#and the big sleep token back patch

[pierogisfilledwithpaint]

just sew on my first patch on my future battle jacket and im proud of it. it's the small sleep token patch with their logo in the middle but pushing the needle through the fabric and the patch made my hand hurt. i have some more patches but i need some more to plan it out better, maybe if I get my hands on another smaller patch ill sew it on, i also plan to make my own pins to put it on there but my motivation for anything is currently nonexistent, hopefully i can get myself together in the next few days

[snuggleboots]

₊˚♡˚₊ The Akatsuki, communicating their love ₊˚♡˚₊

₊˚♡˚₊ feat. Itachi, Kisame, Kakuzu, and Hidan ₊˚♡˚₊

Tags: Fluff, mishmash of random headcanons, general cutesy relationship stuff.

♡ Kisame communicates his love in various ways, but it's always most sincere in the little things he does. If you're both walking up a flight of stairs, he'll always walk behind, just so he can steal a kiss without having to lean down a bit to reach you. Usually, he'll follow that up with a stupid little, 'How's it feel to be the tall one for once?'

♡ He's a man who likes to sleep in, but when you're sleeping with him, it's his god-given duty to wake you up with some combination of stupid, sleepy shenanigans. It typically starts with some needlessly aggressive cuddling while he's waking up, which becomes a smattering of kisses and little nips dealt wherever he can reach, and eventually develops into... either cackling over your groggy irritation or moving into a little extra lovin', if you feel up to it.

♡ Cuteness aggression is a real thing, and it's his curse. If your tongue pokes out just a little bit when you're thinking hard or focused on something, if you flex your toes like a little cat when you stretch, or purse your lips when you're frustrated - he's gonna bite you. Always does. He can't help it, he gets the impulse to squish you, bite you, pinch, or bully you a little bit when you're minding your business, doing things that he finds objectively precious. You make his teeth itch when he catches you off guard, and you flash him those big eyes, and- UGH.

♡ Now, he isn't the perfect listener by any means, but Kisame is very attentive when tiffs happen in the relationship. He listens with the full intention to learn and solve the problem, and if things get a bit heated he'll calm himself down and ask you to back up and explain why you're upset. He doesn't make a habit of taking himself too seriously, which really helps him navigate rough patches well.

♡ Your personal space is his preferred space. You're stretched out, reading a book or resting your eyes? It doesn't matter where you're hanging out, that's still just as good as an invitation in his books. When he saunters on over and nonchalantly plonks his entire body weight on top of you, he doesn't even have the courtesy to say sorry for the disturbance. Nope, he's on a mission, hooking his arms around your waist and just burying his face in your belly. You're warm, you smell so nice, and he's livin' large on cloud nine, which means you're stuck there until he's decided he's had his fill for a bit.

♡ Itachi's a man with simple wants and simple displays of love. If your days are busy and he's tucking into bed before you are, he'll cosy up on your side to keep it warm until you're ready to join him for the night. It's a little silly, a little cute, watching a man like him streeeetch right out when you meander into the bedroom, and unceremoniously shimmy back over to his side before settling in and promptly passing out. That is, however, a quiet little token of his affection.

♡ He's perceptive about things you don't enjoy doing, and especially things you tend to stress about. Without so much as mentioning it, he'll tend to the little things like that just to take them off your plate. If you're sick or in pain, Itachi is more than content to take care of you. Sorry, it's a small facet of who he is, to tend to the very few people he cares about. The man also cooks, and pretty damned well at that. His breakfasts are a cure-all when you're feeling like absolute garbage.

♡ There is such a thing as an 'Uchiha pout', and he weaponizes it for petty reasons and to ridiculous extents. He isn't always just some stone-faced caricature of a stoic, and it's brilliantly displayed when you deny his simple requests, such as relaxing after a long day, curled up on the couch with him when he's having a low-energy, no spoons left kind of day.

♡ Yes, he wants to settle his weight into your side and just be - or better yet, rest his head on your shoulder and soak up some easy, effortless affection until he's feeling a bit better. (Please card your fingers through his hair, he won't nod off again, really-) If you really have the audacity to say no - and he will call it that - you're going to see him purse his lips, pinch his brows and angle his face away from you like some kind of disappointed housecat. 'You make me lonely', he'll halfheartedly mumble, because it's a guilt trip that works and he's fully aware of that fact. No, he does not feel bad about it, either.

♡ Kakuzu's 'love language' exists in subtle acts of service and physical touch, generally shared in private. No, he's not going to say he loves you, but he can show you that your presence doesn't irritate the part of his brain that makes him want to shove his fist through someone's skull.

♡ When the seasons turn and you inevitably wind up freezing cold every goddamn night, he's content to settle beside you on the couch and tuck your chilly feet under his leg while he unwinds with a good book. There's no need to fill the silence, just let it be and enjoy the moment. You're cosy, he's relatively happy, and for all intents and purposes, you two are set to have a wonderful, quiet night.

♡ And since Kakuzu's a habitual early riser, you're typically still snoring long after he's up and ready for the day. When it's time for him to get up and get dressed, he'll flop his blanket - because he sure as hell doesn't share one - over your head before he turns on the light to get dressed. When he's done and the light's out he'll pull it down and be on his way without having disturbed your sleep.

♡ On the odd time that you're waking up with him, he'll slip by while you're getting dressed and steal a kiss to your shoulder.

♡ When his nail polish is chipped and it's time to reapply, he'll let you do it. For one, it's less for him to do, but! It's also a little token of trust on his part to toss you the polish, plop his hand in your lap, and grumble something like, 'Don't paint my damn fingers this time'. You probably still manage to flood his cuticles, which he will grumble about, but it's the thought that counts.

♡ Hidan's love can sometimes be compared to that of a fat, obnoxious housecat. If he's off-duty when you're trying to enjoy some free time, he is firmly wedged up your ass because he likes attention and you actually listen to him when he talks about... whatever's bouncing around in his head.

♡ Lounging on the couch when he's just coming in from a month on the road? Haha, sucks to be you actually, because he's instantly ripping through the living room at terminal velocity, with full intentions of divebombing your sorry ass before you have the chance to scramble up and evade him. You're still wheezing from impact, and this guy's already launching into a tirade about every little gripe he's had about his mission. 'Kakuzu was a dick, the ration bars taste like shit, the coil broke on my scythe and, and, and...'

♡ Hidan loves a good late-night hangout, so he's usually around to burn time with you when you can't sleep. Even when you don't feel like talking, he always fills the silence himself by chatting your ear off about whatever comes to mind. Sometimes it's just life stuff, other times it's his interests - and often, he'll animorph into a used cars salesman for Jashinism. You expect it, he loves that you actually listen and engage with him.

♡ 'You only get to die if you lived, no matter how great or shitty your life was, get it? Seeing the end is a privilege', he'll mutter into the lip of a half-full mug. When you're tired at the table, jolting upright after accidentally dozing off for the fifth time during his proselytizing, Hidan will slide you a cup of something that'll keep you fucking wired for the night. It's not to be a dick, obviously, but you're listening! And this is important shit! 'Diseased, crippled, or fuckin'... broke; at the end of the day, you're alive, and your pain's recognised by Lord Jashin. Suffering is a gift imparted, that only the living receive, and...' something something Jashin is great, and you should probably definitely convert.

♡ He's claimed half of your bed, and sleeping with him fucking sucks. He sleeps like a starfish and steals the blankets, and you're not waking him up unless you feel like investing some serious effort into doing so. He snores, and on the nights that he winds up sleeping half on top of you, you have to deal with the fact that he drools like a dog and sleeps with his mouth hanging open. You don't wanna deal with that? Tough shit, you're comfy, and somehow your bed is just waaaaay better than his. Okay? Okay.

[the-summ0ning]

Sleep Token HC: Fall Festivities [ III ]

I’m back with some super short n sweet wholesome fluff HCs for the eepy boys. A stroke of inspo esp after talking to @inv3ga about what the boys would be for halloween 👹

III loves to do as much as he can during the fall time!!!

Haunted houses, hikes during peak leaf season, apple picking, pumpkin patches, bonfires, Halloween parties, fall markets, handing out candy to trick or treaters—he wants to do it all

And more importantly he wants to do it all with YOU

But most importantly—to show off his impressive fall wardrobe!!

You can’t convince me this man wouldn’t have an arsenal of some sick ass fits he’s curated for this time of the year?

The jackets, hoodies, layers of different prints and textures, doc martens, loafers, fuck it I see a pair of Uggs in the lineup too? III in a beanie?? A functional scarf to elevate a plain chilly day outfit? C’mon

Will definitely hold you on his shoulders so you can get the nicest shiny apple high up in the tree, just to admire how proud you look being able to snag it

And to tease you for being too short to grab it

Coming home with a shit ton of apples, donuts, pastries, and regretting it

“Should we hand out apples for Halloween this year?” He pondered to you, hands on his hips. Knowing he was not a baker of any sort, and he did not actually eat them

Has to carve pumpkins, determined to do the most complicated design. Creating utter chaos in your house. Pumpkin chunks and guts everywhere, covering you, the table, counters

“We’re painting pumpkins next year instead.” You glare playfully at him once you were done and assessed the aftermath.

“Sure we are, babe.” He wipes a stray seed from your cheek, pressing a sweet innocent kiss to your lips

I see him being a big beetlejuice guy. That becomes an annual comfort movie for him and part of his personality for the entire month of October

He forces you to lay on the couch and watch it with him, trapping you with his oversized lanky body to the the sofa, even when you know he’s going to fall asleep within the first hour

Dying his hair an electric green and everything going all out

He goes as him for Halloween with you being bride Lydia or Beetlejuice too? Him in a pin striped suit I’m feral

He’s so into matching and coordinating with you in general, so ofc he loves matching costumes

If there’s a competition at a party you two are attending for best couples costume—he’s going all in—he can’t have Sam and his plus one win like last year again!

They’re usually basic, not super thoughtful or witty, but you two are so cute anyway!

Would be the bf to get you a boo basket, especially if he hadn’t had the time to do enough things with you like he planned

Fills it with all your favorite candies and snacks, but is sure to include a shit ton of cheesy stuff too like gummy eyeballs, candy corn, and pumpkins. Your favorite beverages, a new warm blanket, candles, and trinkets of your special interests

Ofc topped with a corny filthy pickup line as the note

“I’m not a cannibal but I would like to eat you later.”

[helios-sol]

Cold Love, Warm Blood

Pairing: König x reader

Summary: König needs to be patched up. You’re there for him.

Warnings: injury, blood, kissing, excessive use of the name “big guy”, unspoken feelings and unexpected kisses, lil’ bit of spice.

Notes: i really didn’t expect to start writing again, ESPECIALLY for call of duty but here we are. This is brought to you by the idea of hood kisses with König that a friend and I couldn’t stop thinking about. If you want to be in my mind while I wrote this listen to Aqua Regia by Sleep Token.

The call had come in little after midnight followed by rushed orders for a field medic down to the emergency wing. Considering that you were the only medic on base at the moment, you’re the one stumbling through the door half asleep. Lieutenant Riley had filled you in before you’d stepped through the doors but nothing could have fully prepared you for what’s on the other side.

König sits slumped on the edge of the bed, sniper hood completely blood soaked and shredded to bits. Based on what you’ve seen in the field there’s a strong possibility that most of that blood is not his.

But you know, Riley told you all you need to know.

You approach slowly and König barely looks up. You notice his fidgeting, thumbs twiddling and leg bouncing.

“Hey- König-“ you speak softly, like you’re talking to a wounded animal.

His gaze is feral and you feel like you might actually be dealing with a wounded animal, spooked and looking for a way to run.

“Hey- I need you to lift your hood for me, okay big guy?” Your voice is barely above a whisper.

Your words don’t register in the slightest. König clenches his hands into tight fists before drumming them on his thighs.

Your hand reaches towards his hood and you speak loud so that he knows what you’re doing.

“I’m going to lift your hood, I need to get you patched up.

König catches your wrist before you’ve even reached his face.

“Lass mich das machen.” He rasps.

You nod in agreement.

Slowly he removes his helmet and sniper hood all while avoiding your eyes.

The only thing that you can even think to say is-

“Jesus Christ, König. What happened?”

His expression falls and he’s back to nervous fidgeting.

“Frag grenade. Got sprayed with shrapnel.” His voice wobbles.

His face is a jigsaw of blood and scars. There is a fresh gash, starting near his cupid's bow and running up towards his right nostril. His left cheek is busted and a black eye is blooming, forcing his eye to swell shut.

Your heart aches. You’ve become so close with König over the last year working with him. You know that he’s increasingly aware and self conscious of how he is perceived without his hood. He’s explained that he prefers the anonymity of it, wanting to keep his identity to himself and those that he trusts. You’re a lucky one that he trusts, which is why it stings to watch his face fall at your reaction. You know he asked specifically for you upon returning to base meaning he trusted no one else to help him.

Your fingers shake as you gently grab his chin, tilting his face towards the warm overhead light. He still avoids your eyes, opting to stare at a blank space on the wall. You don’t take it too personally. You know how it is coming down from an adrenaline trip.

“It looks like all you’ll need is some stitches and a really good night's sleep.” You attempt to smile.

He hums in response.

You turn to the side and grab your med kit before wedging yourself between his thighs. Even with your stool all the way up it is still a struggle to reach certain spots on König’s face.

“Can you lean towards me?” you ask, squinting as you examine his upper lip.

König leans down and you adjust the overhead lamp so you can see what you’re doing. The silence as you set to work is comfortable and you notice König has ceased his fidgeting. That alone makes you breathe a little easier. You won’t push him with questions, lord knows he will get enough of them in the debrief. But you do find yourself curious enough to ask just one.

“Ghost said you asked for me specifically,” you pulled your thread taught, “why?”

“You were the only one on base.”

He’s a terrible liar. You can feel his pulse quicken under your hand.

“Hmm. Sure that’s it?” you push the question just a bit further.

“No-” he hesitates, hissing as you pull too hard on accident, “I wanted to see you.”

He isn’t fully ready to admit that he was scared so shitless that he thought he’d never get to see you again.

“I’m glad you did come see me and didn't attempt to be a tough guy about this.” you tell him, tying off your stitches.

You move on to cleaning up his minor scrapes and cuts, careful of his bruised cheek. His one good eye has finally shifted to look at you, watching you work. You catch his eye just before he looks away and smile at him. He might be blushing but it’s hard to tell with all the shit his face has gone through.

“Alright big guy,” you pat his thigh before rolling backwards in your stool, “you’re all patched up. Try to take it easy for the next day or so. I don’t want you pulling the stitches on your lip.”

He nods before standing to his full height.

“Danke,” he murmurs.

“Bitte.” you smile at him.

You turn to chart something but König catches your shoulder. You crane your head up to look at him but he’s stooping down and pressing his lips to yours before you can even get a word out. He keeps his hands well above your waist, placing both of them on your shoulders in a respectful manner.

But nothing is respectful about the way he’s kissing you, hungry and desperate. You taste copper on your tongue and you know he just pulled the stitches you just did but you don’t care because he’s pushing you up against the counter like he’s trying to become a part of you.

“Es tut mir wirklich leid." He apologizes when he pulls away, trying to back away from you. Your hands press into his chest, gripping his tactical vest, and keeping him in place.

“Why are you sorry?” You pant, gazing up at him. His eyes soften and you realize there’s a bit of green in the blue of his eyes.

“I shouldn’t have done that. I should have asked.” He murmurs. You watch his tongue poke out and lick at the blood that’s running from his stitches.

“Shit, I pulled my stitches.”

“No sweat big guy.” You breathe deeply, “I’ll stitch you back up and send you to Ghost for debrief.” You nod for him to sit back on the bed.

“Thank you.” He bows his head, cheeks ablaze.

You smile as you sit back down to re-stitch him up. The silence isn’t entirely uncomfortable but König began to bounce his leg again.

“Hey-.” You duck into his view, “don’t bounce so much I don’t want to hurt you.”

He stops and instead begins to fiddle with his fingers again until you’ve finished. When you tie off your work and toss your gloves König is already pushing himself to his feet and making his way to the door, grabbing his hood and helmet and placing them back onto his head securely.

“Hold up there big guy.” You stop him at the door, striding right up behind him.

He turns and you grab the front of his hood to bring him down to your level. His eyes widen in surprise, words caught in his throat as you lift his hood just past his nose and press a gentle kiss to his lips.

“Come see me after debrief.” You mumble against his lips, licking at the freshly stitched wound.

“S-sure-yeah-“ König stutters, eyes drooping like he’s kiss drunk already.

There’s a bang on the door and König goes flying backwards from you.

“Hold your horses Riley, he’s COMING.” You holler out the door.

“It’s a bloody busted lip! How long could it take?” Ghost yells back.

You smile up at König before pushing him back towards the door.

“Get outta here before we both get our asses chewed out.”

König smiled sheepishly before ducking out the door and hollering back at you “see you doc!”

[sunarintoes]

Pretty Setter Squad Boyfriend Headcanons

part one can be found here II wc: 2.4k II includes: kageyama, suga, kenma, akaashi, semi and oikawa II atsumu and shirabu 

rewriting because i cringe at the old hcs 😭

✗ Kagggggsss

✗ The emotionally constipated blueberry <3 oh yeahh 😎

✗ Okay well first off he can barely process his emotions (*cough* evidently *cough*)

✗ When you two first started going out he was quite shy and unsure of what to do so you may have had to guide him a bit, but if youre equally shy then it just would have taken longer to get to where you are now; oh and if that was the case it probably took some random burst of energy/confidence from either one of you to make the first move. 

✗ He will buy you milk but uf you hate it (like me 🤢) he will buy you another drink - like juice :D

✗ I dont think he will be the most affectionate, it’s not his love language - and neither are words haHAH. His love language is most likely quality time and gift giving.

✗ He does like to cuddle though 😳

✗ In fact he really likes to :D his favourite is when youre sitting in his lap while he watches a volleyball game (at home - he hates pda). 

✗ This brings us to our next, short point. Kageyama absolutely despises pda, he just thinks its something meant for closed doors and he does not believe that he has to display his relationship for the whole world to ogle at. The most he will do is light hand holding - mostly just linking your pinkies though.

✗ When it comes to height he does not care if you're smaller or taller than him ← but bb, please don't tease him about his height if he’s shorter because he will blow a fuse.

✗ He alternates between small spoon and big spoon, kinda depending on his mood. 

✗ BOY O BOY does he get jealous. Uh please reign in your setter >:( 

✗ Its mostly due to the fact that he’s insecure about himself - he thinks you will leave him like everyone else (in middle school - yes, he is still traumatised from it.)

✗ When he does get jealous he might be snappy to the other person and glare at them or be snappy at you and glare at you. When this happens please give him space because he needs it to clear his head. When he feels better he will come up to you and hug you into his chest so that he can’t see your face and you cant see his, then he will mumble an apology.

✗ Ever since you two began to date he has practiced apologising and getting better at apologising, this is because his inability to admit to his own mistakes was a sour patch in your relationship that almost ended it but he really did not want to lose you so he sucked up his pride and worked on what he had to; of course you also worked in what you had to. God I love character development 😩

✗ Dates are mostly at home dates or dates revolving around volleyball. If you're not into volleyball, Kageyama would not date you, it's something he is so passionate about and loves with every breath he takes (like you) and he refuses to compromise one love for the other. 

✗ ooooh he likes arcade dates a well! He thrives in a competitive environment. If you're not competitive and don't want to compete against him then he’ll compete for you - against the machines lol. Of course you play as well! But i doubt youre as competitive as this blueberry, and if you are - well i guess at the end of the day youll both be stacked in tokens 🤠

✗ Sugawara my beloved <33

✗ He. Is. So. Affectionate! 

✗ Mans loves skin on skin contact ykwim?

✗ He is down for pda and does not care what others think - only what you think <3. 

✗ I mean he might make out with you in public if you ask nicely 

✗ Dates are very fun with him, he’ll take you to cafes, to amusement parks, to carnivals, to movies and all the like. He’s a cliche lover and he’s proud of it.

✗ Your first kiss happened on New Years Eve/Day. The two of you sat on the roof of his house and watched as the fireworks lit up the starry sky of Miyagi and chanted the count down together. The second ‘one’ left your lips he grabbed your face (softly!!) and pulled you in to crash his lips against yours. 

✗ Suga loves to cuddle, preferably face to face because he just thinks you're the most beautiful person in the world. 

✗ He is not the most jealous person, he definitely does get jealous but never of strangers. It's more when his close friends or your close friends get a bit too comfortable if that makes sense? He normally plays it off with humour and messes around because he acknowledges that he is insecure and that it is most likely him thinking of the worst case scenario; however if he really does start to worry and get jealous then he will sit you down and talk about it with you. To him, communication is key. 

✗ Ngl Kenma is definitely in my top 3 favourites. 

✗ I may or may not be a Kenma kinnie 😳🙈

✗ i love my non-toxic gamer boy <33 anywho: no matter what ANYONE says, kenma is definitely affectionate. In fact I'd say he’s one of the most affectionate boyfriends. As we all know, he is shy and introverted but he likes to hang around and spend time with people he likes. He also talks a lot to them. So I hc that he’s a bit of a chatterbox with you and it makes him really happy when you let him talk about a game or a theory he has. He’s a great listener so you can count on him to pay attention to what you say.

✗ if you didn't already have one, he bought you a switch. He loves video game dates especially when he can't see you in person (*cough* lockdown *cough*) 

✗ he loves when you sit on his lap when he plays video games. I know everyone talks about sitting on their partner’s lap as some sexual thing and yeah that can happen but most of the time he’s really soft with you and just enjoys being close to you. Loves when you cuddle into him while he plays so that he can place his head on yours or your shoulder. 

✗ i think he is a bit shy when it comes to kisses but definitely warms up after a while. He absolutely refuses to sleep if he doesnt get your goodnight kisses. He loves to kiss you on your nose and your cheeks the most. He loves when you kiss him on the forehead and the nose <3

✗ kenma is not one for pda, it's just not his vibe. He prefers intimacy and privacy; his relationship is not a movie for the world to watch and gawk at. Especially timeskip!kenma. Though that does not mean he wont ever show you skinship in public, occasionally he will softly hold your hand and maybe press a light kiss to your cheek. 

✗ in terms of jealousy, he is moderate. Kenma, as we all know, has incredible people reading skills, so he understands the situation pretty clearly and knows when you’re uncomfortable/what you think of the situation. Most of the time you can deal with the unwanted attention and he doesnt get jealous, but he does get insecure. He shows this by going quiet and looking away when you look at him, you can cure this by giving him hugs when you get home. 

✗ Akaashi my beloved <3 he’s so pretty i can't even-

✗ ugh! Just imagine him in a dark/light academia aesthetic. 

✗ perfection. 

✗ akaashi is the sweetest most attentive boyfriend, he loves you to pieces and never fails to let you know. He tells you he loves you every morning and every night. He probably makes meals for you and leaves notes in that have a sweet comment like “i love you, you're the best <3” 

✗ he love back hugging you BUT also receiving back hugs 🥺✨

✗ akaashi is a booknerd and an introvert. Please cuddle up to him and let him read his book to you. 

✗ there are only 2 things that can restore his social battery: sleeping and you.

✗ which means he wants cuddles when he’s tired 😊

✗ he is not jealous. He just doesn't get jealous, maybe annoyed if the third party is being a bit too pushy and you're clearly uncomfortable, but he just never feels jealous. No matter how hard you may try to make him jealous (plz dont cause that's kinda toxic imo) he just won't feel that way.

✗ definitely the ‘mom/dad’ as he carries sinister, pads, bandaids → a whole first aid kit basically, everywhere. Bb must be prepared. 

✗ dates are so sweet with him, cute niche cafes and dimly lit libraries. Maybe the occasional abandoned building. He loves spending time with you, so really he's happiest whenever he’s with you; having coffee at McDonalds or a niche cafe won't change anything. 

✗ he’s hard to pinpoint for pda. I feel like he’s indifferent about it. He probably prefers to keep it indoors or to just small and sweet gestures (no making out in public sorry-). It definitely comes down to your preferences, if you don't like it then he won't and vice versa.

✗ semi semi semi semi semi semi

✗ omg mr musician 

✗ he definitely plays guitar - lead guitar and bass guitar. 

✗ skilled fingies for sure 😗

✗ boy why are musicians so hot???? 😫😫😫💦💦

✗ he writes songs about you. Semsem has a bit of trouble saying exactly how he feels, so he writes it and sings it to you with a small little smile and eyes full of love. 

✗ off topic but Semu has the best music taste in haikyuu

✗ he loves hugs so much <33 please hug and cuddle with him 24/7

✗ very affectionate, he’s always touching you someway. Loves kissing your forehead. 

✗ he is jealous. Yeah definitely. He writes songs about being jealous 🗿 not that you mind of course ‘cause they're bangers. I think he might get snappy when he’s jealous, not directly at you but at the other person. He definitely gets a bit bitchy. Sometimes he acts that way to you so you've just gotta slap some sense into him. Say something like “what's your problem?” or “tell me what your problem is so i can help fix it.” ← that's probably the best thing to say. 

✗ afterwards he’ll just snuggle with you until he feels better. 

✗ he asks for your opinion about his songs all the time, please be honest (but also praise them if you like them lol)

✗ he takes you to niche spots he finds, like hidden concerts and stuff. Loves when you come to his gigs <3 oh and when you scream for him (in more ways than one). 

✗ dates are cute and fun. Mostly walking around together → carnivals, main street, farmers market. Those kind of things. 

✗ when it comes to pda he loves it. Loves being able to show the world who his s/o is. If you don't like it then he will tone it down and only do what you’re comfortable with. If you're also into pda then he will happily make out with you anywhere (you're one of THOSE couples 🤢 /j) 

✗ all round best boyfie <3

✗ oikawa 😳 have i told y'all how much i love him? Oikawa is the best written character, no cap, he is so complex and real it's crazy. It's so fun to write about him because you can pick him apart, you know his flaws, his weaknesses, his nightmares but also his strengths and dreams. Anywho i'll stop ranting now but i just love writing for such a perfectly imperfect character-

✗ he puts up a cocky exterior but thats all false. He's as scared as you are, he's scared that you'll leave him like his exes because of how obsessed and focused he is on volleyball. However he is a changed man, he's learned to balance his priorities. If you ever feel like you're being sidelined please communicate with him. 

✗ he values communication above all else and wants nothing more in a partner than for them to also value communication.

✗ back to the point → if you feel insecure of your relationship and that volleyball is taking too much of his attention let him know. He will change that. To an extent → he may have an important game coming up which is why he is focusing more, but he will always find time for you. 

✗ he never forgets to text you good morning and good night. He also sends you wholesome memes and makes sure you're taking care of yourself - they're like reminders for him to also take care of himself. 

✗ he is both jealous and insecure. Everyone who gets too close to you or spends a lot of time with you, he is jealous of. Jealous because he wishes he could spend more time with you but he knows he can't - not without jeopardising his volleyball career. He's also insecure, because he knows you could just leave him for a more fulfilling, more attentive, more balanced relationship. You know that too, I mean, of course you could leave him but no one would be as good as him. No one could match up to your beautifully flawed boyfriend.

✗ he is affectionate, very, very affectionate. He loves you so much. And because he spends so much time on volleyball, anytime with you he's touching you - memorizing every dint, every curve, everything about you so that he won't ever forget. 

✗ Oikawa has trouble sleeping unless he's with you, he wants to sling to you in his sleep and be grounded and remember that he is loved and cherished and appreciated y'know?

✗ pda is not an issue for him. He doesn't care what anyone else says or thinks :P in this relationship the only opinions that matter are his and your’s. Tell him you're uncomfortable with something and he won't do it, and vice versa. But otherwise, like Semi, he won't mind having a good makeout session with you in the middle of the street ;)

[defineshitposting]

mgmrg 579

HGGHG THEM 💚💚💚

who hogs the duvet

5 it's absolutely 5. 7 tends to kick off any blankets in her sleep so it's not an issue with her but 9 will frequently wake up in the middle of the night having a "where blankie" moment before having to sleepily snatch some back.

who texts/rings to check how their day is going

9 loves loves loves leaving little notes around Home for them to stumble on throughout the day. 5 is more likely to verbally check in.

who is the most creative when it comes to gifts

Definitely 9. He's CONSTANTLY finding little bits-and-baubs in the environment that remind him of them, but the best gifts are the ones he looks for on purpose. Explores a museum and gives 7 a new skull and feathers of every color and she nearly cries. Manages to find viable marigold seeds and gives them to 5 who cries outright. Etc etc.

who gets up first in the morning

5 is a total early bird and is not quiet about it. 9 thinks it's endearing, while 7 gets nearly homicidal. 5'll be humming happily right at sunrise like "RISE AND SHINE, YOU TWO! How are we this morning <3" and 7s got the blanket over her head and is just "mrrrnmnnghbnn".

who suggests new things in bed

It's 9. The creativity is all encompassing m'kay.

who cries at movies

5 and 9 both get emotional watching sappy stuff, 7'll maintain that she isn't effected by any of it but every now and again they'll catch a little hiccup from her during movie time.

who gives unprompted massages

9 gets really touchy-feely in quiet moments and will often be gently caressing 5's eye patch or 7's back. They both greatly appreciate it.

who fusses over the other when they're sick

5's healer tendencies means he often goes mother-hen mode at the slightest provocation. 9 will absentmindedly rub at his shoulder and 5 will appear out of nowhere like "are you okay do you need me to look at it 2 could redo it for you" and 9's just "honey i'm fine".

who gets jealous easiest

Not technically jealousy, more a mix of competitiveness and overwhelming love, but 7 will frequently see 5 and 9 carrying each other and have a moment before insisting on carrying them both at the same time. Her knees are wobbling but she's doing it anyway.

who has the most embarrassing taste in music

They all like similar music (small selection to choose from to be fair 😔) but 9 is the one to unabashedly belt along to his favorite songs. He's completely tone deaf but it doesn't matter.

who collects something unusual

9 collects bottle caps, but they have to have come from bottles that had been opened by humans. At one point 7 gives him one she took off a bottle herself and he explains that he only likes "the ones that saw life".

who takes the longest to get ready

9 for sure. Very frequently 5 will ask him if he wants to go scouting and 9 will be like "absolutely! just a sec let me get my stuff" and then it's a half hour later and he doesn't even have his cloak on all the way.

whose the most tidy and organized

5 loves keeping his stuff as clean as possible (old self soothing habit from when it was the only thing he had control over), 7's fairly neat due to her simply not having much in the way of possessions (still hasn't gotten super used to having a set place to live), and 9 is a packrat (ADHD).

who gets the most excited about the holidays

9 LOVES holidays he thinks they're a wonderful creation. New year's is his favorite "classical" one, but at his insistence the whole group eventually come up with a few of their own.

who is the big spoon/little spoon

9 usually ends up being the big spoon since he's the tallest of the trio, but the man completely melts when he gets to be the little spoon. 5 is perfectly content either way as long as he has a hand to hold onto. 7 doesn't so much "spoon" as she does "backpack". She'll be asleep sighing happily meanwhile she's got 9 in a full-nelson.

who gets most competitive

7 is no longer allowed to participate in group game night after hurling an Iron monopoly token into the rafters.

who starts the most arguments

5 and 7 will bicker sometimes about whatever while 9 will hangout in the sidelines to mediate if he feels like it's necessary. The twins will often sit with him and at one point he made a semi-joking comment of "well there's one thing at least I'm glad I missed out on for those years" that the twins find VERY funny.

who suggests a pet

9 daydreams about having a big dog (proportional to them) all the time. Neither of his partners have any issue with that. They do however, have an issue with him bringing in various bugs from outside.

what couples tradition do they have

Given normal wear and tear, their repair stitches need to be replaced over time. 9 refused to throw his original shoulder stitches out, and now whenever any of them need to replace a stitch the other put in, they hang onto the old thread, tying all the pieces together.

what other couple do they hang out with

Often chat with 1 and 2. 2 is of course always delighted to talk with his family. 1 would perhaps get more enjoyment out of the conversations if 5 wasn't constantly staring a hole through him.

how do they spend time together as a couple

Lots of exploring in the temperate months, along with gardening. 9 and 7 both spar regularly for fun and practice, something 5 is always content to watch (until it gets too rough for his liking). In the winter the whole group hunkers down inside, and the trio often spends whole days in bed in those months.

who made the first move

9. At one point he blurted out an "I love you" to 5 that was responded with "oh 9 i love you too we all love you!" to which 9 had to clarify what he meant. OH moments abound. Mutual feelings also abound. After that revelation 9 essentially grabs 7 like "you too <3".

who brings flowers home

Being the most apt to explore the wilderness 7 is the one to bring home flowers she has picked. 5 will put together (tiny) arrangements for inside Home. 9 likes to press and dry flowers and leaves to hang onto.

who is the best cook

They don't eat of course, but 9 still loves reading recipes. Like everything else left behind he finds it all very fascinating. He'll ramble about the different meals he's been learning about and both 5 and 7 will find themselves suddenly hungry, regardless of the lack of corresponding parts.

send me a ship and i’ll tell you:

[comfy-whumpee]

Polycule 3

Taglist! @lonesome--hunter, @iaminamoodymoodtoday, @wildfaewhump, @ishouldblogmore, @lektricwhump, @that-one-thespian, @raigash, @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi, @rosesareviolentlyread, @castielamigos-whump-side-blog.

“What is this?” Nic said, crossing their legs on the carpet beside where Ellis was already settled.

Iz was setting out a green-and-black box, scrawled with yellow writing. “It’s called Betrayal at the House on the Hill. You’re gonna love it. It’s a goofy monster movie game. We’re gonna explore a house, find stuff, and then at some point one of us is going to turn out to be the bad guy.”

Nic glances at Ellis. Ellis smiles tentatively back. “Are you gonna be okay with this, d’you think?” they ask tentatively.

He nods. It’s just a board game. There will never be anything more real than moving pieces around a board and rolling dice. He wants to try it; this is Iz’s thing, like Ellis plays video games, and Nic chooses films. It’s her turn to bring a thing for their Thursday night.

Iz talks them through the rules. They move a set number of spaces each, discover rooms, and there are events to happen. Some are good, some are bad, and others are just plain creepy. That’s what she says, with a smile and a bright light in her eyes, eager to see if her friends like it as much as she does.

Ellis listens carefully, and chooses the little boy. He’s wearing a green baseball cap backwards. Nic chooses the creepy little girl with ringlets, and Iz goes for an old man. “Father Longbottom,” she says, with a snicker in her voice at the name. Nic rolls their eyes and groans.

They move around the halls of the house, discovering rooms at random. Items are found. Events happen. Iz obtains a cursed knife, and is then forced to send it forward in time through a mirror. Nic discovers a room with a collapsed floor, and gets trapped in the basement. Ellis…

Nothing much happens to Ellis, except he draws a couple of the raven cards, the ones that bring the plot twist closer. His little boy in the baseball cap wanders around, and doesn’t do much of anything.

When Nic rolls the dice and triggers the haunt – the plot twist, the reveal, the bad thing – it involves a flurry of activity. Iz has to look in the rule book what happens. Then she looks in a different rule book. Then she hands out more rule books.

She makes Nic read the introduction from the page.

“The shadowmen are coming,” Nic whispers, leaning over the board with their innate sense of drama. “They’re climbing through the windows. They’re creeping through the doors. They want to take, take, take the living away from this realm…”

Iz looks up from the other rule book. She gives Ellis the third. There are so many, he’s glad she knows what’s going on.

“You’re the traitor,” she says, looking him straight in the eye.

Ellis knows what this means; she explained it earlier. He has to leave, go upstairs where he can’t hear them, so that they can discuss strategies for defeating him. It’s nerve-wracking, to be the bad guy, to be the one against their two. But he’s in a good position, and he gets to be the monster, which is simpler, in a way…

More familiar.

He goes upstairs and sits down on their bed, tucking his knees up against his chest in the middle of the mattress. He places the booklet on his feet and looks down at the blurb that introduces his side of the scene.

You were young, when you first met the shadowman. He showed you a world you’d never dreamed of. Terrible and beautiful. He was your best friend, and he took you from your dull and normal life, through to somewhere you never… Never were able to leave.

Now, your friends are going to experience that same dreadful joy. They don’t understand, yet. But they will.

The voices of Nic and Iz downstairs are inaudible. They must be whispering. He looks back down at the booklet.

Here is what you know:

Your friends are trying to destroy the shadowmen. They need light to do this.

Okay. So far, so good. He has monster tokens, which he can move around. They appear at doors and windows and they can move between the shadows, and appear when Nic and Iz won’t expect it.

The heroes. The booklet calls them the heroes.

Your connection to the shadowman means if he is defeated, your defeat is imminent.

That… That’s okay. A way for them to win if they can’t collect the items they need. The shadowman, the main one, with the bigger token, he must be harder to defeat. Yes, there are his stats, he is. He might be able to do this. It doesn’t seem too hard or too complicated.

You win when:

All the heroes are dead.

He doesn’t want to do this.

But he said he would. He said he’d be okay. He promised, looking at Nic’s worried face and smiling and nodding just as they wanted him to. If he wasn’t okay with this, that made it a lie. He must never – he couldn’t lie.

Nic and Iz want him to do this. They want to play the game. They want to defeat him and the shadowman who corrupted him. They want to escape the big house with the endless rooms. They want to run away.

There’s a bit that he hasn’t read yet. It’s flavour text for when he wins.

Your oldest friend sits with you on the porch of the house. All the rooms inside are thick with shadow. Nobody can be seen inside, anymore. Your friend the shadowman turns to you with black eyes and smiles, and says—

Ellis’s breath stops with a small, silent lurch, and the page blurs before him, black words melding into grey.

The booklet doesn’t say well done, darling, but Ellis can hear it, as clear as day inside his mind.

We don’t need them, do we? You know you can’t go home to them. You’re a monster.

He thinks it’s a memory. He hopes it is. He bends his head, cheeks against his knees, and feels wet patches settle on the fabric of his leggings.

Not pyjamas, but close enough that maybe he wouldn’t mind.

“Ellis?” Nic’s voice sails up from downstairs, as carefully light as they always are. “We’re ready for you.”

He still can’t quite breathe. There’s something stuck in his throat, a whimper or a plea, something he can’t loosen. He’ll make a noise, then, and they’ll know what’s happening, and they’ll hear him, and he hasn’t been invited, and they’ll be so disappointed that he got so upset and he can’t play the game because he’s too used to being a monster.

“Ellis?” Nic asks again, louder. The stairs creak. It’s the third step that creaks, the one he always has to skip in the mornings when they’re still sleeping. They’re coming up.

Ellis wipes his eyes, head starting to spin. He just needs to take a breath. Take a breath, steady his voice, and tell them that he’s fine.

He doesn’t know what he’ll do after that, but he’ll try.

They’re already halfway up the stairs, turning at the little landing. A couple more steps and they’ll see him.

He still hasn’t taken a breath. Can’t. The noise. He’ll make a noise, a sob, a cry, a plea.

They appear. Wide eyes in a concerned face. Slow hand curling around the doorframe. “Hey, h… Hey. What’s wrong?”

They won’t understand. They won’t. There’s too much to explain, too many words about himself, and the game, and the words that didn’t say what he thought they said but they were so close, and the house that he can’t leave, and the shadows.

“Okay,” Nic says, and they sit on the bed beside his little ball and tip him into their lap. “Let’s just take a breath, okay? Just one breath for me, you can do it.”

He shudders, hearing the gulp in the movement, and hitches in a wisp of air.

“Yeah, there you go.” Nic’s hand begins to stroke the back of his neck, gently. One of the only places without scars. “A little more. Keep going.”

The third stair creaks again. Iz has worked out there’s no game going ahead. Ellis doesn’t look, forehead resting against Nic’s burgundy overalls, eyes stinging and chest pounding.

The air escapes him in an almost-voiced wheeze. Nic feels the exhalation against them, and hums. “Yeah, you got it. In again, like I’m doing.”

Another weight settles on the bed. Iz scoots forwards, and after a nod from Nic, comes around to his other side. Together, they enclose him in a safe nest of warm limbs.

“Sorry,” Iz murmurs gruffly, confused but apologetic regardless.

Ellis wants to tell her not to be sorry. He wants to tell her that he loves how much she tries, how she always thinks of new things to bring, how she’s always looking for the next way to engage him and help him out of his shell, how she never takes a single hit too seriously, if something doesn’t work, because she just brings the next thing and the next thing and never gives up on him even though she has every right…

He can’t make that many words. He just shakes his head against Nic’s front, and feels her hands rest on his back, careful and light.

The skin itches under her hands, but he doesn’t want them to be taken away for anything.

“Take your time,” Nic murmurs to him, and a kiss presses into his hair. “You’re safe. We love you.”

Ellis nods, and tries to calm, and keeps breathing. He’s safe, with them, and they’ll never hurt him, and he can be as sad and upset and useless as he needs and they’ll never give up. They love him.

But he knows that the shadowman loves the little boy too. And the boy loves him back. More than anyone else.

[blackquartzsphinx]

Pokémon:Bulbasaur

Bulbasaur is a cool dude, and a favorite of one of my players. They’re largely domesticated, and friendly, and seem to have a good sense of community. They comfort weaker Pokémon, and even have their evolutions held in a big ceremony overseen by an Venusaur. So let’s see what kind of adventures involving these loveable guys your group could get into.

Plot Hooks:

1. While heading to Emerald city the players realize that the vegetable patch they’re walking through is actually a field of hundreds of Bulbasaurs sleeping in the sun. It gets worse when they realize that they’re releasing sleep powder as they nap.

2.while trying to catch some wild Pokémon the players are ambushed by a Bulbasaur! This Bulbasaur escaped from an abusive trainer, and has dedicated his life to stopping other Pokémon from suffering the same fate. He’s already assigned to a pokeball and his chlorophyll ability means he’s ready to fight again in just a few hours. How do the players convince this vengeful boy to leave them alone?

3. A well meaning but misguided Gallade has taken an interest in a player’s Ivysaur. He intends to deliver the flower on its back to his girlfriend as a token of love. He’s been practicing for a while How to cut the bud off without harming the ivysaur, and has even mastered leaf blade to prevent any serious damage. Of course none of this is comforting to the Ivysaur who will still end up maimed no matter how gently it goes.

4. Gender reveal parties are getting a little out of control. A rather wealthy family has hired your party to corral a heard of Ivysaur to the side of a hill across the region. Time to grab a few Rapidash and prepare some trail songs, it’s time for a cattle drive!

5. The players come across a nearly deserted town that’s suffering from some pretty obvious flood damage. Despite the damage the town doesn’t look that upset. There is actually an extremely delicious smell permeating the town. After a little investigation they find that it’s been raining for weeks. Two days ago the rain finally stopped and not long after that sweet scent popped up. The smell has been so good that people all over town have abandoned their duties to find the source: a Venasaur who’s very angry with all the humans bumbling into his territory.

6. A local trainer has been on a hot winning streak. The key to his victories is his Venusar. The Venusaur has a specially made Tiara embedded with multiple sun stones. This allows her to absorb sunlight at an unprecedented rate. Allowing her to use solar beam instantly and activate chlorophyll every single round.

Variants and Shinies

1.Cactus. This breed of Bulbasaur appears where water is scarce, and the temperature is high. Rather than a seed it has a cactus flower growing from its back. It replaces its photosynthesis ability with iron barbs.

Art by Stef Walker

2.pumpkin. A spooky Bulbasaur that appears only one night a year to celebrate Halloween in the pumpkin patches. It has black skin with white splotches along its body that looks like bones. When it evolves into a venusar it’s pumpkin becomes a jack o’ lantern, with a candle burning and everything. As Venusar it gains the fire typing, launching flamethrower from the pumpkin on its back.

Art by VincenzoNova on Deviantart

3.rose. This beautiful variant is very popular in the contest circuit. With a beautiful rose blooming from its back this Bulbasaur gets a bonus 2d6 to its beautiful. Of course every Rose has thorns. This Bulbasaur’s vines are covered in sharp vines, giving it a +2 DB to vine whip.

Art by Butt-Berry

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

She [6]

Warnings: non-consent sex (series); masturbation

This is dark! Steve and explicit. 18+ only.

Series Synopsis: Steve Rogers’ life is turned upside down by a reporter.

Chapter Summary: Steve starts to plan ahead.

Note: Yesterday was pretty rough personally but I’m working on my writers list at the moment so that should be out next week! As for my own writing, I’m not sure. But thanks to everyone who is reading along

Thanks to everyone for their patience and feedback. :)

I really hope you enjoy. 💋

<3 Let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply or an ask! Love ya!

Steve

Steve didn’t get home until well past midnight. He’d lost her after the bar and she beat him back to her apartment. She was still awake when he got there. Wide awake. Restless. She sat on the couch and fiddled with her phone, then the remote, then fidgeted again. She was shaken by her little foray into the underbelly of the city.

He was almost amused to think of it. How she must have felt. Was she mortified? Intrigued? Maybe both. Like him. When he realised what she had been searching for, what the woman she’d been talking to was, he was surprised and even more interested.

When she flashed her press pass, he realised why. This was her new story. Had she so quickly forgotten about him? Let him fall in the gutter as she chases down her next prey.

Home, alone at last, he found himself in a fitful sleep. He laid atop his covers and tossed and turned. In the span of a couple days, his life had so completely changed. He was startled to realise he had so easily forgotten about his work. She was the crux of his life now. The very centerpiece of his new existence.

When he finally dozed off, he woke only shortly after. It was still dark and he was uncomfortable as he laid flat on his back. He was hard. Painfully hard. As his pajama bottoms rubbed against his cock, he flinched. He sat up and took a breath. He couldn’t.

He closed his eyes and he saw her. Sitting on the subway, sprawled across her couch, oblivious in the depths of her deep porcelain tub. He fell back and hissed. His hand twitched beside his hip.

“It’s okay to be lonely.” She whispered in his ear. “Natural, even.”

He squeezed his eyes shut and his breath shuddered.

“I’m the only who sees you for what you are.” He felt her breath, as gentle as the breeze. “You showed me that day who you truly are. You’re human, like all of us… imperfect.”

He shook his head and felt the tickled along his pelvis. Felt the elastic of his pants lift and the soft touch of flesh against his arousal. Fingers wrapped around him and began to stroke up and down. Tortuously deliberate. He bared his teeth as the motion carried.

“No…” He murmured. “No… it’s…”

He bit his lip as her hand sped up. As his muscles tensed and all the warmth in his body gathered at that one spot. He felt it mounting within him. The years of pent up resent and wanting. Those things he never let himself feel. His cock hurt so much. She worked him even faster.

He came and cried out in surprise. It turned to a growl as the strokes slowed and he was eased through the waves of sheer pleasure. He was panting as he opened his eyes. He was alone. It was his hand around his cock, his cum cooling along his fingers. He pushed his head into the pillow and groaned.

He was tired, then. Exhausted. But he had to clean himself up and forget about this. Forget about her.

He sat up and held out his wet hand. He stood and used his elbow to flip the switch on his way into the bathroom. He passed the broken sink and went to the tub. He turned the faucet and shoved his hand under the warm water. He stopped the tap and shook the droplets off his hands as he stood.

He turned and looked in the mirror. He was flushed and his irises were pinpoints. He didn’t look like himself. He grabbed the hand towel from the bar that hung on the front of the counter. He dried his hand, his pajamas damp. He shimmied out of them and let them gather on the floor. He shed his shirt and stood naked, his eyes roved the thick muscles of his chest and arms.

“You know what I am,” He said. “You will know what I am.”

🖋️

The basement was the only part of the townhouse that remained unfinished. Steve hadn’t been bothered, he’d intended it for storage and it worked well for that. But now he needed all this shit cleared out and he had a lot to do after that.

He resigned himself to a day by himself. He’d let her be as he started his work. And he knew if he kept on as he was, something might fall out of place. Something within him. He needed to focus on something else, just for a little bit. A day wasn’t very long at all.

The leftover drywall could be used still, the insulation, too. He’d have to grab some of the thick padding he’d seen at the hardware store. Two layers to be safe. That old washroom would have to be restored. The toilet was forgotten; the tank crooked and the lid totally gone. It barely flushed when he pushed on the handle. He’d make do.

After all that, he’d have even more to worry about. A bed would fit there where the boxes were and he could put a hook in the ceiling there along the beam. He wove between the stacks of dusty possessions. It would look bigger once he did away with the clutter. More than enough room.

He went and rented a unit downtown to store all his shit. He barely avoided the press as he pulled out but lost them soon after. He made several trips back and forth. It was afternoon when he started sweeping. He cleaned up the grim basement as best he could. It was almost evening then. 

He sat on the steps and took a breath. He looked up the stairs and back down. He’d need a thicker door, with a lock. That would need to be soundproofed too. Shit, he had to figure out a way to get everything he needed inside without drawing the attention of the cameras.

He glanced around as he stood and dusted off his hands. He left the broom against the wall and went upstairs. He washed his hands and pulled on his hoodie. It was dark. He cut through the back as had become his habit and headed down the little pathway that skirted the row of yards.

It would be easier to drive himself but the press knew his car by sight. He wasn’t that stupid. Besides, a man on the subway, hardly suspicious. She’d already be home or so he hoped. At her stop, he slowed his gait. As he came up on the street, he took a deep gulp of the night air.

He scaled the escape to his usual spot. Her window was dark but for the flicker of her television. She laid in its glare and stretched her arms over the end of the couch as her feet rested on the other. She had fallen asleep. He could tell by the even measure of her breath as he listened through the wall and past the buzz of the small speakers.

His hand slipped beneath the pane and he looked down at it. The window was open just a little to let in the cool breeze. He lifted his head and turned his palm up to grasp the wooden frame. He pushed just a bit and cringed at the grind. He stopped and watched her. She didn’t move.

He continued until the window was open to its limit. He stooped through. He was almost too big for it. He wiggled onto the other side and let himself down onto the floor carefully. He nearly kicked over the shelf just beside the window. He stood and glanced around the apartment. It smelled like roses, the way she had when he’d welcomed her into his house.

He crept closer, pausing after each step to listen. Her snores were soft and beckoned to him. He stopped just behind the back of the couch and looked down at her in the wavering shadows cast by the television. She wore a long tee shirt that read GAP across the chest; a small hole along the neckline and another near her thigh. He could see a hint of her panties just below.

He winced as he felt the blood rush from his head and he felt himself growing hard. He shook and gripped the couch. He wanted to just do it. He could. Easily. A hand over her mouth. She’d be terrified and she would know who it was she had crossed. She would realise what she’d done to him and he would make her know it was all her fault.

She turned onto her side suddenly and he ducked behind the couch. He heard a sniff as her snores quieted and she grumbled. He heard her moving around and the tv flicked off as her shadow stood on the other side of the sofa. He held his breath as her footsteps stumbled away into the bedroom. She didn’t even notice the noise of the city as it blew in through the open window.

He was too afraid to move. Ten minutes before he found his strength. Her snores resumed in the next room and he kept on all fours as he crawled around the couch. He followed her even heartbeat to her room and her arm hung down as she slept on her stomach. The curve of her ass was limned in moonlight through the space between her patched curtains.

He neared the bed and just watched her. Sat on the floor in a trance. So clueless, so weak to him. He got to his feet and waited. She didn’t wake. He smirked and neared. Still, she slept. He grabbed the handle of the night table just beside her bed and slowly forced it open. Pens, old cards, nothing spectacular. Disappointed, he closed it and inched away.

He backed away, stopped by her boxy dresser. He looked down and then back at her. He leaned on the side of the wood and carefully jostled opened the top drawer. A pair of satiny panties he shoved in his pocket without thinking and he felt deeper down. His fingers latched onto something firm and long.

He angled the large dildo out of her dresser and raised a brow. He’d seen these things online thanks to Sam’s dumb jokes. A small arm jutted out and curved parallel to the rest of the toy. There was a small button embedded beneath the silicone. He turned it in his hand and then tucked it into his belt and pulled his hoodie down over the oblong bulge. 

He shut the door and retreated entirely. That would be the first piece of his puzzle. A token to know her by until he could return it to her. The thought made him shiver as he made his way back to the window. He paused and took one last glance. 

He wanted to stay, wanted to go back in her room and wake her with the gentle buzz of the toy. Just between her legs, his hand between her shoulder blades as he held her down. No, don’t look at me. Just feel me. He took a sharp breath and kicked his leg over the window sill.

“Soon,” He whispered. “I promise.”

[dead-lesbians]

A sight for a sore eye

I actually got this finished my god.

It’s not the best but I am not exactly trying to write anything too amazing anyway.

Just a short Hajime X Ishi fic

Characters are from @dr-welcometocampdespair

There are Spoilers obviously.

Okay I think that’s every thing lol

It was fairly early when Hajime woke up, around 5 am.

He was calm at first, his tired brain not fully processing anything at the moment. Though eventually once everything clicked for him he sat up in a panic.

“Kawa!” He cried before before immediately wincing and lifting his hand up to one of his eyes.

The doctor in the room looked over at him from where he was sitting and pursed his lips, he had expected this yet it still hurt to see, being the ultimate doctor came with one flaw, you never got ‘numb’ to seeing patients in pain, physically or emotionally.

Ishi got up , grabbed something and wandered over to the clown.

“Take this, it’ll help with the pain” he said as he handed over a painkiller.

“I’ll get you some water”

Hajime looked at the pill, put it in his mouth and immediately bit down. The clown regretted it instantly and spat it out.

“ew! This candy tastes gross!” He complained.

Ishi looked over at him and headed over with the glass of water.

“Your not meant to chew on it Hajime , and it’s not candy, it’s a painkiller” he informed as he fetched another.

“Why would they make it taste bad?” Hajime tilted his head.

Ishi hummed to himself as he walked back over.

“I actually don’t know why, I’m sure there is a reason but I’m afraid I can’t tell you” ishi responded as he gave Hajime the painkiller and the water.

“Just put it in your mouth and swallow it down with the water” instructed calmly as he went to sit back down.

Hajime did as ishi said, and while it took a few attempts he eventually got it down.

"When will the pain go away?" He questioned as he put the glass to the side.

Ishi looked up from whatever he was doing, which looked like he was sewing something and responded.

"About half an hour, of you try not to think about it and I'm sure it won't take long at all"

The clown nodded and looked down, nervously fidgeting.

"He's ...really gone huh?"

Ishi sighed softly as he got back to what he was doing.

"I'm afraid so.."

"Why would he do this? Why would he...why would he put us in some game just to trick us all?" Hajime asked as he gently pulled his hair in distress , feeling himself tear up.

"It's not...fair..."

the room was silent for a bit before the doctor replied.

"I know it's cliche to say but...life isn't fair...if it was the only person at this camp that would be six feet under would be that damned actor...but you can't let that control your entire life. Your allowed to feel upset about this and cry , that is completely healthy. But what's not healthy is letting it consume you...I don't believe Kawa was a completely terrible person, but he wasn't a perfect person either. He manipulated you - hell, he manipulated all of us for some sick killing game. You can't let him continue manipulating you now that he's gone"

Hajime looked up at the doctor and nodded.

The room fell silent again, one of those comforting silences that you didn’t feel the need to fill. Hajime has never experienced that with Kawa, not that it was a bad thing, the two had sat in silence multiple times without it being awkward , but this was just different, Hajime could best explain it as that feeling you get when you hug someone you care for deeply.

He smiled to himself and let the silence remain.

Eventually Ishi stood up and walked over to Hajime.

“I made you something” he stated , showing off the thing he’d been working on.

It was a colourful dotted eye patch, matching the clowns bow tie.

“I thought you would rather wear something like this than a bandage...I did have to use a spare bow tie of yours to make it, I hope that’s alright” the doctor explained.

Hajime took it from Ishi and looked at it, the hand seeing was extremely neat, it honestly looked like it was machine sewn with just how neat it was.

“thank you Ishi” Hajime replied as he looked up at the doctor, a few tears spilling from his one working eye.

Ishi frowned a bit, not understanding why he was crying.

“Did I do something wrong? I can get you a new bow tie once we are out of here if your upset at that, I shouldn’t of over stepped your boundaries and token it I’m so-“

Ishi was cut off by Hajime chuckling.

“I’m not upset ,I love it...”

The doctor let out a sigh of relief. “Right..happy tears,my mistake. I guess I’m just not exactly used to them yet, a lot of the tears I see are of pain or sadness...but I’m glad you like it, would you like me to help you put it on?”

Hajime nodded in response and the doctor slowly started taking off Hajimes bandages. He was very careful, not wanting to cause the clown any more pain than he’d already been through.

The doctors fingers slightly brushed against the others skin as the bandages where token off and Hajime couldn’t help but blush ever so slightly.

Eventually the bandages where off and Ishi inspected the clowns eye, making sure it wouldn’t get infected or anything.

He was leaned pretty close to Hajimes face and an all too familiar feeling filled his stomach, one he’d experienced both with Kitsune and Kawa.

Once the doctor seemed happy with the check he carefully put on the new eyepatch, making sure it was secure but not uncomfortable.

“There, is that okay?” The pink haired male asked.

Hajime nodded , his cheeks still a little red from the closeness.

“Yes it’s perfect,thank you again Ishi.” He responded with a smile before ishi yawned.

“How long have you been up?” The clown questioned, only now realising how early it was.

“Most of the night, I had an hour nap but I have to stay up, it’s not to big of a deal though, I’ve pulled all nighters many times before” Ishi explained.

Hajime pursed his lips before shuffling just a little over on the medical bed and patting the space next to him. “You should sleep”

“Hajime it’s fine, really, I’ll be-“

“No, I don’t mind, and aren’t you a doctor? You should know staying up is unhealthy” He insisted.

Ishi stared at the spot on the bed before softly laughing. “You’ve got me...but only for an hour” he responded before sitting on the edge of the bed, though he didn’t lie down. “Its... not exactly appropriate for me to sleep in the same bed as a patient”

“Well, think of it as sleeping in the same bed as a friend then” Hajime responded with a smile.

The doctor thought about it before finally letting himself lie down next to the clown.

Hajime grinned and gently wrapped an arm around Ishi, bringing him into a hug.

The warmth of the hug seemed to help as soon Ishi was fast asleep, cuddled up next to the bandaged up clown and it wasn’t long before he too fell asleep himself.

[grim-faux]

2 _ 18 _ Hope and the Storms Eye

First

 The dream haunt was pretty horrible. The terrors came regularly whenever he tottered off and got carried away with resting. Sleep was important sometimes, but how to retrieve it was the trick. Friends you left behind, friends that left you behind, monsters stalking the dark pools of memories. Why was sleep so dang important? It never made him feel better. Never. Ever.

 Mono crawled out from behind the collapsed sofa seat – his current nest – and face planted. It wasn’t worth it. Exhaustion was very tempting, but the terrors all the more dissuading. He got onto his feet and paced around the room trying to focus on sounds and smell. The room had no windows, but a discouraging bulb gleamed in the ceiling above. At times it flashed when the Thin Man came around, but Mono was typically busy hiding behind the sofa to notice.

 This time, he left the room and wandered the corridors. He got lost in the not very difficult to navigate hallway, but after some effort and waking up a tad more, he made it to the small living room. He smelled smoke before he recognized the subdued rustle of static.

 He crept under the kitchen table and shuffled out over to where the Thin Man’s legs were. He meant to grab his pants, but collapsed against his shin.

 “Mono….”

 “Hmm….” He did his best to prop upright and try to wake up a bit. The Thin Man shook him off and, once more, Mono face planted. That woke him up. He folded back onto his knees and scratched at his head.

 “Do you need something?”

 Mono scrubbed at his good eye and looked up. The man in the hat drank the smoke stick and flipped a page in the book, intently focused on the marks within. From what he could tell they did nothing. Not like static, which had images and sound beneath the layers of chattering. It could be the Thin Man liked the quiet books.

 “Der-eem hu-nt. Bad dre’m.” He ruffled his hair and stood. The Thin Man was looking down at him.

 “Bad dream. What do you usually do when you have a bad dream?”

 Mono shrugged. He didn’t go back to sleep. The worst were the ones that kept on continuing and replaying, especially after something nasty he witnessed. Like the kid getting crushed.

 This haunting sleep terror was something about him wandering corridors, those familiar massive passages stretched and looping in the Tower. He thought he was chasing Her, or something else – a mass of flesh and eyes – gurgled through the doorways, pulsating and pursuing him. No matter how he searched, he couldn’t find his way. Couldn’t find his friend, couldn’t get away. Worst of all, he knew no one would come search for him once he was gone.

 “Check,” he muttered. “Y’er safe.” With that taken care of, Mono left the kitchen and ventured through the living area to where the main door awaited.

 A relocated pot sufficed the reach he needed to trigger the latch. Outside the residence, a tall crate offered his reentry. For now, Mono shoved the door shut all the way and took a direction down one mostly lit passage.

 The Thin Man was still annoyed about his book being demolished. Really, Mono did get it. This thing with books the Thin Man had, was something like Mono and his important coat, or his precious paper bag. He was heartbroken about losing his original mask, but he made the Snatchers pay. For everything. He would try and make it right for the man in the hat, somehow.

 Though, he really didn’t get off so ‘lightly’, as the Thin Man might’ve expected. Mono suffered a bad tummy ache and was sorely sick from eating the pages. Not the most productive thing he’d ever done. Maybe not an exact book, but something close. The only reason Mono didn’t haul books back to the Thin Man… books were big and heavy, and most he couldn’t barely carry by himself. It was also too obvious. He wanted to bring the man in the hat something unique, new, never seen before. Something that would show Mono paid attention, and was trying. He wasn’t sure if he could succeed in this mission, but he needed to check the hallways and rooms anyway. He’d been very lucky for however long, but the Thin Man wasn’t always around. It was Mono’s job to search and do watch.

 When they first came through the building, he never saw a stairs or a lift, or anything. The floor collapsed downward, in layers. To the third, then the second, and then the ground floor below. Planks and tattered clothing afforded connection between the detached levels, along with passages that extended behind the rotten walls. None of this didn’t mean dangers couldn’t lurk, as he knew well, and he never saw where the lift or the actual stairs lay in this building.

 Thus far, the separate residencies he pillaged through didn’t convey too many menacing threats. The usual Viewers, caught up in the televisions left rooted to walls or wound up into corners. He found that often rooms and televisions equaled zilch on books, but the spaces he wandered through empty of the fanfare jingle, did relinquish a book or two. However, as suspected when he began, these tomes were too large and hefty for his mightiness. At times if he unearthed some literature, it was a small blessing if it wasn’t tarnished by water and rot. He knew the Thin Man would have no use for a book that was soggy or icky. The man in the hat didn’t prefer icky things. The pages must be crisp and flip one-by-one, this he knew without a doubt. If a book was paper, like his bag mask, then getting it wet would end it.

 At long last, and after venturing far beyond the main area of the building, Mono did locate some books in good condition. He could find his way back, it shouldn’t be too much of an issue. First, he had to figure out which book to take. He could only manage one, if they all had survived.

 The books remained preserved from water damage due to a suitcase they exploded from. He sat in the small dark room, checking the pages. Searching for something near identical, though aware the book wouldn’t be a replica or anything like that. For one, he couldn’t remember anything about the book he ate, aside from how nice the pictures were. Second, he should avoid a book with those sort of pictures. Third, that book he couldn’t carry. He would have to settle, and hope the Thin Man would accept the token.

 After browsing the inner pages and material, he found a book of suitable size and with plenty of pictures. Not as many pages, but close enough. He could hold it in his arms, bundled about the sides. It was no more heavier than a fuse. Carting it back to the upper floors wouldn’t be too grand of a drama, not like the plane. He could throw the book a good distance. And he practiced a few times, as he ventured through the silent and musty corridor.

 He does hit an unforeseen snag when he reached an indoor pool. The walls of the building collapsed around the perimeter, barring off an easy pass to the furthest side and pathway that would lead into the building interior. Along with his route to the layers of crumbling floors and floors within.

 Mono peered up, guided by the dim light of a flickering lamp dangling from the side of a decimated wall. The first time he came through, he slid down the telephone wire from the pole bent high above the edge of the collapsed roof. The descent was easy, but he never gave forethought to a return. Especially not with a book.

 The water might be deep, he isn’t sure. It’s murky and dreary, the top layered with a thick film. Further across the waters surface, a sequence of flotsam swayed. A chunk of planks beside the pool wall caught his eye, perhaps sturdy enough for his weight and the book. If not them both, then maybe the book on its own. If it’s not too deep, he can bounce off the bottom. But he won’t sink, he’s certain, if he holds onto the raft. It won't be so bad, he did something like this before.

 Firstly, Mono leaned out and set the book on the floating debris. That secured, he went along to the ruble lying beside the pool and poked around. He unearthed a stout pole with a few boards attached by rusted nails. He knocked off the excess wood, until he could carry his liberated paddle. He hoped onto the raft and pushed off from the pool side, aimed for the furthest wall and hopefully shallow waters. The paddle he dipped through the chunky surface testing the depth, and decided it was much deeper than he was tall. He swept the pole on one side of his raft, then the back, until he figured out how to move forward. He wasn’t skilled with paddling this way, but no one ever taught him. He regretted—

 Something snared the paddle and wrenched it from his hands.

 Mono snapped loose and gawked, as the water behind his makeshift doorframe-raft churned. The water was black and gray beneath the froth, greasy fins flashed under the surface. The waves rocked his raft, and without a thought he leapt to the nearest side of the pool.

 This blind leap fared better than most others. He touched upon a clear space of the wreckage, and despite flailing about in a near graceless wobbling, he caught his balance and toppled among insulation and mortar. He gathered himself up and turned horrified eyes toward the swirling raft and the book abandoned atop it.

 Whatever was beneath the liquid was uninterested in the raft and its cargo. The surface subsided in its throes of watery threats, beneath the shining surface he spied a flash of scales. Some kind of monster!

 Though no stranger to beasts or creatures, is a book worth this? Fuses and keys, and other instruments for breaching doors is one thing. But a stupid book?

 Either way, he was stranded in this small patch among the ruble. He’ll be careful, and if it is too great a risk, he can always abandon his prize. He set his hands on the edge of the pools cracked wall and focused, not on his raft, but some other island of debris loitering in the water. With a flash and crackly squeal, he’s hugging the slanted pole and perched on a bit of wood. He braved slashing his foot into the water, the bold movement triggered something churning through the grime feet away. A thin trail zoomed at his precarious perch, and if he was careless, it could snag his coat and haul him deep into the water.

 Mono barely thought, and with a shrill chatter, he crashed into the side of his raft and toppled right into the water!

 Blind panic seized him instantly. Or, it would have, if Mono wasn’t stunned from the impact. He snorted water, but managed to cap his breathing and work out the seized state of his muscles. Somehow his hand snared the edge of his boat, this saved him from sinking too far too fast. He righted himself and got his face above the surface. His hat was gone, floated off somewhere. Not important. He choked on the pungent air surging into his frigid throat, instinctively he began kicking. He managed to coax the raft a few inches, before he’s conscious of something surging through the sludge below. With a great deal of effort, he’s hauled up onto the raft enough to gather his bearings and perform another teleport.

 This time to a spindly spike of wood, lodged into the pool by some debris on the bottom. Mono searched the surface, as his tether began dipping to its weak side. When he caught visual of the swirling film, he gauged when to make his next teleport. Waiting and waiting, even when he all but lost his landmark to the liquid. He let the creature get as near as he could tolerate, and then made a more graceful but all the same splashy leap to his raft. And the book, perched on the edge.

 After several more calculated leaps, and creeping the raft in close to the pools edge, he finally discovered where the shallows were. He stood up to his neck in the water, shoving the boat as close as he could to the edge. He was barely able to stay upright, if not for the buoyancy all around him. When he was about to abandon the raft once more, he’s startled by something right beside him.

 WHAP! A geyser of black water erupted upward and came all the way down. Mono fought to haul backwards with the last ounce of his strength and get the raft to safety, before the plume of water cascaded down. He crawled up the steps and out of the water, panting and choking. It took a bit for him to catch his breath and choke up the last of sludge. Foul awful, nasty!

 “Chu. Chu?”

 He wrenched away from the faint touch on his arm and gawked.

 The other child gaped back, as if he insulted the whole method of approaching another living creature. He’s too boggled and taxed by everything to really take the kid in. Clothing, oversized, but fits. Close enough. Dirty gaunt face. Dark skin. Different. Maybe girl? Not sure.

 They made a soft click at him, frowning. His hat was gone. His hat was gone.

 The kid turned away and went to the pool edge. He observed as they shifted through the greasy film, before snagging something and coiling back. A great deal of effort went into the prospect of hauling out the… it was a fish, he supposed. It didn’t look much like a fish, it was large, about his size, and had limbs, or nubs, big thick barbs stuck out from the fishes face. The monster fish flapped around in open air on the sprawling concrete, and the kid smashed it a dozen more times with a chunk of wood. They didn’t stop, until the misshapen head was more unrecognizable and misshapen. He kind of liked this kid.

 He went to the further edge of the pool and liberated his book from its uncertain fate. The kid followed him. They stood a bit taller than him, sort of burley and broad shouldered. He still can’t decide if they are a girl or boy, it’s hard to tell, and it doesn’t matter.

 He dropped to his knees and set aside the book. That was too much, he’s not sure if he’ll make it back to the room without a rest. He almost wished the Thin Man was here. Almost.

 The kid held out a crinkly bundle, and offered a sound. Speek. Softly. They did speek.

 “Hoi,” he whispered. “Foods?”

 “Fff…oOOOoo’dz,” they repeated. Then, repeated their speek.

 How did they make the sound? He opened the bundle, and found indeed it was foods. Bits of dry stuff and bread bits, it smelled all right. He ate slow and careful, so he didn’t look like a nutcase. He watched the other child intently, suspicious to their motives. Was help? Reason? Was reason?

 They watched too, legs bent up and chin resting on a knee. One eye was discolored and the skin around it scarred. That was strange and a little scary, likely an injury.

 “Hurt?” he crooned, when finished eating. He reached up and touched his own eye. Though, he knew it was healing well, he could see a little more out of it now. The kid’s eye… that looked like forever.

 The kid sighed and cocked their head. “Hhn-eeerrt.” Looking at his face, they reached a hand up to touch their sad eye. “Hrr’nt.”

 Maybe it was too dark, they couldn’t see. Mono could only see the poor eye in the sallow light. He tilted his head only slightly, when they waved a hand at his face.

 The other child made a creeing, and pointed to them self. Lifting forth the pointer finger, they gestured the other hand in a vague direction. Then, there were two fingers. Two. They made certain Mono understand that one finger was them, and then, they had a friend somewhere. Somewhere. Vaguely out there somewhere. Perhaps scouting, doing scavenging for food. A second set of eyes. Another pair of ears.

 “Two.” He used Her speek for numbers. With one finger he pointed to himself, and (he does not hesitate) held that finger out. “Self.” The crinkled paper held some scrap of crumbs, which he was glad to distract himself in picking at. He only raised his head once more, when the other kid patted him on his head.

 The other kid held out their hand, and made a churring sound. Or warble. It sounded very friendly and somewhat curious. Like an insect, but pleasant and comforting. This all feels… familiar. They wanted him to come with. Stay. Be together? Them and friend, and him. A small pack, still safe. All of them. Together.

 This child seemed capable, as well. He examined the dead fish monster behind them, a trail of red drained out of the caved in eye. Maybe they knew different tricks, or how to escape the dream haunts. Would the other friend be okay with this? It might work out. He could go with them, learn new skills, share things. Important things, such as together, fears, and foods. Watch after each other, find each other, call to each other. It would be nice. The Thin Man wouldn’t care, adults didn’t need anyone.

 But… Mono is no good. He is alone, and he runs away. And he hates the way his dreams scream through the sleep, clawing at his guilt and the memories of all the faces he left. It won’t be better with a different child – someone that will be taken from him. Someone that will decide to leave him. Another person to walk away, when he’s no good anymore.

 With a surge Mono is on his feet and recoiled backwards. Take by utter shock, the other child collapsed, tripping over the large and very dead fish monster at their heels. All of this drama, followed from the forceful shove by Mono. The  other child is not down for long, and with some effort, they haul up and braced themselves. Primed for retaliation or revenge, whichever suited the situation.

 Mono doesn’t dawdle, he stole up the book and ran for what it was worth back to the entrance doors of the building. At his back, the slap of the child’s sodden feet follow on the greasy cement. The child can’t follow for long, as he suspected. Not due to any special talents on Mono’s part, but because the Viewers cluster within the first corridor he veered onto. He wasn’t about to risk shooting too near the denizens of the Signal, but Mono came down this way through an open vent in the wall.

 The faint footfalls ebb beyond the opening. Even so, Mono didn’t stall or catch his breath. He hugged the book and hiked up the steep incline of the shaft, using his elbows for balance when his damp feet skid on the silt.

 Hauling the book up the numerous broken levels of the building wasn’t the trail he thought to appreciate, not until he was trying to hit a mark with the heavy and flappy wings of the book. Without killing it. The climb was much more tedious than the descent, and each floor he made it to, Mono gave pause to examine the tome and insure it wasn't shredded. Somewhere in his tedious climbing, the alarming wail of Viewers burst throughout the inner chamber.

 This time he did postpone ascending higher to check and see for what the threat was. He's not nearly as stunned as he could have been, when he recognized the fish beating kid race by on what remained on the floor below. Directly on their back hurtled two Viewers, agitated about something; the kid could've gotten too close. He doesn't see where the kid goes, they disappear over the edge in the floor. The Viewers don't hesitate to barrel off the edge and plunge, several floors down. He tugged the book tighter into his embrace and resumed his tedious ascent.

 At long last he hiked up the incline he first came down, to the one door he knew. He set the book on the crate and heaved it over to the door handle and snagged the latch. After some grueling coordination demanding a door be hauled open, shift the weighted crate aside, and enter through the wedge of the doorway, get the panel fitted in its frame. Go back out and retrieve the book he almost forgot, then once more shut the door.

 Mono was back.

 “Hey. Hoi. Hai.”

 The Thin Man wasn’t in the kitchen.

 Mono scampered past the lower cabinets, though its apparent nothing is lurking in the shadows of corners. From there, it’s trace through the living area – he whisked through so fast, he might’ve missed the tall figure. However, there is no one present, especially since there is no furniture aside from some tables and stacks of moldering boxes. No Thin Man. Was gone? NoNoNo. Still here. He can feel it.

 It’s only the other rooms then. Mono tries the one with the collapsed sofa, and his intuition is rewarded. Not that it was difficult to figure out. The Thin Man slouched beside the sideways fabric chair, hat down and cheek in his palm. Mono hurried around to his side and tossed the book onto his stomach.

 “Hey,” he rasped. “Look.”

 The Thin Man jolted, static vibrating as he groaned. “What? Child?” He rubbed his face. “What have you gotten into?”

 Mono reached over the Thin Man’s middle and patted the book. “Look. M’fix. Try. S’good?” He tried to grip the edge of the book and haul it back, but the Thin Man already plucked it up. “M’sorry. T’s diff-Err-Ant. B’t still.”

 “I don’t know what to do with this.” He flipped through the pages. “Why bring this?”

 The book was kind of small in the Thin Man’s hands, Mono reflected. “Is… n’good? Not?” He hoisted himself up onto the Thin Man’s side, but the man in the hat pried him loose.

 “You’re filthy. Child,” he groused, with an electric huff, “get yourself cleaned. This isn’t healthy.” Rising through a jittery flicker, the Thin Man lifted the child and exited the room. “Why are you like this?”

 “No. No. Rice-zipo-rate.”

 “Please, don’t start that again.” The wriggling child he held a little out from himself, but much of the grime was caked on and no longer sopping. Meager illumination worked down the walls of the small bathroom, but at least the tub was empty of debris. He set the boy in the tub and tried the faucet. No water?

 Absolutely not. The Thin Man pressed his hand on the wall, and water gurgled out of the corroded pipe. The fluid was dark and red at first, until the line flushed out. It looked like the water drained as well. Good.

 “Book. T’sorry,” Mono insisted. He inched back from the flow of water creeping in the dip of the tub.

 “Look at it later. You’re a mess.” The Thin Man stood and moved to the exit. “Take your time.”

 Mono didn’t get it. The book. But, if he scrubbed off some of the grunge… he was kind of a dirty mess.

 The water was frigid, but clean for the better part. He sat at the puddle edge soaking out the thick blotches on his shoulders and sleeves, slinging out globs of gelatinous sludge. Until most the fibers in his coat resurfaced, and his hair was liberated from the drudge. Last, he scooted safely from the spewing stream and checked his hats, and most importantly, his new paper bag mask. The paper appeared only dampened at the edges, but it would be fine. Leaving the stream of water was chilly business, but he had to dry out. The sooner the better. The water just seemed to get colder and colder.

 Heaving his soggy self over the tub side was a new challenge. He’d hidden in bathtubs a few times, but usually they were dry. A fine layer of goop clung to his clothing. It took a few tries of hoping up and snagging the curved edge of the tub, but at last he had the leverage to get him and his weighted coat over the edge. He crashed to the floor in a graceful broken pretzel. Ow.

 He didn’t see where the Thin Man went off to, he wasn’t in the sofa room. Mono went back there to search for the book, see if he took it.

 The book was on the floor, but at least it was safe. He took it up and carried it down the corridor, back to the living room. As expected, the tall thin man was seated at the kitchen table examining one of his choice picks. Mono thought about trying once more, but he supposed if the Thin Man wasn’t interested in the book, then it was his now.

 He went to a corner of the room not far behind a shattered nightstand, and sat down to check out the pages. It was a stack of pages with substance, not a pamphlet or a thing stapled together. The Thin Man preferred big heavy books, but some of them had picture speek. Not all. He liked the patterns that looked like static. Maybe he liked the pictures of food? This book didn’t have pictures of food, but different things.

 One thing in the book looked like a plane. He built a plane, it flew. The plane in the book was a different shape, different in many ways. But it had wings and a fan on its nose. It had a tail too. It was a plane.

 Other things he didn’t know what they were, not exactly. Machines. Children sometimes did speek about malicious machines, of teeth and grinding. Machines lived in factories and ate many different things, and then sent out many different things. Elevators were machines, fuses gave them life and power. Machines didn’t work without electricity or power. Electricity made up the Thin Man, among other things. This Mono knew, because he could feel it. Like he could sense energy in machines, such as the televisions and the screaming box.

 He saw a car before, but not like the one in the book. The wheels, the color. Different. Real cars were not a common sight in the city, most got swallowed up. There were other machines, other things in the book, which Mono had never seen before. He found the portrait fold out of stars and the moon. He hadn’t seen the moon in forever, nor the stars.

 He hunched over the book tracing the different shapes of the moon – waxing and crescent, to quarter, and full. He missed the sky and the stars, and the moons many changes. He watched the days go by, and understood time did not hold still.

 So many different things in the book. The pictures conveyed messages he didn’t understand, but he grasped one thing. It gave meaning to the travelers lost in their journey. The speek was so crisp and refined, not like the childs hasty scribbles. It told stories, but did not know about the real dangers to warn against. That was comforting in a way.

 Somewhere in his single-minded exploration, he’s blanked out in a sleep. Mono isn’t fully aware he’s been KOed by exhaustion, not until the cramped tent of the book is peeled back from his face. And then he’s up and alert, scoping for threat and hazard. The Thin Man dropped the book at his feet.

 “Hai.” He’s still on edge, glancing around. Danger? Is there danger? Where? “Hunh?”

 “Are you ready to leave?” the Thin Man ventured. “There is no food here.”

 Mono ruffled up his sticky hair. He needed to wake up first. “No….” The book was in a folded collapse, but he rescued it and unfurled the pages. “Show. S’book? Mark speek?” He opened a page and indicated the static pattern.

 “What? This thing?” The Thin Man knelt down and accepted the book. He frowned at the contents. A lot of pictures, along Mono’s line of interest. It was utterly childish and simplistic, a child’s picture book of all things. “This… isn’t very good material. It’s too… complicated.” He settled on. “This speek is difficult for me.”

 Mono tilted his head. “Speek. Not… know?” He raised his arms toward the book and made grabby motions.

 “We’ll find you a better book. More in your age range.” He pushed Mono’s hands down and ruffled his hair.

 “Aye-gee.” What was that?

 “How old are you?” The Thin Man was in fact curious. He’d forgotten how old he was, when he suffered the treachery. It had been such a long-long time. “Child?” Mono blinked owlishly. “Never mind. This…” he held the book up, “it is not right for you. We can find something better. You would like that, hmm?”

 Mono bounced a little on his toes. “S’mine. F’r sorry. F’not t’want, n’mine. Find.” He tried climbing the Thin Man’s thigh, but the man in the hat pushed him away and stood. Mono reached. “F’not give…? T’n share.”

 The Thin Man took a step back. “No, Mono. You don’t need this.”

 Confused and at a loss, Mono clasped his hands to the back of his head. “Want? S’yours?”

 “Yes. This is mine now. Thank you.”

 When the Thin Man turned to abandon the situation, Mono hastened forward and snatched at his ankle. “Wait. Th’n… can share? Help. T’speek, make werk. To pictures. Show, then… n’help. Aam…. I help?”

 The Thin Man pushed his hat up and rubbed his forehead. “Enough, child. That’ll be enough.  You are not getting this back. It’s rubbish. All right? No good. Not need.” In a flicker, he was leaving.

 “No! Wut not w’k? S’wrong? Broke? M’sorry. Sorry!” He charged after the Thin Man, following the sizzle of static into the kitchen. “Take. T’keep. S’have tu learn! Wait!” In a flash the man in the hat was beside the cabinets; he opened one of the topmost and tossed the book in. “I ll’help. M’ke w’rk. Fix! N’fix! T’fix! T’fix! Not!” The cabinets didn’t have handle grips, but he could pull the bottom drawers out. “M’sorry. Juz n’take.”

 The Thin Man took him around the middle, to pry him loose and set him on the floor. “No child, we are not take.” He held the collar of his coat, but Mono pushed on the tips of his toes against the gritty laminate. Getting nowhere. “We will find you a more suitable book, but now, we are leaving. No discussion. Are you listening?”

 “Ss… mine!”

 “No, Mono! No. Not for you.” The Thin Man scooted Mono aside, and with the child far enough out of range, settled his other hand against the front of the cabinet drawers stacked up.

 When the Thin Man withdrew, Mono raced over and tried to pull a drawer out. It… didn’t budge. None of them would. This time, he tried climbing the coarse surface to reach the countertop. He couldn’t leap and reach the countertop. Next, he turned and examined the table with the chairs hunkered around it. Falling on his final option, he glared at the Thin Man standing, arms crossed

 “Fix.”

 The Thin Man flicked his hand and spun away. “No.”

 “S’not funn-eh,” Mono hissed, shoulders tightened. “T’s book. For’yu. Fix’d broke. Wuz try.”

 After a few steps and a flash, the Thin Man did turn back. “I don’t want that book. I can’t haul around every book I find.”

 Mono reached for the cabinet high above, and the book he knew was within. “T’s. Want. T’at. All’t. Important.” The static vibrating and the Thin Man muttered something, he glitched and appeared close to Mono and knelt. Mono retreated a step.

 “There are better books in the city,” he pleaded. Settling his hands around Mono, he kept him in place. “Many more, better, waiting to be found.”

 Mono wriggled away, or tried. The fingers tightened over his shoulders. “Important.”

 With a rustle and a flicker from the light above, the Thin Man recoiled and stood. “Very well. You can stay here, with your book. I am leaving, but I will not return.” He took his casual strides, toward the living space.

 “Not. D’take! Not n’leave.” He hovered in the entry of the kitchen, conflicted with remaining in the empty residence. And unable to reach the book. “Ph-lez. Not.” The Thin Man stood at the door with his hand on the handle.

 “This is done, C̷̪̉h̶͈̕i̶͚̎l̵͇̃d̸̫̑. I am not waiting for you this time.” The tall figure pushed the panel outward and stepped through. “Do whatever you wish. I will have no part of it.”

 Mono tore from the kitchen entrance and hurried after the retreating shadow. “Come. M’come. Here.” He did look back one or more times, to the dull gleam of the cut-out form of the entry. Fading with each step he took, becoming dimmer and more distant.

 The Thin Man was right, of course. Of course. That didn’t stop the dull ache in his chest or how tight his throat felt. Even for one thing, he couldn’t let him have that? It wasn’t fair. But he wasn’t going back, and he wouldn’t protest it further. The corridor was murky and he didn’t… it was hard to find his way.

 “You don’t recall when last you ate, do you?” the voice came.

 Probably the best indication that it had been some good time, a day or so if those still existed. Mono chewed on his palm and shook his head, indifferent if the Thin Man saw or not. He pursued the rhythmic clicking down the sloping floor.

 “We’ll find you a better book,” he repeated. A little further ahead, after a thrumming pop. “Would that make it right?”

 Mono shrugged. It wouldn’t be the book he found, the important book. But the Thin Man did whatever he wanted, and went wherever he wished. That was the way it was. Nothing Mono did or say was important.

 “S’comp-in-ee?” he whispered. The steps fell silent, and Mono hurried closer. He peered up, only able to discern a bleak suggestion of the face.

 “Y…es?”

 That was what the man in the hat called it, anyway. Company. It is what they shared, he supposed. It was not together, it was them in the same place. Mono was allowed to follow the Thin Man. The Thin Man reminded him, kept him close, waited when his legs failed. It wasn’t pack. They had differences. The Thin Man was adult, and Mono was child. Mono had to understand he couldn’t expect the same things, as what he shared with his previous packs. Packs formed out of share and necessity, the bare minimal to survive, and barely managed that.

 They failed. His friends were gone. She didn’t want him. The Thin Man was the only constant. He had someone that couldn’t be stole or hurt or taken. Good.

 Mono looked up-and-up at the tall-tall figure. “M’comp-un-knee?” He tugged at the collar of his coat.

 “Yes, child,” he hummed. “You are my company.”

 Before the figure could resume walking, Mono snagged his ankle. “Bu’t. S… n’good comp’an-ee?” The Thin Man pursed his lips. “M’mean, is to n’m-ee, m’Mono. Good n’s—”

 “Are you good company? Yes. Splendid. Let us go, before the storm rallies it’s strength.” With that, the gloom rippled and the shape vanished. He could still detect the static buzzing, grating. Agitated, more likely.

 The book wasn’t important. However, Mono remained determined to find something that would intrigue the man in the hat. He could do that. Keep trying, he was good at that.

 In the meanwhile, he’d bar himself against the sour ache in his chest and in his gut. Lethargy nipped at his eyes, and he was more than famished, but he wouldn’t find food sitting around. But the Thin Man was right, even if he hurt Mono without meaning to. The book was temporary and it was small, but like Mono, it endured so much. He could’ve made an exception, even for a little while. It was important to him.

Next

[merryfortune]

mead of berries and honey

Un-Love You Challenge: 12. I’m drunk.

mead of berries and honey (little miss liquor lips)

Ship: Ethlyn/Travant

Fandom: Fire Emblem Genealogy of the Holy War (mangaverse)

Rating: M

Warnings: Choose Not to Warn

Word Count: 1.2k

Tags: Canon Divergence, Dub-con, Alcohol, Abuse, Forced Relationship,

   Her perfume smelt so sweet, Travant could drink it if he could. 

   He had no doubt the high of it would be worth the low: the blackberries entwined with the extracts of cherries and vanilla beans. The way she spoke was like an easy liquid pouring out of a crystalline bottle. She was purer than liquor but gods, she got him drunk.

   Everything about her got him intoxicated on an affection that he had never felt before. Her hands were those of a cleric’s but her heart, Travant wanted to believe, was one of a lover’s. 

   It was irreverent and pathetic that the regal, passionate King of Thracia would be reduced to nothing but a drunkard because he was chasing the skirt of a rebel woman. But his own court and his own troops did not know that woman like he did. She helped him when he was blinded, when he was wounded: she either did not know or did not care that he was the very man whom she crusaded against. Travant did not know what was better for her kind heart, her obliviousness and ignorance or if her kindness truly knew no such bounds, transcending the sides of war.

   Just as he would take the bottle of the finest mead of berries and honey - just like her hair, just like her eyes, just like everything about her - he would take her too. A spoil of war. And so, Travant stole her from the desert and from the corpse that she was so futilely trying to heal. Every smack of her clerical magic only made flowers grow around the dead man that she was wedded to.

   Her eyes were brimming with tears as she tried to resuscitate this goner. She hardly noticed him until Travant had put his arm around her midsection and carried her off. Pulling her atop his wyvern, child - their child now - in tow. The babe giggling and gurgling despite this being a place of no esteem or honour for the rebels she was parented by.

   It was hardly a place of esteem or honour for Travant, he, the victor. He had not wanted to fight the rebels but their cause was unjust. He would prevail, the rightful heir and prince of Thracia and now Thracia would have a new queen and royal rugrat to pay their dues to. And they would have a new transgression to gossip about in courts and at the fringes of his country, where there were patches of sympathisers, new fodder for the fall of his Thracia.

   But Travant decided he would care not so long as he had her, his darling Ethlyn. She skulked about the few rooms that she was permitted host in. Always glaring but her eyes were so sharp, like jewels, that Travant couldn’t fault her for that or any other token of her hostility that she used against him like a weapon. He had to keep her close, his grip on her was firm, he paraded her around. The rebel who had been inducted into the very monarchy that she railed against. Dressing her in the finest clothes and allowing her to eat the finest that there could be; so much different to the soup kitchens she would run in her own camp.

   She was a little trooper, that Ethlyn, Travant observed. A healer, yes, but a healer who hailed from a scrappy army, nonetheless. Travant enjoyed her compliance but her protests were what struck the flint to the iron in him. Her hardened gazes as she forced herself to wear the regalia of her enemy at the dances that Travant took her too: propagandistic events to show that his rule would not be usurp. And also because he did enjoy a dance and as an expert rider of horses, Ethlyn was quite good at them, too, to Travant’s utter delight.

   After those such soirees, they would retire for the night and Travant would let Ethlyn release all her qualms of the evening. She railed about how she hated all of this and him and yet she would be in their ceremonial marriage bed that night, their child Altenna in the crib beside it.

   And, oh, Altenna, what a precious babe. She would undoubtedly grow big and strong with parents like these. Her brown hair was fluffy and ruddy; her blue eyes were bubbly. There was not a thing about her which did not charm Travant. He would take pride in her and looked forward to the day that he could perhaps take her beyond mere baby steps and teach her the gait of a soldier. Give her a lance and a training, perhaps even a wyvern as she was always so happy to visit the stables to see Daddy’s draconid and Mommy’s horsey.

   Where Altenna was still so innocent and happy, her mother was a contrast of discipline and care. Ethlyn was fierce. Protective. All the traits of being such a good mother. She did not let anyone but either herself or Travant to touch Altenna. There would be no substitute milk or anything else for her child. In the crooks of dusky afternoons, Ethlyn would rock Altenna to sleep for a pre-dinner nap and Travant would rock Ethlyn in faux of true, marital domesticity. He had such adoration for both mother and child.

   Ethlyn was caretaker was such a wonderful attraction that Travant had unto her and so, despite her prickly nature as a captive bride whom Travant was captivated by, to have the honour of looking after her child when she bathed or was otherwise occupied was the highest pleasure that Travant knew. And Travant knew of many pleasures that Ethlyn could give, be it on her lips or between her legs, it was when her fingertips ghosted his own and they exchanged Altenna between them. Those were the moments that Travant desired most from Ethlyn. In any form, any shape. So long as he was touched by her.

   When he was reckless in battle or reckless at the bar, Travant was confident that he could retire back to her, stumbling, and he would be taken care of without hesitation. Be it reeking of too much liquor or reeking of too much slaughter, retiring to his quarters where his wife remained was such sweet pleasure. She would set down her sewing and take him by the mid-section - so differently to how he had stolen her from that arid desert. She would support him and lay him down gently and Travant would close his eyes. She would grunt and struggle, every step a delay as they got closer to safety and privacy.

   Was it blood or the grime of a tavern’s floor that she was wiping off? It mattered not so long as it was her cloth that cleaned him down. She huffed and glared and huffed again, hearing her - their - baby cry in the background as she dealt with the mess that Travant had made of himself again but she would persevere between her duties and her ethics. Looking after them both as it were.

   And Travant would drink in whatever affection there was that Ethlyn had for him. He knew that she was counting the days like pomegranate seeds swallowed, dreaming of the day she could escape but he didn’t mind. He loved her in all honesty and he knew that she knew that. 

   Truly, he was drunk on all of her. The power he had over her and the more subtle things, too. Again, the scent of her perfume and the tears that she cried. Travant was utterly intoxicated on her and knew her to be his hangover cure, as well. It was just a shame that it was all poison, all the same given their circumstances.

[tisfan]

Scarlet Hood; White Wolf

 For @livewire28

The White Wolf peered down his scope, targeted on a splash of scarlet. “Package en route,” he muttered, avoiding the temptation to touch his ear while he talked. Sloppy habits made for a sloppy job.

“Over the hills and through the woods, to grandmother’s house,” his handler said. “We’ve got eyes on the house. Prevent the package delivery at all costs.”

“Yep,” the White Wolf said, spitting out his toothpick. He pressed against the scope, watching as the target practically skipped down the path, basket under one arm.

The target was clad in a scarlet cape, hooded, that went practically to her ankles; brown boots peeped out from around the hem. The wind was a little unpredictable, flapping the sides of the cloak. The trees were thick, creaking as they swayed.

Good chance of a storm, the White Wolf thought, feeling the ache in his arm and shoulder where they’d been reconstructed after a bad mission in Switzerland. It shouldn’t affect this mission, but he’d be holed up in his safe house for a few days after, chewing vicodin and reading crappy magazines from the 60s. Hydra didn’t update its reading material very often.

At least they stocked the good drugs and reasonably decent food.

He turned his attention back to the target.

“What’s in the package?” the White Wolf wondered. He’d never wondered that before. It wasn’t in the nature of an assassin to wonder about the target; who, what, why. All he needed to know is where they were.

He squinted, bringing the target back into focus. Started the countdown in his head. Ten seconds until impending death.

Eight… seven…

He sucked in a breath, let it all out until there was no air in his chest.

Six… five… four…

The storm broke overhead. A few drops scattered across his arm. One raindrop dripped down the lens of his scope.

The target raised her head, and like a complete dumbass, pushed her hood back as if to see the clouds and scold them.

Three… two...

She turned.

She looked right at him, although there should be no way that she could possibly see him, camouflage in his hide, so far away.

But she looked right up at him, green eyes witchlike in the half-light, as if the storm was her friend and she was made stronger by it.

Like she knew him. She waved at him. Signalled. 

Something spluttered and flared in his mind, an image, a word, a picture. Something.

He pulled the trigger.

...

And missed.

Not entirely, he was too good to miss the entire target. The basket fell to the ground with a sprinkle of blood, scarlet as the cloak she wore. The target turned, bolted into the woods and within seconds, had vanished into the trees.

“Fuck.”

“Report, Soldier.”

“Target evaded. Package is--”

He almost said it, almost admitted it, that the package was down, just there, accessible.

“Pursue, Soldier.”

“Copy that.”

The White Wolf left the sniper’s rifle in his hide. He’d be back to get it, and it didn’t carry well for a dash through thick woods. He had two handguns and a dozen or more knives. He did stop for the package, before engaging in tracking the target.

She couldn’t escape him for long, bleeding the way she was.

He would find her.

And get her to explain what she’d done to him.

*

The storm kept Wanda mostly hidden as she ran. She ditched the cloak right away because she wasn’t entirely stupid.

She was a little bit stupid, in that she clung to the stubborn belief that Hydra’s casting could be undone, and more, that she was the one who could undo it.

But first, she needed to get him out of their clutches. Which meant setting up the whole drag-and-drop. She’d been taking packages for “Grandmother” for months now, trying to be more and more obvious every time, and her contact had been using that information to set up very small, mostly annoying traps and tricks.

Hydra was extremely dense, and they’d finally had to blow up a damn building to get their attention. Mostly it had been Hydra members who were killed, but Wanda flinched about the fact that there had, in fact, been some collateral damage. Keeping Hydra from killing hundreds of people with a wide-range death spell had probably been worth the eleven casualties, but it didn’t keep Wanda from running down the list of names and faces as some sort of penance before she could sleep.

“If we’re not willing to take risks, maybe next time, nobody gets saved,” her team leader had said.

It didn’t help. She was certain it hadn’t helped the families of the men and women who’d been accidentally killed in the blast. And the people who were saved? Well, it’s not like they knew.

The Big Bad White Wolf was behind her. She couldn’t hear him, or see him, but she could sense him, the way he was relentless.

She ran.

He paced her, somehow, keeping just out of sight.

And yet, she knew he was getting closer.

Not much further to go before she’d reach her safe house, and the dubious security of the wolf-trap she’d laid for him.

If he would do her the favor of falling into it, that would be great.

Close--

Closer--

Wanda leaped over the trap, pushing magical energy behind her, all but flying.

She hit the landing pad and turned to watch. If the White Wolf eluded the trap, she was dead anyway. She might as well see it coming.

He didn’t change course.

He moved like he had places to go and people to kill, striding across the clearing, knife in hand. She appeared trapped against the building, gasping and terrified -- all of which were true. And he had no reason to suspect she could fly. She gathered power, scarlet and smoke, at her fingertips. If he came closer to her, she would fly straight up.

That was the plan.

And then he walked right into the trap.

He didn’t scream as he fell, and he barely made a grunt when he hit the bottom. The wards went up, sizzling and yellow to form a dome over his head.

He got to his feet, utterly silent, and punched the ward.

Mistake.

The magical energy reflected back at him, snapping, popping. If he’d been a normal human, he might have broken his arm.

“I would just… settle down,” Wanda advised.

He didn’t say anything, just stared up at her with fierce, ice-blue eyes. Somehow entirely opposite to her scarlet magic.

“It will be all right,” she said. “We’re going to help you.”

He didn’t say anything.

*

It didn’t take long for the White Wolf to realize three things;

First, there was no physical way through the yellow energy barrier.

Two, he could hear his captors through it.

Three, he still had the box to Grandmother.

For several hours, the red-cloaked girl watched him from the top of the pit, looking down at him. She sometimes said encouraging nonsense, or reassured him that no one meant to hurt him. The White Wolf was not a child, nor was he easily frightened.

He stared back at her, pacing the interior of his prison like he was, in fact, a wolf, never letting his gaze leave her face. It was an unnerving trick, and she often stuttered or stammered over her lines as he continued to stare her down.

He was the prisoner, but she was the one who was afraid.

After a while, it got darker, and she left him there, alone.

Someone else came, and the White Wolf could hear another voice, the Huntsman, talking with Scarlet Hood.

No Grandmother yet, they might be waiting for the package, or Hydra might have managed to eliminate Grandmother from the board. That wasn’t the White Wolf’s concern. He was more interested, at this very moment, as to what was in the damn package.

Even if it was only information, the White Wolf might be able to bargain his way out of the hole with the information.

Or it might be materials for a bomb.

He waited until the voices were deep in conversation, when he was most likely to be unobserved.

The package was easily opened, sorted. There were several pictures, close up and black and white, showing soldiers. A set of silvered dog tags, ancient and battered. A love token made of a braid of two colored hairs -- dark, glossy brown, and gold-touched mahogany, bound together with scarlet ribbons. A shoulder patch from a military uniform; Howling Commandos.

He sat, cross-legged, in the center of the prison and flipped through the pictures.

He barely recognized himself; it wasn’t like the White Wolf spent time looking in the mirror, but he knew his younger face. He knew the ragged cut of his hair, and the cocky, insocient smirk. The way he looked up at a man, blond and broad shouldered. The way he looked down at a woman, dainty and beautiful.

More pictures. His-- his sister? Mother?

His arm around the blond man, laughing.

The second packet of pictures--

He also knew himself; not so much because he recognized his face, twisted in agony, slack with compliance, but because he knew that place.

He knew that chair. Those technicians.

He knew…

“Hey Bucky,” someone said from outside the prison. The man from the picture, and the Scarlet Hood.

“Who the hell is Bucky?” The White Wolf snapped, not even knowing why he was speaking after he’d resolved not to talk to these strangers, these spies and enemies with their pictures and their scraps of his life.

“You are,” the Scarlet Hood said, giving him a strange, fae smile, sad and wistful and longing all at once. “Until they took you away from us and made you into this thing. You’re our friend.”

“You’re my mission!”

“Well, you’re not going to get to finish it,” the man said. “Come on, Bucky, you know me--”

The White Wolf snarled at them.

The Scarlet Hood waved one hand, red smoke appearing between her fingers. “I have him, Captain,” she said.

“I’d hoped this wasn’t necessary,” the man -- this Captain -- said.

“You knew that it probably was,” she replied.

The smoke wrapped around him, holding the White Wolf steady, immovable, and the Captain jumped into the pit with him, needle in one hand. He jabbed the syringe into the White Wolf’s neck.

“Go to sleep, Buck,” he said. “We’ll take care of you. The way you always took care of me.”

In the haze that was a mix of narcotics and sedatives, muscle relaxers and something else, the White Wolf couldn’t quite identify just from the taste it left in the back of his mouth, the face looked familiar.

He knew this man.

This woman,

He knew them.

“Stevie?”

The world fell into darkness and the White Wolf was swept away with it.

[sinnhelmingr]

tell me about heldolin possible reconcilliation? // @usedhearts​

rubs my filthy little gay hands together. oh yeah baby talk complicated wlw to me--

So, the groundwork for this hypothetical: Our little AU for 3, where Gwyndolin is saved from her canonical fate by a daring rescue on the part of her ex-wife. The two have been distant for some decades, ranging from cool hostility to open disregard, but with that underlying air of disappointment lacing every interaction. There’s nothing to salvage, but Hel’s not the kind of person that can leave anyone to what was planned, regardless of their interpersonal issues. One fraught road trip through enemy territory until they reach safety later...

Well there’s a lot to work through. First being Lin’s lingering trauma surrounding her captivity. Her we get the first hints of reconciliation in Hel’s refusal to let her deal with it alone. Yes, Gwynevere can help, and yes, her realm is safe and offers whatever support the wayward queen requires, but no one here saw it. No one here understood what the Valley had become. Even if they have lingering disagreements, Hel is the one sleeping on the floor of Lin’s chamber rather than in her own bed, because she can’t stand to think of someone she once cared for dealing with all of this alone. It helps, in some way, because Lin does need someone there and is going through it trying to cope.

Every possible reconciliation attempt proceeds from there. Hel has gone through, well, hell and back to save Lin and is still devoted to making sure she’s safe, but it’s not romantic. It’s honestly just Hel doing what she perceives as the right thing. Whether it helps or not, or her role could be filled by anyone else Lin cared for, it doesn’t matter because she’s the one there. And like it or not, she’s not going anywhere. From this, we have a variety of options but the two I personally see working out are these: 

Lin coming to rely on that, sort of clinging to Hel even if not literally. When not dealing with any official business regarding the ongoing political nightmare, she might drift towards Hel, wherever she is within the palace. 

Alternatively, given the mood of most of their interactions post-divorce, there’s a chance it starts as resentment. That Lin can’t stand to be in her shadow, clinging to her in the daylight when her struggles are easier to bear. 

Either way, the two are at least within physical proximity to one another, given Lin’s mental health and coping skills. Which is, inevitably, going to lead to a lot more run ins with her nephew.

Hel in a lot of ways has come to care for Lothric as if he were her own, because my God someone has to love that kid beyond his brother. Someone has to care about his wellbeing. He’s irreverent and he’s anxious and he’s struggling but determined to keep going, hardly the pious saint of the royal family’s propaganda. His wit is sharp and at times cruel, and he’s unsure about a lot of things but trying to hide that fact. Lin’s going to have to, through watching Hel interact with him, accept that her nephew is in fact more than a sacrifice -- for now. I think it’s Lin showing initiative to defrost ice queen around Lothric is going to start changing Hel’s demeanor towards her as well.

Like that’s not to say Lin changing overnight to team ‘hey yeah let’s not roast a living person with autonomy who never had a chance to live!’ is what it would take. That’d be unrealistic and OOC. I think it’s just. Hel being able to see that Lin can set aside her pride or stubbornness just long enough to get to know her sacrificial lamb as a person, as something more than what the rest of the world makes him by hers and Nev’s design. Lin defrosts to Lothric, Hel defrosts to Lin. It’s equivalent.

I think that would be the tipping point to sort of lessen the feeling of obligation between them. Maybe they can finally start talking again like people who are on at least civil terms, if not outright friendly. In my head it plays a little like their initial childhood interactions where Lin is reticent but observant and Hel is the more daring of them. She leads, and for a time, to a certain degree, Lin follows. And during the course of the narrative, as the latter grows stronger, as she acclimates herself to life outside of a cage, Hel starts to back off more and more. 

Maybe Lin won’t need her so much now, maybe things will go back to normal. And instead, Lin still leaves the door open between them, as it were. Just because she’s no longer so reliant on Hel doesn’t mean she wants her gone. 

Or maybe she tries to keep her distance if she’s still fighting against certain imminent realizations. Maybe she tries to shut the door but finds, as always, Hel has a key and she just. Accepts it over time. It’s her choice whether to come and go, just as she can choose to tell her to leave. 

Another vital step in their potential reconciliation is that it not be built upon reliance or obligation -- now they can see each other as relative equals.

By this point Hel’s been doing everything short of actually saying the words to convey she’s not stopped loving Lin. Even if she doesn’t realize it, there’s no other way people can take her actions. For Lin, I don’t know if it’s that simple but we can talk it out next time you’re online because Christ I’ve been typing this so long the weekend is over and you are back at work. The vibe I get from your Lin is that even if she cares she’s daddy’s girl and stubborn as hell once she’s been hurt. She’s either unsure or unwilling to convey that she’d like to patch things up. Which is valid, she’s been through a lot, there’s so much to work through before she even thinks of romance ever again. She’s especially been through the loss of her daughter, and that bond comes before anything else.

(Sidenote for those who are not privy to our discord lore: Let’s put a pin in the fact that at present Lothric has decided his salvation lies in overriding his mother’s decision to just lock him in the kiln once he’s ‘ready.’ He’s seen how Hel can influence his aunt and said ‘Yes, of course, I have to Parent Trap them into a reconciliation and then Hel will convince Aunt Gwyndolin I deserve to live and Mother won’t have any allies left!’ All the while his primary lackey is just questioning what version of the Parent Trap he saw because that’s not the plot at all-- /j. Anyway there’s three idiots -- two princes and a physician -- out here trying to play matchmaker despite the fact none of them have any romantic experience. This can only end well.)

I feel like the real test is going to be whether distance makes the heart grow fonder. Hel’s got other responsibilities out there, and once assured Lin is in a more stable place, that others will be there for her in a way that helps, she has to take care of them. She has to be with her own people, has to make sure they are safe, keep an eye on the world beyond. She’s gone like a thief in the night, and Lin has to learn how to navigate the world without her, furthering the balancing act between them returning to normal. Hel rode off on her big black horse and no one cna say for sure when she’ll be back. She comes and goes through the kingdom like a storm, staying just long enough to cause problems but gone with the slightest shift in atmosphere. The horse comes back only weeks later. Its rider does not. Instead, perched upon that black stallion is a familiar crossbreed, tattered but hanging in there.

Hel saved her, at the cost of her own freedom. What can Lin possibly think about that?

So it’s a flurry of Lin campaigning for her sister to send a party to save Hel, Nev saying that she can’t do it yet, possibly as she is is too busy with the fracturing of her own kingdom to lend the men. All the same, she forbids Lin from going off and doing something drastic. Tells her younger sister to stay with her daughter and help Yorshka heal. She needs it. Which works bc we have that big dramatic Hel returning to the castle drenched in blood and falling cinematically into Lin’s arms. It’s the drama these wlw deserve. 

And as we know, Lin insists on being Hel’s own caretaker while she recovers. To the point she scrutinizes every move Lothric’s physician makes in checking that the newly returned Death isn’t badly injured. Lothric thinks he stays winning because now Lin’s doing the same ‘demonstrate love but don’t speak it’ bullshit that Hel is so adept at. He’s buying his physician drinks after this despite her protests that alcohol does not sit well with her--

Hel eventually recovers enough from the strenuous battle and escape to start moving around the castle more. She confesses that, despite gossip saying this was some act of passion to show her devotion, she didn’t do this for Lin. She did it because it was the right thing to do, because Yorshka was in danger, and it had nothing to do with her mother. Something that breaks Lin’s shell completely because it proves Hel is still the woman she fell in love with. She didn’t risk her life and return the one Lin loves the most as a hollow token meant to win her heart again, she did it because her conscience has never steered her wrong. 

Now try this one on for size: One day it dawns on Hel that something is missing. She tears up her room seeking it only for Lin to finally be That Bitch and hold out her exes wedding pendant -- one she found that Hel never stopped wearing, if the fact it was still around her throat when Lin stripped her of her bloody dress is any indication. Hel’s been found out. Lin’s about to start asking some serious questions.

And if one of them can finally confess at this point that whether the love stopped or never did they feel it now just as they did before, that’s not the end. That’s not reconciliation. Because the fact remains that they broke up over an act that Hel considered pure evil, when Lin helped decide the ultimate fate of Lothric. Reconciliation is going to depend wholly on how AU we want to go, if Hel and the revived Artorias are able to convince Lin that this is heinous and even if it is what her father would have wanted, it isn’t right, it makes her just as terrible as he was. If Lin can finally see to reason or at least sentiment over legacy and duty, then I can see the pair moving towards actual reconciliation and spending at least the last days of a dying world together and at peace with their ultimate fates. If not... Oof. There might be other ways to make it work once Lothric goes rogue and says he won’t be kindling, if Lin can admit that yes, that means all the cruelty was for nothing and she was wrong (like her sister does), then maybe some slowburn reconciliation could take place.

But ultimately it’s going to depend on both character development on Lin’s part, whether by choice or in spite of resistance, and Hel proving that all the things Lin has accused her of (changing, being untrue, being corrupted by heresies) are untrue. Changing and steadfast characterization in tandem. Barely even friends (after the divorce) then somebody bends unexpectedly--

[yikeswtfmate]

Into The Woods

Summary: Arthur finds himself wandering the woods, bruised and tired, but he finds his way back - not really home, not quite, but close enough to understand his soul a little better, just for the night.

Pairing: Arthur (Charlie Hunnam, King Arthur 2017) x Reader

Warnings: none?!?! some BIG sad?

A/N: here you go, imma let myself out now, hope you like this kthxbye

main masterlist

Arthur has never been fond of the woods. He’s never liked the darkness, the solitude, or the deafening silence pierced only by shuffling feet or wild animals. He supposes he can understand the appeal of having a place to yourself, away from the smell or the constant clamour of Londinium, but he’s a city boy through and through. He does not, however, enjoy riding aimlessly through the woods with an arrow wound that’s starting to sting a little too much, a little too close to his shoulder for comfort.

There’s a deep scratch in the bark of a tree, that could easily be disregarded as the mark of antlers, if you wouldn’t know what to look for. Arthur’s eyes focus on the line of trees, until he sees the red string carefully curled around a branch. He spurs his horse, suddenly filled with a mixture of excitement and wariness. He has neither the time nor the luxury to reconsider, because he now knows for a certainty that he could not make it back to the hideout by sundown. Not to mention with that wound.

The cottage seems smaller this time, as if shrinking away from him, trying to hide between the trees, concealing their owner from his greedy fingers. He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes before his shame and guilt. The selfishness that gnaws at the edges of his heart rears its ugly head only in her presence, and he hates himself for it.

The white of her dress against the dark door is forgettable compared to the deep frown on her face. Her features are twisted – a look of confusion, anger, fear – but there’s still a sliver of love in there, which nearly makes him fall to his knees at her feet.

“You’d think by now you would’ve learned to dodge an arrow.”

She moves away from the doorframe and meets him on the small path between the rows of chamomile and feverfew. Her fingers brush his horse’s snout, whispering words of reassurance. Arthur had no idea he could ever be jealous of a damned horse.

He dismounts on unsteady feet, nearly falling over from the exhaustion and the bruises, but she’s there to catch him, like she always is. Her arm goes around his back and she shoulders him inside the house with great difficulty. She lets out a grunt as she pushes him onto the bed, a fairly inelegant gesture, but none of them can really do anything about it.

“Y/N…” Arthur starts, as he watches her grab everything she needs to clean and stitch his wounds. She wouldn’t look at him for more than a few seconds at a time, but she interrupts him before he can utter another word.

“Arthur, I don’t want to hear it. Let me patch you up, and you can be on your way in the morning. I’d hate to be an intrusion in your life.”

She doesn’t hide the hurt in her voice, although it might be mistaken for annoyance. He feels the shame pouring over him like a bucket of ice cold water at her reminder of their last parting.

Arthur keeps quiet, with the exception of the occasional winces and yelps, for as long as her fingers nimbly work their magic on his bruises. The line between her eyebrows betray her concentration, even though her speed makes it seem like she’s just tending to her garden. He watches her, though, unable to keep his eyes away from her lips, the curve of her neck, the strand of hair that keeps falling over her cheek, the swell of her breasts over the dress.

“I’m having a hard time believing you were raised by women with all your staring.” She mutters, snapping him out of it.

“You never did mind it, love.”

He attempts a smirk, but she just casts him a quick glance – an unspoken reprimand in her eyes. She stands up, a pat to his chest that feels more like a punch, than a caress.

“I’ll draw you a bath. You’re not sleeping in my bed that filthy.”

“And here I thought you just wanted to get me naked.” He snickers.

A flying spoon lands right on his forehead, which makes him laugh even harder. He notices the small smile that she tries to hide as she pours hot water in the tub. He’s always loved that dark corner of her cottage, where they’ve spent so many long nights just talking about his plans, his dreams and his hopes. With a start, he realises they’ve never spoken about anything related to her. Has he always been this selfish with her? Has he always disregarded her in favour of getting what he wanted, thinking that pleasuring her was enough for her?

He stands up and takes a few steps towards her. He would like to take her hand, kiss her knuckles, then her neck, the way he knows she likes it, but he feels as if he’s lost this privilege. Y/N notices the movement and with a last sad glance in his direction, turns towards the door.

“I’ll be outside, getting your horse to shelter. Call me if you need anything.”

It’s dark outside now, but she hasn’t come back yet. Arthur puts on the fresh clothes she’s left for him, another reminder of her kindness, the care she’s always taken of him. He wonders when he’s left these behind, how many clothes she’s had to put away after his visits throughout so many years.

A white orb of light hangs around the corner of the cottage and he steps carefully through the garden. He sees her sitting on the ground, plucking purple flowers and placing them in a basket that’s already half full.

“These need to be picked exactly two hours after sundown, or they are useless.” She answers his unspoken question. “Beautiful. But useless.”

“Y/N.” He tries again, sitting close to her, back to the wall of the small house.

“If you’re trying to ask me if I know, there’s no use, Arthur. I may be living in the woods, but there are still people who come to me for healing.”

“Are you mad at me?” He asks.

Her fingers still on a stem. She turns, finally looking properly at him. Another frown crosses over her expression, but then she just sighs. She reaches out, offering him the flower – a token, a small sign of forgiveness.

“I’ve never been mad at you, Arthur.” She smiles. “You’re the only one who’s mad at you. It was your choice not to heed my warning, to refuse to face your nightmares. I suppose you would’ve found out sooner or later.”

“I’m sorry.” He whispers.

“I know.” Her fingers find his, and Arthur interlaces them together, pulling her towards him.

She shifts on the cold floor, until her head is laying on his chest. Eyes closed, he strokes her hair, wondering how many times they’ve done this before, without him realising the strong hold she has on his heart.

“I know.” She whispers again, when he opens his mouth to apologise once more, this time for all the pain he’s caused her.

“I promise you that once this is all done, I will make you my queen.”

Y/N pulls back, her head raising so she can look him in the eye. “I’ve never asked for you to marry me, Arthur. I don’t need to be queen. I just need you to be safe.”

“I will be, if you promise me you’ll come.”

Y/N sighs, a tap of her index on his chest. “You’ve always been too stubborn for your own good, haven’t you?”

“Does this mean yes?” He grins.

“It means you’ll be a great king, at least.” She flicks his nose with her finger.

His lips find hers, at long last, a taste of Gods. His hand finds her throat, resting on her pulse, needing to feel her alive in his hands. Fingers stroke at her jaw, slipping up in her hair, tugging at the long strands, just as she’s tugging at his tunic. A wince of pain, but both of them ignore it and Arthur slides the dress off her shoulders, peppering the bare skin with soft kisses.

“I love you.” He murmurs, lips on her chest. “I promise I will never forget again how much I love you.”

She’s watching his every movement, every caress, every stroke of his fingers, the touch of his mouth on her burning skin, the way he fills her to the brim – yet he doesn’t see the tears on her cheeks. Her whisper is carried away by the wind before he can hear it and she curses her fate once more. “Lie.”

This is their last night. A final goodbye to the man who will be king. Her memory is already fading into the shadows of his soul – a forgotten girl who once saved him at the edge of the woods, a young woman who taught him how to love, a witch who wished to show him his path. She already sees him leave to follow his own destiny, a cold bed in the morning, a kiss to her forehead that will not erase the pain. Because she is no Guinevere and the legend does not mention a witch named Y/N.

[thiswasinevitableid]

Could you do #28 indruck? Or maybe OT4?

#28 was: Mermified. I went with Indruck. Hope you like it!

The rocks on the window start the night he moves in.

He writes it off as an anomaly, or perhaps kids from the town deciding to toy with the new resident.

After three nights in a row, he’s beginning to understand why this house was such a bargain. Yes, it’s a lovely houseboat for one on the Pacific coast, offset from much of the neighborhood for privacy. But every night, small rocks and shells will hit your window, disrupting your already tenuous sleep schedule.

It can’t be a human, because his bedroom faces the ocean, and he’d hear or see a boat or paddleboard or whatever else they used to get there. For awhile he assumes it might be a ghost; his last apartment was actually haunted by a miner who died from the Spanish Flu. They got along rather well, as he didn’t manifest often and Indrid was always careful to leave him offerings or tokens of respect on days like his deathaversary. 

But after scoping the house top to bottom, using a Oujia Board, and just politely asking if there was anyone there who needed to talk to him, he’s disregarded that possibility. 

And tonight, he’s made the mistake of sleeping with the window open, meaning the chunk of bull kelp hit’s him square in the face.

“Oh for goodness sake.” He sits up, sticking his head out the window to glare at the waves.

The waves glare back.  Or, more accurately, a face sticking out of the waves does. 

“Do you mind?”

“Yeah, I mind a whole fuckin’ lot.” The man swims right to the side of the house, locomotion too smooth for there to be legs beneath the water, “I mind because this whole area is under my protection, and this big fuckin house is gonna fuck up this cove.”

He knew there were merpeople along this coast, he just wasn’t expecting to see one up close. Or for it to be so grumpy.

“I’ll have you know I asked for multiple modifications to this house before I moved in. It is designed to have almost zero impact on the marine environment.”

“Uh huh, sure.”  The merman crosses his arms, “you ain’t just sayin’ that to get rid of me.” A flash of yellow light under the water. 

“Well, technically, I am. I would prefer to not have you hurling things at my window every night because you think my leaving is the only way for your patch of ocean to be safe. A strategy, I take it, that worked on my predecessors.”

“Yep. Most left after a couple of days.”

“Most probably had more places they could go. I do not.”

“Ain’t my problem. Never shoulda let them start buildin’ here in the first place; wrecks havoc on the forest.” He glances towards open water, tips of giant kelp just visible in the moonlight. He sounds tired. 

“How about this: you keep an eye on this cove, and if you notice any issues directly caused by my home, I will leave. But if not, you stop throwing things at my window.”

“Fine.” The merman turns, makes to dive under the water, then spins around, “but if I catch you tryin’ anythin’ funny, next time I’m throwin’ a shark through the window.”

The next night brings welcome silence at his window. The day after, however….

“What are you doin’ here, anyway?”

“Good afternoon to you as well.” Indrid doesn’t look up from his drawing; a benefit of being born with odd, future seeing abilities is that he isn’t startled by the merman’s appearance (said abilities don’t function well when he’s sleep deprived, which is why he didn’t see the merman’s initial appearance coming). 

“I mean, y’all can build houses wherever you want up on land. Why live on the water?”

“Because I find it peaceful. I have limited luck living in cities, and have grown used to isolation.”

“Don’t humans have to have jobs? You ain’t left here except once to get food.”

“Spying is impolite.”

“So is livin’ on someone else's turf without askin!” The merman raises out of the water, and Indrid finally gets a good look at him. He has dark hair, mismatched eyes and, just visible, a row of fins like those of a leafy sea dragon dotting his lower back. Ironically, his build is one Indrid finds attractive, a mix of muscle and fat that undoubtedly would feel nice to hold. Were it not for the complication of the tail.

“I am an artist. I draw for a living, hence my ability to live out here. And nobody told me there was a merman living around here, so I did not have the option of speaking to you ahead of time.”

There’s a huff of annoyance, and he barely moves his drawing out of the way of the splash as the merman disappears. 

Three days later, he’s once again sitting on the back deck when he hears, “You ain’t seen an injured seal around, have you?”

“No.” He looks up, finds the merman looking thoughtful as he scans the waves and shoreline, “ah, what does it look like? What color is it?”

“Smallish, speckled grey. Got caught in a net and all torn up gettin loose, but I can’t find it.”

“I will keep an eye out. Should I signal you if I see it?”

“Hmmm….yeah, that should work. Maybe hang somethin’ bright' on that line?” He points to the clothes line. 

Indrid closes his eyes, focuses on the futures.

The merman sniffs, intrigued, “somethin smells good.”

“It’s my lunch. It ended up not quite being what I wanted, you are welcome to try some.” 

The merman grabs the take-out bowl of soup, sipping from it gingerly. His face lights up, and then he gulps the remainder down.

“Damn, that was good.”

“It’s french onion soup. I can bring you more in the future if you’d like. Also, odds are good you’ll find the seal you seek on the beach about a mile that way.”

The merman blinks, “Shit, really? Thanks man.”

“You are welcome.”

The merman hesitates, a flash of white, barely visible in the daylight, zips under water, “Uh, name’s Duck by the way.”

Indrid smiles, “Indrid. Good luck with your search, Duck.”

Duck smiles, bright and friendly as the beach on a hot day, “Thanks.”

--------------------------------------------

Indrid awakens with a cry of alarm. It’s only a nightmare, not even a bad vision, and yet he’s so rattled sleep becomes an unreachable goal. Hoping the night air and lapping waves might help, he drags a blanket onto the back deck, laying down with his back to the water. The nightmare pursues him still, setting off a dozen related memories and fears in his mind until he’s shuddering, trying not to cry. 

A cool hand touches his hair and he freezes for a moment before another gasp pushes from his chest, the images flooding his system too much to ignore. The hand continues down his back a ways, then starts at his head once again. 

“Why?” He says, not even sure who he’s asking it of.

“Helps the seal and otter pups when they get upset. Thought it might help you too.” Duck replies, “I was doin’ a night round and heard you yell. Came to make sure you were okay.”

He wants to say thank you, but the words are weighed down by the realization of how long it’s been since anyone did such a thing. 

“You...pet the pups? Doesn’t, doesn’t that make it difficult if they are eaten by something?”

“A little. Sharks got as much right to live as they do, but still, sometimes they need comfortin if their parents are out huntin. Not my job to protect ‘em from predators. I’m just the keeper of the forest. Means I look out for the animals, the plants. Nature does most of the work for me; lot of my job boils down to makin sure humans don’t fuck everything up.”

“It is a habit we seem to have.”

A pause, Duck’s fingers playing gently with his hair, “Not all of you.”

Indrid rolls over and Duck rests his arms on the deck, soft blue flashes coming off his tail. 

“Will you tell me more about what you do?”

“Sure.”

Duck talks and Indrid listens until finally his eyes droop closed. He wakes up hours later, a bit chilly but with the blanket drawn around him. He wonders how he avoided falling into the water in his sleep. Until there’s a soft splash as his nighttime gaurdian slips back into the waves.

---------------------------------------------------

“Ta dah! No, wait, stay over here. That’s a good boy.” Duck proudly circles the large ray he’s herded near Indrid’s boat as Indrid sits down to draw. Over the last few weeks, he’s brought the human more and more items to include in his illustrations, after Indrid mentioned he was working on a pictures for a book about marine life. 

It started with brightly colored shells or seaglass left on his deck, then Duck would ask for mason jars or bowls to help place a fish safely where Indrid could sketch it. Lately, he’s taken to shepherding larger sea life where Indrid can see it; seals, otters, rays, even a shark. It’s almost as if he’s showing off, and Indrid notices that his tail flickers bright green whenever Indrid flaps his hands with excitement or thanks him for his help. 

Duck visits him every day, even on days when there is no drawing to be done. They talk, or eat together, and Indrid has even hung a hammock out so they can talk well into the night without him accidentally rolling off the deck or Duck having to watch over him until he wakes. Duck can only be out of the water a short time, but he’ll join Indrid on the deck to sun himself, tail bright green and leafy at the “V” that marks the tip of it. When Indrid asks about the lights, Duck explains that they’re tied to his emotions, something to help merpeople signal to each other even in the darkness or murkiness of the ocean. 

Indrid buys a kayak, paddles out into open ocean with Duck as his guide, the merman eagerly showing him his favorite places, introducing him to wildlife, and generally mooning over him whenever he thinks Indrid isn’t looking. 

The mooning is mutual, of course. Duck is funny and kind, easy going now that he knows Indrid is not a threat to his beloved kelp forest. He’s also painfully handsome in Indrid’s eyes, but the futures show scant chances for Indrid to admit this fact without torpedoing the relationship. 

Their laying side by side on the deck tonight, dusk creeping across the sky. In the fading light, he notices Duck’s fins flashing between white and green.

“Are you alright, Duck? You’ve been rather quiet tonight.”

“Uh, um, yeah? Fuck. Uh, you remember me tellin’ you about my friend Aubrey?”

“The one dating the human surfer girl?”

“Yep. They, uh, Aubrey said they finally worked up to kissin. I never heard of mer kissin’ a human and likin’ it before, usually we do it on dares when we’re young and foolish.”

“You seem to be going somewhere with this.” Indrid rolls over, smirking at the future he sees. 

“No, uh, fuch, uh, I mean, would, would you ever wanna try it?”

“With any merperson, or just you?”

“Me.” Duck says softly.

Indrid leans in, cups the back of his head to draw him into a kiss, salt and sun mingling on his lips as Duck moans. Sun-warmed skin caresses his back as Duck pulls him closer, and a cool, smooth tail hooks over his ankles. 

“Indrid, I, I really, really like you.” Duck whispers, kissing a line along his cheek.

“I really, really like you as well, Duck.” Indrid runs a hand along his side, watches his tail light up bright blue at the touch.

“Can, can we try bein’ together? Like Dani and Aubrey are?”

“Of course.” Indrid grins, then gives a muffled laugh as Duck kisses him once more, rolling atop him, wiggling happily as the kiss deepens, Indrid teasing his fingers along his fins to make him whine. 

Then the mer gasps, dropping into the water and coming back up panting.

“Shit, that was close.”

“You were out too long?” Indrid shifts to his stomach

“Yep. Can’t blame me for gettin’ distracted, and honestly I’d fuckin pass out if that’s what it took to kiss you again.”

Indrid bends down, kissing him softly, “no need for such drastic measures yet. But I agree it would be nice to have, ah, dalliances that can last a bit longer. I’m sure we can think of something.”

They try filling the bathtub with seawater, but can’t get Duck to it. Indrid opts to swim, but he’s not a strong swimmer, and any beaches where they could be half in and half out of the water are either too well-traveled or made out of sharp rocks that hurt them both. 

They have some success when Indrid lays on his side, facing the water, to touch himself, moaning Ducks name and telling him just what he’ll do to him once he’s able as Duck frantically kisses him, tail flashing blue and purple. 

But after night after night of longing looks, too-short embraces, and kisses at odd angles, he decides enough is enough. 

------------------------------------

“Why have you come, young man?”

“I wish to make a deal. There’s something I need you to enchant.”

The man grins, cat-like and hungry, “Very well. But it is going to cost you.”

--------------------------------------

Duck circles the patch of kelp he’s checking for the tenth time. He can’t focus, should just go home and rest, but he needs to keep occupied so he stops worrying about the note he found on the deck two days ago.

Duck, 

Have a problem that needs solving. May be gone several days. Don’t worry, it will be alright.

Love, Indrid.

In spite of the reassurance in the letter, he’s terrified that Indrid might be hurt. Might have left him entirely. 

An unfamiliar shape flits in the corner of his vision, and he turns.

“Holy fuck.”

“Good afternoon to you too.” Indrid grins, swimming to him a bit gracelessly with mottled black and red tail. The red and black fan of fin on his lower back flashes bright green for a moment. 

“Indrid.” Duck says with awe, not quite believing his eyes even as his tail curls around Indrid’s own.

“Indeed. I, ah, found someone who would help me. Help us.”

“Are you, uh, stuck like this?”

He shakes his head, “No, I have a charm” he holds up his wrist to reveal a small cord, “I can go back to being human as needed. But I, ah, I can no longer see the future. I...that was the trade for this.”

“You gave that up just for me?” Duck cups his cheeks, brushes their noses together.

Indrid grins, “Yes. After all, whatever the futures may hold, whatever I can no longer see coming, does not matter half as much as the future I’m holding right now.”