#also I am aware I may have made their skin colour too dark for a indo european; I'll probably change it

[fionajames]

Hey Jamieeeeeeee

So about that Rex x reader thing…. 🤭 may I request that please? But can I ask if the reader can be apart of the war and gets hurt a lot because she cares about her troopers, like she can take on Krell with her bare hands because he looked at Rex wrong? (This totally isn’t related to an OC I’m writing a story about, wdym)

line of fire - rex

A/N: Hey, Sha!!! Hru? Hope this is what you wanted, srry it took so long! Please send requests guys!!!

It was well known in the Republic’s army that you were very protective over your troops, not to mention self-less. It worried many people - not that you were aware it did - including some of the other Jedi Generals, a particular Padawan and many Clones.

It showed now especially, when you stood in front of your Commander glaring down a monster taller than you. Said monster was staring at you with cold intrigue, eyes flickering with bloodshot yellow. It took a lot of your will and mind not to activate your lightsaber and plunge its blade into his chest right then and there.

“Master Krell,” you snarled, pointing a finger at him. “I am in charge of my own troops. I treat them the way I think is right, if you have a problem, you can take it up with Master Yoda, but never - and I’ll repeat, never - speak to my Commander or Clones that way.” 

Your Commander was spluttering quietly behind you, desperately attempting to convince you to let it be. “General, please,” he whispered, his voice cracking with fear. 

“You forget, young one,” Krell growled, ignoring the Clone’s feverishly spoken words. “That you are below me.” 

“I may be,” you snapped back, stepping away from your Commander and forcing Krell further away from your troops. “But many aren’t. Many that would agree with me.”

The Jedi glared at you for a few more moments, before turning and leaving. You smirked slightly, watching him storm off. But that was when it clicked. His eyes had been yellow, but not a normal colour yellow, bloodshot yellow.

The eyes of a-

Sith.

Without another thought you leapt forward, holding the blade of your lightsaber against his throat, giving you a clear look at the colour. “You traitor,” you snarled. Now that you knew, you couldn’t help but wonder how you’d missed it. Krell was seeping dark energy.

“The only traitor here is you!” Krell snapped instead, his lightsaber clashing with yours. And so the fight began. You traded lightsaber strikes back and forth, your troops surrounding the pair of you, ready to get a shot at the monster when you weren’t in risk.

It wasn’t a very long battle, as you were a very skilled fighter. When you managed to push him far enough away, the Clones opened fire, and the monster fell limp. You arrested and detained Krell, comming Yoda to tell him of the betrayal. He was saddened, but grateful you’d spotted the wanna-be-Sith.

Only a few hours later, you found yourself in the medbay of Anakin Skywalker’s ship. Your memory was too foggy to remember why or how you got there, more focused on the lightsaber burns and near-misses on your skin. They were instantly cauterised by the heat of the lightsaber, but Krell had also managed to grab and throw you several times, leaving huge gashes seeping with blood.

The quiet of the room was interrupted when a familiar Clone burst through the door, worry rolling off of him in waves like a sea. Kix had left earlier after cleaning your wounds and giving you some meds or drugs that had definitely not helped with the foggy state your brain was in.

“Are you alright?” Rex called, rushing to your side. You couldn’t find the energy to respond, so instead you sat on the cot, rocking from side-to-side subconsciously. Your mouth tasted metallic already, and the idea of talking just made you want to vomit. “Cyar’ika?” 

“‘M alright,” you drawled, leaning forward to rest your forehead on Rex’s shoulder, closing your eyes. Words felt like bricks on your tongue. 

“You don’t look alright,” he fretted, assessing your state with a furrowed brow and fearful brown eyes. “In fact, you look anything but fine.” 

“Fine,” you repeated, whimpering ever-so-slightly at the burn of bile in your throat. “Water.” 

Your friend - or maybe you were more, but neither of you had really decided on labels - moved to grasp a glass and fill it with water, holding it to your lips gently. You took the cup from his hands gratefully, drinking quickly. Your throat burned less.

“Cyar’ika, what were you thinking?” Rex whispered, but it was rhetorical. He interlaced your fingers, his chin resting on your head. “You could’ve been killed. We don’t deserve to be stood up for like that, especially when it points someone else’s life on the line.” 

You sat up abruptly, glaring weakly into his brown eyes. “You do!” You snapped, tears welling in your eyes. You were exhausted - mentally and physically - and wounded, a comment so carelessly said was more than enough to push you over the edge. “It’s not fair that you guys are so ill-treated, you deserve much more!” 

You were slightly offended on behalf of your troops, as Rex wasn’t just talking about himself, he meant all Clones.

Rex’s eyes widened, realising he’d gone too far, he wrapped his arms around you. “Oh, cyar’ika, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that.”

“You did!” You cried out pathetically, too frustrated to be calmed quickly. “You did and I hate it!”

Not knowing what he should do, Rex pressed a kiss to your forehead. “I’m sorry,” he whispered again. “I was just worried. I got so scared when the General got Master Yoda’s comm.” 

You sighed, moving to bury your face in the crook of his neck. “‘T’s alright,” you murmured, voice muffled. Rex sighed contently.

“Please don’t do that again.” 

“Do what again?” 

“Go around fighting Sith,” he managed to say, a crack of pain in his voice.

“Y’know me, Rex, I can’t stop for too long.”

“Oh, hush, cyar’ika, or I’m going to get Kix to keep you here.”

“Don’t you dare!”

“I will, now hush.”

A moment of silence, then-

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

A/N: Hope you enjoyed, send requests please!!!

[catastrophic-crystal]

Thorfinn: is his outfit historically accurate?

Your resident Old Norse nerd is here to dissect Thorfinn’s (CBS Ghosts) outfit. Is it historically accurate?

What we know about him is this: he is a viking from Norway; he died around 1007 (7 years after the Battle of Svolder); ...and that’s about it really.

I’ll be using viking and Old Norse interchangeably throughout this post just to make the language a little less repetitive, although I should note that not everyone in Old Norse society were vikings.

Everything is under the keep reading line, because there’s... a lot of words. Probably too many.

So what is he wearing?

This!

So what did vikings wear? Not this.

For a start, we have no evidence that vikings wore arm guards/vambraces that looked like this--- instead, they may have worn splint armour.

They also did not wear their hair like that. The Vikings TV show was wrong! Shocker! The “Ragnar haircut” is an entirely modern-day hairstyle that people like to associate with vikings. As far as we know, vikings did not have elaborate hairstyles. Instead, they either had their hair long, or short. They may have tied their hair up to keep it out of the way in their daily lives, or worn caps or cloaks, but we have no evidence of this type of haircut. They also likely would not have worn little braids in their hair or beards like Thorfinn does. The beard is on point except for that though.

Vikings also did not tend to wear plain uncut and untreated animal fur like this. As I said, they would have worn capes or cloaks, and oftentimes those were lined with animal fur! But the animal fur would not have been worn alone. However, I am willing to forgive this, since he was left to fend for himself alone in the wilderness, he might have skinned an animal to get it, who knows?

I’m not sure what outer garment Thorfinn is wearing here. Something leather possibly? In any case, they would not have worn this either, not even as armour (they mostly wore chainmail armour or splint armour), and they certainly would not have worn those weird strap thingies? They wore tunics, usually made of wool, and those tunics would have been a lot less skin-tight than Thorfinn’s outer garment. The under garment seems faily accurate though?

The belt and stuff hanging from it seem fairly believable, so I’ll leave them alone for now. The only thing I would say is that Old Norse tunics were very long, so you would expect to see it going down near to his knees, but we don’t see it go further than his belt at all.

The trousers, while are at least loose, are certainly not loose enough. Not to mention there’s no leg wraps--- all vikings would have worn tight leg wraps going up to just below their knees, which would have made the poofiness of their trousers stand out even more!

And lastly... the shoes. Oh god the shoes. Vikings wore turnshoes and that was it, really. They did not wear boots, and if they did, they would not have been that long. The only evidence of boots in Old Norse society that I’m aware of is child-sized. Sorry lads, I know boots are cool.

As for colours, everything here is so drab. And I know, it’s everywhere, this idea that vikings wore natural or dark colours, but it’s so boring to see! Old Norse society was so colourful (depending on class of course)! All of his clothes (bar the shoes and belt I believe) would have been dyed depending on whether he had the money to do such a thing, and I’m of two minds about that--- he was a viking, so naturally of a higher standing than most, but clearly he wasn’t respected by his peers, so maybe he was an odd one out.

Again, depending on his status, he may have worn ringlets, bracelets, and armlets, usually made out of silver. But I’m less concerned about those. I do, however, wish he wore gloves.

Well that’s all from me for now! Hope you enjoyed and sorry for the longass post, I just really love Old Norse society and I Had To Do This. If I missed anything or got anything wrong, feel free to correct me! Just be nice about it :’)

[eye-of-enigmatic-thought]

Another character for my Gaia AGR stuff, say hello to Vashti! A homeless Indo-European agender kid trying to survive in a harsh fascist dystopia and help others survive in it too.

Character background under the cut, content warning for themes and discussions of: racism, sexism, classism, misogyny, transphobia, police brutality, poverty, and homelessness.

(NOTE: Whilst I am Indo-European, I know very little of the cultures and the main ethnic features of Indo-Europeans, if any Indo-European person has criticisms, by all means please tell me.)

Vashti is a agender Indo-european teen who was born and raised female, throughout their childhood they had issues with their gender and had always felt they 'weren't really a woman and not really a man either', but kept their feelings on it a secret to prevent any more complications than the ones they already face. 

Vashti's family was an odd case, for being a middle class family in Atlantis, they were also people of colour (a mixed variety of Indo-European and Middle Eastern ethnicities). Whilst being middle class meant they could afford more basic needs than lower class people could, due to their race they still had less opportunities and were more likely to be arrested for small crimes by the APF (Atlantic Police Force). Some of them even saw fit to have body mods such as nose jobs to make themselves look less their ethnicity, Vashti in this case, has had a nose job (hence their small nose).

However despite this the family could still afford education, and they were able to give some of the younger generations, such as Vashti, the ability to go to school and receive some education, it was education that was filled with lots of propaganda, but still education nonetheless and would give them job opportunities. However, Vashti dealt with a lot of racism and sexism for not being a 'feminine woman' not only from other students but from the teachers as well, this led Vashti to purposefully skip school, leading them to have a reputation of a delinquent and be arrested many times by the APF when caught, which in turn caused all sorts of financial trouble for Vashti's family. When however Vashti managed to get away with it, they would explore their city, often intermingling with lower class areas.

Vashti was always taught by their peers both in and out of school that they deserved their treatment for being a poc, in some ways they even believed it, and thought trying to escape the racism they faced meant that they were 'weak', but when they saw the injustices done to the lowerclasses, they were horrified, they saw people like themselves be beaten to death by the police for the most smallest crimes or even no crimes at all, they saw various gangs that would recruit children and force them to do horrific deeds, they saw many families living in poverty and abuse with no hope to get out of it. Everything they were taught in education, that they 'deserved' this treatment was a lie, because NO ONE deserved to be dehumanised for simply existing. This revelation sparked a change in Vashti, and when not in school, they would secretly engage in many communities both lower and middle class to help the people in them.

Ironically, they also learned more about the world from the lowerclasses than school, from engaging with the various lowerclass communities, they learned about many different cultures, including ones where the concept of gender was much more 'loose' and not as strict and rigid. Eventually, they came out as agender to their family, but word got out and unfortunately for the APF this was the last straw for Vashti, as being transgender was seen as 'obscene'. Vashti was now permanently expelled from school and now at risk for being sent to a labour camp or chimeran experimentation, and if their family continued to try and support them, it was possible that they would be too, so they were forced to disown Vashti, though not before secretly helping them escape from the APF, but unfortunately making Vashti homeless.

Being homeless has not been kind to Vashti, their lack of access to clean water, food, and hygiene products has led them to have all sorts of health problems, however due to their previous deeds in helping the lives of various communities, they've managed to receive support from them, and in turn, with further education and job-hunting out of the question, they continue to help others in any way they can whilst avoiding the APF.

[mlm-writer]

Rutterly Filled (Omega!Wei Wuxian x Alpha!Male!Reader)

Pairing: Omega!Wei Wuxian/Wei Ying (The Untamed ver.) x Alpha!Male Reader (NOT trans-friendly) Rating: Explicit Words: 3416 POV: Second Summary: You have not had a rut ever since you have been captures with the other Wens. Now things are going well on Burial Mounds, your body decides it is time. Unfortunately, your prolonged period of being rutless meant your next one was going to be extreme. Fortunately, the Yiling Patriarch is secretly an omega and you two have been flirting ever since you met. Notes: This is 200% self-indulgent. I saw the twink, I fell in love, I wanted to wreck him. Do I need an excuse?  Tags: Omegaverse, a/b/o dynamics, ruts, idiots in love, being in a relationship without realising it, reader is a himbo, loss of control, magical restraints, breeding, knotting, multiple orgasms, does Wei Ying have a dick and a pussy or a dick and an ass? up to you!, self-lubrication, fingering, blowjobs, facials, handjobs, gēge kink and fuck or die

There was no qi flowing anywhere. The only thing that filled your ‘internal stream’ was utter rage. “I told Wen Qing this would not work without a golden core!” You exclaimed as you got up and started stomping around. The alpha pheromones were rolling off you in waves and you were low key glad you were the only alpha present on Burial Mounds or you would have started a fight the second you caught a whiff of any other alpha.

“It was still worth a try. I do not think there is a way to stop your rut now.” You stomped around Wen Qing. You did not want to lash out at her. Were it not for her concoctions, you would have gone into rut a few days ago without a backup plan at all. Your hands clenched and unclenched at your sides. “There is one thing I have not yet told you.” You let out a grunt, indicating you were listening. “Wei Wuxian is an omega and has offered to help you through your rut.” 

You stilled for a second. The Yiling Patriarch was an omega. It only took a second for you to process. Wei Wuxian was not known to adhere to any stereotype or standard. It was not crazy to think that the Yiling Patriarch, a figure that induced fear and hate in many cultivators, was a fragile omega. He may carry himself around like a big figure, but truth to be told, he was skinny like a twig and if he was not such a good fighter, anyone could snap him in half. It all made sense, it was not a crazy thought.

“Master Wei has saved my life. I am already indebted to him. I will wait out my rut in the tent Wen Ning set up in the woods.” You were already walking to the door of Wen Qing’s humble hut, but she stood in your way. Sometimes you suspected her of being an alpha as well. One never knew, when cultivators could just simply suppress their second gender, making them all appear like betas. 

“You have not had a rut in a long while due to the poor conditions we have been under. Your first rut in a while may be much more intense than you are used to.” You clenched your fist, digging your nails into the palm on your hand. Your eye twitched. “Wei Wuxian can defend himself against you, should there be any need. He is also the only omega on the whole mountain. His only condition is that you do not mark him.” You violently shook your head before you could agree to it. The man was the prettiest boy you had ever laid eyes upon and while you two had been flirting, you had not yet confessed that every flirty word you shot his way was truthful. The thing between you two, unnamed and not yet romantic, was too good to risk. 

You walked away from the door, before you were going to physically lash out at Wen Qing. “I will not take advantage of master Wei. I owe him too much already.” 

“Your excuses are so weak, I’m starting to think that you don’t think I’m attractive.” Your whole body whipped to the door, where the omega in question had appeared with a pout on his face that made you want to kiss him. His lips were pink and glistening. They looked so full and soft. Wen Qing told him to get out, but you already caught a whiff of the omega scent you had never noticed on him before. Before you had any control of your tongue, you had agreed to spending your rut with Wei Wuxian, the Yiling Patriarch. Want bubbled up from deep within you. There was no way back now. 

You followed him and his scent like a blind puppy, as he let you between trees to a tent Wen Ning had set up earlier in case you could not suppress your rut. You saw the dark red fabric in the distance, when suddenly you were caged against a tree by Wei Wuxian. “Scent me,” he whispered into your face and he did not need to say it twice. You rubbed your nose all over his neck and down to where it met his shoulder. You took deep breaths, letting your lungs fill with the sweet and spicy scent that you from now on would know as Wei Wuxian. You didn’t know how long you were rubbing yourself on him and smelling him, but after a while, the fog of alpha hormones cleared and you had a bit more grip on what was going on and what was about to happen. “Better?” Wei Wuxian giggled as he rested against you. You held him close and slowly breathed in his scent. 

After a few slow breaths, you nodded and took his hand to drag him to the tent. It was big enough that you two could stand inside and there were supplies inside, mostly food and water, but also extra robes. You didn’t hear the sound of a lake behind the tent, as you dragged Wei Wuxian inside and pushed him down onto the straw mat on the ground. You crawled on top of him, but as your eyes met his, you were awfully aware of how you were acting. “Sorry, maybe we should talk about what I can and cannot do, before I lose all my patience.” Wei Wuxian laughed and shifted so you two were sitting on the straw mat, facing one another. His robes had fallen open a little and the sight of his chest threatened another frenzy to make itself known.

“You can do anything, but try not to claim me. It is a little early in our relationship for that.” You almost choked on your own saliva and started coughing. Wei Wuxian handed you a waterskin, but you needed a solid minute, before you had enough breath to actually attempt drinking anything. 

“I’m sorry, but… relationship?” You watched Wei Wuxian through teary eyes from your coughing fit. He seemed to turn red in an instant, his face now matching the ribbon in his beautiful silk black hair. 

“Yes? I mean I thought… we always flirt? And we drink together and you sometimes feed me at dinner? We also cuddled when we were drunk? I know we never talked about it, but we are in a relationship or something… right?” You stared at him, a little dumbfounded. He did not lie; those things happened. You just took all those things for things Wei Wuxian would do with anyone.

“I didn’t think of it that way,” you immediately regretted your words as you could see Wei Wuxian’s heart breaking all over his face, “but! But! But!” He looked at you, hopeful in a way that seemed plainly desperate. “I want it to be that way! I just didn’t realise what we were, but I want to be…” There was a flare of hormones and you shuffled forward to bury your nose against Wei Wuxian’s scent gland. “I want you, even when my rut is over, but also now. Right now.” A slight shift and you noticed you were hard between your legs. 

Wei Wuxian might have noticed it too through your robes, because he was shoving at your clothes. You stood up, ripping everything off in a hurry and grabbing Wei Wuxian by his ponytail. You pulled at it until his lips were around your hard cock. You let out a moan of relief, as he immediately started sucking on the length. He resisted when you tried to get him to swallow more of you. Wei Wuxian only took the tip, but with the way he was sucking and licking, it was enough for now. You threw your head back, grunting into the air, while Wei Wuxian sucked you off. His tongue cupped the head of your cock and played with the ridge between the head and the rest of your length. The wet sounds of his mouth seemed so loud in the small space. Before he even took more of you in his mouth, you grabbed his shoulder and squeezed. Wei Wuxian took the hint and with a wet pop he pulled his mouth off your cock. You would have protested, were it not for the hand on your hard length. 

The cultivator squeezed the knot at the base of your cock, everytime his hand was at the bottom of your length. You looked down at him, seeing him with his tongue out, a smile hinting behind that lewd expression, cheeks a beautiful rosy colour that matched his spit-glistened lips. You let out a groan and kept a firm grip on his shoulder. Ropes of cum spilled from your cock. Wei Wuxian’s face, hair and robes were painted white with your seed. When he finally let go of your cock, your face heated up at the sight of him. A mixture of embarrassment and arousal swimmed inside your belly. “I’m sorry,” you whispered out of breath, but Wei Wuxian just smiled at you and started taking his soiled robes off, wiping himself off with a sleeve. When he was mostly clean off your cum, he laid himself down on the straw mat, completely naked and stretched out like a meal for you to devour. 

“Don’t apologise, I want this too,” he confessed with flushed skin and a hard omega dick twitching between his legs. You kneeled down and hoisted his legs onto your shoulders. Your tongue automatically fell from your lips at the scent of omega slick filling your nostrils. Lapping up the slick that had escaped his wet hole and trickled down his thighs, drew a gasp from Wei Wuxian’s lips. “Don’t tease me.” 

You huffed out a laugh at the annoyance in his voice. “Or else? Will the Yiling Patriarch haunt me like a ghost and eat me?” You didn’t let Wei Wuxian reply. You held him up with one hand and pushed your tongue inside, the other hand touching his cock. The omega mewled and moaned as if he was putting on a show for you. Maybe he was. When was Wei Wuxian not making a scene? “Wei Wuxian sounds so perfect,” you growled as you licked the slick off your lips. 

“If you are going to knot me until I can’t walk, at least call me Wei Ying,” the demonic cultivator huffed, his eyes ravishing your body. You smiled as you put his legs around your waist and lined your cock up with his wet hole. 

“Wei Ying is perfect.” And with those words, you slid into his heat. Wei Ying gasped as he stretched around your thick alpha cock, the slick making the slide easier, but he was not in heat. You got halfway, before the resistance became too much. “Wei Ying needs to relax,” you grunted as you rutted inside him, micromovements trying to make further entrance possible. 

“You’re too big,” he complained, hands on your arms and squeezing your biceps. You leaned down and caught his lips in a biting kiss. Soft, pink lips turned red under your onslaught. A hand made its way to his throat and he gasped deliciously against your wet lips. Wei Ying squirmed and gasped for breath as you frantically fucked his hole open until you were slipping in deeper. “So big, too big, I’m going to tear in two!” 

You would be more concerned for him, were it nog for the thick cloud of alpha hormones clouding your judgement. Instead of sounding fearful, Wei Ying’s voice fuelled the fantasy of a helpless omega at your mercy. “Pretty omegas like you can handle this,” you growled in a voice no one woud have recognised as your own. Both hands landed on Wei Ying’s hips and you sat up, so you could thrust inside him with vigour. 

Wei Ying’s voice would have been audible from miles away as he screamed mostly in pain. Coherent thoughts had long left your mind and all that was left was ‘mark’, ‘claim’, ‘fuck’, ‘knot’ and ‘breed’. Pleasure was all on your mind as you closed your eyes to fully enjoy the stretch of Wei Ying’s walls around your cock. That was until you found yourself unable to move. “No! No! No!” You growled as Wei Ying slid off your cock. He pushed you onto your knees and sat down across from you. 

“I’m sorry, alpha, but don’t worry I will not leave you like this,” he croaked out as he struggled with sitting down comfortably. His chest rose and fell in deep, but ragged breaths. You now noticed the redness around his eyes and the wetness on his cheeks. Worry paved a little clarity in the lustful fog dominating your head. 

“Cruel bastard,” you found yourself snarling back, in spite of the seed of worry Wei Ying’s image planted deep inside you. Before even the last syllable left your lips, Wei Ying had his hand tight around your cock and stroked, drawing a guttural groan from you. “That’s not enough, I need more,” you breathed out at the torture that was the grip of Wei Ying’s hand. It felt good, but his omega hole had felt so much better.

“And I need more preparation, I am not in heat,” Wei Ying huffed back as he reached behind himself. You could hear the wet squelch of him fingering himself and it drove you into a frenzy. You demanded being released, so you could once more claim your omega, but Wei Ying did not release you. He let you cum with his hand. Once he needed a better angle to shove more fingers inside, he switched his hand for his mouth, so he could support himself with one hand while he tried to shove his whole fist inside. His mouth felt better than his hand, but you already had had a taste of paradise and this was not it. 

“You’re open enough, please, I feel like I’ll die,” you whined, shortly after you covered Wei Ying in your fourth load. No matter how often you came, it would not be enough until you knotted the omega in front of you. Wei Ying seemed to take mercy on you and he turned around. Wei Ying lowered himself onto your cock. The mercy got you moaning. You could see where you entered him as he bounced on your cock, his hole gripping your length visibly. “Yes, you feel so good omega,” you moaned as he rode your fat length. “Release me and I’ll pound you so good. I will knot you and fill you with my cum and then pound you again.” Wei Ying gasped, a hand moving to his cock to stroke it. The smell of his slick as it dripped down your cock was intoxicating. 

“Gēge, you talk so indecently when you’re in a rut.” You wanted to pin him down and fuck him so bad when he called you ‘gēge’ and Wei Ying seemed to know. The glint in his eyes as he shot you a look over his shoulder was quite telling. “But I’m afraid gēge will break me if I release him. Gēge is such a strong alpha and I’m just a frail omega,” he spoke dramatically, knowing fully well he was far from a frail omega. His words would have made you cringe were it not for the fact you were in a full-on rut. The idea, the thought, the image of him being so fragile and breakable and at your mercy suddenly got something flowing in you. The feeling was unfamiliar, as was the strength it brought. 

You had no mind to think about it, but enough instinct to use it. With this new-found energy, you broke yourself free from whatever was holding you in place and grabbed Wei Ying by the back of his neck. A hard shove and Wei Ying was face down, ass up on the ground with your cock plunging into his wet hole. “Maybe they are right, the Yiling Patriarch is cruel,” you drew a loud moan from the man below you with a hard thrust, “and evil.” 

Wei Ying did not move from where you had him. Instead, he took your punishing pace with the prettiest moans you ever had the honour of hearing. His voice filled the tent with a symphony of pleasure, which only grew louder when you pressed inside and your knot slipped in. Wei Ying screamed in pleasure and pain as you slotted the two of you together and filled him up with your hot seed. 

Still, it was not enough. He was beautiful, had the most breedable body you ever laid eyes upon. How could it be enough to only fill his slick hole once?You only stilled for a minute inside of him, before you pulled out until the knot pulled painfully at the inside of his rim. Then, you pushed back inside, as deep as you could go. Wei Ying whined as you fucked him like that, the knot dragging against his walls and drawing out the melody of pain mixed with pleasure. He moaned and screamed about how he was stretched to the limit, but there was no urgency in his voice this time. 

Everything was a blur from there. Somewhere between rutting inside him and fucking him with your knot, Wei Ying had gone near-silent. His ass had become so open that your knot no longer served its purpose of keeping you inside as you spilled your seed. You didn’t know how many rounds you went, how often you filled the Yiling Patriarch with your load or how often the omega came himself. In one final mind-blurring explosion of pleasure, you passed out. Whether it was on top of him or if you managed to fall beside him was out of your control. 

When you woke up, however, you found Wei Ying on top of you. The smell of sex still hung heavy in the air, mixed with pheromones, both alpha and omega. A groan left your dry throat as you lifted your head to take a look at the man to whom you were indebted with your life, twice. He looked like he was not going to wake up for another 100 years. You tried to brush the hair out of his face, but your fingers got tangled in the silk black strands. Guilt filled your heart at the sight of bruises on his hips and sides. A respectful look down revealed there was still cum dripping out of his hole. 

You untangled yourself from him. It took you a good hour to get Wei Ying cleaned up and placed on a clean towel; the straw mat was completely ruined. You had him on his side, still sleeping peacefully, while you tried to comb the tangles carefully out of his hair. You were almost done when you noticed him stir. “Wei Ying?” You called out softly, hand shooting for the waterskin. You held it to his lips. “Don’t move; drink first.” To your surprise, he obeyed. He tried to sit up, but winced. You took the hint and helped him sit on your lap, the gap between your legs perfect for his ass to rest between with no pressure on it. “I’m sorry. I lost control.” 

Wei Ying blinked at you and then reached for the jar of wine in the corner. You chuckled and handed it to him, still cradling him close. He took a few gulps, before speaking up. “I thought I would die,” he pouted in a somewhat playful way that gave you conflicted emotions about his words. “Gēge, you were such a monster. Next time, I will use a stronger talisman to keep you down.”

You inhaled sharply. ‘Next time’, he had said. You licked your dry lips and nodded, agreeing with him. A signature smile painted the omegas lips, before he snuggled closer to you. “Gege is adorable when he is worried about me. I’ll be fine, I swear. Just don’t make me do anything for a few days.” You let out an empty laugh, relieved and still worried. Another nod as you put a hand on his head, holding it close to your shoulder. You twisted your head, placing a kiss upon Wei Ying’s temple. He hummed happily and closed his eyes. 

“Wei Ying! You need to eat before you go back to sleep!” 

[writingwithcolor]

Jurassic period alien interacting with key cultures and historical figures in Middle East & Asia throughout history

@ketchupmaster400​ said:

Hello, so my question is for a character I’ve been working on for quite a while but wasn’t sure about a few things. So basically at the beginning of the universe there was this for less being made up of dark matter and dark energy. Long story short it ends up on earth during the Jurassic Period. It has the ability to adapt and assimilate into other life animals except it’s hair is always black and it’s skin is always white and it’s eyes are always red. It lives like this going from animal to animal until it finally becomes human and gains true sentience and self awareness. As a human it lives within the Middle East and Asia wondering around trying to figure out its purpose and meaning. So what I initially wanted to do with it was have small interactions with the dark matter human and other native humans that kinda helped push humanity into the direction it is now. For example, Mehndhi came about when the dark matter human was drawing on their skin because it felt insecure about having such white skin compared to other people. And ancient Indians saw it and thought it was cool so they adopted it and developed it into Mehndi. Minor and small interactions though early history leading to grander events. Like they would be protecting Jerusalem and it’s people agains the Crusaders later on. I also had the idea of the the dark matter human later on interacting with the prophets Jesus Christ and Muhammad. With Jesus they couldn’t understand why he would sacrifice himself even though the people weren’t deserving. And then Jesus taught them that you have to put other before yourself and protecting people is life’s greatest reward. And then with the prophet Muhammad, I had the idea that their interaction was a simple conversation that mirrors the one he had with the angel Jibril, that lead to the principles of Islam. Now with these ideas I understand the great importance of how not to convey Islam and I’ve been doing reasearch, but I am white and I can understand how that may look trying to write about a different religion than my own. So I guess ultimate my question is, is this ok to do? Is it ok to have an alien creature interact with religious people and historical events as important as they were? Like I said I would try to be as accurate and as respectable as possible but I know that Islam can be a touchy subject and the last thing I would want is to disrespect anyone. The main reason I wanted the dark matter being in the Middle East was because I wanted to do something different because so much has been done with European and American stuff I wanted to explore the eastern side of the world because it’s very beau and very rich with so many cultures that I want to try and represent. I’m sorry for the long post but I wanted you guys to fully understand what my idea was. Thank you for your time and hope you stay safe.

Disclaimer:

The consensus from the moderators was that the proposed character and story is disrespectful from multiple cultural perspectives. However, we can’t ignore the reality that this is a commonly deployed trope in many popular science fiction/ thriller narratives. Stories that seek to take religious descriptions of events at face value from an areligious perspective particularly favor this approach. Thus, we have two responses:

Where we explain why we don’t believe this should be attempted.

Where we accept the possibility of our advice being ignored.

1) No - Why You Shouldn’t Do This:

Hi! I’ll give you the short answer first, and then the extended one.

Short answer: no, this is not okay.

Extended answer. I’ll divide it into three parts.

1) Prophet Muhammad as a character:

Almost every aspect of Islam, particularly Allah (and the Qur’an), the Prophet(s) and the companions at the time of Muhammad ﷺ, are strictly kept within the boundaries of real life/reality. I’ll assume this comes from a good place, and I can understand that from one side, but seriously, just avoid it. It is extremely disrespectful and something that is not even up to debate for Muslims to do, let alone for non-Muslims. Using Prophet Muhammad as a character will only bring you problems. There is no issue with mentioning the Prophet during his lifetime when talking about his attributes, personality, sayings or teachings, but in no way, we introduce fictional aspects in a domain that Muslims worked, and still work, hard to keep free from any doubtful event or incident. Let’s call it a closed period: we don’t add anything that was not actually there.

Reiterating then, don’t do this. There is a good reason why Muslims don’t have any pictures of Prophet Muhammad. We know nothing besides what history conveyed from him. 

After this being said, there is another factor you missed – Jesus is also an important figure in Islam and his story from the Islamic perspective differs (a lot) from that of the Christian perspective. And given what you said in your ask, you would be taking the Christian narrative of Jesus. If it was okay to use Prophet Muhammad as a character (reminder: it’s not) and you have had your dark matter human interacting with the biblical Jesus, it will result in a complete mess; you would be conflating two religions.

2) Crusaders and Jerusalem:

You said this dark matter human will be defending Jerusalem against the Crusaders. At first, there is really no problem with this. However, ask yourself: is this interaction a result of your character meeting with both Jesus and Prophet Muhammed? If yes, please refer to the previous point. If not, or even if you just want to maintain this part of the story, your dark matter human can interact with the important historical figures of the time. For example, if you want a Muslim in your story, you can use Salah-Ad-Din Al-Ayoubi (Saladin in the latinized version) that took back Jerusalem during the Third Crusade. Particularly, this crusade has plenty of potential characters. 

Also, featuring Muslim characters post Prophet Muhammad and his companions’ time, is completely fine, just do a thorough research.

 3) Middle Eastern/South Asian settings and Orientalism:

The last point I want to remark is with the setting you chose for your story. Many times, when we explore the SWANA or South Asian regions it’s done through an orientalist lens. Nobody is really safe from falling into orientalism, not even the people from those regions. My suggestion is educating yourself in what orientalism is and how it’s still prevalent in today’s narrative. Research orientalism in entertainment, history... and every other area you can think of. Edward Said coined this term for the first time in history, so he is a good start. There are multiple articles online that touch this subject too. For further information, I defer to middle eastern mods. 

- Asmaa

Racism and Pseudo-Archaeology:

A gigantic, unequivocal and absolute no to all of it, lmao. 

I will stick to the bit about the proposed origin of mehendi in your WIP, it’s the arc I feel I’m qualified to speak on, Asmaa has pretty much touched upon the religious and orientalism complications. 

Let me throw out one more word: pseudoarchaeology. That is, taking the cultural/spiritual/historical legacies of ancient civilizations, primarily when it involves people of colour, and crediting said legacies to be the handiwork of not just your average Outsider/White Saviour but aliens. I’ll need you to think carefully about this: why is it that in so much of media and literature pertaining to the so-called “conspiracy theories” dealing with any kind of extraterrestrial life, it’s always Non-Western civilizations like the Aztec, the ancient Egyptians, the Harappans etc who are targeted? Why is it that the achievements of the non West are so unbelievable that it’s more feasible to construct an idea of non-human, magical beings from another planet who just conveniently swooped in to build our monuments and teach us how to dress and what to believe in? If the answer makes you uncomfortable, it’s because it should: denying the Non-West agency of their own feats is not an innocent exercise in sci-fi worldbuilding, it comes loaded with implications of racial superiority and condescension towards the intellect and prowess of Non-European cultures. 

Now, turning to specifics:

Contrary to what Sarah J. Maas might believe- mehendi designs are neither mundane, purely aesthetic tattoos nor can they be co-opted by random Western fantasy characters. While henna has existed as an art form in various cultures, I’m limiting my answer to the Indian context, (specifying since you mention ancient India). Mehendi is considered one of the tenets of the Solah Shringar- sixteen ceremonial adornments for Hindu brides, one for each phase of the moon, as sanctioned by the Vedic texts. The shade of the mehendi is a signifier for the strength of the matrimonial bond: the darker the former, the stronger the latter. Each of the adornments carries significant cosmological/religious symbolism for Hindus. To put it bluntly, when you claim this to be an invention of the aliens, you are basically taking a very sacred cultural and artistic motif of our religion and going “Well actually….extraterrestrials taught them all this.”

In terms of Ayurveda (Traditional holistic South Asian medicine)  , mehendi was used for its medicinal properties. It works as a cooling agent on the skin and helps to alleviate stress, particularly for the bride-to-be. Not really nice to think that aliens lent us the secrets of Ayurvedic science (pseudoarchaeology all over again). 

I’m just not feeling this arc at all. The closest possible alternative I could see to this is the ancient Indian characters incorporating some specific stylistic motifs in their mehendi in acknowledgement to this entity, in the same vein of characters incorporating motifs of tribute into their armour or house insignia, but even so, I’m not sure how well that would play out. If you do go ahead with this idea, I cannot affirm that it will not receive backlash.

-Mimi

These articles might help:

 Pseudoarchaeology and the Racism Behind Ancient Aliens

A History of Indian Henna (this studies mehendi origins mostly with reference to Mughal history)

Solah Shringar

2) Not Yes, But If Ignoring the Above:

I will be the dissenting voice of “Not No, But Here Are The Big Caveats.” Given that there is no way to make the story you want to tell palatable to certain interpretations of Islam and Christianity, here is my advice if the above arguments did not sufficiently deter you.

1. Admiration ≠ Research: It is not enough to just admire cultures for their richness and beauty. You need to actually do the research and learn about them to determine if the story you want to tell is a good fit for the values and principles these cultures prioritize. You need to understand the significance of historical figures and events to understand the issues with attributing the genesis of certain cultural accomplishments to an otherworldly influence. 1.

2. Give Less Offense When Possible and Think Empathetically: You should try to imagine the mindsets of those you will offend and think about to what degree you can soften or ameliorate certain aspects of your plot, the creature’s characteristics, and the creature’s interactions with historical figures to make your narrative more compatible. There is no point pretending that much of areligious science fiction is incompatible with monotheist, particularly non-henotheistic, religious interpretations as well as the cultural items and rituals derived from those religious interpretations. One can’t take “There is no god, just a lonely alien” and make that compatible with “There is god, and only in this particular circumstance.” Thus:

As stated above by Asmaa and Mimi, there is no escaping the reality the story you propose is offensive to some. Expect their outcry to be directed towards you. Can you tolerate that?

Think about how you would feel if someone made a story where key components of your interpretation of reality are singled out as false. How does this make you feel? Are you comfortable doing that to others?

3. Is Pseudoarchaeology Appropriate Here?: Mimi makes a good point about the racial biases of pseudoarchaeology. Pseudoarchaeology is a particular weakness of Western-centric atheist sci-fi. Your proposed story is the equivalent of a vaguely non-descript Maya/Aztec/Egyptian pyramid or Hindu/ Buddhist-esque statue being the source for a Resident Evil bio weapon/ Predator nest/ Assassin’s Creed Isu relic.

Is this how you wish to draw attention to these cultures you admire? While there is no denying their ubiquity in pop-culture, such plots trivialize broad swathes of non-white history and diminish the accomplishments of associated ethnic groups. The series listed above all lean heavily into these tropes either because the authors couldn’t bother to figure out something more creative or because they are intentionally telling a story the audience isn’t supposed to take seriously.*

More importantly, I detect a lot of sincerity in your ask, so I imagine such trivialization runs counter to your expressed desire to depict Eastern cultures in a positive and accurate manner.

4. Freedom to Write ≠ Freedom from Consequence: Once again, as a reminder, it’s not our job to reassure you as to whether or not what you are proposing is ok. Asmaa and Mimi have put a lot of effort into explaining who you will offend and why.  We are here to provide context, but the person who bears the ultimate responsibility for how you choose to shape this narrative, particularly if you share this story with a wide audience, is you. Speaking as one writer to another, I personally do not have a strong opinion one way or the other, but I think it is important to be face reality head-on.

- Marika.

* This is likely why the AC series always includes that disclaimer stating the games are a product of a multicultural, inter-religious team and why they undermine Western cultures and Western religious interpretations as often (if not moreso) than those for their non-Western counterparts.

Note: Most WWC asks see ~ 5 hours of work from moderators before they go live. Even then, this ask took an unusually long amount of time in terms of research, emotional labor and discussion. If you found this ask (and others) useful, please consider tipping the moderators (link here), Asmaa (coming eventually) and Mimi (here). I also like money - Marika.

[rumblelibrary]

I'm not sure if you have already done something like this before, and if you did, please let me know, I'd love to read it, BUT I was wondering if you could do a little thing, maybe with Sebastian Zöllner, where he is like totally behind on every fucking deadline, work is just piling up, he got into stress with his ex, the dishes are not done, he should go take out the trash, you know, everything is just piling up and he just cracks under the pressure, severely doubting his worth as a person. And his friend, the reader, gotta try their best to build him up again, telling him all the things they love about him, and it slowly turns into a love confession without them noticing.

Is this too elaborate, does that make sense for Seb? Idk. To me it does? Like he's always very...Seb around other people, but deep down I feel like he's always under this pressure to live up to his own and others expectations, wanting to be big and famous and perfect in a way.

I'm so sorry, brain go brrr.

Never Enough [Sebastian Zöllner x Reader]

Word Count: 4k Warnings: bad habits (heavy smoking and drinking), self deprecation, depression and some fluff in the end. A/N: I loved this prompt, I love to write Sebastian so thanks to you once more for giving me this opportunity

He should have probably realised something was wrong when the ashtray was vomiting cigarettes out from its dooming position beside the laptop.

He nervously used the left part of the one he just ended to scavenge some space and just pressed it along the others.

Or maybe when after another sip of the same cold coffee mixed with cheap gin he felt the walls of his stomach revolting and stirring against him, threatening a much bigger damage.

Or, again, when he felt like calling back Elke because he was so alone and he was hungry and tired, and she might hate him but he could pull some puppy eyes and maybe it would work. It usually did.

The truth was that he shouldn’t have taken up so many jobs, but the bank account was crying and he needed them, he needed the money.

But again: writing about the umpteenth girl- artist performing naked on a famous historic location?

Or do we have to talk about the way somebody splashed some colour here and there  on a canvas saying it is the catharsis of his young mind against the social construct?

Please, may God spare him from the man calling himself landscape artist because he takes pictures of naked girls on a field.

Charged up with this amount of nothingness, he could just write and delete, write and delete, words count going quickly up to 400 only to go back at 0 in a snap of his fingers over the buttons, because he couldn’t just tear them down. He had to give them some hope, a glimpse of potential he couldn’t see and he wasn’t even aware it existed. Each of them disgusted him, but he was specifically asked to be entertaining and not a killer with his words.

So he kept swiping up videos and photos of these artists, trying to find one thing, one holy grail to get attached to and finally write one good optimistic line in the middle of the words he had to pull up to keep a moderate tone.

He rubbed his temple running over his hairline, which by the way was perfectly fine, before his hand reached down and he touched his t-shirt pulling on the neckline to gather some air, he was wearing his pyjama still, white stained shirt on blue tartan pants. He raised up the shirt and bowed his head down giving in a long inhale from the inside and just cringed to himself.

He looked around as he couldn’t stand up, if he did then he will get only more distracted and these articles needed to be ready for tomorrow.

He noticed the spray against the mosquitos on the floor, those little bastards always hiding under his desk to bite his ankles, he picked it up and sprayed it over himself like it was perfume hoping to ignore the need of a shower for few more hours.

His eyes scanned the small studio flat he was living now: the dishes sticking out of the sink, the noisy fridge buzzing. The one table that was also his work desk filled with used mugs, stained plates covered in cigarettes and leftovers, empty packages of his favourite brand discarded everywhere: from the bathroom up to the couch and to the small bed he owned. Damn, if he run out of cigarette it will be hard to ignore how he also run out of food.

The space was dark and gloomy, some of his stuff still packed up, the fake pop art panting of him and Elke staring at him reminding him of his other loss.

He didn’t touch the bed in days, he just slept on the seat or on the couch.

His attention was attracted by his phone buzzing.

He sat up straight as it was her, it was Elke.

Did she sense his discomfort? 

“Elke” he picked up the call in a second.

“Wow, a quick answer, did you have your phone already in your hand or it happens just so late at night?”

Her sarcasm did’t go past him, but he just thought how long it was since he heard a human voice and not the recording of some idiot calling himself artist.

“No, I was thinking of you”

“Yes, sure, look I have sent you an email with the bills of the time you were here, the ones you have left to pay and it is only fair that you pay at least half of them”

“Sure” he just said it because he wanted to go past the point of money, he wanted her back. Maybe he could crush at her place, feel her hands through his hair, shower, sleep some good sleep and the articles will come around in few types “Elke, I was thinking we might…”

“I just called you for the bills”

“I know, but maybe we could have” his eyes darted at the top right of his laptop screen to see the time “a drink together?”

She huffed a laughter as he frowned lightly “I know you Seb, if it is money or sex what you’re looking for that door is closed and it has been for a long time”

“I know” he murmured as he let out a breathy sigh, a dooming sense of loneliness creeping over him like a giant spider ready to wrap him up and eat him “I just hoped…”

“Don’t hope Sebastian, you’re already an hopeless cause”

She hung up on him and he was left there, he kept that same pose with his phone against his ear. His eyes trailing once again over the empty page of his document on the screen, on the chaos surrounding him.

He nibbled on his bottom lip before running his tongue over the pained area.

He pushed the phone back down on the table with a tremble of his jaw and a shaky hand.

She was right.

What he did of his life anyway? He lost most of his occasions in life, he was now in his thirties and he concluded nothing of what he hoped to be, he failed in all the departments both as an artist and as a critic.

A jack of all trades is a master of none, and maybe only the first type of the famous quote could be applied to him.

He couldn’t even take the trash out or he couldn’t remember the last time he ate something that was vaguely resembling of fruits or vegetables. It is all good when you imagine yourself as a bohemian rooting against the world, when you convince yourself that’s only the proof you needed to know you are fighting well against a system of art that privileges banality and marketing over real artistic value and that, one day, all your struggles will be worth it.

Even Picasso was poor for a long time in Paris.

Damn, maybe to be in a situation like this in Paris would sound more romantic.

But the truth was: he never imagined to have to do it alone, that life would feel so overwhelming, that there wouldn’t be anything but extreme struggle, anger, loneliness and a terrible diet.

For a moment he wished to be a baby again, to be the bright boy he was and let mommy take care of his needs and his dirty shirt and empty stomach. He wished that maybe somebody noticed him before, that somebody saw his talent and helped him to pull it out instead of leaving him to do it on his own only to come late to every step.

And now it is too late, he is lost in the sea of terrible paid jobs and anguishing relationships, let’s not forget maybe he indeed had a receding hairline and he was doomed to get bold .

He squeezed his eyes as a soft sob took over his lip, hand running over his forehead as he pulled on his hair justifying his tears with some physical pain. He shook his head as he tried to gain back some composure, hand flung over to pick up his coffee mug and giving in a long gulp of the coffee, the same one he swore before to not touch again, only to almost choke on it, couching it out only to pick up the bottom hem of his shirt to clean his laptop screen.

He fucking hated to write on a computer, the old typewriters inspired him but that damn ink was too expensive now for his sore pockets.

He smirked to himself as he kept doing it, finding good excuses to call himself off any responsibility. But maybe Elke was right, well she surely was, she had two degrees, maybe he was really a lot cause. He frowned as he wiped slowly the screen with his already stained shirt, the wetness sticking then against his skin as soon as he let it go giving him another shiver.

He didn’t have even the strength to cry, he could only accept it was over.

The curse that he shouted out loud when he heard knocking at the door, smashing him out of his thought spiral, generated an immediate anger reaction from him.

“Fuck, shit, if it is the fucking neighbour, I swear I will kill her cat or that rat she has as cat, fucking hell”

He grumbled as he stood up moving across the table not caring about his state, he only wanted to crawl back into a ball and maybe nuzzle a bit somewhere.

When his death glare appeared after the door opened in a powerful swing his eyebrows lifted immediately finding you on the other side.

He blinked, one of those sleepy blinks where somebody closes his eyes and then opens them really wide to make sure it is not made up in their brain, that one.

His eyebrows furrowed as he stared at you 

“What the fuck are you doing here?”

“You should wash your mouth with holy water Sebastian” you said shaking your head raising your arms to show him some paper bags “I am bringing food and body shower”

He shook his head “Are you calling me stinky?”

“I am” You quickly replied moving past him into his place ignoring his groan.

He stood by the door slowly closing it, he was sure that old bitch was looking through her peephole, only then he stared at you try to make your way into the filthy kitchen. He was really embarrassed about his antics, but surely this time he exceeded some record.

“I am speechless Seb, I helped you with the moving and this place seems to have taken over you” you said as you knew he was in some rut when he kept such a long phone silence.

He was usually always texting, sending memes or one sentence texts.

You cared about him, deeply, you knew he was full of flaws and little quirks, but that’s what made him special. Nevertheless, you were worried about the state of the place, how it showed the way he let himself get dragged through the days. So he observed you, better to say, your back, the way you moved around opening the window to let fresh air inside, turning on a lamp to make some light that wasn’t just the blue one of the screen. Pulling out commodities and food from your magic bags like some sort of Mary Poppins of struggling writers. How you poured soap in the dirty load of dishes and pans, the way you marched securely to his desk to pick up that filthy mug and you frowned just sniffing at it.

“Is that poison?”

“Rat poison” he corrected you.

You shook your head as you cleaned a glass and filled it with water and among the groceries you pulled out a banana.

“Have this now, it will help” you said and he took the glass with one hand and the banana with the other like his brain was shut down.

He stared at you as you leaned your head slightly on side, he went through bad times after the break up but you had never seen him in such a helpless state.

He was chaotic but he always loved to keep up his appearance, to give that handsome and damned kind of vibe.

“Sebastian” you called him as his eyes spaced out and now where back on you “Are you alright?”

He observed you, he stared at your face like he was trying to recognise you, truth it was he kept pushing himself to say yes, say yes, say it is all good, make a joke, a remark, keep it up. You don’t need his burden, you don’t need to hate him like Elke and others do.

Just say yes.

“No” he said as his lips trembled and you watched his ironic mask fall right in front of you as he looked away hiding his tears, real tears, not the ones he can play out whenever he needs.

Just as quickly as you gave him the banana and the water you took them off his hands afraid he might hurt himself by dropping the glass in particular.

"Seb" you called his attention as he sobbed moving like a bird trying to hide his face against his own shoulder.

You took his now empty hands dragging him toward the couch and kicking off the pile of dirty clothes and discarded books on top of it to make him sit down with you.

"Talk to me"

He didn't, the man that was never out of words, even in the times he should have been, was now silent as a tombstone staring away from you as you gave a gentle squeeze to his hands. It pained you to see him in such a state.

So weak, so helpless like a lost child.

"I can't help you if you don't talk"

Sebastian shook his head still staring at the wall.

"You can't help me"

"Is it about writing? I can proof read you, it will be a moment"

He shook his head again making, hair bouncing from side to side.

"No, it is not important if I write or not"

You frowned at that comment.

"What the hell?" you just blurted out "Seb you're a talented writer, you're passionate, funny, witty, why shouldn't it be important?"

He looked up at you shaking his head "I can't write, I can't put together two sentences"

Your eyes travelled onto his side profile, truth to be told he looked worn out but he was still handsome like only Sebastian Zöllner could be. He had that chaotic charm, even with a wrinkled suit he was fearless, strong, poignant. You couldn't avoid him, he owned every place he stepped in and you could feel his gaze run through your bloodstream.

When he asks a question, he meant it, it was a test run into your bones and you loved every second of it.

His lips tightened as he diverted his gaze finally to you. You knew his relationship with Elke was important, he cared about others even if he didn't show it daily like most people do.

"Is it Elke?"

"No, she was just right"

"About what?"

He gulped, his throat dry as he pulled his bottom lip in his mouth grinding his teeth over it like playing something through that gesture.

"About me"

"Breakups are always shit, don't you even.."

"No Y/N" he interrupted you, he was serious, maybe his voice trembled but he wasn't lying or playing some role "I am really a lost cause, I mean look at his place"

His hand waved around the small flat like a drunk orchestra director.

"It is pure trash, I haven't finished unpacking, I didn't have food until you came, I am unable to look after myself, to look after the people that I care about. I worked so hard to be an artist and then I became a critic and now I am so knee deep into my own shit that I have more debts than entries, more failures than successes, more haters than friends"

He gulped down, the waterline of his eyes dangerously red and he sniffled up as he let out a little weak whisper "I just wish I could disappear"

"No"

It came out of you like a lighting bolt, it surged out of you before you could even elaborate. Like an order. A command.

"Seb, you're now in a rough patch of life, but you have always worked hard and well as a writer"

"I am a writer because I failed as an artist"

"You're a writer because you know of what you're talking about, because you're able to see the difference between marketing and passion, between hard work and laziness, because you respect that profession and it makes you the best critic"

"I just want to destroy them all because I am envious, Elke always said I am fuelled by my own envy”

"I have read pieces of yours only encouraging the rightful and bringing down the real frauds"

He shook his head as he was just fixating on the wrong, on the flaws, on the problems.

You huffed cupping his cheeks to force him to look at your eyes.

"Look at me" you said not admitting replies "you are talented in what you do, you are one of the best in your field and you're not on some big magazine only because they know they will have to put up with your shit: with the fact you always meet the people, you look at art pieces in presence, you touch them, you research the colours, you scrutinise everything to the bone"

He took your hands hating to be held like that but he squeezed them in his owns.

"And yes, you're allergic to ironing clothes and washing dishes is your personal nightmare, and yes, you give out many temper tantrums and have a terribly dark sense of humour, you are a failure at time and money management, you love filthy rich stuff and smoke like your life depends on it"

He stared at you, he listened quietly as you knew him from so long and many people, Elke included, wondered what you gained from helping him or just being around him that much. He often teased his ex about being jealous of you and she always said that it was like being jealous of a mortgage.

"So you agree?"

 "I agree to say you are flawed like all of us, that you are just the perfect balance to your writing, you're what you write. You're passionate, you give out the two hundred percent of what you can give, you are like this, you go all-in in everything you do, there's no compromise, no mid way, no foreseeable change of direction, you speed up into the darkness and don't look back. You are bold, you take risks, you let people hate you because you do not compromise with who is son of who or who is the director of what gallery, you judge people over their real qualities. Because you talk to them in their face, because you don't hide that yes, you want to be great, because you're handsome and charming and smart, nobody can outsmart you in your field, not even that idiot you hate that much"

"Golo Fucking Moser" he murmured

"Golo Fucking Moser" you repeated with a chuckle "you don't have anything to envy to him beside the bruises he probably has on his knees for bending down to anyone"

He chuckled at that comment.

"And also, you're more attractive, that pisses off Seb, it is unfair to the poor man”

He leaned his head on side as you wouldn't normally shower him in compliments, he had enough ego for that, but you had never seen him like this and you wished to never see him again in such a state.

"You find me attractive?"

"Well for sure you're an eye candy" you joked

"I mean it"

You rolled your eyes blushing a bit and huffing a chuckle "I do, alight? It is universal knowledge"

He looked at you as he still held your hands in his, his thumbs making soft shapes over the back of your hand.

"That I am attractive or that you find me attractive?"

You groaned looking away with an embarrassed giggle “okay, okay, I see you're back in yourself, let's eat now"

You moved to stand up but he didn't do the same remaining sat in his spot.

"Tell me"

"I pumped your self esteem enough, now let me go"

He chuckled softly, he never really thought you'd be interested. He usually shows off so many bad traits that he has to tone himself down and really try hard to attract someone. It is all an effort on his part to appear better or at least less quirky.

And then now look at you, appreciating even his shit show.

"Y/N" he murmured giving you a soft squeeze. You kept silent not daring now to meet his gaze. He bowed his head trying to reach for your eyes with his gaze and he looked up at you, a smile that wasn't provocative over his lips.

You pulled back yanking your wrists off his grip to move straight into the kitchen corner.

You begun pulling ut some fresh vegetables and bread, you also got some cheese knowing he loves it, wanting him to have a good dinner.

He followed you almost immediately and soon you found his arms grasping you once more in a hug, his chest pressed against your back, his forehead on your shoulder.

"Seb, you..."

"I know, I stink, just give me a moment" he said and you obliged him gently caressing his arms around you.

You hated to be in the friend zone, but you wouldn't be able to survive to lose him forever or to have him joke about it.

Now he was quiet, tender like a hurt pup.

"Thank you, you know you can count on me too, right? For anything” he said and you chuckled softly “I know, you’re my favourite avenger”

He nodded brushing his crisp beard against your cheek and after few minutes stuck in that hug he dropped a kiss on your neck "love you”

He pulled back giving you a smile as he picked the shower gel you left on the counter bringing it with himself to the bathroom with a soft hum.

You smiled a bit bitterly to yourself as you guessed it was meant in a friendly way, but today it was alright. You could endure it. Also that kiss, he always did it when he was drunk, at parties or in the taxi back home after a viewing. It was his cuddly way to say things without saying them, without rambling, and you appreciated that silent language. 

Maybe now he was drunk over his own feelings.

Just like you.

Tagged @cazzyimagines @lieutenantn @handmaiden-of-mischief @thesunflowersutra @zemomybeloved @fictionlandslanddreams @charistory @greeneyedblondie44 @apparrio @hb8301 @whatawildone @rhymerhymerhyme  @thehuiabird @lilith-blackrose @unbeatablecurlgirl @obsidianlaszlo @alindeluce @zemosimp05 @baronesszemo-blackwood @nocapesdahling @everythingbeginsineternity-blog @archangelproperty

[eldritchtickles]

A Lesson in Love and Dunamancy

And here's one of those once in a moon fics I write! Inspired by an ask from a long long while ago that I cannot find anymore lmao. But enjoy some wizard tickles! And of course a big thank you to the Critickle Role discord for not only lotsa ideas, but also keeping me writing this with your own amazing work lmao. Enjoy!

Fandom: Critical Role

Characters: Essek Thelyss, Jester Lavorre, Caleb Widogast

Word Count: 2665

“And as you can see here..”

The dark skinned hand moved lightly across the thick paper, gentle fingers tracing the runic symbols etched into its form. Essek’s eyes were focused as he read through the ancient script, while Caleb’s followed the drow’s finger with intent. Both wizards were sat closer to each other than either seemed to realise, leaning deeply into one another. The room was cosy, hazy with incense with small candles floating lazily through the air. Calm, oriented, as a wizard’s study should be. “These dunamantic symbols are the basis for most spells”, the Shadowhand continued. “Any current spell relies on these calculations, and predictably any new ones would include them too.”

“Ah, ja, I see it now…”, Caleb muttered, leaning closer as a slight smirk played at the edges of his lips. “I also see you already suspect I intend to play with dunamancy’s limits myself, hm?”

Ah, he was caught. A soft smile came to Essek’s face as he nodded. He knew Caleb Widogast would not be one to leave such magic alone if he could create with it. The transmutation master kept true to his discipline, creating something of nothing at a moment’s notice. Including making a need for Essek to put him back in place.

His face leaned down closer to his human companion’s, a twinkle of slight playfulness in his eyes at Caleb’s snark.

“Yes, Herr Widogast, I imagine you’ll be creating many a spell based on the Krynn magic, hm?”

As Caleb went to retort just as smartly, the gentle cosy candlelit haze of the room was bathed in the harsher light of the hallway outside.

“Oh ­Caleeeeeeeb~!”

Both wizards were suddenly acutely aware of their close proximity to one another as Jester Lavorre loudly interrupted their study session. In a second Caleb found himself alone on the floor as Essek’s floating spell took effect and jettisoned him into a more regal standing position, even if his face was flushed an embarrassed lilac colour.

“OH!’, Jester exclaimed, a not so sorry grin on her face as she surveyed the suddenly awkward tension she had created. “I didn’t meanto interrupt you two cuddling-“

“Jester!!”, Caleb yelped, embarrassment lending his voice a strangled tone as he stumbled to his feet and brushed himself off and cast a glance to Essek. “You… You did not disturb anything. Was there something you needed from us this urgent?”

Jester was already in the room as the wizard spoke to her. She inspected the floating candles overhead, courtesy of the magic inside Caleb’s Tower, giving each a slight poke to watch it bob away free of gravity. She cast a teasing grin at the two flushed wizards, before diverting her attention to the dunamantic scroll on the floor as she spoke.

“Weeeeelllllll”, she began, nose scrunching up as she tried to understand the arcane glyphs. “Beau asked me to get you! She needs help compiling notes, and said ‘his stupid keen mind would kind of be helpful’. So I came to fetch you for her!”

“Ah scheisse, you’re absolutely right”, Caleb said with a small groan, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Essek, would you remain here? I promised Beau earlier I’d help her with her endeavour, I’ll finish quickly and be right back to continue.”

“Ah, quite, yes…”, Essek mumbled, glad to feel the blush on his cheeks calm down. “Take all the time you need, alright? I’ll prepare the next part of the lesson in the interim.”

No more words passed between the two, just a polite smile and a nod before Caleb parted to help his comrade. Soon as the door closed, Essek let out a slow breath. What had he been thinking? This was a professional relationship, student and mentor, and yet he had been practically sitting in Caleb’s lap as he had taught. Where was his usual maturity? Had he gone mad? Really, he had to get his act together before someone thought-

“Essek likes Caleb~!”

The Shadowhand froze up. The heat of his lilac blush returned, reaching his ears this time. Just over his shoulder was the grinning face of Jester, he knew it. He could practically fucking feel her waggling her eyebrows suggestively at him. Damn tieflings.

He rounded quickly on the woman, face not seeming able to decide between incredulous, embarrassed, or angry. Probably a mix of all three.

“Jester I- You can’t think that- That’s just not-“

A breath. Nerves calmed.

“…….. Ms. Lavorre, you cannot make such claims about two acolytes. It is in very bad taste, our relationship is strictly-“

“Oh come ooooon, Essek! Admit it, you like the stinky wizard!”, the tiefling said in a lilting voice, walking around to his front so she could stand on her tip toes till her nose met his, which made him make a funny face as he floated back a step. “I mean, no one will blame you. Caleb is charming, and sweet, and kind of dirty but that can be fixed, and he’s so clever, Essek! And he’s-“

“Jester, I do not-“

His voice caught in his throat, before a pout was brought to his face as the drow turned from the intruder on his lesson. He started to spread out another spell scroll, putting all his effort into making sure he was solely concentrating on this.

“I would prefer not to speak on this topic if you don’t mind Jester.”

If it were anyone else, they might have taken the hint. Essek’s exterior had turned icy and aloof, as it had been when they first met, and was usually enough to deter more questioning. But while her insight may not be as good as Caducueus, Jester had enough of it to see through the drow’s shit.

“You are such a liar!!”, she whined, accentuating her point with a poke to the back of his ribs.

It took Essek a few seconds to realise through his brooding that he had squeaked.

It took a few more to have him pinned on his back underneath the grinning tiefling.

“Jester, this is most- A-Ah, Jester!!”, the Shadowhand blustered, squirming slightly as a clawed hand gripped his ribs. He was not used to… Physical touch. Much less being pinned with his arms above his head, straddled by a strong blue trickster. His blush was back in full swing.

“Well, are you going to tell me Essek~?”, Jester asked, that familiar lilt in her voice that meant a plan was in motion. “Or, we could juuuuuuuuuust…”

She accentuated her point with a gentle waterfall of tickles cascading down the stretched out ribs beneath her. Those pointed nails cut through Essek’s shirt worse than any blade, a choking giggle trapped in his throat now he expected it this time. That didn’t mean it didn’t- No, if he admitted the word to himself he’d be doomed.

“M-Ms. Lavorre, I would kindly ask you-“

Shit, he almost laughed as she brushed the area right under his arm. Deep breaths.

“I would ask you let me gohoho!! Dohohon’t!!”

That was most definitely a whine.

“Wow Essek, I knew you were squishy but even Caleb can hold out longer”, the girl teased with a giggle, concentrating her free hand on the wizards lower tummy. It was the spot that had earned the giggle, and with a slight ruffle of his shirt that dark drow skin was exposed to the air and a tiefling’s evil fingers, fluttering along his waistline. “Aren’t you the most ticklish Shadowhand in the Dynasty~! Tiiiiiickle tickle, Essek!”

“I am… T-Thehehehe only Shadowhand and you knohohow this full wehehehell Jester- DOHOHOHON’T SAY THAHAHAHAT!!”

She snickered at the little squeak as he said her name, and the subsequent shout at such a little tease. The poor man’s face was flushed so much you’d think him drunk, the only thing worse would be- oh, she couldn’t-no, definitely could. Artagan would be sorely disappointed if she didn’t.

“Ok Essek, time to get real!”, Jester said with a serious face, nodding to the giggly elf beneath her as if in agreement on what she was about to do. “When you want to tell me how much you looooooooove Caleb, you let me know, ok Essek?”

“W-What? Jester, wait, what?”, Essek asked as he regained his breath, diaphragm working overtime to get back oxygen lost to giggles. His mind was already slightly addled, not even realising his arms had been let go. He quickly did take that into account, if only because they had shot down to grab Jester by the horns and try push her away as a scream ripped through his body.

“JEHEHEHEHESTER!! THAT IHIHIHIS- EEEEEEHEHEHEEE!! TERRIBLE STOP IT STOP IHIHIHIT!!”

Ignoring his pleas, Jester just giggled and shook her head in amusement before returning to nibbling gently at the soft stomach beneath her. The tiefling’s hands held Essek’s hips down as her thumbs gently massaged a ticklish touch into the dips in them. His back arched as the sharp little teeth scraped along his skin, and as Jester cast a look up at his face her eyes lit up like a Winter’s Crest tree.

“You’re crying?!”, Jester giggled, an incredulous look on her face. Essek’s head was tilted back in ticklish ecstasy, eyes screwed shut as streams of tears stained his bright lilac cheeks. Frankly, it was the most adorable sight Jester had ever seen! And she knew she was close to getting an answer from the deathly ticklish drow.

“P-Plehehehease, Jester, just not my stohohomach...”, Essek pleaded weakly, hand still tangled in the tickle monster’s hair and horns. “I’ll do anythihihing, just not there..”

“Anything, hm?”, Jester pondered, raising herself from his stomach to give him a break and smoothing his shirt back down. Even thatearned a squeak, she noted. “Liiiiiiiiike….. Admitting you have a teeny, tiny, itsy-bitsy crush on Caleb….?”

There was a solid five seconds of silence as Essek debated with mattered more; his sanity, or his pride.

Jester got her answer as his face turned back to a pout, turning away from her.

She shrugged. Time to try somewhere else.

“Hm, alrighty then Essek!”

In a second, after a slight tousle, Essek’s light form had been flipped so he now lay on his stomach with Jester laying on top of him, facing toward his-

“Jester, don’t you fucking-“

His face burned as she ignored his words, feeling his ankles gripped in a hold by Jester’s deceivingly strong arms. He had of course taken off his shoes on entry of the tower, as any good guest would. Now he was wishing he’d be a bit ruder in the Nein’s abode.

“Oh, I’m just making sure your feet aren’t dusty when your crush comes back! See? I’m helping~!”

Essek thought no such thing as he felt those fluttering fingers returning to his poor oversensitive skin. He felt the tears well up already, which was fucking embarrassing might he add. Speaking of embarrassing…

“A cootchie coo, little Shadowhand~! Don’t be embarrassed, maybe Caleb will find it cute when he finds out how unbearably ticklish you are! He’ll be all like ‘ja, zat is inchresting Essek, you look so cute ven you are laffing unt squirming, tickle tickle my dear’. Just like that! Wow, you reeeeeaaaally hate teases huh, Essek? Let’s test!”

“Lehehehet us nohohot, Jester-“

“I’m going to get youuuuu~! I’m going to tickle these poor, helpless feet!! Aw you’re going to giggle soooo much when I just….”

“Jester, no, Jehehehester- NAHAHAHAHAHAHA!! STOP THIS INSTAHAHAHANT- EEEEEEEHEHE!!”

As her claws scratched from his heel, across his sole, before nestling under his toes to make a wiggling, tickling home for themselves, Essek lost all resolve. He barely kicked anymore, body limp as silent laughter overtook him. Instead he lay shaking from the intensity of it, face sore from smiling so much more than normal, tears rolling hot down his face and falling dangerously close to meticulously written scrolls. All till…..

“I- Pffft nahahahaaaaa!! I LIHIHIHIHIKE HIM JESTER!!”

No sooner had the words left the wizard’s mouth did the devilish fingers below leave him. Essek sucked in deep breaths, grateful for fresh air in his tired lung. Finally, a break… Even if…

His eyes snapped open as his blush deepened. Had he really-

He looked back quickly at Jester, grinning broadly with twinkling eyes.

“Jester-“

“I have to, Essek-“

“You will not, Jester-“

“OH, CALEEEEEEEB-“

No sooner had Jester yelled for the wizard of the hour had she found herself under Essek instead, helped by some sort of gravity spell. His hand was clamped over her mouth to shut her up, a panicked expression on his face.

“Jester, you cannot mention this to anybody, do you understand- DID YOU JUST LICK MY HAND?!”

The look of delight as Jester giggled through the barrier of his hand gave him an answer. Despite his panic, Essek couldn’t help but break a smile. Jester Lavorre was genuinely the silliest girl he’d ever met. But still, he had to keep her quiet… And there was one way to keep her that way.

“Let me explain this in a way you can understand Ms. Lavorre…”

Jester was about to say something rude back, but instead a muffled squeal was all that escaped. Essek had a look of absolute seriousness on his face, not unlike the first time they’d met him, that made the cleric’s eyes widen. Then they snapped closed as his hand goosed her lower rib, extracting another squeal.

“You are not to mention this exchange to anyone, understood?”

His hand moved lower, fingers digging deep into the pocket of her hip. Jester cackled and snorted behind the man’s hand, unable to fight against the dunamantic magic that held her in place. It seemed wizard’s made amazing ticklers, with their dexterous, precise fingers.

“Nod your head if you understand, Jester…”

Essek was enjoying this. He had a grin on his face, one less evil and more proud. Jester was about to nod when the hand at her mouth joined its brethren, both choosing to squeeze at the point where hips met thighs. The laughter that spilled from Jester’s mouth was hysterical, giving her the boost needed to break the spell’s hold on her as her hands weakly tried to pry Essek’s off of her, legs pedalling in the air with how much the Shadowhand’s fingers tickled.

“Ah… Essek? Jester?”

Both parties stopped dead. Neither had even heard the door open, but as they looked they found Caleb standing in the entryway. His face was noticeably flushed at the sight he had encountered, not able to look directly at them. Though Jester and Essek didn’t look at each other, both knew what the other was thinking; adorable.

“I-I apologise, Beauregard had asked the Tower be soundproofed tonight so I did not hear from outside… Should I….?”

“No!! Gods, Light no!!”, Essek yelped, scrambling to his feet and casting a half-hearted glare to Jester, who stuck her tongue out back. “Jester was just leaving, aren’t I right Ms. Lavorre?”

“Oh, of course, Mr. Thelyss~!”, the woman giggled, speeding from the room with a wink to the wizards.

“……… So that was-“

“Advanced interrogation techniques, we shall call them.”, Essek said quickly, trying to keep away the blush once more. Caleb couldn’t help a small smile crossing his face at that, taking a seat beside the spell scroll once more.

“Ah, a different sort of lesson for our cleric, I suppose…”, he said with a small chuckle, patting the spot beside him. “Let us stick to dunamancy for tonight, hm?”

Essek took a few seconds to smooth out his robes and compose himself. Seeing Caleb act so… Normally about all this. It was oddly comforting, to know he didn’t mind. Even stranger, Essek thought as he took his seat, was one observation.

That wasn’t so bad.

“Perhaps a lesson for another day, Mr. Widogast?”

He caught the way Caleb flushed and concentrated on the scroll, along with the small embarrassed smile that returned.

“Heh. Another day, yes.”

[sometimesiwriteangst]

This was made back in 2020 lol. I actually want to redo this, cause it was gonna be part of a multichapter fic. And also as you’ll be able to see, it’s really not finished XD. I make no promises, but exploring a disabled au with more “realistic” angst is something I’m interested in. Just thought some of you might enjoy seeing where it started!

Also a note, disabled experiences aren’t inherently angst, but learning to accept new limitations, being diagnosed with difficult disorders, and sometimes just navigating life and symptoms can be “angst”. This is written by a chronically ill disabled person so just please be aware of that.

Anyways, only tw really is that Logan’s dealing with some internalized ableism.

Also, although I am autistic, I’m not non verbal, so before I write this into like, a full “thing”, I will be updating my research to be as accurate as possible.

Logan looks at the school with a look one could only describe as discomfort. He looks back at his parents.

“Do I have to go?” he asks bitterly.

“It’ll be good for you,” his mother says, “and it’s only for two years. After your A levels you’ll go off to a – normal – university.”

“Right.”

Logan doesn’t care to dwell on his mother’s words, and yet he can’t help it. Normal. Right, this school wasn’t normal. Neither were the people in it. People like him. He fiddles with the medical alert necklace around his neck, feeling the engraving, the cold metal.

“Well? What are you waiting for?” his father asks. “Go on in.”

Logan sighs, nods and walks into the building. He hears his parents drive away as he holds his bags close to his chest. He had to go to the office to meet his teacher and the school council president, or so he had been told.

He pulls out a map and inspects it carefully. He had colour coded it, so he could easily direct himself.

He gets to the office and knocks timidly, which felt so unnatural to him. He notices various accessibility things and feels uncertain. However, he enters on cue and sees Dr Sanders and Patton.

Patton is grinning widely, his uniform neat but his hair a mess. He has bright eyes, short dark dreads and beautiful dark skin. Logan is taken aback because Patton looks normal, and remembers he does as well.

“So, you’re Logan Surname?” Dr Sanders asks with a warm smile, “it’s a pleasure to meet you. Take a seat.”

Logan does so and listens carefully as Dr Sanders explains how the school works. He then directs him to Patton, saying he’ll show him to his dorm and help him out showing him around the school etc.

Patton then waves excitedly, eagerly stimming and making some kind of signs that Logan doesn’t recognise. Logan looks at Dr Sanders awkwardly, and Patton looks deflated.

“He’s non verbal. May I suggest you take some sign language classes here? We have a lot of students who use it, and it will be helpful for you.”

Logan nods slightly, turns back to Patton and smiles slightly.

“My apologies. I guess I’m still getting used to...this. Um, are you deaf? Ah, wait, I shouldn’t ask, sorry-”

Patton cuts him off by waving and showing him his medical id bracelet, which reads non verbal, autistic. Logan nods in understanding.

“My cousin is autistic. Um...I have epilepsy? And dyslexia...but it’s not too bad – um – I can read your-I’m sorry, I’m not usually like this.”

Patton waves him off and takes out his phone, quickly bringing up an app as the two walk outside. He types and it speaks.

“It’s ok. I’m guessing you’re new to being disabled?”

Logan feels uncomfortable with the word but nods.

“I was diagnosed with dyslexia when I was eight, but my epilepsy...” he trails off, not wanting to go into detail.

Patton stims, telling him it’s ok with his actions.

They go to the dorm and drop off Logan’s stuff.

Patton then shows Logan around the school, explaining bits like where classes are, and how everyone is expected to join a club. Logan asks about clubs.

“I’m in the school council! Oh but you know that. My friend Virgil is in both the debate team and the art club. But there’s musical clubs and art clubs and sports and all sorts!”

Patton appears to be about to tell him about all the clubs, but Logan stops him.

They compare schedules and Patton is disappointed they don’t share any classes, but tells him he knows some of his friends have those classes. Logan nods awkwardly, wondering if they’ll look normal.

Patton reminds him that he’ll need to start classes tomorrow, but not to worry, he’s not the only new one.

As if on cue, the twins come out, almost bumping in. Include something about them being latino somehow? They introduce themselves as Roman and Remus. Logan finds himself looking at Roman’s missing arm and leg, and upon noticing Roman is immediately uncomfortable.

Remus is annoyed at Logan, and Logan mentions to Patton that he’s surprised they’re both there, and is it genetic? Patton tells him that it’s personal, and not to go asking questions.

“They’ll tell you if they want to.”

Logan feels bad.

The next day Logan heads off to his Psychology class, where he meets Janus, Emile, Remy, and Remus again. He apologises to Remus, who seems ok but says it’s Roman he should apologise to. His speech is obviously not quite right – he repeats words at times, but Logan reminds himself to ignore it. It’s fine.

He’s surprised that both Remus and Emile appear “normal”, but is fascinated by Janus’ chair, and notices Remy’s cane and also that he obviously can’t see.

He goes about his day, has a project to do, and studies in the library where he’s joined by Patton and Janus. They chat and study together, and Logan looks at them, wondering if he’ll ever get used to it.

“So what are you studying?” Janus asks, obviously tired.

“Uh...psychology, physics, english literature and environmental studies...”

Patton grins and stims to show approval.

“Clever, hm? You must like science and shit.”

“Yeah, well...I wanted to be a surgeon.”

The words feel heavy in the air, and both Janus and Patton seem to understand. Logan flushes, a little shocked that he actually told them.

He ends up leaving them, not wanting to dwell on the matter. He bumps into Remy, who seems a bit stressed, but they don’t share words.

Logan falls asleep unsure of his future, thoughts running through his head until.

“Fuck, I forgot to take my meds.”

[tinnchan]

Don't call me Nong

a Tian/Phupha x Longtae fic. (unrequited you guys...for now?) G rated, 1.5K words.

Continuation of this and inspired by this. A big thank you to @ataleofthousandstars @thebadmoonsrising @sexyglances and @everybodyelsesgirl this is for you

Longtae only had himself to blame because if had not been avoiding Phupha and Tian since Tian's return, had not switched paths or turned around each time he'd spot them or would hear their voices around, he wouldn't be stuck in this current predicament. Tian had ambushed him out of nowhere this morning, declared he had missed hanging out with him and dragged him to Chiang Mai. No one can say no to P'Tian. They can try but they won't last. That was fine. He also missed spending time with his Pi. He had missed his dry wit and missed Tian's energy and all the other things he could not get out from Tian’s letters these past months.

The decidedly less fun part, however, is the chief coming to pick them up. After days of carefully avoiding them, Longtae berated himself for not thinking this could obviously happen. While his stomach dropped when he noticed who was driving the jeep, it sunk to the ground when he caught the chief’s huge smile as Tian opened the passenger seat. Longtae awkwardly slid in the backseat of Dr. Nam's car wishing he could just walk back to Pha Pun Dao even if it would take him all night.

The drive back to the village usually never takes this long, Longtae thinks. For the sake of his own heart, he should fix his gaze outside the window but he can't help himself. Instead, his eyes follow the chief's hands each time it leaves the gear stick, to reach for Tian's hands on his laps, to his knee, to rest on the back of his neck. A shiver runs down Longtae’s spine as he imagines the ghost of warm fingers on his skin.

“Longtae..Longtae are you ok?”

Longtae snaps out of it.

“Yes, yes, sorry P’Phu, you were saying something?” he quickly says.

“P’Phu?!”,Tian whips around the passenger seat to stare at Longtae incredulously. “When did that happen?”

Longtae’s heart speeds up, threatening to burst out of his ribcage.

“It’s awkward isn’t it?” Phupha asks, eyes darting back and forth from the road to Tian’s face. Longtae feels his cheeks burn. The pit in his stomach could be either from embarrassment or from the fond look between the two men in front of him. Longtae recognizes a conversation in their eyes, a secret he would never be privy to in their small smiles.

“Ah..Yes, sorry Chief. It is awkward,” Longtae agrees, his voice small. He’d open the car window and jump right now if he had not already made such a fool of himself.

“Longtae, don’t mind it, it’s only awkward for me I guess," Tian tells him with a genuine smile and an implied permission to call Phupha however Longtae wishes to. Because he is allowed to do that, because he and the chief belong to each other. Tian will always have a say.

“P’phu is fine, Longtae”, the chief adds, looking at him through the rear view mirror. Longtae looks away. If he had no self-preservation in him, he’d say that he already knows that the chief is fine with him calling him that.

He knows because the chief said so himself, on one of their late night talks at the base. He had given Longtae a small encouraging nod as Longtae tested the word, around his lips. He gave him that trademark blink of his eyes, in lieu of a smile and now Longtae realizes he was probably thinking of Tian. He was probably always thinking of Tian.

“Haha, Thanks”.

_____________________________________________________________

I know, Khon di, I am late..." Longtae hears the chief’s ragged voice as he hurries inside the base and the hand currently stirring with a ladle stops. His pulse quickens, his mind latched on the term of endearment and Longtae knows it has no right to, it’s not for him, but his heart swells nevertheless.

“Oh. Longtae, it’s you,” the chief realizes.

“Sorry Chief Phupha. Tian ran out quickly. He said he will be back in a few,” Longtae babbles before going back to stirring furiously, letting the morsels of chicken disappear in the whirlwind of soup he creates. He stares at the pot, trying to focus on the light, amber colour of Tian’s dish but his face twitches as his body becomes aware of the chief moving next to him and peering over his shoulder. From the corner of his eye, Longtae sees the chief leaning back against the counter, arms crossed, the short sleeves of his uniform contouring his biceps.

“You should go change before dinner,” Longtae says and immediately feels his face heating up. “I, I, I mean, P’Tian asked me to tell you to change before he gets back. If you want, I mean.”

“I will,” Phupha says. “Glad you are here, Longtae,” he adds and Longtae feels that by now, his face must have caught on fire.

“P’Tian asked me to come have dinner,” Longtae says apologetically.

Asked? Rather begged, grabbed, dragged.

“That’s good,” Phupha says with a small hum, looking down. “He barely sees you around anymore. He thinks it’s because of me,” Phupha admits, looking down at the floor. Longtae knows it’s a mistake but he turns to look at the chief.

“Why would he think that?” he asks, hoping his shaking voice escapes the Chief’s notice.

“He thinks I might have scolded you. Or these days, everyone is avoiding us because...ah...yes.” Longtae has known him for years. He is not used to seeing him bashful. He likes it, he decides because it makes him look younger.

“My mai told all of the kids they must not bother P’Tian or you after class hours. At least, for the first few weeks”, Longtae reveals and is relieved at the sound of Phupha small scoff. For one second there, Longtae thought his feelings were out of the bag.

“You are not one of the kids anymore Longtae,” Phupha says with a small smile. “You should come around more. Tian misses his friend.”

“I will,” Longtae promises quickly as the guilt seeps in. Phupha’s smile grows slightly and Longtae does not know what to do anymore, with his eyes, his hands, his whole self.

“I told you I used to be jealous of you two, right?” and it’s Longtae’s turn to scoff. He heard this before, a few months into Tian’s absence, when the chief was specially maudlin and he still finds it bemusing. Yet, now there’s the added weight of Longtae’s feelings. It’s ironic. It’s also embarrassing.

Arms still crossed, Phupha lifts a finger up from his bicep and points at Longtae’s face.

“Just like him.”

“Sorry?” Longtae asks, confused.

“Both of you, your ears turn red easily,” Phupha points out. Longtae wished he would stop talking, longs for the time they never had much to say to each other. Longtae rubs his ears with a sheepish smile as his insides break. He knows this smile would convince no one but the Chief and turns back to the soup, hoping its maker would hurry back to take over.

“I thought maybe you had too much on your plate lately,” Phupha continues. Longtae wonders what it will take for the Chief to stop and go change himself. He would almost curse P’Tian for opening Phupha’s dam after 30 years of stoic silence. Longtae says nothing. Powerless, he drowns in Phupha’s voice. It’s too close to his ears.

“Too much on my plate?”

“The agriculture thing. I never told you this,” the chief says, “but your project is very impressive.”

Longtae finally looks back into the chief’s dark eyes, unable to stop himself any longer. He’s not the first person to compliment Longtae’s sustainable program. Yet this passing comment, this small praise makes him elated.

“Really,” Phupha continues. “We are all really proud of you,” he says and the chief places a hand at the back of Longtae’s neck who feels the air sucked out of his lungs. Although he could get away with no effort, although he could shrug off his hand, he feels caged by Phupha’s arm.

The worst thing is, he relishes it. He does not ever want to get away. Longtae realizes he willl carry the warmth of those fingers, right there where his hair meets his neck, for the rest of his life. Just this touch made Longtae lose his previous resolve. All the hard work of the past days to conceal how he feels are undone and there must have been something which showed up in his eyes and the way he looked at the chief because his expression also changes.

Phupha cocks his head in question and Longtae will never know whether that brush of a thumb on his nape was an accident. He sighs. Phupha’s lips part as he is about to say something and Longtae waits. He is too enthralled to notice anything else, too caught up in this moment to register Phupha’s small frown or to hear the footsteps on the porch.

“Oye, Longtae, you’re off the hook, I finally got the lemongrass. Is the chief fina- oh”

[themidnight-ghost]

I should tell you

“Jesus, Mary, Joseph and the wee donkey, are you dating Joanne Davidson?”

“Boss, I honestly don’t see an issue...” Kate trailed off as Ted massaged his temples.

“You don’t see an issue? She swears at her superiors, has affairs with her staff, shot an officer twice in the chest, set up a plot to kill you and replied with ‘no comment’ to almost every bloody question.”

The euphoria Kate Fleming felt around Joanne Davidson was extravagant. Even now, when they lie in bed together trying to come down from their high, Kate still felt energised. The DI rolled over to face her girlfriend, with the bedsheets pulled up to her neck and subtly smiled.

Kate ran her left hand through Jo’s hair and cupped her cheek with the other, “Morning, boss.”

Jo opened her eyes and grinned when she met Kate’s, “You don’t have to keep calling me that.”

“I want to,” Kate replied honestly.

“You look beautiful, by the way.” Jo simply said as she moved forward to kiss her girlfriend tenderly. No one would have expected that Kate Fleming and Jo Davidson would become a thing. Especially after Jo’s arrest. Heck, they didn’t even know if Jo would survive prison! Jo paused their kiss, and Kate looked unexpectedly at the DI, “You should probably tell Steve and Ted.”

The moment was ruined.

Kate tensed as she sat up, pulling the duvet with her and laughing when she pulled too hard, so Jo was left bare, “What?”

“I said-'' Davidson smirked as she deliberately rolled onto Kate’s chest, making her blush, “You should tell Steve and Ted. You may not be related, but they’re your friends.”

“What if I don’t want to tell Steve?” Kate challenged with a whisper, not looking away from Jo's eyes.

“You can look at my tits, Kate. I don't mind.”

“JO!” Kate profusely blushed and shoved her ex-boss to the side,

Jo snickered and leant back into the DI for a cuddle, “It isn’t like you haven’t seen them before.”

“But seriously,” Kate hummed when she went back to being serious, “Steve will support it; I know he will. But Ted? I don’t want to tell. He might not like it.”

“But he threw confetti at that proposing gay couple?”

“That’s different. Not only am I his colleague, but I’m also dating a woman who committed multiple offences to the law and it’ll be awkward, especially in a work setting.”

“Yeah, I still feel a little guilty for that,” Jo confessed.

“You shouldn’t. It was shitty, but you did it because Pilkinton had a gun to your head and somehow made things right, but,” Kate hesitated and wrapped an arm around Jo’s torso, “that still doesn’t change what happened.”

“Steve’s your best friend, and from what I can tell, you’ve known Ted for a good while.” Jo gently kissed Kate’s jaw before shuffling away, allowing the DI to go downstairs.

“I might.” Kate smiled as she grabbed her underwear and a towel from the floor, “I love you.”

“I love you too, Kate.”

Both women had been dating for a significant amount of time. Their story started when Jo broke up with Farida, and the two started getting close. After that, there had been a series of unofficial dates, secret glances, handholding, confessions and a memorable car getaway. Kate was embarrassed that it took her so long to come to terms with her feelings.

The night when Kate shot Pilkinton was definitely memorable but for all the wrong reasons. Kate couldn’t care less that she’d shot an officer; the only thing she cared about was saving Jo and getting them far away from town. She was looking forward to a life of peace without bent coppers lurking around corners and getting married to the woman she loved. That being said, Kate didn’t confess her love until Jo was in prison.

Finally arriving at work, Kate scanned her ID and headed straight for Ted’s office.

“Morning, Kate.” Hastings didn’t look up from his computer.

Tapping her on the shoulder, Steve approached with two cups of coffee from behind, “The Gaffer thinks he’s found something worth looking at.”

Kate raised an eyebrow, “Oh yeah? What’s it relating to?”

“Our friend, Jo Davidson.”

Kate’s heart dropped to the floor. Was it bad? Who was she kidding? Of course, it was going to be bad.

“I don’t want to make any sudden moves,” Ted admired his coffee, “Let’s just wait it out.”

Steve knew that Kate had some sort of soft spot for Jo. He didn’t know the details of their relationship but was aware they were close,

“Has she mentioned anything to you since she was released?”

Kate shook her head.

“Strange.” Hastings began, “I was quite hoping we’d seen the last of her. The poor girl’s been through enough as it is.”

Kate picked her fingernails, and her stomach churned over, “Can I confess something?”

“Of course…” Hastings folded his arms and leaned across the desk, gesturing for Kate to take a seat.

“Do you want me out?” DI Arnott hesitated.

“It’s alright, Steve. I need to tell both of you anyway.”

“I’ve been seeing someone,” A beat, “romantically.”

The confession slipped out, and jumping the first hurdle was surprisingly easy, but unfortunately, it wasn’t as straightforward as that.

The Gaffer corrected his posture, and Steve cocked his head, “Oh? For how long?”

“About 4 months.”

Steve looked slightly hurt, “And you never told me?”

“I didn’t think it was necessary,” Kate replied sheepishly.

Steve and Ted weren’t blood-related, but Kate still viewed them as her family. One of Kate’s strongest memories was when Steve slept on her sofa bed every night after her husband left.

“What’s his name?”

Another hurdle appeared that Kate had to somehow jump over - the gay hurdle. Until she met Jo, Kate never imagined herself to be bisexual. The haircut had always been misleading until now.

“He’s a she.” Kate wouldn’t say she was scared of her boss, but she certainly valued his approval and Catholic beliefs.

Ted paused to think this over before leaning back in his chair, closing his eyes, and smiling. The smile grew, and a flower of hope blossomed in the DI’s chest. Steve was grinning at both reactions and patted Kate reassuringly on the shoulder.

“I’m happy you felt comfortable enough to tell us,” Steve spoke for them.

“Does this mean you’re okay with this?” Kate didn’t know why she needed an answer, but she would feel even better with confirmation.

“It’s your life, of course, we are! Now, who is she?”

“Okay, okay”, Kate could burst with excitement! Even though they didn’t know it was Jo, Kate could still describe her lover in perfect detail. “She has short, dark brown hair, which has a subtle wave at the end. She is pretty pale, so in the sun, her freckles come out, but you won’t see them unless you’re super close! Her cheeks are always red because she is somehow always blushing!” Kate continued to gush, “Her eyes are brown, and her favourite colour is blue! She was also a police officer-”

“You told them yet?” Jo Davidson leaned in the doorway with a giant grin plastered on her face, “or are you just going to keep describing my facial features?”

Silence.

Jo stopped as she realised what she’d said.

Kate looked between Jo, Steve and Ted. She loved her ex-boss, but she really needs to learn to read a situation.

Steve and Ted simultaneously looked between Kate and Jo. Their brains slowly put the puzzle together in an organised fashion. The hair, the skin, the blush, the eyes and finally, the favourite colour.

The history hurdle.

The grinding of Ted’s chair against the floor wasn’t enough to pierce the tension between the group. Kate ushered her girlfriend into the office, closing the door, taking her hand and cautiously walking over to Steve and Ted.

“Jo, this is Steve. Steve, this is Jo.” Kate introduced them, and Jo waved shily. “Jo, this is Ted, Ted this is-”

“I know who Jo Davidson is.” Ted’s voice was a deadly monotone. “How did you even get in?”

“I walked through the door.” The awkwardness had obviously got to the former SIO, who proceeded to bite her lip as she glanced around the room, eyeing the wall with great curiosity.

“Davidson.” Jo’s head snapped back to the situation as Hastings addressed her. “Are you dating one of my officers?”

“Well-” Jo didn’t know what to say, and thankfully, Ted didn’t want to hear it.

“Katherine Laura Fleming.” Kate flinched at the use of her full name.

“Your middle name is Laura?” Jo tentatively asked before Ted shut her off. “Jesus, Mary, Joseph and the wee donkey, are you dating Joanne Davidson?”

“Boss, I honestly don’t see an issue...” Kate trailed off as the Gaffer rubbed the bridge of his nose.

“You don’t see an issue?” Ted tried hard to keep his composure, “She swears at her superiors, has affairs with her staff, shot an officer twice in the chest, set up a plot to kill you and replied with ‘no comment’ to almost every bloody question.”

“She also commanded multiple armed officers, is super observant, tactically agile, Scottish and be honest: we all know I was the one who shot Ryan Pilkinton.”

Steve sniggered. “I just can’t believe you both.”

“After everything, she's done? I don’t know if I should be impressed or appalled.” Ted corrected.

“You’re not mad?” Kate pushed,

“I'm not mad, but I’m seriously debating whether I should fire you for stupidity. You said it’s been going on for 2 or 3 months, but when did it even start?”

“Jo and I have been shagging on the sly for months.” Jo snickered at Kate’s comment, “But for me, it started in the getaway car and when Jo went to prison. I always felt different about her, but it only hit me when I thought I’d lose her for good.”

Kate’s sentence pulled on Jo’s heartstrings as she remembered the recent events. Throughout her short time in prison and working on Operation Lighthouse, Kate had been her friend and colleague. She cared for Jo more than anyone else in her life and Kate was the only person to make an effort and ask about her day. Overwhelmed, the smaller woman buried her head in Kate’s shoulder, forgetting all about the angry Ted Hastings. Kate kissed Jo’s forehead and smiled fondly down at her.

Both Steve and Ted thought they knew exactly how Jo Davidson worked, especially after interviewing Farida they pictured her as a manipulative, self-centred psychopath. The recent interview didn’t exactly change their opinions either. But this was different. It wasn’t normal for anyone to see Jo vulnerable, but it looked easy when she was with Kate. Jo relaxed, her shoulders dropped, breathing steady, eyes shut with a gentle smile. And in the years Steve had known Kate, he had never seen her blush as much as she did now or look at someone with so much compassion and… love?

“Just so you know, we don’t care that you’re gay, mate. And we shouldn’t care who you date either. I think it was just a shock for Hastings here.” Steve patted his boss on the back.

“It was a shock to me too.” Jo finally addressed the room, “I thought I was done. Mentally, physically and romantically.”

“I should apologise for my words,” Ted replied sheepishly, “I have nothing against anyone, but as you can tell, I’m still a little prickly.”

Jo awkwardly picked down the skin on her fingers, “I don’t blame you, sir.” It was still a little awkward between the trio, and Ted was determined to settle things, “I didn’t get a chance to mention it, but I’m impressed with your knowledge of the law, especially in that interview.”

Kate proudly squeezed Jo’s arm, “Thank you.”

“Unfortunately,” Ted continued, “I can’t let you back on the force-”

“Oh, don’t worry about that: I’m done with police work altogether.” Jo looked fondly at Kate, “I just want to focus on my life and what I have left.”

“Wise words.” Steve nodded, “Can I get anyone another coffee?”

“Tea, please.”

“Same here.”

Steve headed towards the door, gesturing Kate to follow.

“Is it wise to leave them there alone?” Kate jogged after her colleague.

Steve grinned, “Let them talk about rules for a while; I’d rather know all about this new development!” he playfully nudged Kate’s arm and jumped for joy when they were at the coffee machine and out of sight.

“You gonna calm down now?” Kate chucked before looking serious, “By the way, what did you find out about Jo? Should I be worried?”

“Go no! There was a small break in around your apartment. We checked the security cameras and noticed Jo Davidson walking past and holding hands with…” Steve dragged out the answer before pointing to DI Fleming, “you.” Kate turned pale as Steve continued, “I had my suspicions, and we intended to mention it today, see if we could get a reaction. Guess I didn’t even have to try, mate.”

☁️ First ever Flemson fic, fist time watching Line of Duty - that ending was NOT IT (expect a 4000 word alternate ending fic soon) if you read this, thank you x ☁️

[logicaemetus]

dark and stormy.

Summary: Virgil panics during a thunderstorm. Logan helps. Characters: Virgil and Logan (platonic, but read it how you want) Words: 1,765 Content warnings: panic attack, intrusive thoughts, brief mentions / descriptions of impractical death

Notes: guess who hates thunderstorms? me! guess who wrote this to cope while a big ol thunderstorm raged outside and flooded our basement with 3 inches of water? me!!!

---

Irony of ironies, Virgil thought bitterly, burying his face into his knees and flinching as another crash of thunder shuddered through the house. He pulled the drawstrings of his hoodie tighter, trying to be as inside himself as possible. Of course the guy who literally calls himself a stormy night is scared of actual stormy nights. It’s your logo, for goodness’ sake.

He could practically hear Logan’s voice in his head pointing out his inconsistencies. He. is. odd. Virgil was beginning to feel tired of being a walking contradiction.

Rain slapped against the side of the house in waves. He tried not to think about the windows shuddering and shattering under the force of it, rain pouring into the house, flooding the room from floor to ceiling with glass and water and blood, drowning them all. If he’d had his headphones with him, he could try to block everything out with music. But those were in his room, and he couldn’t get himself to move from his huddled-up spot on the living room floor.

Ignoring the incessant beating against the windows -- They can’t break, they’re built for this. Right? When was the last time we checked them? How do we know this house passes safety regulations? -- Virgil tried to breathe and focus on the feeling of his hoodie under his fingers. He pinched at the pattern, scowling at the lightning bolts dimly illuminated by the flickers outside.

He supposed, when he’d first chosen his logo, that maybe he could pull a Batman. Get over his fear by becoming it, in a way. 

Clearly, his plan had worked about as well as his attempts to force Remus out of the mindspace. Fat lot of good that did him! his mind offered cheerfully, echoing the possum man himself.

Oh, god. The last thing he needed was to accidentally summon another nightmare in the middle of this one. His stomach roiled.

Another flash and a near-instantaneous boom jammed his thoughts to a halt. Virgil distantly registered a pain in his arm and realized a few moments later that he’d shoved his mouth full of sweater-sleeve to stifle his own yell. That lightning strike couldn’t have been more than half a mile away. Why were there so many things in the world that could kill Thomas!?

“Virgil?”

He almost didn’t hear the voice through the pounding of blood in his ears. He cringed; the thought of any of the others finding him in this state made him want to sink through the floor. He could sink through the floor, if he wasn’t jumpier than a horse at a firecracker convention.

Footsteps approached. Virgil began to pick up his head to see who it was before another bright flash of light made him recoil instinctively and hiss. Great. Now he was frightened, embarrassed, and rude. A package deal.

“Virge?” the voice came again, more gently. “It’s just me, Logan. I came down to ensure any non-vital electronics are unplugged in case there is a power surge.” There was a slight pause, and then Virgil felt the other crouch beside him. “Are you... alright?”

Virgil wanted to bite out a what does it look like, Lo? but his tongue was glued to the roof of his mouth. He settled for gritting out a sound of distress and shaking his head.

Logan’s presence hovered, carefully, just within reach but without making contact. A feeling of gratitude bubbled through Virgil’s frazzled brain; he didn’t think he could handle being touched without warning.

“How may I assist you?”

As if on cue, another crack of thunder set his nerves jumping. He swung a hand out, reaching for Logan and finding purchase on what felt like an arm. To his deep relief, Logan didn’t flinch. He was solid, steady. A much-needed contrast to the thrumming, prickling energy under Virgil’s skin.

“Room,” Virgil choked out. “Need to get to a... a room.”

“Certainly. Your room? Or perhaps Patton’s?”

Virgil hesitated. If he couldn’t calm down here, he wouldn’t fare much better in his own room. Plus Logan wouldn’t be able to stay there, and (he realized, with another jolt of embarrassment) he didn’t want to be alone. And as much as he adored Patton, he would fuss over him, and the last thing he needed was for anyone to make a bigger deal of this than it needed to be.

“Yours.”

“Oh.” A faint note of surprise coloured Logan’s voice. “Alright. Can you stand?”

Another sound of protest left Virgil’s throat.

“Very well. We can sink out together.”

“Can’t. I tried.” Virgil winced at himself. Leave it to me to ask for help and then reject every possible solution.

“I am here to help you try again,” Logan said calmly, his voice nudging aside his negative thoughts. “If you hold onto me, I can provide the grounding you need to sink and rise up. Is that alright with you?” 

Virgil took a steadying breath. Ignore the rain. Ignore the wind. Ignore the possibility of being tossed around like a rag doll by the elements, being fried to death, being picked up and flung and crumpled against the wall with a sickening crunch. Ignore ignore ignore. “Sure.”

“Alright. Don’t be alarmed, I am merely repositioning myself.”

Virgil felt Logan move, and he fought back a pathetic whimper attempting to crawl up his throat. Blessedly, the other side didn’t make any attempt to remove his hand from his arm. In a moment, the two were facing one another. Well-- Logan was facing him, cross-legged. Virgil still had his face jammed into his knees.

“Give me your other hand, please.”

Reluctantly, Virgil relinquished his white-knuckled grip on his leg and reached out. A cool hand took his. 

“Very good. Now hold onto my arms, like this--” Logan’s hands slid forward and wrapped around Virgil’s elbows, and he mirrored the motion. Self-consciously, he noted the contrast between the warm of the other’s skin and his own clammy hands. He tried not to grip too hard. There was no way Logan couldn’t feel him trembling and flinching, but if he noticed he gave no indication. That bubbling gratitude returned in Virgil’s chest, countering some of the fizz in his lungs.

“Now, you don’t have to look at me. I will speak to you, and you only need to focus on my voice and maintain your hold on me. Can you do that?”

“Mhm.”

“Excellent. Take a deep breath... now out... there we go. Keep that up. Now...”

And Logan began to speak, in a low and steady cadence, about ionization. The intricacies of electrons and how atoms gain or lose them. How it happens during storms, yes, but it is also utilized in fluorescent lamps, scientific equipment, and radiation therapy. As he spoke, his voice seemed to wrap around Virgil’s mind until it came from within, muffling the sounds of the storm. A feeling of calm flowed from Logan’s hands into Virgil’s arms, up into his chest, his stomach, his legs, smoothing out his frayed nerve endings and anchoring him to his own body.

Subatomic particle collision. Heterolytic fission. The formula for quasi-static tunnel ionization. Virgil couldn’t follow a word, but he felt himself carried by the calm of it. His grip on Logan tightened as the ground dissolved from underneath them. They drifted through nothing, and the only thought in his head was that singular voice, weaving a tale of atomic stabilization.

“...where W is the time-dependent energy difference between the two dressed states, and if you open your eyes now, you will see that we have reached our destination.”

Virgil hadn’t even felt them rise. He dared one eye open, and then the other, taking in the blue hues of Logan’s room. “Woah. Just like that, huh?” He took a breath of crisp, dehumidified air, dispelling the last bit of cloying fear that had taken up residence in his lungs. The room seemed to be soundproof; he couldn’t hear a trace of the storm at all.

“Indeed. How are you feeling now, Virgil?”

His eyes met Logan’s for the first time that night, and he realized he was still clinging to him like a vise. He quickly let go and looked away, reaching up to pull his hood off and fix his hair.

“I’m... better. Thanks. I’m, uhm...” He cleared his throat. “Not great with. Loud. Destructive... things. But, I can breathe now, so... thanks for getting me out of there.” A prickle of shame began to creep up his neck at the thought that Logan practically had to play firefighter to get him out of a non-life-threatening situation. Oh, jeez. And he’d hissed at him. He winced. “Sorry for freaking out on you.”

“There is no need to apologize, Virgil. You were experiencing a great deal of alarm. And I am happy to help. Truly.”

Virgil nodded, and the prickle receded a little bit.

“Now that you are in a relative state of calm,” Logan continued, “would you like to return to your room?”

Virgil silently thanked every painted star in Logan’s room that it was him, not Roman or Patton, who’d found him. He was so chill. 

“Actually, if you don’t mind,” he began, letting out a breath he wasn’t aware he’d been holding. “Can I stay here for a bit? I could use the company. And... my room isn’t soundproof.”

Logan smiled softly. “I don’t mind in the slightest. Would it help to talk about what just transpired, or is a distraction preferable?”

“A distraction sounds amazing right now. Actually-- I left my headphones in my room. Do you...?”

“I have an extra pair of noise-cancelling headphones you may use. Or, if you prefer, we could--”

“--share a pair of earbuds and listen to that podcast you were telling me about?”

Logan’s eyes lit up, and Virgil smirked at the way he instantly grew more animated. “I-- yes, if that is-- if you are amenable.”

“I’m down.”

---

Irony of ironies, Virgil thought with amusement, an hour later. The one who’d been most excited to get him into Wolf 359 had been the first to fall asleep, head lolling against his shoulder. Not that he minded.

He leaned his head back against the wall, counting the stars on Logan’s ceiling while the episode finished. He knew he’d probably wake up soon and scold him about the dangers of not sleeping in a real bed, but for now... this was fine.

[vaultgirl2077]

Hi I follow u on insta too! Don't take this the wrong way but it's important to inform u so u don't offend anyone further. Not sure if it's makeup or editing but u should never darken ur skin for cosplay even of your Freya! The art you have of her shows her as black. Its offensive to poc and is racist even if u didn't mean it in a bad way. U can take off dark makeup and don't experience negative effects of racism but poc don't get to, a person's skin isn't a costume. I hope u understand. 💞

Wow this message really surprised me and is a first!! But I understand that the intent and message behind this ask is good and the issue is a big problem in cosplay/media and is very important. Despite this being a misunderstanding and not being the case here, I appreciate what you're trying to do/say and i appreciate you ❤ - But I need to make something *VERY* clear from the off- ⭐I did/do not edit my skin to make it darker or wear makeup to create that effect/impression⭐ that is NEVER okay under any circumstances and I would never in my wildest dreams do such a thing.⭐ I am TOTALLY against any type of racial appropriation/white washing or black face and I'm actually kind of shocked that I'm being accused of it.

To start - you don't know my ethnic background, so I can see some confusion in my skin tone from just seeing the odd selfie that I post on IG... I probably look *super* white as I'm pale as fuck 90% of the time and in most lighting as... well...i dont get much sun/time outside and haven't for a few years tbh.

I'm actually of middle eastern descent and have olive toned skin - even if I look very pale in most of my photos (I'm an introvert and with my mental health - I dont really leave my house much, so most of my pictures are taken indoors with artificial lighting too) - my skin tone can still look darker sometimes, depending on various conditions: such as time of year (especially in summer when I don't wear much makeup and try to get a lot more time in nature)... when I take photos in different lighting...and also the colour of my hair/wig combined with these other factors. (which is the case with the one I think you're talking about as its the only cosplay I've done of her where my skin tone could possibly be perceived as darker!)

Also - I grew up in a household where my family are poc. My mother's side of the family have dark skin due to my grandfather's Yemeni and Sudanese background. So I understand and have experienced racism on a very personal level and know the effect one's culture and skin colour can have on the way the world treats them.

The only editing I do on any of my cosplay photos is upping the sharpness/clarity and altering saturation....which with the colour of the warm red hair against my skin, and the fact I do have my standard face makeup on (which i rarely do when I cosplay Freya in particular or for just regular selfies) maybe it gave you the wrong impression/assumption?

I sometimes change my eye color too if the cosplay calls for it, for obvious reasons... and in this particular one, I think I may have removed a fake freckle i didn't like too?? But the point is: never would I ever alter the colour of my skin and I've never been accused of such a thing before, so I don't really know how to properly respond as it never entered my mind as a possibility.

One thing I also want to note as a side thing - Freya is mixed race and that has always been the case - James is white and her mother Catherine was black. I try to make her medium skin tone reflective of that in every depiction I make of her.

Below is the cosplay in question that I posted that I think you're referring too...and below it are two other pictures from the same day (which was a few years ago now) which were done with an old phone camera and didn't have the saturation/clarity/sharpness edits I did on the original.

Same makeup. Same outfit. Same hair. Same day. Same photoshoot. The only difference is me moving to different rooms over the course of the day to find a lighting and pose combo I liked... and yes, the post processing alterations I made to the posted picture that I mentioned...which were applied to the whole photo not my skin...

As you can see in the shot with cooler natural lighting - my makeup is not trying to make my skin darker in any way.

I hope this very lengthy explanation cleared things up, anon ❤

Thank you for spreading awareness of a huge issue ❤

And I am sorry for the lengthy response. I just really don't want to potentially offend anyone with something I did not do and never would ever WANT to do either.

[saeyoungs-sunflower]

To Weather a Storm (Saeyoung x MC)

Oh, Saeyoung. How I have missed you.

Summary: It’s easier to hide from the storm, but do you really want to waste away under your shelter, having never danced in the rain?

Warnings:

Some violence, blood and brief mention of torture.

General angst (with a happy ending)

Songs:

I Dreamed a Dream - Les Miserables

Already Gone - Sleeping at Last

After the Storm - Mumford and Sons

Come What May - Moulin Rouge

Fic and notes under the cut.

A/N: Okay, I know I tend to ramble at the beginning of a fic but I feel like these need to be said, for my sake. You’re more than welcome to ignore this, but I gotta get these off my chest. This fic includes and was based on a poem I wrote a little while ago, which I know sounds horribly pretentious and pompous, but I had the idea for this fic weeks after I wrote it and it didn’t seem complete unless I included it. In addition, because it was written before the fic, it is personal and I feel very vulnerable posting it here, but once again I felt like it made the fic whole. I’m also anonymous on here so really, how vulnerable can I be? I am no poet, I am aware of that, but I am someone with a lot of emotions and a desire to express them. The poem essentially comes in two parts, the second part being written when I was having a better day. It may not seem that deep, and it probably isn’t, but it holds weight for me. That being said, here is some Saeyoung x MC, and I suppose, a little bit about myself. I hope you enjoy :)

~

“Why do you resist the calm?” they had asked.

Because calm comes with the promise of a

storm,

And the sting is much less felt from a fall

Out of an angel’s grip

Than a fall from their grace.

“Then why do you resist the storm?”

Because now, I have all the more to lose.

——

“But then answer me this,” they persevered,

“Would you not favour risking the fierce strike,

To feel the heavens kiss your skin

And witness the electric sky,

Than to waste away within your borders,

Having never learnt to dance in the rain?”

~

He was killing himself.

Eighteen years old. At this rate he wouldn’t live to see nineteen, inching closer to death’s cold embrace with every sleepless night and every meal skipped. Even off hours he was working, his fingers trembling as they danced across the keys for hours, days on end. He just needed to prove he was the best. He needed them to trust him.

Saeyoung was still technically in training, despite the fact that he was likely the most skilled hacker in the agency, let alone amongst the recruits. The agency were thrilled by his skills and work ethic, which was exactly what he needed.

He needed them to trust him to the point where they were dependent on him. If they needed him, then he would remain in the agency for as long as he lived, and therefore his other half was safe for that same length of time.

Whilst the agency didn’t care for their agents’ wellbeing in the slightest, they cared about losing something valuable to them. And, in this case, it was 707.

“They sent me to tell you to go the hell to bed,” came a voice from behind him.

He kept his eyes glued to the screen, “Then tell them to fuck off.”

“So you have a death wish?”

“You don’t?”

With a weary sigh, you sat at the computer next to him and he finally looked at you, his eyes bloodshot and his face devoid of any colour. Or life, for that matter. You looked him dead in the eye, “I get what you’re doing, but you’re not going to be any help if you’re a corpse.”

“I don’t care. That’s the boss’ problem, not mine.”

“I’m not talking about him, I’m talking about the person you’re protecting.”

His eyes shot to yours in panic, and you laughed despite yourself, “People don’t come here for a holiday, you idiot. Everyone who’s here is here for a reason, and we all know it’s the same reason.” You were the exception to that rule, but that wasn’t necessary for him to know.

He reclined in his chair and shut his eyes for what felt like the first time in days. Maybe it was.

You placed your hand on top of his, the action startling him a little, making you chuckle, “Listen, you don’t have to do all this. You’re better at this than all of us combined, the boss adores you. You have nothing to worry about, okay?” the soft smile that graced your features was enough to make Saeyoung feel more at ease. You were too kind. You didn’t belong there.

Your eyes flickered towards his computer screen and you sighed again, “I’m going to get you some water and some food whilst you finish up, but then you are getting some sleep.”

Saeyoung watched you as you left, and wondered how such a warm soul had found themselves in such an icy place. You were taking a huge risk by caring for him, and yet you did it without hesitation nor complaint. He couldn’t tell if that was down to altruism or naivety. He suspected it was both.

After you returned, he ate and drank as you took over his work, finishing the last bit of coding before shutting down the computer. He was surprised by your effortless ability to continue from where he left off, but was even more surprised by your willingness to do so. You stood up once you both finished and held out your hand for him, which he took, letting you hoist him to his feet as he discovered he was too weak stand on his own. With one arm around you for support, you led him back to the room.

Every recruit slept on the floor in the same damp room, and with your designated space being directly next to Saeyoung’s, you got to know one another. Not much, not at all, but a little goes a long way in such wretched circumstances. 

You learnt that his mouth twitched when he had a nightmare, so you always woke up when it did so. He learnt that you subconsciously twiddled your thumbs when you couldn’t sleep, so he’d watch over you until you went still and your breath evened. Little by little, you learnt to look out for each other. You were in it together and, at least for a while, that was enough.

Usually, forming relationships of any kind within the agency was forbidden, but since he was the boss’ golden boy, he could get away with anything he damn well pleased. Not you, though. And whilst you were kind, you were no doormat.

The next morning, during working hours, you kicked up a fuss (rightfully so, Saeyoung thought) about a guard whose hands were wondering in a place they had no business being. The agency were not impressed by your reaction. They didn’t like your stubbornness or your strong will. They didn’t like your self-awareness.

You were taken away, and Saeyoung didn’t see you again until you came to bed long after the sun had set. You were practically chucked into the room, your crumpled form a heap on the hard floor, the cold biting at your bare skin.

Saeyoung struggled to see you in the darkness, but he could just about identify your silhouette as you heaved yourself up, dragging your weight towards your space. As you got closer, he could start to see the glisten from the tears that coated your face, trickling over bruised and slashed flesh. When you laid down, he carefully moved his hand to envelope yours, stroking the back of it with his thumb - a silent message carrying all that your feeble heart needed to hear. I’m sorry you went through that. I’m here. It’s not happening anymore. I’m not going anywhere.

You’re not alone.

His warm breath tickled your face, and you knew that if you edged forward, your forehead would meet his. With a moment’s hesitation, you did so, and that was where you remained until morning, desperately clutching on to the only sign of humanity that could be seen for miles, and the only man to touch you without teeth bared.

From then, you slept every night like that, inching closer and closer until finally his lips hesitantly grazed against your own. Tentative fingertips roamed over pebbled skin, and with a hand cradling your neck and a stroke of his tongue against your bottom lip, you welcomed him to take you completely with his illicit kiss. A reckless attempt to feel something, anything other than pure agony.

You were only children. Naive, daring, broken children who had never known love of any kind, but were somehow able to offer it.

You wished it could still be enough, that your quiet entanglement could be your one reason to hold on. But the tightrope you walked on became more turbulent everyday.

It was an enormous risk, but a risk you would take.

The guards became more hostile towards you after your incident, and their tolerance had reached an all time low. You were reported more often and your punishments became more brutal. You realised then that Hell wasn’t a place, it was a snap of a belt and a knick of a knife, a knee to the gut. You needed to escape.

A month after this began, you sent him a message. He was a good enough hacker that he was able to set up a chatroom that only you two could access, and that wouldn’t be detected by those higher up. It was your only safe haven, a trench on a battlefield. But burying yourself away from the action didn’t mean the war had ended.

606: I’m getting out of here.

707: there’s only one way out, and you what that is

606: That’s only if I don’t run fast enough.

707: they’ll kill you

606: Then so be it.

707: i’m not going to let that happen

606: It’s not your problem.

707: it is if it’s you.

606: You don’t even know me.

707: i know enough

606: I’m sorry

That night, you didn’t come back to your bed, and there was no sign of you other than the chilling echo of a gunshot that resonated through the building. Saeyoung crushed his eyelids shut, yet the tears still flowed as his teeth dug into his bottom lip hard enough to draw blood, the bitter mix of salt and iron consuming his taste buds.

A rumour got around that you had tried to run and were shot on sight. You were used as a cautionary tale for new recruits. Apparently they had the CCTV footage. Apparently they showed them the pictures. Saeyoung wouldn’t know, he stopped listening.

From that day forward, he put his headphones on and worked. He worked until his fingers bled and blistered, reminding himself everyday of why he couldn't rock the boat unless he could see the shore, especially in such turbulent waters. You took that chance, and you couldn’t even swim.

Saeyoung found your name two days after you disappeared.

MC.

A picture of you from your life before also came up in his search, and he threw up in the bathroom as the image of you smiling slowly morphed into that of your limp and bloodied body, eyes wide open as they pierced into his own, haunting him. One day he would avenge you, and one day, in another life, he would see your smile again.

But today, he had to work.

“Why do you resist the calm?” they would ask.

Because calm comes with the promise of the

storm,

And the sting is much less felt from a fall

out of an angel’s grip

Than a fall from their grace.

***

“707! On your right!”

Swivelling around, Saeyoung deftly aimed his gun at the guard approaching, landing a perfect shot between the eyes. His aim was so accurate, in fact, that he landed it with his own eyes closed. He never looked, he could never stomach it. “Vanderwood, you keep a look out. I’m going to scope out the place.”

“Roger that.”

Missions were the most onerous part of the job for Saeyoung. With every bullet and every crimson stain on another body, he felt a piece of whatever innocence he had disappear. Scar tissue was harder than skin, and at that point, he felt he had no softness left.

This mission, however, was particularly demanding. The opposing side outnumbered Vanderwood and himself by a long shot, but they somehow managed to hold their own. They were both convinced they had taken down everyone in the building, so he was caught off guard when he entered what he thought was an empty room, only to find himself face-to-face, or gun-to-gun with someone who should have been dead hours ago.

Or, upon inspection, years ago.

“...MC?”

He lowered his gun but you kept your hold strong, eyes never wavering from his. His mouth was agape as he took in the sight before him. Your hair had grown, you were thinner, and he could have sworn your eyes had lost their colour.

But God, there was still something so ineffably beautiful about you. That much hadn’t changed.

Saeyoung had dropped the gun completely, the clash of metal against metal pervading the room, “What are you doing here?”

“I could ask the same of you.”

“Yeah? Well I believed you to be dead for years now so I think my question is a tad fucking more valid.”

For a split second, he swore he saw your lips quiver before you pressed them into a thin line, “You were always a better hacker, 707, but I was a better frontliner. I got away with merely a bullet to the arm. But as they say, birds of a feather flock together, and it wasn’t long until I was found and recruited by someone else. Fate never favoured me, clearly.”

You held your aim, but he noticed your eyes go glassy and your knees almost buckle under your weight, and only then did he register the wound on your thigh and the ominous maroon pool on the floor next to you. His heart rate shot up, “MC…I need you to lower the gun.”

“How the fuck do you know my name?”

“That’s not important, what matters is that you’re gonna bleed out if we don’t do something about that wound right now.”

“Then I guess we’ll bleed out together,” you said, your voice strangled but your aim never faltering.

“You don’t really want that though, do you?” Saeyoung said quietly, his arms up as he creeped towards you until there was no empty space between you and him, only the barrel of your gun. Carefully, he took hold of it and tugged it out of you grasp, an arm around your waist as he lowered your collapsing form onto the floor.

The colour left your face as beads of sweat started to trickle across your features. Saeyoung took out a bandage from his utility belt and started to wrap up the wound. It would need to be treated properly, but it was enough to get you out of there.

You watched him intently as he attended to you, the same crease forming between his eyebrows from when he worked. It was strange the things you remember about another person. Only then did you realise just how much you had longed for him in the years gone by, and hot tears spilled from your eyes before you had time to register them.

His attention immediately averted to your face, cradling it with both hands as he brushed away your tears with the pad of his thumb, “Hey hey hey, you’re okay. We’re gonna get you out of here, I’m not leaving you.”

“What’s the point? I won’t last a month out there on my own.”

“You’re not going to be on your own. Like I said, I’m not leaving you. You don’t belong in a place like this, and soon you won’t have to,” he rested his forehead on yours, just like you used to, “I need you to trust me.”

“I’d be a burden.”

“You would never. Not to me.”

You eyed him carefully, trying to find any mark of dishonesty on his face, but all you saw was heartache. “Your name,” you croaked, your bones growing heavier with every passing second, “I need to know your name.”

“Saeyoung,” he answered coolly, “Saeyoung Choi.”

He tucked one arm under your knees and the other under your middle as he stood up, effortlessly manoeuvring through the building as he carried you. Vanderwood was waiting outside, exasperation etched on his face as he took in the sight of you both, “Seriously? What the hell is this?”

“No questions, Vanderwood. Just drive,” he ordered as he glided into the backseat with you still in his arms. Setting you down carefully, he checked your injury before taking out his phone and calling the top name on his short list of contacts, “Jumin, it’s me. I need a favour.”

The drive was quiet, but it wasn’t long until your leg was being treated privately in the penthouse of none other than the director of C&R International, Jumin Han. You recognised him from the news, and his association with Saeyoung only raised more questions about his life after you left.

Once the doctor and Jumin Han left, Saeyoung moved to perch on the edge of your bed, gently rubbing your knee, “How’re you feeling?”

“Better…thank you. But, I still don’t know what you expect me to do now. I can’t stay here forever.”

“I have made some arrangements,” he explained, inching closer to you, “You can now go by your real name, and you will become a part of a charity organisation called the RFA, taking the role of ‘party coordinator’. Myself and Jumin are also members and we, as well as the others, will protect you. We have an apartment for you, and you will be safe there. You can start afresh.”

Your eyes widened, sceptical that fate had had such a quick change of heart, “What about the agency? And everyone else who wants me dead?”

“I’m dealing with it.”

“I can’t let you to do that.”

“It’s not your choice.”

You both sat in a heavy silence for what felt like an eternity. Eventually you moved over, inviting him to take the space next to you. He did so, sliding up until you were lying face-to-face with the man that you thought had slipped out of your grasp. Surely it was all too good to be true.

“There’s one catch though.”

And there it was. Too good indeed.

You cocked an eyebrow, and he continued, “If this is to work, we need to keep our distance. You can’t be close to me when I’m still an agent, it’s too risky. After tonight, I’m your colleague at the RFA and nothing more,” you opened your mouth to object, but he cut you off before you had the opportunity, “No, this is non-negotiable. It’s too dangerous and I’m not taking any chances,” he paused, his next words almost a whisper, “I’m not losing you twice.”

Something in your chest ached, but you understood. You had to. As long as he was an agent and was working to erase your soiled past, getting close to him would be too dangerous for the both of you. He was essentially betraying his agency, and if they found out, even he couldn’t get away with it. This was the only way.

So for one last time you grabbed his hand, holding it close to your chest as you closed your eyes. He pressed a kiss against your forehead before placing his own there, in same position as when you were young, but now your minds a little wiser and your hearts a little more bruised. You prayed that you could stay like that forever, that the sun would never rise and you would never have to let go.

But morning was inevitable, and with the first rays of sunshine that filtered through the curtains, Saeyoung untangled himself from you and drove himself back to his bunker, refusing to grant himself the luxury of looking back.

Headphones back over his ears and a soda in hand, he began to work, taking himself back to the quiet agony he resided in, his hiding place from the devil that knocked on his door.

“Then why do you resist the storm?”

Because now, I have all the more to lose.

***

Your legs were dangling over the clifftop as you overlooked the city in the distance. You observed as more building lights flickered off the longer you sat. You wondered whether all the lights would disappear if you waited there long enough, leaving you completely alone on the outskirts of the city you built your new life on.

But either way, you would never truly be alone, would you?

“You know, for a trained agent, you’re not very stealthy,” you said smoothly.

“Like you said, you were far better on the frontline than I was,” Saeyoung replied, “Besides, it was intentional. I thought I shouldn’t startle you when you’re so close to the edge.”

You smirked and gave a hollow laugh, “Literally or figuratively?”

“I don’t know, MC,” he said softly, sitting down next to you, “You tell me.”

It had been a little over a year since you started your new life, and you found it crazy how much had gone down in such a short amount of time. After everything that happened with the Mint Eye, you couldn’t believe that everyone returned alive. And better yet, Saeyoung returned with his brother, meaning he no longer relied on the agency, so he managed to worm his way out of their fierce grip. He became boundless, and so did you. Things were looking up, things we’re finally changing.

But still, nothing had changed between you two.

You rested your head on his shoulder, both of you looking out onto the city until he finally broke the dense silence, “What are you thinking about?”

You took a deep breath, “I don’t think I was meant to live this long,” you began, “I should have been shot that night I ran, or bled to death the day our base was infiltrated. Hell, I should have died in that alleyway before they took me away.” That last part was new information to Saeyoung. He never knew that’s how you were recruited, and he suddenly felt his blood begin to boil. He tensed, trying to conceal his anger. “Yet, somehow, the universe kept me living and as well as that, kept bringing you to me. Like a guardian angel, I suppose. But life’s never really that generous is it? Because every time you came back, I could only get so close. You were just a trick of light,” your voice cracked at the same time his heart did, and he laid his head upon yours, “You’re free now, Saeyoung. When are you going to stop shutting me out?”

He sighed, “There are people out there who hate me, MC, and want more than just me dead. Escaping the agency hasn’t changed that, it has left us in the same place as before. The closer you are to me, the less safe you are.”

“I don’t want safety, Saeyoung. I want you,” you turned to face him, but he was already standing up and walking away, hands shoved in his pockets. “So now I can’t even talk to you?” you yelled after him, getting up from your own seat on the ground.

“I already know what you are going to say. I’ve told you so many times before-“

“Yes, and I listened, now it’s your turn. I’m sick of both of us taking away the other’s right to choose. We’re going to decide our future together, right now, and in order to do that we need to listen to each other.”

He watched you silently for a moment, but you continued, attempting to swallow down the lump in your throat, “I used to dream of a life that was simple, plain sailing. A life where pain was a myth and everything was nothing short of a fairy tale. Every night I dreamed of that life, and every night I prayed for morning to never come so I could stay in that dream forever, because it was easier to hide there than to scrape through a day in the hell that was my reality. And then there was you, and you were kind and you cared for me when I thought I deserved nothing, that I was nothing. I realised then that I didn’t want to live in that dream anymore, you know why? Because you weren’t in it. Because I knew that being in love with you wouldn’t be easy-“

“Don’t throw that word around so carelessly.”

“Carelessly? When I ran away and heard that gunshot, the first image that came to my mind was you. Does that mean nothing to you? I’m about to die and I don’t feel fear, just a stabbing regret that I left behind the one thing that finally made me grateful for every sunrise,” you sobbed, tears now streaming down your face, “Saeyoung, if you tell me to stop, I’ll stop. If you don’t feel the same way, I will leave you alone. But if you tell me that you want me too, then how can you expect me to just walk away from you?”

“You could die.”

“I could not.”

“I’m not willing to take that risk.”

“But what if I am?” you cried, your body trembling, “What if I want to die having loved you rather than die having never known what it was like to do so?”

“It would be like loving a monster, because that’s what I am.”

“Not to me. Not ever.”

Saeyoung couldn’t take his eyes off you, his clenched fists shaking by his side and his mind reeling. His heart was screaming at him to go to you, to hold you in his arms and tell you that he fell in love with you in a place where love didn’t even exist. That he has loved you since you were young and broken, and loved you more with every day that you grew older together. But his brain ordered him to hold back, and so he did. His head would always have power over his heart, that was his rule.

The soft peal of thunder could be heard in the distance as rain started to shower, quickly soaking your hair and clothes. Saeyoung looked at you with pleading eyes, “Get in the car, MC, I’m taking you home. You’ll get sick if we stay out here.”

“You said before that you wouldn’t lose me twice,” you continued, ignoring his request, “but you lost me for the second time when you told me to keep my distance. I know you said it to protect me and I appreciate that, I really do, but you no longer get to decide that kind of thing on my behalf,” you stepped towards him until your faces were a breath away from each other, “I want you in my life, Saeyoung, and everything that comes with you. Please, you’ve been through enough tragedy and heartache, stop depriving yourself of what your heart yearns for. It’s a fleeting little life, take a risk and live it.”

Saeyoung’s heart was pounding so hard against his ribcage that he thought it would crack. He studied how your eyelashes glistened from the raindrops, before they slid down your cheek and rested at the point of your chin. He no longer knew where the raindrops ended and the tears began, but he did know that he couldn't hold back anymore. For once, he would let his heart take the wheel.

He tucked a stray piece of hair behind your ear before he held your face in the calloused palm of his hand, tilting it up until your lips met. He revelled in the way your lips moved against his, the same way they did when you were kids. He knew your kiss better than the back of his hand, and he wanted to kick himself for keeping you at arms length when you belonged in their embrace. Saeyoung could finally understand what you meant, because he would happily drown in your kiss if it meant he could feel the way he did in that moment for the rest of his life.

Every nerve in his body lit up as he deepened the kiss, fire dancing through his veins as you wrapped your arms around his neck, hands running through his hair. With a moment of boldness, he moved his hands to sit on your waist as he pulled your closer to him, your bodies flush against each other.

When you both broke away to breathe, he tucked his face into your neck, his eyelashes tickling against your skin as his eyes fluttered shut. He didn’t particularly believe in destiny, but having you in his arms made him entertain the idea. He would no longer deprive you of the love you deserved, nor would he deprive himself of the love he desired.

There was a lot of healing to do, and it would take time, you both knew that. Trust doesn’t come naturally to those born in a storm. But you can’t soothe the storm, nor can you live in the calm before it, you can only weather it. And if you were by his side, then what was a little bit of thunder?

You both stood there in each other’s embrace, completely sodden but passed the point of caring. You wanted to savour that moment, because that was the first time in both your lives where you felt completely at ease in your bliss; and when it rains, it pours.

“But then answer me this,” they persevered,

“Would you not favour risking the fierce strike,

To feel the heavens kiss your skin

And witness the electric sky,

Than to waste away within your borders

Having never learnt to dance in the rain?”

***

[littlemissagrafina]

Connected (yet to be separate)

By @littlemissagrafina for @lbigreyhound13

Rating: General

Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark, Pepper Potts/Tony Stark

Characters: Peter Parker, Tony Stark, Pepper Potts, May Parker (Spider-Man), Morgan Stark (Marvel Cinematic Universe)

Summary: It would be the first time that Tony and Peter would be away from each other for more than a day since the reversal of the snap.

It was the first time they would be apart since their soulmate bond had calmed and settled after the trauma it had gone through with Thanos’ first snap, the breaking of their bond back on the cursed, red ground of Titan and then the sudden return of it in the reversal snap.

Needless to say, Tony was anxious and he could feel that Peter was too.

(This is my latest fic for the @friendly-neighborhood-exchange as well as the second part in my soulmate au. It can be read without having read the previous work)

Read on AO3

Tony woke up with anxiety and stress swirling in his stomach, making his skin crawl.

He’d been dreading today for more than a week now and had been foolishly hoping that he would wake up to the news that something had cancelled his and Pepper’s trip to China. They would be gone for a day or two to handle a blueprint leak that could only be dealt with in person due to the security clearance needed.

To most people it wasn’t that big of a deal, but Tony wasn’t most people. It wasn’t even the fact that he and Pepper had to deal with something big so soon after their semi retirement, no, the problem was that it would be the first time he and Peter would be away from each other for more than a day since the reversal of the snap.

It was the first time they would be apart since their soulmate bond had calmed and settled after the trauma it had gone through with Thanos’ first snap, the breaking of their bond back on the cursed, red ground of Titan and then the sudden return of it in the reversal snap.

Needless to say, Tony was anxious and he could feel that Peter was too, had felt it through their bond as the teen’s stress and fear slowly built more and more as the day of Tony’s trip came closer. Tony knew that his own nerves were felt too, knew that his restless, disturbed sleep the night before was mimicked by Peter just across the hall.

Their lack of sleep could be seen in the dark circles that had slowly formed beneath their eyes over the last week as well as the smudged letter inked on the skin of their forearms from when they had spoken during the night.

Pepper and May glanced at each other, concern shining in their eyes when Tony and Peter joined the two women at the breakfast table, Morgan looking up from her colouring book when Peter sat down next to her.

“How long?” May asked, watching as Pepper shifted Morgan’s coloured pencils and markers to the side so she could place the toast and egg filled plate in front of the five year old.

“How much sleep did you get?” May clarified when she only received confused looks as they all started dishing food onto their plates.

Peter grimaced at the question, unaware of Tony’s similar expression next to him, but he answered anyway knowing that May would resort to asking FRIDAY if she didn’t get a response. “An hour or two.”

May’s brow furrowed slightly but she didn’t say anything, knowing that it wasn’t really their fault that they hadn’t slept.

“Tony?” Pepper prompted her husband, a concerned crease forming on her own forehead as she looked at his and Peter’s weary expressions.

“An hour or two.” The older man grudgingly admitted, mimicking Peter’s earlier words as he stabbed at one of the stray roasted tomatoes on his plate.

With a sigh Pepper looked at May. “Yeah, I expected this.” She glanced over at the clock near the fridge. “It’s only just after eight and we have to be on the jet at two thirty so why don’t you two go get comfy in the sun room? Maybe try and take a nap?” She asked them gently, referring to the glass roofed and walled room that was covered in mattresses and pillows for them to lie comfortably.

All too aware of the tired, slouching teenager next to him, Tony agreed. He hated that Peter had to suffer like this. With Tony it was different, he was the older one, the one that was supposed to take away Peter’s stress and anxiety not be the cause of it.

It was one of the few downfalls that he found with their bond. He despised the effect it had on his kid in moments like this.

Taking another bite of his eggs and nudging Peter’s own breakfast plate closer to the boy. “C'mon.” He smiled. “Finish your food and then we can have a cuddle fest.”

Peter shot him a smile in return, one that Tony saw all too well wasn’t as bright as usual. “Only if I can use the Gerald blanket.”

“But that’s the best blanket!” Tony fake pouted at him but knew that Peter would end up with the big, woolly blanket that looked remarkably like the fuzzy coat of the resident goji-berry-stealing alpaca.

“I know it’s the best,” Peter smirked at him, “So I’ll share it with you. We wouldn’t the old Iron Man himself to get sad over a blanket now would we?”

“I am not old!” Tony’s indignant squawk was followed by laughs from everyone in the kitchen.

–

Sometimes Peter still has nightmares. Sometimes Tony does too, they all do, and that’s okay. Part of the ‘hero gig’, right?

Yeah, right, but also wrong because it wasn’t okay. It was okay when Peter knew that Tony was just down the hall and safely tucked away in his and Pepper’s room. It was okay when Tony was just steps away, steps that Peter often found himself taking when a nightmare left him that much more shaken than normal, when the terror was too real. That was okay because Tony was there, he was home.

But that was then, and then was okay. Now isn’t okay. Now is Peter who is terrified to go to sleep because he knows he’ll be haunted by his fears and memories. Now is a feeling of exhaustion and nausea slowly building up in his stomach because Tony is more than 7,200 miles across the sea. Tony is away and he isn’t here with Peter and it’s not okay.

Now was Peter’s mind running in circles over and over and over again. Thoughts spinning and spiraling in a cacophony of ways that made Peter want to curl up in a ball and never get up again. His mind turned on him, flinging every possible bad situation that it could come up with at him.

Peter didn’t know how long he laid in his bed, desperate for sleep despite how much it scared him, just so his mind would stop. Eventually the ache of his tired eyes became too much and he drifted off into restless sleep.

—

There were whispers, echoes of voices that Peter knew but didn’t know. Their familiarity was comforting in a strange way. Like coming home after a long time, they carried the same feeling of this is right but also a note of melancholy.

Why melancholy? The voices were nice, they were warm, so why did they make him feel sad too?

And he was sad now. Why?

Because you didn’t do something… you failed.

Peter didn’t know what he hadn’t done, his confusion swirling higher and the voices growing clearer, harsher.

He could hear what they were saying now. Their hisses and snarls turning venomous and the comfort bringing horror instead of warmth.

He knew those voices, who they belonged to… his parents, Ben, May, Tony.

“You didn’t save us, Peter! You let us leave on that plane!”

“You could have saved me. You had powers, you knew when he pulled that trigger! I saw it in your eyes!”

“Why did you let him die, Peter! Why wasn’t it you? It should have been you!”

Over and over their voices spat at him, their words striking him deep in his heart, twisting it in their grasps. He was trapped with them and he just wanted to get out!

Suddenly there was Tony. But it wasn’t his Tony, he knew because his Tony made him feel safe and warm. His Tony always greeted him by sending a flood of love and affection through their bond even if they had been apart for only seconds. This wasn’t his Tony. This one was cold and hard, face drawn and a harsh glare twisting his features.

“I almost died for you. I solved time travel for you, put on that gauntlet for you, and what do I get in return? A whiny kid who’s scared of the dark, scared to sleep.” Not-Tony snapped at him and Peter felt his chest close in, his breath escaping in a choked off whimper.

“Not Tony, not Tony, not Tony! ’S not him!” Peter heard himself gasp. He looked up – when did he get on the floor? – when he saw gold and red armored feet step in front of him.

“Pathetic!” Not-Tony snarled and Peter was yanked backwards away from him, hands and nails scrabbling at the ground as he was pulled away.

Peter woke with a cry, tumbling from his bed with his sheets twisted and tangled around his legs. Nausea rose in his stomach and bubbled up his chest. Staggering to his feet and tripping over his blankets he darted to his bathroom, falling to his knees in front of the toilet just as the take out he’d eaten with May and Morgan for dinner made a reappearance.

Peter’s throat burned and his stomach ached from the force of his heaving and he could feel tears running down his cheeks.

He threw up until the only thing left was a bitter taste and an aching body. Gentle hands, May’s hands, helped him up and pushed him to the sink where his Aunt passed him his toothbrush and toothpaste before she turned and made sure the toilet was clean enough that just a flush would do until it could be cleaned properly in the morning.

Once Peter was finished at the sink May slipped her hand into his and led him out of his room and into her own, where she ushered him into bed before she slipped in herself and hugged him close.

He was asleep before his fear could return.

—

Peter woke again with nausea still swirling in his stomach and an aching head and body to go with it. May took one look at him and ordered him to stay in bed, but relented to letting him shower and move to his own room.

After showering and changing into fresh pyjamas, he climbed into his own bed. Silently thanking his Aunt again that she had changed his sheets too. He didn’t know when she did it but she had, and it made him feel a bit better knowing he wasn’t sleeping in his sweaty sheets from last night’s nightmare.

“Think you can eat, sweetheart?” May asked him as she walked into his room, a sandwich and a glass of water in her hands.

Peter shook his head. He wouldn’t be able to keep anything down if the queasy feeling that rose up in his stomach everytime he moved was an indication.

“Sorry, May.” He answered her with a wince.

“I know, buddy. It’s okay. You have to try for the water at least, yeah? I’m not having a dehydrated Spider Baby on my hands. Again.”

With a sheepish smile as his answer, he reached for May with grabby hands, almost crying when she wrapped him up in a hug. Peter loved May hugs but it wasn’t what he really needed. It wasn’t a Tony hug and it just made everything worse.

As if sensing his thoughts, May held him closer. “He’ll be home soon, Bug. I promise. You just gotta hold out for the rest of the day.”

“Thank you, May. Larb you.”

“I larb you too, honey. Can you try and sleep some more? Maybe you can get something down after a nap.” May soothed her fingers through his curls before gently pulling away.

Peter gave a hum.

“I’ll be up later to check on you, 'kay? I gotta go corral the little Mongoose downstairs.” She gave a teasing smile.

“'Kay.”

With a final smile and a kiss to Peter’s forehead she was gone.

Turning to get more comfortable, the teen’s hand brushed against an Iron Man plushie that was either a gag gift from before the snap or a sappy one from after. Hugging it close he suddenly remembered that he hadn’t paid much attention to his and Tony’s connection.

Squeezing the plushie, Peter pushed against the bond slightly, checking on Tony and finding he was asleep. Asleep but okay.

Time differences suck. Travelling sucks. Want Tony. Those last thoughts ran through his brain as he started dozing. He just hoped the previous night’s nightmare was the last one.

—

Peter would later stir, his nose scrunching and fingers twitching as he dreamed only for it to calm after a few seconds. His sleep never fully restful.

Peter curled on his side, unaware of the slight pain that was slowly building behind his eyes, his temples slowly starting to throb as he slept until he was awoken by the pain.

Peter choked back a whimper, slamming his eyes closed in an attempt to calm the nausea and pain the action caused. He moved his head under the pillow it had been on in an effort to muffle the everyday noises around him, as well as the vibrations he could feel from said noises.

It didn’t help.

A sudden flare of pain had Peter stumbling from the bed and darting to the bathroom to throw up what little of the contents left in his stomach from the night before. His mind strayed to the sandwich and water sitting untouched on the bedside but it only succeeded in making him retch more, so he shoved thoughts of food away.

The pain kept building but was now joined by a tingling in his left forearm. Looking down, he saw Tony’s words from earlier that day (or evening or night. He didn’t know which) were still there.

I hope you feel better soon, Bud. It said, Peter’s own thank you was still scrawled under it, too. They hadn’t spoken as much as they usually did, but Peter knew that Tony could feel he wasn’t well. He also knew May had probably told the older man, and he didn’t really mind. Yeah, he didn’t like to be coddled, but he liked that they all cared about him.

Lifting a shaky hand, Peter flushed the toilet and tried to stand. He felt wobbly but he managed to rinse out his mouth and get back to bed before he ended up staying on the floor for the rest of what he figured to be night judging by the lack of light from his window.

Dropping his head back under the pillow, he tried desperately to ignore the aching in his arm and head. It felt like something was missing, but he didn’t know what it was.

After what felt like hours, Peter felt the pain start to ease the slightest bit, the reprieve giving his exhausted mind and body the chance it needed to slip back into darkness once again.

—

The first thing that Peter registered as he woke up for what felt like the millionth time was that there wasn’t any pain. There wasn’t nausea, there wasn’t fear or sadness, there was calm.

The next thing was that he was lying against a firm chest and there were fingers running through his hair, scratching lightly at his scalp. He couldn’t help the content sigh that bubbled up.

Tony was back home.

“I know you’re awake, Roo.” Came said man’s sleepy voice and Peter turned to look up at him, a dopey smile spreading across his face at the sight of his dad, the other half of his bond.

“Hi.”

“Hi, yourself. You feeling any better?” Tony asked him with a soft smile.

Peter ‘hmmed’ in response.

“Good. Me too.”

“You too?” Peter perked up, confusion on his face. Why had Tony felt bad?

Tony nodded. “Yeah. I didn’t have it as bad as you though, only some nightmares and a bit of nausea. It was 'cuz of our bond, Pete. We’ve been apart before but this trip stretched it too far, too soon. The distance as well as our own separation anxiety was too much and we ended up with the soulmate version of withdrawal. I don’t know the technical hooey balooey of it, you’ll have to ask Rhodey if you wanna know.” He explained before Peter could voice his confusion.

“Basically our bond just freaked on us as well as our regular trauma because, hey, why not?” Peter summed up wryly and Tony laughed.

“Yeah, basically. Not fun though, I would not recommend it.”

Peter nodded his agreement before burrowing back into Tony’s chest. He was exhausted and now maybe he could actually rest.  

Hugging him closer, Tony moved a hand back to Peter’s curls. “I know you’re tired, Pete, and we can have a rest for now but later I want you to eat. May told me you threw up everything that you would have had in you and your metabolism can’t handle that.” Tony’s voice became slightly more stern before softening again. “I know it’s not your fault, but we’re gonna get that sorted when we get up later, yeah?”

“Yeah, but later. Wanna sleep.” Peter murmured as his eyes drooped. They were getting harder and harder to keep open.

He also knew without looking that Tony was quickly succumbing to the exhaustion as well, could hear it in his voice. The last week had tired them both out physically and mentally.

“Hmm. Sleep now, food later.” Tony agreed as he let his head fall back and relax into the pillow, his shoulder and chest being used as Peter’s pillow since the teen refused to move.

Tony didn’t mind at all, he only pressed a soft kiss to his son’s curls and squeezed Peter closer to him as he let his love and care flood their bond as they drifted off to sleep.

—

Later, when May went up to check on them for Pepper, she found the two still sound asleep, soft snores coming from both of them.

They stayed that way right through the night and halfway through the next morning.

Peter had no nightmares and neither did Tony, their sleep undisturbed and calm.

[crazyclownthanos]

White Clover

Page 2: The one they call “the Devil God.”

Words: 2708

“Nice to finally meet you. Ace”

His icy tone complimented his deep voice.

Unlike the tone Nozel uses to call upon others. This man is somehow beats that tone on a whole new level.

Without taking note the man got closer to the young boy.

Ace was short circuited, meaning overwhelming his brain with questions.

The man was crossing personal territory by bonking his forehead onto Ace’s forehead.

...

Snort came out

The man shrugged back seeing the sight

“Need a handkerchief?” Pulling one out of his pants pocket.

No response.

He didn’t show any signs of annoyance. Getting on one knee he brought the handkerchief to his nose for him to blow into, still his silence was there.

“For Odin’s sake did I really kill a child for saving his life.”

He whispered underneath his breath.

Then a light bulb went off in Ace’s head.

Letting out a loud “EEEEHHHH!?”

twisting and turning his head searching by any sort of exit that could of linked to him entering the premises.

“Uhhbokumashindomakigawasoborac.....”

Ace was slowly disintegrating into a pile of goo, while the strange man could only assume that he was the one acting presumption.

“Beg my apologies I seem to having something blocking my ears.” Cleaning his ears with one of his fingers again crouching onto Ace’s level

Finding the strength to get back to height level Ace was ready to rack up questions to this man.

“F-f-f-f-first of all?” Poor boy was shivering, hesitating to even lift a finger. This was like another slap in the face to him, they already wasted too much time. He should really tell this child who he was.

Shifting back to his level he placed a finger on his lips to hush him.

“Helreignn.”

“My name is Helreignn Lokidottir.”

Now starring at this guy in full proposition, he had the look of a butler. Black split hair, split ends, fair skin, pointy chin, thick neck, black long sleeve extending to the wrists, over the black long sleeve is a purple vest on the outside is the lilac colour covering the entire vest and a mid purple lines splitting up. White wrist length gloves, black pants hemmed to the ankles and shiny brown leather shoes. Statue-wise he was built slim masculine. Not to mention his piercing red eyes that can dismiss any god.

“I assure you I won’t hurt you. In a matter of fact I am here to simply conduct myself to you”

“Conduct?’ Ace spoke out of turn resulting in Helreignn placing his finger over his mouth to hush him again

“Speak again and I will stab you and take out your organs and make it into a banner.” His toned became more dark. He wasn’t playing around.

Helreignn moved his hand over Ace’s lips and placed the hand behind his back and continued.

“I’m positive you’re aware about the movement of devils. Over 20 years ago a war happened. The tree of Qilpohoth went *poof! Ever since then the underworld became silent.”

pause.

“I believe it had a name.”

“The spade war?

The moment of time were a boy with no mana cut down one of my own ancient demon dogs, *sigh* poor thing never had a funeral for it~.”

The sarcastic manner he was speaking in was somewhat similar to how Solid would talk if his pork chops weren’t cut the way he wanted to be cut.

But the word ‘my own ancient demon dogs?’ By the word own? Did he make that happen. No. It can’t be possible.

“After the underdogs victory a few more bizarre events took place and next thing I knew I was holding a red headed baby in my arms and that baby appeared to be you.” Pointing at Ace. Ace got the wrong idea.

“You’ve been stalking me all my life?!” Pointing to himself

“What did I say moments ago?!”

He was sure mad. The white silhouette coming out and the red pricing eyes started to shine brighter.

Clearing his throat. His calm and cool persona came back.

“Excuse me but correct ‘stalking’ to ‘residing’ within the void. As the devil god and current ruler of the underworld I must birth or pick a heir to the throne. And that pick so happened to be you Ace.”

D-Devil K-King?

It had felt like a mirror had shattered.

Throne?!

Heir?

Devil?!

“You heard me correctly. Did you not? No? Hahaha that would be quite sad if you didn’t. In years to come that arrow that shot out of you will be the key of everyone dying a horrible death.”

The pain that already was there grew even larger. Like a tumour. The swell was immeasurable. Couldn’t be fixed.

Another tear? Crying already? This time it wasn’t just plain tears. It was tears of blood. Ace would never want the people he loves the most die a gruesome death because of his magic. This sight made Helreignn drop his mouth. Opening his mouth he simply laughed. Laughed at Ace for crying.

Quitting the laughter to speak. “It’s only on the contrary. Powers like those are super challenging to come by. Not even the director of the magic knights or even the Wizard king or whatever could never compare. And yes I am comparing myself to that honorable fool.”

Getting down on his knees Ace held himself crying like a baby these tears are the tears of fear or what Helreignn calls them the tears of the devil.

An echo was made

Turning heads to the door was an adult red fox growling it’s teeth at Helreignn.

The red morph of glitter took shape of the fox once more. Turning the fox into a human. This boy had fare skin, short wavy blonde hair, ends are curled up, a beauty mark underneath his left eye. Orange eyes that screeched for vengeance. Wearing a black crew neck tight-fitting shirt elbow sleeve length, his elbows was showing having cutting edge, representing a Diamond, his back was also visible showing off a second diamond. Below him he was wearing a light olive green skirt and a pair of brown woldwalker boots.

“Shut up you mole rat.”

“Mole rat? How original.....shouldn’t you’re neck have a chain around it?” Helreignn’s words were turning sharp. Was he mad because of the sudden intruder?

“Don’t you dare go thinking your some type of good guy. It’s a nightmare to watch. Please quit it”

“Oh how insidious you are. Also I’m no good guy please refer to me as the bad guy” the tension was rising and at this rate the whole clover castle residents may wake up because of the current chaos.

The human fox walked over to them and only growled while Helriegnn only showed a satisfying smile. Ace sat on the ground hugging his legs, he had his eyes wide open not even blinking, the soaked blood tears continued to fall

“Is making a child cry you’re goal? You really had no build up but just to tell the 11 year old kid that he’s the next devil king and he’s a going to kill everyone he loves?! You’re sick in the head” Now standing in front of Ace defending him from the monster

He twitched for a moment

“I don’t need any build up. All I need from him is for him to corporate with me.” Motioning the last words

“Right now the only thing you’ll be cooperating is my fist.” The human fox rebottled.

A bush of red arrows lined up behind the human fox not making a sound. The pierce was soon going to make its shot. Ace shifted the placement of his head, just a smidge capturing the sight of the red arrows and next Helreignns hand, he was about to shut his hand and if he did.....?

Will the talk of gruesome power’s first victim will be that fox? Such an overwhelming feeling. That feeling went away and welcomed a feeling of determination.

“Helreignn. Do. Not. Close. Your. Hand.” Helriegnn wrinkled his eyebrows hearing those words coming out of a child who was crying a second ago. Slowly rising up the blood tear drops had stopped, you could only see the blood marks. The human fox had also turned around to see this kid and made a face of shock.

Jumping a bit when the human fox finally noticing the red arrows behind him. Helreignn furrowed his eyebrows even lower before entering himself in hysteric laughter.

Ace jolted back his shoulders, disturbed to see. This guy was barmy.

“Oh dear Odin how on the aesir’s penalty did this occur?” The words cracking through his laugh.

“YOU ASSHOLE QUIT TOYING” The human fox kid began to growl again and transformed himself back into an adult red fox and tackled him with mountains of force onto the tiled floor.

Helriegnn let it happened as he carried on laughing. Ace spent no time racing up to them. In an attempt from all hell war breaking out he proceeded to wrap his hands around the red fox stomach to restrain him without hurting him.

The salvia dripping down appearing from the red foxes mouth to Helreignn’s cheeks. Helreignn never lost strain of the laughter that absorbed him.

“Quit the commotion! We can find a solution! I may not know why you feel this way but please can we talk it out?” Ace pleaded but no one stopped.

This went on for many more minutes. Who blood is going to be spilt? That’s what made was thinking if one finger slipped he would be caught in a situation of murder so he couldn’t sit around and let it happen.

Finally taking the fox by full swing Ace landed on his back with the red fox still having a good grip on him. Ace made noises complaining upon the back pain that he couldn’t control. The red fox got off hearing those painful noises and stopped growling, Helreignn stood again and broke off the laughing.

Shit......

And all he wanted was a glass of water.

Ace’s pupils rested on Helreignn and the red fox. Fluttering his eyes open and close until he fully shut them for good.

Cutting to the Silva castle, more precisely Jossyln’s room. It views a messy bed that appears someone had already slept there, a large leather chest opened and a window opened wide while the bed curtains danced in the moon light.

Quavering his eyes lids the first thing that came in Ace’s sight was his mother. Nebra Silva head of branch Ideale. Wearing her mother’s coat, the one she wore when she was pregnant with Noelle. Her hair swaying down and underneath she was wearing her Silva uniform. Consisting of a iced blue blouse with the house Silva pink pinned tied at the front and iced leggings to her calf length Silva boots.

She was worried sick.

“ACE!” She first said moving forward, plus the chair tagging along. To Ace’s aid and gave him plenty of kisses on the head while holding his head.

“Mommy I’m fine.” A little bit of laughter filled his tone enjoying this moment after the rough mishap that recently took place.

She stopped the kissing and pulled back just to take a good stare at him.

Grabbing him by the ears she started to pinch and pull them

“What we’re you thinking taking a night stroll to the grimoire tower and take a nap?! YOU GOT A CURFEW YOUNG MAN.”

This woman was sure scary. After all it’s the second daughter. Compared to 20 years ago or so this woman had sure change. She changed her look, changed her attitude (well a little bit), changed her opinion on the people below her, her best friend is a commoner, she became more powerful after stopped being insecure about her magic, she was the first royal to marry a peasant.

She stopped with all the ear pinching. She started to hug him once more and began to hit her head on his and groaned

“I’m so happy my baby is safe.”

“Ow. I’m happy too.” Ace replied back. Nebra rested her forehead onto his yet there was still questions that needed to be answered.

“Hey....was anyone with me when I happened to pass out?” He whispered.

Nebra didn’t want to answer. Ended up doing so though.

“Yes matter of fact there was a red fox that laid right beside you...the knights didn’t want to harm it so instead they brought the fox into the infirmary.” Ace took his mother’s hand and shifted his body to only uphold the fox laying on a different white sheet bed

Ace smiled, a smile of relief, but on the other hand what happened to Helreignn? Where did he ran off too? Or did he returned back to the ‘void’ Ace never got clear answers off him.

“Actually. I want to ask about him. Can I adopt him as a pet! Since that Josslyn is not around that much anymore.”Switching back to his mother with stars on his eyes. Nebra scrunched her nose. A pet? Well matter of fact he had a point but will Zora approve? Of course he would! He would hate to see his son all lonely and sad, that’s the last thing he wanted.

“Why not? I’d never had a pet when I was a little girl.” Scratching her nails onto the pink cardigan.

The stars in Ace’s eyes had transferred to a feeling of happiness to his brain.

Seeing his pretty smile Nebra had to ask

“What are you going to name it?”

“At the moment I have no clue, but I got a few names in mind” He glees. The smallest things always made him smile.

Ace took the silence the search the room for his sister of father but sadly not a soul in sight.

“Say momma where’s Josslyn and dad?”

Nebra bit her lip. “You’re father got called to a mission with Magna and Luck at last hour and Josslyn is in the ball room heretofore for the royal event. For attendance I have been called upon to attend. As much as it pains me to leave you here I’m positive I can trust you.” Throughout the sentence Nebra placed the pink cardigan on Ace’s lap and to stroke his hand one last time before walking to the doorway. Nebra let out a blow kiss before exiting, Ace of course had to reply with a blow kiss of his own.

Ace positioned his head back to his pillow, the pain in his back had eased. Mimosa most likely healed his back when he was unconscious. “Must thank her with a bouquet of sunflowers.” Ace thought and noded

“For the fox....” he got flashbacks of what happened in the grimoire tower. It had felt like an awful nightmare.

“Names....yeah....think....about....names.”

“Zara? No. That’s disrespectful to his grandfather.”

“Peter? No that’s too plain.”

“Chandler? Cute but no.”

“Marcel. Dose not look like a marcel to me.”

The dialogue in Ace’s head was starting to corrupt to him. Next he would see him crippled. Somehow naming a fox who’s secretly a human....sounded wrong a level.

On the other side Nebra was walking towards the ball room putting on her jacket before Nebra could approach the Silva double doors.

Holding onto the door handle Nebra had got a brief flashback of when seeing her son on the cold tiled floor, all with blood stains on his cheeks and neck.

“Aim 2 fellas looks like we got a woman on her hands and not any woman. Nebra Silva. Once she opens those doors our arrows will slice those royals.” One hooded man said to the next.

“Mm I won’t miss. I am the best archer in my village after all...” the next man said pulling back the arrow when the chandler light blew in like an autumn leaf.

“They believe just because they improved they are somehow still the center of the show? Wrong. There still the assholes of the ball.” Bitting his tongue as he stopped.

======================================================================================================================================================

Ace Silva

Age: 11

Height: 146cm

Birthday: February 26th

Sign: Pisces

Blood Type: AB

Likes: Butterflies, Sunflowers, soft sunsets\sunrises

======================================================================================================================================================

[x-nerdingss-x]

Your Turn

Summary: 1943. Janus is employed as the town's telegram boy.

Context before the story if you don’t know what a telegram boy is (if you do, you can continue reading): It's basically someone, typically a young child or teenager and men who couldn't enlist or be drafted due to medical conditions or religious beliefs, who isn't drafted for fighting during WW1 or WW2, works like a postman, except their job was to deliver letters to families with members that were sent from the member's officer/higher positioned commander.

These letters weren't typically sent from the solider themselves telling their family of their experiences in the war front, but news such as the family member who fought either died during action, M.I.A (Missing in Action; normally from running away during battle or their body cannot be retrieved and therefore missing) or P.O.W (Prisoner of War; typically captured by enemy lines and like M.I.A, usually never returning back to family).

Usually telegram boys worked in towns or cities, but were generally avoided by the community because their job was to bring the unfortunate news of disaster from the front lines to the home front. They would also serve as a comfort tool for grieving families that were affected by the letter, but also delivered last letters written by the soldiers, photographs, jewellery and money - anything with value that is to be sent to the families as a memoir.Hopefully I taught someone something new today lol.

Happy reading-

(You can read this on Ao3 under XxUnknown_IntrovertsxX)

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

1943

It was early morning in a remote town, the sun rising from behind the hills with pale blue and purple colours swirling together to paint the new day. Yet to be hot for the townspeople, many were outside to do their daily activities before it got too warm, the summer heat too unbearable for anyone. Of course, it wasn’t sandy, with grass growing lightly in muddy hills near outback huts many made as homes. A light breeze blew over to the town, the heat slowly growing closer.

On a bicycle, a teenage boy travelled to the town’s post office to collect mail for the day. Putting on his black newsboy cap, the boy also wore a black and yellow striped cloak to protect his skin from the dangerous sun, yellow gloves to prevent sweat slipping from his bike handles. He said thank you to the post man behind the counter, and bid them farewell as he buckled the letters at the back of the rack of his shiny yellow bike. Yellow, so many people could see the boy clearer.

Except, that was the issue. The boy rode on his bike, and others in his town went inside their homes immediately. He would admit, it hurt the teen a little; he only wanted a few shillings like the workers in his hometown. Mothers pulled their children away from the boy, and the yellow teenager even glanced at a parent who pointed to the boy, giving the child a disapproving wag of their finger and told them to stay away from him. He knew what he was doing was the unthinkable for any family during these unprecedented times, but there was no use for being a newsboy in a small home either. Adjusting his cap, he looked onward and visited the first house.

He knocked on the door, holding a mustard splatter of an envelope in his grip. Waiting for the mother to open the door, the boy hummed as he knew who owned the house. Mrs. Realeza. Her son Remus was a friend of the boy and Roman a mere acquaintance… although someone he wouldn’t particularly talk to. The letter in his hands twisted his gut inside. He knew exactly what it was, and he gulped down his feelings. Knocking again, he rocked on the balls of his feet and tilted his head from the lack of response. What he was aware of however, was the mother was behind the locked wooden door, holding her breath with her hand covering her mouth. Tears threatened to spill from her eyes, and the boy knew she was the same as every other mother he had to encounter. It was still a saddened thought to consider.

The telegram boy was not supposed to know she was there.

“Mrs. Realeza,” The boy said, keeping his voice firm for the mother despite threatening to waver. “I know you’re sobbing from behind the door, but I think it’s best to know the truth.”

“No Janus, please go away - If I don’t read it, then the truth doesn’t exist.” She could feel her body shake uncontrollably, her soft whispers of denial were heard through the door. Janus mumbled to himself, controlling his own attitude for what the letter meant. In truth, he didn’t like his job, much preferring a different job; but he also felt a sense of justice when he gave the townspeople these letters. It would spare them much grief if they knew when the news came, instead of waiting for someone non-existant to return home after years of fighting a war.

“Mrs. Realeza, I don’t have two letters for you. You should know which son it is-”

“I SAID GO AWAY - NONE OF MY BOYS ARE DEAD! THEY ARE TOGETHER, THEY ARE ALIVE-”

Janus huffed, leaning his face against the crack of the door instead. “I am legally not allowed to open your letter, and even then I am against such manners. I could read it for you, with the permission of course.”

She wept quietly, wiping a tear from her eye before getting up to open the door. The mother knew what the boy was doing, and even if she hated him and his job, she couldn’t help but remember that one of her sons is a close friend of the telegram boy. He shouldn’t feel such pain or sorrow from reading the letter first hand; it was just his job to deliver them instead. A click echoed through the crack of the door, and Janus stepped back to allow room for the mother to see him properly. Clutching on the letter firmly, he had another hand behind his back. She took the first letter, and Janus waited until she read the first letter to reveal his second hand.

“Oh Remus… my baby boy…” She whispered in disbelief, her eyes dashing through the lines of the letter. Janus sniffled quietly, snaking his second hand to her. Held was another pale yellow envelope addressed to her, and he frowned when he caught a glimpse of her disbelief. Hiding one side of his face, he revealed the white, discoloured pigment of his skin and looked at her with his blurry eye instead. He couldn’t bear gazing at her grief. Hesitantly reaching out for the second letter, the mother screamed in pain as the boy recoiled from the sound, shoving the letter to her before rushing off to his bike to escape her fury.

“YOU LYING SNAKE! YOU SAID THERE WAS ONLY ONE LETTER. BOTH MY BOYS ARE GONE - YOU LYING SON OF A-”

“I had to lie, because you wouldn’t open the door otherwise.” Janus hopped onto his bike and prepared himself to dash off.

“NEVER STEP FOOT ON MY PROPERTY. CONSIDER THIS THE LAST TIME YOU’LL EVER SEE THIS HOUSE AGAIN.” She slammed the door, effectively shutting the boy from any connection he had to the family. Janus swallowed his bubbling tears, taking his hat off to give a moment for both the lost lives of Roman and Remus. His hat hovered over his chest, covering his heart with his head down. He may not have liked Roman, but even he felt a sense of sorrow for his lost life.

Two letters down, and sadly just a few more to go.

-*-

Biking around the small town, Janus took a moment for himself to find the next house. He felt the cool, metallic chain around his neck bumping into his chest, a necklace hidden under his shirt. He didn’t have a moment to think earlier, especially after reading the first letter he had to deliver, but now only one person was stuck in his mind during the whole fiasco. Janus knew fully well of the necklace, a photo of his Patton, the faith of his journey. From meeting each other in their childhoods, both boys felt a separation between them when Patton was drafted into the war just a little over a decade later. It was a shame, since Patton was 18 and Janus fell short being 17, but he promised to join Patton as soon as he could, just so they could be together again. Just a few months, Janus could be deployed to where his friend is.

He much preferred fighting than delivering the fate of those who are gone.

Janus arrived at his next house, preparing himself for giving the next letter. He also knew who this house belonged to as well, being an ex-friend of the boy. What he didn’t know was he was deployed to fight, and it didn’t sit comfortably with the knowledge that he was also gone into the hands of death. Knocking on the door curtly, he waited for the ex-friend’s father to open the door and receive the letter. It should be better; in Janus opinion, to get it over and done with. He didn’t want to suffer through the grieving process of Virgil - he doesn’t want to admit that he already cried when they departed, to only cry again when it’s fact that they’re both completely separated.

The dark oak door opened to reveal the old man, and Janus gave him an awkward wave to the man. “For you, sir.”

Unlike Mrs. Realeza, the old man gently took the letter from Janus’ jittery clasp, already aware of how uncomfortable the situation was. “Thank you, Janus.” His face curled up unnaturally, his eyes squinting to hold in his tears. Virgil… his son…

Janus had to pray for Mr. Ansia’ that night. He already knew he lost his friend, but he couldn’t dare think of how hard it was to lose his son. He would admit, he didn’t have a close connection with Virgil, and bowed down respectfully to his father before trailing off to the next house. Janus wanted the meeting to speed up, rather leaving to deliver the next letter before lunch than to remember the ex-friend that just died on the battlefield with the friend's father standing emptily on the porch. Even if Janus didn’t like Virgil, he would be a fool if he ignored the few happy times they did share. Janus would be a bigger fool if he denied that the same happiness would arrive again.

-*-

He went back on his bright bike, but didn’t speed off as quickly as the wrath of Mrs. Realeza. Instead, he rode slowly. He took his time, recollecting the memories of Virgil and taking his moments to remember him as a fallen man. It was ironic; their arguments were always about worth, and Janus can safely claim that Virgil held more worth. Despite his unnerving energy and negative views of the world, he also faced the challenges to prove something else entirely, and the yellow boy couldn’t help but respect that courage. It wouldn’t be long now; he’s counting the days till he can be in the battlefield and see Patton again.

His heart fluttered when he thought of Patton, a small smile curling in his lips and closed his eyes to imagine the soon-to-be encounter. What could he say? Oh how he missed him. He missed the golden curls, the baby blue eyes and toothy smile the other would wear a lot. He missed the blue shirt and grey cardigan hugging his shoulders, but Janus couldn’t wait to see him again in his military uniform, wearing it alongside him with pride. The boy didn’t notice he went off trail to the next house, and turned into a small corner to where it should be. A shortcut, in a sense.

Unlike the previous three letters, he didn’t recognise the next house as well. He only saw a boy walking inside it once from the way home from school, a year or two above his own. Janus only started high school whereas the other looked like he was attending for a while, far too tall for his already short legs.

Arriving at the house, he took a few minutes to gaze at the place before stepping foot to break the news. Familiarising himself with the neatly tended gardens and swing set on the porch, he also noticed how it was made from brick compared to the lazy wooden timbre for structure. An outdoor lamp sat coolly under the shade, small flickers of light bounced from the electricity the house swam with. He was far too distracted, never noticing the parents who chatted together near the fence of the front yard. Taking a glimpse of them, Janus could tell the older boy wasn’t just an ordinary student. With a house that looked neat, tidy and well mannered to his parents, Janus could assume he was rich.

The mother had her hair wrapped onto a bun, wearing an all black dress with a cardigan to protect her forearms. She had a large hat on top, with black and blue feathers puffing the look. The father looked no different, except for the dark blue tie and white shirt tucked under his black pants. If Janus had to guess, they looked rich; possibly a scientist or business owner. It would make sense if the older boy could continue learning for so long, since many high school dropouts like Janus had to quit from the lack of money to continue.

“We assume you’re the telegram boy?” The man asked, strolling over to him. “I’m afraid you’re a bit too late, since we just came home from his funeral.”

Too late?

“What has to come I say,” The mother said. “We would appreciate what his officers said though, check if he managed to make any colleagues while fighting.” She neatly folded a handkerchief she held onto a pocket of her dress. “Come inside, I’ll get us some biscuits to pass the time.”

Beckoning him to come, Janus propped his bike against the wooden fence and followed them past their blooming garden. It didn’t sit right inside him, as if he was intruding inside a home of someone who passed rather than like he was a guest. A little funny though… the parents didn’t seem so shocked or surprised by their son’s death, almost like they expected it to come.

China plates were displayed in the cabinet by the kitchen, which was down the hall from where they all entered. It was a big house, like it was small from the outside but bigger on the inside. Janus could spot the living room just a few metres away, with a fireplace and television - wait, television? How rich are they? He wanted to sneak away and inspect the television, never imagining to see one for himself. Of course, it would be considered rude, and he was named Janus Classy Sanders for a reason; named from Patton, who he wore the title with pride.

“We never thought he'd come back in the first place. Despite our protests for him to stay, he wanted to join anyway for the opportunities granted for him after. He even said if he died, we would collect the military funds he organised for us.” His father said when he strolled to the kitchen. Grabbing some drinks and glass, he settled them on the table and waited for the teenager to join them in the room. “We don’t even need the money, thinking of giving it away in fact.”

“Perhaps you’ll want it dear? You look like a smart boy. Would you say you wanna go to university? It would be nice for a kid from this town to go to one anyway if he wasn’t the one to do it - a shame, since you’re the only kid in this town left.” The mother quipped, changing from her black to a cosy blue. Janus blinked from the odd behaviour, but thought nothing of it.

“I stopped high school just a few months ago because we couldn’t afford the classes. Working for the money is fine,” He said.

“But we insist. Logan would’ve wanted the money to go towards an education than to nothing anyway - he was going to be a teacher you know? Teaching children who couldn’t afford schooling anymore.”

Logan?

“I mean, if it’s a good cause…” Janus trailed off. He would admit, he would like the money and actually finish what he wanted to be in the first place, a lawyer, and Patton always said to strive for opportunities if it meant for the better. “Would you both like the letter?” He asked.

“Oh sure,” Janus handed Logan’s father the letter first, waiting patiently as he scanned the letter from the officer first. A simple message, nothing grand or extravagant. “It seems he only had a letter from the officer, dear. No comments from anyone else, friend or colleague.”

Both Logan’s parents took a moment of silence, frowns evident in their faces. A sense of melancholy washed over the room, and Janus gulped down the unforgivable sadness. A tear welled up in their eyes before either of them could mutter, wiping them off quickly and returning to a blank, apathetic look they mustered in front of the telegram boy earlier.. “Shame…”

Janus bowed his head before taking his leave, after they explained how the funds would work. After the discussion however, Janus noticed the sun rising steadily north and bid them farewell, his mind curiously checking them from behind the walls to sense any distress. He knew some families held a ‘front’ in front of the boy, acting as if it’ll comfort him from the terrors and reality of war. His head sunk when he heard a female wail from behind closed doors, knowing this was the reality as well.

-*-

“One more letter, just one more,” he told himself when he got back to his bike. The seat was warm and the metal too hot to touch with bare skin, but he hummed when he picked the letter up to see who it was for. “I wonder who it’s for…” He sang the last line.

J. Sanders.

From: US military division, officer T. S.

Janus ceased his eyebrows when he noted the letter, ensuring it was a telegram instead of a normal letter. He knew it should be a telegram, delivering them to almost half his town, but he never received mail anyway. Not even Patton sent him letters for a few months now, so what could this mean? Strolling to the undercover shade with his bike, Janus plopped himself on a grassy hill nearby Logan’s house to read the letter. He should’ve probably given it to his mother, as it could’ve been a relative who had their tragic demise (although, did any of his family join the war?)

He took out the necklace that had Patton’s memory and clutched on it. At least it felt like he was there with him to read the letter alongside him; he was always better when it came for emotional support. Slowly tearing the letter open, he took note to keep the envelope in a decent condition, so if his mother were to read it later, then the letter should be nicely protected. The yellow mustard of a colour was boring into Janus’ mind, and he yanked the letter from the envelope before he could overthink the contents. The worst that could be was Patton, but that’s his mind spitting nonsensical ideas.

Opening the envelope, he slowly rubbed his thumb over the page, the ink print trailing over the touch. All he had to do was read the first letter of the note, and the strong, cold-fronted boy to other widows/vilomahs/orphans could now feel the same feeling of those who grieved: the loss of someone they deeply loved.

Janus. C. Sanders,

Patton Walds, a member and soldier of the US army in participation in WW2 is M.I.A. His father was killed in gunfire just a few weeks earlier, and is suspected Patton was missing since 1st November, 1942. If there was no letter written during those few months, then it is safe to claim he is missing in action. As a dear friend, it is to commemorate his loss, as it is recorded of his lack of family to write to. Contents are included in this letter, such as a necklace he disposed of before his missing report, as well as letters that were kept with that necklace.

Sorry for the loss, and may your prayers be heard.

Officer Lieutenant T. S.

Janus blinked quickly, a tear shedding onto the paper held in his hands. He quickly wiped his face to avoid smudging the ink, knowing his mother should read this with him later. A small cry left his mouth, his throat closing up and his breaths quickly pacing into short gasps. Patton - Patton, no, his friend, why? They were meant to meet just in a few months, they were so close to seeing each other again. Janus took a few deep breaths before he could empty the envelope’s contents, a letter and necklace left to show Patton’s last moments of existence. A pain gripped inside his chest, and he tugged on his hair when more thoughts of his disappearance flooded his mind. Why? Why?

A golden chain fell onto the lively grass, although it felt like nothing when Janus skimmed over the long blades of green. His touch felt numb against the chain, skipping the cool, cold chain and instead opened the locket that hung with the necklace. A photo of him was printed onto the locket, with Patton hugging him from behind. As he closed the locket, he trailed over the faint graving of a love heart printed onto the metal. He slid the locket off the chain, and took off his own necklace to add the new locket beside his. His photo of Patton, with a swirly snake engraved instead was together with the heart of his friend.

Janus picked up Patton’s last letter, his expression curled into a scowl when he whimpered out the pain inside him. The words became a blur to him, from both his watery vision and his mind’s struggle to comprehend the scenario, let alone the words printed on the page. He didn’t want to read it - he couldn’t read it. Soon a small wail tugged inside him, clenching his fists as he curled up into a small ball. He was alone in this remote town, the summer sky blazing over his dark clothing and slowly burning his skin. The boy didn’t care.

Now, he supposed; he knew how the other families felt. Logan’s parents were right, their words spat like facts instead of a simple statement. He is the only kid left in this town.

It was his turn to grieve.