a constant reminder of their failed mission, and she longed to be back with Easy Company. The inactivity gnawed at her and the hospital walls felt like a prison.

The room was dimly lit by a flickering lamp, casting shadows across the walls. The war had taken a toll on everyone, physically and emotionally, so it wasn’t unusual to wake up to the horrifying sound of screams echoing through the halls. When the lights went out, it was the time when the hospital’s occupants became the most lonely. 

She missed the camaraderie, the shared laughter, and even the adrenaline-fueled moments of combat with her friends. But most of all, she missed him.

As she lay there, she couldn’t help but wonder how Lew was doing. His absence was keenly felt, and she longed for his familiar presence and snarky attitude. She knew he had his demons and struggles, but they all did. The war had a way of shaping and breaking people in unpredictable ways. 

A sudden noise from outside the room startled her, and she strained her ears to listen. The distant rumble of a jeep and the murmur of voices reached her. She imagined Lew out there in the field with Dick, and it brought her a sense of comfort to think of the duo out there doing what they did best, and that they were watching each other’s backs. With that thought in mind, she closed her eyes and tried to push aside the pain, allowing herself to drift into a restless sleep.

The small squeak of boots on the tile floors awoke the (y/h/c) with a startle. Her breathing quickened as she sat up slowly and pulled back the curtain, revealing someone with a familiar screeching eagle and medic patch a few feet away.

“Gene?” She whispered, face contorted in confusion.

The Cajun turned quickly and smiled distantly as he recognized her. “(Y/l/n). How are ya’ doin’, cherie?”

She took a moment to glance at his blood-smeared ODs, realizing what had brought him to the hospital at such a late hour must have been bad, so she didn’t question him about it. 

“I’m ready to bust out of here.”

He sighed, a knowing grin painting his lips. “Are you healed up enough to bust out?”

“Yes,” (y/n) nodded enthusiastically. “Doc said any day now.”

Gene raised an eyebrow, approaching her cautiously. “Let me see. If I think it’s healed well enough, I’ll take you back with me tonight. If not, you’ve gotta stay, alright?”

Her heart skipped a beat at the thought of reuniting with Easy. “Wait. Seriously? Just like that?”

“Yeah,” he nodded. “Just like that.”

Suppressing a wince, she carefully laid down on her back and pulled up her shirt, revealing the thick white bandage that was wrapped around her side. Gene, ever the respectful young man, looked up at her for confirmation before he began unwrapping it.

As Roe carefully unwrapped the bandage, (y/n)’s healing wound was revealed. The site of the injury was marked by bruised, discolored skin, and a well-defined entry point where the bullet had torn into her body. 

Gene leaned in, his eyes focused and gentle as his hands hovered over the wound. He was meticulous and caring in his inspection. His fingers probed around the entry point with a practiced tenderness, gauging the healing process and the neatness of the stitches. He checked for any signs of infection, monitoring the redness and warmth around the stitched area. His eyes scanned for swelling or abnormal discharge, all signs that would indicate the need for further care. 

(Y/n) winced slightly as he pushed on a sensitive area where the stitches were pulling on her skin, and Gene immediately eased his touch, offering her a reassuring smile.

“Cap’n Nixon will be glad,” he smirked, wrapping up the wound.

(Y/n)’s eyes lit up. “Is that a yes?”

“Yes ma’am. It looks good. I’ll just tell the officers to put you on light duty until you’re a hundred percent.”

“Thank you, thank you, thank you!” She whispered, excitement brimming in her voice as tears threatened to fill her eyes.

Gene smiled warmly. “You’re welcome, cherie. Everyone’ll be glad to have you back.”

As Roe left to inform the necessary people, (y/n) settled back on her cot, a surge of relief and happiness coursing through her. She was going back to Easy, and she couldn’t wait to reunite with her comrades, especially a certain intelligence officer whose absence had left a void that was now going to be filled.

Tag List: @softguarnere @mrsgeorgeluz @flowers-and-fichte @inglourious-imagines @peggyvan @rebeccapearson @hxad-ovxr-hxart @merriell-allesandro-shelton @shakespear-picaso-lovechild @titiglt @stvrkdream @multifandomfanfic @pastexistence

message or comment if you want to be added to the tag list!!!

[isleofair]

🥀⚡🌞 For your asks! And for the sun one I would love to see a quote from Stereoscopy! ❤️

That is TWICE this evening you've made me squee into a pillow, now by asking for a quote from Stereoscopy!!! 🥺🥺🥺🥹🥹🥹 Thank you so much for this ask, I love it! 💚💚💚

🥀 favorite angst quote from a published work

Oh, gosh. There are a few I like... they'd all need context, but this bit I like well enough (and is certainly plenty angsty) even on its own. It's from Intertidal:

He held out his hand, smiling, as sweet and welcoming as ever, and Nathan went, her steps light, picking up speed, like gravity was inescapably guiding her to him. But before she could reach him, to her abject horror, faint wisps of smoke started to rise from his figure, a flicker of flame igniting on his open palm; the fire was lighting him up from the inside, burning through his flesh, turning his flawless golden skin into a charred, smoldering wasteland. Her outstretched fingers brushed against his, and at her faintest touch his hand crumpled into ash, followed by his arm, his body, his ruined, startled face; in just a few instants, Keith had disappeared, carried away on the wind until nothing was left.

⚡️ wild card: dealer’s choice of quote from a completed work

Oooh, spoiled for choice here! There's a chapter in Second Song that I love dearly; I plucked what I think is one of the prettiest quotes from it.

"You love peace," she murmured, unable to hold back a tiny, fond smile. "Yes," he said quickly, giving her a surprised, pleased look, like he hadn't expected her to understand him so instantly, so easily. "Yes, I do." Of course, he had no idea that she was cheating; that she'd had years with him, and not just minutes, that she knew him almost as well as she knew herself, and loved him even more. "But..." Keith sighed, leaning his elbows on his knees. "Lately, I've been thinking that maybe sometimes you need to fight, in order to protect peace." He opened his hands, palm up, and gazed down at them pensively. "I got into a college with a really good aviation program. But now I've got these powers, and..." "And you're thinking of becoming a hero," Nathan whispered, mesmerized. She felt like she was witnessing the birth of something beautiful, something precious; a cloud of luminous dust starting to coalesce into a future star.

☀️ asker’s choice of published work: request a quote from a published work

And here, as requested, is your quote from my beloved Stereoscopy:

There was no room around him; he was dropping from the sky, through the cold night air above Stern Bild. He was far higher than he'd ever flown on his own; he could recognize the shape of the city lights below him, but they were so terribly, achingly distant. And Fire Emblem wasn't there. Keith hadn't been afraid of falling for a very long time. But the thought of not being able to find his partner, the thought of losing him, filled him with the purest dread imaginable. There was only one person he could think of who might be able to help him. He wasn't wearing his helmet, but he did have the rest of his suit; he angled his limbs to take full advantage of the stabilizers, and directed his fall towards the golden bird glinting faintly above the river. Like he had been hoping, Nat was waiting there for him, perched on the very tip of the phoenix's beak. Her red coat billowed around her like a cape, its ends gilded in an illusion of fire by the light reflected by the metal under her feet. Keith's fall slowed as soon as he saw her; he floated down until he was standing in front of Nat, almost, but not quite close enough to touch. He resisted the urge to reach out; if he did, he knew, somehow, that he'd lose what he was looking for.

(the ask game)

[a-world-of-whimsy-5]

The first rains

Day 2 for @manweweek

Prompts: Friends & Love | Rain & Clouds

Pairing: Manwë & Yavanna

Themes: Soft

Warnings: None

Wordcount: 600+ words

Summary: Yavanna calls on the Elder King after seeing the Olvar thirst for more water.

This is also available on AO3

Yavanna was a friend, as dear to the Elder King’s heart as Varda and Ulmo. And while they dealt with the airs and the stars and the waters, the Giver of Fruits dealt with growing things both large and small, from the moss on the rocks to trees so great that their tops were crowned with the white of the clouds. They were born from the wealth of her imaginings, and she, of all beings, knew they needed more than just her care and the great light that hung high in the sky to grow and increase. She could see this need in the withering of leaves and the drying of branches, and she could hear it in the gentle but insistent cries for more than just warmth and light. 

There is but one who could aid me in my cause, she decided. I must call on the king and plead my case. 

The walk to Ilmarin was a pleasant thing, for Yavanna was one of the Ainur, after all. Rocks and wind and ice were mere trifles to her, and she found great joy in seeing bushes and great trees give way to dark stone and pristine snow, the eagles that soared high above her, calling out to her as if in welcome.

He has seen me, she thought, when warriors clad in armor of pale blue and chilling white opened the gates of Ilmarin to her without issuing a challenge. Perhaps he already knows the reason for my calling on him.

The king soon proved her correct in her assumption.

“O king of Arda,” the Valië said when she came before the Elder King in the vast receiving hall where he held court. She dipped to her knees in a respectful curtsy. “My lord and my friend, I trust I do not have to reveal to you the cause of this audience?”

"Indeed, you do not,” Manwë returned, rising from his lofty throne. His voice came to her as if from a great distance, carried on a gentle wind. “For Ilúvatar has already revealed to me the cause. The Olvar, whom you love dearly, thirst for water as much as they hunger for warmth and light. The rivers and lakes and streams are not enough. Sometimes, they are too far; young roots cannot reach them. Do not fear for them. Ulmo and I have devised a way to make it so that the Olvar receives as much water as they need. Come with me, my lady, and see the fruits of our works for yourself.”

Yavanna accompanied him to the balconies open to the east, marvelling when she peered over them and found that the thick white clouds that oft swirled around the slopes of Taniquetil had already turned an unusual shade of grey. Then Manwë uttered a command that even she did not hear, and the clouds unleashed what they held—thin, silvery needles of water that fell to the earth in a gentle roar and were carried here and there by gusts of wind. All that was green and verdant lifted their branches and leaves to receive the first rains with a welcomed sigh; that was Yavanna’s doing. She watched, amazed, as little streams grew fat and flashes of lightning split the sky, illuminating the world around them with bright light. A crack of thunder echoed around Taniquetil, adding to the strange but beautiful euphony the rains and winds had already created. The Valië laughed in delight. Never had she witnessed anything more glorious!

“Does this please you, my lady?” Manwë turned to face Yavanna, as pleased with the outcome as she was. “Are you now content?”

“I am, my lord,” she replied, bowing her head. She was indeed glad, for the Olvar could truly flourish now. “Content and grateful to both you and Lord Ulmo, for now, all that grows on stone and out of the earth will no longer have to struggle with their thirst.”

And then they parted with gladdened hearts. Yavanna returned to her own domain, silently praising Eru for his bounty and her friends for their generosity.

tags: @asianbutnotjapanese

[marwhoa]

requests: i'd very much appreciate a rise! leo x reader (gender neutral if u like:) ) the idea i had was the reader met the turtles through april who's been friends with the reader for a while,, kind of being the only normal constant in her life but she finally introduces her to the other side of her double life and reader and leo hit it off right away!!

that's kind of backstory, i suppose, and now reader plays soccer and invites april and the turtles to her games and leo is hyped and supportive. maybe a villain could crash the game or some cool hijinks could ensue!! but i'd really really love and appreciate it! have a good day/night !!

🝮 “ come clean! ”

rise!leo x female!soccer!reader

author’s note: woot !! finally got it done, this has been sitting in my messages for a while *sobs* apologies to the love who made the request, i hope you like it! there are a few little bits here and there that may seem a bit odd—they’re easter eggs for a future x reader i have planned uwu. also huge thanks to @tmntxthings !! I knew NOTHING about soccer, so the super awesome soccer scene is brought to you by my dearly beloved partner in crime :)))

word count: 5.0k

“ April, please! “

Y/N begged, hand holding tightly onto April’s while the other was planted against their table. Plenty of times this month she had flaked on plans—both before and during said plans! So, yeah, she was a bit peeved by now and wanting an answer, especially since this was supposed to be their special friends’ night out. Y/N’s hold had loosened completely when April turned her head back with glossy eyes threatening tears.

“ April…? “

She whispered, repeating it again in a shout as the brunette girl bolted away without a word. Y/N stood frozen while watching her frame disappear. Dejected, she slunk back into her seat, sighing and looking out the window.

“ … “

The sunny skies grew overcast, creating a plummeting feeling in her chest. She leaned into the palm of her hand, elbow aching a bit against the hard table—though, whether it ached more or less than her heart was anyone’s guess. The seconds passed awkwardly until finally Y/N lifted out of her seat, placed money down on the table for the tab, and headed to the door silently. With a push, she recoiled at how heavily the wind was barreling. There was a sharp hiss in the air, and soon Y/N became grateful for the rough winds knocking them over as debris had shattered against the window. There were blurs at the rooftops in the corner of her eyes, but nothing would have kept her in this plaza for long.

—-

You ran home immediately, not wanting anything to do with whatever was about to happen there. The danger only made you more fearful for why April had left so fast and if she was okay! No worries though, you would soon have to found out why your friend so rudely dipped on you—but not from her mouth. No, no, you had to find out when trying to pause the news after you slunk down on the couch in your living room. Your hands tightened, shaking with some emotion between anger and worry.

There, on the tv, was the all-too-familiar blur of your friend being thrown. You resumed the broadcast, recognizing the stadium she was standing in, alongside… wh-what? Are those…?

——-

“ Turtles?! April, you’re serious? TURTLES? “

Y/N was trailing after a speedy April, down the apartment complex’s corridors. She occasionally had to do a light jog just to keep up, and it was good she did that because had there been even a second more of lagging behind, she would’ve been slammed out of her dearest friend’s place.

“ Whuh—hey! April, come on, I deserve an explanation, you’ve been keeping secrets! “

Her grip on the door loosened with an exhausted exhale, pushing open the door to let you in.

“ Y/N, it’s for your own safety! “

“ Bullshit, April, I get to decide that! You’ve been distant for a while now, leaving me in the dark, and then I see you on national news, fighting some—some-some THING? “

“ Shredder. ”

April corrected, dodging her exasperated friend’s gaze. Y/N’s hands were working the entire time to emphasize her point, her frustration. At the end of it, her chest was heaving, body trembling.

Had you overstepped your boundaries? Overstayed your welcome? Was this the end between you two? No, it couldn’t be—just how long have you been friends?! Why, she had even been there since your first try-out for the soccer team back in middle school. She was there when you made the team—there for your first game! April never missed a game of yours, even would bring a friend or two (though, you always wondered why they dressed up so much. no matter the temperature, her friends were always clad in bulky clothes!) And just as she was, you had always been her right-hand-man. For whatever short gig she got herself into (no seriously, you had never met anyone who managed to be in a new club, job, or activity by the next week), you were her biggest supporter, most frequent customer, and most present member!

So, no, you felt completely justified in pushing the boundaries right now. This wouldn’t be the end of you, it couldn’t be.

“ April, please, we’re best friends. I just.. There’s so many secrets between us. Don’t I deserve some kind of explanation? “

After a few wordless seconds, something in April finally changed. That seemed to be the key as her expression softened back to the April you knew and loved all these years. You couldn’t help but smirk at that, biting back stubborn tears and diving into the hug she offered. You whispered a, “ there you are “ and listened intently as she finally spilled the beans about this entire second life she had! Seriously, how did she keep this from you for this long?

By the end of the night, your excited, nosy self was already two steps away from going out to find these brothers, and April was well, WELL aware of this. Would you two really be as good of friends as you were if she hadn’t known the kind of person you were?

Mayhaps a little message had already been sent out, and may-mayhaps there was already a little someone or someones at the door.

“ No way.. ”

“ C’mon now, Y/N, don’t drool on my floor. ”

Your mouth was open in joyful surprise, like a child being told a present awaits them in the next room; April failed to hold back and laughed at you, teasing you all the way to the door. Fixated on that sleek mahogany, you scrambled to your feet—mouth still open, of course—and watched the four tall figures step into the room, greeting April. As their eyes went to you, each had a different expression.

The red one—the biggest—flashed a toothy grin and a neat wave. His voice was welcoming and friendly as he said a, “ hello! “

The orange one—the smallest—was bobbing in place, the biggest grin ever seen on his face as he waved with probably all the force and energy in his body. You wondered if it was even possible for him to exhaust himself.

Now, the purple one… well, he wasn’t even paying attention anymore. After greeting April, he promptly went straight to the glowing metal on his arm, some form of Apple Watch? Had you not been impressed to begin with, maybe this would have ticked you off.

Somehow, though, the last brother had managed to take the show by storm and outperform each introduction as a blue blur scooped up your hands instantly, giving you a cool smirk with excitement in his eyes.

“ It’s an honor to finally meet you, I’m Leo. “

“ You’ve heard of me? “

Confused by how he said that, you couldn’t fight the oddest feeling of familiarity. The image of a particularly bundled-up, reoccurring guest at your games with April appeared in your head…. Odd, surely unrelated. Anyways, he shook your hands and rose them to plant a little kiss, rattling your stiffened stance as you got flustered and began giggling.

“ I haven’t missed a single game of yours—Unlike someone I know—ACK! “

He turned, assumedly taking a jab at April, only to then screech as he dropped down to dodge a thrown shoe. It would’ve hit you instead, except for the fact that the goofy boy had yanked you down with him. He was crouched like a hero out of a marvel movie, but you were splayed out ungracefully like a splat on the ground, Chest to floor, head spinning, you gave a dazed laugh or two before hearing a, “ Leo, you killed April’s friend! “ exclaimed from the smallest who had the biggest eyes—what an expressive lad.

After being helped up, the rest of the night played out with question after question, from “ How’s it feel, out on the field with your friends! ” to “ What would you say is your ratio of misses to goals scored? ” to “ Have you ever made the BEST SHOT ever and rubbed it in the opponents faces!?!? ” And then others like, “ So, what exactly is a Shredder? ”, or “ What’s with the winter get-up at my games? ”, then “ Whoa… Is that real? Can I touch it? ”, and more.

By the time midnight rolled by, you felt like you just caught up on a slew of experiences April had without you (and you may, MAY have been jealous!)

With a hop to your feet, you invited them all personally to your next game coming up, and boy were all of them more than excited to accept (well… almost all. One seemed to not be listening, but you had a feeling he was going to come, too.). Upon being ushered out by April, Mikey would give you a big hug, Donnie may have nodded in your direction, and Raph gave a firm handshake with a toothy grin!

But Leo, he stopped in front of you. His hand rubbed the back of his neck as he looked everywhere but at you.

Stammers and stutters, apologies, and then a long drawn out sigh.

“ I—I enjoyed—enjoyed? That’s so formal, no, I, I really liked talking to you tonight! “

He slumped over, as if he had planned something else to say but it just didn’t come out right. Snickering echoed down the halls, and you knew just who the culprits were.

“ I’ll see you, at your game night—I’ll-I’ll cheer the loudest, I guaran—ouch!—guarantee it! “

He had been backing up down the hall, waving to you as his voice rose to ensure you heard it. Of course, not looking where he was walking rewarded him with a smack against the wall interrupting his sentence, but he had a quick recovery. The last thing you saw was a starstruck look in his eyes when you blurted out a laugh at this, waving and nodding.

——-

And that encounter had been the first on your mind, echoing and replaying in all its glory. Stepping through the gates of the stadium’s fences, you searched the bleachers for the oddballs and April. Upon seeing them, you gave a wave—hopping and swinging with almost as much energy as when Mikey introduced himself to you. Your friends waved, and the one you just knew was Leo stood up and shouted, “ GOOD LUCK !! “

With giddy joy written all in your face, you stepped out onto the field, assuming position while holding a hand up to shield the beaming lights from your eyes. The greeting-roars from the crowds as announcers readied them for the coming-game sent motivation electrifying through every inch of your body, straight into your soul.

You leaned down with an expression oozing confidence, clenching and loosening your fists while preparing a keen eye and a ready kick. Your opponents had waltzed in with a winning streak, and you & your ‘mates were determined to end it tonight. The looks in their faces as they strut in, grinning with a “ we got this already “, lit a fire in each member of your team. They would not be leaving this stadium with any streak; in fact, tonight would begin their losing streak! Y’all were going to make sure of THAT.

——-

The game had been at a standstill for a long time. The team you faced were great opponents and lived up to their name, the Easy Riders, but you and your team, the Star Dogs, were just as good. Twenty minutes into the match and the score was still zero to zero. That wasn’t because the Star Dogs hadn’t had any chances to score; on the contrary, you’d gotten the ball passed to you and had almost scored twice now.

First chance arose at a breakneck pace. The ball came to you hard and fast, hitting right smack dab in your chest. You cushioned it as much as possible so it didn’t bounce off and maneuvered towards the goal. Only in a perfect world would you be met with no resistance, so of course the first defender was coming in on your tail. One easy side-sweep kick and you were able to quickly get around that oaf. But as you passed the first, the second defender was already hit on your tail, and you had to make a decision: Pass it, or try for the goal.

You weren’t that far away, and an early lead would boost morale—games were 90 minutes, after all. So, you took a chance, as the words from Leo rang in your ears. That he was watching.

It hadn’t been a bad shot, but like you said earlier, the team was good. And they had an even better goalie. The ball was blocked and launched down the field. You bit down on your lower lip to hold in expletives. Fucking shit, I should’ve passed it. Fuck. Damn. Shaking your head like an enraged bull, you reigned all of the negative emotions in and ran down to the midfield, ready for another opportunity.

When you got the ball again, you were more wary of your surroundings. You didn’t want to force your way in again, that hadn’t worked. And this time you’d make sure to pass to your other striker, the other forward. If two defenders were on you, that left a pretty big opening for your teammate to make a shot. So with that in mind, you dribbled the ball forward, keeping a steady jog down towards the goal until the first defender got in your way again.

Just like before, you slipped past this one easily, a cocky grin spreading on your face as you passed them up. That must’ve struck a nerve because they chased you down at such a speed that no one in their right mind would spend so early in the game. Thus, yet again you were the prey being guarded by two greedy hunters.

“ Think you're so good, huh? ”

Before you had the chance to pass it off, like you had planned, a foot deliberately tripped you. You went down hard into the turf , already imagining the sounding of a foul for their move. Alas, the player continued on despite the booing from the stands, and the referees didn’t so much as bat an eye. Alright, so that’s how this is going to go.

“ That’s right, know your place! ”

Defender one continued to jeer, almost returning the favor and striking one of your nerves. How downright, god damn pathetic to use such tactics! In soccer, feet are only supposed to go for the ball. Any other touch, depending on how physical, could end up—SHOULD end up— with a foul.

With the play still going, albeit now with the ball in enemy hands, you could only grit your teeth and get back up.

Second opportunity: a bust. With the game going how it has, you weren’t surprised when you didn’t get the ball passed to you as soon as you liked. Though, you were there for your teammates and made assists & passes when you could. They had almost scored on your own goal, but thankfully your goalie was able to block it in time. It was nearing the halfway mark when things really started to heat up.

You had enough of jogging. Now was the time for all that speedy energy as you were flying down the field with your teammates holding the ball. Sweat dripping down your face, clumping your hair as you breathed in and out. You watched as the defenders closed in on your teammate. Now was the time. Hopefully they would trust you,

“ PASS! ”

You yelled, clearly open. And just like that, the ball came skidding towards you and with a subtle touch & a sure-shot kick, it zipped and whirled straight past the goalie’s outstretched hands.

“ GOOOOOAAAAAALLLLLLLL! ”

Resonated around the stadium as you stood where you had taken the shot, a bit feral while coming down from the high. Your heart was racing, and your teammates were running over to surround you, exclaiming and cheering just as happily but it was all muffled as your eyes looked up above them, up towards April and—

THUMP!

Square in your face comes down the hand of god with the force of a gajillion textbooks. Dazed and quite literally winded, you laid sprawled on the floor, groaning. The thing that hit you stood up, pressing plush little feet against your cheeks. A strange floral-scented liquid is doused on your face, remedying the pain almost instantly as if you definitely weren’t just clonked by the most divine, holy wrath of strikes by the deities themselves.

Amidst your out-of-it state, only three things were caught through the ringing in your ears: 1.) your teammates’ shuffling feet, backing away from you, 2.) A familiar voice shouting your name, likely Leo, and 3.) the crowd gasping, then screaming as a roar rang out. It was then that the weight on your face was absent. Your eyes fluttered open, soaking up the scene of a giant bear hunched over you as if protecting a cub, letting out a saliva-shower-inducing roar. Fight-or-flight activated, and you didn’t miss the blurs of green shooting out of the receding crowd. Phantom throbbing in your head had you sitting up, groaning and rubbing your temple.

“ Ughhh… My head… “

A bitterness was swirling in your chest as you watched the masses of people, and your teammates, all getting further and further. The game, it had been interrupted. What a sour ending to such a hyped up, invigorating match..

Soon the stadium was left silent, save for the sounds of tussling, slashing, thudding, and battle-crying. And as time went on, you had spent the whole thing much too close to the fight, finding yourself rag-dolled here and there when one of the brothers found you too close for comfort—

“ This is why I’m your knight in shining armor and my brothers aren’t. “

Well, three of them did. With an annoyed quip, one particular knight in blue would scoop you up and portal around anytime his eyes noticed you near. This game was also spent with you drenched and splashed in random liquids from the bear—some managing to touch your tongue with the most horrifically vile tastes.

“ Blegh, Cherry-vinegar! “

Even while hyped up on however many potions the enemy seemed to drink, as soon as one wore off, the bear’s attention found its way to you often—suspiciously so. Thankfully, the blue knight’s portaling habits were enough to inch you further and further away until there was finally a chance to book it to safety, much like everyone else in the audience.

Another potion dripped down your head. You looked up, feeling a chill rush down at the downright terrifying sight of a larger-than-average bear above, bearing their teeth and slobbering.

“ Oh—oh hell no! “

“ Y/N, GET OUT OF HERE. “

As luck would have it, though, the random potion gave you a speed boost, and you were able to whisk off from under the beast just as the orange banded turtle jumped between you and the bear. With the potion’s effects, you made it across the field in a quarter of the amount of time it would have normally taken you.

Unfortunately, with your back turned and feet carrying you away with a one-track-goal, the bear had caught up and it’s outstretched hand aiming for you had gone unnoticed. Knocking into giant plush pads, you gasped as they closed into a firm, yet not suffocating, grip.

“ Y/N! “

“ Y/N….? “

Leo shouted, and the bear repeated. You were brought to their face, stared at with big beedy eyes that almost looked a little cute. Their other hand made easy work of swatting away April, Donnie—hell, even Raph. It was unsettling how calmly they stared at you until finally there was a pop and a poof as the second enlargement potion had reached its limit. You thumped against the ground with an “ oof! “ and caught the little brown bear accidentally.

“ Y/N, a hug! “

Demanded the little being, with grabby hands outstretched for you. For a moment you swore there were tears in their little eyes. There wasn’t a chance to respond before the little bear was swiftly yanked up by a grumbling blue hero.

“ Get away from them! And where’d those potions go? I’m done playing with Missus Fizzlepaws over here. “

“ That’s not my name! Why doesn’t anyone care about me anymore! “

Squirming and whimpering, the distraught bear retorted to nibbling. This did nothing but get them a “ whuh—hey! stop that! “ and a flick on the noggin.

You sighed in relief at the increasingly-obvious harmlessness of the now apprehended plush, so much so that you came a bit closer and held your arms out, a tad bit curious about what they’ve been saying. What did they want with you specifically?

“ Hmm, what is your name? And Leo, lemme see them. I get the weirdest feeling they’re not going to hurt me. “

“ What—no—Irk—fine, just don’t look at me like that. “

Your signature glare had worked wonders as he handed over the bear, who had been looking at you the entire time with big eyes, somehow full of an emotion that you couldn’t help but think was shock. Just what could a plush go through to be able to show that kind of emotion? Their hands reached out for you, gingerly holding your arm as you cradled them with a smile.

“ …. IT’S… It’s, um… “

Those big eyes looked up at you, full of curious wonder all over again.

“ Miss Honeypot.. “

She, as you now knew, had a little honeycomb charm attached to her ear and the smallest little bee wings on her back. Leo of course stayed near, resting his arm across your shoulders, and leaning in to boop her nose. This was met with a munch! Clearly, he wasn’t her favorite.

But, the way your eyes looked when you glanced at him, and the way your voice sounded as you laughed at his “ yowch! “?

Well, let’s just say clearly he was someone’s favorite.

“ Mhmm, just as I thought. “

The belt of potions was found, held on the end of the purple banded turtle’s bo as if it were something dirty. He came near you both.

“ ‘Nardo, if you will, a portal to my usual destination. “

Leo seemed to understand that immediately, grinning and giving some teasing remark while a portal was made.

“ Ooh, trouble in paradise? “

“ Hold your tongue, there is no such thing. “

Through he went, leaving the rest of you and the bear.

“ Soooooo…. What’re we doing with her? “

Mikey had began making faces, each met with Honeypot’s confused raised eyebrow before she then snuggled into you more.

“ Well, she doesn’t seem too harmful anymore… Cute, too. Why don’t I keep her? “

“ WHAT? That thing clocks you in the face, snarls and beats us all up, and now you want to keep her? “

“ Hey, what’za plush like you got so much anger for anyways, huh? ”

While Leo seemed less okay with this idea, Raph rolled his shoulders and nudged Mikey away to give the adorable bear his finger stroking her cheek.

Whether he was bit or not doesn’t matter.

“ Mm… “

Honeypot looked guilty, burying her face in your chest and mumbling something inaudible.

“ What was that? “

You inquired, lifting her up and internally squealing at the utter cuteness of her little legs hanging as you held her up like a cute puppy. Scratch that, she was probably much cuter.

“ Well… I, I was… sad.. Angry, even.. “

The heartstrings of everyone near were pulled. April came in behind you, head resting on your shoulder as you swore tears welled up in her eyes. This resulted in a split second snicker from you, followed by a “ that better not have been a laugh, y/n! “ and a quick “ nope, nope, dunno what you’re talking about. “

“ Sad from what, Honeypot? ”

April asked, reaching a hand out to hold affectionately the bear’s cheek. She wasn’t bitten, and Honeypot even leaned into her touch!

“ My old best friend, she hasn’t held me in years.. I’m pretty sure she doesn’t love me anymore—doesn’t have time for ol’ Honeypot no more.. So I got angry, and I wanted to make a scene because I thought maybe she’d come! But… “

The bear looked here and there with a quivering lip.

“ But no one came, right? “

You said, awwing at the sad little nod she gave and bringing her in for another snug hug.

“ No worries, Honeypot, we’ll be your new best friends! And I’ll love you, hug you, and hold you as long as you want. “

It could’ve melted the snowiest winter just how bright of a smile this little bear gave at that, hugging you as tight as little stuffed arms could hug.

“ Now that that’s finished! Your team diiiiid score the last point before this fluffball appeared, so? “

Leo grinned, nudging Mikey who sprung up immediately, already whipping out his (April’s) phone.

“ Pizza Party!! “

“ Hey wh—my phone! ”

You laughed dryly, holding Honeypot like a baby on your hip (at least until she preferred climbing up Raph instead). A victory like this was anything but that. This was an entire bust—you only wished for the satisfying win, of rubbing it in the other stuck-up team’s face when your team swooped that match right out of their grasps!

Lagging behind the brothers, you tugged April back into a hug as you two walked together.

“ Thanks again, April, for finally opening up to me about this whole ‘double life’ you were living—“

Pinching and tugging her cheek, you playfully feigned anger,

“ —WITHOUT me, mind you. “

This stroll quickly devolved into playful brawling, ending only when you’re both scruffed by a grumpy Raph, who may or may not have been grumpy because he had to pass Honeypot to Leo after finally getting her to like him!

——-

Later, you sat in the lair of the brothers and their father, below ground in the sewers. The smell was horrible, but somehow when you reached the lair itself, that stench was gone. Leo had noticed your confusion and leaned in, noting it was his “ genius brother ” who was to thank for that. Said brother was apparently elsewhere, in someplace called “ The Hidden City ” fixing some stuff.

Everyone settled down for pizza, getting a bit loud and rambunctious all the while. It reminded you of your teammates and the match after parties, which only deepened the tightening in your chest at not being able to win fair-n-square.

Excusing yourself, you walked away with a slice in your mouth, going to explore the rest of the lair. No one really noticed.

Almost no one.

You found the giant room complete with a definitely not safe skate half pipe in the rooms center.

“ Want a rematch? ”

The voice behind you was startling to say the least, as a humiliating screech escaped you. One smack later and you were both laughing.

“ Ow! ”

“ Don’t sneak up on me, Leo! And what do you mean a rematch? We’ve never played before. ”

You pouted a bit, looking away from him. There was no way he noticed you were upset about the game, right?

“ Your match was a bust, so let’s do a rematch. Unless you’re scared to lose to yours truly—I am somewhat of a soccer champion of all time, myself. ”

The smirk on his face just seemed all the more punchable as you cracked your knuckles and grinned back.

“ Oh yeah? We’ll see about that then. You’re on! “

——-

Through a portal, you almost fell face first into turf of the soccer field at your school. Emphasis on almost, as there was a rather muscular arm snaked around your waist keeping you from your doom.

“ Don’t fall for me yet, I haven’t even beat you in the game! ”

“ You—! ”

Laughing, you shoved him away and caught the ball he tossed. You both assumed your positions on either side of the field, fired up now to try and show him what a true soccer champion is like.

Up against a trained mutant, you had your work cut out for you. He was fast, and he did not miss any chances at knocking you off your game.

“ Well aren’t you prettier when you look at me with that determination? ”

“ Whuh—! ”

He stuck out his tongue as the ball was swiped away for your feet. And this wasn’t the end of it.

“ You’re looking at me so intensely, I’m that irresistible? ”

“ Wh—No! We’re—UGH, YOU! ”

How could you stay angry at him? Beneath the lunar sky, illuminated by the white lights and the moon above, the two of you played a game that was neck-n-neck the whole time. Had there been a referee, there would be constant blaring of a whistle. At one point, the two of you toppled over one another, grunting as you hit the ground with him above you—luckily catching himself with his hands on either side of your head. Getting hit with a plastron may not have been the most fun.

But you knew what would be fun. A sly grin on your face, you narrowed your eyes playfully.

“ Wow, at least take me to dinner first. ”

“ I—Sorry, I didn’t mean— “

He stammered, quickly scrambling off of you, but you wasted no time in hopping up and stealing back the ball.

“ Gotcha! ”

Leo watched your descending figure, astonished to be played a fool at his own game. The smile you gave him, right before turning your back to him.. Well, that was more than enough to tell him this was a good idea. Up onto his feet, he was rushing after you, shouting, “ unfair! ” and then shouting loud as he dodged you reaching out to push him, playfully exclaiming, “ how dare you! ”

If you’re wondering who won this game in the end, it was you. He lost his footing in front of the goal (and you wondered if it was on purpose), and you swiftly shot the ball into the end with a powerful kick. “ in your face! ” you shouted, standing over the turtle who laid defeated on the ground.

He quietly looked up at you with an expression that had you holding your breath, heart racing loudly in your ears.