#a weightless disappearance. gone like it was never there to begin with. like a star fading out somewhere in the space

[evilkaeya]

skk au where everything is the same except Chuuya and Dazai have literal red string of fate tied to their pinkies. It appears when Chuuya kicked Dazai down in Suribachi. No one else can see the string. They've tried to untie it, cut it, burn it, rip it, bomb it- but to no avail. There's no limit to the length of the string. No matter how far they go, they're always tied to each other.

[oumaheroes]

Wind Walk

Word Count: 2389

Alba- Scotland

Cymru- Wales

Albion- England

Ériu- Ireland

---------

Cymru sits in the grass, overlooking the sprawling valley below. Where he sits it is almost an overhang- just underneath the ground carves away to a dizzying drop that makes him feel as though he is soaring above it; light and weightless. There is nothing underneath him but air so he dangles his legs over the edge, kicking into the wind and feeling it tug and push at his bare ankles.

It’s a strange morning- stormy and roiling. The clouds race through the sky above him, a churning grey blanket that chases flashes of blue before tumbling over into dark. The storm itself hasn’t broken yet but the air is thick and heavy and Cymru has been watching it ever since he first set out this morning, looking to see where it will spill and hoping it moves further away from where he is sitting.

He had taken himself to the highest point he could see nearby, the crest of a large hill that grows rockier the higher you climb and where the air is cooler. He has always found it comforting to be up high somewhere and his land provides this opportunity aplenty. The more you creep north, the more the earth lists and tilts with sweeping valleys that chip into combes- craggy, pockmarked tops that tip and puddle into deep gorges of soft green grass.

Maybe the sky is matching his mood. Mama would know.

Mama isn’t here.

She faded away recently, going somewhere no one knew to find her. She had been doing so for years, for as long as Cymru can remember, if he is being honest with himself. Some of his first memories are of Alba whispering to Ériu that she sleeps for longer than he used to, or Ériu tugging on her tunic and asking why she won’t play with them as much anymore. But she had always seemed fine to Cymru.

She would run and play, throw them up in the air and tumble with them down banks to splash in streams. Even when Albion appeared, the newest of them all, she still felt strong and sure, as steady as the land on which they walked. They had all watched her charge into battle, switching sides halfway through a clan war to show her allegiance to all of them. She sat and wove both metal and wool: strands of hot, solid gold forming intricate torcs to cover their necks and dyed woollen fibres emerging into blankets to enfold them when the air grew cool. She danced with the young, whispered with the old and lamented the fallen with as much life as she had ever done.

Mama, for all her long life, had always wandered, moving from tribe to clan, from settlement to kingdom- scattering herself amongst her people so that all knew who she was and what she stood for- us. We.

Most of the time her children would follow her, collecting themselves around her ankles or on her back, soaking her up like a sponge.

Maybe that was the problem, maybe they took too much.

Alba seems to think so. Seems to think that the more of them there were, the less of her there could be and maybe he’s right. As they all grew, she seemed to diminish, wandering less and less frequently, resting more each place she settled. Quick visits turned into monthly, then yearly stays, merging into her people like a faceless, nameless creature who wore a torc of status and cloth of the gods but only shone with the dulling, pale vivacity of a mortal woman.

She was still there, though. Still healthy. Still was present and alert and ready to talk or comfort or hold. Albion was too young, but Cymru picked up on Alba and Ériu’s worry, felt it bleed through into him so that he became watchful for change and anxious to find it. And it was there, if he looked, small things that made him turn away in denial and fold himself into her arms, press close to her body to take in as much of her as he could.

Lavender and honeysuckle, roses and earth. The salty sea wind and grass after rain. Home.

In the last few years, she took to walking alone.

She never asked them to come with her when she roamed across the land, never asked them to stay when she left for somewhere new, but they had always followed her anyway, for the most part. Sometimes they travelled to places on their own, Alba and Ériu more so -older, stronger, surer of themselves and who they stood to be in the march of mankind- but mostly they remained together, following her like tiny, spinning comets around a star.

But these last few years they had known that she wanted them to stay. She had never said so explicitly but there was a feeling, a deep calling that they understood was not for them. Young though he was, even Albion knew this and would curl up next to Alba or Cymru when she went away, burrowing into them as if desperate for something that wasn’t his to hold.

Mama would walk and roam, would return in a few days and then collect them up again to move on together. Maybe that was the new way things were to be, Cymru had caught himself thinking, (deceitful moments of hope and innocence- cruel terrible things he should have known better than to permit), maybe now that they were older, this is what she expected of them- to let her be whilst they themselves learnt to stand alone.

This was true, in a way. He knew that beneath that hopeful wish there was a grain of something hard and cold, something that needed swallowing but was difficult, no matter how sweet it was coated.

Mama wandered and walked, returned and slept- longer and longer each one. Longer disappearances, longer rests afterwards, longer stares off into unknown, forgotten horizons.

And then, one day, she did not come back.

It hadn’t felt different, hadn’t felt anything special, but as the days crept into months which blurred into years they had all known, eventually. That had been her last walk, her last goodbye, and she would not be returning.

Ériu had gone off first. Not in search of her but in search of himself, who he was to be to the people that were now solely his- across the choppy, tempestuous seas that divided their lands to cloak himself in his mountains of emerald green. He returned occasionally, but less than he used to and Cymru felt the absence of him with a keening emptiness he hadn’t expected to feel.

Alba kept the rest of them mostly together, corralling them from place to place, clan to tribe, in a similar fashion to the way Mama had, maybe in stubborn denial of change or to entice her back. Cymru didn’t know. Alba is oftentimes as rough and coarse as his highlands, sparse and blunt and dangerous, if you didn’t know where to tread and his moods change from dark to light so quickly it is hard to catch them and pin them down.

Cymru was at least old enough to understand, could appreciate enough that Alba was hurting, is hurting, and that was his way; he was scared and angry, lonely and confused, and he was coping the best he could to keep them all together. Albion, however, did not understand, could not comprehend why he was so snappy, so distant, would not play with him and would shout when he did wrong or cuff him for accidents he didn’t mean. Albion knew Mama wasn’t coming back but didn’t know why and resented the perceived abandonment and the abrupt thrust into a new way of things.

So, Albion comes to Cymru, to wail into his side or beg for attention Cymru doesn’t want to, can’t give. Albion wants comfort, wants something soft and safe- he wants Mama and no one can give him that, so he needles and acts up which causes a cycle of repetitive arguments between oldest and youngest as Cymru fades into the shadows and tries his best to soothe them both.

This pressure builds in his chest like a storm, hotter and tighter until the shape of things unsaid and feelings forbidden clog in his throat and begin to choke him. When this happens, (ideally, before it happens) Cymru tries to get away, to take himself off to a place where he can cry and feel his own feelings, rather than those of everybody else. There is no one to untangle his ball of confused emotions but that’s okay, all he needs is time and space and he can smooth them out on his own.

Up here in his own lands Cymru can feel and breathe as himself, rather than as a part of a fractured family. He feels himself in the stones under his feet, can listen for his songs in the whispers of wind, can see his clans dot the hillsides and collect into pockets of himself- Cymry. Now that Mama has gone, the distinction between himself and his brothers feels more clear- this part is his, now, rather than theirs or Mama’s. This feels more like him, that over there feels more like Alba. Albion certainly feels more south- chalky cliffs and rolling meadows. Just as each loaf of bread tastes somewhat like its baker -personality baked into it as it rises- they are becoming more hewn into their land and it feels somewhat stark now, more foreign than it ever did before.

Cymru does not like to think of what that means for them in the future, so he tucks that away in his mind to ruminate on later, for another walk alone when he yearns for space. Alone in his lands he can be alone with his present, can reminisce on the past and dream about the future to come in a detached peace that he craves more and more these days.

A crack of thunder booms a welcome in the clouds and he sighs. He cannot stay up here. Long living he may be, but he does not want to chance a broken neck in sodden isolation.

Picking himself up and dusting himself off, he begins his walk down the hill, moving up and away from the edge first and then carefully picking up the trail between loose rocks and hidden dips in the earth, feeling the ground innately as he goes. He is surefooted and confident, so he descends quickly and with unnatural ease. It begins to rain when he is nearly halfway down, fat spots that darken the ground with round, large circles and the air grows muggier. The sky rumbles again- a warning. He won’t have too much longer before the heavens open fully to catch him where he stands.

He and his brothers are camped not too far away. Alba has been taking them all over, following Mama’s old routes and greeting all as they approach. The welcome is slightly different now, warmer for one of them and more distant for the others. Their people are changing how they feel, too: ‘We’ and ‘Us’ growing smaller and separated, ‘Them’ growing larger and more frightening.

Cymru adds this to the collection of thoughts he does not wish to think on at the moment and carries on, faster now as lightning bursts free from the billowing sky and washes the land white, forcing him to be more cautious of where he treads.

Near the bottom he stops, seeing a shape.

There is something perched under a tree, huddled in on itself and building a meticulous tower of stones from a large pile of them that has been collected in a heap. The thing- the person- is familiar and Cymru frowns to see him there.

‘Albion?’

At the sound of his name and Cymru’s approach Albion snaps up his head to look at him before looking away, back to his rocks. He is concentrating deeply, furrows drawn into his brow as he scrunches his face up to gently place a large one precariously on top. It sits there solid and his face splits into a wide, happy grin, finally turning to give Cymru his full attention.

‘What are you doing here?’ Cymru crouches next to Albion and brushes his hair away from his face, some mud from his cheek. Albion leans into the touch automatically and Cymru sits close to him, making himself comfortable. Now he is down from the hill and on flatter ground the danger has passed- they might as well wait here until the rain lessens or moves on. It is coming down in earnest now, a proper shower from an unsure beginning, but it is warm and sticky with summer, so not unpleasant.

Albion stares at his stone mountain, assessing it, ‘Alba sent me after you- he said it was going to storm so I should bring you back.’

Cymru frowns. Although not far, the clan they’re staying near is still a good hour’s walk away for Cymru with his longer legs. With that information, and the number of stones scattered about the tree base, he knows Albion had been here a while, ‘Why did you stop here? I was only further up the hill.’

Albion shrugs, ‘You go away to sit up high by yourself.’

He reaches out to pick up another stone, turning it over with small, fat fingers to search for imperfections, and Cymru swallows, a lump suddenly in his throat. He hadn’t thought anyone noticed, ‘You can always join me, if you like. I won’t ever mind if you want company.’

Albion shakes his head and gingerly places the new stone on top of his mountain, ‘That’s something you do. I’ll do this,’ it wobbles there for a moment, oddly weighted and bumpy, but stays and Albion turns to him in glee, hungry for his approval.

Cymru smiles back, ‘You’re good at it.’

Albion looks proud, self-satisfied in a way only small children can manage- unashamed and bright, ‘I’ll build bigger ones, everywhere I go.’

Warm breeze catches the leaves overheard and curls over their hair, ruffling it and tugging. It smells like earth, like grass after rain, like home.

‘I can’t wait to see.’

---------

AN:

So, this was supposed to be a quick and easy writing drabble but it ended up rather longer than I planned, as is always the way.

As a challenge to myself, to stop myself from continually rewriting things after I have posted them, I’ll keep this to ferment for a while on Tumblr where I can rewrite and edit with reckless abandon until I’m happy with it and it’ll move to AO3. If you have any feedback or critiques, feel free to let me know!

(1) the identity of Celts and England is a very interesting, messy research field both linguistically and historically. ‘Albion’ is an ancient name that technically refers to the whole of the British Isles but, as it’s been picked up by the fandom as an ancient name for England (and this is a mere teeny fan fic drabble rather than an accurate historical source), I’ve used this to make England recognisable.

[lesetoilesfous]

Fic prompt: M!Hawke/Anders, “I should have told you a long time ago.”

(If you’d like me to write you a dragon age fic, send me a prompt from here!)

@dadrunkwriting​

Pairing: m!Handers

Characters: Garrett Hawke, Anders

Tags: end of act 2, mild angst, mostly fluff, declarations of love

Rating: Mature

For the first time in nearly six years, when Hawke gets to Darktown the light outside Anders’ clinic is out. There’s no queue spilling out onto the landing, and instead the earthen floor is eerily empty as the setting sun spills in bolts of pink and yellow silk across the dust. Hawke doesn’t make the decision to start running consciously, but he climbs the steps to the clinic in a heartbeat, and throws the thin wooden doors open in a crashing rattle that startles a pair of pigeons out of the rafters by the wall and into the pink sky that squeezes between the cliffs of Kirkwall.

Inside, the clinic is dark, stretchers empty and counters clear of everything - there are no rolled bandages, or brewed potions, not even clean basins and flasks for the next day’s work. Hawke can feel his heart sitting heavily on the back of his tongue as he steps into the velvet dark and breathes in the smell of soap and cotton and mildew. “ANDERS!”

His voice bellows against the wooden rafters, and Hawke really can’t find it in himself to care. He keeps thinking about coming back from the Deep Roads and finding Bethany gone. He keeps thinking about coming home to lilies and a vase and no mother in the parlour. He keeps thinking about Lothering, and the smouldering ruin blackening the horizon to greet him when he came back from the hunt.

Hawke strides forward through the cots, pushing the rickety wooden structures aside too hard, so they crash into each other, and stares wildly into the dark. “ANDERS!”

“I have neighbours, you know.” Anders’ voice is quiet and exhausted and Hawke doesn’t care. He turns to see the mage standing in the doorway, a bag full of green leafy roots slung over his shoulder, and crosses the space in three long loping strides that feel like they take a lifetime. And then he’s wrapping his arms around Anders’ too-thin body, crushing him close as he buries his face into his shoulder and breathes in the familiar scent of honey-sweet elfroot and sweat. 

“Maker, I thought -” Hawke manages, when his heart has approached a pace he thinks he can survive. He pulls back to see Anders frowning at him, his long sharp face cast in shadow by the dark belly of his clinic. “What - why is the lantern out?”

Anders’ expression darkens, and he pulls himself roughly out of Hawke’s arms, walking into the clinic and lighting a candle with an impatient flick of his wrist. “Why do you think, Garrett? Would you trust me with your child, such as I am?” Anders looks up, and in the candlelight his face is gaunt and hollow, pressed with deep purple bruises of sleeplessness beneath his brown eyes. “I wouldn’t.”

Hawke’s chest lurches, and he turns back toward Anders, feeling like a mabari on a leash. “Anders -”

Anders laughs once, bitterly, and raises a hand in a swift gesture as he dumps the bag of roots onto the cot. “Don’t. Just, don’t. If I wanted hollow platitudes I’d go to the Chantry.”

Hawke bites his tongue, and watches as Anders unpacks the bag: elfroot, mostly, with a few spiky silver branches of Spindleweed. Behind them, in the Undercity, there’s the shrieking sound of a scream, and no way to tell whether it’s in jest or honest fright. With a feeling like falling, Hawke presses on. “What’s going on?”

Anders shakes his head, pursing his lips as he begins to slice the elfroot with quick, practiced motions in a series of soft thumps. “Isn’t it obvious? I’m leaving.”

All at once, Hawke is weightless. He stares, as if the sight of this man is the only thing keeping his feet anchored to the earth. “What?” If his voice sounds strained, Anders doesn’t seem to notice, mouth pressing into a thin line as he chops the elfroot faster.

“I’m leaving. I’m taking myself out of the equation. I almost -” Anders’ voice gets louder, and his hand pauses in the chopping before resuming with new vigour as his shoulders hunch. “I will not let myself hurt anyone else. I won’t. So, I’m going.”

“What about the underground?” Hawke manages, pushing the words like sandpaper over his dry tongue. 

Anders barks a laugh that rings against the clinic’s rafters. In the corner, by the door, there’s a sudden flurry of movement as a rat disappears into the wall. “It’s over. They found our way in. Everyone involved is dead or -” Anders’ voice breaks, and he ducks his head, hair slipping out of his loose ponytail in great chunks as he glares at the elfroot he’s chopping. “Or worse.” He looks up then, and it’s hard to tell in the dark and glimmer of the candlelight, but Hawke thinks his eyes are shining.

From outside the clinic, through the broken walls of Darktown, there’s the ringing crash of the sea. Anders looks at Hawke, and the space between them feels as vast as an ocean. “There’s nothing for me here, Garrett. I should have left a long time ago.”

Hawke feels the words sink into his chest like a hand grabbing his heart and twisting. He moves forward, setting his fingers on Anders’ thin wrists. Anders stops chopping, and looks up at him. This close, Hawke can see the dark track of tears on his cheeks. In the shadows beyond the candlelight, Anders’ stubble is almost silver. Hawke wants that, suddenly, fiercely: wants to live with this man long enough to see him go grey.

The smell of elfroot is thick and sweet between them as honey or molasses, the dark green leaves going darker where they bleed into the chopping board. The candle flame jumps and flickers in the wind that rushes through the buried streets. Hawke’s fingers tighten around Anders’ wrists. “That’s not true.” The words are a whisper, and Hawke has to swallow past the lump of his heart in his throat before he can continue, feeling Anders’ attention on him stretched thin as spider silk, liable to break with the wrong breath. “It’s not true that there’s nothing for you here. I’m here.”

For a second, Hawke thinks Anders believes him. But then his expression crumbles into a mask of impassivity, and he pulls back, turning away from him and walking toward the sink in the wall. The crash of water falling into the basin is loud as a thunderclap in the empty clinic. Hawke stands frozen over the butchered elfroot, feeling as if his feet have been rooted to the ground. He glances down to check that they haven’t, and looks up in time to see Anders’ drying his hands on a rag and lifting his chin.

“Your friendship has meant a lot to me, Garrett, truly, but -”

Anders’ voice is distant, almost cold, and that would sting more if Hawke wasn’t so distracted by the fact that he hadn’t apparently heard what he was saying. 

“No, Anders, I’m in love with you.”

Never let it be said that Garrett Hawke was a man who thought before he spoke. Anders had frozen like a halla in a hunter’s sights, and was staring at him with wide eyes and an odd kind of vulnerability that made him look like a man in his late 20s, not his mid 40s. Hawke soldiered on, walking around the table and crossing the clinic to stand in front of Anders in the dark. He looks into those clever brown eyes, almost black in the shadow, and takes a deep breath.

“I should have told you a long time ago. I love you. I love everything you do. I love your laugh, and that little scar on your chin. I love the perpetual stubble, and the greys in your hair. I love the holes in your clothes and the wrinkles at the corners of your eyes. I love your freckles, and your hands, and the way you look like Andraste herself in the middle of a fight, burning brighter than any star I’ve ever seen. I love your terrible sense of humour and your worse poker face. I love your obsession with cats and I love how much you care about everyone around you with every ounce of everything you arw. I love you, and I love Justice, and I love you and Justice, and I don’t want you to leave. Please, Anders. Don’t leave me.”

Behind them, through the broken walls of darktown, the silver moon rises over the Waking Sea. Blue light flickers over Anders’ cheek. And then he’s moving, and his long, calloused, crooked hands are grabbing Hawke’s face, and he’s bending and kissing him like it’s the only way to breathe, and Hawke has a moment to register the fact that the man even tastes like elfroot, before he’s wrapping his arms around Anders’ chest and pressing him close, hard, licking a broad stripe into Anders’ hot mouth and feeling his knees go weak at the moan that elicits as long fingers push into his hair and scratch against the back of his head. The world spins, and Hawke feels for the first time in a long time as if he’s finally done something right. Then Anders is pulling back, laughing, pressing his forehead against Hawke’s, and his long nose is hard against Hawke’s cheek and cold and wet with tears, and his laughter is breathless and shivering, and Hawke holds him tighter because he doesn’t want him to cry but he doesn’t know what else to do.

Anders presses another kiss to his lips, and Hawke follows him when he moves away, breath tickling his chin. “You smell like a fucking mabari.”

Laughter rises in Hawke’s chest like a firework, and he leans back and picks Anders easily up off the ground, spinning him around as he yelps and then folds into Hawke’s embrace with a laugh and a sigh, resting his arms on Hawke’s shoulders, hands linked loosely behind his neck. Hawke puts him down, but doesn’t let him go, still seized by the irrational notion that if he does this strange, flawed, brave, beautiful man will disappear from his life like mist at sunrise. So instead he squeezes him closer, and kisses his sharp, stubbled jaw, before pressing a series of kisses up his cheek and against his ear as Anders snorts and makes no effort to pull away. 

With one arm braced around Anders’ waist, Hawke moves his other hand to cup his sharp chin, pulling his face down to look at him. “Don’t leave.” Hawke’s voice is rough and low with the demand, and Anders’ eyes skate over his brow and nose and chin, before fluttering shut as he smiles. 

“Alright.” Anders opens his eyes, and looks at Hawke with something terrifyingly close to wonder. Hawke’s arm tightens around his waist, and Anders’ mouth quirks upward in a grin. “Alright. I’ll stay.”

Hawke ducks forward, and kisses the smile from his lips. 

The candle goes out.

[katsukisbeatingheart]

sing to me

soulmate au where you can hear the songs stuck in your soulmate’s head. the closer you are to them the quieter the music becomes, before the voice changes altogether.

word count: 2,440

a.n.: helo i have a few of these typed up and a few others in progress explicitly for soulmate aus. it’s the least angsty one so far so here you go friends.

(psst here’s dabi’s)

(psst here’s sero’s)

(psst here’s bakugou’s)

listen while you read 👉👈

ao3

Shinso Hitoshi did not sing, and isn’t the type to give even so much as a hum. But when he did—of his own volition, mind you—he never did so in front of people.

Which is how he knew this soulmate bullshit might not actually be all that contrived.

Sometimes he’d catch himself embarrassingly humming or whistling in public—usually to the absolute amusement of his friends and family—stuck with songs in his head he hadn’t even ever heard of. And it was in times like that he’d begin singing something ridiculous back, as his own petty way to clearly say ’stop’.

When the music would disappear, he’d chuckle lightly to himself and continue about his day.

Only to fall asleep that night to you whispering sweet, sweet literal nothings from the far side of his mind. Barbie Girl was a slap and a half, but if he had to check out with it rolling around in his head at two a.m. for the third night in a row, he’d dedicate his waking hours to annoying the hell out of you.

See how you liked it being startled awake—hopefully, he wasn’t 100% on the time difference—by Caramelldansen.

There were even a few times where you’d try to push music into each other at the same time. Like hijacking a radio frequency, you’d change channels on each other all day and all night until it was a warbled cacophony of noise, bordering on a headache big enough for a small city. Rarely would either of you concede, but if and/or when you did, you’d make sure the song was something you both liked.

At any other rate, Shinso had to give you credit for your taste in music; even if he didn’t recognize a fair few, he’d remember the lyrics and scour the internet later looking for them like his life depended on it. He already had a building playlist of the songs you’d sing to him—separate ones for the songs he knew, the songs he didn’t know, and his personal favorites. He kept those to himself like trade secrets, deflecting questions about what he was listening to or what kind of music he had on his phone.

Oftentimes, it was easy to guess how you were probably feeling if he just listened. There were queues of songs that made him feel relaxed and incredibly focused—which he assumed did the same for you—and others that just set him on fire.

Then there were days he felt like he was walking around with water in his shoes and a storm cloud lamenting with taut strings and frail keys. It was days like those that he liked to physically, consciously hum meme audios—or if the sadness was particularly dour, he’d find a quiet place, and sing songs that meant the world to him. Shinso wouldn’t hear anything back, and assume you were singing too.

The music said a lot about you, which was a considerable feat as he had never met you before, and he wanted to be selfish. He didn’t want to spoil what was special to you and him before he even got to see you.

You definitely worked your way around that, the maddening anonymity—using song titles to give away bits of information about one another as generously as you could. Favorite colors, films, seasons; all objective small talk suddenly turned scripture. He amassed everything in a small journal like priceless treasures—carrying around the value of another life in his pocket as casually as a to-do list. He had the music, but something tangible like this put his mind and heart at ease. You were really out there, and Shinso could meet you someday.

It wasn’t a known secret to anyone that subject posed one of his greatest fears. One day finding someone to spend the rest of ever with, with someone else’s song playing in his head.

In more than a few ways, you helped him remain largely optimistic. As long as he could hear you, he could find you, and as he got older and he acquired more freedoms and was just a little surer of himself, there was a chance.

That hope suddenly burned like ice on one derisively beautiful day.

Shinso dragged himself up the flights of stairs leading to his apartment, sliding around the stacks of moving boxes cluttering up the only way home. He tottered down the hall, and stepped through the threshold inattentively humming a new tune he’d heard that day that he thought you might like.

If there was one thing he could ever count on, it was your consistency.

Ever since you were kids, he grew up with annoying, made up nursery rhymes he still had memorized, as though he’d written them himself. They quickly turned into fun jingles, which then morphed into some of the most beautiful melodies he’d ever heard. Those didn’t usually have lyrics though, so it wasn’t like he could look them up to be sure—and yet he somehow knew they were original to you.

It was then that he realized, he had never gone a single day of his life without music.

So, when he sat back after a long night of work and readied himself for at least a few hours’ sleep, he froze. Shinso hadn’t heard a beat of song all day. Not anything besides what might have been jumping around him as he went out for errands or to the agency. 

With a harsh shake of his damp hair, he swiped a towel over his stony expression. His clenched jaw was starting to drive an ache into his skull.

You probably slept all day, he reasoned.

Even though he was sure you’d sent songs to him in sleep more than a few times in your life…

No. Absolutely not.

He shook himself free of worries, refusing to end the day with fear in his heart where the music should be.

Instead, he closed his eyes and slipped into a tune he’d fallen asleep to before—one that he was sure you created. It rained over his restless consciousness like sun-drops and star-dew, pulling steady, even breaths out of him and pushing a gentle weightlessness in.

The next morning, however, brought even more questions Shinso was just slightly afraid to have answered. Still no sign of the little voice that sounded like him, but was not his own. He absently picked up on a lilting murmur somewhere from upstairs, and anchored to it the more the weightlessness slowly began disappearing.

Shinso shrugged off his nerves, whistling light and roses into the bathroom mirror through his teeth. He splashed cold water into his face and closed off the tap with a huff, sending a final apprehensive glance to his reflection before heading out the door.

He doesn’t know why he’s suddenly ineffably compelled to turn into the shop on the corner after a quick run to the market—but he is. Maybe it’s the incoherent and yet still familiar ringing in his ears, clear as a bell ushering him along his spontaneity.

Shinso’s morning started jittery and threatened to boil over in anarchical agitation. Strolling down the street with the absence of his wonted metronome, hands in his pockets tapping to the beat of an abandoned drum, he felt he stuck out like a loose screw. He was mindless in his trips to each store as he blindly reached for things he was vaguely sure he needed.

It was when he had stepped out onto the corner that something inexplicable snapped into place.

Shinso jogged across the street and through the inviting doors of a building whose name he hadn’t even bothered to read. He found himself surrounded by chrysanthemums and dahlias before he realized he’s in a floral parlor.

The redolence of fresh soil and ingratiatory verdure engulfed his wearied demeanour; the petals brushed his cheeks, and if he didn’t know any better, he’d suggest that the bouquets were reaching for him. The salvia and larkspur waved from the other end of the aisle, and he followed their purple buds to the other side of the shop.

He stopped to admire the camellias and daffodils, lightly taking them between the pads of his thumb and forefinger.

Butterflies.

Hitoshi’s eyes widened with a start, his posture straightening like he’d been struck with lightning.

They fill my guts when I look in your eyes.

He pivoted back and forth on his heels, desperately looking to the flowers for an explanation. A voice filled his head for the first time in nearly two days.

A heart that’s young is filled with sweet surprise.

This time though, the voice isn’t his. It’s clear and ringing and it doesn’t belong to him. The usual warmth he felt basking in the sound of music you whisper in his voice does nothing to compare with the exhilaration frothing in his chest now. Shinso ran a hand through his already disheveled hair, sliding it down his neck and over his shoulder.

It’s really not his, he inwardly surmised. It’s like listening to someone from inside a bubble, though; it’s a round and full sound, but he just knew if it were only slightly louder, the barrier would pop and he’d be free.

Only the innocent can sympathize.

It’s yours.

He brushed past the water lilies, clearing row after row as casually as he could in a futile attempt so as to not appear deranged.

I don’t care

The voice bled into his mind clearer, like watching the gentle shift of river to ocean water through facile currents. He turned the last corner with a breath of anticipation. In a final bit of direction, the lilac, heather, and baby’s breath spilled out of an ornate frame, unquestionably pointing to a figure facing away from him.

“About the funny way you wear your hair,” you crooned. You turned to tenderly repot the rosy begonia cupped in your palms, tucking it in place with the most serene gleam Shinso Hitoshi had ever seen. He sighed, releasing a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding for years.

“Someday you’ll let me put my comb up there.”

“’Till then you’re beautiful and I just stare,” Hitoshi finished softly.

You almost dropped your armful of forget-me-nots. Your strangled breath caught in your throat, hooked solely on the man standing there waiting. He gazed at you with an amused smile and crinkled, bruised eyes. It’s reminiscent of a sleepy kitten and if you hadn’t been so shocked, you’d have melted in your shoes.

“I missed your voice yesterday,” he drawled almost lazily, crossing his arms over his chest. You cleared your throat, rolling upright with a swing of your hands as they lock together at your back.

“I was going to say the exact same thing.”

His movements reminded you of a large jungle cat, stalking forward with a controlled lethargy tensed in anything but. As eager as you were, you matched him beat for beat, dragging your quivering legs in delicate strides down the aisle.

“So, is this supposed to mean we met sometime yesterday then?”

He stood right in front of you, finally close enough to recognize as the nameless and faceless childhood friend you’d been listening to since you could think on your own. You stepped into him, coming to a stop just before the tips of your shoes met his.

“It’s likely.”

“No way,” he said with a resolute shake of his head. “I’d remember you if that were the case.”

“You sound so sure of yourself.”

He stared you down with a focus you wouldn’t expect from eyes as exhausted looking as his.

“I’ve never been more certain about anything in my life.” You bashfully tugged at the fabric of your clothes, the warmth in your chest spreading upwards to beam across your face. Flattening your palm against the expanse of his collar bone, you idly swung your hands over the surface like a pendulum.

“Maybe we just missed each other then—crossed paths without finishing them,” you suggested, twirling a lock of purple around your finger.

“You wouldn’t happen to be moving in somewhere, would you?”

Your head jerked with a small start to twist at him quizzically. How could he possibly know that?

“In a complex a few blocks away from here, yes. Why?”

Shinso’s smile broke into parts amusement and incredulity.

“Looks like I’m your new neighbor,” he grinned. My neighbor? You lit up, eyes twinkling with excitement.

“That means—!”

“You’re stuck with me, yeah.”

“That can’t be such a bad thing,” you started, dropping your voice to push into him more, “—after all, I’m a little new to the area.” You blinked, letting a coquettish simper slide across your features.

“I could do with some sort of guide if I’m going to survive out here, you know.”

“I think I know a guy,” he murmured, a strained husk in his volume.

“Oh, you do, do you?” you whispered under fragile breaths.

“Yeah,” he said, leaning down to angle his face with yours. Just as you reached in to touch his lips, he pulled back suddenly, tapping his finger to his chin in thought. “Tall, blond, black streak of lightning across his bangs—hard to miss. I’ll introduce you; probably just your type.”

You rolled your eyes and punched his shoulder, gripping the fabric of his shirt in an iron fist.

“How could you possibly know my type?”

You pulled his stupid happy face to yours and kissed the mischief out of him, and he dissolved into a tender mess under your fingertips. All of this was new and unexpected, but he imagined seeing, meeting, and eventually kissing you going much different. Shinso hadn’t expected colliding like old, familiar friends; Shinso hadn’t expected missing the way you pressed into him, as though you’d done it a thousand times before. This was a first kiss between two people, but not the first time you’d ever touched.

“Be careful,” he sighed, voice richly warm, “if I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were flirting with me.”

You languidly pressed your lips to the corner of his mouth, tracing time signatures into his jawline.

“Have been since we were kids, thanks for noticing.”

“You mean to tell me Mr. Snuffles Is My Best Friend was actually for me? I’m flattered.”

“Oh yeah, definitely. Absolutely not about one of my favorite stuffed animals.”

“That’s good to know. And here I was thinking I would have to challenge a teddy bear for your hand.” You laughed heartily, pressing your forehead into his chest.

“Can I walk you home?”

You fingered the fabric of his shirt, leaning in to feel the rhythm of his heart. It was the prettiest song you had ever heard.

“I’m already there.”

[agerefandom]

Sugary Sweet

Fandom: Twilight

Characters: Jasper Hale/Alice Cullen, regressor!reader

Words: 1,700

Summary: A simple morning in the life of an age regressor who lives with Alice and Jasper, full of sugar and fun. Reader is gender-neutral and regresses to a baby age-range in this story!

Warnings: Food, pacifiers, a little temper tantrum, diapers, and changing. 

You wake up slowly, warm and cozy in the embrace of the blankets. The morning light is soft and hazy, a mobile circling above your head. Your eyes slowly begin to focus on the stars and rocket ships dangling above you.

A big yawn stretches your mouth, and you start to wake up properly, shifting in the crib. The bars stretch up around you, and you reach an arm up to the bars, wrapping fingers around its length and rattling them a little.

It’s enough sound that Alice is at your door in a moment, sweeping into the nursery with a wide smile.

“My baby is awake!” she coos, making her way to the crib and sliding down the bars so that she can reach in and smooth back your hair. “How did you sleep, darling?”

You catch Alice’s wrist and bring her fingers to your mouth, biting down on the knuckles lightly. Her skin is cold and almost sweet-tasting. She laughs at you and withdraws her fingers, picking up your paci and slipping it into your mouth. It fell out in the night, but the paci clip attached to your onesie makes sure it never goes far. “There you go, much better.” She boops your nose and then lifts you up, effortless despite her slight frame. Vampires are the best, you’ve watched Alice pick up huge rocks for fun but it somehow always makes you feel surprised when she lifts you. Like you’ve suddenly become weightless and you could just float away if Alice wasn’t holding on.

“Amabbaba,” you babble around your paci, snuggling against Alice’s chest as she brings you across the nursery to the changing table.

“Oh, really?” she replies conversationally, trying to set you on the table. You cling to her, unwilling to let go of the embrace. “Silly little one, you need a change!” Alice says, nuzzling her nose against yours. “Come on, only a second. And then we can go see Jasper for your breakfast!”

“’asper!” you gasp. He’s been gone for a few days with the other Cullens, and you missed him a lot. This time when Alice puts you on the table, you reluctantly release her shirt from your grasp. She slips a rattle into one of your hands, and you hold it up above you, enjoying the shh-shh sound of the beads inside. You experiment with tilting it this way and that, listening to the different sounds it makes, and hardly noticing Alice changing your diaper.

“There we go!” She pats your hip, pressing into the soft diaper that holds you safe and padded. You wiggle under her touch, giggling as the diaper crinkles under your bottom. There’s nothing else like that sound, sending you straight into your safe place where there’s only hugs and stuffies and naptime. “Up we go!” Alice scoops you up again, settling you on her hip. You wrap your legs around her waist, resting your head on her shoulder as she carries you downstairs. She bounces you lightly on the stairs, a fun little movement that keeps you aware of her effortless embrace and the padding of the diaper. You giggle again, feeling safe and weightless.

“’asper!!” you shout when you reach the ground floor, unwrapping your legs so that you can put your feet on the ground. Alice lets you stand and you start to run towards the kitchen, off-kilter and clumsy but too excited to wait for Alice to help you.

“Sweetheart!” Jasper’s voice calls back, and he’s running towards you a second later, sweeping you up into his arms and spinning you around in a wide arc, the kitchen wide enough to allow the movement. You come to rest in his arms, and he grins at you with that open smile that you’ve only started to see. Jasper used to be really careful around you, but once you got used to each other and Alice built your nursery, he started to get a lot cuddlier. You’re glad: Jasper gives really good hugs, even if Alice’s are the best. “How’s my baby this morning?”

“Hung’y!” Jasper makes the best food and the promise of breakfast is so very exciting.

“Well, that’s good because I’ve made a proper feast.” He carries you into the kitchen, and Alice follows behind. Sure enough, the table is laden with plates of fruit and whipped cream, a stack of waffles waiting to be dressed up with all the extras.

You squeal excitedly and squirm in Jasper’s hold, trying to get to the syrup. He laughs and keeps his grip on you, strong enough to foil your best efforts to escape. Alice and Jasper work together to get you into the high chair as you grab for the fruit on the table. Alice locks the little belt over your hips, keeping you in place, before they add the plastic tray in front of you.

“Here we go.” Jasper pretends to wipe his forehead once you’re all settled, as if that was really hard work. He likes playing human more than Alice does, especially when you’re a baby. It makes him happy, and that makes you happy.

They flit around the table, letting you pick the fruit and toppings for your waffles and then arranging them into fun little patterns like kitty cats and smiley faces. Alice adds extra syrup with a wink and Jasper cuts them up into little pieces, feeding you by hand. His fingers get sticky and sweet, and you can’t resist biting them a few times while they’re in your mouth. It only makes him laugh, and he doesn’t bother to get a fork, so you know it doesn’t bother him.

Breakfast is sweet and messy and there’s blueberry juice all over your hands and face by the time you’re finished. Jasper is also covered in syrup, but Alice has managed to stay mysteriously clean.

“Looks like the two of you are taking a bath,” she says, pressing a kiss to Jasper’s temple as she lifts the tray up from your chair. “I’ll clean the dishes, darling, you take the baby upstairs.”

“As you wish,” Jasper says. His accent gets stronger when he talks to Alice, and it’s clear how much he loves her. You’re so lucky to have them in your life, to be squished between the huge amounts of love they have for each other. Alice laughs and disappears into the kitchen as Jasper undoes your bib and starts to free you from the table.

“No bath,” you protest, trying to push his hands away. “No bath!”

“Yes a bath,” Jasper tells you, easily maneuvering around your flailing limbs. No fair! He’s too fast and strong for you. “You’re a very sticky baby.”

“No!” You can feel the tears welling up in your eyes. It was such a nice morning. You don’t want to take a bath. Jasper quietly lets you feel your frustration, finishing the unbuckling process and picking you up for the trip upstairs. You struggle against his grip. “No bath!”

“Sweetheart, you love baths,” Jasper sighs. He doesn’t react to any of the squirming and kicking as he carries you up the stairs. “You’re going to be happy once you’re in there.”

“No!” You can hardly remember what you’re upset about, but it means everything. Jasper won’t put you down! Everything is awful! No matter how hard you kick your legs, his grip is gentle and unyielding. “No, no, NO!” Finally giving up, you slump in his grasp, the tears coming in full force. Jasper holds you close and now you feel his powers slipping into your mind, easing the panic without stopping the tears entirely. You’re still sobbing when Jasper sits you down on the toilet seat so he can start your bath, but by the time he comes to take your clothes off, you’ve finally cried yourself out.

“Hi sweetheart,” Jasper says soothingly. You blink up at him, eyes sore from the tears and head fuzzy with exhaustion. “Arms up, please.” You oblige, and he slides your onesie off in a smooth movement, unwrapping the diaper from your waist so that when he helps you to standing, it gets left on the seat behind you. He moves it into the garbage and guides you into the bath.

As always, it’s the perfect temperature, and your toys are already waiting there, little floaty fish and boats with flashing lights that you can drive around while Jasper washes you and his own arms. You can make motorboat sounds with your lips and you do that while Jasper cleans your hands with a washcloth, splashing in the water once your arms are free again. Baths are the best. There are so many things to do!

Jasper washes you from head to toe, and the water gets fuzzy with soap and bubbles as he goes. You trail your fingers through the suds, watching them cling to your hand as you go. You’re still feeling tired from your tantrum, and a big yawn takes you by surprise as Jasper goes to drain the water.

“Early naptime today!” Alice calls up the stairs from the kitchen.

“As the missus commands,” Jasper murmurs to you. “An early naptime it is.”

You’re feeling cozy and pliant as Jasper helps you out of the water and scrubs a towel over your head before wrapping you up. He brushes your hair with gentle motions and dresses you in a new onesie once your diaper is securely on. A pacifier is produced from one of the cupboards and the next time you yawn, Jasper pops it into your mouth.

Sucking on it, you lean into his grasp, already starting to drift back to sleep. You know they won’t let you sleep too long, that the day will be full of blocks and games and getting bounced on Jasper’s knee. So you don’t bother to fight the drifting feeling, and you barely feel Jasper setting you back down in your crib. You hold onto him as he draws away, and a soft friend is pressed into your arms, settling your mind. You cuddle the stuffie close and roll onto your side in the crib, giving one last suck to your paci as you drift off to your nap.

[themilky-way]

like water {din djarin}

gif credit: no-droids

pairing: the mandalorian/din djarin x fem!reader

summary: when the one person he cares about is threatened, he lets himself indulge in the aftermath of defending them. 

warnings: some violence in the beginning, choking (not in the fun way), depictions of scratches, punches, and minor abrasions; the reader is hurt basically. oh and mando’s gun bc yeah❤️umm that’s it i think? nothing too horrible tho but if this thing triggers you, please don’t read !!

author’s note: not to be conceited or anything (is that even the right word for it lol?) but im super proud of how this turned out! requests are open btw for anyone who wishes to submit anything (if unsure, just ask which fandoms)!

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cyar’ika-> darling, sweetheart

nothing in that exact moment had made much sense. one minute the most precious thing to ever exist to him was snatched away, and the next his hands were gripping the treasure beneath his holster. his knuckles were lily-white at this point, holding the gun as hard as his body would allow him to without crushing underneath him, and the urge to cock it made him visibly shake. he’d been given a command, and out of all the merciless men in the filthy galaxy, he needed to follow it, so his weapon of preference stayed where it needed to. 

the meager specks of emotion that still lived within him betrayed his prominent composure, the view in front of him blocked by the sudden glaze of his eyes. the small drops of saltwater puddled together in his now hazy orbs, holding on until it was nearly impossible to stay put and then rivered down his cheeks. the cause? well, you.

you were filling up the mandalorian’s line of vision, his eyes darting between you and the bounty that had gone wrong. an alienated hand was wrapped around your innocent throat, your feeble hands wrapped around its wrist in a dumb attempt to break free. the ground you were roaming on before appeared to be never ending, and in the same way, the darkened sky absorbed you whole. vertigo was now in full effect; any quick movement caused you to shut your eyes tightly and hope to the maker you’d get through it. it took a few seconds for you to regain your balance, a sharp pain pinging around your neck forcing you to find it. you half expected to be back on the mud again, to have the man you had spent the past year flying around with pulling you to safety. instead, you found din frozen in place, an instinctive action rooted in the steel handle of his pistol. he wasn’t moving, too scared to blink as if you’d disappear if he did. 

perhaps you were; someone like you seemed too good to be true. in all actuality, it may be that you were a fever dream, a celestial that had come down from the sanctity of your home to finally rescue him from his burdens. amidst his frantic glances, he reminisced every second he’d spent with you since your unforeseen arrival, and that somehow worked for him. the gears in his brain started to turn again, and with every ounce of his strength, he pounced on the quarry and did what he should’ve done the instant you were taken from him. anger took over his worry, the effects illustrating themselves in a collage of mitted fists and blood. the pistol residing on din’s waist was useless compared to his hits; the softened position of his jawbone was locked firmly as a result of his gritted teeth and he was going to need more than your delicate hand on his shoulders to ground his senses. 

the mandalorian never expected to succumb to anyone, nor to feel remotely joyful upon hearing someone’s laugh. the idea of kindling a relationship was ludicrous, utterly impossible if only he weren’t bound to the chains of his creed. oftentimes, he wondered if someone would one day traverse his path and make him question every moral he’d been taught. din had dismissed the thought, as any other member of his intricate society would have, but the wondrous insight depicting a different lifestyle always lingered faintly in his mind. 

today, the very same visions behind his recurrent insomnia framed themselves in a frail art piece. din’s focus laid directly ahead, the fingers navigating the center controls as tight as they’d been on his gun. his eyes deserved to rest, perhaps take in the splashes of color nature was offering him, but he landed them on the same lovely sculpture adorning his cockpit. 

you were seated in the chair adjacent from the pilot’s, with your knees closely tucked to your chest. one large scrape designed itself on your leg-a dull reminder of the ordeal you were involved in hours earlier-with flakes of arid blood protecting the wound. bouncing off the skin of your throat were shades of red and purple, now properly mixing into a deeper complexion that’d require you to hide it for some time. besides the scattered nicks living on your face, and the other couple dozen on your arms and legs, the outcome wasn’t as terrible as the one your attacker received. it was a rule of thumb to not mess with a mandalorian, much less with the pretty little lady clutching his arm as if it were second nature. the foolest of fools wouldn’t even have done such a foul thing, and this particular creature came to know the punishment for harming what wasn’t rightfully his. 

it truly amazed him; the way you seemed to be so unphased by a traumatic circumstance. the woman beside him-the same one who couldn’t sleep unless a window was open-had endured pain, and the marks on her skin proved themselves in jagged indications of it. through the darkened screen of his visor, din could make out your hands neatly intertwined around your folded knees, your chin simultaneously resting on top. you’d been as observant as you always were, hardly missing his actions as he navigated his newfound family to a safe stop. sure, you were unaware of the loving term he considered of you and the baby, but it didn’t hurt to keep it a secret, right?

“hey.” it came out more hoarse than he intended it to, but the emotion behind it flowed out nonetheless. “you okay?”

not really. i don’t feel good. it was easy to say exactly that, to speak the truth, but it was even easier to lie. for the sake of his own worry, at most. your eyes were still glued to his armor, taking in the rough outline of where you imagined his skin would be underneath, or moreso the abstract idea of feeling it with your hands. reflections of your yearning came and went like the mandalorian’s missions, almost impulsively at times, and the curious, teasing tilts his helmet would bid you only encouraged that craving. much like now; the black “T” of his expressionless face leaned to the side, asking you to earnestly respond. “mm, yeah. ‘m kinda tired, though,” you mumbled.

you threw him a lie and he caught it. “don’t lie to me.” din swiveled his chair to accordingly match the peripheral of yours, his elbows coming to rest on top of his beskar-clad legs. “can you look at me?” he inquired softly. then, his intent fell on the slow shift of your head and how it turned to face him, your cheek settling on your unscathed knee. a breath fell from his lips at the doting admiration swimming in your stare. “there she is,” he confirmed with an upward curl of his lips. “is there anything i can do?” it was sincere; a genuine concern to accompany his question. you hummed in response, fearful to accidentally voice the confessions you hid from him. you blinked once, twice, until his question became a plea. “please, cyar’ika.”

reasonably, you were too busy exploring the shape of his helmet, permitting your creative imagination to paint images of the man next to you; so when your ears perceived his sudden name of endearment, there was nothing amongst the stars that you could’ve possibly denied him from. “you’ve never called me that before,” you smiled, all big and brilliant. 

“i’ve wanted to,” the man replied. what resembled ages of pent up stress released with a few curated words. his muscles relaxed, something he never believed to be attainable given his vigorous profession. “god, i’ve wanted to.” 

he followed it with a humble laugh. a sound so familiar and warm, so genuine that it empowered your grin to spread higher. “by all means, keep saying it.” now it was your turn to nervously giggle, and him who embraced the noise with everything he could. a mutual infatuation, so wonderfully obvious, yet it was refused acknowledgment. “i think there is something you can do, though.” silence advised you to continue, “can i sleep with you tonight?” 

the misguided pieces of your minds’, maybe even your souls’, reattached themselves that very same night. as the both of you slept, hands, calloused and smooth, intimately merged against the cushions of the warrior’s bed. tender kisses planted to your forehead left electricity in their wake, and the dark ambiance of his dwelling favored the entanglement of your tired bodies. 

“i wish i could see you, din,” you sighed. the manner in which it was expressed, full of sleep and everything akin, urged him to lift your weightless wrist to his lips. 

“you’ll get to one day, cyar’ika. for now just let me hold you, yeah?”

[forever--rain]

Okay okay this is not a title but a situation. You’re sitting around a bonfire with your friends at the beach under the stars. You haven’t met in months, maybe years, and this is the happiest you’ve felt in a while. Everyone’s eating and drinking and laughing and talking. It’s getting late tho and you’re tired so you allow the sounds of Crashing Waves and the Crackling Fire to lull you to sleep and in that moment, life feels magical. What about a playlist for that feeling?

Banshee, this one was SO much fun to make--even before you and I discussed your wish for some subtle Zutara vibes! (I may have gone overboard on that. Sorry. 😬) It was fun to look for songs that reminded me of beach bonfires and had vibes of friendship and love. Right off the bat, I knew I had to start with "There's a Place," but I wanted to leave it on a positive note for our ship, so we end on "1435." (Struggling to not let this turn into a fic.)

More explanations below the cut!

Send me a playlist title and I’ll give you 5-10 songs I think would go on it!

There's a Place

And what I fight today/I always keep those yesterdays in my mind//All I want, wanted/Was to be want, wanted by you

This song for me was, for me, the best song to match the "old friends meeting with lingering love" part of this playlist. When you listen to it, a lot of the lyrics fit Zuko and Katara so well. Can you just see their eyes meeting across the beach as this song plays in the background? Just me? Okay.

I'm On Fire

Vibes only here. No explanation, really. It just fit the mood.

Stars Are on Your Side

Sometimes it takes dark, yeah, to feel a little light/Sometimes you need fire to see the other side/So get up off your knees/Hope is still alive/That place your searching for, I know you'll find/'Cause the stars are on your side

Ah! Okay, so I love this song's lyrics. To me, it represents Zuko and Katara within the group. Personally, I feel like they really anchored everyone--especially Katara. Girl's hope is what kept them all going.

Shrike

The words hung above/But never would form/Like a cry at the final/Breath that is drawn

So I wasn't around on Tumblr when the "no I love you" challenge was issued, but I heard about it! And I looked up the song because I was curious. Oh, goodness. *sigh* In our little bonfire scenario here, this to me is a Zuko POV song. The group gets back together after a few years and he's just sitting there thinking of all the things he never said as the fire spits up sparks and everyone is laughing and reminiscing.

Holocene

Again, just vibing here. This song never fails to give me bonfire vibes, so that's why it's here.

august

But I can see us lost in the memory/August slipped away into a moment in time/'Cause it was never mine

Again, beachy, summery overtones with regret. A Katara POV song.

Young And Beautiful

I've seen the world/Done it all, had my cake now/Diamonds, brilliant, and Bel-Air now/Hot summer nights, mid-July/When you and I were forever wild

Look. I am a basic bitch. I like Lana and I love Taylor and that ain't changing anytime soon. I first heard this song on a late summer night with my s.o. (back when we were still "only friends, we swear") and I haven't been able to kick those memories ever since. Back then, he lived a block from a lake and we'd walk up there on summer nights to sit in the sand and stargaze together.

Now, tying this into your above scenario a little more concretely, imagine Zuko and Katara breaking away from the group to walk through the shallows of the sea together, the bonfire a beacon in the background as stars wheel overhead.

Northern Lights

I remember your silhouette on Dyes Inlet/Against the silver sheen of a moon like painted glass/Under stars out on a pier; a celestial sphere/We were weightless as the waves that disappeared

The two of them discussing good memories of the Ember Island beach house, anyone? The two of them walking out to the pier where Katara first hugged Zuko? (Banshee, this playlist is giving me ideas for a fic and I already have too many WIPs!!!)

Meteor Showers

Eyes grow heavy but steadily we pull through/Fires in heaven begin to fall for you/Sending sparks across the sky/Like the sparkles in your eyes, so blue

No, but this whole thing fits what I was looking for in the penultimate song on the playlist. Imagine that it's the end of the night and everyone else has either gone back to the house or fallen asleep in the sand, but Zuko and Katara (mostly Zuko) are struggling to stay awake because there's going to be a meteor shower. It's peaceful and it's quiet save for the crackle of the dying fire and they're leaning against one another... And then stars start streaking through the sky.

1435

Without your love I'm nothing more/Than skin and bones and hate/I'm a man without a name/So all I have is all my love to give/To you, for life

I just really wanted a happy ending to this scenario, okay? 😭

Yeah. This is definitely about to turn into a fic. Dammit, Banshee! I've got too many ideas already! (ILY. IT'S FINE.)

[messyfruit]

Christmas confession

(A stand-alone last chapter to my revivied eremin series: An amorous advent)

"I think I’m gonna head to bed." Mikasa yawned and stretched with Armin’s head in her lap. The television was snowing, claiming «no source detected», and casting a pale light over the trio. Armin sat up and blinked hard. Eren was snoring on the sofa behind them. "I think I fell asleep. What time is it?" The candles had all died and the fireplace was just a heap og orange cinders now. The popcorn smelled stale. "Two. I think we all slept through that last one. Who’s idea was it to watch Gremlins anyway?" Armin chuckled. "That was me. Sorry." He staggered from the floor and covered his mouth to yawn. The room went momentarily dark as the TV turned off. Then his eyes adjusted, and Armin could see the filtered glow of the moon outside the window. Were those clouds? Perhaps Eren would get his white christas after all. "I assume you two are done with movies for tonight as well," Mikasa whispered and left the remote on the table. "Good night, Armin." There was a quirious smile on her lips as she slipped into the hall and disappeared upstairs, leaving him to wake up Eren by himself. "…Night." He remained standing for a bit, looking after her, listened to the silence that settled. Even Eren’s snoring had subsided. Armin’s stomach tingled. The house creaked against a wind that was garnering strength outside and he took a slow, deep breath. "Eren?" The cushions squeaked as he sat down by the footend. Eren’s Santa hat had slipped off him and his hair was now once again a bird’s nest - all previous effort to tame it for the occasion, undone by sleep. He rested a hand on Eren’s leg. "You should wake up…" His voice was too soft, and Eren didn’t respond. His chest ached to tell him. Did Eren even know how cute he was? How wild he could make Armin’s heart just by looking at him or taking his hand? And that most exciting dream he’d just had, oh, how he wished Eren would bring it to life. The heat was still playing on his lips. "I think," he whispered. "It’s going to snow… Do you wanna go outside and have a look?" The boy on the sofa finally stirred. His hand came up in front of his face and he gave a drowsy groan. "Armin…?" "I’m here." "God… What times is it?" He sat up rubbing his eyes. His cheek had pink streaks in it after resting on his hand - a mark of deep slumber. "I dreamt we were on a magic carpet ride. You had antlers." Armin giggled. He reached past Eren’s lap to grab his hat. "It’s two. And that sounds like quite the ride. You certain it wasn’t a slead, though?" "He he. Maybe," Eren murmured, blinking sleep out of his eyes. "Um, I mean ho ho." Gently, Armin put the fuzzy red cap back on Eren’s head and dropped his hand to his friend’s shoulder. Eren’s warmth radiated through his shirt like a furnace and Armin loved that about him. Always so warm and comfy. "Was it just me and you?" "No, Connie was there too. But he- uh… Was the genie? Never mind that. Was all weird anyways. Did you say it was snowing?"

The wind tugged and whistled in his hair as Armin stepped out on the porch and into the night. Eren had helped to wrap him securely in a green woolen blanket to protect him against the cold, and now they were standing shoulder to shoulder - quite comfortably in the dark - smiling. The banister lights had been switched off so they could see the stars better. But on the horizon… "Those are definitely clouds," Eren agreed. The mist of his breath whirled away in the wind. "And coming this way, fast," Armin added. He smiled a little wider, sighed and leaned closer, using Eren’s shoulder for a pillow. The twisting of his stomach was distracting, but he felt sure about this. About what he was going to do. What he was going to say…

Just exactly when he’d fallen asleep in Mikasa’s lap, he was unsure of. But the events of his dream were still vivid in his mind, as if they had happened only minutes ago - for real. They’d been older. Maybe twenty. They’d gotten stuck in an elevator somehow, and Eren was hyperventilating, talking about how his girlfriend couldn’t save him if he didn’t get to charge his phone soon. Hearing him talk about a girlfriend like that had stung, but Armin had quickly compertmentalized it and grabbed his best friend by the shoulders to get his attention. "Eren", he’d said. "Eren, it’s ok. Shhh. Calm down." He’d pulled him to his chest, rested a hand against his hair and just let him calm down there. A voice had been announcing flight departures over the speakers. "We’re together in this, alright? No matter what, you’ve got me." And it hadn’t meant to be a romantic statement, but as soon as he’d said it, Eren had known. Armin had known that he’d known. And then he’d just said it, heart wringing with emotion. "Eren, the reason I’m not getting a girlfriend is because all I need is you. Even if all we’ll be is friends, all I need is you beside me. Like this. I love you." Eren had pulled back at that. They’d looked each other deep in the eyes, and he’d replied: "I made the gilrfriend thing up. I was just too scared to tell you I was gay. All I need is you, too." And then they’d kissed. Kissed and kissed. And Armin had felt like he was strong enough to bust them out of that elevator by the power og his happiness alone. Yet, as firework-y as that dream had been, it had simultaneously solidified one thing for Armin: he could not to wait until his twenties to reliev himself of his secret feelings. Now that he knew what it had the potensial to feel like, he couldn’t in good conscience waste any more time. He would make the move soon, as scary as it may be. Please, don’t let this be a mistake.

The wind continued whispering softly around them as they watched the clouds approaching soundlessly. Armin was gathering courage. He knew it had to be now. Just as Eren tilted his head, bumping gingerly against Armin’s, Armin snaked an arm out from between the blanket folds and took his friend’s hand in his. "Eren…?" "Yeah?" The handsome boy stared straight ahead and up at the clouds, but he didn’t shake loose from Armin’s careful grip. Armin took that as a good sign. He swallowed against a lump in his throat and he said: "You’re really special to me…" Eren’s hand jerked, then stilled again. Armin’s heart did a violent summersault. "I’m sorry," he rushed. "No." Eren stared stiffly upwards. "Say it." His palm was becoming clammy. Armin’s cheeks were beginning to burn. "Say… what?" Now Eren turned. They came apart and Armin looked up at him with wide eyes. "Armin, you’re special to me too… So… I’d really like to hear what you were gonna say." "…" "… Please?" Even in the dark, Armin could see the genuine care in Eren’s eyes. His own face was hot, but the scare was cooling off. So he nodded and kept looking into his crush’s eyes. "Y-yeah… I-… Sorry. What I wanted to say, Eren… Ever since, well, a while ago now��� Whenever we’re together, I feel really. Happy." He broke eye contact to laugh nervously down at his own feet. This was not at all as transparent as he wished to be. Why had it been so much easier in his dream? He licked his lips and lifted his chin. "I’m gonna do a trust fall. So please… catch me." Something in Eren’s eyes twinkled. "Eren… I like you. I have feelings for you. A-and if you don’t feel the same way, that’s fine. I just ho-" "-I like you too!" Armin shut up mid-sentence in startlement. Had he just- "I like you too, Armin! God, I-" Eren was pushing the blanket flaps aside eagerly, fumbling around for Armin’s second hand. He caught it, and bit his lip like he was trying to restrain the wide, wide smile that was spreading accross his face. It was as though a fire cracker had gone off and changed his sombre mood for that of a hyper tapdancer’s. He hopped from one foot to the other, chuckling, breath steaming as his speach quickened. "I didn’t know what to think. I tried to hint, but I couldn’t tell if you felt the same. I was so afraid you’d hate me or laugh at me." "Never. No way." Armin watched him dance, his sillhuette hopping back and forth in a frame of silver starlight. There was no way not to laugh at him now, though - simply becasue of how adorable he was. And how relieved and overjoyed Armin himself was. It manefested as a tickling sort of weightlessness. "I wasn’t sure either. You’re so- You’re so kind anyways, you know? So I couldn’t tell if it meant something more or not." They looked at each others’ hot pink faces, and then - somehow, though whomever initiated it Armin couldn’t tell - they came together, lips first. They bumped and tilted and chuckled until they found a good position, and then they let the touch linger for a just a few moments before pulling back. It had been their first. Nothing like the dream, but authentic and sweet in its awkwardness. Practice would hopefully make perfect. And it was mistle toe season after all. Armin opened the blanket burrito and included Eren in the wrap. He hid his face against the taller boy’s shirt and just took in the moment - as well as the scent of that heavy handed cologne. "Hey, Armin…?" "Yeah?" "It’s snowing."

[moderndayportia]

Currents

A/N: This is based on a drabble prompt request from @bouncyirwin​. Thank you! I’m still warming up my writing after a long, long break, so if you have a prompt, feel free to drop it in my Ask box

Pairing: Kakasaku Rating: None Warning: Major Character Death

Katsuyu appears on his shoulder for the second time that day in a puff of smoke swept away by the acrid ash swirling around him. Kakashi shudders as he ruthlessly wrenches his hand from yet another chest cavity. Around him his Anbu guard are fighting furiously, their usually studied restraint corrupted by a desire for blood.

The village is in ruins.

The strike had been precise and planned. Strategic buildings flattened to charred rubble in a hot, pulsing instant. The Hokage tower is a firey tomb, its charred bones burning hot in the stark afternoon bright.

Kakashi dodges a barrage and ducks behind an Earth-release wall where he finds several Katsuyu lying on Shikamaru’s bleeding head. Relief washes through him.

Sakura had summoned them early on in the attack, layering the village in an instant net of healing.

No deaths, he tells himself as he sends a wave of purple lightning through the rubbled ground beneath his guards’ feet before it bursts out of the Earth with a violent crack, eviscerating the circle of enemies surrounding them.

Sakura is life embodied in the face of the reaper.

High overhead a hawk circles and cries—a message for him.

No time, Kakashi thinks as more enemies rush in close.

“Hatake-sama,” Katsuyu says softly on his shoulder.

“Leave me, I’m fine,” he grunts. Other than waning chakra reserves, he is fine now. She had completely healed his extensive burns earlier.

He is fine, they are fine, he tells to himself as he spins a kunai, dodges, and then jams it into the eye socket of a woman cloaked in all black.

Is he their target? He doesn’t know.

A loud, ear-splitting boom tears from the East, and Kakashi sees Gamabunta towering high into the sky, Naruto perched on his head like a glowing beacon.

They’ll be okay.

“Hatake-sama, I don’t have much time,” Katsuyu insists softly again.

Kakashi stops cold.

His heart beats once, twice, then the sick dread fills him like a roar.

He glances towards Shikamaru and watches the Katsuyu on him linger and then fade.

“Where?” he asks, his tongue like ash in his mouth.

“The school,” Katsuyu answers weakly, before she too disappears.

He is gone in an instant.

 ______________________

Sakura’s world is a flood of pain as she lies twisted and broken in the rubble.

Shizune is hovering over her, saying something, but she can’t hear anything but ringing. Sakura tries to follow the movements of her lips, but everything seems to be moving further away and slower. The pain is swelling in violent waves.

A cloud of choking smoke swirls overhead. Her world tilts and spins.

The school….

The school is burning.

Sakura tries to roll onto her side, but a violent agony tears through her and her mouth tastes of iron.

Are they all out?

Shizune is crying. Her hands shaking. The bright lantern of her chakra paints the ankles of Sakura’s guards, standing around them in a tense circle.

The school….

She closes her eyes and is inundated by the rising tide of pain.

A demanding hand presses gently against her cheek.

Kakashi?

He looks worried. His mask is down.

His lips move. Again and again. He is holding her face.

It hurts. She is confused. Her eyes feel heavy.

Kakashi says something to Shizune who argues with him briefly and then bites her lip and leans forward to press her hands over Sakura’s ears. Her hands are bloody. So bloody.

Sound roars in like a tsunami. The first things she hears is her own gurgling breaths.

It hurts.

“Sakura,” Kakashi says. “Sakura,” again, more forcefully. He is holding her face and leaning so close.

“Ka-“ she tries, but nothing else will come. Sirens are blaring through the air.

The school…..

“Sakura, activate your seal,” Kakashi says, his voice a sharp knife.

Her seal?

“Do it. Activate your seal,” he demands.

Her seal.

It comes back to her then, the world snapping into a bitter focus. The devastation. The fires. The bodies.

Her friends. Her family. Her village.

She had called Katsuyu early. The destruction was so wild and immeasurable. She had drained herself, and then activated her seal and drained herself again.

She was empty. The places left hollow by her chakra were now filled with searing pain.

“Sakura,” Kakashi pleads from above her. “Do it.”

Sakura looks up at him as he traces his fingers across her smoke-dyed cheeks.

She aches to reach up and run her thumb down his scar. One last time.

She shakes her head slightly. Her mouth has filled with blood.

“No,” he says. “No.”

He glances wildly at Shizune who has her bloodied hands pressed over her mouth as she holds in silent howls.

Devastation mars his perfect face when he turns back to her.

She is drowning in it.

The school….

“Sakura, please,” he whispers, his voice breaking as he clutches her face.

She gasps and tries to find words. “H-hurts-”she mangles in her broken mouth.

Kakashi’s head falls forward and his soft silver hair brushes against her cheek. He whispers quaking promises into her neck.

Sakura shutters and her chest strangles in one, two, three breaths before he rises again. His face is resolved.

Strong hands cradle her head. The tomoe of his Sharingan spins steadily as he draws her broken body nearer. She feels the unfamiliar tug of his eye dragging her in to a soft, quiet place.

‘The school….’ is the last thing she thinks as her world sinks into deep, painless black.

 ______________

Sakura awakes slowly in a bed of soft green grass. She sits up and looks in wonder at the world around her.

A river, broad and slow, stretches in front of her, dancing with the brilliant reflection of the sunset on the other side. Behind her, the stars twinkle in a vast expanse of velvet black.

The air is warm and quiet but for the cicada song carried through the lingering dusk.

She does not remember how she got here. Who she is feels like a distant dream. She is here.

She is.

She stands slowly to survey her surroundings. Her body feels weightless and pain free. She is wearing a soft white yukata, tied right over left. Her feet are bare and her hair loose.

She steps lightly through the green grass.

Down by the river is a dock. Next to it a small white rowboat, unmoored, bobs up and down.

Sakura returns to sit on the riverbank and watches the water pass.

She waits for a long while. Time seems different here. The sun never changes its position on the horizon. The river flows, the rowboat bobs, and the cicada sing.

Fireflies dance in and out of the reeds in the river’s shallows, their fragile glow mesmerizing.

Eventually—minutes, hours or days later—she stands and starts walking upstream. A well-trodden path leads her gently through the grass and reeds, past a swaying willow tree, and back to a dock.

Sakura tries again, walking downstream this time, and is returned once again to the dock. Was it the same dock?

She finds a coin in her sleeve and leaves it on the railing before trying again.

It is the same.

This world is a small circle, and every path leads back to the dock.

Sakura feels a deep tiredness wash over her. She walks down the path to the willow tree, lies under its swaying bows and closes her eyes.

She dreams of a man with shocking silver hair. He stands at a graveside and prays. Two solemn little girls scuff their feet beside him, the bigger one holding the younger one’s hand.

When she awakes, the air is heavy with incense.

Her world is a small globe and her consciousness condenses to the ever dusk. In her dreams, she finds more. Small windows open into the world that was. She watches the man and his daughters. Time is passing for them. He grows older and so do they.

She charts the passage of time via the lines on his handsome face.

Often when she wakes there are flowers drifting down the current. She sits on the dock, dips her toes into the water, and watches them go.

Sometimes small plates of food are balanced on the moss-covered rocks. She is not hungry, cannot taste, but she eats them and an energy glows warm from her belly.

She waits. Still and calm. Watches the water flow past. The sun never sets. The night never rises.

She isn’t bored. She just is.

One day she wakes and the man is standing on the other side of the river, silhouetted by the sunset.

His name swells up in her mind, a memory that had been held in the deep for too long.

Kakashi.

Her hand rises to her face and she feels hot, salty tears streaking down.

A damn bursts inside her, and it all comes flooding back in.

Kakashi!

She rushes to the white rowboat and steps inside for the first time. There are no oars, but it lurches and begins to propel itself across the river, pulled by some unknown force.

Her eyes never leave him. The time it takes to reach him aches.

The boat knocks against the sunset shore and Sakura tumbles into his waiting arms.

They sink into the sand and hold each other in a desperate embrace.

She is sobbing, overcome by the emotions that have been anchored to him for so long.

“I kept them safe,” he whispers over and over again as he holds her in his strong arms. “I kept them safe.”

She looks up into his face, young and unmarred by the passage of time, and he wipes the tears from her cheeks.

“I waited,” she tells him.

“I know,” he says and bends to catch her lips in a soft kiss.

They linger for some time—days, weeks or months or years. They make love in the half-night. He tells her the story of life after hers, of their daughters, of their grandchildren. Of the seeds they planted that grew big and spread.

Of a life lived for a promise made.

He holds her in his arms in the soft grass and they rest.

One day Sakura wakes before him. He finds her standing by the dock, watching the river’s constant flow.

She turns back, her green eyes burning brightly in the half-light, and holds out her hand.

He takes it.

It’s time.

The current catches the white rowboat and carries them on.

[the-melting-world]

Can you write about Valerius’s hidden gymnastics/pole dance/Lyra/aerial silks talent?~ (pick whichever lol)

Oooh Mads! Please forgive me for taking so long. I was saving this one! I’m going to go with *aerial* – As in aerial yoga talents. 😉

Tagging some more babes: @apprenticealec @arcanecadenza @miserytheapprentice

~ 1K words

Kipling Bronne visits the palace several times a week to groom her arrangements and care for the more sensitive plants in and around the royal grounds. She often takes her longest break in the shadier section of the garden with Portia Devorak, where they share gossip, picnic snacks, and pets between their familiars.

One day, Kipling decides to bring a couple of yoga mats, hopeful that Portia would want to join her in some sun salutations.

“Nice call, Kip!” Portia said as she extended her body into upward dog. “This is a great idea to burn some steam!”

Kipling chuckled to herself as she relaxed from upward dog into a lazy cobra. She honestly had no idea where Portia got all of her energy. It took most of Kipling’s concentration to move through the formations with any sort of grace and synchronization of the breath.

They both slid backwards into downward dog. Poria simply couldn’t pass up the opportunity to giggle at the mere thought of her butt reaching for the sky. Kipling struggled to keep her balance through all the snickering and snorting between the two of them.

“Portia! Quit wiggling your butt like that or I’m going to capsize!”

This only invigorated the redhead’s juvenile shenanigans. In the end, they both toppled onto their mats in a fit of giggles and raspy breath-catching.

In the midst of this, Kipling felt the beginnings of a spring shower peppering her face. The drizzling increased, declaring an end to their yoga session. 

Portia righted herself and shook her fist at the sky. “Darn it! We were just getting started!”

Kipling rolled up her mat. “Maybe we can find a quiet spot in the palace to finish up.”

A spark lighted in Portia’s eyes. “I know where we can go!” She gathered up her mat without bothering to roll it and popped onto her feet. “It’s a pretty quiet place. Consul Valerius is the only one who might show up, but I’m sure he won’t notice we’re there.”

At the mention of the courtier, Kipling suppressed the urge to reach for her ghost lock and tug out of nervousness. Instead, she stood up slowly and clutched the rolled up mat to her chest. Pretending to be more interested in the rain, she asked, “The consul?”

Portia skipped ahead at a brisk pace. “Yep. I’m certain he thinks no one knows what he’s up to in there. You’ll see.”

Kipling made a curious sound as she picked up her own pace. She hoped it wouldn’t betray her intrigue at the thought of spying on the consul. When she and Portia reached their destination, they were unexpectedly apprehended by a servant, who made it no secret that they were desperate for Portia’s help.

“Mind waiting for me while I handle this, Kip?” Portia asked as the other employee practically dragged her away.

Kipling hesitated. “Uh…”

“Okay!” Portia waved over her shoulder. “Be back soon!”

When it was clear that Kipling was indeed on her own, she steadied herself with a few deep breaths and passed her cowrie shells between her fingers. Then she entered the room.

Three thick, sturdy beams were anchored above. The window shafts revealed how hard the rain was coming down. The warbled roar brought some calmness to Kipling’s nerves. Her eyes locked onto the silk ribbons cascading from the beams. And then on the figure rotating languidly from a cradle of lavender silk.

Kipling drifted behind a stray ribbon panel, but she never took her eyes away from Consul Valerius. His eyes were closed, head tilted back, spine gently arched against the taut fabric that held him aloft. He only needed to build a little momentum in order to launch himself into one constellation after another.

Cygnus. Capricornus. Leo.

His body unfolded.

Lyra.

Kipling wandered into the light where she could get a closer look. Valerius was in between formations, hanging upside down when he opened his eyes. His gaze, pale and golden, found Kipling’s. Her breath caught as she detailed the recognition on his face. 

And then, just like that, it was gone.

Kipling tensed as his gaze passed right through her. Valerius carried on with his routine as if he never saw her. But something was different…

Consul Valerius wound himself higher and higher, closer and closer to the stormy heavens. Kipling envied the strength in his upper body as he propelled himself further into his aerial dance. His braid followed him in a poetic arc as he briefly surrendered to gravity, unraveling dangerously towards the marble floor before the ribbon finally caught.

Kipling gasped, realizing too late that it was all intentional.

He’s showing off, she mused. But was he doing it to impress her or simply to prove that he could?

As if to answer her question, Valerius made eye contact with Kipling. She looked deliberately into his cloudy irises and arched her brow, daring him to take this acrobatic venture further than the stars.

A lovely sheen collected across his forehead as he accepted the challenge. Kipling listened to his breath become more labored as he manipulated the silk and relaxed into each pose. She marked the asanas that she recognized – warrior, pigeon, crescent, crow. The rest she admired for how the consul could contort himself to achieve something so sublime.

Suddenly, Valerius stretched out the ribbons, creating a hanging tent. He disappeared inside. The ribbons descended until he hovered a foot off the floor.

Kipling approached the suspended hammock. “I didn’t know you could do that.”

Valerius leaned forward enough to use the fabric as a swing. His braid was barely hanging by a cross section, making Kip wonder how many he permitted to see him this way.

“It’s interesting,” said the consul as he swung towards her, “the heights one can reach when they believe no one is watching.”

A small smirk found its way on Kipling’s lips as her eyes drifted away from the consul’s and down his chest. With a turn of her head, the delicate layer of sweat clinging to him almost glistened in the soft, gray light.

Valerius cleared his throat. “So then.”

Kipling looked back up.

“Why are you here, Miss Bronne?”

Kip considered the ways she could answer him. She could be honest and say she came to complete her own asanas. She could flirt and say that he was the reason she was standing there. Instead, she came close enough for their knees to brush whenever Valerius swung forward.

“To escape the rain.” Kipling settled on this, unafraid of the way the consul’s gaze took her in.

“Were you successful?” He swung forward for the last time, anchoring her knee between his. Kipling stumbled into his lap. His hands found her waist and steadied her.

“No,” Kip whispered as she let her palms slide against his wet pectorals. “Not quite.”

Valerius regarded her evenly. “Pity.”

Then he pulled her down with him into the hammock. Kipling entered a dark realm of weightlessness. Valerius shared more of his sweat with her. She gave him bold, restless affection. The ribbons held them in a snug cocoon. Above the ground. Protected from the rain.

[frankchurchillsaysrelax]

Malex: “If I die, I’m haunting you first.”

catastrophe it reigns

“If I die, I’m haunting you first.” A small huff of laughter passes through Michael’s lips, carrying the words far enough to reach Alex. They don’t have to travel far. Alex is so close, practically on top of him, and the proximity drags memories of the past back into the forefront of his mind confusing his fading consciousness.

“Deal.” Alex pushes harder on Michael’s abdomen where a seemingly endless supply of thick, dark blood continues to escape. “I can accept that because you are not going to die, Guerin.” Alex grits his teeth as he applies bruising force on the wound.

Michael screams.

He places his shaking hand over both of Alex’s, his voice soft. “You know that’s, ow,” Michael pauses, his train of thought distracted by the sudden hiss of a tire rapidly losing air. He realizes belatedly that it is his own breath. He no longer has feeling in his lips. “You know that’s not likely.”

“Shut up.” Alex hasn’t looked him in the eye in minutes and that more than anything tells Michael he knows he’ll probably be sharing the room with a corpse before too long. Alex has seen far too much in the field to not know how this ends.

“Alex,” Michael whispers, the two syllables becoming three with the hitch of his breath. He lifts his other hand, skin clean of scars but fingers once again clumsy and useless, to touch the tense line of muscle in Alex’s jaw. “I overheard Maria and Is saying they should, they should lock us in a room to figure out our shit.” He pauses, as much for dramatic effect as to catch his breath. “I don’t think this is what they had in mind.”

Alex finally meets his gaze, his mouth falls open with a silent cry. His eyes are two endless black holes absorbing all the pain and fear between them and reflecting it back tenfold. Michael wants nothing more than to use what little air he has left to breathe warmth and happiness back into them.

Neither says anything, never any good with words. Set to his unsteady shallow breaths and the erratic beats of his heart, images jump before his eyes like old film flickering through a pantomime of his downfall. Flint’s gun drawn in an instant. Michael’s body throwing itself without hesitation between Alex and a bullet. The ground rising to meet him and strong hands easing the collision. Alex being dragged away from him as his brother wrestled the prosthetic from his leg. The solid steel door slamming shut, separating them from the outside world.

Alex had managed to drag them across the room to lean them against the door but there was no way he could override the high tech locking mechanism while also holding Michael’s body together with his hands. Michael wishes he’d chosen the door, bought himself enough time to get out of here before Flint could call for backup. But Alex would never leave a man behind, even if it was only Michael, the man perpetually disappointing him.

“So much I wanna tell you. Can’t remember any of it right now.” Michael’s wheezing breath is drowned out by Alex’s broken sob. “Except I love you, that’s the big one.”

“Stop,” Alex cries desperately. Michael thinks he may find strength to apply even more pressure but he can barely feel it now. “You’re not doing this now. You’re going to tell me that later and I’m not saying it back until then.”

“Yeah?” Michael knows there won’t be a later, that Alex won’t get a chance to say the words Michael wishes he could hear in that low, warm tone one final time. He wants the words but he’ll settle for the knowledge that they were there waiting for him. It’s the one thing Michael wants to carry with him on his journey back to the stars.

The world goes dark for hardly more than a second but the sound of his name pulls him back toward the light. Michael never thought heaven was real, never had a reason to, but he thinks that’s where he has found himself. Soft, golden light shines down upon a smiling angel.

“Mom?” Not heaven, he realizes. There is a dull throb of pain in his chest when he speaks. He is still aware of his body lying cold and heavy surrounded by the smell of blood and dry, stale air. Though he never believed in it, he’s sure heaven wouldn’t feel like this.

“Michael! Hey, stay with me, Michael.” He’s still alive and his mom is here looking just as young and beautiful as the image she had placed in his mind, her smile still bright but tinged with a knowing sadness. Her voice is nothing like what he’s imagined these last few months but it fills him with warmth that, while not physical, still wraps around him like an old, well loved blanket. As she speaks, her lips never move and Michael is sad that he didn’t live long enough to figure out telepathy. That would have been fun.

“Mom, I’m-” A deep, wet cough prevents any words he might have said. The taste of blood coats his tongue. He holds his hand up between them, fingers splayed wide, a silent request. With the same wide eyes and and unwavering smile, she glances briefly between his hand and down to where his life continues to leave his body in waves of red. It doesn’t feel like he remembers when she slides her fingers between his, her hands warm, sticky, and silent. Still, there is a familiarity that comforts him and somehow he knows everything is going to be alright.

“You’ve just gotta hold on a little longer.” The shattered sound of her voice doesn’t match the lovely glow of her features. Something is wrong, something isn’t adding up, but he doesn’t have the energy to solve any more mysteries. “Max and Isobel will be here soon. You’re going to lead them straight to us and one of them will fix you right up. You’re going to be fine.” Her fingers tighten their hold when his own go limp, maintaining their connection and locking him in the moment.

“But I wanna go with you.” He never thought he would get a chance to see her again and now that he has it’s just like before, he doesn’t want to let her go.

Loud, harsh sobs echo all around them. Michael blinks and for a moment it’s Alex above him looking broken and terrified. Michael has little control or feeling at this point, but for those few seconds every part of his dying body aches to protect Alex with a fierceness he has carried close to his heart for years.

“Don’t wanna leave Alex.” The idea is suddenly ridiculous. He could never leave Alex behind, that would mean looking away forever and he’d made a promise, if only to himself, that he’d never do that. He doesn’t think he knows how.

His mom doesn’t move but he feels a soft and gentle touch caressing his cheek. It’s faint like a memory but he knows it’s real.

“Then don’t,” she whispers. “Stay with him, he loves you so much, Michael.” The thought is pleasant and perfect, infusing warmth into the spaces that have gone cold long before the blood loss.

“I think you’d like him, mom.”

Everything slowly begins to go dark, fading softly around the edges, like someone turned a dimmer switch on the world. He hasn’t moved but he thinks he must be underwater, sounds moving further away and his body floating weightless, removed from everything. He hears his mother shouting for him to open his eyes. He didn’t even know they were closed.

Even behind his eyelids her smile is still the brightest thing he has ever seen, but just like everything else it disappears and all that’s left is a vast, endless black.

part two

[hangingwordsbyauntie]

The Story of Yehwe Zogbanu

The Beginning: Eye Opening 

The oak wood rocking chair crooned against the natural wood plank floor in the grand living room of our family’s three-story brick house.  Sitting on my heels at the feet of my Grandma, who was sitting in her grandmother’s rocking chair, I looked up to my Grandma. Her eyes were distant and worn. I wanted to be nearer to her, to show affection in a hug, and inched closer, craning my neck only to catch a faint whisper. Her lips looked still, her body steadily rocking.  The sound of the wood scraping the floor seemed to numb any other sound. The home was almost too silent and too still. I forgot whether anyone else was inside the home. Her whispering words elevated in volume in my mind. 

"The Yehwu Zogbanu is a hunter who does not like to be hunted. It will devour the magic of the forest in one spell. Its monstrous size deters the most skilled and fearless hunters in the tribes.” I turned my gaze to the crackling wood burning fireplace. The wood wore the hues of orange and red, as some pieces smoldered and roared in the flames.  I could hear and vividly see the history of what she spoke of.

“Mother said to respect the trees. They whisper amongst each other and to the listening creatures. They fear the Zogbanu and will shake the ground to alert it of one’s presence.” Grandma's eyes widened with each word. She began to drool slightly and her body shook with cold. 

The urge to reach out to touch her pressed me, but I did not. Was I afraid of my grandmother or did I sense something was wrong? I sat back on my heels not wanting to hear anymore, wanting to release the blur of images of skull and bones, red flesh, and burning eyes. I blinked my gaze from the burning wood in the fireplace, drifting upward to Grandma, who was focused on me with eyes bright and stern, as if to scold me.  

She didn't continue, so I curiously asked, "But this forest is a beautiful place. How can such a bad thing exist?" The visions swam around a majestic wilderness of green vegetation and colorful wildlife. 

Grandma's gaze on me was unwavering. She did not respond, so I continued, "Besides, Aunt said that if she brings sacrifice she can enter the forest. Why can't I walk between trees too?"

Grandma blinked after what appeared to be a long time. Her chills subsiding and eyes returning to its same weary expression. "You do not know the truth. All who enter the forest are doomed." 

“Esme we’ve told you several times not to worry your grandmother with those silly stories!” My father stood in the open passageway between the living room and the foyer. 

“Dad, I..” I stood up at grandma’s side. Mother had came in to the living room, tending to Grandma. 

“Enough is enough. We do not speak of other family to your Grandma.” Mother spoke softly encouraging

Grandma's gaze watered possibly upon mention of my aunt, her oldest daughter, as Mom steered her to her room. Grandma’s room is downstairs in a customized cottage Dad had built for her. It contained her old home’s furnishings, so her surroundings were familiar at all times. 

 Aunt wasn't really spoken of. It was as if the family relished her when she had all the praises and commendations. Then, almost overnight she was non-existent.

We were told she is lost in the field and never to return to us. There was one night in particular, I was awoken from sleep by an empty bladder. I remember this night, not simply for recalling my aunt, but because it was the last night I wet the bed. My bedroom is on the second floor at the farthest end of the hallway. The hallway was viewable to the foyer and some part of the living room. On my way to the bathroom was when I saw her.  She was standing in the middle of the living room in the dark. The house was quiet. I knew she saw me looking at her and, curiously, I went to her. I called her name, but no sound came out. The nearer I came to her the more the house became a pitch darkness that blinded my vision, except for a vague view of her stature before me. It was in a quick blur of images that I was allowed to see my Aunt’s life in review.  

She had retired in Zimbabwe after a long time working in archaeology of ancient tribes. I recall Grandma mentioning how she did not want her daughter to go to the lands but was unable to keep her in the states. I could see her, energetic and cautious to explore the world. She was brave to go to places few men would go and sometimes traveled alone. I saw her enter a forest area and time seemed to pause. There was a large something coming, charging towards her, but she stayed her ground. I felt fear of my own or was it hers? Yet, through her eyes I remained, as she did. And it disappeared, the entire presence was gone. I couldn't name what that was, except it was a large, overwhelming mass with a presence of death and deep never ending obscurity. 

As if shaken from a dream, I was overcome with emptiness. Her hand was no longer resting on my forehead. I was holding her waist now, hugging her tightly.  I remember her body was hard and cold, but alive nonetheless. Releasing my grasp, she hoisted me into her arms, kissed my head and returned me to my room. I couldn’t tell my parents, they would rebuke dreams in our Father’s name and become overly cautious of me. Grandma’s health isn’t well and since the fireplace story, my parents almost forbid me to bother her. 

That memory of my Aunt was real to me, as is the memory of my Grandma warning me to avoid the wild jungle, among other tales of Africa and ancient Europe. I wanted to be like my Aunt, brave and fearless. I want know if she met the Zogbanu. I relied on my past to help me see the future, question our family’s existence, and seek my purpose. 

It’s been 11 years since then. I found the lands where I saw my Aunt in that vision, yet, to my dismay, she is not here. Before me is the lush green of that jungle where her beautiful resort-like home sets. I was called foolery by locals and natives to attempt to enter the jungle here. The villagers mentioned bringing sacrificial plants and carcasses to the forest as a rite to enter. Well, that’s far fetched to me, because they believe in those spirits. I believe in a God, who controls spirits and such. With my strong faith in Him, I need no such petty beliefs. My packed sack feels weightless on my back. I took a quick glance to the sky, the countless stars were bright against the dark blue hue bed where they rest. The day was very early, the sun hadn’t breached the horizon, my plan is going well. I will be in and out of here in no time.

__________________________________________________________

DISCLAIMER:  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Credits:   Biodiversity protects tropical rainforests from drought (2012, August 30) retrieved 15 January 2020 from https://phys.org/news/2012-08-biodiversity-tropical-rainforests-drought.html

[katsukisbeatingheart]

and far away

Where two points meet in the wrong place, and second chances are inevitable.

word count: 3,090

warnings: angst, mentions of death, but it ends fluffy (and dramatic), i promise

ao3

a/n: aright this was the first soulmate au i wrote and look at it not being the first i post, comin atcha live from the wake of deadline after deadline.

Anyway. i don’t even know what kinda soulmate au this is i just sorta threw it up bc i had a dream abt this and i couldn’t get it out of my head and i had to rework it until i got it right.

thank u.

shinso

dabi

sero

You know that weird feeling you get, hearing about a piece of your little big world disappearing—how maybe you took it for granted, because it was inconsequential to your immediate life, yet it was still always just there?

Things you never thought about, but they’re gone and they’ve left behind an incalculable, gaping hollow.

You take notice, and your life changes forever.

That one flower shop you would pass by on your way to work in the morning burned down last week. You’d never considered stepping foot in to it once and yet the lingering aroma of hydrangea, bishop’s lace, and caspia melded with smoke reminds you harrowingly of the crisped possibility of something beautiful growing.

The statue sitting obscurely just at the edges of town—the one you’d see very briefly through the train car windows as it blurred into distance and hapless memory—the lightrail broke down in front of it one time, you could see it had garish red spray paint at the base—toppled over a few nights ago. You must have seen and missed it a hundred times and now it would never stand tall again.

Or, a person.

The hero surging up the ranks, commanding noise and shaking the earth with a violently righteous heart and power of will—had died last night.

He won to save.

For the first and last time, he lost to save.

You'd have expected sadness, of course—after all, he was a hero—and a person.

That empathetic sense of loss was inevitable, no matter who it could be.

But a piece of you had been broken in that moment.

You woke in a cold sweat, heart hammering in your ribcage, cheeks soaked under silent tears a thunderstorm couldn’t feel coming. The grief outweighed the confusion.

Recollections of a smoky scene billowed in and out of your consciousness, the rumbling and rubble in fresh vibrations on your skin. Though when you tried to remember—when you tried vehemently to clutch at the broken pieces—your head throbbed with an unknown ache.

It was like trying to recall memories from a life that wasn’t yours.

You were listless in your haze to the kitchen, pulling down a glass to fill with water. The coolness slipped down your throat to satiate flames you didn’t ignite.

By some spell only the universe and the promise mark branded across your heart of hearts knew, you clicked the television on through cold fingers. You can’t say that you remember fishing around the couch cushions for the remote, and you clutched to it like it was the only physical thing available. A flimsy, breakable anchor and a key to your undoing. The buttons stilled and your expression grew stony upon the red headline glaring through the room at 2:14 a.m.

The glass slipped from your fingers and you fell to your knees in the fractures.

The explosion you knew ended it all echoed in your ears, its knell a salient cackle without a voice, and existence a weightless pressure on your chest and head—places he’d have to wait to kiss for another lifetime.

You’d never focused on soulmates, the mere idea of one a luxury you could not afford.

And now a cruel, implacable taunt you could not bear.

Yours was miles away, apparently, and even before this moment you were more than a little skeptical about the idea of them. You’d heard the stories—promises from and to the universe conquering distance and time.

And love.

Love so overwhelmingly pure it stretches across ages your world just didn’t have.

To you, it seemed merciless—doomed to tie with souls you could miss in more than a few incarnations. Maybe some had multiple soulmates, you’d thought. You couldn’t be sure you were one of those people—if that was at all possible—but then again you weren’t sure how to tell.

All you knew, was right then and there, you at least had one.

It killed you knowing it took losing something you never even knew you had, to want it so, so desperately bad.

The truth curled at your throat venomously, asphyxiating a slow and decadent anguish incomparable to anything you’d ever felt before. Rip a limb, a lung, all limbs, both lungs—pull your heart right through the skin of your chest in a spiked, poisonous vice; nothing could destroy you more than this.

He was gone, and you were certain it was the kind of gone you would feel the next life over.

You barely had any strength in you to curse the stars swimming in your vision; barely any will to pray for a tear in existence—a loophole to bring him back.

Another chance.

Dilapidated and barren, you had spread out over the broken glass, impervious to what can only dream of harming you.

•.•.•.•.•.•.

The crowd swirled around you, passing faces and brushing shoulders with hardly an 'excuse me', or ‘coming through'.

One particularly harsh shoulder check sent you back a step, and you whirled to get a better view at who had crashed into you.

A man in a red turtleneck, donning a tan trench coat and a frustrated growl checked his wristwatch, before looking back up to you with kindling in his eyes. They were sharp, even as he glanced down at you rather indifferently, eyebrows pulled into a harsher expression than expected for someone who had been so kind as to gratingly remind you of your place in the crowd. Just another bit of space to skirt around into the next person, most likely.

Suddenly he relaxes, eyebrows raising up the slightest.

“Hello there, stranger.”

Your heart leaps to your throat and the tears flow—an unknown relief flooding through and you feel grief from another lifetime dissipate. You launch as best as you can into his arms, and he gathers you into palms that smell like caramel and sugar and ink and brass—in a hold that makes you feel safe.

And very warm.

You feel his hands at the top of your head and pressed into your back. They're big and steady, something you hadn’t realized you needed until they were on you.

It was as if all your life you had woven insipidly day to day on a tumultuous mundanity cracking at your feet.

And now with the hand that guided you into every curve and fold of the blazing man at your fingertips were you unshakable.

You blink and the fire flickers behind his eyes. He’s staring at you intensely—as though he’d silently asked you a question only you knew the answer to. Like it would disappear from existence if he were to look away now.

That much was probably true, as his skin paled to cumbersome bewilderment and an uncertainty to make a willow tree quiver. He had frozen, as if he could see the universe unwinding on your face.

Your voice echoed a hollow “I’m sorry”, and the crowd separated you like the tide pulling from the shoreline.

•.•.•.

You didn’t know what the sea did with the waves once they took them from the coast, but you did know that aching familiar feeling of impermanence. How an undercurrent can feel like a lifetime, and yet no amount of splashing can save a riptide. Not from brevity or grief in the same short breath.

It was still that recognizable body of water. The jolt of a new ripple in a single spot designing the whole thing entirely different, even if just for that one spot. That one moment.

A lot of it was in chance, you figured; chance that was so somberly beautiful in it’s immanence and what ifs.

Work swept you by with a complicated ease. You recall people communicating to you—you just don’t remember what they had said. Or needed. Or asked. Or pleaded. Behind calls of a name that sounded nothing like yours, yet you for some reason still answered to. Your attention fixated on the improbable, and you lived your day in a vacuum. You’d been shaken up so bad and filled by so much longing that by the end of it, you couldn’t tell your own headache from the strain of the city around you.

Your step from the platform onto the train car was cement, but you willed yourself forward for the certainty of routine and familiarity in the wake of tomorrow. The presence of other people around you was vague, and you thought to yourself how you would rather be anywhere else in the world than right there.

When the doors sliding closed behind you sounded a little too final—like the angry clank of a set of iron bars—you jerked your chin up, and leapt forward to press your fingertips to the glass.

On the other side, was the man with red eyes. His blonde hair bristled, almost as if he’d felt what you were feeling. Electric. Scared.

The cement in your step earlier felt like a ball and chain now.

You pressed further desperately against the completely solid and completely flat surface, as though you could singlehandedly figure a way to defy all known laws of earthen physics and somehow permeate through the doors. It was like watching a tsunami form, feeling the flood come and go and the wind push against your face. The motions were slow—his gaze using an eternity to find you again for the second time in this life—and you could feel yourself beginning to drown.

His eyes meeting yours became the catalyst to your fifty-second undoing. The undertow touched your face, laced your ankles, and pulled you under with the abruptly unwelcome motion of the train.

You watched each other through the window.

There was a spark of motion—he had dropped whatever was in his hands in a hastened mess—and you both took off in different directions to the same apex.

You skipped and hurdled around people cramped like bricks, strewn about like greenbriers, and stretched about like tripwire. You weren’t sure if you were actually saying anything, but your mouth moved like it was trying to apologise as you zipped down the opposite end of the train, eyes never leaving the man quickly slipping through your fingers ag—

Again.

The word rang in your ear like the piercing peal after an eruption.

Dread filled your chest as you watched the end of the train come into view, and the man in red ran out of platform to chase after you to. He stopped and stared in absolute dismay, as the light catching on your face from behind the window faded into the darkness of the tunnel.

You, in turn, leaned against the back window, throwing your shoulders around to slide to the floor. People stared and murmured, their curious gazes and exchanges doing nothing to penetrate the frenzy lurching you back and forth.

Your breath stung—but not anymore than your eyes.

He might be back. Tomorrow. You never know what'll happen tomorrow, your heart reasoned. Lucky for it, it hadn’t realized the both of you had already broken to pieces. Your skin stung and prickled with a vengeance, as though barrages of glass were sprouting where your nerves would be.

Never seen him there before. This was probably just a one-time thing, the hollow muttered. It was a bitter thing absolutely none of you needed to hear, but you figured it was the truth. After all, what are the chances of finding one man you’d never run into before in your life, among the thousands you see every day?

Way easier to give in than to hope for this ephemeral nonsense.

You hardly recognized the echoed, tin voice bleeding through the intercom, announcing that you had arrived at your destination. You briefly wondered how a trip that had felt so achingly long had gone by so fast—especially now that you realized you weren’t where you were supposed to be.

Collecting yourself as best you could, you rolled up slowly, pulling your coat around you tighter. You cleared the platform and stepped glacially up the steps, taking a moment to fix your eyes on the sunset tearing a beautiful orange, red, and yellow across the usually blue sky. It was an inferno against the usual insipidness.

You fixated on the rolling greens surrounding the scar the city made with it’s cracked sidewalks and taunting buildings and yelling cars and angry people and empty promises and—

“Hey.”

Broken hearts weren’t supposed to beat so loudly but yours did. You spun on your heal to face him.

You choked and felt unbearably like you should leap into his arms, as though something was imploring you to.

“Hey there, stranger,” you whispered, with a meek crack on the end of your breath. You were facing the beginning of the rest of your life and all you could say was hey back.

The man in front of you seemed to get the same idea, because he moved closer, sauntering up the slope to close the small distance like he had all the time in the world. Though, part of that might have been exhaustion, and part fear that the wind would catch you and steal you away. His legs trembled and you wondered what reason dominated the better bit of that.

He stopped in front of you, his hands in his pockets and shoulders slouched in a resolved curve, the smallest of smiles playing at the corners of his lips. You were certain you didn’t know him, and yet you were perfectly ready to believe that little bend in his face wasn’t a usually welcome guest. It looked so foreign on a face you weren’t supposed to have any recollection of.

His voice is like crackling and smoking tinder, deep and rich and roaring. It was getting to you in ways you never expected a sound to find.

“Don’t tell me I ran the better part of an entire city just for some shitty 'hey there'.”

You don’t think you’ll ever get over your shock and awe, but you collect your wits to square yourself against him. Your movements are sinuous as you slide forward, damn near chest to chest when you raise your face again.

“Well,” you sigh, letting a not-unkind smirk slip into your features, “looks like you’ll have to stick around longer if you want more than that.”

“Oh, I don’t think it’s a matter of want, but more a matter of deserve,” he grumbles. You snort at that, mindlessly catching a loose strand of his hair between deft fingers.

“Is that so? What makes you so entitled?” you tease.

His expression falls and some kind of grief pulls his brows down.

“I don’t know,” he murmurs. “I just feel like I’ve been missing something.”

For the first time in a while, you breathe evenly. It’s an odd feeling, but not unlike that moment of clarity you imagine tides have just before becoming a whole ocean again. Like the one you’d been dreaming of for so long.

Your raindrop fingertips find the smoothness of his skin, brushing along his cheekbones to roll down and splay across the sturdy planes of his chest. The quiet is cacophonous but you inhale gently and smile the most genuine you feel you could possibly muster.

“Hi,” you begin again, eyes sweeping the fabric of his sweater, to try and find confidence in the material. You raise your gaze to his—burning through your eyelashes—and he’s glaring at you with a quirked brow that doesn’t feel at all the threat you imagine it would be in different circumstances.

“I don’t know how to describe this, but I think… there’s this something that’s telling me I’m supposed to be with you— someway.” You glide your fingers down the curve of his arms, linking very lightly around his wrist.

“I feel like you’re someone I’ve lost a long time ago—” your fingers tangle into the cracking skin along his hands,

“—and I’m being offered this one chance to find you again.”

You measure up your hands, placing them palm to palm and he stares like they’re all he can see.

“If I don’t take it you’ll be gone for good,” you whisper in a voice so frangible.

A cheekier smirk cracks his mask from ear to ear.

“In that case, I’m definitely entitled to something, then.”

“Like what?”

Tender wouldn’t have been the first choice of words the moment you crashed into the scowling man on the street—but here he was now, cantankerousness replaced with a compassion you shouldn’t be surprised he could hold—considering you’d never met, after all.

“Your name.”

You tell him with a resounding crest in his chest and when the lightning strikes, his smile actually shows teeth that aren’t grit into a grimace. The first drop of rain spills down your face, and the man in front of you catches it with his thumb.

“Katsuki.”

It was loud, hearing that name in your ears. Like being trapped inside a clock tower—the reverb of each cog shifting and clicking into place with a harsh clang, succeeding rolling tones in succinct phrases you’d been hearing all your life.

Or rather—lives.

Your places in existence swirling in and out of mosaic focus of one another, to finally comix as clandestine breaths and fluttering of skin on skin.

“It’s nice to finally meet you, Katsuki,” you smile.

[maladaptive-ninja-returns]

Silence of the Chaos (2)

Loki x Reader Smut

Warnings: SMUT.(18+) Please do not read if you are underage. LOKI’s POV.

Word count:I’ll just *voice trembles* leave this here.

A/N: This was supposed to be custom content but the moment I started writing Loki’s POV, the tides turned and I found myself being carried by the words rather than the other way around, smashing right into an old rock (story of mine) that I never saw coming. So, all of you, even if you do not know me/follow me and you like what you read in here, let me know in the comments and if you would like to see the OC’s origins, please come over here so I can bring the reader/OC in a much more relatable form to you. :)

MASTERLIST

"You are getting back at me." "Am not!"

I hear the contempt in your voice before I step inside the battle room and have my gaze land on the blue pile of rocks bending in fear and defeat while you are in between heavy breaths, frustrated and filthy with sweat. "All I am saying is you can admit that it offended you." Only if there was a way to shut him up. "Shut up, Korg. I'm not going to say it again." You were not offended, that much is true. But you had clearly been thinking about it in the morning, watching your curves in front of the mirror, wondering something to yourself before sighing with a gloom hovering over your face. "Was I wrong to love you so much, pizza? The least you could've done is given me a little more confidence to appreciate this." you had spoken to yourself. I wonder who that excuse of a human was. "All right, everyone," I announce to the residents of this spaceship- all four of them- as I come down towards the simulated battleground, "Within a week's time we will be hunting down the-" "Sauron's army," you interrupt me, "that's what we're calling them because none of you will tell me their name while all of you keep scaring me with the ghost stories of the undead," now clearly offended. "You," I turn to face you in all seriousness, "you and Korg are the only ones who have never had an encounter with..." "Sauron." "Sauron's army. It will be more of a mystic fight than a physical one. You will be battling out all the scenarios with me until we reach their planet." "Okay." You nod, readying yourself, never questioning me once. "What?" the Valkyrie shouted from her end, done with beating every last inch of the punching bag, "you're not even going to ask him what fight you're expecting?" You take your stance, your hands hanging loose on either side, waiting for my first attempt. "I'm about to find out, aren't I?" I feel a smile building up inside me as I signal Nebula to fire up the simulator, turning everything around you and me cold and dark in a rocky surface, eerily familiar to the silent graveyards smelling of death and the paranormal. A knot of mischief opens up somewhere inside me as I position myself behind you, replacing my original self with a mirrored shadow in front with my finest daggers coming at you. Your right leg comes back near me, positioning yourself firmly as your hands gather up the lifeforce surrounding you, appearing as if creating little balls of stars out of nothing. Like a thin sheet of a sharp metal, you slice through my illusion as the invisible armour protecting your back pushes me with the same force that I aimed my fist with towards your shoulder. Invigorating as it is to watch your sly smile for having tricked the trickster, you fail to shield your back again for another illusion, pushing you to the ground. A vengeance filled grunt leaves your throat and the battle of the minds ensues. Blocking the attacks and keeping yourself at a distance so I cannot come in contact with you is impressive to watch as you let the forces do the work for you. Going for my face and chest now and then, teasing me with the fine sword work gets a tad infuriating and I bring out the rusting sorcery to level the playfield- or should I say, tilt it in my favour. Just as I imagine, the control you have over the powers fluctuates, the blue hues of defence fluctuating around you, making you focus everything towards my attack, giving me a window to plant my real self behind you and grab your head. The attacks lighting up the field till now vanish abruptly as your swerve yourself around grabbing my face in yours. Two things happen at once. Your darkest fears come undone inside our heads. An unknown radiating calm in the form of pure white light travels through you and engulfs me. __________ The sound of water spattering down on the tiles is an ominous note. The mauve reflecting off our bodies is the only shade inside the huge room, the empty cubicle between us the sole distance preventing an uninvited outburst. Yet, surprisingly, I feel calm. I feel...peace. The doubts, the torturous echoes inside my head for the past ten years and the mindless gnawing in the brain for the years before that, have all gone silent for the moment. The mental agony that weighed upon me, that I had learned to accept as a part of me when I was taught to shut down my emotions, has vanished. I do not recall the last time I felt this light; this...free. My aching chest feels lighter, easier to breathe with. The lingering numbness has gone away without a trace. What have you done to me? The question timed with the clanking of all your kimoyo beads in the sink outside brings my elated thoughts to a halt. Wrapping the towel around me in haste, I step out to see you balancing yourself on the edges of the crystal bed in front of the mirror. The water droplets run down from your dense tresses on to the clothing on your back, marking the blue with a darker hue. Your shoulders and arms are evidently red- my guess is you overworked the water temperature and never realised that- while your lips seem like they are about to burst with the blood that is overflowing through them. I walk over to your side, not knowing what measured words to proceed with when you catch my reflection in the mirror and turn in my direction. "Are you all right? You were in there for quite a while." Worry. Pain. Care? That is all I can see in your tired eyes that have clearly cried under boiling water. "I should be the one asking you that." Your eyes drop back as your hands go behind your neck. "Fine," you murmur, "I'll be fine. It's not the first time. Definitely won't be the last." Despite the weight in them, your words sound so brisk to my ears. Your colours seem so crisp and more saturated now, your breathing more perceptible. Your scent... Your scent, magnified, swirling inside my head like a phantom dancing in the night without a care in the world. You feel so much more...defined. How could you... And it suddenly strikes me. "What you did to me..." I begin, getting your attention once again, "can you do it again right now?" Your eyes pan out to calculate my, hopefully not that obscure, demand before coming back to me. "Yeah. Sure." "I might be asking a lot right now," I conclude, "but do you trust me?" Your eyes, filled with a multitude of emotions, do not falter as you nod. Your hands rise to meet my face and I bow my head to make the collision more comfortable. The warmth is already surging through your palms and into my temples before you even close your eyes. Just as the familiar light starts to fill me up, I bring my hands to your face, carefully wrapping them around your temples. The calm now flows through you, crashing and immersing all the darkness that had been broken out of its cage, filling you up to the brim with the familiar feathery peace. When the white disappears from in front of my eyes, all I see is tears flowing out of the ones still closed, accompanied by a smile of relief. Your eyes open and adjust your being where you now stand. "How did you-" "Healers often forget they have the ability to heal themselves by their very own hands. Often, it's the pain that makes them forget the latent powers inside them." Your coloured oceans gaze at me in wonderment as I repeat your words back to you, smiling in their full glory. My own lips stretched without much stress, following your movement. We both stand there, content in the moment, not realising soon enough our hands still held the other one safely. "Loki" you gulp down my name eventually, not taking your eyes away, "you're nearly naked." "Very obviously," I mutter, wondering if it was the air or my words that made you shiver. "You are half-dressed yourself," I point out, watching your pupils dilate. It was like watching you open your deepest, darkest caves to let me in. "More or less, yes," you respond, the shiver in your muscles reverberating through your voice. "What did you do to me?" I ask with an undone breath of sincerity escaping my lungs that my voice can gather, curious about this weightlessness I was feeling right now- something I was sure I could not have to luxury to come close to in whatever was left of my life. "Oh," you seem a little surprised at the question, "I...I didn't do anything. I don't do anything. It's not in my hand, how this thing works. All I do is keep my intentions good...positive." I perk one brow at your statement trying to make sense of what you just stated. "What?" I try to suppress my smile. "You attacked me with a ray of positivity in the middle of a battle?" And slowly, everything makes sense. Your shards of innocence blended with your powers, holding together layers of a perpetual darkness tamed in one corner- you were more than one can see on the surface. "Hey," you fume lightly, "as I said, it is not in my hands and the only way I can work with it is if I do not mean any harm to any-" Your final words crack into smithereens as I pull you closer. My bare chest grazes at your blouse while you try to steady yourself as my lips close unto yours. Your heated flesh overpowers my senses as they take in mine, all the unresolved knots lined up since your arrival unravelling themselves to wrap my existence with yours. Our eyes are closed, drowning in the first taste of each other, trying to make it last as long as we can before our lips have to part ways for the first time. Your eyes are still shut as your hands come down to rest on my shoulders, heating up the droplets of water left under their touch. "Don't get me wrong," you breathe, not ready to open them still, "but why?" My precious little human. My hand goes around your back, holding you close as I shift us to a familiar- now seemingly odd- room. "Why, you ask? Look around you." Your eyes open, taking their time to breathe my close presence in before turning away from me. My room on the spaceship is more of an absurdity, to say the least. Draped in darkness, simple- with the white walls, the lone table in a corner with a lamp- and at the same time complex- with the books and sketches piling up in corners within corners of the piles, knives sitting haphazardly over maps strewn across the bed, the chair and even over the fireplace; cloaks and broken armour lying carelessly at our feet. I watch you intently, your observant eyes taking everything in, the fire beneath the ocean beds lit up by the cosmic allure outside the glass that ran up from the floor to the middle of the ceiling, drowning half of this solitary abode in the light of the nearest star. "This," I state close to your ear, "is me." Unhinged, untethered, undone by the monsters that keep me awake at night. It has often got the point of a returning apathy. Feeling there is nothing left in this world for me. No place to return to. I don't have to state much as you take everything in, little by little, feeling the weight of the desolation in the air around you. "And this," I mention, carefully holding your arms and turning you towards a mirror hidden behind a pile of books, only visible when you stood near the wall, "is you." Radiant, gentle, delicate and tranquil. I never speak the words out loud; I just taste them in your thoughts. "I saw your dark corners. It's only just that you see mine." This strange emotion of trust comes up without a bother, watching the stars light you up in my room. "You don't usually do...this. And I'm far away from someone to be trusted with someone's darkness when I cannot even keep mine in check." Your eyes glisten, the pain more relevant with the moisture around the windows to your soul. I cannot help but step closer, forcing you to look at me. "You are not a warrior, love. You are not meant for battle." The slight jolt of offense in your eyes is evident at my words yet I continue. "You are a presence that makes your surroundings soft, delicate. You are not weak as you are gentle, a welcoming site after a long unprecedented day surrounded by worldly monstrosities apart from the ones within. You are mystical in every sense, despite my forceful ignorance." A tear runs down your heated cheeks while a pent up breath escapes your lungs as I whipe it away. "I should really be the one asking 'why'. Why me?" I hear myself saying. Your adamant gaze strikes a vibrant note inside my core. "Why not?" Within one moment, at the flick of my wrist I clear all unwanted objects from my abode while you reduce the distance between us to nothing. Your blood-gushed lips come back, this time with more to give. Your hands wrap themselves around my neck, tangling between my hair as mine find your back, pushing you further to me. Your lips open with a sensual moan, making my abdomen ache in need of more of you, forcing my tongue to drink every corner inside your mouth as yours dances for dominance over mine- a terribly good sensual dance. Our lips part for breaths, giving me the opportunity to tug the hem of your blouse for permission to go further. You quickly- but carelessly- pull the blue garment above your head with some assistance, revealing your exquisite form covered in a black brassiere. I can feel my heart quiver for a moment, urging my arms to pick you up and push you against the wall. "Woah! Careful," you call out between the lust-filled kisses, "I'm heav-ahh" I cannot help but chuckle at the moans escaping your throat as I find the latent sensitive spots on your shoulder, tasting the much desired skin on my tongue while leaving pecks and nibs to hear your whines of pleasure that make my member ache underneath the lone cloth that drapes me. I take your leg by the thigh and pull it up around me, my need to feel your burning skin growing by the second. You smell like the spring in Asgard dripping of forgotten innocence that I now reminisce; you bloom everywhere, flowers and songs alike, your warmth warming up this frost giant's existence like the middle of Asgardian summer while your wet kisses are nothing short of the green monsoon. The heat radiating through your core is a delicious surprise, enjoyable to know that I can do this to you. One planned graze around your folds by the hardened length under the soft yet grainy clothing makes you groan and arch towards me, bringing a few more of my strings undone. Your bend leg presses me closer, grinding more of your seeping wetness over me arousing a hidden beast as it lets out a growl, making you press yourself further over me. The last of the chains binding it breaks and I pull you up from behind, carrying you to the edge of my bed before dropping you over. Your oceans now glow with a wildfire as they watch the cloth around me come undone and fall to the ground. Even though you're a human, I have yet to see the sensual rave glowing inside your eyes in any other being, not that I am keen to see it in anyone else. I stoop on my fours on top of you, taking in every colour and blemish that marks your skin through my eyes. Before I can comprehend the movement of your hands, they are grazing my length, making me twitch under your touch. Your warm fingers wrap around it delicately, giving it light gentle strokes, forcing unexpected grunts from inside my throat that make you smile. The notion of my pleasure in between your palms causing the glitter in your pupils pulsates as a newfound desire. The desire to watch you come undone under my touch. I break your touch away from my length to take every inch of your warmth inside my lips, beginning from your thighs, working my way inside, while my hands part the edge of your intimate clothing from your touch starved skin. You help me, moving your hips up and sideways to allow me to pull them down, giving access to the welcoming dampness of your folds. And as expected, your moan breaks the mundane air that was surrounding my personal space, your hips jerking at the alien touch of my tongue at your highly receptive bundle of swollen nerves. Oh, the sight of you fluttering at my languid movements burns me up with this undiscovered levity, forcing me to stop and watch what you do next. Your head shifts up to look at me with pure fierceness in your eyes. "Loki!" Your authoritarian voice calls out to me, driving me further into the pool of a sensual quirk. "Yes, love," I respond in the most innocent manner. "I'll rip you into pieces if you do that again." The growl in your voice makes my length jerk, making me tower over you to look at burning eyes being fueled by the glow coming from outside the glass just next to your head. "What-" I line myself at your entrance, letting my pulsating member drown in your liquor- "will you-" teasing your entrance with the tip- "do?" before entering your entirety with mine. Your lips part, eyelids screwing shut, while the sheet under you is a mess in between your hands. I can feel your walls flutter around me, the radiating warmth setting over and inside the hardness that I own, forcing out low growls from my throat. I rest my arms around your shoulder, bringing my face closer to your breathless state, wanting to not miss a single animation in your eyes. I feel you have the same thought as your once sombre features smile at me through the window, latching your gaze unto mine.   Your hand leaves the sheet a mess and come to put my ravens- falling down from my head as separate threads craving your touch- back behind my ear, resting your fingers around my jaw and my neck, making me wonder if Valhalla could ever provide me such blissful peace that radiates through you right now. "I will rip your darkness to pieces to show you how much light there is within you. Someday. But tonight, just take me." Without further ado, I move out of you and come back with purpose of causal tranquil moans, grunts and heavy breaths, our locked gaze drinking in the pleasure we're providing to each other, pressing further, synchronising better, reaching the corners  lighting up our bodies, picking the pace with a hungry ache. Your legs intertwine themselves behind me, the grip making the ache to feel you further while abruptly stopping my movements at the same time as you force your arms around me with a similar strength, pushing yourself over me as I come down on my back. I see you laugh at the shock on my face, your eyes nearly shut with the playful glee. I want to remark your moves in bed as compared to what you showed me on the battlefield today but you see it coming, moving your hips in time to melt away every bit of the thought like the snow that sees the first rays of the hot summer Sun enter spring. Your last piece of clothing gets unclasped, thrown away in corner as your hands take mine to let me feel the suppleness of your breasts under my touch, driving me further into this beautiful chaos which I had been sure, a few seconds ago, could not get better. And just when my mind appreciates the view above me, resurging the tides behind the dam, you stop, your hands dropping mine away from your tenderness, taking me by confused surprise. The smirk on your lips makes your intentions quite clear. "You see, that's what it feels like." I cock my brow at you, "is that how this is going to go?" Before you can answer, I am sitting up, crashing my lips in yours while pulling your legs around me, waiting for the right moment to jerk my hips upwards into, causing you to moan inside my mouth. Your hands go behind me, thumping into the glass to balance your upper body while I keep your hips steady. The steady movements come back, so do the heavy breaths and the throbbing ache. Not wanting to wait any further, I hold you in my arms and carefully put you back over the sheet. No more play. I am taking you and you me. Letting the pleasurable friction between us increase further than before, causing the tides to come up eventually, swelling behind the damn as our moans and grunts drown the silence of our room. I can feel your walls tighten around me, the swollen torrents about to burst any moment. Your nails dig further into my skin, the electric touch making my pacing hardness press farther inside you. "Loki!" escapes your lips in breathlessness, your features begging for a release for your storm; my own name a new melody on a harp to my ears. "Yes," I affirm, my hand grazing by the hairs on your stomach to reach your swollen nerves and rub the surging tightness, making you moan and tear in the final moments of pleasure before you shudder under me as you find your release. My movements falter while your legs still shiver in and out of the high, my member close to its own climax. My mouth finds your trembling skin again, anchoring myself to you as I finally find my own release, marking your walls with my seed while my legs shudder, nearly sending my entire weight over you. Out of air and sweating all over, I feel your arms caress my hair and back, the warmth of your lips on my cheeks easing me back to you. We lie there for some time more before I pull myself out of you and clean you up, replacing the sheets under us in a snap with something warmer suited for your hot blood. "Is this why you never did fight me before?" I see you suppress a smile, your teeth biting into your swollen lip, as I lean under the warm covers closer to you. My thumb- with a life of its own, comes for your chin, releasing the perfectly flushed flesh from the merciless grasp of your teeth "Oh, clearly not. I never thought you were worth the effort," I sing the words, making you mock a gasp. "Rude." "This was me softening the blow," I say matter-of-fact-ly, pulling your chin up to take a sweet peck only to be stopped by your index on you lips. "Are you sure you want to go with that explanation?" Silence. "Because," you draw yourself closer to me, making me, the trickster, flinch as I feel your fingers run up my thigh- sending electric pulses throughout me- and land on my behind, colouring me intrigued, "you just opened the Pandora's Box and there is so much more you have yet to discover." With a newfound excitement in my chest on your words breathed over my lips, I smirk at the mischief glistening in your eyes, your coloured oceans dancing with such illumination. I confess. You really are more than I give you credit for. Before I can embrace you to take up your notorious offer, a familiar voice makes us break out of our cosmic bubble. "Hey, Laki!" The click of the door makes us turn towards the sound, helping you flop down, covering our glorified naked bodies under the brown covers. I push my hair back in one swift motion as I wait for Brunnhilde to open and show herself in. "What?" I spew the irritation at her. "You got some spare knives on you? I broke mine and we ain't stopping on any planet for at least the next three days. I have to train Korg as much as I can." Her eyes follow the empty room that just has the bed, the mirror, the burning fireplace and...oh no. "There! Behind you," I nearly shout as her eyes almost turn to your clothes scattered on the now spotlessly clean floor, making a few of my best dagger appear out of thin air in the far corner near the door over a desk. She scrunches her nose at one or two before picking up the sharpest bunch with displayed satisfaction and walking out. "Is she gone?" You whisper from underneath the cover, your face- only visible from where I half lay- glistening under the light coming from above and behind us. "Yes," I smile even though I know you cannot see it, a hidden joy of keeping such delicious secrets from our comrades. You slide out a little, easing yourself close to me, a smile stuck on your face too. "I should go before they think I'm missing," you whisper, stealing your gaze away while planting your head on my pillow; a vision I curse myself of not having ever imagined with such allure. The thought of you leaving but not wanting brings an unspoken ache inside me before I push it away. This weightlessness surrounding me in this moment and the trust in your eyes is too beautiful to be ruined by the chaos of lawful judgment surrounding us. "Who says you're missing?" You blinked at me in question before it dawns upon you. "You didn't!" I smirk at the thought of another you singing off key back in your room, reading those novels before falling asleep half covered under a blanket and drooling all over; illusion imitating real life. "That's...okay, I guess," you state with a shrug, turning towards the dark space over us, a meteor passing by, reflecting the blue haze it left behind, in your eyes while I rest by head beside you, watching you be amazed by the expanse of life beyond yours. "This has got to be the best view in the entire universe," your sleep-laden voice mentions, suppressing a yawn. "It is, isn't it?" I acknowledge, never taking my eyes off you. Your head turns towards me, bursting into giggles that thaw me all over again, and then so does your body, matching my gaze. "It is." Power. Madness. Chaos. Everything still surrounds us. Everything still crumbles. But you have helped me take a moment out of this vicious cycle and mark it as our own. ( I am in a happy daze right now. :D )

TAGLIST

Permanent

@greenarrowhead @magiclolipopqueen @choke-me-sweet-pea @classy-swiftt @smexylemony @hazzastyles2471 @lokis-lady-death @lokixme @l0kisbitch @bambamwolf87 @tarithenurse @hiddlestonstansworld @itheoneofmanyfandomsi @nalokoniloki @fuckidontknow @qualitynerdwasteland @cryinglots @unipanda1006 @literalangels

Office AU

@wishrains @ultraslytherwin @loki-the-fox @awkward-dr-strang3rman @royaldork @arianna-17-11 @uranusismyfavoriteplanette @marvelrose @gotta-get-back-to-johnlock @moonlightprime @keepingupwiththelaufeysons @writingpromptsstuff @auroraborialis15 @meganlikesfandoms

[eternalsshipsandfics]

In Cold Blood: Chapter 12

Summary: The illustrious Kuran family is thrown into disarray when the crown princess disappears under suspicious circumstances. Will she ever be found?

Was she dead?

Yuuki could no longer feel any pain, and her body had an odd, floaty quality to it. It took her a few moments to realise that the reason that it was so dark was because she had her eyes tightly shut. Should she open her eyes? If she did open her eyes, what would she see? She wasn't ready to face the reality that she may well be dead.

She inhaled deeply, a sweetly familiar scent filling her nostrils. She took another deep breath, savouring it. She let her eyes flicker open to allow the bare minimum of light to enter. The cause of the scent was a blurry figure just above her. Her breath caught as the familiar colours hit her retina.

"Zero?" She whispered.

"I'm here." She got a soft murmur in response. She supposed that she really was dead. Or, at the very least, she was dying. Her brain must be giving her what she wanted before she succumbed to oblivion. She hoped that said oblivion would never come, if the alternative was purgatory with Zero. For a fleeting moment, she wondered if she would see her parents once again.

The thought pushed her into action. She moved slowly, carefully, unwilling to break this illusion. She wrapped her arms around him, burying her face in his neck and once more taking in a deep breath. He didn't push her away.

Taking in her fill, she pulled back. Her eyes met his. She hoped that she could lose herself in that gaze for the rest of her existence, however long that may be. There was nothing for her to lose here. She tilted her head, allowing her eyes to slide shut. Her lips were about to meet his when she was pushed back gently but firmly.

"Oh, that's right. It's an obligation for you." Even when she was fading away, he rejected her. This was cruel.

"That's not true."

"Then why? Even when I'm dreaming?"

"Dreaming?"

"Uncle Rido killed me, didn't he?" His confused look softened.

"The stress must have affected your memory." Yuuki jumped. That was not Zero's voice. She pushed herself away from Zero in humiliation, finally seeing that they were not alone. Kaname, Yui, Yori and Hanabusa were scattered around the bed that she had awoken on. "Try to remember." Her brother prompted.

Looking at Zero once more, the memory came flooding back.

~Z~

Rido's stunned expression mirrored her own.

She watched the ruby rivulets descending steadily down her arm from the jagged cut on her hand where she had grabbed the blade. There was a little more than she had expected from a simple cut. Her eyes travelled up her arm to focus on the hand that was securely around her own and the handle of the sword. She couldn't remember getting a hold of it.

Finally, she allowed her eyes to complete the journey upwards. Blood was collecting freely on Rido's chest. She was unable to see the blade itself. There was a warm weight steadying her from behind. Her eyes met her uncles for a brief second before both looked behind her; Yuuki craning her neck up in her attempt to see.

"Zero?"

"How did you? When did you?" Rido stuttered, the first cracks starting to appear on his body. Yuuki felt a chill pass through her at the expression on the fair-haired man's face.

"How dare you try to harm Yuuki." He stated, refusing to answer. Yuuki felt his hand turn a little, borrowing her strength to pull the blade free from Rido's body. He collapsed to his knees; Yuuki held up by Zero's strong arms. She didn't think that she could stand on her own at that moment. The invasion of a powerful aura around her alerted her to Zero's lack of one.

"You too?" The dying Rido spat. Kaname stepped forward, blocking Zero and Yuuki from Rido's sight as she was helped back. She fell into Zero's arms, smearing her blood on his sleeve as she tried to gain her own footing.

"I'm sorry it had to be this way." Kaname said simply, lowering himself to Rido's level. He was looking into his eyes as he finally succumbed to his wound. Yuuki buried her face in Zero's chest as she heard what used to be her family member shatter into dust.

"What is going on here?" She heard a harried male voice and the beginning of her brother's answer before she spiralled into an exhausted unconsciousness.

~Z~

"You're alive! You're really alive!" Yuuki exclaimed in excitement as the fact hit her. She wrapped her arms around Zero's neck once more, affectionately nuzzling him. "I'm sorry I left you in such a dangerous situation."

"You weren't to know." Yuuki felt her cheeks heat up as he returned her embrace. For the first time in a while, she became aware of her thirsty pangs. She was so close to him, but she had to resist now.

"Kaname, did you know what he did? To mother and father?" Yuuki asked into Zero's shoulder, the weight of Rido's crimes suddenly crushing her. She released herself from Zero's comforting hold to meet Kaname's eyes.

"I did."

Yuuki's vision blurred; Kaname having confirmed her fears about her mother. She didn't see Zero discreetly move aside so Kaname could hold her as she began to sob uncontrollably. They had gone from a family of five to two in the course of two years. She would never see her parents again. Guilt ate away at her as she realised that her mother must have been dead the whole time. She wasn't sure how to handle such loss, and in such a brutal way too.

"I'm sorry, Yuuki." He whispered into her ear. "I should have done more."

"No, it's not your fault." She replied. Between her sobs, she could hear the other three occupants of the room whispering amongst themselves. Kaname didn't let her go until her sobs had quieted and finally ended. She unconsciously looked for Zero. She was pleased when she met his and discovered that he was watching her.

"Lord Kaname, what should we do about the public address on Friday?" Aido asked quietly, as though he would cause damage to Yuuki if he spoke normally. She would later be informed that this had been an urgent matter of discussion amongst both the vampire population and human. Audiences that had mandatory attendance were few and far between.

"I will go ahead with it. I have some important announcements to make." Kaname replied. Hanabusa bowed his head in acknowledgement before placing a gentle hand on Yori's back to guide her out. She glanced worriedly at Yuuki, whom she hadn't had a chance to speak to yet, and received a shaky smile from her distressed friend. They would talk later.

"I assume that you'll be taking Rido's place as ruler?" Zero asked. Yuuki took what pleasure she could from the fact that he was subtly, and probably subconsciously, moving closer to her. Kaname allowed him the room to approach her, though Yuuki could see some resentment in his eyes.

"Yes. I think the time has come for me to shoulder my responsibilities."

"Will you be alright, Kaname?" Yuuki asked. She pushed herself to her feet as she asked the question.

"I will be fine, Yuuki. Opposition should be minimal. Especially once I tell them the truth." Yuuki hoped for Kaname's sake that what he said was true. She saw Kaname's eyes flicker down to her left and followed his gaze with a quick look. She quickly pulled the hand that she had unconsciously used to grab hold of Zero's sleeve away. She heard a soft snort of laughter. "I should prepare. I'll leave you in Kiryuu's capable hands."

Yuuki nodded. As she watched his retreating back, she felt that something else in her life had irrevocably changed.

~Z~

"Is she asleep?" The soft female voice asked in a whisper.

"Like a baby." The male voice responded, closing the door behind him with an unobtrusive click. He heard the occupant of the room murmur and turn over under her covers.

"I didn't get to talk to her today…" Yori lamented. Her best friend had spent the rest of her admittedly short day with Zero. She didn't begrudge Yuuki her choice, however. They hadn't spent countless days discussing Yuuki's never fading feelings for the man for nothing.

"You will." He responded. "She's not going anywhere."

"I know that. It's just, I feel like I should be there for her."

"She appreciates whatever you can do for her."

"Thank you, Zero." She smiled. He really was just as kind as she remembered. It was impressive, given what he had been through. What they had both been through.

Their meandering came to a close when they found a cosy garden bench to relax on. Yori lifted her tired feet into the air, letting the weightlessness take them. Hanabusa had kept her fairly busy after they had left Yuuki's room. She took the moment to stretch out her arms too, relishing in the pull of her muscles.

"You must be tired too, Zero."

"Hn?"

"You've been through a lot yourself, you know."

"It's fine." Zero closed his eyes and rested his head on the cool wood. Yori could see why so many women fell so easily for him. He had a radiant glow about him as he bathed in the early morning light.

"I've been wondering, Zero…" Yori started, gazing up at the sky. She could still faintly see the outline of the stars. "Since we reunited, you've been getting this look…"

Yori could feel his curious gaze on her. She continued.

"Like you're trying really hard to remember something you forgot long ago. And I know that many years have passed since that time… but there's something so different about you that I can't put my finger on. Are you really fine?"

He was silent for such a long moment that Yori worried she had crossed a line. She had said it herself, after all. There had been many years between their meetings. Maybe he wasn't the same Zero she had known before.

"You're right." He finally sighed. "It feels like there've been gaps in my memory. And it doesn't feel like they're there naturally."

"Do you think that Rido's been playing with your memory?" Yori couldn't think of anyone else who could have. Yuuki wouldn't do anything so heartless, and Kaname hadn't been around. No other vampires had even gotten close to the cautious hunter.

"Maybe. I don't know."

"Are you going to talk to Yuuki about it?"

"I don't want to worry her. She has enough on her plate right now." Zero's head returned to the firm backing, now gazing up into the glowing pink sky. Yori sighed quietly to herself. He looked so troubled. Maybe she shouldn't have brought this up.

"She'll end up worrying more if you don't tell her."

"Yeah, she will." He looked like he wasn't too pleased with that. "Maybe my memories will return before she notices anything."

They shared another moment of silence, both gazing up at the sky as they considered their next words. Yori wasn't entirely sure that she should breach the next subject. It was as personal as it could be. But she had a feeling that this could help both Zero and Yuuki in the future. Best to give Zero this nudge now.

"There's something else, isn't there?"

"Something else?" Zero's response was cagey. Yori took a deep breath.

"You can trust me, Zero."

"What are you getting at?"

"When you're around Yuuki…" She paused, sucked in another deep breath and spoke the words that would change their relationship forever.

~Z~

The air buzzed with the uneasy drone of the surrounding crowd. Yuuki pulled her hood up further over her head. She didn't want anyone to know who she was here. She felt Zero do the same next to her.

"What do you think this is about?" A female vampire asked in front of them.

"Maybe a marriage announcement? Lady Yuuki is of age, and the royal family has diminished lately…" A male vampire responded. He didn't sound too convinced himself. The general confusion was almost palpable as the volume rose.

Yuuki could see that the crowd was getting progressively more impatient. The vampires were longing to begin their end of day ritual, and the humans were eager to begin their tasks. The quicker they completed these tasks, the more time they would have for themselves.

And all of a sudden, the noise stopped. All eyes were focused on the newly emerging figure as he made his way on stage. Yuuki grabbed Zero's arm. He moved closer to her, providing her with a simple support. She was thankful for her hawk-like vision as she watched her brother open his mouth to speak.

"Ladies and gentlemen, vampires and humans alike. I wish we could have gathered you here today under happier circumstances. Instead, I have some grave news to share with you all."

Speculative murmuring broke out once more. Kaname allowed the assembled masses to talk themselves out before he continued.

"As some of you may be aware, my uncle Rido was actually the one who gave the order for all of you to be here. Due to some unfortunate circumstances, my uncle is no longer with us."

This time, the outburst was more powerful than before, the energy of the crowd almost overwhelming in its ferocity. Yuuki could hear the worry from the more pro-monarchy members of the gathering. She felt Zero's hand grip hers comfortingly. She hadn't realised that she had let his arm go.

"He was also the criminal behind the disappearance of my mother and the murder of my father. He was attempting to harm my younger sister, Yuuki, and we had no choice but to step in and end his life."

"Where is Lady Yuuki?" An irate sounding voice from somewhere in the centre called out, prompting others to shout in agreement. Zero's grip on her hand tightened.

"You must understand that she has had a very trying time and is currently resting. She will be available for public appearances once more in the near future. We have discussed our options, and we have come to the decision that I will be resuming my role as king, if you all will have me."

Yuuki felt relief wash over her at the mostly positive reaction from the crowd. She was glad to see that he still had his popularity despite what each individual thought of his disappearance.

"See? You were worrying about nothing." She heard Zero's reassuring lilt in her ear.

"Like you didn't worry a little bit too!" She responded teasingly, giving him a gentle nudge with her body. She had a feeling that she only had some give because he hadn't been expecting it.

"I'll never worry about him." She rolled her eyes. She still didn't understand why Zero disliked Kaname. As far as she was aware, he hadn't done anything to deserve it. The pair's attention was drawn back to Kaname. They had missed the beginning of this segment.

"As my sister has planted the seed, I hope that I will now be able to nurture it and make it grow. Whilst the law will not be put into effect immediately, I urge my vampire brethren to look inside themselves and consider the correct course of action regarding their humans."

Ah. He was going ahead with the plan to abolish the slavery of humans. The sounds around them were evenly mixed. She hoped that those opposed to the new law would not cause any trouble. She knew that Kaname wouldn't mention nurturing the seed if this was all he planned to do, however.

She didn't enjoy the nervous squirming of the human portion of the crowd, but the more supportive vampires had formed a protective cordon around them. That was a good sign.

"I think I'll survey the crowd." Zero said quietly to her, untangling his hand from hers. She nodded. She would do the same. The two moved in opposite directions, subtly policing the crowd as the new king continued his speech.

~Z~

This was a bad idea.

The door clicked shut behind her. Yuuki had been reaching master levels of self-restraint over the past few months in regard to her thirst, but the past few exhausting hours had been quickly eroding that. She and Zero had both stayed behind after Kaname's speech had reached it's conclusion to keep a close eye on the more resistant forces in the group, lest they attack the powerless humans in frustration.

She was alone with Zero now. The thought sent a powerful wave of thirst through her body and she felt a dull ache in her fangs. She felt that familiar fear creeping in; she could kill him. But this urge…

"That was tiring…" He sighed behind her, a soft rustle indicating that he was removing the cloak. She was alone with him. There was no Hanabusa, Yori or Kaname to stop her from doing as she pleased. She shook her head desperately.

"Yeah…" The cloak was thrown elegantly over an available chair. Yuuki's attempts would be nowhere near as graceful. She pulled the hood tighter around her head, providing a cloth barrier between her fangs and Zero. Should she kick him out?

"Yuuki? Are you okay?" She hadn't noticed him coming closer to her until she felt his body heat. She looked into his concerned eyes and breathed in the sweet aroma of the blood that sang to her from under his skin. The combination of exhaustion, his closeness and the resulting overwhelming thirst finally got the better of her.

The self-control that she had carefully nurtured cracked. She caught her companion by surprise, she heard him begin to call her name as she pushed him back forcefully into the wall and brought her face close to his neck.

Once more, she nuzzled against his throat. His scent was as pleasing to her as it had always been, perfectly mixed with the relaxing warmth of him. She wondered if his blood would taste just as sweet.

She gave an explorative lick, enjoying the feel of his steady pulse under her tongue. She could feel her own breathing become more ragged as her body reacted to the closeness of his. Her fangs were resting above his vein before a single thought stopped her movement.

What are you doing? He'll die if you do this.

She began to pull away, feeling her face begin to heat up in humiliation at her lack of control. She was pulled back, his arms encircling her.

"It's okay, Yuuki." He whispered into her ear.

She blinked in surprise. Was he offering her his blood? Didn't he realise what danger he was putting himself in? Not only could she kill him, but if he survived, he would become…

Oh.

"You're a vampire." Her conscious mind finally realised what she had instinctively known all along. The jagged aura that she had been unable to identify on that day long ago was that of a newly-turned vampire. Turned vampires were a rarity, and the last time she had felt that aura had been when she was very young. The details of tha incident rushed back to her as though they had just been waiting below the surface of her memory. Her uncle had been punished for that.

"You finally noticed."

"I'm sorry, Zero." Her fangs were begging her to bury them in his very inviting neck, but she had to ignore the urge. She had struggled to hold herself back as a born vampire, but she had never really seen him suffer with his. How was he able to deal with it so easily?

"You don't want to drink, now?" He chuckled. The vibrations against her sensitive ear made her body heat up. Was he testing her? He had always looked at her in disgust when he had noticed her thirst. But that wasn't exactly true, was it? When had he stopped looking at her in that way?

"How have you been…?" She cut herself off. The question had leapt unbidden to her lips, and she wasn't sure how he would react to it. He knew what she was going to ask, however.

"Honestly, I don't know." He murmured. Another thought crossed her mind.

"If my uncle turned you, how were you able to hurt him?" She had always been told that turned vampires were unable to act against their master's wishes. She had always assumed that not being able to harm them came part and parcel within that contract.

"No force will be strong enough to stop me from protecting you." Once more, her heart skipped a beat. He continued. "You don't need to hold back anymore, Yuuki. I know you've been craving blood for a long time now."

At his permissive words, Yuuki finally allowed herself to sink her fangs into his throat.

Ah. So this was what her mother had been telling her about. The heat that had built inside her cooled as the first delicious drops touched her tongue. All of her anxieties seemed so insignificant in the moment before they melted away. Zero's blood was so much more satisfying than Kanames' had ever been. She pressed one slim leg between his to pull herself closer. In this intimate moment, she wanted to be as close to him as possible.

She heard a soft moan. It was deep and throaty and shot straight through her like a spark. She pulled away. His blood was the finest delicacy, but she didn't want to drink too much and cause him harm. Her family had done enough to hurt him without her adding to it.

She was certain that her gulp was audible as her eyes met his half-lidded ones. He was looking at her with pure hunger, the red tinge to his eyes only adding to his attractiveness. Yuuki was the next one to be pressed against the wall, his leg taking the position that hers had a second before. He had her arms pinned to the wall, leaving her unable to escape. She could feel her excitement building.

No words were spoken. Yuuki craned her neck to the side in offering, giving him the permission that he had also given her. She hadn't thought that being bitten would be so much more pleasurable when it was done by the one she loved.

[princee-ace]

CH. 000 - Awakening

Sometimes, the very thing you’re looking for is right under your nose.

Title: Bringing Back the Memories Series: Kingdom Hearts Pairing: Sora/You, Roxas/You

—

Your dreams. They always start like this.

A city of white buildings, standing mountain-high on a giant body of water. Warm sunlight glimmers against the gold paint and the flagstone pavements. It draws your attention to the water’s surface.

In the reflection, you see a grand clock-tower from another place. Another world.

Suddenly, the skies turn dark and the mirror world cracks. And you’re falling.

Gravity pulls you downward. You helplessly reach out to the vanishing city above as shadowy forces consume and obliterate it. But it’s gone, and the warm sunlight you felt before surrounds you – protects you – as you dive head-first into the open sea.

Sky becomes water, but it doesn’t hurt you. It doesn’t scare you.

Weightlessness. Nothingness.

As you slowly drift downward, you turn your gaze toward the sky. Sunlight glimmers above you still, even when you’re surrounded by so much darkness.

Eventually, your feet touch something solid on the ocean’s floor. White sand, you think, until you take a step forward. Then, the bottom of the ocean transforms into a flock of white doves who take shape and fly off toward the watery horizon.

It’s a breathtaking sight as they distance themselves, almost like stars in the skies.

From an aerial view, you realize you’re standing on a circular stage. Colorful stained-glass depicts an image of giant double doors. They’re tall and white, and sit at the peak of a grey, winding road. Perhaps, these doors will lead you somewhere.

As you take a closer look, you realize there’s a piece missing. A fragment leaves a glaring hole on the white doors, making it incomplete.

Whispers of an unseen, ambiguous voice echo around you. Almost like a collection of several voices with none overpowering another, yet their message is unanimously clear: believe in yourself and follow the light.

But … what is this “light” anyway? And to whom do these voices belong to?

A treasure box suddenly appears on the other side of the stage. You run toward it, but quickly realize that it’s locked. You look over your shoulder, hoping to find something that will open it.

Instead, you see three different colored crystals floating in midair.

The first is red: the power of the warrior. Invincible courage and terrible destruction.

The second is blue: the power of the mystic. Inner strength, wonders, and ruins.

The third is green: the power of the guardian. Kindness to aid friends, and like a shield to repel all.

Power sleeps within you … Believe in yourself, and it will be your guide…

Each path – each crystal before you – carries a certain strength and weight: valor and wreckage, knowledge and burden, protection and sacrifice. Their words encourage you to pick wisely.

You choose one, and when you’re certain of your decision, it immediately turns into a glowing key. As you hold it in the palm of your hand, you feel its power flow within you. By the time you reach the treasure chest, the weapon dulled down into a small, iron key. One that perfectly fits the chest’s keyhole.

Once unlocked, a clear heart-shaped container is released. It floats above your head and lands on where the missing fragment of the ground is, completing the puzzle at last.

The entire stage glows brightly, surrounding you with light. Then, they arrive.

Monsters sprout from the darkness – creatures born from the shadows with sharp claws and ink-black skin. They crawl closer to you, moving in a rigid, unnatural manner. Their beady, yellow eyes petrify you; their blood-lust overwhelms you.

You’re terrified.

As if sensing your fear, a flash of light appears before you. In place of the small treasure key is a white, key-shaped sword. A mighty weapon full of power and magic.

Use this…

And you do. With both hands on the handle, you strike.

Courage and destruction. Wisdom and ruin. Defense and self-sacrifice.

Relentlessly, you attack the monsters one-by-one until they disappear. Every few swings eventually kills one off, but for each one you defeat, two more seem to take its place.

Exhausted, you lean against your new weapon and try to catch your breath. Dismay sinks in your heart when you hear them shifting and multiplying. There’s no end to it…!

They have you surrounded and they’re closing in fast. Their claws are out, ready to strike!

Tightening your hold around your weapon, you brace yourself for the pain…

…but it never comes.

Cautiously, you open one eye. Then, you open both and blink in surprise.

Shape-shifting creatures in white suits are attacking the shadow monsters. For a moment, you watch in awe as they fluidly dance in the air and gracefully hit the erratic shadows with its long limbs. Beyond them, standing on the edges of the stage, are similar creatures of a higher rank: ones with cylindrical heads and robe-like jumpsuits. They draw their swords to finish the last of the shadows in quick, precise movements.

You’d think they’re protecting you as the higher-ranking creatures sheath their weapons and seem disinterested in harming you. But a nervous pit in your stomach tells you otherwise. They’re just as dangerous, and maybe even more-so than the shadow beings that appeared before them.

Be careful…

Again, they whisper … but you take heed of their warning. Your fingers clench tightly around the handle of your key-shaped weapon once more. Adrenaline pulses through your veins as the lower-ranking white-suits face you and roll their bodies toward you. Positioning yourself, you prepare to attack.

Suddenly, a blinding, white flash invades your vision and eliminates everything. You shut your eyes tightly and block your face, but its intensity doesn’t lessen. Forcing your eyes open, you try to see where it’s coming from.

Toward the light stands a silhouette of a young boy at the peak of a curvy, rocky path. He has his back turned toward you, and in his hand is another key-shaped weapon – much like the one you’re carrying with you. Before him, a pair of white double-doors are slowly opening. One that looks like the doors on the circular stage!

Maybe he knows what’s going on!

Spiraling glass steps appear one by one, leading you straight toward the boy. The harsh light hurts less now, and instead feels warm and welcoming like the sunlight you’ve felt before. Your goal is before you, and without hesitation, you run.

As you bring your feet up the windy path, you begin to realize he’s around your age. He stands about a head taller than you and has a thin but muscular built. The closer you get to him, the clearer his visuals become. Chestnut-brown, spiky hair; baggy black shorts with yellow belts and a matching black jacket with silver shoulder-guards; big hands and feet.

Somehow, it feels like you’ve seen him somewhere before…

His lips move and you hear his voice. It’s distinctively different from the ones you’ve been hearing in your head. Yet, even from where you stand, close enough to hear him clearly, he still sounds so far away.

“Haruna…”

Your body tenses. “H-How do you know my name?”

He turns to face you, but the light from the doors is still too strong for you to properly see his face. Long bangs cast a shadow over his eyes, but you see his smile. It brings a strange feeling of sanctuary. An emotion that quickly heighten to panic as something catches the corner of your eye.

Beyond the doors of light is an overwhelming amount of those shadow creatures, but they’ve evolved.

Towering over you are ones with human-like forms: they have tentacle antennas around their head like hair, and the shape of a massive heart carved from their chests. Another type are veiny, circular creatures that erratically move in unpredictable patterns. Some are dewdrop-shaped with bat wings, some human-like shapes with wings and swords, and some are gigantic versions of the shadow-monsters you saw earlier.

They stand still, waiting and watching and fidgeting like they want to move, but they don’t – or rather, they can’t.

It’s as if something or someone is forcing them to stay back. And as you look back at the boy in front of you, he suddenly makes you feel very nervous.

Don’t be afraid…

That’s right. No time to be scared.

He doesn’t seem anxious about the number of enemies surrounding you, but he might be a person who needs your help.

In a stronger voice, you ask him, “Who are you?”

He doesn’t hear you. Instead, he says your name again … over and over. And each time, it sounds like his voice is fading further and further away.

To your despair, you see why. He is fading, dissolving before your eyes as the door continues to open wider and wider. The light consuming everything in sight.

Desperately, you yell, “Wait! Tell me your name! Who are you?”

But his only answer is your name once more … louder this time. Instead of slipping away, it’s almost screaming into your ears.

“HARUNA!!”

To be continued... ⇷ previous |  more ☆ misc | next ⇸