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idkwhatimdoinghere1655 · 2 months ago

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30th - Carlos Sainz

Carlos woke up, slightly groggy with his body still feeling heavy with sleep. As he usually did, his arms instinctively reached over to the other side of the bed, his hands feeling around for you. But, he was met with an empty space and cold sheets.

"Darling?" he softly said, hoping you had just disappeared into the bathroom. However the cold sheets said otherwise. You hadn't been there for a while, and you normally always told him when you were leaving or if he should be expecting your absence.

He slung his legs over the side of the bed, rubbing his eyes to try and wake himself up a bit. His now open eyes landed on your vanity table, a brown box now sat in the place of your makeup bag. His curiosity was piqued, so he walked up and looked at the box.

Lo and behold, his name was perfectly scrawled on the lid. He looked around the room, trying to see if you were hidden anywhere. Sighing and opening the box, he spotted a printed photo. It was an old one from his 17th birthday, coincidentally the first one you had spent together.

He had been at a race, and you had gone to the track to surprise your first ever boyfriend. Carlos had been surprised to see you there, since he didn't think you'd be interested in going to his races - especially back then.

Yet your interest made his silly high school crush turn into something a lot more, something that he didn't quite know what it was back when he was young. He was an emotionally confused, hormonal teenage boy who had the girl he had only seen in his dreams right in front of him.

Picking up the photo, he remembered the exact moment it was taken. He had brought his trophy to you, to show you an accolade of his success. His mum was watching on, smiling at the happiness on her son's face. You had your arm around his shoulder, he had his arm around your waist as you both flashed a big cheesy grin at the camera.

There was another photo underneath, and this one caused a light flush to coat his cheeks. His mum nearly missed it, and that made it even better. As she was walking away, Carlos remembered how he couldn't resist and had tugged you in for a short but sweet kiss.

It was your first kiss, his first kiss, and your first of many together. There was a small label over the top of the trophy, which was still clutched in his hand. 'Find me', it said. Now he saw where this was going.

A little birthday scavenger hunt that was combined with a walk down memory lane. He took himself through the house and all the way to the living room, where his trophy was proudly sitting on the mantelpiece.

Yes, he had won many more since that one, but that one had special significance to him and it always would. Just as expected, there was another brown box that was identical to the last one. He lifted the cardboard lid, another photo waiting for him inside.

This was from two years later, a year before he had joined F1. He was a superstar as ever, and it was dawning on him that he would have to be away from you a lot more. You'd be going to university, and he'd be travelling the globe.

Both you and Carlos knew that this was what he had to do, but it didn't make it any easier. The photo in question was from his last race in the junior formulas. Another win for Carlos Sainz, and one of the last he'd celebrate with you for the time being.

You were holding his trophy, the same dazzling smile on your face as he kissed you on the cheek with people celebrating around you. He ran his fingers over the small version of your face.

To him, you hadn't aged a day. You were still as stunning now as you were back then, which was nearing on 15 years ago at this point. The pair of you were young, slightly dumb, and very much in love. The delusion, which was brought down to innocent naivety, that you'd be able to do such long distance was conceived as something easy by the both of you.

You'd soon find out that that wasn't the case, but it wasn't something he was wanting to dwell on too much. This time, on the base of the box, there was another short note written on it. '15.3.15' was the message.

That was the date of his first ever F1 race, but he couldn't think of anything associated with it. All he really cared about was that he got his first ever points, but you couldn't be there to see it. You were at university, and he remembered your relentless effort to make your schedule align for the first race.

Alas, you couldn't make your way to Australia, and he had to settle for a very happy phone call that you had gotten up extra early to make. You had watched the race, and he knew how excited you were for him to get those 2 points.

Yes, 4 people had DNFed and 2 people had DNSed, meaning he finished three places from the back of the pack, but it didn't matter. Carlos had gotten his first ever F1 points, and you couldn't have been prouder of him.

Little did the both of you know, that was the last time of pure happiness that he had seen before he had ruined it all, but he hoped you had glossed over that and moved straight onto the next part of the joyful times with your scavenger hunt.

He was wracking his brains for anything that he could find associated with the date in the house, but he was drawing blanks. He didn't have any physical momentos of the day, well none that came to mind.

There weren't any pictures in the house of him on that day either. While he was still thinking, he felt his phone vibrate in his pocket. Carlos smirked to himself as he saw your name pop up on his screen, and he opened the text from you. 'Stumped already?'

He chuckled, wondering how you had figured out that he was already stuck on your little treasure hunt. 'Maybe just a little' he replied, watching as you began to type back to him. The three dots bobbled up and down on his screen, before a message appeared on the screen.

'What was in the news that day?' and that was when it hit him. In Madrid, the local news was all about their hometown hero, Carlos Sainz, getting his first points in Formula 1. He remembered you sending him a picture of the paper you had picked up, and you had kept it over all of those years.

He knew it was in a drawer somewhere, he just needed to figure out where. Walking to the office, he rummaged through your desk drawers, hoping he wouldn't stumble upon another clue. Then, he felt another buzz. 'Carlos you are ruining my treasure trail, get out of my desk.'

There was his confirmation. Again, he was wondering how you were omniscient and how you had known where he was in the house. But, he closed the desk drawers as instructed and he internally thanked whoever was out there that he hadn't found whatever was in there. It was simply a little help for later.

'Check the cabinet in the living room,' another text buzzed through. If he kept on acting clueless, then you would do all the work for him at this rate. But, he persevered and headed to the living room cabinet. Just as expected, it was at the top of one of the drawers.

Carefully pulling the thin piece of newspaper out of the drawer, his eyes were drawn to the next note of his trail. 'I was going to do 55 clues, but I thought that would be such an awful idea and would take way too long, so you get 5 instead. For clue number three, I want you to remember the first time we saw each other after our little... sabbatical'.

As he figured, you had glossed over your little 2 year break that had been the loneliest 2 years of his life. He knew exactly what you were referring to this time, and he took himself upstairs to the prized framed photo of the two of you that sat proudly on his bedside table.

He didn't see the note on the offset, but he found it taped to the back of the frame. You probably realised that he would spot it if you put it on the front, so you had to be a little sneaky. He allowed himself some time to look at the photo, even though he saw it multiple times a day.

Carlos could practically feel the humid Singapore air clinging to his skin as he looked at the photo, yet another that his mum had taken. He had gotten his best ever result in F1, a 4th place. Yet, he didn't know you were there. His parents had brought you along, since you had some time off.

He was overjoyed, and he could've sworn his heart had stopped when he got back to the garage after interviews and saw you there, with his family. He stopped in his tracks, before his dad saw him and so did you.

At that point, Carlos' instincts took over, and you both knew what was going on. He started taking steps towards you, and you did the same. There was no hesitation as he wrapped his arms around you and kissed you with every ounce of love he had in his body.

It didn't matter that you'd had practically zero contact over the past 2 years, you still knew each other like the back of your hand. You were still the girl who teenage him had fallen madly in love with, and he was still the charming racer that you had become so enamoured with. After that day, you knew you were together for the long haul, and you wouldn't have it any other way.

As they had preempted the moment, another picture was taken of the perfect sight of the two of you reuniting. When his mum had sent it to him, he had instantly gotten it printed and framed. He took it wherever he went without you, and he always would.

The note taped to the back said 'Grease is the word'. Now, he knew what you were talking about, but he didn't know if the tickets to said show were in your desk drawer or not. 'Is this the desk drawer?' he texted you.

'Sure is,' you replied, and he went back to the office and back to your desk. He looked in the drawer that he hadn't checked in earlier, and there they were. The Grease Tickets He remembered the day you had said you had a 'surprise' for him, only to take him to a theatre to see Grease live on stage.

If it wasn't for the puppy eyes you had given him, then he would've walked straight out of the theatre without a second glance. He had gone in just because you asked, and he unfortunately couldn't say he had hated it. Well, he had pretty much been watching you the whole time as you mouthed the lyrics and smiled at your favourite scenes. He couldn't help but find it utterly adorable.

He could see you in the poofy dresses, the sun shining on you as you sang to your heart's desire. He definitely wouldn't want to be one of the T-Birds, but he would be if you really wanted him to. Plus, he definitely wouldn't be opposed to seeing you in those tight leather pants.

When you asked what he had thought, he just said he had enjoyed it. Oh, what a mistake he had just made. Then you made him watch the movie version at home, and he got to see you mouth the lyrics and smile along again. He enjoyed the movie version more.

One thing he loved about you was how you kept little mementos like these tickets. You liked to preserve memories in the form of little tokens and trinkets. Whether it be tickets from a movie, a pebble from the beach or a receipt from a restaurant, you always kept the little things from special outings and events.

On the back of the tickets, the final note was written on a sticky note. 'You've made it! I'm surprised you haven't gotten bored and nagged me to just tell you where I am, or you have, I'm not sure. Anyway, for your final clue, I am going to send you out to a place that you have at home, and on track.'

Well that was too easy. Carlos closed the drawer and walked out to the garage, but he saw nothing. He felt confused, unsure of if his confidence in his clue-guessing skills was warranted in this situation.

He stood there for a few more seconds, until he heard the door to the garage close behind him. Turning around, he was greeted with nothing. Just the closed door. However, it wasn't just the door. On the door, there was another note taped to it.

"Where have you always wanted to go?' and he instantly knew what you were talking about. But, surely you hadn't, right? At the bottom of the piece of paper, he saw a small 'P.S' scribbled on. 'I need you to say it out loud so I can hear it'.

"Hawaii," he said, pretty loud. He also hoped that he had gotten it right, since there were many places he wanted to go that his racing schedule hadn't taken him to. Besides, he couldn't do many tourist-y things when he was traveling most of the time.

"Ding ding ding!" you laughed, jumping out from behind one of the cars in the garage. Carlos just stood there in complete shock, unsure of what to do with himself. You had a Hawaiian shirt on, complete with a hula skirt and flower garlands around your wrists and neck.

All he could do was laugh, "What the hell are you wearing?" he managed to choke out between the fits of laughter he was letting out. He felt bad, since the look on your face told him that you thought he should've been taking this a little more seriously. "Hey, darling, I'm sorry, you look adorable," he doubled back, closing the gap between you and putting his hands on your waist.

"But I do want to know what this is all about," he pressed.

"Well, the treasure hunt was just a little bit of fun that I wanted to do for some good memories on a special day. This stunning outfit it for... something else." you smiled, moving away from him and back to the spot you were hiding behind the car.

You reemerged with a white envelope in your hand, holding it out to him. "Happy birthday, Carlos." you softly said, and he took the envelope out of your hands. He eyed you sceptically, before ripping the top of the envelope open.

Carlos took the papers out of the envelope, his eyes scanning the words on the page. "Wait, really?" he asked, looking over it again and again. But low and behold, there were the plane tickets all the way to Ellison Onizuka Kona International Airport.

"It's kind of hard to get you gifts, so I thought this might be worth a little more, you know?" you said, really hoping he'd like it. Thankfully, you could tell by the glint in his eyes that he really did like it.

"Oh baby thank you, seriously," he smiled, wrapping his arms around you in a hug. "You know you really didn't have to go through all this effort, right?" he told you.

"Carlos, you're 30 now. You've not got long before you're in a nursing home and can't even wipe your own ass without help," you quipped, and his eyes widened in mock outrage.

"I will have you know that I am nowhere near being sent to a nursing home! You're stuck with me, and now I think you've designated yourself to wipe my ass when I'm old and frail," he retorted with a feigned tone of hurt.

"Oh shush. Anyway, go sit in the living room, there's a little more to do," you told him, pushing him in the direction of the door. Carlos just shook his head and laughed, walking out of the garage.

"Getting bossed around on my own birthday, you sure are cruel to me," he tutted, going to sit on the couch as instructed. He watches as you disappeared into the kitchen, still finding the Hawaii outfit funny as ever.

"Happy birthday to you," you started to sing, walking into the room with a cake covered in candles balanced in your hands. "I have just realised how awkward it is when I am the only one singing, but anyway," you laughed, and Carlos could only giggle at your awkwardness.

"Happy birthday to you. Happy birthday dear Carlos, happy birthday to you," you quickly finished the song, just to get it over with. "Blow out the candles," you told him, and he did exactly that.

"Thank you, darling." he smiled, leaning over the cake to give you a short yet sweet kiss on the lips. Looking at the cake, he saw that it was absolutely plastered with various memes that had been made of him over the years of racing.

"I would have done the chili pepper, but Ferrari beat me to it last year. So, I had to get creative," you explained.

"You know, a normal cake would have been perfectly fine, you didn't have to go through so much effort," he sighed. He had told you this every year for the total 11 birthdays that you had spent together, yet he knew you would never listen to him.

And he never wanted you to listen, not deep down. He loved the effort you went through to try and think of fun things to do for special events like birthdays, and he had enjoyed his trip down memory lane. Plus, he was getting a lovely trip to Hawaii with the love of his life and a cake that was funny as ever.

"But thank you, really. I have had a wonderful day so far, and I'm barely an hour in, so I am doing pretty well for myself," Carlos said.

"Don't expect this next year, I have officially exhausted my bank of idea for dumb things to force you through on your birthday,"

"Hey, it's not dumb. I loved every second of it," he reassured, you, putting the cake on the coffee table and leading you over to sit next to him on the couch. "Thank you, genuinely. I would've been happy with just having you here, so this is beyond anything I can ask of you."

"You deserve it," you smiled, leaning into his side as he wrapped an arm around your shoulders and pulled you into him. You could smell the faint scent of burnt candles in the air and you sat in peace. "Feliz cumpleaños, Carlos."

God how he loved it when you tried to speak Spanish. Was the accent off? Yes. But, was it one of the cutest things ever, in his mind. "Gracias, mi amor," he replied, planting a soft kiss on the side of your head, praising his lucky stars that he had you. He had lost you once, and he sure as hell never would again.

A/N - What a day! Carlos' birthday, Charles won Monza... next week is the 5 year anniversary of he won in Spa, he wins in Monza (there is something coming out for that, don't you fret) and I am having a wonderful day. I felt shit to begin with, but now? I do not care.

Happy birthday Carlos! Even when you're driving a Williams, I will still be watching out for the smoothest of operations 🌶🌶

|masterlist|

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buckgasms · 1 month ago

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Once upon a time - Kinktober

Hello!!!

Thanks to everyone who voted in my poll! The winner by far was 'Beauty and the Beast' so I will be starting with that one!

I will be writing some of the other popular ones too so don't despair if this wasn't your favourite!

I'm doing this in two parts because it's just too huge otherwise, so please enjoy and I hope to see you for the next part!

The village of Swanford had once been a prosperous village, lead by the Barnes family, who had not only made their fortune there, but had also been generous benefactors of the town.

But after the wars of Europe and the death of their patriarch, the family and the village had descended into disrepair.

The Barnes residence, once a shining display of wealth and fashionable architecture now stood, imposing and delapidated on the edge of town. It's owner, the reclusive James Barnes, was never seen in the village. Rumours swirled of a beastly nature about him.

Cruel and unkind, a monster returned from war, more metal than man.

You had little interest in the life of James Barnes and his sad house. Your life, and it's problems were far more pressing.

You lived with your father in the poorer part of the village, his health would ebb and flow, keeping him out of secure work, and much of the financial responsibility falling onto your shoulders at a young age.

Since you were able to, you took jobs wherever you could, sewing, serving and occasionally teaching at the local community school. That had been your favourite, but was naturally short lived.

One September afternoon you had been informed by the headmaster that you would no longer be able to work. They hadn't received their usual funding and could only afford two teachers.

You were devastated but swallowed your pain and smiled. Perhaps another year?

🥀

You had just finished a day of sewing that left your fingers red and throbbing, when your father burst in the front door.

"Darling, I've had an idea..."

You strained a smile. These were never the start of a good conversation with your father. As he approached you could smell the scent of liquor on his breath.

"The Barnes mansion... It must be abandoned now. No one's seen sight of the miserable lad for years..."

You shrug and raise your eyebrows. "So? What does that have to do with anything?"

He chuckles and pinches your cheek.

"Tonight... I'm going up there. There must be something I can sell. Then you can forget these silly embroideries and I'll buy you a lovely dress!"

Your stomach churns. Both at his idea and his painful misunderstanding of you and the situation you are both in.

"I don't think that's a good idea..."

But he's already flopped down on the bed, unconscious to your protests, a victorious smile on his sweaty, boyish face.

🥀

You woke in a start, not sure what made you so terrified in your dreams but feeling uneasy as you panted in bed.

It took you a moment to realise the usual sound of your father snoring was absent and that the front door was left ajar.

You groaned and scrambled out of bed, pulling on a shawl and a pair of worn out shoes. Perhaps you could catch him before he made it to the mansion.

In a few minutes you were out the door, surprised to find the early dawn light breaking. How long had he been gone? Your stomach churned again. A familiar feeling when dealing with your father's escapades.

You were panting and out of breath when you arrived at the gates of the Barnes' home. You shivered at the prospect of walking through the overgrown garden but a shout from inside the normally silent house pushed you on.

Ignoring the clawing branches and weeds that tried to trip you until you were at the big wooden doors. Before you could knock the door swung open and you were met with a huge man, hair and beard giving the appearance of something like a wolf and piercing blue eyes burning into you.

"Come for more stolen goods?" He growled as he grabbed your wrist and pulled you into he house.

You cried out in protest until he released you, yanking you into a large parlour. There you found your father standing, looking terrified and sober. Beads of sweat were pouring down his face, and behind him a pile of shattered glass and porcelain.

"What did you do?" You strained as you walked to him, taking his hands in yours.

"He's a thief" a harsh voice spoke and you turned to face the owner of this dark, terrible home. James Barnes.

"His foolishness and avarice has cost me several hundred dollars in damages. Priceless family heirlooms, lost forever..."

You squeezed the eyes shut, hoping just briefly you might still be asleep, but you opened them again, finding yourself still in this nightmare.

"Sir, please forgive us. My father, he...he doesn't always make good decisions, but he means well. He was just trying to support us. It was a mistake..."

"So like everyone else in this village, it is someone else's problem to fix. Forget doing something useful, just hold out your hand and someone else will provide?"

You flinched at the venom in his voice. You had never once complained about your lot in life, it felt awful to be at the brunt of his fury. Despite your fear you step towards him, placing yourself between the two men.

"How dare you... As if you know what it's like to live in discomfort or poverty..."

At your words he holds up his other arm, heavy silver metal and scoffs. "I know something of living in pain....I just refuse to make it into anyone else's problem."

You blink. Shocked at both the appendage and his confession. The silence hangs heavily in the air for a moment.

"I will not let this go unpunished. This is my home and he has caused damage. I will have to report this to the police..."

You whimpered, knowing that this was probably your father's final strike. If he was arrested again, he would be sent away for hard labour. A sentence that would probably kill him.

Your father gripped your elbow and squeezed. "It's ok my love, it's what I deserve..."

You shook your head and approached James, dropping to your knees grabbing at his hands, both to his surprise.

"Please? If they arrest my father.. I'll never see him again. And.... He's all I have left. Please? There must be something else..."

Tears fell from your eyes, but you refused to break your eye contact, gripping his hands as hard as you dared. His face was unreadable, but you hoped there was a good man there somewhere.

"Very well. He can go home."

You heaved out a sigh, moving to release his hands, but instead he gripped you tighter.

"But you have to stay."

Ah perhaps not a good man at all....

You gasped and tried to escape his grip but he held fast.

"You will work off your father's debt to me. You will stay here so I know you aren't gossiping about me in town, or stealing from me. Once the debt is paid, you can leave."

He releases your hands and you scramble to your feet. You turn to your father, standing uselessly in the mess he has created. Your shoulders drop and you turn back to James.

"Ok."

🥀

Spending time in the Barnes household wasn't as torturous as you had envisioned. Bucky, as he preferred to be called, spent most of the day alone leaving you to your various tasks.

The house was a mess, so you were busy dusting, cleaning and tidying. You spent your first week in the kitchen, disgusted by the dirt and mouldy food you found there.

Each morning ready made meals were delivered and you would store and serve when appropriate. Around midweek you were handed three bowls of mushy oats, you recognised as gruel. It looked odd amid the rich soups, stews, bread and cheeses that were stacked next to it.

"Well this looks almost good a new"

His deep grumble of a voice made you jump as you were scrubbing dishes and made it slip from your hand, smashing in the sink.

"Hmm that must be another week's work at least" he chuckled, walking over to you, brushing past you to grab a drink of water.

You scowled and began collecting the shards to put in the bin. He leaned against the counter as he watched you work.

"There was some gruel delivered today. What's that for?" You asked briskly as he slipped slowly.

"Ah yes. That's your's"

You looked up at him and stared. The twinkle of amusement in his eyes was enraging.

"I have a proposal. If you would like to dine with me in the evenings, then we can share a meal. If you continue to eat alone, then it only seems right you should eat just enough to sustain you."

"Why would I wish you eat with you?" You tried to dial down the venom in your words, but he seemed unbothered. A simple shrug and a flash of a grin before he turned to leave.

"I'll leave it with you to ponder, Beauty..."

That was another thing. Despite the fact you had told him your name several times, he insisted on refering to you as Beauty. Perhaps it was some sick reference to a fairytale?

You were beautiful, despite your often disheveled appearance, but it felt more of an insult when he said it.

Either way, you were never going to share a table with such a brute. You were made of tougher stuff that just a bit of gruel.

🥀

By the weekend you were starting to break. The gruel was exactly as he said, just enough to sustain you, but not enough to make you feel good in any way.

Saturday morning came and he had a huge roast delivered, with all the trimmings. You groaned as you set it in the oven to roast for a few hours. It looked so good.

In the afternoon you had some time to yourself and decided to read, finding some of his books left lying around too hard to resist. You didn't care what you read, you just loved it. Losing yourself in a fantastic world, or learning about real life places that you would probably never see.

As you were learning about the rainforests of the Amazon, Bucky appeared, and you did your best not to react as he sat on the couch where you had curled yourself up.

"Dinner already smells divine Beauty. Are you sure you won't join me tonight?"

You closed the book slowly. "Why are you so persistant about me joining you? Servents don't normally dine with their masters..."

"I don't consider you a servant. You are working off a debt, yes, but I still consider you a guest of sorts. If we are to share a home, we could at least share a meal..."

You narrowed your eyes but your treacherous stomach betrayed you, growling loudly.

He chuckled. "That settles it. You must join me. Oh! I have another delivery coming this afternoon. It's for you..."

And with that he left with your rainforests.

🥀

A dress.

It was a dress.

No in fact it wasn't a dress. It was an entire wardrobe of clothes, fit for a woman of a far higher status than you. Annoyingly they were all to your taste and fit like a glove.

You were mortified to find he had also purchased undergarments and threw the parcel of lacy items into the drawer to ignore them for the time being.

You decided on a pale green dress for dinner, throwing it on and brushing your hair through before rushing down to the kitchen to dish up.

He was in his usual simple black trousers and loose white shirt that he always wore, making you feel a bit of a spectacle in your shiny new dress, but he complimented you in a way that felt genuine so you smiled and allowed him to serve dinner.

He was quite handsome, but he was hidden behind a thick scraggy beard and long lank hair. The beard covered scars that you noticed drifted down towards his chest, more on his left side.

His metal arm, made of some mysterious metal called vibranium was surprisingly nimble. Occasionally he would knock something with it but it was hardly the terrifying limb the rest of the village made it out to be.

His eyes were the most wonderful though. Glittering blue that seemed to change with his emotions. Sparkling with joy, or turning grey with his anger.

You wondered what he must have been like before the war. There was definitely a sense of humour there, gentleness and generosity. But like so many men of his time, the things he had seen and done had buried those attributes beneath a surface of blood, mud and pain.

You ate mostly in silence because you were enjoying every single mouthful of delicious food. It was heaven, and even as the cook, you had to admit that this was the best roast you'd ever had. He seemed similarly impressed, mmh-ing at each new bite. It was almost sweet.

Once the plates were clearing he poured you a wine and started probing you. He wanted to know about your life, everything....

You answered briefly and without inspiration until he asked you about books.

"Oh yes I love to read. My mother insisted I learn and I'm so glad I did! I'll read anything I can get my hands on!" You laughed and he smiled, cogs turning in his head.

"I used to teach actually, I loved it. But they had to let me go..."

"Why? That seems crazy?"

"The money. There wasn't enough. I don't understand how people could take funding away from a school. It's so selfish..."

He stopped smiling.

"Maybe these places should learn to save better, and spend more wisely..."

You eyed him. "Well how can they with nothing? Don't be so naive, just because you have enough. Life is miserable enough without more selfish people in the world."

He threw his knife on the table and stood up.

"I knew it. You are just the same as the rest of them... Just waiting for a handout."

You also rose, fire burning in your chest

"I have never in my life asked for anything. I have worked all my life, harder that I imagine you ever have! I think its about kindness. It costs nothing to be kind James. And I'll stick to gruel if this is what dinner with you looks like."

You tore from the room before he could throw another barbed word your way, slamming the door and running to your bedroom. You refused to shed a tear until the door was firmly locked, collapsing on the bed, wishing this would all just end.

You heard a door slam in the distance before more tears fell until you finally drifted off to sleep.

🥀🥀🥀

#bucky fairytale #kinktober #writing challenge #bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky imagine

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auroravictorium · 2 years ago

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snow on the beach (pt. 1) (k.b.)

Summary: kaz tries to freeze reader to death, but he's actually just trying to do something nice.

Pairing(s): kaz brekker & reader (semi-stablished relationship)

Word Count: ~2.0k

Warnings: mentions of prior stabbing, allusions to kaz's touch aversion, mentions of a near-death experience, reader thinking about punching kaz because he's hot, kaz trying his best

Genre: fluff w a touch of angst at the end

Author's Note: had to break this beast into a two-parter, otherwise it would end up being way too long. thank you all so much for the love on the midnights series <3 i'm so glad you guys are enjoying this as much as i am while writing it!! tag list has been added at the bottom, so feel free to let me know if you'd like to be added :D happy reading loves!

part two

grishaverse masterlist

There were exactly six inches of distance between you and Kaz's shoulder, a fact you were acutely aware of as you walked down the cramped sidewalk. Cold air gusted off the Fifth Harbor, chilling you through your coat, and you pulled the collar up to stop the wind from reaching its icy fingers down your neck. If you could, you'd burrow yourself into Kaz and leech off his body warmth, but you knew that wouldn't be subtle as you patrolled the harbor. He also wouldn't enjoy the contact, so you kept your hands firmly to yourself.

"I told you to bring a scarf," Kaz muttered just loud enough for you to hear. He limped along without slowing, but you knew he was watching you out of his periphery.

"And I told you that I hate the cold. Why didn't you bring Matthias?" Your teeth chattered, and you tugged your coat tighter around you. If anyone could bear the chilly weather brewing over Kerch, it would be the Fjerdan. But no, Kaz woke you up at dawn and dragged you along on his scan of the harbor. Meanwhile, everyone else was back at the Slat, sleeping or staying warm by the fire. If you were more money-minded, you would charge him interest for the time he was taking trying to freeze you to death.

"Because Matthias hates me," Kaz answered. "And I find you more tolerable." He looked unbothered and unaffected by the cold, aside from a dusting of red across his stupidly handsome cheekbones. You thought about punching him for looking so attractive. It was unfair.

"If I didn't know any better, I'd think you just wanted to spend time with me." You glanced up at him, a smirk playing on your half-frozen lips. "But I must say, I'd enjoy this time spent together a bit more if I didn't feel like a walking ice block."

Anyone who knew Kaz only as the ruthless, greedy Dirtyhands wouldn't have noticed any change in his face. But you saw his lips twitch in an almost smile, and his eyes glittered with joy. He must've been in a great mood to risk letting his mask slip like that.

"You're impatient," he told you.

"You're cruel," you retorted, turning your eyes to the cloudy sky.

The clouds were thick and dark, blocking most of the morning sunshine. Nasty rain was almost certain to happen, but with the frigid cold, a small hope blossomed in your chest that it might turn to snow. Rain was characteristic of Ketterdam, but snow? It didn't happen often enough for your taste. Ironic, considering your loathing of the cold, but there was something magical about the snow. It reminded you of when you were young and watched it fall through the cracked living room window of your childhood home.

Kaz didn't respond, but amusement radiated off of him. You dared to huddle closer to him for warmth, and you were pleased to discover he didn't seem all that inclined to move away. In fact, Kaz was completely unbothered by your closeness to him and your arm pressing against his. He waited for the terror to claim him as it usually did, but he was surprised and pleased to find that little came. He felt nothing more than a tad nauseated.

"Are we almost done? It's nearly breakfast time." If you didn't get next to a hearth soon, you would refuse liability for any acts of violence you committed.

Kaz again didn't answer, and he remained silent for the next two minutes, even as you huffed and muttered under your breath. You halfheartedly considered pushing him into the road and seeing how well he could dodge a carriage.

After another minute of walking that felt like an hour on your numbing legs, you opened your mouth to ask what was next after the wintry patrol of the harbor. Kaz suddenly stopped walking, and you nearly ran into him. He either didn't notice or didn't care and gripped your elbow to tug you across the rough cobbled street and into an alleyway.

"Couldn't wait for the cold to get me?" you asked, taking in the grimy alley you'd been pulled into. You wouldn't blame Kaz for tiring of your pestering, but you hoped for a more scenic view if your demise was coming. Maybe a nice view of the harbor.

"I realized killing you myself would be more efficient," he answered. His lips quirked up in a smirk.

Kaz pulled you toward a doorway you hadn't initially noticed. Instinctively, you felt for the holster at your waist, but Kaz didn't seem concerned about safety. He was still uncharacteristically cheery, for him at least, and his shoulders were relaxed as he released you in front of the door and rapped his gloved knuckles against the wood three times.

"Has anyone ever told you how you have a way with words?"

You examined the door set into the brick wall: there was nothing special or flashy about it. It was a simple dark oak door leading into a building from the alleyway. You couldn't imagine Kaz making a house call, and walking through the front door on a heist wasn't his style. So why had he brought you here?

The door opened suddenly, and you nearly jumped in surprise. There stood a woman whose perfect tan skin and immaculately styled hair immediately told you that she was Grisha. You examined her more closely, searching for any imperfection, and concluded that she was a Corporalki.

Her brown eyes flicked between the two of you suspiciously before she seemed to recognize the man at your side. She paled under his icy gaze. "Mister Brekker. I didn't- I must have missed your appointment," she said.

"No appointment, Amalia." He jerked his chin toward you. All hints of humor or amusement had disappeared from his voice. "She needs her tattoo. The crow and cup."

You looked up at him in surprise, your lips parting. After two years with the Dregs and almost a year in Kaz's closest circle, you were finally getting your tattoo? Most Dregs got it sooner, but yours had been put off. For a long time, you wondered if it was because you still needed to prove yourself as a valuable member of the Dregs. But here you were on this stranger's doorstep, and Kaz said this to Amalia as if it was a daily occurrence and not something you had been looking forward to for a long time.

You examined his face, looking for any indication of how he felt, but the expressive Kaz from your walk had disappeared and been replaced with the aloof Dirtyhands everyone feared. You nearly shivered at the sight; of course, you weren't afraid of Kaz anymore. But he so rarely wore that look around you that when he did, it reminded you of what he was capable of. He was not just the man who shared gentle touches of hands with you or tapped his cane against your boot when he wanted to remind you that he was there. He could be cold, calculating, and downright cruel when he needed to be.

Amalia nodded and poked her head out of the doorway to peer into the alley. "Of course. Come in." Her eyes flicked around, searching for anyone following before she stepped aside for the two of you.

Kaz led the way inside, ducking into the warm, incense-filled parlor. You trailed behind him, eyes on his neck as you tried to process the news that Kaz had decided not to tell you about. The door shut behind you, and you examined the dim, smoky entryway. One long, threadbare carpet along the creaky floor, an old staircase with a decaying railing, and a few obviously forged paintings on the peeling wallpapered walls.

"A moment alone, please," you murmured to Amalia as she passed. She moved into a room to your left and then shut the door to give the two of you privacy. Turning to Kaz, you raised your brows. "I'm getting my tattoo?"

Kaz turned to face you after removing his coat and throwing it over the rickety handrail. He leaned against the rotting wood and met your gaze. His eyes filled with warmth again as he looked at you; Dirtyhands had receded for now. "It's been two years," he said softly, so Amalia couldn't hear from the other room. His voice was unexpectedly tender, and you stepped closer to him. "It's overdue."

"You usually send new recruits to get theirs alone and see if they back out of it." You met his gaze. Your heart fluttered in your chest as one side of his mouth quirked upward. Every time he smiled, you were grateful you survived a dagger to the chest nearly five months ago and got the opportunity to finally see it.

"You're hardly a new recruit," he responded. Kaz's cheeks were pink, and you couldn't tell if it was from the heat of the parlor or whatever he was thinking. "And if I sent you alone, this wouldn't be much of a surprise."

"You wanted to surprise me?" you said softly. Your heart was going all mushy on you. Damn it. Pull it together. It's just a tattoo. But it was a tattoo that he came with you to get, even though he didn't have to and probably had a million other things to work on.

Kaz scowled. "Don't be ridiculous." He had a reputation to uphold, and here you were, completely correct in accusing him of trying to surprise you. His heart flipped in his chest at the happiness on your face, but he maintained his frown. That happiness would be his ruin, but so be it. He hadn't spent three days by your bedside and walked through the blistering cold waiting for damn snowflakes to fall for nothing. He did it for you, for the smile that threatened to break down every barrier he'd put up around his heart and his emotions after Jordie died.

The icy water of the harbor lapped at his ankles in warning. Stay close to shore, Kaz.

"Kaz Brekker wanted to surprise me. I'm honored," you teased. You stepped closer and beamed up at him, unaware of how much further Kaz's thoughts went than the tattoo. The scowl on his face lightened, and he looked at you with an expression you didn't recognize on him at first.

His eyes flicked down to your lips, and you realized what that look was.

Longing.

Kaz didn't move closer or further away, fighting against the water rising around him as your chests touched. You were so warm, so close, and he could see every beautiful shade of color in your eyes even in the dimness of the parlor. If he could paint, he would cover a million canvases with it to try and replicate it to be kept forever. He would make a miniature to keep in his jacket pocket, close to his heart.

He didn't realize that he'd leaned in until a wave of panic threatened to drown him, and he had to jerk away to get air. He turned away from you, and your heart sank in your chest. Not because he hadn't kissed you, but because it was clear he wanted to. It broke your heart to watch him battle himself and then be furious when he felt like he lost each time. You wished there was more you could do.

You brushed your fingers against his shoulder. It's okay, the gesture told him. His shoulders loosened again. He wasn't aware that he'd bunched them up.

"Let's go inside," you whispered.

He nodded, and for once, Kaz Brekker did not meet your eyes. He thumped his cane against the creaky floorboards and then strode into the room Amalia was waiting for you in.

You took a deep breath, turned your eyes toward the sky and whatever may be there, and followed Kaz into the adjoining room to receive your tattoo.

[part two (coming soon)]

TAGLIST: @b3kk3r-by-br3kk3r

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katuschka · 6 months ago

Text

Olalla – Chapter Three

Josh Kiszka x female OC

8025 words

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction, intended for adult readers. Any resemblance to real persons is purely coincidental. Also, if you're under 18, go find some other entertainment elsewhere. Even though this chapter is still smut-free, the rest of the story won't be.

Warnings: angst, yearning, kissing, fluff, conflict and violent behaviour, alcohol consumption, slowburn, mental breakdown, LGBT themes, homophobia (World's not perfect and some people suck...not the main characters though, don't worry).

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What a wicked game you play, to make me feel this way What a wicked thing to do, to let me dream of you What a wicked thing to say, you never felt this way What a wicked thing to do, to make me dream of you

No, I don't wanna fall in love With you

Every once in a while, you experience something nice that somehow leaves a bitter aftertaste in your mouth. Just like when you’re watching a beautiful sunset, thinking about how trifling and unimportant our daily feuds and worries are in comparison to the macrocosm and its wonders. The moment feels so precious. …but the world keeps spinning and as soon as you turn around, you once again find yourself submerged in the stale waters of your petty life.

Not that she felt that her life was in any way stale. It was just that as soon as she closed the door behind him, the whole encounter seemed like a fever dream in retrospect. One she wished would continue, because during those few hours, everything felt so new, so out of ordinary, including the fact that it did not continue.

So, she tried to rationalize it and eventually concluded that she didn’t want more. This felt right…albeit weird, because it was simply different. He was different, and therefore dangerous.

Much more casual encounters often ended in fucking. It was her reality. The guys she willingly chose to spend time with were either not interested at all in the end, or didn’t want to let go. At least not until they got a taste of all of her. Either way, it ended up in relief. Rinse and repeat. Joshua’s touch remained imprinted on her skin like some sort of sensory tattoo, and it left her mind racing. The effect he had on her was pretty much unwelcome, the feelings that came with it were not particularly pleasant, but she involuntarily clung to them anyway.

His goodnight was definitive, and even though it didn’t feel like a rejection, it stayed outside her threshhold, just as he did. The night that followed was not good at all. The subconscious mind is a bitch. She spent it tossing and turning and waking up in between shallow dreams filled with images of his face just within reach, yet she couldn't bring herself to touch it. Before the actual dawn, she dreamed about them sitting on top of a mountain, watching the Sun rise. He was singing again.

Reality hit back when Agnieszka’s alarm clock rang at 4:30. Having fallen asleep long past midnight, and then again around two and three – because she couldn’t get the feeling of his lips on her cheek out of her head – she woke up with stinging eyes and a burning headache, with a long day ahead of her. She slowly dragged herself from the cozy bed to start preparing breakfast and snack-to-go packages for early hikers.

She usually enjoyed this. Morning chats over coffee were generally warmer and gave her the opportunity to talk to the guests about more than just how their day went and to connect with others on a more personal level, while sitting at the same table with them. They were a nuisance today. It wasn’t their fault. Just a group of young women in their early 20s and a nice couple getting ready for their last hike before going back home the next day. Definitely not an unpleasant company. Without admitting it to herself, or even consciously thinking about it, she just wished he’d be one of them.

He was probably still fast asleep when she left to do some early shopping before her daily chores. He was already gone when she came back. Visitors kept their keys, but they were asked to leave special hangers on their door handles when leaving, which proved useful in case they wanted to have their bathrooms cleaned or sheets changed. So, of course she checked his door. And then scolded herself for her unhealthy curiosity.

She almost forgot about him by midday, too immersed in cleaning vacated rooms and getting them ready for new arrivals. Fridays and Saturdays were the most hectic of the whole week, with people generally coming or leaving at weekends. Finally, after three pm, she could get some rest and enjoy her afternoon coffee (with just a drop of Bayleys) behind the reception desk, reading the book she abandoned the previous evening, with just a few interruptions that day.

At half past four, the bell above the main door chimed again and there he was, entering quietly, but turning to a full theatrical mode the moment he saw her. This guy must be fun at parties, no doubt about that. He spread out his arms and trotted like a musical actor right towards her in his brand new attire. “How do I look?” he asked while wiggling his eyebrows.

At first she thought her heart would jump out of her chest when she saw him for the first time since the previous night, but his easygoing, comical behaviour immediately made her relax. “Like a walking Columbia advertisement,” she laughed.

“Yeah, well, I normally prefer flannels, but the guy at the store said this is more appropriate. I hate polyester…unless it’s sparkly…but I’m willing to try this,” he shrugged – tugging at the fabric demonstratively – and leaned familiarly on the counter. “How was your day?”

“Busy and boring at the same time. I should be the one asking that question. Have you seen or done anything interesting today? I mean, apart from becoming one of us,” she finished the sentence with a quasi-sultry whisper and dared to lean in closer to him. The truth was that the dark tight-fitting crewneck accentuated his lean and firm figure in a way that made her feel a bit uneasy. That man wasn’t just “quite attractive”, he was sexy! Humour and banter was her usual way of dealing with unwelcome butterflies in her stomach. And it worked, because they both giggled before he answered.

“Nothing much, just wandering around. I didn’t dare venture far before breaking in these,” he demonstratively lifted one leg to show her his right trekking boot. “Besides, I don’t know it here. I tried to follow some folks, but the path turned to a steep and stony one pretty soon and my feet hurt like hell after just a couple miles and…”

“Wait a minute,” she started rummaging under the counter. “I forgot to give you these. Here are some maps and leaflets with touristic tracks. Stick to those if you don't want to be chased by a bear. Also, it’s a national park, so you just have to anyway. Also, tomorrow’s going to rain all day, so you might want to visit the Tatra Museum.”

“Oh, bummer. The whole day?” The meaning of everything he said was amplified tenfold by his wild gesticulations and body language. It was like watching a silent actor, except he wasn’t silent at all. “Thank you so much for these? Any recs for a good place to eat? I tried the one right at the end of the street yesterday. It was good, but I’d like to try something more local.”

She reached behind her for some more leaflets and handed him a couple. “There are a few nearby. We serve dinner to our guests as well, but you need to preorder it at least a day in advance…but that’s usually just a plain, home-cooked meal, nothing fancy.”

“But that sounds fantastic! I’m pre-ordering dinner for tomorrow then,” he beamed, and added hopefully: “Care to join me today?” “I can’t, I need to go help with the dinner in about an hour and then I have some more things to do in the evening.” His face fell with a silent oh and for a brief moment she actually did hate her job. Was he asking her on a date? It certainly felt that way. Maybe he just didn’t want to be alone. It didn’t really matter. He wanted her to say yes and she didn’t want to say no, and even if it meant just two people eating together, it would be just fine. He lingered awkwardly for a short while before he wished her a pleasant evening, hoping to see her again soon. She didn’t want to let him go just yet, not just like that… “Joshua, wait!”

“yes…?” he turned back to her with his arms flailing around like a marionette.

“My dad throws a garden party for our guests every Sunday evening...if the weather allows, that is. His grilled pork chops are delicious,” she tried to sound as casual as possible to hide the fact that she really wanted him to join them. “I…ummm…am supposed to invite everyone,” she added.

“That sounds great, but…I don’t really eat pork…or meat in general.” He looked almost sorry that he didn’t.

“Oh! Well, there’s always mom’s redcurrant pie, and some grilled vegetables, too…” Pathetic.

“Lovely! I'll be there.” And with a beaming smile, he disappeared upstairs.

The next day started as blue-ish gray when she woke up and soon turned to just gray. Breakfast didn’t need to be served before seven, as half of the people were leaving that day and the other half simply weren’t in a rush. Some even cancelled, preferring to go have fancier pancakes with ice-cream and forest fruit in some café nearby. Heavy rain was drumming on the roof and terraces, and the clouds were hanging low, turning the surrounding hills into a haunting, misty landscape.

It was a lazy, sleepy day. A perfect day for a massage, or to go to the sauna…if you were staying in one of the fancier lodgings. The residents of Willa Eulalia were mostly bored, with just TV or board games to pass time.

Nothing really changed much for Agnieszka. If anything, Saturday proved to be even more hectic, because mother wasn’t feeling well. So, the usual routine consisting of vacuuming, changing the sheets and cleaning the toilets turned to be even more tiresome, as she had to do it all by herself.

The house went almost completely silent after lunch. It was already almost two pm when she finally reached the attic to make the room opposite to Joshua’s ready for a new visitor. She didn’t have much time left; new guests would start coming shortly.

It looked like he was still in his room, possibly having a nap. The rain only intensified after lunch and it was fairly easy to get drowsy here, right under the roof. She turned on the vacuum cleaner on the lowest setting and proceeded to do what she was supposed to, while fighting off obsessive thoughts about getting drowsy with him…

She was almost done when she heard some disturbance coming from the other room. It sounded like him arguing with someone. Honouring the house’s number one rule “privacy first”, she collected all her things and aimed to leave the attic as quickly as possible. Not quickly enough, though, because his sudden loud “I don’t fucking care,” followed by something hitting the wall, stopped her in her tracks. It was followed by even more incoherent yelling. “Something was not his fault and some Sam should do something instead, and someone was advised to suck his dick (Figuratively speaking – she hoped, half amused.), otherwise she couldn’t make sense of the one-sided argument. The call ended and she was finally about to descend the stairs, when he suddenly opened the door, making her jump. She shot him a terrified look and his own expression wasn’t much different. “Sorry for the noise,” he finally mumbled. “...I…need some fresh air.” With that, he ran past her down the stairs.

The whole encounter troubled her, but she didn’t have much time to ponder over it, as she already had to hurry back to the reception to resume her afternoon duties, noticing him on the veranda on her way there.

She couldn’t stop thinking about it though. The lobby was connected with the back veranda by a wide, transverse corridor, so when she leaned forward a bit, she could easily see him from her place behind the counter. He was still standing there, leaning against the balustrade with his arms outstretched and his head bent down. It triggered her inner caretaker. She couldn’t just leave him there like that, so she poured some fresh water in the electric kettle behind the counter and rummaged through her little box of teabags.

“Hey, I made you some tea,” she approached him with the steaming mug and placed it carefully on the balustrade next to him. He looked at it and smiled weakly. “Thanks, Sheldon.”

She laughed at the reference but he didn’t reciprocate, so she continued warily: “The ghost called again? “No, that was my twin brother this time.”

“You sounded a bit agitated. I thought…”

“Olalla, I really, really don’t want to be rude, but when I said I needed fresh air, I really meant I needed to be alone.”

She was taken aback by that and her eyes widened at him. “I’m sorry, I…”

“Thanks for the tea,” he sighed and left, leaving her alone with her thoughts again. Slightly shaken this time.

He disappeared for the rest of the day.

He didn’t come to dinner that evening either.

She stayed on the veranda for a few more minutes after he left, drinking the tea she made for him and watching fat raindrops splashing on the stony path leading to the fireside. She was mad at herself for letting him occupy her mind the way he did those past few days. For the first time in years, she allowed someone to get under her skin, and for what. Now it stung, and it would eventually get worse if she continued with this nonsense. Rinse and repeat. So, she just shrugged it off with an annoyed huff and put her walls back up, just like she always did. The path from hurt to pissed off to indifferent was a short and safe one.

And then, just like a gift from above, the bell at the front door chimed and she hurried back to greet three young and carefree handsome men who were waiting for her at the reception desk.

She knew them. They were their frequent guests, one of them being also her regular hook-up. She had been looking forward to seeing him and his radiant smile again, but then nearly forgot they were coming. It was a welcome distraction now, the only downside being her sister Maya who was also arriving the next day to spend a week…and Maya hated him.

Agnieszka knew very well why. Maya hated fuckboys and Bartek was the epitome of that. Pretty and vain and often notoriously bad-tempered when challenged, which meant he hated her sister back with passion. However, that never stopped Agnieszka from welcoming him with open arms, because he always gave her what she wanted and he never wanted more. He was one of her wolves. So screw tomorrow, she needed some comfort now. As soon as she finished her daily tasks and he freshened up and got comfortable in his rented room after the long ride from Poznan, he joined her in her quarters for one of their regular “movie nights”. They hardly ever finished watching any.

She found no comfort in his touch that night, though. After snuggling closer to him on the couch, she felt nothing. His thieving hands and intrusive tongue started to annoy her after a while. The excuse of being maybe a bit too tired was a lame one. It was not a complete lie and he knew she worked hard, but he seemed annoyed all the same. After she literally invited him to join her, she couldn’t really blame him, so she just slid on her knees on the floor and gave him head instead.

There was something strangely calming about giving head and gagging on a cock. Those brief moments of not being in control made her feel like she could control everything else.. When it was finally over and she rested her head in his once again clothed lap, feeling his fingers scratching her scalp affectionately (but not too much), she felt calm at last. They were both half asleep when they heard a knock. Agnieszka slowly scrambled up on her feet, excused herself and opened the door to find Joshua standing there.

“Hey,” he bounced on the balls of his heels with a tentative smile and his eyebrows furrowed. “I feel like I should apologize for being such an ass earlier. And…I’m making some mint tea and I thought, maybe you’d like some, too? Just to reciprocate your kindness, you know?” he nodded towards the common kitchen in the hall.

Agnieszka bit her lip to stop her from smiling back. Not that he didn’t deserve it, she just didn’t feel worthy of giving it. She had her own kitchen unit in her apartment, so this was just a nice, albeit awkward gesture and they both knew it. He just didn’t want to approach her completely empty handed.

“It’s ok.”

“No, it’s not, and I really am sorry.”

“It’s fine, Joshua. I’m basically just a maid and I had no right to bother you when you were clearly upset by…whatever’s going on in your life. It’s not like we’re friends.”

He sighed and nodded solemnly. “I really hoped that we would be. I…anyway, I went to this store today. They sell crystals and stuff, and this kinda reminded me of your eyes. Please, keep it.” He took her hand, palm up, and placed a small malachite pendant in it. “Good night to you, Olalla…” He bowed his head down and was about to leave when a loud “kto to jest” made it snap back up to see a man suddenly standing in the doorway right next to her, his hand squeezing her shoulder almost possessively. Bartek looked first at Josh, then at the piece of stone in her hand and his eyebrows shot up. He was athletic and broad shouldered and, being taller by at least 5 inches, he towered over Joshua menacingly.

He was also shirtless, with the waistband sitting dangerously low on his hips. That, together with Olalla’s sheer bathrobe, told him everything he needed to know.

“Oh, I see I’m interrupting…again, my apologies Olalla.” Bartek didn’t even wait for him to leave; he slammed the door shut right in his face. The bang made Agnieszka jump.

“Who the fuck was that, Olalla!?”

“No one. Just a guest.” He had no right to do that, and she should have been angry, but his sudden shift in mood made her defensively meek.

“Guests don’t come knocking on your door this late to give you trinkets unless they want much more than just room service. I thought one at a time was your rule,” he raised his voice and slammed his fist against the door. “Guests don’t call you Olalla!”

“Bart! Stop overreacting! He just…”

“Is that why you’re so frigid today? Bitch…”

He grabbed the rest of his discarded clothes from the couch and before Agnieszka could even react, threw the door open again and stormed out. She started after him, only to watch him pass bewildered Joshua, who really was making tea in the common hallway kitchen. Bartek stopped in his tracks and hissed in broken English, gesturing back at her: “Already you can go back, Frodo. The dirty whore is your now.”

With that, he disappeared down the stairs and left them standing there in silence. He with a jug kettle in his hand, frozen in motion; she clutching the door frame for dear life. From the look on his face, she could tell that he had overheard them arguing too, though he thankfully couldn’t understand a single word of it, though he must have gotten the general idea. They watched each other with wide eyes for a few long seconds, until hers welled with tears.

He could see hurt and shame and panic in them. “Olalla,” he whispered and slowly made his way towards her, but she quickly closed the door shut, crouched down and, overwhelmed with all the emotions from the past few days, started crying in earnest. She tried to suppress her sobs so that he wouldn’t hear her as soon as she heard soft knocks again. This time, she didn’t open. The whole house fell quiet again after a while. She slowly got back on her feet and unclenched her fists.

A warm piece of polished malachite was burning a hole in her palm.

The clouds finally dissipated during the night and the inhabitants of Willa Eulalia were once again greeted by a clear, pinkish sky on the eastern horizon, the Sun painting the whole mountain range orange. Most of the people left early, so after 7 am, only families with young kids were still in their rooms or on their balconies, enjoying the breakfast as well as the fragrant air after yesterday’s rain, already warmed by the sun.

Agnieszka had lulled herself to sleep the previous night with a little help of a significant amount of vodka and not even the fresh breeze was of much help in easing the consequent nausea.

She suffered through the morning, thanking god that both Bartek and Joshua were gone, hopefully for the whole day. It was just a postponement of her torture, but it was welcome all the same.

Her younger sister Maya arrived shortly after lunch, and – seeing both her mother and her sister looked like they might fall asleep on the spot – she quickly took over their duties. Agnieszka excused herself and climbed in her bed, wishing to disappear. Maya tried to get her back on her feet a few times during the afternoon, but failed miserably. It was already past 8 pm when she arrived again. Agnieszka could hear that the garden party had already started outside her window, and she just wished Maya would understand that she didn’t want to join them. Apparently not…

“There’s a gentleman asking if you would join us.”

“Tell Bart he can fuck off.”

“Pfff,” Maya scoffed. “I already did. That fucker and his idiot buddies went out anyway, probably to the World’s End. And by ‘gentleman’ I mean a real gentleman. Though he’s a bit of a weirdo.”

Agnieszka suddenly had a huge lump in her throat, but didn’t say anything, so Maya continued: “He also told me what happened.”

“He did what?”

“I was at the reception about an hour ago when the German lady from room 9 made a complaint about a noise yesterday evening,” Maya started to explain while she was rummaging in her sister’s wardrobe. She was obviously determined to drag Agnieszka out of her room and into the garden by sheer force, if necessary. “I obviously didn’t know what she was talking about, because my sister doesn’t tell me anything anymore. Duh! That’s when he walked in, overheard us, said it was his fault and apologized to her. Then he explained to me what really happened,” she finished and threw black yoga pants and a fluffy powder-pink pullover on Agnieszka’s bed.

“It wasn’t his fault,” Agnieszka mumbled into the pillow.

“Now you’re finally talking! Yeah, no shit. I figured. The poor guy obviously got dragged into your mess. And yet he still wants to see you. Seriously, who is he? And why is your face suddenly red like a baboon's ass? Is there a legitimate reason why Bart behaved like a total jerk this time?” she wiggled her eyebrows at Agnieszka theatrically.

Agnieszka gave her an annoyed look. “I don’t even know who he is. And we just talked a few times. And…yeah, just talking. We spent an evening talking and then he kissed my cheek goodnight and that’s it.” She rummaged in her pocket and showed Maya the green pendant. “He also gave me this yesterday. Said it reminded him of my eyes. That was before Bart’s temper tantrum. I can’t go there, Maya. It’s better if I stay away from him, for the sake of his own wellbeing.”

“Wow. Interesting! So you’re saying the two of you are treating each other like real human beings? Didn’t know you had it in you. He’s sweet though, no surprise there. I think he likes you. His smile reminds me of…”

“Don’t!”

Maya knew she overstepped. But she wouldn’t budge. Instead, she sat on the bed and started stroking Agnieszka’s hair.

“Olalla, baby, stop shying away from people. Just go. Spend another evening talking. In spite of what you think, it will do you good. Besides, you invited him, and he’s there. It’d be rude not to show up.”

She could spot him immediately when she set foot in the garden. He was sitting on a piece of log by the fireplace, facing her. He was deep in conversation with some other guests, but as soon as he saw her, he gave her a radiant smile. His face was enchanting in the firelight, sparks dancing around it like fireflies. On her way to him, she stopped just briefly by the long table to grab a glass of wine.

“Hey…” She still felt uncertain and a little ashamed when she reached him. “I…didn’t have an opportunity to thank you for this,” she continued, while toying with the pendant and looking down at him bashfully.

“Good evening, Olalla,” he beamed and gestured to an empty spot to his left. “Please sit.”

“You had the opportunity,” he added as soon as she sat down. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. Your reaction was more than understandable. But I’m glad you’re here now.”

“You must think low of me.”

“I think highly of you! You’re a hard worker, you obviously love nature and those carrot cupcakes are delicious! Maya told me you baked them this morning even though you weren’t feeling well. So,” he cleared his throat and giggled. “Now we both apologized to each other, I’m gonna need your advice.”

“What advice?” It was Maya, the nosy brat who just couldn’t miss an opportunity to stick that nose into anything that didn’t concern at all.

He was taken aback for just a millisecond before he resumed his quick babbling again. The fact that he was now forced to turn his head from side to side gave him also the opportunity to start gesticulating wildly, which he clearly enjoyed.

“So, I decided to go for a proper, all day hike today. But apart from the fact that I absolutely don’t know where to go – I was never good at reading maps – there were sooo many people everywhere! Which was a good thing, in a way, because I didn’t get lost. BUT…”

“Where did you go?” Maya interrupted him. The two of them were like two peas in a pod.

“Kash…kashp…dammit! How do you guys do that? My tongue, ouch!”

Agnieszka finally laughed, for the first time that day. “Kasprowy Wierch?”

He nodded eagerly. “Yea! That’s the one! Nice place, don’t get me wrong, but my god! It was crowded up there.”

“Of course, it’s Sunday, and you chose the only place with a cable car,” she explained, as both she and Maya laughed.

“Well now I feel like a complete moron,” he responded to that in a cheerful tone and even wilder gesticulation.

“So, what advice do you need, Joshua?”

“Well, I was thinking…since you said that you work as a guide occasionally…that you would just go with me? I’d love to see some more secluded places and I can’t go alone – you said that yourself – and I wouldn’t even know where to go, so…please?” He grinned, batting his eyelashes at her.

“But that’s mostly for families or older couples or…”

“But that’s a wonderful idea!” Maya interrupted her. “You should definitely go.”

“I have work to do,” Agnieszka spat back.

“Bullshit. I’m here until Wednesday, I can do that. And tomorrow’s going to be even more beautiful than today, according to the forecast.”

“Perfect! Olalla, pleeeeeease,” he turned to her. “Hey, you have nothing to drink,” he gestured to her already empty glass and took it from her. “Lemme refill it while you’ll decide to say yes.”

“Hey, who’s the guest here?”

He gave her an “oh, come on” look, took her glass and excused himself.

“What are you doing?” Agnieszka hissed at Maya as soon as the coast was clear.

“It’s been a long time since you looked so radiant. You’ve been miserable for way too long. Enjoy life for once. You like him! And he obviously likes you,” Maya said, nodding towards the long table. Agnieszka looked up too and they watched him shooting glances back at them.

“It’s irresponsible,” Agnieszka hissed back. “He’s leaving by the end of the month.”

“Yeah yeah, totally out of your character,” Maya responded sarcastically. “Since when does this bother you? And what exactly do you expect to happen? Just go have some fun. Two friends enjoying a hike.”

She planned a beautiful hike. Secluded, just as he wished. Away from selfie hunters. The whole trek was on the Slovakian side of the mountains, but that wasn’t an issue. They would start right at the border and cross the whole mountain range from north to south, taking the bus back to the starting place. It was a physically demanding, long trek, with almost no shelters along the road and no escape routes. That’s why not many people ventured there, even though the first half was undoubtedly one of the most beautiful places here. Joshua was beyond excited.

They agreed to meet by her car at half past six the next morning. She would take care of all the necessities. All Joshua had to do was to show up on time with a backpack and some spare clothes. He failed miserably.

At quarter to seven, she finally decided to knock on his door. “Joshua, come on! We need to leave NOW if you don’t want me to change the plan.” A moment later she heard a loud “oh fuck!” and some scrambling noise. “COMING!”

“Coming,” he breathed out when he finally opened the door, shirtless again, still in his sleeking sweatpants and with a literal nest on the top of his head. “I’m sooo sorry! Gimme ten minutes. Ten minutes max!”

“I’ll be waiting by my car,” she rolled her eyes and sighed.

He finally showed up after another 25 minutes, overflowing with joy and…

“What’s that?” she pointed at his face.

“Sunglasses,” he shrugged with a beaming smile.

“You call this sunglasses?”

“I’m a diva! Deal with it,” he responded affectedly and threw his backpack on the backseat.

It was almost eight when they finally set off. The track was an easy one for the first ten kilometres, with just a slight ascent. It was – however – breathtaking from the very start, with the whole amphitheatre of jagged peaks opening up before them in the distance. Joshua was taking pictures the whole time. He was also talking the whole time, stopping only when the pathway became very steep all of the sudden.

They surmounted a few levels and finally decided to take a break by a beautiful mountain lake.

It was almost noon, but there were still barely any clouds in the sky and it was getting really hot, even at this altitude. Agnieszka wiped the sweat off her brow and splashed her bare arms with some cold water, while Joshua stripped from his shirt and jumped on a large stone sticking out of the water. He was now standing there with his arms outstretched and his head tilted back. She watched him in amusement, shielding her eyes with her hand. “If you want to go on like this, you’ll definitely need to apply more sunscreen.”

“What? Are you saying that pink wouldn’t suit me? I beg to differ, my lady!” He turned towards her in some sort of clumsy pirouette and nearly lost his balance, flailing his arms and leg around in an attempt to stay dry. “Watch it!” She laughed, but was also already rummaging in her backpack. “And no. I’m serious. Come here.” He jumped back and she handed him her bottle.

“Hmmm, coconut ice cream,” he sniffed at the healthy amount of lotion he just poured on his palm and started rubbing it in the skin on his arms and chest. “I was delicious before, but now I’m going to be practically irresistible.” Agnieszka was just taking a sip out of her bottle and his cheekiness made her cough.

“What, you don’t think so?” He wiggled his eyebrows on her. “I might need help with the back,” he added.

“I’d rather not answer that question. Come sit,” she motioned to the flat stone in front of her.

He turned his back on her and sat between her legs, throwing his messy braid over his shoulder. It was adorned with silver dreadlock beads today and she couldn’t help but smile at his unashamed quirkiness. “Why don’t you wanna answer that question?” he asked with a low voice when she started applying the sunscreen between his shoulder blades.

She took a deep breath through her nose and squeezed her eyes shut for a second. This close, she could smell his own musky scent under the overpowering aroma of the sunscreen, and it made her dizzy. She watched tiny droplets of sweat running down his sides from under his armpits. Running her hands over his lower back, she involuntarily imagined the same thing in a completely different scenario. She really wanted this to be just two friends on a trip, just as Maya said, but his delicate, yet manly form and his direct, spontaneous personality made it almost impossibly hard. She just couldn’t get the feral thoughts out of her head, no matter how hard she tried. “You don’t need coconuts, Joshua,” she muttered under her breath.

He…giggled? This man was either completely unaware of his power or too comfortable with it. Either way, she just wanted to push him in that water. She was sure it would make a hiss.

She squeezed more lotion in her palm and started rubbing his shoulders. “You’re a bit tense here.”

“Yeah, my lower neck’s been hurting lately. I haven’t had much exercise in a while,” he sighed.

“Here?” She pressed both thumbs in his higher trapeze muscles and he let out an involuntary moan. They both chose to act as if he hadn’t.

“So…you exercise? What exactly do you do?

“Yoga, mostly. Some light weights, too. I need to keep fit because of…work.”

“Work, huh? You told me quite a lot about your family, but I still don’t know what your job is.” He looked like one of those contemporary circus acrobatic dancers – she contemplated half-jokingly – but that probably wasn’t the case. He was too clumsy.

It took him a while to respond. “A secret agent,” he finally let out. “And unfortunately, now I have to kill you.” That made her slap his shoulder in amusement. “Ok, ok, I work as a costume mannequin. It’s an extremely important job. They pay well, too.”

Sighing exasperatedly, she pinched his side, making him squirm and squeak. He was keeping something from her, but she had learned not to pry. “Ok, done.” She wiped the rest of the lotion on her things and he shifted and sat next to her, still laughing, until she handed him a water bottle. “Now drink. I haven’t seen you drink much and I don’t want you to collapse on the road. You’re tiny, but I still couldn’t carry you all the way down.” Everytine she felt vulnerable, she resorted to this strategy of making clear that she was in charge of the situation, could take care of herself and should take care of others…or whatever. It was her way to weed out the toxic people. Some guys would be mortally offended by such a treatment. Joshua? He just saluted her with a “yes, ma’am” and obeyed.

They sat in silence for a while, only an occasional hawk screech or an intelligible chatter of two girls sitting further up breaking the zen-like piece of the place. “Thank you,” she finally spoke, toying with the malachite pendant hanging around her neck.

He looked at her with amusement. “You already did.”

“No, I mean for not treating me like…what were the words he used? Oh yeah, a dirty whore. Which I guess I am. But you’re not judging me. So, thank you.”

He rested his face on his fist and looked at her. “Why should I be judging you? People need human touch. That’s completely normal.”

“Some more than others, I suppose. I’m just pathetic.”

“I think you’re just lonely,” he said, toying with the water bottle absentmindedly.

“I’m not,” she huffed.

“Are you sure?”

She didn’t respond, silently watching the ripples on the lake. The idea of being lonely was one she willingly chose not to entertain a long time ago. She had her people. She had sex. She had this. She was ok.

His palm that gently cupped her face brought her from her reverie. His fingers slid down to the nape of her neck while his thumb continued to caress her cheek. She instinctively leaned into the touch with her eyes closed and when she opened them again, she saw him watching her intently.

Her heart started beating wildly. “What are you doing,” she whispered. He just shook his head and bit his lip before he moved even closer and closed the gap between them. She could feel his plump lips on hers and her whole body twitched in shock, making him break the contact.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, his eyelids drooping, but she grabbed his face in her own shaking hands and pressed her parted lips to his again in silent plea. The tip of his tongue brushed against her upper lip, inviting her own to touch him. Their mouths finally fully connected in a soft, deep and sensual kiss that made them both feel completely light-headed. None of them wanted this to end and they continued for at least a minute, swallowing each other’s shaky exhales. At last he broke the kiss and pressed his forehead to hers. “What is this? she whispered again.

“I don’t know… and I don’t care, to be honest,” he mumbled, finally opening his eyes as they broke the contact entirely. She didn’t know where to look, didn’t even know how to process her own thoughts, so she just checked her Garmin matter-of-factly, only to see how late it already was. “We should get moving.”

“I don’t think I can,” he giggled in embarrassment. “Just…give me a minute.” She nodded weakly in acknowledgement and got up to re-pack their things.

They resumed their way up the steep and stony path in complete silence save for their laboured breath until they reached another levelled post-glacial terrace with yet another alpine lake right under the narrow saddle that divided the northern set of valleys from the southern mountain range. They were now approximately in the middle of their journey and the route was getting slightly more exposed. At one point, they had to traverse a narrow ledge above the lake. It was the first passage with safety chains they had to cross that day, and by far the easiest one, as she assured him, which only made him nervous.

They took a short break before ascending to refresh themselves when they reached the crossing and had two ways to choose from, both leading to their final destination. The one to the left was fit for more seasoned adventurers, and – based on the people coming and going – that included also kids in their early teens or older women, so it could be done. She knew it could, she had gone there a few times before. But, seeing him watch the narrow and jagged depression between two peaks in the distance warily, Agnieszka finally decided on the path leading right up to the more easily accessible saddle. It proved to be a wise choice just a short while after. Watching him struggle while descending on the other side, clawing the chains with terror in his eyes, was fun. Him falling or panicking in the middle of the ascent wouldn’t be.

He even misstepped eventually when they were descending down a set of cramps onto another ledge. His foot slid down the last iron bar clumsily and his bare back collided with her chest, nearly knocking them both down.

She caught him and steadied him and they laughed it off, but there was something strange about the whole situation. She felt an underlying tension between them after she released him and they genuinelly looked each other in the eye for the first time since the kiss. He brushed the back of his hand against her arm, trying to communicate something, until the people behind them gestured to them to move.

He led the way this time, jumping from stone to stone, high on endorphins, as if his knees were made of rubber. A wild chamois. Her own shins started to burn, the exhaustion of the past few days already taking its toll. He was unstoppable though, basking in the afternoon sun and once again taking pictures of everything around him, including her on a few occasions. Some things were still left unsaid and the more tired she felt with each passing hour, the more it troubled her. The events of the day made her simply wonder, but one specific feeling that started to rear its ugly head scared her.

It was half past six when they finally reached Stary Smokovec, both completely exhausted and thirsty, but happy they made it in time. The last bus to Lysa Polana was leaving at 7:05. They had just enough time to use the restroom at the electric train station and to buy some bottled water to relieve the headache.

Reaching the bus station, they found the girls they had previously met by the lake already waiting there. They took the other route at the crossing and were now also headed back to Lysa Polana. They were a nice and friendly couple, so when the bus arrived, Agnieszka and Joshue took the seat right behind them.

The sun was already low in the sky, covering the world outside in a warm hue and a fresh, lukewarm breeze was flowing through the open roof window. The sound of the moving machine made them drowsy and they watched the changing scenery in silence. It was suddenly so peaceful. One of the girls in front of them rested her head lovingly on the other one’s shoulder and Agnieszka wished to do the same, but just couldn’t muster enough courage to do so.

As if he read her mind, he took her hand and – just like the first night – started stroking her knuckles gently. She just smiled and looked in the distance. Whatever it was, she was now determined to enjoy every single minute of it. More people boarded the bus in Tatranska Lomnica and soon they were on their way again. The girls in front of them started kissing and Joshua watched them stealthily with the most heartwarming expression on his face she had seen so far. Suddenly, they heard the driver saying something with his voice raised and angry, while looking at them through the rear-view mirror.

The girls tensed and started whispering something to each other in Polish. Joshua looked confused. Agnieszka didn’t understand the driver at first but when he repeated those words she finally grasped the meaning behind them and gasped. He stopped the bus and opened the back door. Joshua turned his head to Agnieszka, looking positively alarmed now. “What is he saying?” She tried to translate it but her own words failed her. He got it, though. The guy wanted them out.

One of the girls tried to negotiate with the driver, but that made him even more visibly angry. He stood and made his way towards them. The whole bus was whispering by then, all eyes on the girls. “Do kelu, vypadnite uz, lesby zasrate!” he roared and grabbed one of the girls by the elbow, trying to push her out of the bus with force, if necessary. An older lady in the back shouted something at him, but he ignored her and continued with his speech about not wanting such filth inside his bus. Joshua clenched his jaw, stood up abruptly and went after the driver, only to be thrown back into his seat aggressively. Agnieszka didn’t even know that she started screaming. The whole situation escalated pretty quickly and resulted in the four of them being left standing by the side of the road.

The girls were the first to recover, one of them already tapping ferociously on the screen of her phone, while Agnieszka was still just standing there in disbelief and repeating “he can’t do this, he can’t do this” over and over again. Joshua sat on the grass, his elbows on his knees, clutching his head. He felt as if he was in a haze, watching her in slow motion having a heated conversation with the girls. He rubbed his temple and tried to calm down as she finally crouched down to him after a while.

“Joshua, are you ok?”

“Yes,” he whispered.

She placed a hand on his shoulder tentatively. “Are you sure? You look…”

“I am ok, Olalla. I’m ok…” but his shoulders started shaking and he lost it, startling her. She sat down next to him and pulled him in her arms in a vain attempt to soothe him. “Hey! Shhh, big boy. They’re fine. One of them just called a taxi from Poprad. But…it’s a long ride and neither of us have enough cash, so…do you, perchance, have some spare Euros? I’ll pay you back once we get back to Eulalia.”

That finally made him take a deep breath and calm down a bit. “Yeah…yes, I do. I’ll pay for the ride, don’t worry.”

“No, we’ll split the expense, I’ll just need…”

“Don’t argue, Olalla!” He was resolute. He also didn’t say a single word after that.

No one spoke during the ride back to Lysa Polana, only the radio disturbing the complete silence. The girls crammed themselves in the back seat while Joshua took the place next to the driver. Agnieszka was watching him from the back seat. They were both deep in thought and – while she couldn’t read his mind – her own was racing. It all made perfect sense all of the sudden. Still with the aftertaste of his kiss on her lips, she felt a sudden wave of bittersweet tenderness for him. Oh, my sweet Joshua. My dear…friend.

Back in her car, they still didn’t speak. They had wished the other two a safe journey back home and Joshua hugged them both, but other than that, he seemed distant, watching the passing trees outside the window absentmindedly.

“Thank you for today, Olalla,” he finally spoke, not looking at her. “It was really nice.”

“No need to be polite now, Joshua. Just tell me what’s troubling you…if you want to. If you don’t…then don’t...”

He opened his mouth, only to move his lips in vain like a mute fish, and started crying. She felt a sudden surge of panic. The incident itself, however unpleasant, couldn’t possibly shake him that much. Something else was going on, and she had a feeling it was related to the previous phone calls he had. It seemed impossible to return to Eulalia now. Her notoriously curious sister would be waiting behind the reception desk, no doubt. It was not her place to explain why they were both behaving as if they just returned from a funeral. She couldn’t muster enough strength to do that, anyway. And then there was Bart and his buddies, whom she just didn’t want to see now. AND she didn’t want them to see Joshua. Not like this.

He didn’t even notice that she took a different turn, coming back to reality again only when they passed the town centre and were now heading towards a much smaller Gubalowka mountain range on the northern side of town.

“Where are we going? he asked, looking confused.

“I just thought you might appreciate a change of scenery…”

To be continued...

Previous chapter Olalla masterlist

@its-interesting-van-kleep @edgingthedarkness @writingcold @thewritingbeforesunrise @lvnterninthenight @fleet-of-fiction @takenbythemadness @myownparadise96 @gvfstuddedmajesty @josh-iamyour-mama @jazzyfigz @tripthelightfantastix @sanguinebats @love-isnt-greed @klarxtr

#greta van fleet #gvf #josh kiszka #josh gvf #gvf fanfiction #greta van fleet fanfiction #greta van fleet fanfic #gvf fanfic #josh kiszka fanfiction #josh kiszka fic #josh kiszka fluff #Spotify

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idabbleincrazy · 2 months ago

Text

We Make Our Own Destiny: Ageless

Fandom: Smallville

Rating: E (overall)

Pairing: Clex

Characters: Clark Kent, Lex Luthor, Martha Kent, Jonathan Kent, Lana Lang, Evan, LuthorCorp staff

Word Count: 5041

Warnings: angst, emotional h/c, s4 au, episode rewrite, Lana is trying, so is Jonathan, fluff

Summary: Evan and his found family visit the LuthorCorp labs. Lana and Clark talk. Lex comforts where he can.

Chapter Four:

The next morning saw the little farmhouse in a buzz of action. Martha hadn't come home until Clark was already making his bed on the couch after checking in on Evan, so he had only told her the gist of what had happened while she was at the Talon before she headed to bed. Amazingly, Lex had woken with the dawn along with Clark and the two of them were soon busy getting boxes unpacked, sorting through the clothes and toys Lex had ordered the night before.

Evan had awoken by the time they were done, and Lex had happily volunteered to bathe and dress the boy as Clark sped through his usual chores before his parents woke. Lana had stopped by just as Martha was putting the coffee on and listening avidly to Jonathan's retelling of the night's events, so as Lex bundled Evan down the stairs, he and Lana took him out to the barn to keep him occupied and to give Clark some privacy with his parents to discuss the more tenuous aspects of the situation. Lex felt a wave of gratitude through the bond, and he tried to convey a comforting hug in return.

The scientists Lex had emailed were currently in a bustle of their own, getting equipment ready. They had estimated they would have everything set up by noon, so Lex had convinced Clark and Lana to head off to school after breakfast and come back at lunch to accompany him and Evan to the lab.

“Where is Evan now?” Martha asked as she set out makings for a quick lunch for her growing brood.

Clark did a quick scan as he grabbed an apple from the fruit bowl.

“In the loft with Lex and Lana. And, Mom, I've never seen anything like it. Last night he was just a baby, and then suddenly, he's ready for first grade. Speaking, and apparently he's able to read already.”

“His growth spurt was really amazing.” Jonathan came into the kitchen, washing his hands as he spoke.

“And frightening.” Martha paused in her preparations, turning to look at Clark and Jonathan. “Evan needs to be seen by a doctor. We have to take him back to the hospital.”

“What are we gonna tell the doctors, Mom, he's some second generation meteor freak? He'll either wind up in Belle Reve or a laboratory for the rest of his life.”

“I don't know, Clark, but we owe it to him to do something.” Jonathan dried his hands on a dish towel and stood beside Martha.

“Look, I need you guys to hear me out on this before you go shooting me down. Lex has agreed to have his meteor-focused scientists take a look at Evan. He’s having the lab set up to look into what caused the sudden aging. He’s just as worried as the rest of us about the little guy, and wants to find out if he's okay.”

Jonathan sighed heavily, torn.

“Clark, I realize that Lex has helped us in the past, and that me and him have been trying to get on a better footing with each other, but I'm not sure I'm ready to just put this young man's life in his hands. I'm not sure I trust him that much yet.”

Clark pushed down the anger he felt rising at his father's obstinacy when it came to Lex, he didn't want the emotion to bleed into the bond and worry Lex.

“Dad, if I were in trouble and Lex was the only one who could help, what would you do? Lex has helped out so much already, and besides, don't you think if he had any evil intentions towards Evan, they would both already be gone? He cares about him just as much as any of us. More. The way he is with Evan, it's like he…like he's found something he's been missing all his life, Dad. I trust that he would never intentionally do anything to hurt Evan.”

Jonathan thinks about it, seeing Clark's point, recalling how Lex had been with the baby the past two days, and how eager he was this morning to take charge in caring for the boy. He hadn't seen such a quick attachment since Martha had picked Clark up in the middle of a chaos-ridden field.

Martha watched Jonathan consider Clark's words, ready to interject on Lex’s behalf if her husband got stubborn. She had seen Lex with Evan, saw the light in his eyes that hadn't existed before. Martha had always seen how Lex was, deep down. He'd never admit it willingly, but the young man needed to be needed, a caregiver through and through. He had all this love locked up inside him, and needed someone to let him share that love. And what better conduit for all that unconditional love than a child? Yes, she knew Lex would do anything he could for Evan, just like she would do anything for Clark.

“Alright. We'll give Lex the benefit of a doubt on this. But, I swear, if he hurts one hair on that boy's head-”

“He won't, Dad. And, thanks.” Clark swiftly kissed his mom on the cheek and hugged his dad, before running off to get the others for lunch.

Martha smiled at Jonathan, pecking him on the lips.

“They'll be fine, Jonathan. Lex isn't the monster you've imagined him to be. He's not his father, and you just need to keep looking beyond his name to see that. Clark and Lana are growing up, and Lex is still so young himself. The three of them will do the best they can for Evan, we just have to be there if they need us.”

“I'm trying, Martha, I just…”

“I know.”

Clark walked up the steps to the loft, silently, not wanting to interrupt the scene he'd spied. Evan is sitting on the couch, sandwiched between Lex and Lana, reading aloud from a storybook. Lex’s arm is wrapped loosely around the boy's shoulders, and Lana is staring down at him in quiet amazement.

"You must be very kind to him, to teach him all he needs to know in Rabbit Land, for he is going to live with us forever and ever."

“You know how to read?”

Evan sets the book down in his lap, looking up at Lana.

“I've already read all of Clark's old books, and most of the new one's Lex got me, but this is my favorite. I also like the encyclopedia.”

Lex let out a chuckle, ruffling Evan's hair proudly. Clark could feel the swell of pride through the bond. Lex looked over the back of the couch towards Clark and winked.

“The encyclopedia, huh?” Lana is smiling down at Evan, not sure whether the boy is being genuine or spinning tales. “That's a pretty long book.”

“I know. I stopped at W. Windmills. Did you know they were invented in Persia?”

Lana lets out a soft gasp and looks from Evan to Lex. Lex nods, confirming the unbelievable. He had been up here with Evan for hours, watching him devour book after book, like a real live Matilda.

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Um…” Lana shakes off the surprise, smiling down at Evan. “You are a very, very special boy, Evan. I think that you are the most special little boy that I have ever met.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.” Evan looks from Lana to Lex, and Lex nods in agreement. “And you're really lucky, because there are so many more books for you to read and so many places for you to see.”

“Like what?” Clark can't help but grin from his hiding place at the excitement in Evan's voice.

“Like a real windmill. And when you stand up on top of it, the whole world stretches out around you.” Lana thinks fondly of the windmill in Chandler's field, where Clark had taken her, despite his own fear of heights, just to show her that they weren't as cut-off from the rest of the world as she had thought, Metropolis sparkling, bright and alive, in the relatively near distance.

“Can we go? Right now?”

Clark takes that as his cue, clomping up the rest of the steps, pretending he hadn't been skulking in the shadows.

“Where are you going?”

Evan jumps off the couch and runs into Clark's instinctively offered embrace. Lex stands and follows at a more sedate pace, safe enough in Lana's knowledge of them to hug Clark in greeting as the teen lifts Evan up.

“Dad! Mom and Papa are taking me to see a real windmill! Wanna come?”

Startled by the assigned titles, Clark carries Evan back to the couch next to Lana. Lex, Lana, and Clark exchange uneasy glances as the two men settle on the couch beside Evan.

“Um, Evan, listen. We're not your real parents.”

“Everyone's supposed to have parents, and they're supposed to love each other very much, just like you all do. I felt it, last night.”

Lex and Clark shared an awkward look with Lana, the young woman feeling the loss of Clark sharply once more.

“The three of us care about you a lot, Evan. That's what matters.”

Evan looks between them, a heavy sadness on his face.

“If Lana's not my mom, and neither of you are my dad, where are they?”

Lex takes Evan's hand in his, his heart aching for the boy.

“We don't know. But wherever they are, I'm sure they love you very much.”

“We even have a friend of ours helping to find them, okay?”

Lana leaned over and pressed a kiss to Evan’s forehead, the tension breaking as Evan made a very age-typical yuck face. Clark stood, picking Evan up again and hefting him onto his hip as the trio headed for the stairs.

“Hey, after lunch, you want to go for a ride in the truck?”

“Are we going to the windmill?!”

“Uh, we will. But first, Lex wants to show you where he works. We've got some things we need to figure out about you, and Lex has people who work for him who know a lot about people who are special, like you, and how to help them.”

“Oh, like a hospital? I'm not sick, am I? I mean, I don't feel sick.”

“That's…that's what we want to make sure of, buddy. It's not a hospital, though. It's Lex's personal lab. You'll be safe there.”

Lex felt Clark's apprehension and tried to soothe it, but considering his own anxiety, it may not have worked as well as he hoped. He followed Lana and Clark back to the house, trying to keep his emotions off his face.

The second they all stepped into the house, it was hard for the three of them to focus on their worry. Evan was taken into Martha's smiling embrace, cooed over as was expected, before being led to a table laden with sandwiches, fruit salad, and a plate of fresh baked cookies. Milk was set out for Evan, coffee poured for everyone else, and Evan dug in dutifully as the three younger adults let themselves be buoyed by the happier atmosphere.

They decide it would be easier for all of them to pile into Lana's Envoy, Clark sliding in beside Evan in the backseat as Lex took the passenger seat. Lana drove up to the fertilizer plant in anxious silence, steering at Lex's directive towards the back parking lot closest to the laboratory that was expecting them.

Inside the lab, a man in a crisp white lab coat hurries over to greet them. Lex is wearing his business mask, but Clark can feel the trepidation thrumming through their connection, the older man just worried as he and Lana.

“Dr. Turner, I trust everything is ready?”

“Of course, Mr. Luthor. If you'll just follow me.”

Dr. Turner leads them across the lab to a room at the back, and Clark fights back a rush of fear at the sight of the stark metal table he sees through the room's glass walls. Machines lined up around the table, beeping and whirring, and Lex has to place a hand at the small of Clark's back before he remembers to breathe. Lana looks over at him in confusion, Evan's hand in hers as she leads the boy along.

“It's okay, Clark. I promise.”

Clark gives Lex a discreet smile and nod of thanks at his whispered comfort, following the others into the room a little less dizzily.

Lana helps Evan out of his shirt at the doctor's direction, lifting him up onto the table so that Dr. Turner can attach the wire leads to his chest and start gathering readings from the various machines. Evan lays back on the table and Lex takes a blanket from a nearby chair, covering the boy from the sterile cold.

Another of Lex’s scientists steps in, and Lex gestures at Clark and Lana to follow him out into the hall. They watch as the new guy injects Evan with a syringe of clear fluid, Lana cringing in empathy as the boy grimaces at the pinch. Beyond the minor discomfort though, Evan seems unfazed, looking over at them and waving.

“I hope we've done the right thing.” Clark can't help but be twitchy in this place, despite Lex's assurances, the fear of experimentation too ingrained. He's grateful for the soundproofing of the glass. “If we put him through all this for nothing…”

Lex pulls Clark into a loose hug, guiding him and Lana to a sitting area nearby.

“Clark, it looks a lot worse than it is, I swear. I won't let them do anything more than take a few blood samples and readings. Just to conclude whether Evan is indeed meteor-affected and if this is going to happen again.”

Lana watches Lex being so gentle with Clark, squashing down the residual jealousy as she realizes how much Clark needs someone like Lex. Someone to take care of things when he couldn't, someone to lean on. Things she had always needed from him, but didn't yet have the strength to give in return.

Just as Clark is assuring Lex that he's just being a worrywort, Dr. Turner comes out to request that he speak to Lex. He waves the doctor off ahead of him and presses a quick kiss to Clark's temple, hugging Lana mostly as an afterthought.

Lana sits down next to Clark, bumping his shoulder playfully. Clark flashed her a quick smile, nudging her back.

“Hey. You really love him, don't you?”

“Lex? Yeah, I do. I'm sorry, Lana, that I-”

“Don't. Don't be sorry, Clark.” Lana reached over and took Clark's hand in hers. “I see how the two of you look at each other, and I realize…you've always looked at each other that way. You look…happy. Like you both finally found peace. I'm sorry I couldn't be the one to give you that, but I'm glad you found someone who could. I won't say I wasn't surprised, or that I'm not a little bit jealous, but I won't tell anyone about it, and I won't go all Fatal Attraction on you. You deserve this happiness, Clark, you both do.”

“Thanks, Lana, really. But, you deserve happiness, too.” Clark squeezed her tiny hand gently, his smile turning sad. “I'm sorry that we didn't work out, even after I said that things would be different. I'm sorry you couldn’t find with Jason, what I found with Lex. I do feel love for you, Lana, just…”

“Not the same as you feel for Lex. I get it, Clark. If we're both honest with ourselves, I think we've always been meant to only be friends. We saw each other as an ideal, what we thought we wanted, but didn't see we weren't what we needed. And, hey, I'll find my own Lex someday, I can be patient.”

Clark stood, pulling Lana up with him and into a hug, kissing the top of her head. He would always care about her, but Lex was the one he had chosen, and probably always would. Lex was the one person who, when Clark thought about losing them, the prospect hurt more even than Alicia's death had. More than Kyla's. The thought of losing Lana that way stung, but not in that soul-crushing, can't breathe around the pain in my heart, kind of way that losing Lex would bring.

“Still friends?”

“Always, Clark.”

“Good. Let's go check on Evan.”

As they walked back towards the glass room, Lana chuckled ruefully.

“You'd think after the past four years, I'd be used to this kinda stuff, but these past few months have definitely been the strangest yet.”

“And for Smallville, that's saying something.”

Looking through the window, Lana squeezes Clark's hand, worried at the expression on Evan's face.

“Clark, he looks so scared. I hate doing this to him.”

“So do I, but it shouldn't take long. Lex has his best scientists working on this.”

Just then, Lex comes down the stairs at the back of the lab and steps up beside them. His face is a mix of wonder and fear. Clark can feel the warring emotions wafting off the older man, his own anxiety ramping up.

“And they've already come up with some intriguing, albeit startling, discoveries.”

“Lex, is he gonna be alright?”

Lex doesn't answer right away, looking from Lana to Clark, and turns his head to watch Evan for a moment.

“Lex, tell us what's happening.”

Lex sighs and pulls his gaze away from the boy being poked and prodded at, pushing away memories of those agonizing months he'd spent in the hospital after the meteor shower.

“I had them looking at the data based on my theory about that flash of light we saw just before we found Evan. The results are only preliminary, but everything indicates that Evan's body is storing energy, like a battery charging.”

“Charging for what?” Lana's voice is full of fear, and Lex lays a hand on her shoulder, uncertain how to comfort her.

“The conclusion we've come to is that once enough energy is stored, it's expended to fuel a burst of extremely rapid cell division.”

“That's how he was able to go from a baby to a seven year old in one day.”

Lex nods at Clark, knowing Clark is struggling to keep his angst from flooding the bond.

“Is there any way to stop it?”

“My team believes a bone marrow transplant might slow the growth and bring his metabolism back to normal.”

“Can they use my bone marrow”, Lana asks. “If I’m a match?”

“Well, it's not that simple. His genetic makeup is highly unusual. For this to work, we'll need an exact match with a living donor, which means a biological parent.”

“Chloe found the recording of an emergency call made just before we found Evan.” Clark frowned, and Lex's heart surged at the pain in his voice. “We think his mother died when he was born. We're still trying to find his father, it sounded like he ran off just before the explosion.”

“What's going to happen to Evan if we can't find him?”

Before Lex can answer, the lights in the lab start flickering. A huge blast from the room sends one of the doctors flying through the glass window and he falls to the floor in the hallway between them.

“Evan!”

The three of them hurry through the shattered window, to Evan's bedside where he is sitting up. Lana touches his arm, shocked.

“Evan”, her voice a whisper of disbelief.

“Unbelievable.”

Clark can't even find words as he stares at Evan from Lex's side. Sitting up on the metal table is a teenaged Evan, the blanket pooling precariously around his waist. Eyes wide with fear and confusion, Evan looks between the three he's grown to consider parents, then down at his hands.

“What's wrong with me?” His voice is deeper, cracking slightly in the middle, puberty in action.

Dr. Turner steps up beside Lex, a little less flabbergasted than anyone else in the room.

“We can have the Level Three facility prepared for his immediate transfer, Sir.”

“No. You're not taking him anywhere.” Lex promised Clark Evan wouldn't be made to feel like an experiment, and God knew the boy had to feel overwhelmed enough right now. “I’m having that sector shut down for a reason, and I will not have him subjected to that environment.”

Clark takes off his jacket and puts it around Evan's shoulders, relief coursing through him and through the bond.

"But Sir, we need to isolate him while we run more tests. If this happens again-”

“I just want to go home.” Evan is gripping Clark's hand tight, tears welling in his eyes.

“Turner, he's just a boy. I said no. Any other tests can be run with the samples you've already taken.”

“We understand you're trying to help, and we appreciate it.” Clark looks at the doctor, ready to act if he doesn't concede to Lex's orders. “But he's been through enough. We're taking him home.”

Lex stares Dr. Turner down as the scientist splutters, trying to convince the CEO to change his mind. Clark and Lana help Evan off the bed and walk him out of the lab, Lex striding behind them without another word to the frustrated doctor.

Evan is set in the front seat of Lana's car, Lex adamant about joining Clark in the back. He can feel Clark's fear and pain seeping through the bond despite the brunette's efforts to hide it, and as the SUV passes the gates of the plant, Lex wordlessly draws Clark into his embrace, letting him sag against his side. Lips to the young man's forehead, he whispers an attempt at comfort.

“We'll figure this out, Clark. I swear, we'll do everything we can to keep him safe.”

Once back at the Kent farm, Evan darts out of the car and up to Clark's loft, the young boy apparently finding it as much a place of comfort as Clark always had. The trio of concerned adults drag themselves from the vehicle, various lost looks in their eyes. Inside the kitchen, Clark mutters something about clothes and heads towards the stairs. With an apologetic glance at Lana, Lex follows after.

Lex shuts the door quietly behind them, even as he hears Martha joining Lana downstairs. He feels slightly better that she has someone to vent to now, but Clark is his priority. Watching Clark rummage through his closet, clothes discarded in a blur, he waits. It doesn't take long.

Halfway through the top drawer of his dresser, Clark crumpled into himself, falling to his knees in stages, a broken sob renting the air. Lex is there instantly, kneeling beside him, drawing him into his arms. He feels Clark's pain through the bond as the brunette finally lets his barriers down, knows his own is felt by Clark when the hands that had gripped at his shirt loosen to wrap around his back instead. They sit there, in the middle of Clark's room, surrounded by shirts and jeans, holding onto each other like a lifeline. Soundless tears streak Lex's face, counterpoint to the sniffles and weeping coming from the lips muffled against his salt-dampened shoulder.

“He's gonna die, isn't he?” Clark's voice is hoarse when he finally speaks, thick with the agony of the loss he knows is coming. “It's not fair, Lex. What good are all these powers if I can't use them to save people like Evan?”

“I know, Clark, I know it's not fair. And, I know it hurts. But you can't save everyone, Clark. Sometimes, people die, and there's nothing anyone can do to stop it.” Clark's face is nestled into his shoulder now, and Lex lays his cheek on top of his head. “The world isn't always fair; sometimes it takes good people away too soon. Innocent people. Children, like Ryan, like Julian, and like Evan. Like Kyla and Alicia. And, you can't always stop it. And, it hurts. It's a pain that doesn't completely go away, that only lessens, but lingers for as long you remember them. But, we can live for them, make it so they don't die in vain. We can be happy again, because they would want us to be. Trust again, because they wouldn't want us to hide ourselves away from the world. We can care about and love other people, even knowing we could lose them, because those we've lost wouldn't want us to be alone.”

Clark sniffled again, blinking away the tears that blurred his vision as he lifted his head. He remembered the promise that he had made to Ryan, when they were drifting high above Smallville. To not be angry or sad at his loss, to never give up. He pushed away the pain again, letting Lex's comfort and words bolster him against the urge to just give up.

“So, no, it's not fair that this happened to Evan. But it's not over. We still could find his biological father, get him to help us save him. My team could still find another way to stop this. Listen for him, hear his heartbeat. As long as you can hear that, and as long as we keep trying, it's not over. But right now, there is a fourteen year old boy up in that loft, alone and scared, and waiting for the only people he's seen as parents to come help him, to comfort him. Evan needs us, Clark. He needs a change of clothes, and the three people who care about him.”

“You're right”, Clark stands up, wiping tears from his face and pulls Lex up beside him. Brushes a quick kiss to Lex’s damp cheek. “I know, you're right. Help me pick something out for him?”

Lex gives Clark a watery smile and they search through the small wreckage of clothes, settling on one of Clark's older plaid shirts and a pair of worn jeans Clark had outgrown by seventh grade. None of Clarks shoes are small enough, so Lex makes a quick call for a pair of sneakers to be bought and delivered to the Kent house within the hour.

After another few minutes of comforting each other and a tender kiss or two, they finally head back downstairs. Martha is on the couch, consoling Lana with gentle words and a hug that only a mother could give. Her head turns at the sound of Clark's boots on the steps, a sad smile on her face as she takes in their reddened eyes.

“Are you boys alright? Lana told me about Evan, I'm so sorry it happened again.”

“We're not resigned to his fate, Mrs. Kent. My men are working on a back-up in case we can't track down Evan's father.”

“Lana, we're gonna take him these clothes to change into. Give us a minute before following?”

Lana nodded, composing herself as she reluctantly straightened from Martha's loving embrace. Her motherly care had felt wonderful, something Lana had missed for so long, warmer and more real than what Nell had been capable of giving.

Lex and Clark climbed up the steps to the loft, finding Evan still wrapped in the blanket as he huddled on the couch. He looks up at their entrance, tears shimmering in his eyes, but accepts the scrounged up clothing wordlessly and slips the boxers on under the blanket before standing.

He's lanky, but not quite as tall as Clark had been at that age. The plaid button-up is a size too large, and the jeans will need to be rolled at the cuffs to keep him from tripping. Clark feels his heart squeeze painfully at the sight of the boy, and knows what his parents felt every time he'd outgrown another set of clothes. He feels Lex rub his shoulder, and tries to convey a look of assurance when he glances over at him.

Evan is just settling back down on the couch as Lana joins them, sitting next to the boy and taking his hand in hers.

“I'm dying, aren't I?”

“Evan, don't say that.”

Lex settles on the arm of the couch at Evan's other side, and Clark settles on the coffee table in front of them. Both young men reach out, one hand on a knee, the other on hunched shoulders.

“No, I- I read the average lifespan of a man is seventy-four years. I've aged from a newborn to a teenager in forty-eight hours.” Evan looks between the three people he considers parents, the only people he knows, with absolute certainty, love him unconditionally. “Do the math.”

“Evan, we're not gonna give up. Lex has got his team working on a cure right now.”

“And if we can find your father…”

Evan stands up and walks over to the window, his back to them. He knows they just don't want him being scared, but he's trying to be realistic, trying to tell them not to get their hopes up.

“Do you really think they're gonna find a cure for me overnight? It's like my life was just some sort of trick that was played on me! All that stuff I read in the books that I thought I was gonna see...I'm not…” He turns around to face them. “Am I?”

“Don't talk like that, all right? We just have to keep trying.”

“It's not fair. This whole thing...it's just not fair!”

Evan runs down the stairs and out of the loft. He needs to get away. Their hope is too hard to bear.

Lana looks between Lex and Clark, lost.

“We have to do something. We can't just let this happen to him.”

“Would you go see if he's okay? I need to find his father.”

Lana nods and hurries after Evan. Lex stands and Clark pulls him into a brief hug.

“While you go get Chloe's help on tracking down Evan's dad, I'll head back to the plant. See if they've made any progress.” Lex hands Clark a burner cell. “Call me if there's any luck with Chloe.”

Clark rushes out of the barn as Lex calls for a car to come pick him up.

*****

@leatafandom

#smallville rewrite #smallville fanfic #clex fanfic #clex

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dateless-bar · 8 months ago

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The Ways Primarchs Sleep (headcanon)

Lion

He sleeps like a statue. Lying still, eyes closed and hands resting on his chest, yet his sword is close by. Not all slight noises disturb his sleep; he only reacts immediately to approaching threats, a habit ingrained in him during his early training in the forest. Little known to many, the sound of crackling fire or running water actually helps him sleep better.

Fulgirm

He wears the highest quality silk pajamas, shimmering like satin. Before bed, he performs stretches or yoga-like movements, lighting his personally blended aromatherapy and sometimes playing soothing slow-paced melodies. Moreover, he's very sensitive and picky about the quality of his bedding.

Perturabo

Truth be told, he rarely sleeps; most of the time, Perturabo spends it in front of his workstation. Illuminated by the light of numerous screens, it's hard to discern any significant difference between his face being awake or fatigued, but the toll of overwork is evident in the dark circles beneath his eyes. When things wind down, he might end up sleeping in front of his workstation, stacked with piles of data boards and design blueprints. At these times, his Iron Circle would not allow anyone into his room. And it's only in the solitary metal house he built himself that he manages to sleep.

Jaghatai Khan

He prefers to sleep in his own tent, usually on his side. Inside the tent, there's typically a blend of ink, grape rose wine, grass, and sweat in the air. And if he happened to have been galloping across the Chogoris grasslands earlier that day, witnessing the breathtaking vista of dusk descending from the high horizon, then he'd surely sleep well that night, lulled by the sound of the wind.

Leman Russ

Russ has been sleeping on the backs of wolves since he was young. The fur of the two giant wolves makes the best bedding for him, and the wolves have accepted him as one of their own. Sometimes, Russ would hold a bottle or even a barrel of wine, drinking until he's half-drunk before falling into a deep slumber. He drools a lot, making quite a messy scene. However, the times when he can sleep carefree like this are becoming fewer and fewer.

Rogal Dorn

Dorn often presents a stern and almost harsh image of himself in front of his subordinates, and most people almost think of him as an iron man. However, like Malcador and a few others, they know that when he rests, he wears simple plain robes and sleeps in his own room, covering himself with or holding onto his grandfather's tattered small blanket. He enjoys the moment when Phalanx docks on Terra, and the external snow slowly swirls down onto the ship's deck.

Konrad Curze

A can only fall asleep in complete darkness. He curls up into a ball and stares into the darkness, vigilant for any signs of movement. If there's even a slight change in the darkness around him, he'll hiss and stare at it without blinking until it returns to complete darkness. If he must sleep, his usual sleeping hours are typically from before dawn until dusk. He grinds his teeth, and Fulgrim has tried to change this, but to no avail, much to his frustration.

Sanguinius

When Sanguinius was first discovered by the people of Baal, as a young child, he would almost always sleep huddled up with his legs drawn close or lying flat on his stomach because lying on his back or side could potentially press against his wings. Fortunately, later on, the imperial craftsmen customized a very comfortable bed for him, but these sleeping habits still affected his posture. His sleep quality wasn't good, and he had been troubled by prophetic dreams for a long time. When he woke up startled in the middle of the night, he would wrap his wings around himself.

Ferrus Manus

Ferrus prefers firm beds, even mechanical ones, which may be related to his early childhood spent nestled against the disassembled drop pod after landing on Medusa. The sound of machinery brings him a sense of comfort. He prefers warmer environments to colder ones and rarely covers himself with anything while sleeping.

Angron

Oh, you really want to ask that question? Well, commendable courage. According to Arkhan Land's understanding of the Butcher's Nails, Angron has never had a moment's peace since having this despicable creation implanted. The melody of the Butcher's Nails is like an incessant malicious metronome, making sleep an unattainable luxury, let alone rest. During his rare moments of quietude, saliva and blood would flow from his mouth, and his eyes would be devoid of life. Angron detests sleep, but perhaps his shattered soul yearns for true slumber.

Roboute Guilliman

In the past, Guilliman led a highly efficient and organized life. He was someone who would promptly go to bed at a set time, possessing enviable self-discipline. His bed was high and adorned with a complete set of bedding, including neatly arranged bed curtains (seriously, who does that?). At first glance, the bed appeared very modern, with even an alarm clock timer and books for reading placed at the bedside.

Mortarion

For Mortarion, sleep isn't about rest, but about recuperation for the next battle or task. Therefore, his resting times aren't fixed; he usually takes short naps a few hours before a battle to replenish his stamina. Before going to sleep or upon waking up, he sometimes drinks a bit of poison wine to maintain his condition.

Magnus

For as long as he can remember, Magnus hasn't slept much. For him, closing his eyes is a time for meditation and soul wandering. While ordinary people sleep, he roams the ethereal realms with his spirit, observing and deciphering endless knowledge from the cosmos, even making contact with the Emperor far away on Terra. During meditation, his attendants surround him with beeswax, plant essential oils, and aromatic ointments.

Horus Lupercal

He's someone who struggles to fall asleep due to excessive pondering. Typically, he'll pour himself a drink in his private cabin and contemplate, or gaze at the Emperor's portrait on the wall. Sometimes, his thoughts during the day and at night are completely different.

Lorgar Aurelian

He prays before bed, using a specially crafted censer to burn frankincense and myrrh. However, his prayers often last longer than his sleep. In his youth, if his behavior didn't meet Kor Phaeron's expectations, he would be required to wear the penitent garb. Although this couldn't leave much of a mark on a Primarch, he has grown accustomed to the pain and restraint.

Vulkan

Vulkan is accustomed to falling asleep near the high heat and clanging of the forge, and his sleep quality has always been good. However, things changed after he was killed and resurrected. In the period after his resurrection, not only did he not need sleep, but his mind was highly focused — according to Vulkan himself, it was not a pleasant experience.

Corvus Corax

His dark circles aren't because he sleeps little, but rather they're innate. However, his excellent night vision and hearing often keep him from sleeping at night, so his sleeping patterns are irregular. He feels more at ease during the night than during the day.

Alpharius

This... one? Two? A group? In any case, they defy definition. But if they were to close their eyes and sleep, it might be difficult to discern who is who. However, when they're on a mission, they appear to be perpetually active and don't seem to need sleep. Because you can never tell which of the Alpharius before you is actually Alpharius.

#primarch headcanon

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climbthemountain2020 · 4 months ago

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Your Eyes Whisper Have We Met - Chapter 8

Part 8/? | Ao3

Thanks for being cool with my Elucien Week hiatus! Early update this week then back to my regularly scheduled Thursday updates.

Thanks as always to the lovely @witch-and-her-witcher for being my beta! <3

Feyre tucked the massive duvet beneath her chin as she watched the first rays of dawn’s light crest over the hills through her window. She nestled down further into the bed, fighting to keep the light chill of morning from seeping in. She wondered what it might be like to wake up regularly next to Rhys, his body always seeming to run hot and fiery, or perhaps that was simply her reaction when her fingers had found his skin in her mind. She sighed.

She had barely slept, too many thoughts in her mind to shut her eyes for long. The more she’d thought about it, the more she was convinced that she understood her part to play in all of this.

She was here, given magic and presented as half human, to be a bridge between Calla and the fae. She was sure of it. She could help ease Calla in, acclimate her to what Prythian was like and how well Feyre had been treated here since she arrived.

Vincent had told her in the coffee shop that day that she would play a vital role, though that already seemed like years and years ago now.

Things have already been set in motion that cannot be stopped, and you will be instrumental in carrying out any possible future where everyone is free.

Sure, the circumstances were not ideal, and she knew absolutely nothing about Calla’s personality or background past that she hated the fae enough to kill one of them, but Feyre held out hope. She could be very persuasive when she wanted to be.

Before the sun fully rose, Feyre gave up on resting, choosing instead to sit at the small table by her windows until the rest of the house woke. She grabbed the large book on the Winter Court, flipping it open and beginning a cursory look through it. Kallias, the High Lord of Winter, looked incredibly young, just like Tarquin. She supposed Tamlin looked young, too, but he had an air of time-weathered experience about him that the other two lords did not. She flipped to the appendix, searching for the histories of the court. There was only a small blurb on the page about Kallias being made High Lord–

Installed during the time of the blight; replacement for the High Lord Johvnik upon his death due to complications from the blight, along with the High Lords of Summer and Day.

That meant Tarquin had been a young installment for the rebellion, too. She hadn’t reached Day Court yet, but she wondered if their High Lord was the same. Two, maybe three, young males, at least by fae standards, installed far before their time after witnessing the deaths of their fathers. A book of Vincent’s she’d read had stated the magic usually coursed through family lines, but sometimes jumped generations or bloodlines entirely for someone more favorable. Kallias looked as cold as the ice he ruled over, pale, sharp features accenting an otherworldly beauty.

She practiced honing the ice for hours, wrapping it around her fingers and pushing it out and back across the small table until she accidentally put small cracks into the surface. Marking her place and setting the book aside, she jotted down a quick reminder to grab the book on Autumn today, too. She didn’t really need the background on the powers, but she remembered what Lucien had told her: he’d fled here. She wanted to see what she could find in the histories of his court.

Once she pulled on clothes and made her way downstairs, Lucien, Tamlin, and Calla were already awkwardly sitting at the table in silence.

There wasn’t a single sound in the room except the quiet scraping of silverware on plates. Calla was in Feyre’s normal seat, so she pulled out the one next to Lucien, sitting down and piling her plate high with food to hopefully allow Calla to see it was safe to eat. She knew how many times growing up she’d heard the rumors that if you ate food offered by the fae you would be taken under their control.

“Good morning, everyone!” Tamlin’s eyes shot up and Lucien stifled a laugh into his tea at the forced enthusiasm in Feyre’s voice. Calla looked up, startled, and Feyre could see that she did look a bit healthier now that she was in clean clothes with her hair tied back. “It’s looking like it's going to be lovely out today. Perhaps we could take a stroll later?” She cut into her food emphatically and shoved a huge bite into her mouth. Lucien looked like he was about to start cackling at any moment, and Feyre kicked him beneath the table.

“Oh, uh, yes. A stroll around the property would be, uhm, very nice,” he fumbled trying to recover.

Feyre sighed, but Calla’s eyes were on Feyre’s plate. She looked back to her own and even took a small bite of the eggs. It was good enough for Feyre.

Tamlin cleared his throat and looked at Calla.

“You look…clean.”

“Gods be good,” Lucien murmured under his breath, receiving another swift kick and a look from Feyre.

“Thank you.” Calla’s voice was quiet, but Feyre could sense the undercurrent in it–the fear, uncertainty, and hate. She had lived with Nesta all her life–she knew what it sounded like when someone was trying their best to use propriety to stifle the emotions below. They might have their work cut out for them.

The rest of breakfast was quiet and intensely awkward, but Feyre noted Calla had eaten some things, so she was willing to call it a success. Lucien left first, barely mumbling a lackluster excuse. Tamlin’s wide, nervous eyes had found Feyre’s over the table and she’d nearly laughed out loud before nodding at him, giving him permission to make his excuses and go, leaving the two women there alone.

The second the door shut behind him, Calla’s eyes were on Feyre.

“You’re human!”

“Yes, well, half,” Feyre corrected, constantly reminding herself of the need to maintain her story.

“You just looked to fit with them so well yesterday, I didn’t notice until this morning. Are you a captive here?” Feyre nearly choked with laughter.

“No! Gods, no. I fled here. So did Lucien. For us, Spring has been a safe haven.”

Calla’s jaw dropped open. “They didn’t coerce you?”

“More like I turned up one day out of the blue and coerced them, and they now mostly tolerate my presence while I eat their food and organize their library.” Calla looked at her as though she’d grown a second head. “They truly aren’t bad once you get to know them. I am sorry about the welcome you received from us. We haven’t been at our best.”

“I deserve it. I killed your friend.”

“You did.” Feyre wouldn’t deny it, but as Calla looked up into her eyes, searching for some sort of absolution, Feyre knew without a doubt that there was more to the story. They had given Feyre a chance when she’d come to Spring. Before that, Vilja and Vincent had both seen past her limitations as a human and given her a chance to be more. Feyre could do the same– she could play her role, support Calla here, and allow her to see that the fae, that Tamlin, could be different than what she’d grown up believing.

She reached out and took Calla’s hand, and the hope that filled her eyes nearly knocked Feyre over.

“Come on, I know where the kitchen hides the good treats.”

Calla was not at all what Feyre had expected. In fact, she reminded her a good bit of Nesta–so much so, even, that her heart would occasionally ache at a simple gesture or turn of phrase.

Two weeks into her being in Spring, Feyre had warmed to Calla considerably, though things between Calla and the males were still awkward at best. The tension had melted a bit once Tamlin had told Feyre how he was taking care of Calla’s family. Without hesitating, Feyre had passed the message along. She wasn’t entirely sure of the background, other than what she’d gathered from Calla’s appearance when she’d shown up, but the relief in her eyes at hearing the news told her enough.

Calla wasn’t kind or warm or inviting, but Feyre, strangely, found she respected that about her. She’d never had a female friend before, and she often found herself not knowing what was normal or appropriate, though she got the feeling Calla might have been feeling the same. Feyre enjoyed Calla’s sharp edges, though, even when it could be frustrating at times. She found it made bantering with her in order to bring her out of her shell a bit easier, too, since she didn’t feel like she needed to treat her like something breakable.

“Gods, why is everything here so formal? These dresses feel like sitting on eggshells.” Calla slumped back onto the bed in Feyre’s room. She’d just burst in through the door while Feyre was drinking her tea and reading.

“I’ve told you, Calla, all you have to do is ask Alis for different clothes.”

“Alis doesn’t like me, Feyre. Not like you.” Feyre turned from her seat by the window to see Calla spread out on the bed where she’d dramatically thrown herself, holding back a laugh as the great tulle monstrosity she was wearing puffed up around her.

“Well, I didn’t try to set a trap for her.”

“I told you a million times, it was for Tamlin.”

Feyre laughed, pushing the seat back and standing up, placing her bookmark gingerly into the book on Autumn to hold her place. She’d gotten much better with wielding ice, along with the powers of Summer, Autumn, and Spring, though she had to practice solely at night now. Calla had a propensity for barging into Feyre’s room without knocking. Clearly.

She sat back on the bed with Calla, leaning into the tulle poof. “I’m sure she’s forgotten all about it.” Calla sent her a doubtful look. “Just ask her.”

“I just want tunics and pants. Why must you be so tall?” Feyre had tried lending her clothes, but Calla was a good six inches shorter than her.

“Oh, you know. Closer to the heavens, and all that.” Calla shoved her. She was brusque and speculative and distrusting, but Feyre liked her anyway. Oddly enough, she could see that Tamlin and Calla did, in fact, have some attributes in common.

Originally, she had planned to warm Calla up to Tamlin, using herself as a buffer to make both him and Spring seem more appealing. But somewhere along the way, Feyre had genuinely accepted that she wanted to be her friend. As much as she loved Lucien and Tamlin, she also liked having someone around who wasn’t all muscle and testosterone. She still attended their near-nightly ritual on the porch, laughing and training her fire magic with them. She’d invited Calla, but she always refused, choosing instead to stay in her rooms after dinner. She knew that, from Calla’s window, she could see down onto the porch. She wondered if she ever watched them. Regardless, Feyre wouldn’t stop extending the invitation to her–she knew how that loneliness could eat someone alive.

“Why don’t we go out in the gardens for a bit?”

“Tamlin’s out there. I saw him out of my window before I came in here.”

Feyre sighed. It had not been going well. “Won’t you give him a chance to be your friend, Calla? He truly is a kind male.”

“I just don’t know where to begin. He doesn’t seem particularly friendly.” Feyre couldn’t exactly refute that claim.

“Tamlin is…he has a lot that he is dealing with. He is gruff, but he is kind. Not so different from yourself.”

“Yes, but I’m not asking anyone to be my friend.”

Feyre shot her a look. “He took me in here when he had no obligation to. He offered to let me stay without me even having to ask. Hospitality is the same on either side of the wall, you know. Sometimes, it’s just a matter of being polite.”

“I wouldn’t know; it’s not like I ever went anywhere.” Feyre wasn’t necessarily shocked. She’d guessed that Calla’s background had not been the same as her own if for no other reason than her occasionally grating manners.

“Listen, when I traveled with my family before coming here, I was polite and friendly with the lords and ladies whose houses we frequented for my father’s trade deals. In return, they offered shelter and food and kindness. In a way, this isn’t so different.”

“I don’t see how this could possibly be the same.” Feyre gritted her teeth, trying not to be irritated, but it was like arguing with Nesta, and she could practically feel Calla digging her heels in. “You needed to be brought here because of the terms of the treaty. Tamlin knows this, and he’s trying his best to be polite and accommodating as a result. He’s being hospitable because these are the terms. Make sense?”

“You aren’t exactly staying for free, though. He’s got you working in his library, right?” Feyre was not unfamiliar with the deflections either.

“I practically had to beg him for a job so I could feel like I was pulling my weight. That was for my benefit, not his.”

Calla hummed, but seemed to deflate a bit.“I just…I don’t know the first thing about him. Or Lucien. They aren’t exactly forthcoming. And what about the masks? Why aren’t you wearing one? Is this a fae thing?”

Another thing Feyre had learned about Calla was that she had energy to spare, always near vibrating with the need to be doing or saying something. Feyre had wondered when the masks might come up. She wasn’t honestly sure how Calla had waited this long.

“The masks are part of…” she sighed, looking for the words, feeling the light clenching on her throat already waiting to grip her at a moment’s notice. She swallowed heavily.. “There is a magical sickness on these lands. There was a surge of power during a masquerade ball fifty years ago, and the masks got stuck. Obviously, I wasn’t here, so I don’t have one.”

“So, it’s like a curse from a witch?” Feyre cringed as her throat involuntarily clenched and was glad Calla wasn’t looking at her.

“Sort of. It’s complicated, but the fae have their magic bound. The sickness keeps them from their full power.”

“But what about–” A knocking at the door saved Feyre right in time. Both women sat up as Tamlin poked his head in.

“Oh, hello. I was just looking for Feyre.” He looked at her. “A word over lunch?” Feyre nodded, standing and helping pull Calla up. “Calla, you’re welcome to join, too.” She blushed a bit at the direct attention but shook her head.

“I might actually lay down for a bit. You two go ahead.” Feyre was immediately suspicious, knowing Calla was the last person on earth who needed time to lay down, but she let it go. As they all exited the room, she noticed Calla lingering in the hall as though she were trying to wait them out.

Interesting.

The noonday light was spilling into the dining room as they entered, taking their normal chairs. The staff had made some small sandwiches and laid them out with fruits–Feyre still hadn’t gotten over how delicious the food was here. She was thrilled to find they were the creamy, rich egg mixture that she adored so well, and she loaded her plate with more than she needed along with a heaping portion of melon.

Tamlin laughed and she shot him a look. “I don’t need your judgment, Tamlin. Your food is better here, and I’m going to enjoy it.” He held up his hands in a placating gesture and chuckled again.

“Your food is my food, Feyre.” He dug in, too.

“Where's Lucien?”

“In his office. I checked in on him before I came to get you; he wanted to finish a few things before lunch.” She nodded. “How are things going?” The hope in his voice made her heart ache. He’d been trying so hard to keep it leashed, still warring with his emotions on the subject of Andras while also noting the time the curse allowed was growing slimmer by the day. She did not envy him this position.

She slumped dramatically back in here chair. “I'm trying to get her to come around. Would it kill you to be a little more accommodating towards her?”

Tamlin frowned. “I am accommodating. She’s staying here and I am feeding her, am I not?”

Feyre growled. “That is not what I mean, and you know it.”

“What am I supposed to say, Feyre? Hey, lovely day. Have you, perchance, thought about falling in love with me? He shoved his plate away, glowering.

“Stop being so dramatic. I am working on it, but you have to put in some effort, too. Just small conversation. Get to know her, maybe?”

“Fine. I will try.” He looked every bit of his five centuries as he scrubbed a hand over his face.

“Have there been other problems at the borders?”

Tamlin grimaced. “More creatures have been funneling into Spring and causing problems.” He looked exhausted. She knew he and Lucien were constantly out patrolling these days with the other sentries, staying out of the Human Lands now that Calla was here, but still staying busy enough with the threats Amarantha sent.

“I keep trying to get her to explore and show interest in the court, but perhaps I shouldn't be if it's dangerous.”

“Well, that’s actually one of the reasons I asked you down here. I wanted to give you something.”

Feyre’s eyes widened. “Me?”

He nodded. “Things have been more dangerous, but you've been training, and I don't want you to find yourself in trouble out there.” He pushed a small box across the table towards her. She took it softly and brought it to her, opening the top slowly.

“Well, it isn’t going to bite you.” That friendly exasperation in his voice gave her cause to smile. Though he’d never be the most open person, they had warmed up to each other in the time she’d been here, especially since Andras. He was not a bad male, he simply had a hard time expressing things. She recalled the stern look of his father and brothers every time she had the thought, and figured it wasn’t too hard to see why he was the way he was. In fact, it was likely a wonder that he wasn’t much, much worse.

Inside the box sat a lovely leather arm band, clearly meant for the smaller wrist of a woman. It was dainty but strong, the leather worked to perfection by an extremely skilled craftsman. Pressed into it were whorls and shapes that looked like smoke and clouds, surrounded by small dottings of stars.

“I know how much you like to look up at the stars at night when we’re outside. I just thought it suited–”

“It’s perfect, Tamlin. Truly, it’s so lovely.” The emotion threatened to choke her.

“When you press that inner button here, it produces a small but sturdy knife. I had it made for you. You’re getting better at training, and I know you have daggers, but I wanted to make sure you had something that was tailored to you.”

“It’s absolutely beautiful.” She could count on one hand the gifts she’d received in her life. The shell from her father, her first set of paints, the ring from Rhys. The clenching of emotion in her chest felt nearly painful, and she could feel her eyes burning as she looked up at Tamlin, still looking uncertain at the head of the table.

“I, uh–” he cleared his throat. “It’s a thank you–for being here. For…well, doing all you’ve done,” he said. Feyre nodded frantically, trying to pull the tears that were welling in her eyes back in. “For helping how you can and for being a friend to us. Oh, Feyre, don’t cry.”

She laughed, wiping furiously at the tear that had escaped, sniffing and holding herself back to her normal standard. She knew how hard it must have been for him to say the words, to pull that sort of emotion out–two people who had never quite learned how to care for others, becoming friends and being uncomfortable about it. She laughed as she straightened back up, strapping the leather cuff onto her wrist.

“Thank you so much. You’re a good male, Tamlin. I am glad to call you a friend, and I am happy to be here.” She put her hand on his and smiled, pulling a small one out of him in turn. “I’m working on it, and I won’t give up. So you can’t either.”

He nodded, and they returned back to their food as if nothing had happened at all.

The next day, Calla was suspiciously absent from her job harassing Feyre while she worked in the library. She'd grown used to her nagging presence asking questions while Feyre filed and organized the books.

Feyre wasn’t generally inclined to make friends, and she’d had very little practice with it in her life. She often wondered if she was being too brash with Calla, and in the same turn, wondering if she swayed too far and seemed fake in her quest to be unnaturally enthusiastic. Trying to maintain a friendship with her was hard and exhausting at times.

She did, however, enjoy answering Calla’s questions about the fae, creatures, and the history of Prythian. Sometimes she didn’t know the answer, and she also liked that it gave her an excuse to learn more about Prythian and its inhabitants. Every bit of information she gathered, either by Calla’s neverending questions or of her own accord, brought her one step closer to Rhys.

She was also nearly done with organizing the vast collections, probably only a week or so away from completion, but she did need to acquire some additional shelves from Tamlin first.

It had just been Calla and Feyre at dinner the previous night, Tamlin and Lucien both out patrolling. They’d made small talk before Feyre tried to weasel out of her where she’d gone during lunch.

“How was your nap?” She’d eyed Calla as she’d asked it, and noted that way Calla’s cheeks had blanched slightly.

“It was fine. I was feeling a bit under the weather, but am feeling much better now!” The fake enthusiasm was eye-rollingly bad. She was perhaps the worst liar that Feyre had ever met, save for Elain.

“Mmhmm. Did you find the nap productive then?” Feyre’s best guess was that she’d snuck into the library to look for something she felt she shouldn’t be looking for. After their conversation yesterday, she’d likely wanted to know more about the curse. But Feyre had looked personally through all of those books. Not unlike the members of Spring, it seemed the books couldn’t share about the curse or Amarantha either. Calla had likely left disappointed.

Calla cleared her throat. “Yes, very productive. I am right as rain again!” She shoved the last of her food into her mouth. “What are Tamlin and Lucien looking for on these patrols?”

Feyre decided to let it go for now. “Creatures, mostly. They look for any disturbances in the woods that aren’t supposed to be there.”

“Like the Bogge?” Feyre had explained what she knew about the Bogge to Calla the other day when she’d stumbled upon a particularly gruesome picture of a scene, post-Bogge, in one of the library books.

“That’s likely one of them, but there are many others, from what I understand.” Feyre remembered her dreams about the horrid creature that often held her down, breath smelling of corpses and talons breaking her skin.

“What about a Suriel?”

“A what?”

“My mother used to warn me of them, like a bedtime tale.”

“I’ve never heard them talk about that one, nor have I read it. But we can look in the library later, if you’d like? I’ll be there all afternoon since I trained this morning.” Feyre had slipped outside with the rising sun to go through her training before the males left. Lucien was still kicking her ass regularly, but she was getting better and faster, and her fire magic was “frighteningly good”, according to him.

“Sure, I’m thinking of taking a walk in the gardens while you work, but I may stop by after.” The women pushed out from the table, staff already appearing to clear their plates as they left.

That had been hours ago, and Feyre hadn’t seen her since.

She did, however, hear the scream echoing across Spring’s grassy hills from all the way inside the library a few hours later.

By the time Feyre had sprinted outside, Tamlin and Calla were already on their way back up the hill to the house, both covered in dark looking blood; Tamlin looked pissed as hell, and Calla looked like a child caught with her hand in a cookie jar.

“What the fuck happened?” Feyre yelled, running over to the two of them and meeting them halfway.

“Someone was out where she had no business being, and was attacked by a group of naga.”

“Calla was attacked by naga?” Feyre recalled those horrid, half-serpentine creatures, bent on killing and with a rampant thirst for blood.

How was she alive?

Calla didn’t appear to be injured at all, other than a few scratches on her face, but Tamlin was holding his arm which was still freely bleeding.

“I said I was sorry, now let me help.” Feyre tentatively stepped back as though watching firsthand as the world shifted. Calla was speaking to Tamlin in a soft voice that she had never used on him before, coaxing him nearly kindly into the manor and offering to help.

Tamlin acquiesced with a quick nod, the two of them turning to the house as Feyre fought to close her mouth. Tamlin looked back at her over his shoulder as they walked, and she snapped her jaw shut to nod encouragingly and give him a thumbs up. She thought she saw a shadow of a smile as he turned back.

Lucien ran up next to her, then, coming from the nearby woods where he’d been doing a closer patrol.

“What happened?” But Feyre had already begun to put the pieces together.

She whirled on him. “Tell me you did not send that girl into the woods to find a Suriel, Lucien Vanserra.”

He at least had the decency to look ashamed and grimace. She’d taken the time when she’d returned to the library after lunch to look the creature up.

“She could have died,” Feyre hissed at him. He held up his hands and smiled, though still looking guilty.

“But she didn’t?”

“Is it out of your system now?”

“Yes,” he responded, and Feyre relished in him looking very much like a boy being scolded.

She pointed a finger at him, pressing it into his chest. “You owe her an apology. What would we do if she died, Lucien? Will you go to the Human Lands and die next?” The panic seized Feyre abruptly then at how close she might have just come to losing her best bet at reaching Rhys. “She’s fragile. No more gambling with her life for your amusement. This ends now.”

“Yes, yes. Fine.” He grabbed her around the neck with his arm abruptly and ruffled her hair, a habit he’d picked up since Andras had died. Feyre fought him halfheartedly until he let her go, her hair flying into her eyes.

“No more potential murders, hmm?”

Lucien shoved her as they walked back to the house.

Calla came into the library the following morning, head bowed and looking a little ashamed of herself, while Feyre was marking her way through a stack of books. She had a book wide open on the table in front of her though, and she pressed a finger to it as she read aloud.

“The Suriel, an old and wicked creature, but willing and able to answer any question you ask of it–” Feyre looked up and caught Calla’s wide, apologetic eyes in hers. “ — if you’re stupid enough to seek them out.” She slammed the book shut. “What were you thinking?”

Calla ran up to the table and sat across from Feyre, taking her hand. “I had to know more. And you clearly couldn’t tell me, and Lucien wouldn’t.”

“Ugh, Calla. You could have died.” Calla, to her credit, looked guilty.

“I’m sorry, Feyre. I was asking Lucien some questions but he couldn’t tell me the answers. He told me he wasn’t a Suriel, and so I asked him what that was. He told me it was the only one who would know whether or not I could go back home.”

That asshole.

The verbal lashing she’d given him yesterday suddenly didn’t seem like enough.

Calla must have seen the scowl on Feyre’s face. “He apologized to me this morning. I could tell he felt bad. I told him I wouldn't tell Tamlin, so you don't either.” This was a surprise for Feyre. First, fixing Tamlin’s hurt arm, now defending Lucien. She’d almost be tricked into thinking Calla was warming up, but she fought her smile, afraid to break the gentle magic starting to warm Calla to Spring and its inhabitants.

“You didn’t have to trick me by asking slyly at dinner, you know. First, we’re friends, and you could have just told me. Second, you could always have just come up here to look it up.”

The silence hung in the air. Calla refused to meet Feyre’s eyes, and she continued. “There are so many books up here about creatures, perhaps some forewarning would have kept you from being so reckless.”

Calla gave Feyre a pained, beseeching look, and something clicked into place. All her questions, her inquiries; she’d never touched a book past looking over Feyre’s shoulder at pictures.

“You can’t read, can you?”

Calla’s voice was whisper-quiet, and she didn’t meet Feyre’s eyes. “I never learned. We lost all our money when I was still a child. We–I didn’t have the resources–we were just surviving–and then it was too late to teach myself.”

“I’ll teach you.” The words were out before Feyre could stop them, her heart aching for Calla. “Let me help you.” Calla did meet her eyes then.

“You would do that? Why?”

“We’re friends, Calla. Why wouldn’t I help you?”

“I haven’t had many friends, Feyre. I don’t exactly know how it works.” Her laugh was hollow, but the truth rang so close to Feyre’s own heart she couldn’t help but understand.

“Me neither. We don’t have to do what other people do. Let me help you.”

“Only if you let me teach you how to shoot in return. I’ve watched you shoot a bow and it’s awful, Feyre. Who taught you how to use it? A two-fingered blind man?” Feyre scoffed and shoved at her, but Calla was smiling again.

“Did you catch the Suriel then?”

“Yes, though it wasn't very helpful.” She played with a strand of her hair as she walked over to the plush couch and slumped into it.

“It told me ‘Stay with the High Lord, human. That’s all you can do. Do not interfere; do not go looking for answers after today, or you will be devoured by the shadow over Prythain.”’

“That’s it?”

“Then the naga showed up. I cut the Suriel down, but the time cost me. They were right on my tail, about to kill me when Tamlin showed up.” It was the first time Feyre had heard her speak of him with any sort of pause, and there was a sort of reverence and appreciation in her voice that hadn’t been there before. “It was stupid of me, but I had to know.”

“It was stupid, but I am glad you got what you were searching for. Hopefully, we can keep you away from the violent creatures of the woods now?”

Calla nodded, and Feyre was ready to put it behind them. “Come sit. Let’s see what you know.”

As it turned out, little more than the basics. Calla knew her letters, and she could somewhat sound things out from them, but the technique was clumsy, and her handwriting was worse. Feyre decided they’d work on writing first, hopefully the repetition and technique would ultimately help with her sounding things out.

She walked to Lucien’s empty study, grabbed a few different rolls of parchment and some pens, and came back to the library. Calla watched as she wrote out different lines on the first piece of parchment, then, satisfied with her job, sat back and passed the paper to her.

“I want you to sound these out, then I want you to rewrite the sentences. Five times apiece should be good. If it helps you to write them out the way you sound them out, do that too.” Calla nodded.

“Thank you for this, Feyre. Please don’t tell them I can’t write. They already think I’m enough of an idiot.”

“You aren’t an idiot, Calla. But I won’t tell them.”

“Fey…fey-ree. Hm. Oh! Feyre? Feyre…is..the kind–kindest. Feyre is the kindest….f–friend.” She got it, smiled, then glared. “Humble of you.”

Feyre laughed and motioned for her to write it, grabbing her own piece of parchment from the stack. She hadn’t written any of her dreams down in awhile, though she still had her journal. Everything felt like a secret kind of magic to her, every clandestine meeting with Rhys in her dreams something sweet and small and just for her that she wanted to hold close to her chest forever.

She looked at the parchment under her hand, pen poised to write but unsure of what to say. She missed him–his touch, his voice, his smell. She longed to have his elegant fingers pressed against her again, the comforting presence of him wrapping around her like a sun-warmed blanket on a blustery Spring day. A thought occurred to her, and she pressed pen to paper and began to write. Once she’d started, she couldn’t stop, the words flying out of her like a bird on a breeze.

When she was finished, the sun had moved across the sky and was already dipping across the other side. It would be time for dinner soon, and she had nearly four pages of writing completed. She looked at the first page.

Eyes– lavender, violet, indigo, stars Hair – raven’s wings, inky blue black, night sky, tousled, messy, soft, love to run my hands through it Hands – soft, warm, firm

It went on for pages and pages– every single thing she could recall about Rhys, both from dreams and from reality, written down so she could tuck it away into that journal. Not that it would matter, truly, but it was a comfort to see the words on paper, even just to read over it all and assure herself that it was real. That he was real.

Though, she had to say, she was beginning to speculate more and more that her dreams were not dreams at all, the connection feeling so lucid and tangible to her that it was sometimes hard to separate. Had she not been in Spring every time she awoke, she’d likely be concerned that she’d been traveling to see him somehow. The simple fact that the dreams –or whatever they were– had grown so much stronger and more realistic once she’d crossed the wall had not been lost on her, and she found herself wondering more and more often if they were somehow a connection they’d forged that first night at the ball.

She’d read about this in her books– daemati– a fae who had the ability to look into another’s mind, read their thoughts. It wasn’t the first time she’d wondered if Rhys was capable of that, thinking back to how he’d seemed to know at every turn what she was thinking that night they were together. Had they connected that night? Had he been inside her head and known how serious she’d been about him? Was it truly fate that had brought them together, or was there some other magic at play that Feyre had no idea about yet?

She pressed the pen to paper again, writing quickly on the last page.

Daemati? She underlined it twice.

She then stacked the pages, shuffled them into place, and folded them into a small square, stuffing it into her pocket.

“Done.” Calla said proudly.

“Good. Read them all to me.”

Calla cleared her throat and straightened her back confidently.

“Feyre is the kindest friend. Feyre is the most ben—benev–benevolent half-breed I've ever met.” She shot her a look, then continued. “Lucien is t-tolerable most of the time. Tamlin is the Hig. Hig-huh.”

Feyre interjected softly. “High. High Lord.”

“High Lord’s name. We are in Spring Court.”

Feyre giggled and nodded, and Calla smiled in kind, looking far more confident than she had earlier as she handed Feyre her papers to see her penmanship.

“Now we’re getting somewhere.”

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lzrsaugust · 5 months ago

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soooo, i felt like mseeing with water color today and this is the first sketch :D

and erm, so uhm, this is how it ended ╭( ๐_๐)╮

uhh idk man i think something went wrong ahaha, so more abt this piece(the sketch, the only reason i kept the water color was for the animals and the hair more abt that later) I was thinking of maybe Tamlin waking from a pretty bad nightmare pre acotar maybe 100-200 years old like his father just died and he just bacame high lord i personally think Lucien is 300 ish so hes not around yet, 100-200 fresh from his father's death, previous spring lord being canoncally (srry dont feel like spelling rn) worse than beron, i imagine his and his brothers having a somewhat zoldyck family situation. anyways back to the scene, something seomthing nightmare, seomthing something no one there to help, somethig seomthing Tamlin doesn't want to bother his only friend (Andras) and its maybe dawn-ish, super tired, barely anysleep for days from sorting out the absolute trainwreck of a court that is currently srping, and just then there in the absolute chaos of orverwhelming emotions, trauma and ridiculous amount of work, there is just a little pocket of peace and tranquility where he things oh, maybe things won't be this bad in the future, yada yada,

in the sketch the hair was smoother as there wasn't too much thought when i was doing it and the second one i thought of the scene and i wanted it to be messier cuz he just woke up from some nightmare. yada yada, can't remember what i wanted to put here, so uhm if you can actually draw and feel like it please please please try this i really wanted to capture, this dam feeling, but cant really like hes super tired physically and emotionally but there is like this tiny glimmer of hope and i can't freaking describe it but yeah if ya want to i really wanna see it visually 🥹 (did that word vomit make sense? i hope i didn't scare anyone aways :))

and finally the animals! they are his children, he birthed them your honour.

In all seriousness he could totally do it, but nah i like to think he found/saved them when he was young or something like that. they are some kind of fae animal i geuss, like not completly mindless but they don't really form cohesive thoughts much, like intelligent has magic and the fae don't eat them. Uhh I think the cat looking one in the sketch would be some kind of rose tailed lynx somewhere on the third or fourth trophic level in the fae ecosystem, is an carnivore, the flower on the tail is a result of their magic, they could use a bit of air and plant magic for hunting, their young only has a bud on the tail maturity depends on individuals in the species, when they do a new petal grows every decade. They are usually live alone and thus has a reclusive tendency, and they come and go as they please, occasionally they stick around for awhile if they like you. The bunny looking one has some kind of bug wing like ears and could fly, ears get bigger with each century, they live in colonies and could grow their own food in the wild, in captivity they are the companions of the agriculture inclined “lesser” fae, they help tend the ground and plants and stuff they arnt considered “lesser” fae. In the wild they that’s smaller colonies and are also know. As bush bunny because in addition to their wing like ears their fur often resemble leaves and their tails have small flowers that are different depending on colony and bloodline. A defence mechanism would be to gather up and pile on each other to camouflage as a bush of flowers. In the watercolour one, the one on his shoulder is some sort of a mix of a cat and a rabbit or I suppose the two previous fae animals? Long furry ears, but this time it the tail that elongates as they age, the fur along with the flower tip tail changes along with the animal’s mood and when they form a bond they will use it to express whatever, like in the scene I wanted it to be a purple hyacinth and hydrangea mix ish to show compassion for Tamlin’s situation. They are usually protectors of the miniature flower spirit “lesser” fae, they look cute and stuff but like the long ears when tense and stretched become sharp and wolf like ish, and tail grows thorns. Usually they are pretty shy but are super friendly when you gain their trust. The last one(birb) is a owl and deer ish mix, their feathers darken with age, are usually very calm but could be very playful. They live in large parliaments and they migrate from each seasonal court to avoid their more unfriendly phases (hurricane season in summer and spring. Blizzard in winter, rainstorms in spring and autumn ect), they form strong bonds though rarely with other species, they are protective of their young and Tamlin was taken under this one’s wing when he was ten.

wow you actually made it this far, despite how incoherent it was, thank you!! I have more ideas but my brain capacity has reached its end. As always hope you enjoyed and have a great day/night! :D

#pro tamlin #tamlin #acotar fanart #acotar #pre canon #fanart #fanlore #holyshiitake that’s a thing? O_o #Does this even count as fanlore?

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virgo-dream · 2 years ago

Text

dreamling / explicit / victorian soldiers au / 5 + 1 / completed

Five times Sergeant Robert Gadling woke up to Captain Morpheus Apeiron. One time Morpheus woke up to Hob. A very unlucky battalion finds itself in the command of one Captain Morpheus Apeiron. He doesn't seem particularly worried with their survival, but mostly with ending the war as soon as possible. Sergeant Robert Gadling seems to be the only thing keeping all these young and inexperienced soldiers alive. After one particularly heated fight between them, Hob ends up discovering there is much more to his Captain than meets the eye, but is he seeing Morpheus as he truly is, or through the prism of his own desire? read part one / part two / part three (4.9k+ words) here or on AO3 this fic is part of the 1st dreamling nation fic exchange. find other entries here.

a huge thank you to @littledreamling and @kydrogendragon for the incredible beta work on this chapter. this would not have been coherent without their help.

vi.

It feels sharp, at first. Like a knife wound, but somehow worse. As it tears through the flesh of his left arm, a burning sensation hits his nerves, travelling from the wound to his whole body, sending pricking needles down his spine. He feels his back hit the ground, and the sensation of having the air punched out of his lungs immediately after. The ground is moist, freshly rained on. There's mud on his jacket. The world around him seems to slow down; sounds are muffled, and the sunlight becomes overbearing to his eyes, now stinging as much as the…

What is it again?

–––––

"Duck!"

–––––

"Dearest. Darling. Dove. Dream."

–––––

He can hear footsteps around him. Someone's foot lands right next to his ear, and something cold and sticky lands on his cheek. He doesn’t have it in him to wipe it away, but he still has enough brain power left to realise it’s mud sprinkled on his face. It feels cold, impossibly cold, while his abdomen burns hotter than the sun. His eyes try to focus on his surroundings; he can see pant legs covered in blood and mud, shuffling around him like cards in a deck, every move the ending of a game, the beginning of a new one. It’s hard to keep up with the mess of legs and arms and grunting sounds around him. The sky's the only fixed point in the mess surrounding him; heavy grey clouds crowd the space visible to him.

Someone covers the sky. He blinks, confused. Someone blinks back.

They scream.

–––––

"...when this is over. Do you have somewhere to go back to?"

Hob looked down at Morpheus, a puzzled look on his usually cheerful face. Morpheus had been resting with his head on Hob's chest for a while now. He couldn't tell just how long at that point. Could have been a few minutes, maybe a couple of hours. They'd woken up before dawn, as they'd now made a habit of, just so they could spend the early hours of the morning holding each other, pretending they were anywhere but in the middle of a war.

"What do you mean?"

"Family… a wife? Children?"

"Family, yes. No wife. No children either."

Morpheus stretched his neck to press a kiss under Hob's jaw, a hand reaching to the back of his lover's head to direct his face to meet Morpheus', so they could lock their lips together.

–––––

"–duck! Now!"

–––––

Ringing, loud and shrieking. The awful taste of iron takes over his palate, tinting pearlescent teeth red. Coughing hurts and his nose feels stuffed.

"–stay with me, please stay with me!"

He knows that voice. Knows those eyes, in all of their loving worry. He knows the arms that hold onto him, that picked him up. Knows the sound of bullets ripping out the barrel of the bayonets, so close to him and yet so, so far. He can tell he’s being carried away from the battlefield, but his eyes can only see the one holding him, fiercely running away from the enemy.

He's scared. They both are.

–––––

Morpheus knew fear intimately. Whether an overwhelming sensation or a slowly filling reservoir, fear was a constant in his life. He was perpetually alert, terrified of turning the wrong corner in the long corridors of his family's manor and walking in on something he shouldn't, being caught with someone, being heard or seen or just… being. Fear was an uncaring mother, a distant father. It was bickering siblings and the cold winter air when all the doors had been closed and no matter how many times he knocked and screamed, no one would open it for him. Fear was a high fever that lasted for a week, curling up in his bed on an empty stomach and hearing his mother's muffled voice outside his bedroom complaining that she couldn't possibly go to the duchess’ soiree with a sick child at home, what would they think of her?

Fear had made a home inside his ribs, squeezing his lungs and his heart out of their space, making him too small to even breathe. Now, fear had to share its home with a bullet.

They seemed to get along well.

–––––

"I can't lose you now. I can't lose you. Don't leave me–"

Morpheus feels a hand pressing against the wound on his abdomen, covering it with fabric he believes comes from someone else's jacket. The squeezing feels strong enough to break his ribs, and the pain is so strong it's somehow numbing. He cries out, but the effort only makes the blood rush its way up his throat, coming out in hard, painful coughs. Morpheus' eyes roll back, as if looking inward is less terrifying than facing the damage around him. Another squeeze, this time not as strong, but just as overwhelming.

"Dream. I need you– need you to stay with me, okay? Just until the doctors come to help you. Stay with me. Stay with me, Dream!"

Staying is a difficult concept. He isn’t sure what is being asked of him and before he can focus on Hob's voice or on his presence, he’s already being placed on a gurney and carried away, the safety of Hob's protection torn from him in the blink of an eye. A blur of hands move over his body, pressing and pulling and pinning and squeezing and tearing through him. The pain is nauseating. He feels the prick of a needle in the crook of his arm, followed by the sudden embrace of the god he is named after.

–––––

"You know what your problem is, my lord?"

Morpheus had his arms crossed over his chest, brows knitted close as he watched Corey pace around the little balcony outside his bedroom. It was late, much later than he should ever be allowed to have visitors over at the manor, and Corey's quickly rising voice made him wish he'd never allowed him to step into his bedroom in the first place.

"Corey, enough." Nonchalance wasn't his strong suit, and the fear of being found out made his attempt at authority fall flat, earning him a mocking smile from the boy now standing just a few inches away from him.

"You just let them walk all over you. And then, you want to walk all over me." Corey spoke with the confidence of never having been told what to do, and the arrogance of never having to own up to his actions. "I'm not like you, Morpheus."

Standing up for himself was hard, but having his pride assassinated for no reason was not something Morpheus was going to allow. Hefelt his cheeks warming up, along with the tightness in his chest, and a stinging feeling in his eyes. "You know very well where I stand with my family. If you had any regard for me or our friendship, you would not ask me to put my life at risk in the way you do."

"Come on! Be a man for once in your life!" Corey's arm curled around Morpheus' waist, closing the little distance still between them. Morpheus was caught by surprise, and perhaps his stomach knew to react before any other part of him, because he felt nauseous at the thought of what was about to happen. As if he knew, in that moment, that Corey would inadvertently sign his death sentence. "Even a woman would have more of a spine than you do."

"Let go of me!"

"Make me."

"Morpheus."

Time stood still as his father's voice cut through the air, striking him harder than his fist could. It was terrifying. Morpheus could feel as his heartbeat picked up its pace, to come to a sudden, suffocating stop. Every blink of his eyes seemed to take longer and longer, and now he was no longer present, but a spectator to the violence of a child unloved, punished for seeking it out in strangers.

–––––

Time moves slowly.

Hob feels as if he can see the passage of time with every drip of sweat running down the nurse's forehead. He watches as soldiers are brought in on gurneys or carried by other officers, battered and bloodied, and listens to the pained screams of men losing limbs to ensure they won’t lose their lives. With every hour that goes by, time seems to stretch its legs and sit down for a nap. No matter how much Hob taps his foot or bites at his nails or curses at the wind, nothing seems to make it go faster. Nothing.

It's infuriating how scared he is. Hob saw the bullet coming from a mile away, somehow. It seemed far away and up close at the same time, like his perception of events had been divided in two; the one who acted and the one who watched. He looked in the eyes of the enemy, with his gun pointed at Morpheus and for some reason he didn't move, he didn't lift his own gun to shoot. All he was able to do was yell "duck" and Morpheus, instead of doing as he was told, turned to look at him. Morpheus' eyes were locked on Hob's the moment the bullet cut through his abdomen, lodged somewhere between his ribs, punching the air out of Morpheus' lungs, light blue eyes rolling to the back of his skull as his body fell to the ground.

Hob stood still. Time stood still as well, like a disapproving father, with its arms crossed and brows furrowed, saying, in all its wisdom, a resounding I told you so.

Now, all that was left was to wait. Hob isn’t sure he can do it.

At that moment, a nurse comes towards him, with what seems to be a crumpled dirty envelope held in one of her hands.

"Are you Sergeant Robert Gadling?"

"That would be me, yes." Hob stands quickly, adrenaline shooting through his spine the moment his name is called. The nurse doesn’t seem upset or like the carrier of bad news. She also doesn’t seem too giddy. "So, how's the captain?"

"Captain Apeiron is out of surgery and is expected to recover."

The relief is clear in the young nurse's voice, and Hob is able to let out the breath he'd been holding for what feels like an eternity at that point. He knows that he and she have different reasons for being relieved; for her, letting someone with the surname Apeiron die would be akin to killing royalty, with all the consequences tied to it. For him, losing Morpheus would be like a sort of living death. A life with no meaning. Now, he at least has hope. "That is wonderful news! I don't even know how to thank you–"

"Perhaps you could take this out of my hands, Sergeant Gadling." She hands over the crumpled envelope to Hob. It clearly had been opened a couple of times already, and by the way she spoke, he can tell that she is aware of its contents. "I would not want to have Captain Apeiron's personal correspondence in my possession. I believe it would be better to hand it over to you."

Hob takes the envelope, offering the nurse a gentle, knowing smile. It feels like they share a secret now, like they are partners in a crime Hob is not sure he is willing to commit. There is very little that he wouldn't do for Morpheus. "Ah, yes. Of course. I'll make sure to give it back to him as soon as he wakes."

"You'll be able to see him soon. I'm sure he'll be delighted by your visit." She gives him a small smile, knowing in its own way. As she begins to walk away, Hob stops her, grabbing her arm gently.

"I'm sorry I did not ask sooner, what is your name?" It would only be right to know the name of his accomplice.

"Walker, sir. Rose Walker."

"Thank you, nurse Walker."

Hob is alone once again, now with the dirty, crumpled envelope in hands and curiosity enough to kill a thousand cats nine times over. He knows himself well enough to know that, sooner or later, he would read whatever it was that Morpheus felt was important enough to carry to battle with him.

He opens the envelope carefully, eyes scanning through the impeccable handwriting of someone he realises Morpheus has never mentioned before. Hob doesn’t know much about his lover's family, save for the fact that they apparently don’t like him very much. As Hob reads the letter, the missing pieces of Morpheus' puzzle seem to fall into place.

Dearest Brother,

I write with unimaginable pain in my heart. Our younger brother, Perses, has fled from home, leaving mother and father absolutely distraught. Our siblings have not taken to this news well either. Aite might be suffering the most, for mother seems to be taking out all of her frustrations with our brother’s sudden disappearance on her. Eros seems to be most unaffected, even though I know deep in my heart that they’d wished to be the one leaving and not Perses. Eris is known for thriving in the most dire of environments, so I truly don’t worry much for her at present. Pepromeno remains as removed from our family matters as usual. He is perhaps the only one of us who has retained some sanity, even if at times I must question if he even had any to begin with.

Morpheus, I wish not to burden you with this news, but only to warn you of what awaits when you return to us. Perses spoke at length of his grievances with the way mother and father treated you and I fear this might have made our parents resent you even more. Father has given away most of your belongings. I managed to save some of your books, and the box with your letters to Lucienne and Corey. Mother wishes to make your bedroom into a closet for her winter coats.

I’m sure the war is not treating you kindly. I hope you have found some solace in being away from home, at the very least. I was glad to hear of this Sergeant Gadling in your last letter. If he is anything as you describe, I am sure you are in better company there than you would be here with us. You were never the most open when it came to matters of the heart, so I am honoured you decided to confide in me.

Whatever you decide to do after the war, know that I support you, Morpheus, and that I will do whatever is in my power to not let them harm you any longer.

I miss you with all my heart, dear brother.

Your sister,

Teleute Apeiron

–––––

Morpheus wakes up the next morning to the sound of birds chirping outside his window. The light filtering through the thin white curtains was bright enough to have him blinking a few times, and despite the rather comfortable pillow underneath his head, he still felt stiff as a board. The natural instinct was to sit up, to take in his surroundings; this was definitely not his tent. When he did try to sit up, the pain on his abdomen seemingly cut through his nerves, and he regretted the decision with a pained grunt, letting his head that had barely been lifted hit the pillow again.

He closes his eyes for a moment, trying to take in a slow breath. The pain was also mixed with a general soreness and a bitter taste in his mouth that he can’t quite place. He knows he'd been sleeping, but there is not an ounce of rest in his body. He manages to turn his head to face away from the window, and when he opens his eyes again, Morpheus is greeted by the image of Hob sleeping on a chair next to his bed. Maybe he has died and this is heaven. Maybe, just maybe, Morpheus will be rewarded with his happy ending in the afterlife. Away from all the pain and pressure of being a member of his own family, away from fear and needing to hide.

His lips curl into a little smile as he watches Hob's chest rising and falling slowly. He wants to reach out to touch, to close the distance between them. His attempt to do so causes another sharp pull of pain to run through his nerves, earning him another laboured grunt, this time loud enough to wake Hob from his slumber.

"Hm?" Hob startles, taking in a quick and sharp breath as his eyes shoot open. It takes him a moment to focus on Morpheus and it’s endearing to watch as his wary expression softens into a smile. "Dream, you're awake–"

Hob stands quickly, then kneels next to the bed to be at eye level with Morpheus. It makes his chest fill with joy, watching Hob come closer. Morpheus can’t help but smile, even if he feels like his body is falling apart from the neck down. Hob rests a hand on Morpheus cheek, thumb caressing the thin skin underneath his eye gently. Morpheus thinks there might be tears in Hob's eyes. "Dearest, darling, dove… You're okay?" There’s a parcel of fear in Hob's voice, as if he too can’t believe that they are both there, alive and (somewhat) well. Morpheus can hear the shakiness in Hob's voice, feel it on the palm resting on his cheek. It hurts to smile, but no pain is too great if it’s in service of the one he loves.

"..m.. I'm okay." Morpheus' voice is hoarse, and his throat feels impossibly dry. It nearly sends him coughing just from speaking. He is glad that Hob is quick to reach for a glass of water left on the small table by the bed, bringing the cup to his lips carefully. The feeling of water running down his throat feels like healing, a soothing sensation he can’t get enough of. Maybe that's the reason why he isn’t crying; he doesn’t have enough fluids in him to do so.

“It’s been… a whole day, I think. You got shot in the abdomen, I was able to get you off of the battlefield in time to get us here…” Hob remains close, his hand returning to Morpheus' cheek as soon as he is done with the water. When he speaks again, it’s clear that the dam is about to break; he can’t possibly hold in the relief he's feeling anymore. "...I thought I'd lost you. Morpheus, I– Dream, I thought I'd lost you–"

"I am not. Going anywhere." Morpheus can feel his own breath getting shaky; just the small strain that nearly crying puts on his abdomen is enough to put him in even more pain. It doesn’t matter. Hob is there with him. He'd survived. Morpheus might have been sent to war so his parents could get rid of him, but he is not going down so easily. Not when he’d found Hob. "...not without you."

Hob's smile feels like the sun. It feels warm and healing, like the entire universe is contained within it, like all the goodness in the world can be found in the crinkling in the corner of his eyes. Morpheus wants to reach out and touch, to bring Hob closer, to kiss him. Suddenly, he feels overwhelmed with emotion, and it makes him cry out, pain both physical and emotional crashing his system. He feels like a child, scared and confused, but no child could experience the feelings taking hold of him. Even with his skin torn and burned, his blood spilled and drained, he feels safer in that hospital bed than he’d ever felt in his own bedroom. And Hob is here with him, smiling and touching him gently as he is born again. No longer Morpheus. Dream.

"–Dream, please, you cannot exert yourself while you're like this. You need to rest, okay?" Hob's eyes darted to the door, checking to see if there was anyone else nearby. Morpheus concludes they are alone, for Hob leans in and presses a soft, chaste kiss to his lips. "Regain your strength so that we can leave here together. We'll never have to step on a battlefield ever again. I’m not risking losing you, not again.”

"What are you suggesting?" Hob must have gone mad while Morpheus was unconscious. He scans Hob’s expression for an ounce of doubt, but can’t find anything but the confidence of a man with renewed faith. It's inspiring, like they can do anything.

"I met a nurse that I think would be willing to help me fake your death."

"Excuse me?" Yes, Hob has gone mad. There was no other explanation.

"Dream, rest. Rest and we'll think of the details later."

Perhaps Dream has gone mad too, for all he does is make an attempt at nodding. As he allows sleep to take him once again, he feels Hob’s lips press a kiss to his forehead.

vii. epilogue

The streets of London are unusually busy this evening. The influx of clients coming in through the doors of the White Horse seems like a blessing after so long without a steady clientele. The morning paper has the news printed in large, bold letters on the first page: THE WAR IS OVER. Soldiers are coming home after nearly three years serving the crown in the battlefield, and it calls for celebration. Nearly every room at the Inn is booked, and the tables are filled with people, eating, drinking and singing their hearts out. Even with the gloomy weather, the city has never looked more colourful and alive.

Upstairs, in one of the bedrooms, Dream takes an afternoon nap. He’s cocooned under a couple of blankets, holding onto his pillow like his life depends on it. Ever since running away from the war, Dream allows himself the luxury of sleeping soundly, whenever he isn’t plagued by nightmares of the battlefield.

Hob sits on the bed with the covers up to his lap, reading a book, one hand on Dream’s pillow, tangled in his wild, dark curls. He takes a glimpse at the clock on the wall, and leans down to shower Dream’s face with kisses. “It’s time to wake up, dove…”

“mmh… not. now.” Dream scrunches up his nose, brows furrowing as he tries to pull the covers over his head. Hob is quicker, letting go of his book to pull Dream onto his lap.

“Yes, now. You’ve slept through the afternoon. Your sister might get here any time now.”

Dream’s eyes shoot open, and he is quick to sit up, his wild hair falling over his eyes. Hob can’t help but feel an overwhelming endearment at seeing Dream in such a vulnerable, yet comfortable state. Knowing that it's for his eyes only, and if it is up to him, it will remain that way for the rest of their lives.

“I nearly forgot— thank you, my love.” He presses a quick kiss to Hob’s lips, climbing out of bed and heading to look through his suitcase. Even though they have a wardrobe in their rented room, neither of them have ever unpacked their suitcases, in case they need to leave unexpectedly. Tonight, they’ll be leaving the Inn for good. “Are you ready to go?”

“I’ve been ready for hours now. Couldn’t help it, I’m very excited.” Hob climbs out of bed too, walking towards Dream and taking him by the hand. “Your clothes are folded and waiting for you in the bathroom. Would you like me to run your bath?”

Dream smiles, leaning in to kiss Hob properly. “I would like that very much, my love.”

He’s still surprised by the little things Hob does for him. Even though they’ve been living at the Inn for nearly six months now, and his wound is considerably better, Hob hasn’t allowed him to carry anything heavy, or to do any heavier work at the Inn to help pay for the room. While Hob stocked the cellar and did most of the maintenance, Dream taught the innkeeper's daughters to read and helped his wife with the cooking, and even would work as a translator when foreigners came around. The innkeeper has begged them to stay, saying the White Horse couldn’t possibly cope with the loss of its best guests, but even though life at the Inn has treated them kindly, it is too dangerous to stay in London if they want to start over. Legally, Morpheus Apeiron is dead. Teleute will give him forged documents, and they’ll finally be able to move on.

Dream takes a quick bath, and Hob still stays close by in case he needs help. Some days he can get around fine, if only a little slower than usual. Other times, he needs to use a cane or even stay in bed. Dream doesn’t mind it. His life is better now than it has ever been before. After he gets ready, Hob carries their suitcases downstairs, setting them down by their usual table. They don’t need to wait for too long.

The air seems to shift inside the Inn when a woman of otherworldly beauty walks in through the door. She wears a dark grey dress, her curly, raven hair styled in the latest fashion. Her skin is as dark as the night sky, and seems to gleam in the light like stars. Her smile is like moonlight, and people can’t help but look at her, even if for a second. It would be wrong to not look at the moon when stepping outside on a clear night. It would be a greater offence to not look at the moon when she graces them with her presence.

Hob is about to make a comment, but the look on Dream’s face tells him everything he needed to know. Of course that can only be Teleute Apeiron. He’s not sure there’s a single person in that family that isn’t extremely good looking.

“Might I join you, gentlemen?” Her voice is sweet like honey, a nice complement to the full baritone of Dream’s register. Hob stands and reaches for her hand, pressing a kiss to her knuckles. Dream remains seated. Even though he wants to stand and hug his sister, it's best to not call too much attention to them.

“It would be our pleasure, my Lady.” Hob pulls the chair for her, waiting for Teleute to sit down before taking the seat across from her. Dream sits in between them at the round table, and he can barely contain his happiness. The two people he loves most in the world are right there with him.

“How have you been, dear sister? You look well.” He can’t hide the emotion in his voice, even though he tries his best to not let it show in his face. Teleute reaches to take Dream’s hand in hers, squeezing it gently.

“I am well, dearest Daniel. You look well too. I’m glad to see Harry has been treating you well.”

Hob and Dream look at each other for a moment. Not the names they would prefer, but they know they can still keep their real names in private. That's not a hindrance. It’s their ticket to freedom.

“Ah, yes. He’s great company, I must admit.”

“I see. I’m sure he thinks the same of you, don’t you, Mr. Gadlen?”

“I’ll be honest, I have my complaints.”

–––––

Hob sits on a train booth with Dream, holding him close as Dream sleeps with his head resting on Hob’s shoulder. Teleute has found them a small farm up north, and bought it with the money of a ruby brooch she’d found among Dream’s belongings after he’d left for war. He watches as the night sky seems to clear outside the window and the landscape changes around them, the endless hills of the English countryside looking like a sea of green against the dark velvet of the sky, glittering with stars that seem to guide the way home. Hob has spent a large part of his life in London, but he can’t be more glad to be leaving. Can’t be more glad to have found Dream, to have learned what love truly is.

“…Hob?”

Dream’s voice breaks him out of a sort of trance. He looks to the side to find a pair of blue eyes looking up at him with a gentle, honeyed look to them, doused with both sleep and unmistakable fondness. Hob has done that, taken away the rigid, alert look from Dream’s eyes, taken away the fear and replaced it with love.

“Yes, duck?”

“…I love you.”

It still strikes Hob dumb to hear Dream say it, even more when it's completely unprompted. “I love you too, Dream. I love you more than I’ve ever loved anyone in my entire life.”

Dream’s hand reaches for the back of Hob’s neck, guiding him down for a sleepy kiss. “…then get some sleep, for me? We’ll be home soon. Don’t want you falling asleep on me the moment we get there.”

“Sorry, old habit. I… can’t help but feel like I have to keep watch.”

Dream knows better than to argue. “I’ll keep watch then. I’ve slept enough today, you did a lot of work at the Inn.”

Hob also knows better than to argue, and he can't help but feel his cheeks warm up a little at the thought of Dream keeping watch, of Dream taking care of him. “Promise me something then?”

“Anything, my love.”

“That from this day on, when I wake up, there will be only your eyes to greet mine.”

Dream leans in to press another kiss to Hob’s lips.

“I promise.”

#dreamling #dreamling fic #the sandman fic #the sandman fanfic #dream of the endless #morpheus #hob gadling #dream x hob #morpheus x hob #ao3 author #ao3 fanfic #dreamling nation

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oofcat2112 · 11 months ago

Text

touch, braid, kiss (IDOLiSH7 - Torao/Minami)

In which Minami lets Torao braid his hair and rewards him with a kiss.

***

Even before he opens his eyes, Minami already knows that he woke up late because his dream last night felt long, though he can’t remember much of it. If he had to guess, it would probably be about flying musical notes since he fell asleep mid-scribbling his musical sheets.

Minami blinks a few times then glances at the clock on his nightstand. Typical. Fifteen minutes until he has to go to the studio for today’s recording. Guess his commitment last night to arrive at least thirty minutes early to get a headstart in preparing everything has failed immensely. Well, no matter, he supposes. He can just purchase a small energy drink on his way to work and that should keep him going until the session ends.

He glances at the stack of papers sitting at his feet, some of the pages scattered on the floor. The most important thing is that he finished his early iteration of ZOOL’s new song, what’s a little lack of sleep? His work of art is much more important. He was particularly inspired last night and sleeping right in the middle of it would be too much of a waste.

Fortunately, Natsume Minami moves quickly. After sitting up, stretching his limbs, and blinking away the leftover sleepiness from his eyes, he shrugs off the weight on his shoulders and gets ready for work. Once he’s finished cleaning up and packing away his things, he doesn’t look like someone who just spent less than two hours sleeping. He looks fresh, sophisticated, and put-together though he can see some parts of his usual getup lacking, like his hair. He’ll have to do those in the studio last minute.

For now, he sprays a healthy and light dose of perfume before finally leaving his apartment.

***

Torao should’ve known.

As he steps into the studio the first thing he sees is Minami nodding off by the loveseat, music sheets loosely held between his fingers. One look and it’s obvious what happened to the young composer.

Truly, it isn’t odd for the composer to be lacking a good night's sleep now and then. (Torao’s pretty sure that he's the only one out of four of them who has a semblance of a normal sleep schedule.) When there’s new music that needs to be written or a part that needs to be revised, Minami will be up and working on them immediately like there’s no tomorrow, often staying up until the crack of dawn just to finetune a single melody.

And…of course, Torao had always liked that part of Minami who loved to dedicate part of his existence to his art. When he was allowed, he always enjoyed the sight of Minami scribbling on a music sheet and humming new tunes, brows furrowed as he focused and lips opening and closing as he muttered parts of his song quietly. Despite the blonde’s calm and gentle disposition, Torao has always known that Minami is passionate. It burns behind a cold protective wall, peeking out from behind through his smile during their performance.

That being said, it also isn’t rare for the composer to doze off when he lets his guard down, like now. Before he completely enters the room, Torao takes a moment to admire the sight of Minami’s innocent face as he sleeps. He knows this by now, but he still can’t get over how beautiful Natsume Minami is and here he thought he’d grown immune to pretty faces like that (Though immunity to Minami is something he hasn’t quite developed yet. He doubts he ever will.)

Torao is careful when he takes a seat next to Minami. The blonde will probably wake up soon now that Torao’s here but he wants to give him just a few extra seconds of shut-eye before switching on his work mode.

“Mido-san?” Minami blinks slowly, his hand coming up to rub the skin just underneath his eyes. “When did you get here?”

“Just a few seconds ago. Looks like you had a good nap.” He teases.

Minami lets out a light amused laugh, unfazed by it. He lets out a small yawn under his palm and finally looks at the other man. Minami’s gaze has always been so languid and a bit cold at times, though they’ve warmed up a lot by now, but the way Minami stares at him has never failed to make his heartbeat race faster.

“Mido-san, you’re blushing.” Minami chuckles sweetly and Torao has to look away now.

A retort makes its way to his throat but dies quickly, replaced with a defeated sigh. He lets his guard down for even half a second and the blonde will snap up the opportunity with that sly nature underneath an angelic smile (Not that he minds too much).

“By the way, where are the others?”

Torao clears his throat, trying to clean up the mess Minami did to his heart, and opens up his phone. “Touma’s probably on his way. Haruka already got here though.”

“Oh, then I should-” Minami straightens up a bit and cleans up the music sheet in his hands. Torao stops him midway, placing a hand on his forearm.

“Please. Kujo Tenn is here too so I’m going to bet Haruka won’t be here for another hour.” He rolls his eyes. “Do you think TRIGGER ever gets tired of their greenroom getting hogged by their center as a date spot?”

“I doubt the two care. But what about you, Mido-san? Do you ever get tired of ‘hogging’ our green room alone with me?”

Torao freezes then, becoming painfully aware that Minami has slid his arm so his hand now sits against Torao’s, fingers gently pressing against the skin of his palm like a feather. The touch feels like it could’ve been one of Minami’s teasing but it doesn’t feel exactly like that. There’s a sense of genuineness in them. For as long as Torao has known Minami, he likes to think that he knows the composer at least a little bit. Would it be self-centered to think that Minami wants to genuinely touch him? There’s a stinging realization that he wouldn’t be able to know for sure right away. Nevertheless, the answer is obvious as day.

“No.”

Minami’s lips shift into one of his softer smiles, one that only appears around the people he considers close. Torao wonders. If he manages to enter deeper into Minami’s heart, would he find other smiles? Ones that are reserved just for him.

Their intimate moment ends there. Minami pulls his hand away and it feels like his hand was never there in the first place. They both turn quiet, Minami cleaning up his scattered music sheets while Torao examines the side of his face. There’s one thing he realizes.

“You don’t have your braid.”

Minami’s hand comes up to the side of his hair and sighs. “I was going to do it here. I didn’t have enough time at home.”

“Want me to do it? It’ll be quicker.” Minami raises an eyebrow but decides to indulge his request anyway. He probably finds it amusing that Torao isn’t going to waste an opportunity to touch him, but Torao doesn't care that he's coming across a bit shameless.

Minami’s hair is soft between his fingers, almost like silk, and the strands slip off his fingers easily. Torao runs his fingers through them a few times and braids the side gently, careful not to accidentally pull or tug at the hair. As Torao stays focused on the work at hand, he doesn’t notice Minami closing his eyes, content, in the moment.

“When did you get so good at braiding?”

Torao snorts. As if this is the first time he’s braided Minami’s hair. There have been a few times now when it’s just the two of them alone, where Torao does Minami’s braid for him. It had looked terrible the first time but now he’s gotten quite skillful at it. The end result for this one looks quite good, perhaps his best work so far.

Minami’s hand comes up to touch Torao’s work and his lips curl into a pleased smile. The composer keeps his lips shut, careful not to let his true feelings be so easily known. Torao doesn’t need to know that Minami thinks the older man’s hands felt nice in his hair. Enough to almost lull him back to sleep.

He’s not ready to express his feelings just yet, but there’s something he wants to do. He turns to Torao. “Thank you. Mido-san, do you want me to reward you?”

The older man frowns. “Reward? Sure.”

Minami’s smile grows a little mischievous. He’s cute when he looks a little confused like this. He gently places his hand on Torao’s shoulder before raising his face until his lips hover right in front of Torao’s, not quite a kiss. Minami sees his eyes widening slightly at the realization of what he meant by reward. A hand coming to rest on Minami’s waist is the silent consent between them before their lips meet.

It’s neither their first kiss nor is it the first time they’ve kissed each other. Their relationship is a big grey area in their lives, not so much as friends but calling it an official relationship isn’t right either. What Minami does know is that Torao’s lips always feel so warm and sometimes even urgent and maybe even feverish in rare moments. This one isn’t any of those. It feels…sweet.

“Ugh, what the fu-”

Their moment is broken by Haruka’s flabbergasted tone as he stands under the doorway of their greenroom, his face growing completely red. In the hallway, standing in the spot where both Minami and Torao couldn’t see him, Kujo Tenn’s hand reaches to cover Haruka’s eyes.

“I told you not to open the door without knocking,” Tenn says as Haruka slaps his hand away.

Torao is the first to get up between them as he approaches Haruka. “Come back in an hour, you absolute brat.”

“You’re the one who’s making out in our greenroom!”

“Oh, like you don’t do the same with Kujo?”

As they continue to bicker, Torao slowly tries to close the door in Haruka’s face while Minami places his face into his hands, his blush reaching the tips of his ears.

#zool #mido torao #natsume minami #toramina #idolish7 zool #fluff #situationships #fanfic #idolish7 fanfic #i will put tennharu in my every fic #there's tennharu snippet in here because i cant live without them #idolish7

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across-violet-skies · 9 months ago

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Febuwhump day 19: "please don't"

Whumpee: Sky

Whump Rating: 4/10

TWs: nightmares, discussion of loss/fear of losing loved ones

Time hummed quietly to himself, glancing up at the moon every so often.

He was on second watch. Monsters rarely struck during a second watch, but nightmares did, especially with all the trauma this group had dealt with.

So when Time heard a soft whimper from the bedrolls, he wasn't too surprised.

He stood up, knee cracking as he did. His eye scanned over the usual suspects– Legend, Wild, and Warriors– but they all seemed to be sleeping peacefully.

“...Please don't,” Sky whispered, a note of terror held in his voice. The knight was still asleep, but he was twitching and mumbling with deeply furrowed brows. “No… please don’t hurt her…”

Time knelt down beside Sky, roughly shaking his shoulder. The Skyloftian woke with a gasp, immediately reaching for the Master Sword. Realization dawned on him quickly, however, and his arm slumped as he let out a relieved breath.

Time raised an eyebrow, tilting his head to tell Sky to follow. He led them both back to the small campfire, having Sky sit to calm down from his nightmare.

“Nightmare?” Time questioned, despite already knowing the answer.

Sky sighed, running a tired hand down his face. Like this, the knight looked much older than he actually was, purple eye bags exaggerated by the dim, flickering light of the campfire. “Yeah,” he finally murmured, nodding.

Time offered a grim smile, nodding at the Skyloftian. “Would you like to talk about it?”

“...It was about my adventure,” Sky began, frowning as he stared at the campfire. “Zelda– Sun– went missing. She… she was taken away, and I didn’t-” his voice broke. “-I didn’t know where she was, or if she was safe, or if she was even-” Sky cut himself off with a choked sob, clenching and unclenching his fists.

Time nodded solemnly. He despised that his boys had all gone through so much… and he knew more went unsaid. There were some things too difficult to talk about.

“I…” Sky sighed, hanging his head as he clasped his hands together. “I was so scared for her. Losing Sun… well, I don’t know what I would do. How could I live without her?”

Time hummed, glancing up at the moon briefly. “It would be difficult,” he agreed, turning his eye onto Sky. “But you would figure it out with time.”

Sky wrinkled his nose, shaking his head helplessly. “No, I… I could never move on without her. I love Sun.”

“Moving on and learning how to deal with it are two different things,” Time mused, lips pressed into a thin smile. “It would hurt, yes. But you can’t base your existence on another.”

Sky sighed, finally tilting his head up enough to make eye contact with Time. “...I guess. But it scares me.” He shook his head, frown deepening. “What if she disappears again? What if… what if I’m not fast enough?”

“Do you think it’ll happen again?”

The knight faltered, hesitating. “...No. I don’t. I think… at least for now, it’s over,” he spoke slowly. “But that fear… it just won’t go away.” He glanced away before returning eye contact. “How do you deal with it? Being away from her… not knowing what’s going on in her life… all of it.”

Time took a deep breath, resting his palms on his knees. “It gets easier,” he murmured. “The love doesn’t fade, but… you learn how to live separately.” He twisted the smooth wedding band, smiling fondly down at the piece of metal. “It makes the reunion all the more joyous.”

For the first time since waking up, Sky smiled. “You really love her.” He sighed, reaching around to hold his sailcloth. “You’re right. I just wish it wasn’t so hard for me to be away from her.”

Time chuckled. “You’re both young. It takes time.” He smiled knowingly. “Why don’t you write her a letter? It might help if you’re missing her.”

“I think I will,” Sky decided, standing up with a yawn and a stretch of his arms. “Tomorrow. I’m going back to bed.”

“Sleep well,” Time offered, nodding.

Sky smiled. “Thanks. And… thank you for talking to me about this.”

“Don’t mention it,” Time insisted, waving a hand. “We all look out for each other, stuff like this included. You can always talk to me.”

“I might take you up on that sometime,” Sky mumbled, rubbing his eyes. “Goodnight, Old Man.”

“Goodnight, Sky.”

–> support me on ao3!

#febuwhump #febuwhump 2024 #febuwhumpday19 #tw nightmares #linked universe #lu sky #lu time #lu sun #linked universe fanfic #ao3 #riv writes

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animebookpost · 29 days ago

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Part 1 🐦‍⬛

It's been 2 years since he didn't visit me... I wonder if something happened to him?" I remember then I told him that I passed the jonin exam and he was very angry at me I don't understand why .. . and since then he has not come...Maybe I'm finally ready to go look for him myself"

"Are you crazy Kira?" I asked myself and threw the diary aside. The moon was beautiful and the evening was calm and quiet, everyone was sleeping. For almost a month, we had no missions to go on, so it was boring and I had nothing to do and all I do is think about him why would he even get mad at me and how does he even behave we are just friends? Why did he turn out to be a jerk it's not him well maybe a little? took a deep breath and turned to the other side to sleep

Next morning 🌄

An unexpected noise outside my door woke me up

"KIRA GET UP QUICKLY WE HAVE TO GO" - a familiar voice made me immediately get out of bed and open the door

"Sakura?! What's going on?"- I asked the girl with pink hair whom I hadn't seen for almost a month because she was at training for the medical ninja

"The Hokage said that we have to go to her as soon as possible and that she was not thrilled with the message" - she looked at me seriously and scared? eh, sometimes I really wonder why she is so afraid ....

"Okay, give me a second to get dressed,, -I went back into the house to get dressed I've changed over time I don't understand why these people fuss so much about unimportant things The Hokage is a 50-year- old grandmother who uses something to stay young, I don't understand why we have failed so much I sighed deeply, put the band on my head and went outside

"Okay, will you explain to me what's happening and why you're so scared girl, did you start using drugs?" " - I asked her as we ran through the village

,,The Kazekage of Sand Village has disappeared and is suspected to have been stolen by the Akatsuki in order to extract the Jinnchuriki from him. "

"Akatsuki?" - I remembered that famous coat that I saw for two years, the red cloud, right? That thought made my heart pound, it couldn't be him, right?

"Girl, do you even listen to me when I'm talking to you?" - she asked me, and we were already standing in front of the office door for a long time

"I'm sorry, I was thinking, I'm not sure if I turned off the stove on the stove when we left?" - I smiled sourly and tried to stay calm because if she notices that I'm not okay or if she breaks something that I know about Akatsuki, I'm done.

"Okay, let me explain this to you quickly and let's go inside to hear what our task is" - she looked at me seriously and sat down on the floor

"Akatsuki literally meaning "Dawn" or "Daybreak was a group of shinobi that existed outside the usual system of hidden villages. Over the course of several decades, Akatsuki took different forms and was led by different individuals... one of the members of that community is Itachi Uchiha he killed his entire clan except for his younger brother and dissappear he was here 2 years ago in search of Naruto in order to kidnap and take him away, since then he has not appeared again, I know this from Lady Tsunade's stories and from my own research because I was interested in who he was? and why is he looking for Naruto when it looks like that man is Sasuke's older brother " - she said it all in one breath, she didn't even blink when she said it, there was so much hatred in her eyes that the blood ran down my cheeks when I saw it...and I realized that the more she pretended that I didn't know anything about them and that the first time I hear about them, I will be in a better position to start looking for him

#anime #love #naruto #akatsuki #konoha #itachi uchiha #deidara #sasori #konan #pain #kisame #hidan #kakuzu #obito #ninja #frends to lovers

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beauregardlionett · 2 years ago

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the tangled up tape on the b-side of my tongue

AO3 Link

Orym thought about death a lot. It was hard not to, all things considered.

What people don’t tell you, is that when you think about death a lot, it means you think about life, too. So, Orym thought about his life more than he cared to admit most days. Usually, he thought about the parts that were now missing. About the parts he had to leave behind, too.

The closest he got to thinking about his own death, however, was the occasional, bitter wish that he could have gone with Will that day.

Until now.

Until now, as he collapsed in the swirling dust storm, mouth full of sand and words he’d never get the chance to say. He could feel the smooth, steady surface of the Sending stone slip from his blood slick fingers as Otohan advanced on him. His eyes were heavy as they slid away from her sword and landed on the speck of blue amongst the dust.

A million words Orym wished he could say, only twenty-five with which to say them, and no time to speak, his conduit just out of reach. The blood behind his teeth tasted like rage and regret, felt like a swell of syllables caught somewhere between Dorian’s name and Will’s.

Orym wished he could stay.

As he struggled to keep his vision focused, to glare up at Otohan no matter how much it hurt, Orym was struck with a memory.

It had been a quiet morning, before Dorian left. Orym couldn’t remember where they had been - which city, which tavern, which morning. It had just been a morning, a perfect little capsule of a moment wrapped in the peaceful dawn.

He had woken as he always did, tucked between Dorian and Fearne, warm and secure. The morning was young, the light spilling in through the window the faint gray just before sunrise. Normally, Orym would get up and start his morning routine - would get in a brisk workout before breakfast, before he roused Fearne while Dorian stumbled through getting dressed.

But that morning, somehow Orym had migrated up the bed in the night, now resting closer to the pillows. Dorian had an arm draped over Orym’s waist, fingers tangled loosely in the blanket covering them. Fearne was sprawled, as usual, but her head was turned Orym’s way, nose buried against the back of his head.

Orym decided in that quiet moment, maybe just this once he could sleep in. Of course, his internal body clock wouldn’t allow him to fall back asleep, but that didn’t mean he had to get up.

Instead, Orym remained curled up between the two people he cared about most outside of Zephrah, and was content. He counted the quiet puffs of Fearne’s breath in his hair as pre-dawn gray melted into the gentle golden glow of sunrise. He was sole and primary witness to the way the sunbeams spread like watercolor over Dorian’s blue complexion. A fascination of contrast, highlighted in hope, and bright with promise.

Orym grinned silently to himself as the sunbeam slanted over Dorian’s eye and pulled him into wakefulness. Those first few bleary blinks back to consciousness, the sleepy smile of recognition, and the warm press of intention behind Dorian’s hand on Orym’s back flowed seamlessly together. Dorian woke up honest, his masks set aside and learned insecurities scattered on the floor for him to pick up later. This version of Dorian was the one Orym had met in Zephrah on their brief trip there. This Dorian had stolen the very air from Orym’s lungs the first time he witnessed the raw, sweet honesty of morning.

Brontë Wyvernwind as Dorian Storm was a thespian, an actor long familiar with the worn in treads made across the stage of day to day life. He knew every cue, memorized every stage direction and executed intricacies with precision. There was nothing wrong with that version of Dorian - at least not to Orym. But his smile never reached his eyes, his laughs were as beguiling as Fey Wild flora, and his silver tongue was more conducive as artillery than amicability. He could pivot between personas so precisely it sometimes left Orym dizzy.

Dorian Storm as Dorian Storm, however, was composed of provident passion. He was a little clumsy and tentatively honest. It was painfully clear that he was still finding his feet in this life, still learning to walk new trails and break in new boots - but he was trying. When Dorian laughed, he let joy run its course - sparkling eyes and all. He wasn’t made of fabricated fragments of various personalities, Dorian was an oil painting in progress where not every stroke came from intention.

Dorian Storm as Dorian Storm was one of the most wonderful people Orym had ever met - and he only existed in snatched up snippets between the bed and the bedroom door. He was raw, fresh honey dripping from the comb, a masterpiece in progress, bathed in the blissful rays of morning, and caught there like dew on a spider’s web.

Orym captured every moment of that Dorian he could grab and kept them for himself. He scooped this one up to add to the collection, certain to memorize the golden highlight sloped along Dorian’s cheekbone. The weight of Dorian’s warm hand on Orym’s back was a pleasant anchor as he smiled down at Orym.

“Good morning,” Dorian said, voice low and rumbling with disuse, music to Orym’s ears.

“Morning,” Orym replied, careful not to wake Fearne yet, as he smiled back.

This moment could sustain him for a while yet - this golden, glowing moment.

That moment had sustained him until he was breathing in sand and it was nothing but a memory. But for a second, the blood behind Orym’s teeth tasted like honey.

Orym wished he could stay.

He didn’t know why he remembered that now, as Otohan stood with her blade poised above his chest. Orym wondered if that memory was a glimpse at the bliss that waited beyond.

She furrowed her brow at him, squinting through the sand and dust swirling violently around them.

“We’ve met before,” she murmured, vicious in her composure.

“Yeah,” Orym choked out, clenched teeth a barrier for all the things he wanted to say instead, wrestling them back in an attempt to pick the words that would matter most.

Otohan’s blade sliding neatly between his ribs a heartbeat later made the choice for him.

#cr #critical role #c3e33 #writing #my writing #orym of the air ashari #dorian storm #dorym #i guess???#fearne calloway #exu trio

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italiantnea · 2 years ago

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#2-2_kawauso/ I didn’t know a thing about you

prev: 2-1 // next: 2-3

-----

He awoke to the alarm of his cellphone.

“...ngah”

Chakachakachaka, what an annoying sound.

As the Otter thought that, he grabbed the phone from beside his pillow and turned off the alarm. It was ok. The alarm would ring a bunch of times. He’d set them. It was fine. As he made excuses in his head, he rolled up the comforter and hugged it like a body pillow.

Huh?

Wasn't that different from the alarm sound?

Well, whatever.

Good night.

At that moment, the phone rang with a chakachakachaka again.

“...the hell?”

Shall we ignore it?

The same moment the insolent thought entered his head, pain pierced his left ear.

“Ow! Hey, Olver, you…”

He knew it was Olver’s work right away. The Otter lived by himself in this one-room apartment. The one who was biting the lonely man’s ear could be none other than Olver.

“...Ok, got it. I got it…”

He grabbed the phone once again. When he lifted his heavy eyelids and stared at the screen, he saw the word ‘senpai’ displayed on it.

“Wuh, oh! It wasn't an alarm! A ph-ph-phone call— Crap…”

The Otter jumped up and answered the phone.

“Y-yes, helloelloello. Good morning, this is the Otter…”

“Isn't that too many ellos?”

“E-e-excuse me, I-I-I just woke up…”

“I’m not really criticizing you. Actually, stop apologizing for everything. You apologize too much.”

“I-I’m sorry— Aah, I apologized again…”

“Maybe you won't get it till I stretch your tongue out and tie it into knots?”

“Scaaary! Tying my tongue into knots, that’s too horrifying!”

“I’m not seriously gonna do it.”

“If it was senpai we were talking about, you’d do anything wouldn't you…”

“Just what exactly do you think of me?”

“Of course, I think you’re a great senpai. I respect you. Seriously, respect ¹. This feeling might be to the extent of worship…”

¹ he says this in English

“I’m not really the kind of person to be worshipped, but I won't do such a fun torture so casually.”

“‘Fun torture’ is a pretty extreme interpretation…”

“That’s enough nonsense. A victim has been found.”

“Eeeh, again?!”

“U-u-understood. I’ll set out right now! As fast as I can!”

The Otter got dressed at light speed—well, light speed was saying too much—sonic speed—no, sonic speed was also an exaggeration. Anyway he got dressed at full speed.

It wasn't because his name had the word ‘grey’² in it or anything, but somehow most of the suits the Otter owned were grey. Today’s suit of choice was grey again, and his shirt was navy blue. Before the mirror, he tied a patterned tie that wasn't too flashy.

² the ‘hai’ in Haizaki means ash/grey

“Nice, nice. Ah, socks, socks. Ah, my hair’s sticking up…”

As he walked out into the parking lot with Olver riding on his shoulder, he noticed that dawn hadn't broken yet. He must've seen the time on his phone, but he hadn't comprehended it.

“That’s the kind of thing it is…”

The Otter drove his car out. Midway, he picked up senpai and Garm, and they headed to the scene. Senpai wore her usual black pantsuit and white pumps, and her hair was slightly damp. Had she just gotten out of the shower? The thought inadvertently popped into his head, and he felt strangely tingly.

Speaking of which, did senpai have a boyfriend?

If he asked he would probably get kicked. He really couldn't ask.

It was senpai, so he also had a feeling she might unexpectedly answer.

Without hesitation, like “Yeah I do?”

He wondered if she had one. Of course, it wouldn't be strange for her to have had one or two lovers. He could accept it too if she didn't have one. She had a rough temper…that wasn't the right way to put it, but she was quite an intense, fierce person. There was work too, and she had Garm. Well, if the other person couldn't see Garm then that wouldn't be a problem.

The Otter himself had dated an ordinary girl who couldn't see Olver. Despite his current state, he’d had quite the reputation in his youth. It wasn't like he wasn't young right now, but there were quite the circumstances that came with being in this line of work.

This wasn't the time to get hung up on romance. Where did he have the time to waste this?

So senpai had to be single too, right? No matter how you looked at it she was a workaholic. She had to be single. She was a free spirit anyway. He wanted her to be single. That’s it. He’d prefer if she was single.

Senpai was probably single.

After all, she was senpai.

If, for instance, he confirmed that senpai had a lover who lived with her, the Otter would probably be bummed out. He would certainly be bummed out.

How to put it? If an idol you supported suddenly got married, as a fan you couldn't help but despair. Something like that? Was senpai his idol? Was the Otter senpai’s fan?

Senpai used her phone silently. Maybe she was contacting her lover. No, no. there was no way senpai was doing something like that.

Was there really no way?

The Otter only knew the Dhole-senpai of Dahlia 4. Only the face she put on for work. She didn't talk about private things. He didn't even know her place of birth or family structure. Some time ago he’d lightheartedly asked about her birthday, and she’d snapped, “I’m not telling you?” Had she snapped?

He was curious about so much. Once it piqued his curiosity, he was so curious he just couldn't help it.

Thanks to that his driving was a little bit sloppier than usual, but senpai didn't say anything about it. He’d almost prefer it if she got mad.

This time the scene was under an overpass, less than 2 kilometers away from the apartment complex where the old woman had died unnaturally. Police were nearby and warning tape had been set up. The otter parked the car in front of that.

Under this stretch of overpasses, there were parking lots, bicycle parking lots, and parks. The victim had been found on a pedestrian and bicycle lane between the parking lot and the bicycle parking lot. Apparently a passing man had found the victim with his back leaned against the graffitied concrete bridge pier and called the police, sensing something was wrong. The blue-jacketed stern detective Kogure was at the scene.

“There is one. That wound,” Detective Kogure told them as he scratched at his hairline.

As he saw that mannerism, the Otter let out an “Ah.” without thinking.

“...Yes? What?”

“No, it’s nothing,” the Otter panickedly glossed over it, and detective Kogure didn't press it any further.

The victim sat in the same state he’d been found in. A closely shaved head. A baggy hoodie and cargo pants. Scuffed sneakers. He looked to be in his twenties. Probably around 20. Lying limply by his knees, the backs of his hands and fingers were tattooed.

The shaven young man was hunched over, head drooping. His head tilted slightly to the left, and on the right side of his neck was the aforementioned wound; a two or three millimeter diameter hole.

Senpai, as well as Garm, squatted down and observed the young man’s body carefully.

It reeked of alcohol. A can of chuhai³ lay tipped over beside the thigh of the corpse. Some of its contents had spilled out and dampened the road. Had the young man been drinking before his death?

³ a kind of low content alcoholic drink

“Just now.”

Senpai kept her gaze on the young man as she spoke.

“What was that?”

“Eh? ‘Just now’—”

“Didn't you try to say something to Kogure-san?”

“No, not really say something, more like it just crossed my mind…”

“Shoot.”

“But it seriously doesn't matter, I mean, it’s really no big deal…”

“Say it. I’m curious.”

“...I’ve always thought that detective reminded me of someone. I didn't know who, but it came to me just now. It’s Columbo.”

“Columbo?”

“Wasn't there something like that? It’s a bit old though. A drama? Or was it a movie? Detective Columbo. From America.”⁴

“Kogure-san doesn't look like a foreigner, does he?”

“He just reminds me, somehow. It’s the vibe. The vibes? The vibes. I’ve never properly watched Columbo anyway…”

“You’ve never watched it and you’re saying they look similar…”

“That’s why I didn't want to say it… if it were an obvious resemblance I’d say it to him. I’d even go as far as asking, ‘Don't you get told you look like detective Columbo?’”

“This is more pointless than I could’ve imagined. Don't bring this up again. Columbo or whatever.”

“I’m sorry…”

He ended up apologizing again.

Would the day ever arrive where he didn't have to apologize to senpai? It would probably never come. Surely he would never be able to raise his head in front of her. She got angry at him at every opportunity, and each time he would apologize. However many years, however many decades from now. Until the Otter left this earth. From the Otter’s perspective, forever.

The young man’s body didn't seem to have any wounds aside from the aforementioned hole.

The victim had just sat there until his heart stopped. There were few, if any signs of struggle before he died.

The old woman in the apartment room she lived in, and this young man under the overpass, had died quietly.

On that topic, six days ago, a forty six year old male office worker had died slumped against a vending machine, less than 1 kilometer away from here.

Fifteen days ago, in an apartment not far from the building with the vending machines, a thirty two year old woman had died unnaturally. She’d been crouched on the balcony of her home. The one who discovered her was a male acquaintance who was being investigated on suspicions of involvement in her death.

All four of them had had a two, three diameter hole on their neck.

As of now, the cause of death was still unknown. Howerever, the hole-like wounds showed signs of vital reaction. In other words, the wounds had been inflicted while they were still alive, not after they died. Considering that, there was little bleeding.

It was conjectured that someone had pierced the victims with some kind of thin tool. After that, something had probably happened that stopped the victims’ hearts. Of course, when the heart was no longer pumping, the bleeding stopped. After the victims had died, someone had taken out the tool.

The police hadn't ruled if it was an incident or an accident. The matter of the holes hadn't been made public, so there was little coverage in the press.

As of now.

If similar deaths continued happening in the future, he didn't know what would happen.

After confirming the victim, senpai questioned detective Kogure about this and that. Information about who first discovered the body, and the background of the victim. There was still much that was unknown, so detective Kogure promised to summarize everything in a report later.

“You reckon it’s one of your cases after all?”

Detective Kogure asked senpai as he scratched at his hairline. Was that a habit? It was probably a habit. The Otter didn't even know if Columbo was a movie or a drama series, but he’d seen it countless times on TV. If he recalled correctly, the main character Columbo would press or scratch at his forehead just like detective Kogure. That wispy, slightly disheveled hairstyle was similar to Columbo too.

“I hope that isn't the case.”

Senpai replied curtly, and detective Kogure shrugged with a wry smile. His face looked a little like him as well. Or maybe it didn't.

When they returned to the car after leaving the scene, day had broken. Senpai started talking with the boss on the phone, so the Otter went off in search of a convenience store to buy coffee. Before walking for even three minutes he found one.

Senpai, who seemed very much like she’d love black coffee, only drank chilled cups of cafe au lait or paper cartons of coffee milk. She insisted it wasn't like she couldn't drink it, but he was a bit doubtful about that. The Otter mostly took his coffee black. Even when he craved sugary coffee now and then, he went with the adult-like black coffee. Especially in front of senpai.

Other than the coffee, he briskly picked out some sweet bread, onigiri, and packaged chocolate. He exited the store, and even though the way back was to the right, he looked to the left for some reason.

At that moment, if he hadn't turned his gaze to the left, he might not have caught sight of the target. The Otter was in the middle of shopping, not searching. So this was nothing but a coincidence.

About twenty meters ahead of him, a man was walking. He was medium height. Probably male. He wore a military-style jacket and denim underneath. Black haired. He looked young.

Even though it was barely daybreak, the man was just walking. It would've been fine to ignore him. But a cord-like thing dangled out from his sleeve, and he walked while dragging it along. What was that?

The Otter glanced to his own left shoulder. Olver’s face was scrunched up, and he bared tiny fangs. That cord-like thing was not something normal. It seemed like Olver felt it too.

The man didn't turn around. He kept walking. He didn't seem to have noticed he’d been seen by the Otter.

The Otter began following the man. While he continued on walking as if to say, ‘Welp, let’s head home after finishing up the shopping!’, he called senpai on his phone. She was in the middle of a call, so he left a message. He turned the phone on silent mode, and stuck it into his pocket while still holding it in his hand. Before long, a returning call came.

The Otter picked up the phone.

“Are you trailing that suspicious man?”

“Yes.”

The Otter covered his mouth with his hand and replied in a quiet voice. Senpai lowered her voice as well.

“Understood. I’m coming soon.”

“If you could.”

“If he spots you, apprehend him. Don't let him escape.”

“Roger that.”

The Otter hung up and put his phone in his pocket.

The man was walking on a street along the overpass.

Eventually he turned a corner. Beyond the turn were low-rise apartments and residential buildings.

This road was completely straight, and visibility was too high. The Otter kept at a distance. He ducked into an alley and poked half his face out, checking for the man’s movements.

The man looked like he was turning around, so the Otter pulled his face back. Had he been spotted?

He waited a bit, and furtively stuck his head out. The man was gone. The Otter wanted to run out of the alley in a panic. No, calm down. Take a deep breath, and walk out of the alley slowly. Hurry, but be careful not to let out any footsteps, and finally, proceed until you confirm the man’s whereabouts. To his left was a vacant lot. It seemed like the buildings had just been torn down.

Beyond the vacant lot stood apartment buildings. Just within the grounds, the man stood there. He was holding his phone to his ear. He looked over.

Sure enough, he was young. Probably in his twenties. He may have been around high school age.

The man took off.

The Otter ran after him. Had he screwed up? Senpai was going to be mad at him again.

The man ran out the apartment grounds and into the street, then turned right. He seemed to be talking to someone on the phone, but he couldn't hear.

The Otter entered the street as well. The man was running about fifty meters ahead of him. He was quite fast. But he wasn't at the speed of short-distance sprinters. If the Otter chased after him at full speed, he could catch up to him.

But he was concerned about that cord-like thing the man was dragging along. What was that?

The man ran across a crosswalk, ignoring the red light. It was a wide, two lane road. When the Otter reached it, the light was still red. A truck was driving by. By the timing he would barely just make it, but the Otter didn't stop and crossed the road. The truck honked at him, and blood ran cold.

The man entered a narrow alley right beside the pedestrian traffic light. The Otter stepped into the narrow alley right as the man rushed into the alley to the right. If he’d waited for the truck just now, he would certainly have lost sight of the man.

“Nice job, me…!”

He patted himself on the back and raised his spirits. The alley the man ran into was between small workshops and old apartments. It was lined with steel drums and trash bins, making the already narrow alley even narrower.

The man glanced over at the Otter and knocked over a steel drum. It made a shrill noise, and the knocked over steel drum now blocked the path. Had it come to this? The Otter widened his eyes.

“—Olver!”

Olver, who’d been clinging to his left shoulder, descended down his back almost instantly and coiled himself around his right leg. Olver became one with his right leg.

The Otter’s right leg, which had melded with Olver, or perhaps Olver, who had melded with his right leg, stomped on the ground, and though it was a simple phenomenon, something outrageous occurred.

The Otter flew.

It wasn't like he flew away. But it was higher than the high jump world record. The force was comparable to a pole vault. What’s more, the Otter leapt to an unbelievable height, so easily it looked like a joke.

“Ueeeh…”

The man forgot about running and stopped in his tracks.

The Otter had leapt up between the workshops and old apartments. The man looked up at him, gaping. As he looked at him, the Otter soared over the man.

The Otter’s right leg was Olver’s head. Olver’s mouth was positioned at his tiptoes. His left leg was flesh and blood. If he used it to take the shock of a huge jump, the outcome would be disastrous. That was why the Otter landed on his right leg. He was behind the man. He pivoted on his right leg and spun around.

“It’s no use running…!”

The Otter grabbed the man’s collar with his right hand.

“Guah—”

Strangled, the man fell backwards.

It was then.

Something touched the back of his neck. Was it that thing? The Otter immediately reached towards his neck with his left hand. There it was. It was that. The cord-like thing that dangled from the man’s sleeve. As he grasped it and tried to pull it off, it slipped away. It wrapped itself around the Otter’s left wrist and began to tighten.

“While I was—”

The Otter’s delivered a knee to the man’s left side. The man groaned, but the thing wrapping itself around his wrist did not weaken.

“Taking it easy on you…!”

This time he kicked the man’s right side with the right leg that had melded with Olver.

“Agah…!” the man yelled.

He, or rather, his leg felt the man’s ribs break, and the cord-like thing around the Otter’s wrist fell away. Without delay, his now free left hand grabbed the man’s hair. He pressed the man against the outer wall of an apartment, and used his right hand to twist the man’s right arm.

Inside the sleeve was nothing. That cord-like thing was nowhere to be seen.

This was bad.

When he felt that, he’d already let go of the man and leapt up. Leaping vertically without a run-up, Olver’s right leg could handle up to 3 meters.

The cord threw itself in the air. It had gotten away from the man and tried to attack the Otter, but was evaded and danced wildly.

But what the hell, is that for real?

Rather than a snake, it looked more like an excessively long earthworm. It was a bit like a tapeworm too. Of course, neither an earthworm nor a tapeworm would dance through the air like that. It was horrifyingly energetic. Way too vigorous. It was quite revolting.

And above all, it was dangerous.

Wasn't it this guy’s work? The Otter suspected so.

In just half a month four people had died unnaturally. All of them had had a hole-like wound. Perhaps that horribly energetic earthworm-like, tapeworm-like thing had done it. Gone inside the victims bodies through the hole-like wounds and stopped their hearts.

Pulled by gravity, the Otter body began to descend. He tried to use Olver’s right leg to stomp on the man, but he dodged.

He landed on Olver’s right leg, and jumped again. Not upwards, but forwards. Annoying as that was, it was better to retreat for now. That earthworm or tapeworm must’ve been committing the murders. It was something that had the ability to kill people. The Otter didn't want to die, and he couldn't afford to get killed either.

He rushed out of the alley into a lane without a sidewalk. In that lane, a car barreled towards him. A white minivan. It was close.

“Wait, don't run ov—”

His lower body exploded. That was what the impact felt like. The Otter tried to avoid the minivan, but he didn't make it in time. The minivan slammed into him, and he spun around many times in the air. The moment he hit the ground, his vision was pitch black.

Am I dead?

He seriously thought that, but it seemed like he was still alive.

“Uuugh…”

This groan. Was it himself?

It seemed to be his own voice.

The Otter lay face down. His vision was hazy, and warped in disarray. More so than painful, this was bad. He couldn't feel his body. He didn't think the feeling was completely gone, but most of it was.

“He’s moving, huh,” someone said.

Who was it? It was a man’s voice.

“We’re carrying him.”

“Like this? He’s still alive though. What do we do?”

It wasn't just one person. There were several.

Shit.

This is bad. What is?

What is bad?

He didn't know. He felt like he was falling.

His consciousness was falling into pitch blackness.

Senpai—

-----

prev: 2-1 // next: 2-3

⁴ for your reference, Columbo looks like this:

#inochi no tabekata #inochi no tabekata light novel

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