#and lie face down in a muddy field or something

[casualhedonists]

into the mist, into the clouds

pairing: lucy gray x fem!reader

words: 3.5k

warnings: very few; fluff, angst, mystery and intrigue etc, post tbosas lucy gray

playlist for this fic • main masterlist

a/n: my first non-smut fic on here! title from carolina by taylor swift, which this fic is very much based on. this is one of my favorite things i've written in a very long time. enjoy 🤍

i do not give permission for my work to be reposted/translated anywhere, under any circumstances.

“You didn’t see me here.”

Whispered words fill the space between you. Your head rests in her lap, dress crisp and clean and smelling like you, like your home. She looks at you with a sense of urgency, one you’ve seen all too many times before.

“What? Lucy Gray, you’re not…”

She can’t be leaving again. She only just arrived. The morning had brought dew and her muddied boots on your porch for the first time in months. Your mother was gone for the day, it was almost like Lucy Gray had known. Her dress was covered in dirt and grass stains. You piled it into a hamper, washed it in the fresh water of the creek down the hill from your house, scrubbing away while she collected firewood.

“I am. Tomorrow. Dawn.”

“Let me come with you.”

“It’s not safe, my love. I can keep myself protected if I’m alone. I’m startin’ to get real good at it.”

You don’t ask if she’d come back. Neither of you ever know the answer to that.

“Will you do something for me, Lucy Gray?”

Your voice drops. The fire crackles, the pine cones you’d collected together popping as they burn. She likes the sound, she told you. It was safe, comforting. Homely. You’d wondered if she was really talking about the fire, or you, the girl who sat with her in its warmth.

“Anything. You know I will.”

“Would you leave before I wake up? I’m not sure I can say goodbye to you again.”

She smiles, soft and sad, and gazes at you like you’re a song, or something she wants to memorise.

“Of course I will. It’ll be like I never came back here at all.”

The glow of the flames dance across her face.

“I don’t want that.” You whisper. “I hate feeling like you’re slipping away from me.”

She lowers her head to yours, your foreheads touch. You hear the smile in her voice.

“I’m here now, aren’t I?”

You’ve learned not to waste your time in tears, when she’s going to leave. There are better ways to spend those last moments, eyes dry and focused on tracing the lines of her face, committing it to memory for the last time in who knows how long. You sit up, curling into her, pressing your lips to hers, her hair still damp and smelling like the bar of soap you’d lent her when you fixed her a bath, your pruned fingertips massaging her scalp as the water began to cool. You make it to bed, sleeping soundly with her arms around you.

True to her word, she leaves in the morning. Leaving no trace, no proof she was ever there in the first place. But you feel the warmth of the sheets next to you, and you know.

She finds you the next summer.

“Don’t move.”

You freeze, tall grass up to your knees, long skirt swishing as you wade through the field, sun blaring down on you.

A pair of warm hands press softly over your eyes.

“You’re back.” You beam, spinning around, taking her head in your hands, eyes shut, just listening to her breathing. You press your lips to hers.

“I sure am.” When you break away to take her in, look at her sunkissed face, you’re not sure you’ve ever seen her smile wider. If you didn’t know better, you’d say she got more beautiful every time you saw her.

You lie sun-drunk in the shade of the tall grass, lazing against each other as you go over your birthday, the village gossip, and she listens. Always listening, drinking up your words like she’s parched.

You’ve learned not to ask Lucy Gray where she’s been hiding, you both know it’s safer the less gets said. But she presses on, ever gentle, asking you for details when you fill her in on your life.

You jump at a movement in the grass beside you, but she just laughs. Picks up the snake, humming as it wraps and twists itself around her hand.

“These ones won’t hurt you, darlin’. They’re docile, see? Wouldn’t harm a fly.”

She lifts the snake to you slowly.

“You’re sure?”

“Do you trust me?”

“Always.” You reply instantly, like you’ve waited your whole life to hear the question.

“Then hold out your hand.”

You reach out.

“Close your eyes.”

You do. After a second, you feel hers, pressing into your palm, and an oddly warm sensation, smooth.

“It feels… dry.”

You open your eyes. The snake twists and drapes between the two of you, loosely binding your hand with Lucy Gray’s, holding you together.

She laughs, bright and sweet, like music.

“Well, what were you expecting?”

“I don’t know.” You confess. “Maybe for it to be wet? Slippery?”

Her laughter chimes through the field, a low gust of winding carrying it away. You stay like that for a few more hours, until night begins to fall, and the summer wind carries her away, too.

A year passes. Then another half.

Your mother gets older; she gets sick. You venture outside the bounds in twelve, slipping under the rusted wire fence with a basket, collecting herbs you’d started to read about but couldn’t afford. You make tinctures, teas, you light incense and fill the house with sprigs of rosemary and thyme. It slows down the sickness that tore through her like wildfire. When she passes, it’s beautifully peaceful, like a candle being blown out. You carry her ashes to the lake and you spread them, lingering by the Covey’s cabin. Hoping.

She doesn’t come. You walk home, humming something you think you remember her singing years ago. You start to wonder if she was just something you dreamt up, an old folk song you sing to yourself each night before you fell asleep.

Spring rolls around, and your empty house gathers dust. Your way with herbs and remedies gets around, starting with a few bottles gifted to a neighbour with influenza. Her granddaughter comes to your doorstep with the empty vial and a bag of potatoes. You smile and thank her.

“Are you a witch?” She asks, barely ten years old and looking up at you with dark, mistrusting eyes. You laugh.

“I’m not too sure about that, hon. Did the herbs help?”

She nods, a frown etched along her features.

“Then perhaps I’m a good one.”

Before you know it, word gets around that you cured the old woman. You make a living collecting herbs, crushing them down, and people line up outside your door most days. You find a slice of peace in it, in the routine.

But winter is cruel, and the house turns cold. The house that was once the perfect size for you and your mother now feels like too much money and work to heat, and things start breaking, and leaking. You hear from your cousin in Seven, you’ve inherited a log cabin and a slice of land on the edge of some woods from a great-aunt you never met.

You weigh your options. You go to the lake and skim stones in the icy water, mulling it over.

To leave Twelve is everyone’s dream. But Lucy Gray. The gentle ghost who lingers over your shoulder. How will she find you, if she ever comes back? You can’t stay here waiting forever. One bad frost kills your crops, the chill sets into your bones, and you make up your mind. You pack up your herbs and bottles, your books and your clothes, the pinecone you keep beneath your pillow, the silver snake bracelet she gave you many years ago, and you leave. A simple, smudged note sits under the plant pot on the porch, your old hiding place for the spare house key where she’ll know to look:

I’m in the trees. Come find me.

District Seven has more trees than you’ve ever seen. Twelve is known for it’s forests and fields, but these woods are expansive, spanning over miles, trees lined up perfectly, the smell of freshly chopped wood filling your senses.

Every step you took made you wonder if Lucy Gray been here, if the birds in these trees had heard her saccharine voice.

Your herbs sell a lot better in Seven. It’s enough to buy new clothes, and the village is better kept. The people are kind, warm and friendly. You can finally afford to eat your fill. Your cabin at the edge of the woods stays warm and comfortable, the wood is plentiful, you chop your own from the land that’s now yours.

Sometimes when your head spins from the weight of the axe you see movement in the woods, and you wonder. Sometimes you peer inside, certain that it’s her. But she feels so far away from you now, that you can’t help but feel you’ve abandoned her.

You take walks through the forests; you whistle to the birds and listen for the ones who might sing back. You hear nothing. One day, in the town, you walk by a window display with an old, beat-up guitar. It looks well-loved, and something draws you to it. Faded gold paint around the sound hole, strings messy but you go inside and barter, and take it home with you.

You hum some of the old songs she used to sing, try to piece together chords on the strings that aren’t snapped. It sounds like a mess but you play anyway. It feels like a piece of her that you want to keep close to you. You’ve learned to become a collector of sorts.

You’re kept warm through winter, and spring fades into summer. You take the little fishing boat that came with the cabin out on the river, and hike through the forest. You take your guitar with you, and one day, finally, you hear it.

A mockingjay.

It sings your broken tune back to you, bouncing through the pines. A smooth voice cuts through the birdsong.

“Did you miss me?”

Lucy Gray.

Your head spins around. And there she is, smiling, and you fall into her arms.

“I was so scared. I thought you weren’t coming back.”

“I know. I’ll be honest, I didn’t think I would either.”

“But you’re here, you found me! My note, I didn’t know if…”

“The trees.” She grins. “District Seven. It made perfect sense, my love.”

“I can’t believe you’re here. Lucy Gray, you don’t know how happy I am to see you.”

“Oh, I think I do. If you think for a second you’re alone in that, you couldn’t be more wrong. Now,” she adds, nodding at the guitar, “what do we have here?”

You take her onto the river, safer in Seven than you’d ever been in Twelve. She watches as you grind up lavender, the smell filling up the cabin, fascinated as you explain the hobby that you’d turned into work. She fixes your guitar strings, teaches you some simple chords. You sit on the porch, playing while she sings.

“It suits you here, you know.”

“You think so?”

“I do.” She pauses. “I was so sorry to hear about your ma. She was a good woman. She was always kind to me. To everyone.”

“Thank you. I’m okay now, really. I like it here. It’s quiet, peaceful. I think that’s what she’d want for me.”

When she stares up at the sky, birds soaring up above, the rush of the wind through the trees, you can’t help but ask. This is all so perfect, and after so long you can’t bear the thought of her leaving again.

“Do you know how long…”

She smiles.

“Maybe a day or two? If that’s okay.”

You can’t hide your grin. You nod, and she glances up at you.

“Of course that’s okay. More than okay.”

Her fingers press over yours as she demonstrates a final chord. She sits behind you as you strum, grinning at her, head spinning around and she’s so close, it’s almost surreal.

“You did it!” She’s beautiful. Vivid like a daydream, all technicolor.

“That’s all of it?”

“That’s all of it. Just play those four over again and you’ve got yourself a song.”

Your fingers intertwine, hand slipping from the guitar.

“Thank you for teaching me.” You whisper with a smile.

“You’ll remember it, won’t you?” There’s a solemness to it.

You frown.

“Of course I will. I’ll practice all the time.”

“You promise?” Her voice is desperate.

You slide the guitar to the floor and take her hand in yours, clasping it to your chest. Eyes making a silent oath.

“I won’t forget, Lucy Gray. I promise you.”

She nods, corners of her mouth turning up into a smile. You sigh.  

“You know I’ve kept everything, don’t you? All of it. Everything I have that reminds me of you.”

“I saw the pinecone on the mantelpiece. Was that from-”

“The time we made the fire in 12? Yeah.”

She lights up.

“You’re such a romantic. I love it. You-”

Your lips press to hers, suddenly overcome with emotion. When you pull away, she sees the tears on your cheeks.

“I’m sorry. I… I didn’t think I’d ever see you again.” You cry. “I really didn’t, and… I don’t want you to leave, I-”

Her wide eyes fill with apology.

“I know. I wish I didn’t have to leave, sugar. I’m sorry it took me so long this time. I wish I could tell you how much it hurts to be away. It feels like I never really rest, until I’m back with you. Does that make sense?”

You nod, blinking away your tears.

“Will you do something for me, my love?” She presses, soft hands brushing away your tears.

“Anything.”

“Until tomorrow, can we pretend I’m not leaving? Pretend like this is our normal. Like we’ve got all the time in the world.”

You close your eyes, then look at her again, just as quickly, not wanting to waste a precious second.

“All the time in the world.” You whisper back.

True to your word, you make the most of it. She leaves you the next morning. You say a proper goodbye this time, holding her like you’ll never let go. But you do.

Weeks stretch on and you can feel her slipping away again. The birds ease the pain, singing her pretty melodies back to you, like a worn-out record you’ve played on repeat. You throw the windows and doors open, filling the house with summer’s balmy air and the sound of her voice bouncing through the rooms as if she was still there. But soon enough, they forget her dulcet notes, and you’re alone with yourself again.

You track the time through seasons, like you always have. The summer draws to a bittersweet close, and you miss it before it’s fully gone.

You slip back into your routine. You take the boat out alone. The schoolchildren sneak up to your door at times, you hear them whispering. The witch rumours are back in full swing but you don’t mind them. You think it rather suits you. You open the door, much to their horror, and offer them some cookies. They come dutifully back for more on Saturdays, and you appreciate the bit of company.

You keep your promise, and it keeps her alive. You practice the chords she taught you, rough calluses starting to form on your fingers. You trace them at night when the world gets too quiet, and as winter closes in again it gets quieter still. The birds fly away to escape the cold, and you wonder if out there somewhere, she might see them. You find yourself praying the winter isn’t being too cruel to her, wherever she is.

One day, at the market, you’re sat at your stall selling chamomile and sage tea, and you hear her name, like a question in someone’s voice. They remember. They remember her. Your heart swells. You want to scream at the top of your lungs, it’s her. She is the girl you love.

She appears more and more in your dreams, some nights you’re restless, dreaming of her scared, running from something in a dark forest, sometimes you’re there by her side. Other times you wake with a start thinking she’s knocking at your door. You sprint outside into the darkness, barefoot on the damp grass, turning in circles before you catch your breath.

You could make yourself some valerian root tea as a remedy, but you don’t. You don’t mind her living on through your dreams. In fact, it’s quite the opposite.

You’re comforted by this haunting.

She finds you again. She always does.

“I saw the Covey a few months ago.” You tell her, the first night you spend together, lay in your bed, arms and legs a tangled mess, her hand in your hair.

Her eyes light up.

“Did you really? Close to here?”

You nod.

“They weren’t here for long. I’m not sure they recognised me, I was at the back of the room. It was pretty dark.”

Her eyes are wistful, filled with something you think you understand now.

“It all feels like so long ago, doesn’t it? I forget sometimes, just how long it’s been.” She looks to the floor. “And Maude Ivory – was she there? How’d she look?”

“She was.” You grin. “She looked happy. Healthy. She was smiling and dancing the whole night, like she always used to.”

You pause for a second, wondering if you should go back, mention that she, much like you, must still have an emptiness, a gap in her life even after all these years, but it’s like Lucy Gray reads your mind. Always one step ahead.

“That’s good.” She says decidedly. “It’s all I ever wanted for her. To be happy. Free. Thank you for telling me. I… I think about them a lot. About all of it. But I always hoped they’d move on without me.”

You’re quiet when you speak again.

“Lucy Gray, I don’t think anyone could ever move on from you.”

It lingers in the air. You speak up again.

“Can I tell you something?”

“Of course you can.”

“When I saw them that night, I stayed for the whole set, because… well, it’s silly,” you confess, “I couldn’t stop watching. I kept thinking that you’d show up. Like they’d just announce your name and they’d all cheer like they did in Twelve. Like you would get up there and sing, and see me in the crowd, and just… smile. Like you’d asked me to be there that night.”

It’s back again, that wistful look of hers.

“I sure wish I had been, sugar. But I think I’d rather be here with you than up on that stage, these days.”

Warmth fills your chest. “Yeah?”

She takes a breath.

“It’s important that people forget me. It’s safer this way. I don’t know what they’d do if they found me, but I know for certain I don’t plan to find out. Maybe one day… well, we’ll have to see. But for now, I could stay a little longer. Would that be okay? If I stayed until the week ends?”

Stay forever, you want to say. But you nod, holding her like she’s already gone.

When she leaves, it’s too soon. Always too soon. You stand in front of the cabin, wishing you could mold your hand around hers and never let go. You kiss her goodbye.

“You didn’t see me here.” She whispers against your lips.

“Not sure I know what you’re talking about.” You respond, and her lips turn into a half-smile.

“Now. Close your eyes.”

You press them shut, feeling her hands slip from yours. When you open them, she’s gone again.

As the years go by, you stop hearing the name Lucy Gray altogether. She starts to feel more like a folk tale; a messy, ink splashed cursive on old parchment. You yearn to speak of her, to keep her legacy alive, but you can’t. You don’t. You remember, though. The world could forget about Lucy Gray Baird, but your memory of her lived on like a still-beating heart, and in turn it kept her alive. You’d be lying if you said it didn’t keep you alive, too.

You make quite the name for yourself, your apothecary bringing in customers from across Seven, sometimes further. So much so, that sometimes you wonder if when she passes through Twelve or Seven, she hears about you and remembers, counting down the days until she gets to come home.

She still haunts your dreams, slipping away as soon as you wake up. But she’ll come back. No matter how many times she leaves. Wherever you go, she’ll find you. She could go anywhere in the world, but she’ll always come back home to you. And you’ll be waiting for her, even if the world curses her name, even if the Covey forgets her too. You understand now. She’s as much yours as you are hers. And when she comes home, it’ll always feel like she never left. And that’s enough for you. It was always enough.

You leave your porch light on.

taglist: (i'm just gonna tag people who showed interest in the excerpt/might like this!) @etfrin @darby-rowe @ohstardew @ohmeadows @sabrinasbd @ctrlovertheworld

[wolfnlamb]

Choso and you, sneaking onto a football field at night.

Disclaimers: Not proofread. Fem!reader. Pussy job. Teasing. Sex outside. Reader wears a dress. Pwp. Just being horny for this man as usual.

Under 18 and ageless blogs do not interact-you’ll be blocked.

“The lights are off, so I don’t think anyone can see us,” you said, Choso’s hand cupped to yours as you both walked past the bleachers.

After leaving the noisy restaurant earlier, the night was still young and you both didn’t want to go home yet. Nearby, you could see the empty field behind a chain linked fence, across the street.

Choso looked around curiously, a bit nervous, but eager to do whatever you wanted. He liked your spur of the moment ideas.

“It’s not muddy, is it?” He asked trying to peer down at the grass.

“Actually, I can’t tell…” you replied, gingerly stepping through the grass.

You arrived in the center of the field, reaching down to inspect the patch you found, deeming it safe enough to lie down. The grass was a bit damp, but not enough to deter you from your deprived idea. Satisfied, you let go of his hand and laid back in the grass, letting your dress expose your thighs.

“It’s safe…come here.”

You reached up to the broad man, seeing a smile across his face as a car light shined on his face briefly. He knelt down beside you.

Next to you, he turned his chest to invite you into his embrace, your faces close enough to touch noses.

Choso smiled more, pulling you closer into his body. Even in the darkness, you could still make out the lazy crooked smile, his signature look.

“You wanna kiss for a bit?” He asked, but neglected to wait for your answer, as his lips closed in on yours.

Choso’s kisses are slow and deliberate. He always makes sure to take it slow, giving attention to your top and bottom lip, kissing the corners of them, pulling away for slight pause before nudging his nose into yours for more. Once his tongue is caressing yours, he deepens, wanting to taste all of you.

You can’t help it, pulling the fabric of your dress up so you can spread your thighs, bringing his own thigh between them. You needed to feel him touching your core; you needed something of his to grind on.

The street just behind the chain linked fence was still busy; a few cars speeding by, their headlights shining briefly on the field illuminating your bodies. But you both didn’t care.

“I wanna get on top—“ you said eagerly, pushing his shoulders flat against the grass.

Choso’s lips were swollen from kissing, and he nodded in agreement as you climbed on top, straddling his hips. You could feel his length against your pussy, rock hard, hidden under his jeans. You wiggled playfully and he snaked his hands under your dress.

“What if I took my panties off…?”

You leaned forward to kiss his open mouth again, making Choso laugh against your lips. His deep voice vibrated in his throat.

“I could help you with that.”

He hooked his big fingers over your panties, helping you maneuver your leg up, awkwardly pulling it out while you both giggled at the absurdity. One leg. Then the other. And then you were bare. Choso balled your panties into his fist, unsure of where to toss them.

“Give me those, I know a better place for them…” you laughed.

You took your soaked panties out of his hand, and draped them across his neck.

“You’re something else tonight, aren’t you?”

He could smell your arousal, so close to his face. He wanted to pull your thighs up and over his head, but he refrained, curious about what your next suggested would be for the night.

“Now it’s your turn,” you whispered down to him, grinding your wetness into the fabric of his jeans.

Choso hummed in satisfaction, his head titled to the side while you humped his hard, clothed cock. He could let you continue to do this - and he’d for sure cum in his pants. Choso lifted your dress with his hand, gazing at the way your pussy spread over his tented zipper.

The cool of the night gave your skin goosebumps; along your collarbone Choso could see them scattered. He wanted to pull your dress down and watch your breasts spill out. Above your head, the night sky was clear, with a few scattered stars. The entire scene was like dream to him.

“C’mon, take it out-“ you begged, ever so pathetically.

Snapping out of his hazy dream, Choso started undoing his button, pulling his zipper. You lifted your hips up to give him space to pull his jeans down. Another car passed by, which gave you both a startle.

Choso pulled his cock out over the band of his boxers, laying it against his stomach, so heavy and ….leaking. Your hand went to grasp it greedily, and you could feel the wetness smothered across the mushroom tip. Your fingers slid down his shaft easily, and Choso let out a sigh of contentment.

His hands pulled at your hips, urging you to sit down on his length. You’d been hovering still, just above him, your heat so close to his. Barely grazing him.

“Let me feel you…,” he whispered, raggedly.

You shook your head playfully, hand still pumping him.

“….please?” Choso wasn’t afraid of being soft, admitting he wanted something from you. Asking nicely for it, instead of taking it. The sweetness of his voice made your pussy throb.

“Okay, I’ll let you feel my pussy since you’re such a good boy.”

You lowered yourself down on to him; gliding his cock between your lips, feeling the firmness of him pressed to you. You leaned forward, wanting to angle yourself to feel him against your clit.

The sensation had you gasping immediately, hands falling forward and planting on either side of his head. Your fingers dug into the grass, the coolness spreading across your palms. How quickly the tables turned; you teasing him up until that point, and now you were the one desperate.

Choso watched your face, enamored by your features as they twisted with pleasure. He liked—no, he loved how needy you’d get from him, rocking your hips back and forth for your own pleasure against the underside of his cock. He loosened his grip on your hips, letting you take full control, doing as you pleased.

Choso sighed, “Oh, that’s it—that feels good,” he rolled his eyes back, only for a moment, too eager to keep watching you use him.

Another car drove by the field, headlights shining through the fence, illuminating your bodies briefly. But you both didn’t give shit anymore; Choso didn’t even turn his head to check if they’d been spotted.

You leaned down to kiss him, letting your grass covered fingers run through his loose hair. Choso breathed you in; inhaling your essence as your tongues played with each other. When you pulled back, he grabbed the back of your neck to keep you close to him, letting him take in your features again.

“…you’re so beautiful, so damn beautiful.”

With his other hand, he reached down between your legs to grasp his cock, angling it toward your entrance. He dragged it a few times between your pussy lips before it caught your hole, and pushed it in. Your mouth hung open as he did so, your gaze locked on his inky, black eyes. It never ceased to amaze you how dark they were; how you felt like falling into them and disappearing into his depths.

Fully inside you now, Choso brought both hands to cradle your face to kiss you gently on the lips while you rocked your hips slowly against him.

His sighs of pleasure pushed you further; your hips grinding deeper into his, pushing his length deeper inside of you. Between your legs, the wetness had become so much; a sticky, rhythmic sound picking up pace the more excited you became.

Broken murmurs left your lips; something about how deep he was, cursing at how good he made you feel, your voice cracking. He smiled up at you, dragging his thumb across your chapped lip.

“Keep fucking me, want you to use me until you cum,”

His saccharine words rang in your ears.

You leaned back out of his hands, placing your own on his chest for better leverage, and began fucking him hard. With only your hips rolling vigorously, you watched him gasp:

“Yes, keep going—“

Choso spread his thighs apart more, giving you more access to his cock, letting you sink down deeper with each grind. He could feel the familiar clenching of your walls, the spasms becoming erratic. He balled the bottom of your dress in his hand and lifted it up, simultaneously pulling at the top so your tits could finally fall out.

He liked this view: Seeing how sticky your pussy was against his pubic hair, how soft your belly looked, the dips in your hips and how your tits bounced before him.

Choso took his thumb into his mouth, coating it nicely with his spit, before placing it over your clit. His thumb was rough, but he moved in gentle circles, lightly over the bundle of nerves, just how you liked it. The sensation made you cry out.

Broken sentences left your lips again; praising his ministrations and how close you were. Choso never skipped a beat, telling you to keep going, keep fucking me, baby.

“Right there? Is it there?” His patience we ’re running thin now. He wanted to help you.

Choso grabbed your shoulders and pulled you flush to his chest, before thrusting his cock into you repeatedly. Your clit rubbed against his pubic bone perfectly, and you melted into him more, letting him take control. You could feel his breath fanning over your cheek, and he whispered to you raggedly.

You felt the high coming on, the delicious sensation overcoming your senses as Choso cock reached deep inside of you, his bush rubbing your clit, so wet and sloppy.

Your eyes rolled back when it finally hit you, mouth agape against Choso’s neck, his hair getting caught in your mouth. He could feel you clenching around him, and his balls tightened.

He grunted lowly, squeezing you tighter in his embrace as he released into you; thighs spasming with each spurt of his cum.

Collapsing on top of him, you both panted for a minute or two lost in the ecstasy. Choso kissed your temple while gazing at the night sky, feeling the heat from his forehead cool off from the night breeze.

“That was fun,” he chuckled.

You smirked and squeezed his biceps, wiggling your hips because he was still inside of you. His scent was a mixture of sweat, cologne and the dampness earth beneath him.

“Yes it was…I’m full of great ideas.”

[kitchenisking]

August Fic Rec

I know its late, but better late then never😅 enjoy the fics my loves. And stay hydrated!❤️

Take Your Breath Away by thecheekydragon - (Rating: Explicit, Words: 23102, sterek)

Stiles didn’t need Scott to tell him who their new English Lit teacher was. He knew it was Derek Hale. He also knew Derek Hale was hot.

Graceless by AsexualDerek (Cammerel) - (Rating: Explicit, Words: 22075, sterek)

Stiles doesn't ask for much in return, but a 'please' would be nice.

Then There Was You by EvanesDust, Novkat21 - (Rating: T, Words: 1409, sterek)

'So, could I get you something?' Stiles signs as he speaks, his movements stiff and self-conscious. It's obvious he hasn't done this in a while. 'Did you wanna make out?'

Derek's brows shoot up in surprise, heat rising in his cheeks. That couldn't have been right. 'I'm sorry. I think I misunderstood. Could you repeat that?'

Stiles tries again, and this time there's no mistaking it as he crosses his wrists and bobs his hands up and down as if they were two people making out. But it's a good thing that Derek can read lips because he's clearly saying, "Would you like a coffee?"

They’re all together ooky, the Hale family… (Snap, Snap) by DropsOfAddiction - (Rating: Explicit, Words: 12482, sterek)

Derek realises that he’s probably squashing Stiles a little bit, right at the same moment that Stiles apparently realises that he’s still holding onto Derek’s face.

They both definitely acknowledge Derek’s nakedness at the same exact time, judging by the alarmed look on Stiles’ face.

“So, you have no clothes on,” Stiles removes his hands and holds them above his head in surrender, cheeks a muddy red.

“In my defence, I was covered in fur less than two minutes ago,” Derek rolls his eyes and he pushes himself up and off him, hands covering his junk for Stiles’ sake.

“You’re still kind of furry now…” Stiles sits up, blinking rapidly, clearly just as weirded out as Derek. “Oh my god, pretend I didn’t say that. I’m not looking or anything.”

Derek smirks, because that… that was a lie and he cocks an eyebrow at him.

How Many Wonders by SylvieW - (Rating: Mature, Words: 15359, sterek)

Derek doesn’t think Scott should make a deal with Stiles the sea witch in the first place. When Scott can’t hold up his end of the bargain, he’s doomed to spend eternity in Stiles’ watery hell-soaked lair. Derek can’t stand to see his best friend taken and he’s got an eternity to spare…

Welcome To The Pack by orphan_account - (Rating: Explicit, Words: 16527, sterek)

Summary: A wolf, animal or were doesn't leave it's pack without good reason because it's damned hard and dangerous to join a new one. Stiles is a young Omega forced to do just that when his dad moves from Rio Vista to Beacon Hills.

WARNING: This features Derek in his Animagus Alpha wolf form with Stiles in his Omega wolf form. I don't view this as bestiality, but if the idea squicks you, be a responsible adult and don't read!

Teasing Daddy by sapphireginger - (Rating: Mature, Words: 698, sterek)

Being a parent is something Stiles and Derek both love. One particular morning though their usual banter is laced with underlying sexual teasing. Good thing their kiddos don't pick up on it.

Fight Fear for the Selfish Pain (it was worth it every time) by LadySlytherin - (Rating: T, Words: 11779, sterek)

After Kate Argent pretended to be his soulmate and burned most of his family alive, Derek resigned himself to a life alone, unwilling to trust the mark on his wrist again.

Stiles Stilinski has never seen his soulmark - and never will - so he's accepted that he'll never know the person who's supposedly perfect for him.

Fate is a funny thing, and it has a way of leveling the playing field in ways no one would expect.

Question of Trust by Hedwig221b - (Rating: Explicit, Words: 5785, sterek)

Having made the hardest decision of his life to willingly betray his beloved alpha, Stiles struggles to accept his new reality. The unexpected arrival of a familiar guest can change everything, but will it be done in revenge or out of love?

Satisfaction Brought It Back by Snare - (Rating: Explicit, Words: 7223, sterek)

Derek doesn't know how nobody else seems to notice the large, ever-present bulge in Stiles' jeans. He can't help but be curious about it, he just - he just wants.

[a-table-of-fics]

Oddworld: Conar’s Ambition, Chapter 14, Draft 1

“So, uh, what’s a raisin, anyway?”

Conar peeked his head out from past Chairman. He couldn’t bring the whole pack with him, of course, but he was able to bring his best friend at least, provided the two shared a grass-filled bed meant for Meep.

“Hell if I know, man,” he admitted. “But if he’s behind those Ratz, I’d say we got a good thing goin’.”

“You keep going on about those Ratz,” Slim remarked. “You sure you’re not just seein’ things? Those critters’r everywhere anyway.”

Conar remained silent, slipping back to lie on his stomach. It was the best way to look up at the window (well, the opening in the wall). Even through his visor, he could see the stars above for the first time. They were nothing like what he saw on TV; they were less jagged yellow things and more light blue dots, painting the sky in intricate patterns. Had he really missed out on entire worlds just above him?

“What’s eating you?” asked Slim.

“Oh, you know,” Conar laughed absently, “Just thinkin’ about what I’ll do with Zeb’s moolah… you think I can get one of them Howitzers?”

“All this and you’re still thinking about raiding that Glukkon, huh?” Slim shook his head. “Couldn’t ask for more from a Slig.”

Conar mulled over that as he tried to count the stars. He found he didn’t have the strength to argue the point, but he contemplated it while his eyes became heavy.

He dreamt of rushing waters, of being swept up, of being unable to do anything but obey the flow. He dreamt of the metal gullet of a cannery, of unknowable pistons working tirelessly at vast functions. He dreamt of being beaten endlessly with meat tenderizers, of being sliced with countless blades. He dreamt of Mudokons working tirelessly at the mechanisms as Sligs laughed contemptuously at him. At the end of the river, he dreamed of a bowl big enough for him to fall into, with Slogs ready to chow down. No one but him took issue with this exchange.

But right as the first bite was about do dig into him, he felt something else prodding him tentatively.

“Conar? Conar, wake u—” Slim started, before dodging a reflexive swipe.

He could swear he saw Conar’s eyes quiver for a moment behind the glowing visor. Even the red seemed to soften as Conar caught his breath.

“Y-you can’t just wake a Slig like that!” Conar finally managed. “I just…”

“You know you coulda took your claws off,” Slim remarked.

Conar paused mid-climb onto Chairman. He sighed, pulling on the loose threads holding the worm’s teeth. They fell without ceremony into the mud. Conar grumbled as he finished mounting onto Chairman.

“Well, what is it?” he asked.

“Some guy with a lot of feathers in his head wanted us to get ready to follow him. Apparently that raisin really wants to see us.”

Slim scooped up the now-muddy claws, a slight grimace on his face. Even after leaving the Sloghut, he had to pick up after a Slig?

“Well, c’mon, boy,” Conar said, turning his attention to a groggy Chairman. “With any luck, you can chomp on somethin’ on the way.”

Chairman snorted, but slowly stepped back, preparing to leap over the fence. Catching Slim’s glare, Conar gently pushed on Chairman’s forehead before he could try. Instead, the two strode over to the gate, where Conar could extend his tentacles to the latch.

The two followed Slim out the door to greet a grey Mudokon, adorned with orange and purple feathers, plenty of blue and indigo body paint, and an eternally tired grimace. He briefly cringed when he saw the Slig and Slog, but didn’t otherwise change expression as he addressed them all.

“Okay, let’s make this quick. Your jerk boss is hangin’ out at the Fleech Fields, and the Almighty Raisin wants to help ya get there. But he’s not going to do it for free, y’know; he’s gonna be askin’ a favor from the two of you.”

“What kind of favor?” Conar asked.

“He didn’t say,” the Mudokon shrugged. “Guess you gotta ask him yourself. Just try not to blast him with your rank smoke breath, okay?”

Conar scowled. He did not need to be reminded of losing his cigarettes, and he certainly didn’t need this jerk’s attitude.

“So where can we find this Raisin guy?” Slim asked, trying to position himself between the other Mudokon and Conar.

“There’s a Well down the path that’ll take you straight to his cave. Only problem you got is some bastitches setting up camp there, Odd knows why. Call themselves Wolvarks, and I’ll be honest, I’d prefer if they had your ugly mug.”

He pointed to Conar with that last comment, but Conar didn’t so much as sneer. Instead, he reeled back, causing Chairman to look up in worry at him.

“Wolvarks?!” he exclaimed. “The hell are they doin’ this far east? Don’t they know this is Magog turf?”

“Wouldn’t call It ‘Magog turf’ when you’re around Mudokons if I were you,” the guide said, eyes narrowing. “You Magogs have been messing with our turf since I was a hatchling!”

There was silence for a moment as he glared, and then he walked over to a ring of stones.

“If you can drive those guys off before you get there, that’d be great.”

He nudged a rock with his foot before stepping over to the center.

 “And I’m guessin’ you won’t be giving us any kinds of weapons or anything?”

“That ain’t my wheelhouse,” the purple Mudokon shrugged. “But hey, from the looks of your armor and weapons, you were able to take a Pirthworm out. This should be no biggie!”

And with that, he left an outline of otherworldly sparks as he vanished.

“Yeah, thanks,” Conar said with a grimace.

He drummed his fingers on Chairman for a moment, not caring about the Slog taking quick snaps at the sparks.

“Shouldn’t be any problem, should it?” Slim asked, looking ahead. “After all, the Magog chose you over whatever these Wool Farts are, right?”

“Heh, yeah,” Conar laughed mirthlessly. “I’m sure we can kick some booty no problem. General Dripik always called us the muscle of the Magog.”

He failed to mention the exact wording, given he remembered the phrase “low-price lowlives” in it. He also failed to mention how Dripik was reported missing after Abe apparently tore his old Barracks a new one; he couldn’t imagine how the Wolvarks could look much worse than the Sligs after that.

Slim sighed in relief.

“Gotta admit, if you were worried, we’d be screwed.”

Conar grunted, nudging Chairman away from the ring of stones. He didn’t get how they couldn’t be taken with the magical vanishing Mudokon, but there were more pressing matters, and he was finally getting a lead to someone who could help him get to Zeb.

Slim, though, was in no hurry, turning to wave at the villagers.

“Thanks for letting us stay!” he called, cheerfully.

He was met with stone silence from the guards. They nodded, but their eyes were on Conar, anticipating anything he might do.

“Yeah yeah,” Conar scoffed. “I’m leavin’.”

As he and Chairman turned to follow the trail, Slim saw the two relax. He shook his head, turning to follow his ally. He had fantasized about being in the luxurious guardsman position, overseeing the Slig floor-scrubbers with whatever power trips came to mind, but even if this was kind of close, it felt weird when Conar was the second-class citizen. Best he could do now is walk alongside Chairman in uncomfortable silence.

After about ten minutes, Conar grunted that strange raspy grunt that reminded Slim of the time the Recycler was jammed.

“They give you anything to eat?” he asked. “Could go for some meat myself.”

And a smoke, he added to himself. My lungs’re itching like hell.

“Sure,” Slim sighed.

He reached into his pouch and quickly produced chunks of something pink even after the fire left its scorch marks on it. It made Chairman stop and salivate. Slim tensed, but soon laughed.

“Gotta wait your turn, buddy,” he said, patting Chairman’s head. “Your boss needs some food, too.”

He took some of the larger bits and offered them to Conar.

“What’re these?” he asked, a second before taking a chunk in his tentacles and scarfing it down. His hands greedily reached out for the rest.

“I think they said it was Meep,” Slim shrugged. “Doesn’t taste like any Meep I’ve had, though.”

“You can say that again,” Conar chuckled, offering some of the extra to Chairman who devoured without a second thought. “It’s nothin’ like Meep Treats, huh?”

He wondered what happened at RuptureFarms to make it less like the smoky tenderness of mutton and more like the candied sweetness he knew from back home.

The three ate for a bit before they heard footsteps from up ahead. Someone was grumbling about having to do patrol work, and he whined about missing out on “the game”. Neither Slim nor Conar had ever heard a drawl like that.

They rushed into the bushes, Conar hastily trying to shush Chairman to keep him from growling at the strange smell. It was a scent familiar to any Slig, but wrapped in a veneer too dry for anyone from East Mudos.

“…coulda least let me’ve taken my flask,” the voice said, its owner soon coming into view. With leathery yellow skin, a toothy underbite and strange ears on either side of a green beret, the Wolvark loped forward on the stubbiest legs Conar had ever seen. He had casually slung a weird-looking rifle over his shoulder, one with strangely placed blades on the muzzle. He exhaled a puff of smoke as he continued grumbling, flicking a Lungbuster out of his mouth.

The tantalizing smell reached Conar’s face. He was already in a sourer mood than usual, but someone else getting the relief that he had lost just yesterday?

“Get ‘im!” he shouted, riding Chairman into battle.

“…the hell?” the Wolvark turned, immediately readying his gun. He leapt to the side, deftly dodging the Slog bite and taking aim.

Chairman skidded to a halt and turned to snarl at the Wolvark, Conar swinging around and readjusting his grip.

“Wait’ll I tell the boys about this!” the Wolvark laughed, opening fire.

Darts sailed past Slig and Slog as the three started a deadly dance. The Wolvark gleefully dodged as Chairman lunged forward and Conar shouted obscenities at his adversary. More darts fired, Chairman yelping as a couple hit him. The Slog’s steps slowed, and he whined as every movement felt heavy. Finally, he fell forward, letting Conar slip off as he fell asleep.

“C’mon, get up you—” Conar hissed before the Wolvark’s shadow loomed over him. He looked up, knowing full well he was screwed.

“Looky here,” the Wolvark laughed. “Here I thought you were a lump of sludge on some poor Sleg. Reckon I was right!”

“Y-you scaly bastard!” Conar spat. “You think you can just come over and make camp here?!”

“Damn, you’re late to the party! Once we clear out those Mud guys, I tell ya, we’ll strike it rich with the Magog’s—”

The Wolvark’s boasts were cut off with a gasp, followed by bloody gurgles and spit. His eyes quivered downwards to find a very toothy spearpoint twisting out of his stomach. He gave a last glance to Conar before keeling over, dropping his gun.

“O-oh Odd,” Slim said, dropping the spear and letting the corpse fall. “I g-got him…”

His hands were shaking, and his eyes tried and failed to dart away from his kill. Conar recognized the look.

“Thanks,” he said, crawling forward. He barely cared that he was getting blood onto his hands. “I dunno what I would’ve done if you weren’t there to save my ass.”

“Y-yeah…”

Conar thought back to his childhood, when he was still in training. He had been ordered to club his first live target to death. Seemed to be a senseless waste of a Mudokon, he told himself to justify his guilt over it. He had convinced himself for years that that was the reason, but now that he was looking at Slim’s face, he was starting to doubt that. At least the Blunderbuss was less up close and personal.

“We oughta get movin’,” Conar said, matter-of-factly. “Help me get Chairman up and we’ll get that body outta here.”

He started to pull darts from his Slog’s hide, stopping to eye one of them. He looked at the Wolvark’s gun blankly. What use was a gun that didn’t kill its target? He was glad he’d still have his Chairman alongside him, but still, the concept was more than a little foreign to him.

“Does that rifle fit your hands?” he asked.

“I-I think so,” Slim replied. “B-but you sure you wouldn’t—”

“Hell no!” Conar laughed, mostly for show. “You think I’m gonna use those clowns’ peashooters? Give me those damn worm teeth any day.”

To Conar’s relief, Slim was able to keep his finger over the trigger, tossing his spear aside.

“Hang on,” Conar said, unfastening the Wolvark’s bandolier. “There should be more ammo here, and you might need the spear, too. Just gimme the cigarettes if they’re in any of the pouches, will ya?”

Slim nodded slowly, pulling out some darts, a pack of Lungbusters, and about fifty Moolah. He tossed the cigarettes and Moolah to Conar, who gratefully snatched everything up.

It took about a minute to get the Wolvark carcass into the deep brush, and thankfully the idiot hadn’t thought to bring anything that would’ve alerted the others. The only real challenge was pulling Chairman away from the smell of fresh meat.

Conar couldn’t believe his luck, and was ready for a well-deserved smoke. That’s when the problem arrived.

“Damn,” he muttered, realizing he didn’t have a light.

[yutahoes]

Love and Letter

pairing : college student! Yuta Nakamoto x secret admirer

word count : 4.5k words

genre : fluff

summary : A series of letters melt the anti-love’s heart.

warnings : cursing

For the “...dear you” collab hosted by @theje0ngs 😄

I had fun writing for this story. I’m sorry if I posted this early, I’m just so excited to show this to you. Please enjoy and leave feedback. 😁

Nakamoto Yuta. The perfect embodiment of the rebel guy moms would always remind young girls to get away from. Pierced ears, long hair that defies the school rule, a scowl on his face as if hating everyone which he does. A total rebel that is feared by students and teachers alike. The classic bad guy who never showed up for classes, only staying a minute for attendance roll call then skipping. 

And he wanted it to stay like this for the whole year. 

Why does he have to attend Creative Literature class when he’s not even a Literature major? Annoyed, he pushed the door of his locker and was startled when a piece of paper fell from the said locker. His name was written in front in cursive form. To say that he’s not intrigued is a total lie but he waited until he was seated in class when he unfolded the paper. 

‘Hi, Yuta. 

Please don’t be alarmed, I’m not a bad person. 

I notice you a lot in the school hallways and honestly, you’re a little scary. 

I know you’re a nice person. Please lighten up a bit.

XOXO,🍎’

A chuckle escaped his lips. Just a little scary? Him? A nice person? Isn’t this weird? Who in their right mind would make an absurd letter like this? 

But a smile escaped his lips as his mind drifted on the letter in his pocket. Should he start smiling more? Talk to some classmates? Maybe he can find out who wrote the letter. Fuck, this is so dangerous. 

Although it is ultimately different from his usual aura, he greeted the discipline director waiting by the school gate. He also gave a bow to the teachers he passed, smiling lightly at his classmates he only recognized by faces. They were obviously surprised at the sudden shift in his attitude but greeted him as well. By lunchtime, he was hanging out with the guys in his Physics class and laughing at their jokes.   

‘I don’t know if you received my letter the first time but I noticed that you’ve been a little brighter and that you’ve been hanging out with some friends. 

That’s nice. 

I’m happy to see you happier. 

Thank you for making my days brighter, Yuta.

XOXO,🍎’

Yuta smiled. But it was the letter sender who made his days brighter. Does that person like him so much? Or is this something that is made up? He doesn’t want to know but he liked the feeling of receiving the letter. 

He’s used to it by now, saying good morning to the school guard and the discipline director before entering the school gate. He would smile at the other students who were early for class, even helping some with their things. 

Every morning, he would pass by the school’s soccer field. His turf back in high school. If only he continued playing soccer, maybe he can be a part of the team and defeat these guys with terrible form. He smiled while rubbing the back of his head, walking to where the Arts building is. Soccer isn’t for him. 

‘Do you like Messi? 

I noticed you’ve always stopped by the soccer field every morning. 

Maybe you can try out for the soccer team. Didn’t you use to play for the team back in high school? 

It will be cool to see you play again.

XOXO,🍎’ 

He glanced around to see if someone was watching him read the letter but the students are busy with their own things. That person knows that he plays soccer back in high school? Is that person a schoolmate from before? But he’ll have a hard time locating who it is considering that he went to a local high school near the university. 

Is this a sign from above? Should he really try out for soccer? He did miss the feeling of the ball in his feet, the smell of the grassy field, and the excitement it brought him. Why did he even stop playing for a girl who never cared about him?

With the letter in his pocket, Yuta got accepted in the soccer team. The coach even thanked him repeatedly for changing his mind, claiming that he had been coaxing Yuta into applying since his freshman days. The guy only smiled, rubbing his head while apologizing. “The soccer golden boy is back.” And he is. He’s happy to be back. 

But training is so tedious that it startled him. Back in high school, training is such a piece of cake. Why did you have to run fifty laps around the field now? Maybe his body is really startled that for the first time in his college life, he got sick. For two days, he skipped school and just stay at home to rest. Now, he’s debating if playing soccer is all worth it. Should he quit? But he just started. Can his body take on this intense training? 

His friends were greeting him when he returned to school. The other guys from the soccer team teasing him that it’s like that at the first time but he’ll get over this. Hopefully, he will. There isn’t a letter in his locker that made him feel odd. Well, what did he expect? Maybe it already stopped. But he kinda liked it. Even looking forward to it every morning. 

“Dude, you have to attend creative literature tomorrow.” Jungwoo, one of his classmates on the said subject claimed. “We already paired for the project. Your partner seemed really down.” 

Yuta laughed at that. “Who is my partner?” 

“Y/N. She always comes early in class, sitting on the back row.” 

“A girl? Can’t I pair up with you instead?” He revolted quickly that made his friend reason out that nothing will be done if they pair up for the project even asking him the golden question of all, ‘Why are you so scared of girls?’ But Yuta just shrugged, not wanting to explain it to him. 

‘An apple a day keeps the doctor away. 

I’m glad you’re feeling fine and that you’re back in class. 

Also, the apple juice from the vendo machine tastes great. 

I hope you’re not allergic to apples.’

XOXO,🍎’

Funny, that person will say that. He isn’t. And it’s not bad to try it out. 

When he entered the room for their creative literature class, he immediately saw the girl Jungwoo was describing with her face buried in the book. Why is he even scared of talking to a girl? 

Yuta breathed hard before sitting beside her. “Y/N? Am I correct?” He asked which made the girl turn to him. Yuta handed her the same apple juice he’s drinking. “I’m Yuta Nakamoto and we’re partners for the project?” 

The girl nodded, thanking him for the drink. “It’s an epistolary piece we should make…” 

“Epis…? What?” 

She lightly giggled at that which made him stare. “Epistolary.” She said emphasizing all syllables. “It’s a letter-type fiction. We write a story using letters.” Yuta nodded at that. Letters. “I have the idea already but since it’s a pair project, I can’t start on it until I show you.” 

Can’t she show it now? Can she just do the project without his help or without talking to each other? “Do you want to discuss it after class? I’ll be in the library if…” 

“I have soccer practice.” He immediately said that made her stop. He gave her his phone, asking if they can just talk through messages that made her nod, typing her number in. The moment she returned the phone, he immediately stood up to talk to his friend, Taeyong, in the first row.

---------

“You just ditched her?” Taeyong asked that made Yuta ruffle his hair. He shouldn’t have told him. “That’s a pair project, Nakamoto. You’ll both get a zero if you don’t cooperate.” 

Yuta showed the text message he shared with Y/N. “She said she’ll just do it. She’s smart. She can do it.” 

The other shook his head. “Why can’t you just talk to her? Y/N isn’t bad. The thing you’re scared of with girls. I’m sure Y/N isn’t like that.” He raised an eyebrow at him. “All I’m saying is that you should stop being this total jerk on her. He’s not like your ex, Yuta.” That took his attention. How did he know that? “There are talks around.” But before he could ask him to elaborate, Taeyong turned a sharp left. 

The rain was falling hard that made Yuta sigh while taking out his umbrella. Soccer practice ended early because of the muddy ground that made him hate the rain. Today, of all days? He just returned from sickness and yet there’s no training. As he neared the steps of the building, he saw a familiar girl with her hand held out in the pouring rain. “Y/N.” he called. 

The girl gave him a timid smile before returning to what she was doing. Weird. Does she love the rain so much? “Do you have an umbrella?” He asked that made her shake her head. “Do you want to share? I can walk you to the bus stop.” 

“It’s fine, Yuta.” Y/N whispered while shaking her head. Once again, she started playing with the droplets of rain. Truly odd. Maybe Taeyong is right, she really is different. Yuta handed the umbrella that startled her, “Yuta!” But he was already running in the rain. Shit, he might get sick again with this. 

‘It’s been raining non-stop this past few days. It’s so gloomy. 

Also, I learned a new word today.

Niwakaame. 

Isn’t it Japanese? 

Rain Shower. 

I love the rain shower. 

How about you? I hope you don’t hate the rain as much. 

It helps water the plants, you know?

XOXO,🍎’  

A giggle escaped his lips. It does, doesn’t it? 

He just had a reason to like the rain. 

Since soccer practices had been on hold because of the rainy weather, he would always find himself in the library working on that epistolary piece with Y/N. She would always type her ideas and he would check if it was alright. But really, what does he know about all of this? 

He was just thankful that she became his partner, she's really smart and creative. He'll probably pass creative literature with ease because of her help. Another thing is that she never talks when she's in front of her laptop and he was thankful that she's saving them from awkwardness. 

He put on the straw of the apple juice before slipping it beside her notebook. Yuta returned to his comic book when he heard her say in a soft voice, "I didn't know you like apples." Yeah, he honestly didn't know that he did either. 

‘Soccer is such a boring sport for me before. Why does it take so long for players to score a goal? 

But watching you play, scoring that goal in the last minute, I’ve never felt that thrill and happiness before. 

Congratulations! 

And if no one told you this before, I guess I’ll have to tell you now. 

You are really cool, Yuta Nakamoto!

XOXO,🍎’   

The class was cheering with excitement when Yuta entered the room, everyone was congratulating him for the amazing game. He beamed happily, thanking them as he poked a straw to the apple juice he was holding and putting it on Y/N’s table but she didn’t even look at him and was just typing in front of her laptop. 

“You’re being chummy with her.” Taeyong claimed while elbowing his side. “So what’s special about Y/N that she’s the only girl you talk to?” 

Yuta had to laugh, voice resonating to the whole room. Instead of the professor, it was the TA who came for class. He just asked them to talk with their partners that made the class scrambled on their seats. Yuta sat beside Y/N who kept on typing in her laptop as if not caring about anything. “Y/N.” He called softly. “Are you alright?” 

The girl almost screamed when Yuta held her shoulder. “Yuta?” She called then stared around. “I’m sorry. Is the class starting?” She immediately put down the screen of her laptop while biting her thumb. 

“The prof isn’t here. The TA just wanted the pairs to talk about the idea.” She whispered an ‘oh, I see’ before putting out her laptop which opened a document. “You seemed busy.” 

“Paper due today.” She answered while typing, bouncing her legs while she bit her lip. 

The TA started walking around the room to see what the students are doing which made Y/N close the document, groaning when she failed to save it. The girl bumped her head to the desk that surprised Yuta. “You can type your paper and pretend to listen to me.” Yuta suggested that made her look at him. There were tears in her eyes. “Just pretend that I’m telling you the story.” 

Y/N wiped her eyes then breathed hard before opening her laptop to start with her work. Yuta smiled when she started typing words on her laptop. “Someone is giving me letters.” But her typing didn’t stop and he wondered if she was even listening to him. “I don’t know why but that person gives me comfort all the time.” The TA approached their table and she started typing at a slow pace as he continued talking to her, “I always wait for that person’s letters every morning.” 

When the TA passed, Y/N returned to her usual typing that made Yuta shrug and just watch as she focused on her work. Maybe she isn’t interested in hearing his story but it feels good that he got this chance to tell someone about the mystery sender always giving him smiles. He placed his head on the table, facing her. “I hope you meet your letter sender, superstar.” Y/N said without looking away from her laptop. And he wished he did too. 

‘Ureshii. 

I’m happy you’re always happy, Yuta. 

I’m happy to hear your laugh echo in our room. I’m happy to see you smiling at everyone you pass by. 

I’m happy you’re coming to class and enjoying soccer. 

I’m really happy for you, Yuta.

XOXO,🍎’

A smirk appeared on his lips, so this person is in the same class as him? He usually passes by this person as well. He really wants to see this person once and thank him or her. 

A thought passed his mind. What if the sender is a girl? Can he actually talk to her? Maybe not. This is probably better. That he’s curious about the mystery letter sender. 

It was the midterm week. Everyone is super busy with the things they have to do, college life is so fast-paced that it scared Yuta. He’s used to getting left behind but what if he gets too left behind? He’s not super smart, not even studious. And a failing grade meant an automatic expulsion from the soccer team which he slowly grew to love. He should just be back from his usual rebel phase. 

The thing he was scared of happened because of Math, specifically Trigonometry. He had to admit that he was blank the whole time, the result of not going to class during the first few months of school. What’s more annoying is seeing everyone’s score on the bulletin board and his fifteen points in Math. 

“Take a tutorial class and retake the exam. It isn’t that hard.” The soccer coach said. “I don’t want to expel you in the team, golden boy.” But most of the tutors are all girls which scared him the most. Yet he didn’t want to fail. 

As he skimmed the possible Math tutors to help him, his eyes fell on one specific girl that he knew who could help him. The only girl he could talk to. 

‘Keep your head up. 

It’s Math. It is naturally hard. 

Don’t beat yourself up instead focus on what you did. 

You solved an entire equation, fifteen of it and that’s admirable already. 

Keep it up, Yuta! You’ve done a great job. 

XOXO,🍎’ 

“This answer is wrong, superstar.” Y/N claimed, circling her pencil to the number two which Yuta got as an answer. The guy looked at it curiously, sighing hard while bumping his head on the table that earned looks from everyone inside the coffee shop. The girl had to giggle at him before closing her book, “We can rest if you want.” 

Yuta followed her by closing the book then drank his apple juice that made her shake her head. “Y/N, do you remember the letter sender I told you about?” He asked before leaning his head on top of the books. The girl only nodded in answer. “Should I meet him?” 

“Him? Your mystery sender is a guy?” 

The guy shrugged. “But I want to think that the sender is a he so I won’t get too nervous.” But Y/N only gave him a confused look. “I’m not good with talking to girls. I mean, I’m really scared of holding a conversation with them especially after I broke up with my girlfriend.” Yuta breathed before continuing, “She gets jealous even if I just smile at another girl and maybe that was when the trauma started. When we broke up, I just can’t shake it off. I feel like it’s wrong for me to be talking to a girl.” 

Y/N nodded. “Well, you just told that whole sentence to me. And I’m a girl.” 

“Oh shit!” Yuta exclaimed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to. Please don’t be offended.” Y/N shook her head, smiling at him. “I think you’re really pretty and smart.” 

“You think I’m friendly?” He gave her a confused look. Friendly? But he clearly said pretty. Yuta chuckled before nodding at her. 

It was Y/N’s idea to give the mystery sender a response in a form of a letter, just Yuta saying that he’s thankful for the letters the sender gave him. He even shared how he liked Keisuke Honda better than Messi, how he thinks the apple juice from the vendo machine is the best drink there is in school, and how he started to think of the rain in a better light. He thanked the sender for encouraging him to study Math and the support he got from playing soccer. By the end of the letter, he told the sender that he will wait in a coffee shop to meet him or her so he can properly thank him or her. 

"Y/N!" Yuta called while running in the hallway to where she was. He kept bumping on other students, apologizing quickly to them. "Y/N! He took the letter." She shrugged, looking at him confused. "Do you think he'll come to the coffee shop and meet me?" 

"Did you tell her that?" He leaned beside your locker while she took out books for her consecutive classes. 

Yuta nodded, taking her books for him to carry. "I'm nervous. What should I do?" Y/N was startled at the action. "What if the sender is a she? How can I even talk to her?" 

The girl giggled. "Like how you're talking to me, Yuta." 

He stopped walking and she was steps ahead when she noticed Yuta was gone. "Can you come with me later?" 

Y/N sighed, shaking her head at him. “You can do this, superstar.” 

--------

Yuta was so nervous that he kept on ordering water to ease his nerves. Every time the chimes of the door ring, he would stare at the door and hope that it was the letter sender. He lightly glanced at his wristwatch, it's been an hour. Will that person even come? 

He's in his fifth cup of coffee, almost two hours have passed since the time he told the person in the letter. Yuta had already given up. Maybe she wouldn't come. He was about to stand up when Jungwoo came inside the coffee shop and sat in front of him. The younger guy handed him a folded piece of paper, "Someone wants to give you this." 

"You know who it is?" 

He nodded, "I saw her putting the letter in your locker once." Her? "But Yuta please know that she has her reasons why she doesn't want you to meet her." 

"Can you just tell me who she is?" Jungwoo shook his head, apologizing before standing up to leave Yuta alone. 

‘I received your letter and I’m so sorry for not coming to meet you. 

I’m scared. I don’t know why but I am. 

I don’t want to erase your smile when you find out that this is just me, I appreciate your letter, I really do. 

And I’ll treasure it all my life. Thank you, Yuta. I’m sorry.

XOXO,🍎’ 

That's it? He won't get to know who she was. He cannot thank her for giving him something to look forward to every time. Is it possible to have your heart broken before it can even beat for a person? 

Creative Literature class. Today is the last day of submitting the epistolary piece he and Y/N had been working on. He did the usual morning routine, go to the vendo and pick up a juice for him and her. But he can't seem to find the courage to push the button for the apple one so he settled to the orange-flavored juice. "Shit!" he cursed. He never knew Y/N's favorite juice flavor. He would always give her the apple flavored one. So with a heavy heart, he settled on the apple one. 

Weird, he thought. It's almost time and Y/N isn't here yet. Taeyong entered the room and placed a folder in front of Yuta. "Y/N wanted to give you this." He was startled. There's always something fishy about Taeyong and Y/N so he asked him the question that's always bugging him. The other guy chuckled, "We're cousins, stupid." Taeyong supplied that made Yuta nod. He didn't know that. 

"Where is she?" Yuta asked while opening the folder. There's a page full of computerized words, the story she wrote. "Is she sick?" Five pages of the story and on the last page, hers and his names are written in her handwriting. 

"She didn't tell you?" Yuta shook his head in a questioning manner. "She's going to New York for the Exchange Student Program. It's her flight today." 

Yuta skimmed the contents of the epistolary piece she made then focused on the handwriting. Why did it take him so long to realize everything? Taeyong called for his name but he was already outside the door of their classroom. He heard Jungwoo calling him but he was already out of the gates and hailed a cab. "Airport. Please step on it." 

He took out the letters that he kept in his notebook, nine different letters to be exact. Yuta smiled seeing the hidden message in the letters. She cannot hide from him anymore. "Where are you?" Yuta asked when she answered the phone, his foot stepped inside the crowded airport. 

"Airport?" He answered 'I know', "Gate four."

"Wait for me there." She called for his name but he was already running to where she was, putting the phone in his pocket. "Y/N!" he called which made the girl turn to where he is. He lightly bowed at her parents, asking if he can talk to Y/N for a while. 

"It's you, isn't it? The letters." He asked which made the girl stop. "Why didn't you just tell me?" Then he shook his head. "After confessing, you're just going to leave me?" 

The girl giggled at that. "It's just for two months, don't overreact." The guy breathed hard. "Did Jungwoo tell you?" 

"I saw the pattern with the epistolary you did. Saw how you wrote my name and realized you never told me the juice you wanted and just went with the apple juice I always gave you." The girl smiled then he showed the nine letters he was holding. "Why the hell are you so smart that you have to put a secret message in your letters?" The girl giggled. 

The announcement for the plane passengers heading to New York can be heard, "I have to board, Yuta. I'll see you when…" 

But he pulled her closer, wrapping her in his arms. "I like you too, Y/N." A final call for the passengers can be heard and he hesitatingly let go of her. "I'll message you every day." Y/N nodded before saying goodbye to him and her parents, facing the boarding gate without even looking back. 

----

Nakamoto Yuta. The perfect embodiment of the soccer superstar every university wanted to have. The model student who greets everyone, female or male, when he passes by them in the hallways. The loyal boyfriend who only has eyes for one girl. 

He couldn't believe only a month had passed. He misses her so much even if the time they spent together is much longer than the time they're away from each other. 

A normal day, a normal scenario for him. He quickly went to his locker to get his books for Physics class when a piece of paper fell, making his heart race. 

'Did you miss me, my soccer superstar? 

How many girls have fallen for that smile? 

Or are you just smiling for me? 

If you do, Room 3F.

XOXO, Y/N' 

He slammed his locker shut then passed by the vendo machine to get an apple juice, even tapping his foot when it took a long time to go down. Yuta ran to the third floor, catching his breath when he's outside room 3F. 

The moment he opened the door, a pair of arms wrapped around his neck. "Hi, Yuta." She greeted that made him smile. 

She's here. She's really here. 

"Why didn’t you tell me you’re back?” But he just wrapped his arms around her waist, hugging her tight. “And I was complaining last night about missing you.” 

Y/N giggled. “That’s why I went home early. I heard you’re famous with the ladies lately.” Yuta sighed, bopping her nose while teasing her for being so jealous. “Too bad we don’t have the same class together.” 

The guy chuckled worriedly. “Well, you know I had to skip class that day and go to you to the airport.” Y/N nodded. “I didn’t submit our project so the professor gave us a zero.” 

“What?”

Yuta laughed, shrugging. “On the bright side, we’re going to attend the same class in summer.”  

And he knew, from her grin, his anti-love phase is over. 

tagging : @jenosdaemi @notworthit24​ @smrutiisiva-13​ @justpeachygirl​ @notmejustmymind​

I know someone is going to ask me about the secret message in the letters but I’ll let you discover it. 😁 

[doctorslippery]

The Pillar of First Blood – A 15ft dark stone pillar that has engraved writing on each side ‘The spot where the first blood was split between a batch of common devils”.

The Drawing Moss – A smooth stone with a bunch of growing moss on it. Touching the stone with a bare hand results in the moss slowing moving to wherever was touched. On the stone are several handprints and doodles perfectly covered over with the moss.

Curci’s Crypt – A small white stone structure deep in the woods with carvings of trees on each side. Entering brings you into the hidden crypt of Curci.

The Crumbling Shack – Far away from any civilization lays what once was a small shack. The windows are broken, some walls have crumbled away, and parts of the roof are open and fallen in.

Trio of Faces – On the side of a rocky cliff are a well carved trio of protruding faces all looking the same direction

Cone Shaped Prison – In the middle of a grassy field stands an 8ft slim cone made of iron bars, in the middle of the structure lies a sun-bleached skeleton bound in iron shackles.

The Tree of Sacrifice – A abnormally large and oddly pale brown tree where the branches are twisted, and the leaves are a sickly saturated green color. At the base of the tree lies a blood stained alter that the roots of the tree have grown around it and now hold it in place. The base of the tree as well as the ground around the alter are permanently stained a deep red. If the tree is cut, a thick blood sap seeps out of wound. If a creature is sacrificed on the alter, the blood pools near where the roots touch the alter and are absorbed while what appear to be veins appear on the tree that go up into the branches.

The Bone Pit – In an open field there is a 10ft wide and 50ft deep pit with no life growing around it. The walls of this chasm are lined with dark cobblestone and going down there are three uneven sized holes that are covered by iron bars. At the bottom there are a large pile of bones.

The Odd Stone Slab – A big square stone slab rests hidden near the side of the road. Carved into the slab is a symbol and a riddle that upon answering correctly leads to a small dungeon.

The Copper Fox – A 4ft oxidized copper statute of a fox with a small locked box in its mouth and two ruby eyes.

The Pointing Eagle – On top of a large rock formation is a big iron statue of an eagle pointing its body to the east.

The Feasting Table – Out away from any kind of civilization sits a large gray solid stone table with ancient carvings on the sides. Upon its surface are newly lit candles and a banquet of food that seems to be warm, fresh, and untouched by its surroundings. If one where to eat or take anything from the table, the next day it would be completely restocked and replenished.

The Jeweled Bush – A seemingly average looking berry bush that happens to grow small jewels instead of berries. If one where to try and consume one of the jewels picked off of the bush within 24hrs, that person gains a temporary magical effect or bonus, otherwise it’s a normal jewel.

The Ice Blood Spot – Located on the cliff face of a large mound of ice there is one spot that is dark red instead of the pure blue that surrounds it.

Dragon’s Graveyard – in a valley, there are 8-10 adult dragon skeletons, half-buried.

Petunia, the Land Whale – A large whale skeleton surrounded by petunias. The whale is miles away from the sea and the petunias aren’t native to this location.

Wondrous Obelisk – an obelisk, comprised of rose quartz and decorated with sylvan runes, appears to be of fey origin. it is surrounded in a 120-foot field of wild magic.

The Old Folk Hero – A half erected statue of an old folk hero. Either under construction or half crumbled.

The Hope Tree – It’s an oak tree with the word hope carved into it in large letters. No one knows who did it or why, but it’s turned into a useful landmark for the local village.

The Moon’s Egg – It’s a massive dome-like stone formation that shines pearlescent in the moonlight. It lays in a bare outcropping of rock and is warm to the touch.

Hollering Pit – A 50ft deep sinkhole. Well-hidden at the bottom is the lair of an accomplished burglar who calls himself the Jeweler. He’s too old to do much in the way of harm, but the countless traps he installed are not.

The Painted Cliff Face – A cliff that has been entirely covered in paint from hundreds of people.

Threeshades Tower- A weathered, ivy-mantled square tower atop a small hill. Has three levels, and each is built from a different kind of stone. The longsword stuck in one of the bricks on the top level is +1 and can project the bearer’s voice up to 50’ away.

Pigeons’ Chest – an ornate, but empty, chest of silver and pearl sitting by the road. It will not move by any means yet discovered, material nor magical.

The Ol’ Inn – The ancient ruins of a strangely ‘modern-looking’ tavern located in the deepest patches of forest. No path leads to it, no other buildings or ruins are found besides it, but dozens of deformed footsteps can be found heading out of the site. At night, the faint, muffled sound of a single viol can be heard coming out of the muddy floor.

The Forgotten Emperor’s Statue – An incredibly detailed, broken bust of a young wood elf, bearing a red crown. Its nose and left ear are missing and where its left eye should be, the socket is destroyed, and a monstrously decomposed snake eye can be found. The base has a bronze plaque which reads (in broken Celestial): ‘The only one truly meant to rule’, followed by a name which seems scratched out.

The Candle Trees – deep in the woods, a small group of trees whose leaves are bright red. They contrast starkly with the normal trees around them. The Candle trees appear otherwise normal, but the dried leaves can be brewed into a tea that warms the bones even on the coldest nights.

Tale of a Desert’s Origin – A granite obelisk in the desert with glyphs on it. It seems to tell the tale of a very powerful magic user stealing all the life from this area, killing all the plants and turning it into a desert.

The Waning Waterfall – a small waterfall that appears to reverse direction on every night with a bright full moon, running up instead of down.

The Sandmount – There’s a strange dune of sand in the middle of this grassy field, covered in scorpions.

The Awoken Stones – three stone pillars at the top of a hill, each engraved with a different rune of no known language. The pillars appear to change positions, but how this is done is unknown.

Ghost village – There’s a half-buried village in the sand, with sandstone walls being the only remnants… except for one house, which has a simple roof and door carved into the stone.

Impossible Shipwreck – Dashed upon the rocks are the remains of a large merchant ship. Weathered and ancient, the skeletons of the crew still scattered around though most everything of value has long since been looted. The most peculiar thing about this is that the rocks, and ship, are in a cavern 100ft underground, miles from the nearest navigable waters.

Sapphire Beach – a small stretch of coastline hidden between two nigh-inaccessible cliff faces. The sand is particularly fine and a brilliant blue. Rumor has it that the sand was formed when giants destroyed the jewel horde of a local dragon. There are also rumors of a dragon being sighted in the oceans nearby. Digging deep into the sands turn up giant bones.

The Lovers’ Spring – a secluded hot spring, with the initials of many young lovers carved into nearby rocks. Discarded and forgotten undergarments can be found on tree branches in the area.

The Arms of the Last Bard – A broken but thick 15ft wide half-circle embedded to the ground made of quartz and intricately laced with gold strips. An assortment of precious gems are embedded in its surface. Any attempt to collect and/or destroy this construct will cause severe psychic damage and a loud high-pitched tone to play loudly. The half-circle aligns perfectly with sunset/sunrise and every time it does, the most beautiful flute melody plays that is sourceless.

The Iron Tree – A big, old tree which seems to be made of iron, but as far as anyone can tell, is alive and growing, if slowly.

Hades’ Hand – A 15ft tall stone hand stretches from the ground, reaching for the sky.

The Stone Toad – A gigantic stone carving of a toad’s head, crumbling, half-buried, and covered in moss.

The Wrecked Ship – The sun-bleached wreckage of a ship that ran aground long ago. Inside the hull is a massive cage with thick steel bars that appear to have been smashed outward from the inside.

The Three-Sided Tower – A half-collapsed stone tower with curious triangular architecture. The bones of a lonely watchman sitting in a chair lie atop it. The watchman wears a helmet shaped like a triangular pyramid. Several towers of this type can be found around the same area.

Giant’s Playground – this field is entirely stone, and many massive footprints can be seen stomped into it. There are boulders laying around, some cracked.

The Fallen Hero – The legs of a giant metal statue standing beside the top of a waterfall overlooking the valley below. At the bottom of the lake below the falls, the head and torso can be found. It appears to be the likeness of a famous ancient hero that a PC might recognize.

The Charity Cave – A cave with a chest that says, ‘if you take something, leave something.’ It’s unlocked and has several trinkets inside.

The Eye of the Moon – on top of this hill is a pool surrounded with stone. The water is always cool, and at night the full moon can always be seen in its reflection, regardless of clouds or moon cycle.

Bigfoot – A large tree in the forest that bends and splits in such a way that the bottom looks like a foot, with toes.

Goddess of Death Statue – A worn smooth but still recognizable ancient statue of a goddess of death. At her feet sets a black stone bowl filled with fresh rose petals. If you were to kneel down at the bowl and look up at her, you would see her eyes stare unwaveringly into yours.

The Red Altar – in the middle of a copse in a strange swamp lies a smooth altar made of red stone, with strange carvings of trees and water all around its base. Upon touching the altar, you will hear a voice in your mind ‘sacrifice”, and you will feel a strange primal urge to sacrifice a creature on top of it.

Timnar’s Beard – A copse of trees growing in a single spot on an otherwise barren mountain. Unbeknownst to the world, it is the burial place of a great wizard of earthen magics. It is watched over by a trio of stone golems and a handful of slumbering treants to guard the immense knowledge held within the tomb.

The Sundered Mount – a mountain that appears to have been cleaved in two and creating two crumbling peaks with a narrow cut of a valley between them. It does not appear naturally created.

The Mage Wastes – A region where fertile grassland suddenly stops and abruptly becomes a barren wasteland of decaying grass and reddish soil. It seems as if it was the sight of some magical battle. The ground is pocked with craters and scorch marks, yet it seems as if this battle was an ancient long finished, but the battlefield has remained a wasteland frozen in time.

The Dragons Maw – A series of jutting tooth like spires of black igneous rock which rise out from the sea. These “teeth” have proven to be an extreme hazard to sailors and shipping which pass too near to them. Tearing hulls and ripping sails.

The Gods Sacrament Statue -A old weathered statue of a god with beautiful gems inlaid and surrounded with wicker basket offerings of gold, flowers, food, and trinkets. Stealing from the statue result in a curse (permanent level of exhaustion) from the deity until either greater restoration is cast on the thief or they repent and make an offering of twice the amount stolen. Award inspiration for respectful offerings or prayers given to the statue.

The Dragonblood – A massive artwork carved into a boulder placed some ways away from the banks of a nearby river. The artwork seems to depict a struggle between giants and dragons, with the giants as the victors. The faintly red runes which line it are giantish, and anyone who can decipher them will read that it marks a momentous battle between giants and dragons, over which should decide the course of the river.

The Daughter of the Sun – An enormous stone of a singular soft yellow color. It is hot to the touch but by day it is warm and comfortable simply standing near it. By night however the stone begins to glow brightly, illuminating its surroundings in radiant golden light. Large chips of the same stone can be found in the foliage growing around it. With similar glowing properties.

Would you kindly -A sentient door in the side of a mountain that has short term memory loss. He has no idea of his name or how to open himself but enjoys talking with travelers none the less. Speaking the magic word “please” will cause the door to open revealing a shortcut through the mountain. No form of magic or otherwise can lead through or get around this door without speaking the magic word due to an ancient magical barrier.

The Bread Boy – a small statue in a park depicting a street urchin. In one hand he has what is left of a small loaf of bread. With the other hand he is spreading crumbs for the birds, so they do not go hungry too. A place where the street kids gather.

Sculpture Garden – a small clearing in a forest, near a cave mouth, contains dozens of statues of humanoid creatures, many armed & armored, all with looks of surprise & horror on their stone faces.

Saben’s Cauldron – a large, circular pool off of a main river which is geothermally heated.

The Teeth – a series of vaguely conic stone spires lined up along a gentle arc. Each is over 15ft tall and 5ft across at the base, and tapers to a narrow tip. Nobody knows the origin of this formation. Some say the teeth are all that remains from some colossal dragon skeleton, others think the stones were placed there by a dragon cult, or as a sign from Bahamut.

Mage-Crater – a 120ft diameter crater. Now filled with water and inhabited by pond creatures.

The Old Man – a natural rock formation that just happens to look like the face of an old man with a long beard. Ruins of temples from several ancient civilizations can be found in the valley below, apparently attracted there to worship the face, or perhaps just to be under his watchful gaze. Most humanoid races in the region are sure the old man looks like their race and have their own legend about him.

The Deino Flats -roughly 40 acres of salt flats. A long dried up saltwater marsh from ancient times.

Grand Defender – a large, symmetrical hill where the site of a great battle once was. Stone rubble and ruins barely peaks out from the top. Flowers are left there every so often.

The Adventurers Billiard Hall – A stone statue of a Local adventurer rests on a green glass dome in the center of a public lake. The dome is lit gently from beneath. Somewhere nearby lies a dilapidated entrance which runs through a small puzzle focused dungeon.

Turned-Inn – An inn that has been carefully constructed to appear as if it was turned upside-down.

The Signposts – A collection of several dozen poles each with a dozen or more signs mounted to them pointing towards various distant lands, nearby businesses, and bizarre joke locations. It started with travelers who erected a signpost pointing to their distant homelands which other travelers added to. Eventually it got out of hand.

Worm’s Desert – A small sandy desert only a couple hundred acres in size of so. A great desert-making worm arrived from another world and sought to covert the world into an ecosystem like its home but caught a local disease it was unresistant to and died before it made much progress. The residual poison from the worm’s body deters plants from overtaking the sand.

Lightning Lab – A bizarre building with a strange mushroom-shaped metal lattice on top. It was the lab of a researcher studying non-magical electricity who died from electrocution.

The Sandlot – A square of property with no building where children come to play. A greedy landlord raised the rent on a long-term elderly tenant when they purchased the property, driving the tenant into poverty and eventually death. The tenant cursed the land with dying breath that no-one would never profit from the property. Every future tenant was driven out by terrifying haunts, and eventually the building was burned down.

Dwarven Monument – An enormous high relief of six dwarven warriors cut from a cliff pointing the way along, commemorating their epic journey.

Atlas Boulders A series of differently sized large stone spheres far too large for a man to lift. The strongest giants would lift them to prove their strength. They sometimes move, so perhaps the giants still use them.

Ancient Battlefield – ramparts, high hills, and trenches filled with water that stretch for mile marking the location an ancient battlefield. It has grown over.

The Epicenter – A large swath of woods where all the trees in a massive circle have been bent at a 90-degree angle towards the center but continue to grow that way. There is nothing (currently) anomalous at the center, but a powerful coven of druids hold it as one of their holiest places and guards it closely.

Ol Demons Place – a once portal to the abyss, sealed by hero’s long ago, now just a crumbling arch with an unsettling aura.

The Broken Hill – a hill that you need to walk uphill to get to and walk uphill to get away from.

The Rooster of Mourning – An enormous statue of a rooster, made from a strange metal, finely detailed and colored. It is hollow, and when the first ray of sunrise strikes it, a great, sad-sounding crow arises from it. Legend says that it commemorates a great battle in the distant past.

The Angry Spot – a small stone platform on the top of a hill, standing on the platform makes a person irrationally angry. Barbarians may involuntarily rage as a result.

The Alter of a Thousand Arms. – At a crossroads sits an unusual statue, made of stone it stands over 10 feet tall and has arms sticking out in every direction with their palm turned upwards. In nearly every hand there is a candle, some still lit but most are fully melted. Placing a candle in one of the hands and lighting it will give the player the blessing of ‘A helping hand.’ When a player next fails a roll, they may roll an additional d6 and add it to their total.

The Weeping Sister – A fifteen-foot statue of a girl unmarred by time. Next to her are the shattered remains of another statue, close enough that the body may have once held her outstretched hand. The feet of this larger statue are all that remain affixed to the earth – the rest is scattered throughout the clearing. Water, clean and pure, travels down her face in steady rivulets but leaves no erosion there.

The Sensible Stone Head -a large stone head protruding from the surface of a glacier. It is the head of an earth elemental and if you get his attention, he is friendly. If asked what he is doing their he replies ”swimming in the river”, given he exists at a geological place the slow flow of the glacier is like a river to him.

Glass Tree – A fairly tall an elaborate tree made entirely out of glass raises from the earth, at its base there is a plaque written in dwarven, it’s to commemorate a dwarf leader who fell in battle.

The Titan’s Blade – A 50 ft rust covered sword driven into the earth. The whole area has a magical aura and no wildlife lingers within a quarter mile of the sword.

The Well of Good Tidings – A well by the side of the road that is a base in a local hafling tradition that if one where to lose a tooth, that it is to be tossed in the well with a tip of the hat. When doing so, good fortune is sure to come. Characters that throw in teeth later find small amounts of wet coins in various locations on their person. Characters that throw rubbish, or are otherwise disrespectful of the well, find their respective objects on their person once more soaking wet and covered in bite marks.

Skilltown – A small but clearly once-bustling town lays abandoned inside of a titan’s skull. The skull is half buried in the sand; its eye sockets and mouth aim up at an angle. Walking through its mouth is the only way to enter the town. The skull looks to be that of an enormous version of whatever scariest creature lives in that area. It provides ample shade during most of the day.

Best Rest Graveyard – A cleric once prayed over a graveyard that all within would ‘rest well.’ Now anyone who falls asleep in that graveyard has the best night of sleep they’ve ever had.

Bird Hill – a grassy hill of noticeable height rises from the otherwise flat plains. On the hill are several lines of cobblestone that do not grow grass and have no discernible pattern from the surface. If flying, however, you see the cobblestone lines form the shape of a bird, along with some arcane symbols. If you happen to look up during the spring or fall, you’ll see migratory birds alter their course to fly over this hill.

Stairway to Nowhere – All that remains of an ancient fortress, the remarkably well constructed staircase rises for 3 stories out of the ground at the end of an ancient road, and then just abruptly stops.

The Crossroads – This is the place where four kingdoms meet. The main road for each lead to a massive stone pillar. Many years ago, all four kingdoms were at war, and a pillar was placed there as a symbol that none from neighboring kingdoms would be allowed to cross. It is now an annual meeting place for the four to discuss their continued amnesty.

Cloudland Canyon – It’s a canyon nestled in a northern mountain range that’s so high even the base of the canyon is a higher elevation than most of the other mountains in this world. Wondrously magical things occur here.

Stone Tree Garden – It was a garden from a former ancient culture, which vanished out of unknown reasons. One of the only things found was this tree garden. Are the trees made of stone or turned to, no one knows.

‘The Circle’ -There once was a meteorite which crashed into the land. The first to arrive found weird writing in a (Insert required size) diameter circle. No one could read what was written. In the center of the circle, where the meteor should have been, there was nothing, not even a small crater.

The Well – A seemingly normal well on the top of a hill. Anything that is placed into it is immediately tossed out of it.

The Pariah’s Mountain -One mountain among an otherwise unimpressive range, its only defining feature is its completely upside down. The base measures about 60ft across, but the peak 3,000ft up is easily a mile across. Stairs may have been carved into the side, but the climb down to the summit (or is it up to the base? The locals aren’t quite sure) is precarious at times. The locals are also similarly vague when asked about what’s on top…

Worried stones – A group of 3 standing stones with anxiety. When encountered in their clearing, they will disappear once all eyes are off them. Careful inspection will reveal them to hiding nearby – peeking from behind a nearby tree, bottom of a lake, hidden by bushes, behind where the party is now looking, etc. If discovered, they disappear again if not observed. The stones are not malicious, and do not harm the party. They would just rather you all left them to it, thank you.

The Quiet Creek – An otherwise ordinary creek that runs through a forest. It is abnormally quiet near the stream, in such that there is almost no echo around it, and it is surprisingly hard to hear from a distance. All along its course stand small boulders, almost fully grown over with moss.

The Shifting Hills – A large field of hills, dotted with rocks, grasses, and flowers. Careful study has found the hills are constantly moving, as though old creatures crawl along under a carpet of earth. Magics which call upon the earth always seem to produce unexpected results when among them.

The Devil’s Wager – A large disc shaped stone at the base of a long dormant volcano. Visitors toss a copper at it for good luck. There are a couple hundred copper around it. It is considered extraordinarily bad luck to take the coppers.

The Swordleaf Trees – there is a patch of trees here with a non-stop turbulent wind rustling the leaves and branches violently. The leaves’ edges appear to be razor sharp.

Beacon Mountain – A mountain that, on some nights, has a bright ball of light form over it which slowly dissipates over several hours. Local religion strictly forbids climbing the mountain.

Mist Valley – a short pathway of stone carved into a mountain, roughly five feet wide with names of couples and graffiti on the stone walls. The pathway always has a thick fog settled over it, making it seem eerie.

Ancient Battleground – Deep in a forest, trees are marred with years old axe and sword marks. Hundreds of skeletons dressed in rusted armor and weapons lie in this area. Taking a trinket, or even loitering may be unwise.

True Clarity Bridge – A bridge between two high places that, for many people, while staring off the side, provides answers for their most troubling issue or deep question, whether they were looking for the answer or not.

Lover’s Glade – Two sequoia trees whose bases are over a hundred feet apart have grown together and connect about 160 to 180 feet off the ground. The branches and leaves of these giant trees create a pleasantly shaded area below which is often used by the local populace as sites of wedding ceremonies.

Round Rock – A mysterious perfectly round rock that stands nearly 20ft tall. It is too heavy to roll and never seems to chip. It is the center of many local legends, varying wildly on their truthfulness.

[kingsleytealeef]

uhm, for your prompts: geraskier, with jaskier hiding geralt (and maybe ciri) from nilfgaard in plain sight, like. without magic, he manages to make the soldiers go away with empty hands? thank you!

sorry this took longer than expected! i haven’t been feeling very well recently so it got left alone for a while. hope you like it though!

warning/s: none

(ao3)

“You there!”

“Oh fuck,” Jaskier mutters sharply recognising the no nonsense tone of a solider and feeling the dread settle in his gut like a block of ice. 

Geralt’s fingers twitch at his side, his swords are sadly tucked away under Roach’s blanket just under Ciri’s leg for safekeeping as she sits astride the saddle. 

They’d been reluctantly placed there - at Jaskier’s suggestion - so they could move through town unhindered by locals looking for a Witcher’s aid or at least so the trio could draw a little less attention than they normally would. Something they might have gotten away with if Geralt hadn’t been sour about hiding his swords so much he’d childishly left down his hood. Revealing his rather distinctive and famous white hair for all the land to see.  

And now there are soldiers.

So the idea of going incognito had clearly failed in it’s execution and now Geralt is without his weapons in easy reach as the squelch of many heavy boots marching through the mud approach them from behind. 

Jaskier watches out of the corner of his eye as Geralt’s hand releases the reins for Roach’s bridle and skims along her flank to the hidden pommel slowly. Jaskier shakes his head in warning and thankfully the Witcher listens, stilling his hand. 

The last thing they need is more attention and Geralt beheading the local guardsmen would be like sending up a flare for Nilfgaard. 

Jaskier chews on his lip, racking his brain for a way out of their predicament. He see’s Geralt’s hand move again, not for the swords this time but to rest on Ciri’s shaking knee in comfort. The princess huddles under her cloak, shrinking away from the danger approaching them and Jaskier’s heart aches for her. The lingering trauma of being hunted has left a stain on the once happy princess that Jaskier and Geralt have tried their best to erase. But situations like these always undo that hard work in moments.  

Jaskier sighs at the loss of progress shrinking deeper into the folds of her cloak and decides on a course of action, one that might just avoid darkening that stain on Ciri’s heart. 

“Oi! You deaf?” Another voice yells and Jaskier straightens his spine and prepares to dazzle his audience into submission. 

He spins round dramatically, plastering a wide happy grin across his face. It’s not his most eye-catching outfit but he should be able to draw attention away from the Witcher and his child surprise well enough. Presentation is key for misdirection after all. 

Jaskier glances over the small patrol quickly, filing away the small details that he can use to his advantage. Just like any other ballroom or tavern he’s stepped foot in. Reading the room is how you own it and Jaskier wouldn’t be a famous bard if he couldn’t quickly and effectively discern the lay of the land. A loud tavern full of boisterous laughter needs dance music and bawdy songs, a noble wedding with dignified guests needs jaunty jigs with easy beats to dance to and when enough wine has been drunk, a few romantic epics to get everyone in the mood. The stage is a little different but the details are the same. 

He silently curses as he recognises the dark armour and golden sun stretching across it and prays to whatever deity likes Geralt in one piece in the vain hope that things will go smoothly. But for now, it's up to him and every skill he’s honed at every banquet and party he’s ever been to, to get them through this peacefully. 

“Fine gentlemen, what can I aid such noble soldiers with today?” he greets loudly as he skips forward putting himself between the approaching soldiers and Geralt. A few of the men flinch at his volume. Jaskier notes the overly red cheeks and bloodshot eyes, the slight sway in their stance. Too much patrolling the tavern rather than the streets and very recently too.  

He has to play this right. Be loud and obnoxious and they’ll want to get rid of him quickly to ease their aching heads. Too much though and he runs the risk of raising questions. It’ll be a fine line to tread, a thin tightrope between freedom and a noose but it’s something he’s managed before and for far lesser stakes. 

“Your friend, where does he hail from?” The Captain asks shrewdly, eyeing Geralt’s exposed white hair with narrowed eyes. Jaskier rocks on his heels full of nervous energy. 

“My cousin you mean? Well he and his daughter come from Lettenhove of course! As do I,” Jaskier bows deeply, throwing as much theatricality into his performance as possible, “Julian Alfred Pankratz, Viscount de Lettenhove. A pleasure to meet you, good sir!”

He doesn’t often drag out his nobility but the situation calls for it. Perhaps enough for the men to back off, in fear of upsetting nobility. 

“And your...cousin’s white hair? A familial trait?” The captain asks skeptically. His title isn’t enough to brush away their questions but there is a touch more hesitancy than before so Jaskier counts it in his favour.  He still grimaces a little and racks his brain for a plausible lie to help them escape the situation with as little screaming and entrails as possible. Tiny streams in deep forests are not ideal for removing Nilfgaardian guts from a Witcher’s hair after all and after this fiasco getting Geralt to agree to enter any form of civilisation will be a nightmare. 

So Jaskier does what he does best. 

He tells a story. 

He lets his face drop into a more serious expression and sidles up closer, a little too close for comfort, for a not so much conspiratorial whisper, “No, no, my good sir. Not at all. You see, it's such a terrible thing. Truly terrible. A curse.”

At least two of the men take an involuntary step back as though such a thing could be catching. Good, Jaskier thinks snidely, superstitious morons swallow a lie father easier than a wise man. 

“Twas laid upon him by a spiteful sorceress. He’s quite sensitive over the whole thing as I’m sure you can imagine,” Jaskier placed a hand over his heart as he hammed up the performance a degree or two, “My poor dear sweet cousin spurned the witches advances you see, his heart already belonged to another. Fiona’s mother, she hailed from Nilfgaard, such a sweet woman. Not that it mattered to the spiteful witch! The sorceress was quite enraged by it all and so cursed my poor cousin to bear the likeness of the ugliest creature she knew, a Witcher.”

Jaskier winces internally and sends a silent apology to Geralt and hopes the man won’t take too much offence but there’s no other option for them. 

“How unfortunate,” one of the men comments in a heartfelt manner and Jaskier dabs at his dry eye in agreement.

“Yes it is and such happenstance that we should be looking for a Witcher,” the Captain says, unconvinced. But Jaskier has the rest of his audience on tenterhooks and a crowd can sway a single mind.

He scoff’s loudly and slams his hands onto his hips. 

“Nothing but trouble I say, for we’ve been stopped by every knight and good soldier from here to the Pontar! It’s made our journey to Oxenfurt doubly long and I’m due to begin teaching next week! The delay!” Jaskier wails dramatically and the men collectively wince at his volume and shrillness, “Thankfully with my tenured position the faculty will be most forgiving of my lateness! But truly it has been nothing but trouble!”

“Hmm,” the Captain wavers and Jaskier pushes his advantage, leaning in a touch too far again. 

“I shall tell you good sir the best way to tell a Witcher from my unfortunate cousin is the swords, for Witcher’s carry two on their backs and my dear sweet cousin can only swing a pitchfork!”

“Viscount’s right Captain, no swords,” one of the men speaks up and they all turn to look at Geralt’s back, covered in a muddy cape but bereft of the notable twin swords. 

“He could have thrown them,” the Captain suggests but quietly, not fully believing his own words and Jaskier tries not to let his relief show. 

“Thrown them?! Why my dear Captain, that would be a waste of fine silver and steel! Who in their right mind would throw away a silver sword! Pah! A fool, that’s who!” 

The Captain ruminates for a few moments and then nods, “Right you are, carry on m’lord.”

Jaskier’s knees feel a little weak as the men shuffle round and begin their march back up the street they came. He waves them off jauntily despite the nausea swirling in his gut. 

“Many blessings to you and safe journey my good men!”

As soon as the men are out of sight Jaskier stumbles as the relief falls on him like a ton of bricks. Geralt grips his bicep, pulling him back up as he stares down the street after the patrol. 

“Gone?” Jaskier asks and Geralt nods. 

“Thank Melitele,” Jaskier exhales and drops his head against Geralt’s shoulder heavily. 

“Ugliest creatures?” Geralt asks and Jaskier groans.

“Darling I apologise wholeheartedly for such a lie but how else was I to excuse your appearance?”

Geralt snorts, thankfully with more amusement than anger, “Good thinking.”

“Thank you love but might I suggest putting several fields between us and them before more questions are asked?” Jaskier points out and Geralt wraps an arm around Jaskier’s shoulders, squeezing him close for a moment before letting him stand on his own steadying legs. 

Geralt takes Roach’s reins once more as Jaskier falls into step next to him, he spares a glance over his shoulder at the near empty street behind them and hopes they can put enough road between the patrol and them before nightfall to breathe a little easier. 

“Are you really a viscount Jaskier?” Ciri questions quietly, hunched over under her heavy cape atop Roach. Jaskier startles at the sudden question but settles into a sardonic smile.

“Unfortunately so my darling, though the title does have its uses here and there.”

Ciri thankfully doesn’t press the issue as she flicks her gaze over her shoulder worridily. More concerned with the soldiers than his checkered past. 

“I didn’t think they’d leave so easily,” she mumbles and Jaskier reaches over to pat her leg softly. 

“Fear not my dear, they were easy to fool and won’t be following us anytime soon.”

“How can you be so sure?” Ciri asks, her tone skeptical and a little sharp. A princess on the run yes, but still a princess and one growing from a child into a woman and not shy about demanding she be treated as such. Jaskier chuckles. 

“Simple. I saw all I needed to, to lead them astray. I’ll teach you how to read men like open books soon enough darling,” Jaskier winks and Ciri worried at her bottom lip for a few quiet moments.

“Teach me now?” 

Jaskier shares a glance with Geralt, raising an eyebrow up in question and Geralt simply nods his permission. Well if his Witcher is okay with it then who is he to argue giving the young exiled princess another knife in her growing arsenal. 

“Very well, what did you notice about them?” 

She ponders for a moment, “There weren’t that many?” Ciri offers hesitantly. Jaskier beams encouragingly. 

“Well spotted! A small patrol left in an unremarkable town. Tells us quite a bit. These fools aren’t high on the pecking order. They aren’t given more responsibility or better yet aren’t trusted with more,” Jaskier explains and Ciri leans forward in rapt attention. “What else could you see?” 

“They hesitated,” Geralt says and Jaskier turns his attention on the Witcher’s soft smile. 

“Very good my love,” Jaskier pecks Geralt’s cheek in reward, earning a giggle from Ciri. 

“That matters?” she asks. 

“Indeed, a lack of confidence speaks to their inexperience or perhaps they’ve acted hastily in the past and been reprimanded making them hesitant to act similarly again,” Jaskier explains, falling into his old teaching habits easily. 

“What else did you see,” Ciri questions curiously and Jaskier hums thoughtfully. 

“Dented armour that hasn’t yet been fixed, means coin is tight or flowing elsewhere. Mud caked into clothes and bulging chest plates. These men have become lazy and spend more nights in a tavern than marching around town. Ruddy cheeks and bloodshot eyes tell me they enjoy their drink, a bit too much most likely. Given the hour it was either a heavy night of drinking with a spectacular hangover or they’ve just come from the tavern. Whichever it is, their minds and body long for beds not battle and that my fair girl is where you can take advantage,” Jaskier lists and Ciri looks suitably impressed with his observations. 

“Enough to confuse them?”

“Perhaps enough to lose them in a winding tale with dramatic flair,” Jaskier shrugs, remembering many a glazed drunken gaze and how he used it to his advantage in the past. 

“The loudness helped too,” Geralt offers slyly and Ciri laughs as Jaskier pretends to take offence though he preens at the small but fond smile on his Witcher’s face and the ease settling around Ciri’s shoulders once more. 

“Nothing makes a drunken soldier recoil quicker than a loud bright bard,” Jaskier winks.

[crystalirises]

FundXD au thrid part? Maybe the final confrontation between Dreamxd and George? imagine George offering to take Fundy's place, but XD teases him because he obviously only loves Fundy now (before Mumza saves the day!! or whatever you had planned if you already had something in mind).

Not me accidentally posting it separately. But anyway, here's the third part! I'm sorry it took so long, hope you enjoy this.

But yeah anyway, please do take heed of the trigger warnings. This is probably now what I consider the darkest and the most uncomfortable one-shot I've written. Like in terms of themes, yeah I am just: oh wow I wrote this huh...

So yes, please do heed the warnings and do not read it if any of the the warnings make you uncomfortable.

TW: Forced Relationships, Forced Kissing, Forced Marriage, Possessive Behavior, Captivity, Implied Harm, and A Lot of Dark Implications

Ao3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28886223/chapters/84740365

“A radiant day for a wedding, do you not think so, my fox?” If only the mattress could swallow him whole. He buried his face on the silken sheets, pressing the pillow to the top of his head, wondering if he could suffocate himself if he tried really hard enough. “Beloved? You’re quiet.”

He rolled his eyes, holding back the urge to scream.

After a moment, he felt the twist of vines against his ankle, gently pulling him away from underneath the covers. Fundy let himself be dragged, having learned the hard way that clawing at the bed to keep himself from getting dragged was a bad idea. He shuddered at the bad memory.

“My darling star, don’t you agree that today is a splendid day for our wedding?”

No, he did not agree. There was no day where he’d ever even consider marrying the god.

“I don’t feel well. Can we move the wedding?”

“Do not lie.” The room turned colder, the chill of ice piercing through his skin that he nearly buckled underneath the pain. Then in just a second, the cold was gone. He was still in his their bedroom, the sunshine filtering in through the glass-stained windows, bathing the room in a kaleidoscope of color. XD was holding him by the elbow, their spherical head never faltering in its cheery smile, if one can call it a smile. The god pulled him into their embrace, holding him with such warmth that Fundy wanted to cry. They shouldn’t be so comforting. “You are well.”

“Ya…” Fundy felt like throwing up, “...well…”

For a god who had lived as long as the world, XD was not as patient as Fundy had hoped. It had only been a week, but the god had given up on Fundy’s flimsy excuses. Fundy had used every excuse that he knew: headaches, fevers, coughs, even “fainting” that one time XD had actually gotten him to stand on the altar. They had grown tired of waiting. Fundy turned his head towards one corner of the room, their wedding outfits only seemed to mock him. He shivered within the god’s hot touch, XD didn’t seem to notice his discomfort, but they noticed the way he was staring at those, arguably, beautiful outfits. XD led him towards them, holding him by the arms.

“I could change your suit if you wish, anything for you, my fox.” Fundy paled, refusing to look at the suit now that it was in front of him. It was in a beautiful hue of orange pastel, decorated with a pastel green flower pinned to its chest. XD had chosen to wear a dress for the wedding, and if Fundy wasn’t being held there against his will, he might have even blushed at the thought of the god in a dress… walking down the aisle. It was a mostly white dress which faded into a pastel green in the middle and into a forest green at the bottom. “You could wear a dress if yo—”

“No.” Fundy already loathed the suit, he wouldn’t know what he’d do if he had to wear a dress. At least XD didn’t mind, though - and Fundy knew it was stupid to feel - he found it somewhat adorable that XD wanted to wear a dress. The wedding dress suited them, even if Fundy didn’t want to marry them. The god hummed behind him, a low sound that had no lyrical or musical tone to it whatsoever, before picking him up. He shrieked, holding tightly to the god’s shoulders.

“My dear fox, the wedding will be divine, it shall take place the hour between day and night.” Fundy had a few hours of freedom. Then… He clenched his hands, angered that he no longer had his claws to tear into the god’s skin. “The wedding venue has not changed from the last time we tried to marry, but, sweet fox, would you wish for any new changes? What do you wish for?”

His only wish was to go home.

The god leaned down and Fundy knew what was to come. He closed his eyes, letting the god do what they wanted. Maybe he should have heeded his papa’s advice. Maybe he shouldn’t have befriended the god who seemed too kind to be true. Maybe he should have stayed at home and lived a normal life instead of searching for… he didn’t even know anymore. But he knew he missed his home, he missed his dads. He missed the normal life in their little cabin in the fields.

Once the god leaned away from the kiss, Fundy let out a sigh. “I want cake.”

---

“Wil, I love you, but now is the time for your ritualistic shenanigans.”

George tapped his foot on the muddy ground, placing his head in his hands as Wilbur ignored him for the tenth time. Wilbur had refused to say what his secret was, in favor of showing what his secret was. If George had known that said secret would involve Wilbur drawing intricate symbols in the mud, George would have gone deeper into the forest on his own instead.

After a few more seconds of agonizing silence and waiting, Wilbur finally stepped back, gesturing for George to come near him. He raised a brow, choosing to stand beside Wilbur despite the nagging voice in his head telling him to leave and go look for their son. George took in the symbol that Wilbur had drawn. He’d traced a circle in the mud, and within the complex lines, George could make out five symbols. The lines merged to showcase a woman. In her right hand, she held a blade. In her left, there were musical notes and discs emerging from her palm.

At the bottom of the symbol, the lines converged to create a pair of angel wings.

“Wil, is now the time to show me that you can draw—” He cut himself off once Wilbur started to chant under his breath. He stepped back, doubt racing through his mind. George had never been interested in magic, being more talented in redstone and engineering, but he feared those who excelled in the practice. Magic meant gods, and gods meant double-edged deals. “Wilbur…”

The symbol began to glow a light gray hue, the smell of metal and death tainting the air. His fear doubled, but he didn’t try to run off. Nervous as he was, he trusted Wilbur, his dear husband.

A splash of cold landed on his cheek, he brushed it away, but then a downpour of rain began to fall around them. The ground turned muddier, nearly grasping onto their legs. George looked up, furrowing his brows at the sight of sunlight. It was raining despite the warm sun rays that were filtering in through the trees. The intricate symbol wasn’t affected by the sudden storm, its glow intensifying underneath the torrent of water. George didn’t know why, but he felt sick. A sickness that wasn’t nausea, it was worse. Like someone had taken a sharp pickaxe and started to chip away at his heart. He held a hand to his chest, grasping for Wilbur’s arm with the other.

Wilbur’s chanting had grown louder despite the rain, almost like he was fighting against the noise. The light gray glow had taken over the entire drawing, the lines scorched away by its brilliance. Then the world began to shake, and for a moment, George could hear screaming.

He slipped once the earth started to sink. Wilbur pulled him up just as the ground gave way, the symbol had caved in, going deeper and deeper until he could see bright red. He shuddered, but Wilbur held him close. He had half a mind to throw his husband an irritated glare. If his husband would stop with the theatrics for a moment and actually tell George what his secret was, then maybe he wouldn’t be second-guessing everything that's happening right now. He glanced back down at the hole. Wilbur had just opened a gateway to the underworld. Despite the red lights of the underworld, the chasm let out a chilling cold that seeped deep into George’s skin and soul.

“You’re a hellspawn, is that the secret? If so, it was not much of a secret I already knew that, Mr. Soot.” Wilbur rolled his eyes, pressing a kiss to George’s cheek. Once Wil had left George on stable ground, he watched as his husband walked close to the chasm. Wilbur reached down a hand. George wondered if Wilbur was asking to get kidnapped. “Wilbur, the dead can’t help us.”

“You’re correct. Zombies are pretty shit at… everything. Skeletons… perhaps.”

George took a breath through clenched teeth. He knew Wilbur was worried about Fundy too, but he couldn’t afford to waste anymore time with Wilbur and his shenanigans. XD had taken their son, a wish god had taken their son and George knew the god would refuse to let Fundy go.

“Wilbur, please. We need to find Fundy. XD would do anything they could to keep our son from ever leaving them, we have to go.” He pleaded, but Wilbur was too busy looking into the chasm.

George loudly sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. The rain continued to pour around them, and if he didn’t hurry, he’d lose his way down the forest path due to the mud that was beginning to drown everything in its path. He turned to leave, but then a voice broke through the silence.

“A sunshower…? Did you forget to tell your own mum that you're getting married, Wilbur?”

---

Fundy flitted about the room, pressing his hands against his ears as the rain continued to pour outside. He didn’t know why XD had thought it would be romantic to marry one another while a storm threatened to destroy the land, but the constant tapping of the rain on the ground was beginning to grate on his ears. Despite the heavy rain, he hated the warm sunlight even more.

Why couldn’t the weather just be either gloomy or happy? It was a mockery of his life.

He glanced down at his suit, fixing the green flower so it wouldn’t fall off by accident. He didn’t know what XD would do if anything were to ruin their “special day.” He huffed, pressing his head against the glass window. He could see the neverending forest from there. XD had insisted that they live on one of the highest trees in the forest. They wanted to give Fundy a good view.

When XD had first shown him their abode, Fundy had been ecstatic to see the entire forest. He collapsed on a nearby chair, putting his head in his hands. Now everything felt like a big joke.

It was so wonderful before, but he saw through the roses, and now knew their thorns.

He looked back up, worried for a moment that XD would be standing in front of him, ready to whisk him away to the altar. There was a shift of movement at the right side of the forest, perhaps XD reimagining the wedding venue now that the rain had completely ruined the god’s chosen outdoor setting. He took momentary pleasure at the thought of the weather going against the god’s wishes. No, today was not a radiant day for a wedding. But Fundy knew that a ��little” storm wouldn’t stop the god. They were too excited, too eager to get the ceremony over with.

Fundy winced, maybe his constant escape attempts had been the cause of that rush. It had only been a week since the god had taken him captive and kept him in their domain, but Fundy had spent every day trying to find a way to escape. He’d given up after the fifth escape… after… Fundy pulled his knees close to his chest. He didn’t want to think about it. But he had to. He had to keep a reminder in his mind about how much he loathed the god and what they’d done to him.

The first attempt wasn’t even an attempt, it was him screaming until XD forced him to sleep.

The second attempt had begun the moment the god had gone into stasis, or the godly equivalent of what was sleep. The god’s hands were wrapped around Fundy, keeping him close to their chest, but Fundy had managed to sneak away after hours of slowly moving. He’d gotten to the door of the bedroom, unlocking it with a bobby pin that he’d found in one of the drawers. He’d gotten down the tree by the time XD realized he was gone. They’d teleported him back to the bedroom, vines growing against the surface of the door, effectively keeping him locked inside.

The third attempt was Fundy painstakingly cutting through the clump of vines after XD had left him to prepare for their wedding. He’d gotten through half of them by the time the god had come back. They’d been disappointed in Fundy, sad that he hadn’t even gotten dressed in his wedding suit yet. Then in a blink of an eye, the vines had grown back, with even more thorns than before. Then XD had whisked him away to the wedding venue, where Fundy then pretended to faint.

The fourth attempt was Fundy getting so frustrated that he took a chair and threw it at one of the windows. The glass shattered on impact, and he’d quickly tried to squeeze through the space, not caring for the shards that pierced his skin. XD had not taken that escape attempt all too lightly.

The fifth and last attempt… he’d convinced XD to give him some sand and gunpowder.

The god had been furious, even more so than what they’d been after the fourth escape attempt. Fundy had nearly killed himself in the process and had even attacked XD out of anguished rage.

Well… XD made sure Fundy could never attack them again.

Fundy sniffed, wiping at his tears. He didn’t want to be crying at his own wedding.

---

It was odd to have a wedding without a wedding officiator. Fundy kept his gaze on his hands, his fingers trembling each time XD traced his knuckles with their thumb. He could feel his throat dry up, his head heavy with nausea that he thought he was actually going to faint and fall over.

“Do I take Fundy Lore-Soot as my lawfully wedded husband?” XD paused, “I do.”

Fundy found it ridiculous. XD had taken up the mantle of wedding officiator, and if Fundy didn’t know any better, he would think that he was part of some comedic play or some big cosmic joke.

“And do you, Fundy Lore-Soot, take the god of wishes, XD, as your lawfully wedded spouse?”

Fundy gritted his teeth, he could feel the god’s magic in his throat. He could barely breathe a few seconds ago, but now it felt like he needed to speak like his life depended on it. “I do. I do. I do.”

He trembled, uncontrolled anger racing through his veins. It was torture to say ‘I do’ once, but the god forced him to say it three times, like Fundy was as desperate as them to get married. XD pulled him close, their gaze hot against his skin. He wished he would melt, that he could melt against the god’s touch and be swallowed by the grass. Anything that could set him free.

“Then by the power vested in me as the god of wishes, I now pronounce us married for eternity.”

The god leaned close, “I may now kiss the groom.” Fundy tried to move back, but the god had formed one more pair of hands. One hand held his hands, curled gently around his wrists. One hand was cupping him by the waist. One hand was on his chin, pulling his face up and towards them. The last hand was at the back of his head, pushing him forward and keeping his head in place. He closed his eyes, losing himself in his mind, refusing to accept what was happening. He focused on the life he’d lost, and his dads who would no doubt why he never came back to them.

After what felt like a lifetime, the god finally let him go.

Well, they didn’t. But they’d stopped kissing him in favor of picking him up.

XD laid him down on the altar.

Fundy blinked, holding onto one of XD’s hands out of fear. The god chuckled at the “endearing” display. “H-hey… the wedding’s over, ya? Time to head home, right? W-what are you doing?”

“The ceremony is not yet over, my star.” XD tilted their head, “You are still mortal.”

Any thread of cooperation they had established broke with that proclamation. Fundy screamed, pushing himself away from the altar just as a series of golden chains rose up from its sides. They wrapped around his arms and his legs, pulling him back down on the altar’s marble surface. He wailed, tears slipping past his eyes. He thought he’d only endure it for this lifetime, that the god would have no choice but to give him up to death at some point in the future. XD watched his struggle, summoning an intricate dagger. “Don’t worry, my sweet fox, I shall make it painless.”

“I OBJECT!”

---

George pushed past the leaven doors, not caring that the action caused the whole entrance way to collapse to a flimsy pile of autumn leaves. He stood at the end of the wedding venue, drenched from the rain. His heart beated loudly in his chest, his ears ringing as he made his way down the aisle. Wilbur was still by the entrance. George had told him to wait before he actually entered.

“Papa—” Fundy’s scream was cut off with a hand, the god having swiveled around to face whoever had dared to ruin their perfect day. George kept walking down the aisle, anger racing through his bones. His son looked so frightened. He clearly didn’t want to be marrying the god.

“Let him go, XD.”

“Why ever shall I do such a thing, my dearest friend, Georgenotfound? I have no intention of ever letting my newly wedded husband leave me. My old friend, I believe you are a few seconds too late. Fundy and I are married.” He heard Fundy scream out a protest, muffled by the hand that the god had left. George could see the tears on their son’s face, and his gaze turned towards the dagger that the god was carrying. He took the chance to look behind him, catching Wilbur’s pale gaze. His husband was looking at the dagger. “Leave before I cast you out. You are tresp—”

“I’ll take his place.”

The only sound that could be heard was Fundy’s fit of screaming. Wilbur was silent. XD had merely tilted their head, the god’s cold gaze meeting George’s eyes, piercing right through the goggles that he wore. He swallowed down the sickness he felt at the thought of marrying the go. XD had been his best friend once, and George had never thought of them in any other way. But the god had taken his friendship as romantic affection. “Fundy doesn’t love you.” The god reeled back, the ‘XD’ carved symbol on their head disappearing, only to return as golden chains that surrounded their white spherical head. “You and I know he doesn’t love you, and neither did I.”

George shook his head, “But I am willing to stay with you if you let him go.”

He met his son’s eyes, holding Fundy’s gaze for as long as he could. He worried it might be the last time they’d ever see each other again… if it went wrong… George shook his head. It won’t go wrong. He turned back to the god, the chains still present. “We could pretend like nothing has changed. I could stay here with you for all of eternity. We could be friends again, you and I. It must have been lonely when I left. You were never really great with making friends with others. We could try again. Just you and me, stuck in this forest forever. Like how it used to be. I won’t run away anymore. I won’t leave you ever again. Let Fundy go, and I’ll stay with you forever.”

The god was silent. For a moment, George thought they would agree. Then the ground disappeared from underneath him and a large hand was painfully gripping him by the leg. “No.”

Sharp cold pierced through his leg. The god glared down at him, “You are nothing to me.”

XD looked over at Fundy, “He… He is everything to me now.”

George placed his arms over his head, preparing himself for the fall. He heard the loud screech, and then his leg was free. He closed his eyes, but instead of hard earth, he fell into a pair of warm arms. He opened his eyes, embarrassingly laughing once he’d realized that Wilbur had caught him. His husband placed him back down, looking at his leg with worry when George stumbled. It wasn’t broken, but XD’s sharp cold magic would keep him from properly walking for a while.

Wilbur helped him away from the angered god. George looked up, watching as the hand that was previously holding him rotted away. XD screeched, turning to them, their golden chains glowing with a blinding light. A scythe appeared within view, striking the wish god right on their face.

The Goddess of Death entered the wedding venue, a disappointed look in her eyes.

“You should have let my grandson go, God of Wishes.”

=============================================================

Ambiguous ending but uh... I have preferred ending and it's def not the bad one.

Clarification for the title (which can't be seen here but is in the ao3 version): So a sunshower is a weather phenomenon where it is raining despite there still being sunshine. While the rain is not as heavy as a storm, I changed the rain here to be that like a rainstorm despite the sunlight that is still present. The reason for this is because where I'm from (or at least according to my mother) when a sunshower happens, that means a kapre and a white lady are getting married (or well, other Filipino mythological legends are getting married).

I just think with XD here being a somewhat monster of a god... well, poor Fundy having to marry him.

The sunshower is basically an indication here that a god is getting married, that's why Mumza asked Wilbur if he was getting married (also Wilbur is the god of music here, not all that powerful against a wish god).

[lanawinters-ily]

The Cracks of a Broken Heart

Lana & you share everything with each other, but what if she is hiding something? What if you change this forever?

Pairing: Lana Winters x Reader (platonic??)

Word count: 900

Warnings: my raw emotions hehe

(this gif 🥺 my poor baby)

Lana felt like a walking cliché at this point. God, how could she be so very stupid. It was hard enough being a secret lesbian in the 40s, surrounded by homophobia & shame over homosexuality everywhere she turned. And now she had fallen completely for the one person who had always supported her.

She looked over the table at you on the other side, your aura sparkling with pure joy & a beautiful gleaming smile etched across your kind face as you laughed along with the girl beside you. Lana’s gaze always seemed to find you, no matter where you were, or how far away you were, or who you were with. And she resented your addictive nature. It was like a cruel magnet, bonding Lana against her will to the woman that she could never have, but the one who fed her soul in a way that was instinctively primal.

She couldn’t live without you, so her secret love would stay under strict lock & key, the key then thrown into the darkest depths of the oceans to drown in sorrow.

As Lana looked up again from her spiral of self pity, she saw that you had noticed her. Your eyes met in a teasing lock, so intense that Lana felt as if all her emotion was being dragged out of her muddy irises into your own; secret whispers told through a teasing glance. Your happiness was infectious despite her aching chest, so Lana simply smiled in your direction to abate any stalling signs of doubt or anguish across her face. You moved forward, intertwining your long fingers in Lana’s own, a mocking slow dance of platonic affection as you pulled her nearer & whispered,

“I need to tell you something.”

This was not abnormal for your friendship, both of you becoming safes full of confidentiality for each other, Lana’s sexuality being the most valuable gold hidden under a heavy code. You both knew each other like the back of your hand; every secret, every lie, every emotion. Well, except one of course, but Lana had sworn to take that to the grave.

But still she dreamed of your life together. Running away to some deserted field to live in a flower-filled cottage in which you would laugh all day, & cuddle all night. You would bake your own bread & maybe even tend to some animals, or permeate each room with a flock of plants. Lana didn’t care where your hypothetical love would take you both, she just knew that with one look at you as hers, she would be the happiest woman in the world - no riches, or material worth could replace the sheer mountain of love she had carved for you.

“Lana, you’re daydreaming again, save that for your bed sweetheart,” Lana’s heart clenched at the term of endearment, & her pale skin flushed with red at the connotations of bed around you, her creative mind dancing around with suggestive thoughts.

You were now both alone, & had taken both of Lana’s hands in your own as she realised you were slightly sticky with nervous perspiration, & trembling slightly to the touch. You were anxious. Wow, this must be quite the secret to pierce your confident persona. Lana squeezed your fingers reassuringly, the gentle caress a reminder that you were safe with her, & that nothing could ever break your iron-strong bond to each other.

You took a deep breath, & sighed out; “Lana, I’m questioning my sexuality, & you have to keep it a secret.”

Lana’s heart leaped at this admission, the impossibility of your union suddenly shifting to a chance in her mind. All of her dreams raced through her head as she embraced you in a comforting manner, to mask her true elated response.

“Oh love, of course I will. It’s ok, you’re safe with me.” Lana cooed, whilst stroking your cheeks; “How do you feel about it?”

You looked up at her & grinned, saying; “Better now that I’ve told you. There’s this girl that I like who’s in our class,”

Once again, Lana’s lovesick brain took over, odds now narrowed down even further - a lottery turned into a small local draw. Her chances were now narrowed down to a handful of classmates, not that she thought you payed attention to any of them much.

“She’s been questioning too! And we are questioning our feelings for each other, together.”

As suddenly as it had soared, Lana’s heart plummeted towards the concrete below them, anchored by the truth. Her fantasises that floated above her head in a dream-world of heaven dropped back down to Earth, back to reality, back to normality.

The girl was not her. Lana was not certain of much in her life, but her sexuality had been a constant since she was around 10 years old. She was a lesbian, no doubt in her mind. As her English-riddled brain told her, questioning means uncertainty.

Uncertainty means someone else. You belonged to someone else. You shared Lana’s exact dreams, but her face was missing, torn out & obscured by the expression of another.

How does blood pump through the cracks of a broken heart?

Taglist: @ka-s @ninaahs @stayevildarling @babypocahontas @lilypadscoven @winters-witch-bitch @basicasshole @bottom4delia @forevercountess @violentwavesofem0tion @sporadicsupercorpquotesmonger @liberosisaspire @mellowalieneggsknight @supremeinlilac @thecasualgeek1 @lucykilljoy @mrsdeanhoward

[author-morgan]

Would you please write some more Havi&Frigg? I adore these two, in mytology when I read about them I always think their relationship is so beautiful, so lively. 😊😁

here you are! sorry for the long wait, but i hope you enjoy it! ♥ plot idea from late-night convos with @angstygunslinger

m!Eivor x fem!Reader

THE KING OF the Æsir has many battles beneath his belt from the passing millennia. His victories too numerous to count. But there is one victory he has not been able to claim in all his years —for all his efforts, Havi has never been able to best his sweet Frigg. He claims you use the gift of foresight bestowed by the Nornir to stay one step ahead of him —a kinder way to say you cheat to win against him in physical battles and those of wit. This day is no different. Staring down the length of the training staff pressed into his gut, Havi’s gaze flicks up to meet yours, already accusing. “My queen resorts to trickery,” he notes as he rises. Huginn squawks his agreement from the right arm of his throne. Muninn only keeps a watchful eye trained on the contest.

“My love for you is no trick, dear Havi,” you refute, taking a step toward your husband, letting the training staff fall from your grasp. He follows your movements, moving closer to his queen when you lift a hand to his scarred cheek, smiling. Havi leans into the gentle touch, lips parting to exhale softly. Your fingers trail along his jaw —brushing through his golden beard, up along the scar cutting across his cheek, and further to the eyelid that droops shut, hiding the empty cavity where an eye had once been. A sacrifice for knowledge. Lips twisting into a smile, you lean into him, placing a chaste kiss upon his unmarred cheek. “Perhaps your misjudgment has something to do with your forfeited eye,” you quip.

Havi shakes his head, disguising his laughter as false annoyance. “Sweet Frigg,” he chides, arms moving to encircle your waist. Since returning from Jötunheim, he’s been subjected to his queen’s endless taunts and jests for weeks.

Twining your arms around his neck, the corner of your lips quirk upward —a confident smirk and a look Havi is unaccustomed to seeing grace your fair features. There’s a glint in your eyes, too, reminiscent of one of Loki’s impish looks. “I do not need foresight to best you,” you tell him.

“No?” Havi challenges with one of his brows raised.

Your smile softens, hands slipping down to feel the planes of his chest through his rough spun tunic. “I know you, my love.” Havi hangs off your every word; he knows it’s true, though —there are millions of souls in the Nine Realms, and none save his sweet Frigg truly knows him. “And that makes you predictable.” He lets out a long sigh, silenced when you brush your lips against his, but pulling away too quickly for him to return the kiss in earnest. “Come,” you breathe, stepping out of his loose embrace, “walk with me, dear Havi, let us not dwell on your loss.” The king of the Æsir offers the crook of his arm, willing to follow his queen to the very end.

PUSHING OUT OF a stalemate, you run the edge of your sword across a Dane’s throat, deflecting another blow with the steel gauntlet wrapped around your forearm —steadily moving across the field toward their leader, Eivor Wolfsmal, carving a path of blood and bone. With a cry, you level your blade and seek to end the battle with a fell swoop —he catches the blade against his bearded axe, teeth bared and blood streaking his face, eyes burning with the fires of Muspelheim.

The impasse stands, neither of you unable to move against the other and a fleeting moment when your eyes meet is all it takes. You stand high above the Nine Realms, training staff in hand, circling the man before you. The grip you have on your sword’s hilt falters. She smiles, dancing around him with grace, blocking his blows and dealing them out just as quickly. His axe slips from his hand, his shield lowering.

“Frigg,” Eivor breathes. The whispered name strikes something deep within you —the revelation forces the two of you apart, weapons falling to the muddy earth. Eivor’s gaze softens, his face contorting as he takes a step closer, disbelieving. “No!” He shouts, but it is too late —the lance of a great two-handed axe meets your temple, and with speckled vision, you fall into darkness.

“EIVOR!” DAG SHOUTS, standing over an unmoving figure on the field of battle. “What about this one?” Eivor steps next to him, looking down at you —face a mess of blood and dirt with a long cut running across your thigh, still seeping blood. He crouches down, slipping his hand below your neck to cradle the back of your head, as though he’s holding a lover. Just the brush of your skin against his sets him alight and brings memories that do not belong to him flashing across his mind. A smile, a kiss, sitting next to his sweet Frigg at the head of the table overseeing a bountiful feast.

Weary, you open your eyes, feeling the cool rain wash over you. You glance around the battlefield, strewn with the corpses of your people and those of the Danes and Norse, and then to the man tenderly holding your head. Their leader —a haunting reminder of the dreams that’d plagued you since childhood. We fought, and neither of us could deal a final blow. “Who are you?” Eivor asks.

“No one,” you answer. He frowns, knowing it is a lie. There is something about you he cannot explain. Eivor knows you. He knows your face, the whisper of your voice, the gentle brush of your fingers against his cheek, and yet, you are but a stranger to him.

Deciding what it is he must do, Eivor slides his arms under your knees and around your shoulders, hefting you up from the muddy ground. The protests on your lips remain unvoiced. Laughing. A hall filled with joyous cries as your dear Havi lifts you into his arms with the same giddiness as the night you wed. When your eyes meet once again, you both look away, quickly. Overwhelmed by a strange swell of relief —as though long-departed lovers are reunited. “Take her to my tent” —he passes you to Dag— “I will tend her wounds.”

With great effort, you strip away your armor, discarding it in a pile —if Eivor Wolfsmal meant to kill you, he’d have done so already. You remain mostly unscathed, save for the throbbing cut on your thigh. It is not deep enough to warrant stitching, nor does it bleed heavily enough to need the cleansing touch of fire. Tearing a strip of linen from the hem of your tunic, you bind the wound, awaiting whatever cruel fate lies ahead.

When Eivor returns, he comes with a basin of water and several long strips of clean linen. He kneels at your side, wordlessly, peeling away your poor excuse for a bandage and the split wool of your breeches. You watch him, see his brows furrow in concentration as he dips a rag into the water, wiping the muck and blood away with a gentleness unbecoming of the berserker you witnessed in the heat of battle. “Why are you helping me?” You ask, wincing when he presses down on the cut.

“Don’t make me regret it,” Eivor says —a tinge of amusement in his voice— his gaze flitting up from your thigh. After a pause, he speaks again, answering your question but creating several more. “You remind me of someone I know” —he ties a knot in the linen— “or rather knew.” Eivor scrubs his hands in the tainted water, sitting back on his haunches. He looks over you, curious, replaying what happened when your blades locked in battle, and the memories he’s seen, vivid as a waking dream.

Your breath catches when your eyes meet his, clear and nigh cold —reassured and frightened to know he had seen the same thing you had. “Who?” It’s a foolish question. You know who it is he’s reminded of. You, or rather Frigg. Why else would he glimpse you as though he’s seen a ghost?

He shakes his head, running his hand down his face and through his golden beard, still tinted with blood. “I’m not sure,” Eivor answers.

Biting down on your lip, you glance through the crack in the tent’s opening, heart hammering in your chest as ravens croak and squawk over a feast of flesh. “Havi.” It’s a whisper so faint Eivor barely hears it.

His eyes widen, lips parting in surprise —his heart thuds loudly in his ears. “How do you know that name?” He asks. The shock of hearing one of Odinn’s names amplified by your standing as a Saxon warrior.

An ephemeral smile crosses your lips —there and gone in a heartbeat— as you think about sweet Frigg and dear Havi. “I hear it in my dreams,” you admit. “It belongs to a man who looks like you.” Eivor is the image of Havi. His clear blue eyes are the same, as is his golden hair and the scar running across his cheek. The only distinction is Eivor has a mottled patch of skin on his neck, and Havi is missing an eye. “Only he has one eye.”

Eivor lets you a shaky breath. He’d spoke of these dreams to Valka —her cryptic response had made him uneasy, but that feeling pales in comparison to now —he has Frigg sitting before him. He cannot run from the gods’ plans any longer. “Fate has brought us together for a reason.” You don’t doubt it. A lifetime of praying to a Christian god, and yet it has always been the ways of the Danes and Norse that called to your soul the most.

“I know you saw what I did when we crossed blades,” you tell him, holding his gaze. Eivor’s shoulders fall. He wants to think of you as a stranger, but it feels as though he’s finally found something —a piece of him he hadn’t even known was missing until he looked over steel and iron and into your eyes. “You called me Frigg.”

He swallows the knot in his throat. Havi and Frigg —the High-One and his queen. “We were bound in another life,” Eivor tells you, there’s no uncertainty in his voice, and you do not doubt him. He moves closer to you, albeit unwittingly, and you do not shy away. You had not been afraid of him on the field of battle; you would not be now either. “Come with me” —he offers his hand— “I know someone who can help answer our questions.”

You slip your hand in his as Eivor begins to rise, helping you up to your feet. He frowns at the grimace twisting your expression —your leg pained you more than you let on. Eivor steadies you by the waist, and for a moment, the world outside the canvas tent vanishes. Instead of the edge of a battlefield, you are high above Asgard and all the Nine Realms. You lean into him, breath catching when he leans in too.

The tickle of his beard against your cheek is warning enough for you to pull back, but you don’t. Eivor’s lips brush yours, hesitant at first until he remembers you are his Frigg and, he, your Havi. It is just as sweet and soft as you knew him to be. You both part with a sigh, foreheads resting together. A smile twists your lips when you reach up, following the scar on his —fingers combing through his beard. After a millennium, you’d finally found each other.

Eivor gestures to the cot, knowing he must speak to his allies and men, and you need time to recover your strength. “Rest, sweet Frigg,” he says, lips brushing against your temple before stepping back and out of the tent. In his place remains a raven with dark, beady eyes watching over you as Huginn and Muninn once had.

[taglist:  @angstygunslinger @vanillabeanlattes @withered-poppies @ananriel @itseivwhore @maximalblaze @dynamicorbit @theelvenvalkyrie @xxdearlybeloved @elizabethroestone @elluvians @letsloveimagines @finick94 @wallsarecrumbling @kitkitvm @thedragonqueenfan @callmemythicalminx @edelae @darkravenqueen98 ] if you’d like to be added to my Eivor taglist, just let me know!

[apollos-garden]

Thrall

A/N: in this, you’re an Avenger who has atmospheric / air manipulation powers. So basically you can move air, shove air, make a high/low pressure bubble, make a force field of wind, etc. 

Word count: 1878

Summary: mind controlled Bucky is ordered to fight you

The metal-paneled hallway was silent as you snuck along the side. You’d successfully retrieved the element core from under heavy guard at one of HYDRA’s last bases without notice. Just a bit longer, and you’d get outside. Tony’s quinjet was as close as possible to the base without triggering the sensors, about a 3 minute run. At the end of the hallway, you saw Bucky waiting to make sure you weren’t ambushed and cornered in the narrow corridor. You quickened your steps, eager to get away from the flickering fluorescent lights and eerie echo. Suddenly, the speakers in the ceiling came on with a crackle. 

Was that... Russian? “Желание. Ржавый...” You slowed in confusion, but Bucky’s eyes widened in horror before you could register the pattern. “No!” he shouted, plugging his ears in a desperate attempt to override the code, but the volume was deafening. “...Возвращение на Родину. Один...” In a last-ditch attempt to interrupt the sequence being read out, you sent a bolt of high pressure air hurtling towards the nearest speaker, crumpling it, but the others lining the hallway were more than loud enough to compensate. “Товарный вагон.” Silence resumed for a moment before Bucky straightened. “Я готов отвечать.” Ready to comply. 

Your heart sank. “Bucky, pl-.” You were cut off by the voice in the ceiling. “Dispatch subject in possession of element core and return it to the base center. Do not damage the core.” Bucky’s eyes locked onto you, and he raised his gun. Panicking, you threw up a force field. It held off the first spray of bullets, but in a confined and stuffy area like this, it wouldn’t last for long. You needed to get outside. The door was in your line of sight, directly behind Bucky. That was the problem. Strengthening the field as much as possible, you slowly began advancing towards him. 

As you got closer, the bullets’ ricochet paths started veering dangerously close to Bucky. Realizing this, he positioned the gun back across his shoulders and swapped to his knife. Bucky kicked the force field right in the middle, and although the winds spun his foot off, it wavered, weakened from the bullets. After absorbing another kick and two punches from his metal arm, the rushing air finally flickered down. You were completely unprotected. You had a knife in your belt and some explosive beads in a satchel, but even as you reached for the blade you knew you wouldn’t be able to hurt him. 

Bucky jabbed with the knife at your stomach and you sent a focused burst of air hurtling towards the blade, averting it at the last second. Your mind raced, trying to come up with any strategy to get to the door. Narrowly dodging an elbow to the face, you saw your window. Shoving him to the side with a gust of wind, you launched yourself past him, diving onto the hard floor. Rolling, you made a mad dash for the door. You heard a whooshing noise and your left calf erupted in pain, his knife clattering to the ground. Stumbling, you reached for the door handle when you heard the characteristic click of a gun cocking. 

You threw up a force field behind you, blocking a stream of bullets. You reached blindly for the door handle behind you, tugging it open. As you turned, a bullet ricocheted past the wall of wind and ripped into your right side as you almost fell outside, slamming the door behind you. Shaking, you reached for your radio. “Tony, Bucky got triggered and is trying to get the core back. I can’t hold him back for long. I need you to pick me up.” Not waiting for a response, you ran to a nearby tree, crouching behind it just as Bucky burst through the door. If you got the chance to form a low-pressure partial vacuum around his head, you might be able to make him pass out from hypoxia. You held out your hands, hiding them as best you could in the brush around the tree, and began to form the vacuum. Focused on tracking the blood drops you left in the muddy grass, Bucky didn’t notice the faint blurry film cast over his vision. 

The sound of the rain pattering on leaves masked your heavy breathing. Your vision was also starting to blur, but from blood loss and exhaustion. The bubble had sealed, and oxygen levels should have fallen enough to be noticeable. And noticed it was. Bucky clawed at the bubble, but since it was just air, there was nothing to punch through. Unfortunately, he realized that he needed to find you before his air ran out at the same time that the blood trail ended right in front of you. Your eyes locked. 

You formed your third force field just in time to block a kick that would have hit you square in the nose. It was stronger now, with the storm and free air, but you weren’t sure how long you could hold it and maintain the vacuum. Time to try something different. Hooking your foot around Bucky’s ankle, you took advantage of his air-deprived dizziness to flip him onto the ground, slamming his head onto a tree root. Summoning a concentrated force field around both his wrists, you kept both hands pinned to the ground. He strained against it and your head pounded with how much force you needed to exert to keep him there. Blood trickled from your nose. This could last for 10 seconds, tops. 

Your head snapped up as blasters started firing from the rooftop of the base at the approach of Tony’s quinjet. By this time, Bucky definitely should have passed out. You turned your gaze back to Bucky just to see his metal arm rip through its confine, and then the other one. With alarm, you saw no sign of the bubble you had put in place. It must have fizzled out when you had to focus so much power on keeping Bucky restrained. You raised your hands to cast yet another force field to hold until the quinjet landed, but they shook badly and all you managed was a feeble puff. Bucky unslung his gun from his shoulders and you dive away, but a round of bullets rip into the air and one lodges into your bicep. You look up to the quinjet to see Hawkeye on the hatch shoot an arrow into Bucky’s leg. The last thing you see before your vision fades to black is Bucky crumpling to the ground next to you and Cap leaping from the quinjet. 

________________________________

You slowly open your eyes. Your head feels pleasantly fuzzy, almost warm. As you open your eyes, some of that fogginess morphs into nausea. You’re in the quinjet. It’s quiet, the only noise the whir of the turbines and the splashing of rain on the roof and windows. Taking a deep breath, you push up onto your elbows. Your abs and arm burn, but thankfully the painkillers flowing down the IV line in your wrist numb most of the pain. “Woah, sit back down!” came a voice from behind you. You turn your head to see Natasha. “Oh. Hey, Nat.” 

“Lie. Back. Down.” Geez, okay. You settle back onto the medical cot. Natasha dragged her chair over to you. “How’re you feeling?” You smirked. “Actually, pretty okay. This is some heavy stuff. Maybe I should get shot more often.” Natasha just raises an eyebrow at you. The memory of what happened gradually returns as you shake free from the analgesic mental fog. “Um, how’s Bucky? I saw him get nailed by Hawkeye.” Nat sighs. “Well, he’s fine physically. That was a hollow arrow filled with a fast-acting sedative, just to get him out of Winter Soldier mode. Mentally... well, he’s outside. Do you want to talk to him?”

You nodded, biting your lip in concern. Natasha got up and dipped around the door, saying something. Once she was gone, you sat up, leaning against the wall for support. After a moment, Bucky’s head peeked around the door. He didn’t seem like he was going to move. “Hey, Bucky. You can come in, you know.” Slowly, he walked in, stopping near the door. He hugged himself with one arm, holding onto the bicep of his metal arm. He didn’t make eye contact. You tracked his gaze, eyes fixed on the bandages wrapped around your waist and arm. “Don’t worry about those. Bruce used some of his cell matrix regeneration support bandages. I’ve read about them in journals. Bullet wounds don’t even scar over if you get one on fast enough.” Bucky nodded. “Could you maybe come here? I would move but I’m tethered.” You motioned to your wrist. Reluctantly, he walked over and sat where Nat had been.

Bucky still wouldn’t meet your gaze. “Hey. It’s okay. You couldn’t do anything, and I don’t blame you for it.” At that, his eyes snapped up to meet yours. His eyes were red. “Why didn’t you stop me?,” he asked hoarsely. “If Tony had got there any slower, I would have killed you.” You sighed. “I knew if I tried to really hit you, I would have pulled my punches. So then I wouldn’t have made any real attack and I would be close enough for you to really mess me up. Just holding you down and blocking was the only way for me to get out alive. Anyway, we both made it out.” 

“It was this close to only one of us making it out!,” Bucky exclaimed. “I don’t get it. You almost died! Because of me!” His shoulders sagged and you could hear his voice crack. “I thought I lost you.” Bucky looked back up at you, blinking back tears. Some managed to escape and trail down his cheeks. Your own eyes stung seeing Bucky like this. “I’m right here, Bucky. I’m alive and so are you.” You pulled his head forward to kiss his forehead, then wrapped your arms around his neck. “It’s okay.” Bucky let himself be moved without resistance, but his hands wavered before settling on either side of the cot, not wanting to further hurt you. Silently, you lower one hand and intertwine your fingers with his, resting in your lap. 

Eventually, Bucky’s back stopped shuddering with sobs and his breathing evened out. You wiped away residual tears with the back of your hand, gently tugging him next to you on the cot. The combined effect of keeping yourself upright with damaged ab muscles and the steady flow of the painkillers was beginning to take a toll on you, and you leaned a little into Bucky’s side. His brows furrowed in concern. He remained still for a moment before cautiously guiding your head into his lap. “Sorry, I guess these drugs are pretty strong,” you mumbled. “ ’S okay,” Bucky replied, running his fingers through your hair. 

After about thirty seconds, you were already dead asleep. Bucky tilted his head back against the wall and closed his eyes. Your pulse was slow but strong and he could just barely feel the beat on his thigh where your neck rested. You both stayed like that, still and safe, until the quinjet landed.

[botwstoriesandsuch]

Heya!! Kip here! The @memorabiliazine preorders have just shipped, which means we can share our pieces now! I wrote this piece back in February, after theorizing about the presence of Robbie's Telescope being present in the Royal Tech Lab in Age of Calamity. So without further a do, here be my little essay/fic on some old ruins, or more specifically, its:

Cause of Destruction

The storm had come too late. Thankfully, it was all devastated.

She continued to run from the screaming.

The Sheikah woman headed for the hills, brittle trees littering the eastern side of the Lindor mountain side. If she hurried, she could meet up with the others who had—

A distant crack of thunder melded with the collapse of stone; she makes the mistake of glancing back.

In the greater horizon, the shadow of Hyrule Castle looms over a conquered dusk. A shrill cry—something between a roar and a whine—escapes from the cloudy malice beast that enshrouds the Hylian monument. But that was just the backdrop, the canvas for contrast. Closer still, in the billowing grass of North Hyrule Plain, the stormy winds cut through fog and smoke like a dagger.

In the opened wound, the faint silhouette of a building glows.

Blue.

Blue.

Blue.

She keeps running.

The color might have at one point been appealing—the symbol of the Royals, the pleasant hue that cloaked a perfect morning. But tonight it just haunted her...chased her...reminded her of the terrible deed that was done.

A horse came over the hills.

“HEY!” a man shouted, mounted on a grey horse. “MA’AM! HALT, PLEASE!”

Crap. She sucked in a breath through her teeth, clutched her limp, burned arm, and kept moving. I just need to reach the trees.

But the chase seemed over before it had even started. When she had first started running from the blue, some wandering captain had stopped her to ask what was wrong. There was a strange kindness in his striking eyes, a forgein concept in this land now stricken with grief, death, and paranoia. In her haste—and possibly shame of what she had done—she had just pushed the captain away and fled. Very inconspicuous…good job me.

Now it seems he had found her again. Any other day she might have commended him for his kindness in checking with some random Sheikah, during the end of the world no less.

But tonight, well...there’s a sliver of her that might have preferred death.

The woman tripped on a divet in the earth, crashing down on one of her badly burned legs, and hissed at the pain. The rain had muddied the path, and was staining her once white clothes a disgusting marron. The pounding of hooves grew closer, until they halted right next to her ears.

A pair of leather boots crashed into the mud.

“Ma’am, don’t get up. You’re injured. Please.”

The clang of metal armour accompanies the voice. Oh he was a captain alright, equipped well for the apocalypse. His metalspear and armour adorned in—

She looks up.

Blue.

A slight frown.

The man tries to help her to her feet, watching to not clutch on the wounds on her right side. “Whatcha doing all the way out here? The nearest settlement is a ways away.” The captain lifts up one of her arms, and his eyes widen just a bit. “Dammit...those burns look bad. We might getcha some aid...there’s a laboratory place nearby that I’m heading by, just due east and—”

“...Lab?” The woman can’t help but wonder aloud. No...you idiot, you can’t be serious.

The captain smiles again. “See now, that’s why I was so eager to catch your attention. You’re running in the wrong direction.” He points in the direction she was running towards. “Up where you’re going is just mountains. There’s a fancy smancy lab a bit south that could help patch you up better than—”

“If you head to that lab, you’ll die.” She lets the words linger for a moment. “Unless, of course, that was the desired plan for the evening.” The woman laughs to herself, but the sound is empty and dry.

He frowns. “...What?”

She’s silent, gears turning in her head. Goddess...how do I say this without—

She points east, the rain pattering on her outstretched sleeve. “Tell me, Captain. What do you see over there?”

The man pauses, his face contort with confusion. He follows her hand and stares at the blue.

“...North Hyrule Plain. Some building glowing blue over there…I’m assuming that’s the techno-wizz from the L—”

“Lab, yes. That would be the Royal Ancient Lab. Though I’m afraid it’s not glowing from ‘techno-wizz’ or anything of that sort, dear captain.”

She crosses her arms, turning to look away from the blue and hugging her knees. “It’s currently burning to the ground.”

An ugly pause, as the man seems to take a moment to digest this. He flickers his gaze between the Sheikah and the distant blue building.

“I-It’s...It’s raining though—”

“Blue flame, I’m afraid, is a bit more resistant. Plus, it’s been burning long before the storm came through.”

“What...I…” The captain sits next to her, plopping into the mud in disbelief. “I was really thinking that...why would…”

He turns to her, his eyes are stormy grey, with faint specks of blue, like embers. The captain’s tone is gravely serious. “Miss, why was that lab destroyed?”

The question catches her off guard. Her jaw’s clenched, but she breaks their staring contest and hides her surprise with a shrug. “Same reason as every other disaster today. Calamity Ganon destroyed it.”

There’s a crack of thunder, and the ground shudders at her lie.

“...No.” the man mumbles.

“Look, I know it’s a lot to process—”

“No, I mean,” he stands, hand reaching for his back, “that’s not what actually happened, is it ma’am?”

Crap. The Sheikah holds her hands in the air. “If this is about me shoving you earlier, I was just a bit—”

“Aw now don’tcha worry about that, I took no personal offense.” He scratches the blond stubble on his chin.

“Now the thing that I do find some mighty fine offense to, is the fact that there’s a good lick of a chance that I’m currently speaking to an arsonist traitor.”

There’s a BOOM, and in the distance, another large piece of the Royal Lab collapses into the earth. The blue grows brighter.

“Me? What in the name of Hylia are you—”

“Let’s not play dumb, ma’am. Trust me, I’m a sucker for some pleasantries and small talk, though I’m afraid addressing the fact that you burned down the nearest safe haven for miles is gonna take priority here.”

The Sheikah woman just fumes, attempting to get up in the captain’s face. “How DARE you accuse me of—”

She’s cut off by the shing of metal cutting through air. The captain twirls the spear on his back and points the end right at her neck, resting just below her chin. She scowls, but puts her hands in the air.

“You just don’t understan—”

“That’s a mighty fine torch you got there…” He clicks his tongue.

Both hands grip his spear steady, ready to pierce flesh at any moment. The captain gestures with a wink to the torch attached to her waist. It seems to still smolder slightly with faint blue embers.

The captain looks between the torch, and the blue fire in the horizon.

“Yes, a mighty fine torch indeed.” He presses the spear tip a bit further forward.

“And it’s glowing a familiar color.”

Cause of Destruction

An Analysis of the Destruction of the Royal Ancient Lab

By Dr. J Kippers

(But please, Kippers was my father, call me Kip)

So heroes are a thing, huh? Who’da thunk it! One minute, I’m continuing my travels, studying some cool rocks and bricks in Hyrule Field. Then the next, a giant malice pig appears and fights some teenage boy wielding a glowing stick. I definitely wasn’t cowering behind the ruins of a garrison bathroom while that all happened, and I definitely was doing some cool badass fighting moves with my...pen, to help that knight and save the world and stuff. Makes for a pretty cool story, yeah? HA, Traysi would kill for it…

But enough of my daring, slightly exaggerated, exploits. It’s been a few weeks since the world’s settled down from the Calamity’s defeat, which means I had prime time to settle back into my hometown, and put my years of travel and research to paper!

I spent the majority of my life studying the history of Hyrule as it fell to the Calamity 100 years ago...and with the world now revitalizing, it’s just prime time to get myself out there! Research wise, that is!

At first, I didn’t really know what to write, cause WOW there’s just so many topics to choose from. Plus there’s a lot on the line here, gotta make a good impression for whatever new kingdom that Princess Zelda’s got planned. She seems the scholarly type, yeah? I’m thinking I could snag some Hyrule history teach’ position at a rebuilt university or something… Princess has got an awful lot of focus on the reconstruction of different village ruins. Which is fair, cause who better to know how to rebuild these places than the people who were alive to see them in their prime!

And you see, that’s where my journey of knowledge began! People with first hand knowledge of the events of distant past are alive? OH a historian’s dream…my soul swells in happiness. Plus, I also got my researcher brain a-tingling. My dad’s friend’s cousin’s neighbor’s grandma’s dog’s breeder knew Dr. Robbie back in the day, so Sheikah tech is basically in my blood.

With these passions rejuvenated I had my goal! Publish some revolutionary new theory that combined my awesome knowledge for history, archeology, and tech! And what better place to see that than, (duh) the Royal Ancient Lab Ruins.

Now, there doesn’t seem to be much in these ruins…it’s absolutely barren. No weapons or treasures to be seen. Just your run-of-the-mill ruined ruins, destroyed long ago by the Calamity. And that was the end of the story.

At least that’s what I thought until I did a little more digging. See, as I was doing some additional research, I stumbled upon this old history/research book stored in the Kakariko archive. I have no idea where it came from...it’s titled...C-Caa...Creation? Creating? Creating a...Cham...it’s kinda faded and hard to read. But anyhow, this weird little history book was written by some guy named “Nine-tendons.” If someone out there has a copy feel free to hit me up, but for today’s sake title and author don’t really matter. The point is, one of the quotes in that book describes the ruins like this:

Royal Ancient Lab Ruins

It is thought that these ruins represent the ancient relic research facility that was under the direct rule of Hyrule Castle, but only the outer walls remain. There is no trace of the building’s interior, let alone any research materials.

The thoroughness of its destruction feels intentional. [Page 396, Cr_ating a Champ___, Nint__do.]

Now I’m not too familiar with the work of whoever Mr. Nin-Ten-doves is, but I strangely trust their word on the topic wholeheartedly. Call it a feeling from the divine if you must, but they’re right! It seems so much more obvious in hindsight.

My adventures into the other various ruins across Hyrule always gave me something to work with. The world is just crafted for exploration. Old treasure chests, weird rocks with a tiny talking tree fairy underneath. Hell, even a monster or two was always happy to inhabit even the smallest of ruins I’ve entered. Yet, there is absolutely nothing of prominence to be seen at the ruins of the Royal Ancient Lab. And I’ve double, triple, and quintuple-checked!

Why are there no rusted weapons...or treasures...or any records or evidence of anything, other than some crude stone walls and a rock? That kind of destruction is just unnecessarily absolute, even for the Calamity.

According to detailed drawings/notes I have in my records of Historical Works during the Age of Calamity (HW AOC for short), the Royal Ancient Lab was nearly three stories tall, with a royal blue ceiling, complete with a basement level, and an upper telescope! With even the smallest of structures (like simple ranch and village ruins) still standing today with plenty of artifacts, why is as great a structure as the Royal Lab so desolate?

Intentional, intentional, intentional...that word ran through my head for days, weeks, months even. Why would the Royal Ancient Lab be destroyed intentionally? Did the Calamity see it as that major a threat? No, that wouldn’t make sense, the movements of Calamity Ganon that day clearly show his intention to use the Sheikah power against the people of Hyrule. An Ancient Lab would be a major benefit, if anything…

So, surprising as it may be, the current prime suspect for the destruction of this lab would actually be…

The Sheikah just glares. “Well...what gave it away?

He shrugged his shoulders with a half smile. “Deductive reasoning, with a hint of some good ol’ luck perhaps.”

“Listen, I know this looks bad, but you have to understand—”

“Oh I understand quite well alright.” The captain gives a wink. “I try to be humble, but Mama always did say I was the smartest cookie she knew.”

He rests the end of his spear on her collarbone, the threat clearly still present, but it gives him the freedom to pace and wipe rain for his soaked blonde hair.

“See I know that Calamity Ganon’s corrupted every bit of Sheikah tech from here to Lurelin. I know that he’s been targeting Hylian settlements. ‘Seen it myself when some monsters and Guardians destroyed my regiment and post at Maritta Exchange, just a bit north from here. I know that the only reason the other settlements, like the Rito and Zora, are still standing is because Ganon’s focusing all his forces on finding and killing the Hylian Champion and the princess. And finally I know that because of that, there is not a Guardian or monster around for many a mile. I mean, just lookie over there.”

The woman turns her head, and sure enough, the plains are barren of all life. No movement of machine or beast or person.

“And now my assumption was—and do pardon me if my monologue is redundant to your traitor ears—that the nearest place of safety would be this royal laboratory of technology. It’s Sheikah run, so it wouldn’t be immediately targeted. Plus the last thing the Calamity would want is for his personal army of destruction to be...well, destroyed. Ifs I was them evil cloud demon thing, I woulda wanted the lab with all my corrupted techno babble soldiers to be kept in peak condition. However…”

The captain turns to the right, staring at the blazing blue building in the distance. “...That does not seem to be the case.”

The Sheikah opens her mouth to speak, but he holds up the spear again. “Now I’m thinking, the only reason someone would go about destroying that lab, would perhaps be to kill some people, no?”

“We didn’t—”

“Getting rid of the people who could possibly reverse the Guardian corruption...now I suppose that might be a good evil plan.”

“It was for the be—”

“Ma’am I’m all about looking on the bright side of things, but,” the captain flicks his head in the direction of the blue, “This ain’t exactly the light a’ hope I was wanting.”

“Maybe not, but—”

“So,who are ya? Yiga?”

“No, it’s—”

“Solo treason then. You getting revenge on someone ‘round here? A noble? The King? Or perhaps you’re just the sadistic type with the whole—”

“NO!”

The outburst surprises the both of them, and he hold the spear to ner neck firmly. Another crack of thunder reminds them of the silence that’s endured. The Sheikah finally sighs.

“Perhaps by definition I am an arsonist and a traitor, but for one thing, I wasn’t alone.”

The man’s eyes shine curiously, but she continues.

“I will gladly die alongside them, as my actions have only been for the benefit of Hyrule.”

The rain’s tempo quickens as she gets on her feet, but the captain doesn’t strike. She stares him down, eyes hidden behind strands of white hair.

“My name is Atsuko, a devoted researcher at the Royal Lab, and you may kill me if you think it just.”

Ok, now I know what you’re all thinking. You’re thinking “Kip! Why are you writing this official research paper like some drunken bar rant? How the hell are you gonna get noticed at this rate?” or “Kip! The hell are you thinking?? Sheikah destroying the Ancient Lab makes absolutely no sense?!”

So to that I say, firstly, uhhh you’re welcome for not being a boring posh, snobby lecturer.(Learned to value a personality over fancy words; lessons my granddad).

As for the latter, you are quite wrong my dear friend, quite wrong indeed. It makes an absolute butt-load of sense, and I’m gonna prove it was them, here and now! I mean that’s...kinda the whole point of an essay, yeah?

My fellow archeology, history, and tech lovers, not only do I know who is responsible for the Royal Lab’s destruction, but I know the true reason why and how! Let us start at the beginning!

What exactly is the lab, and what was its purpose? Well, as the name implies, it was a Sheikah-run laboratory under the hand of the royal family that researched and experimented with Ancient technology. Again, looking at references in HW AOC, I can place not only Guardian models and Ancient weaponry at the lab, but also the existence of blue flame lamps that seemingly powered the facility.

As we all know, it’s tough to mess around with Ancient parts without blue flame, which is the prime energy source for the Ancient Sheikah. Such are the existence of today’s Hateno and Akkala tech labs, located near blue flame furnaces. However! This brings into question exactly why the Royal Lab was constructed where it was…

There are only three places in all of Hyrule with natural blue flame deposits, or otherwise called “Ancient Furnaces.” That would be in Hateno, Akkala, and within Hyrule Castle itself. So why is the Royal Tech Lab so far from these Ancient Furnaces?

To answer this question, might I direct your attention towards explosions. That’s right folks, I’m talking bombs! (Please take this moment to imagine me creating an accompanying explosive sound effect with my mouth)

Some time ago, as I was analyzing the blue flame lamps in Deep Akkala, I ran into that hero of legend face to face! Nice guy, quiet and charming type. Smelled strangely like apples and burnt guts.

Long story short, I traded my entire supply of Hot-Footed Frogs and arrows for a chance to mess with his Sheikah Slate for a bit.

So during that brief period of research, I discovered that while Sheikah tech is usually well controlled—with bomb runes only going off on command by the push of a button—there is an exception! Bomb runes instantly react with blue flame, just one touch and they’ll instantly explode! Try it out yourself! Er, well. Ok, maybe not. Don’t do that, legally I’m not responsible. Plus, it’s not like any of you folk out there have access to bomb runes or a Sheikah Slate that you can play around and test it out for yourself like it’s some virtual game that you can switch around in your hands.

Bomb runes are giant bundles of compact Sheikah tech. When in contact with a pure blue flame, they go boom. The process with the Sheikah Slate must simplify this process with a remote button, but as I’ve discovered, the process can be hastened by chucking a torch around.

I call this phenomenon of blue flame reacting destructively with Sheikah technology a “blue combustion!” I’m creative, I know.

I imagine, any experimentation with weapons that harness, compress, or just generally mess with Sheikah tech and lasers, must be conducted in an environment that prevents blue combustion. You don’t want pure blue flame touching stuff. Otherwise you go kaboom.

Now I couldn’t get a hold of Dr. Robbie or Director Purah myself, something about how they “don’t know who the heck” I am, and “you’re trespassing please get off it’s private property,” or something of the sort, I’m not really sure. But even without their testimonies, you’ll notice that their large tech labs are constructed a distance away from the actual Ancient Furnace. They aren’t right beside it. If they were, you risk losing a limb to a blue combustion. That is also why blue flame lamps exist: to stagger the distance between the flames. And thus is why the Royal Lab isn’t nearby an Ancient Furnace.

Yet even so, the distance the Royal Lab has from an Ancient Furnace might still stump you, because even compared to the Akkala and Hateno labs, it is very very far. But here’s the kicker, my dear curious readers and poor editor, the reason for this extreme distance is because during its prime, the Royal Ancient Lab housed a large portion of the Guardian army and weaponry. It needed more distance because its contents accumulated a much larger space. I can prove this not only by descriptions shown in HW AOC, but also by notes/drawings shown in the archive called the Backgrounds of Technological Wonders, or BOTW for short.

Both these sources show that while Guardians were tested and stationed in Hyrule Castle, the number of Guardians at the castle was probably only in the one hundred mark or less. Now that may seem like a lot, but remember, hundreds of Guardians were dug up, as especially shown in the famous Sheikah tapestry of 10,000 years ago. Arguably even thousands, considering that tapestry is a simplification.

So if we can only account for only a portion of the Guardian population at Hyrule Castle, where are the rest? Scattered across different garrisons perhaps, sure. But they’d mainly be in the facility where each of the Guardians were constructed and given power, the place full of the most talented Sheikah researchers, a location that would still be in decent proximity, but still a safe distance from the castle should an emergency arise: the Royal Ancient Tech Lab. That’s where most of Guardians are.

Now, why is this important? Why did I just spend a few paragraphs talking about blue flames and Guardians and locations when this is about the lab’s destruction and demise?

It’s because this is my sure fire way to prove to you that the Calamity did not destroy the Royal Lab.

The Royal Ancient Lab was constructed specifically to create the best Guardians and technology to beat the Calamity with.

It would have been constructed specifically to avoid any fatal blue combustion accidents.

And it sure as hell wouldn’t have been purposefully destroyed by the Calamity, the one entity who would benefit from its existence.

The lab was decimated by a blue combustion, no question. There isn’t anything as powerful as it that could destroy a place so completely. And now knowing the factors surrounding the lab itself, we know that if it was destroyed by a combustion, it was not because of an accident.

It could only have been done purposefully, by the only people who would know the Royal Lab’s weaknesses.

It could only have been brought down by the Sheikah researchers.

So now, the questions of exactly how and why remain.

The captain just stands and ponders.

“Ma’am, I must confess that I don’t find the science of the destruction nearly as interesting as exactly what made you decide to do it.”

“It’s like I said,” Atsuko clutches her burned arm, “It wasn’t just me. Really, now, you’re too kind to give me so much credit.”

The spear end moves closer to her neck. “Alright alright alright, sorry, pal. Look I have no idea if you’re even believing all this right now, but you have to trust me that our actions were of the best intentions.”

The captain smirks. “Do tell?”

According to BOTW, the Ancient Arrow was developed by Dr. Robbie as one of the most powerful means of combating the Calamity itself. In fact, according to research I’ve found in that CAC book by Mint-en-do, I can place the exact time for the development of this weapon, which I can use to glean information about it’s properties.

Ancient Arrow

Perhaps forty or fifty years after the day of the Great Calamity Robbie, the lead Guardian researcher, created the first weapon that was effective against the mechanical monsters: the ancient arrow... Flames come out from the burner like bit [of the Ancient Arrow] and form a blade. [Page 388 and 178, Cr_ating a Champ___, Nint__do.]

The arrow instantly vaporizes whatever it comes into contact with, tearing apart the subject by the molecule, and sending them to non-existence. The description of the weapon implies that it is the pure energy of a blue flame, and built quite differently than other Sheikah weapons.

And the difference definitely shows. I’ve handled a few of these puppies myself, and let me tell you, they get the job done. While an Ancient sword or axe will certainly do some damage, a single Ancient Arrow can take out a Guardian, or even a Lynel in one hit. I heard that they could even do major damage to Dark Beast Ganon itself!

Now, why do I bring this up? Because this Ancient Arrow proves that the Sheikah 100 years ago knew about the dangers of blue combustion.

An Ancient Arrow is clearly the result of intensive research into blue combustion, it is literally a pure blue flame on a stick pumped up with some Ancient Tech. It vaporizes whatever matter it touches and it ceases to exist.

Hmm...would be a fine explanation as to why the nearly three stories worth of stone and ceiling in the Royal Lab no longer can be found.

And why wasn’t the Ancient Arrow developed sooner? It’s because no one thought to purposefully cause an event that would destroy everything until they were forced to on the actual day of the Calamity. It’s because it took even the most brilliant of scientists half a century to even contain a feat of destruction into a single arrowtip? Yes...when you lay out the facts like that, it seems to make sense on the timeline.

Ah, but I’m getting ahead of myself. Back to the question of “why?” Let me rewind to an earlier point. Where are the thousands of Guardians in Hyrule?

Yes, a good hundred or so could be found in Hyrule Castle, and the majority were in the Royal Ancient Lab. But today, where are they? Records in BOTW cite only 157 Guardian remains in all of Hyrule. 157. How? That’s impossible. Witnesses and notes in HW AOC prove that much, much more existed. And what’s more is that we know that the majority of those Guardians were at the Royal Lab, but there are no Guardians, active or otherwise, to be found there. There is nothing.

It’s almost as if all those Guardians were vaporized, they ceased to exist one day.

And you know what.

They did.

(Please take this time to imagine me winking)

There’s some theme or metaphor here about the Royal Ancient Lab, constructed in the blues of the Royal family, ironically being destroyed by the blue combustion—but what do I look like, a writer? Find your own secret to life, here’s the blunt of it.

The Sheikah knew about the dangers a blue combustion could do, but on the day of the Calamity, they used that knowledge for the better. Seeing the corrupted Guardians in the distant castle, it is my belief that the researchers there purposefully brought the blue flames—that they had so carefully separated outside in the lanterns—in contact with Ancient Technology. Things not only went kaboom, but the actual matter ceased to exist. A giant Ancient Arrow.

Thousands of Guardians, hundreds of blades and weapons, and honestly, probably even lives, were gone in an instant. The only remains of the carnage would be the aftermath of blue flames that spread across the remains of the outer walls.

The Sheikah did this because it would save the most lives. That’s hundreds and thousands of Guardians and machines that wouldn’t fall into Ganon’s clutches, hundreds of souls saved. Did you know that today Hyrule Ridge, the home of the Royal Lab, has zero Guardians? Did you know that the lands near it, Hebra and Tabantha, have the lowest Guardian sightings in all of Hyrule? Even less than the Gerudo Desert. And I cite this all based on my hours of research and facts laid out by BOTW, HW AOC, and the divine work by Mr. Nin-ten-do

But even beyond that, how do I know, in absolute 600% certainty that the Sheikah were in complete control of this destruction? How am I so sure that the Sheikah that day had fully planned the intentional obliviation of their lab?

It’s because...I lied earlier.

There is actually one relic that survived. One little monument of the Royal Ancient Lab Ruins. One object giving physical proof of this theory.

One artifact that would have been impossible to preserve if the Sheikah hadn’t planned it all. I mentioned it briefly before, if you paid attention. Yes! This object is present in both the Royal Lab, and a tech lab of today. You could see it for yourself, if you pay a visit to my dad’s friend’s cousin’s neighbor’s grandma’s dog’s breeder’s Sheikah researcher pal...

“Dr. Robbie’s telescope.” Atsuko pointed to the scattered trees in upper Lindor, “Some other scientists took it up there to preserve it. It’s the only reason we were able to see the initial Guardian corrupting in the distant castle, and how we were able to adapt to the situation and act so quickly.”

The captain glanced at the western mountain. “So you were running up there to meet with them?”

“The wilderness is pretty safe at the moment. And we’re hoping eventually we could take the telescope to another lab where we could possibly continue research. I mean just today from the combustion, Dr. Robbie had this idea for some fancy Sheikah dagger to kill Guardians.”

Silence.

“OK listen, that’s...that’s all I’ve got. You can head up there and confirm the story, or just kill me now, take your pick. Waiting for judgement here.”

More silence. The rain falls harder.

“...I’m—”

“You can call me Cian.” The captain does a little bow. “Captain Cian Kippers, at your leisure.”

Atsuko raises an eyebrow. “Like the color—?”

“Sp-Spelled differently! There’s an “i” in there, and perhaps it’s ironic to the situation, but I figured if we’re gonna be traveling up there together you should have the courtesy of knowing my name.”

She just sputters for a moment. “So...you—”

“I trust your heart—I like to think I’m good with character—and I believe you’re a good person doing your best in the world. As unfortunate as circumstances may have been.” He twirls his spear before fitting it on his back. Cian extends a hand to her which she takes. “People like that are getting rarer by the hour, so I don’t think I should be adding to the death count.”

“So…” she gets on her feet, cocking her head, “You...you believe me then?”

He chuckles. “Well, I didn’t kill you did I?”

Atsuko laughs quietly. “Your mistake…”

“...No.” Cian places a reassuring hand on her shoulder and smiles, as if to say that somehow everything was gonna be alright.

“My intention.”

[cherrywoes]

prologue. (acanthus.)

SAKURA HARUNO LOST THE ability to use medical ninjutsu when she turned twenty.

There had been no warning, no sputtering of her chakra, no imminent sign that she was about to lose the very foundation that her newfound strength had been built upon. She woke up one morning to her squad members with their throats slit, one just barely clinging on to life—a Hyuuga, her pretty lavender eyes wide with shock and desperation—and when Sakura sealed her hands over her pale throat, intent to close the wound as best she could and haul ass back to Konoha, there was nothing. No pale green chakra to flood her systems, no pinpoint accuracy of healing down to the very cells, nothing—just razor sharp chakra, cutting so deeply into her teammate’s throat that it went far enough to decapitate her completely.

Sakura watched the light fade from her eyes with pale pink strands of hair blowing into her face on a warm, humid breeze.

She continued this for some time—accidentally murdering her teammates when they were on the brink of death. Fear kept her from telling Tsunade. Ego kept her from revealing she was not, in fact, the prized healer of Konohagakure anymore. Arrogance forbade her from admitting any harm she had done. Sakura made herself forge the stories of her teammates’ deaths when she couldn’t sleep, their eyes haunting her dreams and her not so kind hands wrapped around their throats. It kept her up at night, so every afternoon, when she returned from narrowly avoiding every single healing session that was tossed her way at the clinic, after pushing them off on overworked nurses and doctors on overtime, she took enough sleeping pills to kill a horse three times over just to rest.

The people in her dreams were faceless, then, and easier to deal with when she woke up.

“Forehead, you look like you’re about to pass out.” Ino’s long blonde hair was a bit too bright in the sunlight. It was shinier than it had ever been, flourishing under the happiness of a successful pregnancy. She glowed, and it was even in her personality. She was chipper, far more perky, and while her appetite was something to be feared, it didn’t stop her observative eye from catching on to the dark circles underneath her friend’s eyes or the sallow look of her face. “Are you alright? Is Tsunade making you run night shifts again?”

Sakura sighed and rested her forehead on the cool marble tabletop. It felt nice against her heated skin; heated as if it was under the sun of the Suna desert. Suna, where she had managed to disembowel her adorable teammate instead of stitching her leaking intestines back together. Suna, where she had been forced to kill her second teammate who had witnessed it to hide her secret and spread his limbs amongst their enemies before returning home. Suna, where that ninja probably still remained, rotting in the hot sun and being picked apart by vultures.

Ino, a concerned hum exiting her mouth, pressed a hand to her forehead. “You’re burning up! Sakura, how long have you been like this?”

She didn’t answer and pressed her cheek further against the table. Her hair, long, longer than she had ever had it before, the ends brushing past her waist, stuck to the side of her face and neck, clinging with sweat. Her thoughts were muddied and sluggish. An image of a face flashed through her mind—cute, chubby with baby fat, and eyes of the lightest Yamanaka blue—in livid color, doused in vermillion red seconds later, Sakura’s rough hands held over her injured eyes.

“I’m so tired of this, Ino,” Sakura sighed. It was mumbled and nearly incoherent, but the blonde caught it anyways, pressing an ice cold cloth to her forehead. “I’m so tired of killing my teammates.”

“What?” Ino’s voice was tight. The lights around her warped in and out of focus. “Sakura, what did you just say?”

Sakura couldn’t answer. She slipped into darkness, the faces of her victims—her teammates—floating seamlessly through her dreams, as if they had never died at all.

Sakura spent the next four months in a cell. She was given subpar food—a multigrain bar, some vitamins, IV fluids to flush her system of the high doses of sleeping pills, water that tasted far too much like chlorine—and equally appalling care. When her chakra cuffs dug into her wrists, no one came to heal them, so they scarred over and opened back up in an endless repetition until they were permanent accessories to her skin, shiny and puckered and irritated. When her period did eventually come, spotty and unusually light at best, they gave her tiny packets of pads for her to stretch through months, and if she suffered several bacterial infections afterwards, they didn’t much care. Her hair had grown long and matted, unbrushed, and combing it with her fingers did nothing to help the endless matts and knots that had grown near her nape. Her clothes were the same ones she had gone in with, so they were dirty, threadbare, and practically dry rotting off of her body.

She felt she deserved it—this torture. She was only afforded the barest of luxuries—her food and IV—because she was, despite what she had done, the Hokage’s apprentice. Former apprentice now, she figured, since they had most likely discovered what she had done. Four months was enough to follow Sakura’s bloody trail all the way back to her twentieth birthday when she had been sent out on a mission. It was also enough to compare the discrepancies in her reports; enough to exhume the bodies of the dead and charge her with a dozen counts of murder, and recover the other bodies she had neglected to bring back.

When anyone did deign to visit her, it was to cross reference what she had said with the actual truth. She had no reason to lie, anymore, not when her little slip of the tongue in a delirious fever had gotten her caught in the first place.

“Haruka Hyuuga.” Sakura could recognize Kakashi even when he wore the ANBU mask and attempted to disguise his voice. His hair was impossible to hide—she had tried on several occasions to dye it, only for it’s unusual hue to spring back within a few days and nearly blow their cover. He was, at the moment, playing the role of Hound, but she knew once the mask was off he would be her former partner, former teacher, and broken hearted friend; because he, of all people, would believe it was his fault she had ended up in a cell just because she was too proud to say she was an awful human being. “Do you remember her?”

“Yes.” Sakura leaned back against the small wooden shelf that made up her bed. It was covered with a thin white sheet that wasn’t much in the way of comfort, but as a kunoichi it didn’t bother her like it would a normal civilian. She dragged her shoes across the concrete floor to break the lack of noise within her section of the underground jail cells. They had been ground down to the latex-polyester sole when she paced in boredom or dropped her heels and skidded them as she walked. “She was the last one… Someone had gouged out her eyes. Or tried to, I think; it was all a blur. It didn’t matter in the end, though. I couldn’t heal her.”

Kakashi—Hound—was quiet as he wrote something down in his tiny square notepad. “When did you first lose your medical ninjutsu?”

Her pale pink eyebrows furrowed. No one had bothered with this line of inquiry before, past merely wanting the knowledge of when she had lost it in the first place. Kakashi was usually there to interrogate her about her teammates, nothing more. “When I turned twenty; so, maybe six or seven months ago.”

“And you had no precursory signs beforehand to indicate you would lose it?”

“No.” She shook her head slowly and reached for the small metal tin cup he had placed in her cell. She was surprised to find it was filled with her favorite drink—apple juice, of all things—and cherished the tiny little sips of flavor she was granted. “It just… happened. I was healing—or I thought I was?—and then it wasn’t… healing. It was cutting, sharp as a razor’s edge. I couldn’t have stopped it if I had wanted to by then.”

“But you continued going on missions after that, knowing you would hurt others in your attempts to use medical ninjutsu again.”

“I didn’t think that. That I would hurt them.” Sakura paused and admitted, so quietly it was barely a whisper,”I thought it would come back if I tried hard enough.”

More scribbling, this time a little slower than the previous. “I think you tried hard enough after the second person you killed.”

Hound stuffed the notepad into his white flak jacket. With a cursory nod to the guard standing just out of her field of view, he was gone, vanishing in a puff of smoke that had Sakura’s eyes watering.

“You know what they’re calling you, right?” The guard goaded when he was certain there was no one to hear him. Sakura closed her eyes; she didn’t want to know what they were saying about her out there. “They’re calling you ‘Ninja Killer Sakura’. Like teacher like student, huh?”

A few days later, her Strength of a Hundred seal was gone, as if it never existed in the first place. The vast amount of chakra she had stored within it was gone, spirited away from her body. No one had removed it from her; no one had sealed it while she had been asleep. It had just disappeared in the same way her medical ninjutsu had, in nearly the same fashion. The only clue she had that it had vanished was the faint tingling in her forehead, right between her brows—but something else was clearly there, because the next guard in her rotation was calling for a Nara guard before she could wonder what it was.

She found out, later, after being immobilized by a shadow technique and examined by a medic, that the symbol upon her forehead had changed into a crimson red spider lily. It was no larger than the diamond had been, but was more ornate and complex, with interlocking rings centered at the bottom and sun phases etched into said rings. When the rest of her chakra, the chakra she used to maintain her health, was sealed off because of it, she didn’t complain.

She deserved it, after all.

“I don’t know if I should kill you or slap you and kill you and revive you so I can kill you again.”

Her next visitor was Tsunade. She hadn’t expected her to visit her at all, much less come traipsing in her cell with clean clothes, a basin of water, shampoo, soap, new shoes, and a pair of scissors. While the Hokage was angry, Sakura wasn’t sure if it was her fondness for her keeping her alive or the fact that it would be fairly inconvenient for the Senju woman to kill her and dispose of her without the council’s input.

“What were you thinking, Sakura?” Tsunade whirled on her, scissors in hand. She watched them cautiously, fiddling with the scars on her wrists when they itched. “Really, I mean, what was going on inside your head? I had thought you of all people would be level headed and rational—”

“Rational went out the window when I lost the only power keeping me equal with Sasuke and Naruto, Shishou.” Sakura met her gaze head on, unflinching. Her eyes were dull mimicries of the once vibrant jade they used to be; she was tired, sick, and most of all, guilt was eating her alive. “I lost everything keeping me from drowning in the ranks of endless genin. And now I’ve even lost the Strength of One Hundred seal—I don’t think I’ve been level headed or rational for a while.”

“I see.” Tsunade sighed. “That’s good, then. We can plea insanity—”

“You’re helping me?” Sakura blurted incredulously, her first real show of emotion in months.

“Of course. It isn’t out of the goodness of my heart, though. If I had my way you’d rot down here for the rest of your life.” The Hokage crossed her arms and shrugged her shoulders. “But I owe a certain teacher of yours a favor, so after this we’ll be more than even. Now clean up and get dressed so I can cut your hair. Your trial starts today.”

When the cell door slammed behind her, Sakura picked up a clean rag—the cleanest thing she’d seen in months—and dipped it into the water. It was pleasantly cool as she ran it along her neck experimentally, bringing with it the grime and dirt of four months without a shower. When it came back visibly stained, she soaked it clean and lathered it with soap and got to work.

When she finished with her body and hair, the basin was almost pitch black. She wasn’t very surprised. She had seen worse when she returned home covered in dried blood, mud, dirt, and various other secretions she would rather not recall due to the pungent odor. She smelled like mint and watermelon, a scent she purchased personally before she had been put in prison, and she was momentarily comforted by the smell until the stench of mildew crept past it.

Tsunade had provided her with a simple long sleeved turtleneck she had seen many ANBU wear underneath their flak jackets and a pair of slightly too large pants that she quickly realized were men’s pants. She tucked the shirt as best she could with the sagging waistline and pulled on the standard issue civilian shoes (flats, uncomfortable on her high arches), and felt like an entirely new person. Clean, renewed, with clothes that didn’t smell like death and underwear that wasn’t blood stained for once, she felt a little bit of the old Sakura creep back in like a breath of fresh air.

When her former teacher returned and began hacking away at the giant knots in the back of her head, she allowed the faintest, most miniscule thread of hope to worm its way into her heart.

masterlist ❚ 一 (ichi)

a/n: this is my first attempt at writing something out of my comfort zone (at least moderately; it's very tame compared to what i normally write.) feedback is appreciated! i just let the words flow and didn't take it too seriously. <3

[naerysthelonesome]

Before I Go

A Jeyna fic no one asked for.

Listened to folklore again and was cursed with feelings. I’m sorry.

Please, picture me in the trees I hit my peak at seven Feet in the swing over the creek I was too scared to jump in But I, I was high in the sky With Pennsylvania under me Are there still beautiful things?

Reyna, Jason had found in the two years he’d known her, did not tell people things about herself. And she sure as hell did not talk about her childhood. So he was surprised and more than a little gratified when she’d decided to tell him about her life in San Juan.

He couldn’t stop thinking of her now, as a happy little girl with untidy braids and a bright smile, strolling the cobbled streets with her big sister. Dancing around in the dappled shadows of the banana trees as the salty breeze blew past.

She’d told him of how she’d tried to catch a Coqui frog once, but had failed spectacularly. She gotten herself scratched up and muddied, and ripped all her clothes. Her older sister, she’d said, could be scary when she was mad, and Hylla had been infuriated at the state of her when she got back from the field. She spoke of that summer like it had been the best one of her life.

He couldn’t begin to make sense of how he felt about Reyna, but knew without a doubt that he liked the idea of spending a summer with her in San Juan. They could walk down the streets and she could point out her favorite cats, and trees, and rocks, and he’d make sure to remember every single one of them. They could spend long days with the old men playing dominoes, sucking on Piraguas without a care in the world.

But he knew these were just dreams, memories of a life long gone. Reyna barely spoke about her home town, let alone made plans to go back. Jason was not nearly dense enough to believe her life back then had been all sunshine and beautiful colours. They were demigods, and all demigods had monsters. Maybe someday, Reyna would tell him about hers.

Sweet tea in the summer Cross your heart, won't tell no other And though I can't recall your face I still got love for you Your braids make a pattern Love you to the Moon and to Saturn Passed down like folk songs The love lasts so long

Jason was nothing more than a ghost now. Barely even a lare, who unlike himself, could be seen and talked to. That was alright. He wasn’t here to be perceived.

He’d tried to visit his friends multiple times over the months since he’d died- to see them one last time, for just a moment of closure- but this was the first time he’d had any success.

Of course the first person he came to see had to be Reyna. He’d missed her more than he knew he could miss a person. He supposed it was because he hadn’t so much as had a proper conversation with his best friend since Juno had so rudely snatched him away. And then it had taken so much time, time he only later realized he didn’t have to waste, for his memories to return fully. All he’d had of her for so long had been a space in his heart where she should have fit. Not a name, or a face, but a feeling. He wished he’d had more time to find his way back to her.

Reyna meant more to him than he had ever told her, and familiar regret came bubbling up like bile in his throat. Wasn’t the afterlife supposed to give him peace? But how could there be peace when there she sat, thick braid hanging loosely over her shoulder, sharpening her silver dagger? She looked so beautiful in the moonlight, her breath fogging up in the cold air seeming to breathe life into his dead soul. He’d never stopped loving her.

He was glad she’d found a home with the Hunters of Artemis. For the first time in a long time, she looked free. And while it meant they wouldn’t meet again anytime soon, he was glad to know she had the chance to live a long, long life. One full of the adventures and love and happiness she deserved. A small, perhaps selfish part of him hoped she wouldn’t forget him along the way.

And I've been meaning to tell you I think your house is haunted Your dad is always mad and that must be why I think you should come live with me And we can be pirates Then you won't have to cry Or hide in the closet And just like a folk song Our love will be passed on

Wanting to strangle someone that didn’t exist was a strange feeling, but one that was evoked in Jason every time Reyna mentioned her father. Neither of them had had happy childhoods or good parents, it seemed. Well, that was something to bond over.

It hadn’t been easy for Reyna to talk about him, which he understood, especially now that he knew how that story ended. He didn’t blame her one bit for what she’d done, but couldn’t help but wish she hadn’t had to make such a decision at all. The burden it seemed she would always bear was heavy, and she shouldn’t have been made to carry it at all. Not speaking ill of the dead kept getting harder by the second.

Maybe if her story had gotten better after she and Hylla had run away, his nerves wouldn’t be feeling so shot. Circe’s island should have been an escape. With its sandy beaches, and palm trees, and miles of sparkling blue ocean Reyna liked to describe in such detail. But no. All the adults in their lives had to be exploitative bastards. Reyna hadn’t sounded too angry about it though. She’d laughed as she recounted her tales of turning pirates into guinea pigs, coerced into the act as she may have been. Jason couldn’t lie- he saw the allure.

Speaking of pirates- the one’s Reyna had escaped with unfortunately hadn’t been the swashbucklery kind either. They’d been the cut-throat, cruel kind and now Reyna couldn’t stand sea shanties anymore; which was alright with Jason since he couldn’t sing anyway. The only reason the sisters had to escape with them at all had been because two upstart demigods she refused to divulge the names of, decided to blow up the island. Jason couldn’t decide whether he wanted to smack them upside the head for it, or thank them profusely for unwittingly steering Reyna to Camp Jupiter.

He hoped that here, she’d finally found a home and a place to rest. It wasn’t perfect, not even close, but she was making it hers. Reyna was already well on her way to becoming a praetor, and he knew she’d make one of New Rome’s finest.

Please, picture me in the weeds Before I learned civility I used to scream ferociously Any time I wanted

Jason often wondered how Reyna had thought of him after she’d found out about his history. There hadn’t been much he’d been able to remember about his own childhood. He’d been only two years old when he’d been given to Lupa, and all his memories of a family were little more than a blur. His home had been Camp Jupiter for most of his life, and he truly couldn’t remember another.

When he’d told her all he could remember of how it was to be raised by a wolf, she’d only looked amused. She’d simply looked him up and down and laughed. She had a cute laugh, all snorts and shaking shoulders. He didn’t always understand the things that made her laugh, but laughing with her felt so natural he did it every golden time.

He wondered if she’d had anyone to laugh with when he was taken away. Had she missed him? Every memory he’d had of her had been snatched away, but there were some people with whom you were so completely intertwined, even the Gods couldn’t untangle the strings. Perhaps he couldn’t place a name to what had been missing, but he had remembered her. Even in death, he would remember.

Sweet tea in the summer Cross your heart, won't tell no other And though I can't recall your face I still got love for you Pack your dolls and a sweater We'll move to India forever Passed down like folk songs The love lasts so long

What he wouldn’t give to go back and have one last Hot Chocolate with her in the Garden of Bacchus, to speak one more sentence in Spanish (Te amo, Reyna) and hear her snort at his accent, to brush her hair behind her ear once more. He hadn’t told her nearly enough times, how much he’d loved her laugh.

What he wouldn’t give to have one last chance to confess to her how he felt, with Aurum and Argentum there so she knew none of it was a lie.

But there was nothing he could give to turn back time, or build himself a different fate. They could only be together now in stories, and memories, and alternate universes. If there were any kind Gods left, perhaps in an afterlife that wouldn’t come for centuries.

Maybe he should feel sadness or loss, looking at her now for the last time. Mourn the loss of all the happiness they could have had together. He was going to leave again without a way to say goodbye or wish her well or have her look at him, but all he felt was contentment. She sat around a glowing fire, surrounded by her friends and sisters, singing soft campfire songs and telling stories of old. Maybe someday, she’d narrate their story too.

Jason finally found peace in the knowledge that his girl was going to be okay.

[jeogiyall]

Tim McGraw; Y.JI (II)

GFX By @dreamystuffers

Word count; 3.4k

Genre; Jeongin x Reader, Fluff, Angst

Warnings; None :)

Find the rest of my Stray Kids Folklore series here!

A/N: This is the second part of the @kpopscape ‘Walkin On Sunshine’ Summer event! Look out for the third and final part coming this month!

A boy in a truck, with a tendency of getting stuck

“Last one in is going down like a one egg pudding!” Jeongin shouts while bounding towards the moonlit lake, fully clothed. You’re not entirely sure what a one egg pudding is, or why it’s going down, but you are sure that you’re not gonna be one. You sprint after Jeongin, running towards the very edge of the lake before looking back and seeing the boy directly behind you. He wears a happy smile, white hair bouncing over the sun kissed skin of his forehead. When he reaches you he holds out one of his hands, which you grab onto before kicking off your shoes and running into the lake. He started doing that a week or so ago when you mentioned that the very edge was muddy and feeling it on your feet made you squirm. He had jokingly asked if you wanted him to hold your hand, but when you said yes he did it with no questions asked.

The two of you wade out to the center of the lake, as you have done each night for the past two weeks. Jeongin splashes at you when he looks back and sees your slightly scared expression.

“Stop!” You giggle, holding up one hand to shield your face, “I thought that I felt something brush my leg!” He rolls his eyes and swims over to you, wrapping a hand around your waist so as to support you as you splash back at him.

“It was probably the gator, just like it was last night.” When you’re this close you can see his eyes sparkle even with nothing to illuminate them. You can’t see the rest of his face, but you assume it’s smiling. He’s always smiling.

“You’re mean.” You laugh a little bit, heart fluttering as your shirt rides up beneath the water and his hand smooths across your exposed skin. The pads of his fingertips are rough. His hands are warm.

“Do you wanna get on my back?” He asks, voice quiet due to the close proximity of your faces. When he moves his head just ever so slightly you can feel the tips of your noses brushing. It causes goosebumps to rise on your skin.

“Yes.” The word is meek, but affirmative. Your eyes have adjusted enough to where you can see his smile grow. He exhales a laugh through his nose and the hot air fans across your cheek. His hand hooks beneath your thigh as he turns around so that you can secure your legs around his torso. 

“Be sure to tuck those legs in tight or else the gators gonna come and eat ‘em.” He teases while pinching the squishy part of your calf that’s nestled against his stomach. You stay like that for a while, listening to the singing cicadas and the sloshing lake water as Jeongin carts you around. Neither of you say anything, but you’ve gotten to the point where you don't need to. You can tell that he’s happy by the rise and fall of his chest against your forearms, you can feel that he’s relaxed by the slope of his shoulders.

Later in the evening when you’ve returned to the grass and you’re both laying down and looking at the night sky, which is void of stars due to the full moon, Jeongin brings up an old conversation. It took place on your first day here, when he had just clambered through your bedroom window donning perfectly white hair and a heartwarming smile. 

‘Something about how you used to get bored as a kid.’ 

‘I did get bored. It's lonely around here, but you seem like good company.’

‘Thank you! I think we’ll have fun, and uh… Not just because your grandmother said so.’ 

“Are you?” He questions, turning his head so that you can both see each other. 

“Am I what?” You pretend to not notice his eyes trained on your lips, or the thumping of your heart that you can now feel in your ears.

“Having fun?” You think back to all of the nights spent at this very lake, all of the jokes exchanged, all of the water splashed into your face. You think of the way that Jeongin makes you laugh so hard that your ribs ache. You think of the smile that never leaves his face, and the way that over the past month that same smile had begun to spread over your own face.

“I don’t know if I’ve ever had fun before this Summer with you.”

The next morning at breakfast when your grandmother asks what the two of you will be doing that night your cheeks fill with heat. Something about the memory of his touch washing over you last night leaves your heart so full that it could burst. You’re expecting him to answer quickly as he always does. When a few seconds pass with no response you turn in your seat to see whether he’s choking on breakfast or if he’s simply neglected to speak. His eyes are mischievous once you meet them, his regular smile twisted into a more playful one and his cheeks pink. 

“I’ll tell you later, m’am.” His eyes cast over to you quickly before returning to your grandmother, the grin on his face growing with each second, “(Y/n) can’t know.” 

“Why can’t I know?” You question. He turns back to you with his head lowered and if you look closely enough you can see each sparkle in his eyes.

“Because. It’s a surprise.” Your grandmother giggles from across the table, sighing out something about ‘you kids’ before getting up and taking your emptied plates to sink. You and Jeongin help tidy the kitchen a bit before it’s time for you to walk him back to his truck. The sun is beating down hot today, just as it was yesterday and the day before. When he climbs into the white vehicle the first thing that he does is crank the air. 

“So I’ll see you at eight thirty tonight?” You question, so used to the routine of seeing him that you barely even need to ask. 

“Yep, eight thirty.” He runs a hand through his hair. The roots have grown out a lot in the past month, but you like it. It almost looks nicer to you than when it was all white.

“Are you sure you can’t tell me what we’re doing?” You ask. He smiles in a way that crinkles his eyes, causing your heart to stutter for a moment before he responds.

“Yep.” You pout a little bit in the way the two of you do when talking to each other. 

“Are we going to the lake again and you’re just teasing me?” He laughs at your question, shaking his head a bit at the notion. The hair that he pulled back a moment ago now falls across his forehead.

“Nope.” His smile grows as the syllable leaves his mouth. Your heart clenches again, the way that it always does whenever he smiles.

He arrives perfectly on time that evening, clambering through your window just as you’re securing the final piece of your outfit. It was supposed to be colder than usual tonight so you decided to wear a flannel over one of your white tank tops. The flannel was actually Jeongins, he had loaned it to you after a dip in the lake and you had neglected to return it. He noticed it the moment that his feet swung over the windowsill, but since he didn’t say anything you figured that it was long forgotten.

You headed downstairs and into his car as per usual. Once in the car he drove for a little while, headed in the same direction as the lake. You were tempted to ask him once again if he had just been yanking your chain and you were going to the lake, but then he drove straight past your usual drop off point and into the expanse of field before you. He had looked at you apologetically and said that it would be a little bit bumpy, which it was. Until it stopped entirely.

“Well,” He starts while climbing back into the driver's seat. There’s a light sheen of sweat across his forehead, his white hair pushed backwards so as not to stick to it, “We are for sure stuck in the mud, and this field is usually riddled with rattlesnakes around this time of year. Your grandfather isn’t gonna be here for another two hours. It’s already nine, so we’ll be here for… A while. Sorry.” 

“It’s fine!” And really it is fine, because you don't know how you could be mad at him when he’s looking at you with glimmering childlike eyes and an apologetic smile, “If you really want to make it up, just tell me where you were taking me.” He exhales quickly, so much so that it’s nearly a pant, before letting his head tilt back.

“There’s a field about five miles from the lake, I think it used to be used for hunting or something like that. I-I don’t know it’s empty now, but when you lay down you can see every star that there is. I just thought that you would like it.” It’s quiet for a moment, nothing but cicadas chirping and him breathing. You place your hand over his own before pulling him in your direction, “(Y/n,) what are you doing?”

“We’re going to see the stars.” He laughs a bit incredulously while you push the door open with one hand. You’ve grown to love that sound, so gentle and encompassing. Like a hand woven blanket wrapped around your shoulders.

“But my truck-”

“Has a bed, does it not?” He remembers you looking back at him with a wicked grin and squeezing his hand before hopping out of the car door. You climbed over the car's metal frame until you couldn’t hold onto his hand any longer, in which you shouted, “Hurry up, slow poke!” He remembers thinking that you were the strangest person he’d ever met. He also remembers thinking that you were his favorite. By the time he’s managed to maneuver to the very back of his truck you’re already laying on the cold metal bottom, one hand up to the stars while the other rests over your heart. You bring them both to lie across your stomach upon the sight of him. 

“What’re you looking for?” He questions while moving to lie next to you. The truck groans beneath his weight and he lets out a sweet laugh. It’s genuine, floating through the air as though it were a summer breeze. You look to his lips for a lingering moment and watch as they relax into a gentler smile. Your eyes slowly start to wander over his face, taking in each of his features with care. His cheeks look so soft while still being defined. The tip of his nose is so petite and endearing. His hair falls into his eyes ever so slightly in a way that makes you want to push it back. 

“Constellations.” You take a staggering inhale, heart hammering so fast that you’re sure he can feel it thudding. If he can, he doesn’t make a big deal about it. He does nothing other than meet your gaze with equal adoration, “I’ve never been any good at finding them.” 

Jeongin thinks to himself for a moment. He thinks that you look lovely tonight, with the evening breeze tossling your free bits of hair and the white straps of your tank top sliding down your shoulders. He thinks that this field where he’s gotten you both stuck smells sweet like dandelion wine. He thinks that there’s something in the air tonight. He thinks that whatever it is is making him brave.

“May I kiss you?”  You look taken aback at first, eyebrows softening into a question as you lean ever so slightly closer. Your hands readjust to cradle his sharp jaw as your noses brush. He locks his dark brown eyes with your own before asking again, “May I?” 

You answer him this time, only it’s not with words. It’s with your lips moving gently against his own. He tastes like summer air, his skin traipsing your own feels like sunshine. When he slides his palm against the exposed bit of your waist you can feel the roughness of his hands. Calluses surround the delicate bones there, and in moments they catch onto the soft skin at your stomach. It’s a new sensation to you. Kissing someone like this is a new sensation to you. Loving someone as fiercely as you love him is a new sensation to you.

But then we woke up to find that Summer had gone

You don’t remember when your lips parted, or when your grandfather came to rescue the two of you. All that you can remember is waking up on top of your white comforter with your window open, as if someone slithered out of it in the middle of the night. When you go to close it you look down in search of a muddied up truck and a white head of hair. Surely enough you find him as easily as every morning, tending to his tomato plants and smiling to himself. You wonder what he’s thinking about, you hope that it’s you.

When you leave the window and return to your bed you see that your phone is lit up with a message from your mother. The two of you have barely talked since you arrived here, though you’re not sure why. Life has probably been busy for her since you left, and you’ve been enjoying yourself so much that you nearly forgot your home even existed. The text banner covering your home screen, which is a picture of you and Jeongin enjoying a picnic in your grandfathers fields, reads ‘hey sweetie! could you please give me a call soon? love and miss you, xoxo mom.’ 

It rings three times before she answers. You can hear bustling from her side of the call, probably from her getting off of the city's public transport and into work. If she hears any background from you it’s probably just chirping birds or Jeongins whistling that started up a minute ago. 

“Hi mommy!” You say into your phone. With how relaxing life was here at the farm you hadn’t thought much about home, but now that you can hear the city you realize that you do actually miss it. Just little things, like the bakery across the street from your townhouse and seeing buskers at every street corner when you went out.

“Hi love! I’m on the way into work right now but I just wanted to check up with you, even if it’s quick.” You chew on your lower lip and nod before remembering that there’s no way that she can see you nodding.

“Mhm, sounds nice.” You wipe your palms on your denim shorts, which are still on from last night, while racking your brain for what on earth you’re going to say to her.

“Tell me everything!” Great. That really helps you to narrow things down.

“Well, everything is great I guess! Grandma makes breakfast every morning and Grandpa comes in at around lunch time. We spend lots of time together, around the house and going out sometimes. I like to help Grandma cook. A-and I met the neighbor, he’s… nice. Really really nice.” At this moment you’re unbelievably grateful for the phone between you and her so that she can’t see your sheepish smile. You’re not sure how she would react to the knowledge that you’re head over heelsfor the farmer next door.

“That sounds like a lot of fun!” The white noise in her background quickly dissipates so you assume that she’s entered her work building. Which means this call will be ending soon and your heart will forget the city and return to the farm, “I hope you aren’t having too much fun to come home?” 

“Of course not!” Even as you say it your heart squeezes. You like your home a lot. It’s fun, even with barely any friends. Even when your parents are in and out of the house all of the time. Even when you’re mostly alone. Alone is fine when you’re there, because alone is what you’re used to.

But when you came here there was Jeongin, and suddenly you weren’t alone anymore. Suddenly you had someone to tell about the fat squirrel that you saw on your windowsill. Someone to make inside jokes with. Someone who made you laugh and smile in a way that you haven’t in years. Someone who made you feel seen in a way that was addicting. 

“That’s good because we got an email from your school district that you’ll be starting back two weeks earlier than anticipated, so we’ll have to come get you earlier. In about two weeks actually. Is that okay?” As soon as the question registers in your ears it feels like you’ve eaten an entire bushel of cotton. Your mouth is so dry, your tongue so heavy, lips hanging open as you think of anything to say. ‘Is that okay?’ your mother had asked, as if your answer would change anything. As if saying no would earn you more time.

You’re quiet for a moment, trying so hard to not be mad with your mother or your school or yourself. You knew all along that this happiness would end, the fact that it’s coming quicker isn’t anyone's fault.

“Yea, that’s fine.” You answer, feeling a bit guilty for keeping your mother longer while she’s trying to get into work. 

“Okay sweetie, I just wanted to let you know. I need to go now but I’ll see you really soon! Love you!”

“Love you too.” You’ve barely finished saying the words before your call ends. Your heart pangs, longing for comfort so badly that it hurts. Longing for Jeongin so badly. Tears well up in your eyes and you think that they might fall, until you hear your grandmother shout your name from down the stairs. You rush down them just as you do every morning. When you’ve reached the bottom you see Jeongin and your Grandmother waiting at the table, a smile on both of their faces. You take your seat beside Jeongin and intertwine your hands then squeeze tightly. 

He looks at you and smiles again before the three of you bow your heads in prayer. Your intentions were to focus on your grandmother's words, but as Jeongin begins to rub circles on the back of your hand with his thumb your mind begins to wander. You think of how much you’ve enjoyed your time together, and then of how you’re already acting like it’s over, and then again of how badly you don’t want to tell him that you’re leaving. Once your Grandmother is finished and everyone is raising their heads and starting to eat, you decide that these next two weeks won’t be one drawn out goodbye. You’ll enjoy the little bit of time that you have instead of spending it all wishing that there was more.

The two of you go to the lake each night just like always. Some nights you barrel straight into the water, both of you giggling and clinging to each other for no reason at all. Some nights you forgo the dip in the water and instead lay down on the grass and look up at the stars. He talks to you a lot on those nights, which you really enjoy. On most nights, regardless of how you’ve spent your time before then, the two of you end up rolling around in the grass with your limbs tangled and lips locked. On the day that he and your grandfather brought in strawberries from the fields he remarked that your lips tasted like the fruit. It made your heart flutter. A lot of the things that he does makes your heart flutter.

There was one night when he came into your room after dropping you off. The two of you crawled into your bed, bones tired and aching from the long day. You laid your head on his chest so that his heartbeat was beneath your ear. You matched your breathing to the steady thumping there. He brought his hand to your back and began to rub soothing circles against your shirt. He pressed a kiss to your temple before he fell asleep. You remember thinking that you only had half a week left with him and that it wasn’t enough. You don’t know if any amount of time with him would be enough.

tag list: @dreamyyang​ @charm-arts @straytannies

[notabloodmage]

Even then. (DA2 fic)

doin some writing on my canon version of the Hawke family!! this is kind of messy but i needed to get some ideas down  ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ anyway listen to me there is nothing in canon that says malcolm hawke couldn’t be an elf @ bioware let me have this

They hadn’t planned to settle in Lothering. Leandra was five months pregnant, the plan was to keep pressing towards the wilds, in hopes of finding a band of Chasind or Avvar that wouldn’t be so opposed to Malcolm’s magical abilities. The prospect frightened Leandra, but Malcolm insisted it was their best shot at a Templar-free life.

The storm had caught them off guard. 

The torrential downpour was on them suddenly, and all at once. Malcolm had enough mana remaining to protect them from lightning, but there was no way for him to subtly shield them from the cold that was creeping in through the wet. Ferelden was not always an easy place to live, but it had to be better than Kirkwall. 

At least that’s what Malcolm repeated to himself as he scooped his firstborn child up into his arms, trying to ignore the way his back ached from days upon days of travel. The long nights of sleeping on the cold hard ground probably weren’t helping either.  

They’d passed several small settlements on the road, but they always tried to avoid contact with other people. People didn’t even need to suspect him of being a mage--being an elf was bad enough for a lot of the country folk. He couldn’t take five steps in a town without being accused of stealing, it seemed. 

They always tried to sleep beneath the stars if they could, or in a tent if they thought it would be well hidden enough. Leandra had accused him of being paranoid, now that they were already so far from home but as far as Malcolm was concerned you couldn’t be too careful. 

He had done so much--sacrificed all of his ideals-- just to get them this far, and Maker be damned if he was going to be caught now. 

Still, in a storm like this exceptions had to be made, and Leandra had spotted an old farmhouse on the horizon. Malcolm, while hesitant, grew more and more at ease as they approached. It seemed to be abandoned. 

The couple trudged through the rain hand in hand. The land surrounding the farmhouse was uneven, muddy, and completely overgrown. Malcolm prayed that the rain would cover their tracks as they made their way to the 

It was a little worse for wear, looking like it had been sitting untouched for years which was a blessing in disguise because all it took was a swift kick (combined with a bit of mana, of course) to break the rusted padlock.

Malcolm guided them in cautiously, scanning the room for any threats. Abandoned didn’t mean safe. He wasted no time setting up wards to protect them-- but Malcolm was tired too. 

Perhaps he’d missed a spot, perhaps he hadn’t been as thorough as he’d thought. Perhaps his wards were weak with his exhaustion as he joined his wife and daughter on a bed of stale hay. Perhaps he’d been distracted with casting a quick warming spell to ensure the most important people in his life slept soundly. Perhaps he’d given in, for a moment, to the sense of hope burning brightly in his chest as he pulled his family close. He slept far too soundly that night. Better than he had in months. 

The high-pitched creak of the barn door swinging open jerked the three of them awake. 

Rays of sunlight were streaming in through the rafters--had morning really come so soon? 

The sight was so peaceful that Malcolm nearly didn’t register the clunk of boots on the wooden floor, and the wide figure stepped towards him, fiddling with the trigger of a small hunting crossbow. Malcolm scrambled back, drawing Leandra closer with one arm while the other fumbled for his staff--lost in the hay. 

“Hold still now, friend, I’d prefer not to use this--”

“Stay away from my family!!” The stranger was interrupted by his daughter’s tiny voice. 

She had leaped out of the shadows beside them, brandishing the pocket knife that Malcolm kept strapped to his belt. 

How did she-- Malcolm didn’t have time to finish the thought. He rushed forward, intent on yanking her back by the shirt collar. He’d been in such a deep state of sleep that he hadn’t even registered her absence. Then again, she was always so sneaky. Malcolm hadn’t the faintest clue where she’d gotten it from, but she had a way of sinking into the shadows and completely disappearing.  

She was only four, and a tiny little thing at that-- shaking in the little booties Leandra had made her. Leaping to defend her family with a . 

So brave, even then. 

“Minerva NO!!” Leandra was shrieking. “Don’t shoot, serah--please!! Minnie get back here--“

For a moment Malcolm thought that all was lost. He pictured himself in chains, being dragged away by Templars-- leaving his wife and daughter alone and penniless in a foreign land. He’d let them down. He’d failed. 

The atmosphere of the room changed entirely, however, when the stranger began to laugh. 

It wasn’t a bad laugh. 

Not condescending. Not cruel. 

It was light and youthful, despite the obvious late-middle-age of its owner. It rang through the morning air like a Chantry bell on the breeze. It was the kind of pure laugh that can only be created by the innocence of a child. In that moment the light in Malcolm’s chest returned, soothing his racing heart. He paused, studying the face of the stranger in the barn doorway as he raised his weapon in mock surrender, humouring the child.  

“Oh my! Be careful with that, little dragonling!” The stranger smiled down at the child warmly, crouching down to her level to look her in the eyes, before his gaze rose to her fathers, noting the matching eyes that seemed to burn with something he couldn’t quite name. Malcolm saw what he hoped was understanding in the old man’s eyes. “Put that there knife away, and settle down. We can talk this out, I promise.”

Malcolm hurriedly ushered Minerva behind him-- the child kept her eyes glued to the intruder, even when she began to cling to her father’s pant leg. Malcolm could feel her trembling, so he reached down and carded a comforting hand through a mop of brown curls that matched his own, trying to be as brave as his daughter. 

A tense quiet had settled over the barn as Malcolm tried to appraise the man before him, who was doing the same. They must’ve been quite the sight--all clinging to each other, covered in hay. Malcolm didn’t dare reach for his staff, he just prayed that wherever the damned thing was it was out of sight.  

Finally the stranger huffed, standing and leaning back on his heels.  

“Name’s Barlin,” The stranger jutted his chin at Malcolm, crossing his arms casually. “Sorry for bargin’ in on ya.”

“Malcolm…” He held his head high, meeting Barlin’s eyes as he introduced himself. “Malcolm Hawke.” 

“Quite the little bodyguard you have there,” Barlin’s voice was genuine. Warm. 

Malcolm’s mouth twitched with the ghost of a smile. 

“Small but mighty,” He could feel Minerva nodding against his thigh, as well as the tears she was smearing into the fabric of his trousers.

He called her that a lot, especially when she was little. Such a simple little phrase, but it always made Minerva feel big, in a way.

“Look, I was just checkin’ to make sure you all weren’t bandits, or bears, or something.” The man shrugged disarmingly. “I didn’t come here for a fight. Lothering’s a peaceful little town, and we like to keep it that way.”

“Peaceful? What’s that like?” Malcolm’s sarcastic question slipped from his mouth before he could stop it, and Leandra squeezed his shoulder tightly in warning. 

Barlin merely chuckled, smiling at him wryly. 

“Y’all don’t look like the type of folk who are accustomed to peaceful.” He observed. “I’m just glad you got out of the storm-- it was a good one!”

Barlin took a step inside, eyes travelling upward, surveying how the roof sagged and leaked. The old building had fallen into disrepair, but it wasn’t unsalvageable.

“Look, this place ain’t even mine. It was my brother’s before he moved to Denerim for work. Place hasn’t seen any life in aside from rats and the occasional nug in a while, as I'm sure you’ve noticed.” 

The old man paused for a moment, gaze landing on the family before him. He’d later told Malcolm that he’d had a good feeling in his gut about them, and his gut was just about the only thing he trusted. 

“I run the tavern in town, why don’t you all come back with me and let me fix you something to eat.”

Minerva perked up at that, and even Malcolm couldn’t stop his mouth from watering at the prospect of a hot meal. Leandra looked cautious, but when he met her gaze she nodded slowly. Barlin smiled at that. 

“Come on, while we walk, why don’t you tell me what you know about farming?”

Malcolm would find out through gossip in the years to come that Barlin had been trying to get rid of that property for years, but that didn’t change the kindness. He didn’t ask anything about where they’d come from or why they were running. He asked Malcolm what he did and he’d told him he was an herbalist--which wasn’t a lie, and he suspected Barlin could tell. 

“Herbalism? Farming? Sounds like the same thing to me.”

The old man let Malcolm pay him back for the land over time after they’d settled in and started earning some money. He’d also scoffed at the notion of charging interest. 

The farmhouse was rotting and falling apart, but with a lot of hard work (and a bit of hidden, domestic magic) they turned it into a home. Minerva grew up toddling around the gardens and helping Malcolm till the fields. She’d climbed gnarled tree in their front yard to watch the sun rise every morning since she was six, regardless of weather, much to Leandra’s chagrin. 

His eldest child had grown up far too quickly for his liking, and couldn’t help but blame himself. He knew it wasn’t fair to place her in charge of her siblings, especially with the added responsibility of protecting Bethany--but Minerva would insist that she could handle it. She’d lead the twins on adventures in the fields and forests surrounding the little town-- quests, she always called them. 

They had to work hard, but Malcolm had taught her to always try to make it fun. The children would race each other home, Minerva usually in front, although Carver would occasionally shove his way past her. Bethany was a lot quicker than she looked too--and always smarter than she let on. Malcolm would never forget the looks on Minerva and Carver’s faces the time he’d taught Bethany how to freeze their feet to the ground, nor Bethany’s own wide grin as she’d crossed the finish line (their garden gate), cheering with victory as Carver swore and Minerva laughed alongside her.  

His children were adventurous-- all three of them. Malcolm had lost count of the amount of times Carver and Bethany had burst through the door, shouting that Minerva was in trouble. She had a habit of getting stuck in trees, that girl... Bethany claimed to be the least so, favouring staying inside to study most days, especially as she got older, but even she couldn’t resist the call of a bright summer day. 

Minerva always knew exactly what to say to coax her out of hiding, too. Be it a promise to stop by the Chantry for one song, or spinning a scheme so grand that even Bethany couldn’t resist. Bethany was more competitive than she let on, and Minerva was always too clever for her own good. The eldest sister got herself and Carver into heaps of trouble throughout their youth. They were so rambunctious, and Minerva was always pressing Carver’s buttons on purpose, but never in a way that pushed the lad too far.  

Always so precise, even then.

Malcolm had had to come down hard on her only once. She’d set off a tar bomb in barracks of the local Templars, bringing the Knight Captain huffing and puffing to their doorstep, completely unaware that he was in the presence of not one, but two apostates.  Leandra was beside herself, disguising her frantic panic for Bethany’s safety as being furious at the tar tracked all over their home. Andraste’s Mercy, she had given poor Minerva an earful. Malcolm knew it was mostly for show-- so the templars could believe it was just a well-meant prank by some kid. Malcolm had a reputation around town for being good around a cauldron, and he promised to supply the knight commander with a free shipment of potions, and assurance that Minerva would clean up the mess. Minerva had inherited his alchemic ability. but not his connection to the fade. He’d taught her the recipe himself, so she could help him fix the thatching on their chicken coop. 

He was mostly just mad he didn’t think of this himself--he would’ve done the same at her age. He couldn’t tell her that, though, could he?What he did tell her was that she was old enough to know better, he’d said. Perhaps that was too harsh… For the Maker’s sake she was only ten...

He’d come up to her guiltily that evening, offering her a glass of her favourite tea-- a recipe they’d invented together. She was gazing up at the stars, before she mumbled an apology and he did too. 

He made it up to her by telling a story about a similar prank he played on the templars back at the Gallows. 

“I know they’re the worst, but provoking them won’t do us any favours, Mighty Mini,” The nickname made her giggle. “It’s not your fight.” That made her pause. 

“But…” She looked up at him, eyes full of concern. “They make things just awful for you and Bethany!” She protested. “You shouldn’t have to hide your magic! Magic is good!” She said it with childlike simplicity. He’d taught her well… Maybe a little too well, if he was being honest. 

“I know, Min, it isn’t fair, but that doesn’t mean you should go out of your way to cause problems for the templars. You don’t want their attention. Think of Bethany.” He gave her shoulder a firm squeeze. 

She stilled, gazing at her feet.

“I know. I’m sorry.” He took her up into a tight hug. “It’s just not fair...” 

Always seeking justice, even then. 

Malcolm was far from the perfect father, but, Maker, did he try. At the very least, he was always there when his children needed him. Even years later, he cherished every moment spent outside the walls of the Gallows. 

He was able to give his kids the childhood he’d always wanted-- more or less.

On (idk what the dragon age equivalent to Sundays is but That LMAO) Minerva and Carver would spar for hours, using swords carved out of sticks they’d found exploring woods, while Malcolm, Bethany, and Leandra would go into town. Malcolm would take care of the shopping for the week and the two of them would head to the Chantry for the service. Bethany always tithed her allowance at the Chantry, even when her siblings teased her for it. She was always such a sweet, gentle girl. She wanted to help, and the cloister in Lothering was vastly different from the Kirkwall Chantry. They were a peaceful folk, down to earth. 

Once their farm was in its prime the revered mother even asked to buy some of their harvested herbs for their healers on a yearly basis, and Malcolm given it to her for free--inspired by the kindness of his youngest daughter. He knew the gift of magic weighed on the poor girl, and he wished he could take the burden from her. 

He would’ve preferred they not have to worry about hiding his and Bethany’s magic at all, but he figured that this was as good as it was going to get. 

And it was good, indeed. For a time. 

Minerva grew up with a Father who could coax her down from the trees she’d get stuck in, and catch her when she fell. Bethany had a Father who could guide her in the ways of the Fade and teach her not to fear her power, but to control it with ease. Carver had a Father who encouraged his study of the blade despite having no combat experience of his own. 

Whatever made them happy, as long as they were safe, just, and kind. That was who their father was.

Malcolm Hawke died too young, and too suddenly. 

The fever came when Minerva had just turned seventeen, and the twins were only twelve. The illness swept through their entire family, but it took her Father with it when it left. He was buried beneath the apple tree in their garden as a free man. Not a mage, just Malcolm Hawke. His children worked in tandem to carve a headstone themselves, nestling it with care between the roots. 

Lothering wasn’t the same after Malcolm died. Minerva did her best to fill the void, standing in as her Sister’s keeper, trying to smile her way through the tears the way her Father taught her to. 

Carver left to join the king’s army as soon as he turned sixteen, prying himself out of his mother’s arms with a groan. Leandra drew her daughters even closer in his absence, especially Bethany. The young mage became even more reclusive, afraid to wander too far from home by herself. She became convinced that the Templars in Lothering suspected something, no matter how many times Minerva assured her of how careful they’d been. 

Then, Carver was back, and the Blight was upon them. They’d only had a few short days on the run to cherish their brother’s return before the darkspawn ripped him away from them once more, this time for good. 

The farmhouse in Lothering never received a proper goodbye from the family that had inhabited it for all those years. The Blight fell upon them far too suddenly for them to grab anything more than their most precious of possessions before running for the hills. 

Barlin visits it sometimes, finding the tombstone beneath the trees. The old man hasn’t died yet, even though he’s buried many of his juniors. He chats to the stone as he clears it of moss, pulling out a book with a dwarvish name on the cover.

The eldest Hawke child--the little dragonling who’d stood her ground in that old farmhouse brandishing a knife while shaking like a leaf all those years ago had done quite well for herself, it seemed. Barlin was glad of it. He hadn’t known Malcolm was a mage, but it certainly made a lot about the strange elf make sense. 

Barlin wonders sometimes if the Champion of Kirkwall knows how proud those few that survived Lothering are of her.