#Watching the ocean together. Watching the clouds unfurl

[kiawren]

I wish language was universal so you all could know how this song genuinely makes me want to jump on a cliff and spread my limbs facing a sunset as I think of kiawren (if anyone wants to listen to it... I hope the Vibes are universal at least)

I always look forward to the summer evenings after it rains.

The singing cicadas (hey!) wake up all the stars. The moonlight is so cooling.

Just like that, I think of the first time I confessed.

How embarrassing I was. See, the way you make love sound so philosophical, is actually really cute.

You talk about living in tomorrow and living in anticipation. What about living in today naturally?

I said I understand, is it too fast? The future, the first day is unfolding.

[rawcalamity]

History of Arctic-113

A cataclysm of death sullied Heavens flame long ago; casting divine bloodshed upon the dawn of Zenith‘s Decay. With her touch forbidden not a single light could pierce the tides of a cruel war, leaving galaxies across existence to be swallowed whole by darkness. Planets withered away unto swaths of frozen stones, harboring only barren fields that hungered for light—as even a stars warmth fell absent to their yearning. Echoed from the fractured and torn surface of every stone is a tale of old, whispering a time when they once blossomed with life. Now remnants of an ecosystem left ravaged by the scorn of divine conflict, they were fated to wither unto a celestial corpse. Within gales of a festering cold, three titans trekked silently as all that survived this terrible calamity. Tears welled in the eyes of ancients who howled with lament; mourning the loss of their dear kin. What once prospered a land home to titans of great stature now lied torn asunder—stripped away from all who cherished it by fates hand with only ageless vessels that remain tethered to a tale that had forsaken them. Driven only by a final resolve to lay their kin to rest, the ancient triad banded together and cleaved tombs from the surface of this frostbitten pathos.

With every fleeing century, the lagging titans grew languorous. One by one, each of the three descended to their knees to further nestle themselves unto the cold sediment. Their bodies erected from the surface like obelisks; protruding far from the frozen ground with a gaze unwavering. Closing their eyes, the triad caved to the frozen wastes and became one with the snow… However, their tale did not end here. It was as if the very sky was lit aflame—billows of ashen grey clouds cracked and burst with light upon the celestial reign of a new dawn. A kindled spark engulfed awakening stars to ignite the horizon of this frozen rock that had been left adrift for eons. Blanketed by its warmth, the rocks barren surface was washed with new hope; instilling vigor to those dormant beneath its crust. Hardened soil unfurled like the monarchs who breach from their cocoons, as colossal beasts erupted from its fissures… The Behemoths Wake ushered the dawn of a new world.

Landscapes quivered as the ground quaked and ice splintered; disturbed by the claws of beasts who sought to break free from their gelid graves. Rising beneath the first dawn, their eyes were met with barren expanses that had remained forlorn for far too long. To reshape the world was to play god—so too was their vision. In a display of divine intuition, the behemoths tore unto the frostbitten ground as mountains breached its fractures whilst trees unfurled from the scars. Snow careened gently from the sky, reflecting brilliant hues that danced throughout a newborn planet. The ancient triad watched as their kin acted with new life to restore a world thought to have been long lost. Overcome by emotion, tears trickled from their sunken eyes and filled the planets wounds with oceans and rivers. A behemoth who honed blades of divinity at its fingertips sought to guide the water and carve a sodden realm of its own; so it cultivated the gelid seas. Each of the three titans observed joyously as their kin nurtured swaths of biomes that would come to harbor life as it once did before.

Whilst a stars heavenly gaze looked after this rejuvenated planet, its zenith did not shine brightly enough to quell its darkness. A beast reared its ugly head from the depths of this world, shadowing the new dawn. An unruly and hateful colossal it was, and without love it wore a wretched heart stained by the scorn of a war that decimated galaxies long before it. To hold the ideals of catastrophe and death was to oppose those who sought prosper, and soon conflict evolved between these sacred guardians and the behemoth with a taste for destruction. It’s fury seared a trail of death in its conquest, ravaging the very fields beneath it. The ancient triad were left with no other choice but to confront this rampaging beast—lest they watch their home be enthralled by calamity once more. Legends paint the tale of a struggle that stretched on for centuries, only coming to a end once the triad forged a powerful blade from within the planets core. With this weapon, they pierced the heart of the behemoth. Defeated, it collapsed unto a sea of crimson snow. It then looked to the ancient triad with pleading eyes, begging for forgiveness; for the behemoth truly did not wish to perish. The ancient triad promised mercy on the terms that it swore its allegiance to them. Rather than harm their cherished home, it must vow to defend it. It is said that the behemoth swore an oath and was allowed to feel the dawn of a new day, however a fragment of the blade that ended its reign of terror was left wedged between its chest to serve as a reminder to its promise.

Primitive societies of arctic-113 revere the behemoths as gods, while others fear their display of divine power like the devil.

[mr-styles]

Hello, I’m Harry Styles and tonight I’m going to help you drift off to sleep with some soothing words and calming music. A sleep story, just for you. With all the busyness of your day, I know how hard it can be to get to sleep. So I thank you for choosing this story, and me to help you. I wish you a wonderful night’s sleep. So make yourself comfortable. Take a deep breath in, and then out. In, and then out. And when you’re ready, close your eyes.

[Listen]

Have you ever wondered what happens when you sleep? Where you go and what you feel. The places that you seek.  When you start to drift away, your mind becomes a book that writes itself, then fades away before you wake to look.

Tonight we’re gong to think about anything you’d like. So first let’s visualise some scenes to see us through the night. Settle back and clear your mind. We’re heading somewhere special, beyond the world of consciousness, to places more celestial.

I’d like you to imagine now, you’re there beneath the stars, which, when you pause to think about it, actually you are. As you focus on the darkness, right before your eyes, fill the scene with glinting lights to emulate night skies.

Think about the things you cherish most and those you love. And then allow yourself to be embraced from up above. The power of the universe, meanders through your mind. So come with me and let’s see what the two of us can find.

Let’s travel now to moonlit valleys, blanketed with heather. The kind of landscape you and i could dream about forever. Imagine lazing on the ground, succumbing to the charms of blades of grass we now caress with fingertips and palms. A gentle scent of cedar wood is floating on the breeze, a gift from mother nature and her nearby cedar trees. We’re gazing at the night sky now, marveling at infinity. So allow your mind to wander to a peaceful new vicinity.

Picture this: a rich green forest, damp with morning dew. Inhale the morning air as we explore, just me and you. Leaves create mosaics in every shade of green, as gentle birds son mingles with the babbling of a stream.

Dappled sepia sunlight cuts through branches overhead, as dew drops fall from leaf to leaf like glistening strands of thread. The dew drops finally coalesce, forming satin beads. Occasionally they kiss our cheeks. Small pleasures, quenching needs.

Holding hands, we stroll until we chance upon a brook. It’s cool clear water, mirroring our faces as we look. The shimmering reflection shows us smiling from above. The word we think but dare not speak is l-o-v-e. Love.

Now we snuggle on a raft, and drift for endless hours. As willow trees sway in the breeze and blossoms fall in showers. Gently swaying to and fro, we look up at the sky and watch the clouds above us forming shapes as they pass by.

The wisps of cloud swirl slowly, tinged with tangerine and pink. And as they fade, the sunset gives us cause to muse and think, of places we should visit and oceans we could cross. For some who wander through this world, there’s grace in being lost.

Passing by a waterfall, our thoughts sway to and fro. And time begins to fade and blur. Beneath the moon’s pale glow, a symphony of tumbling water loves and mesmerizes. Nature’s soundtrack to our dreams, assume so many guises.

Strolling on a sidewalk now, as rain begins to fall. Its gentle pitter-patter holds us deep within its thrall. The raindrops rhythm briefly slows, then intensifies. Peaceful and benevolent. A gift from moonlit skies. The fragrance that the rain creates upon the concrete surface inspires yet relaxes, and focuses our purpose. To shift our minds to neutral and allow our thoughts to drift. And recognise the rainfall as a mesmerising gift.

Sheltering beneath a porch, we watch the rain pour down. Though now the time has come to leave this moonlit town. A gentle breeze wafts through the trees. It causes leaves to stir. And then the rain relents and fades, as time begins to blur.

We find ourselves upon a shoreline, lounging by a lake. While crickets chirp in nearby reeds, it’s hard to stay awake. The scene feels like a watercolour - soft diluted tones. As looking down we see each other. Laughing, skimming stones. The stones skip on the gleaming lake and ripples start to form. And though the sun has dipped from view, we feel content and warm. Herons drift on thermals, high above a sun bleached pier. And in the trees beyond the lake, we glimpse a passing deer.

Strands of cloud unfurl like ribbons in the orange sky. Mirrored on the lake now, like a painted butterfly. In the distance, mountains beckon, capped with pristine snow. The kind of sight that dreams evoke when hearts and minds let go.

Contemplating nothingness. A scene takes shape before us, and as it sharpens in our thoughts, we hear a distant chorus. The dampened sound of silence that only snow can bring, surrounds us with its calming vibes and touches us within.

Glistening snowflakes fall in flourish, mountain rivers freeze. The powdery slopes look beautiful and fresh snow dusts the trees. Somehow now, we’re in a cabin, taking in this view. As a fire crackles in the corner, just for me and you. We linger for a moment, or maybe it’s been hours. For when we blink and look again, our vistas waft in flowers. Another destination lulls us. Closer now it seems. Perhaps it’s real, or just another chapter in our dreams.

Drifting in and out of sleep, our thoughts take us elsewhere. To an island fringed by swaying palms. Lush beyond compare. A path winds through the mangroves towards a distant beach, that underlines the turquoise ocean, now within our reach.

Eventually, we feel the powdery sand right beneath our feet. The sun above now blessing us with gentle, soothing heat. We hear the lilting sound of surf breaking up ahead. While spiral shells and pearly shards determine where we tread.

Finally, a lapping wave engulfs our sandy feet. It seems to pause and ruminate, then gradually retreat. We dig our toes in cool, wet sand, then sit and face the sea. And let the sand wash over us. Alone, just you, and me. Staring at the nothingness that stretches on forever, our thoughts dovetail and unify in tune, two minds together. As minutes turn to hours, we drift off somewhere new. And visualize a stay away, to a door we now walk through.

Imagine now a meadow on a balmy afternoon. Birds, and bees, and rustling trees create a summer tune. Flanked by fields of sunflowers, hand in hand we walk. As the gentle sounds of nature surrounds us while we talk. The sunflowers give the scenery a warm and golden hue, while hazy sunshine softens our idyllic, rustic view. As we roam past hedgerows, a farmhouse sits alone. Its open shutters pressed against uneven walls of stone. A garden winds around the house, and daisies poke through grass. A bench that’s lived through countless summers creaks as we walk past. We wonder if the house is empty. Once loved - but no longer. The thought of passing time inspires a feeling that grows stronger.

This feeling washes over us, lost between a sigh. And as the sun begins to set, we stop and wonder why. Gravity caresses us and pulls you close to me. Then the scene begins to fade, our new reality.

Deeper, gradually deeper, we drift and now transcend to unfamiliar places too surreal to comprehend. Slowly we capitulate, as sleep begins to call. Entwined in dreams and shifting scenes, we drift and gently fall.

Friendly faces, glorious places. Things we hope to do intertwine with snapshots. Some of me, and some of you. Moonlit valleys, verdant forests, gazing at the ocean. Summer meadows, tranquil sunsets, steeped in pure emotion. The tenderness we feel when we are close, two minds as one, surrounds us and connects us, but we’ve only just begun. For now, we dream together of all that is to follow. And know that sleep will keep us safe, from now until tomorrow.

Maybe all the memories that we’ve gathered here tonight, are all dreams now remembered, or wishes in plain sight. No matter what, they’re with us now, for this night and forever. And every time we close our eyes, they’re yours and mine to treasure.

Goodnight and sleep well.

[mmvalentine]

Pomegranate pt 3 | Feysand

Hades/ Persephone inspired AU. Part 1 Part 2 Part 4

Rhysand stalks around the townhouse all night, and into the next morning. His inner circle are concerned, but do not approach. They know him well enough to know that attempts at communication are fruitless when the High Lord is in this mood.

By evening, Rhys is back at the Spring Court, but Tamlin has placed sentries in the field where he used to meet Feyre. They trample the wildflowers.

Rhys makes his way to the manor, pulling the shadows tightly to him so he can move unseen. He unfurls his wings and glides over the roof, landing lightly on the tiles and listening closely for Feyre’s thoughts. Prior to now, he has refrained from listening into Feyre’s mind out of respect for her privacy. But now, he has no other way to locate her.

Rhys eventually hears her in a room on the top level of the house, in the east corner. Her mind sounds just like her voice: soft and curling like the wispy ends of clouds. He waits a moment to make sure no one is with her, and no one is approaching, and then slides easily in through the window.

“Hello little one,” Rhys says lightly.

Feyre whirls around from where she is sitting at the dresser, and her eyes go wide. She opens her mouth as if to speak, but then seems to think better of it and just crosses the room into his arms. Rhys strokes her hair, but feels grim even as she clings to him.

“Hello you,” she says eventually, and her voice shakes. “How did you find me?”

“We made a deal,” Rhys says in response. “I have to visit you every day for another three months, remember?”

“That’s true,” Feyre says, and the relief is heavy on her face. And then she smiles a crooked smile. “Or maybe you just finally had an excuse to make it into my bedroom.”

Rhys tugs her toward her bed and sits down on the end of it. Feyre moves to sit next to him, but Rhys pulls her into his lap instead.

“So,” he says. “This is your prison, huh?” His eyes rove around the room, and Feyre’s follow.

“As my father likes to point out, no prison has quite so many trinkets or soft furnishings.”

“Can you go out, or have people in?” Rhys asks.

“No, of course not.”

“Then it’s still a prison.”

Feyre’s eyes fill with tears, but they do not fall. “I know,” she says quietly. Rhys kisses her then, because he doesn’t want her to cry.

“Did you ever try to escape?” he whispers to her.

“Once,” Feyre admits. “Last year. I got locked in after I got caught with the stable boy. I tried to leave. I failed. And I was punished.” Feyre does not expand on this, and Rhys does not push any further. Tamlin’s temper is infamous in Prythian, and although Rhys’s father never liked him, nor did he provoke him.

“Well maybe I will steal you away after all,” Rhys murmurs. Feyre gives a brittle laugh. “What?” Rhys asks. “Would it be so terrible to be a member of my court?” Feyre tilts her head.

“Do you know what my father says about your court?” she says.

“Tell me,” Rhys prompts. Feyre takes a deep breath and then sighs, her shoulders lifting and then slumping with the movement.

“He says, in the Night Court they torture people for fun. He says they are a savage people, who rip out the throats of their enemies with their teeth. He says they live in the dark do depraved things that are not fit to see the sunlight.”

Rhys watches her for a moment. Feyre is playing with the lapels of his jacket, and looks at her hands while she talks.

“Oh yes,” he says eventually. “We bathe in the blood of those we have conquered, and dance naked in the light of the moon.” Feyre looks up, alarmed for a second. And then she laughs, and so does Rhys.

“I’d like to see you dance naked,” she teases.

“Anything for you, little blossom,” he says, and yanks at the top buttons of his shirt. Feyre laughs again, and swats his hand away. Rhys says “shhhh” and waves her to be quiet, and Feyre buries her face in his shoulder and shakes with silent laughter. “It’s not funny!” Rhys says. “I’ll be hanged if I’m caught in here.”

Feyre lifts her face, suddenly serious. “Don’t go,” she says. Then she shakes her head, and looks down again. “You can’t stay. You should leave.”

“Okay I’m getting mixed messages here,” Rhys says, trying to meet her eyes. Feyre doesn’t look up. “Hey,” he says softly. “I’m going to get you out. And you can come live with me in the Night Court, and I’ll make you Queen of the darkness.”

Finally, Feyre raises her eyes and looks up at him through her lashes.

“I’ll run the revels,” she whispers.

“You’ll sever heads.”

“I’ll sharpen my teeth.”

“You’ll howl at the moon.”

“I’ll spill the wine.”

“You’ll rule them all.”

“And we’ll always be together.”

“And we’ll always be together.”

Feyre’s hands have tightened on the back of Rhys’s neck, and he loves the fierce light that has sparked in her eyes. He puts his lips next to Feyre’s ear.

“And then one day, we’ll come back here, and burn Tamlin’s house to the ground. And I’ll put you on the Spring throne where you belong.”

Feyre looks at him, and he watches a hundred dreams and nightmares flicker in the ocean of her eyes.

And then watches them all blow out.

“You should go,” Feyre says. She kisses him with her hands clenched in his collar. “You’re not safe here.”

“Neither are you,” Rhys tells her, leaning his forehead against hers.

“I’m safe,” Feyre says. “I’m just not free.”

“Then what’s the point?”

“I don’t know. But you should go before my father comes, he always makes sure I’m still here.”

“Okay,” Rhys says. “Just one thing before I go.” And then he pulls her mouth back to his.

Rhys kisses her slowly, at first. Takes his time committing the taste of her to memory, the curve of her bottom lip beneath his tongue. Feyre is so warm in his lap, and despite the direness of their situation, Rhys can’t muster any worry for it. Not right now. When his tongue finds Feyre’s, she makes the sweetest moan, and he wants to wrap around her body until there’s nothing between them.

Feyre shifts in his lap, and suddenly he’s on fire. She burns him everywhere she touches him, or maybe he’s burning from the inside. Rhys isn’t sure, but he’s pulling them back to lie down on Feyre’s plush blankets, and now she’s beneath him and she’s still kissing him like she’s trying to destroy him.

“Put your hands on me,” Feyre whispers to him, and Rhys doesn’t need to be told twice. He grips her hip, and then smooths his hand up her waist to her ribcage. His thumb strokes the underside of her breast, and he savours the shiver this elicits from her. Runs the pad of his thumb back and forth gently, before squeezing her whole breast in his hand. He can feel her nipple against his palm, and the two of them exhale in unison.

Rhys squeezes her again, and then breaks the kiss to watch her face as he tugs at the lace in the front of her dress. Feyre’s face flushes, and he can feel her heart thudding. But she arches her back up toward him, and he undoes enough of her bodice to be able to slide his hand under it. Feyre’s eyes close and her lips part, and Rhys kisses her again as he touches her bare skin.

“You feel perfect,” he tells her. “I am undone. You are perfect.”

Feyre pulls his face back to her, and the way his hips rock into her is completely involuntary. He moves his hand on her breast, licks his tongue against hers, and forgets his own name.

Reality comes crashing in, loud and unwelcome, a minute later.

“Fuck!” Rhys says, his head snapping up.

“What?” Feyre startles.

“I can hear your father coming.”

“What?”

Rhys rolls off of Feyre, and she pulls her dress back together. “Go now,” Feyre hisses.

“I’ll be back tomorrow,” Rhys promises, and slides his hands under her jaw to kiss her once more.

“Don’t,” Feyre says. “It’s too dangerous."

“I don’t care,” Rhys replies. “I love you.”

“Rhys…”

“Tell me tomorrow.” He winks, and winnows.

When Rhys gets home, the court is in turmoil.

“High Lord,” Azriel says in greeting. His brother only uses his title when the news is very bad.

“What is it Azriel? What’s happening?”

Cassian and Mor step into the room then, and they’re all wearing the same look on their faces. Rhys looks to the Shadowsinger.

“Hybern is on the move.”

****

MASTERLIST

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[inkformyblood]

i have not yet learned to hold you

Cody and Obi-Wan flee from the newly formed Empire and the shadows that wear Cody’s face. They travel as refugees, war-torn and clinging to each other.

Day 04 Undercover/Undercover as a Couple

Pairing: Codywan TW: violence/intrusive thoughts

@codywanweek

It would be so easy to break his General’s neck. 

Obi-Wan was slack against Cody’s shoulder, his breathing ragged as if he was trapped in a nightmare. His head lolled with every rumble of the transport, swaying with every jerk and shudder that passed through the decrepit ship, but he didn’t wake, wouldn’t wake.

He had fallen asleep barely moments after they had sat down, tucked into a corner where the air clung to the thick scent of engine oil and the metal burned as frost unfurled across it. But he had slumped against Cody, uncaring of the danger that it put him in, trusting him after everything he had tried to do—

Obi-Wan was in danger, and it only grew every second that Cody remained by his side. And yet, he couldn’t bring himself to leave.

It had been simple enough to slip onto the transport — merely two exhausted figures amongst many — but even that small use of the Force seemed to have drained Obi-Wan. He had sagged the moment the man with the datapad stepped away, content with the deception Obi-Wan had planted in his mind. Cody had reached for him without thinking, old instincts overriding the newer urge to slip his concealed blaster from his holster, press it to Obi-Wan’s temple and shoot. 

The ship shuddered, wordless cries of discomfort echoing through the darkness before they were silenced, tinged with exhaustion, and Obi-Wan groaned, the sound becoming trapped in his throat before he settled once more. 

He looked tired. 

The war had left its mark on them both as the years unfurled with no sign of slowing, but this ran deeper. The way Obi-Wan moved was slower, more deliberate, and he had curled himself around Cody as they had walked. Landing at the spaceport had been a risk even though the ship they had managed to steal from Grievous' supply had barely had enough fuel to break through the atmosphere. Death and destruction was everywhere, from the weary faces of the children watching them as they had passed, and watching them even now — their eyes too old for their faces — to the scorch marks from blasters littering the buildings Cody could identify with barely a glance.

The sound of footsteps, careful but deliberate, drew Cody out of his dark thoughts, his head tipping to one side as he listened. They weren’t the heavy methodical movements of a soldier, instead stumbling, pausing whenever the ship trembled around them, but they were drawing closer. 

As carefully as he could, Cody reached over, tucking Obi-Wan’s head further into the hollow of his shoulder, the other man’s breath damp against his skin. The urge burned through him again, a passing thought that raked its claws across his mind that he could cut Obi-Wan’s throat and sit like this as his General bled out against him, but he pushed it down, curling his free hand into a fist and cutting half-moons into his palm. He smoothed the edge of one of his scarves down, tucking it beneath Obi-Wan’s chin before drawing a section over his mouth — so easy just to press and feel him gasp and choke — to hide his face.

Obi-Wan, for all of his notoriety, wasn’t as easily identified. Cody, however, had one of the most well-known faces in the galaxy, and the twist of laughter in his chest was a surprise. He had thought he had forgotten how to laugh in the face of the events of the previous days. 

One of the scarves, identifiable by touch alone in the dim light, was woollen and striped a combination of 501st blue and 212th orange, and Cody pulled it up over most of his face, catching a linen scarf as it slipped and tucking it back into place. It wouldn’t pass a close inspection, but he could only hope it would do for now. Obi-Wan deserved whatever scraps of sleep he could get.

The woman who moved into view was unremarkable, a Wroonian woman with skin the same colour as sea-foam and her dark hair pinned up, but several curls had sprung free. Her smile was hesitant, but warm, revealing a dark gap of a missing tooth. “For the journey.”

She offered them a small flask, the liquid inside sloshing, and Cody could only stare. He could smell the sweet tartness of the berries, one final summer harvest, and his mouth watered, the words catching in his hollowed-out throat before he could speak. “We have nothing to give in return.”

“I ask for nothing, only offer kindness.”

She stretched out once more, the flask held by the edges of her fingers and Cody knew. 

How many people had she offered the same kindness to on this ship, and how many had accepted the final whisper of a home now gone? There was still liquid, so each took only a mouthful and moved along in gratitude. 

Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes, and he wordlessly reached for the flask. She stepped back, turning to look back down the ship, and Cody could have wept at the unexpected gentleness of this woman whose name he did not know, and who he would likely never see again. 

“My love?” Cody pressed the edge of his forefinger to Obi-Wan’s cheek, his hand curved to keep the flask steady. The endearment felt strange, lacking the familiarity of the Mando’a Cody repeated in his mind but had never given voice to. It had always been something for after the war, and yet here they were, and the war was over, and Cody couldn’t say it. Wouldn’t say it. Obi-Wan deserved someone whose every thought towards him was filled with love as sweet as honey instead of ideas of how to kill him twining through at the edges. 

Obi-Wan woke in fractions, a slow blink of his eyes — the brilliant blue now clouded and filled with a grief that was still raw and present — then a gentle sigh, pressing his face further into Cody’s neck. 

“What’s happening?” His voice was quiet, barely audible above the rumble of the engines, and Cody turned towards him, trying to shield him from everything, including himself. 

“A drink. If you want some.”

Cody watched the woman, waited for the gleam of her eyes to turn away before pulling down the scarf enough to take a mouthful. It burst on his tongue like the final days of summer on Kamino when the sea would rage, and he could slip away from training for a moment as the lights and cameras flickered and died to pluck fruit from the carefully regimented gardens. Only one drink, one memory, and Cody pushed it to the forefront of his mind, sweeping the thoughts of death beneath it. Obi-Wan’s thoughts brushed against his mind, the sensation akin to a kiss ghosting over his temple, and he hummed in quiet, exhausted joy. 

Their fingers brushed when Obi-Wan took the flask, and Cody’s cheeks burned in answer. They were pressed together from ankle to hip to shoulder, and Obi-Wan’s head still rested on Cody’s shoulder, but that single touch as Cody felt Obi-Wan draw comfort from his memory threatened to break him utterly. 

Obi-Wan pressed himself up, one hand firmly planted on Cody’s thigh, just enough to drink before passing the flask back. 

Cody waited until he was settled, their faces tucked back behind the flimsy fabric shields before extending the flask back. “Thank you.”

“Thank you. You’re lucky to have each other. May your peace find you on the road.”

“May your peace travel with you.” Obi-Wan’s voice had grown in strength, and the woman paused, her eyes widening in delight as a grin burst across her face at the traditional response. She bowed once before moving back up the ship, her steps lighter now. 

“Always full of surprises,” Cody murmured, pressing his cheek to the top of Obi-Wan’s skull, feeling the other man laugh more than hearing it. 

“I’d hate to ever bore you, my dear.” Obi-Wan drew his hand away from Cody’s thigh, and he missed the single spot of contact, his skin feeling like it was burning where Obi-Wan had touched him deliberately rather than convenience. “It’s a lovely memory you showed me.”

“I hadn’t thought about that in years,” Cody laughed despite himself. His grief was still too raw to examine, the wave of sorrow in his chest barely tampered behind his focus. He could grieve later, allow himself to sink to the floor and scream for his fallen vode but only when they were safe. “It’s strange how your memories work, isn’t it?”

Obi-Wan hummed in quiet, exhausted agreement, curling in closer to Cody’s side and, as delicately as he could, Cody raised his arm to wrap it around Obi-Wan’s shoulders. 

“If you—“ Obi-Wan paused, and Cody watched him think out of the corner of his eye. He couldn’t sense the Force, but all of the clones had spent enough time around the Jedi to pick up a base knowledge. Cody had only watched his brothers turn and walk away from him, wiped clean as neatly as any droid would be, and die in a thousand different ways since the war started and even before.

Obi-Wan had felt every agonising second of it.

“Your pain isn’t any less than mine.” Obi-Wan’s voice was hushed, barely louder than a whisper, and Cody turned, catching a glimpse of eyes as blue as the ocean out of the corner of his eye. “We’re both grieving our losses.

“But I wanted to ask, would you let me share a memory with you?”

Obi-Wan had shared fragments with him before after Cody had agreed he could, never before. It was a strange sensation to be in the middle of battle to glance out over the smoke-covered fields and know where Obi-Wan was, feel the wind rush past his face, letting Cody hold out his hand to catch his saber once again.

But that had been purely tactical, and Cody couldn’t let himself dwell on the fact Obi-Wan never asked anyone else, only him.

“I’d like that.”

It stole over him like the slow slip of the sun beneath the horizon, flickering into place between one blink and the next. He could feel the warmth press against his skin, sweat prickling against the hollow of his throat as it dried and the sticky sweetness as juice ran down his chin. The fruit caved in at the slightest press of his teeth, and for a moment, decorum was abandoned, cool, wet pulp smearing against his cheeks as he ate. The man next to him laughed, leaning back so that their shoulders bumped together and his cheeks were stained the same vibrant purple that covered his hands. Cody didn’t know this man, and yet, he did. Qui-Gon reached out and smoothed a hand over Cody’s shoulders, drawing him close in a hug, warm, and he hoped it would never end. 

Cody blinked, the sunlight falling away and the harsh metal walls of the ship closing around him as he was forced back into the present. 

“I’m sorry.” Obi-Wan cupped Cody’s face, his thumb smoothing over his cheekbone, pressing their foreheads together in a kovyn. Their breath fogged as Cody gasped, tears burning at his eyes. 

The desire burned through his chest to draw his head back and slam it forward, yearning to hear the snap and crunch of bone and the burst of blood, warm and tacky, against his forehead, but he pushed it down. He pressed into the embrace instead, closing his eyes and feeling Obi-Wan’s heart settle in time with his own. 

They couldn’t stay like this for long. Already the groan of the ship’s engines had begun to change in pitch — a clear signal that they were coming into land. 

“Don’t—” Cody caught Obi-Wan as he started to straighten, unable to bear the separation. “Can we stay like this, just a few moments longer?”

It was dangerous, like trying to catch lightning with his hands, but he wanted a moment longer of peace and love, a selfish and ruined want that coursed through him like a heartbeat.

Cody couldn’t meet Obi-Wan’s gaze, but he caught the edge of his smile, so full of a love that neither of them had admitted to, and knew that whatever happened, they would be together. 

[puppywritings]

scavenger hunts and starry eyes

pairing: hwang hyunjin x gender neutral reader genre: fluff, best friends to lovers, high school au word count: 2k a/n: this is my piece for stayhaven’s valentine’s event!! masterlist

Valentine’s day had come around yet again. The air in your high school was electric, each and every student excited for one reason or another; approaching plans with their significant others, or hopeful optimism that they’d receive a rose and a confession from their crush. The day wasn’t looking all that promising for you, however. Your relationship with your crush, Hwang Hyunjin, was entirely platonic, and it seemed like it was doomed to stay that way. You weren’t bitter, though, or you were trying your best not to be. Although it was difficult with the constant reminders, at the beginning of every period.

The student council ran an annual event each Valentine's day. In the days leading up to the holiday, students were able to purchase a rose, which would be delivered to the subject of their affections, either anonymous or with an accompanying note. And all throughout the day, roses would be delivered at the beginning of each period. None for you, though. But, you reminded yourself as you entered your psychology class for fourth period, you really were trying not to be bitter.

“Good morning,” Hyunjin greeted you when you took a seat beside him.

“Hi,” you returned. “Happy Valentine’s day!”

“Happy Valentine’s day to you, too,” he responded, giving you a wide smile which transformed his eyes into crescents. “Have you gotten any roses yet?”

“Of course, with my long, long line of suitors, I can hardly move for roses.” You rolled your eyes, and Hyunjin snorted a cynical laugh back.

“C’mon, it’s only fourth period. There’s always time,” he comforted you, delivering a friendly pat to your back and making you smile shyly. As if on cue, a student council member - Seungmin, you thought his name was - entered the class with a smile. As Hyunjin watched expectantly, you tried your best to ignore the process.

"And," Seungmin called, reaching the end of his list, "One for Y/N."

You blinked. Somebody sent you a rose? You stood, approaching Seungmin and taking the rose from him. "Thank you," you said with a polite smile, before returning to your seat. You unfurled the note which came attached to the rose and began to read.

Hyunjin leaned in close, peering at the words over your shoulder. You hoped the flame in your cheeks wasn’t visible as you picked up his scent, floral with hints of citrus. “Who’s that from?” he whispered to you. 

“I have no idea,” you whispered back - you had no idea why you whispered, as the room was full of chatter and there was no need, but you instinctively followed Hyunjin’s lead. “It’s signed ‘your secret admirer.’ I didn’t know I had a secret admirer.”

“They wouldn’t really be secret if you knew about them,” Hyunjin pointed out.

“How mysterious,” you mused, twiddling the rose between your fingers. “I wonder if they’ll reveal themself.”

“Wait - is there something on the back?” Hyunjin asked, and you flipped the card.

“There is!” you confirmed.

Are you ready for an adventure? read the note. Follow my trail of clues and it'll lead you to my identity. Go to the library and you'll find your first clue, under the mousepad at the computer closest to the window. Happy hunting!! xoxo

"No way," Hyunjin exclaimed. "A scavenger hunt? This is so cool!"

"That is pretty cool," you agreed, excitement bubbling up inside you. "Do you wanna come with me?"

"Sure," Hyunjin nodded. "Better than sitting in this chaos." The classroom was in a state of mild uproar, excitement over Valentine's roses driving everyone giddy.

"You think we can sneak out?" you asked, peering at your psychology teacher, Mr. Kim. He was trying to calm the class, to absolutely no avail.

"Mr. Kim will probably be grateful to have two less students on his hands," Hyunjin bargained, and you had to agree. The two of you returned your pens and notebooks to your bags, before sneaking down the side of the room and departing.

You heaved a sigh of relief once you were out in the cool, empty hallway. "It's like a zoo in there," you remarked.

"C'mon, let's find the first clue," Hyunjin urged you, and you giggled and his eagerness. He seemed just as excited about this scavenger hunt as you, and it was adorable. You didn't want to dwell too much on the implications of this - your crush shouldn't be so over the moon that you had a secret admirer - and so you pushed that train of thought out of your mind. You got to spend the day with Hyunjin, and he had the sweetest smile on his face. That was the main thing.

"Hey, Mr. Lee," Hyunjin greeted the librarian when you reached the library. 

"How many times have I asked you not to call me Mr. Lee?" Minho grumbled. "You make me sound like an old man." The man was only a few years older than you and Hyunjin, and was understandably a lot more lenient than most staff at your school. He was more like a friend or an older brother than a teacher, which made the library a pretty fun place to be.

"We're on a scavenger hunt," you shared with Minho. "I have a secret admirer."

"Oh yeah?" he asked, raising an eyebrow at you two. "Where's the secret?"

"Huh?" you asked, not understanding his question, before Hyunjin interrupted, ushering you towards the window. You reached the computer, lifting the mousepad to find another note.

Congratulations! You've found the first clue. Now, go to your locker for the next one.

"All the way back?" you muttered. "This seems more like a wild goose chase than a scavenger hunt. Let's go." The two of you made your way across the school yet again.

"Don't peek at my combination," you pretended to threaten Hyunjin when you reached your locker. He raised an eyebrow, but covered his eyes with his hand nonetheless, before peeking between his fingers. You laughed at his antics, before unlocking the door.

"Hey," you identified the clue right away. "This definitely wasn't here this morning." A starbucks gift card, with yet another note attached. 

Have a drink on me. Chan will guide you to your next clue!

"Wow, whoever this person is, they're generous," Hyunjin commented. 

"And they're friends with Chan," you mused. Chan had graduated the year before, and was now studying at the local college, aside from working at starbucks.

"That lead is useless, everyone is friends with Chan." You had to agree with that statement - Chan was so warm and friendly, it seemed like he knew everyone.

"Should we go?" you asked. "We're already cutting class, I guess it doesn't make much difference if we leave campus."

"You really value your education, Y/N, that's something I love about you." You lightheartedly rolled your eyes at Hyunjin, as he smirked at you.

Twenty minutes later, you arrived at starbucks, finding it mostly empty, which made sense as the lunch rush had likely just ended. 

Chan's face split into a wide grin when he saw you enter. "Oh hey! Hyunjin-"

"Hey, Chan!" Hyunjin blurted back.

"I heard you have a clue for us, Chan," you beamed, resting your arms on the counter.

"I do," he affirmed. "But first, let me take your order."

You slid the gift card onto the counter as you browsed the menu, delighting over the speciality Valentine's drinks. "I know Valentine's day is mostly just a capitalist scam, but wow these pink drinks are adorable." Hyunjin laughed at your cynicism, his eyes forming happy crescents.

"I'll take a strawberry shortcake frappuccino. Hyunjin?"

"Cherry mocha, please."

"Coming right up," Chan confirmed. "So, how's your scavenger hunt going?"

"Well, so far we've gotten free drinks so I'd say it's going pretty great," you said.

"Any idea on who this guy could be?" Chan asked, looking between you and Hyunjin. 

"Hmm. I'm not sure," you said, thinking.

"Who do you want it to be?" Chan asked, his eyes twinkling in a way that made you think he knew more than he let on - you felt your cheeks heat up. You hadn't thought your crush on Hyunjin was particularly obvious. 

"That's a very personal question, Chan," you diverted, hoping Hyunjin didn't pick up on your blushing cheeks.

"So, the clue," Chan said as he handed you your drinks. "I'm supposed to give you this key. It's for the lockers at the beach."

"The beach..." you commented, taking the key from Chan. "Thanks."

"Have fun, kids," he responded, smiling broadly.

"This feels like a strange day to go to the beach," you said to Hyunjin as you left starbucks, sipping your drink. The two of you were bundled up in coats and hats, and there was still a dusting of snow on the ground. Winter's cold chill hadn't yet departed. "Whatever," you shrugged with a smile. "I love the beach."

The sun had peeked out through the clouds by the time you got to the beach, not making any effort to warm you up, but providing you with some sunlight nonetheless. 

"Before we check the locker," you proposed, "Should we get an ice cream?"

Hyunjin shook his head at you. "Y/N, you just had a frappuccino, that's basically ice cream."

"It's not the same thing!" you defended. "Being at the beach just makes me want ice cream."

"Okay, sure," Hyunjin agreed. "Let's get ice cream." 

While you and Hyunjin entered the beachside cafe with the intent of buying ice cream, you ended up browsing the gift shop, admiring the little trinkets and oddities on sale. You sat inside the cafe with your cones, watching the ocean waves crash together through the window, as it was much warmer inside. 

"I wonder how long this scavenger hunt is gonna be," you thought aloud.

"Are you having fun?" Hyunjin asked, finishing off his ice cream.

"Yeah," you beamed. "I can't believe someone would go to all this effort just for me."

"You're a special person, Y/N," Hyunjin said, making your heart flutter. "Should we go to the locker now?"

"Let's just go for a walk first," you suggested. "The beach is so pretty."

The two of you walked side by side, gloved hands brushing against each other every few steps. With winter's short days and early nightfalls, sunset approached quicker than you realised, and you supposed you should probably go to the locker before the day reached its end.

You stood, key in hand, hesitating. 

"What's up, Y/N? Aren't you excited?" Hyunjin asked, sounding concerned. 

You sighed. The sunset's golden rays cast their light upon Hyunjin, and he looked positively angelic. "Well, yeah. It's been a really exciting day."

“So what’s the problem?” he asked, frowning.

“It wasn’t exciting because of some secret admirer. It was exciting because I spent the whole day with you.” You paused, chewing on your lip anxiously. “I don’t know if I want a secret admirer, Jinnie. I feel so guilty, because they prepared such an amazing day for me, but… I like you, Hyunjin.”

Immediately after you stopped speaking, Hyunjin burst into a fit of laughter. Immense, clutching his stomach, gasping for breath laughter. You were stunned into silence by his reaction, so incredibly mismatched to what you’d just shared. You were torn between hurt, frustration, and utter confusion.

“What’s so funny?” you demanded, your voice a little shaky.

Hyunjin wiped a tear away from his eye. “You don’t need to feel guilty, Y/N. I’m your secret admirer. I prepared this whole day for you.”

“Oh,” you mumbled, before giggling along with him. “Well, thank you.”

Hyunjin took your hand in his, smiling at you. “Open the locker.” You did as he instructed, turning the key and swinging open the door only to gasp at what it revealed. A bouquet of flowers, pink, red and white roses, along with a small box.

“Hyunjin, they’re beautiful,” you breathed, before picking up the box. You opened it to find a necklace, a delicate silver chain with a beautiful diamond pendant hanging from it. “You didn’t need to do this,” you assured him, examining the breathtaking jewel.

He shrugged nonchalantly. “I like you, Y/N. I wanted to. Plus, good luck topping this next Valentine’s day.”

You leaned in, pressing a kiss to Hyunjin’s cheek, which blushed brightly following the impact, succeeding in shutting him up. You laughed, joy radiating from deep within you. You had to admit it, he was right - you had one hell of a challenge waiting for you next Valentine’s day.

[insomniac-dot-ink]

The Hopping Lamp Post

The night was thick with sugared darkness that left my neighborhood feeling grainy and unreal in the velvet insides of night. I was hunched over on the sidewalk with my back to the front door.

“You can’t just come home at all hours of the night and expect--” “I told you I was at work!”

“Work my ass!”

“Can’t I come home from a long day without being…”

The voices screeched back and forth like alley cats defending their own piss-smelling crevice of the street they owned. I flinched and knew I didn’t want to go back inside. Never, ever, I could stay outside in the grim darkness for as long as it took no matter how much my mom hollered and pulled out her hair.

I used dirt to doodle circles in the cement in front of me and lost myself to the rough feel of the smeared earth. I was studying it like a painter studies the face of a subject when I heard the front door open.

“Where is that girl?” I jerked myself to my feet and scurried away down the street. My mom wasn’t so determined as to go anywhere past our front lawn. The neighborhood was hushed with little moths zapping at porch lights and windows all but empty black eyes staring out.

I wandered away from our block and it was only when I couldn’t see our house anymore that I let out my held breath. I blinked a few times as mist started twisting off the ground in haunting tiny spirals.

I turned around in circles as I watched the ground grow foggy and it wasn’t until I looked up that I saw it.

I stood up straight like the pads of my feet had been electrocuted. Right at the end of the street standing proudly tall and stiff was something that shouldn’t be there. I rubbed my eyes with my fists until little white spots appeared.

I opened my eyes again to find the same black metal thing with a glittering white light ahead. It wasn’t like any of the other lamp posts on the block-- not tall and tired bent metal and a hanging dull yellow light.

It was finely crafted with indents like a roman column and a curved neck with a hanging lantern at the end that gave off light like snowfall and stars. I took a cautious step toward it. It took a step back.

“What?” My brow folded in.

I edged closer and the thing edged back. I looked down and found that through the mist and unfurling curls of clouds that there was some sort of foot at the bottom of the lamp post. “Well that ain’t right.” I muttered and took a few hurried steps closer.

It leaned back from my presence like a fancy lady from a corner bum, but it wasn’t fast enough. I managed to get a few feet from the lamp post and squint up at its tall metal body.

“Where you from?” I asked as I would any stranger from out of town. It hopped back and I followed. I was on Wilkinson street now with more faceless tiny beige and grey houses that bled out into the highway. I couldn’t hear the busy traffic right then though.

I only had eyes for the hopping lamp post.

“You come far?” I said and circled around the light like a dog with a scent. “What’chu ya doing here?”

Bugs bumped into the glass of it's head and landed on it’s metal top as if to take up residence. I was close enough now to make out the big grey feathery moths with fat bodies and tiny white moths that look like delicate fairies lost from home.

I frowned at the closest moth. It’s wings were frayed and threadbare like it had been through the wash one too many times. Another moth had two sets of wings on its back. A third one was a little firefly that could barely glow it’s little butt at all.

“Huh.” I bit my bottom lip and glanced up shyly toward the light as we strolled to the end of Wilkinson. “They’re like me, huh?” I spoke slowly in a low voice as if not to spook it.

The mist was fuming off the ground in great big fistfuls now like the whole world was a bathtub and it was determined to fog up every single mirror nearby. I couldn’t hear so much as a yapping dog by then and no whir of cars that should still be running at this hour.

I gathered myself a little closer to the lamp that gave another enormous hop forward in a jerking unsteady motion. I glanced up to see that a bat was hovering close to the light. It’s tiny body was fury and it flapped mechanically by the side of the light. From head to foot it was pure white.

“Like me . . . ” I murmured and brought a hand up toward my chest to fist my shirt. “Wrong.”

I had never been wrong in the way people could tell. They couldn’t point at me and say “there’s that wrong girl!” But I had never had a teacher that hadn’t given me funny looks for my questions and hadn’t gone to a family reunion without an auntie muttering “that one’s a little off in the head” to another auntie.

I looked down as to not focus on the white bat or the double-winged moth or any of the other creatures that were pulled to the light of the lamp post. I stopped in place as I peered at the ground, but the ground didn’t seem to be there. It seemed to have fallen away and I gasped.

It was just dark beneath my ratty white sneakers. I looked up and the houses were all but distant outlines from a different life. The mist was growing thicker and the only light was from the silvery glow the lamp ahead.

I clenched my teeth and inhaled sharply through my nose. “Where are we?” I looked up and the lamp was now at least several paces away. “Wait!” I ran after it. “How do I get home?” It gave another mighty hop and I wasn’t sure if I wanted to turn back or find out about more things that shouldn’t be. I gave a small glance over my shoulder and it was all mist and darkness behind us now anyway. I kept following the hopping lamp.

The darkness became almost absolute and I held my breath as the mist grew thick and tangible. It licked my cheeks like a wet kiss and my hair was heavy on my shoulders from the moisture clinging to it.

I started shivering. I didn’t want to keep looking. I didn’t want to see what was beyond that mist and dank gloom. I started to hear things. I heard deep ugly breaths from something that had be bigger than the biggest horse I’d ever seen and bigger than any dog from down the street.

It gulped down air in a deep raspy voice. In. Out. It’s nose was probably the size of a bus and it’s lungs bigger than any whale. I could smell brine and salt in the air and I couldn’t stop shivering.

To my surprise the lamp’s pace slowed. It stopped in place and it’s hanging head turned and faced me. My eyes went wide, “So you ain’t gonna just leave me after all?” I whispered and slowly reached out my hand. I put it softly on the cool metal of the lamp and we began to walk together.

I closed my eyes because I didn’t want to see the monsters we were approaching in the dark. I didn’t want to see what lay ahead. Nonetheless, I felt that warm bath of air hit me across the face and we passed the beasts.

I opened my eyes again to the sound of cars honking and an even stronger scent of salt. I turned and we were standing on a road this time with the mist still thick and dancing off the cement. Something was different.

The road was winding up a huge mountain top and on the other side was the twilight dusk and an ocean that spanned as far as I could see. It was a shifting flatness with pools of blue midnight and frothing white waves out in the distance. I smiled broadly. “I’ve never seen the ocean.” A car passed with it’s headlights blinking and it was like no car I had ever seen before. It’s windows were too broad and lamps too bright. The figure inside was shadowed and strange with hands made out of smudgy murkiness and a shrouded face.

I steadied myself. “Alright,” I put my hand back on the lamp post. “Let’s keep going.” We walked through that world of ocean and ghosts. I closed my eyes and we passed between another darkness with the sounds of sleeping monsters and into new unknown places. We entered a world of dirt roads that led past unkempt green gardens with fruit like diamonds and rubies. We went through nights that were all storms with lightning flashing out on the horizon and people that were shaped like angels flying out toward it.

The sun never rose and we never stopped walking. It could have been a lifetime. It could have been just that night and nothing else. I oohed and awed at the strange sights and smells of ozone and sunshine. It was only in that third darkness that my legs started to complain and my eyes started to droop and betray me.

The lamp slowed its pace to an inching crawl.

“It’s alright.” I yawned. “I don’t wanna go back.” I said softly with my eyes closed. We walked into the darkness of beasts once more. “But I gotta. Don’t I?”

Something landed on my shoulder as we went into a new road made of crushed white shells and with running water the color of mirrors besides us. Little floating lights dancing just above the surface of the river and I blinked at a giant moth perched on me. She had white feathery feelers and wings with grey eyes in the center. She was missing an eye on the right side of her face and I smiled at her.

“Well hey there,” She was the size of a kite and her little legs tickled my shoulder. “You’re not from where I’m from.” I said with a nod, “you’re awful pretty though. You all tangled up about going home too?” She moved her feelers up and down and cocked my head to the side. “It’s not so bad. But it’s not so good either.” I shivered from somewhere deep inside of me and gave her a sad smile. “I just . . . can’t seem to get myself to turn around yet.” The moth gave me a long look before she took off from my shoulder. She flapped away into the moonlight of this strange land and the lamp post simply sat in place. I made a face, “now you feel like stoppin?”

The lamp post simply angled it’s face to the sky.

I followed it with my eyes. It was a long few minutes in the cold damp air with the water rushing besides and lights flitting around. I waved when the moth finally returned with something between her feet. She was carrying something that shone with the force of gold teeth in the mouths of rich men. I opened my hand and the moth dropped a single coin into my hand.

“Oh,” I breathed and held up a golden metal disk. The front held face I didn’t recognize in any way on it.

A queen maybe. She was in profile on the coin with a half-smile, her eyes closed, and crown of light on her head. I made a hiccup of sound as the coin fit snuggling in my palm and gave off a strange burning warmth.

I turned it over and over in my hands and ran my fingers over squiggles on the back that could only be words. I sucked in breath. “What’s this for?” The moth only turned around and suddenly it was flying back toward the way we came. The lamp turned too and I frowned. In a twist that was more ironic than not the lamp started to follow the moth.

"Wait for me!" I trailed after.

We went back through the beast realm. Back through the night garden of jewels and back through the storm lands of angels and mountains of ghosts. We returned to my street with the slanted roofs and scraggly lawns.

I held the coin hard in my hands and turned to the lamp post. “Thank you.” I said with a nod as you’re supposed to for helpful strangers. “I’ll remember this, always.” I wasn’t sure if I was brave enough to return yet, but the lamp bent its long head and the light caught in my eyes. I looked down and the words on the coin righted themselves like soldiers called to duty all at once.

“Be brave,” I read the words and traced them with my fingers. “Because the light will always come.” I blinked and the words remained just as the lamp kept hopping down the street on its endless trek. I slowly waved goodbye in the way of children who are able to accept things that shouldn’t be but are.

I turned and went back into my house just as the night was losing its shape and the sun broke across the heavens. And I was going to be brave for however long it took until the light came again.

--------

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[dainarps]

Suddenly Husbands

Palm fronds tickled Leilani’s legs and ankles as he danced with some of the other children, adults nearby playing out rhythms on drums, small ukuleles and wooden flutes. Lelani had been practicing traditional dance among his people since he was a child — not that he wasn’t a child now. He was young, only thirteen, on the cusp of puberty and grasping desperately for adulthood.

The next week would be one of his first tests. His parents, Chief Kupe and Chieftess Rangi, would be sailing away to one of their sister kingdoms to work on trade negotiations, and Leilani was going to be left to lead with the aid of the elders — all friendly, kind elves who had helped him grow, each teaching him different aspects of his culture to round him into a great chief. Their people had grown in the ancient days from men living in grass huts with no rulers or leaders, to a sophisticated kingdom, with many cities and townships, with buildings made of earth and stone, hidden in and among the trees of the rainforest and creeping out of the cliffs to the rocky shoreline below. His elders had taught him to respect the old traditions, the arts, their native language and practices, as well as embracing the new. He learned the common language of the land, learned diplomacy, and even spent time attending meetings with the children of other leaders — though, he mostly found this boring. He wanted to be a leader, loved and adored by all, without any of the hard stuff.

Deep, loud horns resonated across the region, and anyone out in the square looked toward the shore. The chief and chieftess were readying to leave.

Leilani was among the many people running through the crowd, his bare feet calloused enough not to get cut on the cutout stone roads, and skilled enough not to slip when jumping over the streams that broke through the city and cascaded down into the ocean below.

The stairs down to the pier were crowded, leaving Leilani with no choice but to jump. A few people on the ledge shouted as Leilani pushed off from the edge of the cliff and threw himself into the air. Rangi put her hand to her face in exasperation, and Kupe grinned, watching as his boy clumsily grabbed hold of a palm tree, slid down its branches and tumbled onto the deck of the boat, hitting it so hard that the crew winced. “You know, my little flower, one day you are going to break a bone and we are not going to let the healers take care of you, just to punish you for your recklessness,” Rangi said.

Leilani grinned and stood up, hardly caring about his bumps and bruises. “But I had to say bye, and nobody was going to let me down here!”

“Just promise me you’ll be safe while we’re away? And take good care of your people,” she replied, and Leilani nodded.

Kupe ruffled his dark hair, knocking it out of the small bun that had been tying some of it back out of his face.

“Don’t let the elders boss you around. You’re a young man now! Listen to their advice, but trust your instincts!”

“What if my instincts say everyone should celebrate the whole week, with food and music, and not go back to working until you get back?” Kupe grinned. “Well, if that’s what your instincts say. But your mother and I know you know better than that.”

Leilani nodded. He had to do a good job or he was sure that his parents would never let him rule, even after they died. They’d come back as ghosts and insist that the elders take care of everything. Leilani knew he could be a strong ruler — a good ruler — he just needed a chance to learn.

“We won’t be long — just a week. We’ll see you soon.”

Leilani exchanged quick hugs and kisses with his parents, then ran off the ship, finally allowing it to leave. He, and the many residents of their city, watched the ship go until its sail was a dot on the horizon, before returning to their day-to-day lives. Leilani, however, returned to the palace, where the elders were waiting for him. He was acting king, and there was much to be done.

By day three, he was bored of it. He had begged his parents to let him do this, and he was regretting it. He missed playing with his friends and dancing and painting. He missed having time to have fun. He was shuffled around from meeting to meeting, guided through talks with locals, reviewing laws. The elders praised him for his work, but by the time he returned to the palace he was often too exhausted to do much but eat and sleep. Funny how he could play all day, but doing this sort of stuff taxed him so much that he wanted nothing to do with it.

On day seven, the day his parents were to return, he couldn’t have been happier. He waited to hear the horns all afternoon, signaling the sight of their ship on the horizon, but they never came. They never came on the eighth or the ninth day, either. By day ten, Leilani was worried, and so were the elders. They made a call to the local priestess, asking her to scry on the matter, to find them and determine if they were in need of assistance.

No matter how hard she worked, she could not link to their souls. None of the priests or priestesses could — not even the strongest in their kingdom, not even with a drop of Leilani’s blood added into the water to guide them.

They were left with only one conclusion. The chief and chieftess — his parents — were dead.

Once the words were said out loud, Leilani felt as if he was drowning. He was drowning under the weight of their death, under his responsibilities, the things the elders were saying and suggesting. What was he supposed to do now? How was it possible that he was the chief? He was just a kid. He hadn’t finished his classes. He had no idea how to rule.

His father had told him to trust his gut…which was why he promptly vomited on the floor, after which he began sobbing.

The elders ushered the priests and priestesses away, while another took him back to his room. He was given time to mourn and grieve, the elders handling the rule, but Leilani knew he couldn’t do this forever. He’d wanted this responsibility for so long, and he didn’t want his parents, in their death, to be disappointed in him. So, fourteen days after their disappearance, Leilani emerged from his room. He wore his ceremonial clothes — loose-fitting pants with a silken shirt, decorated with golden flowers across it. Today would be his first day as chief…and there was a lot to be done.

An investigatory team was put together to discover what happened to the chief and chieftess, to learn if there were any potential outside threats they needed to worry about. Their kingdom was peaceful under this bloodline, and the people were ready to protect the family and its lands. Then, Leilani pulled out a book of spells, which he used to contact their allies and inform them of the situation. The elders knew that right now, more than ever, they needed protection. They needed to strengthen their bonds with one of the bigger kingdoms. They were small, but an important port for their allies. If word got out that the country was being ruled by a child, it was likely that outsiders may come and stage a coup. The elders wanted him to continue to rule, however, which presented a problem. If the elders took over, it would look like they had been the ones to instigate the former chief and chieftess’s deaths.

“Then marriage,” Leilani suggested. The elders seemed confused. “If I wed someone from a bigger country, our two kingdoms will be united — a joint kingdom ruled by someone of age, someone with more experience.” Leilani played a fool, but he knew what the issues were and he knew what they had to do. This was their only option. He had to share custody through marriage.

The elders looked for someone that he could one day have children with, once he became old enough, but any of the female suitors were younger, making them unfit for this plan. in fact, the only single person over 18 was a young man named Shi Shu of Ban Zhi Ze, the sky kingdom, and his council seemed very eager to pair him off.

Leilani accepted without hesitation.

He had never been to Ban Zhi Ze before, but he had heard people speak of its wonders, of how the city had long sunny days due to its position in the sky, how it was built on floating rocks, held up by ancient magic. Its people and buildings were said to be beautiful, but visiting was rare, given the semi-complicated nature of entering the city. Someone up there had to be informed that someone on the ground was trying to enter.

Leilani and the people of Pali Kai made sure to make their arrival heard. Though Leilani hadn’t been much in the mood for celebrating — it had hardly been two months since the sudden death of his parents — it was an exciting day for the kingdom. He was getting married, and the people of Pali Kai and Ban Zhi Ze would be united. They marched in a caravan, singing and playing instruments, and as they arrived at the entrance to the floating city, stairs unfurled to greet them, spiraling down from the clouds.

Leilani stared upwards and adjusted his clothes, fixing his shirt and realigning his flower crown on his head. Today, he’d be meeting his husband, and tomorrow they would be wed. Leilani knew that this would drastically change how he envisioned his life, but it needed to be done. His people came first and his heart second.

The stairs were long, but his people kept the mood up the whole time, singing despite the air getting thinner and the effort of the stairs on their lungs. He wasn’t normally anxious, but this was a big moment. His first public appearance as chief.

As they finally reached the top of the stairs, the group leading the caravan slammed hard on their drums, commanding silence from the caravan as well as the people at Ban Zhi Ze’s entrance. “People of Ban Zhi Ze! The people of Pali Kai thank you for your kindness in welcoming us into your home. Our alliance has been strong for many years, and we pray to the gods that it will be strong for many more!” One of the elders called out, his statement punctuated at the end with a few firm beats on the drums. “May I now present to you the reason for our travels, the leader and blood chief of our kingdom, son of the late Chief Kupe and Chieftess Rangi, Chief Leilani!” The crowd parted, revealing where Leilani was hidden among them, his small stature easily obscured by the taller members of his kingdom.

He raised his hand, signaling he would like to speak and silencing the raucous cheers from his people. “I would like to personally thank the people of Ban Zhi Ze for their kindness during this tumultuous time and…” Crap, he’d been practicing this over and over in his head the whole trip here. What was the last part of his statement? What was he supposed to say? “And, uh…I hope I can win Shi Shu’s heart over, and that…you all take advantage of this new bond to…take some fun beach trips? Sorry, I had this whole thing memorized, and I forgot,” Leilani said, rubbing the back of his neck while one of the elders slapped a hand to his face. “Anyway! At Pali Kai, something like this is cause for celebration, so I hope you all will be celebrating with me!” A party would be a fun distraction from the tumbling spiral his life had taken, anyway.

[shatteringsivan]

Harry Styles, dream with me, transcript

(0:00) Hello, I'm Harry Styles. And tonight, I'm going to help you drift off to sleep, with some soothing words and calming music. A sleep story, just for you. (0:24) 

(0:28) With all the business of your day, I know how hard it can be to get to sleep. So thank you for choosing this story, and me, to help you. I wish you a wonderful night's sleep. So, make yourself comfortable. Take a deep breath in, and then out. In, and then out. And when you're ready, close your eyes. (1:20)

(1:28)  Have you ever wondered, what happens when you sleep?  Where you go, and what you feel? The places that you seek. When you start to drift away, your mind becomes a book. That writes itself then fades away, before you awake to look. (2:02)

(2:11) Tonight we’re going to think about, anything you’d like. So first, let’s visualize some scenes to see us through the night. Settle back and clear your mind. We’re heading somewhere special. Beyond the world of consciousness, to somewhere more celestial. (2:44)

(2:55) I'd like you to imagine now, you're there beneath the stars. Which, when you pause to think about it, actually you are. As you focus on the darkness right before your eyes, fill the scene with glinting lights, to emulate night skies. (3:29)

(4:13) Think about the things you cherish most, and those you love. And then, allow yourself to be embraced from up above. The power of the universe, meanders through your mind. So, come with me and let’s see, what the two of us can find. (4:48)

(4:58) Lets travel now, to moonlit valleys, blanketed with heather. The kind of landscape you and I, could dream about forever. Imagine lazing on the ground, succumbing to the charms, of blades of grass. We now caress with fingertips, and palms.(5:32)

(5:41) A gentle scent of cedar wood, is floating on the breeze. A gift from mother nature, and her nearby cedar trees. We’re gazing at the night sky now, marveling at infinity. So allow your mind to wander, to a peaceful new vicinity. (6:15)

(7:00) Picture this, a rich green forest. Damp with morning dew. Inhale the morning air, as we explore, just me, and you. Leaves create mosques, in every shade of green. As gentle birdsong mingles, with the babbling of a stream. (7:33)

(7:44) Dappled sepia sunlight, cuts through branches overhead. As dew drops fall from leaf to leaf. Like glistening strands of thread. The dew drops finally coalesce, forming satin beads.  Occasionally, they kiss our chicks.small pleasures, quenching needs. (8:17)

(8:26) Holding hands, we stroll. Until we chance upon a brook. Its cool, clear, water, mirroring our faces as we look. The shimmering reflection, show us smiling from above. The word we think, but dare not speak, is L-O-V-E, love. (9:01)

(9:45) Now, we snuggle on a raft. And drift for endless hours. As willow trees sway in the breeze, and blossoms fall in showers. Gently swaying to and fro, we look up at the sky. And watch the clouds above us, forming shapes, as they pass by. (10:19)

(10:28) The wisps of cloud, swirl slowly, tinged with tangerine and pink. And as they fade, the sunset, gives us cause to muse and think. Of places we should visit. and oceans we could cross. For some who wander through this world, there’s grace in being lost. (11:02)

(11:11) Passing by a waterfall, our thoughts sway two and fro. And time begins to fade and blur. beneath the moons pale glow, a symphony of tumbling water lulls and mesmerizes, nature’s soundtrack to our dreams, assumes so many guises. (11:46)

(12:31) Strolling on a sidewalk now, as rain begins to fall. Its gentle, pitter patter, holds us deep within its thrall. The raindrops’ rhythm briefly slows, then, intensifies. Peaceful and benevolent, a gift from moonlit skies. (13:04) 

(12:14) The fragrance that the rain creates, upon the concrete surface, inspires yet relaxes us. And focuses our purpose, to shift our minds to neutral. And allow our thoughts to drift. And recognize the rainfall, as a mesmerizing gift. (13:48)

(13:59) Sheltering beneath a porch, we watch the rain pour down. Though now the time has come, to leave this dreamy moonlit town. A gentle breeze wafts through the trees, it causes leaves to stir. And then, the rain relents and fades. As time begins to blur. (13:31)

(15:17) We find ourselves upon a shore line, lounging by a lake. While crickets chirp in nearby reeds, it’s hard to stay awake. The scene feels like a watercolor. Soft, diluted tones, as looking down, we see each other. Laughing, skimming stones. (15:51)

(16:00 ) The stones skip on the gleaming lake, and ripples start to form. And though the sun has dipped from view, we feel content and warm. Herons drift on thermals(?) high upon a sun bleached pier. And in the trees beyond the lake, we glimpse a passing deer. (16:34)

(16:44) Strands of cloud unfurl like ribbons in the orange sky. Mirrored on the lake now, like a painted butterfly. In the distance, mountains beckon. Kept with pristine snow. The kind of sight that dreams evoke, when hearts and minds let go. (17:18)

(18:02) Contemplating nothingness, a scene take shape before us. And as it sharpens in our thoughts, we hear a distant chorus. The dampened sound of silence, that only snow can bring, surrounds us with its calming vibes, and touches us within. (18:35)

(18:48) Glistening snowflakes fall in flurries. mountain rivers freeze. The powdery slopes look beautiful. And fresh snow dusts the trees. Somehow now, we’re in a cabin, taking in this view. As a fire crackles in the corner, just for me and you. (19:24)

(19:32) We linger for a moment. Or maybe it’s been hours. For when we blink and look again, our vistas waft(?) in flowers. Another destination lures us. Closer now it seems. Perhaps its real, or just another chapter in our dreams. (20:04)

(20:50) Drifting in and out of sleep, our thoughts take us elsewhere. To an island fringed by swaying palms, lush beyond compare. A path winds through the mangroves, towards a distance beach. That underlines the turquoise ocean. now, within our reach. (21:23) 

(21:32) Eventually, we feel the powdery sand, right beneath our feet. The sun above now blessing us, with gentle, soothing heat. We hear the lilting sound of surf, breaking up ahead. While spiral shells and pearly shards, determine where we tread. (22:07)

(22:16) Finally, a lapping wave, engulfs our sandy feet. It seems to pause and ruminate, then gradually retreat. We dig our toes, in cool, wet sand. Then sit and face the sea. And let the sand wash over us. Alone just you, and me. (22:51)

(23:50) Staring at the nothingness, that stretches on forever. Our thoughts dovetail and unify. In tune, two minds together. As minutes turn to hours, we drift off somewhere new. And visualize a stairway. To a door, we now walk through (24:08) 

(24:18) Imagine now, a meadow, on a balmy afternoon. Birds, and bees, and rustling trees. Create a summer tune. Flanked by fields of sunflowers, hand in hand we walk. As the gentle sound of nature, surrounds us while we talk. (24:52)

(25:02) Sunflowers give the scenery a warm, and golden hue. While hazy sunshine softens, our idyllic, rustic view. As we roam past hedgerows, a farmhouse sits alone. Its open shutters pressed against, uneven walls of stone. (25:36)

(26:21) A garden winds around the house, and daisies poke through grass. A bench thats lived through countless summers, creaks as we walk past. We wonder if the house is empty. Once loved, but no longer. The thought of passing times inspires, a feeling that grows stronger. (26:54)

(27:04) This feeling washes over us, lost between a sigh. And as the sun begins to set, we stop and wonder why. Gravity caresses us, it pulls you close to me. Then the scene begins to fade, our new reality. (27:37)

(27:48) Deeper, gradually deeper. We drift and now, transcend. To unfamiliar places, too surreal to comprehend. Slowly, we capitulate as sleep begins to call. Entwined in dreams, and shifting scenes, we drift and gently fall. (28:22)

(29:06) Friendly faces, glorious places. Things we hope to do, intertwine with snapshots. Some of me, and some of you. Moonlit valleys, verdant forests, gazing at the ocean. Summer meadows, tranquil sunsets, Steeped in pure emotion. (29:39)

(29:48) The tenderness we feel when we are close, two minds as one. Surrounds us, and connects us. But we’ve only just begun. For now, we dream together. Of all that is to follow. And know that sleep will keep us safe. From now, until tomorrow. (30:23)

(30:34) Maybe all the memories that we’ve gathered here tonight, are all dreams now remembered, or wishes in plain sight. No matter what, they're with us now. For this night and forever. And every time we close our eyes, they’re yours and mine to treasure. Goodnight, and sleep well. (31:15)

[di-kut]

Oberyn Martell x Reader: Vermillion, vivacious, and vex. "You will accept the betrothal for her sake, or you may not see her again."

Birdie baby, this is for you. I hope you like it. I’m sorry it’s taken so long. 

Words: 5k

Summary: A short introduction of the events leading up to a mini series I am working on. We see Oberyn’s journey to King’s Landing and his first day in the capital. 

Warnings: mentions of abuse, mentions of death, canon typical violence, canon typical sexual themes

There are songbirds in Dorne which sing each morning as the sun rises, and each night again as it sets. Nest high on Sunspear and dive down from their perches in flurries of brilliant red, feathers like fire against the blue ocean. Oberyn’s mother would sit with him and Elia and tell them stories of the songbirds who are in love with the sun, of the sadness of fading love and of the dawn of the new each morning. They dance for the dawn and for the night and sing for the light of the day. A bright, beautiful song, part of the crashing waves against the shore below, part of home, of Dorne. They have sung every day of Oberyn’s life, and in the days before that, and in the days which will come after. But the day Elia died the birds did not sing.

The news come of the Royal Wedding when Oberyn and Ellaria are away from Sunspear.

Their retinue is quick to pack and to move. To start the journey to arrive back to Sunspear before the ships sail north, to meet with Doran. The air all around them is heavy with sorrow, and with anger. Oberyn is quiet in his fury, and Ellaria is quiet as well, until on their second night travelling when she is not anymore. Is explosive in her anger towards Oberyn. And he returns it, his head filled with the injustices done to his family, to his sister. With thoughts of the Mountain and of the Lannisters. He does not sleep well that night, even after apologies are passed between them, wakes restlessly and listens to the sounds of the camp around them. Thinks of the months which has passed since he had held Ellaria in his arms and finds he misses her. Not in the way he would have expected.

The road is dry and dusty from months without rain. Ellaria rides close to him through the day, reaches for his hand on his reins, and clutches it tightly. Tells him she is scared of what he will do, what will be done to him. That she will be with him through whatever comes. Oberyn holds her hand but he has no words of comfort for her.  

A storm is carried in from the ocean as they ride, it brings no rain but heavy thunder like the sound of gods screaming, and strikes of lightning all around them. Forks of white fire which leave scarred patches against the land. Hits a tree in their path. A gnarled, old trunk which splinters with a sound like the earth crackling. Its trunk, white with age, turned now black and charred, falls onto the road and it takes the rest of the day and some of the night to clear it. Use what they have cut from the trunk to fuel their fires that night and Oberyn thinks they are burning something ancient. Some piece of the world which is lost to them. The others murmur about the storm, about the trip to King’s Landing, about omens. Oberyn stretches his feet before the fire and watches as the log nearest him hisses and spits a plume of red sparks into the dark sky to disperse amongst the stars, the clouds of the storm passed.

He sleeps with his back to Ellaria that night and thinks of the smell of the old world burning. He dreams of dragons, and of Elia.

When they arrive in Sunspear Doran has the quiet look of knowing about him when he sees Oberyn. But he says nothing, gives him no cautions, makes no inquiries. And as they eat together that night Oberyn knows he is thinking of Elia as well. They eat in private, just the two brothers, on a balcony overlooking the black ocean glimmering with silver stripes in the moonlight. The last of the songbirds sing a song of mourning for the setting sun high above them. They drink deep from their cups, and in the morning, Doran lays a hand on Oberyn’s shoulder in warning.

“Do not do anything in haste, brother.” Doran’s eyes are heavy and dark. “I have lost enough to the Iron Throne.”

“We have lost blood, Doran. And it is blood we will get in return.”

Doran lets his hand fall to his side and sits back further in his chair. “And whose blood will you give me, Oberyn?”

Oberyn makes no answer. When he passes Ellaria she rests a hand light against his back and he brushes the warm skin at the top of her arm. Does not miss the look she shares with Doran before they mount for the journey to their waiting ship. The whole party is quiet through the streets of Dorne, are quiet as they make the ship ready, and as they use the oars deep in the belly of their vessel to cut out through the still water until they break the open ocean and unfurl the sail. And only then do the voices raise, as salt and wind and sea seem to wash away the gloom of travelling North.

.

The first blood is Lannister blood. The blade makes a wet, slick sound as it slides out from the man’s flesh. The spurting from the wrist is instant, red like the Lannister banner. Covering the man’s arm and sleeve and the table and dribbling onto the floor. Oberyn steps away so it does not ruin his silks. Ellaria is there, holding a hand in his robe already. The little Lannister in the doorway is no longer speaking, watches with a falling face as the two men stumble from their table, forget the sword which is laying across it, through the door and out into the brothel proper. Oberyn allows himself to be pulled back into Ellaria’s waiting arms. He turns and wraps himself around her familiar shape, tugs her against him. Lets her pull him in closer until his mouth is almost against hers. And he cannot see her twist from him, but he feels it. Only the smallest of movements, but then she turns again, back towards him now. And her mouth is hard against his with desperate purpose. Not because she wants him but because she wants to distract him. And although he has not kissed her in months, he knows the taste of her mouth well enough to understand.

He draws back. The sound of their lips parting tears a hole through his chest, and his head is all full of the argument they had before leaving Dorne, sudden and painful. Gently holds her face with one palm, clutches the silk of her dress against her thigh in the other. Still close enough to her that he barely has to whisper for her to hear him.

“You do not have to kiss me, my love, if you do not want to.” Brushes some of the hair away from her neck.

Ellaria shudders slightly. “I know.”

He moves his head back, so that he can see her properly. Her eyes so familiar. Another home for his heart in her soul. And she looks sad. Feels further away from him than she ever has. He thinks of the way she had looked beneath him in bed. Aches for the way he used to crave the feeling of her beneath him, above him, everywhere around him. For the time before they had only shared their bed with strangers to fill the space between them. Remembers her swollen with his children, four times, her glowing pride at them. Her ferocity in her love for them now. He smiles and brushes his thumb against her cheek. Hears the light clearing of throat from the Lannister and his man in the doorway.

“Why did you come with me?” He asks her. As gentle as his thumb against her cheek.

“Because I love you.”

“I love you with all my heart Ellaria. And I know you love me.” He leans forward again now. Rests his chin against her shoulder, turns his head to murmur against her neck so that their audience cannot hear him. “And I will always love you as my truest friend. But you did not follow me here as my paramour.”

She shudders for the second time in his arms. And for a moment he thinks she will leave him. But she sinks against him, slack, and buries her face into his shoulder. “I came to stop you from being killed in this mission you have set yourself.”

He sighs and hugs her closer. Feels the shift of the space between them become relief at last, building for months. And his heart breaks again and worse because he loves her, knows his love has changed as hers has as well. And he mourns it. The slow loss of her. The slow creeping through their lives as they grew and changed. There is a brief moment of anger, of injustice, that it should happen here. In the city where Elia had been taken from him to be murdered. Is selfishly glad Ellaria is with him all the same, that she will stand by him through the pain which is to come. He presses his hand against her hair to hold her to him.

“You do not trust me?”

“I do not trust them.”

Oberyn turns his head, keeps himself pressed against Ellaria to hide the tears he can feel against his collar. Lays his cheek against her shoulder and stares down at the little golden haired man in the doorway. Tyrion Lannister. The Imp. He looks uncomfortable at the intrusion.

“Prince Oberyn.” Tyrion rocks back and forward on his heels. “I’m here to welcome you to the Capital.”

.

Oberyn thinks that the Red Keep is an appropriate name for the castle on the hill. Buzzing and full of energy and life, built like a prison. Doesn’t quite cover up the stains of blood and screams and ghosts haunting it. The wedding will be soon. All around him the gardens wear the finery to show it, banners and plumes and curtains of Lannister and Tyrell colours flutter against the blue sky. And beneath them the people of noble blood lounge in the sun and smile. Unaware that they are sitting on bones. Unaware that all around them the walls of the Keep are going to pinch and close and suffocate them all. That a thousand years ago dragons would have razed them to the ground. Sitting on stone which would have melted. Oberyn feels it everywhere, feels it pressing down against his back like watching eyes, like waves of the ocean against stone.

He moves restlessly through the walls of green and the tinkling fountains. Has not slept, did not sleep on the ship before they arrived, or afterwards. Ellaria has stayed his paramour only in name, as she had been before, to protect her from the rabble and the crowd and the hunger of the Capital. Had cried when Oberyn returned from his talk with the Imp and kissed him gently on his mouth. Had tasted of goodbyes. His anger had been only brief and faded fast into something sweeter and sadder. He held her hands and they laid back against the silk cushions alone for the first time in so long and talked. About their daughters, about his brother, about their argument. They did not speak of Elia. She still did not want him to kill the Mountain, or Tywin Lannister. Afraid of what they would do to him. And he hushed her and held her to his chest and closed his eyes until she fell asleep and the burning of the midday sun and thickness of incense made his head hurt.

Oberyn takes only a few with him to the Keep, disperses them amongst the grounds and the gardens with a wave of his hand. To make merry and to make friends and to listen. To remember everything. Oberyn wanders with no direction but with purpose. Makes his way through the broad pathed gardens, smells the headiness of the drooping flowers blossoming under the eternal summer sun, still smells the incense from the brothel lingering behind his eyes. Stops at a low wall overlooking the bay below, watches the sway of the ships in the harbour and the docks. Finds the sails of his own ship.

He moves on again, deeper into the gardens. Passes his people as he walks, some of them already mingling, others drifting through. It is Daemon who joins him as he twists through a part of the gardens closest to the walls of the Keep. Falls into step beside him in silence for some time, and then tells him of a group ahead being entertained by one of the members of the King’s Council. The Lord of Whispers, they call him. Daemon tells him there is apparently not a secret in Westeros he does not know. That there are secrets beyond the Narrow Sea whispered in his ear as well. And Oberyn smiles at this and allows himself to be drawn towards it, lets Daemon slip away as he hears the cheer of a gathering, of tinkling cups and laughter. They are around a bend in the path, had been hidden by high hedges, on a higher level overlooking the wide promenade below. Less than fifty of them in all, lazing against stone chairs and cushions and beneath tents. Handsomely dressed servants carry decanters of dark purple wine and plates of lavish arrangements of berries and fruits and nuts.

Oberyn takes the length of the promenade slowly, and as he approaches the stone steps to the higher bank, a man breaks away from the crowd. He wears well cut silks, a dark grey which ripples amongst the brighter colours all around him, the pattern on them subtle and swirling. He shuffles to the top step and sweeps his arms out widely as Oberyn starts up them in welcome. Tucks them back into his own sleeves as Oberyn climbs.

“Prince Oberyn.” The man is short, his bald head gleaming under the heat of the afternoon sun. “You find us having something of a little garden party.”

“It seems I do.”

The guests nearby all laugh as a man in red finishes some story, wine sloshes in their cups and the tinkling sound of empty glasses makes a grating tune amongst the merriment. Oberyn watches them, watches the man before him, watches the way the leaves around them sway in the wind and the boys carrying jugs of wine bead sweat in the heat of the sun. The Lord of Whispers still waits for him at the top.

“Join us,” he says.

“Well,” Oberyn laughs. He does not feel like laughing. Climbs the stairs until he is no longer eye level with the host but above him. Sees the curiosity of the onlookers as they hear his accent, see his golden robes painted with suns glimmer. Whisper amongst themselves. “I can never say no to a party.”

The Lord of Whispers finally smiles. “I am Lord Varys.”

“It seems I need no introduction.”

“I imagine that must be the case for you everywhere you go.” Varys plucks a glass of wine from a passing tray and hands it to Oberyn. “It is my occupation to know a great many things. You arrived earlier than we were expecting you.”

“Dornish ships make the journey quickly.”

Varys is still smiling. He turns slightly, bobs and bows, just slightly. Holds an arm out to beckon Oberyn ahead. And they drift amongst the small gathering, share smiles and laughs with strangers. And his easy smile makes them think he does not notice the way they follow him, the way they stare at the proud suns on his robes, the orange of house Martell beneath, bright against his skin, open almost to his navel. They turn through the tents, and Oberyn finishes his wine. Picks out another. Varys stays by his side and chatters through it all. Gossips about his own guests and waits for Oberyn to return his secrets with secrets. Is patient through it all, but his hidden hands make Oberyn’s own twitch, and his greedy eyes make Oberyn talk only of things which do not matter.

“How are you enjoying the Capital, Prince Oberyn?”

Oberyn leans against the low wall of the garden ledge with his elbows. Presses his back against it. Drinks another sip of the wine. Weak, although it is so rich in colour. He thinks for a moment and then smiles with all his teeth. “It is exactly as I expected it.”

“I see.”

Below them, the promenade is mostly empty but for a trio of palace guards, walking along the path away from them. As Oberyn turns to look over it a girl rounds the corner closest to them, her dress almost too thick for the high summer of the Capital and a dull purple. She glances at the party on the ledge and away again very quickly, her face stony and pale. Not the skin of someone who has grown up in the summer sun.

“Sansa Stark,” Varys says conspiratorially.

Oberyn hums. “The last wolf of the North. I heard about what they did to her brother and her mother. That she married the Imp, Tyrion Lannister.”

The girl is tall for her age, and there are early lines around her eyes, stricken from grief. But she cannot be older than fifteen. Holds herself straight and her chin high, but Oberyn sees her eye almost twitches when the palace guards pass her. Sees her flinch when they are close enough that one of their white capes’ snaps against the skirts of her dress. And he sees the purple bloom around her cheek, fresh and angry, a scabbed cut at the centre of it.

“A wedding present from the King,” Varys says, following Oberyn’s eyes.

“For when they married off a child to a Lannister, or for her to wear to the King’s wedding?”

Varys pulls his hands from his sleeves and locks his fingers together, rests them over his stomach. He blows air out through his teeth in a sound like he’s affecting disapproval. Likes the chance at gossip. Oberyn sees the people flitting about them, waves of silk and laughter, and wonders how many are the famed little birds of the man at his side. “Oh, both I imagine.”

“And what of her husband, he does not tell his nephew to stop?”

“Certainly not.”

“And this boy is King.”

Varys lifts his thumbs from his fingers and shrugs. “He is.”

“A king who beats women and children and holds innocent people hostages. It would seem there is a grand tradition of the types of men to sit in the Iron Throne.”

Varys sips delicately at his own wine, and skin along his forehead creasing as he lifts his brow. “She has found a good friend in the Lady from across the Narrow Sea.”

“This Lady is from Pentos?”

Varys leans in closer to him. “Tywin Lannister would like more allied a little closer to the Targaryen girl who makes a claim to the Iron Throne. I’m sure you would know all about this. Although maybe Braavos would feel a little more familiar.”

“I have heard of her.” Oberyn looks away from Sansa for the first time, glances down at his companion, at his pale, watering eyes. Has not missed the threat against himself and his brother. At the knowledge of their actions against the Baratheon King. “The girl with the dragons.”

“That is what they say, my Prince.”

Oberyn hums. “And what does this Lady from Pentos gain from her friendship with the little wolf?”

“I would hazard to say they find comfort in knowing they are both going to be married into a den of lions.” Varys has a wavering smile, watering like his eyes. Oberyn looks away from him again. Leans his hand against the stone railing, warm under the sun, hot against his fingers so that it almost burns. “Kings Landing is full of girls who are married for the ambitions of others. I’m sure you would know all about that too, Prince Oberyn.”

Oberyn only wraps his fingers tighter around his cup. Lifts it to be refilled by the cup bearer with a grim smile. Varys watches him with closeness, follows the liquid as it drains steadily, a single gulp till empty. Offers Oberyn a small bowl of berries as he fills his cup again. Oberyn shakes his head and watches until Sansa Stark disappears around the corner of the garden path and is lost in the foliage.

.

Oberyn can feel the lightness of the drink still in his walk. Had not stayed much longer with Varys. Every time he looked up at the looming walls of the Keep above them had felt the feeling of being a child once again, looking up at a tall building in front of moving clouds, like it was going to topple down and crush him. He feels the night without sleep catching up to him in the wine. Has no slept enough to have drunk so much. Had not eaten yet that day. His heart aches for Ellaria, that she would be there to give him advice. To hold his hand.

Oberyn twists and turns further into the garden, away from the Red Keep. Further from the crowds of people in the dwindling sunlight, turning the world red as it sinks into the horizon, sinks beyond the sea. Distant sounds of laughter begin to sound like screams, like cries for help, warped amongst the trees. He tricks himself into thinking about what Elia might have sounded like as she died. That the desperate pleas for the lives of her children are held in the long memories of the trunks around him. He is not quite drunk, light enough to remember the tree struck by lightning on the road to Sunspear. The smell of it burning. His steps speed up as he moves past others, countless others without names or faces and their laughter edges at his skin, beneath his nails, and grits through his teeth. Finds himself deep in the gardens of the Keep, the sound of distant waves, of laughter somewhere beyond hedges, but he is alone. And he forces himself to stop moving. Concentrates on slowing his erratic breathing and the urge to pull his dagger from his belt. To fight away the shadow of his sister’s ghost, following him everywhere in the heat.

The light of the sun is blazing right before it sets. And in his stillness deep in the gardens he suddenly hears it. A soft sound, almost lost in the rustle of the leaves in the sea breeze and the water crashing against rock. And despite the thickness of the trees around him Oberyn realises he must have found his way to the edge of the gardens again. Can hear the swallowing rushing of water meeting water at the delta of Blackwater Rush. And above the sound of waves he can hear a song, high and light and carried on the air, just out of reach.

He moves before he knows what he is doing. Follows the sound of the song through the deepest part of the gardens, and finds himself in an almost maze. Hedges and trees and bushes. There is no path anymore, just worn tracks through the dirt, and he picks his way through them. Sometimes a trick of light through leaves leading him to a dead end, and other times twisting back on itself so he circles, and ends further from the singing than when he began. But like a man possessed he follows it. Finds a stone wall separating the wood beyond from the garden proper. Overgrown with climbing vines and leaves. He can hear the singing here most clearly, a sad and beautiful voice just beyond. He rests his hand against the wall and begins to follow it slowly along, his fingers bumping over dips in the stone and his rings catching against vines. Until his hand slips and plunges into leaves alone. So thick he missed the spot where the wall has a break in it. A hidden doorway, concealed in the hanging vines.

Oberyn stops before it, drops his arm back to his side. Watches the leaves dance slightly on the wind. Rustle like silk. The singer is quiet now, but no longer distant. He has to crouch slightly to clear the top of the arch.

He slips first his hand, his elbow, then his whole arm. Parts the tangle of green with his other hand and ducks beneath the stone. The air is cooler beyond the curtain of leaves, a small alcove. Taller inside so that he can stand straight. There is a small stone bench carved into one wall, the crumbling rock held together by the vines and blooming all over with fragrant white flowers. The smell of them light and sharp, not heady like the flowers of the groomed promenades of the main gardens. Enclosed all around him but for the arch behind him and another ahead, filtering light and more garden beyond. The forgotten room has a dragon carved into stone over the archway ahead.  

Oberyn makes his footsteps silent with practiced ease. Moves carefully. Inches forward and stops before his boots touch the reaching tips of the evening sun through the arch. The garden is small, surrounded all by walls and trees beyond those, and a little part of Oberyn realises that beyond the garden lies the godswood. At its centre there is a small bubbling fountain, not the type favoured by the Lannisters, but more of a trickle. The sound of a fresh stream. It is overgrown and filled with twisting plants and leaning trunks. Cluttered in its neglect. But Oberyn does not linger on those things for long.

There is a woman sitting on a low bench by the fountain. Her hands work steadily over a piece of silk, her needle rhythmic and deft, the catch of blue thread weaving in and out almost hypnotic. A lighter blue than the deep colour of her gown. She faces away from him, so Oberyn glimpses only just the roundness of her cheek through a thick curtain of red hair, dark and rich and in the dwindling light blazing like flames. And her voice. Quiet but echoing everywhere around him, through the garden and against the walls and filling the space of the alcove with song. Like the sound of dawn breaking a grey sky, lighting the darkness of the ocean. And beneath it the crashing of the waves against the shore. And his mother’s voice whispering in his ear of songbirds who are in love with the sun, who mourn the sunset, who sing for fading love.

Oberyn has to turn and press his back to the inside of the little hidden room, out of sight of the garden. He slides slowly down the wall until he is sitting against the cool ground, lays his head back against the wall and closes his eyes. And when his eyes are closed he cannot hear the sounds of Elia screaming, or the laughter of the people from the Keep. He can hear the sound of the ocean and the song filling his head and he can breathe. He pushes his feet to the ground and his elbows to his knees. The heels of his palms into his eyes and he feels drunker than he knows he is. Wishes he were in Sunspear so he could cry like the songbirds in mourning for his sister. He sits there until the last light winks over the walls of the garden and turns the world purple. Purple like the silk of the Stark girl’s dress. Like the bruise around her eye. And he thinks he will ask Daemon about her, about the little wolf, and thinks somehow at the same time that he does not wish to know. Until finally he feels steady enough to push himself to his feet and slip back through the hidden doorway and out into the world.

Oberyn finds himself in a deeper part of the gardens in the dusky purple light. The sound of waves is distant here, has turned to the rushing of water over stone, a river where the sea rushes towards the heart of Westeros. There are no people in this part of the gardens, more of a wilderness now, and he is glad for the chance of being alone. Of trying to clear the aching from his chest from the sound of the song. Still ringing in his ears. Is so distracted that the sound of voices does not stop him until he is almost upon them, just around the next bend. He presses himself to the trunk of the tree nearest him, not ready to see others. Not ready to smile easily at them and play at bravado.

He waits until they are gone before he finds his way back to the main gardens.

The light in Kings Landing lingers on into the night, and the Red Keep is dark and looming and the colour of blood in the long twilight.

Perm tags: @btillys @vercopaanir @damndamer0n @starwarsiscooliguess @space-floozy @hopplessdreamer

[booatlantis]

Enlightenment (short story)

For a long time I wanted to pack up and leave. Sell my car, quit my job, and travel the world with whatever I could carry on my back. Somehow I would find myself in China where I would shave my head, don the traditional robes and pray in tune with my bald-headed brothers. Or India where I would embrace spirituality and practice yoga, meditating amongst the best gurus. But then there’s Europe, the home of the Age of Enlightenment.

But, was it really enlightenment I was looking for?

Because, as much as the thought crossed my mind, the idea terrified me. The thought of travelling the world alone with limited resources, stepping into the unknown, it made me wonder how people did it. What if I died alone in a hotel room? What if I was found dead on the streets? What if I just disappeared?

Maybe it wasn’t enlightenment I was searching for, maybe it was simply an escape route. An escape from the system. A system which secures us, tight. Yet, despite being trapped we live in fear, fear of falling from the system, of missing a beat and being cut out of the cycle, to be left with nothing. Nothingness is the void where the unknown lies. Where will we sleep? What will we eat? How will we live? We cannot escape the system. Well, people like us at least. Those who are slaves to the system, who work to the bone for the minimum wage in order to scrape by and pay rent at the end of the month. Scanning your barcodes, cleaning your corridors, taking your orders. We are the ones under the thumb of the one percent. Victims of the pay gap, pounders of the glass ceiling, children of technology.

The part of my being that searches this escape, this mad hunt for enlightenment tells me to suck it up. People die every second. People are dying on the streets from starvation brought on by poverty whilst others are necking pills that will send them into eternal slumber, too tired to keep on living. In one part of the world there are those fighting for life, in another there are those fighting to escape it.

The world is fucked up.

So, maybe enlightenment wasn’t what I was looking for. I mean what would enlightenment mean? Would I find the answers to life’s questions? Would I find a way to stop wars and end world poverty? You find enlightenment then what? You discover why the world exists and why we’ve been put on it for what purpose? To die in peace? No, because who knows what’s next? Will we just stop existing, like turning off the TV or is there something more, like switching channels?  

Who knows, man?

I think what humans really want is something other than enlightenment. We want to be free. What of exactly? Well, that varies. In general, however, of the shackles that bind us. The bonds that ground us and keep us bound to this earth. To cut those bonds is to be free, but this comes at a price as we lose the things worth living for. We are left to simply drift into the endless void.

So, where does this leave us?

We want freedom yet fear the uncertainty that comes with it. Uncertainty could lead to death. When we master the fear of death, maybe we can be free.

Right now, I stand at its borders.

A strange rush comes with this.

Effectively, Death is always lurking at our shoulders. His cold fingers trace their way down our spine from time to time, sending shivers through our bodies. His breath cold on our necks making the hairs on our arms stand on end. When our eyes grow heavy with sleep and we suddenly feel ourselves falling, jolting our bodies awake before drifting off again, that is Death testing us. Death likes to check in every now and again.

Normally Death is lurking in the background out of sight, shrouded by the shadows which fall in corners or which lie beneath trees until his hand stretches upwards to touch their green leaves, turning them to deep ambers and reds before letting them fall to the ground, brown and crisp.

However, now I am above Death. I look down on Him. Below, waves crash against rocks, the heavy whoosh is Death cooing, mocking me. The grey skies have turned the waters dark and uninviting. I watch the waves move back and forth in a somewhat gentle motion until rising up high and unfurling in a torrent against the cliff side, white salt spray raining upwards.

When I was a child I never liked the ocean. I found it daunting. I was scared that it would drag me away and I would be lost. It wasn’t the thought of drowning that scared me. The ocean was huge, unending and filled with mystery. The total vastness of the ocean is what terrified me. So vast it almost made me feel claustrophobic, like there was a weight on my chest. I felt so small stood on the ocean’s shore, insignificant.

I take a drag on my cigarette. I breathe in deeply and sigh the smoke out of my mouth and watch it drift away in the breeze. Oh, sweet nicotine, my one vice. I realize I’m smoking outdoors and there are no bins nearby to chuck my butt in. Now, I’m not the type of person to go flicking fag ends into the sea, after all cigarette butts are a huge pollutant and we don’t want to upset Mother Nature unnecessarily. Humans have done enough as it is. Instead, I stub the end out on the sole of my boot and flick the end over my shoulder. Out of sight out of mind.

I dust off my hands and take a step closer towards the cliff edge. As I look over the edge down towards the dark waves I crack my knuckles nonchalantly. Still looking down I remove my denim jacket and drop it to my side. I then unlace my boots and kick them to the other side. I am left standing in a pair of blue skinny jeans and a white tank top. I wonder whether to remove them as well and decide against it. Death could be a perv.

The view is dizzying, but I know it will be over soon. I suck in my breath, close my eyes and taking a step I allow myself to fall from the cliff’s edge. My stomach drops. I slip away, free falling faster than I could have imagined. For a moment I am falling, the air whips my skin and then suddenly my body is consumed. The shock of the cold forces my eyes open.

I float weightlessly in this dark chasm. The waves carry my body as I stare up towards the top of the water which glistens with silver sparkles. The darkness is expanse and I struggle to catch my bearings. Yet, where was there for me to go? Until my body hits something hard and pain shoots through my body and I realise the waves have carried me back towards the bottom of the cliff. My body spirals and the air is knocked out of my chest. Salt water fills my mouth, burning my throat before filling my lungs. I can no longer breathe. A strange sensation flutters through my chest. Not panic, nor fear.

My already darkened vision begins to blur, yet before my eyes close the shadows of the waves appear to blacken and shift in new motions like the shadow of the Reaper’s cape. My body feels cold. Bubbles escape from my mouth and drift upwards, carrying my final breaths with them.

I close my eyes and my world turns to black.

Hello, Death.

  *

  My body is screaming. I groan in pain. Waves wash against my feet and my mouth tastes like the ocean. I cough and water spills from between my lips. I roll onto my left side and spit out the water that is left in my mouth, dribbling onto the wet sand. I open my burning eyes. I watch the excess water soak and bubble into the sand before a wave washes in and then out again, pulling grains of sand in tiny streams. Slowly my thoughts come together and I realise I am lying on the beach with burning insides and what feels like a dislocated shoulder.

I am wet, cold and in pain. I am, however, not dead.

With my left hand I push myself up and grimace as pain shoots through me. My right arm hangs limply at my side. Shit. That shoulder won’t be popping back into place by itself anytime soon. Knowing what’s coming I grit my teeth. Sitting up in the wet sand, with my left arm I clutch my black and bloody right and grit my teeth hard, my neck and jaw straining. I brace myself before forcing my shoulder back into place. The sound of my bones and joints popping against each other makes my eyes roll back and I throw up runny liquid and more salt water to my side which is soon washed away. I cough and splutter before easing myself slowly down flat onto my back. As well as the dislocation it feels like two of my ribs are broken, but there is not much I can do about them.

I stare up at the grey sky. It is still light and the sun is hidden by clouds. I can’t have been out that long. Steadily I turn my head to my right. In the distance I can see the cliff from which I jumped off of. I have been washed some distance down the beach and realise it will take me some time to make it back up to the cliff top to retrieve my belongings, especially in my current state.

My bones continue to crack and pop as they shift back into place, slowly fusing themselves back together. I stretch my arms over head and my body cracks like a glow stick- it’s painful, but it is beginning to slowly subside. I take a couple of moments before sitting up again, legs still spread out in front of me. My hair is soaked and hangs over my face in sandy waves. I pat my pockets and hear a concerning squelch from my soaked though jeans. From my pocket I pull out the remnants of a box of cigarettes. I dangle the soggy mess despairingly before dropping them onto the sand between my legs. I really needed to smoke.

Pressing my palms into the soft sand I push myself up to standing, first bending over, supporting myself with my hands on my thighs and then standing up straight, hands on my hips, breathing heavily. Waves continue to wash in as the tide approaches. I squint and grimace as I look around the beach to see that it is still deserted. Not many people head this far down the coastline, especially in this weather. I look over towards the cliff where my boots and jacket wait for me.

I begin to stumble my way back towards the cliff, carrying my aching body. I feel light, as though I am not truly here- I am still floating somewhere, but the pain weighs by body down, making me clumsy. My repairing arm aches and burns and I clutch it to my side. The sea breeze blows my hair across my face and I try to knock it away but it is no use. I carry on stumbling with my vision obscured by damp curls. As if walking on sand wasn’t hard enough already. I hate sand, the way it moves underfoot making us unsteady, each step needing added force behind it.

When I finally reach the top of the cliff again I’m out of breath, but the pain in my body has dulled to a numb ache. All my belongings are still on the ground where I had left them. I go to my jacket first, searching my pockets I find a second packet of fags and a lighter, immediately pulling a single cigarette out and placing it between my lips. I flick my lighter frantically until a small flame appears and lights up the end. I hold the fag between my fingers and inhale deeply. There’s something so satisfying about that first inhalation and not just because it instantly satiates the nicotine need, but there’s something oddly attractive about it. Before I took up smoking I would huddle close to smokers, slyly breathing in their second hand smoke, watching their hands and their lips. Someone once told me that smoking wasn’t attractive. However, I feel like this only applies to a certain type of person, or at least there exists a certain type of person who can make smoking look attractive. In my mind, I hope I am one of those people.

I let my cigarette hang from my mouth, puffing smoke. The sky has turned a soft candyfloss pink, it’s getting late. Why can’t I just set with the sun over the horizon?

My clothes are still slightly damp but the walk and the air has dried them of slightly. I brush some of the sand off my body before pulling my jacket on. My socks are still covered, so I pull them off with a stretchy squelching and bundle them up into my pocket before pulling on my boots. I check over the rest of my clothes for blood- it’s there, soaked in and salty. Holding my cigarette out I rub my eyes, flick some ash, take a puff. What does it matter? There’s no one around to judge. Well, not yet anyway.

I feel like I should head home, tired from all the excitement.

(This is a short story I wrote. Please do not share elsewhere. Also, hi thank you if you made it this far.)

[babbushka]

Thank you for hosting sindays! Can you please do star gazing with kissing #50 with BB!kylo or Egypt Kylo?

Anonymous said: Can you please give us some romance or fluff with archaeologist Kylo? I don’t have anything specific in mind, but all your ideas are great!

You’ve not got much, out there. Having walked a good mile or so away from the campsite, away from the hustle and bustle of the excavation, away from civilization you didn’t want to carry much on your back.

It’s late, pitch black all around you, pitch black except for the million of stars that illuminate the sky. You can see the swirling purple and blue clouds of the Milky Way, you can see the way a star flits across the galaxy. You’re so enraptured with the sight, that you don’t notice someone walking towards the small rectangle of a blanket that you’ve put down on the sand, the bundle of your pack that acts as a pillow.  

“Do you mind if I join you?” A deep familiar voice startles you out of your trance, and you’re glad for the dark, so that Kylo Ren might not see your smile.

“Yes.” You lie playfully, for it would be absurd to make him turn back after a mile of his own trek in the sand. You gesture to the nothingness around you, the empty expanse of desert. “I’m very very busy, as you can see.”

Kylo chuckles and unfurls a blanket of his own, sets it right down next to yours. He shuffles around a bit, and you roll your eyes almost at how long it takes for him to get comfortable atop the sand. But when he is comfortable, with his arms tucked behind his head, he is quiet and still.

“Isn’t it amazing? How we are looking at the same lights that they did? How we can turn our faces towards the night sky and connect the dots of constellations they recorded? Isn’t it incredible, to think that over the course of thousands and thousands of years, we have always been drawn to the stars?” You say, simply to have something to say, simply to have something to express.

Despite everything, you like Kylo. You like him more than you probably should, a man like him was bound to be trouble, wasn’t he? But you do, you cannot deny that you do.

Kylo sighs, moves the arm closest to you down from his head, palm resting dangerously near yours.

“I wonder if someone laid down on the earth right where we are laying, laid side by side with someone they so adored, and watched the universe turn around them, the way we are now. I wonder if thousands and thousands of years from now, they’ll be looking up at these stars and wondering about us, the way we wonder about them.” He says, and you don’t think you’ve ever heard his voice that soft.

“You adore me?” You ask, for your mind practically came to a whirring halt at the slip, and for the first time, you tear your gaze away from the stars to look at him.

“No.” He lies, a big grin on his face, and you’re grateful for the cover of night, grateful for it, because you can feel your cheeks heat, and you might have perished if he had seen.

You let your hand nudge against his, the one that’s resting practically atop your blanket, let your pinky fingers brush together, a careful invitation.

His eyes are bright as he gently accepts the invitation, accepts this permission, twines his fingers through your own. Your heart races in your throat, and you roll onto your side towards him, closer to him, sand shifting under your bodies, the soft whoosh of it like music to your ears.

He kisses you, just a soft press of his lips against yours, testing the waters of this uncharted sea, this ocean before him. You lean into it, lean into him, and soon his mouth is trailing across your face; he kisses the corner of your mouth, your jaw, your chin, down down down until he reaches your neck, where he presses a chaste kiss to the spot where he can feel your pulse thrumming erratically.

He smiles against it, and you smile in turn, for when you cast your eyes back up to the night sky, you are certain that if nothing else, you have the encouragement of the stars.

[lokimostly]

Polaris (Ch.11/?)

Loki x Reader, Pirate!AU Word Count: 3,163 Warnings: none! Summary: Your life has always been set in stone. Born to a wealthy merchant family in the Caribbean, you’ve spent your years as an heiress in the daytime, escaping at night to wander the streets of St. Thomas. Now, on the eve before your life settles into mundanity for good, you discover someone who could change everything– if you choose to trust him, that is.

A/N: Thanks for being so patient, I needed to rework some future plot elements. Everything is lined up nicely now. Enjoy ;) 

Chapter One ~ Chapter Two ~ Chapter Three ~ Chapter Four ~ Chapter Five ~ Chapter Six ~ Chapter Seven ~ Chapter Eight ~ Chapter Nine ~ Chapter Ten ~ Chapter Twelve ~ Chapter Thirteen ~ Chapter Fourteen

You woke up suddenly. The sand-covered stone was hard beneath you. Light filtered through the palms, shining from the curved entrance of the rocky overhand and baking the stone floor in its warmth. Rainwater dripped from the ceiling, but there were no outward signs of the storm: no howling wind or flashing lightning to assault your tired vision.

You sat up and gasped in pain- your hands reached for your back, but stalled a bit. Moving your arms hurt. Every inch of your skin ached with soreness. You felt like your muscles had unravelled into string. You gingerly rubbed at your shoulders, finding them sensitive to the touch, and let out an echoing sigh. You couldn’t imagine the state Loki’s body was in.

Loki. Where was he?

You looked around the cave. He was nowhere to be seen.

Despite the protest of your aching limbs, you stood, dusting the sand off of your chemise and pushing up the frilled sleeves. This was now your only piece of clothing to wear, and it was completely indecent. More than that, you had no doubt that the white color would turn sheer when wet.

Lovely, you thought.

Your hair felt stiff from the saltwater. You stepped out onto the long grass and took a deep breath of warm, salty air. The breeze was fine, teasing at your clothing and spinning it round your legs. The palm trees were much smaller and less frightening in the light of day than they had been last night, leaning lazily from side to side and hiding clusters of fruit at the bases of their leaves. Were it not for the fact that you were stuck here, you might have called it paradise.

You followed the path out of the grove of trees, trusting your intuition and walking until the grass turned to sand. The sea unfurled like a map before you: aqua blue, completely flat and sparkling in the sunlight. The storm clouds on the edge of the horizon, black with anger and growing smaller with every passing minute, were the only sign that the storm had existed at all. Everything else about it was warm, windy, and perfect.

Loki stood in the shallows. The water was up to his knees, a sharpened staff in one hand. He stood perfectly still, staring down at the water with intense focus, his wavy hair tied half-back. You watched as the wind teased his hair, pulling at the edges of his billowing shirt, but he did not budge.

Finally you relented to curiosity and called out. “What are you doing?”

Your voice didn’t startle him. “Fishing,” he said shortly. His voice was still ragged from yesterday’s trials, and much deeper than you expected. A pang of guilt twinged inside your chest. You were to blame for that.

“Caught anything?” You asked hopefully.

You watched Loki press his lips together and took that for an answer- he didn’t seem to be in much of a talkative mood. You stood on the water’s edge, unsure what to do. The waves lapped up at the sand, turning it a shade darker before receding. A crab scuttled across the shore. You watched it disappear with bemused curiosity.

Finally, Loki seemed to accept the fact that the universe was not currently handing out fish and lifted his makeshift staff, walking up to the shore. As he came closer, you realized not only that he was limping, but also that his lithe body was covered in bruises. There were the marks along his side from falling to the deck, and new ones you didn’t recognize: miscellaneous scrapes and dark spots, most namely a huge bruise spanning a hand’s length in the middle of his chest. Normally, seeing him unclothed would be a reason to avert your eyes, but clinging to him for dear life– for hours on end, no less – had rather worn off the novelty.

“Did I do that?” You asked, a bit horrified.

Loki’s eyebrows pulled together and he looked down at the bruise you were referring to. He chuckled dryly. “You were determined to kill me, if I were a fish.”

You pressed a hand to your mouth. “I’m so sorry.”

He shook his head dismissively, reaching up and unravelling the knot that held back his hair. “Don’t be.” Loki let out a noisy sigh and sat down, wincing. He unwrapped a poorly done bandage covering a long cut on the side of his foot. The saltwater had helped, but it still looked raw, and the skin around it was red with agitation. He flipped over the bandage.

You reached forward quickly, catching his wrist. “No, let me.” His blue-green eyes snapped upwards, looking dangerously sharp-edged, but he let go, allowing you to tear a clean piece of cloth from the hem of your chemise and hand it to him.

He raised an eyebrow. The ghost of a smile tugged at his lips. “Are you not naked enough?”

Your face flushed, but you continued to hold it out stubbornly. “Unless you want to trade clothes, there’s not much I can do about it.”

Loki hummed. His expression was a cross between amused and thoughtful, and it agitated you. He still hadn’t taken the bandage. “What is it?” You snapped finally, emphasizing the cloth in your hand. “I don’t have the plague. Take it.”

He laughed, raising an eyebrow and shaking his head. He took the bandage from you, his hand brushing over yours. “You were easier to embarrass when you were fully clothed.”

Your face flushed. You crossed your arms and said nothing for a moment, watching him re-wrap his foot. Your rebuttal almost came to you too late. “Good to know I’m growing some spine, then.” You turned away, finding distraction in the flat horizon. There’s nothing out there: no land, no ships to speak of, only the sandbars that eventually disappear beneath the blue. Nothing, and no one for uncounted miles.

You felt the familiar ache of despair squeeze your chest. “What are we going do?” You asked quietly, not to Loki, or anyone in particular.

But it was him who answered, one hand on the small of your back. Its presence there wasn’t surprising, and the fact itself shocked you. “Well,” he sighed, with a raise of one dark eyebrow. “We take a look around, for a start.”

~

Together, you and Loki mapped out the island over the course of the morning. You discovered several things: firstly, that the island was probably three miles long and half as wide, made up of two large hills surrounded by a ring of trees. Your cave was nestled inside the larger of these two mounds of earth and stone. A spring was hidden in the valley between them, bubbling above the ground before it disappeared back into the earth. There were no other caves on the island’s surface, or notable landmarks to speak of.

Secondly, there was food here. Some of the trees were fruit bearing: small, wild mangos, larger than your palm and half bitter. They probably weren’t ripe when you and Loki picked them, but their skin broke beneath your teeth and the nectar was sweet enough to lift your spirits. There were probably other fruits and nuts to be found. You didn’t look hard: Loki’s limp could not be disguised from you, and you adamantly strayed away from any difficult terrain. He had suffered enough on your account.

Thirdly: you were not the first ones here.

“Stop,” Loki said suddenly, making you halt between the wide trees. The sun was nearing its peak, so you had decided to travel back to your hideout in the cover of shade. The heat, though somewhat diluted by the ocean breeze, made you grateful that your clothes were light– even if they were grossly immodest.

Loki set his foot down harshly, and was rewarded with a hollow sound. The two of you shared a similar, conspiring look. You got down on your knees and began pushing away at the sand and loose grass attempting to grow over wooden planks. Loki helped, grunting as he wedged his fingers between one of the boards and pried it loose. A cloud of dust came up and he coughed, looking down. “I can’t see inside.”

“Pull another board,” you suggested, uncovering more planks. They looked half-rotten, and the second one snapped under Loki’s grasp instead of coming out clean. He shrugged, dusting off his hands and setting them on his knees, taking another look. “It’s not deep. A few feet.”

Without waiting for him to make more observations, you swung your legs over and dropped. A shout of protest escaped his lips, but your feet hit the packed ground before he could reach for you, or do anything to stop your descent.

The hole was just deeper than you – that is to say that you could walk beneath the boards without having to duck your head. The light came down in a dusty pillar, and you blinked as you adjusted to the light, coughing at the upheaval of dust that filled your lungs. Then you sucked in a gasp.

“Loki, come down here.”

“Alright, alright,” came his exasperated reply, and the sound of feet on hard earth told you he had landed behind you. He caught your shoulder for balance, removing it just as quickly so as not to offend. You were too distracted by your newfound boon to notice.

Barrels. Barrels and crates and clothes. Or some kind of fabric, anyway. Whoever was here decided to make a stash of their excess supply – from the looks of it, they had either forgotten to return or taken a long trip around.

“Bloody hell,” Loki swore quietly, twisting one of the barrel caps open and looking down at the contents. “There’s salt here.”

“Never mind that,” you said, unfolding a large piece of thick cotton. You swung it over your shoulders and displayed it to him the same way you might show off a dress, half-twirling with a giddy smile. “Now we won’t freeze to death at night.”

Loki chuckled, watching with something like amusement. “Your faith in me to take care of you was that little?”

“No,” you conceded, smirking, “but this helps.” You turned back and continued to rifle through the contents of your findings. There was grain, tightly packed to avoid going bad from the damp, and more textiles: homespun tunics, even a pair of trousers that you silently claimed as your own.

“Pity,” Loki commented over your shoulder, startling you. “I was looking forward to our mutual lack of clothing.”

Your jaw dropped as your face turned red. “Really? You haven’t yet had your fill?”

You were met with that infuriating, wolfish grin and an unabashed shrug. “The threat of death tends to steal away one’s focus.”

You scowled. “I meant of your jesting, not the--” you waved your hand in an inarticulate gesture, earning a laugh on his part.

“That, too.”

You groaned and pulled one of the tunics over your head, ignoring the slightly musty smell. It had clearly been made with someone larger in mind, and almost replaced your chemise in function. Still, with this company, an extra layer couldn’t hurt.

Your face burned like a lamp in the dark. The threat of death, and then relief, and then focus on staying alive had precluded you from spending any time dwelling on your dreams or feelings. Now they were coming back with full, brunt force. You felt the absence of the ring from your finger more than ever, touching the bare skin.

You heard shuffling behind you and turned around to watch Loki lift himself out and offer his hand so you could do the same. You handed him a bundle of clothes first, taking his hand once he set your bounty aside. Despite his soreness Loki lifted you out easily, helping you stand in the grove of trees. He was close, you noticed. You could feel the heat of his bare chest, smell that faint scent of leather and rose that seemed to accompany him no matter his state of undress.

He looked down at you, watched your eyes flicker before you pulled away and gathered the textiles. He shifted his jaw, catching his tongue between his teeth; partly in silent annoyance, and partly to keep himself from making another insufferable comment. Even you had your limits.

He knew how your body felt, clinging to him in the water for hours. For the sake of saving your life Loki had been allowed the discovery of how soft you were against his calloused hands, the way your breath came out and made your chest shudder. He hadn’t sought out the knowledge of you on purpose, but it was his nonetheless. Now he itched for the feel of you in his hands. Like anything Loki had ever sampled, and liked, one taste wasn’t enough– he longed to swallow you whole, to know you inside and out. To make your breath hitch and your heart pound.

And the universe had rewarded him with your company, alone, on a desert island. He was convinced that some part of you shared that mutual desire, even if you refused to admit it. What Loki needed was patience, and time, and enough self-control not to push you into hating him through his own snide remarks. The last one hadn’t even been clever.

His mind didn’t register that you were halfway through the grove and nearly out of sight until you stopped, turning around with a frown. “Are you coming?”

He snapped out of his thoughts of you and met with the reality: waiting expectantly under the dappled light, sun-dried hair pulled by the breeze. An open sky full of air, and the sight of you made it a struggle to breathe.

He raised his eyebrows and smirked. “Don’t wait for me.”

~

The sky was turning muted purple as the sun dipped below the horizon. You finished adjusting your new clothes– the trousers had to be cuffed, of course, and the tunic was sinfully low-cut, with no tassels to make adjustments – but it was better than your chemise, which you had neatly folded next to the other unused garments, now in service as cushions to soften the cave’s unforgiving floor.

You stepped out and walked through the grove to the beach, finding Loki there with a meager fire before him. He was coaxing it to life, encouraging it to take hold of your collected driftwood. You sat down in the sand and pulled the cotton cloth over your shoulders, watching in silence until the fire was crackling happily on its own.

Loki handed you a speared fish to cook over the fire. The afternoon had finally proved fruitful in his attempts to catch something. You took it. The two of you sat in silence, turning over your dinner to brown the sides and eating in silence. The fish was salty, but it was your first real meal in god knew how long.

The stars were coming out. You leaned back on your elbows to watch them appear, silently counting until they became innumerable, blinking in the twilight. You thought back to the book in Loki’s cabin, feeling a pang of regret that it wasn’t with you now. You wished you knew their names.

Loki made a sudden noise, startling you from your thoughts. You turned to find his seaglass eyes skyward, too. “What is it?”

He leaned closer to you and lifted his arm, pointing out a bright light amongst the canopy of stars. “The north star.”

You opened your mouth in silent acknowledgement. Its name was on the tip of your tongue. “Why that one?”

Loki’s brow furrowed gently. “Because it shines the brightest, I suppose.” He sighed, falling back and putting his hands behind his head, reciting the wisdom from memory. “If you can find Polaris, you know your way home.”

Polaris. You savored the name silently on your tongue. “Do you?” You asked, turning away from the stars to look at his face. The starlight and shadow of the fire softened the sharp edges of his features. Loki’s brow furrowed again, and he turned to look at you. “Do I what?”

“Know the way home.”

He hummed in his chest and looked back at the sky with a critical gaze, studying it. He held up one large hand, and after some consideration, pointed to your left. “That way.”

You were surprised at the laugh that escaped your lips, throwing back your head. “How helpful you are. I see now why I should keep you around.”

Loki chuckled in his chest. “I am ever at your service, little one.”

The familiar nickname made your stomach flutter. You dropped from your elbows onto your back, setting your hands on your stomach and doing your best to ignore the fact that his shoulder was pressed against yours.

The fire crackled and sparked, sending embers up into the dark sky where both your gazes were fixed. Loki shifted his jaw and tried to focus: on the warmth of the fire lightly burning against his skin, on the chill of the night breeze and the smell of salt. Anything but the warmth of your skin beneath the fabric that separated you.

A streak of light graced the darkness. He made a wish.

“Well, then,” you sighed, nestling further into the makeshift blanket and letting your eyes fall closed. “What do you think we should do with our time, stuck here for the foreseeable future?”

Loki raised an eyebrow. “I have a few ideas.”

You hummed. “Tell me.”

His chest expanded with an inhale. “You need to learn to swim, to begin with.”

Your eyes snapped open and you sat up, leaning on your elbow to look over him with a stony expression. “Absolutely not.”

“Your ardent refusal is the first reason why.”

“Loki, I was in mortal danger of drowning less than a day ago.”

“That is exactly my point,” he argued evenly, staring up at you with a mild expression. The firelight cast you in a warm, angelic glow that turned his cheeks red to notice. He continued his statement with averted eyes. “You cannot expect to live on a desert island without knowing how to swim.”

“Can’t I?” You challenged, more for the sake of egging him on. Loki wasn’t having it, and growled in his chest as he closed his eyes.  “I am too tired for your antics.”

You quieted, staring at his face for a moment longer before dropping onto your back again. The wind picked up, dimming the fire and making you shiver through your cotton wrap. You turned closer to Loki, setting your forehead against his arm. If he noticed, he did nothing in return. You had a suspicion that he was close to falling asleep.

“You had better be a good teacher,” you murmured. You felt him shift beside you, roused by your statement. Then he chuckled softly. “Do you doubt my ability to take care of you?” He asked, his voice low and thick with exhaustion. Your face flushed. The one time you suspected that he didn’t mean it as a double entendre, but you had taken it that way.

In either instance, your answer was the same.

“No. I trust you.”

“Smart girl.”

- - - 

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[hawksward]

Of the Sea and Sky

Summary: He was the sky, she was the sea

They would let nothing keep them apart

Pairing: Hawks/Reader

Rating: PG

Word Count: 2k

Warnings: Angst, Fratricide

A/N: Hi everyone! This is my first Hawks fic that I wrote for @bnhabookclub​’s Mermay event! Feat: angel Hawks and mermaid reader. Special thanks to @shinsotired​ for being an awesome proofreader!

Clouds parted as a red winged angel descended from heaven. He didn’t consider the earth to be anything special, but the ocean. The ocean was divine. Recently he found himself making frequent trips to watch the full moon rise over the coast. An escape from his reality.

The man settled upon a quiet coastal inlet, home to a variety of wildlife, their calls filling the night air. The sound of cicadas and the call of frogs kept him company as he walked the rocky shore. In his search for the perfect spot to kick back and enjoy the moonlight. What he saw by the ocean came as a shock.

A woman lay relaxing by the seaside, her scale adorned back facing the land. Upon closer inspection her torso didn’t end in legs, but in a long tail and fin. Much like himself, she was one of his father’s earlier creations.

A mermaid.

A rock slipped beneath the angel’s boot causing the woman to whip her head around. Her face seemed to glow in the moonlight, her dark hair cascading down her bare chest. The angel stared in awe as the woman narrowed her eyes.

“What are you doing?” She asked

With a smile, the angel pushed the blonde locks away from his face. “Admiring one of my father’s divine creatures.”

The mermaid rolled her eyes, determining that no creature this stupid could be a threat. “And what sort of bird creature are you?”

“Bird creature?” The man brought his hand to his heart in mock offense “You’ve been graced with the presence of an angel” He continued to approach the woman on the rock, mildly surprised he hadn’t chased her off already. 

“The name’s Hawks.” 

The woman made no effort to move as the angel named Hawks sat beside her. Why should she? After all this was her domain. “My name is Y/N”.

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

   Months passed and Hawks returned with each moonrise only to disappear with the sun. Y/N never strayed far from the inlet. Fear bubbled in the pit of her gut that she would lose track of the days while at sea, unable to find him again. He was her ghost. If she only saw him under the cover of night, was he even real at all?

Hawks heard the mermaid’s song before he saw her. The melody haunted him as it swirled through the night air. The red winged angel wondered why he continued to return, month after month. It was clear his brothers didn’t approve of his frequent disappearances. 

“I can hear you breathing back there” Y/N turned around with a soft smile. The moon caught her features just as it did the day they first met. “You should sit before you scare off the animals.”

Hawks took his place beside her, noticing the luminescent jellyfish swimming by her fin. “Almost as beautiful as you” he gave her a wink.

She let out a small chuckle before pushing a strand of wet hair behind her ear. “Are you allowed to be such a flirt? Being ‘divine’ and all?” The word left a bitter taste in her mouth. He truly was divine, so much so that he could never belong to the earth. To her.

“That’s why they kick me out each month. They’re all sick of me.” his bright smile faded with the look on her face. He reached out to touch her, his hand barely hesitating before reaching her face. Her skin felt like silk to his touch, one false move and he might tear into her soul.

Her hand moved to reach his, cradling it against her face as if it might break. She forced her eyes shut and tried to commit every piece of the moment to memory. Fully aware that it could never last. “You’re a terrible liar.”

Eyes locked in silence as the stars watched above. The lapping of the sea against shore rhythmic, moving in time to the beating of their hearts. Time momentarily stopped as Hawks closed the distance, his facial hair pricking Y/N’s face. 

For the first time, he kissed her and the world spun.

When she kissed him back the earth shook.

For a moment everything was perfect.

But nothing can be perfect forever.

Hawks felt salt water touch his lips as he pulled away. His heart ached to reach out and make her pain disappear. He came to the earth to see the moon but instead he found the sun. The very thing that lit up his world.

“I’m fine” Y/N’s face betrayed her words. She knew that she longed for something that could never be. It was stupid, really. Someone tied to the sea falling in love with someone who belonged to the sky. 

Hawks placed his forehead against hers, letting their fingers intertwine. “I don’t want to let you go”.

Dawn threatened to peak above the horizon at any moment as a bright light caught their eyes. In the depths of the sky where the moon still lay claim was a star, burning brightly as it plummeted toward the dawn.

“Ah! A shooting star!” His voice filled with glee as he pointed toward the sky “Think if I start now I could catch it?”

Y/N gave his shoulder a gentle push “You’re supposed to make a wish.” She already knew what hers would be. Him. A way for them to be together. That’s what wishes are for after all. To dream that the impossible could be made real.

“Fine. Fine.” Hawks closed his eyes for a moment before locking eyes with his companion “Done. What did you wish for?” 

For the twinkle in his eyes to never fade. To hear his laugh every day. To no longer be alone in the sun. 

“If I told you then it won’t come true” She gave him a coy smile. The sky turned from a dark purple to hazy trips of orange. The sun would rise at any moment. 

“I have to go.” Hawks brushed the dirt off his pants as he stood. “They’ll be wondering where I went.”

Y/n quickly grabbed his hand before he could move too far from the water “What would happen if you stayed?” 

“My brothers have killed people for far less.” Hawks pulled his hand away, though it pained him to do so. For millennia the angels had carried out their father’s dirty work. Slaughtering people for their beliefs. Flooding the world to cleanse it. His hands were stained with blood that even the sea could not wash clean. “I won’t stay and put you in danger.”

Y/N watched as his wings unfurled and forced him off the ground, his body outlined in the glow of the sunrise. Pain seared through her arm as she slammed her fist into the rock. Again and again. Pearls of blood rolling into the water. She knew she couldn’t have him.  

How could she let herself forget?

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

Once again, the full moon rose over the inlet, only this time there was no angel. The mermaid laid among the rocks and waited. 

And waited.

For the angel who would not arrive.

Deep in her heart she knew she overstepped. Why plead for someone who could never be with you? But the ache in her soul wouldn’t subside no matter how much she used logic to cauterize the wound. Y/N let out a visceral scream, the tension inside becoming too much to bear. 

The sea around her fin swam wish fish, refusing to leave her side. In the distance she could see a small group of dolphins emerge, trying to see what had done this to their distant sister. Y/N’s head fell into her palms as she sobbed.

The run rose as it did every morning, for it did not care for the troubles of mortals. But the dawn did nothing to dry her tears. As the sun took its place at the center of the sky she hatched a plan. She would return to the deepest depths of the ocean. At the bottom of the pit she would claim her prize. The sea witch who would make her wish come true.

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

Summer waned into the crisp winds of Autumn when Y/N returned to the inlet for the full moon. Gone were the sounds of cicadas and frogs, replaced with a chill that she couldn’t quite shake. She perched herself on one of the rocks, allowing her bottom half to dip into the ocean. She would wait forever if she had to. 

He would return.

He had to.

Y/N lost track of the hours as she watched the stars, tracing small patterns into the rock. The sky was shifted from midnight blue, to purple, to orange as the sun rose above the ocean. She chuckled softly as she pushed herself from her spot, her new legs stumbling out from under her. All in good time she reminded herself even children don’t learn to walk in a day.

Over the horizon a figure approached from the west. Y/N pushed herself off the rock and made her way to more even ground. She had never seen another person in this area. She reached down for the rock she had used to scrape shapes into the coastline. Now sharpened to a usable point. 

Her skirt billowed in the wind as she watched the figure approach, the bright morning sun obscuring it into a silhouette. The closer it got the more clearly she could discern it as human, a few feet closer and she could even see a noticeable limp.

The sun continued to rise in the sky as Y/N’s heart jumped in her chest. She could see the figure fully now. A man with blonde locks, limping toward the coast, holding a single red feather in his hand.

Hawks.

Before her thoughts could catch up with her, she was already running with the grace of a newborn foal. Tripping and stumbling as she ran toward the man who disappeared for months. Seconds felt like hours before she fell into the safety of his arms. 

Hawks kept the woman steady as he held her, ignoring the pain seeping through his body. She looked up with tears in her eyes, the same tears he saw the day he vowed to find a way to stay. He was different now, his face scarred and his wings gone. All that was left was his single feather sword, stained with the blood of his brothers.

“You came back” Y/N wiped the tears from her face as more continued to fall. “I wished on every falling star I could find that you would come back.”

Hawks squeezed her, his hands grasping for any part of her he could find. Afraid if he let go for a moment she would slip away. “It took me a while to walk here. Flying was definitely faster.”

“We can learn together.” Y/N stared up into his eyes “The legs are new to me too.” She brought her hands up to his face, tracing her fingers lightly over the newly scarred skin. Pain filled her heart as she imagined what he went through to lose his wings. 

“I won’t let anyone hurt you again.” she laced his fingers through her own “I promise, Hawks.”

“Call me Keigo now.” He touched her fingers to his lips, placing a soft kiss on each knuckle. “I wouldn’t let them keep me from you. I would pull the moon from the sky if that’s what you asked of me.”

Keigo pulled her into a deep kiss, tangling his fingers through her hair as she gripped onto his back. Both afraid of letting the other go.

“I love you, Keigo.” She smiled at the new name. Hawks belonged to the divine, but Keigo. Keigo belonged to her. Her sun had returned.

“I love you, Y/N.”

[indulgentia]

☣   𝒑𝒓𝒆𝒗𝒊𝒐𝒖𝒔𝒍𝒚  on⠀»⠀@𝒌𝒂𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒙𝒊𝒔𝒎𝒂𝒏𝒊𝒂 :

▬▬ι═══════ﺤ 🔥 || Remember the moment you left him alone and broke every promise you have ever made? For our violence was an ocean, lost in the open and nothing could take our respective pain away? Maybe they spoiled what could have become beautiful moments and experiences by trying to recreate them with the ones Hanzo Hasashi has lived them with. Maybe it’s better to just let that memory continue living without ever tainting it trying to make it more. How he had felt the whole world cave and vacuum beneath a dark sanguine void, as unfurling cosmic petals of his heart withered and pulverized with the corruption of Kamidogu taking ahold of one of his most formidable and talented pupils, Forrest Fox. The world as of current brings him equal amount of thirst and despair, burning him vehemently until he is naught, but dust.

With his self-destructive thoughts of gnawing, all-consuming guilt and remorse killing his body, mind, and soul softly in the dark of the night, the Shirai Ryu Grandmaster finds himself seemingly eternally lost; lone, left cold, shivering, faltering, losing, dusting, parting... Hanzo Hasashi thinks it’s his heart. He thinks it’s tired of pumping blood for a creature that keeps wanting to die, for he once again, failed to protect those that required his protection. His trudging steps are heavy, as the steep, unforgivable incline towards Lin Kuei Temple isn’t an easy feat to conquer, even for the pyromancer with infernal flames scorching in the depth of his heart and soul.

Breaking and eroding himself down is a necessary tribulation Hanzo Hasashi had chosen, and therefore, he considers this pivotal action building of his stronger foundation. He would unabashedly allow himself to dream wild, even in their throes of driving one another on the verge of fatal, grisly death, he would let himself start with a feeling. For he still remembers what it feels to be like a child; innocent, full of curiosity and awe, a sense of playfulness and adventure. Having plunged into the nadir of Netherrealm and being tortured beneath the surging conflagrations of inferno had prevented his heart and soul to hearken back to the happiness of purely being. And yet, through their visceral violence stemmed from bitter rivalry of the past now unearths a feeling he couldn’t fathom to decipher. Perhaps it was reverence and love hidden inside the crevices of his mind and chambers of his heart, the delightful treasure waiting to be found by the other Grandmaster. So he would simply follow his heartbeats, align with that inner infinitesimal surge of hope, invite in all that infinite potential, as his tenacity breaks through the raw, brutal, frigid howling of Arctika’s winter wrath.

“I beseech to speak with Sub-Zero,” beneath the rosy tinge of his dark olive skin, he requests rather humbly to one of the guards keeping watch. “I do not wish to fight the Lin Kuei; all I want is our allegiance, so that we may pave forth a better, halcyon world without malignant corruption of annihilating darkness, for our respective clans have suffered enough.” No longer, he wishes to be inhabited by his fatuity deep within his soul, a chapter of never-ending idiocy who never had joy in himself. ▬▬ι═══════ﺤ 🔥 ||

The  dense  and  noisy  breathing  is  the  only  melody  that  lulls  the  mind  of  the  now  grand  master  of  the  Lin  Kuei  ninjas.  Countless  intangible  images,  memories  and  fantasies  flash  on  his  head,  causing  inside  of  him,  in  these  countless  hours  when  he  meditated  right  at  the  shadow  of  the  great  statue  in  the  temple,  an  intense  pain  that  seems  to  overwhelm  his  entire  self;  oppressing  him,  grinding  him,  diminishing  him  to  the  vile,  empty  and  purposeless  creature  that  his  circumstances  might  have  made  him  out  to  be.  Transformed,  violated,  prevented  from  finding  rest  -  in  life  or  death  -  for  so  many  years  not  only  by  his  enemies  ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━  but  also  by  those  whom  he  had  once  sworn  to  remain  loyal  and  filial  to.  Still,  some  sense  of  gratitude  still  lingered  in  his  countless  thoughts,  especially  after  being  saved  even  on  the  verge  of  embracing  his  ultimate  demise  by  Bo’  Rai  Cho  and  finally  having  a  chance  to  cleanse  his  clan  of  all  that  mechanical  madness  and  re-raise  it  despite  all  odds.  Throat  starts  to  burn  as  the  mouth  helps  to  take  deeper  breaths  while  the  thoughts  seem  to  show  more  than  he  would  like  to  see  in  that  moment  of  supposed  peace.  The  gleam  of  those  pale  blue  eyes,  once  wild  and  indomitable,  seems  to  have  been  clouded  by  the  cruelty  of  the  current  circumstances,  although  it  maintained  some  resilience  to  guide  his  reborn  sect.

A  wave  of  restlessness  strikes  him,  carried  by  those  strong  words  that  floated  in  the  piercing  winds  of  Articka’s  to  his  ears,  while  he  finds  himself  caught  in  this  frail  sense  of  doubt,  wrapped  by  the  darkness,  not  only  from  the  surrounding  environment,  but  also  from  his  own  feelings  and  thoughts.  He  recognized  that  voice,  from  the  darkest  depths  of  his  memory.  There’s  no  hesitation  before  going  down  to  the  gates  of  the  fortress,  navigating  the  corridors  with  all  the  speed  his  feet  allowed  while  his  body  seemed  to  be  flooded  by  the  most  varied  mix  of  sensations.  Would  it  really  be  prudent  to  receive  him  now?  Even  after  so  muchbloodshed?  Could  they  ever  reach  peace  ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━  or  at  the  very  least  a  momentary  truce?

The  seconds  that  follow  seem  to  have  stretched  in  the  air  much  longer  than  they  actually  lasted,  while  the  distance  to  the  gates  grew  shorter  and  shorter.  It  wasn’t  necessary  to  be  the  most  intelligible  of  men  to  perceive  in  the  those  fierce  features  that  the  stated  intentions  were  genuine,  yet,  perhaps  there’s  still  this  attempt  to  extract  from  that  expression,  even  at  such  distance,  some  clue,  the  subtlest  of  hints  in  what  isn’t  said.  Still,  the  most  dignified  semblance  is  offered  to  his  guest,  the  semblance  of  an  actual  leader.  Heavy,  callused  hands  slightly  outstretched  so  as  to  show  that  no  threat  would  be  allowed  while  the  Grandmaster  silently  but  firmly  gives  the  order  for  the  guards  to  lower  their  weapons.  And  every  passing  second  that  silence  lingered  only  gave  voice  to  his  own  thoughts,  only  echoing  and  amplifying  his  doubts.  However,  even  in  that  position,  even  after  the  humiliation,  even  amid  the  unspeakable  pain  that  running  throughout  his  being  at  the  mere  thought  of  their  previous  encounters,  tearing  him  apart,  little  by  little,  until  there  is  nothing  left,  Cryomancer  still  seems  unable  to  bear  any  such  strong  hatred  towards  that  man  ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━  And  perhaps  condemns  himself  in  infinite  ways  for  that.

❛❛ Very  well, ❜❜    paused  are  the  words,  there  is  no  reason  to  incite  conflict  right  now.    ❛❛ We  do  seem  to  share  the  same  thoughts. ❜❜    Pressure  increases  inside  the  jaw  while  the  icy,  pale  blue  irises  are  framed  by  thick,  slightly  furrowed  eyebrows,  indicate  some  suspicion  that  would  still  take  roots  inside  his  heart,  in  spite  of  a  sparkle  of  relief  lighting  inside.  And  perhaps  it  could  ignite  a  flame  too  dangerous  to  nourish  even  after  so  many  years:  hope.  He  does  his  best  to  not  transpire  more  than  he  should,  while  the  deep  voice  seems  to  be  reverberate  along  with  the  winds  of  the  North.    ❛❛ This  humble  one  is  eager  to  clarify  any  doubts  and  concerns  the  Grand  Master  of  the  Shiray  Ryu  may  still  hold  regarding  our  character. ❜❜    Left  clenched  fist  hurries  to  find  the  right  palm,  and,  together  with  a  so  very  subtle  bow,  invites  the  pyromancer  to  accompany  the  leader  into  the  fortress.  At  that  point  perhaps  there  might  be  a  veiled  meaning  in  the  frigid  speeche,  however,  it  wouldn’t  be  wise  to  expose  it  here  and  now  in  the  face  of  people  who  were  not  involved  in  their  and  their  only  affairs  in  the  least.

[inevitably-johnlocked]

any recs for old!Johnlock? (Preferably not retired) Thanks!

Hi Nonny!

Ohhh, hmm. You know, I have absolutely READ older-couple Johnlock fics, but the only ones I’m remembering are when they’re retired or “not together but have got together when they old and dying” LOL. 

I did a list last year for Retirementlock fics, and I do have new stuff but not a lot, so is it okay if I do “Retirement and Older Johnlock” fics for you? I hope so!! I tag them retirement if it’s retirement, so you can skip those ones

Feel free, my friends, to add your own!!

RETIREMENT and OLDER JOHNLOCK (Jan 2020)

Our Bodies Bend Light by lovetincture (G, 1,211 w., 1 Ch. || Established Relationship, Fluff, Domestic Fluff, Beekeeping, Retirement) – They got married. Of course they got married. Snapshots in a relationship. There’s a jar of bees in the bookstore and a cottage in Sussex. Sherlock’s not the marrying kind, and John’s tried this once before, but they’re Sherlock and John. Of course.

Fine Print by mistyzeo (E, 4,224 w., 1 Ch. || ACD Holmes || Est. Rel, Retirementlock, Glasses, Oral, Hand Jobs, Bees) – Holmes needs glasses, but he’s too much of a stubborn arse to go get his eyes checked. Watson is used to bullying him for his own good. The glasses have unexpected but not unwelcome consequences for everyone.

a very soft epilogue (my love) by darcylindbergh (E, 5,395 w., 3 Ch. || Retirement, Domestic Fluff, Dancing, Dogs, Grumpy Old Men) – Across the pillows, Sherlock shifts and hums, the creases of his face deepening and then smoothing before settling. John watches him wake up, his chest swelling with affection and fondness, and thinks he’ll never get tired of Sherlock in the mornings, sleepy and soft. It’s been some forty-odd years, and John hasn’t gotten tired of it yet. Part 5 of things fairy tales are made of

Second Waltz by Atiki (T, 6,685 w. 1 Ch. || Magical Realism, Missed Chances, Retirement, Sussex, Bees, MCD, Angst with Happy Ending, Fluff, Cancer) – “The night I died, you wished I could wait for you.”

Abatement by WhimsicalEthnographies (E, 6,816 w., 1 Ch. || Est. Rel., Retirementlock, Fluff, Sherlock’s Self Esteem, Grumpy Sherlock, Idiots in Love, PWP, Fluff and Smut, Bottomlock) – “What’s wrong with you? You love the cottage,” John glances over to the passenger seat, then quickly turns his eyes back to the road. Driving was still not his forte, but considering Sherlock still couldn’t properly bend and lift his new knee enough to press and release the clutch, he had to make do. Not that Sherlock hadn’t tried to argue his way into the driver’s seat. “I love the cottage for a week or two, John. Don’t be deliberately obstuse,” Sherlock grumbles, sinking further in his seat. Well, as best he can with a four-week-old knee replacement. “And that’s all we’re going for, love,” John says out loud. But what he’s thinking is, shit. He knows.

A Lifetime Together by LondonGypsy (M, 8,886 w., 1 Ch. || Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Falling in Love, Friends to Lovers, Slow Burn, Pining Idiots, Alternating POVs, Domestics, Retirement) – John and Sherlock falling in love.

Five Times Sherlock Realized He Was Getting Older by Mildred Graves (T, 9,215 w., 6 Ch. || Five and Ones, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Getting Old) – … And one time it didn’t matter.

In The End by whitchry9 (K+, 9,677 w. || Memento Fusion || Amnesia, Growing Old, Hurt / Comfort, Friendship, Heavy Angst) – When a brain injury leaves Sherlock unable to make new memories, John wonders how Sherlock will cope, and what it will mean for The Work and their life. Because after all, how can you live if you can’t feel time passing?

Through the Clouds by Mazarin221b (E, 20,004 w., 6 Ch. || Retirement, Sussex, Bees, Home Improvement, First Time, Romance) – Sherlock takes a remarkably early retirement at 47, and convinces John that a change of pace would do them both good. They buy an old cottage on the South Downs, and exchange their nonstop life in Baker Street for quiet contemplation, bee studies, and book writing. They might go completely insane, but sometimes it takes stepping outside of the life you’re living to find the life you want. Part 1 of Through The Clouds

echoes through time by chellefic (E, 21,619 w. || First Time, Romance, ACD & BBC, Epistolary) – Mummy sends a trunk from the Holmes cottage in Sussex to 221B. Its contents alter the way John and Sherlock see themselves and one another.

A Shipless Ocean by myswordfishmind (M, 22,135 w., 4 Ch. || Post-TRF, John has a Kid, Angst, Reunion, Falling in Love, Open Ending) – Ten years after the fall Sherlock goes back to London to find that John no longer lives there. Instead, he resides in a seaside town, a widower, and the father of a seven year old son. Now, Sherlock must struggle with the fact that there may no longer be a place for him in this new world.

The Wisteria Tree by SilentAuror (E, 29,773 w., 1 Ch. || Post-S3, Emotional Love Making, Amnesia/Memory Loss, Sherlock Loves John So Much, Sherlock POV, Romance, Angst with Happy Ending, First Times, Hurt/Comfort, Est. Rel., Retirement) – Sherlock wakes up from a month-long coma only to discover that he has no memory of the previous six years to his own shock as well as John’s…

The Winter Garden by Callie4180 (T, 31,213 w., 13 Ch. || Post-S4, Retirement, Christmas, Slow Burn, Grown-Up Rosie, Parenthood, Rosie’s Cat, Angst with Happy Ending, Holidays, Beekeeping, Magical Realism, Sherlock POV, Sherlock’s Violin, Future Fic, Sussex, Honey, Magical Healing Honey, Love Confessions, Sherlock’s Scar, First Kiss, Touching, Mycroft is Dying) – As Sherlock nears the end of his career, he’s given the gift of a cottage in Sussex. The honey from the beehives out back is amazing. Almost…magical.

Chaperones by MissDavis (T, 34,114 w., 7 Ch. || 11 Years Post-S4, Fake Relationship, Parentlock, Disney World, Bed / Room Sharing, Friends to Lovers, Fluff, First Kiss, Obsessive Sherlock, Insecure John) – Right. Of course. Everyone assumed they were a couple and no one would question it. John put his elbows up on the table so he could rest his head in his hands. “You want to pretend to be a couple so we can chaperone a trip to Disney World with Rosie’s class and you won’t have to share a room with a stranger?” “Exactly.” Sherlock beamed at him. “Don’t worry about the cost. The Birmingham case last month paid more than enough to cover expenses for all three of us.”

Where Else Would I Be? by cwb (E, 34,910 w., 10 Ch. || Retirementlock, Domestic Fluff, Falling in Love, Parentlock, Fluff and Smut, Reminiscing) – John and Sherlock’s five-year-old granddaughter spends the weekend with them in Sussex. Sherlock happily indulges her whims, and John takes care of them while quietly revisiting the past thirty years of their lives together.

Only To Be With You by SinceWhenDoYouCallMe_John (M, 40,768 w., 4 Ch. || Black Mirror / Future AU || Character Death, Future Technology, Sickness/Cancer/Illness, Heavy Angst with Happy Ending, First Person POV John, Pining John, Heart-Wrenching Angst) – I tell myself that next time I’ll come near this same place again. Wait around for the mysterious stranger in his coat to dash past me, hot on the heels of a new criminal in black. I think this all the way back to my Exit, planning where I’ll wait and what I’ll say when I see him. Scheming on how to get his name. It’s only once I reach the Exit Point door that I realize two hours and forty-five minutes have passed, and I realize that this won’t be the last time I Visit. It won’t be the last time at all.

between each beat are words unsaid by darcylindbergh, hudders-and-hiddles (T, 107,998 w., 215 Ch. || Epistolary, Slow Burn, Friends to Lovers, Angst, Happy Ending) – On their wedding night, John and Sherlock gift each other with the things they each said when the other could not hear, the things they each put down where the other could not see: a collection of writings that illustrate the way their love for one another has grown over the years. Part 1 of between each beat

Unkissed Series by 221b_hound (T to E, 184,100 w. across 45 works || Established Relationship, Ace Sherlock) – Sherlock returned from the dead a year ago. John returned to Baker Street six months ago. They’ve been in a couple since then. or at least, not NOT a couple. For two smart men, they sure can be dumb. Luckily, an art thief tries to drown Sherlock, Sherlock has a fever dream and things are about to change.

Sketchy by serpentynka (E, 184,053 w., 83 Ch. || Post-TRF, Post-Mary, John Whump, Slow Burn Love Story, Case Fic, Art, Porn With Feelings, Switchlock, Travelling, Career Change, Family Secrets, Illness / Health) – What (and who) will be left when nobody cares about your Work? A slow-burn fic with cases, places, mistaken identities, unfair choices, essential changes, violent feels, blatant lies, fearless portraiture, family secrets, high-risk bespoke gifts, durable friendships, bedtime stories, foreign travel and tongues, sickness (and health), and the significance of things which are slow to unfurl – but cannot be ignored. Oh, and…porn. Part 1: Sherlock takes on an obvious case (barely a 4) and meets someone who will force him to re-examine what it means to see. Part 1 of Sketchy

MARKED FOR LATER

The Last of the Honey Bees by what_alchemy (T, 2,000 w., 1 Ch. || Apocalypse, Retirement) – “When we’re all space dust… when all of this is gone? My molecules will find yours.”

A One-Track Life by JennLynn77 (E, 13,526 w., 7 Ch. || Post S4/TFP, Parentlock, Est. Rel., Medical Procedures, Anal, Cuddling/Snuggling, Bed Sharing, Surgery, Physical Therapy, Retirement, Sherlock Whump, Caring John, Bottomlock, Endearments, Drug Addiction, Triggers) – A medical situation threatens to derail the plans Sherlock had for his life with John and Rosie.

Deck the Halls by itsalwaysyou_jw (T, 31,018 w., 24 Ch. || Advent Fic / Multiple One-Shots, Assorted Tags) – One Johnlock ficlet for every day leading up to Christmas. Who is ready for pining, first kisses, established Johnlock, and everything in between? This collection of stand-alone ficlets will have it all. (Ch. 7 is the Retirement Fic)

FictoberLock 2018 by FinAmour & unicornpoe (M, 60,875 w., 31 Ch. || Halloween, Protective John, Smitten Sherlock, Fluff, First Kiss, Injured Sherlock, Various Prompts) – 31 different prompts, 31 Johnlock fics: one every day for the month of October! Each chapter is a stand-alone story. Some are written by unicornpoe, some by FinAmour, and some are written by us both! They range in length from ~500 words to ~3500 words, and there’s something in here for everyone. (Ch. 23 is the Retirement Chapter)