#and my thoughts are entirely shifted over to how they are when its rejects time.

[vampireassistant]

when I'm not in a rejects phase i have to literally isolate from it because if i even start slightly thinking about them it consumes me all over again. its dangerous.

[bg-brainrot]

The Night They Slept Together

Featuring: Astarion x Rogue!Tav

Series: Fits into Love at First Knife, AO3 link here

Summary: Tav pines, and their relationship with Astarion shifts ever so slightly. (They literally do just sleep)

Tags: 2nd person POV, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Pining, light hurt and angst, Astarion is Bad at Feelings, coping with feelings, act 2, pre-confession

A/N: some light angst as Tav comes to term with their feelings but we already know where they end up, so it's okay, right? :D

Word count: ~2.1k

--

Your tryst with Astarion should be over by now.

It was supposed to be a one off moment of passion, a way to destress after all of the danger you’d thrown yourselves into. He’d asked so easily, you’d agreed just as readily– a quick celebratory moment after defeating that goblin camp, when your spirits and libido were running high.

The second time? Well, that was easy to write off as well. You’d just fought off an entire creche, moving through it like a pair of practiced assassins, a synchrony you haven’t felt since– well, you’re not certainly you’ve ever felt so in sync with someone. Either way, it was another easy nod to his sly, questioning look. 

You’d had similar excuses for your first night in the Shadow-Cursed Lands, for the handful of midday, afternoon, midnight romps since.

It’s just a way for us to cope with the situation at hand, nothing more, nothing less, you’d told yourself.

That is, until you’d realized that it wasn’t just that. Not to you. 

Oh gods, I love this insane vampire.

The night you’d realized that everything had changed.

What had begun as a distraction for you both, had turned into a poison– one slowly working its way through your system, incapacitating you piece by piece at the thought of another night falling into his arms, sinking deeper into the throes of an impossible love. 

After all, what is this other than convenient? And if you continued to be a mere convenience to him, well, you doubt that this would end well for you. It’s high time that you cut off the source of this poison before it festers too far. Before it grips your vulnerable, aching heart.

That’s what you’d told yourself, but you’re finding it so much harder to cut off the source when he’s standing right in front of you, waiting for you with a smirk toying along the edge of his mouth, an eyebrow raising suggestively as his voice lowers to a sultry invitation. 

You’d come by his tent to say goodnight. Maybe, ‘Good job today.’ Any excuse to see him really, but now you’re met with a challenge.

Astarion’s words don’t make it much easier either.

“Oh my dear, you look positively wound-up after today’s bouts. Care for a little… unwinding?”

His voice drips with promise, with want, with a feeling that echoes through your own traitorous core. But, like a sweet that’s overstayed its welcome, it seems too tacky, hardening into something utterly indigestible.

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” you ask, eying him carefully, fighting down your own building desires.

“Why shouldn’t it be?” he asks, a raised brow lowering in uncertainty. 

You hesitate, unsure how much truth you’re willing to part with. Certainly not, ‘Because I may have accidentally fallen in love with you.’ And you don’t want to shove him out of your life unceremoniously either. Just… to slow down, allow your heart time to adjust– to get over him, if need be.

After a pause that goes on for a second too long, you finally settle on, “It just seems as if we’ve already had plenty of ‘fun’, don’t you think?”

Astarion’s small smirk drops, a dark look entering his eyes as he registers your words, how they directly counter his own from your first night together. How they fall between you with the full weight of rejection. “Don’t tell me you’ve grown shy now, darling?” he says, voice a bit sharper than what you’re used to.

You’d known that trying to slow down wouldn’t be easy, but his downturned lips make you want to take back your words, dive back into the intoxicating miasma of his cold embrace. But you also know that if you don’t stand your ground now, you’re liable to fall too far too fast.

“Not shy per say,” you respond, measuring your words carefully. “Merely wondering if that’s what you want.”

Astarion seems no more placated by these words than your earlier ones. “And what makes you think I wouldn’t want this?”

Fear born of your heart, insecurity born of your nerves, damned logic born of your head– there are really so many reasons he wouldn’t want this, wouldn’t want you. But you don’t want to be too transparent, not when this adventure could all be over very soon. You say as much.

“Well, our days could be numbered.” Then your lips continue. “Perhaps there is someone else you would rather be unwinding?” The question slips out of you, an unbidden, unwelcome concern courtesy of the fear building in your chest.

“Is that what you want?” he asks, response quick, tone biting. His lips are pressed in a tight line, the muscles in his neck tense as he clenches his jaw.

Gods, you’d known your heart would lead you astray. Here you are, facing an Astarion unlike any that had made a home in your bedroll. An Astarion made of sharp edges and cutting words. Expression closed, mouth a tight line, you find his change in demeanor aggravating. You bristle at his accusation. “No, Astarion. I don’t want that. If I did, I wouldn’t be here, speaking with you. Though you’re making me regret doing that much now.”

He tilts back at your words, leaning back on the heels of his feet as if thrown off balance. “Then why did you even come over? To reject me then to–to taunt me?”

You had meant to do none of that. Really, you’d only come over out of habit, to see him, to… spend time with him. But it’s hard to say so without being entirely too forthcoming with your feelings. You wish that you could put your feelings into words, however it’s your burden to bear, not his. He has more than enough on his plate between the Absolute and Raphael’s deal. 

So you shake your head at him. “I didn’t mean to reject you, Astarion. I hadn’t come here for sex at all.”

Once more, he asks the question you do not want to answer. “Then why did you even come over?”

You could lie. It’s as easy as breathing for you– it’s how you and Astarion had grown so close so quickly. You should lie, you tell yourself. But one look into his crimson, pleading eyes and the lie dies on your lips.

He looks hurt. So genuinely confused at your presence in front of him, deeply convinced that you could only be here for one thing and one thing only. And you know then that you can’t lie.

“I wanted to see you,” you say, the honest words tightening your throat on their way out, You haven’t told him how you feel, but you may as well have, with the way the words sound utterly, sinfully soft, a secret lost on the cold wind of the Shadow-Cursed night.

“You… wanted to see me?” he repeats, tone losing all of its edge, losing any of its structure at all.

You nod silently, uncertain if more words would help or hurt the situation.

To that, Astarion only blinks. His mouth opens, head tilting in that cautiously inquisitorial way, as he asks, “And then what?”

There was no ‘and then’ in your mind. Merely the need to see him, spend time with him, even after spending an entire dark, dreary day with him. But you suppose he wouldn’t understand that if you said it. So you need to come up with something concrete, a reason to be here beyond words…

“I was wondering if you wanted to share a bedroll tonight. To sleep,” you say, infusing enough confidence in your words that you can hardly note the nerves. You expect Astarion wouldn’t notice them at all. 

His defenses noticeably drop, his shoulders sagging in relief, and a sigh escapes him as he shakes his head at you wryly. “Well, why didn’t you just say so, darling? I understand that not everyone has my stamina, but it’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

You want to roll your eyes, defend your honor as it hangs on by a thread, but you’ve narrowly avoided disaster and you’re not proud enough to ruin that. Instead you play into the role, ignoring the dull twinge that twists through your heart. “I wasn’t sure you would be so magnanimous,” you say, giving him the slightest bow of your head. “I should have known.”

“That you should have,” he says with a breathy laugh and he sounds almost… relieved?

More than anything, you want to ask him, why? Are you relieved that my feelings have stayed silent? That this thing between us remains uncomplicated? That you don’t have to find yourself a new distraction?

But your questions stay just as buried as your feelings do.

Your damnable feelings, which seem to threaten to burst out each time his eyes linger too long, with every touch you weren’t expecting. It must be a talent, holding them in as you do now.

They stay hidden as he extends a hand to you, inviting you into his tent with a warm smile and a, “Shall we?”

You keep them dormant as you follow, tucking your head into the now-familiar red structure, narrowly avoiding the mess he’s left inside. 

They almost slip to the surface as he pulls you down onto his lap, and a heat rises between you as natural as steam from a hot spring.

It’s an invitation, of course. One last effort from Astarion for something more tonight, for you to be won over by his beauty and charm. But there’s nothing to be won over because you are already his.

You wish he could tell, from your drunken declarations, from the way you’ve made a second home in his arms. Maybe he can tell, but refuses to acknowledge it– you could hardly blame him if that were to be the case. But you also can’t blame yourself for barely holding back.

Even now, seated in his lap, staring into his mesmerizing red eyes, you’re not certain you could trust a single word that comes out of your lips. So you throw every word you’ve ever known, could ever know, to the wayside. And simply kiss him.

You press your lips to his slowly, contact feather-light as you balance on his thighs. Bracing yourself with a hand on his chest, you lean in, locking your lips together fully. 

They move together easily, dance partners on a familiar dance floor, to a practiced tune, but when you think of all of the things you wish you could say, an urgency rises in you– a deep-seated need to tell him how you feel, even if only through this.

So you kiss him harder, your hands holding him all the tighter. You kiss him with every word unspoken, every intangible feeling rising in your chest, every single ounce of you that he’s already won, if only he were willing to claim it.

Astarion moves to deepen the kiss, placing a hand on the back of your head, the other on the small of your back, not understanding where your desperation comes from. Misunderstanding your intent altogether. 

Of course, what was I thinking? you wonder to yourself as you pull away, panting lightly. That some magical kiss could make this man realize my feelings, could make him love me back?

But you’re not in some copper novel. This man harbors no hidden feelings for you. Only a deep need to lose himself, and you happen to be the person he’s chosen to do that with.

So, despite the confusion in his face, you crawl off of his lap. Despite the way his hand trails along your side as you lay down, you don’t get back up. You merely say, “It’s getting late, we should get some rest.”

Astarion murmurs his agreement, but you can hear the reluctance in his tone, see the bewildered expression on his face as he lies down, all of his clothing still covering his body. 

You could laugh at the absurdity of it all, how unnerved he is, how deeply your chest aches– gods, this didn’t go well at all. But you don’t laugh. Only a sigh escapes you as you wrap your arms around him, as you press your body to his with all of the affection you cannot contain.

His arms stumble, they falter, but they find their way around you as well. An awkward embrace from a man who has no clue how he’s arrived at this point.

It’s difficult at a moment like this to remember that you shouldn’t love this man. That there are a dozen reasons to tamp down your feelings, a dozen more to run away. This was never supposed to be more than a single night of fun.

But, face tucked into the crook of his neck, hands clutching his loose shirt, nose filled with his carefully curated scent– you can almost pretend that this is real.

[swee7dream]

slowly but surely zhong chenle x f!reader

genres agere content, angst, fluff warnings internalized anti-agere, mention of a panic attack but not in depth. lmk if i missed any ! wc 2.3k dni if you sexualize age regression

summary it's the end of the year but you are finding it very difficult to be in celebratory mood.

dni: if you sexualize age regression and/or have an 18+ blog.

You’re going to quit your job.

You are, you’re making a promise to yourself about it and you have already decided to honor the promises you make to yourself this coming year. You are going to quit your job and nothing is going to stand in your way this time.

Only your boss would talk about an end-of-year party as a ‘compulsory team meeting’. You were supposed to have a nice simple evening with Chenle at home, making dinner together and then watching the fireworks until one of you falls asleep. A nice simple evening that did not have you hyperventilating in the bathroom out of fear you would be let go.

The plan was to stop by the store as soon as you finished your shift to ensure you got the freshest ingredients for the pesto pasta recipe you found on Pinterest and get more than the advised portions because you know for a fact half of it will end up on your kitchen floor when the play-fighting gets out of hand.

It was meant to be a night of relaxing and reflecting and not any of what you are feeling right now: stressed, angry, and murderous.

You take a sniff of your clothes as you walk from the bus stop back home, wondering if you can still wear this jacket out tomorrow or if you’ll smell like you bathed in alcohol fully dressed. Moisture seeps through your boot and into your sock from a puddle you didn’t notice on the sidewalk a couple of minutes back and you feel your entire body rejecting the sensation.

You mumble to yourself while doing quick work of inputting the PIN code to your front door lock, squeezing your eyes tight in an attempt to bring moisture back to your dried-out eyes.

‘Bath, color, cuddle, sleep. Bath, color, cuddle, sleep. Bath, color, cuddle, sleep!’

The plan for the night repeats like a broken record in your mind, mentally pushing yourself to go on just a little longer. You let out a sigh of relief when the lock finally sings its tune of entrance after three failed attempts.

“There’s my girl. I thought someone was trying to break in or something.”

The mental image of you talking with your dolls and stuffed animals shatters like a priceless vase, the shards amounting to the grains of sand in the sea.

“Hi.” You drop your bag on the floor the second you have a foot inside. You were so excited about tonight, how could you forget so quickly? Your boyfriend is so excited to see you and all you can think about is how you want everyone to die, that’s rich.

“Hey.” Chenle’s smile drops at your lack of enthusiasm. “You okay?”

“Okay… Just tired. ‘m gonna take a bath, ‘kay?” Your lips barely part as you speak and your feet don’t lift an inch from the floor, shuffling down the hallway instead. Tongue trapped between your teeth, you stop yourself from saying something you’ll regret on the way to the bathroom.

—

Your own gasp wakes you and you find that you’ve fallen asleep in the tub. How long have you been asleep? The water’s not exactly warm anymore and you see your fingertips have pruned up like raisins. You poke at them while leaning over the edge before sighing. Chenle’s out there waiting for you, you remind yourself, you can’t just stay pruned up like this forever.

Only for a little bit longer. You hug your knees to your chest and rest your cheek on one of them as you watch all the water from your bath swirl down the drain like a whirlpool. You can’t help but blow your lips together, mimicking the sounds you think pirates caught in a whirlpool would make.

A knock at the door.

“Everything alright in there?”

“Uh, yeah. Sorry. I’m getting dressed now. I’ll be right there.” The sound of your voice surprises you, feeling it’s much deeper than it should be for some reason.

The heat coming up from the vents is still too cold for you and although you know you should keep moving to feel warm, you find it much more comfortable to just stand in place on the rug.

Water drips off you and onto the rug and the towel wrapped tight around you where you shiver. Your hair is wet and heavy and if looks could kill, the shirt you planned to change into would be on fire at the moment. The feeling of heavy, damp hair wetting your new shirt makes you roll your eyes a bit, but the knowledge of your boyfriend on the other side of the door pushes you to endure it.

You’re in your own home but you sure don’t act like it, shuffling shyly out of the bathroom with uncertain steps.

“Le?”

“Oh.” He looks up from the shelf he was carefully inspecting before. “Hey baby. Good bath?”

“…yeah. What are you holding?”

“This?” He lifts his hand. “It’s one of your crayons. I found it lying on the floor and was just looking where to put it back.”

“It’s not mine,” You state firmly with a swift snatch. “It’s my nephew’s. He came over recently.”

“…your nephew colors with glitter crayons?” Chenle tries not to eye the grip you have that crayon in.

“Yeah. He does. Is that a problem?” You tuck the crayon into the pocket of your pajama pants quickly and make your way over to the kitchen.

“It’s not a problem, I just didn’t know he moved on so fast from his ‘arts and crafts is boring’ stage.”

“He’s coming around to it.” You move around the kitchen quickly, filling and turning on the kettle.

“Good for him.” Chenle stands slowly, when did his back start hurting like this? Is he getting old? Well, he is already balding. But that’s because of the hair dye, right? It’ll grow back. Probably.

“Yeah.” You toss a tea bag into a mug. “That’s just how kids are. Thank you for finding it.”

“Mhm.”

He takes notice of how you haven’t made eye contact with him since you snatched the crayon from him, how you still don’t. You try cracking your knuckles and wrists again and again, ignoring the fact that you already did before and nothing will pop for the next while or so.

You’re lying.

Why are you lying?

“Well, now I’m jealous.” Chenle leans on the counter with his forearms, teasing smile gently nudging you to at least look his way. “How come that little kid gets to color with my girlfriend when even I haven’t done that before?”

You don’t reply but his eyes follow how you swallow an invisible lump in your throat.

“It’s not like we have the ingredients to cook dinner tonight anyway, why don’t we just spend our home date tonight just coloring? You have more crayons, right?”

“No,” You reply immediately, turning away to get the kettle when it dings. “He just left this one. Why would I have any crayons? Do you think I’m a five-year-old?”

“I never said that.” He stands up, a frown of confusion painting his face.

“Right. Well, I don’t have any of those. And I don’t want to do a coloring date. I’m dating an adult, I would like to feel like I am.”

“Adults can color.”

“No they can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because they can’t.”

The kitchen is quiet, the single noise of the spoon mixing the tea and honey in your mug. With each second of silence, the control you have on your breathing weakens.

You do want to color. You want to doodle and draw and give Chenle all your stickman drawings. You want him to show you his pictures and you want to hear him praise the color you chose for the sun’s sunglasses. You want him to color with you and play with you until you’re all tired out. When you’re asleep you want him to cradle you and cuddle you, kiss you on the forehead, and hum you lullabies in an undertone.

But it’s also so unreasonable to demand that.

He has a life just as stressful if not more than yours, to throw all your burdens on him to bear, even if just for a few hours, is wrong. You would feel too guilty. Chenle’s dating an adult, not babysitting a child. Dating you should be an option, not a burden.

“They can’t?”

“They can’t.” You shake your head, voice breaking.

Chenle takes you into arms before you fully break, leaving all your tears to stain his t-shirt. His fingers dig into your hair and your whole body shivers when you feel his nails gently scratch against your scalp.

“I’m going to be honest with you, Princess, I don’t really know what happened today. Or if it’s something you’ve been dealing with for a long time… Either way, I’m sorry. If I’m the reason you’re crying right now, I’m sorry. And I’m also sorry for not knowing what I’ve done wrong. I’m kind of slow on the uptake at times. If I’m not the reason you’re crying, I’m sorry you went through that, or, are going through that. I don’t really know…

“You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to. You looked like you were about to drop dead as soon as you walked in tonight so I wouldn’t blame you. I probably should have left earlier but I couldn’t help it. It’s the last day of the year and I really wanted to spend it with you. I’m kind of clingy like that, I guess. I was on my way here and… I was thinking how I would be ending this year and starting this next year with you and- and I wanted this to be how every year will be. Forever. Or, until you don’t it want to. Because I don’t feel like I will ever not want to be with you. I’m like… obsessed with you. But not to a point where I won’t leave if you tell me to leave. I definitely will leave if you ask me to leave. Do you want me to go? I can go. You look tired and I’m keeping you up-”

“No.” You interrupt, speaking into his chest. “Stay.”

“Okay. Yeah, I’ll stay.”

“But… I think I am gonna nap.”

“Yeah… Yeah, you should. I’ll just stay out here.”

“You’re an idiot.” You blurt. “A big dumb idiot. You’re dumb.”

“…yeah.”

“Want you to nap with me. Cuddle. Carry me.”

“Carry you…?” Chenle looks down at you, feeling whiplash at how quickly your moods change. He doesn’t question it though, melting at the sight of your big watery eyes. “Yeah, okay. Your wish is my command.”

You smile as you feel his arms wrap around you, his cologne entering your nose and giving you an incomparable high. His steps are slow and uncertain, careful to not hit your head on any doorframes. He begins lowering you onto the bed but your arms don’t loosen around his neck.

“Sorry too.” You whisper.

“For what?”

“Callin’ you dumb. You’re not dumb.”

“Thank you.” Chenle smiles, his eyes disappearing into thin little moons. “But, I am actually a little dumb.”

“No.” You frown as if the person offended was you. “Not dumb.”

“No?”

“No.” You insist. “’m the dummy.”

“What? No, Princess.” He sits on the side of the bed when his neck begins to hurt from the angle. “How could you think that?”

“’Cause,” Your eyes drop to his shirt, suddenly extremely interested in the wrinkles of his shirt. “Dunno. Thought you wouldn’t like me.”

“Wouldn’t like you? Baby, why would I not like you?”

“’Cause ‘m a dummy!” You whisper-yell at him as if he wasn’t listening. “Was bein’ mean earlier and takin’ stuff and… just wasn’t bein’ nice. And then I thought that you wouldn’t like me if I… I dunno.”

“If what?”

“If there was like… a side o’ me you didn’t really like. ‘n’ I scared you away… Don’t wanna be a bother, y’know?”

“You’re not a bother, Baby.” Chenle presses a kiss to your temple. “You’re my responsibility. I choose to do all these things. You’re never a bother. Never ever. Even if you get sick or get kicked out of your house or… I don’t know. No matter what, I choose to stay with you.”

“What if you choose to stop staying with me?”

“Did you kill someone?”

“No?”

“Then I think we can work through it.”

You giggle and lean back into him. He says such silly things with such confidence that he almost makes you believe it. Maybe one day you will.

“Oh shoot, your tea. I’ll be right back.”

The bed creaks under you as he gets up, the fireworks of overly-zealous celebrators with seemingly broken clocks lighting up his side profile pinks and purples through the window.

You stare at him and feel a warmth grow deep in your heart, an uncontrollable smile painted on your face. Chenle looks back at you with a confused smile, but you can see the same love in your heart in his eyes.

Yeah.

You also think that this is right. You don’t know if it’s for forever yet, but you sure hope it will be. That this year and the next and all the years until you’re both stars in the sky you two will be together. The fireworks will light up your faces when you’re both wrinkly and gray, wearing the same dorky grins you wear tonight.

You’re afraid, but you can feel that soon you’ll introduce a new side of yourself to Chenle. As he gets in the bed with you, looking out the window of your bedroom with his arm around your waist, the anxiety is the tiniest bit smaller than it was this morning. Slowly but surely, you know in your heart the day when you can show your heart bare to him will come and you’re not afraid

Maybe you’re afraid now but you know it’s only a matter of time before you free fall into his arms without a second thought. It's inevitable, you smile to yourself.

a/n: STRESSING to post this before the new year lolz. also, i hope y'all know that reader was toned down SO much over the drafts. when i get overstimulated i start wanting ppl to die and it's never that serious...... i rly had to get rid of that quality when writing for reader LOLOLOL OK ENJOY REBLOG GIVE KUDOS ALL THAT STUFF THAT TUMBLR LIKES LOVE U ALL HOPE U HAVE THE BESTEST 2024

[sheeparuu]

I’ll call it Severed link au for now.

So I was always a sucker for a bad ending and I wanted to put out a few ideas cuz I thought it would be fun. Yes it started from Linked Universe since I’ve seen people make their own versions and I thought it would be cool to do it too. Also, English is not my first language.

Games I’ve finished:

1.  Sky: Inheriting a god’s power after defeating them is not something Link would have expected to happen after stopping Demise. Still, if the corruption of his mind and body is not enough proof of that, his old home falling out of the sky might be.

2. Twilight: Having a pointy chunk forcefully jammed in one’s brain is bad, using it to keep switching between hylian and beast form is worse, loosing their mind the more they shift is the worst. At least he might be able to get a position as Ganon’s lap dog.

3. Wind: One would be surprised how hard it is to kill a parasitic entity, especially when it takes over your body as a host. Still, after such a gruelling fight, it might remain inactive for a long time, licking its wounds at the bottom of the sea.

4. Spirit: When the hero fails saving his best friend and end up having to swear allegiance to the demon lord inhabiting her body, everything seems to be going to hell. But having that fight with the said demon awaken something from the sea might be just as bad.

5.Wild: Sometime even if a friendly goat amputates your arm, it might not completely remove the malice from your blood stream, or stop it going to your brain. It might just slow it down enough for you to realize that something is taking over you from inside out.

Games I haven’t played/ finished but I tried to research:

6. Losing your uncle, the girl of your dream and having the path to Lorule closed might give someone things to grieve about. Hoarding magical items and knowledge for the purpose of “keeping the people you love safe” is also bad. Being swayed by the dark magic to the point where turning people into stone to “protect them” is, you guessed it, bad.

7. Time: Once a certain evil entity realizes that the kid carrying godness power is a better target than a mere Skullkid it might just have to switch hosts. Maybe if the other masks the “hero” carried weren’t splitting his mind like hair ends he could have stood a chance.

8. Four: Sometime allaying with the wrong side, even if you plan to change sides once you get the upper hand, might lead to actions that you can never forgive yourself for. And sometimes the shame grows to the point you can’t even face the three other versions of yourself, even when they are fighting the big bad of your world. And sometimes when they lose, you might feel the most vulnerable you’ve ever been.

9.Warriors: Maybe if the portals Cia chose to open lead to worlds were the heroes won their adventures, the story would have been different. Maybe if she never realized that Link wouldn’t be hers, even by force, she wouldn’t have turned him into a puppet king. Maybe if his mind wasn’t completely aware of everything around him, while being completely disconnected from his body he wouldn’t have had to agonize like this.

10. Hyrule: Sometimes when a the kindness and heroism of a child is rejected by the entire world and the cult that’s following him takes a much more manipulative approach instead of trying to kill him, it might just end much worse for the common man.

Notes: I always liked the idea that heroes are not purely good and always getting the good ending, and that if their life had just enough differences they would have failed/turned to the dark side. I mostly thought it would be cool for the characters to have a “failed” version and in my head they could serve as a “self discovery journey” for the og heroes. Like having to compare yourself with your worst version would cause some major introspection.

P.S: Yes I added Spirit since I think he and Wind could have some really cool dynamics. Also if someone already did the idea before me I'd like to know.

[goosewriting]

Omg my first request! 💕 What if the reader convinced Raph to hang out at theme park so that he can get a break from having to take care of the others 24/7, but then the 15tg scenario happens? Eventually there's a love confession, and Raph says the 39tg pink prompt? 👉👈

Ferris Wheel (rottmnt Raph x reader)

scenario 15: Getting stuck at the top of the Ferris Wheel. prompt 39: “Can I kiss you?”

summary: good ol' ferris wheel trope that ends in a smooch.

relationship: Rise!Raph x GN reader

warnings: none! tooth rotting fluff 😩

word count: 1k

A/N: okey dokey off we start with the prompts!! and yes this was meant to be a drabble with ~700 words, but i can’t help myself with raph and first kiss scenarios ok 😩💕

(english is not my first language. constructive criticism and grammar corrections are very appreciated!)

– – –

Lately, Raph felt like Donnie had been grumpier than usual. Mikey was more chaotic. And Leo, man, somehow he had gotten even more annoying with his puns.

So when you asked him to hang out, it was a more than welcome distraction for him. He could not only take a breather but also spend some one on one time with you, which he hadn’t been able to do a lot recently, and it was starting to bother him. He thought maybe by not seeing each other so often, he’d finally get over his crush on you, but no. It seemed to get worse, even. With every minute he spent away from you, his longing seemed to only grow stronger.

You had seen a poster of a state fair taking place nearby, and decided to invite Raph. Coincidentally it was also the night of a pretty important sports event, which meant it would be emptier than usual, so perfect conditions for a giant teenage turtle to not get noticed too much. Raph wore his big hoodie, and off you two were.

There was so much to do: all the games and prizes to win, the food to eat, the rides to try. In one game, Raph won a turtle plushie and gave it to you with a blush and a sheepish smile. You squeezed the toy to your chest and thanked him, hoping he wouldn’t notice the heat rising to your cheek. Because if Raph was hopelessly in love, oh man, you had it just as bad. In fact, this whole outing was part of your big plan to finally confess to him. You hoped that even if you did get rejected, you two could still hang out like this. But as the evening went on, you felt your confidence rising more and more, as you kept catching him stealing glances at you, and his touches, which were normal for you both, seemed to linger more than usual.

So when the night rolled in, and the lights of the fair gave the whole scenery a fairytale-like vibe, you told yourself it was time. 

You suggested ending the night by going on one last ride: the ferris wheel. He accepted, and as you were standing in line, you both evaded eye contact with each other, suddenly very shy and very quiet.

Then, finally, you got to the front, and entered the gondola cabin. It was closed off entirely, with big windows, which allowed you to enjoy the view without feeling as exposed to falling off the railing. 

You got in first, taking a seat, and Raph entered to sit on the bench across from you, but his weight made the cabin dip in his direction, which made him plop onto the seat rather promptly with an “oomph!”. The sudden shift also shook you forward from your position. You grabbed onto his shoulders to stabilise yourself, and his hands instinctively came up to your waist. You looked at each other for a second, by now both as red as his bandana. You apologised and quickly stepped back to sit down again. The gondola continued to sway softly as it slowly made its way up. 

Deciding to shift your attention to calm yourself down, you placed the little turtle on your lap and looked out the window, and immediately gasped at the view. The stalls grew smaller and smaller, and you could see the silhouette of the skyscrapers in the horizon against the last rays of sunshine.

As you were about to comment on how small everything looked from up there, the gondola came to a sudden stop, shaking back and forth. The slightest shiver of panic passed over you, but from a little speaker on the roof of the cabin came a monotone voice, announcing that there were some minor technical difficulties, and that the ride would resume soon.

You dared to take a look at Raph, and screamed internally as you found he was already (still?) looking at you, very fondly. 

“You know” he said suddenly. “I’ve liked you for a while now. Like, a lot.”

Your breath hitched, your heart beating violently against your ribcage at an ungodly speed. You blinked a couple of times, trying to regain your composure and answer that you like him as well, so much! But he was quicker.

“Can I kiss you?” he blurted out, and your mind went blank. By now your face must surely have been on fire, with how you felt your cheeks burning. With every second that passed in silence, Raph’s confidence was chipped away bit by bit. You were imploring yourself to respond something, but your brain was unable to form any coherent sentence at the moment.

So instead you stood up slowly, leaving the plushie on the bench, and trying not to shake the gondola too much, you crossed the very short space to sit next to Raph. Or rather, squeeze yourself in next to him; the cabin wasn’t super big to begin with and Raph took up most of the seating space. As you sat down, inevitably your legs were touching, and the turtle had to muster up all of his willpower to not faint on the spot. 

Reaching up to his face, you cupped his cheek with one hand and softly grabbed onto his hoodie with the other, pulling him down to you. It was a bit of a weird angle but it worked, and Raph leaned in the rest of the distance, capturing your lips in a sweet kiss. It was short but full of love, and he pulled back slightly only to turn his torso completely towards you and went back in with a bit more force this time. You found yourself pressed between the gondola wall and the turtle, and somewhere in your brain you told yourself you wouldn’t mind the ferris wheel to be stuck for the next couple of hours. But as if the universe (or rather the mechanic on the ground) had heard you, the cabin shook and creaked as it started moving again. 

Raph pulled back completely this time, and you looked at each other slightly out of breath without a word. You noticed the gondola was about to come back down to the starting position again and stood up to go back to your original seat, but Raph held you in place. 

“I wouldn’t mind going another round” he said, and you weren’t entirely sure if he meant the ferris wheel or the kiss. Hopefully both. 

~~~~~

🐥 taglist: [more info in my pinned post!] @maribatshipper, @whygz

[sarucane]

Storytelling in Our Flag Means Death

I'm just going to make a long post rant about my favorite theme in OFMD and how it shifts over time...I might go episode-by-episode later, if I feel like having an excuse for a close rewatch and a post series if you l like this, keep an eye out because I'm gonna micro-analyze the shit out of storytelling in individual episode groups

We all live by stories. We live stories of our relationships, of our genders, our races, our nations. We live stories that we choose, and stories that were chosen for us. And we each live a story called "I," a synthesis of all these identities and memories. None of the stories are "real," and nothing is as real as the stories. Truths and lies, all in one.

OFMD is full of stories. The characters tell each other stories, they swap stories, they ask for new stories, they reject old stories. They tell their stories, and change through the telling, and figure out what kind of "I" each of them wants to be. What stories they want to tell.

In season 1, the characters go up against the forces of "imperial" stories, stories imposed by the world on individuals to enforce a certain societal structure. Some of those stories are colonial stories about race and class; others are pirate stories about masculinity and what counts as "strength." The characters win some of these battles, and lose others.

In Season 2, the theme of storytelling intertwines with the development of relationships. Storytelling in s2 is, at its worst, an isolating action, distancing the storyteller from the reality and people around them, and even from themselves. But at its best, it's a collaborative act that transforms individuals, relationships, and entire communities.

The original and probably always the most important storyteller in OFMD is Stede. Stede built and crewed this pirate ship because he wanted to tell his own stories, after a lifetime of living under imperial storytelling--meaning the classist, racist, sexist world of his father which imposed certain stories on Stede about what he was and how he was allowed to live in the world.

At the core of Stede's character is the tension of his stories against reality. On the one hand, he wants his own stories to be real, badly. And they're stories that are worth being real: a story where he's able to live the life he chose and made for himself; a story where his crew is safe and comfortable, and able to get in touch with their authentic selves; a story where the past does not define the present. On the other hand, these stories are at odds with the world, and with what Stede secretly believes about himself.

The fun bit is that the imperial stories are actually relatively easy to conquer--out in the world, that is. Reality loses against those stories more often than it wins (because OFMD is that kind of show). All it takes is trust and connection, both of which are grown through the sharing of stories.

Stede tells stories to the crew, and by the end of season 1 they're telling his stories back to him. Izzy tries to tell an imperial story about what a man and a pirate can be when he duels Stede and surrenders them to the English. Stede gets help from Ed and wiggles through the cracks in those stories. Stede's lies become truth, and the truth is more meaningful than anyone thought it could be back when the story began.

The stories that almost destroy Stede and everything he cares about aren't the ones told by Badminton or Izzy. They're the ones Stede believes. He spends season 1 talking and talking and talking to try to drown out the story that he believes deep down: that he will only ever be a perfect little rich boy, that the only life he should ever have is the one imposed on him by a heteronormative classist society.

Stories got Stede into this mess. But the thing is, those imperial stories don't reflect reality any more than Stede's pirate stories did back in episode 1. They're just as invented as any other story, as Mary figured out after Stede left ("Being a widow isn't nearly as bad as it's made out to be.")

Good stories have to be told and believed by a receptive audience, as we see when stories fall flat throughout the show (Pete's story of Blackbeard, "a hook for a head," "I don't want your old food.") Stede can tell his stories to his family, but they're not going to become reality. Because he no longer fits in this world. Some of his stories about himself are too far from reality to be true (he'll never win a duel straight up), but others are "truer than true," resonate with a deeper truth in a receptive audience--and then shape reality around him.

Believing stories that weren't true got Stede into his mess at the end of Season 1. But stories also get him out--with help. Because a good fuckery isn't done by one person, it's done by a group.

In the first season, Stede learns that imperial stories aren't the only true stories, or the only stories worth living (as Izzy tells Ed when he says Ed would be better off dead than telling a new story). There's no shame in rejecting them when they're inauthentic.

Stede sets out at the end of the season alone, in a small boat, powered by his own body. His pretty clothes are gone and he's got no one to talk to. In episode 9, this sent him into a panicky spiral. In episode 10, he's able to see that freedom for what it is: a chance to write his own rules. To live by his own story.

In season 2, Stede embraces this, embraces the power to tell stories that can reshape reality. Season 2 begins with Stede telling himself a love story. It's a really important story, a story that's going to save both Ed and himself--but it's also a deeply misleading story.

Ed is not the person in that dream, and Stede is avoiding even trying to find Ed because of fears about the weakness of his story. Stede will spend the entire season navigating his way through trying to balance that story with reality, trying to reach Ed where he is.

And Stede will fail, because the trick of the stories in season 2 is that if they're not collaborative, they're doomed. Stede won't reach Ed until Ed's truly ready to risk trusting Stede again, until Ed's ready to tell their love story along with Stede.

Ed in season 2 is bouncing from story to story, just like in season 1 he experimented (consciously and unconsciously) with one identity after another. Like Stede, he begins by telling a story he doesn't believe, by trying to be someone he isn't. Unlike Stede, that story is limiting rather than liberating. And it very much does not have the support of his crew.

And Ed knows this, knows he can't live by nothing but these pirate codes of toxic masculinity. That he doesn't truly fit them anymore, just like Stede didn't fit when he went home. So Ed starts the season telling a story of the devil, then of an impossible bird, of a treacherous first mate, of a mutinous crew, of a man who wants to die. A cacophony to drown out his pain and fear.

And when Ed does die, he encounters another incarnation of the imperial storytelling of the first season: his own 'ghost,' the internalized incarnation of his white father and abusive class-restricted childhood, of the toxic masculinity Izzy pushed on him. "This is who you should be, this is the only way to live. If you want anything else it means you're weak. If you aren't up for being this person, then you should die. Because you'll never be capable of being anything else. You'll never be worthy of love."

And Ed has internalized and tried to conform to that story, just like Stede tried to conform to the story in season 1. Ed would have died a death worthy of Blackbeard, equal parts madness and violence. A normal death, as he himself knows, as Hornigold points out to him in the gravy basket: "Mutiny, it's always mutiny."

But Ed doesn't die like that. Because just as Ed gave Stede a destination when he left Barbados for the last time, Stede gives Ed a deus ex machina out of the story he's dying in.

And for a shining moment, they're both telling this story. And they will again. They'll run across a beach, each fighting equal battles to get to each other, and they'll know each other more than ever before. For most of the season, Stede is the one holding onto Ed. But by the end of the season, they'll be holding on to each other again.

Ed, like Stede, is going to learn that the stories other people tell about him really aren't as true as the stories he tells himself. Unlike Stede--who mostly just needed to set the toxic stories aside--Ed has to figure out how these stories have shaped him, which are now him, which truly resonate with reality, and which can be laid to rest. Some of Ed's stories are light, some are dark, but all are Ed--and all are loved.

And just as Ed and Stede learn to reach each other in season 2, to communicate and tell a story together, so do the crew. Like Ed, the members of Stede's original crew were changed by their time living Stede's story. Stede created a safe space, where people could tell their own tales and figure out who they wanted to be to themselves and each other. And they begin to pay that forward, even to outgrow Stede.

Jim is the core of this. They use the story of Pinocchio to reach Fang, to make a connection there. To create hope in the face of despair. That connection draws Archie to them. And that power to tell their own story is what lets them defy the rules of the pirate world that Ed is trying to make everyone live by.

When the crew reunite, they're living fundamentally different stories (just like Stede and Ed have been). Those stories lead to conflict, when the crews first reunite--but then they lead to collaboration. They tell a story of a unicorn, of Calypso's birthday, of a daring escape. And in the end, they lead the crew into the sunset, to write their own stories. Like Stede taught them.

[bluegumballmf]

OK SO RANT WARNING I LOVE ADAMAI

ngl i think about adamai so much like literally almost half of the time im thinking abt him so um i just wanna talk about my personal headcanons for him bc i rlly rlly like him he’s genuinely such an easy character to relate to for me because i relate to his trauma. Anyways, forgive me if you catch any spelling or grammar errors, i’m writing this with like 4 hours of sleep and dyslexia.

um so my main mental health hcs are that he has BPD, ADD (lololol fits with the name) and minor psychosis. For ADD, it’s moreseo that from what i’ve seen, adamai struggles in social cues and has a more quiet approach to his struggles, and that he acts similarly to me, and I am autistic. For psychosis, it’s sort of a baseless headcanon, I just feel like Adamai would get auditory/ tactile hallucinations.

It’s a little hard to explain why i think he has BPD cause it’s moreso things I can relate to, such as how he latches onto people rlly quick ; ie a BPD person’s “favorite person,” who is a support system and a sort of pillar/ anchor and typically end up being someone the person w/ BPD sometimes ends up changing themself for. I personally think that adamai’s had multiple favorite people, such as; grougal, qilby, phaeris, echo and oropo, and obviously, yugo. Its kinda hard for me to like. Phrase WHY i think these people are his fps, but i think it’s mostly how he values them and prioritizes them when it comes to his actions and thoughts and feelings, i mean, just take oropo for example. Adamai changed his entire body for oropo, taking the dofus in when he was still rlly young for eliatrope/dragon standards, even assuming a body he didn’t want to survive, which even then, he only did for approval and support from his FP. This actually leads me into my next headcanon,

I headcanon adamai as transfem. Specifically a trans woman. For a few reasons, which I’ve gone over in a twitter thread (same username as on here, you should go check it out, I’m WAY more active there haha) but i’ll put it here.

1. adamai doesnt feel comfortable in his body and it’s elaborated on in the show. When he’s talking to eliatrope about his body, eliatrope states that he’s “always been unique” and iirc you can see adamai’s face drop because its not exactly something he’s proud of.

2: going off the last point, he’s shown to say that the body he now has in wakfu s3-4 is one he had to adapt to survive and not the one he chose, which is parallel to some trans people never transitioning because they dont feel safe enough to do so. this is kind of a stretch but bear with me, it’s more subconcious connections than anything else.

3. (More of a joke point) BUT HE LITERALLY HAS THE SAME WAIST SIZE AS JESSICA RABBIT. WHAT. YES I’VE ACTUALLY COMPARED I AM NOT JOKING. Like here are the images (see below) for comparison. In all seriousness, while i feel like adamai’s design IS iconic and it does serve the purpose it meant to acheive, it doesn’t feel like him. Which again, is what it meant to acheive!! I’ll touch on this more in a second, but not.

4: adamai has multiple issues regarding self perception, which in a way are all similar to dysphoria. He seems to have rejection dysphoria, body dysphoria, and maybe gender dysphoria. In my view, he seems to have all three subtypes of gender dysphoria (body, mind, and social) this actually ties in to the first point, because i feel like he’d develop a sort of body dysmorphia from shifting into a body he didn’t want, rather then a body that would be more comfortable for him; the human or the dragon. Which i’m choosing to see as a representation of the two genders; with him shifting in between being a sort of safe spot, like how many trans people identify as nonbinary or bigender before transition. (Not to say that these people are any less trans then any others, i’m just going off my own perception as a trans genderfluid person!!!)

5: he’s always being forced into roles; from being raised for yugo, to being yugo’s mentor, to being grougal’s nanny, to being possessed, etc. Ad never has chances to choose any roles by himself, and it’s similar to transphobic parents stopping their trans kid from expressing themselves imo. Again, could be a stretch, but this is how i interpreted it. It’s actually kind of similar to my parents, so maybe that’s why. Though, this COULD also just be gifted kid burnout or autistic burnout OR strict parent parallels, which i also can see correspond with adamai.

6: His mental image and self worth.

Adamai’s character is heavily influenced by a lack of self worth. He measures it with other people’s perceptions of him such as oropo’s or grougal’s, and when his body is perceived negatively by himself/others, he also starts hating it and himself, which ties into the headcanon i had about him having body dysmorphia AND into the BPD favorite people!!!

7: ( sounds like a joke point but bear w me) estrogen could have saved him

And honestly, no, Im not joking. Imo, if Adamai was allowed access to an actual process to be able to feel comfortable in his own skin, it might help his mental illnesses a lot in the long run. I equate that to him getting estrogen + finally looking like himself. It could help him with the body dysmorphia and self esteem by helping him get to a place where he’s comfortable to be himself and maybe even shapeshift again. (I actually wrote a fic about this on Ao3, https://archiveofourown.org/works/55070686, if you want to read it!!)

But um yeah, thats my reasoning for the trans headcanons, onto the less mental health involved ones, more miscellaneous. (But if you’re wondering why i’m using ‘male’ pronouns on Adamai, it’s because i feel like he would still like the he/him pronouns, but would simply use she/her more post transition.)

So, i have a few, mainly for adamai during winter vs summer.

In winter,

Silverish hair to blend with the snow

hair puffs up slightly to provide more insulation

lighter pigmentation everywhere,

much sleepier, tends to nap in the snow often

And then in the summer,

Blonde hair

more pigmentation

hair is less puffy, just curly (similar to chibi’s hair!!!)

less sleepier and more energetic.

Those are the basic ones for the seasons, but i also headcanon adamai to be an ice dragon, which means his tempurature is MUCH lower then the rest of the council’s save for maybe efrim. He needs to be in the sun much more, which could be part of the reason why grougal chose oma island to raise adamai. Another headcanon is that adamai and yugo both have heterochromia!! Yugo has central heterochromia, and Adamai has sectoral heterochromia; his eyes being blue and brown. I also headcanon that he has face markings similar to his mother, but they disappear in his dragon form because he’s closer to his father then.

Um yeah, that’s kind of it for right now, i might add onto these if more come up, but i hope you enjoyed reading!! I rwally love adamai, especially in s3 and up, he’s one of the most well written traumatized character’s i’ve seen, and i ADORE the nuance behind him.

[hazelkjt]

Just a bunch of dumb thoughts about Hazel I can't get out of my head

Clothing- Hazel prefers free flowing and/or non-restrictive clothing, trying her best to keep to her tribe's aesthetic while adding her own flair. Many in the Kha tribe do not adhere to only wearing the tribe's primary color, preferring and encouraged to express themselves and their individuality as they see fit; an aspect of civilizations outside the Steppe that the Kha integrated into their own culture. Whether or not the bright red her family wore is the Kha tribe's true color or simply the one her family chose to adopt, Hazel tries her best to incorporate red into her outfits as to always keep the thought of her home close to her.

Sleeping- Hazel sleeps on her back with her hips shifted to keep her from laying on top of her own tail. It gets numb if she lays on it for too long and the feeling keeps her up at night. Once asleep she barely makes a sound, her slumber deep enough to not wake up even as a rampaging Dzo is charging through the tribe's camp. Her internal clock is very precise however, as she's always up just as dawn breaks over the horizon.

Tail- Hazel's tail is exceptionally strong, owing to the much larger than normal size of it. Despite spending much of her youth touching it herself, she still gets a jolt of electricity shoot up her spine whenever she feels another person so much as brush against it. She can also have trouble controlling its movements when overcome by too much emotion.

Some examples are:

When sad/upset, her tail droops and the tip drags along the ground.

When happy/excited, her entire tail slowly sways side to side much like a dog's would.

When embarrassed/nervous, her tail begins to wrap itself around and down her leg.

When scared/surprised, her tail begins to curl upwards.

When angry, her tail droops like she is sad except for the tip, which is slightly off the ground and flicking back and forth sporadically.

Horns- Despite having an additional, smaller pair of horns growing from her forehead Hazel's hearing is no different from the average Auri person's. This is because these smaller "oni" horns (as she's had them be called by others in Kugane) are not hollow like the ones on the side of her head. Like her tail, Hazel's horns are also sensitive to anything else touching them, which is why she avoids wearing earrings and many headpieces almost entirely. The only exception is her fur-lined hat she wears while in Ishgard.

Reading- Hazel loves to read, but until she arrived in Eorzea she always found it a challenge. Often times, even after she grew into a young adult, she would have her mother Janis double check the words in the books she read as she often got them wrong. Turns out she has a case of premature presbyopia that was never diagnosed, and after obtaining a pair of reading glasses on her journey she never goes anywhere without them on her person. This saved her so many future headaches from forcing herself to strain over the letters printed on the pages of whatever she could get her hands on to read…but it doesn't save her from reliving the embarrassment of writing her name as "Hazel Kay" by accident for months on end.

Physique- Hazel's jet black scales and larger frame than the average Auri female led to her gaining the stares of many, many other Xaela of the Steppe, both from her own tribe and others. Most of these stares she could feel came from their bewilderment as to how she looked, though a fair few had some other thoughts about her. Many an Oronir tried their hand at claiming her as their Nhaama, Hazel's greater likeness to the Dusk Mother due to her darker scales being an extremely common comparison they all made. Hazel rejected them all however, as she too preferred the Oronir interpretation of the Azim and Nhaama fable and none of the suitors that took their chance felt like how she imagined her "Azim" to be like. Someone who could match her drive for knowledge as well as her strength in combat.

Parentage- Hazel's parents are Janis and Baato Kha, of which she is their only child. The two were always members of the Kha tribe and were infatuated with one another growing up. Following Eorzean traditions Janis read of in a book detailing the Eternal Bonding ritual, the two carved bone rings to symbolize their devotion to one another. Baato is a respected and renowned hunter for the tribe, earning the title of "Stonesplitter" after cleaving a Chuluu in two with one swing from his large blade. Janis was also a hunter for a short while before becoming a shepherd for the tribe, keeping watch over half of the flock of karakul the Kha raise. Janis is also fascinated by foreign literature and novels, having quite the collection in her and Baato's yurt that grows larger with each trip out to trade with people from outside the Azim Steppe. Growing up with a veteran and elite hunter for a father and a knowledge loving and ever-seeking mother, Hazel turning out the way she did is obvious to all within moments of meeting the family.

Hair- Despite her rough and tumble appearance Hazel takes great pride in her hair. She takes extraordinary care of it, always being careful when applying her red hair dye to the ends. She dyes parts of her hair red for the same reason she tries to always wear clothing with some form of red in the outfit: to keep her family close at hand. She keeps a supply of the dye stocked at nearly all times to she's always ready to reapply it when the color begins to fade. Hazel buys this dye from Calling Wind, an alchemist she met and brefriended back in the Azim Steppe. Calling was the one who, after making a deal with the Auri woman, allowed her to travel back with him to Eorzea after she found a rare herb that grows only in the Stepp to assist in his research.

[juhaknyeonies]

incarnation | lee jeno (ft na jaemin)

summary: its always been him, always him for you. you’re entire life was based on him. the carnations were your guide. the petals followed behind. one day it wasn’t about him. you have never felt such relief in your life.

genre: angst - unrequited love, romance

warning: toxic relationship

a/n: original ending is linked (this is jaemins ending)

purple carnation - new beginning

You’re relationship with Sihyun didn’t last after graduation. When we graduated we went to different school. You went to a dance academy to chase your dream of being a dancer and I went to a university that specialised in everything in the medical field with Jaemin. We never saw each other much. I missed you a lot. I’m not sure if Jaemin could tell but it was nice having him around. I did see you that day you were having the dance tournament that really started your career. I was working at the cafe and you were stressed out and I had served you coffee that you ordered. “Hi, Jeno.” I greeted you. “I haven’t seen you in a while,” You said. “How are you?” You asked. “I’m good,” I gave you your coffee. “Are you free to talk?” You asked. “Well, I get off my shift in 10mins, if you can wait then yea.” I had left to go into the back and serve more people while you waited there for me. When I got out you were there waiting for me outside the cafe next to purple carnations. I guess they just followed you everywhere. “How’s Jaemin?” You asked. “He’s well, do you not talk anymore?” I asked. “I guess not, Sihyun really changed my life. I’m gathering it back together now though.” You explained. “I’ve got a dance tournament soon and I’m really nervous since this tournament could make my career.” You held your bag with all your dance gear. “Well I hope you do well,” I said sincerely. It had been so long I forgot how to talk to you. “You wouldn’t mind coming to the tournament to watch with Jaemin, right?” You asked. “Maybe, he might be busy but I can come.” I thought about it. “Yeah, i’ll come tonight.” I went home while you went to your dance studio. I messaged Jaemin about it and he said he couldn’t make it. I’m not sure what happened about between the 2 of you but you should’ve made up by now. I got ready for the dance tournament but I didn’t realise I had to pay for entry. You ended up noticing I didn’t have enough money so you snuck me in as one of your staff. I still think you were smart for that. “Goodluck Jeno,” I cheered you on before you were due on stage. I really wish the best for you.

When you started dancing I felt a wave of emotions. You were beautiful on stage. The admiration I had for you years ago came back seeing you so passionate. I was happy you were on stage doing what you loved most. You were so carefree on the stage it was like a breath of fresh air. The stage was very purple, you were dressed in white with purple carnations all over. They suit you, after that show we ended up talking and walking around all night. We talked about how we use to sneak in conversations while Sihyun’s friends weren’t around it was exhilarating for you. Also those times we would bump into each other at the shops and hang out because we couldn’t in school. It made you realise how toxic your relationship was. Jaemin was in the right to yell at her. After we were done walking around you offered to take me home. I said no, but before you left you told me something. “I love you,” You told me, but I couldn’t accept it and my heart hurt. “Jeno, I don’t like that way,” I told you. “That’s okay. I just thought you deserved to know,” My heart hurt so much I walked away and we never go the chance to speak again. Jaemin was there to cheer me up. He always was. That same night I slept in his arms.

pink carnation

Today is my wedding. Thank you for those years of rejection because I would’ve never found my heart with Jaemin. I hope you can come to our wedding and make up with Jaemin, maybe we can all be friends like we once were again.

- your dear friend

[jedijourneys]

Korrin’s Journal; Entry Seventeen

Days continue to pass, the seasons shift and change, and Korrin remains tucked within his temple home, marveling at the frost that clings to the glass windows between every class. The skies are not the only things that have shifted. Change is in all things, this he knows. He sees it within himself, even. Tatooine seemed so long ago now, a distant memory, a dream perhaps. As an Initiate, fresh to the Order, those thoughts had haunted him. He has grown to accept that history, though. He has grown to look toward the present, rather than obsess over the past. After all, it was not the start of his story that mattered, was it? Rather, who he chose to be now. As he sits near the creek, gazing at his rippling reflection upon the cold surface of the gentle water, the Nautolan smiles softly, a gentle expression of warmth.

"Classes come and go. They always do. I recently attended a lecture on The Three Pillars." Korrin explains, his holo-journal recording every word, every gesture. At his side, a shimmering turtle claws at the frozen mud, seemingly content in its search for food. "Ah, yes, Bubbles is still here. He hasn't grown at all, though. So maybe he won't. Maybe he's already as big as he'll ever be." He reasons with a bit of a casual shrug. "But Bubbles is certainly not The Three Pillars, is he? No. And I should not get so distracted. We all know that I will though, no matter how often I tell myself not to." The Adept grins, amused, quietly lingering within his own thoughts for a few moments more.

"The first pillar is The Force. The most important, it would seem. To be a Jedi, one must have that connection, that ability to follow the will of the Force. There are certainly plenty of altruistic, humanitarian organizations out there, but they're not Jedi. That's not to say that they are less than we are, that they are somehow... unworthy. That would be entirely incorrect, and arrogant for any Jedi to believe." He pauses, his insistence fading into contemplative quiet. "But, as Warden Kethry said, the Force is a part of being a Jedi. I understand what this pillar represents." He continues.

"The other two pillars are Knowledge and Self Discipline. Both important in their own ways, of course." Korrin concludes. "Ah, but after class, I met with Aza Sun again, Master Tam'a'ryth's apprentice. He explained that he had recently returned from a mission. Perhaps I am restless when I consider the fact that I have yet to see much of the galaxy for myself. I know I should be patient, though. My time will come." The Nautolan decides with confidence. "I told him about Starweirds, and he said that he had never heard of them before. I hadn't either, until I started researching them in recent months. Fascinating creatures, if they truly exist." Korrin voices his thoughts with a studious expression, owlish eyes unblinking as they gaze into the water's depths.

"Then, we briefly discussed Sarlaccs, and the potential to study them further. He mentioned that he hadn’t thought much about such things, aside from the people who are capable of far worse than any creature. Initially, I rejected the idea. After all, what person can keep a victim alive and in agony for thousands of years? Well... the conversation got me thinking. The Sith probably would try something like that. Some of them are... hmm. I do not mean to sound judgmental, but some of those Sith are indeed quite disturbing." Korrin pauses, humming in thought. "Ah, but... as I said, the conversation got me thinking. The Sith have proven time and time again that they are a threat to the galaxy as a whole. Would it be unkind to... sever their connection to the force, somehow? I briefly read about an ability that allowed Jedi to do just that." He goes on, considering the implications.

"I'm not so sure about the ethics of it, though. I can't imagine how horrible it must feel, to be cut off from the force you've been connected with your entire life. I had intended to ask Aza for his thoughts on the matter, but he had to cut the conversation short. I think I may have to do a bit more research on this anyways. For all I know, it's not even something the Order would consider, and I can see why. It does sound cruel. But... it might also save a lot of innocent lives." He falls silent for a few moments, before offering a sigh. "It's a lot to think about. A lot to consider. But I'll research it anyway. After all, even if it's not something I can put into practice, knowledge is always something to be sought." The Nautolan concludes with a nod of his head, before reaching to close the recording.

[red-riding-wood]

Heroes - Chapter 5

Chpt. 1 , Masterlist , Chpt. 6

Pairing: Sgt. Elias Grodin x Female OC (Alexis Ryder)

Fandoms: Platoon (1986), Cherry (2021)

WARNINGS: I'm just going to put down a blanket for the entire book/all chapters: graphic depictions of violence and gore, torture, explicit sexual content, attempted sexual assault, language, marijuana use

The Two Bravo barracks reeked of cigarette smoke and buzzed with faint activity late into the night. Taylor and I kept exchanging glances, wondering when we’d get the chance to escape and sneak into the fabled Underworld. But as usual, Barnes’ men had claimed me for the evening; I’d been roped into watching a poker game, which took place over several ammo crates, and relied on blood-speckled cards that might’ve come from a dead man’s pocket for all I knew.

O’Neill’s arm was slung across my shoulder, and he’d jostle me every time he got good cards. Barnes, with his unflinching expression of steel, watched observantly from his cold gaze, silently made note of every time he did this, smoked a drag of his cigarette every time he pulled a flush and blew it nonchalantly in my face.  

“Fucking dammit!” O’Neill cussed, speaking around the cigarette that hung loosely from chapped lips. “You see that, Sweet Cheeks? I’m gettin’ raped here.”

My eyes were burning from the smoke, and my attention wasn’t really on his cards, so it took me a moment to register what they were, and I nodded to him with an absent hum of agreement.

Lieutenant Wolfe came around by my shoulder, and took a seat at the makeshift poker table. He’d been doing his rounds, checking in on all of his soldiers, being met by belligerent huffs and snorts. Since being in the army, I’d learned that the higher-ups weren’t very kindly-regarded; there was a clear discrimination between him and us, and every soldier in this room made sure he knew about it.

“Everyone doing alright here?” he asked us.

“Never been better,” Barnes mumbled around his cigarette. It’d been the first time I’d heard him speak in twenty minutes. “Haven’t even had to start cheatin’ yet.”

“That’s great,” Wolfe said, eyes sweeping across the poker game with a bit of a forced, awkward smile. Then, dreadfully, those eyes landed on me, and he asked, “How about you, Ryder? You doing well?”

Though I would’ve normally appreciated his concern, it was as unwanted as Elias’, and I stiffened under O’Neill’s arm.

Barnes’ gaze fixed on me, the frigidness burning two, icy holes through my face as his cards stilled in his hands.

“I’m doing great,” I told him, mimicking his forced, awkward smile, only hoping that mine was more convincing.

Barnes’ gaze never left me, nor did it shift in its intensity, but it did worm its way beneath my flesh, the hairs on the nape of my neck prickling.

Wolfe held my gaze for a moment or so, and then nodded. I wasn’t sure if he’d believed me, wasn’t sure which was worse – that he had, and he thought everything really was alright, that I was content assimilating with humanity’s rejects, or that he hadn’t, which meant that Barnes hadn’t, either.

After the lieutenant had left, and I went back to pretending to pay attention to O’Neill’s cards, I couldn’t seem to escape that icy glare.  

---                                                              

“Psst, Ryder,” someone whispered, and nudged me from my dreamless sleep.

I rubbed my eyes, and rolled my shoulder around on my bunk to face Taylor, who was prodding my arm gently.

“I think it’s safe to head out now,” he told me, coffee eyes bright in the low-light of the barracks.

I’d forgotten about the Underworld, had ended up passing out on my bunk out of fatigue when the card game had disassembled. I glanced around, at the sleeping, snoring men, and nodded to him.

I got dressed into my fatigues, though I left my equipment behind, and I followed Taylor through the darkened alleys, the crumbling buildings, past the few soldiers that mulled about on night watch or sneaking off to whorehouses. I expected those on watch to chastise us, or perhaps radio an NCO, but they merely looked the other direction.

Though Cherry had later given us rough directions, it was fairly easy to find the Underworld; the low rumble of a bass guitar played the distinct riff of White Rabbit by Jefferson Airplane, and the windows to a small, abandoned building were illuminated by the soft luster of candlelight and Christmas LEDs.

My hands peeled aside the strings of hippie beads that hung from the entrance, and they swallowed me as I entered, the music growing louder. One of them caught on the long, wavy strands of hair that I’d let tumble loose over my shoulders, and I glanced nervously at Taylor, who helped me untangle them.

Sure enough, lit candles were on almost every surface in the building, and Christmas lights were strung haphazardly along its derelict walls. Again, ammo crates were being used as furnishings, and scattered across them were empty bottles of beer, packs of cigarettes, and little tins of biscuits, chocolates, and other treats. It was like stepping back into western civilization, and I couldn’t help but feel an ease settle over me as I took in the sight. Even the earthy scent of pot was far fresher than the nicotine back at the Two Bravo barracks.

“This is something else,” Taylor murmured beside me, and I nodded in agreement.

I recognized many faces here, though they were mainly men from Elias’ squad. Cherry, King, Lerner, Crawford, Francis, Big Harold, and Rhah were all here from Two Alpha, but I did notice a couple of Warren’s men from Delta, and Manny, who was from Two Bravo.

Everyone was smiling, or staring dopey-eyed up at the ceiling or the flames that darted hypnotically from the candles. As Taylor and I approached, Cherry passed a bong along to Crawford and jumped up from the floor, where he’d been sitting cross-legged between him and Lerner. The translator cradled a guitar in his lap and plucked absently at the strings, too high to play and chatter with his companions at once.

“You guys made it,” Cherry said, grinning at us and tugging at our uniforms to bring us further into the epicenter of the debauchery. “Ryder, I don’t know if you’ve met King – “

“How do you do, little lady,” King, one of the tall, black men called out to me, his own grin stretching his lips wide and his eyes soft, glazed with bliss. “We placed bets on if you and Taylor would show. Guess I’m out twenty bucks.”

Rhah, who was sitting on one of the few actual chairs in this place, and sort of half-consciously stroking the nude statue of the Virgin Mary, pulled a couple notes from his pocket and shoved them in King’s face.

King snatched the notes from his grasp with a toothy grin and shoved them in the hem of his khakis before darting his attention back to me. “Hey, new girl,” he said, and held a bong up to my lips. “Take a hit of this.”

I swallowed anxiously, for I’d never used marijuana, but lowered my mouth to the glass rim, which was hot against my lips. King lit the other end of it, and I flinched as the clear liquid in the bowl bubbled. Smoke poured rapidly onto my tongue, but I took as big of a breath as I could, my lungs burning, but the sensation was leagues above being water-boarded, or even inhaling the nicotine back at the barracks.

Still, that didn’t stop me from choking, withdrawing from the bong as the small half-circle of men erupted into a fit of giggles and hearty laughs.

Taylor was next, who reacted no better than I did, new to this as well from the way he squinted his eyes uncomfortably against the dope smog and handled the bong as if he might shatter it.

“Hey, ‘Lias!” King called over his shoulder. “You gonna join the party, or what?”

But I wasn’t really paying attention to King anymore, and it took me a few good moments to realize who he was talking to. I was too fixated on the way my flesh seemed to tingle, how the pain had ebbed from the burn along my arm, how heavy my limbs weighed, how the music had seemed to grow louder, clearer, reverberating through the marrow of my bones, how every synapse in my brain fired with the stimulation of the lights that blurred in lurid colours around me, how the dry heat and the sweat that clung to my skin felt strangely fine now; I felt good – like, really good. The worries of Barnes, of my mortality, of the duality of my soul all just melted away, the edges of my mind softening.

I swallowed, tonguing at a dry mouth, and slowly turned my head now to notice the empty, still-gently swinging hammock in the back and the man who approached me now.

Bare-chested and adorned with various accoutrements – a brass bracelet was clasped around his wrist, and a beaded rosary hung an ajar crucifix alongside dog tags that seemed to gleam with a silvery luster now –, Elias stepped leisurely towards me, a lazy grin spreading across strangely-beautiful features as he wedged a joint between his teeth and stared down at me with those glazed eyes that were now more black than blue, pupils dilated-to-fuck and reflecting the Christmas lights like stars in an ebony sky. He stared at me as if I were some kind of angel, like I’d just fallen from Heaven rather than stepped from the fiery gates of Hell.

I snaked a tongue between my lips, enraptured by those eyes, enchanted by them and the subtle movements of his sharp jaw against the joint, the threads of tawny-brown hair that fell in their usual mess over his headband and attached to the sheen of sweat along his forehead.

I wasn’t sure if it was the dope, but I couldn’t help but find myself mirroring his smile, if only slightly.

Removing the joint from his teeth, Elias reached for something that leaned against the pillar beside him, and within a moment or two, I was staring down the dark barrel of a Mossberg shotgun.

I pushed my tongue against the surface of my mouth again, finding it difficult to swallow, and my gaze dragged from the barrel back to those pretty, sparkling eyes. Even with a shotgun in my face, I found myself trying to count the freckles on the light tan of his skin.

“Put your mouth on this,” he said, grinning again around his joint, mischievously this time, and a heat swept across my cheeks, burning against the tingle of my flesh.

Elias flipped the joint around so that the ember rested along his tongue, and I stared in amazement as he lowered the other end to the ejection port.

With the dope thick in my bloodstream, and the colourful lights giving such an otherworldly visage to the building around me, and those blue-black eyes glittering like galaxies, I would’ve done anything this man told me to do in that moment, no matter how many military regulations it broke or how dangerous it was or even if Barnes was watching.

So, still in a trance, I lowered my lips to the barrel of the shotgun – shockingly cold in comparison to the bong – and sucked in a gout of the dope and the metallic, sooty taste of gunpowder and metal, my eyes never leaving those starry night skies.

I coughed again, but the burning in my lungs was barely present this time, and the action was more instinctual than anything. I exhaled, and my lips pulled over my teeth in a smile, and Elias lowered the shotgun back to the pillar with a throaty chuckle.

Several cat-calls sounded around us as the resonating, psychedelic notes of Jefferson Airplane tapered off, and CCR replaced it.

“Hey, girlie, I got somethin’ else you can put your mouth on,” King said to me, watching us from his spot in the semi-circle. “Unless you’re too busy gazin’ into Elias’ eyes.”

I found myself laughing, though I didn’t really know why. The second hit was hitting me harder than the last, and my flesh was buzzing with a sort of electricity now, and everything was prettier. Sharper, and blurrier, at the same time, but fucking beautiful.

“Fuck off, asshole,” Elias said to King, jostling his shoulder, though he spoke the words with a grin and a glitter in his eye. I’d never heard anyone utter those three words so affectionately.

King smirked at him and flashed a wink at me before he turned back around to take another hit from one of the bongs.

And then Elias’ arm was around my shoulders, warm and heavy, but stirred a sensation in my gut that made me feel light, airy, as if I might levitate out of this place like an actual angel. It was exciting, but comforting – far more pleasant than O’Neill’s touch had been.

And that, at least, I was certain wasn’t just from the weed.

“Dance with me, sweetheart,” Elias murmured into my ear, his breath smelling of weed and hops, and burning a special kind of hot as it pooled at the base of my neck.

His hand was trailing down my back, thumb running along each disc of my spine through the thin fabric of my shirt, and in that moment, I might’ve considered taking it off were there not another ten or so men around me.

“Roger that, sir,” I said, a playful nature to my tone that surprised me. I wasn’t speaking. I wasn’t me. Tonight, I was just being.

My brain was too foggy to really piece anything of substance together. My thoughts, if recited back to me on another day, might have sounded nonsensical and ridiculous and existential. But tonight, they were clarity in a city of chaos and ruin.

And the Underworld, it was a hideaway.

And Elias, he was –

Well, I didn’t really know. He was just damn perfect. And I hadn’t realized it until now.

I was swaying – or perhaps gyrating, or maybe just moving around like a damn fool, to “I Heard it Through the Grapevine” and “The Tracks of My Tears”, and Elias’ thumb was running along my tailbone now beneath the hem of my khakis, and I thought Cherry’s arm was around my shoulder now, because everyone was standing up and dancing to the music. My head spun, but in the good way, and when the song switched to something mellower – “Okie from Muskogee” –, I practically fell against Elias, who lowered me to sit beside him on the floor.

We completed the circle of men, but only barely, because I was clinging to him, my knees folded up beneath me and leaning against his, and my arm was draped over his shoulder-blade.

Taylor passed me another hit, and King started telling us the story of some chick he’d fucked during R&R – in extremely graphic detail – and some of the guys egged him on, while a couple made gagging noises. But he carried on, and I laughed, louder than I had in God knew how long, the notes stirring from the depths of my diaphragm and mingling with the baritones of the men in a way that was almost saccharine.

After a couple more raunchy stories from the soldiers, I began to lose interest in their words and began to shift it back towards the bare-chested man beside me. My eyes, half-lidded with tiredness, caught on a bead of sweat cradled by his collarbone, and for whatever reason, I was once again transfixed; I wanted to lick it off, run my tongue along his flesh to see if it was as soft as it looked, and that thought made me giggle, drawing Elias’ attention.

“What is it, sweetheart?” He asked me, though the words had barely passed from his lips when his gaze snared on mine, and his jaw fell a little slack, his pupils distending and his eyes taking on a kind of hunger.

I bit my lip, to suppress my odd whim, and smiled at him.

And he smiled back.

“I like when you call me that,” I told him. Weed apparently made me honest and blunt.

Elias drew his hand up to rest on my thigh, and I bit my lip again, a jolt of arousal running through my body, heightened by the influence of the weed.

“You sure, sweetheart?” He teased. “You seemed pretty hard-up that I call you Ryder.”

I vaguely recalled correcting him weeks ago, but Past-Me was stupid. “Sweetheart” sounded so much better.

My smile broadened, and I said, “I’m positive.”

A hoot sounded from across the circle, and my attention was drawn to Crawford, who had been in the middle of telling his story when he’d seemed to notice the two of us.

“Unless you two are gonna fuck or something, shut up and let me tell my story,” he slurred, a beer in his hand and a grin plastered stupidly – no, wonderfully – on his face.

“Now that’s something I reckon I’d win a bet in,” Rhah said, sunken down from his chair and slouched against its wooden frame as he still absently stroked his Virgin Mary statue, thumb circling her breasts. The room was filled with more testosterone than dope, and was just as horny as it was high at the moment, but I didn’t mind that. It was human, and that was oddly liberating.

“I ain’t bettin’ against that,” King scoffed.

Elias shook his head, but still grinned, and those blue-black eyes wandered down to my face again. I tilted my head to meet his gaze.        

“Would you?” he said to me, voice so low that I doubted anyone could hear it over the music.

I blinked, my brain feeling fuzzy. Everything felt fuzzy – but that wasn’t a bad thing.

“What are we betting on?” I asked.

He was silent for what I was certain was only a moment, but felt like an eternity. In that eternity, I got to know him, the way the left point of his mouth curved downward more than the other, the way his eyebrows formed expressive little ridges on his face, like Van Gogh’s strokes on The Starry Night.

A twinge of a smirk played with the point of his lip, and he said, “Nothin’, sweetheart.” Casting his gaze back to the Californian, he said, “Finish your damn story, Crawford.”

And he did, and I forgot what it was we’d been talking about, but before I knew it, I was back to laughing, and somehow, spending the night in the Underworld was more refreshing than sleep would’ve been back in my bunk. And my heart, it didn’t feel so heavy. And my fear, and my shame, and my self-criticism, all of them were demons of the past and the future, but not the present. Not that night.

[yeonchi]

Because we'll be having a referendum on this later this year and I somehow feel the need to address this at some point, I just wanted to give my thoughts about the Indigenous Voice to Parliament, which is purely my own thoughts because I haven't got the time to invest myself in the debate.

Someone please tell me why we should have an Indigenous Voice to Parliament when the Aboriginal community, at one point, felt the need to make this:

Nah come on, we can do better than reusing jokes originally intended for "Invasion Day" lol.

In all honesty, while I do believe that the government should take Indigenous voices into consideration (particularly in the remote outback), I'm not entirely sure how and to what extent the Voice will help Indigenous communities, and even if I did, I don't see why it needs to be in the Constitution. Another concern I have is that hypothetically, if there is a potential bill that could help all Australians, but the Voice committee doesn't believe that it would help the Indigenous community, then the bill might not get passed, let alone read, in Parliament because of that. Hence, for the time being, my intention will be to vote No.

You'd think I'd probably be voting Yes given that I'm a Hongkonger and things have happened over the past few years, but this is totally more than me being bitter over the world never giving Hongkongers more of a voice than we deserved.

Over the past few years I've seen the pandering to Indigenous communities gradually escalate from things like the Acknowledgement of Country to outright renaming places to their original Indigenous names out of political correctness. It happened with the City of Moreland, now City of Merri-bek, last year.

While I'll admit that it's nice to know what and whose Country I'm standing on and the same for other places, I'd be okay with the use of Indigenous names if they were used alongside the standard colonial names, not in place of them. If the left wants to call Melbourne "Naarm", then I'm allowed to call it "Hong Kong" just because it's part of the One Country, Two (Naming) Systems scheme of my personal project.

This whole debacle with the Voice and its potential consequences happened because of woke sycophants pandering to sore losers demanding the "decolonisation" of this country while completely neglecting that they wouldn't be living in such a modern society without the things that colonialism bought (for better or worse) along with the communities in the outback that are still facing issues (admittedly brought on by the government in most cases), such as welfare, crime and substance abuse.

But hey, despite my ignorant, edgy and low-key bigoted opinions, I'll happily admit that I'm not the best person to be talking about Indigenous issues - mostly because I don't have the time to care. What I will say though, after what little I know and what little research I did, is that I'm not entirely sure that the Voice, at least in its current form, is the answer, even if it may seem like a means to an end.

At the time of writing this there hasn't been an announcement on when the referendum will take place, so until then I might try to keep an open mind about this. Maybe I'll end up changing my mind, who knows.

UPDATE - 30 August 2023: So it's been announced that the referendum will be on 14 October. Honestly, at this point in time, my stance hasn't really changed.

I watched the 2022 Boyer Lecture with Noel Pearson last night (because there was going to be a screening of it at work on Monday but I couldn't go because I was on a later shift and I had to work from home because of it) and I understood why the indigenous people are calling for recognition. My stance didn't change, but after mulling over it while writing this update, I justify my stance as essentially being, "what if they screw it up?" Once it gets passed, there is no way that the Voice to Parliament can be abolished without it seeming racist and such a referendum would be rejected by Parliament, if not the electorate. So why not have the referendum be about acknowledging that the land was "stolen" and that Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islanders are the traditional owners, then establish the Voice separately after the referendum has passed? Heck, they could have done a second question on the referendum to that effect.

I'm honestly ashamed to admit this, but during the 2017 same-sex marriage plebiscite, I originally considered voting Yes before I ended falling to the pressure of my family and decided to stand with them and my Christian friends in voting No, citing the breakdown of the traditional nuclear family and the slippery slopes of legalising polyamory, incest and pedophilia as well as "trans issues", like men going into female toilets. I'm guilty of being bigoted on that part, but in the years to come, I saw the actions of people like Chris-chan, Yaniv and Keffals (re. #DropKiwiFarms) and realised that my perceived "bigotry" was somewhat vindicated, and not in a good way either.

And as such, that is why I'm still intending to vote No, because I believe the potential aftereffects of enshrining the Voice in our constitution could lead to something just as bad, if not worse, than the three trans people I mentioned earlier. Heck, Lidia Thorpe's doing a good job of it right now and she's voting No because she believes in Treaty before Voice.

But hey, there's still six weeks until the referendum, so who knows, maybe my mind will have changed by then. Then again, in the five weeks since I originally made this post, I never managed to find the time to care, so I'm kind of doubting it.

On the other hand though, if this was a referendum for Australia to become a republic like in 1999, I would vote Yes in a heartbeat because I believe the Royal Family has lost whatever relevance it had left after Queen Elizabeth II's death, plus the Governor-General (Governors in the states) are basically just figureheads for the Crown with no real power. Coincidentally, the preamble proposed in the second question of the 1999 referendum contained a clause that recognised Indigenous people as "the nation's first people". I'm not kidding.

[areolae]

My best friend since pre-school is going to have her baby pretty much any day now and it moves me to tears to think about her becoming a mother and how much the landscape of our lives is shifting. I myself have all of these moving pieces around me and a proper future to start planning for and a partner I see it all coming into fruition with. I got laid off from my job I loved a lot a couple of months ago and ever since then it feels like nothing and everything is changing. I have a new job prospect that feels stable and almost too good to be true. I’ve had all this time off and my girlfriend just graduated with her master’s and also has had nothing but time and she has been staying with me for over a month now and it all feels so… effortless. It’ll be a year soon since we’ve met and I can’t believe it. We broke my bed (lmao) and went to home depot and completely rebuilt the bed frame and reinforced it and it feels like a part of her is in my bed frame now. We are replacing furniture and cleaning the closets and downsizing and envisioning a life that I see so clearly with her. I can’t overstate how when you know, you fucking know. I love her strong convictions. I love how strongly her individuality remains despite how in love and sometimes inseparable we are lol. I love her ability to communicate. I love how she is not conflict averse. I love how she will always call a place when we aren’t sure if they’re open on a holiday. I love how she asks for help when she can’t figure something out. I love her dedication to the things she loves. I love how she loves me and I don’t question its authenticity. I can’t wait for everything to unfold. My best friend is having a baby. I am with someone who I met at the pool table at my favorite bar after the universe was gently pushing us together for all this time (also I love not having to say we met on a dating app lmao). March of this year was one of the best months of my entire life. All these pride events and birthdays are coming up. My girl is still asleep in bed next to me. I kissed her cheek and her entire face lit up in her sleep. This is it. I will continue to downsize and get rid of things in my apartment and my cat is going to become a Brooklyn boy. I will take my best friend and her baby to museums and McCarren Park. I will get this job and be one annual raise away from making *** ******* and spend couple of years in the city until my girl and I decide to fuck off somewhere else. I can focus on every hardship that has presented itself over these last few months, the pain I’ve been in, the countless rejection emails, feeling directionless. And then I wake up and I see my girlfriend still asleep next to me everyday for over a month and I just know. I’m not directionless. I love my friends and being a part of their shifting lives. I cannot wait for this baby to be born. I am so deeply in love with my girlfriend and everyday, I almost convince myself that this is too good to be true, that I don’t deserve this, I’m just some villainous monster just waiting for the other shoe to drop and I’m just waiting for her to hurt me or for me to hurt her because for so long, that’s all I thought I was capable of doing. It’s beautiful to be proven wrong every single day. I’m starting to believe it. I’m starting to believe her. I can’t wait to build a home and a future with her. I’m almost halfway through 29. Halfway to turning 30 and it feels like those moments in a tv show or movie where the character knowingly says to the camera, “you ain’t seen nothin’ yet.”

[titoist]

starting to consider that my dangerous lifelong partiality towards reminiscing about the perceived goodness of my past tends to - aside from all the obvious things i've gone over, how it reflects a sense of deep alienation, how it is betrays a conduciveness to dangerous modes of thinking, how it was born from necessity in my childhood, as i felt that i had neither a present nor a future to fall back on, etcetera - perversely feeds into my feelings of inadequacy, my heretofore desire to "have the reins" of my existence taken by someone else. & i feel that i've maybe known and resented this, but not on a sufficiently conscious level. when you imagine yourself - from the position of a subjectively biased framework - in a past... when you imagine that vague & undefinable goodness that you intuitively felt you may or may not have had, that goodness which you no longer possess; when you take a step back & imagine the exact sensation, the tingling of the cold air hitting your lips on windy march evenings standing on your grandparent's balcony, or when you ponder and attempt to recall deeply the overwhelming grafittos spanning the entire brick surface of the courtyard in your middle school, which on insecure days you sat by & studied over and over, when you imagine as a child looking upon the varicolured striped awnings enveloping the restaurants and open-air cafes of the square with such awe and curiosity as the sun reflected off them so beautifully you had neither the words to describe nor the experience to comprehend, when all of these various thoughts fill your head ad infinitum... what you are actually engaging in is - well, the crucial dynamic at play here is a sort of, i feel, retroactive infantilization of your own self. projecting onto yourself emotions you did not actually have, thoughts that did not actually take place, applying sentimental significance to arbitrary objects, rendering yourself merely a vehicle one uses to receive an emotional hit. and you are infantilizing yourself in the present as well, by forcefully regressing yourself, by implicitly accepting the tacit stipulation that you believe you're no longer capable of being happy, that you must hand over control to something that no longer exists. i'm not sure if that articulation makes much sense, but it definitely... feels sensical. & of course i find it important to note that this does not apply to all reminiscences about the past - that it is both natural and important, necessary to find joy in time past... but i say all of this with the understanding, of course, that i am talking about my own very specific & very experientially unfortunate upbringing - an upbringing where i found myself being rejected by all except the immaterial. where i felt that memories were all i essentially had, & reduced my own capacities accordingly, because i felt no one ever offered me an alternative. i have to craft my own alternative. i have to craft a future & a self that is so colossal, so titanic, so transatlantic that it not only blots out the past, but completely transcends it, one-ups its cruel and perverse rhythms. and, in any case... when one engages in it, the actual material details of that past no longer begin to matter. you may find that perhaps the air on that balcony was not cool at all, perhaps the evenings were not even evenings to begin with, perhaps there existed neither grafitto nor brick on that wall i looked at as a child - perhaps those varicoloured awnings were, in reality, quite dull, and perhaps even the sun above was actually a cloudy moon, and the attendants who ate and drank merrily were actually a collection of bored teenagers scrolling through their phones and disparately scrawling in notebooks. it shifts and mutates, contorting itself to fit your needs. and if - or, when - you find that your needs are incapable of being satiated by the past that you do have, you may eventually find yourself in possession of a past that is totally foreign, that isn't yours, that is a foreign country.

[charles-rxwlands]

lay all your love on me

okay!! so this is my fic for @magpiencrow's 1.2k writing challenge.

this is based off of the song lay all your love on me, slowed, by putin

pairing: nikolai/reader

rating: general

tags: gn!reader w/ gn pronouns, fluff

summary: falling in love with nikolai lantsov told through several vignettes

or: mindless nikolai/reader fluff with a alina and ivan being little shits

warnings: right off the bat there's a nightmare about drowning in the ocean, and there's one (1) swear word at the end, but other than that, there's nothing

word count: 4.1k

read on ao3

constructive criticism, feedback, and reblogs are greatly appreciated !

I haven't written anything in a while, so i may be a bit rusty, but please enjoy :)

You were drowning, and also pretty damn sure you were going to die out here. Your lungs were on fire, screaming for air, but you couldn't emerge from the ocean for long enough to suck in a breath. Sure, your hand or head breached the surface every now and then, but a wave would come crashing down on you immediately after, destroying all your progress.

      The undulating waves threw you around like a football - a very pathetic one, at that. As hard as you tried to fight the current, it still insisted on moving against you (stubborn bastard), so really you weren't going anywhere. Just pathetically bobbing around in the same pathetic place. You couldn't feel your limbs - the only thing you could feel was the agonising ache in your chest. It was as if your arms and legs had frozen over along with your will to live.

      How easy it would be to just... 

...let the ocean take you...

      Suddenly, someone grabbed you by the wrist. You screamed, which was a mistake; immediately, salty seawater filled your mouth, making you gag and choke. Nevertheless, you valiantly tried to release yourself from whoever - whatever? - had their hold on you. 

      "Y/n, Y/n! Relax, darling, relax," a voice said, sounding out of breath. "It's me."

      You whirled your head around. Sagging with relief, you gasped out the name of your saviour. "Nikolai."

      "Yes. Yes, Y/n, my love, it's me. It's Nikolai," he soothed, running his hands over your wet hair.

      "Nikolai," you breathed. "Nikola-" - a wave reared up on its hind legs, ready to come crashing down onto your friend, ready to take him away - "no, no, Nikolai, NO-!"

   

You startled, eyes flying open. You were shaking like a leaf. Were you cold, or was it just the adrenaline from the nightmare still making its course? You shook your head as if to rid your mind of the dream. It wasn't real. Nikolai had saved you that night. It was fine. It wasn't real.

      But it could very well have been real, a traitorous voice in your mind whispered. Scowling, you cursed your pessimistic side. Even if a wave had separated you two, Nikolai would have fought tooth and nail to get to you again. You would have done the same. After all, you were childhood friends, and you knew better than anyone that Nikolai didn't let go of his loved ones so easily.

      He hadn't wanted you to accompany him on his journey overseas as Sturmhond. You insisted otherwise, channeling some of Nikolai's stubbornness that had rubbed off on you. ("You're not getting rid of me that easily, idiot. So let me come, unless you want me to steal your kneecaps."). 

      A half-smile appeared on your face as you thought back to the memory. Slowly, you got up from your bed. Your blanket was draped over your shoulders. You slipped out of your cabin quietly, walking down the hallway until you found yourself in front of Nikolai's room. He stirred in his sleep when you entered. The door creaked slightly, but it didn't seem like his distress was because of the noise.

      You sat on the edge of his bed. Nikolai, previously facing away, turned over to face you. His eyes were still screwed shut, eyebrows knitted together and an unhappy expression on his face. You frowned. 

      "Nikolai." you nudged him gently. "Wake up. You're okay, just wake up. It's just a dream."

      He opened his eyes, blinking at you. "Y/n?"

      "Hi," you said. A lock of golden hair fell over his forehead, and upon instinct, you reached to brush it away. He let you, not uttering any of his usual complaints. 

      "You were gone," he mumbled, undoubtedly referencing his nightmare. "I- I couldn't save you, and you were gone." 

      You shifted into a more comfortable position - your whole body was on the bed now, with your back against the headboard. He leaned his head against your chest, and you ran your fingers through his hair. "It wasn't real. It's okay. You saved me - I'm not going anywhere, 'Lai."

      "Me either," he agreed, wrapping his arms around your middle. A beat of silence. Then, "Thank you."

      You were more than content to fall asleep like this. Even if it meant waking up with an ache in your neck. Judging from the way he was curled up, practically drinking in your presence, Nikolai felt the same way.

      What a feeling it was to have found solace in Nikolai Lantsov, and to know he had found solace in you, too.

· · ─── ·𖥸· ─── · ·

Nikolai's pov

Nikolai watched from the corner of the ballroom as you laughed at one of Ivan's jokes. One would say that he was scowling, but the Prince of Ravka didn't scowl. No - he was simply observing your conversation with the Heartrender with visible distaste. He was not scowling. And he was not jealous.

      You and Ivan were smiling at each other, standing by the refreshments table, mouths moving quickly, the both of you obviously interested in whatever you were talking about. You threw your head back in a laugh. You looked gorgeous. Nikolai wanted to make you laugh like that - more than he wanted to admit.

      The last straw was when Ivan lay a hand on your shoulder, and then snaked his arm around you. You didn't seem perturbed by his touch - no, actually, you leaned into it. He bent down to whisper something in your ear that made you duck your head in embarrassment and lightly hit his chest. 

      Nikolai's glare deepened, if that were even possible. Okay, fine, maybe he was jealous. Did he even have the right to be jealous, though? It wasn't as if he was dating you, as much as he'd like to be.

And oh boy, he'd like to be. 

      Suddenly, Alina appeared at his side, seemingly out of thin air. He flinched. "Alina." 

      The girl in question had a mischievous look in her eye. Her hands were clasped in front of her, the long, flowy sleeves of her dress falling just past her wrists. The bottom half of her gown was a sparkly gold, whereas the top half was a dark blue. The two colours faded into each other at the middle, creating a gradient effect. It was a beautiful dress. You had helped Alina pick it out yourself, if he remembered correctly.

      "Hello, loverboy." she poked him in the side, grinning knowingly. "How's your crush on Y/n going for you?"

      "I don't have a crush on them, Alina, for Saint's sake."

      "Oh, is that so? You do seem... ah, what was the word... utterly whipped for them, contrary to what you just said," she said, tilting her head to the side, feigning innocence.

      "Am not," he argued. "I-," Nikolai paused, taking notice of you and Ivan walking past a couple metres away. Unfortunately, you were too engrossed in your current conversation to notice him. His eyes lingered on you. He only looked away when you disappeared back into the throng of people. 

      Alina let out a triumphant 'ha!'. 

      He directed his attention back to her and glared. "Alina, I swear-,"

      "Utterly. Whipped," she mouthed.

      "I will behead you," he threatened.

      She laughed. "In all seriousness, I really don't think Y/n and Ivan like each other like that," Alina said.

      "Well, of course not," he agreed. "Y/n very clearly has eyes for me. I can't say I blame them - who could resist all this? Everyone's all over me, as I'm sure you've noticed." 

      Alina stared at him pointedly.

      "Ah, except for you, of course. You seem to be the only one immune to my charm and charisma. An odd one, you are."

       She rolled her eyes. "Why do I even bother," she groaned. "Just swear to me that you'll tell Y/n you like them soon. Within a week. Swear on... your dignity."

      "My dignity?" Nikolai drawled.

      "Yes, your dignity, because if you don't fess up soon, I'll have to tell Y/n about your crush on them myself," she grinned smugly, and darted off before Nikolai could retort. 

      He sighed. As he saw it, he had three options:

      1. Blackmail Alina (because of course she wouldn't give in to simple bribery)

      2. Get on his knees and beg Alina to not tell you of his massive crush (there! he admitted it; he had a massive crush on you! One that he'd been harbouring for just over a year now, too)

      3. Listen to Alina, and confess on his own terms

      All three were mortifying, and things he absolutely didn't want to do. However, the last was considerably easier to do, and came with the most benefits and the least consequences. You had already seen him through his most embarrassing moments (and he through yours) so even if you rejected him, the humiliation would be minimal. 

      And maybe he wanted to confess. And maybe there was hope that you liked him back. Nikolai wasn't stupid - he knew when people fancied him. He suspected you liked him back, but then again, that could've been wishful thinking, or maybe he was misreading the entire thing.

      He didn't even understand why he was so jealous of the way Ivan and you had interacted. Before he had fallen heads over heels in love with you, his childhood best friend, people flirting with you hadn't been a problem. He'd encouraged it, even. But now, bitterness flared up inside of him every time he saw someone getting a bit too cozy with you. 

      In short, his feelings for you had completely destroyed his facade of smooth, suave, sexy Prince of Ravka. And it kind of terrified him how poorly he hid it.

· · ─── ·𖥸· ─── · ·

Nikolai had been acting strange lately, and it was bothering you. You feared the worst - had he finally caught on to your crush? You thought you'd been subtle until Ivan had approached you at the most recent party. Apparently, the scowl on your face as you watched Nikolai flirt with the guests had been fierce enough to kill.

      Ivan had given you (unsolicited) advice, telling you to be straightforward and direct. That was what he'd done with Fedyor, after all, and that had worked out well.

      You were pacing around your room. Ivan was perched on your bed, watching you have a borderline nervous breakdown like one would watch the view. 

      "You're enjoying this, aren't you, Ivan?" you demanded. "I'm about to make a life or death decision, and you're enjoying it."

      He chuckled. "I wouldn't call this a life or death decision, Y/n. If Nikolai rejects you, he rejects you, and it's his loss. If he reciprocates, good, and you'll be free to frolic in the meadows with him, all fine and dandy."

      You stared at him, your expression communicating, "Did you really just say that?", very clearly.

      "Okay, okay, fine, I'll be serious." Ivan relented. "Just tell him, Y/n. What's the worst that could happen?" 

      Just as you were about to respond - "Well, I don't know, what if he rejects me, things become eternally awkward between us, and our 10 year long friendship is ruined because I couldn't keep my mouth shut?" - someone knocked at the door. You opened it to find Nikolai waiting. His hair was perfectly styled, as always. He wore a dark turquoise suit jacket, and a simple white dress shirt underneath. The ghost of a smile appeared on your face; you had chosen the colour for him.

      "Hi, Nikolai," you greeted. 

      "Hello," he said. "Come on a walk with me. It's a lovely day outside, and both of us have been dreadfully busy lately - we may not get another chance to spend time together, I'm afraid."

      "Oh! Of course, just let me grab more suitable shoes- I'll be out in a minute- Ivan, move." You rummaged around your room in search of the sandals Nikolai had gifted you for your most recent birthday. Ivan flashed you a grin.

      "Tell him!" he whispered as you ducked out the door.

      You hoped you didn't seem too jittery as you took Nikolai's arm, even if your insides were filled with butterflies. He seemed deep in thought for the first few minutes of your walk. It wasn't until you were both outside that he finally spoke.

      "I hope you don't mind me asking, Y/n, but what was Ivan doing in your room?" he asked. 

      The question caught you off guard. Why was he so concerned about you and Ivan? It wasn't as if-

      Oh.

      Oh.

      "Nikolai, don't tell me- are you jealous?" you exclaimed.

      "Just answer the question, Y/n," he grumbled, which was enough of an answer for you.

      You laughed, only feeling a bit bad that you were so amused. Nikolai Lantsov, jealous. You found that incredibly funny. "Oh, I'm sorry for laughing," you apologised, even as another giggle escaped your mouth. "You don't have to worry, Ivan and I are strictly friends."

      He didn't seem convinced. "But the two of you at the party a few days ago-,"

      You cut him off. "Nikolai. I promise that there is nothing romantic going on with Ivan and I. And besides, I don't think I'm anywhere near his type."

      "Ivan likes men, Nikolai," you supplied, sensing his confusion. "Honestly, you need to keep up with gossip - he and Fedyor have been going strong for nearly three months now."

      "Oh," Nikolai said.

      "Yeah, oh."

      "And, uh, do you? Like men, I mean?" 

      You bit back another laugh. "Yes, I do. One man in particular, actually." 

      "Is that so? Care to clue me in on who this man is?"

      "You." 

· · ─── ·𖥸· ─── · ·

Nikolai's pov

"You."

      As soon as that single word came out of your mouth, Nikolai's brain short-circuited, and several alarms blared in his mind. ALERT! ALERT! THE PERSON YOU'RE IN LOVE WITH LIKES YOU BACK! 

      He was too stunned to speak, which was definitely a first. So, naturally, he didn't speak, but instead leaned in to kiss you. His lips brushed chastely against yours. A pause. 

      "I- I'm really sorry, Y/n, I should have asked beforehand-,"

      "Nikolai." you took his face in your hands. "Shut up." 

      And then you kissed him, and if his brain had been short-circuiting before, this was a full blown system failure. Sparks flew inside of him, and he was acutely aware of you and you only. It was a wonderful feeling, one that he immediately missed when you pulled away.

      "Wow," you said. 

      He grinned. "I'm that good of a kisser, huh?"

      When usually you would come up with a witty response, you just smiled. It was a smile Nikolai was pretty sure he'd die to see again. 

· · ─── ·𖥸· ─── · ·

Falling in love with Nikolai had been a long process. Your simple crush developed into something deeper like a leaky faucet dripping - slowly, but steadily. And then the realisation that you were in love with him hit you like a tidal wave. Drowning you, consuming every inch of your being, but not necessarily in a bad way.

       You came to your epiphany while laying awake in bed one night after a whole day spent with the esteemed King of Ravka. It was a wonder that you'd managed to spend a whole 10 hours or so in his company without getting fed up, Tamar had teased. He did annoy you - and had today - but you bullied him back plenty enough. It was easy being with him. Easier than you were used to. 

       You loved the way his eyes sparkled after correcting someone on their use of the word 'impossible'. Loved how he devoted himself to his country so selflessly. Loved how he smiled at you so genuinely and lovingly, even when you didn't have the energy to show your love in return after a bad day. Saints, you loved him so, so much, and you were so in love with him, too, and-

       Holy shit. You were in love with Nikolai.

       You were in love. With Nikolai.

       A childish giggle bubbled up inside of you, and you sighed happily. What a feeling it was to be in love with the King of Ravka, even if he didn't know it yet. 

· · ─── ·𖥸· ─── · ·

You twirled a small flower around in your hands as you walked side by side with Nikolai, your shoulders brushing occasionally. The taller blades of grass tickled your ankles, and a gentle breeze weaved through your hair. The sun peeked out from behind a few clouds, warming your face.

     Nikolai intertwined your fingers, sighing in content. He craned back his neck to meet the sunshine, eyes fluttering shut. He looked stunning, just standing there with his almost otherworldly beauty as light spilled over his fine features, highlighting every detail.

     "I'm in love with you," you blurted suddenly. "I love you, and I'm also in love with you, so. Yeah. I'm in love with you, Nikolai Lantsov."

     You gave yourself a mental round of applause for your eloquence and tact.

      He blinked. "Oh." The ghost of a smile appeared on his face, turning into a full-fledged grin when he finally processed your words. "Oh. I'm... I'm in love with you, too, Y/n L/n."

      You beamed back at him, and cupped his face in your hands. You gently ran your fingers against his cheeks, tracing a line down to the base of his chest. The fabric of his shirt was thin and soft, unlike the suffocating material his suits were made of. Lovingly, he wrapped his arms around your waist, and pulled you close. Your heart fluttered. Saints, you adored Nikolai. More than you could put into words. 

      "I love you," you whispered. "I love you so much, so intensely that it consumes me, and I'm drowning in it. But instead of it being hard to breathe, it makes breathing easier. It makes everything easier." 

      You interrupted your little speech by kissing him, just because it felt appropriate, and continued. "I was so lost without you, Nikolai. I didn't realise it, because as I've proved time and time again, I'm more than capable of holding my own-" you smirked as he rolled his eyes at the jab to his overprotectiveness "-but I was. I was a boat lost at sea, floating around in the waves, with no destination and no goal except surviving. Then you came along, and gave me solace. You were my salvation. You and your endearingly stupid jokes and your wild yet grounded behaviour. You're my anchor, Nikolai." 

      He laughed, but not in the mean way. In the happy way. 

      "I would pay you back with a monologue of my own," he said. "but all I can think of right now is how perfect you are, and how much I want to kiss you."

      Your smile widened, if that were even possible. You met him midway, lips connecting almost desperately. The only coherent thought running through your brain was 'Nikolai, Nikolai, Nikolai.'

      Nikolai.

· · ─── ·𖥸· ─── · ·

"That one looks like a dragon," you said, pointing out a lumpy cloud in the sky.

      Nikolai tilted his head to the left. It was rather cute - he looked like a puppy, trying to figure out what its owner was saying. His right eyebrow curved in an upward arch (you still had no idea how he managed to raise a single eyebrow at a time), and he pouted slightly. Adorable.

      "I don't see it," he deadpanned.

      You sighed and shook your head, dismissing the cute puppy ideology. "Nevermind," you huffed. As hard as you tried to pretend you were upset with him, a smile teased at the corners of your mouth, anyway.

      "I'm sorry, darling, but I really don't!" he exclaimed, flopping back into the picnic blanket you two had laid out. Really, it wasn't even a picnic blanket. It was just a blanket. The two of you hadn't had time to find a proper one before embarking on your impromptu picnic. Nikolai, ever the improviser, had then brandished a quilt from Saints knew where. You suspected it came from Vasily's room, because who else would be pompous enough to own a red velvet blanket the size of China?

      You dramatically exhaled again. "I already said nevermind. Not all of us can be blessed with a creative vision such as mine, after all."

      Nikolai laughed. And Saints, the sound was downright melodic. You didn't even want to begin thinking about all the things you'd do to hear it one more time.

      A comfortable silence settled between the two of you. Eventually, he began stroking your palm with his callouses fingers. You bit back a smile, and linked your pinkies together. A gathering of clouds mostly covered the sun - enough to allow only a bit of warm, gold light to seep out. You wondered briefly how Nikolai looked right now, basking underneath the faint sunshine. 

      The answer came to you easily, even without looking at him: fucking beautiful. 

      However, you wouldn't give him the satisfaction of staring at him. The last time he had caught you gaping at him like a lovesick fool, he had teased you endlessly. It was ridiculous. It wasn't as if he didn't stare at you. No, actually. He stared at you all the time. In fact, he was doing it right now.

      You bit back a grin when you felt his eyes on you. But before you could tease him for it, he got up suddenly, offering you a hand.

      "Come on," he urged. "Follow me."

      "Where to?" you questioned curiously.

      He smirked. Tugged on your hand. Winked. "You'll see." 

      "Right, that's not cryptic at all," you muttered. 

      Eventually, after a minute or so of walking (and plenty of you trying to weasel more information out of him) the two of you had seemed to reach your destination. A huge tree hung above you, offering its shade. You plopped down, but Nikolai remained standing.

      Strangely, he was looking rather nervous. Repeatedly tugging at the collar of his beige button-up shirt, and kicking at the grass. 

      "Y/n, darling, don't just sit there, you're making me nervous," he whined. 

      You giggled, but stood up anyway. "I could say the same about you. What's on your mind, dear?"

      He took a deep breath, and looked you dead in the eyes. "I love you, Y/n. I love you, and I'm in love with you. I always have, and always have been. It's just- you're wonderful. And intelligent. And charming. And I am so, so glad you are my partner - in the romantic sense, and the platonic sense. If I'm being honest, I'm quite sure I'd be tearing at the seams without you to sew me back together every time I do something particularly foolish. 

      And I hope you'll always be there to ground me. Because I will always be there for you. Th-there's no other way to say this, my darling, but I'd quite like to spend the rest of my life with you, so..."

      He brandished a dark blue box from his back pocket (this probably wasn't the time, but you had to mention that you could never fit something that large in your pocket. Why did men's clothing always have bigger pockets?) and got down on one knee. 

      "Will you do me the honour of marrying me, Y/n?" he finished.

      Holy fuck. Holy mother of Saints. Holy everything. Was this real? Saints. This really was real, wasn't it? Nikolai Lantsov was proposing to you.

      A sob escaped from your throat, and you nodded frantically, not wanting him to think you were upset. "Yes," you said. "Saints, Nikolai, yes."

      He smiled. You knew that he smiled a lot, but this smile was different. Usually, he just grinned or smirked in a devilish way - this was more of a beam. He looked so genuinely happy (genuinely happy, because of you!) that it made your heart soar, and you were pretty sure you fell in love with him all over again for the second time. You'd never get tired of it, though. Not when it came to Nikolai (Nikolai, your husband-to-be!). Never when it came to Nikolai.

      You soon found yourself enveloped in a hug. He spun you around, both of you laughing (and crying). When he set you down, you could have sworn you saw his eyes welling up.

      "Now, my love, those better be happy tears," he tutted.

      "Of course they're happy tears, you stupid puppy dog!" you sniffed. "I love you."

      He beamed into your hair. "I love you, too, Y/n."

      What a feeling it was to be in love with Nikolai Lantsov, and to know that he was in love with you, too.

[dreamerstreamer]

Into The Woods

Pairing: werewolf!Dream / Clay x human!gn!reader

Summary: [Werewolf!AU] It’s love at first sight when you move into a quaint, little house by the forest’s edge, but you soon find that there’s more waiting for you in the woods than you originally thought. 

Word Count: 10k

A/N: my third commissioned story! this work has been altered so everyone can read it, but the plot remains the same. this story was a blast to write, and i hope you all enjoy it! <3

With a step back and a firm tug, the back door slammed shut with a satisfying click. You grinned as you turned the key in the lock. Slipping the silver keyring into your pocket, you turned on your heel, your gaze sweeping over the vast open forest that stretched out before you. Viridian green leaves loomed over the earth, standing in stark contrast to the clear, cerulean blue sky that stretched across the horizon overhead. On the ground below, the occasional wildflower sprouted up and out of the earth, their soft petals shyly unfurling and fluttering in the warm summer breeze.

For such a lovely view, you never would have guessed that you would be able to afford a place like this for so cheap.

Then again, Elmwood Ridge wasn’t a particularly notable town. Best known for its countless acres of elm forests and the large lake that laid at its centre, the town had become something of a nature reserve unto itself, despite being anything but. It was a quiet, quaint region, somewhere you had always distantly dreamed of visiting, if only because of its peaceful atmosphere. You never thought that you would end up living there, though.

It had been a split second decision made on impulse, and looking back, maybe it wasn’t the smartest move you’d ever made, but you didn’t regret one bit. Your new house was two stories tall and built with lovely stone bricks that looked like they came right out of a fairytale. The triangular sloping roof hung just over the sides of the house to provide some shelter from the rain, and the second floor had two balconies—one in the front and the back. Needless to say, you were sold in a heartbeat. Not only was the house pretty, but so was the price tag. You vaguely remembered hearing something about complaints of noisy wolves in the forest, but you weren't deterred. A little noise never killed anyone, and you were more than happy to share your space with nature.

Hopping down the back steps, you gently tread across the soft grass, careful not to step on any flowers as you walked. After moving in two days ago, you had planned to take the day off to hike and learn all that you could about your new backyard. You would head into town tomorrow and look for a job then—right now, all you wanted to do was explore and appreciate your new home.

Gazing up at the rustling elm leaves one last time, you smiled to yourself before stepping out of your lawn and into the forest.

In the distance, a faint howl rang out across the trees.

Between stretches of chestnut wood, a flash of tawny brown and golden fur dashed across the earth, powerful paws pushing off the ground with each leap. Landing atop a fallen log, the wolf raised his head, his muzzle raised toward the sky as he inhaled sharply, his nostrils flaring.

Fresh. Clean. Warm. The faintest scent of flowers.

He exhaled, emerald eyes blinking as he scanned the open forest around him.

Carrying out routine morning patrols around the pack’s territory was one of the alpha’s many duties, but Clay still wasn’t quite used to it.

Stepping down from the log, he let his tongue hang out of his mouth, his ears flicking as he took in every sound. Somewhere above him, a bird flapped its wings, chirping as it took flight. Along the breeze, he could pick up the distant scent of deer coming from the south. His eyes flashed at the smell. He would have to report that to the pack when he returned—it had been a few days since they last had a large hunt. Sniffing one last time, he began weaving between the looming trunks, his entire body rapt with focus.

He had only been appointed as alpha a little less than a month ago, and although he had technically been taught the ropes, it took more than just a few lessons for a wolf to truly become alpha. He could still remember how the former alpha had pressed his nose to his side, nudging him onto the rock peak in front of his pack with an aging howl. He had been getting older, and everyone knew it—it was only a matter of time until a new leader was selected, but Clay never would have dreamt he would be the one who was chosen.

Only a few people were as surprised as he was, though. He was one of the larger wolves in the pack, and while he wasn’t the tallest in his human form—that title belonged to the young, curious Ranboo—he was by far the strongest, having led more than his fair share of hunts before. It was only natural that he ended up in his position, and he was welcomed into the upper ranks with open arms.

A glimmer of warmth washed over him at the memory, and he would have smiled if he wasn’t shifted. He had never felt such pride before, feeling everyone’s excited gazes on him as he howled up at the gleaming, full moon. The shouts that filled the starry night sky made his heart swell in his chest, and he just knew he was going to do his best to make everyone proud. He would protect them to the ends of the earth, if he had to.

Kicking away a stray branch, his eyes quickly flicked over his surroundings. He recognized this area, and he knew that he had almost completed a full circle around the pack’s perimeter, by now. There was only a tiny stretch left before he would return to the camp and fill everyone in. Raising his head, he let his jaw fall open to catch any aromas that travelled along the breeze.

All of a sudden, a new scent wafted over his nose, an unsettling sense of unfamiliarity striking deep within his core.

There was something in the woods—something that did not belong here.

In an instant, Clay’s lips were pulled back in a snark, his sharp canines bared as he sank his paws into the soil below. His claws latched onto the dirt, his grip firm and unwavering as he pressed himself closer to the ground, careful not to let his scent travel in the air.

They weren’t common, but every now and then, hunters would venture into the woods with their heads held high and guns drawn. Most of them came hunting for game, shooting down the occasional deer or elk to bring back to their own families. Clay didn’t have a problem with those hunters, but as for the ones who came in search of wolves?

Clay wasn’t sure he could be so lenient with those ones.

Prowling forward, he kept his haunches low, his tail brushing over the shrubbery as he took step after step toward the strange, new scent. Ever so slowly, he crept closer, his pupils dilated in focus. Suddenly, he stopped, freezing in place.

He could hear footsteps.

Inhaling deeply, he let his eyelids fall shut.

One, two, three...

His eyes shot wide open, and he whipped his head up, only to go stock still as a silhouette came into view.

It was a person, a regular person.

He blinked as he lifted his head, his expression growing neutral as he watched you crouch down to examine a small pile of stones stacked beside a tree, one that he vaguely remembered being made by Tommy and Tubbo when they went exploring a few weeks ago. There was no gun strapped to your body, no pack hanging off your hips as you rose back up to your feet. You didn’t seem to be a threat at all, and from the back, he couldn’t tell if you were even carrying a weapon.

Just then, you turned to the side, and he felt his breath hitch in his throat.

The world suddenly fell away, his surroundings melting into nothing more than a hazy blur as his eyes locked onto your face. His heart came to a screeching halt in his chest.

You were beautiful.

The light framing your lovely face made your cheeks seem all the more lively as you rose. He watched as you brushed your fingers delicately over the bark of a tree, your brilliant eyes meticulously tracing over the curve of every leaf as you walked past. Your feet never lingered in one place for long, constantly moving and skittering across the forest floor like a rippling stream. It was almost as though your every movement cast streaks of dappled sunlight everywhere you stepped, the marvelling spark flickering in your gaze making his head spin with wild abandon.

Clay felt something warm and tight curl against his insides, unmistakably soft and affectionate. It was almost hard to breathe with the way his lungs squeezed and shook behind his ribs. He hadn’t felt this feeling before, but he had heard enough stories to know exactly what it was.

His mate—you were his mate.

There wasn’t any one way to truly describe what a mating bond was, but the most commonly accepted one was that it was a connection that tied people’s souls together, uniting them in perfect harmony. Every werewolf had a mate, and most of the time, they would find their mate in another one of their kind. But right now, as Clay stood in the forest, his gaze glued to the most beautiful human he had ever laid eyes on, he knew that he wasn’t going to find his mate in some other shifter like everyone else had said he would.

Having a human for a mate was rare at best, and unheard of at worst. After all, not every human had a mate, and he had heard stories of shifters being rejected by their human mates. Some of the elders in the camp still refused to believe that having a human mate was even possible, but nearly all of the younger shifters had accepted it—embraced it, even. But never in his pack, at least, had someone learned that their mate was a human.

It looked like he was going to be the first.

For a few long moments, he simply stood there, watching you silently with wide eyes as you slowly made your way deeper down the path. A part of him wanted to chase after you, yearned to walk by your side for as long as his legs would let him. But as soon as he raised his paw, he quickly lowered it again, a pang of guilt shooting through him.

He couldn’t go up to you—not like this, and most certainly not now. He didn’t have nearly enough experience under his belt as an alpha yet, and bringing you to his world could just make everything even worse if he wasn’t careful about it. He swallowed, taking a single step back as you slowly slipped out of view, disappearing into the trees and carrying your lovely scent away with you.

Anxiety gnawed at the inside of his gut, and he couldn’t help but wonder if you would even return. Surely you must live around here to be hiking in these woods—maybe you would hike here again, if not even more often.

He paused, then nodded to himself before whipping around, his tail swishing behind him as he clenched his jaw.

Tomorrow. He would come back tomorrow.

A few feet deeper within the trees, the sound of a stick snapping shattered the forest’s silence.

Along the lightly-treaded path, you whirled, your head pointing toward the sharp sound. Pausing, you raised your head, your gaze darting to the forest canopy above. The sun peaked down at you between swaths of vibrant green, and you squinted, raising a hand to shield your eyes. The trees remained quiet around you, only whispering with the soft rustles of their leaves.

A moment passed in silence. A robin warbled.

You let out a long exhale and shook your head. Turning once more, you stepped over a small crack in the ground, humming as you walked further into the woods.

It was probably nothing.

Sapnap grunted as he dropped the pile of sticks onto the ground, the wood clattering at his feet in a heap. He scowled at the sight, resisting the urge to kick the pile down. He couldn’t believe Wilbur had actually tricked him into doing something as simple as collecting firewood. It wasn’t difficult or anything, but he was the beta, for crying out loud! He could have at least passed the buck to someone like Tommy, that brat.

“Sapnap.”

Sapnap blinked at the familiar voice, turning to find himself standing face to face with Clay. His dirty blond hair was disheveled atop his head, and his cheeks were flushed with heat. A smile tugged on his lips at the sight. “Oh, hey, Clay. Welcome back.” He squinted at the way Clay’s chest heaved, his breaths coming out shaky and uneven. “Um, you good, there? Did you run back here or somethi—”

“It happened,” Clay blurted.

Sapnap blinked, raising a single brow at him. “What happened?”

Clay swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “I met my mate.”

Sapnap paused. “Oh. Oh.” A wide grin stretched across his face, and he reached over to clap a hand to Clay’s back. “That’s awesome, man! I’m guessing it happened on your patro—”

“My mate’s human,” Clay said suddenly.

Sapnap paused again. “Oh. Oh.”

Letting out a deep sigh, Clay’s shoulders went slack at his side as he ran a hand through his hair, pushing it away from his scalp. “I, um,” he said, his words coming out in a hazy rush. “I don’t think I’m ready to—” He stopped, feeling Sapnap’s patient gaze rest on him, then opened his mouth, again. “I can’t just reveal our world so soon. I’ve only been alpha for what?” He gestured vaguely. “A month? I’m not experienced enough, yet.” He slumped forward, a hollow, wistful look settling onto his features. “It would be too much for both of us.”

Sapnap nodded thoughtfully, understanding flooding his face. “It’s okay, Clay. Take your time.” He fell silent for a brief moment, then quietly added, “Did you reveal yourself or anything?”

He shook his head. “Not at all. I was too surprised to even move.”

Sapnap’s lips quirked up into a tiny smile. “Then there’s no rush,” he said. “You’re allowed to build up your confidence first, dude. Your confidence as a wolf. As an alpha.” His eyes flashed with soft reassurance. “As a mate.”

Clay raised his head, blinking as Sapnap gently nudged his shoulder with his. “You can do this. Plus,” he added, his tone growing more lighthearted, “I’m your beta. You know I’ve got your back.”

The chuckle that escaped Clay’s lips was low and short, but he could already feel the tension seep out his shoulders like a leaking dam. “Thanks, Sap.”

Taking a step back, Sapnap hummed, offering him a lopsided smile. “Anytime.”

Clay turned on his heel, jerking his head toward the centre of the camp. “Well, I need to organize today’s hunt, but I’ll catch you later. I trust you’ll keep things under control while I’m gone.”

He nodded. “Of course—you know me.” With a short wave and a small grin, Clay began walking off in the opposite direction. “Oh, also,” Sapnap suddenly shouted after him, “don’t forget to grab something to eat before you go hunting today, yeah? I know you missed breakfast.”

Clay didn’t look behind him as he shot a thumbs up at Sapnap from behind his back, but Sapnap could already picture the way he would roll his eyes with a smile. Shaking his head, he turned back to the firewood scattered around his feet, a new glower creeping onto his face.

He was so getting back at Wilbur for this.

Every morning after, Clay dutifully woke up early and strolled deep into the woods, shifted into his wolf form as he scented the air and patrolled the area just as any good alpha would. But time and time again, that one sweet scent never seemed to return, almost as though it had vanished from the forest entirely. At times, he thought he caught the faintest whiff of it, but some further exploration would only reveal a small patch of flowers, never you.

Needless to say, his disappointment was palpable.

It had been a full week now, and Clay was running out of hope. Maybe he was wrong—maybe you wouldn’t ever come back. His heart ached at the thought.

He had been too hasty, wasn’t he?

Hanging his head, he whimpered to himself in the quiet forest, sniffing absentmindedly as he ambled about almost aimlessly. He still had a duty to fulfill, he knew, but he couldn’t ignore the empty feeling burrowing deeper and deeper into his chest.

But right then, just as he paced another few feet forward, he heard it.

A melody.

It was soft, the singing travelling down from the west in a distant murmur, or perhaps a hum. If he hadn’t been paying attention, he surely would have missed it. He didn’t know this song, didn’t recognize it one bit, but he could already tell that it was sweeter than any thrush’s song or any loon’s call. He felt his heart flip in his chest, and just like that, he knew.

In a flash, he was racing across the earth, his paws flying out beneath him in a blur as he ducked under branches and darted past deer, missing the way they startled at his sudden approach. The song was louder now, and he could smell it—smell you.

It was only a few seconds later that he came to a stop, his paws digging into the ground as his heart leapt into his throat.

Soft hair. Bright eyes. A dazzling grin.

You were back.

You had headphones on this time, he realized, and you were humming aloud to yourself, your feet most likely moving in time to the beat of whatever song you were listening to. You were a little off-key and occasionally stumbled over the refrain as it came around, but he found himself entranced nonetheless. Even when you were doing something as simple as humming, you were stunning.

Why come back today of all days? he distantly wondered to himself. What made today so different from any other day?

He wracked his mind as he felt the sun shine down on him gently, warming his back as he crouched down a little. He rarely kept track of the days—that was Sapnap’s job—but he knew that there hadn’t been any special events or holidays going on in the human world. Pressing his ears flat against his head, he scratched his paw at the ground in confusion. Just what made today so special?

That was when the realization slammed into him.

It had been a week since he last saw you.

Once a week—you must hike here once a week.

If he could smile in this form, he already knew that he would have the biggest, stupidest grin plastered to his face. He wanted to leap for joy and howl like there was no tomorrow, but he didn’t want to alert you of his presence just yet. Again, it had only been a week, and he was still far from being a worthy mate for you.

Once a week, he thought once more, his eyes glued to you as you skipped further down the trail and out of his sight. I can wait another week.

The wind sang in his ears as a gentle breeze brushed over his tawny fur, the forest murmuring a silent lullaby into his ear as he whirled back around. As much as he wanted to stay with you forever, he had a patrol to finish and a pack to defend. He let his eyelids flutter shut for the briefest of moments, your face engraved into the rosy crevices of his heart as your humming filled his ears once more.

He couldn’t wait to see you, again.

One week later, you grumbled to yourself as you stomped through the woods, complaining about your new job under your breath. Clay wished he could comfort you, but stayed put with his claws buried in the dirt.

Two weeks later, you watched with wide eyes as a doe and her fawn drank from a nearby stream. He made sure not to hunt those two down in particular later that week.

Three weeks later, you were snapping photo after photo with the camera hanging around your neck, your eyes absolutely brimming with curiosity. He thought you were prettier than any view the forest had to offer.

As one week stumbled into the next, the months began to pass in a blur. Summer collapsed into autumn as the leaves turned gorgeous shades of crimson red and golden orange before tumbling from the sky. Shortly after that, the forest was covered in a blanket of ivory white snow, leaving the branches bare and awaiting the return of spring. The snow soon melted into rain, and puddles littered the forest floor while flowers began to bud and bloom once more. In almost a whirlwind of seasons and waiting, summer rolled around once more, marking the first anniversary of your arrival in Elmwood Ridge.

With each passing season, Clay continued to watch you from afar with a tender gaze. Some days, he would listen to you hum as you trekked along while other times, he would only manage to catch the tiniest of glimpses of you between the trees. No matter how short the instance was, every second he got was well worth the wait, and Clay could feel his affection bloom like a new spring flower. As the trees grew larger, as did his confidence. Time was the best teacher the forest had to offer, and it didn’t take much longer for Clay to grow comfortable with his duty as the alpha of his pack. But despite his newfound strength, he still didn’t feel ready enough to approach you outright, to reveal himself to you as he was. Doubt swirled in his mind like a raging storm, eating away at him like a gnat digging through mud.

He was beginning to fear he may never be ready.

Lifting his head, he sniffed the air, the now familiar scent of his mate drifting across the new summer breeze. You were taking a new path today, he noted in an instant. Perhaps you were doing some exploring.

Padding through the trees, leaves crunched beneath his feet as he leapt over logs and puddles, following after your scent as it grew stronger and stronger. It only took a few moments for him to find you standing atop an elevated rock face, your head lifted as you gazed up at the light scattered between the tree leaves. Your face almost seemed to be glowing in the pale, morning sunshine, your eyes looking like two dewdrops as they curved into tiny crescents. Clay’s heart rattled in his chest, and he resisted the urge to howl to the heavens above.

You were lovely, his mate. If only he could work up the courage to properly tell you.

Basking in the sunlight, he watched as you took a few steps forward closer to the cliff’s edge, your eyes still trained on the sky above. It wasn’t a terribly deep fall, he knew, but the fall was most certainly far enough to hurt someone if they fell at the wrong angle. He narrowed his eyes as you stopped dangerously close to the edge, halting just a few inches from the drop. Surely the stone was strong enough to support your weight, even as old as it was, right?

Apparently not.

Clay saw the cliff crumble before you did.

Terror shot through his body like a bullet as he watched the rock face collapse under your shoes, your feet tumbling out beneath you. Your hands desperately reached for the cliff face, but he could tell from the way your scream cut through the forest’s silence like a sharpened blade that you weren't going to be able to grab it in time.

There was no time for him to think—his body moved first.

In one moment, he was standing with his mouth slack and his emerald eyes blown wide with horror. In the next, he was lunging across the rock face, his jaws wide open as he reached for the lower collar of your shirt. The moment he felt his nose brush against the back of your neck, he snapped his jaws shut, careful not to pierce your skin with his sharp canines as the cloth caught between his teeth. Your weight bounced beneath him once, and the gasp that escaped your lips made his head spin dizzily.

Close—you were so close, and your scent was intoxicating.

You turned your head ever so slightly, and he felt it the moment your eyes locked onto his. You were scared, he could tell, but as you took in the sight of the wolf holding onto you, you almost seemed to relax in his grip. Planting his paws firmly against the rocky earth, he tugged his jaw up and backwards, pulling you away from the cliff face and over even ground. Your hands scrambled to latch onto the cliff edge, helping to pull yourself up until finally, he let go of you, your now torn collar resting against the back of your neck.

Heaving a sigh of relief, you let yourself collapse against the rock face, lying on your back as you gasped for breath. Your chest felt tight like a wound-up spring, and adrenaline pumped through every vein in your body, yet you felt oddly calm. After a minute or two, you slowly pushed yourself forward on your arms until you were just barely slouching forward, looking over your shoulder. A few feet away from you, the wolf stood, his eyes trained intently on your face as you swallowed.

“Um,” you breathed, your eyes desperately scanning him up and down. “Hello?”

He didn’t say anything in return, simply shuffling further away from you. He was giving you space, you realized after a brief moment, and you blinked as you scrambled to sit completely upright. His fur was a soft, golden brown, and you had half the mind to distantly think that you wanted to run your fingers through it. Something about him seemed comforting like that.

“Hi,” you whispered once you were seeing him eye-to-eye. “Ah, um, thank you for saving me.”

Maybe you were just imagining it, but you could have sworn his eyes widened in an almost human-like manner. He didn’t move from his spot a few feet away from you, and you swallowed. You thought you would be more scared than this, more terrified of the beast standing before you. But as you sat there, watching as he blinked at you, you felt as though you were anything but. An unfamiliar yet strangely comforting warmth curled around in the pit of your stomach as you tilted your head at the wolf.

He felt so... safe. So familiar, almost like you had met him before.

“Are—are you a nice wolf?” you asked after another moment, your voice faltering the tiniest bit. “I’d like to think you’re a nice wolf, since you just saved my life.”

Once again, you were greeted by silence, the only indication that he had heard you at all being the way his ears flicked. What am I doing? you suddenly thought, your mind running at a million miles a minute. I’m talking to a wolf—an animal. I’m not a Disney character.

This was weird—or at least it was supposed to be. Yet, as you stared at this wolf who simply stared back at you with these bright, stunning green eyes, you couldn’t help but feel that everything in this moment was just perfect. Like you had been waiting your entire life for this moment to happen.

“You’re really pretty,” you suddenly blurted. In an instant, you were slamming your palm over your mouth, your cheeks flooding with heat. “Oh my god, that was embarrassing,” you murmured, your voice coming out muffled. “I’m sorry.”

Your heart hammered against your ribcage like a caged bird begging to be let out, and ever so slowly, you lowered your hands from your mouth, offering the wolf a shaky, sheepish smile. “Um, thank you, again,” you said gently, honestly. Leaning forward, you pressed your hands against the cool stone to balance yourself, your fingers digging into the rock as you spoke. “I don’t really know how you knew I was there or how you knew I was going to fall, but I really appreciate it.”

The wolf blinked at you once more, then took another step back, subtly dipping his head. Your smile widened at the sight. Pushing yourself upward, you rose to your feet, brushing off the dust from your frontside before standing upright, fidgeting almost nervously.

“I—I,” you stammered, suddenly feeling awkward, “I think I’m going to go home now, but...” You swallowed, raising your hand in a small wave as heat rose in your chest. “...thank you so much, again!”

Before the warmth in your heart could burst, you whipped around, sprinting away as fast as your legs could take you. You didn’t see the way the wolf practically crumbled into a ball on the ground, whimpering to himself as you disappeared out of sight.

Bolting down the hill and past the trees, branches blew past you in a blur as you dashed between the trunks and over patches of wildflowers. Your heartbeat pounded in your ears like a beating drum, and your chest felt oddly light. You couldn’t shake the memory of how intense that wolf’s gaze had been on yours, his eyes swirling with something that made your stomach churn and your mouth go dry.

He really was pretty.

Sapnap yawned as he stretched his arm behind his back and above his head, rolling his neck as the joint popped back into place with a satisfying crack. He couldn’t remember the last time he slept in like this, but he did not regret it one bit. Clay had given him the okay, after all. One late morning wouldn’t hurt anyone.

“Sapnap, you are not going to believe this.”

Sapnap yelped, whipping around with eyes as wide as saucers as he stumbled back a step. The drowsiness left his body in an instant, almost as though he had never been tired to begin with. Clay’s hand shot out to grab his arm, steadying him as he swallowed, relaxing once he realized who he was looking at.

“Holy crap, Clay,” he gasped, pressing a hand to his racing heart, “you scared me! I know you’ve gotten better at this whole stealth thing, but that was just straight up terrifyi—”

Clay’s grip on his arm tightened. “I saved them today,” he whispered.

Sapnap froze, and there was a beat of silence. “You did what, now?”

Just like that, Clay had flung his arms up and around his head, his fingers buried in his hair as he began to pace, his tone frantic and rushed. “There—there was this steeper area with this cliff but it was kind of hidden, and then it was breaking and I just knew something bad was going to happen, and I couldn’t just let that happen, so I moved without thinking and I was pulling them back and—”

A pair of hands suddenly grabbed onto his shoulders, stopping him dead in his tracks. “Breathe,” Sapnap instructed calmly. “You need to breathe, dude.” Clay opened his mouth, but Sapnap spoke before he could. “You are talking so quickly right now, and I can’t understand you when you talk like that.”

Clay closed his mouth, mulling over the whirlwind of thoughts and emotions steamrolling through his head. After a few moments, he finally spoke once more. “I still can’t believe it,” he murmured, suddenly sounding completely and utterly awestruck. “My mate actually stopped and thanked me. And called me pretty.”

Sapnap’s fingers loosened around Clay’s shoulders, a ghost of a smile gracing his lips. “Yeah?”

Clay sighed, sounding absolutely lovestruck. “Yeah.”

Pulling his arms back to cross them over his chest, Sapnap eyed him up and down, cocking his head. “So,” he began gently, “how are you feeling?” When Clay opened his mouth, Sapnap quickly added, “Slowly, please.”

Clay groaned, teasingly rolling his eyes before leaning back on his heels, rocking back and forth as he began to speak. “I only revealed myself as a wolf,” he said softly, “so I don’t know if they know about the mating bond yet. I don’t even know if humans can feel it like we can.”

He tilted his head back, gazing up at the cerulean blue sky. “But there’s something about the way we looked at each other that makes me feel like maybe, just maybe, humans can feel it,” he whispered, sounding breathless all at once. “Call it a gut feeling, I guess. I don’t know.” He cast a glance over at Sapnap, his eyebrows furrowed. “Do I sound crazy?”

A thoughtful look flickered across Sapnap’s face. Then, he grinned. “A little bit, yeah.”

Clay sighed, something he noticed he had been doing a lot more, lately. “I just…” He swallowed. “I just don’t want something like that to happen ever, ever again.”

Suddenly, he fell quiet, his lips parting as the wheels in his head began to turn. Sapnap watched as a tiny spark came to life within his focused gaze, small but oh-so vibrant.

“You got an idea there?” he prompted after a few seconds of silence.

Clay blinked once. Twice. Then, a smile stretched across his face—a smile as bright as the full moon.

“Something like that.”

It was probably a dumb idea for you to return to the forest for your weekly hike as if nothing had happened, but you couldn’t quite quench the curiosity that bubbled up inside you every time you thought about the wolf who had saved you. His gaze had been fiery, yet compassionate, and he had been purposely so gentle when tugging you away from the cliff. You weren't a fool—you knew how powerful a wolf could be. Then why did he treat you so kindly?

You had to find out.

Marching through the brush and shrubbery, you whipped your head this way and that, scanning every strip of forest you could lay your eyes on. Wolves were good at hiding, you knew that. After all, if they weren’t as stealthy as they were, they would never be able to catch a meal. But you had been hiking for almost an hour now, and you still hadn’t seen a single glimpse of the wolf. You couldn’t say you were completely surprised, since it wasn’t like you knew every inch of the forest, but you were frustrated to admit that you were at least a little disappointed. Maybe this was a lost cause.

But then, you heard it.

The sound of a stick snapping.

Freezing, you paused, turning as you glanced to the sides. Nothing out of the ordinary stood among the bushes. You stopped again, then pursed your lips.

No, something was there.

A tender curiosity sparked between your lungs, but it was coated in a thin layer of reluctance. Sucking in a deep breath, you whipped around, squinting at the seemingly empty trees around you as you opened your mouth.

“Wolf?” you called out slowly into the quiet. “Is that you?”

At first, all was quiet, and you held your breath. The leaves rustled around you almost tauntingly, and you distantly heard the caw of a crow. You were just about to give up and go home when a flash of gold caught your eye.

Standing motionless a single yard away was a wolf—your wolf.

A grin stretched across your face, joy surging through your body as you carefully took a few steps forward. Oh, this was definitely a dumb idea, but you was more than brave enough to keep going.

“Hi, there.” You shuffled your feet, a tentative look passing over your face. “You’re, um—” You gulped. “You’re not going to hurt me, are you?”

Clay’s eyes went wide, and he took a step back. No! he thought, hoping you would be able to read his expression, even as a wolf. Never. Not in a million years.

You stared at him for a long moment, blinking slowly as you scanned his face up and down. Then, your lips quirked up into the tiniest of smiles.

“No,” you murmured in the softest of voices, and he felt his heart melt in his chest. “If you were going to do something, you would have done it by now, wouldn’t you?”

Clay nearly sank in relief, and he barked. You raised a brow at the sound, furrowing your brows slightly. “Do you want me to keep you company?” you asked, beginning to walk up to him. “Is that what you’re doing?”

You had only made it a few steps when he suddenly barked again, taking a step toward you. In an instant, you froze, watching with bated breath as he curled around to your other side and gently nudged at your leg with his nose. You shot him a curious glance, stumbling forward the tiniest bit. “Hey,” you said, “what are you...?”

You trailed off, a cut rock face suddenly catching your attention from the corner of your eye. The stony grey wall was nearly perpendicular to the ground and looked almost eerily similar to the one you had nearly fallen down the week prior. Just like that, it clicked.

There was another small cliff right there. He was trying to keep you away from it.

“Oh,” you breathed, your lips splitting into an even wider grin as you made sure to steer away from the short cliff, “you don’t want me falling again, do you?”

He snorted, and you blinked at him. That sounded far more human this time—almost too human. It almost reminded you of a dog, if anything. A triumphant smile slowly crept onto your face, and with your head held high, you turned on your heel, marching onward and away from the rock face.

“Well, wolf,” you said, a teasing arrogance seeping into your tone as you glanced over your shoulder at him, “I promise you that I’ll be much safer this time arou—woah!”

The toe of your shoe caught on a protruding stone, and with a sharp yelp, you stumbled forward, gravity pulling you downward with a harsh pull. With a flail of your arms, you only just barely caught your balance as your hand shot out to grab onto a tree and steady yourself. Your heart flipped in your chest as you planted your feet firmly against the ground, the soles of your shoes pressed flatly against the earth as your fingers curled into the bark. Your chest heaved with surprise as you stood upright, turning to look over your shoulder at the wolf. He blinked at you, and while you knew wolves couldn’t quite smile, something about his gaze almost seemed cocky—like he was laughing at you. Heat crept up your neck and onto your face, your cheeks bursting with warmth.

“Y-You did not see that,” you sputtered, coughing into your sleeve as you brushed off your pants dismissively.

Almost as if to spare you some embarrassment, he turned his head away from you, although you could see his eyes glance your way every few seconds. Pouting, you huffed, whirling on your feet as you continued to trudge down the path. Soon enough, the sound of soft footsteps trailed after you, and you couldn’t help but smile at the sound, knowing that he would follow you even if you weren't looking.

That night, you dreamt of whispering trees and a pair of bright, viridian green eyes.

What had once been a weekly ritual of watching from afar soon turned into an amicable companionship between human and wolf. You weren't afraid as you walked into the woods to see a familiar pair of eyes waiting for you, your eagerness to see him only growing with each passing week. Clay himself could hardly contain his excitement. Actually walking beside you was so much better than simply watching from the woods, hidden by the trees. He loved your company and absolutely basked in your presence, even if you sent his heart into an absolute frenzy.

“Sometimes,” you said aloud one day, “I really do think you can understand me.”

Clay stiffened, praying you wouldn’t notice the way his ears pressed flat against his head as he turned to look at you. You sat on a tree stump while he padded atop the fallen trunk it sat beside, your gleaming gaze slowly blinking at him as he silently circled around you.

“I think it’s got something to do with the way you react to some of the things I say,” you murmured. You watched the way his tail flicked behind him, the soft fur brushing gently against the low-growing plants. A second later, you sighed, waving your hand. “Ah, I’m probably just imagining things.”

Clay nearly heaved a sigh of relief, continuing to pace. You would say surprising things like that every once in a while, and it would send his heart racing. Well, you usually only said one absurd thing per week, so you probably weren’t going to say another thing like that toda—

“Can I pet you?”

His paws came to a halt. Perhaps he thought too soon.

Before he could even properly process what you had said, You were backpedaling, shaking your head with an apologetic look. “Agh, that’s a terrible question. You’re a wolf, not a dog. There’s no way you wou—”

All of a sudden, he was crawling up to you, jutting his forehead toward your hand. His muzzle was clamped shut as his eyes bore into yours, and you gaped at him, the realization beginning to dawn on you.

“Wait,” you breathed in disbelief, “you’re actually going to let me?”

He didn’t move, lowering his eyes to the ground almost shyly as his ears curled toward you. Slowly, you raised your arm with a shaky hand and reached forward, letting your fingers gently brush over his tawny fur with a feather-light touch. You nearly gasped at the feeling, not noticing the way his legs trembled beneath him.

“Wolf,” you whispered after a few seconds, “you’re really soft.”

Clay nearly combusted on the spot. Perfect—everything about you was just perfect.

With your hand buried in his soft fur and the summer breeze ruffling your hair, You smiled, sighing with warmth lighting up your heart as the wolf at your feet melted beneath your touch.

Sapnap tapped his foot impatiently, squinting up at the glaring sun. George slept in, again. He was kind of used to it now, but even though he wasn’t surprised, he wasn’t afraid to admit that he was more than just a little ticked off.

“My mate pet me today.”

Sapnap tensed for a split second, turning to see Clay staring at him with wide eyes. Relaxing once more, he stared at him for a long, long moment before speaking. He really needed to start giving him some sort of heads up at this point.

“Dude,” he said, “I know that the last time you asked me if you sounded crazy, I said a little bit, but I feel like I might have to change my answer.”

Clay shot him a glare, and he couldn’t stop his lips from twitching in amusement. “Sapnap,” he said bluntly, “you act like you don’t talk about Karl and Alex like this.”

Sapnap looked taken aback for a moment, raising a finger, then lowering it with a defeated look. “Touché.”

As Clay walked off with his head held high and a bounce in his step, Sapnap chuckled, watching him leave with a small smile. He recognized the gleam in his eyes, the rosy hue of his cheeks.

Love—Clay really was in love, wasn’t he?

“I’ve been thinking,” you said one day, a few months later.

Clay perked up at the sound of your voice from where he lay at your feet, soaking in the first few rays of sun. It had been well over a year since he had first laid eyes on you now, and a little over a few months since you began walking together. It was only a matter of time until the leaves would turn golden brown once more as autumn descended upon them.

“I dunno,” you murmured, knocking your legs back against the stone you sat on. “I feel like I should give you a name instead of just calling you wolf all the time.” You flashed him a shy grin, your gaze darting this way and that. “It feels kind of awkward, you know?”

He cocked his head. A name? Chances were you probably weren't going to guess his actual name. He supposed he wouldn’t mind a nickname. Then again, he didn’t think he would mind anything that you might do. Lowering himself closer to the ground, he let out a quiet bark of approval.

Your lips twitched the tiniest bit at the sound, and you hummed, drumming your fingers against your thigh. “How do you feel about... Aaron?”

His emerald eyes flashed as he took a step back, ducking his head the slightest bit. Your lips pursed into a small pout, and you leaned down to rest your chin on your hand. “Alright,” you murmured, “not Aaron, then.” You chewed on the inside of your cheek for a second. “Roy?”

Clay didn’t even have to think about it for more than a second before he was whimpering, pressing his head to his paws as he dropped his haunches close to the ground. You snorted at his obvious disapproval, tapping the toes of your shoes together with a pensive look.

“Okay,” you said slowly, drawing out the vowel sound, “maybe we should try some less... human-sounding names.” You tilted your head, letting your gaze trail up the tree trunks and up at the sky above. The sun wasn’t shining directly into your eyes this time, and you blinked with surprise to see a puff of white fluff blocking out the light.  

“What about,” you offered with a hum, “Cloud?”

You glanced down again, only to see the wolf staring back at you blankly. You couldn’t quite read the look in his eyes, but you had a feeling he wasn’t quite satisfied with this one, either. Lowering your chin, you puffed your cheeks, glancing this way and that across the forest around you. You couldn’t just call him something like Leaf, or Sky—those would be too obvious, too plain for a wolf as lovely as him.

Sighing, you let your eyelids flutter shut, letting the sun wash over your cheeks and warming your skin. He was... special, even if you knew you were biased in your opinion. There was some special quality about him, something that made your chest swell and your heart skip a beat, almost as if he came straight out of a—

“Dream,” you whispered at last.

Clay’s ears perked up at the new name, and he lifted his head, flicking his ears at you. Maybe it was the name itself, maybe it was the way you said it, or maybe it was just you, but something about it just felt right. He barked once, lifting his tail as he stepped toward you.

You blinked at the sight, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Dream?” you repeated. “You like the sound of Dream?”

He barked again, leaping up onto his hind legs for a moment. You grinned, giggling at the sight of such a large wolf acting almost like a dog around you. “Alright,” you murmured, reaching your hand out toward him, “Dream it is.”

Leaning closer to you, he sank into your touch as you rubbed your hand over his head, scratching behind his ears as he let out a soft whine from the back of his throat. Your eyes softened, and you curled your knees a little closer to your chest, resting your chin on them.

“It probably doesn’t matter to you since you’re a wolf and all,” you said softly, your voice almost sounding shy in the quiet of the morning, “but my name is [Y/N].”

Clay felt a tender warmth blossom in the cracks beneath his chest, heat unfurling from the depths of his soul as something inside him swelled beyond belief. Your hand continued stroking his fur all the while, not at all noticing the way he pressed his head a little closer into your soothing touch, yearning and longing for more.

“[Y/N],” his heart sang, shooting from the top of his head to the tips of his toes. “[Y/N], [Y/N], [Y/N].”

Had a name ever sounded as beautiful as yours?

Sapnap was going to wring Skeppy’s neck. Skipping out on a morning meeting was one thing, but skipping it to hang out with your mate? Not even he did that.

“[Y/N].”

Sapnap didn’t bother flinching as he turned to see Clay standing in front of him, panting like his life depended on it. This was far from the first time this had happened, and he was sure it most certainly would not be the last. “What?”

Clay shook his head, half-looking like he was about to collapse on the spot. “My mate’s name is [Y/N].”

Sapnap blinked, then his lips curled up into a smile. “Congrats for learning what it is, man,” he said honestly, patting Clay’s shoulder with his free hand. “That’s fantastic, really. You’re making progress.”

Clay swallowed, and he reached up to drag a hand down his face before letting it drop loosely at his side. “Sapnap,” he said slowly, his voice sounding quiet and raw, “I don’t know if I can do this anymore.”

Sapnap’s eyebrows knit together, confusion rippling across his features. “What do you mean?” he asked. “You can’t keep visiting?” Something uncomfortable and cold tugged at the back of his mind. “There’s no way you’re just gonna give up like that, are you?”

Clay’s jaw dropped. “What? No! I mean that...” He paused, squeezing his fist for a moment as he sucked in a deep breath. “I don’t think I can keep showing up in only my wolf form.”

The cogs in Sapnap’s whirred to life as he took in his friend’s clenched jaw. Then, his eyes went wide. “Are you saying...?”

Clay nodded, pursing his lips as he swallowed thickly. “I’m going to reveal who I am.”

His eyes flashed with determination.

“Who I really am.”

You hummed as you twisted the key in the hole, the back door locking shut with a click you had grown used to hearing every week for the past year and a half, now. Whirling around, you could already feel the smile start to spread across your face as you leapt off the porch and ran toward the well-worn path, the forest beckoning you forward with a distant howl. You didn’t remember when exactly your weekly hikes grew to become your favourite part of the week, but you couldn’t imagine life without them, anymore.

Sucking in a deep breath, your chest swelled at the fresh air rushing into your lungs, excitement flickering through your body with every step you took. You couldn’t wait to see Dream again, as strange as it may sound. He had grown to be a greater comfort than you would have ever imagined, even if he was just a wolf. You couldn’t quite put your finger on it, but you knew your feelings were true—you couldn’t deny the warmth he made you feel.

Whipping around a tree trunk, you felt your heart skip a beat. You already knew Dream would be waiting for you at your rock—the one he had saved you from all those weeks ago. It had become a sort of meeting spot for them, and every week without fail, he would appear there, no matter how early or late you were.

As the shrubbery gave way to a clean, dirt trail, you lifted your head, squinting your eyes. You recognized this part of the forest, and you knew that you were getting closer. Just then, you saw it—the familiar streak of grey stone slanting up from the earth in a small cliff face. Usually, Dream would sit at the cliff base, his ears already pointed toward you. But today, your brows furrowed when you didn’t see a pair of ears facing you, but a head of hair.

Someone else was at your rock.

Slowing your pace to a walk, you paused for a moment, eyeing the figure sitting at your usual meeting spot. It was a man, you realized, and he was facing away from you. He wore a simple white shirt with jeans, and his hair was a shade of dirty blond with streaks of gold. Even if only from the back, it looked almost oddly familiar gleaming underneath the morning sun.

Taking a tentative step forward, you curled your fingers into your palm. “Hello?” you called hesitantly.

The man startled for a moment, then turned toward you, his face coming into view. As his gaze locked onto yours, he opened his mouth and uttered two simple words.

“Hi, [Y/N].”

You felt your breath hitch in your throat.

His voice was soft, gently wrapping around you like a soothing blanket. Your gaze only briefly raked over the comforting smile gracing his lips, instead focusing on the gleam in his eyes that danced with something warm and inviting.

His eyes were green—a shade of green that you had grown to know and adore.

No, you thought, your heart trembling in your chest. He couldn’t possibly be...

You took another step forward, closing the space between them by another few inches. With your eyebrows knitting together, your voice dropped to a small, curious whisper. “Dream?”

He shot you a crooked grin, chuckling softly. “That’s my name—or at least the one you gave me.” Leaning forward, he rose to his feet, the sun casting a bright streak of light across his cheeks. “My real name is Clay.”

All of a sudden, you felt as though all the air had been sucked out of your lungs. “Clay,” you repeated, your mind slowly growing murky with confusion, “but you’re also Dream. How...?”

A sheepish look skittered across his face, and he ducked his head. The way he lowered his chin was familiar, looking almost far too like a certain wolf you knew. “I—I guess you could say I live in two worlds with two forms,” he began. “Sometimes I’m a wolf, sometimes I’m a human.” He shrugged nonchalantly, but you didn’t miss the way his shoulders remained tense. “You already know one of them, but I didn’t want to keep hiding this form from you, so...” He gestured to himself with a bashful look. “...here I am.”

You blinked at him slowly, the muddled fog in your head slowly giving way to a strikingly warm clarity. But before the clouds could fully part, your lips began to move.

“You’re still pretty,” you blurted, your eyes going wide as soon as the words left your mouth.

In a flash, Clay’s cheeks flushed crimson, a haze of rosy pink dusting his freckles. “H-Huh?”

Waving your hands in front of you, you took a step back, embarrassment shooting up your spine. “I-I mean to say that you’re still pretty as a human! Because you’re pretty in both of your forms!” You stiffened, exasperation soaking your features as your knees buckled. “Wait, no, oh no, that’s also embarrassing... wait, please, um—”

Suddenly, he began to laugh. You fell quiet as you watched Clay clutch at his stomach, his lips split into a wide grin as peals of laughter tumbled from his lips. A familiar pit of warmth flared up in your stomach, one you had felt standing here with Dream so many times before.

He really was Dream, wasn’t he?

As his chuckles finally died down into silence, he stood upright once more, wiping a barely there tear from his eye. “I’m sorry for laughing,” he managed with an apologetic smile. “You must be confused about, well, everything.”

You offered him an honest, lopsided grin. “A little.”

His smile slowly melted from his features, and he cleared his throat as he turned to face you head-on. “Well, this is probably going to sound weird, but you and I...” He swallowed, his gaze flashing. “We’re mates.”

You blinked, your lips parting in surprise. Something in your chest slowly expanded. “Mates?” you repeated softly.

He nodded, his expression firm yet hesitant. “Yes, mates. It means that in one way or another, our souls are connected.” Inhaling deeply, he screwed his eyes shut before continuing. “It’s a lot to take in, I know, but I just want you to know that you don’t have to accept the mating bond.” His voice was trembling now, growing quieter by the second as he squeezed his hands into fists at his side. “You don’t owe me anything. I know this must be scary for you, and the last thing I want is for you to feel pressured because of m—”

“I’m not afraid.”

Clay’s eyes shot wide open, and he raised his head, shock etched into his features. “You aren’t?” he whispered.

The smile on your face was open and kind, and you shook your head. “No,” you murmured, sincerity lacing your every word. “Not at all. Dream, Clay... no matter what your name is, you’re still you, and I know you.” You took another step forward, your eyes never leaving his. There was hardly any space between them now, and Clay could feel his shoulders begin to shake with the sheer gravity of the moment. “I can’t explain it, but I just know I do.”

He swallowed, a whirlwind of anxiety and affection brewing just beneath the surface of his skin. “You don’t have to do this,” he whispered, his voice cracking. “I know I’m just a stranger to you.”

You shook your head, again. “You’re not,” you said quietly. “Not to me.”

Before he could even register what was happening, you were reaching for his hand, clasping your palms around his fingers and holding them gently. His heart flipped in his chest at the feeling of your skin against his, and something stung at the back of his eyes.

You were so warm.

“I want to do this,” you whispered, just for him to hear and him alone, “I promise. I—” You gulped, your gaze remaining steady. “I might not know anything about your world yet, but I want to learn.”

You squeezed his hand. “I want to learn more about you.”

Clay sucked in a ragged breath. With shaky fingers and a gentle touch, he pressed his other hand to the back of yours, squeezing back ever so slightly. “I want to learn more about you, too.”

The smile you flashed him easily outshone the sun and every star that scattered across the night sky, and for a moment, he thought his heart had stopped in his chest.

“I’m glad,” you said, your eyes gleaming with delight. “I think we’ll have plenty of time to do that on our hike.”

Right then, a breeze came drifting past, the distant scent of rain filling the air. The trees murmured with rustling leaves and flapping wings as two birds landed on a hanging branch above, gazing down at the two silhouettes standing at the base of the rock face. Just for a moment, or maybe even two, the entire forest went still.

And unbeknownst to you and Clay, right between your feet, a flower began to bloom.