#also notice how Astrid is never helping with the tasks

[hannahssimblr]

With cleaned plates and full bellies, we sit, weakly protesting as Gitte carries out the dessert, bowls of rice pudding that looks good enough to risk its consequences.

Felix has migrated onto my lap following a tour of the table, curious, and insistent on being closer to the action. From Pernille to Gitte, a brief, tearful sojourn with Astrid, to Mia, and now me. “Oh look, he wants to say hello,” they cooed as he extended his chubby arms outward, fingers clutching in my direction. They took a picture of us, then. The boys.

He holds the collar of my t-shirt as I struggle to eat with one hand. “Pernille, can he have some of this?”

“Yes, a little, because it is Christmas,” she says. I borrow his plastic spoon and take a little from the top, carefully feeding it to him, then laughing at his screwed up expression, shock and confusion at the cherry sauce.

Astrid makes a comment about the drool on his spoon while I dig in afterwards with my own utensils, but I don’t mind. On the point of saying I have had much worse things in my mouth, I decide against it in case someone asks for an exhaustive list. 

During dessert, I am, for a moment, aware of myself. Me, here, with a table of women. One might joke that I’m in my element, but I feel it. There is affection here, respect, joy. I cheer with the others, and pretend to understand what is happening when Gitte finds a whole almond in her dessert. Another tradition no one has explained to me. Clapping along as a little gift is produced for her to open. A candle. An almond worthy of a candle. Okay. I will ask later.

There's a feeling in me. What is it? Guilt. Yes. I am struck with guilt, imagining the misery of Christmas in Dublin. Ivy, being as quiet as a mouse at our grandmother's table, trying to avoid attention during mad rants about politicians, our grandmother managing, incredibly, to become even more dour and unpleasant with each passing year.

I am grateful it is different this year. That Christmas can be a holiday, for once, that does not leave me anxious for a week on either side of it.

Later, as we gather around the Christmas tree, Mia and Pernille light candles upright upon the branches, joking morbidly about the whole thing bursting into flames. 

“It has never happened, don’t worry,” Pernille assures me, quickly righting a tipping candle before it catches the tinsel. 

We exchange gifts, one by one, delighted, laughing, and some for Felix too, just for the sake of it, though he doesn’t understand what is happening. A hat pulled onto his head. Bath books leafed through. Teddy bears given voices with which to speak to him while he stares, stricken, eventually bursting into tears with overwhelm.

“A scarf,” Gitte says, when I pull my gift free of its wrapping. “I knitted it for you.”

I am unexpectedly touched. Moments spent, then, just holding it in my hands and looking at it, thinking of this woman I have never met before, knitting this for me, stitch by stitch. Of me being worth the time to do it. “Oh, really? Gitte, I love it. Thank you so much.”

“You don’t have to wear it if you don’t like it. It won’t offend me.”

“I’d probably frame it and hang it on my wall, actually. That’s how nice I think it is,” I say, and they all laugh, though I’m serious. 

The Larsen’s gifts are a collection of small, thoughtful things. Astrid has made little mugs and bowls in her ceramics studio. From Mia, books. Pernille, organic hand creams, cosmetics she knows are good for sensitive skin. I know my gifts from my parents will await me in the mailbox in Berlin. The new iPhone, maybe a laptop. A wallet with embossed with the word BOSS, or something, so gaudy I’ll leave it in the drawer of my desk, joining that Tom Ford cologne that smells the same as window cleaner, and the clippers they already got for my birthday last year, with one new attachment this time.

The flashiness of my gift for Astrid dawns slowly upon me as I watch the Larsens bond lovingly. I will have to stand up, get it, present it to her after everyone has exchanged their thoughtful tokens. All “This made me think of you. I knew this would suit your colouring. Do you remember you mentioned this before? I noticed you ran out of this…” She likes it though, the fashionable gifts. She knows she’s worth it. Doesn’t she? I was so sure the gift was right until now. I go to the tree and take the little bag from underneath. 

“Here,” I say. “I just saw them and…” I trail off lamely. They were in the November edition of Vogue I scoured once while she showered, searching for whatever was on trend these days. Something girls wanted. Something now blatantly inappropriate and generic.

From the bag, she pulls a pale pink box the size of her palm. 

“An engagement ring,” Mia says in a flat voice, lounging beside her on the sofa. 

Heat rises from my collar. “It’s obviously… it’s not that.”

“Oh, good. Lucky for you.”

Astrid ignores her and undoes the thin ribbon, lifting the lid to reveal the earrings. 

I rush to explain. Self conscious now, and overcome by the need to tack on some element of personal significance. “Apparently they’re in,” I manage. “The… uh. I think they’re freshwater pearls or something?” Why did I phrase it like a question? Stupid. And why am I flustered, as though I haven’t bought her similar gifts in the past, which she seemed delighted with? I’m thrown off kilter at the thoughtfulness of the other gifts. A scenario I honestly had not visualised, and I’m struck by a terrifying new thought, that all the times Astrid said she liked my gifts, she was lying to me. 

“I love them, they’re beautiful,” she says, her face lighting up. A smile. Good. She wouldn’t smile unless she really meant it. She tucks pieces of hair behind her ears and puts them in, showing them off. “Yes, pretty,” her family says. “Very classy.”

Beneath her on the floor, I lift my hand to her leg. An emasculating type of gesture, feeling like a medieval peasant boy. “You like them, really?”

“Yes, I do. I swear.”

Somebody says something to her, and she looks away, distracted, then, reaching for another gift. 

Beginning // Prev // Next

[the-sky-the-stars-the-sea]

Day Six/Last Day of the Ultimate Dragon Prince Rewatch! 🙌🙌

AHHHHHHHHHHHH I CAN’T BELIEVE IT’S THE LAST ONE

I’M SO NOT READY FOR TOMORROWWWW

OK OK *Rayla about to swing off the ambler voice* HERE WE GO

Hoooooli cannoli what a strong opening for the season

Gotta say the first time I watched this season when I saw that Aaravos was the one crying I was like “YEAHHHHH” and after a few minutes felt bad…now that this is a rewatch and I know why he’s crying I’m like…yeah, so valid man. Also good job showing me this strong and emotionally distant character just crumble

TERRY AND VIREN HUG TERRY AND VIREN HUG TERRY SPINS VIREN AROUND 🥹

Claudia’s screams…😭😭😭😭😭😭 for real though her voice actress needs all the awards for those few minutes….😭😭😭😭😭😭

LORD BREADSANDWICH 🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣

Season six is Sorvus season! Episode 2 >>> I was literally screaming at some of their moments. Gah I ship them so hard now.

“Are you looking for mercy?” “No.” “Good. You don’t deserve any.” GOES SO HARD

I’ll say it again: Terry is the greenest of green flags. Also when Terry comes back, Claudia has been relying on the staff (dark magic) as her crutch, but then Terry comes back and makes her a plant leg, and she throws down the staff (at least temporarily) to choose him. I think the symbolism speaks for itself

Claudia…you’re so close to figuring out yourself. But I understand why you still are looking up to your dad and wanting him to choose right from wrong for you.

“The human mage. Played right into my hands.” That was said about Callum…but then Viren is the one who wakes up with a start, screaming that never again…man so many Viren/Callum parallels…

Kosmo becomes Time Blind and the first thing he does is tell his sister how her star shines brightest in the sky…🥹 and she says her star was always there, others just didn’t see it…and her voice actress (trans) confirmed that Astrid is trans, and her hair is the shade of pink and white in the trans flag 🥹

Callum and Rayla paralleled Harrow and Sarai when tasked to slay a beast to save a people…but Callum and Rayla’s story goes differently because Rayla listens to her heart and finds another way to pierce the heart

It’s fascinating how they redefine the morality of lying in this season. Because past seasons have taught us that the truth and transparency is important. But this season says: “Are you giving them clarity, purpose? Or are you giving them the burden?” And shows us two examples of characters holding back the truth, one of those times came from rewinding time. But this season also says truth isn’t the most important thing: trust is.

It’s always been her <3

I noticed that Arc 1 and Arc 2 had the same Rayllum Arc- season 1 and 4, not emotionally close; 2 and 5, more trust and lots of love but not quite defined, season 3 and 6, romantic love. Of course it’s not 1:1 the same dynamic because in arc 2 they have a ✨history✨, but you know

LET! JANAI! AND! AMAYA! MARRY! IN! PEACE!

Was nOT EXPECTING VIREN WITH FULL BEARD AND MUSTACHE, but also AHHHHHHH HOW DARE YOU MAKE ME THINK HE ACTUALLY USED SOREN’S HEART. WHAT DO YOU MEAN VIREN’S LAST ACT WAS DARK MAGIC AFTER HE SWORE IT OFF. WHAT DO YOU MEAN HE’S ACTUALLY DEAD FOR GOOD THIS TIME.

Leolaaaa 😭😭😭😭😭😭

Seeing Aaravos with the human girl…he was gentle once. He was caring once. But they did a number on him.

Man…Rayla saying goodbye to her parents because she can’t bring one back without the other and if she brings them both then she and Ethari still lose someone they love…what a scene 😭😭😭

Claudia’s repeating all her dad taught her. And it’s just…she’s not doing any of this off of what she thinks. It’s what she thinks her dad believes…

Terry’s tears when Claudia agrees to help Aaravos…😢

Claudia and Callum casting the same spell at the same time…two mages, both have dabbled in dark magic, both doing a spell out of love, and yet the contrast is still so stark

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

OK OK MORE THOUGHTS AND FINE TUNING LATER, SEASON SEVEN HAS DROPPEDDDDD

[glitter-garbage]

12. — thread

Shadowgast, ~1600 words, gen, red thread of destiny, soulmate au (spoilers for the eiselcross arc)

Sent by @quinn-of-aebradore 💜 ...ps: this is not edited at all (one word writing prompts: send me one and a pairing if you like. I might fill them some day!) ---

When Bren learned he had magic, he also learned that he could see things that not everyone did. It wasn’t natural, he had to focus, and later on, he even found out there was an actual spell for it. Still, on more than one occasion growing up, Bren would see the delicate red threads that connected people around him.

“Those mean whoever is connected to you is your soulmate,” his mother explained, “Can you see mine?”

And, sure enough, his mother had a little thread connecting her ankle to Leofric’s. He longed for his own thread to appear, though his mother explained that not everyone had one.

Bren didn’t have to worry, though. He was only fifteen when not one, but two threads connected his ankle to his best friends of all people. By that time, he had already been whisked away to the Academy along with them and the experiences they shared, the successes, the pain, the power, all of that just cemented their connection in his mind.

Until he broke, that is.

After the fire came the Sanatorium, and for eleven years Bren, now Caleb, did not think about that again. Only when he got out did he notice that his ankle was free. Nothing connected him to anyone anymore. It was okay, he was a garbage person. He didn’t deserve love like that anyway.

---

Nott had a red thread. It vanished out to the horizon, and Caleb never saw the thread move in a way that indicated that her soulmate was closer. He wondered if she knew, for a while. Then, he learned the truth. Veth’s soulmate, her husband, kidnapped, imprisoned. He was happy she had met him though, and confident they'd free him. She deserved happiness, he would help her in any way he could.

Two couples in his little group had threads connecting them to each other from the start. Fate worked in mysterious ways, Caleb thought. Beau and Yasha did not seem that close, though Beau’s attraction was obvious, and cringe-worthy at times, but Caleb was sure things would go well for them in the future. Jester and Fjord’s thread almost made his heart break- he had allowed himself to get way too attached to the two, but neither of them were for him, obviously. Destiny had other plans.

Molly did not have any threads, like him. After learning about his past, Caleb wondered if he had gone through something similar to Caleb, the snapping of a thread after a traumatic event. He allowed himself to grow closer to the tiefling tentatively, allowed feelings to bloom slowly. Molly was warm to him, and he thought perhaps it was another form of destiny that would tie them together.

That had been a mistake.

The last one to join their family was Caduceus. He had no thread too, and Caleb had no curiosity about it anymore. His interest in destiny had all but faded.

He loved his friends. He had friends. That was enough, for someone like him.

---

“The Luxon is the basis of how we've been able to free ourselves from the binds of the lineage the Betrayer Gods left for us and to carve our own fates, choose our own paths and sidestep these destinies placed upon us nonchalantly by gods that use us as playthings.”

The Shadowhand was interesting. Dangerous, powerful, enticing. Caleb considered what he said about freedom from destiny, the ability to find your own way. He had certainly strayed from his path, but perhaps that was not the worst thing.

Essek Thelyss, too, had no thread attached to him.

Perhaps because Caleb was no longer obsessing over what destiny had in store for him, perhaps because he was beginning to accept that his own imperfect path was better than the one that had been set for him, Caleb felt empathy towards the drow even after he had betrayed them.

They were so much alike, and Caleb kept his heart more closely guarded now. He did not feel his heart breaking when they learned of Essek's schemes, and that too helped. In any case, he did not see Essek again for a long time. Did not think much about him. There was too much on his plate for that.

---

Astrid smiled at him from across a dinner table and his stomach dropped. Caleb felt the wheels of time turning, felt again like Bren, determined and ambitious and blind to the truth. Eadwulf looked at him with a raised chin, a smirk on his face. He too remained handsome, impossibly so.

When they walked out of Ikithon’s tower, Caleb could make out the thin red thread that still connected their ankles. He thought he was stronger, that perhaps he was ready for this.

“Race you to the top,” said Astrid with a childish smile, before turning back to the tower.

It hurt. He could feel the emptiness of what could have been, what would never be again in a way he hadn’t felt in a long time.

---

Imagine his surprise when arriving at the Vurmas outpost in Eiselcross, the powerful figure of the Shadowhand could not meet his eyes. Imagine his surprise, when he saw his eyes lighting up when they chose him instead of his old teacher to go down into the ruins. Imagine his surprise when he saw Essek battling, using gravity itself as a weapon, and felt only fondness and admiration for the man. When he showed off his tower and saw the same in the drow’s eyes. And attraction, of course. That went without saying.

It all came to a head when, together, they worked to cast a spell that would shorten time itself and give the Nein their much-needed rest.

Thought it might have felt like seconds to their friends, Caleb watched for long moments, holding magic in his palms to assist, as Essek opened a gash through the fabric of space and time. Real fabric, made of threads of all colors that together seemed to make up what he saw as the world around him. Time seemed to stop around them as Essek carefully worked around the fibers.

“This… Have you been able to see this the whole time?” he asked.

Essek’s jaw was clenched and there was sweat running down his forehead, but he nodded, “Not really. It takes a lot of effort to see this. A lot of energy.”

Caleb hesitated but gave in once Essek’s questioning gaze found his for a moment, “I have always seen the red threads. I- I had my own, for a while.”

“Annoying little things,” muttered the drow, focusing again at the slow-going task of weaving time with his bare hands, “There was a time when I hated them more than anything.”

“You used to have yours, too?”

“Hm? No,” said the drow distractedly, “I hated them because I had none, and I thought I should. The Dynasty looks like a tangled web if you watch for them since so many entanglements are made complicated by consecution. But I never had one, and even though I looked for… someone that could perhaps make it appear, it never did.”

He moved his wrist to the side, and the universe seemed to shift with it. Caleb felt a little dizzy.

“But I had never heard of someone who lost theirs. I thought they were supposed to be, ah, perfect,” Essek smirked, “Unless you did what we are doing right now to yours. That is, changing it fundamentally. Somehow, I do not think that is what happened.”

“Nein,” Caleb chuckled wryly and then held himself straighter, keeping the spell steady as Essek continued his labor. “I… strayed from the path, I think. I did something that was not meant to be.”

Essek looked at him like he was the most fascinating thing he had ever seen, even though the elf himself had the building blocks of reality in his hands at the moment. Caleb flushed.

“I think Caduceus would say that you did exactly what you had to do.”

“Maybe so. But isn’t it hard to know that others will have this… this gift, this sure thing while we will not?”

Essek looped a bright white strand against a colorful, prismatic one while he hummed, thinking.

“I felt the same way for decades. But whatever we will have or not, in that sense, will be of our own making. And isn’t that a gift on its own?”

---

The moonlight shone down on the beach, turning the sea a glittering mass of waves. Other than the full moon, magical globes and luminescent beetles illuminated the space around them. Their friends gathered around smiling tearfully in perfect dissonance. Caleb himself felt his heart beating so fast he thought it might leave his ribcage and seek quietude somewhere far away from his anxiety-ridden body. He stood beside Caduceus, who hummed a sweet song under his breath as they waited.

Finally, the glittering door at the end of the path opened, and Essek slipped out, bare feet delicately touching the sand. Jester came from behind him, and once their arms were locked, they walked on slowly, passing their friends and family on the way to Caleb and Caduceus.

He looked stunning in delicate iridescent robes, and Caleb tried to swallow down his anxiety. Violet eyes framed by silver lines, mouth poised in a gentle smile, cheeks flushed, Essek walked slowly until he was face to face with his intended.

Essek reached for his hand, and they stood silently, gazes locked while Caduceus conducted the ceremony. When it was time, Caleb drew a small spool of red thread from his pocket. Gently, he took Essek’s hand in his and tied a knot around his little finger. He offered the spool, and Essek repeated the gesture, biting his lips nervously. Caduceus cut the remaining thread, leaving their hands connected.

“You are now joined together, not by destiny, but by your own choice. I think that’s very nice,” Caduceus smiled placidly until Veth cleared her throat, “Oh yeah. You guys can kiss now.”

Caleb smiled at the phrasing. He lifted his hand, pulling Essek’s forward until the drow was close enough for him to count his freckles. Their hands tingled as he came impossibly closer. Essek’s mouth was warm against his.

For the first time in Caleb's life, he felt destiny favored him.

---

[bestruction]

Aot boys as a type of ex

Warning: Slightly NSFW on Eren’s part, angst (maybe? idk lol). 

Characters: Eren, Levi, Armin, Jean and Reiner. 

A/N: I was listening to Hurt so good by Astrid S and this popped in my head god knows why.

Summary: One person can assume many titles in the lives of others. So what title would your boyfriend take on when you two broke up?

Masterlist

Eren - The ex, but never the ex in fact.

Eren is an intense guy (as I said before). With him are no halves or pieces. He would want you completely because he would also give himself to you completely, which would end up being a double-edged sword. On the bright side: He is there. It's literally impossible for you to feel alone when he is around. He would always make you notice him, make you feel him in every part of your mind and body. If you needed him, he would be by your side in a heartbeat and ready to do anything to help. He always made you have sure that he loves you. On the bad side: This intensity would not disappear or diminish when you argue. Big and long arguments for a not-so-important reason or not important at all are common for you two. He is also impulsive. So you could expect to be hurt after that. All of these discussions would undermine your relationship. It got to the point where you felt like stepping on eggs next to him, waiting for the next tears.

Sometimes he would apologize when he realized he was wrong but when none of you changed your mind thanks to pride or anger,  you would end up trapped in each other's arms in some random room of the house without clothes and sweaty. Too breathless to continue to exchange barbs. All frustration is discounted in your body's movements and his. That would become a cycle of discussions and make-up sex. You always push each other away and met again. The last time you said you never wanted to see Eren again, it would be just before the next time you were on his bed or he on yours. You knew it wasn't healthy for either of you, that you had to stop at some point, but how?

Levi - The ex who leaves you before the relationship ends.

Getting close to Levi would be a difficult task since the beginning of the relationship. Thanks to all the traumas that he suffered throughout his life. He lost his mother very early, did not have a healthy childhood, was abandoned by the person he believed to be his father, and lost countless friends. Because of so many losses since a young age, he unconsciously relates the pain of losing someone with the act of building bonds. He would be afraid to connect with others, including you. In fact, especially you. You who more than anyone accepts and try to understand the man behind all his strength. You who makes his heart speed just by smiling. You, that just the idea of losing scares him more than anything. So the more he gets attached to you, the more distant he will become. It's like a way of protecting himself. It would be easier for him to say that he loved you if he didn't love you so much.

It would start with something simple, like not having time to see you, which would be understandable in the beginning due to his position. But with time, you would notice that he would not insist on leaving the room or coming to you, and when he did come to you, it would be as if there was a great wall between the two of you. He would always be distant even when present. So you would end up wondering if he really felt the same. And overtime feeling lonely. When you broke up, he watched you turn away and tell himself that things would be better this way. You would find someone better, someone who would be able to answer your affection as you deserve, someone who really deserves you ... But why couldn't that someone be him?

Armin - The ex who remains your friend.

Armin has always been a sweet boy. He always respected your limits, and before being your boyfriend, he would also be your best friend. You would talk about everything. Dialogue would be one of the pillars of a relationship with him. He would make you feel safe, but no matter how many times you two talked, his insecurity would keep him from feeling the same way. He was always comparing himself to others, and as much as he tried not to project it on you, it would end up happening. He would end up trapped in a web of thoughts like: "If I were as agile as Jean, I could protect you better" "If I were brave like Eren, you would be more proud to be by my side".

As I said, you would be friends before lovers,  and that's why you would talk about it and come to the conclusion that the best thing for both of you would be the break-up. Armin knew he needed to take care of his own insecurities first. Before trying to take care of a relationship. He didn't want to let these things interfere with the affection for each other. So it was a mutual decision. Even after that, you would still be close, helping each other to grow as a person until you two are ready to be together again.

Jean - The ex who doesn't understand why the break-up.

Jean would be a perfect boyfriend. He would treat you well, he would communicate when he doesn't like something, and he would always try to make some simple gesture for you. The problem is that: He would believe so faithfully in "I'm a good boyfriend" that when you complain about something, he disregards it. Do you want to talk about an unresolved argument between the two of you? No, thank you. In his mind, it would already be resolved. So why go back to the subject? Why are you being so dramatic? He's always so nice to you.

So when you announce the end, tired of being the least heard. He'll look at you and ask you why, but even after listening carefully to each of your words, he still wouldn't understand why you chose to end it all. If nothing he has done so far has been enough for you, what else would it be? What did you want from him?

Reiner - The ex you never forget.

After years of relationship with Reiner, you would have learned a lot about the man behind that strong image and him about who you were when no one was looking. Of course, you would have arguments and disagreements like every couple, but nothing too serious. Nothing that would make you not want to look at him afterward. When your relationship started to cool down, there would be no culprits. It would just be an unexplained eventuality. It would not be as if all the affection you had for each other disappeared overnight. In fact, such your affection did not disappear even if the love was no longer the same. You would wonder why and so would he, but as I said before: There would be no culprits. No cheating. No jealousy. No hurts to count. The time you spent together would have been good for both of you, and unfortunately, it was over.

You always remember him with a smile on your face, and it would take time to relate again. After all, he would have left a high standard to be reached.

[peaceoutofthepieces]

Tracing Time

Saturday, 08:10

Song: Her - Five Minutes

The sun comes out.

It had risen hours ago with Sander, but also like him had then tucked itself away, making its ascent behind a flurry of dense clouds. Now Sander watches as the last wisps slither aside and reveal the full circle.

It hasn’t been up quite long enough to warm the concrete roof Sander sits on. He’d thought, rightly, to grab his jacket before slipping out around an hour prior, and he’s grateful for the tough leather now. He hadn’t bothered bringing his camera, so his hands are also safely tucked into his pockets. He doesn’t need any more photographs of this view than he already has.

He likes it fine like this. To just sit and see. He doesn’t need to capture it. To have it exist in this moment is enough.

Being so high up likely doesn’t help with the chill, but this is one of Sander’s favourite spots. He’d been pleased, the day one of his professors took their class to one of the older buildings in the academy and climbed the back stairs right to the top. They’d had to capture this scene that day. The sun glinting amidst the clouds, the clouds obscuring the tops of some of the area’s highest buildings, and all the life going on down below. Even now there are a few students milling around there, heading to their studios early or meeting fellow classmates, and interspersed is the honk of morning traffic, the hustle and bustle of a world just beginning to wake.

Sander is apart from all of it. The sun is slanting a ray solely for him; the beings below are tiny specks of colour splashed amidst the gray; the level of the world he’s entered is quiet, aside from the music lilting lightly in his ears.

He had been even more pleased that day to notice none of his fellow classmates had paid much attention to the roof itself, but simply focused on the task at hand. He had wondered how such a perfect place of solace wasn’t already constantly occupied, especially when it could be so easily accessed by a whole school of art students. He hadn’t thought he would be able to make it his own.

But sitting on the lip of the building, legs hung over the edge and arms resting on one of the lower bars stopping him from falling to his death, it does feel like the rooftop belongs to him and him alone. The thought is enough to bring a smile to his face.

He’s the only one seeing this right now, the only one capable of capturing this exact image at this exact time. It doesn’t—like many things do—make him feel as isolated or small as he expects. It reminds him that he has his own vision and his own mind and his own existence, and this must mean he is meant for something. This eagle-eye perspective of this universe in this exact moment is made just for him.

His smile widens as he ponders on how Robbe-like that thought is.

It’s this thought that eventually draws him away. He slides his legs back onto solid concrete and hauls himself to his feet, wincing at the twinge in his ass and brushing stone crumbs off the back of his jeans. Then he slips back through the doorway and down the stairs and begins the trek back to his number-one solace.

His feet cry out in relief as he quietly lets himself into the house and pulls off his Docs. They aren’t the best walking shoes. His feet feel achy and sweaty and he curls and rolls his toes on the wooden floor as he hangs his jacket back on his usual hook. Then he climbs another set of stairs.

He’s relieved to find Robbe exactly how he left him, only now lit in a more golden glow. The boy is curled on his side, facing the doorway Sander has just crept through, curls splayed on the pillow and mouth slightly agape. Fast asleep. Beautiful.

Sander tugs off his jumper and steps out of his jeans, then rounds the bed and crawls back in next to his boyfriend.

The sheets have chilled since he vacated them, unhelpful against his already-cold skin. He shifts towards the middle of the mattress and already feels warmer. The heat emanating from Robbe beckons him closer, and he doesn’t fight it, slipping right into the dip behind Robbe and sliding an arm over his waist, pulling the boy back against his chest. Robbe moves easily, snuggling back into Sander with a sigh, and Sander’s whole body blooms with heat.

As much as he likes his rooftop, there’s no doubt that this is his favourite place to be. ‘This’ being anywhere within Robbe’s orbit.

He doesn’t quite drift off again, but his body goes pleasantly lax and his mind quiets. The longer he listens to Robbe’s soft breaths the more his own heart eases.

Then Robbe starts to shift, and Sander worries he’s woken him. He wriggles in Sander’s arms and Sander loosens his grip, but Robbe simply rolls over in his embrace, turning to face him and immediately curling towards his chest. Sander’s lips turn up in a smile as he draws him in, pressing his nose to Robbe’s soft curls and inhaling slowly. Robbe’s arm curls over his waist, tucking around his back and denting his skin.

He traces patterns over Robbe’s bare shoulder in the few minutes it takes for Robbe to stir again. His grip tightens on Sander for a second as his eyes scrunch, refusing to succumb to the sunlight as he presses closer to Sander’s chest.

Sander presses a kiss to the top of his head as he lets out a tiny, whiny hum, still half-asleep as he stretches his toes against Sander’s ankles and blinks.

Robbe’s doe eyes, even while squinty and crusted with sleep, are the most mesmerizing things he’s ever seen. The corners of them crinkle as Robbe leans back far enough to smile up at him before burying his face back in the crook of Sander’s neck. “Morning,” he mumbles. Then he kisses the closest patch of Sander’s skin.

Sander hugs him tight and returns, “Morning. Sleep well?”

Robbe hums again. “Wha’ time is it?”

“I don’t know. Still before nine, I think.”

“Okay,” Robbe sighs, giving him a squeeze. “We still have some time then.” After a pause, he pulls away from Sander again and looks up at him curiously. “Did you go out? You’re cold.”

This last bit comes out as a whine, and Sander huffs. “Yeah. Just for a walk.”

Robbe hums, smiling as he snuggles back into him again, pushing Sander onto his back so he can sprawl out over his chest and lock their arms together. “Taking photos?”

“No. Didn’t take my camera or anything.”

“But you took your phone, right?”

“Of course, I needed music.”

Robbe huffs, but accepts this response without further questions, leaving a smiling kiss on Sander’s chest. He repeats the motion, then starts up a lazy trail, mapping his way across Sander’s collarbone until Sander tugs his hair. Robbe tilts his head up and lets Sander connect their lips, shifting up on the bed and pressing a hand to Sander’s cheek. Sander’s hand moves to cup the back of Robbe’s head, fingers tangling in his curls and drawing him closer. Robbe’s hand moves up his chest to settle in the crook of his neck and he feels suddenly warm.

He skims a hand down Robbe’s back, tracing the divots and dents of his spine, breathing slow under Robbe’s lazy kisses. He palms at Robbe’s hip, and Robbe quickly takes the hint, lifting his leg over Sander’s and settling atop him before letting out a happy hum.

“Good morning,” he says, amused and cheeky, and Sander bites his lip in retaliation.

Robbe giggles and Sander swallows the sound down, tucks it away in the lower part of his chest to be dug up later. He has made up a whole portfolio of these precious sounds, along with a plethora of the most stunning images and a sad imitation of Robbe’s touch. It’s hard to beat the real thing.

Sander soaks up as much of it as he can now and still begs for more, splaying one hand over shoulder-blades and letting the other slide down, curling over the curve of Robbe’s bottom, drawing him down while tilting his own hips up. Now Robbe’s hum is lower, coming from a more guttural place as he bears down on his own, only requiring that initial permission.

He breaks away to gaze down at Sander, tracing light fingertips over his face as he breathes heavily. Sander smooths his hand back up the line of Robbe’s back to tangle both in his hair. This time he makes his way along Robbe’s cheek, feathering kisses against the stubbly skin until he can brush his lips against the shell of Robbe’s ear and nip at the lobe, free of his earring for the moment. Robbe makes a small, mewling noise and tightens his grip on Sander’s shoulders.

“What time are you leaving?” Sander asks, keeping his voice at a murmur so as not to spoil the mood entirely.

“Jens is meeting me here around ten.”

Sander groans. “You can’t make that ten-thirty?”

Robbe huffs gently. He places his hands on Sander’s chest and pushes himself up to sitting, still astride Sander’s hips. Sander would be more upset with the new lack of contact if it didn’t give him such a nice view; Robbe is all clean-cut lines and lean muscle, with skin glowy and soft under Sander’s fingers. “Jens wanted to be gone yesterday,” Robbe reminds him, not unkindly.

“Why didn’t he just go with Lucas, then?”

“Because he agreed to wait around so I could spend the night with you.” Robbe raises his brows. At Sander’s permanent pout, he huffs again, shaking his head. “You can still come with, you know. We’re going to get a break before the end of school. Couldn’t you do with a break, too?”

Sander groans again and pulls Robbe’s pillow over his face. “I can’t,” he moans. “This project is due on Monday. Unless I stayed up all night tomorrow, I wouldn’t have time to finish it.”

Robbe hums. “You’re usually the one begging me to keep you up all night.”

Sander gives him a sour look, even as his stomach flutters.

“I’m sorry,” Robbe laughs. “I really am. But you know Lucas never asks for anything.”

“And you want to go.”

Robbe hesitates, but he never lies to Sander. He gives a tiny nod and an apologetic smile. “I do. And Jens really needs it.”

Sander considers him for a moment, the lovely curve of his lips and the gentle doe-eyes, and blows out a sigh. “You deserve it,” he says softly. He gives Robbe’s ear a tug and allows himself to smile. “And I suppose I’ll survive.”

It only takes Robbe’s grin to prove he’s done the right thing. Robbe leans down to leave him a kiss, light but lingering, and then turns it into a dozen different pecks instead. “You better. Thank you.”

Sander can only lie there and accept the onslaught of affection, laughing as he settles his hands on Robbe’s thighs and squeezes. He meant what he said—Robbe does deserve it. They hadn’t managed to get away over the break as initially planned, so when Lucas invited them back to Utrecht this weekend they had jumped on the offer. Sander had shared the excitement initially, but then had quickly been reminded of his reality, in which he had stupidly chosen to leave things to the last minute.

“I feel more sorry for you, anyway,” Sander mumbles, emitting a low whistle. “I’ll be alone, but at least I’ll have a quiet night.”

Robbe immediately pushes himself up again, wide-eyed. “No. We’re staying at Lucas’s house, with his mom. Surely they won’t…”

Sander snorts, waving at the space around them and raising a brow. “Where are we right now, Robbe?” At Robbe’s blush, he purses his lips together, making his own eyes big in suggestion. “It is a stress-relief getaway.”

Robbe buries his face in his hands and groans. He rolls off of Sander even as the elder protests, peeking through his hands to stare up at the ceiling. “I’m going to come home traumatised. It’ll be worse than the time I walked in on him and Jana.”

“Not if you don’t walk in on them,” Sander laughs. Seconds later, a pillow smacks him in the face. He makes a muffled protest as he’s attacked again, grabbing at the soft material and wrestling it out of Robbe’s grip to whack him back, hearing Robbe make an ‘oof’ sound before breaking out into giggles.

Eventually, Sander tosses the pillow aside and wrestles Robbe instead, getting him flat on his back and moving over him. He slots a leg between Robbe’s and presses their tangled hands down either side of Robbe’s head, and Robbe’s eyelids droop. Then his fingers flex around Sander’s as his lips part. His neck strains as his head tilts up. Sander ducks down, but forgoes Robbe’s lips to lick a stripe up his neck.

“Sander,” Robbe whines, squirming underneath him in protest even as he lets out a breathy laugh.

“What?”

“We haven’t got long.”

Sander hums, pulling the patch of skin he’d been kissing between his teeth to hear Robbe gasp. “We’d have longer if you were going to stay.”

“Sander,” Robbe repeats, this time in sullen protest.

“Sorry, sorry,” Sander soothes. “We still have enough time though, don’t we?”

“Did you hear my mom when you got back?”

“Nope. I assume she’s still sound asleep.”

Robbe smiles at that, pleased, and Sander finally grants him a kiss, slow and sensual until Robbe makes a needy little sound and squeezes his hands. Sander releases his hands and Robbe immediately tangles them in his hair, tugging at the strands.

“How many minutes do we have to make up for?” Sander asks him.

“Too many to waste time calculating now. We just have enough time to make sure you don’t forget me while I’m gone.” Robbe winks at him, and Sander huffs and goes in for another kiss, but Robbe is already moving. Sander half expects to be rolled over again, but instead Robbe just shimmies down, licking and biting his own way along Sander’s neck before heading lower.

Sander’s arms tremble with the effort of keeping himself up when Robbe’s lips close around his nipple. He draws his pillow over to bury his face in it as Robbe works a mark into his chest, rolling the opposite nipple under his thumb. Once he’s pleased with his work and Sander’s mumbling his name, he makes his way further south.

The following minutes are quite memorable indeed.

~^~

next

[wardlowsbabydoll]

Alexander

It's been a month since Astrid, Jack, and Daniel have been staying with the Fords.

Astrid felt strange, was this what a true family was like? She noticed how they were always smiling and laughing whilst in each other's presence and how they always showed equal attention to everyone.

It didn't take them long to figure that Sophie and Alexander were sired to the poor girl who immediately helped them break the sire bond.

Through every single painful transformation, she stayed, apologizing because she believed it was her fault. It was her blood that turned them after all, but they reassured her every time that it wasn't her fault as she was still an infant when they were turned and Klaus had taken her blood without her permission.

She was sitting in the room that Sam and Abby had given her and was studying her grimoire, looking for a resurrection spell that didn't require black magic.

A knock on her ajar door broke her out of her thoughts. When she saw Alexander there, she gave him a small smile and waved him inside. "I don't bite." She said teasingly, still noticing his slight apprehension to enter the room.

He snorted and then launched himself onto her bed. "You've been reading these for three days. What are you looking for?" Alexander questioned as he began reading the grimoire as well.

The blonde headed girl took the glamour spells off her grimoires when she realized that no one in the house would take them without asking.

"I'm looking for a resurrection spell, that doesn't involve black magic. Quite a difficult task. I'm supposed to resurrect my Uncle Finn." Astrid explained and sighed frustrated.

"Why don't you take a break and afterward, I'll help you find a spell?" Alexander coaxed and kept poking the poor girl in the sides which made her laugh.

"OKAY! Stop!" She said laughing harder as he continued to tickle her sides.

"You, my dear Jupiter, need to have fun." The youngest Ford son sighed as he watched the girl immediately go back to reading.

Her head snapped up with a face that was full of offense. "I can have fun!" She protested and once again Alexander snorted.

"Your idea of fun is reading. While reading can be fun, especially for your genius brain" he poked her head which made the girl giggle "you also have to do other things. What else do you like to do?"

She froze. What else did she like to do? Nothing came to mind except for one thing.

"I like to play the piano." She confessed quietly.

"We have one downstairs. Sophie likes to play it every once in a while. Same with mom. I never had the patience to learn." He told her.

"I can teach you. If you want that is." She said nervously.

"Let's go." the boy replied and pulled her downstairs to the piano. They sat next to each other on the bench and Astrid was excited.

Her hands glided against the keys and she played some notes. When she finished Alexander applauded.

"Alright. So put your hands here and press them one at a time." The blonde instructed and guided his hands on the piano.

They sat there for over two hours, talking and playing. He would never tell her that he already knew how to play the piano. That he let her teach him because he saw the huge smile on her face.

[one-boring-person]

Hey!!!how are you?

Can i have some Rambo Headcanons??

Maybe the old rambo moving nextdoor to a young(24), farmer? (They/them pls), and maybe eventually him developing a crush or Wanting to protect them since they’re always so nice and caring towards him?

Thank you!!(these are for my birthday lmao, im a complete and total rambo simp. And i feel old rambo would really enjoy calming down and helping around with someone who loves him)

You have no idea how badly I've been wanting to write these as soon as I read the request! It's so wholesome, so I hope I've done it justice! And happy birthday! I hope you like these 😊(also I'm good, thanks for asking!)

John Rambo (Rambo IV/V) x younger!reader headcannons.

Warnings: mention of PTSD, vague injury detail.

A/n: I'm sorry if this is not as expected, I'm still getting to grips with writing headcannons 😅

Masterlist

The ranch had been in a state of disrepair when John first got there, walls thinning, paint peeling, buildings empty and soulless. He hadn't expected things to be as they were when he left, all those years ago, but the evident lack of care surprised him.

The house had been empty, which he eventually figured out was die to the fact his father had passed a good few years prior, and hadn't left anyone in charge of the ranch.

This meant that everything was as it was when he left, photographs hanging awkwardly on the walls, dusty furniture shoved out of the way.

Naturally, the rest of the ranch was also in pretty poor condition: the stables were practically overrun with weeds and foul smelling hay, one lone horse still nosing weakly at the empty water bucket on the floor. Taking pity on the animal, and feeling a need to help it, John took it out onto the field, which is where he first saw them.

Across from his father's ranch was another, smaller one, where horses and cattle grazed in the fields, a single car parked up beside the main house, which was in a much better condition than his own newfound home. In one of the fields, running around with a young foal, was who he assumed to be a ranchhand.

For a moment or so, he had stood and watched as the figure ran in circles with the youthful horse in tow, admiring their seemingly high spirits - he hadn't felt high-spirited in years.

After he'd helped the old horse from the stables out (cleaning out a stall, feeding it with feed he found in a storeroom), John had gone back to the house, almost forgetting the figure across the field, intending to head to sleep.

A couple of days passed after that, before he saw them again, though this time, they also saw him.

He'd started work on the house, having collected what he needed from a nearby town, and was sat on the roof of the main building as the sun glared down at him. Taking a brief pause from his work, he'd looked up and seen them in the field again, this time astride a larger horse.

They were racing around again, until the rider noticed they were being watched, at which point they slowed to a halt and looked around, quickly spotting John on the roof. From that distance, he couldn't tell what their expression was, but they raised a hand after a moment or so, waving up at him. Hesitantly, he had waved back.

Later that day, when he'd been sat on his father's old rocking chair on the veranda, taking another break, John had noticed someone coming up the road towards him. Standing out of instinct, John soon realised it was someone astride a horse, the rider carefully trotting up the drive, their face becoming clearer the nearer they came.

Still cautious of people, John had acted somewhat guarded as the person rode up to him, a broad smile on their work-weathered youthful face. In their hand, they carried a small box, which they cradled awkwardly on their thighs.

Approaching him, they'd tipped their hat, a battered Stetson, and greeted him, introducing themself as (Y/n), the owner of the ranch next to his. They'd spoken cheerfully, as if unaffected by the hardships of life, which they may well be. That's what John thought anyway, until they openly and happily told him about the passing of their parents, four years ago. The ranch had been left to them, leaving them in charge of the business.

Their first encounter had been somewhat awkward, but it didn't seem to bother (Y/n), and they left after ten minutes or so with a genial smile at him, stating that they'd be happy to help if he ever needed it. They also left behind the box, which John soon discovered was filled to the brim with cookies, a food he hadn't eaten for decades. Trying one, he soon rediscovered a love for them he didn't remember he had.

In the following weeks, John managed to fix up the house, getting it ready to live in properly, with some very brief help from his neighbour. They'd been round earlier in one week, dropping off another box of cookies, and had offered him access to their tools, which they brought round soon after.

After this, John felt it was only right that he invited them round for drinks as thanks, something that still made him somewhat uneasy. Somehow, he did feel reassured when they happily agreed and turned up the following Sunday, the two of them sitting in comfortable quiet on the veranda, sometimes talking, other times staying silent.

This became a regular occurrence.

Every week, (Y/n) would go to John's, or vice-versa, the latter soon learning to trust them and enjoy their company, finding himself in a better mood than he had been in in a long time. Their openness to talk or listen (even if he said very little) comforted him, allowing him to forget the nightmarish things going through his head near-daily.

After three months, (Y/n) had started coming round much more often, many times just appearing in the middle of the day to help out with whatever task needed doing, unafraid of doing dirty work. They later told him it was because they enjoyed his company far too much, and often actively sought it out: they made it clear that his quiet, brooding nature was an attractive quality about him that reassured them.

It didn't take long for them to become close, the two seemingly working at a different wavelength to the rest of the world, one that only existed between their small ranches.

They helped John procure his first horses, lending him one of their own to help build up the numbers. The differences between each ranch soon became blurred, the fence running through the middle of their respective fields eventually disappearing as they merged their ranches together, continuing with business individually with the help of the other's land.

John had long since accepted, within himself, that he would not find someone to spend the rest of his life with, not after Sarah. It was a sad truth, but one he had to live with.

That all changed when he suddenly realised he had fallen for his neighbour, the one person he now trusted and cared for more than anyone in the world.

He'd realised this when their face first started appearing in his nightmares, after a close accident that nearly resulted in catastrophe. (Y/n) had fallen from the roof of the stables, thankfully landing on a stack of stray hay which softened the impact, leaving them in severe amounts of pain for two days. Their face became part of the repertoire in his head, nightmares about their death soon plaguing him even further, as he finally acknowledged the newfound love he felt for them.

Because that's what it was: love.

It couldn't be anything less, he was too damaged to have heedless fancies, and his emotions were far too strong towards them. Since he'd moved in, (Y/n) had always been there, acting as a friend he never had, steadily working their way into his life, bettering it in ways he never would've thought another person could, supporting him through the episodes of flashbacks he was now prone to having. They had showed him love and care he hadnt experienced from anyone else. He valued them highly, prioritising them over himself, and he knew he was heavily attracted to them, but he told himself "no", don't ruin the friendship.

They didn't make it easy to repress the urges. No, they only managed to win him over more and more with their caring, loving attitude, though their youth managed to awaken some form of paternal instinct John never knew he had. He felt the need to protect them at all times, and he would do his best to uphold this, but he knew his feelings were getting too strong.

Somehow, he managed to miss all the loving glances, and little tells (Y/n) inadvertently laid down before him, the rancher have g developed similar feelings for him, though they'd never admit it to John, knowing how human interaction like that could be upsetting for him.

Eventually, it had taken a beautiful evening, with the sun spilling its last bloody rays on the dry landscape as the two sipped beer from bottles on the veranda, for them to finally admit to each other how they felt.

It just happened: one minute, they were leaning in to replace their bottles on the table, the next, their lips are just touching, breaths mingling as they struggle to do rain themselves. (Y/n) had finally leaned in, pressing their lips against his, pulling back almost as quickly as they moved in, a horrified, embarrassed expression on their face.

They'd apologised instantly, terrified that they'd screwed up their relationship, rambling and cursing until John had recovered and kissed them again, cupping their face in his hand as he pulled them closer. It had been too long for him, and the touch was just incredible, goosebumps rising along his spine as he poured all of his love and care into the kiss, pressing as close as possible.

Somehow, (Y/n) had ended up in his lap, head on his chest as he cradled them, relishing in the feeling of having a solid, supple body against his own after so long, and one that means him no harm, too. They knew where they both stood, and it kickstarted a close relationship.

(Y/n) moved in with him after their second foaling season together, where he'd seen their parental instincts kick in, particularly when they'd then worked to socialise the foals by playing with them. The memory would always stick with John: something about the carefree youth in their face as they ran around with the frolicking horses reminded him of the good in his life.

Life was good, everything was going mostly well.

Naturally, there were some days when he'd relapse, having particularly bad episodes that would be harrowing on both him and (Y/n), though they were always there to help him through it. Their soft words of love and worry would easily permeate the cloud of despair, and had break down in their arms, enjoying the sensation of being held.

They often held each other. Even if it was just a quick hug, or an embrace from behind as one pressed up against the other's back, touch became a large factor in their relationship - John relished it after the more callous touch he had grown used to.

Kisses, too, became a large way of showing their affection. Little ones here and there between jobs, deep passionate kisses up against the wall of the house, or sloppy making out on the shared seat on the veranda, it all counted for their love, and they thoroughly enjoyed partaking in them.

(Y/n) was always there, even when Gabrielle and Maria joined them. They were there when Gabrielle died, and they were there to avenge her death, choosing to go out with the man they loved.

Both of them liked to cook, even if John's meals were a little...plain...so they often spent hours in the kitchen with each other, fooling around with whatever they could, John's face alight with more smiles and grins than he thinks it's ever been.

They went riding together, finding solace in each other's company on their many trails through their land, the horses often coming home tired after so long of being out.

Sometimes, John got self-conscious about his age in comparison with their's, thinking he is too old for them. Everytime this happened, (Y/n) would reassure him that they love him for who he is and doesn't care if he's not as young as he used to be, it never would matter.

Marriage was never really a thing they considered. John never had much time for the state anymore, so why get them involved in their relationship?

They considered themselves married, and wore rings to show it, but it was never a legal affair. Nevertheless, the union had always been a happy one, and John could honestly say that he had been wrong about himself: he had found love.

[crazy4dragons]

I’m Fine

Astrid says she’s fine, but Hiccup knows she needs a little extra care before going into battle. Hiccstrid. Rating: G (pure fluff!) Set after Astrid’s rescue in RTTE “Night of the Hunters.”

Written for March of Dragons ’21. Prompt: Rescue (Mar 22-24).

“Dragon hunters…” Astrid mumbled, pressing a hand to her throbbing head. “They have Stormfly.” Her eyes widening, she tried to jump off the mattress, only to be stopped by a gentle touch on her shoulder.

“Take it easy, Astrid,” Hiccup soothed, easing her back against the pillow. “You had a rough day out there.”

“Uh, no offense Hiccup, but I don’t think we have time to take it easy,” Fishlegs ventured cautiously. “We don’t know where the dragon hunters are and —”

“Shut up, Fishface,” Snotlout cut in. “If Hiccup says it’s best for Astrid to take it easy, then it’s best for Astrid to take it easy.”

“And since when did you listen to Hiccup?” Tuffnut asked, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Yeah, when?” echoed Ruffnut.

Hiccup sighed. “Stop,” he ordered. “Everyone stop. Give Astrid some space.”

The dragon riders stared back at him.

“Go!” he insisted, prompting Fishlegs and the twins to spring into action. “Saddle your dragons and start looking for signs of the hunters. Astrid and I will follow when she’s ready.”

“I’m ready now,” the blonde insisted, pushing Hiccup’s arm away from her. “I need to find my dragon. I need to —” She attempted to stand, but her pounding headache, along with the fact that she hadn’t eaten in almost twenty-four hours, caused her to collapse back onto the sheets, which were wet from her still-soggy clothing. Someone — she guessed Hiccup — had helped her out of her boots and armor while she was unconscious, but she was still in her leggings and tunic from that morning.

“Don’t worry, Astrid. I’ll find Stormfly for you,” Snotlout boasted, pointing to himself. “Anything for my favorite Viking lady.”

“I believe I asked you to saddle up your dragon,” said Hiccup, narrowing his eyes.

“Gods, you’re bossy,” muttered Snotlout, turning around and following the others out of Astrid’s hut.

The blonde stared blankly into space, her head buzzing. “Hiccup?”

“Yes?”

“I’m fine. I swear.”

“Look at me, Astrid.” Hiccup rested a hand on hers. “It wouldn’t be very practical for you to go out and face the dragon hunters in this condition.”

“I said I’m fine!” she snapped.

“Shh,” he hushed, pressing a soothing kiss into her hair. “Let’s first get you a drink of water. And then you’ve gotta get out of these wet clothes and into a hot bath before you catch a cold.”

In an instant, he was gone, presumably to fetch her water and draw a bath. Astrid took the opportunity to peel off her soggy things, barely noticing the new cuts and bruises she’d acquired during her adventure. Naked, she wrapped up in a spare blanket that was within her reach from the bed, breathing a sigh of relief at the feeling of the cozy furs on her clammy skin.

“I have Toothless heating your bath.”

Astrid jumped at the sound of Hiccup’s voice, which interrupted her as she was about to doze off. Propping herself up against her pillow, blanket still cocooned around her, she took the cup he offered her and pressed it to her lips. At first, she took only a sip. But then, quickly realizing that her mouth was parched and her throat scratchy, she downed the whole thing.

“You want more?” Hiccup asked, taking the empty cup.

She nodded.

“Got it.” With that, he was gone again, returning a moment later with a refill. “I see you got out of your wet clothes,” he noted, nodding towards the pile of soggy garments on the floor. “I’ll take them to the wash bin for you if you’d like.”

A light blush covered Astrid’s cheeks at the realization that her undergarments were resting on the top of the pile. “No, uh…it’s alright. I’ll get them later.” She tugged the furs closer to her body as she drank.

“Okay,” shrugged Hiccup. “By the way, how do you like your baths? Bubbles, oils, just water…”

“Bubbles,” she mumbled.

“Bubbles it is. I’ll go finish that for you. And while you’re washing up, I’ll change your sheets and grab you some hot mutton and tea, okay? I have leftovers at my hut from dinner last night.”

Astrid nodded, prompting Hiccup to disappear again. By the time he returned, she’d finished her second cup of water, and the pounding in her head had decreased just enough for her to stand.

“You gonna be okay getting downstairs?”

She shrugged.

“Here.” He wrapped an arm around her shoulders, guiding her while she shuffled downstairs and into her small washroom, which was little more than a closet. She didn’t need that much space; after all, it was only her living in the hut. And besides, most of her baths were taken at the secret hot spring she’d discovered soon after moving to Dragon’s Edge.

She managed a small smile at the sight of the steaming tub. It looked so inviting, brimming with hot water and bubbles. Hiccup had done a good job preparing it.

“You’re good from here, right?” he checked, rubbing the back of his neck. “I mean, I don’t want to intrude on your privacy or anything.”

“I’ll be fine,” Astrid assured.

“Alright, I’ll leave you to it, then. Do you need anything before I go? A towel, maybe, or clean clothes?”

She nodded towards the small stack of towels tucked away on a shelf. “I’ll be fine,” she repeated.

“Well, I’ll see you in a little bit. Enjoy.” With that, he turned and stepped out of the room, closing the door behind him.

Once alone, Astrid quickly unwrapped herself from the furs and sank into the bath, a sigh of relief sweeping over her as the warm, bubbly water lapped at her skin. But now was no time to relax; she needed to wash and get dressed as quickly as possible so she could go back out and find her dragon before it was too late.

The thought of Stormfly made her stomach knot, and tears suddenly sprung to her eyes. She shouldn’t have listened to Hiccup. She should’ve gone out there as soon as she was conscious. But in the back of her still-foggy mind, she also knew that he was right. A weak, dehydrated Viking was hardly fit to be a Viking at all.

“Astrid?”

Hiccup’s voice, accompanied by a rap on the door, snapped her out of her thoughts. “Yeah?”

“I’m heading to my hut to grab you some food. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

She nodded.

“Astrid? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” she insisted, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand.

“Alright, well I’ll be back. I’ll have Toothless stay behind in case you need anything.”

Astrid heard the click of his metal leg as he walked away, followed by the sound of her front door opening and closing. Sniffling, she began to scrub the salty ocean water and debris out of her hair, a task that took longer than she expected. Once finished, she started on her body, rising from the water to properly scrub. It was then that she became aware of the little scratches all over her arms, the nasty scrape on her right knee, and the large bruise on her hip, presumably all from struggling to grasp the log in the water.

As she made a mental note to clean out her cuts with some ointment, she heard the door creak again. “Hiccup?” she checked. She guessed by Toothless’ silence that it was indeed just his rider returning, but she wanted to be sure of it.

“Yeah, it’s just me,” Hiccup called. “You doing alright?”

“Mmm-hmm.” She sank back into the water. Between getting hydrated and soaking in the bath, her throbbing headache had now subsided to a dull pain that she was sure would fully vanish once she had something to eat.

After rinsing off, Astrid climbed out of the tub and wrapped a fluffy towel around her shivering body. She hoped it was just the cool air hitting her dripping skin that was making her chilly; a fever wasn’t something she had time to handle right now, not with Stormfly missing.

Opening the door, she was met with the sight of Hiccup standing over the fire, heating the mutton and preparing water for tea.

“Feeling better?” he asked.

“Mmm-hmm,” Astrid mumbled through chattering teeth as she blushed and dug her bare toes into the rug beneath her feet. Being a warrior, she’d learned to embrace her battle wounds. But for some reason standing in just a towel in front of Hiccup, her scraped arms and knee left exposed, prompted shyness.

“Cold?”

She nodded.

“Go get dressed,” he urged. “I wasn’t sure if you had any clean battle clothes, so I brought one of my tunics. It’s on your bed if you need it.”

Astrid nodded again and quickly shuffled up to her room, silently thanking Hiccup for keeping the fire going in there. After cleaning out her cuts and bandaging her knee, she put on a set of clean underclothes, then slipped into a pair of her wool leggings and Hiccup’s tunic, which was just a bit large on her. Noticing that the boots she’d worn earlier were still soggy, she pulled out a spare pair and carried them downstairs, along with cozy socks.

“You’re just in time,” Hiccup said, holding up a steaming plate of mutton. “Come eat.”

Astrid placed her socks and shoes by the door and took a seat at the table, the sight of food suddenly making her realize how hungry she was. Grabbing a fork, she dug into the tender mutton.

“Is it good?”

She nodded as she took a sip of tea.

“I can braid your hair for you while you eat if you like,” Hiccup ventured cautiously. “I mean, you probably want to get out there and help the others look for Stormfly as soon as you can.” He bit his lip.

Astrid glanced down at her loose tresses. Until that moment, she hadn’t even realized that she’d forgotten to put her hair up. “Yeah, that would actually be nice.”

Hiccup silently pulled a chair behind her and, sitting down, parted her locks into three sections. He’d never braided hair before, but having woven braids into leather belts and vests he’d sewed, he managed to nearly replicate Astrid’s everyday look.

“There,” he announced, standing up and placing a hand on her shoulder.

“Thank you.” The blonde pushed her empty plate aside and swallowed the rest of her tea before turning around and offering a small smile.

“You don’t have to thank me,” Hiccup insisted, his cheeks turning pink. “I’m here for you, Astrid. Always.”

Maybe her brain was still foggy from the accident, or maybe she was feeling bold, but some sudden emotion prompted her to cup a hand under his chin and deliver a quick peck onto his lips.

A wide, crooked grin appeared on Hiccup’s face. “What…what was that for?”

“For everything,” Astrid replied, grabbing her axe. “Now let’s go get my dragon back.”

[criticalroleisdestroyingme]

Oh Death

She said to me

"Oh, Death

Come close my eyes, woah"

I know, I'm more fool than wise

After losing the Mighty Nein in Nicodranas, Astrid and Eadwulf are sent on their next assignment. Tracking a loose end in the Frozen North, they stumble across a few more surprises, and the pieces start to add up.

The aforementioned songfic of "Oh Death" by SUGR?. Canon divergent at the end of C2E131. Written from the perspective of a highly angsty Astrid with plenty of Blumendrei and Shadowgast. Advice for Essek based on this post by @slayerscake.

A note to those who count the words of Sending - I kept it accurate to where Matt took a pause for Astrid’s Sending back to Jester, of 26 and 24.

Read more below!

Oh, when I see her looking at me

You best believe

She's only looking past me

What a mess Bren left behind him before he again vanished to the North. It took a full day for Trent’s ire to settle from a raging forest fire into a controlled burn, sending his operatives to seek out their trail. Curiously, Trent did not allow any others into his vault to pick up any trace of Bren - he must have found the amulets, otherwise the search would have been simple. It didn’t take a spymaster to determine what else Bren must have spirited away to send him on such a determined chase, and Wulf quickly agreed that whether intentional or not, Bren now had in his possession the most damning evidence of the enhancements all Volstrucker wore beneath their skin.

Was this their chance to finally…? Bren hadn’t reacted the way she hoped during their meeting, eyebrows furrowing as she had quietly whispered her seditious musings in his ear. He didn’t trust her, didn’t trust them, of course he shouldn’t, Wulf added. She bitterly hoped their actions in Nicodranas would cement that trust, but maybe Bren no longer operated on their wavelength. He couldn’t, shouldn’t allow himself to trust his compromised classmates, only using them for his ends before moving on to that thing that was so much bigger, so much nobler. His eyes never truly met hers as they waltzed, staring through her skull, focused on his own goals, convinced he would be saving the world. She had shared the contents of the meeting with Wulf, of course, but not that wave of guilt that had surged through her for forcing her ambition onto him, collapsing in the alleyway after leaving the dancehall. He had moved on, had so many bigger things to deal with than the crimes of a single man and petty politics.

After dispatching two agents to the coast to board a ship, she was again summoned to Trent’s side with Wulf. Darktow, really Bren? The ruse had seemed so obvious from their clandestine conversation about his goal, but her master was determined to contain the leak and to Trent, no lead was worth overlooking. Trent had hissed that their next assignment was to pay a visit to that Crick loose end, since they were clearly too compromised to be trusted with more important missions. The traitor’s position was confirmed via scry to be in the heart of Eiselcross - fortuitous to be so near to Bren’s destination. Maybe after they dispatch the Shadowhand, they could seek him again, Wulf suggested, and finalize plans to rid the world of another corrupted mage.

She said to me

"Oh, Death

Come close my eyes, woah"

I know, I'm more fool than wise

Her trail goes cold a few hours after they pass through the mountain range ringing the crash site of Aeor, but they’re nearly to Kryn outpost, which was still the best place to check first. Recent reports indicated the drow was getting twitchy (reasonably so, she thought), so it came as no surprise that he had procured divination wards on his latest visit back to Ghor Dranas. Strange that he had not engaged them until after his position was reconfirmed in the frozen north, and the coincidence tickles the back of her mind. She and Wulf decide to press on towards the outpost regardless - to relay this to Trent before confirming the target’s position by eye would earn them a scathing reply.

Easily obscured by invisibility, they slip past the spires of ice ringing the Xhorhassian outpost once they arrive. After around fifteen minutes, they spot the Shadowhand as he exits his chambers and rushes to the storerooms, reemerging a few minutes later with supplies for travel and a heavier mantle. Good, it should be a simple task to take out him and whatever scouts accompany him, rather than dealing with the entire outpost. He lingers outside his chambers, discussing something with the captain of the guard too quietly to be heard from their position on the outskirts. Wulf creeps forward to listen in as she maintains her position, memorizing the guard patrols out of pure habit. She’s making a mental map of the outpost when a familiar but unexpected voice creeps in.

“It’s me… Jester-” whispers into her mind, followed by… a fit of giggles? “Hey, I don’t know if you’re alone. If.. you’re.. not-” another fit. How did Bren’s companions get anything done? “-and you’re following us…” the longest pause yet. Should she start her reply? What did the woman even want? As she opens her mouth to speak, eyes on the perimeter for any unforeseen patrols, it finally comes in. “Clear your throat,” she chokes out amid giggles, “if you’re not following us.”

“I’m so very…” lost? Disturbed? Overwhelmed by the lack of any meaningful information presented in those twenty-five words? “Confused.” She settles on. “What did you say?” Entertaining further conversation in spite of her location may not have been wise, but she couldn’t help herself, needing to know Bren’s next move.

“Sorry-” Warranted. “I need to know if you’re following us. If you know where we are. What’s the plan with you guys? Hope you’re alone! If you’re not-” the message cuts out. She rubs her temples, considering her response a moment. How to impress upon her the importance of what her party now carried with them, what she wanted them to accomplish? This was going to take more than one message, she thought, pulling her wire free from her components.

“A Volstrucker has never disentangled from Trent before. No one who knows what he does, how he breaks us, has shared their trauma with the world,” effortlessly continuing her response with another Sending, “with the king. Imagine the threat you are to him, now that you carry respect of both Crown and Kryn. So, yes,” she concludes, “he’s invested.” Was it enough? No further response.

“Who was that?” Wulf’s voice shocks her as he returns, still cloaked in his invisibility.

“Bren’s companions. The tiefling.”

“Ah,” he grunts. Lingers in silence for a moment. “Will he…?”

“I don’t know,” she admits. Glad to still be invisible, despite Wulf knowing exactly the look on her face. Probably has the same look on his. Her hand reaches out, contacting his upper arm blindly, then gives it a rub. “Later. Our target?”

“Too far, too quiet. Something about the ruin; an entrance his rangers are guarding.”

“Well then, we will have to make our move during his journey to them,” she replies, not keen on chasing this wizard into the depths of Aeor. A grunt of agreement, and they settle together, crouched on the icy ground, awaiting further movement of the traitor and his forces. A few more minutes and the guard captain nods and walks away, barking orders in Undercommon to his men, and the Shadowhand floats alone outside his door. His hand raises to knock, lowers, raises once more, then softly taps the door before opening it.

“He’s not alone in there,” Wulf interprets easily. She squints her eyes, trying to block the glare of the snow and ice to spot the reason for his hesitation, but the low-lit room gave up no secrets before the door closed behind him. Another minute and the door reopens, and neither Volstrucker notices the Shadowhand’s relaxed shoulders as he drifts out, sucking air through their teeth at the sight of who follows him.

Oh, I- I- I- I- I- I- I never wanted anything as little as I want this now

Oh, I- I- I- I- I take my pistol, gonna make you proud

“We should have known, we should have fucking known-” Wulf spits as they tail the group to the northwest, the pair’s white cloaks obscuring them well at this distance.

“Shh! Let me think.” Her words bite at her own tongue, mind racing. It was so obvious - Bren’s party spent so much time in Xhorhas, were so close to the Bright Queen herself that their word alone was enough to halt a full scale attack on the capital. Of course they would know the Shadowhand, at least know of him, and with their connection in the North from the Empire extinguished, of fucking course they would be allying with the Dynasty once more. The source of the Shadowhand’s protection from divination was now also unfortunately obvious - he had been recruited by the team to go stop the supposed end of the world.

This was going to get messy. It would be impossible to take out the Shadowhand without alerting Bren to their presence. How could they convince Bren to work alongside them to expose Trent if they ended up in battle against him? “Scheiße,” she hissed, Wulf growling in agreement.

She wondered what the Shadowhand would be getting in return for his assistance. Protection from the assassins hot on his trail? Yes, but surely this master manipulator would have gotten more out of the deal than that. The drow had fooled his entire country, betrayed his own religion, just for the sake of some arcane research.

She smirked, jaw clicking into place. That’s it. He’s a traitor to his own nation. Make him confess to it, surely Bren would want him dead as well after learning their ally was a conspirator with the Assembly, had stolen the beacons his group worked so hard to return to the Kryn. They could still make this work, and come out of Eiselcross both having completed their current mission and securing Bren, all of them, as allies in their next.

Wulf growled again, pulling her from her thoughts. Looking back at the Shadowhand, he had fallen in line with Bren and was conversing while they pressed onward, taking comfort in a glowing orb he held outside his mantle. Bren had moved in shoulder to shoulder with the drow, leaning in and wrapping his hand around the drow’s forearm in a supposed bid to get closer to the source of light. His group carried on ahead of them, saying nothing as they snuck glances back towards the pair. She felt her cheek burn where Bren had previously leaned his face on hers during their waltz. Wulf was saying something but the blood pounding in her head was far too loud.

She said to me

"Oh, Death

It's way too wet on your cheeks to be nothing"

But what does she know?

Really, what does she know?

The troupe had slowed for a short rest now, and she crept closer unthinking, Wulf trailing behind her. The cold wind whipped her hood back and pulled her light locks free, carrying snips of conversation back to them. “The- I’m sorry, the lesbians?”

“Yes, Yasha there and Expositor Lionett. They’re quite capable on the frontline, and often I find the best means of dealing damage to the enemy is through enhancing their abilities and staying out of sight. So ja, buff the lesbians.” Concluding with a pat on the Kryn’s forearm, Bren appeared to finally spot his hand’s location and jolt back, sheepish grin mirroring one she had not seen for years since she caught him and Wulf outside her dormitory door with a bottle of whisky and a proposal. That pink tint to his cheeks is visible from here, betraying his intentions so plainly. Betraying them. Betraying her.

“I- I see. Any other... tips I should be aware of?” the Shadowhand had asked, looking to the rest of the group and quickly pulling the orb back towards himself once Bren had released him, before thinking and proffering it to the others. Her own cheek stung still. To her side, Wulf reached over and too-gently touched it, rubbing away a layer of ice built up. The half-orc sat up from his resting point across from them, putting his hands towards the orb without any comment on the pair’s previous position.

“Ah, yes - while Jester is a cleric,” he intoned, leaning towards the blue tiefling gently, “try to go unconscious near Caduceus.”

“Fjord!”

“What?! You prefer a more… proactive approach to battle!”

Soothing with a hand on her shoulder, the gray firbolg also leans in and places a teapot atop the orb. “The Wildmother is interested in preserving the natural cycle of life, and if it is not your time, She will not let you pass. At least, not while I have anything to say about it.”

Bren had pulled away now, eyes softening as he looked between the drow and the rest of the group. She drew a wire from her pocket and she took a breath, steeling herself before casting Sending once more.

“Bren.” He stiffened stick-straight. “Do not be alarmed. Wulf and I are approaching your position.” She paused. “Just us. We wish to speak.” She does not trust herself to use the remaining words without stumbling.

“Caleb? Trent again? Or...” The Cobalt Soul expositor perked up, but Bren had lifted a hand to her and shook his head.

“Astrid.” Came clear into her mind as she heard the monk curse in the distance. “If it is just the two of you, please approach. I’m sure our company raises questions.” A pause of his own. “You could have told Jester you were here.”

Overlapping Bren’s voice, Wulf whispers, “What are you doing?” but she’s already stood tall and pushed her hair from her eyes.

“Just trust me.”

Oh, I- I- I- I- I never wanted it to be this way

Oh, you know I- I- I- I hold on to everything you say

“Shadowhand to the Bright Queen, Essek Thelyss. Please meet my, ah, associates Astrid and Eadwulf of the Dwendalian Empire.” Bren gestures. They had all stood as the Volstrucker approached, remaining in their previous circle, but the halfling had drawn her crossbow from her hip and the dark woman had also unsheathed a gleaming blade.

Careful with his words, as if his present company could be spooked like a horse, the Shadowhand spoke with low, smooth tones. “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.” His eyes betrayed his tone, flitting towards each of Bren’s group in turn. “To what do we owe this visit?”

She smiled coolly. “There is no need for deception here, Herr Thelyss. In fact, it would benefit us all to be forthright. You needn’t pretend this is our first encounter.”

These words should have shook the Kryn to the core, so blunt and expository, the jaws of her trap slowly ratcheting open. His demeanor had not shifted, however, as Bren glanced between the two. “Fair enough, Madam Beck.” The Nein jumped slightly at this, far more than her initial reveal. Had Bren never shared her last name with his companions? “And Mister Grieve, I assume you are well?”

“Well enough in this frozen waste,” was Wulf’s gruff reply, arms crossed to the left and slightly behind her, but within her field of view.

“Then please, join our circle,“ came Bren’s voice, shaking surely due to the cold. She stepped forward at the invitation, and took the space to his other side, the halfling stepping aside but cautiously keeping a hand on the base of her crossbow. “Come now, Veth, there’s no need for that among friends.” Wulf stepped through the circle, taking a position next to the firbolg he liked so much during that dinner before. “We have plenty to share, and I’m sure they do as well.”

Bren always had such a way with words, she thought. Certainly better than Wulf, a perfect voice to tug at one’s heartstrings. He could say so much with so little. If there is any love left between us, cursing his words as they came back to her. Perhaps he was even greater a manipulator than the spymaster to his right. Plenty of love was left, it seemed, but how much belonged to her?

“Ohmigosh Astrid, we are so happy to see you! Why didn’t you say you were close before? We could have been traveling together this whole time!“ the tiefling bubbled, a little too enthusiastically. She was no fool.

“My apologies, Jester.” She gave another cool smile, then directed her gaze around Bren to settle on the drow once more. “There were matters we had to confirm before we could make our presence known to you and Bren.” He stiffened alongside Bren, glancing down at the other wizard with a question in his eyes, and her smile turned slightly more predatory. “Herr Thelyss, might I inquire as to your business in Eiselcross? Seeking additional Beacons, I presume?”

The level of confusion did not rise in the group as she expected, however. The Shadowhand’s eyes narrowed and turned back to her as she pressed further. “Had the Martinet not already promised to share our research?”

“Astrid.”

Bren stepped forward, blocking her line of sight to the Kryn.

“Caleb, please.” A dark hand touched his shoulder (how dare he, her fingers twitched), pushing the man back towards his previous position. “Madam Beck,” he continued, “your insinuations would be quite dangerous in almost any circle but this one.” His shoulders back, he lifted slightly higher off the ground. “I am not interested in being toyed with. Clearly you were sent to dispose of me, so go ahead. Complete your business. But do not waste my friends’ time with your attempts to reveal that which is no longer concealed from them.”

He knew? Bren fucking knew? They all knew what this man had done and walked out into a frozen hellhole with him? Showed him trust, and affection of all things? Her mind swam, staring her target in his face as she searched for any fracture, any sign of weakness. He can’t possibly have told them everything. How could they forgive him for starting the war they had foolishly pledged to end on their own? How could Bren trust him, but not-

“It’s true, Astrid.” Bren said softly in that verdammt voice. “We caught on before the peace talks out at sea. Lord Dezran Thain,” he gave the honorific a teasing lilt, “was a bit too careless. He should not have chosen to be a lord in a city in which he did not know of its main attraction.” He smiled towards Jester.

“Yeah, I don’t know of a single person from Nicodranas who doesn’t know my mamma. Sorry Essek,” she winked at him. He gave an awkward smile in response. Silence hung over the group for a moment.

Wulf finally piped up again. “Well, you’re correct that we were here to kill the Shadowhand.” The group quickly tightened at his words, apart from the firbolg who still stood beside him casually, focused on making tea in that pot on top of the orb. “But... how we do that now is a mystery to me.” His lazy glance cast over her, then Bren, then narrowing briefly on the traitor. He gave a shrug as he unceremoniously sat in the snow. “So let’s talk.”

“Yes, I think there’s much to discuss,” the firbolg said, pulling the now-warm pot from the orb and beginning to pour cups. He smiled towards her sympathetically, somehow looking through her and reaching across the circle with a mug before sitting back and offering another to Wulf. She took it delicately, glancing at the pattern of soft petals on a dark branch.

As the other cups were passed out and the group slowly sat back down, Wulf popped open his flask and poured his whisky into the cup until it reached the brim, then capped it and flicked it across the circle to her. Barely looking up from the cup, she caught the flask mid-air with practiced precision, choosing to take a swig from it directly rather than sullying the tea. A calloused hand with blackened fingertips entered her view from the left as she tilted her head back down. Requesting, but not demanding. Too kind, too tender, and it made her heart ache as the liquor burned her throat. Not meeting his eyes, she passed the flask along.

“Prost.”

Oh, k- k- k- k- k- keep your pity to yourself

Oh, I'll make you wish that you didn't love someone else

[whathappenedtomyweekend]

It’s Just A Spark Ch.4 - Second Glances

Hiccup was late the next day, earling a partly stern, partly amused look from Gobber.

"So … went well last night?"

Hiccup did not fail to notice his suggestive tone and huffed, running a hand through his unkempt hair.

"Not as 'well' as you think. We just stayed out pretty late last night and I overslept."

"Ah," Gobber acknowledged, still smirking. "Seeing as she didn't run away the second she saw you as you assumed-"

"Honestly, Gobber, that's a new low, even for you."

The older man just laughed. After a while, Hiccup uttered, "Remember what you said about not spending the time I spend with her in my head? The second she opened her door, I just sort of stopped. I spent the whole evening with her without second guessing myself. She's just …" he tousled his hair again, letting out a breathless chuckle. "She's something else. It feels like with her I don't really have to decide, or turn things over and over, it's … confusing. In a good way.I wanna figure her out. I wanna know what makes her tick and know the way she thinks."

"Oh boy …" Gobber mumbled to himself, thinking, 'he is absolutely smitten'.

oOo

Astrid was humming. While working. It seemed almost outrageous to be in this much of a good mood. She was supposed to concentrate on her tasks - even if it was something as mindless as cleaning the cages - and not on the events of last night! And yet, she couldn't help but let her thoughts linger. Specifically on Hiccup. She smiled as she realised she silently referred to him as Hiccup too now.

He'd walked her home that night. Usually people would simply insist on doing so and Astrid would refuse, but Hiccup had simply grinned that lopsided grin of his and had said, that if she wanted to he'd like to walk her home and Astrid had accepted, gladly even. It was the she realised she hadn't really wanted to say goodbye just yet. She'd never say this out loud but that scared her a bit. She wasn't used to these kind of feelings and wasn't sure yet if she was okay with them. It all had all gone a bit fast, but then again, this had been building up for some time now.

Her first impression with him then had been so different from what she knew now. When they'd met she thought she'd only seen his physical attributes and had seen him as this serious, precise and abrupt professional.

The second glance had revealed much more - of course, he still was outrageously attractive, but Astrid now knew that he was in fact not as serious, nor curt or simple. He was funny and considerate and thoughtful and gentle and, goodness, that wasn't enough. She wanted second glances and third, fourth, fifth glances. She wanted to get to know him - really get to know him, past his smile and his lighthearted jokes.

Astrid sat there in litter and sand and thought, 'I hope he lets me.'

oOo

It was already dark when Hiccup got home. He felt as if he'd been dragged through hell and back; his lungs felt accordingly.

"Hey, bud," he rasped and gently scratched the black cat's ears. "Sorry for taking so long. We had two fires today. I'm just glad everyone got out well. You hungry?"

Toothless meowed and scrutinised him with bright green eyes, snapping his tail. Hiccup grinned and click-thumped towards the cupboard, wincing slightly with every step he took.

"I can't wait to get some ice on there," he muttered. "Remind me to keep some at the office."

He watched Toothless eat for a while, then he carefully shifted his weight back on his prosthesis and shuffled into the bathroom in search for his diffuser.

'A one-legged fireman with asthma,' he thought. 'How ironic.'

His phone started ringing just as he set his foot into the cold water. Hiccup shivered and picked up.

"Haddock?"

"I heard you had a date" the solemn voice of his father established. Hiccup rolled his eyes.

"Hey Dad, how are you? I'm fine, thanks for asking."

"Hiccup."

"Okay, sorry. So Gobber already spilled, huh? That didn't last long," Hiccup commented dryly, heaved the diffuser onto the stool next to the bathtub and turned it on.

"No," his father replied but then quickly picked up the reason for his call again. "So? A date?"

"Yes."

"How'd you manage?"

"Wow, dad, don't make it sound like being a 23-year old man who didn't have a date in the past five years of his life is disappointing."

His dad laughed. "So, come on, who is she?"

"Her name is Astrid Hofferson, she lives a couple of blocks away from me, actually. We met because she set her stove on fire - several times, I should mention. It took me a while to work up the courage to ask for her number. We went out yesterday at had a nice dinner at the Che Dragon."

"Hold on, did you say Hofferson? That name rings a bell." His father stayed silent for a while, which Hiccup used to dry his still slightly aching stump.

"Ah, now I remember!" Stoick Haddock bellowed, making his son flinch involuntarily. "Astrid Hofferson, of course! She's at the Smith's whenever we have a get together with the company."

"Oh. Yeah, she mentioned working part-time in a bar."

"She's a nice young lady, Hiccup, congratulations."

He chuckled. "We're not getting married, Dad, we just had our first date."

"So there will be others?"

"Well, as a matter of fact, yes. I invited her over for Friday. I'm cooking."

He practically heard his father raise an eyebrow and sighed.

"I promise my intentions are honorable."

"Good, I didn't raise you to be a brute like your cousin."

Silence. A defiant 'Snot changed a lot since he was sixteen, Dad' was quickly swallowed back down.

Instead Hiccup replied, "I know, Dad, I know. But, um … promise next time you see her not to talk about me. She probably doesn't even know you're my dad."

"Alright, my lips are sealed. I'll see you next Wednesday for lunch?"

Hiccup smiled. "Yup. 'Night, Dad."

"Good night, boy."

Stoick hung up. Hiccup sighed. Twenty-three years old and his father still refused to acknowledge it. The thoughts about his father were loudly interrupted by his growling stomach. Right. Nourishment. Pasta sounded good. Humming lightly Hiccup strapped his prosthesis back on and made his way back downstairs where Toothless waited for him. On the way down he idly wondered what Astrid's favourite kind of pasta was.

oOo

'Quickfire question: favourite kind of pasta?'

Astrid's heart jumped. Trying to bite back a grin, she texted back, 'Alfredo in terms of fettuchine or spaghetti etc , but Lasagna has a special spot in my heart. Yours? Though I feel like your message served some future reference..'.

Still smiling she set down her phone and turned her attention back to the book in front of her. She was only a couple of pages further in when her phone buzzed again.

'you guessed right ;^) Can't go towards Friday unprepared! I'm a man of simple taste, I usually just make good old pomidoro'.

She hummed.

'Simple taste, huh?'

'well..'

'Anything else that applies to?'

He typed, then stopped. Then, 'now you're just messing with me.'

She laughed. 'You guessed right ;)'. And after a moment of hesitation she added, 'You had a good evening?'

She imagined him laugh and run his fingers through his hair.

'almost got fried back in the city, but got out alright, everyone else did too. Those are my favourite days'

'I'm really glad - also glad you made it out fine!'

'we also had to rescue a cat from a tree, so I guess that sorta balances it out'

She snorted and scrunched her nose. 'Was that a pun?'

A pause. Then, 'what if I said yes?'

'Then I'd say it wasn't PAWrrible.'

'I'm sorry, did you just become the woman of my dreams'

She knew it was a joke. She could even imagine the tone of voice he'd deadpan this with. And yet, she blushed, her heart singing.

'good night then' she typed back before she did anything stupid.

Hiccup laid on his bed, Toothless on his chest, his leg propped on his pillow, shielding his wide grin from the darkness with the crook of his arm and only rasped out over his blush, "Good one."

[ofwizardsandmen]

Foreign territory

Pasión de Gavilanes AU

Characters: Tara (OC), Mark Lee, Sungjae Lee, M, Emily

Word count: 2,6k

Genre: fluff, angst(?)

(Part of a larger story and multiple AUs, but can be read on its own)

“Our favorite girl is here!” An excited voice exclaimed causing Tara to spin around scandalized, her abundant jet black hair whipping about her head and eventually falling down her shoulders in a nearly cinematographic way.

Across the room, the owner of the voice—a tall, long-necked man of pretty dimples,—stood by a massive wooden staircase, keeping an educated distance and looking puzzled. Considering that his last encounter with Tara Lee had been anything but peaceful—the night ended up in chaos, with her cousins storming out of their own party,—he wasn’t expecting to find her pacing up and down the foyer of his house with a toddler in arms.

“I- I meant Astrid, of course,” The man, M —as his closest friends and family called him— added, nervously looking away from Tara’s judging glances. For someone who barely knew Tara and whose only “interactions” with her had consisted in cold remarks and snarky comments —from her part—the man still took offense in the way her expression contorted into something mildly similar to disgust. “Anyway… Thanks for coming”

Tara who couldn’t quite believe she’d dared to set foot in that house—if her mother or any of her aunts found out she was there, she’d be kicked out of the Delacroix State in a heartbeat,—and was still surprised by how majestic and prosperous everything seemed, only responded with a single acknowledging nod of the head.

“Wow Astrid, you’re growing so fast” M chose to ignore the fact Tara was looking around the house, seemingly unimpressed and held out both arms calling his niece’s name. In an effort to cut the distance between them, he also gave two short, cautious steps forward. “It was about time you were allowed to visit your dad and uncles,” he said, his voice changing drastically to what was supposed to be a child-friendly tone that, Tara thought to herself, was hard to emulate with his deep voice.

However, Astrid, the one-year-old toddler—daughter of Minah and Sungjae—was easy to impress. She cooed cutely waving her tiny hands around in the air as if trying to reach for the crystal lamp—or probably just her tall uncle.

The scene was sweet enough for Tara to relax and let out a soft chuckle as she made the mental note to tell her cousins about this later. There was no doubt Jane and Minah would go in a long rant about how Astrid was turning into a little traitor. They would probably have two different people to blame, but it would obviously involve the Lee brothers.

According to Tara’s cousins, M and his brothers, Sungjae and Mark, were the root of all evil, the equivalent to Satan on Earth and the reason Delacroix Group was bordering bankruptcy. And truth to be told, once upon a time, Tara herself was convinced of it and she had even go as far as campaigning against the three brothers. Tara hated each of them: Sungjae and whatever it was that had Minah acting like some hormonal teenager, M and those dimples that seemed to erase all traces of judgment from Jane's brain and above it all, Mark Lee and that stupid smile of his.

But lately, things didn’t seem so black and white anymore. Tara had promised Mark—the same Mark Lee she hated to the bone once upon a time— not to jump to conclusions when it came to their intentions anymore. And at least for now, she was willing to give them the benefit of the doubt.

For now, Tara had even offered to take Astrid to visit her dad and willingly drove 10 miles to the brothers' ranch. That was a weekly task Jane had taken upon herself, but that she refused to carry out after the fiasco at the Delacroix fashion show.

Tara didn’t blame her.

After all, the image of Astrid’s little arms moving up and down, desperately trying to reach for her uncle would have probably caused her cousin an aneurism.

Tara, on the other hand, was much more collected, wise, and less visceral. She was also the only person in Delacroix Manor willing to see the Lees. And anyhow, Tara wasn’t pleased with the prospect of spending another afternoon with her cousins if that meant having to act sympathetic when Jane complained about how that “deceptively handsome devil”—M, her husband— showed up unannounced to their collection’s launch party and “ruined” her date with Jaehyun Jung, a textile industrial she had been frequenting. Tara wasn't sure if Jane’s complained because—she claimed—M was the last person on Earth she wanted to see or because he looked so devastatingly hot that day, dressed in a classic Ralph Lauren suit that was a striking contrast with the clothes he usually wore, or because up until that day Jaehyun had no idea Jane was—technically—married.

Then there was Minah, who despite being less vocal on her complaints, lately looked so lifeless that her mere presence seemed to drain all the energy out of the room. Tara had vainly tried to play the role of supportive cousin who offered words of consolation and encouragement, but Minah always brushed her off. Unlike Jane, Minah avoided mentioning the Lee brothers at all costs. The last time Tara asked about Sungjae, Minah got angry and claimed to be absolutely unaffected by his new romantic relationship with Ashleigh Hastings. Of course, watching her drown herself in work and rosé suggested otherwise, but Tara didn’t dare to point out the flaws in her argument. Tara was also unwilling to spend another afternoon pretending not to notice Minah’s eyes filling out with tears every now and then.

“So, Jane won’t come anymore?” M asked, clearing his throat casually as if to get Tara’s attention. It worked because Tara snapped from her thoughts and looked back at him.

“What do you think?” She replied sarcastically. M opened his mouth to say something, but Tara signaled him to hold Astrid before the hyperactive toddler decided to jump off her arms. Once M was jiggling Astrid up and down and her laugh echoed down the hallway, Tara went on as if nothing had interrupted them “If you don’t want me to come here, next time-“

“For god’s sake, Tara, don’t be ridiculous” Another familiar voice spoke from behind her. Tara was quick to notice two things. The first one was that the man’s voice dripped exasperation, the second that her heart did a wild flip when he pronounced her name. “Of course we want you to come, especially if you’re bringing our niece to visit.”

Tara gulped quietly and slowly turned around.

She was greeted by a close-up of Mark, M’s younger brother and the owner of the vast lands adjacent to Delacroix State—where Tara and her extended family lived. There, smiling that exasperating smile—confident, but warmth-inducing and absolutely gorgeous—Tara had hated for months—years, probably—, Mark Lee stood blocking the sun rays filtering through the windows. The light gave him an angelic aura. It didn’t help he was suited in a beige suit that made his back look broader than Tara could remember.

“Hi Tara, nice to see you,” Mark said simply, a full smile still present in his face.

“Hey, how are you?” Tara mentally kicked herself thinking of how awkward and unnatural she sounded, how his simple words had her feeling all sorts of nervous.

Thankfully there was no time for further regret because Mark’s older brother, Sungjae, materialized at the top of the staircase and practically flew down the stairs, pulled his daughter from his brother’s arms and smothered her with kisses.

Astrid cried solid ten seconds but then burst out with loud contagious giggles.

Watching the Astrid & Sungjae show was oddly endearing, but somehow felt like an invasion of privacy. For a second or two Tara looked around trying to find a place to sneak to while Sungjae caught up on the missing time with his daughter. But when she started to move, Sungjae’s voice stopped her in her tracks.

“Ummm, so Minah is not coming?” He asked as Astrid played with a strand of his hair “She’s never talking to me again or what?” Sungjae’s eyes bored into Tara’s as if trying to get an honest answer from her.

“I did everything possible to bring Astrid” Tara replied with a frown, she hesitated before adding “I really don’t think I can convince Minah to come”

It resulted impossible to ignore the shadows immediately invading Sungjae’s eyes. Tara wondered if talking about her cousin had put them there or if there was something else worrying him. The man already looked a bit haggard when Tara first saw him, but upon further inspection, she realized he looked particularly hollow-cheeked and pale “It’s fine, I’m still thankful you brought my daughter, Tara” There was a pause where Sungjae looked at Astrid with a faint smile “I really mean it. Thank you”

“Well, don’t thank me…” With a slight tinge of guilt, Tara added “We really can’t stay long. I promised to take Astrid back before our aunts notice we’re gone. You know what they think of…” she trailed off, realizing how inappropriate it was to complete that sentence. Telling the Lee brothers how much her aunts despised them seemed unnecessary and somewhat repetitive considering those four women were not exactly subtle and never missed the chance to let M, Sungjae and Mark know they were as welcome in the region as a plague was in their fields.

Sungjae’s expression dropped considerably.

“Tara, you just got here” M protested, though he kept his kind smile plastered on the face “Sungjae hasn’t seen Astrid in weeks, he won’t admit it, but he was going insane”

Mark chuckled at his brother's comment, knowing Sungjae wouldn’t appreciate being exposed like that, but looking away when Sungjae frowned at him.

“No, I am serious, guys” Tara said apologetically “We have to go soon”

“Tara, don’t be so impatient” it was almost ironic that Mark let out an impatient sigh just after calling her that. Tara looked away to hide the smile tugging at the corner of her lips

“Yes, Sungjae deserves some time with Astrid” A female voice coincided, taking Tara by surprise. When she looked up to the second floor, she found a beautiful young woman—Emily Choi—smiling down at them and leaning against the banister. Emily was the only daughter of Madame Elsie Choi, a wealthy and old land-owner who was too close of a friend of Tara’s aunts for her liking. However, as of recently, Emily had officially moved into the Lee residence, God knows why. Rumors said Emily was actually related by blood to the Lee brothers, but Tara was not one to listen to gossip or care about other people’s affairs.

And yet, she still supposed the change of air had been beneficial to Emily because the girl looked happier than Tara remembered her to be when she was still living with her old mom and those two annoying cousins of her. Emily smiled at her and waved a hand cordially.

“I was just dropping by to say the staff prepared a little tea party at the terrace, if you want to join me and Lucas,” she announced happily.

“Oi, he’s coming today? Again?” Mark questioned, eyes narrowing a bit comically.

“He was here yesterday and the day before. At this rate I think it’ll be better to have him moving here” M said with an eye roll

“I was just being nice” Emily scoffed, but her smile did not vanish from her lips “You’re welcome to join, but if you don’t want to, then” she shrugged casually. “I’ll be at the terrace if you need me” She made a fake reverence and before disappearing, she briefly added a “nice to see you, Tara.”

“And that’s our cue to leave” Tara attempted to move forward to retrieve Astrid from her father’s arms when a hand wrapped around her wrist, keeping her in place. The woman didn’t need to turn around to know it was Mark who was holding her back, partly because M would’ve never dared to touch her and partly because her pulse accelerated inexplicably.

“I-“ Mark looked at his hand, as if startled by his own actions “I would like to talk to you before you go, Tara” he let go of her wrist and gave her a quick apologetic curtsy that caused his brothers to raise brows and share incredulous looks. “If you follow me-”

Mark led Tara through the stables and horse training facilities of his ranch. “El Dorado” was undoubtedly the greatest horse farm in the region, sprawled for miles and neighboring the Delacroix Ranch. Mark—and by default his brothers—had become the owner of this billionaire property through what people considered to be a questionable marriage that didn’t even hit the 24-hour mark. Tara had recently found out that the story was not as simplistic and accepting that the Mark she claimed to hate for years was not a gold-digging bastard had been quite of a ride. It started with him showing up at some of the most exclusive events in the region, avid of revenge and acting like he was beyond the rest of land owners. Then Tara nearly killed him, knocking him off his horse. And ended up with Tara saving his life from some lowlifes who attempted to kill him. All in the span of a month. Now, Tara followed him God knows where and for some reason she couldn’t completely grasp she didn't even protest.

“The Ranch is spectacular, you really manage it properly” Tara commented, mostly because the silence was starting to stretch for too long.

“Well, it still has nothing on yours” The man gave her a lopsided smile. It was not a secret that Tara was—or at least used to be until very recently—the real mastermind behind the Delacroix Ranch's prosperity.

“Well, lately we’ve had-“ Tara paused “a few setbacks, as you probably noted”

“It’s Julien’s fault, no?” Mark wasn't subtle, but it was an open secret that Julien Toubeau—Minah’s ex-husband and one of the most despicable humans on Earth—had recently been appointed Deputy Finance Manager of the Delacroix Group and things had gone downhill since.

Tara didn’t deny it “Mostly” she nodded “but the girls —she said referring to her cousins Jane and Minah— and I have a backup plan to save the ranch” Tara explained.

“And I’m sure you’ll do great” Mark reached to pat Tara’s shoulder, causing her to stop walking and freeze on the spot. “Especially you, Tara” he said, moving so they were facing each other “Everybody knows you’re brilliant and hardworking”

Tara looked down, afraid that if she allowed Mark to look into her eyes, he’d noticed the effect his words had on her.

“And I was furious when Julien tried to take your position from the board of governors, you know?” Mark also looked down in an attempt to find whatever it was that Tara found so interesting on the ground.

“Thanks, that means-“ she took a deep breath and raised her head “a lot to me, Mark”

“You have nothing to thank me. In fact, I should be thanking you for bringing Astrid to visit.”

“Honestly, I’m not doing it to ingratiate myself with you or your brothers, Mark” Tara suddenly turned serious “I did it because I knew Sungjae would do anything to see her and I didn’t want more problems. Things are-“ she hesitated “very complicated right now and I don’t want our families to start fighting again and-” Tara trailed off when she noticed Mark slipping a hand into hers. “And it’s not right for you to hold my hand” she added, without concealing a giddy smile making its way to her lips “The workers can see us and God knows what they’ll think. I don’t want any rumors floating around”

“And you know, I’d do more than just holding your hand,” Mark said leaning closer and closer to Tara.

“Don’t even think about it, Mark” Tara chuckled, her face a mixture of amusement and regret “It’s really not the right time”

“So, you don’t let me send you flowers, you won’t let me thank you for saving my life, Tara-“ Mark inhaled loudly “I’ve been meaning to ask you out-“ Mark could almost hear an excuse escaping from Tara’s lips, so he hurried to place a finger over them “You can’t say no, the only valid answer is a place and a date”

Tara shook her head defeated “Is it supposed to be a date?” She dared to question although she knew very well it was.

...

[katherinewilliams221b]

For A Greater Good 3/18

Gif not mine just the text

Summary: Kate Williams, young healer and member of the Order, joins Durmstrang's staff at Dumbledore's request. Her mission? Find a Death Eater and survive long enough to tell the story. Set in 1996.

Pairing: Charlie Weasley x ofc

Masterlist

[Part 1] [Part 2]

--

The possibility of being involved in another curse-breaking adventure had her uneasy. If that book ended up being an important part of her mission, she was ready to send a ‘thank you’ note to Dumbledore and teach herself how to ride a six-horse carriage back home. 

Mer Yankelevich had gone to her quarters and didn’t come out afterwards. Kate waited for her to leave or do something; she even dared to put her ear against the door. But the teacher never made a sound. 

Kate didn’t know what to do. For the first time in her brief career as a healer, no one seemed to need her. From what Astrid Rhode and Cassandra had said, in Durmstrang it was always necessary to have mediwizards to spare, yet her new companions appeared to want her out of the way…

Especially Cassandra Steiner.

She hadn’t bothered more than strictly necessary to explain the basics of her system and when she had finished; she disappeared from the infirmary without a word or warning.

“She does that a lot, don’t worry about it.” One of the healers had said. The others silently agreed, and no one paid much attention to Kate since.

With few students in the school, the hospital wing was practically deserted, except for a stomach-ache and a sprained ankle.

Kate spent that Monday morning going through the drawers and cupboards available to the mediwizards and memorising the potions and where they belonged, a task made laborious by her new uniform.

The uniform, though bewitched to stay warm, was heavy and rather cumbersome to wear. For her taste, it lacked pockets and had to keep her wand in her sleeve since she had nowhere to put it. A belt would not have been out of place either.

She approached a healer who was writing a label on a flask. “Can I ask you a question? Why is that cupboard closed? The one at the end of the room.”

The woman didn’t look up from the bottle and just answered her indifferently.

“Steiner’s orders. She always closes that cabinet.” She handed the newly labelled bottles to Kate.

“But... but why? What do you keep in there?”

“No one knows. More vials, I guess. Anyway, everything we need is in the other drawers. Can you take those potions to the cabinet next to the door?”

Feeling useful for the first time in the morning, Kate took the flasks to where she had been instructed and arranged them following Cassandra’s method. Meanwhile, the healer approached her with more flasks to place.

“If you need anything from there, ask Steiner. She has the key.” She began humming a song unknown to Kate, and it seemed to her that the woman had no idea what was hidden in that closet.

“I saw her take out a box once, but I don’t know what was in it...” A mediwizard who was making the nearest bed commented quietly. Kate came over interested and started helping him fluff the pillows.

“What did she do with the box?”

“She took it away. She does that a lot, going in and out... Get used to it.” He laughed. “Why did you come here in January, anyway? We start in September.”

“Oh, I’ve been doing another job. I joined Durmstrang at Astrid Rhode’s request. Apparently, I have good recommendations.”

She had prepared the answer. She had all Sunday to plan it. One thing her mother had taught her was how to lie telling the truth. It was a long answer, with details, and yet it didn’t even fully answer the question.

She felt guilty in doing so, but it wouldn’t be the last time someone would ask her that question, and it wouldn’t be the only thing she would have to lie about either.

“In which hospital?” She didn’t want to mention Romania. She really didn’t. That would lead to having to mention Charlie, and that wasn’t going to be a possibility.

Lucky for her, the doors to the infirmary opened wide, letting in a man in brown robes with a tray around his neck.

Kate and the mysterious man looked at each other, and his eyes, slanted and darker than coal, seemed to penetrate her thoughts.

She concentrated on his mind and tried to implement the tactics that Snape had taught her about occlumency. There was no sign of an external mind, which was good. Perhaps he had not tried to enter her mind, and his gaze was just that piercing.

“Is Miss Steiner here?”

It took Kate a few seconds to recognise him. Kent Jorgensen, potions teacher and the second person in headmaster Rhode’s papers.

She dropped the pillow that had in her hands and rushed to talk to him.

“No. She left an hour ago. Shall I give her a message?” Although Kate was taller than the average British woman, she needed to throw her head back to be able to look at him. He was much more intimidating from up close.

Jorgensen untied the rope around his neck, a gesture that revealed a tattoo of what appeared to be a snake or a giant reptile that occupied the entire right side of her neck.

She thanked Merlin when he handed her the tray and managed to suppress the need to clench her fists. She accepted it while the teacher followed his explanation.

“I am the trusted supplier,” he joked. “Miss Steiner has asked me for some potions missing from the inventory.”

The surprise must have been clear on her face because Jorgensen felt the need to explain himself. She had spent the morning checking the shelves, and none of the bottles were empty, and there were no gaps between them, indicating a missing bottle.

“I believe she likes to make sure there’s stock, in case of an emergency... Oh, excuse my manners: my name is Kent Jorgensen, I haven’t seen you around here until now...”

“Kate. I’m going to put this over there.” She lifted the tray slightly and turned his back as quickly as he could. Wishing her haste to be camouflaged by efficiency, she walked away to the locked cabinet and placed the tray on top.

She couldn’t confirm whether he was a legilimens. She experienced no signs except that she felt as if the man knew all her secrets.

As she turned around, she saw how he chatted animatedly with the boy who had the stomach-ache. Just then Cassandra Steiner walked through the door.

“Ah, Miss Steiner. I’ve brought what you asked for.”

“Perfect. Thank you, Kent.” Cassandra walked to where Kate was standing but didn’t bother to look at her.

“I’ve left the tray there, I can put...”

“No. I’ll take care of it.” Her tone was definite and dry. “Go to Mr Danchev, he’s been complaining of a stomach-ache.”

“I can help you...” The nostrils of Cassandra’s curved nose widened, and Kate took the hint. “Fine.”

There was no longer any trace of Professor Jorgensen, and the other mediwizards seemed to have lost their desire to talk as soon as Cassandra entered the room. The hospital wing remained silent for the rest of the day.

Kate noticed that Steiner hadn’t gone near the tray or the cabinet. Curiosity was killing her, but she kept her professionalism and didn’t insist on the subject.

The boy Professor Jorgensen was talking to had confessed to Kate that it was impossible to do anything in secret. Whatever was going on in the castle or the surrounding grounds, he knew. He had never told the headmistress if the students were skipping classes to go snogging at the quidditch field or if they were awake at night, but he never missed an opportunity to let the students know that he was aware of everything.

He also had mentioned that some students described him as ‘worse than a ghost’ and that every time you turned around; he would be there watching.

However, Kate didn’t come across him in the days that followed. In fact, any professor seemed interested in getting out of wherever they were. There were several times when Kate and Mer Yankelevich crossed paths while the teacher was leaving the library and Kate was on her way to the infirmary.

By Wednesday afternoon, Kate felt confident enough to return the map to Corentin, just as she had promised. He greeted her with a mischievous smirk.

“Honestly, I am surprised. I bet myself you wouldn’t come until tomorrow.”

Kate handed him the scroll with a shake of her head.

“How much have you lost? Many galleons, I hope.”

“Enough to leave a hole in my heart.” He took his hand to his chest dramatically, making her snort. “And in my pocket.”

Kate opened her mouth but closed it immediately, thinking it would be unwise to trust anyone. However, she couldn’t help feeling that Corentin was… special. He was mysterious, yes, but so was she in those circumstances. His mind was clear, and honest, so she respected his privacy.

“Well... I’m going now. Thanks for the map.” She hadn’t even turn around when she heard the librarian’s whisper.

“I have a feeling you want to ask me something.”

With her index finger, she caressed the engraving on Corentin’s desk. “It’s nothing... something I’ve been thinking about for a few days. Because of something I... read.” She hesitated and did so for so long that Corentin thought she had decided not to speak.

“What would you hide in plain sight?” She raised her head and kept his gaze. His eyes flashed back and forth, trying to decipher the origin of the question.

As the librarian thought of a response, Kate frantically searched for the answer to the question that never came.

“If I had to hide something in this very library, it would be a book.”

Something lit up in Kate’s head.

“And wouldn’t you feel the need to protect that book, even though you knew no one would find it?”

With one elegant wand movement, the mountain of books on the desk rose and the different volumes flew to their respective places. Corentin lined up the inkwell with the edge of the table before answering.

“That would make me look a little suspicious... unless no one questioned my behaviour.”

“Thank you, Corentin. That was helpful.”

The librarian bowed his head in response and smiled.

As she turned, she thought she saw Professor Yankelevich sitting next to a student.

Trying to hide her face from the teacher, she approached Corentin again and moved the curtain just so it covered them both.

“At least invite me for coffee first.” Kate huffed, amused at the comment, but recovered quickly.

“I need to ask you something else. Mer Yankelevich, do you know her?”

“Oh, yes. Comes here regularly. Practically lives on the second floor.”

Kate looked down and tapped her fingers against her thigh.

“And... and what’s on the second floor?”

“Second floor, from ‘c’ to 'h': conjuring, counterspells, curse-breaking, deceptive spells, divination, dream-interpretation...” he recited

“Did professor Yankelevich return a curse-breaking book?” Kate interrupted.

“I don’t remember her borrowing a book, in the first place. Everyone who wants a book must talk to me first. I remember every face and every book they take.” He tilted his head with pride and added: “I have an excellent memory.”

“Could you... check if the book is there?” Corentin frowned. She appreciated his patience and lack of questions, but it was clear he was getting frustrated. “I’m interested in the topic and I saw her with that book, Advanced guide for curse-breaking, and I thought I might read it when she is finished.”

“Oh, well, in that case...” Corentin smiled and in his bat form, fled to the second floor before returning to Kate.

As she expected, the librarian returned distressed and empty-handed.

--

The peace ended the next day with the start of school. The corridors were flooded with shouts, laughter and hustle and bustle demonstrating that Astrid Rhode’s rule was not as strict as that of her predecessor Igor Karkarov.

The disappearance of the former headmaster of Durmstrang worried Kate. It wasn’t something she had the time or the inclination to investigate, but it was a recurring thought in the back of her mind, like a motorcycle engine someone had left running.

Then there was Cassandra Steiner and her strange behaviour, though normal for those who knew her. The tray of potions was no longer where she had left it, and Kate assumed that her boss removed it when she was gone.

The mediwizard was not among the four folders that Director Rhode had given her to investigate, and Rhode trusted Cassandra, yet Kate knew that Death Eater or not, Steiner was hiding something. It would be better not to let her out of sight, even if it was complicated by her comings and goings.

Corentin was right: the best place to hide an object is right where it should belong. A book in a library or potions in a hospital wing. Kent Jorgensen mentioned that there was a high demand on certain potions, but Kate had been checking the bottles and none of them was empty.

If Cassandra was using potions outside the hospital wing, the question was: for what?

Kate looked out the window of the infirmary and contemplated the clouds travelling with the wind until they were out of sight. The school was prepared for the greyest days, lighting all the candlesticks and candles in the castle to illuminate the place.

You are an absolute idiot. You had the tray right in your hands and didn’t bother looking at the bottles.

While playing with the magic barrier that worked as a window, she thought about the situations in which she could find the other two teachers missing from the list, without raising suspicions. I can’t just start asking questions out of the blue, they’d know something is up, she thought.

And Yankelevich? She thanked Merlin for Corentin’s discretion, but she knew that sooner or later she was going to be in trouble with the teacher.

Sounds of voices celebrating brought her back to the present.

Two healers were playing rock-paper-scissors in one of the empty beds. Kate came over, curious.

“Ha! You’ve lost. Now I must beat Jordan and Rys, and I’ll be out.” said one of them.

“Out of what?” asked Kate, half laughing. “What have I missed?”

“Every year we hold a rock-paper-scissors championship among healers. The ultimate loser must go to the duelling classes,” said the other. “Hurry up, Williams, if you don’t participate, they’ll choose you.”

“Explain it to her properly, Derek,” interrupted the first healer. “The advanced duelling class is taught by Libor Marek, the best duellist in Europe, as I understand it. His classes can be a little... violent. He always asks for a mediwizard to be present so as not to waste time...”

“Last year it was my turn, I was unconscious for a week because of a spell that bounced. I don’t want to do it again.”

“It was three days, and you were fine,” he said with a roll of the eyes.

At that moment, Cassandra approached them and crossed her hands in front of her.

“Compete for the next class. The first one will be for Williams.”

“What?” said the three healers in unison.

“Miss Steiner, Williams is new here...”

“Precisely.” he addressed Kate. “It will serve you well as practice.” For some strange reason, Kate thought she wanted to get her out of the way. However, she had to investigate Libor Marek.

“When’s the first class, then?” Kate’s gaze involuntarily shifted downward as she saw movement from the corner of her eye. Cassandra adjusted her sleeves quickly, but not enough to keep Kate from seeing the red marks that adorned her forearms.

Looking more closely, she noticed that her hands also had some scratches and scuffs.

“Tomorrow.” Before she could ask her another question, Cassandra turned around and went to the other side of the room, where she sat down to read some documents.

Kate went to the mediwizards who were playing a rematch. “Do I have to prepare myself somehow?”

The couple started laughing out loud between game moves. “Only mentally.”

They were still laughing as Kate walked away.

[Part 4]

[ofgoodmenarchive]

Blighted Empire: Ch. 3.5

Despair

Dorian Pavus still held his hand when he awoke.

Evallan experienced gratitude and mortification in equal measure as he stared at the arch of the tent above, mentally rehashing the nights occurrence.

The Tevinter could not have known physical contact would interrupt the channelling, nor could he have known to maintain his grip throughout the night. Yet by some instinct, he had realised what was required for Evallan to sleep undisturbed.

Painfully conscious of every restless finger, he pressed them astride the other mage's knuckles as he'd wanted to in dream. Since there was no reaction he gathered more nerve, gingerly rubbing his thumb along the curve of his hand. His heart hammered in his ears and his chest constricted, but he couldn't help himself.

Dorian's hands were softer than his, he noted, much less assaulted by their environment- he likely made more effort to care for them than Evallan. The few notable imperfections were recent, from their sparring. It was strange to think of his existence as something abraded into the man's flesh, but the thought was unavoidable.

   I could lay here for a while.

  I could lay here and pretend it is normal for us to do this.

He forced himself to sit up, freeing Dorian with a reluctance that gouged his heart- this was inappropriate.

It was also inappropriate to observe him as he slept but Evallan found himself doing that too. Not for the first time- he remembered the first, when the foolish Tevinter wandered to their aravel years ago. Even then he could not help seizing the opportunity to admire without witness- the subject of his admiration included.

And now with no one there or conscious to scrutinise, it was impossible for him not to extend his fingers, brushing against the Tevinter's jaw.

 It is true that you are quite handsome.

Dorian stirred as if sensing his thoughts. Anxiety fractured his musings and he retracted, hastily exiting the tent.

They would have to discuss the issue of Lightbringer- perhaps it was not awful Dorian knew. He had watched over Evallan before and his own clan-sister attested to the man's reliability. Evallan simply had to be careful.

Careful not to turn the situation into something it was not.

Some of the Tevinter's behaviour implied he might not even mind if it were otherwise- but Evallan minded.

 We are not really the same.

 He cannot understand the responsibility we have.

 What has been lost, or what must be regained.

 He has his own responsibilities- his own losses.

 He will not walk with us.

While he agonised over his thoughts, he prepared a campfire. Sky still untouched by day, the temperature within their tent would drop with only Dorian inside. But he couldn't bear to be enclosed with him any longer- at least not while he was unaware and Evallan's thoughts were permitted to drift.

There was nothing for him to do but prepare a cleansing potion for Dorian and appoint himself sentry-duty until the Templars roused. His first task took hardly anytime- they had most of the ingredients, and spindleweed was easily located nearer the Deep Roads entrance

Fortunately the Templar Commander was one of the few who kept similar hours to him, and he would know to expect Lavellan alert and awaiting direction. On his third or so lap of the area, Marcus stood outside a shelter, waving him over.

The commander was swift in reciting duties and strategies, the handful that made up his usual crew present. Some yawned inattentively but if Marcus smacked the war table or barked their names they responded without delay.

More often than not Evallan strived to be attentive but as he'd told Dorian Pavus- he was prone to distraction. While Marcus spoke he gestured with a fist clenching a half-eaten apple and this usurped Evallan's gaze. Fresh food was not commonplace, fresh fruit even less so. He tried to process the Templar's words but his eyes pinned the ruby sheen, wondering where it could have come from. He personally found it vulgar of Marcus to consume it so blatantly in front of his men.

 “Are you listening, Lavellan?” Marcus snapped, slamming apple and knuckles onto the Deep Roads map between them.

 “Yes.” He stated automatically- untruthfully.

 “Then what in all of fucking Thedas did I just say?” The Templar rasped. Evallan fought to look at the man's face and not what he held.

 “Something I have heard countless other times, and that I do not need to hear again?” He matched the commander's impatience.

 “Where's your blighted head at, Lavellan?!” Marcus spat, eyes narrowing, searching his face.

 “It is nowhere!” Evallan snarled. “I have heard this before!”

 “You're not looking at my Maker-damned face.” His worn brow punctuated his stare. “What are you looking at?”

 “Nothing!” Hands became fists, glowering as much at the man's face as he could.

There was a strained silence between them as they glared and the group of Templars spectated, likely mystified.

Marcus began shaking his head, angling his hand upwards, the true point of Evallan's focus catching the light.

 “It's the void-damned apple, isn't it?!” He accused, baffled and infuriated- which enraged Evallan in turn.

 “It was not!” He went so far as to stamp his foot, only realising how childish it must have looked a moment later. Evallan tried to will the humiliated colour from his face while grinding teeth but Marcus merely turned away, muttering.

 “Can't fucking believe the blighting shitting nonsense I have to put up with-” He wrestled something from a pack hanging in the corner. “Ten fucking years of this shit, Lavellan! Like looking after a blighting kid!”

Turning, he slammed an apple onto the table.

 “Take your fucking fruit and listen!” He bit out the words. “And don't say I never fucking give you anything!”

Evallan plucked the offering and cradled it in his grasp but must have eyed Marcus strangely, thoughts written on his face- at least to the Templar.

 “What now?”

He bit the inside of his cheek, hardening features but aiming to speak demurely.

 “May I have two?”

 “You may not have two!” Marcus spluttered, incredulous. “I'm not shitting apples, Lavellan!”

 “Where did they come from?” Evallan hazarded, causing Marcus to sneer- but still he replied.

 “They're doing some regenerative thing on the lower levels, the garden crew. These came from the first edible batch but they don't have seeds, so they're spoils of war now.”

 “You speak of Fila, she leads that research,” His head tilted. “She is a Lavellan. Technically those apples are mine.”

The Templar's chest quaked with tearful, agitated laughter, pressing a hand to his forehead.

 “Did I ask for a fucking lesson in Dalish property law?! You're not getting another blighting apple!” His boot assaulted the table-leg. “Why are we arguing about fucking apples?! Is this what I called you in here for?! To give me an apple-lecture?!”

Lips thinning, Evallan lowered his head and considered whether or not to share this 'spoil of war' with Dorian Pavus. The Tevinter could probably use the nutrition after his night of drinking and in a way he had as much right to the rewards of Fila's labour as Evallan.

He pondered this more than he listened to Marcus but was still the first to leave when dismissed.

On his way to collect morning rations he was stopped by a voice that was only vaguely familiar.

 “Lavellan?”

He halted reluctantly, peering over his shoulder at the Templar and recognising him as the most junior of Marcus' crew. Though anyone could surmise as much; his features lacked visible scars and were slightly rounded from passing youth.

 “What do you want?” He saw no reason to mince words- though the young man was likely harmless, he still fulfilled a role that put him at odds with Evallan. That he was lower in hierarchy than Marcus only meant Evallan felt less keen to humour him.

 “Um...I'm Bauer- Jordan- do you remember me?”

 “I asked what you wanted, not who you were.” He said tersely.

At this the young Templar beckoned for patience with a nervous gesture. A hand slipped into his cloak and when it was unveiled, extended a new apple towards Evallan. The Keeper studied it, then scrutinised the Templar's face with as much visible disdain as he knew how to communicate.

 “What is this?”

 “...An apple?” The Templar reproached, blinking in a way that suggested he was truly vexed. This incensed Evallan, his study of the man evolving into a glare.

 “And what do you want for it?”

The Templar looked around as if seeking guidance from his Maker.

 “...Nothing?” He began awkwardly. “You want it for your brother, right? You Lavellans are picky eaters.”

He examined more intensely but did not touch.

 “Have you done anything to it?” He asked, drilling his gaze into this 'Jordan's' face once more but the young man came across earnestly perplexed.

 “Why would I do anything to it?” He swung it between them, coaxing.

 “If you have, you will regret it.” Evallan warned, icing over his expression.

 “I didn't- I swear!” The knight chuckled and nudged the apple towards him. Evallan allowed it to fall into his grasp, leering.

 “I don't even like apples.” The Templar announced with another clumsy laugh.

 “Taking this does not in-debt me to you.” Evallan clarified, angling the object near his face.

 “No,” He answered with a bewildered half-grin. “It's just an apple. I thought the other Lavellan might want it- that's all.”

Ignoring him, Evallan turned the produce over in his hands, sensing nothing amiss- even so, he made a mental note to give the other one to Dorian Pavus, keeping this one for himself. If it had been tampered with he would hardly notice- whereas Dorian would be quite miserable. As he meditated on this, the Templar was given opportunity to inquire;

 “So...the others say you've worked with them a long time but don't remember their names?” He sounded amused- if somewhat disbelieving.

The Keeper met his eye sharply, displaying the apple before him once more.

 “Does this require me to remember yours?” Said icily, but it was a genuine question.

 “No,” The young man breathed out in exasperation. “Still just an apple.”

 “Then I will take my leave.” Tolerance spent, he made to do just that but hesitated upon hearing the cheerful criticism tossed at his back-

 “No thank you? It's true what they say- you Lavellans have no manners!”

He wavered- certainly he had no obligation to politeness towards those he considered his jailers. Still he managed to feel shame, sighing over his shoulder.

 “Thank you for the apple.” Not bothering to see how that was received, he plunged onward. Attention descending to the fruit he now held, it was something else that flashed a light in his brain-

A glint of amber from morning sunlight- Dorian's amulet exposed against his chest, on the outer layers of his clothes instead of neatly wrapped.

Of course he would not wear it in such a way and if he misplaced its position, he would notice- and someone should have reacted! The weighty gold was like a target painted on dull colour, an obvious discrepancy against his typical frost.

There was only one explanation and indeed images crept into his mind- The Deep Roads, the Darkspawn Ogre, Dorian Pavus- that fool!

To confirm his theory he spun and tossed the apple at the Templar's calmly retreating back. He was bonked on the head and the fruit rolled away but the shem ambled along, a puppet with an inattentive master.

Evallan was unconscious- dreaming- looping memories in the Fade- his vessel likely sprawled out somewhere in the Deep Roads-

 “Lightbringer!” He begged the dream “You must wake me! I cannot stay here!”

Stillness. Nothing more.

 “Lightbringer!” He kicked the ground, raising his voice higher. “Do not ignore me!”

She commenced doing just that. He knew she was aware- since calling for her, the activity in his environment had ceased unnaturally. Evallan identified her illusion so there was no point in expending will- but that was not a sign of cooperation.

Knowing his choices were limited and he could not leave Dorian to the Deep Roads alone, he spread his fingers along his chest.

 “I may not have the will to summon you...but I will still try! If you do not-”

The threat was enough- he supposed it would be. The Spirit's goal was to force recuperation after the drain on their combined stamina. Accepting her chosen would not relent, the colour and shape of the world ebbed until it was stripped completely.

Evallan recognised the area that materialised- it was his place, his dream; the wrecked, void-ridden library decimated by ice, covered in script and blood. That was not all- a space he knew had contained spires was missing, replaced by a shimmering border not unlike Lightbringer's shield.

Behind it stood Lightbringer herself- a tall and slender being of light, draped in robes akin to the Lavellan clan's- for what could be seen through the radiance. The shifting glow made her features indiscernible- though he long understood 'she' was a title of habit more than descriptor.

As his eyes adjusted he processed more detail- the dream housing Lightbringer was different from his. Not a snowed-in landscape; it was winding crystal, so reflective his eyes watered. It was her place; as the tower and wintery wasteland was his echo, her echo was of a homeland long lost.

Connecting these tiny worlds was a luminous tether and he noticed it wasn't projected only onto the barrier but also his chest- a pin-point of light. If he turned one way or the other, or angled in certain perspectives, it vanished or flickered like a children's mirror-trick.

Fascinated and never having been this close to Lightbringer or her dream, the nature of this bond stole his focus. He passed his hand over it, tilted his body this way or that, paced the barrier to watch the pin-point extend or blur, depending on direction...

It soon occurred to him Lightbringer observed somewhat crossly- hands on hips and the morphing brightness of her visage attempting to cast a frown. For a moment she looked painfully like his mother but with this came a flood of embarrassment. Straightening, he cleared his throat.

 “I apologise...” He attempted to appear serious. “Why do you hold me here?”

Tapping her foot, Lightbringer gestured to the tether- apparently unimpressed he failed to note the most important thing. Somewhere in the middle, the connection had frayed- light seeped from the vulnerability and into the Fade.

 “I have strained something, no?” He had expected this consequence- it changed nothing. “But it is not fatal, we will heal stronger. In the meantime- I cannot cast, but I can walk.”

Lightbringer regarded him coolly then folded her arms, still seeming unimpressed.

 “I know what you wish to do.” He furrowed his brow, determined. “But you cannot leave me in stasis to recover. Dorian Pavus cannot navigate without us- I will not trade his life for mine.”

At this she craned her head thoughtfully as if to say 'is that so?'. No motion was made to free them from the dream. A pang of shame corrupted his resolution and he did his best to crush it.

 “I know he is not clan!” Did he not remind himself every day? “But he chased me into that blighted hole, despite his fears! And if it were not for him- I would not have survived The Harrowing! I would not have thought to summon you without his instruction- I would not have created an anchor if he had not taught me!”

With each word he closed the gap between him and the barrier and once there, he smashed his fist upon it, ignoring the glimmer of vibration while eyes squinted at the Spirit.

She watched, passive.

 “My life does not have more value than his!” He struck the forcefield again, heart drumming in his ears, agonising against his ribcage- surely she could not really expect him to abandon Dorian Pavus to the Deep Roads?!

 “You will send me back!”

She continued to eye him with something odd and difficult to comprehend in her gaze- did she think this funny!? Overwhelmed by frustration, he assaulted the barrier again and again, wailing with voice as well as fists.

 “Lightbringer! I am serious!” Familiar, tireless words possessed his tongue. “We must continue!”

The expression he strived to identify on her face was further bemused. He was on the verge of insisting to know what was so wretchedly funny when the ground melted, a sensation of endless descent lurching through his nerves.

READ MORE ON AO3

[minyoongleschimjoongles]

Preordained: Introductions V

When Zara Met Seokjin

Pairing(s):Poly!BTSxOC, Sub!BTSxOC,

Warnings: Implied sexual situations, Mentions of sexual situations, implications of Dom/sub relationships

Notes: This might have been the Introduction that I had the most trouble with, because it’s the chapter where the AU-ness of Preordained really starts to come in.

Intro: Taehyung, Jungkook, Yoongi, Namjoon

The addition of Namjoon immediately eased most of the tensions between the boys. He was a natural leader, excellent at talking things out, and his instinct to sort out the arguments to spare Zara the stress was strong.

He also expressed the need for the guys to get to know each other better outside of being Zara’s Soulmates, because that would help ease the friction between everyone.

Zara’s grades, which had suffered under the stress, quickly returned to normal, and Namjoon’s intelligence also inspired Zara to actually focus on school again instead of wasting all her time with her menagerie of beautiful boys. 

At this moment, she sat in her painting class, wondering why, exactly, the film class that was normally the next room over was crowded in with the rest of them. The easels an stools had been pushed against one wall, leaving as much room as possible for people to stand. Zara, always early for class, had hoisted herself up onto the only fixed counter top in the room, crossing her legs under her.

When the teachers had done a mental headcount of their students and assured that most, if not all of them were there, they called for attention.

“Good morning, everyone,” Mr. Lee, the film professor, clapped his hands twice. “I know you’re all wondering what’s going on here today. Well, I’ll tell you. Ms. Do and I have always combined our classes when it’s time to start thinking of final projects.” He paused for the groans as the students realized what was happening. “Yes, that’s right, you’re going to have partners, but we’ll get into that later. Right now, we want to explain what the projects are. For my students, you’re going to be making a Youtube channel! You can do whatever you want for your channel, any subject at all. My only stipulation is that your partner must be included in some way. Your partner is your Muse, so to speak. This is why Ms. Do and I have lovingly named this The Muse Project. For my students, the final presentation of the Youtube channel is worth 30% of your grade, and the painting students will get extra credit on their own final projects.”

“Now,” Ms. Do took over, “the project for my students is, of course, an art show, though not a normal one. Instead of canvas paintings, the pieces displayed in the end-of-semester art show will be digital photographs of paintings done on your partner’s body. Your partner is your canvas, and your Muse. The art show is worth 30% of your grade, and the film students will get extra credit on their final, as well. We will now tell you who your partner is, so please listen carefully. Afterwards, you’re free to leave and get to know your partner.”

There was nervous chatter as people started looking around, wondering who exactly their partner would be. Zara sat up straighter in her spot, ears straining to hear the names being called over the talking.

“Underhill Zara and Kim Seokjin.”

A ridiculously handsome young man with an obscenely white, straight smile raised his head, scanning the crowd for the student with the obviously American name. When he caught Zara’s green eyes, she waved a hand in greeting and he started to make his way through the other students towards her. He held a Canon Powershot in his hands like it was a lifeline, already recording. Already, Zara’s mind was filled with ideas for the paintings she’d have to do on this Kim Seokjin.

When he stopped in front of her, his blinding smile widened.

“I got an American! That’ll be interesting for a video subject.”

Without missing a beat, Zara said, “Maybe I’m Canadian.”

His smile dropped a fraction, startled.

“Oh..”

Zara snorted and smiled at him. “I’m just kidding, Kim Seokjin.”

He let out a slow breath, the smile returning.

“That was mean, Underwood Zara.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry! You were recording and I couldn’t resist.”

Jin nodded, pointing the camera at her.

“Say hello to the world, Zara.”

“Hello to the world, Zara.” 

Jin grinned and turned the camera on himself again.

“My partner Zara is apparently a comedy genius. So, Zara, how old are you?”

Zara hopped off the table, taking this question in stride. In America, people found it inappropriate to ask someone’s age, but in Korea, Zara found it was one of the first things people asked.

“I was born October 12, 1995.”

Jin’s face lit up, keeping stride with Zara as she left the classroom. “Ah, I’m your Oppa! I was born December 4, 1992.”

Zara nodded, “Don’t be surprised if I forget to use the Oppa title. Two of my Soulmates so far are older than me and I drop the title all the time.”

Jin almost fumbled the camera as he did his double take. “Did you say two Soulmates?”

Zara let a frustrated little sigh. “Yeah, I have Seven, but I’ve only found four so far. I know, I know, I’m a freak.”

“No, no! I don’t think you’re a freak! But...maybe we should cut this part out of the video, it’s so personal.”

“I’d appreciate that.”

Jin nodded, and as the two of them continued to walk, Jin continued asking Zara questions. His intentions for this first video was a vlog-style, get-to-know-each-other kind of thing.

“So, I’m warning you right now, there might be a lot of boys in here.”

Zara and Jin stood outside her dorm room, Zara preparing to open the door.

“Thanks for the heads up,” Jin nodded, “Go ahead and open it, Zara.”

“Well, you can’t show everyone the passcode to my dorm, Seokjin-oppa,” She grabbed his wrist to turn the camera away from her keypad, and immediately felt the tug on her wrist. The angle she’d managed to get the camera to before realizing Kim Seokjin was one of the Seven showed both of their faces in the shot.

Upon editing that particular bit of footage, Jin would lament the way his handsome face reddened, eyes wide and jaw dropped. Though he’d file Zara’s face away in his memory, knowing her soft smile and twinkling green eyes would lift his spirits for the rest of his days.

“Oh.” Jin said. Zara released his wrist. “Well, this is an interesting plot twist to the video.”

xXx

The boys welcomed Jin in immediately, absorbing him into the group with no complaints. Several of Jin’s videos had already been posted, including the now viral first video, “Finding My Soulmate.”

People just loved watching Soulmates come together.

Zara was always the main focus of Jin’s videos, but the rest of Zara’s Soulmates were inevitably involved as well. Jin’s favorite videos to film were standard vlogs, chronicling his new life with Zara and her Soulmates. He’d even given Zara a camera of her own so that she could film when he was in his own class and Zara, ever the accommodating Soulmate, performed this task dutifully.

Of his classmates’ channels, Jin’s channel was the most popular. Zara had a feeling that it had something to do with the many handsome boys that were featured in it, but she never brought it up. Whatever the reason, Jin’s fan base saw a massive increase in the first month.

Today’s video was the first day that Zara would be painting on his body, so he lay on the floor of her dorm, his arms pillowing his head and his camera recording everything. Zara was already astride his legs, though she didn’t seem to know yet what she wanted to do yet. Her fingers were tracing along his spine, though, and it was starting to put him to sleep.

“Seokjin-oppa,” Zara leaned forward and pressed slow, open-mouthed kisses against his back, and a pleased, tired rumble vibrated through him.

“Zara,” he warned, though there was no actual bite to his voice, “We’re filming a painting video, not an accidental sex tape.”

She was still kissing him, and he felt her smile against his skin. The blatant flirtation between them was certainly on purpose, Jin having noticed subscribers reacted well to it. “Who said anything about accidental?”

Another rumble, and Zara laughed, sitting up and pulling the paints she’d set aside closer. She’d had to go out and buy a supply of body paints for this project, not willing to risk damaging Jin’s beautiful skin with her acrylics.

Without opening his eyes, Jin asked, “What did you decide on?”

“I was thinking we’d go right into the difficult stuff, oppa. A big galaxy, yeah?” She traced an image across the planes of his back with her pointer finger, relishing in the goosebumps that rose up.

“Mm-hmm,” Jin really was falling asleep under her ministrations.

She took the black paint and sketched out a few abstract shapes on his back, feeling him shiver once or twice at the temperature of it. Once that was done, she began to fill in the spaces, first with black, then with the many colors of space. Each stroke of the brush lulled Jin further into dream land. It wasn’t until he felt a hand squeezing his ass that he jolted into alertness.

“That,” he said, “doesn’t feel like paint.”

“You caught me,” Zara laughed, laying next to him and showing him the photo of his back. It looked like she had painlessly ripped his skin open to reveal not muscle and organs beneath, but an explosion of color, pinks and blues and purples stretching across his back.

Zara watched him as he stared at the photograph. His jaw was dropped in awe, his eyes soft.

“Well?”

“It’s beautiful, Zara.” Conscious of the still-wet paint on his back, Jin threw his left arm around Zara’s waist to tuck her into his side. “Anything you draw is beautiful.”

“It’s not hard to create something beautiful when works of art like you are sharing my bed at night.” She gestured to the still-rolling camera, “People worldwide call you handsome.”

“Well, obviously,” Jin gave her a smirk, “It was only a matter of time before people realized how truly beautiful I am.”

“You’re not at all conceited,” Zara teased, kissing his jaw. “Now turn off the camera, before we really do make an accidental sex tape.”

@babyboytae1 @snowythellama @bewitch3dforivar

[capsoulbooks]

I had discovered a hidden adult bookstore accidentally about a week ago on my way to work, I stopped in for a second to see what illustrations they had…  inside I found a couple of paperbacks I’ve been trying to locate for the longest. Since I didn't have that much cash on hand, I figured I’d try again on my lunch break. I was so fucking busy that day I worked straight through my lunch break… missing my opportunity to dip out to go grab those books. Needless to say I didn't get to leave the office until 8 °clock, but I caught a break and was able to make it to that bookstore before they closed up for the evening.

 As I entered the bookstore, I couldn't help but to notice a this woman one of the bookstore isles. She was about 5'11", sexy-sultry young and fine as frog's hair, the lambent lighting of the store paid glowing tribute to her sweet red-bone complexion. I was completely stunned by her voluptuous thick body frame. She was wearing a close fitting button down dress that showed off her amazing curves. Her hips swayed quite seductively as she walked towards me. It took all of my reserve of decorum to tear away from the magnetism of her captivating figure. Thank goodness I managed to shift my attention quickly to her face where I encountered her sexy brown bedroom eyes.    "Hello there, I'm sorry but I was just about to close for the day", she said with a beautiful smile on her face. I found her voice to be just as seductive as her divine body-shape, but when her words began to sink in, there was a look of great disappointment on my face. I beg to her… I know you're about to close up but I know exactly what I want, and I know exactly where to find it.” she replied "Oh really! Hmmm… now you have me very intrigued. Whats the name of the illustrations?” I then replied “The Dynamics or Oral Sexuality and The Art of Kamasutra. They are right over on the next isle” she then replied in a very inquisitive tone... “ Oooookay…  I’ll allow it this go round. But next time try not to what until the last minute before closing... My time is very precious, and may I add... reserved"   As she pulled the string on the neon ‘OPEN’ sign… turning it off... I quickly went and retrieved my books. As I approached the front checkout counter she asked "Mmmmmm!  I know one thing… I sure do envy your girlfriend.” “My girlfriend?” I replied. “Well yeah… You have a great taste in literature… and the things that are in these books can take a woman to a place where she would never want to come back to.    As we continued to conversed, she realized she had forgotten about a task she needed to before going home. She had a huge box of book in the back she needed to bring up front from the back of the store. She asked me if I wouldn't mind helping her carry the box. Of course I was obliged to assist…   I couldn't help but steal a look at what her close fitting dress was hiding, and as she lead the way to back of bookstore, I was very pleased to see that her ass was just as gorgeous as her facade. As I stared upon her well-endowed swag, I inhaled the lingering mixed aroma of her perfume and the natural essence of her day’s work. When we got to the back of the bookstore… I noticed there was allot of sex furniture stored there. I was curious as to what the furniture was there for...    "I guess you are wondering why the furniture huh?" she asked Startled, I turned quickly, and uttered a weak; "Yeah, sort of." "I am so sorry, I didn't mean to startle you." she said apologetic tone.    The space at the back of the store was so tight, and the small space soon filled with her unique essence. once again my lungs was filled with the divine scent of her body as she moved even closer to me. It was a brief, but electric contact which instantly caused my shaft to grow bigger and harder.    It was apparent she had felt my manhood because she immediately tried to grind on me with her sweet voluptuous ass... “you know what on second thought I can have one of the stock guys to move this for me tomorrow” as her voice gasped "I should get you a bag to carry those books". In her haste to escape, she didn't quite realize how tight the space was. As she tried to squeeze past between me and the sex couch, her voluptuous ass grazed my crotch and at this time, she really felt my raging, pulsing erection.  Looking down I got a clear view of her cleavage… perfect and flawless. I wondered how perky her tits would be. Not wanting the contact to end just yet, I quickly feigned curiosity and said, "by the way, before you get the bag, could you please tell me?..."    He didn't even get to complete the question as she suddenly turned to look into my face without moving her ass from his crotch. In that instant, with both our hearts pounding, they knew that lust had won over logic.    She pressed her big ass closer to my hard pulsing crotch, and savored my manhood before turning to face me, never for a moment breaking our shared gaze. I was completely out of my depth, and my mouth was so dry. Then suddenly something in her eyes seemed to snap, as if by our own volition, my hands traveled up to her breasts and gently cupped her huge monds. She moaned softly as my hand slipped through her dress and unto her bra clips, teasing her erect, hard nipple, to my pleasant surprise her tits were quite firm.    Except for the distant sound of traffic, the store was quiet; and from the windows I can see the occasional refections of a car’s headlight casting off of the bookshelves. The only illumination was a soft glow of a lamp at the other side of the last shelf. This cast a shadow over our position, as I unhooked her bra I caressed her voluptuous breasts... while slowly taking off her dress, she lifted each boob and offered her nipples to me, and moaned as I licked and then sucked on them aggressivly.    She looked up into my eyes, and although no words were spoken. They told me ‘it's been a long time, way too long'. Our eyes stayed locked as she undressed me also. When we were both standing naked, my cock nodding up and down at the beauty of her voluptuous body.    Cupping her face, I leaned closer and planted a hot passionate kiss on her full sexy full lips. My tongue played with hers in an intricate passionate dance. She let out an excited throaty moan, and reached down to grasps my erect penis. At the same time, I went down across her bare shoulders finding her nipples again and gently pinching each one in turn, she responded by kissing me with greater urgency, her growing need evident in the way her hands roamed all over me, exploring, squeezing, scratching, pleading.    I heeded her unspoken please, and ran my hands over the loose skin and flesh around her stomach.  As my fingers found the inside of her thighs, I raked over her fat pulsating mound. The warmth and wetness between her legs turned me on immensely; I knew the time was right to make a grand entry.    Grabbing the chair, I sat down and then took hold of her hips, backing her up until she was astride and facing away from me. Positioning the head of my cock against the smooth hairless mound, he eased the head in, an inch at a time ensuring it was lubricated with her sweet vaginal juices. I started easing in and out, going deeper with each thrust, and soon she was moaning, "oh...please, please...deeper" as she began to spread her thighs wider hoping for deeper penetration. Not wanting to tease her any further I thrust my hips further and my cock hit the back of her cervix.    "Oh Yeah!" she screamed "So sweet..... So wonderful!" "Ohhhhhhh, please, don't stop...more.... give me more..., ohhhh, Mmmmmm....."    She grabbed tightly on my knees, her voluptuous ass rising and falling in tune with every thrusts. Her clit was consumed by the fire of her long pent up lust, Indeed I fed her his turgid meat pole, driving her to the edges of climax as she relived her lust and unbridled passion. Overwhelmed by the pleasure she tensed letting off a series of primal sounds, wishing the fire in the depth of her loins to be quenched, her whole being shuddering and shaking.    At that point I had upped the ante, by grabbing her voluptuous breast, pinching her rock hard nipples. She continued humping frantically, matching my every thrust, digging her nails into my knees, urging me to go faster and harder and deeper.    "Ooooh, God! "Ooooh God" She cried repeatedly through her tears. She screamed, as I hammered her wet, hot pussy further towards a heart stopping orgasmic release. Her pussy walls started to contract and convulse as I hit her so hard and felt her cervix against his throbbing mushroomed helmet.    "Shit!" He groaned in a deep primal voice as my body tensed and succumbed to the on-rushing release. Whilst I was shooting my torrent of cum deep inside her hot cunt, her body stiffened as her pussy milked my cum spitting black cock of every last drop of jizz, and then she collapsed back against my chest. Both of us breathing heavily as we floated back to earth.

[amandaoftherosemire]

Lightning Strikes Part Eight

Fandom: Marvel Avengers AU

Pairing: Thor Odinson X Reader

Characters: Thor Odinson, Loki Odinson, Valkyrie, OFC Astrid, OMC Halvar

Author: @amandaoftherosemire​

Rating: Mature

Word Count: 5,692

Format: Series (Complete)

Warning: Language, angst

Summary: Thor spends some time brooding and missing you. You deal with Loki and a gift you’re pretty sure you don’t want.

A/N: I don’t know if marijuana helps creativity, but I do know I was high when I wondered what it would look like if Korg and Miek tried to put together IKEA furniture. I also know that imagining it made me laugh so hard I fell off my couch.

Part Seven: Sublimation here

Aphelion

Thor sat in the giant leather executive chair behind the enormous oak desk in his office, staring resentfully out the window. He liked this chair. Tony had sent it to him in pieces for some reason, but Miek and Korg had managed, over the course of a week and with only one bout of tears, to assemble it into a sturdy throne.

He was grateful, both to Korg and Miek for the assembly, but also to Tony for the thoughtfulness. He hadn't understood why Tony had laughed so hard when he'd thanked him for the chair that shared a name with one of Thor's great-uncles, but he appreciated the gift regardless.

He especially liked that he could put his hands behind his head and rest them against the wings of leather around him. It was the most comfortable way to hate Tuesdays.

Thor despised Tuesday afternoons with every fiber of his being. The only thing keeping the clouds from smothering the hated sunshine pouring through the window was Thor's determined effort to not call them. His mood would have drawn the thunderstorm long before otherwise. Still, he couldn't punish others for his mistakes.

Even the pilot of the jet from New York, the cause of all this hate and resentment.

Tuesday afternoons the jet from New York came, unloaded, reloaded, then left. He knew now that hadn't been the plan. The plan had been for the jet to stay, along with the only joy he'd found after the loss of his home. He hated Tuesdays because it was supposed to be the day you came back to him. Instead, because he had been a fool and a coward, that jet held nothing he wanted anymore.

He was especially infuriated with himself because he’d known better. He'd known you were even more loyal than you were beautiful within only a few days in your company. If he'd asked himself, he would have been certain he could trust you, down to his bones. But he'd allowed the poison his father’s advisers had dripped into his ear to convince him to assign his newly appointed spymaster to the task.

Thor had already decided to ask you to live with him when the final report had been submitted along with a snotty lecture about hypocrisy. Loki had concluded that your loyalty to Thor was unassailable and suggested that those who had been so worried about a human spy in their midst might perhaps have things to hide.

If only he’d told you the truth before you’d found out for yourself in such an awful way. You were so amazing, so understanding of all the fucking bullshit that went hand in hand with his birthright, his burden. If he’d told you the truth, explained the why of it, apologized, perhaps you’d be coming home right now.

“What time is it?” The lump currently taking up space on the couch under the window spoke from under the purple and yellow baseball cap. Her long legs were tightly encased in jeans and crossed at the calves stretched out across the couch. Her arms were crossed, and she’d pulled the cap down to cover her eyes.

Until she spoke, Thor had thought she’d been asleep.

He glanced at the clock, then answered with a sigh, “Five after two.”

To his astonishment, she sat up immediately, pushing the cap back to reveal the dark beauty underneath. “Shit, she'll be here soon.” With that, Valkyrie jumped to her feet and headed with long strides toward the door.

Thor shook himself out of his brood, suspicious of her sudden leap into action. “Who will?”

“The jet from New York should have something for me.” Valkyrie wasn't going to stop, but the look of astonishment had her pausing at the door and rolling her eyes. She adored Thor, but he had a weird habit of dissociating when he was depressed. Not a terribly great characteristic in a king, but at least he wasn't a homicidal maniac.

Still, she considered it part of her duties to kick Thor in the ass whenever he needed it. She'd decided.

He needed it.

He'd brooded long enough. He was obviously not going to get over you, so it was time for him to try to win you back. To be truthful, Valkyrie liked you immensely. Your reaction to what had happened had earned her respect. Spending time with you had earned her friendship. Bringing her delicious top-shelf liquor had earned her undying love.

“Your majesty, you might want to actually look out that window from time to time," she sneered, "or actually talk to your people." At this, pure disdain settled onto her face and had Thor fully paying attention to her. "You know, instead of only listening to the idiots that appointed themselves the people's representatives.”

The next second, she was gone, the door closing with a slam behind her. Thor turned his chair back to the window and stared at a cloud that hung perfectly framed by the panes of glass. He frowned, mulling over Valkyrie's words, her tone, her expressions. He started to wonder what he would see if he walked to the window and looked out. What could be happening out there?

Not much later, Thor was getting to his feet and wandering over to the window. As he did, the Wakandan jet that had been meant to bring his heart back to him was settling down on the helipad at the back of the manor house. To his surprise, a crowd of Asgardian children were running toward the jet cheering, with his brother, Astrid, and Valkyrie following behind at a walk.

When the hatch opened and you walked out, lovely legs in tight jeans and boots, a t-shirt with Captain America's shield emblazoned across your breasts, and a bright smile for the crowd there to greet you, Thor felt the loss of you like a physical stab to the gut, a spasm of pain rocking through him. Had he been sitting here hating the world every Tuesday when you were right outside his house the whole time?

Part of him wanted to run outside, snatch you up, and imprison you in his bedroom until he could convince you that he hadn't meant any of it. He wanted to apologize, swear he hadn't needed a shred of proof to believe in you. He wanted to show you he regretted it more than almost anything he'd ever done, promise he'd never hurt you like that again. He held himself back, knowing that he had no right to even a moment of your time. He also had a healthy respectful fear of you and was certain you'd find a way to make him regret such high-handed behavior. In all the realms, he'd never met another like you.

In all his centuries, he'd never loved another the way he loved you.

That you stood in his kingdom despite it all gave him hope that you would listen if he ran outside and begged for your forgiveness. Whether you'd forgive him or not, you'd at least hear him out. You were too fair, too kind to do otherwise. But Thor had decided that fate had spoken. He was meant to let you go. He could never give you everything you deserved. As such, he would not be so selfish as to beg you to return to him. Even if he deserved you, you deserved more.

Thor frowned when you embraced all three adults, even as the children milled around you. You even took Loki's face in your hands and pulled his cheek down for a kiss, smiling into his eyes.

How the FUCK had his brother weaseled his way back into your good graces when Thor hadn't even known you were in his kingdom?

You ducked back inside the jet only to emerge a few moments later holding an open box. Fascinated, Thor watched you start pulling out items from said box and passing them to the children who still circled you expectantly.

This had become one of your favorite parts of the week. Despite the fact that visiting New Asgard sent a spasm of pain, anger, and regret through you every time you arrived and every time you left, there was still joy to be found here.

After you and Thor had broken up, Pepper had made it clear that they could easily assign another pilot to the New Asgard run. She’d have worked with you in any way you needed to make things okay after what had happened, feeling responsible since she’d asked you to entertain Loki. You’d considered letting her rearrange things for you once again, though you didn’t blame her at all. She had only been concerned with keeping the peace and would have never knowingly put you in such a position.

You thought about walking away from New Asgard and everyone in it. It would have been easier.

Easier wasn’t better, though. You’d wanted the new job, the new responsibilities. You’d been excited to take on new challenges and you didn’t see any reason to let Thor stand in the way of that. You’d never let a failed relationship dictate your behavior in the past; you didn’t see any reason to start now.

Which is how, over the past few months, you’d made an odd little place for yourself on the periphery of Asgardian society. At first, it had only been Astrid to come greet you every Tuesday. Then, Halvar had come with questions about Midgard candy.

Halvar was a small child with a shock of blond hair, bright blue eyes, and ridiculously charming dimples. He looked to be about seven years old, but you weren’t sure how Asgardian aging worked so he could be older than you in years for as far as you knew.

He had surprised you on your fourth Tuesday run when he’d tapped gently on your arm. You’d been supervising the cargo trade and pointedly ignoring the dark god that grinned at you from the balcony. You’d been trying not to notice the other conspicuous absence.

Halvar had been designated by the children as their representative. As such, he had come to ask what the King’s Midgardian lady might know of something called chocolate.

You had been delighted to tell him everything you knew. The following Tuesday, a small group of Asgardian children were waiting for you to ask further questions. Instead, they were rewarded with their first taste of milk chocolate. You’d started simple, with high-quality plain chocolate squares from your favorite chocolatier in New York.

The look of wonder that crossed each sweet little face as the flavor hit made up for the fifth week in a row that you’d seen neither hide nor hair of Thor. Astrid’s near sexual moan of pleasure as she sampled the sweet had you laughing out loud and lifted some of the clouds that still hung around you. That had been the beginning of a routine, and a new place for you on the fringe of Asgardian society.

You’d somehow become their connection for Midgard specialties. You were more than happy to help with special requests, which is why your cargo on this day included first edition books for Loki, insanely expensive moisturizer for Astrid, hundred-year-old scotch for Valkyrie.

And a box full of packets of Fun Dip for the children.

You'd discovered when looking for a retail outlet that sold candy in bulk that you could not simply buy the dipping sticks by themselves and found it offensive to the point of heresy. Why did we even invent the internet?

The children, under the watchful eye of both Astrid and Valkyrie (Loki didn't care, and the children knew it), were waiting patiently as you tore the tops off and placed the lik-a-stik in each little hand. Halvar received an approving look from you when he nibbled a little at the end once you had the children taste them. You and that kid were simpatico, for all you were born on different planets.

When he placed the stick covered in powder in his mouth, then looked at the sugar stick like he preferred it by itself, you laughed out loud. Halvar was a pistol; you could tell he was going to be a force to be reckoned with based on the streak of stubborn you could see in the set of his chin. You wouldn't be surprised if he ran his parents ragged now.

Thor couldn't tell what exactly you were doing, but it looked like you were sharing some treat with the crowd that assembled around you. Even the Asgardians unloading the jet stopped to try whatever you had brought. To their king's astonishment, they seemed to be easy with you, their body language speaking of joking and the good-natured jostling of camaraderie.

As the cargo trade finished, the children wandered off, little paper pouches in their hands. He watched you trade hugs with Astrid, the housemaid, and Valkyrie, before they walked away, both carrying boxes you'd given them. Loki dawdled, however, making Thor's eye narrow in suspicion.

Once the two of you were alone, Loki stepped forward. He'd noticed your gaze avoiding the house and inwardly smirked. Even you had your tells. Your stubborn affection for his idiot of a brother gave you away when little else did. Loki knew you were still in love with the oaf, though you no longer scanned for his approach with anxious but hopeful eyes.

Loki was well aware that Thor could win you back easily. All he'd have to do is be honest about what he'd done, why he'd done it, and how he felt about it and you'd end up forgiving him. He'd never met a harder bitch with a softer center. You loved Thor. You hadn't stopped.

Loki had absolutely no intention of telling Thor any of that. He also hadn't told Thor that you visited New Asgard every Tuesday. Nor had he told his brother that you and he were friends again. He'd kept to himself his suspicions that you were slowly being absorbed into the soldier and his feral dog's relationship. There were worlds of information he hadn't shared with Thor when it came to you.

For example…

"Your turn, dear one," he said with a wicked smile and a flourish, bringing a box of his own into view. His, however, was made of wood almost black with age. The surface was carved over its entire surface with symbols and sigils that could be read by only a few people even within the borders of New Asgard.

You looked at the box that had shimmered into being in Loki's hand with a skeptically raised eyebrow. Whatever was in it, you already felt like Pandora just looking at it. "Uh-huh, what's in it?" you asked, a half smile curving your mouth, and made no move to take it.

Loki's smile widened. He loved how affectionate you were in your complete mistrust of him. You believed nothing he said without question, but you also seemed to always react with humor rather than anger. At least since you'd stopped punishing him for his earlier deceptions. Truthfully, you'd been remarkably forgiving for that considering that he hadn't apologized.

"A present for you, love." Loki had stopped bothering to pretend he didn't adore you. He could have maintained the pretense that he had only befriended you to spy for Thor, but he saw no reason to deprive himself of your company.

You narrowed your eyes in suspicion. "Is it a present I want? Or are you fucking with me?"

"Yes?" Loki looked earnest, but you could tell by the twinkle in his eye that he was teasing you.

Still a touch reluctant, you reached out to take the box. Hopefully, you weren't going to regret this. You examined the box, discovering when you went to open it that it appeared to be one solid piece of wood. "What is this?"

"A choice." Loki's eyes were dancing and making you vaguely nervous. "I'll tell you how to open it later."

"Okay." You scowled at him, tucking the box under your arm. "It's not gonna blow up or anything, right?" You were asking mostly for form; you didn't really think Loki would put you in harm's way. You were pretty sure he had a soft spot for you, but you couldn’t be certain of anything when it came to the Odinson brothers anymore.

Loki's eyes softened ever so slightly and reassured you before he even opened his mouth. He was thinking it was a shame that remaining loyal to his brother had meant betraying you. He didn’t mind that you didn’t trust him, but he disliked that you were no longer sure of his affection for you. He would not have had it so.

“Of course not, dear one," he replied with a slow, wicked smile. "How would that entertain me?"

"I'm not going to give you ideas for how to make blowing me up entertaining." You turned with a roll of your eyes and began to walk toward the jet. Loki followed you, laughing, to place a hand on your shoulder. Spinning you around, he gave you one of his rare hugs.

"Don't try to open it without me," he said as he pulled back to frown sternly at you. "Promise me."

"Okay," you retorted, sneering a little, "weirdo, I promise."

Loki smiled again, knowing you, at least, could be counted upon to keep your promises. He reached out to brush the backs of those long, artist's fingers down your cheek. "I'll see you soon, love." Once Loki had started calling you 'love', you'd realized that the tone, the timbre of his voice was the same as it had been on the word 'pet'. You weren't sure to feel worse about the new endearment or better about the old.

Because it made your heart hurt, you opted not to think about it. If he didn't care for you, nothing about your current situation changed. If he meant it, if he truly did have a soft spot for you, to call it into question would hurt him unnecessarily. You didn't want to hurt Loki, or Thor for that matter. You just wanted to stop hurting, yourself.

"I can't wait," you said, sardonically, a wry half-smile on your lips to soften your sarcasm. "I gotta go. I want to get ahead of the storm."

For a fraction of a second, Loki didn't understand. When he did, he wanted to laugh aloud. His brother's timing was almost perfect, as per usual. He leaned in and brushed his mouth quickly, chastely against yours. You didn't respond, simply stared at him in astonishment. He smiled wickedly, causing your expression to shift into amused exasperation.

You didn't know what Loki was up to, but you were sure you wanted no part of it. You decided not to get in any deeper than you already were. "Goodbye, Loki," you called out as you turned away again. The last thing you heard as the hatch closed behind you was the sound of the god's mischievous laughter.

As Loki walked back to the manor house, he looked up to meet Thor's furious gaze in the window on the third floor.

Loki smiled.

Thor sat on the cliffs, watching the clouds boil. He knew he should rein it in, that his people as well as those across the fjord didn't deserve to bear the brunt of his foul temper. He couldn't do it, though, too lost in bitter pain and rage. He'd held off as long as he could, but the storm in his blood would be denied no longer.

He wasn’t the sort of man who enjoyed dwelling on the mistakes of the past. He knew he’d go mad if he spent too much time looking back. As long lived as his kind was, they had ample opportunity for regret. The only way to survive was to look forward.

Considering the mistakes he’d made in recent years, why this one should plague him so was a mystery. Even before he’d laid eyes on you once again, he’d been tormented by the loss of you.

Now, however, he'd been reminded of the sparkle of your smile, the arrogance in your walk, that sexy hip-shot stance in response to any challenge. He missed you so much it was like a physical ache. Knowing you were only a quick flight away had been torture. To now know that you visited his home every single week was agony. The temptation to go crawling back to you, begging for another chance was going to be excruciating.

The only reason he hadn't yet was he'd thought you'd be happier away from him and the insanity that followed him. Only now he'd discovered that you had remained friends with Astrid, become friends with Valkyrie, and become friends, again, with his blasted brother. Thor had been denying himself the pleasure of your company only to discover that not a single member of his household had done the same.

The confrontation with Loki had been ugly, for a lot of reasons, not least of which was that Loki had the moral high ground for once. He'd never pretended to be anything but what he was, an unrepentant liar and trickster, which is why, apparently, you had let him back into your good graces. Thor doubted he'd find it so easy to win you back.

Because for all his brother's flaws, he'd been absolutely correct. Loki had been oddly honest with you, proving his affection. He would not have bothered to give you what honesty he could in the midst of a deception had he not cared about you. Thor wasn't the least surprised that you could see that. You saw Loki more clearly than most.

Unfortunately for him, you'd seen only what Thor had wanted you to see. The day you'd found out he'd asked Loki to spy on you for him was etched with painful clarity across his memory. You had been utterly blindsided, had not even considered suspecting him of subterfuge before that moment. He had seen the betrayal on your face, was so intimately familiar with the pain of that emotion, he'd been unable to offer any defense beyond the weakest expression of remorse.

You had been unimpressed, and rightly so. If he had it to do over again, he'd tell you he never really distrusted you. He'd heard no end of mindless fearmongering from his father's advisers and had believed none of it. He'd fully expected Loki to prove you true, had in fact counted on it. He'd wanted to quiet their groundless terrors once and for all.

And that was all information he should have shared with you long before you found out by overhearing he and his brother arguing about it. If he had it to do over again, he'd have faced you with the truth as soon as Loki had given the final report to said advisers. He'd betrayed you twice; you'd been right to walk away.

Thor had let you go for a reason, and that reason hadn't changed. He carried nothing but pain with him. He'd already hurt you enough; he wouldn't risk hurting you again.

"Okay," you sneered at the man that had just shimmered into being on the couch in the living area of your quarters at the Avengers compound. "What bullshit are you up today?" You nodded at the piquant box he'd given you earlier in the day on the coffee table in front of the couch. You'd set it there and waited, knowing Loki would be paying you one of his hologram visits before your day was over.

You weren't disappointed, though it was much later than you expected, closer to midnight. You wondered what could have happened in New Asgard that could have had him occupied until nearly dawn his time. He didn't offer an explanation, simply smiled indulgently.

"I beg your pardon, dear one," he demurred, his eyes twinkling with good-natured mischief. You narrowed yours in response. "It is nothing dangerous, I promise." He was laughing, but you could see the tension around his eyes.

"To open it, you must trace the waxing crescent moon to the ridge of the mountains. From there you follow the path through the valley into the winter sun." His lips were twitching, and he looked entirely too pleased with himself.

When he had appeared, you had been pouring a much-needed glass of wine. You could have sworn you'd seen Thor earlier that day in a third-floor window, watching you. Your heart had raced, but you'd been able to resist the urge to run inside and punch him until he hurt as badly as he'd hurt you. You'd vowed to hold on to your temper and your tears on the day you'd decided to keep the New Asgard run.

Swirling the pinot noir in your overly full glass, you sat casually on the couch next to Loki, crossing your legs with a dubious smile on your face. "Uh-huh." You lifted an eyebrow. "What's in the box? And it better not be a head."

"Why would it be a head?" When you opened your mouth to explain the reference, he lifted his hand to stop you. "Don't answer. I don't care. Open it and look."

Your eyes narrowed even further, your lips twisted in suspicion. Still, he seemed to be having fun-fun, not mean-fun, so you figured you could risk opening the thing. You leaned forward and set your wineglass on one of the agate slices that served as coasters to protect the dark oak of the coffee table. You grabbed the dark box Loki had given you earlier and sat back, settling it in your lap. You shot Loki a look from under skeptical eyebrows.

Turning your attention to the box, you were taken by the beauty of the thing. It wasn’t large, but rectangular in shape and a little smaller than a brick. Its surface was shiny and nearly black with age. But for the symbols and sigils carved deeply into the wood, you would have thought the object made of obsidian, so smooth and glassy was the surface between the carvings. Almost immediately, your eye was caught by the elaborate crescent with the horns facing left along one of the thin, long sides.

Your finger reached out and delicately traced the curling pattern within the crescent. When you reached the end, the entire symbol began to glow a white-edged blue. Your finger followed a jagged line that reached around and ran along the edge of one of the thin, short sides. From there a winding, curving line through symbols and runes that you couldn't translate across the other long, thin side through a dipping 'U' shape. Finally, your finger followed the line into a spiral on one of the large faces. The spiral itself nestled into a symbol strangely reminiscent of a sun within a snowflake.

Once the line that traveled through all the symbols was lit with that bluish-white light, a seam in the wood appeared. Feeling very much like Pandora, you slid the lid out from the groove in which it sat. Inside, on a bed of silk, lay a small, crystalline bottle full of a vibrant blue liquid that seemed to shimmer in the light as it faded from the symbols. Tendrils of steam swirled out of the box where the chill of the bottle met the warmth of the air.

"Oh, what fresh hell is this?"

At your acerbic response, Loki burst into full-throated laughter. "Only you, dear one, could find a king's ransom an irritant."

"It is when you're offering it." Lifting a brow, you gestured toward the bottle, silently asking if it was okay to remove it from its nest. Loki inclined his head in assent with a knowing smile. You carefully lifted the bottle, your fingers chilling the moment you touched it, wondering at both the container and the liquid within. "This isn't glass, is it? What does the liquid do?"

"Glass couldn't hold it, dear one." Loki's smile had taken on a slightly sinister edge. You'd noted his smile took on that particular cruel edge preceding a half-truth. He always looked a little cruel whenever he was about to give you an answer that was technically the truth but omitted a lot of important information. "A capful will extend your life by fifty times its normal length."

"And the catch?" You reluctantly set the bottle back in its nest, the chill starting to hurt your fingers. You continued to examine it, however, as once you'd lifted it to the light, you'd been able to see delicate patterns etched into the surface of the bottle as well. "I age at my normal length so that when I die several thousand years from now, it's from crumbling apart?"

"No, you will age proportionally to your lifetime." Loki was vaguely exasperated, but thoroughly amused. You were the only person he'd ever thought to offer this secret to. Part of that was exactly this, that you were one of the few he'd ever met who wouldn't immediately drink it but would ask a dozen questions first. He was starting to think you weren't human; you were too clever. "Remember, I actually like you, dear one."

That touched you a little. You were pretty sure that was the truth. Still… "There has to be a catch."

Loki's smiled widened. "It will change you physically. You will become much harder to kill, among other things." That cruel cast came and went once more on his ascetically pretty face. "You might not like some of the changes."

"Huh." You sat for a moment, thinking over all of the information he had both volunteered and carefully hidden. You couldn't help but notice that he hadn't entirely answered your question. You knew there had to be more of a catch than he'd revealed, but you could also tell he didn't want to tell you. Whatever was going on here, you could see clearly that Loki was not being entirely honest with you, surprise, surprise. You were certain there were aspects that you would not like should he tell the truth. Until then… "No."

"No!?"

You burst out laughing at the sheer insult all over him. His face was a study in umbrage, his body recoiling in horror. He was genuinely shocked that you wouldn't leap at the chance to extend your life without thinking further. You were genuinely amused that he thought you'd jump without thinking about the consequences first. You hadn't survived this long in the odd world you inhabited by being either naïve or reckless.

"No, I will not drink your I’m-an-obvious-trap-and-if-you-drink-me-you’re-an-idiot potion." You closed the box with a snap, then leaned forward to place it on the coffee table once more. You picked up your wineglass and sat back to continue. "This has Faustian bargain written all over it. ‘Drink this mysterious liquid that does not have a label and you have no idea what’s in it and you’ll have life, health, and youth for the next 4,000 years, no strings attached.’" You scowled good-naturedly at the now smiling god. "Sure! Nothing insanely wrong here! I mean, if you can’t trust the God of Mischief and Deceit."

Loki tilted his head back and roared with laughter. You'd never seen him laugh like this, open and unguarded. It occurred to you that Loki hid a lot of himself away, and you wondered about the why of it. Today, however, you were just grateful to see him enjoying himself so thoroughly. Your face softened, and you teased gently as he calmed, "Well, come on. This might as well have a sign that says, ‘Free Bird Seed’ on it."

"I do not understand," he answered, still chuckling. "Is bird seed terribly precious on Midgard?"

"I cannot figure out where to even begin to explain Wile E. Coyote to you."

"If it is another ridiculous Midgard thing, don't bother." He lifted a dismissive hand and you laughed again. "I don't care." His expression shifting to one of amused temptation, he slid forward on the couch. Though you knew you couldn't touch him, you weren't certain if Loki could touch you in this form. You forced yourself to stay relaxed and not retreat. Loki would immediately take advantage of any sign of weakness. "When you change your mind, love," he smiled that enticing smile of his, the one that crossed his face when he was up to something, "let me know. Do. Not. Drink it without me. You'll need my help."

"I'm not drinking it." If Loki had been a study in insult, you were now a study in doubtful challenge. You leaned back, one arm casually draped across your lap, the other swirling your wine as it lay along the back of the couch. "But I still want to know why you're even offering it to me."

"It has become clear that it is going to take you forever to stop pining for my oaf of a brother." Loki slid closer and you felt that odd push-pull you always had with Loki, the urge to run coupled with the temptation to get closer. "I want you to still be alive when that happens so I can steal you once and for all."

The last words were spoken almost against your mouth and you would swear you could feel it. Your lips seemed to tingle, as though his had been only a breath away, but you weren't sure you weren't merely hallucinating the sensation. In the next instant, Loki was gone, undoubtedly concluding that a strategic retreat was best to accomplish his aims.

He wasn't wrong; you were certain you'd be thinking about the box, and him, for a long time coming. How could you not? Even his reason for offering would prey upon your mind. It was so weirdly sweet.

Didn't matter, you thought to yourself. You weren't a fucking idiot, and you did not know what that potion really did. You weren't fucking drinking it.

Part Nine: Ablation here

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