#anything that will take me farther away and make it easier to hold this grief and hurt. fuck. delete later

[miwakags]

,

[climbthemountain2020]

Flame of Autumn - Chapter 18

Part 19/26 | Ao3

Tilly

Tilly was still limping as they made their way outside the wards to head to Spring two days later. 

“Quit fussing, Eris. It’s fine.” She waved him off. 

“I just want to make sure you’re okay.” He flitted around her, hand resting on her lower back as she rolled her eyes. “You don’t have to go, you know.” 

“Really? I don’t?” She asked, feigning enthusiasm. “I had no idea! You’ve only said that eighteen times since we walked outside two minutes ago.” She deadpanned at him, causing him to shoot a halfhearted glare her way. 

“Listen, I know you want us to appear together, but you’re still recovering. There’s no rush. This is just an informal meeting to show Autumn’s presence–”

“And as the new Lady of Autumn, I should be present.” He sighed, hanging his head as she limped forward, his eyes catching on her still-split brow and the line of yellowing violet that still bloomed across her jaw and cheekbones. She’d caught him looking almost every time he thought he could get away with it. 

“Darling, I understand. I do. But—” She whirled on him, nearly losing her balance. 

“Then stop trying to talk me out of it,” she all but growled at him. “I have been in that bed with nothing to do but relive every horrible thing that happened in that dungeon for the last two days. I need to be up, and moving, and doing something or I am going to lose my mind.” She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “Please, Eris. I am begging you to just let me come with you.” 

He embraced her, pulling her to his chest. “As if I could truly deny you anything. Come on.” She sighed with relief, taking his arm as they slid into that pulling pocket of nothing and emerged in front of the manor of Spring. Tilly had never ventured into Spring before, especially considering she’d been so far towards the opposite border growing up. The air was warmer here, and had a heaviness to it that they didn’t ever really see in Autumn. The air smelled like gardenias and soil, and the manor was framed by vines of the deepest green. 

Eris held out an arm to her to help her up the stairs, and she took it. She wouldn’t admit how much pain she was still in, her legs absolutely demolished despite the Autumn healers and her own healing power doing everything they could to speed the recovery. She should still be in bed, but every time she closed her eyes, she was back in that dungeon. Sleeping without a draught had become nearly impossible, despite the exhaustion that she was dealing with near-constantly. She could only hope that the farther away from things she got, the easier it would be to deal with. Having Eris there when she woke, covered in sweat and shrieking, had been a blessing, but she knew it wasn’t realistic for him to always be by her side. She’d need to set aside time to process things; she refused to let Beron ruin another second of their lives, even from the grave. 

They entered the manor, massive double doors pulling open to reveal an immense foyer, not a thing out of place despite the battle that had just occurred barely outside the doors. There were voices coming from the not-too-distant study, and Eris led her forward slowly, wisely choosing not to comment as she stumbled a bit and had to grip his arm for balance. She’d thought about  glamouring the cuts and bruises for the meeting, but she worried that she was still too weak to sustain it. She refused to ask Eris to do it–she knew he’d read too far into it, and his concern for her was already weighing on him, though he’d never admit it. The guilt he was constantly shooting down the bond, despite his best efforts, broke Tilly’s heart. She knew he was dealing with a lot of grief about not getting there sooner, but she didn’t hold it against him. 

Rhysand greeted them at the doors to the study, a great number of people already inside. Eris had been told the gist of what had happened to Beron–burned alive, to Eris and Tilly’s immense satisfaction–and Eris had passed along everything he’d heard to Tilly. She was eager to meet the female who had done what they could not. She was apparently from another world, though the details had been somewhat vague when given to Eris. From what she understood, Penelope was Tamlin’s significant other, living here with him in Spring, and able to mirror the powers of others. She hoped that she’d used his own fire against him. It was the very least he deserved. 

“Eris. Matilda.” He let his eyes pass over her face, just as everyone else had done the past few days, and then looked into her eyes. “I’m so incredibly sorry for what you went through. Sorry that we could not have done more.” She averted her eyes before he could see the tears. 

“It’s alright, Rhysand. You gave it an effort, and we got your spy killed. It’s not your fault. He’s gone now, and that’s truly the only thing that matters. I just wish I had been able to see it happen.” She hated how quiet her voice sounded, and when she looked back to Rhysand, she could see the sentiment mirrored in his furrowed brows. She would get her fight back, but it would take time that the past three days of pain and fitful sleep had not provided. 

Eris remained touching a part of her at all times as he moved them to stand by the windows, naming each person present and giving her any details that might help her to feel more comfortable. She appreciated the efforts, as well as the closeness of his hands. She felt a little like, if she didn’t focus fully on it, she might just float off into the ether. She’d been so ready to die, being here still felt somewhat foggy. It wasn’t like she wasn’t grateful, wasn’t thankful, but it seemed almost like it wasn’t real. She’d worried more than once in the last few days that she might wake up still chained to that table–that the rescue had been the machinations of her desperate, dying mind. The bond would still be dead within her, and so would their baby, and soon, so would she be. 

“Are you okay?” She started at Eris’ soft voice, whispering gently next to her ear. 

“Yes. Yes. Sorry. Just a bit overwhelmed.” She laced her fingers through his and forced herself to relax, to exhale a breath then take another. 

Time. It would take time. 

Tilly watched as some of the others hovered over a map in the middle of the room. They discussed the battle, and they discussed Koeschi. A Death God. Eris had explained a bit of what they’d told him on his brief trip here the other day to collect the dissenters from Autumn. There would need to be another meeting once everyone had recovered, but the point of this was simply to regroup. 

Eris was summoned over, but she decided to stay leaning against the windows, her leg beginning to ache. He shot her a look that clearly said Are you sure? And she lifted a brow in response. Go. 

She turned to look back out the window at the changing sky, so many more blues and pinks here than the stormy grays or deep reds and oranges of Autumn’s evening sky. She took another steadying breath, leaning back against the window frame to shift some of the weight off her leg and closing her eyes as the relief hit her. 

“Pretty, isn't it?” Tilly jumped about a foot into the air. “Cauldron, I am so sorry. I didn’t intend to startle you, Matilda!” Tilly gasped for air, trying to right herself after the shock. 

“It’s okay. I’m alright. Sorry–I’m okay,” she stuttered out, then turned to meet a pair of the largest teal eyes she’d ever seen. “Gwyneth, right?” The female smiled, her freckles crinkling at the edges. 

She could surely be a relative. 

“Yes, Gwyneth Berdara, but please call me Gwyn.” She held out a hand to Tilly, who took it and shook. She was warm like Autumn, too. 

“Then you must call me Tilly. Are you from Autumn? You look so familiar.” Tilly wondered if perhaps she might know her family, especially if she possessed fire magic.

“Indirectly, I am. Though I’m afraid I don’t have much in the way of family names. I used to be a priestess at Sangravah. My grandmother was a river nymph, and I know my grandfather was a High Fae male in Autumn, but I don’t know who he was. My mother died long before I could ask anything more.” 

“Well, you certainly look the part. Most people in Autumn have a certain look about them.” She gestured broadly to herself, then back at Gwyn, who laughed. “If you’re ever curious, you’re always welcome in the Forest House to check into the genealogy.” Gwyn looked a little surprised, then a gracious look overtook her. 

“Thank you, Tilly. You don’t know what that means to me. My family is gone now–all of them that I knew of, at least.” She faltered then. “It would be nice to at least know if I have any left out there.” Tilly placed a hand on Gwyn’s shoulder. 

“In that case, you’ll always have a room at the Forest House.” Gwyn’s smile went ear to ear. 

“Thank you, truthfully. If you’d ever like to visit the Night Court, I’d be happy to show you around, as well.” 

“I’ve actually had some pretty interesting trips to the Hewn City in the past year.” Gwyn went to make a comment at Tilly’s smirk, but they were interrupted by the hush that befell the room as the High Lord of Spring came into the study with Tilly’s own personal savior on his arm. 

Penelope Briggs. 

Eris came back to her side at the window, Tilly bid Gwyn goodbye as she waved and snuck back off to her friends from Night. “Doesn’t she look familiar to you?” Tilly muttered back to Eris, who looked a hummed in response. He had on his crown of flames, choosing to display it as he was in more polite company, and Tilly was absolutely hypnotized every time she saw it. The flames danced red to blue in her eyes, and he smiled down at her.

“Should I keep it on next time we–”

“Penny!” Tilly heard someone yell across the room, and she watched as the High Lady of Night, Feyre, embraced the female who had entered with Tamlin. “You scared me senseless. I was so worried for you during the battle. Rhys said you just took off!”

“She was off like a shot. By the time we realized, she’d cleared nearly the whole battlefield and misted an entire battalion.” That was the Night Court’s general speaking to Penelope–Penny–now. Tilly almost wished she’d been present at the battle just to see it.  

“I’m so sorry I took off. I could only think about getting to him.” The female blushed and looked back at the High Lord of Spring, who was staring at her just like Eris looked at her. 

So they’re in love. 

Rhysand congratulated Tamlin and Penny then, and it clicked for Tilly. 

Mates, just as they were. 

It was clear to her now, that bond between them vibrating and humming in a way that felt so familiar to her. Then, with a last squeeze to her hand, Eris stepped forward to greet Penny. He gave a shallow bow and kissed her hand; Tilly tried not to let any of the faint jealousy claw its way up her throat, but stifled a laugh as she watched Tamlin fight to do the same. 

“Penny Briggs. I owe you perhaps the greatest debt. I only wish you’d allowed me to watch.” He turned to Rhys. “Perhaps you could grab that visual and send it to me as an ascension gift.” 

“Truly, it went so fast, I don’t think there was much to see. And certainly not much left.” Tilly immediately liked her. 

“I think that you and I will get along just fine.” Then, he was returning to Tilly’s side, wrapping his arms around her and kissing her. “Ready to go home?” He murmured into her hair as the others moved the conversation along. She was so unimaginably tired and ready to get into their bed. 

“Almost. Let’s finish this up, then get back home.” Rhysand was speaking about Koeschi, whom it was now clear had been working with Beron in the absence of Briallyn. Most concerning, perhaps, is that they had not found the missing faebane in the battle of Spring, meaning it was still out there somewhere. 

“I think it’s clear Koeschi will not wait now. He won’t be deterred much by the loss of Autumn, either. We need to be ready to withstand an attack at a moment’s notice. Without her vision, we wouldn’t have made it in time.” 

Feyre declared the intent to rally a summit of the High Lords, and Tilly hoped she’d have enough time before it to recover completely. She’d barely been here thirty minutes and her legs were about to give out. She was fighting to stay standing, and she knew Eris could tell. He wound his arm beneath hers, curving his fingers around her rib cage and taking some of her weight off her legs. 

“Thank you,” she whispered. “I know, I know. You were right.” He didn’t say anything, but she did catch him smirking next to her as the group discussed how they might further utilize Penny’s mirroring powers. They were like nothing Tilly had ever heard of before, and she thought that it could mean the real turning point in a war such as the one looming in front of them. 

Once they’d decided to go ahead and send the missives for the meeting to the other High Lords, anticipating it in a little over a week’s time, everyone began to say their goodbyes. Rhysand came to see them off before they winnowed and told Tilly to make sure she didn’t let the power go to Eris’ head. They left the manor, but before they’d even reached the bottom of the steps, Eris had swept Tilly into his arms. Any other time she’d have fought him on it, but she was so exhausted and achey that she simply laid her head on his chest and nuzzled in while he winnowed them home. 

“Thank you for letting me come with you, even though it was foolish.” He just smiled and kissed her again, refusing to put her down until they’d reached the comfort of their own bed. 

Eris

Despite the fact that he was constantly on edge about Tilly, hovering around her like a bee on a bloom, things were as good as Eris could ever remember them being. For the first time in his entire life, the occupants of the Forest House didn’t seem to be balancing on the edge of a blade. The servants had almost all stayed in the aftermath of the exchange of power, and Eris suspected it was because most of them thought there was no chance it could be worse than the life they were already enduring under Beron. Eris dismissed some that he knew had spent years reporting directly to Beron–he didn’t need the people who had trusted Beron hanging around anymore. He let them go with glowing recommendations and a healthy sum apiece of Autumn Court gold–he didn’t need tensions where he could prevent it–but he’d let them go nonetheless. He’d also weeded through the personal guards in the same manner. 

The next, and more difficult step, had been the reviewing of the councils. For centuries, the councils had been stocked with the males from the richest, most noble, and power-rich families of Autumn. There were no females, there were definitely no lesser fae, and there was absolutely no movement because of these things. Eris, though he knew it would be a massive upheaval, dismissed the entirety of the council on the first day after their return from Spring. There had been mass objections, threats, and anger, but Eris held firm and remained calm. He’d gotten in touch with an old tutor who had seen all the boys through their studies. Alaisdair had always been fair and reasonable, teaching the boys about history that Beron did not approve of at great personal risk to himself for the sake of a well-rounded education. He was older than the trees–it was almost unheard of for fae to actually look old–and he knew more history than anyone Eris had ever encountered. He’d shown up on Alaisdair’s doorstep and asked him to come be the first member of his new council, and he implored him to help him fill his new council with members who would make a difference, ones who would help him to lead Autumn in the way it deserved. 

This is how he found himself in his first meeting, Alaisdair having brought in a group of fae from all over Autumn that he knew and trusted. There were females, dryads, centaurs, and members of older families with open minds. After their meeting, Eris had clapped Alaisdair on the shoulder and thanked him profusely. He saw a path forward this way. Not all of Autumn would be receptive to these changes, but it was the way things should be, and they were changes that Eris had dreamt about in the safety of his own mind for years. It was a privilege to see them coming to fruition. 

Eris was, however, worried about Tilly. She smiled, and she was throwing herself into helping with everything she could. She’d sat with him as they’d met the new council, and she planned to sit in on all upcoming meetings, as well. She was acclimating well to her new role as Lady of Autumn–though he wished she’d allow him to make her High Lady officially. But it was when things quieted down that he would catch her, eyes looking hollow and haunted, her shoulders curving in slightly. It was in the quiet moments he’d feel a small tug of grief down the bond. He knew she would need time and support to cope with everything that had happened, but he worried she wasn’t slowing down enough to let herself do that. 

“You don’t have to come sit in on all the meetings, Til. At least not yet. Take some time for yourself before the summit, and we can resume everything when we get back.”

“Eris, it’s important they see me there. Especially if you want them to see me as High Lady one day. It’s vital we’re in it together from the start.” 

“I just worry you aren’t taking enough time for yourself.” He brushed his fingers over her stomach, feeling her love down the bond and she clasped her hand over his and smiled. 

“I am okay. Staying busy is helping. I just need some space from it, I promise.” 

But in the dark, the dreams were waking her from a dead sleep, shooting up shrieking in a sweat into Eris’ arms. He held her close, stroking her back as she cried, holding him like she may never let go. He hated this–wished he could take it all away for her. He was trying to work through the guilt he felt at not returning the moment he’d wanted to, but he may very likely be dead now if he had. There were no good solutions, and the only thing they could do now was walk through this together. 

The most promising progress in the past week, however, had come in the form of his brothers. It seemed that Eris and Tilly were not the only ones who were immediately benefiting from Beron being dead. The moment Eris had found out about Killian’s mate and child, he’d insisted they come live at the Forest House, too. They’d be safe within the wards, and Eris refused to hear of Killian being separated from them any longer. 

Another bit of news that had taken them by surprise was finding out that Callum and Cormac, of all people, had been seeing each other intimately for centuries. Once Beron was gone, they weren’t spending another second pretending. Tilly had immediately made a comment about no wonder all their hand to hand combat practice is so intense, and everyone had laughed, Callum blushing, and that was that. 

With all that out in the open, the relationship amongst the brothers was the most peaceful it had ever been. Even with the pact, and how they acted when no one was around, they’d been looking over their shoulders, always worried someone would see. This new familiar relationship could now thrive without that dark cloud looming above them, and Tilly was thrilled to have a female friend around the house, especially one where she was able to get her hands on a baby. It helped Eris to see some of that light in her eyes again. 

That’s where things found them this morning, all eating breakfast in a hall newly designated for it on the other side of the kitchens. None of them wanted to relieve the memories of the old dining hall, the nightmares of that room better served forgotten. They had big plans, in fact, to remodel the entirety of the Forest House for this exact reason. The brothers had all gotten together and made some decisions, and they’d be renovating the High Lord’s wing entirely. Crushing it and all the bad memories into the ground and rebuilding something lighter, airier, and more representative of the future they all wished to have. 

Callum and Cormac sat next to each other, Cormac taking the time to casually look through incoming applications for new guard members. Killian was sitting next to Shanna, his daughter Kyra on his lap babbling as she reached for his food. Bray sat back in his chair, breakfast pushed aside, with a book propped up, glasses low on his nose as he openly read a book about a knight and his paramour. The scene was so wonderfully domestic that Eris could barely keep the smile off his face. He guessed, now, there was no reason to try to keep the smile off his face anyway. When he looked at Tilly, she was smiling, talking to Shanna and smiling at Kyra, her eyes lighting up in that way that chased the dark away, and he felt her calm joy through the bond. 

They’d gotten more good news this morning in the form of a letter from their mother. Alanna was, begrudgingly, it seemed, now the High Lady of Day. Eris was so glad that Helion and his mother had managed to reconcile; he couldn’t imagine a life knowing his mate, feeling her suffering for centuries, and being forced to stay away. She’d seemed overjoyed in the letter, inviting them for a visit as soon as they wanted. She’d told them that they’d always be welcome to visit, and that she hoped they’d take that to heart. She thanked Tilly profusely for what she’d done, for what she’d given, and told her she couldn’t wait until she could see her again. 

Separately, Eris had gotten a letter from Helion, thanking him for the truth, and for the final push to go and get Alanna. The note was brief, but it conveyed more than the two would likely ever be able to openly share face-to-face. Their moment of vulnerability was over, but it had shifted things between them forever. He’d need to send a letter back to thank him for his support and the time he’d spent in Day. 

Tilly and Eris agreed to tell the family today about the baby–it had been kept to themselves long enough, and recent events told them that important news really shouldn’t wait. Eris cleared his throat. 

“We’ve, ah, got some news.” All eyes turned to him, and he grabbed Tilly’s hand in his. “We know things have been a bit intense in the upheaval lately, but we wanted to thank you all for what you’ve done. I want to thank you for trying to keep Tilly safe when I couldn’t,” his voice cracked. He shook his head, Tilly squeezing his hand. “But today we have some good news, finally.” 

“Better than our father dying? Hard to top that.” Bray said, and everyone laughed. Eris met Tilly’s eyes, her smile reaching them in a way he’d been worried he wouldn’t see again. 

“We’re going to have a baby.” Tilly said, almost quietly, but the smile on her face radiated happiness. Eris dropped the shield on her as all the family stood at once, coming to embrace them, shouting loud congratulations and clapping Eris on the back. Callum dragged Tilly into a lifted hug, swinging her back and forth as Cormac told him to be gentle. Killian bent down to speak into his daughter’s ear, telling her she’d be meeting a cousin soon as Shanna’s hand trailed lovingly down his arm. 

Eris felt like everything was the way it should be, watching the people he cared for most in the world here, the love palpable within the room. But nothing felt better than the happiness he felt pouring down Tilly’s side of the bond, her eyes finding his and her smile nearing knocking the wind from him, the way it had unfailingly from the very first moment he’d seen her, and would until the end of time.

Taglist (lomls): @cauldronblssd @queercontrarian @byyalady @thelovelymadone @clockwork-ashes @lovingkelj @lilah-asteria

[flower-seeks-the-moon]

fandom: love bullet

relationships: tamaki aki/sakurada koharu

characters: tamaki aki, sakurada koharu

words: 4026

Read on AO3 or below this cut.

It's been a month since the accident. She still can't taste anything, makes her mother weep after she shovels her favorite hamburger steak in her mouth without a word.

The first year is always the hardest, the school-mandated therapist tells her. Tamaki Aki hardly hears it, kicking her legs back and forth as she stares at the clock on the wall. Tick, tock, tick, tock it goes. Time is cruel, she realizes, on one of her sessions as she continues to fixate on that piece of cogs and wheels and batteries. Tick, tock, tick, tock, it goes. Every single second carries her farther and farther away from Koharu.

One day, Tamaki Aki will wake up and see an adult woman in the mirror. Will she see Sakurada Koharu beside her, fifteen forever?

Millions of seconds later, she's supposed to have moved on with her life, her father tells her over breakfast. Someday, you won't even be able to remember the specifics of your conversations. This is supposed to be a well-meaning comment, but what do grown-ups know about grief? They can hardly even bring themselves to talk about bringing her to a doctor. Aki leaves the table and is sick all over the toilet.

Her mother yells at her father, but the thought has taken root in Aki. It grows into a thorn, one that's lodged deeper and deeper inside her chest the more she holds on to Koharu.

Approximately 157 million seconds, she calculates over neglected math homework, remembering study sessions spent well into the night; scattered snacks lie abandoned across her desk for her mother to yell at her about later, Koharu's lashes fanning across her cheeks as Aki watches her friend drool all over her notebook.

Her homework has piled up so much that her parents fret that she will be held back for a year. Maybe that's a good thing, remaining first year because Koharu will be always be first year and every year that Aki moves up she'll share less and less things with her best friend-

She had so much time. Why did she wait for so long?

White chrysanthemums turned up on her best friend's desk for three months.

Flowers left by the grateful couples, those who Koharu gave so much of her time and effort to. Asaka and Hiroshi, holding hands in front of her. Asking her to place the vase for them, as if Tamaki Aki is the protector of Sakurada Koharu's memory.

She tries not to look at their interlocked fingers. Under the numbness, the grey that overtook her everyday life and seeped out all the color - the soft pink of cherry blossoms, the fresh pale green of spring; Koharu, ah you took the season with you and left nothing for me - there is an ugly red feeling that she couldn't dare name.

Why these people?

“Place them there yourself,” she says to the most recent pair to walk up to her. Aki has never been the nice one between the two of them. She grabs her belongings off her desk, shoves them into her bag. “I'm not her keeper.”

Koharu had been more the class's than she had ever been Aki's. This is the truth. Giving so much of herself to these juvenile crushes and their silly little relationships. Puppy love that probably wouldn't even last past high school. And for what?

These guys probably won't even grieve for you the way I will. They'll move on to the next best thing, give or take a few months.

Koharu would be disappointed in her, Aki knows. But she's not here to be dismayed at her best friend's lack of empathy, is the problem, isn't it?

That girl is more in love with the concept of love than interested in being loved herself. Isn't it grand, that she didn't even get a slice of the pie she set out for everyone else? Because Aki is too slow, with her horrible timing and lack of consideration for time and place and she's truly the one at fault but it's easier to hate others, to lay the blame at their feet, than to confront that she's the problem-

Easier to be mad at Koharu. Easier to look at the world and spurn her best friend's idealism than to reach inside herself and yank out that ugly pulsating mass of rage, and grief, and regret, and realize that the world will keep fucking turning! The sun will rise every morning and Aki will go to sleep every night, asking herself: why did she choose that moment to tell her?

Why did Koharu look more at these other kids than look at her?

“What are you doing,” she says, flat and monotone. She doesn't recognize this girl with the fluffy hair, standing alone in front of the desk.

The girl smiles faintly at her, inscrutable dark eyes unmoved by her stare. What was her name, again? Some transfer student. Aki can't tell if it was before the accident or after. Time doesn't mean shit to her lately.

“Placing flowers?”

They're not chrysanthemums this time. The delicate white camellias are something new.

Aki scrambles for the meaning, never having been one for hanakotoba, before she gives up. What's more interesting to her is that this girl is all by herself. No starry-eyed girl or boy by her side, no shallow gratitude in those sleepy eyes.

“She was more than just her matchmaking skills,” the nameless classmate says again as she caresses the petals. “Sensei said that she'll remove any new vases soon, since the class needs to move forwards." She eyes Aki's white-knuckled grip on the edge of her desk with mild curiosity. There is no pity in her face, and that's the only thing that keeps Aki from snapping out. "I thought I'd take the opportunity before that happens. You should too, Tamaki-san.”

The next day, the entire class is abuzz over the riot of colors on Sakurada Koharu's desk. Freesias, red spider lilies, yellow tulips, zinnias. One of the girly girls who knows a lot about flower arrangement comments that it's such a bewildering message, as if the sender doesn't know whether they resent or adore Koharu.

Two girls lock eyes across the lively classroom. Kanna, surname unknown, smiles as Aki grips the book of flowers tight under her desk.

In her dreams, it's not blood that stains Koharu's uniform red. In its place are countless red flowers, spilling from the hole left by a piece of rebar. The same bright petals spill from her best friend's lips as she opens her mouth, endless like the grains of sand in the hourglass that Aki took for granted, up until she realized it wasn't so limitless after all.

I can fix this, Aki presses her hands over the hole. Koharu's hand hovers, lonely and ignored in favor of stuffing those red blossoms back where they belong. I can fix this, I can fix this.

Before she died, Koharu had mouthed something to her, lips quickly losing their warmth and color before she even had a chance to experience her first kiss. And Aki doesn't catch it. Doesn't catch it over the static ringing in her ears and the shouts of the useless, useless construction workers and adult bystanders who watch as a high school student's world is torn out from under her feet.

So this time, Aki doesn't take her hands. She presses down on that gaping hole, plucking up the flowers and pushing them back inside. Despite the roughness of her 'first aid', Koharu doesn't wince or cry out.

She simply looks up at Aki with those dreadful kind eyes, lips moving and that same static noise pouring out.

What did she say?

Aki tries to fill in the gaps, to guess, but what's the point of it all, really?

I love you too?

She'd rather that Koharu be alive and with her. Fuck reciprocation, Aki can live with her unrealized and unfulfilled love if it meant waking up to walk to school with Koharu.

If it meant she can watch the sunset paint that face in gold and imagine what it's like to kiss her, if it meant wondering forever, then that's fine? If it gives her more study sessions where she gets to drape a blanket over those small shoulders, sweep those stray locks of hair from that face, and silently shut the study lamp off. If it lets them have more days where she can watch Koharu press an ice-cold can of coffee, fresh from the vending machine, as they both bemoan the heat of summer and Aki watches the stray drops of sweat trickle down that dear face and wonder what it's like to taste the salt of her skin.

I'll take back what I said, okay? You don't have to stand there looking so shocked, now move-!

Or maybe it's something else that Koharu said. Maybe-

I regret pushing you out of the way. Why do only you get to survive, Aki-chan?

Maybe she regrets hearing those words from Aki, being that moment of distraction that cost her everything. This is why Aki needs to fix things, needs to be a better person, needs to stop being so bitter and mad at the rest of the world.

If she becomes as kind as Koharu, to take up the kindness that was snatched from the world before it truly had a chance to shine, would she be forgiven? It's going to be difficult.

She's not a sweet person, she hears that often enough from her father, from her mother's chiding that she needs to temper her personality, be more like Koharu-chan, and she knows that she'll be a shallow substitute.

Six months in, her therapist puts her in art therapy.

To the surprise of many, it actually seems to work. Aki's room quickly fills up with paintings, each canvas a snapshot of their lives before the accident, painted in colors that she chose. Most of the subjects are Koharu, which had her parents murmuring among themselves in consternation more than once until the therapist takes them aside. It wouldn't have stopped Aki, either way: there's a desperation that underlies every brushstroke. A quiet determination to commit that face to a canvas, before her own memory begins to fail her.

Not that it's going to fail easily, since she still has those photos framed on her study desk. But those photos aren't enough, were never enough because Aki remembers better than anyone else what it looks like when Koharu is laughing.

Koharu as she blushes sheepishly under the admiring gazes of their classmates, Koharu in one of her rare pouty moments after her best friend teases her, unaware that Aki is this close to kissing her. Koharu's dark hair and the pink cherry blossoms that fell upon it during hanamatsuri as Aki resolves not to tell her about them. Koharu, Aki's name on her lips as she waits for her after school.

Because her skills are not enough to capture them and give them the justice they deserve, Aki ends up in the afterschool art club.

Hiroshi blinks at her as she introduces herself to the rest of the club members. She feels nothing when Asaka pops up behind him, more surprised than anything that the other girl has taken up painting as a hobby.

It takes weeks before someone approaches her. Despite her new resolve, it's still fresh in everyone's memory that there's an empty spot beside her in the shape of a person. They no longer talk about Koharu, but their eyes still flicker to the side of Aki as if expecting someone there.

"Tamaki-san?"

Her hands still, paintbrush held aloft. "What is it?"

The sound of footsteps, drawing closer to her place in the corner of the classroom. Two familiar faces.

She tenses as they all stand together.

Her canvas as always features their late classmate, this time of Koharu during Tanabata. Aki's having trouble capturing the fireworks just right, making the colors pop against the dark of night while making Koharu stand out just as noticeably. She needs it to be right, needs to remember all those times every year where they walked hand-in-hand, stall to stall.

Didn't Koharu suck at the goldfish catching game? Aki decides that's something for her to paint, later, but first she needs to get better-

"I know what you can do with this," Hiroshi says, soft-spoken as always. He smiles at Aki. "Would you like to paint together with us, Tamaki-san?"

It gets easier to respond, when she has an example to live by. "I'd like that."

She's forgotten what it's like to be held. Her mother and father have done their best, it's not their fault; Aki never takes them up on their offers, looks away from her mother's spread arms to hurry into the silence of her room where her brushes and paints wait for her. After his out-of-touch comments, she hurries past her father rather than sit down with him in the living room to watch TV together.

Her paintings have only grown in number since she joined the club, but no one sees past Aki's growing skill. If they do, they take it as inspirational, as if it's not just Aki vomiting all her feelings onto a canvas and hoping that everything will be okay sooner.

For a while, it works.

And then springtime rolls around, bringing with it all the cherry blossoms and the discussions of hanamatsuri. The shallow, patchwork job she's done with her heart falls apart again. It's worse this time. She stumbles into the new school year with bags under her eyes, barely hidden with a touch of concealer, her lips only having life to them due to a dab of colored gloss.

Why did she call all of Koharu's customers shallow?

Asaka's a surprisingly comfy hugger. She doesn't move when her winter uniform grows damp on one shoulder, her arms a solid anchor around Aki. "We've got you," the taller girl says. "We've got you, Aki-chan."

No one's called her that, since Koharu. But has she ever allowed anyone to get close enough to her for endearments? Aki doesn't know.

Better for them not to be close to her, after the horrid job she's done with Koharu.

Later, as Hiroshi walks into the classroom and presses a ramune bottle into her hands and her eyes have somewhat stopped leaking like a damn faucet, Aki asks a question.

"Why are you so nice to me? I acted like you were nuisances around Ko-" Her throat closes up. She pops the bottle, looking down at the marble floating inside. Once, they had tried to remove it. One marble still remains in Koharu's room, somewhere on her desk, unless it's been thrown out.

Aki hurriedly abandons that train of thought. Taking a long swig of her drink, she savors the cold soda, the faint sweetness on her tongue. Summer's just around the corner. Her first summer without… "Around her."

"Tch, you weren't that bad," Asaka leans forward against the back of her chair. "I kinda was able to tell that everyone was taking away your time with her." She pops her own ramune open.

"I didn't own her time." She can accept this now. "Koharu's time was her own."

Hiroshi adjusts his glasses. "Aki-san. After everything that Koharu-san did for us, we wanted to repay her kindness with kindness. And you needed it more than anyone else."

No one's surprised when she bawls again, moments later. Asaka holds her tight, a solid warmth. It's nothing in comparison to the feeling in her chest, enough to make her dizzy as a mix of love and grief and joy and relief pours out of her eyes and tumbles through her blubbering mouth.

"I can't go on without her…!"

But is there really a without?

Koharu touched people's lives. She's not gone. She's there in the kindness that people pay forward, like the cherry blossoms that spread through the wind in spring. In Asaka and Hiroshi's gentle gazes, the touch of her best friend lingers, only two among the many that got a chance to experience love thanks to a certain girl.

And that's fine. She'll reach far away places, scattered into so many pieces that Aki will see her everywhere. In the wind and in the water, in the freshly fallen snow of winter as people huddle close together for warmth and survive each brand new day together.

"Hamburger steak in the morning? Mother, you're spoiling me." Aki grins as she sits at the table, hearing her mother's laughter spill like golden sunlight and warm honey. She breathes it all in, holding the feeling close to her chest to bolster her for what's to come next.

The first bite of her favorite tastes amazing on her tongue. For the next few minutes, she takes her time to savor her breakfast.

Reaching out to ruffle her hair, her mother crinkles her eyes at the corners. "It's a big day for you, isn't it?" There's a hint of worry in the lines of her face. "You'll call us if you need anything, right, Aki?"

Aki swallows, before she replies. "Yeah, I will." She understands why her mother is worried, but it's going to be fine. Taking one hand into hers, she presses her cheek against her mother's palm. She holds it there for a heartbeat before she lets go. "Thanks, Mom."

After finishing her meal, Aki heads out. Summer break is time to be outside, to complain about the heat as she breaks a twin popsicle and holds out the other half to a friend. But first, she has an agenda. At a certain waiting shed near an intersection, a tall and athletic girl and her bespectacled boyfriend wait. She mustn't take too long, a pep in her step as she passes by other people her age.

No one is alone today, people clustered in groups or pairs. Neither is Aki.

"Ready?" Asaka asks. She's grown even taller, if possible. One would almost think she didn't, since Hiroshi hit a growth spurt recently. The two of them stand at almost the same height, nowadays. "Our first stop's a flower shop, yeah?"

"Yeah." Aki pats her shoulder bag. "I've got the money for a good bouquet."

Hiroshi sighs. It's real weird to see her nerdy classmate out of school uniform. "What do you take us for, Aki-chan? We're pitching in, too." He nudges her shoulder gently. "It's got to be from all three of us."

Chuckling, Aki shakes her head. "About that…"

The bouquet is even more outrageous than the vase Aki once left on Koharu's desk. She had heeded her classmate's requests, but it results in an arrangement without any sense or cohesion to it. Only once she's chosen all of their suggestions does she pick anything out for herself. Violet, zinnia, white egret, forget-me-not.

As she lets Hiroshi pay at the cashier's, she caresses the petals, reminiscing on the year she's had.

"Our classmates can be pretty cool, huh?" Asaka murmurs, not expecting a reply. "Didn't think the class pres and treasurer saved up for this."

Aki laughs, shaking her head. "We couldn't have afforded the out-of-season flowers without their help."

"True, that. Though Mirai probably would have wanted us to be pickier." They both snatch a look at the riot of color between them, and snort. "Yeah, I thought not."

"Koharu would like this better," Aki says. Clumsy earnestness would catch her more than a curated image ever could - Koharu's always been sharper when it comes to understanding the subtleties of other's feelings.

A ridiculous bouquet with everyone's feelings smushed together?

She can imagine the reaction. The blushing, the stuttering, the flustered glimmer in those eyes that would have tempted Aki to tease her more. Or, well, kiss her. What face would Koharu make? She would never know, she could only guess.

A year later, and the torch she carries still hasn't died. It burns, slow and steady, a lighthouse in the dark for Aki to find her way back to.

It still stings sometimes, thinking these thoughts. The what-ifs, all those could-haves. But that's just how it is. You learn to grow around the empty space that someone leaves, you learn to make it a part of you. Maybe she could have timed her confession better, maybe she could have done it sooner.

But these are questions that aren't meant to be answered, and Koharu would fuss over her in the afterlife if she knew the circles that Aki's thoughts would run in - if there is any afterlife.

These are simply the truths that she's learned to live with.

They hit the convenience store next, leaving with cold barley tea, an assortment of snacks comprised of riceballs and shortcake and some of Koharu's favorites. It is a simple trek to the cemetery, afterwards.

Asaka brings the incense. They light three sticks up first.

"Hey, Koharu. I'm sorry I wasn't able to make it for your birthday," Aki begins. "Spring had been… Rough." She feels a weight fall upon her shoulder, Asaka's hand squeezing briefly, and smiles. "You don't have to worry, though. I can imagine the face you're making at me right now. Well, don't."

Her gaze flickers to Asaka, on her right. And then to Hiroshi, on her left. "Do you remember Asaka and Hiroshi? They're here with me, right now."

It's almost nostalgic to watch Hiroshi execute a perfect 90-degree bow. Didn't he bow like that last year, to thank Koharu? "Hello, Sakurada-san. We came with Tamaki-san today to talk to you and hang out. I hope that we're not intruding…"

That night, she dreams of Koharu. For once, there's no red petals fluttering in droves from her stomach and her mouth. Her mind has stopped trying to bargain; blood drips freely from the corner of that chin, spreads and unfurls like flowers in the fabric of that uniform. With how many times Aki has run the scene through in her head, this hardly fazes her.

"I like you," Aki says again, more than a year later since she first said those words. They still ring true. She doesn't know if there's an end to it. "I have, for a long time now."

Since middle school, or perhaps even earlier, she's been in love. It occurs to Aki that she'll love Koharu for far longer than they'll ever know each other. "You had no idea, but I could have said something instead of relying on your intuition. I'm sorry for teasing you about that." She laughs, warmth suffusing her cheeks. "But you were just so cute even when you had no idea."

Koharu takes a step closer. Aki meets her halfway, hand coming up to grasp hers. She entwines their fingers the way she's seen Asaka and Hiroshi do, draws her ever nearer.

"I think I was afraid," Aki confesses, lowering her lips by Koharu's ear. Despite the blood that flows ever on and on from Koharu's wound, the dream is kind and lets her cheeks and ears flush red like she never bled out on that afternoon back in 2019. "I'm a pretty lame and selfish person, Koharu. It didn't seem fair to put all that on you."

She watches those lips move. Even now, she can't guess at Koharu's last words.

So Aki doesn't try. She instead tilts Koharu's face up, drinks in her blushing cheeks and shining eyes. The blood on her lips tastes more like salty tears than copper, her shocked breath mingling with the sob half-caught in Aki's throat. It takes a moment, but shaking fingers reach up to tangle in her hair, far bolder than Koharu would have been.

Their first kiss happens in the land of dreams, where all the could-haves and what-ifs are allowed to flourish in a world much kinder than reality.

Tamaki Aki wakes up.

She rises with the sun, grabbing her paints and her brushes first thing in the morning, and gets right to work. And for the first time, the subject of her painting isn't Sakurada Koharu.

Author's Note:

The meanings of the flowers, according to hanakotoba:

white chrysanthemum - truth, but in this situation they were used for mourning/grief

white camellia - waiting

freesia - childish, immature

red spider lily - we will never meet again

yellow tulip - one-sided love

zinnia - loyalty

violet - honesty

white egret - known as sagiso in Japan, means I'll think of you even in my dreams

forget-me-not - true love

Anyway. I'm not sure if this will remain canon-compliant as more volumes of Love Bullet come out, since Inee-sensei might have more in store for Aki and Koharu. But I hope that you enjoyed, if you read through all the way to the end.

First posted on AO3 on November 13, 2024.

[dindjarindiaries]

Before You Know It

summary: Your best friend Javier returns from his venture to Colombia much different than how he left you.

pairing: javier peña x f!reader

warnings: alcohol abuse, mentions of violence, blood, and being a sexual object, personal trauma, angst, fluff

inspiration: part of this fic is loosely inspired by this brilliant work by @longitud-de-onda! thank you, love, for such a beautiful fic (that made me cry, mind you!). please check it out!

rating: R

word count: 4.868k

You place your hands on your hips as you sigh, looking around the vacant room. You’ve been helping your best friend, Javier, move his things out of his bedroom at the home he shares with his father, so his father can use the space for something more efficient while he’s away on his new job. Thinking of it makes your stomach turn unpleasantly, but nevertheless, you keep a strong face for Javier.

You feel a hand on your shoulder, and you look over to see Javier standing there with an expression of gratitude. “Thank you so much,” he says genuinely. “Your help made this a lot easier.”

“Hey, how could I not help get you out of here faster, Javi?” you joke, causing Javier to chuckle and shake his head in return. You observe his gaze to see the sheer excitement he’s feeling, and you wish you could feel the same thing for him—but, sadly, the thought of him going off to a foreign country to track down drug lords doesn’t sound very appealing to you.

You and Javier have been best friends ever since kindergarten. With neighboring desks and nervous feelings, you both started talking and clicked right away. Soon, you were barely spending a minute apart from each other. It helped that Javier’s house and farm was just a ten-minute bike ride down the road from yours. You shared everything with each other—answers to homework, life struggles, every single summer night—up through high school. He was like an extension of yourself, a foundation for the shaky life you had growing up. With an abundance of alcohol in the house and two very stubborn parents, fights were a daily occurrence, and Javier was always there to rescue you from the chaos. You knew the loss of his mother had deeply impacted him, and so you became his solace in the midst of his ever-present grief. You knew everything about each other, and that made it hurt like hell when the time came for you to part—just a bit farther than usual.

Javier decided to attend Texas A&M University-Kingsville, while you ambitiously went to University of Texas in Austin. You were a three-and-a-half-hour drive apart, a trip you each would’ve taken if either of you had a car. It was much different from the ten-minute bike trip down the road. Still, you stayed in touch with letters and spent your summers catching up on all you’d lost out on. After you’d both graduated, you moved back to Kingsville to figure out your life while Javier began training with the DEA—and now, some years later, he’s finally being positioned somewhere interesting in the field.

What you hadn’t expected from all of this was the way you’d feel about him. Javier was actually your first kiss, the result of a deal you’d made as eight-year-olds. You’d decided that, if you both hadn’t kissed anyone by the end of sixth grade, you’d kiss each other—just so you could tell your potential partners that you did have the experience. By the end of sixth grade, neither one of you had the experience under your belt yet, so you’d shared it with each other. And you know it sounds ridiculous, especially now as a grown woman, but that’s the exact moment you knew you had feelings for your best friend—but you didn’t have the courage to ruin your friendship.

So, you stayed silent. All those years. When you and Javier started dating other people, you tried to push those feelings away, putting them into the corners of your heart and attempting to drown them in other boys. But it never worked. You knew the truth, especially whenever you saw Javier with his girlfriends. You never told him, but you had cried at your senior prom when you saw him dancing with Lorraine, and you declined the offer to join him at an afterparty because you knew you’d have to see him get into a tent with her and do exactly what you wanted to do with him. But that was nothing compared to the day Javier showed you the ring he bought for her, and when you got their wedding invitation in the mail. It fucking hurt. Yet, you’d still comforted him all the same when Javier came to your house on his wedding day, telling you he couldn’t do it. You wanted to tell him the truth, but you couldn’t. Not when he was hurt.

And now, he’s leaving you—for fucking Medellín. Colombia. Much more than a simple ten-minute bike ride or three-and-a-half-hour car drive. You can’t even send letters, because Javier’s told you it’ll be pointless. The mail system sucks, and it’d take months until you’d hear from each other. So, it’s a bit difficult to share Javier’s excitement at going down to Colombia, especially with that painful feeling in your chest you’ve been carrying ever since the sixth grade.

Javier’s voice saying your name suddenly floods your hearing, and you turn quickly to see him staring at you. Some of the excitement in his gaze has subsided for concern as he studies your stiff nature. “You alright?”

“Yeah!” you assure him with a wave of your hand. “Just hungry, honestly.”

Javier smiles. “As always.” You scoff, punching his shoulder as he chuckles. “I’ll order some takeout, and then we can have a drink.”

You nod, liking the plan as you follow him out of the bedroom. Javier’s father’s still outside, utilizing every bit of daylight he can on the farm. You ask Javier if you should help, and he shakes his head, saying that he was given strict instructions not to let you lift a single finger on anything other than his own belongings. You laugh, accepting the can of beer Javier offers once he’s called for the delivery.

You hope the alcohol will blind some of the pain in your chest, but it doesn’t. You watch as Javier’s lips move, his dark gaze sparkling as he talks all about what he’s going to do in Colombia, all the work he’s done to get there—but you don’t hear anything. You try to engage, nodding your head and maintaining his eye contact, but you can’t process anything. He’s acting like leaving you is easy, like everything’s going to be great and you’re not going to suffer here alone in Kingsville at the teaching job you’ve just started—at the same grade school where you met him. Guilt fills you at this feeling: you’re supposed to be excited for your best friend and the dreams he’s achieving, but the pain of the loss is overbearing.

Javier finally notices this, and his lips slow as he puts down his beer and wraps his hand around yours. “Hey,” he starts softly, looking over from where he’s sitting beside you on the couch. “I know the whole distance and time spent apart thing’s gonna be hard.”

You bite your lip, trying to keep the tears away as you continue returning his look. “That’s an understatement.” You muster a chuckle, although nothing about this is amusing to you.

“But I won’t be there forever.” Javier lifts his brow, hoping to see some sort of change in you at his words. It works—your tense shoulders relax just a bit, causing him to smile. “And the minute I’m back in Kingsville, we’ll catch up. Alright?”

You nod, closing your eyes as you wearily rest your head on his flannel-covered shoulder. He releases your hand to wrap an arm around you, giving you a comforting side-hug as you sit there. When you finally sit back up, Javier’s giving you yet another reassuring smile.

“I’ll be back before you know it.”

Those words stick in your mind, allowing you to relax enough to hold a fun conversation over the takeout dinner and get you closer to the front door. You can barely get the goodbye out of your throat when the time comes, and you embrace him for at least a few minutes straight as you hide your face in his shoulder. You take that time to breathe in what you can—the feeling of his arms around you, his familiar and comforting scent, the sweet nothings he says into your ear to keep you calm. When you pull away, you hope to see some of the same love you feel in your heart reflected in his eyes—but all that’s there is excitement and slight sadness. With a sigh, you leave the house, and as soon as you’re in your car, the tears start falling. You cry the entire night.

Javier leaves on his flight the next morning. Half of you wanted to drive to the airport and tell him everything you’ve been holding back since sixth grade, and the more rational half of you told you to leave it. Who were you to give him a reason not to pursue his dreams? You knew how hard he’d worked to get to where he was, and as his best friend and secret lover, you would’ve hated to hold him back from that—no matter how painful it was.

It was years until you saw him again. Many years.

You’ve started to forget what he looks like. Are his eyes really that dark? What does he smell like again? Is his voice smooth or raspy? Everything’s getting lost in your mind as you overthink it all. Yet, you can never truly forget him. He’s still there, haunting you every day, driving you crazy in the waiting. You’ve still tried to date other people, but it never works out, and secretly you know why. You follow the news closely, seeing the horrors of Pablo Escobar and praying to God that Javier isn’t risking his life over that psychopath as much as you think he is. You have dinners with Javier’s father occasionally, asking if he’s heard from his son. He knows just as much as yourself. You’re then left with whatever memories of him you can remember, sitting alone in your apartment and never knowing when you can see him again.

So, when the knock comes at your apartment door one evening, you’re confused as to who the hell would be paying you a visit at nearly ten o’ clock at night. You open the door cautiously, your jaw practically dropped to the floor at what—or rather, who—you see.

“Javi?” you breathe, your tone coated in disbelief. He looks much different than he did all those years ago, having grown out a fitting mustache, exchanging his flannel for a fitted button-up t-shirt, and letting his hair get a bit messier than usual. He’s grown into a man—a man you’re still helplessly in love with.

Javier breathes your name in the same tone as you, his gaze floating up and down as he takes you in. Then, in a quick moment, he wraps his arms around you, causing you to smile as you rest your face in the leather jacket that covers his shoulder. His familiar scent comes back to you, but this time mixing with a new cologne and faint smoke. You stay there until Javier pulls away, his hands falling on your shoulders as he stares at you in disbelief. “You have no idea how happy I am to see you.” His voice sounds raspier than it used to, and you hate the way it makes your heart skip so easily. He observes you again, instinctively making your cheeks heat up at the attention he’s giving you. “Did you get more beautiful while I was gone?”

You scoff, giving his shoulder a light punch as he laughs a bit. He was always one to give you a compliment like that before, so you’ve already trained yourself to think nothing of it. “You haven’t changed a bit, Javi,” you say. Javier visibly tenses at your words, and that’s when you take in the true differences. His dark gaze is missing something—that sparkle of his isn’t there anymore—and there’s more wrinkles around his eyes and brow, along with permanent circles under his eyes. Evidently, he has changed, just not in a way you can easily uncover. “What brings you back?”

“I’m done in Medellín,” Javier explains, but you can tell that there’s more to it than he’s telling you. “I’ll be working here, now.” Your eyes widen in slight excitement, but you try to hide it, since you can tell that something about it is upsetting Javier greatly. He continues, “I told you the first thing I’d do when I got back is catch you up, so… here I am. And I… really needed to see you.”

Your heart practically breaks at the longing in Javier’s voice. Your concern for him has now grown tenfold as the darkness in his eyes starts taking over. You nod, placing a hand on his shoulder. “I’m glad you came, Javi. We can talk as much as you want to. Did you want to stay here, or—?”

“I was hoping we could go home,” Javier interjects, almost sounding timid at his request.

You immediately know what he’s talking about. Home is a hill further down the long stretch of road you and Javier grew up on. The hill is in a remote place with a flat top, offering views of many different city lights and lush nature. You’d called it home because it was the place you always went together—and, for you, it was the place where you’d fallen in love with him. So, you don’t hesitate to give him a nod when he suggests it. “Of course, Javi. I’ll grab some drinks and then I’ll drive.”

Javier nods, waiting at the doorframe as you head into the kitchen and take the six-pack of beers you just bought. You grab your keys on the way, figuring you won’t need a jacket in the warm Texas night as you lead the way down to your car. The drive starts out silent, but you break it by deciding to talk about your life first—hoping the rest can just be about Javier.

“It’s been the same old shit around here, Javi,” you inform him, pleased to get a chuckle out of him. “The kids at school, they remind me a lot of us sometimes.”

“Really?” Javier questions, revealing some amusement as he looks over at you.

“Yeah,” you agree with a giggle. “Especially the ones who won’t stop talking in the middle of class.”

Javier snorts. “That was always your fault.”

You scoff. “Excuse me? Weren’t you the one who felt the need to point out whenever Pauline started chewing on her pencil like a rabid dog every day?”

Javier offers a laugh—but it’s not like how it used to be, and upon hearing it, you feel your heart sink a bit into your stomach. “But was I the one who felt the need to talk about how disgusting it was?”

You shake your head, smiling a bit. “Well, anyway, it’s been good. I’ve just missed having you to talk to about the other crazy teachers and my weird next-door neighbor.”

Javier looks back to the windshield. “I’ve missed having you, too.” It almost sounds like he chokes on his words as his gaze shifts to the window beside him. “You have no idea.”

A pit grows in your stomach as you stop the car just below the hill, stepping out of the car and opening the door to the backseat. Javier grabs the beers for you, and you take the blanket you always keep there as you hike up the hill in silence. Once you reach the top, you feel a wave of nostalgia hit you, and you smile at the sight of the city lights in the distance. You lay out the blanket and invite Javier to sit on it beside you. He hands you a beer that you crack open, sighing and looking over at him. “So, how was Medellín?” you question. “Was it everything you dreamed it would be?”

Javier scoffs, taking a sip of the beer as his gaze stays glued to the city lights. “Everything and more.” The way he says the words is intensely sarcastic, and his gaze falls to the can in his hand as his forefinger and thumb play with the tab. He’s silent for a moment, and you’re not sure how to break it—or if you should. You give him the time to think, or at least show that he wants you to talk, but he soon breaks it himself. “It fucked me up.”

You frown upon hearing the words. “What the hell happened out there, Javi? I saw the news. I saw what Escobar was up to. What was it like for you?”

Javier takes a deep breath, taking another sip of the beer as if to drown his memories. “It was a shitshow.” He finally looks over at you, and your heart constricts at the sight of his darkened gaze. “People want to call me a hero, but… I’m not.” He lets out a strangled breath, his eyes facing the lights once again. “I’m about as much of a hero as Escobar himself.”

You nearly let out a whimper at his self-deprivation, placing your free hand on his shoulder. “I’m sure that’s not true, Javi,” you reassure him. He just shakes his head slowly. “Whatever you were doing, it was just your job—that’s nothing compared to Escobar’s terrorism.”

“You know what my mantra was down there?” Javier pauses, scoffing before he says the words. “‘Sometimes you gotta do bad things to catch bad people.’ Tell me that’s not fucking twisted.”

You shrug at him. “Escobar’s been doing some pretty fucked-up things himself. I’m sure you were—.”

“No, you don’t understand.” Javier lets the words slip in an urgent manner, his voice constricted as his grip around the beer can tightens. “You have no idea what I did out there.” He pauses, swallowing hard as he’s unable to look back over at you. “You would’ve hated me. You still might. I wasn’t the person you grew up with. I wasn’t the person my father raised me to be. I wasn’t…” Javier chokes on his words for a second, further breaking your heart before he continues, “… I wasn’t the person my mother was so sure I’d be.”

You resist the urge to cup his face in your hands right then and there and assure him that he is in fact the man you grew up with—the man you fell in love with—instead sitting there and offering your ears to him. “Why? What did you do, Javi?”

Silence. Javier takes another sip of his beer, holding it in both of his hands once he finishes. His thumbs run nervously along the sides of the metal can, and his eyes still refuse to leave the sights ahead of you. “I killed people.” The first words escape him in a ghostly murmur, leaving a chill to run through you. “I tortured some. I blackmailed many. I…” Javier bites his lip, and you feel the pit in your stomach only grow when you spot the moisture growing on the surface of his eyes, “… I practically fucking sold myself for information.”

You’re not sure what to say, so you take a sip of your drink, continuing to look over at Javier and show him you’re listening. When he still doesn’t talk, you try to ease him just a bit. “It can’t be as bad as the things the cartel was doing.”

Javier shakes his head. “It doesn’t matter. Because you know what?” He finally looks over at you, his self-hatred evident in his gaze. “You want to know why I’m back now?” You raise an eyebrow at him. “Because I got caught. I was working with Los Pepes. Fucking Los Pepes. A goddamn terrorist group.” Javier shakes his head, having to break himself away from your gaze again. “Who the hell even am I anymore? What the fuck did I let myself become?”

The brokenness in his voice is enough to make you want to break down into tears, but you stay strong for him, resting a comforting hand on his shoulder again. “That was a war you were dealing with down there, Javi. And wars take some seriously shitty circumstances to get a victory.” Javier scoffs at that, as if to agree with you. “You can’t beat yourself up for it. I’m sure many others around you had to do the same things.”

Javier shakes his head, closing his eyes for a long moment. When he reopens them, they’re even glossier than before. “No one else had to—because I did. I was the person they relied on to do the illegal shit.”

You grimace at his words. “Why would they put you in a position like that?”

“They didn’t.” Javier practically growls the words. “I did it to myself. The minute I fucked an informant and it proved effective, that was the only way to get shit done. When they let that slide, it just fueled everything else, and soon I was doing whatever shit I could get away with to get anything on Escobar.”

Your stomach drops at his words. You assume this is what he meant by “selling himself”—and you can tell the strategy has left a heavy toll on him. “How many informants did you have to see?”

Javier takes a deep breath. “Too many.” He shakes his head, biting his lip to keep his emotions in check before continuing. “I used them. And I let them use me. And I practically whored myself out all the time just for a goddamn crumb on a drug lord.” Javier’s eyes close, and his head falls as he takes a shaky breath. “Do you know how worthless that made me feel? All that intimate connection with absolutely no strings attached. My own bosses getting on my case if I hadn’t gotten information in a while. Depending on me to get a fuck in so they could keep chasing Escobar.”

His voice begins to break, and you see his chest attempting to heave back a breath. Your heart shatters in your chest, breaking beyond belief. “I felt like a piece of shit. And that’s probably what let me do everything else so easily. Who would care if I pulled a trigger? I was worthless, anyway—at least it wasn’t an actual decent human being doing it.” Javier looks back up, a tear managing to escape his eye as he tries to hide it from you. “And I hated myself for all of it. I still do.” He stifles a sob as he finishes. “I fucking hate myself.”

You can’t resist the urge anymore, and you set your drink beside you on the blanket as you take his face in your hands. You make him face you again, and you can see the other tears that have managed to make their way onto his cheeks. Your thumbs attempt to brush them away as you look at him seriously. “Don’t, Javi. You’re not any of the things you think you are. You were just put in a shitty situation with terrible circumstances—and you did what you could with it. You’re worth everything. What matters now is that you know it was wrong.” You catch another escaped tear with your thumb, hating the sight of him breaking so badly in front of you. “If you had to do it all again, would you?”

Javier blinks a few times before shaking his head. You give him an encouraging smile.

“Then that’s enough to prove that you’re not the man you think you are. You’ve grown from this. You reached a deep and dark place, and that happens. But to me, you’re still the same man I grew up with, the same man I’ve been waiting so long for.” You hesitate, wondering if you should finish the thought. At the sight of Javier’s utterly broken heart being placed so visibly on his sleeve, you can’t help yourself from offering the same kind of openness back to him. “You’re still the same man I fell in love with—a long, long time ago.”

Javier’s eyes soften at your words, but disbelief fills his expression. He swallows hard, almost looking confused. “Fell in love with?”

You give him a nod, anxiety creating a storm inside you as you run another thumb over his cheek. “Ever since the sixth grade.”

Javier sighs, his hands grabbing yours and gently removing them from his face. You panic for a moment, fearing that you’ve said too much and done exactly what you’ve feared you’d do for so long with this confession, but it subsides when he holds them both tenderly between his own. His gaze looks down at them but returns to you soon after. “You have no idea how badly I needed you there with me. I thought about you every day. Every damn day. And in those moments when I thought a trigger was gonna get pulled on me, I always saw your face—and I always regretted that I never told you the way I felt.” Javier sighs, giving your hands a squeeze. “Because I’ve loved you for so long. And I always tried to hide it, or at least deny it. Yet, inevitably, it followed me everywhere. It got me out of every single high school relationship. It tore me apart from that altar. It made me realize how much I needed you when I was giving everything to strangers in Medellín.” Javier shakes his head, looking at you with a furrowed brow. “But I don’t understand how you could possibly love me now. Not after all of that.”

You bite your lip in an attempt to keep your own emotions away, shaking your head back at him. “It’s because I know who you really are, Javi. I know the man I grew up with, the man who got on that plane to Colombia, and I still know the man who’s sitting in front of me now. I know that you can grow, and you can pick yourself back up from the worst of tumbles.” You free one of your hands from his to hold his cheek once again, feeling your heart soar as he leans desperately into your touch. “I know that I thought of you every day, too. That I lost sleep over your well-being. That whenever I saw what the hell Escobar was up to, I regretted not telling you how I felt—because I wasn’t sure if you’d even make it back here. And now I know that I’m going to help you keep growing from here.” You start leaning your face closer to Javier’s, waiting until you can feel his labored breathing on your face. You look deep into his dark eyes, the ones you fell in love with so long ago, and offer him a small smile. “Because I love you, Javier Peña, and you can’t make me stop so easily.”

Javier smiles back at you, and for the first time since you’d seen him again, you see that old sparkle come back in his gaze. “I love you too.” His voice is a hushed whisper, and he brushes his lips against yours. “More than you’ll ever know.”

With that, his lips press fully against yours, causing your heart to explode within your chest at the contact you’ve been waiting way too damn long for. The way his lips move against yours is so familiar and so right, making every moment you’ve waited more than worth it. You crave more of him, loving the way he takes you into his arms and pulls you closer to him. Yet, knowing it’s still an adjustment for him, you pull away from Javier much sooner than wanted, bringing your other hand up to hold both sides of his face once again. His dark eyes are still sparkling, and he finally starts to look as full of life as he did the day he left.

“Don’t worry, Javi,” you assure him in a soft murmur. “We’ll get the real you back before you know it.” You lean up to place a kiss on his forehead, seeing Javier smile even wider at you before he captures your lips in another breathtaking kiss.

[heejinnien]

j.hoseok | mama

word count: 1.3k

pairing: hoseok x reader

synopsis: what would happen if you were hoseok’s mother, and he was visiting you after your death.

genre: angst

warnings: implied major character death, cemetery

author’s note: this is the first piece in the wings anthology! this is the first fic where i’ve written following a character in the story rather than the reader, although it is still reader insert. it might make you sad. thank you to @fluffy-fluffu and @taegularities for being my amazing beta readers.

link to wings anthology

cross posted to ao3 here

Hoseok trudges up the worn path to the cemetery, shoulders hunched as if they carry the weight of the world.

He carries with him a bouquet of flowers, made out of your favorite ones. His feet have travelled this path enough times by now for him to be able to navigate it with his eyes closed, gravel crunching underfoot. The outside of the cemetery is protected by a wrought iron fence, the entrance a small, simple gate that squeaks as he pulls it open. As he navigates the cemetery, he travels farther and farther away from the entrance. Gravel gives way underfoot to dirt, twigs snapping as his path becomes one of that less travelled.

He kneels by the familiar gravestone, gently brushing aside a vine that has begun to creep up the stone, and tenderly sets the flowers down in front of it. They seem out of place, the only living soul in this place of death and decay besides himself. Soon, however, they too will join death, crumbling into the ground beneath them.

“Hi, Mom,” he whispers, voice cracking in despair. He quickly clears his throat. “I hope you like the flowers. I remember they were your favorite.”

His trembles, and he closes his eyes, focusing on his breathing. It’s been months since your death. It’s not always easy to visit you, the distance from Seoul to Gwangju no small length, especially amidst his busy schedule as an idol. Still, he tries to visit whenever he has a free moment, the rest of the boys understanding of it and even offering to drive him. This time, he decided to travel alone.

Hoseok opens his eyes once again, and smiles softly. “I thought it would get easier,” he admits. “After your death, I shut myself out from everyone around me.”

Memories of locking himself in his dark room flood back to him. He had kicked Jimin out of their shared room, forcing him to seek rest elsewhere, and remained locked inside for days, refusing to eat or drink. The concerned voices of his bandmates drifted through the door every now and then, asking him if he needed anything and offering their support, but he couldn’t bring himself to care about anything they said. Eventually, it had been Namjoon who had managed to bring him out of his grieving state.

The sound of the door opening faintly registered in the back of Hoseok’s mind, but he paid no attention to it. He figured it was one of the boys asking if he needed something again, and he couldn’t bear to face them in this state, so, he remained curled into a ball, facing the wall. The light from the hallway spilled into the room, illuminating the outline of a tall figure.

“Hoseok hyung,” Namjoon said gently. “You should eat something.”

Like many of the previous interactions, Hoseok didn’t respond, deigning to close his eyes in an effort to shut off the world around him. He heard Namjoon sigh softly, and then the sound of the door closing.

He rolled over, assuming his bandmate had gone. Instead, he was met with the sight of Namjoon dragging a chair over towards his bedside.

“Go away,” Hoseok croaked out. He was just tired, and it felt like a crushing weight had been added to his soul.

“Hoseok hyung,” Namjoon said, sitting and reaching for Hoseok’s hand, holding it tightly. Hoseok tugged at it, attempting to curl back into himself, but Namjoon held onto it firmly. “I know it’s been hard for you, but you have to take care of yourself. It’s what your mother would want.”

Hoseok stared at his bandmate, feeling as though he were teetering on the edge of breaking. Namjoon’s gaze softened, and his voice turned pleading.

“Please, hyung. Your sister has been calling us, worried about you, and you have all of us worried as well. I hate seeing you neglect yourself like this.”

At that, Hoseok felt himself crumble. He pulled on his hand again, trying to roll over before Namjoon could see his tears, but the leader held on. He held Hoseok against him as he sobbed, the latter feeling as though he had finally fallen off the precipice.

Afterwards, Namjoon convinced Hoseok to finally leave his room. He saw the glances his members exchanged and the way they looked at him, as if he were made of glass, and it made his stomach feel heavy. He wanted to retreat into his room once more, but instead he hid it behind a smile, reassuring them that he was okay and forcing himself to repeat it until it had almost become believable.

“I’ve always been grateful to my band members.”

Hoseok’s smiles wryly, a mixture of fondness for his members and the mind numbing grief that had consumed him the past few days pressing down upon his chest.

“I don’t know how I could’ve gotten through it without them.” He shifts his weight absentmindedly, sticks digging uncomfortably into his knees.

“I thought I would sing for you today, Mom.”

Hoseok pauses, the thought of his song adding a crushing weight to his already consuming grief. He shakes his head, forcing himself to continue for you.

“Time travel the year of 2006, crazy for dance.”

His voice pierces the still air, filled with melancholy. Without the upbeat track behind it, the heavy weight of the song crashes down upon him.

“Hey mama, now you can lean on me, I’ll always be by your side.”

Hoseok’s voice cracks, his grief crashing upon him like a tidal wave of sadness. Soon he is sobbing, tears running down his face uncontrollably. He forces himself to choke out the last of the refrain, the words leaving him no louder than a whisper as he feels his heart break with each one.

“Because you gave selflessly to me, because you were my support, hey mama, now you can believe in your son, you can smile.”

And Hoseok sobs, feeling as though his heart has been ripped open. He’s drowning in the sea of his wild, uncontrollable emotions, and he feels as though he’ll never swim again.

Faintly, he hears his name being called. He disregards it, too caught up in his agony to bring himself to care when he feels strong, warm arms wrapping themselves around him. He tries to pull away, but they hold on to him, pulling him close and hugging him tighter.

“It’s okay,” Jimin says consolingly, and soon the rest of BTS are around them, hugging Hoseok and holding the pieces of him together. They offer their silent solace, throwing him a lifeboat and carrying him until he is standing on his own again. He wipes away the last of his tears, giving them a small, heartbroken smile.

“Why are you guys here?” He chokes out, unable to believe the sight around him.

“We know your mother’s death has been hard on you, hyung,” Namjoon starts. “We knew you would never tell anyone, so we decided to come with you to make sure that you were okay.”

Hoseok’s heart swells, his eyes stinging with tears once again. He wipes at them furiously, letting out a dry laugh. “I’m pitiful, aren’t I.”

“No, hyung,” Jimin says, tightening his hold on Hoseok. “It’s okay to not be okay.”

Hoseok doesn’t realize that he’s begun to cry again until Taehyung reaches over, gently wiping a stray tear away. As he looks over each of his members, all he sees is the love and support reflected in their eyes.

“I love you guys,” Hoseok forces the words out past the huge clog that has formed in his throat, unable to express how grateful he is.

“We love you too, Jung Hoseok.”

[sohotthateveryonedied]

Talk Less, Smile More

Read here on AO3!

Summary:

Tim wakes up, a silent cry scraping up his throat.

He grapples for his neck, wheezing panicked gasps as he feels for the thick blood that should be painting his skin, the gash carved through his trachea. Instead, he finds the ridge of a scar and the soft collar of the shirt he wore to bed.

Cold gravel presses against Tim’s back, digging in through the kevlar padding as he lies on the rooftop. There isn’t much to see; there so rarely is when you live in a city ranked the seventh most polluted in the United States. There are so few stars above, but each twinkles its heart out as if they’re laughing at Tim’s misfortune down below. They watch him bleed out and titter as it happens. Time moves in little eternities bookended by larger ones, pockets of time that make no sense because, by all reason, Tim should have been dead hours ago. It certainly feels like he’s been here that long. Maybe this is just how it goes when you die. Your heart slows, beat by beat, and with it slows consciousness. Your thoughts become a dripping faucet, never quite knowing when to stop until fate says “fuck it” and twists off the handle. Tim is dying. He knows that for certain. What other option is there when you can’t breathe and are bleeding out faster than anyone can run to save you? Miraculously, there is no pain as Tim slowly chokes on his own blood; only the agonizing push and pull of lungs struggling for air they can’t reach. Tim is going to die here, all by himself on this damn bloodied rooftop. Who knows how long it will be until someone finds the body, if the rats don’t chew him down to the bone first. Maybe it’ll be a janitor. Maybe a suicide jumper will stumble upon Tim’s mangled corpse and be convinced not to do the deed, if only to spare themselves the humiliation of rotting alone on icy gravel.

Tears slip over Tim’s temples and catch in his bloodied hair. Will his family wonder what happened to him, or will they simply forget to check if their brother and son is still alive? How long will it take for them to realize that Tim hasn’t checked in? Days? Weeks? Ever? I did it for you, he would tell them if he had breath. All of you. For Bruce. I just wanted to bring our family back together. He just wanted to bring Bruce back. Instead he went and got himself killed. Tim can’t see how severe the damage is, but he knows it’s too deep to fix. It’s too deep to breathe, but Tim tries anyway because lungs are one of those things that refuses to give up, even when the rest of your body knows it’s a wasted effort. Tim gasps for air he can’t have, choking as blood spurts from the wound, spilling down his throat and pooling on his collarbone. He hovers on that precipice between life and death—a fish on a beach, a sailor between plank and shark-infested waters. He’s so sure of it that for a moment, he’s convinced that he hallucinates the shape swinging overhead. It’s his personal angel of death, come to collect. Then he blinks back the fog of self-grief, the misty tears clouding his vision. Because he would recognize Dick Grayson anywhere, batsuit or not. Tim opens his mouth and strains to make a noise, to scream, anything. But some invisible force holds him down and keeps his limbs from working. All he needs is one noise, and maybe this doesn’t have to be the end. Or if it does, then at least he’ll have his big brother to hold him as he goes. Dick, he mouths. Help me. But all that comes out are whooshes of air, grating against his mutilated throat and severed vocal cords. Tim is suffocating to death and help is so close, but so far away. Dick can’t hear him. No one will ever hear him again. Please, Dick, Tim silently wheezes as the shape gets farther and farther away. I’m scared. I don’t want to die. I don’t want to be alone anymore. The scene gets blurry as his eyelids droop without his consent, Dick’s image still prominent against the blackness, like he’s determined to tease Tim with rescue just out of reach. Tim’s chest jerks as he strains for air, his vision darkening at the edges, taking him away… Tim wakes up, a silent cry scraping up his throat. He grapples for his neck, wheezing panicked gasps as he feels for the thick blood that should be painting his skin, the gash carved through his trachea. Instead, he finds the ridge of a scar and the soft collar of the shirt he wore to bed. Tim releases a shaky breath. He’s drenched in sweat, sticky and making him shiver despite the sheets tangled around his legs. Trembling fingers touch his cheek and find salty wetness there, the remnants of tears he shed in his sleep. It’s fine, he tells himself. It was just a dream. A memory. You’re okay now. He hasn’t been okay in months. The only sound to be heard in the dark bedroom is Tim’s own harsh breathing. He runs a hand through his hair, scrubs away the tears. God. He should be past this by now, right? And yet he can’t escape the lingering image of nightmare and memory blurred together, combining to create a worse monster in his head. Before he knows what he’s doing, Tim is reaching for his cell phone and punching in the numbers, trying to pretend like there aren’t glass shards pushing their way through his lungs. Three rings. A click. “Tim?” Dick sounds exhausted, his voice thick with sleep. “It’s three in the morning.” Oh. Tim didn’t even think to check the time. Now he feels kind of bad for waking Dick up when the guy already gets so little sleep as it is. “What’s up?” It hasn’t occurred to Tim until now that he can’t exactly talk over the phone anymore. He keeps forgetting that part, keeps answering calls only to feel a rock settle in his stomach when he remembers that he can’t even say hello. He let instinct carry him tonight, drive him to do what he does every time he has a nightmare: call Dick. He hears the shifting of a mattress. “Did you have a nightmare?” Tim doesn’t say anything—can’t say anything, but there’s a sigh on the other end as Dick must take the shuddering breaths for what they are. Even voiceless, Dick knows him so well. “What can I do?” Good question. Swallowing thickly, Tim lowers his phone to the nightstand and knocks on the wood. Morse code. Talk. “Okay,” Dick says. Tim can almost hear the cogs in his brain clicking as he thinks. “Uh...want to hear about the last time Donna and I went out drinking?” He doesn’t wait for an answer and starts talking, rambles on about gay bars and something called a Long Island iced tea. Tim lies back down and puts Dick on speakerphone, letting his voice fill the room. Slowly, as Dick rambles, Tim’s heart begins to settle. His hands stop shaking, little by little. Breathing gets easier, less like he’s sucking in air through a pixie stick. He doesn’t know how he’ll ever get used to this, to the never-ending silence. Tim was comfortable being the quiet Robin compared to his predecessors, because at least then it was a conscious choice to adopt the same silent, brooding demeanor as his mentor. Just as often as he came in with a quip and a joke, Tim thought. He listened. He got good at the silence, at hearing what others missed and catching cues between words. Tim had a reason for his own silence, just as he had the power to drop the schtick in a second and go back to being Tim Drake. But now? Now the choice to be quiet has been made for him. And that is a fate worse than he ever could have bargained for.

[alottanothing]

Left to Ruin: Chapter Twelve

Summary: Nouke struggles with the broken heart Ahkmenrah left her with. When he shows up on her farm days later, she fights to keep him from breaking it further.  

Previous Chapters

Word Count: 7224

Warnings: SMUT Y’ALL. GOOEY, OH SO SOFT, SMUT. (18+ only), also brief mentions of blood and injuries

Tag List: @xmxisxforxmaybe​, @r-ahh-mi​, @theultraviolencefan​, @hah0106​, @rami-malek-trash​, @diasimar​, @sherlollydramoine​, @flipper-kisses​, @ivy-miranda-2390​, @txmel​, @sunkissedmikky​, @concentratedsassandcandy​, @babyalienfairy​, @edteche2​ (Let me know if I missed you, or if you would like to be added to the tag list)

A/N: @xmxisxforxmaybe​ gets an extra shout out for this chapter because this was the first time I’ve written explicit smut and she kept me from breaking down into a panic attack, while also giving me pointers. She’s a superb writing buddy and I love her. With that said, I did my best and I’m no longer cringing when I go back and read this, so that has to count for something right? Anyway, I hope you enjoy! Again, as a disclaimer, I am not an ancient Egyptian expert and google only knows so much. So yeah, I took so historical liberties while writing this to make my life easier, but tried to keep it as “authentic” as possible

Having her heart broken proved to be useful. With it left in such ruin, Nouke was never more dedicated to her chores; she poured all of her focus on the farm and the more arduous tasks that were often left abandoned—Nouke did anything to keep from thinking of the ache in her chest.  Plowing the soil from dawn to dusk helped distract from the gaping hole that her once sweet prince tore in her heart. She planted more of the land; fields that were left to weed since her father had passed were now ready to sew. When there was no more to be done in the fields, Nouke made repairs to the stables and wove baskets to store the surplus grain. That all worked for a while. 

Despite her efforts, the dull ache of heartbreak always crept through her resolve.

At first, all Nouke felt was deep-seated anger coupled with a sense of betrayal; it writhed and festered until it plagued every recent memory of him with a veil of black. The mere thought of her king set her fists into a ball and her teeth against each other—grinding with resentment.

But anger was exhausting to hold on to. By the second day, her discontent faded altogether, leaving only hurt. Even the shroud of darkness that tainted every memory of her friend disappeared when her anger subsided. The pharaoh had bewitched her—not in the latter moments they’d shared but in the ones long before his crown heavied his head. In those moments of play and adventure during their youth: every game, every story, every sweet smile he'd lent as a child had worked into her heart and refused to let go. 

His love never failed to trickle through every moment their eyes met, or how he always brought food to share when he knew she often went without. That love shone brightest the day he’d asked her to follow him throughout Egypt, and it was she who had taken that glimmer of fleeting hope and snuffed it out. He had offered her his world, and she denied him. The gods had presented her with almost every desire she had ever wanted—for a second time—and like a fool, she rejected their gift again. Surely the ache in her chest was penance for being too greedy.

On the third day, Nouke was certain she would carry the miserable heaviness in her heart forever.

It wasn’t until the fourth day that she actually missed him; missed his smile and his kindness. She missed his kiss and his gentle caresses; the way he drew his bottom lip between his teeth just before dazzling her with a grin. All of it was lost to her, and the notion made her laden heart too poignant to ease with distraction.

The only joy her spirit could cling to was the increasing wellness of her mother. Every day she ate a little more, walked a little farther, and smiled a little brighter. 

In those few days of anguish, Maketaten only asked once what it was that cast her daughter with such sorrow. Nouke could, at most, manage a frown and a shake of her head, but it was enough for her mother to know it was a broken heart that afflicted her daughter.

The fourth evening Nouke worked tirelessly, doing whatever she could to steal away the notion of missing the man who broke her heart. Her mother felt well enough to help with some of the easier chores around the farm, and while Nouke was grateful for her mother’s help and company, she feared that she was not particularly affable company in return. For days, words were too difficult an obstacle to maneuver without provoking a wave of tears, so she said nothing.

The quiet air of the stables was filled with her mother’s soft humming: lullabies Nouke recognized from her childhood. To a degree, the gentle melodies fostered a warmth her cold heart was desperate to find. Even the corners of her mouth quirked into a content smile finding enough ardor to hum along—an elusive moment of peace.

“Don’t work too much longer, my love,” her mother cautioned a time later as the sun sank below the horizon.

“I won’t, mother,” Nouke promised, struggling to hold a genuine smile longer than a second or two. “I’m just going to finish, then I’ll be up.”

Maketaten kissed her daughter's cheek before venturing out of the stable.

Nouke watched her fondly as she went; thankful to still have her. She would always be grateful to her king for giving back her mother’s health no matter how much he’d hurt her heart.

A bereft sigh worked through Nouke at the thought of the pharaoh; how much she missed him, and how much she hated that she missed him. All those years of forgetting—learning to live without him—were suddenly tainted. She wanted that ignorance back. 

Nouke let her mind roam as she finished her chores, searching for a memory that wasn’t somehow tethered to the man she loved. She held to thoughts of her mother and father, the few years their farm thrived and the three of them were genuinely happy—a time that seemed so long ago. She dwelled in the tranquility of those memories; recalling every sound and smell when they were new and exciting. For a moment, Nouke found peace there in the illusion of her past, wishing she could spend the rest of her days lost in that dream, until a hooded shadow appeared on the back wall of the stable jerking her back to reality.

She gasped as she turned with a jump, quickly reaching for the nearest tool to protect herself. Almost instantaneously her fear faded, exhaling a shaky breath as she found a pair of familiar, wide eyes locked with hers under a hooded robe. Her mouth felt suddenly dry, and her heart pounded as Ahkmenrah slid the cowl away before carding his fingers through his hair.

A different sort of fear worked over her, muscles growing tense to prepare for any more damage he could throw at her heart. Nouke watched him, watching her. He seemed frightened, almost lost, when his mouth hung open but no words came out. 

“Your majesty,” Nouke bid him with a bow, glad to have managed words before him—her tone cold.

The pharaoh winced, and pain twisted onto his frozen features hearing her icy bravado, causing him to hang his head shamefully. Nouke wanted so much to find satisfaction in hurting him, to do to him what he had to her, but the anguish tugging at his handsome features only made her feel worse.

It took him several minutes to build up the courage to approach with cautious strides, but he stopped a little more than an arm's length away, too afraid to come closer. Without a word he carefully removed the satchel slung around his torso and offered it, keeping his eyes fixated away from hers. 

“Fresh dates and figs—some of the sweetbreads we used to share as kids,” Ahkmenrah explained. “Medicines too, for your mother.”

A stitch came lose in her tightly bound façade when her eyes fell to the leather satchel before following the length of his arm to his face. He still wasn’t looking at her, but his grief was more real than the moon and all the stars in the heavens. Ahkmenrah was hurting too, just as much as she was.

“A peace offering,” he added, his tone almost pleading.

Several more of her stitch's burst, sensing the gravity of his own quiet misery. The look on his face and his listless posture was a mirror of how she had fared since leaving his chamber. Ahkmenrah had been carrying his hurt with him exactly as she had and the notion helped to combat some of her own despair.

With a hesitant gesture, Nouke took the bag, and when her errant glance caught the purple and yellow knuckles of his hand, dried with blood and split open, her brows creased with query. 

“What happened to your hand?” she asked gently, in an attempt to coax out the Ahkmenrah she knew and loved. The unspirited husk of a man before her was not the sweet prince her heart yearned to have.

Confusion flashed across his face as he studied the injury, eyes darting wildly over each wounded knuckle as though he had no recollection of its existence. He flexed his fingers and pain flickered throughout his features, prompting a quiet hiss to escape his lips.

When he offered no explanation, Nouke realized whatever had happened to cause the ugly bruise was enough to shake him.

“Go to the roof,” she instructed softly, suddenly overcome with the need to help. “I’ll bring a bowl of water and bandages. It’s the least I can do.”

A faint look of shock flashed in his eyes, as though he could not fathom her want to help him, then he nodded.

Ahk left as silently as he’d come and Nouke exhaled a deep breath like she’d been holding it, making her almost dizzy. The smarter thing would have been to take his offering and bid he leave her sight forever. However, every time she looked at him, her mind went blank and nothing in the world seemed as important as him.

It took minutes for her to calmly restitch the hole in her composure he’d split simply by being near. She would return to him one last time with her heart completely protected. It was safer that way. 

Nouke stalled for as long as she could, wanting to delay another evening of Ahkmenrah’s profoundly intimate glances; something she wasn’t sure her heart could weather. She checked once, twice, three times, that her chores were done before collecting as much courage as she could and gathered supplies to tend to Ahk's injuries. She ventured upstairs into the quiet living space finding it empty, her mother already asleep in the other room. Nouke emptied the satchel slung on her shoulder of the gifts inside and refilled it with rolled linen strips, a vial of medicinal honey, and a clay bowl.

Lastly, she grabbed the oil lamp from the table as well as a pitcher of water. It was a precarious task, balancing the lamp and the pitcher as she scaled each rung of the ladder with a single hand, but she managed it without starting a fire or spilling a drop.

Ahkmenrah was seated among the cushions and woven mats in the furthest corner of the flat roof. The sight caused her heart to flutter finding him so doleful and pensive while the wind swept through his curls as he looked out over his city.

He had broken her heart, but he would always have it.

The pharaoh stood in silent greeting when he noticed her, a woefulness dulling his usually crystalline eyes. 

“Sit,” Nouke told him, every manner of cold resolution gone from her tone; her stitches already threatening to pull loose.

Just as she feared, he watched her with reverence and a cautious intimacy that was almost too much to bear, though she did her best to ignore it, placing herself across from him. Nouke kept her eyes trained on the supplies she removed from the satchel, laying them before her in the dim light flickering from the oil lamp.

“Let me see,” she said gently, holding out her hand, waiting for him to take it.

He was hesitant, but he obeyed. Nouke mindfully studied the abrasions, still curious as to what had caused them. She filled the bowl with water and tore a small piece of linen. Ahkmenrah’s attentive eyes weighed lightly on her as she cleaned the cuts, gently scrubbing until the dried blood no longer stained his skin.

“So, are you going to tell me how this happened?” Nouke asked easily, glancing to hold his gaze only a moment before settling her focus back to his injury. Any glance longer would have a negative effect on the resolve she was fighting to keep tightly laced.

“Or would you like me to guess?” she added in a jesting tone before she could think better of it.

He mustered a slight smile, and a puff of air through his nostrils that was more or less a chuckle.

“I struck my brother,” he said finally, in a timbre that sounded as though he could hardly believe he could do such a thing.

“You did?” Nouke had never known him to be violent or lay force to anyone. Although, Kahmunrah did have that effect on people.

Ahkmenrah nodded, and his eyes fell back to where she continued to wash his bruised knuckles.

“He hurt Setshepsut,” he murmured.

Oh—Nouke had difficulty combating the twinge of jealousy that bit into her, and the influx of envy secured those stitches a little tighter. Of course he would fight for his wife.

With a sigh, she kicked that specific thought out of her mind. It didn’t matter who he did and did not fight for; he was a pharaoh and she was no one. He would always do as he pleased.

“But…” Ahk said, and Nouke could almost hear him sifting through his thoughts by the way he spoke. “I think that’s only part of the reason…”

All at once, his words were whimsical, almost breathless; as though he’d just stumbled upon some grand epiphany.

“What’s the other reason?” Nouke husked out, fighting back hope she knew was dangerous.

The moment his blue-gray eyes locked with hers, free of the grief that had resided in them all evening, hope planted itself far too deep in her to root out.

“You,” he said with enough conviction to make several of her emotional stitches tear.

“Every time I look at him, I remember what he did to you, and I’m overcome with...” his voice trailed off as his eyes glanced at his bruised hand.

Ahkmenrah swallowed and exhaled deeply before he found the nerve to continue, “What he did to my sister was finally enough to fight back, so I struck him. For her, and for you.”

Nouke bit her lip to keep from smiling. Her heart was yearning again, pulling free the strings of her control, wanting to jump out and embrace the king with enthuse. But her mind valiantly fought against her wistful heart. Nouke's focus remained on her task, the cuts clean and scabbed over, leaving only the marbled bruise across his knuckles. With another strip of linen, she dabbed each cut with the salve of medicinal honey to ensure they healed properly.

“What did your brother do to Set—er—the Queen?” Nouke asked in an attempt to feed her curiosity and deter the deepening desire in her heart.

“Set ran away.”

Nouke looked up to meet the pharaoh’s eyes, her features contorting with question and shock.

“She did?”

Ahk nodded, and a trace of sadness returned to his blue eyes.

“That was why I was not truly myself the night you came to me,” he explained.

He felt responsible, she could tell from the slouch in his shoulders and the downward curl on his lips. The pharaoh felt guilty and more of her stitches frayed seeing his sadness.

“Why did she run away?” Nouke asked, stopping her task a moment to listen.

“Because I was a fool. She miss took my words—reading them as though I intended to break a vow I made.”

“What vow?” Nouke’s heart was racing, feeling as though a crescendo was building with every word they spoke; surging them closer to some unknown divine manifestation.

His eyes were reverent on her again, smoldering in the dim glow of the burning lamplight.

“The vow that once I found a second wife, I would free her of our union—free us. That way, she could be with the soldier she loves, and I can be with—”

Me—she didn’t say it when his words trailed off again, but she felt the trajectory of the sentence and knew it had to be true. Nouke’s heart was pounding, fighting to rip the stitches that remained. Hastily she looked back to his hand and meticulously began winding his injury with fresh linen, counting her breaths to keep herself calm.

Joy rushed through her, but Nouke refused to let it surface until Ahkmenrah said the words outright. She needed to be sure. Pressure built in the silence between them, and she stalled as long as she could, twisting and tucking the fabric strips over his knuckles until all she could do was meet his gaze.

“I am so sorry, Nouke,” Ahkmenrah said with such profound sincerity, she could feel it in her bones. “The moment you asked for an explanation I should have told you—I should have fought.”

“Fight now,” Nouke demanded, breathless as her head started to spin.

Pressure continued to build with every beat that passed with silence, and for a brief moment, she feared he wouldn’t fight. Then, Nouke caught the twinkle of sparks in his eyes. It was a mix of awe and hope and he took both of her hands in his when he spoke.

“I have only felt joy—true joy—when I have been with you. Never have you been second to anyone. You, Nouke, are my only one. Now and forever.”

Nouke's breath caught on a gasp as the barrier protecting her heart frayed completely. Tears welled quickly, filling her eyes and blurring his handsome face; but she could still make out his sweet smile. Nouke prayed he wasn’t a mirage, a cruel trick from the desert sent to break her heart completely, but Ahk’s soft fingers brushed along her jaw. They wiped gently at the tears staining her face, reassuring her that he was no illusion.

“I gave you my heart years ago.” He leaned closer with every word. “It is yours from that moment, until my dying moment, and evermore. Should you want it.”

Tears were shining in his eyes too, overcome with what his own heart felt. 

His words rang like music in her ears; sweeter than any sound produced in song or with an instrument. Her reply was not with words—words were far too trivial. Actions spoke more profoundly than any utterance she could think up, and as a smile slowly unfurled across Nouke’s lips, she chose to show him exactly how his declaration made her feel.

Her tears of joy paved the way for her desire to blossom freely—her heart uncaged at last and filled to the brim with euphoria. In a series of lithe movements, Nouke moved into his lap, cradling his angular jaw, pulling his mouth to hers in a searing kiss while her legs wound around his waist.

The sudden intimacy took Ahk aback, his delighted shock manifesting in a low hum that vibrated from his chest and to his lips as she kissed him, his arms weaving around her. Nouke ran her tongue over his top lip, feeling the quirk of the pharaoh's smile as his mouth opened to capture it. His palms fanned open against her lower back, persuading her closer, drinking in every nuance of her kiss slowly, savoring every second of the intimate exchange.  

When they parted, their shaky breaths danced across each other's skin in heated puffs, radiating like the glow from a dull flame. The black of Ahk's eyes was blown wide, and his parted lips intensified his expression of lust and adoration. Nouke’s gaze only surrendered his to marvel at every angle and shadow of his face until she became transfixed with the succulent sheen of his kiss swollen lips.

The sight worked through to her core, and she couldn’t quell the need to draw the pad of her thumb over his full lips—an act of wonderment and praise. The notion those lips would forever be hers to kiss and admire prickled her flesh with goosebumps as passion spread through her like fire.

When Nouke kissed him again it was with zealous haste and a sensuous yearning. And yet, there was a trace of hesitance to the play of his mouth against hers—a caution that only made her more ravenous for him. It was in the still too chaste way he kissed her back that Nouke realized his fear. Before, she ran when his advances grew too brazen with desire, but the circumstances were different: it was finally okay to want him.

A wave of determination surged and Nouke parted their kiss so suddenly, Ahkmenrah’s dark eye shrunk with sobering fear and his hands fell away—abruptly over cautions. 

“What?” he whispered; eyes unblinking and earnest.

Nouke smiled, allaying some of his fear. Her heart was racing as she straddled his crisscrossed legs, rising above him enough to make a proper show of sliding her garment from her shoulders.

In a whisper of movement, the warn linen fell down her torso, pooling at the slight flare of her hips. Nouke gasped as the cool night air of the desert tingled over her bared skin causing her nipples to harden.

Ahkmenrah’s trained eyes never left hers, still too guarded to ogle her bared breasts, but his eyes smoldered once more into inky pools. The stars in the heavens glittered in their black mirror, and Nouke was certain the sky was never more beautiful than when it was reflected in his eyes. His breathing had all but stopped, his body completely still. Ahk swallowed, and the slow bob of his Adam's apple was somehow inherently a display of his own desire.

Without breaking their trance, Nouke found his hands with her own and laid them upon her naked flesh in an act of unbridled consent.

“Touch me, Ahk,” she murmured. “Please.”

She didn’t have to ask him twice. 

His eyes drifted with wonder to where his fingers began to map her skin; the gentle friction of his hands was like striking a match inside of her. Nouke was powerless to the fire of his touch as it blossomed and spread. She could think of no words eloquent enough to describe the sensation of Ahk’s soft fingers venturing to explore every bit of her flesh. How many times had she indulged in the fantasy before that moment? Nouke couldn’t recall, but the reality was so much more profound than she could have ever imagined.

She whined in the back of her throat when he tentatively brushed the sides of her breasts, his thumbs sweeping over her sensitive nipples. Every ounce of Ahkmenrah’s hesitation evaporated as he read the language of her body, and the sounds his caresses coaxed out from deep in her throat.

As their eyes met again, Nouke found only exuberant desire and a thoughtful adoration free of hesitation in her lover's eyes, causing affection to swell in her breast. The grin that twisted onto the pharaoh's lips was impish; dripping with enthusiasm and a possessive pride that drove through her very nerves in a wave of molten desire.

Ahk drew her against his chest, luring her into a bruising kiss that filled her eyes with stardust. The play of his mouth and tongue was hungry and strong; overwhelmingly intoxicating paired with the way his blunt nails bit into the flesh of her back as he pulled her impossibly closer. She purred invitingly when his mouth left her to lay wet kisses down her neck and the center of her chest. 

Nouke leaned into each nip—craving more and more of his lush ministrations. His mouth skirted along the globe of her breast, dragging his tongue over its curve before swirling the sensitive peak. She rejoiced the sensation with a sharp inhale, her body wantonly arching against him. Ahk’s responding growl reverberated through them both; a sound, deep and guttural, escaping into the air as he moved his focus to her other breast with the same fervor.

Nouke’s fingers tangled in his hair, tugging as she hugged his face against her chest. All manner of rational thought was rapidly clouding over with a fog of desire, allowing her the mind only a moment to ponder which felt better against her skin: the pharaoh’s teeth or his tongue. Regardless, Ahkmenrah’s mouth was divine wherever he sought to put it.

Gradually, his kisses ventured in an upward trajectory; nipping and sucking and licking all the way from the swell of her breast, across the rise of her collarbone until lingering at the hollow of her neck. The warm silk of his lips pressed against her pulse as he laved the single spot, suckling a possessive mark until he cajoled a soft, wanton whine from her.

Nouke could feel the curl of his smirk against her flesh before he smoothed the bruise he’d left with his tongue. His mouth worked to hers again, capturing it with the same possessive pride—his tongue flicking across her lips causing her mouth to fall open with a sigh.

Ahk broke away long enough to shed the servant's tunic he wore, yanking it over his head in a single, swift movement that did little in the way of hindering their pace. Nouke bit her lip to keep from smiling too foolishly as she drank in the sight before her; his lean torso and sculpted shoulders smattered with freckles. Her pharaoh was a vision so beguiling; his physicality alone sent heat rushing between her thighs.

Before she had eloquently taken in the play of the muscles in his arms, they came to wrap around her once more, squeezing her, and the newfound friction of their naked skin elicited a shared moan. Nouke's arousal was dripping; aching to feel him inside her for the first time. 

Ahk’s mouth moved against her’s as he masterfully cradled her waist and shifted them, laying Nouke amidst the nest of woven mats and cushions. He rocked back onto his haunches, eyes half-lidded and twinkling, as he drank in the sight of her with an open-mouthed expression of wonderment. Nouke did the same, propping herself on her elbows.

In the dull glow of the dying lamplight and the spill of Khonshu’s silver rays, her mighty pharaoh looked ethereal. The rise and fall of his proud chest, glittering with a light sheen of sweat, and the disheveled curls on his head were a sight she would hold forever.

Akhmenrah wet his lips as he crawled over her—the flash of his tongue utterly tantalizing. He buried his face in her neck, kissing the skin tenderly, the hot fan of his breath fostering a wave of goosebumps and she sighed. When he spoke, Nouke could feel the brush of his lips against her ear, and it made her toes curl.

“Will you allow me to worship you?” The base note of his voice dropped lower than usual, dripping sweet and sinfully and she almost moaned on account.

“Yes,” Nouke breathed out, one hand moving to tangle in his scalp, the other anchoring and digging into his shoulder as he laid across her. 

The grin that Ahk met her with was absolutely lascivious; an expression so affectionate and salacious, warmth rippled through her body with an impassioned tide, causing Nouke's toes to curl and her mouth to fall open with a sigh because of it.

The pharaoh wasted no time trailing his deft lips down the middle of her torso, tasting the stack of her ribs—kissing them each tenderly as he went. Even the dip of her waist he lavished delicately with enthuse as though every part of her flesh was the sweetest nectar. His hands moved in tandem: trailing to knead each breast and laying light scratches down her sides before pressing into the soft swell of her hips.

In the stillness of the air, Nouke was almost certain the rapid beat of her heart thrummed louder than a parade of drums when Ahkmenrah gathered fistfuls of the garment hiding her center. His eyes skated up to meet hers, asking silent permission and she responded with an anticipatory gasp, raising her hips so that he could slide the bunched fabric off, leaving her bare before him.

As Ahk knelt between her thighs, his eyes exploring every dip, curve and swell, heat rushed to color Nouke's cheeks. Never had her few, heedless rendezvous' made her feel as profoundly exposed as she did then. It was a new level of intimacy that made her both acutely nervous and overwhelmingly excited.

Even so, a thread of apprehension stitched into the features of Nouke’s face, suddenly aware that Ahkmenrah was a king, and accustomed to only the finest things. She was no glittering princess. She was just the servant girl who loved him with all of her heart.

An unbridled look of awe consumed the pharaoh’s features as his mouth drew into an affectionate grin, bottom lip caught between his teeth.

“I have traveled across Egypt and never looked upon such profound beauty,” he promised with enough conviction it was able to combat her blush, and her lips quirked into a grin of her own.

“Have you not seen yourself?” Nouke's eyes danced down his flawless torso, lingering on the hard line of him straining the fabric of his shendyt.

Ahk beamed all white teeth and full lips, sending butterflies to occupy her stomach.

“Your loveliness is beyond comparison," he assured her.

Her heart swelled and pounded rapidly as she held his gaze, her every breath long and slow. For all the apprehension she felt moments ago, all that remained was wanton need and affection.

His fingertips swept over the tops of her thighs—feather-light—as his wide smile softened into a gentle smirk.

“Lie back,” he instructed, gingerly urging her legs further apart. 

Nouke did as he asked, locking her eyes with the stars as she reminded herself to breathe—the sensation of Ahk’s hands brushing closer to her heated center so distracting to all of her senses.

Without warning, a single, thick finger drew a swift line threw her center and he hummed, pleased at how wet she already was.

The surprise and the teasing way he only just swept over the bundle of nerves hidden in her core inspired a surge of pleasure so grand it manifested in the form of a gasp Nouke was both unable and unwilling to smother. Ahkmenrah purred again, a satisfied and lewd note, rumbling from deep in his chest that, itself, strove to finish her.

Ahk had only begun to touch her where she’d longed to have him, and already her body was begging to accommodate him. The desperate need to passionately tangle herself with another soul—with Ahk—was more than just a heedless play of the flesh. Nouke surrendered to it, bliss encompassing her entire spirit.

An unabashed and playfully arrogant smile played on Ahk's beautiful lips when she risked a look his way. The sight of the pharaoh Ahkmenrah nestled between her legs, looking so pleased, fixated warm knots in her stomach. Teasing kisses burnished the skin of her thighs; each closer to the hidden part of her, making the knots pull tighter with the ache of anticipation. Nouke whined feeling his impish smile against her skin.

Before Nouke could utter a verbal complaint to protest his playful lips, Ahk dropped his mouth to her; drawing his tongue up and flat through the center of her folds, stopping to curl around the bud of her clit.

Nouke’s hips bucked to chase the sensation of his mouth, her head falling back as her eyes fluttered shut, a moan rumbling from her throat. 

"Oh...Ahk..."

Aptly, and without relinquishing his task, Ahkmenrah guided her legs to moar over his shoulders, her heels falling to dig into his back. A shudder shook her when the rush of his hot breath puffed against her quim, and the stars spinning in her eyes barely had time to settle before he swept his tongue through her silky folds a second time.

Ahkmenrah’s mouth worked her with all the confidence of a virile king—a notion that spurred a lusty haze to consume her— prompting his name to spill from her lips in awe and praise. Nouke welcomed the pleasure, letting every distinction of his ministrations kindle and feed the fire engulfing her. She willfully drowned in a bliss she had never known the like of before, wonderfully powerless to swim the current of his love.

Nouke arched to get closer, her body springing with abandon, brazen and greedy as she wove her fingers into his hair—tugging. Ahk stiffened his tongue, running it out to flick against her before sliding between her folds, avidly sampling the nectar within, and Nouke rolled unashamedly against his face. She was drawing tight around him, the beginning of the end finally in sight, and Ahk flicked against her in quick, delicate strokes until she keened and shuddered, yanking his hair.

Her hips swiveled again when his tongue brushed over the sensitive bundle, causing Nouke's vision to blur as that swollen bud became the focus of the pharaoh's ministrations. The heat pulsing through her began to coil tighter until she was tense and trembling—skirting the edge of her release. Every rapid hammer of her heart was muffled by every wanton moan that escaped upon every breath she took.

Ahk’s shoulders started to roll as his tongue slid and pressed and flitted to taste her, lapping up every ounce of her arousal with glee. He added a finger, then another, both hooking perfectly inside her causing Nouke's hips to buckle and her hands to tug his curls, finally tumbling over the peak of pleasure with a long moan.

All at once, Nouke’s breath caught as a flush spread across her chest. Her vision tunneled, graying the haze as he nipped the swollen bud, wrapping his lips around it and sucking as she came. She cried out, her body shaking, ears ringing, and wonderfully at the mercy of her climax. 

Ahkmenrah slowed to delicate sweeps, carrying her gently through every tremble of her orgasm until she laid still. He waited until her fluttering stopped, sweetly kissed the juncture of her thigh in parting, then rocked onto his haunches to suck his fingers into his mouth, groaning happily while licking his fingers and glistening lips clean of her essence—obviously pleased with himself.

She smirked seeing his playful arrogance, and she implored him to kiss her with the peak of her tongue wetting her lips. Ahk’s grin grew; the puckish quirk of his gorgeously plump lips enough to work another wave of want to pool low in her belly.

He moved up her torso slowly, laying kisses to every inch of bared flesh, each spark sent to refuel her fire. When his mouth found hers, there was a musty undertone coating his lips that she quickly realized was her self, and Nouke chased the new tang with her tongue and ample curiosity.

Ahk shifted his weight, pressing his body against hers, kindling a euphoric friction that coupled deliciously with his dominating kiss, stirring a moan to spill from her lips. The hard line of his cock pressed against her hip evoked the familiar heat of desire and urgency to build rapidly. All at once, Nouke was overcome with the primal need to have him buried deep inside her.

“Ahk?” she bit out on a heated breath, breaking their kiss as her fingers moved to fumble the waistline of his only remaining garment.

Ahkmenrah grinned as a shiver shook him from the feel of her eager fingers toying with the fabric. Tenderly, he tilted their foreheads together, locking his eyes with hers, and she almost gasped seeing the affection swirling amidst the colors of blue and gray.

“Are you ready for me, my love?” he asked in a low bravado that made her shiver.

His hand snaked down every curve of her body before sliding a digit through her wet folds, causing her to exhale sharply.

“Yes,” she husked out just before Akh’s deft finger dipped inside, curling and making her body shake. 

With a whine, she mourned it’s sudden loss while Ahkmenrah adjusted to make quick work of his shendyt. As he tossed the garment aside, Nouke took a moment to mentally thank all the gods responsible for creating someone as breathtakingly ethereal as her pharaoh—especially when she could marvel at all of his perfect assets properly.

Nouke half expected him to say something witty or charming when he returned her devilish grin, but instead, he surprised her by claiming her mouth, tenderly pulling her beneath him. In a swift, delicate thrust, he filled her, fixing them together as one being as her name tumbled from his lips in a guttural groan.

"Oh..fuck...you feel so good."

A shudder worked through her whole body as her legs wrapped around his waist, arms twining around his neck—relishing in the feel of him.

"So do you," Nouke gasped. The sensation was delightfully more profound than she previously thought possible. She savored every second, fearing the high would never truly be as grand as the initial time he sated her.

When her eyes fluttered open to share that moment with her magnificent king, his eyes were slits, his bottom lip caught between his teeth—the incarnation of pure ecstasy above her.

A slow undulation took to her hips, imploring him to move when he stayed still to savor her warmth around him as long as he could. Ahk hummed as she moved against him in search of friction, and he kissed her sweetly, carding his fingers through her hair.

"Make love to me, Ahkmenrah" she begged, rolling her pelvis against his, causing him to moan.

The pharaoh kissed her as he withdrew himself almost completely, then gently pushed back in teasingly slow, provoking a sigh past Nouke's lips. He set a firm, but unhurried rhythm that built the pleasurable pressure they were both starving for perfectly. 

Nouke’s hands drifted from their place around his neck, raking her nails along his sculpted shoulders and down the muscles of his back, digging into his flesh in a gambit to hold her pharaoh against her. She was hungry to feel every inch of his body grinding with her own. When his thick fingers twisted and tangled into her hair, tugging firmly to tilt her head back, exposing the column of her throat, she sighed only to moan as his lips blazed a trail of sloppy kisses down her neck.

Ahkmenrah smiled at the sound he stirred and suckled with a little more fervor as he went, leaving multiple marks of his affection over her pulse and along her collarbone. She whined when his hand left her hair and rediscovered the globe of her breast, the soft pad of his thumb dancing over her nipple. They tingled to a point, and Ahk made an approving sound low in his chest.

The stimulation of his capable lips and hands, while his hips thrust into her with slow intimacy, was altogether otherworldly. Ahkmenrah worked her body with masterful finesse, able to conjure any noise he pleased with skillful ease. And she was lost in it. He loved her; she could feel it in every tender push of himself into her. Every move he savored as much as she did—her heart was unimaginably full.

Nouke’s hands fell to the curve of his flexing ass, nails sinking into the firm muscle. Ahkmenrah’s moan carried into the air, sweet and wonderfully obscene against the quiet; and Nouke captured his lips with a hungry kiss to muffle it.

Her enthusiasm prompted his tender rolling movements to give way to sharp, shorter thrusts that were delightful. Nouke was close; every hurried thrust and kiss tightened the coil in her abdomen, and the strain on Ahk’s face told her he was teetering on the brink too.

With another thrust, she crested, back bowing, and the rush of blood in her ears muffled her own cries: his name breathless on her lips and tangled in a string of other deities. Ahk’s hands cradled her, twisting behind her back to carry her through every moment of utter euphoria. 

“I’ve got you, my love,” he murmured next to her ear—his voice low and smokey. “I’ve got you.”

His thrusts slowed to their previous gentle pace as she trembled and rode the rest of her release in his arms until she stilled. When her eyes opened, Ahk’s were on her’s, captivated. 

He was still unsatisfied inside her, heavy with need, but he laid just as still as she did, awe twinkling in his eyes. 

“Your turn,” Nouke husked out in a heated breath, her lips quirking into a smile as she traced his jaw with the tips of her fingers.

He smiled before they kissed, and she could feel his affection bursting from the meditative draw of his lips.

The roll of his hips gradually reached a frantic rhythm, desperate to find his own release as an animalistic sound rumbled past his lips when her textured walls tightened around him with every thrust.

Nouke’s devilish grin was hard to quell as she took in the sight of her king; the sheen of sweat glistening on his furrowed brow, lips swollen and wet, his eyes shut tight with concentration. Ahkmenrah had always been breathtaking, but seeing him wrapped in the throes of passion painted him in a new light that had her mouth watering.

Another wanton sound tumbled from his mouth when Nouke guided him close enough to draw her tongue over his Adam’s apple—suckling and teasing his neck to leave her own mark for the world to see. He shuddered, and his desperate thrusts grew even more erratic as she worked him to the peak of his passion every way she knew how.

Ahkmenrah came with her name spilling sloppily from his mouth in a flurry of sounds that swiftly molded into throaty moans. She felt him twitch inside her, a hot splash filling her with his seed, then he went still.

Nouke watched his half lidded eyes slowly drift to her while she gingerly toyed with the curls on his head, lulling him gradually back to reality.

“I love you,” he murmured, eyes sparkling down at her.

Nouke was certain her smile was absurd and telling of her affection. Her heart was pounding hearing him say those little words.

“And I, you. Now and forever.”

He matched her grin, kissing her once more, and maneuvered to lay next to her. Nouke fit herself to his form—he was warm in the cool air of night—resting her chin on his chest.

“Stay,” she begged gently, not wanting their time together to ever end.

He met her marveling eyes with a softness that wrapped around her heart and mended everything to have ever broken it.

"I wouldn’t dream of ruining this moment in any way.”

Tears threatened to prickle her eyes, but Nouke fought them. Instead, she kissed his chest and nestled herself there, where the thrumming sound of his heart could lull her to sleep as she hugged him to ensure he never again left her. 

Moment by moment, the weight of the world faded around them until all that remained was the weight of the other tethering them to reality. 

Next Chapter-> Chapter Thirteen: Love Over Duty

[itsclydebitches]

Volume 8 Trailer: Initial Reactions

This is incredibly short for a trailer. Aren’t RWBY’s usually about a minute and a half long? Will we be getting another? I literally only caught the last five minutes of the live stream so idk. 

Ruby is speaking very confidently about Salem’s plans. “Atlas is only Salem’s current target. She’s not hiding anymore,” etc. I mean yeah, this all seems obvious and easy deductions, but it’s just weird to give Ruby - who only found out about Salem a few months ago and spoke to her for one hot second (that we know of) - a more concrete sense of her plans than we, the omniscient audience, have gotten. 

That throne is wonderfully creepy (as is the music here). Where is this? Is Salem perhaps inside her whale? I’m digging the aesthetic. 

Actually it’s worth acknowledging that I’m happy with the tone overall. It still remains to be seen how this fits in with our clips, but at least the trailer is acknowledging the stakes here. 

“We need to warn them!” I get that now that Salem is actively attacking people it’s necessary to prepare others for that, immortality aside, but I still hate that we’ve jumped straight to ‘Telling the world is an unambiguously good thing!’ when literally everything we’ve seen in seven seasons has told us otherwise. 

Speaking of immortality is that like... a conflict at all? Because Volume 7 didn’t grapple with it and neither does this trailer. I think her being immortal is a pretty big factor in the ‘Do we stay or leave?’ debate/any plans they make to defend against her, but thus far Ruby and co. don’t seem to think so. 

We get a shot where the group is pulling out their weapons but Penny stands there looking confused. Another encounter with the Ace Ops? They’ve since recovered from their fight.  

We also see them standing over what is presumably Clover’s corpse. I’m gearing up for the fandom to crucify them if they don’t demonstrate an “appropriate” amount of grief. Something something see they’re inhuman and Team RWBY was right to betray them. 

I’m here for a Penny and Ruby hug though. Their relationship took such a dive last volume I’ll now accept any meaningful connection I can get. 

Okay, onto one of my biggest issues: so much of this trailer is repetition. We’ve seen the whale grimm arrive. We’ve seen the group go back to Pietro’s shop (and we know that either there’s nothing there to fight or they easily defeat what is there because the bike excitement comes next). We know the group is focused on helping Mantle whereas Ironwood is focused on helping the world. We’ve seen them get bikes. We’ve seen Penny’s eyes glow with the Maiden powers. None of this is new and that’s super disappointing. 99% of this is just rehashing what we knew from the end of Volume 7 or from the previous promo clips. With the exception of: 

Salem has the lamp. So she either took it from Cinder, Cinder rejoined her, or Neo betrayed her and took the lamp to Salem. She also doesn’t know how to use it and is presumably going to hunt down Ozpin(Oscar) with that bloodhound grimm. Depending on if Salem wants anything other than the lamp right now that’s an easy way to help protect Mantle: the group leaves and Salem will presumably follow. It’s a version of what I’ve said before regarding “If you care about the people and know that the evil witch only wants your magic relics/you, how about you actually leave via Atlas and draw her away?” 

Also, Ozpin is no longer “the one who can show me how.” Team RWBY + Qrow and Maria all know how to summon Jinn too. Potentially JNR as well if they were told that during the explanation scene we never saw. They’d better hope Salem doesn’t find out that at a minimum six other people know how to activate this relic, including a presumably defenseless old woman. Funny how taking information by force puts you in more danger, your friends in more danger, and makes the enemy’s job that much easier.

Salem also says that she has “questions” for Jinn, plural. That’s probably the most interesting development to me. What does she not know that she needs magic to gain? Will having only one question left hurt her plans? (Ugh, please don’t make this into a ‘It’s a good thing Ruby used a question to uncover all Ozpin’s trauma because that ended up saving the world!’ situation).

There’s nothing about Qrow or Ozpin’s return. Yes, I remain salty that arguably the most important character next to Ruby was dropped for the majority of two volumes and then doesn’t make an appearance in the trailer. 

All in all I’m feeling really... underwhelmed? As said, we’ve learned almost nothing new from this. With the exception of Salem there’s nothing in this trailer that makes me eager to understand what a clip means, or anxious to see the outcome of something. It’s just stuff we already know about (Penny’s eyes), generic stuff that’s meaningless without context (the Ace Ops standing at attention), or stuff that obviously has no weight (someone - potentially Yang - is chased by a dragon-y grimm. Will they survive??? Of course they’ll survive). If it weren’t for Salem holding the relic and revealing her need for it beyond it being one of the four pieces for summoning the gods, I’d say this trailer didn’t do any of the work a trailer is supposed to. So I guess kudos for giving us one thing to think about/look forward to? Everything else though is pretty tame for the volume where our heroes finally square off against their antagonist. This setup would be the end-game for most series (worrisome considering we know RT wants to continue much farther...) and the trailer is mostly showing repetition and grunt grimm. Can’t say it got my blood pumping.  

[sweets-r-cool]

Not the Right Birthday Present

Bakugo Katsuki x Reader

so- I think this would’ve been better if I didn’t get played by google bc when I clicked off of full screen all my work got reset at some point so it’s not as good bc I forgot what it said but yeah-

Warning: Angst

A birthday is supposed to be a happy day filled with presents, laughter, friends, sweets, and fun.

It took a certain kind of person to hate birthdays, and as much as Bakugo would say he hated how you and the extras that followed him around would make a huge deal out of his birthday, he couldn’t shake that stupid light and warm feeling that captured his chest.

The same one he would get every bright smile you’d send his way. The same one he got when you kissed his face more times than he could count, bouncing up and down as you gushed with excitement when he got down on one knee, asking you to be his for life. That same feeling he got when he pushed that gold ring onto your finger as you did the same to him. 

Looking back on it, you were generally the cause for that damn feeling that invaded his chest. Even Bakugo couldn’t stop himself from genuinely laughing as you wiped cake crumbs off your face after tripping as you tried and failed to cake him on the two of you’s wedding day. 

Birthdays were supposed to be filled with happiness, not grief, regret, confusion, and hurt. God, did it hurt.

All Bakugo felt now was the opposite. Heavy, like gravity had betrayed him as his footsteps were heavier than ever before. His whole body was fatigued from fighting against the strong pull that made him feel like he was going to fall into the ground. Hopeless and unmotivated, the ash blonde didn’t even want to get out of bed.

 Was there a point? 

You weren’t there to complain at him to make breakfast. You weren’t there to make breakfast yourself, not standing the kitchen in one of his shirts that covered your entire torso as well as a good part of your thighs. He wouldn’t be able to sneak up on you and hug you from behind, burying his nose in the crook of your neck, feeling your warmth and the stove.

Things were just cold. And empty.

Bakugo laid in bed, exhausted for so many reasons.

...

Things were so calm, so dark it was nearly impossible to see anything, even if you squinted. Part of the perks of a house just barely on the edge of the city, away from the blinding lights and the loud noises of bustling night life.

Things were quiet, save for your rhythmic breathing as your chest moved up and down.

Out of nowhere, you shot up, and so did Bakugo who was unable to sleep already due to a weird feeling in his chest. Not the warm one, but rather one that told him it wouldn’t be good to sleep right now, a sort of anxiety. 

You had shot up due to the fact things had changed in the matter of one (1) second. There was an explosion, followed by two (2) more and now things weren’t calm, or dark, or peaceful. 

Peeks of a dim orange light shone through the blinds that were previously closed. A groan naturally came from you as you moved to reach for the blue light shining from your phone as Bakugo looked through the window.

You sighed with a slightly laugh, “Hm, we really can’t rest. Huh, Bub?”

In a matter of ten (10) or even less minutes, you and Bakugo were suited up and in your cars.

Out of all the times, 3 am was when the villains chose to launch a large attack on the better part of the city. But, of course, because that was what villains were. Nothing but inconveniences until Bakugo beat the shit out of them and got them to a jail cell.

“So, what exactly is going on?” you asked Deku on a call connected to the Bluetooth of the car as Bakugo sped- definitely going over the speed limit, but it wasn’t like it mattered at the moment.

The green-haired hero had barely managed to explain before more explosions went off and the line went dead. You were worried, but there was no choice but to push it down, as you were already at the scene. 

It looked like the apocalypse. 

Fire was everywhere, cars crashed, building crumbled, there wasn’t a bit of glass in sight left unshattered. 

The causes were at the center of it all, all the chaos. Countless heroes were already injured, but those who weren’t passed out stood as best as they could against the villains.

You and Bakugo had your work cutout for you.

That didn’t stop from an animalistic grin working its way onto Bakugo’s face as he warmed up with a few smaller explosions. 

~

It was now late into the morning. No one was entirely sure what time it was, but the sun was visible making things a lot easier. The known villains had finally been apprehended, but the damage was done.

It was time to check for survivors, the worst part in most heroes opinion. It always left a sad feeling inside of them, knowing how many lives were not saved. There was still fire everywhere, and of course, there was still a chance of villains roaming around that hadn’t been discovered yet, no one was letting their guards down. 

You had been able to keep a relatively neutral expression this entire time, not an ounce of fear evident. Though, you knew it was simply because there Katsuki was beside you. 

Bakugo had felt the same way, only before he noticed one of the attacks getting way too close to taking your life, had you not narrowly dodged it.

The aura around you always made him feel like everything was gonna be okay, at least eventually. In his eyes, you were the meaning of resilience, always bouncing back from any situation. The ash blonde was trying to keep that in mind.

Being a hero was tough, everyone knew. 

After more deaths of those close to you than should have been normal, you were still fine. Still able to proceed with life as normal.

It was different at this moment.

You had flinched significantly when you realized there was a little girl trapped in a burning building. There was no doubt, the building was extremely unstable, and would crumble any minute. The gash going from your collarbone to your shoulder didn’t look good, so Bakugo immediately stepped up.

“I’ll go,” he stated, already on the way before you stopped him.

Time was running out quick, “No, I’ll go,” you said, pushing both hands on his chest as you looked directly in his eyes pleadingly.

“You’re injured, dumbass,” he scoffed, continuing despite you still trying to block him.

You sighed, pushing him harder, “I’m going, Katsuki,” you pressed, “You know that you’re sweating like hell right now, it’s not worth that risk.”

You moved off him when he stopped. He hated that you were right, he didn’t like this. Not at all. He wanted to do it.

You smiled, about to run off before Bakugo had caught your wrist in his larger hand. You turned, “Katsuki-”

He cut you off, “Just come back to me, alright?”

You nodded, “Of course, I have things planned for your birthday next week, but I can give you one of the presents early later,” you teased, smiling even as you parted, getting closer to the girl and farther from him as you entered the building immediately working on getting to her.

There was far too many things the both of you noticed that went unsaid. However, there were reasons they went unsaid. 

The reality of the situation was far from good, or even okay. It was worse than ever. You’d both known from the start a lot of people had died, and were going to die. But it was also that Bakugo had noticed the way you shook, as if you had been freezing.

It was fear.

You had noticed Bakugo’s quirk was overused, as well as the fact his arm was definitely broken.

Bakugo couldn’t have gone. It was simple as that. If he’d gone it would just be stupid, putting everyone at risk. He might not have been able to carry the girl, or his quirk- which again, was overused- could’ve gone haywire, setting off explosions. Though the latter wasn’t likely, it was still a risk that shouldn’t be taken.

Bakugo didn’t like the unsureness in your smile, and definitely not the way it completely faded from your face the moment you turned. 

It was because you knew that the building might not just crumble. 

It had been one minute since you had gone into the building, Bakugo knew because he was subconsciously counting. It had been one minute, and he was being dragged away from the building by three (3) other heroes.

Something felt feral in him, he snapped, “What- What the fuck are you bastards doing?!” 

“It’s not safe, Ground Zero Sir!” one of them shouted, struggling against Bakugo’s thrashing. 

“Of- fucking- course, it’s not, but I’ll be fine outside!” the blonde hero screamed, the heroes- despite outnumbering him- could only hold him down on the spot that was far enough they wouldn’t be fatally injured, but still too close to the range of which they could be hit by flying debris and injured pretty bad.

“What do you mean, Sir?” another one questioned, “that building could blow up, it’s an apartment building so there’s a chance of one of the water heaters exploding. That could kill anyone.”

The rest of the world seemed to numb for Bakugo. Everything always went quiet before the storm.

Bakugo had to watch as the building exploded just like the other heroes had said. 

Bakugo had to watch as the event that most likely costed him the love of his live’s life unfolded in front of him.

He had to watch as all his light in the world shrived to nothing but ash and debris. A part of him still had hope despite the burning hole in his being. 

Bakugo tugged himself out of the heroes’ grasps, running towards the pile of broken concrete. Your quirk should’ve saved you somehow. In some way, it did something. That was probably what happened, right?

Bakugo’s being was shaking as he dug, pushing chunks of broken walls off. He had no idea where you were, but he’d find you. Finally, the blonde saw a piece of your costume, he moved more debris until he was able to uncover your limp body.

You were already gone.

Bakugo hand quivered as he moved hair out of your face. “Y-Y/n...” things were getting blurry, “Y/n, wake up,” the blonde pleaded. 

This couldn’t be happening. This was some cruel joke you were pulling to get back at him for something he did, probably. 

Bakugo’s breath was quickening in an unhealthy fashion, “W-Wake up, you damn-” it was like bitter weights filled Bakugo’s mouth as he lacked the ability to think about anything other than your name. “Y/n?!” he began to shake you a little.

You had so much more stuff left to do. So much to do together. Bakugo’s jaw clenched as he held you closer to him. His breath hitched, it felt like he was being stabbed in the stomach repeatedly. 

This couldn’t be real. It couldn’t be.

This was some cruel joke. Maybe even a dream. He really wanted it to be.

...

Bakugo woke up. He was sweating and his lungs hurt, he was breathing quick but he refused to open his eyes.

He didn’t want to take in reality. He might’ve been forced to do that if he did open his eyes.

A feathery touch to his cheek made him flinch. Prying his eyes open as he was unable to understand what was going on this very moment. “Hey, Bub,” your soft, just over a whisper voice cooed, “It’s your birthday!” you giggled, sitting upright on the bed besides him.

Bakugo felt the warmth invade his chest, only slightly this time as you continued, “I know you don’t want to wake up right now, but Mina, and the boys will be over later in the morning.” You glowed, your cheeks slightly flushed from how happy you were for a birthday that wasn’t even yours as you continued to rake your hands through Bakugo’s ash blonde locks.

Bakugo grunted when he felt his lips turn upwards. Not wanting you to see, he moved to bury his head in your lap, eliciting a giggle from you, as you continued to stroke his hair.

When he wrapped his arms around you somehow despite the position your were in, you scoffed playfully. “I woke you up for a reason, silly,” you admitted, ignoring Bakugo’s grunt of protest when you began to move to get up, “Please, Bub? I wanted to show you something before I go,” you pleaded.

Begrudgingly, Bakugo let you go and only after a second or two that you got up, he did too, following you to the piano. He scoffed with a smirk, crossing his arms as he leaned on the wall nearby. That piano was something you bought completely out of impulse, promising you’d learn, but the only thing you did learn was Hot Cross Buns. It was more like furniture to look at, only there for the aesthetic but never actually played.

You tucked a piece of hair behind your ear as you positioned yourself to play.

Bakugo thought you looked angelic at that moment, but he was sure that the sounds you were about to make weren’t.

However, the ash blonde stood corrected as you played ‘Happy Birthday’ in a tune that wasn’t simple, but rather more than just the basic keys involved. Some of the noted dragged in to each other in a nice harmony, while some of the others were short and quick but worked perfectly nonetheless. The sound was actually elegant, light, and beautiful, some more words Bakugo would be able to describe you with, even if he didn’t say it.

Your voice- also light and airy- worked well with the piano, maybe you could’ve been a singer if you tried that route instead of becoming a hero.

It was now that Bakugo realized, you simply were his light. You didn’t just cause him to feel that light and warm feeling, it was that you lit his life up and gave it warmth.

It was when the song came to a close, Bakugo felt something was off.

“Happy Birthday, my love,” was all he heard before everything went dark. Bakugo, was most definitely awake. So, why did it go dark?

An overwhelming feeling of dread filled Bakugo to the core.

It was freezing, as he had already broken into a cold sweat. He was nauseous.

Bakugo reached around for a light switch, his pupils dilating smaller when he was blinded by the artificial lights in the ceiling.

He caught sight of the clock on the wall.

3 am.

It mocked him, being awake at this hour for no reason at all.

Bakugo dragged himself to bed, dropping onto it without bothering to pull the blankets up despite his cold body.

He shut his eyes.

...

This time the ash blonde was woken up by a series of loud knocks. Strangely, the knocks were not from his front door, but rather right outside his bedroom door. Bakugo groaned, reaching around the bed for warmth, the blanket had fallen somewhere too far for him to find without opening his eyes, so his next source of warmth would be you.

Sleep weighed down his eyes just as much as his mind. He reached so far across the bed he only reached the other edge of it. You weren’t there.

Not anymore.

The thought sent Bakugo’s eyes opening in panic. Where were you? Why weren’t you there?

Another pang of pain went through his chest at the realization. 

You weren’t ever gonna be there, never again. You were cold, flashes of your lifeless e/c eyes appeared in Bakugo’s brain, hitting him with a wave of nausea. A strangled sob came from the ash blonde’s throat as fresh tears began to fall from his crimson eyes. 

He was never going to hold you in his arms, he was never going to eat your sometimes shitty food, he was never going to see you again. Bakugo would never feel that same warm and light feeling again.

He couldn’t breath. It felt like bile was scratching up the inside of his throat. The knocks had stopped, most likely after the loud sobs filled the room. Instead, it slowly opened, revealing Kirishima with a deep frown on his face. 

He got inside the house with a spare key you’d given him, but he tried to give Bakugo at least a little bit of space by knocking. It was clear he wouldn’t be able to do that.

The words that left Kirishima’s mouth in a sad attempt to get his usually standoffish best friend to stop crying went unheard by the blond who had his face buried in his face.

The rest of the Bakusquad- now turned into the ‘take care of Bakugo squad,’ was waiting in the living room, a solemn atmosphere weighed down on them as they were forced to listen to yet another round of sobs from their normally angry dead friend.

It had been a full week since you died, and Bakugo still felt in denial when he dreamed of you. It was his only peaceful time. He had barely eaten any of the food the Bakusquad had brought him, but it was enough to keep him alive.

They all knew in the back of their minds that Bakugo hadn’t known it’d been a week. He was on an emotionless autopilot when he was crying. Not only did your death hurt the Bakusquad horribly, but the state it left on of their other friends in. He wasn’t even himself anymore without you, just a mere shell.

Kirishima sighed, he was gonna save his birthday surprise until he felt a little bit better, or at least until Bakugo stopped sobbing, but the redhead couldn’t see when that would be.

He unlocked Bakugo’s phone, knowing the password because of you, and pulled up a video from a hidden file. Bakugo didn’t spend enough time on his phone for him to notice a file he never made.

Bakugo was still crying when he heard your voice, the fact he’d never hear it again made him confused. Then he realized it was the video on his phone.

Bakugo shut himself up upon hearing you, still crying, just quiet.

“Okay!” you grinned at the camera, a smirk on your face. “It’s currently... March 29...?” you questioned, checking your phone for confirmation and nodding when you knew you were correct.

You continued, looking back up, “Today is day one (1) of learning piano for my dear Katsu!” you grinned, a ghost of a smile prodded at Bakugo’s mouth, but it never showed, “He got mad when i bought the piano out of impulse- so I’m learning so he’ll owe me like a million kisses!” you proudly proclaimed, eyes sparkling, so different from the last image of them, forever burned in Bakugo’s brain. 

You stretched, “I guess I should be talking to the camera like I talk to you, so- uh- I’ll do that?” you giggled, “Okay! Back to the task at hand! I want to learn a bunch of songs eventually but for now I’ll focus on Happy Birthday and maybe your favorite song?”

Watching you do all this made the tears run dry, you really wanted Bakugo to be happy on his Birthday. 

Bakugo’s red eyes remained glued to the screen before the last part, “I know it’s not your birthday right now, but that’s when you’ll be seeing this. So, Happy Birthday, my love!” you beamed. 

You’d done all this, spent all that time learning piano for him and yet you never got to play it for him in real life.

Flashes of last night came pouring back in. Was it a dream? That same single phrase echoed in his mind like a mantra, “Happy Birthday, my love.” That was what you said to him in the dream- or was it real life?

Bakugo couldn’t tell.

He as much as he wanted to be happy on his birthday like you’d wanted, he just couldn’t do it. Not when the only thing he really wanted was for you to be alive. Not when he just wanted you to be okay. Now you weren’t, Bakugo wasn’t okay.

He wasn’t sure he ever would be.

Was it so much to ask for you to be with him on his birthday? He didn’t even want cake or present. Everything would’ve meant nothing to him if you were here. You were his world, his everything. Now without you, there was nothing but gray.

You were gone, and that left Bakugo broken, empty, and cold.

[geekns]

last night’s breakdown or...spectrum confessions

So i just wanted to saying something about the meltdown that some of you might have noticed last night (i know a couple of you did, though i think i managed to keep most of it under wraps).

I have a medical condition. It causes me to feel anxious and depressed. Constantly. To varying degrees. I take medication for it. I’ve tried to learn how to manage it. I try to hide it because the general public does not understand this condition. Furthermore, i don’t want to share the underlying trauma with anyone and everyone. I want to come across as a functioning adult as much as possible.

So even while I have spent fifteen years learning how to forgive the people who hurt me. And something like six months in therapy. And around two years being medicated...I still have occasional breakdowns.

Sometimes i still have a night where everything that i’m trying to keep copacetic, and acknowledged but not given free reign, takes over. It refuses to be medicated or meditated or prayed into compliance. It takes over me and pours out of me whether i want it or not. Suddenly i am not functioning, i am sobbing uncontrollably, and terrified, and feel guilty, and unloved, and imprisoned. And in those moments i want nothing more than to die. A part of me does not even trust myself not to harm myself. I want to be held (but am always alone). I want to protected (but never am). I am normally the person who takes care of others, no one ever takes care of me.

And i feel physically sick. Nausea, a headache, and body aches. Full body grief. Last night i was seeing flashing lights behind my eyelids as if i was having a seizure or on a bad trip. And the panic: the panic is in control, I cannot think straight. Even if i tell myself positive things, or try to use strategies for calming down, try to quiet my raging thoughts, the panic has free reign. It is in full control. And the only thing i can do is curl up in bed hugging my stuffed animal, clutching my blanket, waiting for it to end. And it won’t end until after I’ve slept it off. And I can’t sleep because I’m in fight or flight mode.

Maybe I should do some kickboxing when I get like this.

I’m going to confess, it was probably the worst it’s been in years last night. I was even trying to go to my safe place, and was kind of getting there (i usually can’t do my best safe place visualizing anymore, i think it’s the meds), but the person who normally talks me down from these things was not feeling safe last night. (His likeness was part of the reason i was freaking out tbh.) But even though i didn’t really want him there he didn’t go away, he stayed with me until i fell asleep.

I have imaginary friends sort of. Apparently they’re called tulpa? Though i don’t create or really control them, they just show up fully formed. Mostly when i’m panicking or worried. Whenever i need to talk things through that i have no one to talk to. The thing is, they always wear the likeness of real people, usually celebrities that play characters i strongly identify with. I used to get advice from Picard and Gandalf and Archer for instance. All of us sitting around a campfire on a beach. They’re always men, i don’t know why. (Hmm maybe that goes to daimons?) 

For example: one time i was on a train in Japan, underground, and a drunk man started yelling at two women halfway down the car. And i had a panic attack. And suddenly i was visualizing Twelve/PC talking me down from it, telling me to breathe, that i was safe, etc. Distracting me from the danger. (Two things: i read a story about him talking another fan down from a panic attack outside a convention later. And another male passenger escorted the drunk off the train at the next stop, but i was still panicking for a while. I still had to change trains and it would take me another hour to get home for the night.)

So part of the thing is that the thoughts i usually keep under control, don’t allow myself to dwell on, acknowledge but keep muted with optimism, become deafening and take over when this happens. I think way back when it would be 1-2 times a month, then 1-2 times a quarter, and now it’s 1-2 times a year, but it still happens. I used to just let all of the darkness come pouring out, usually through writing. I’m always alone. And i suppose it’s cathartic, but it’s horrific while it’s happening. I don’t recognize myself, the girl who never gives up and is always glass is 100% full. I don’t want to let others see it even as i’m desperate to be loved and held and accepted as i am.

It’s hard to explain.

When i wake up the next morning the darkness is gone. It’s quiet again, and i feel “normal” (normal for me). It’s hold is gone. Now i always live with a baseline amount of anxiety and depression, even while medicated. If i take too much medication i can’t sleep (i’m already an insomniac, i don’t need drugs making it worse) and so i can’t feel any sexual arousal at all...it really bothers me. It’s hard enough for me to become properly aroused without suppressing it entirely. I generally have to fantasize about something very specific (which let me tell you, the majority of you wouldn’t find to be sexy at all).

When i first went on the meds i spent months where i didn’t feel anything (other than that i was suddenly very chatty and animated in a completely uncharacteristic way) and i hated it. My mom doesn’t understand, doesn’t see repressed sexuality as a downside when i’m not married.

Re: asexuality. My grandma was on the spectrum (we always joke she had sex at least four times...resulting in four kids) and my mother probably is, too. I have had two short-lived dating relationships in which my only sexual desire was to satisfy my partner really. I don’t enjoy kissing. I do have a libido that’s greater than either my mother or grandma’s...but like i said, it’s fucked up and not initiated by any of the conventional methods. Kissing doesn’t make me feel like getting down, for instance. At least in my (so far limited) experience. I keep hoping that i’m actually demi and just need to meet the right person to make this a little bit easier for me. But it will probably just be something i have to work through for the rest of my life. 

Perhaps i should stipulate that I want to want to have sex. And when i do want to have sex i am always alone. And when i am with someone else the things that attract me are just odd. Being read aloud to, or talked to about nerdy things, got me farther than anything else. But it’s not the content so much as the mind that’s behind what’s being expressed.

I am certainly no expert on this subject. My therapist had never heard of demisexuality and had no input on asexuality. In other words, they were absolutely no help when it came to working through these issues, which is where I wanted to go (partially because i feel it may be tied in with my PTSD and is being repressed by fear).

Five types of attraction:

Romantic attraction: desiring a romantic relationship with someone

Aesthetic attraction: being attracted to someone based on how they look

Sensual or physical attraction: wanting to touch, hold, or cuddle someone

Platonic attraction: wanting to be friends with someone

Emotional attraction: wanting an emotional connection with someone

Most of my attraction is towards fictional characters (and to a varying extent the actors who play them). Both of my RL partners would only be physically expressive in private. They wouldn’t touch me in public. Or even in private spaces with others present. There was one i didn’t really know all that well and another who had hidden a lot from me up to that point even though he claimed he didn’t believe in hiding things from the person you’re dating. And we would be physical in private to varying degrees but i was left feeling largely unfulfilled. I kind of struggle with these definitions. Both of the guys I dated i had zero aesthetic attraction to but did have physical attraction to whereas they only wanted to express themselves sexually.

I strongly desire having a romantic relationship with someone but have for a very long time only had romantic attraction for fictional characters. I fairly recently had a physical and romantic attraction to someone for the first time, at first based on sapiosexual attraction that later became aesthetic attraction (why is there no listed attraction for this? I am usually attracted to people’s minds first).

I have very strong aesthetic attraction to certain actors...and this is a large part of the reason that i know i’m bi. But it isn’t only aesthetic for really strong attraction because i am sapiosexual and also strongly attracted to damaged, often misunderstood, people/characters. Case in point: Loki and Missy. In these cases i have strong physical attraction but not sexual attraction. I cannot fathom having sex with most characters or actors or people I meet in RL. I sometimes wonder what casual sex would be like but know that i could never...

I can only remember kissing someone (also a character) in a dream once and immediately put a stop to it, not because i wasn’t attracted to that person, but because they were unavailable in my mind. They were part of an OTP that i was not in. So there’s a strong romantic component for me.

Sensual or physical attraction is actually something I fantasize about a lot but have never experienced...outside of one platonic relationship. I had a friend when I lived in Japan who I wasn’t even particularly close to. But right away she would ask me if she could lean on me, lay against my lap, later link arms with. I can’t remember if we ever held hands. She was Chinese, and for an Asian girl this is very normal to do with platonic friends. Koreans call this “skin sisters.”

It was really weird for me because my own sisters don’t even want to do those sorts of things with me. I sometimes want to lean against my mother but most of my sisters would punch me rather than let me touch them affectionately. My youngest sister, once I came back from Japan, had reached a point where she was bolder and will goose, grope, grab, poke, pinch, try to pop my toes...it’s very disconcerting. She does things to me in front of others that i consider to be more sexual than platonic. Possibly because my only frame of reference is my father doing the same to my mother. She’s the only sister who will sometimes lean against me. But that was only after this friendship in Japan that was more physical than any of my “romantic” but-definitely-not-romantic partners. No kissing, but the sort of physical expression that i most long for.

Platonic attraction is rare for me. Extremely rare. Any platonic relationship i have pursued has always inevitably ended with spectacular heartbreak. In high school i was always on the outside. One platonic friendship ended dramatically (she had been hiding things from me, which is fine, but it ended badly and she moved away suddenly). Another platonic relationship fizzled because she was my best friend but i was just another friend for her. And whenever this happens to me, i am the friend that all plans will be cancelled with because the other friends have preference. And there was no big break there, i was old enough to not be heartbroken by it as i had by earlier examples of this. We still converse on FB and i am the person she came to first when she accidentally got pregnant in college. Have i mentioned that i’m the should people come to when they need emotional support? I’m a good listener and not judgmental and know when to give advice and when to stay mum.

Which brings me to spiritual attraction. We aren’t merely physical or mental beings. There is something else there. And my empathy, my spiritual center...there are times that i know things that i have no logical business knowing. I don’t always understand it, sometimes it’s a feeling, but my intuition is something that i’ve learned not to ignore. 

My last boss, i could tell he had anger issues. I only caught a glimpse of them once. He really liked me so i was fortunate. But every conversation we had after our initial meeting i could tell (spiritually) that he was potentially very dangerous to me emotionally. The more we interacted the more nervous it made me. Familiarity could lead to a loss of professional discretion.

Latter friend: i knew when she IMed me out of the blue after a six month drought that something big was up. She demurred that she couldn’t talk about it. I knew that the only reason that she had come to me was because she needed to tell me. Again, i had a feeling, and it turned out to be correct. She was pregnant. BF wanted her to abort. She didn’t believe in abortion. One conversation gave her the strength to stand up for herself and give her baby up for adoption.

Grandma: I was unable to go home for thanksgiving. Sister (roommate situation) went to her in-laws. I stayed home alone and worked. I was having panic attacks. I had the most heinous period of my entire life. A couple days later my dad calls me up and says: “Has anyone told you that Grandma is in the hospital? She had a heart attack.” No one had told me anything, I somehow knew something was wrong anyway. My brain just couldn’t make sense of it.

Kate Mulgrew: I somehow knew that she was looking for her daughter. Then-me interpreted this as Janeway having a missing daughter, expecting her to show up on the show and join the crew. What i didn’t realize that this was a real longing and need. I have carried this knowledge with me for over twenty years. I found out sometime within the past year that she had become pregnant early in her acting career, while on Ryan’s Hope, given her daughter up for closed adoption, regret it, and it was while she was on Voyager and coming into my awareness she was desperately searching for her, trying to find her, and did in fact find her. I had no rational way knowing any of that deeply personal information. I felt it anyway; deeply. In fact, it changed my life.

Which comes to emotional attraction. I really wanted to be an actor or an author. I don’t think I can memorize or anymore, my aphasia makes it extremely difficult to ad lib/improvise because there are road blocks where i cannot spontaneously retrieve the words i’m looking for. I don’t know if i’ll ever finish a novel, i’m hoping just to finish a lengthy fanfic at this point and then see what comes. A year ago i was doing much better, now it just feels like i’m under attack on all sides. But i feel a strong emotional attraction to artistic people in general.

This sometimes manifests as a sexual attraction for a short time. Sometimes. I can fantasize about a physical attraction...usually in the form of me comforting or being comforted. Sharing burdens. If i know that someone i’m attracted to or love is hurting then it hurts me, often with actual physical sensations (again with the spiritual connections). This tends to cause me to feel as if i “know people” or am kindred spirits with actors, authors, singers, etc. Again, i will sometimes know things that there’s no reason for me to know and is often pointless since it doesn’t enable me to comfort them when they don’t even know i exist.

I am generally okay with this, though it’s sometimes overwhelming. Sometime it feels like an inside joke or shared experience (rare for me outside family members) and gives me ecstatic joy. It’s really weird being an empath.

But again back to being demi: characters (or even the actors who play them) will sometimes feel like friends or family. Sometimes it translates to romantic or sexual attraction: this is very rare. It’s happened a handful of times, but it leaves me feeling completely broken. Why can’t i just be a normal person with normal relationships? Generally it is a positive thing because getting to share their experiences (through reading or watching) gives me a fair amount of feeling accepted, having someone to care for, and hope.

I am a very isolated person. I don’t currently have any RL friends. Most of my support network tends to be online but i don’t really have that going on for me since my last breakup (mutual friends seemed to stick with him, though one friend that was my friend first has since decided that he’s completely nuts and conveniently forgotten that she was the one to introduce us and encourage the pairing). And i know i’m weird but i actually don’t mind that. Having friends that live around the world? That have similar interests? But that i don’t have to get dressed and go outside my comfort zone to hang out with? Awesome.

A year ago i was living somewhere very isolated but i was in a good place because i was supporting myself, had been working full time and making career progress for the better part of a year, was okayish with being single, I had my new kitten, I was mostly happy. It would have been the ideal time for me to start a relationship. And i was actually feeling attracted to a coworker! Like that hadn’t happened for me in nearly twenty years!

But he didn’t want to be more. He wanted me to be the friend he went to to unload his emotional issues on. He didn’t want others to know. He didn’t want to be more than “professional” (it wasn’t professional what was going on, not really). And then COVID hit and everything started falling apart. Things had been wrong with that job that i was trying to stay separate from. Drama, potentially criminal actions, emotional outbursts. I got singed a few times. I knew that another coworker hated me. 

The second time they laid me off i packed everything up and moved back home. Upper management had been getting scary. I could tell that Grandma was reaching the end of her life and wanted to be near family. Which led to my last job, which i loved at first but couldn’t keep up with physically and that started to degrade my mental/emotional state. And then grandma died and i fell apart.

I’ve been trying to pull things back together. I really enjoy my current job but i don’t know if it will work out in the long term. The way the economy is going again...it’s scary. When Obama became president his policies were really punishing for the area. I had just graduated from college and couldn’t find full time work. I worked 2-3 part time jobs and lived with my parents because that was all i could afford. 

I went out on a couple of very large limbs trying to better my situation (teaching in Japan, CLD school) and neither has really. They were amazing opportunities but i get homesick. But then when i am here that’s bad for me emotionally. I need to find some sort of balance, and it’s looking like that balance is for me to live somewhere removed from family and only visit a couple times of years. Which i hate to do but i think i need those boundaries for my emotional well being. But i don’t know how i have a hope in hell of affording any of that. I have a couple of months left to figure it out before my lease is up on my apartment, i need to figure things out by then.

So all of this...i’m not trying to complain here. I know that i tend to come off that way because i’m just honest and matter of fact about things. This is the way things are in my experience. I’ve tried various ways to improve them. The reason i’m recording them is not to illicit pity. It’s so people who don’t have to deal with these issues can catch a glimpse of what it’s like and for others who deal with anxiety and depression can see that they’re not alone. That’s a huge deal. Wherever you are in your journey, you’re not alone, it may be a fight unique to your situation, but you’re not alone. Other people are suffering, too, and it’s not a competition. It’s okay.

I know that being single has its benefits. Living alone with a cat is not something i hate as a rule, let me tell you. What i do hate is not having two or more incomes coming into a household. It is extremely difficult in this day and age to make it alone. I don’t want to worry about anything but money is probably that biggest temptation. It leads to feeling like i’m trapped.

That’s probably why many relationships develop (a need for security) but i’m...i say it is like being broken. Maybe i am because of the PTSD. Maybe it’s just my normal for someone on the spectrum (and let me tell you that even claiming this as part of my identity triggers my imposter syndrome...all of this does really. I didn’t have to deal with the same level of physical abuse that many do so why can’t i just get over it, right?). But i dealt with enough that i cannot form relationships on convenience. I have to feel safe. I want to find someone who i could trust to raise kids with, to go the distance with.

Have i said yet that i tend to overthink things? 

I know that there’s not many of you who will have read this far. Thank you. Writing is part of my process in getting things reorganized in my shit show of a brain/heart/etc. The bottom line of this...i am improving grief wise, last night not withstanding. But i still want more. It’s my birthday and Christmas and it’s the hardest time for me in a way. Because it feels like i’m out of time. Another year has been lost forever. Have i made any progress at all? And it feels as if it’s already too late. My main goal in life was to become a mother and i can’t even have casual sex to manage it. I just can’t.

But there are spiritual things i’m trying to work through. That i don’t feel comfortable sharing here, really. Just i wonder about soul mates and twin flames and dreams/visions. I don’t know what the right choice is. Not for sure. And that is killing me because i want to know God’s will and do it. And i’m an impatient person who’s been waiting a particularly long time and i can’t say that i’ve gotten any better at it.

[reydjarinkenobi]

Love love love your time travel fic! It’s so good!!

Thank you! Here is another chapter.

Here is the link to a03: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25051612/chapters/62477014

Rey's heart leapt to her throat at the question, and her eyes widened.

 "I don't… not much."

 Master Windu frowned and Rey's gut twisted. She lowered her eyes, trying to stamp down the vaguely nauseous feeling the look inspired. She'd known she wouldn't be good enough to be a Jedi, but she didn't think she'd be disappointing her master this early.

 "Do you know their names?"

 Rey jerked, her mind immediately putting it together. "Kenobi is a common name on Stewjon. I didn't assume…"

 Master Kenobi smiled smally. "You are correct. It is common. However, we ran your blood and it seems that you are, in fact, related to me."

 Rey stared at him.

 "What?" Poe asked, glancing incredulously at Rey.

 Rey cringed. She hadn't told either of those two what she'd found on her mission with Jess almost two months ago. She honestly felt like she was still processing all that she'd found on the ship, in the large chest that she'd found hidden in a smuggler's compartment, so well hidden, surrounded by Force dampeners and anti-scanner tech, that the only reason that Rey found it was that D-0 had showed it to her after he'd verified her identity.

 "I discovered much information about my parents… Anaya-Lan Kenobi and Din Djarin."

 "You know their names!" Poe asked, grinning. "That's amazing."

 Rey shrugged, not quite managing to give him a convincing smile. It had been strangely relieving to learn that her parents had died. That they hadn't left her. And then she'd been sickened at her relief. She'd cried and Jess had held her. Now, all she could feel when she thought of them was a mess of sorrow and guilt that no amount of meditating had helped her make peace with.

 She looked between her master and her, she supposed, uncle.

 "They were… There was a recording. What they left me revealed a lot about my history."

 The three Jedi masters glanced at each other whilst Skywalker's scowl deepened.

 "If we go back to the Millenium Falcon, I can show you. I think it will be easier than explaining."

 Master Windu nodded. "That sounds reasonable, Rey. Master Unduli, I am sure that you, Knight Skywalker and your padawans are capable of overseeing the senators' safety and comfort."

 The older Mirialan Jedi bowed. "Of course, Master Windu."

 Skywalker's scowl deepened for a second and Rey set her jaw against the wave of anger and frustration that clashed against her shields.

 However, he turned on his heal and joined the other Jedi in leaving, the two troopers who had followed them in shadowing them, both sporting new scars on the sides of their heads, which they covered with helmets before they went through the doors.

 Master Kenobi inclined his head forward. "Why don't we go?"

 ----

 Obi-Wan stood shoulder to shoulder with Mace, Cody Ponds, Finn, Chewbacca and Poe as Rey knelt in front of them. D-O was sitting in front of, in between them and a chest engraved with a Rancor surrounded  by a long, thin, winged dragon, who's tail was hooked around its head.

 She pressed her hand against D-O's head and the droid went very still, a flickering hologram projecting in front of him.

 A pale woman with deep red hair, pinned around her head in a braided crown, and grey eyes came into focus.

 Obi-Wan stifled his gasp as he realised that she was his niece.

 He was given to the temple too young to remember his family. Some Jedi had contact with their families, and many visited their home planets to stay in touch with their cultures. Obi-Wan had never had the desire; he'd preferred to learn about Stewjon from afar. Seeing the woman's face, her smile warm, even as her brow creased in worry, almost made him regret the decision.

 He could see the connections between her, him and Rey. They had the same small features, the same pale skin, and the same stormy eyes. Rey even had a similar cadence to her voice, the unique Stewjoni accent that was so often mistaken for a refined Coruscanti one.

 "Rey, my dear, if you are watching this, then your farther and I are dead."

 She gave a shaky sigh, blinking her eyes rapidly.

 "I am so sorry," her voice was husky as a tear fell down her cheek. "Your farther and I did not want to leave you there, but it was the only way. There was no other habitable planet within range where we'd be assured of your anonymity."

 Anaya-Lan swallowed. "You are… special, my darling. Your light shines so, so bright. We thought… we thought it would be safer to part you two. We didn't think that we'd be found. Not so soon."

 "I'm so…" her voice broke. "I'm so, so sorry, little one. You don't… you don't deserve any of this."

 She paused, looking down at the ground before she glanced back up. "D-0 will show you all that you need to know of us, of your history and of what you are. Please, please, know that you are wanted. I love you more than I can ever put into words. And I am so sorry for what I have done with you."

 The recording picked up the groan of the ship around her, the familiar sound of a hyperdrive being pushed to its limits rattling around Obi-Wan's head.

 "Goodbye, my lightbringer," Anaya-Lan whispered, before she stood up from the chair she had been sitting on.

 A few moments later, a man with tanned skin and dark hair replaced her.

 He gave a sigh, his deep chocolate eyes filled with a kind of grief that Obi-Wan wished he couldn't relate to.

 "I don't have much time, Rey," he began. "But there are things you need to know."

 He held out his hand, showing a pendant of a horned skull on a black corded necklace. Obi-Wan instantly recognised it as the symbol for the true Mandalorians.

 "This will be in the chest. When… if you find any Mandalorians show this to them, they will take you in."

 The man's eyes lowered. "Wren has the dha'kad now, and I cannot put my helmet on again, but my armour is your legacy. I know you will wear it well."

 He leant his elbows in the table, clenching his fists together as he stared back into the camera.

 "If you can, find Fulcrum… you must find her. She will have a baby with her that has a necklace which matches yours. She will train you."

 He ran a hand through his hair. "Gods, we should have left you with her… We thought you would be safer apart from your brother. She said that you are both so powerful… more bright than she could ever imagine… but we were fools, thinking we could outrun the Empire, and the galaxy was blind to think its terror was over."

 He refocused on the camera, as if he could reach across and touch the viewer. "Rey, you are meant to be a Jedi. And I…"

 A tear fell down his face. "It will forever be my greatest regret, in this life and beyond, that I could not watch you and your brother grow into the fierce protectors you will become."

 He breathed a sigh and the tears flowed more freely. "I'm so sorry Rey'ika. I wanted so much more for you… If you ever find your brother… and I hope to god you do, you may be shocked by his appearance… he's a little, well, green."

 He broke off with a humourless bark of laughter. "If you ever find your brother, tell him that I'm sorry too, and that I wish I could have said goodbye, that I could have told him I loved him one more time."

 The ship shuddered around them and the man, Din Djarin, swallowed. "We should get the chest hidden."

 He a watery smile. "You will do great things, Rey Kenobi of Clan Djarin. I love you, more than I will ever be able to show."

 The last thing that was heard as the man reached forward to turn the recording off, was the blaring sound of an alarm and a whispered. "I wish we could have done better."

 Obi-Wan wasn't the only one who had to blink tears out of his eyes when the projection flickered off.

 Rey was openly crying as she stepped forward and slowly opened the chest before anyone could say anything.

 This time, Obi-Wan could not hold back his slight gasp.

 Stacked in one corner, taking up about a quarter of the space, was full beskar armour, unpainted. The shoulder puldrons and the helmet were laying on the top. One of the shoulders had the same racor as on the front welded onto it.

 The rest of the chest was filled with a motely mix of weapons, datasticks, books and other small bits. One of them was a smaller wooden box that was latched with a Force lock.

 Rey stared unseeingly at the contents, as she slowly stood. As soon as she'd straightened, Finn wrapped her in a tight hug, quickly joined by Poe and Chewbacca, with the two droids bumping into her legs.

 Obi-Wan sent out a thin vine through the Force, suffusing it with a delicate comfort. He was surprised when Rey soon acknowledged it, sending her own thrum of thanks through the Force. He hadn't thought that she would notice it. Anakin still failed to pick up on many of the subtle Force interactions that Jedi shared; or, rather, he refused to. He didn't understand that communicating through the Force rather than in the physical world was more natural and genuine for most Jedi, since they were all often called upon to be the calm mediators. The silent communication was only for them, and ensured a level of truth and earnestness that could not be assured in the physical world.

 Anakin was so powerful, everything around him was so loud, that he often didn't grasp the fact that small interactions in the Force could have a large meaning, and he had always been obstinate about listening to Obi-Wan when he attempted to explain them.

 The group pulled away shortly, Rey rubbing the last tears out of her eyes as they turned to face them.

 "I have read through many of the books and datasticks in there. They were mostly learning modules for history, language, art and battle tactics," she admitted. "But I haven't touched the armour. I… haven't been ready for the memories it holds."

 "Memories?" Obi-Wan asked.

 Rey shifted uncomfortably. "I can see what has happened to an object when I touch it."

 "You have psychometry?" Mace questioned.

 Rey shrugged. "If that is what it is called."

 "It is," Mace confirmed, before he gave a small smile. "I believe we are quite well balanced. Do you have visions?"

 Rey nodded. "We both do."

 Obi-Wan raised his eyebrows. That would be interesting.

 "I believe it is time that we each talk to our padawans, alone," he announced.

 He looked into Rey's eyes and she smiled slightly, sending a thrum of understanding towards him. There would be time for them to talk later. They would be training together more often than not, after all.

 Then he cast a glance at Chewbacca and Poe, who both nodded.

 "We understand that Rey and Finn need to train," Poe explained. "Chewie will probably want to work on the Falcon but I want to try and find someone who can show me around the fighters. I'm not used to the older model."

 Cody stepped forward. "I can do that."

 "I'll join you, vod," Ponds agreed.

 Poe grinned. "Good. Let's go then and leave the Jedi to their Force business."

 They all nodded their goodbyes and the astromech, BB-8 followed them out.

 Chewbacca said goodbye as well before he disappeared into the Falcon and Mace quietly lead Rey off into the ship once they'd exited the freighter.

 Obi-Wan turned to Finn, smiling. "I know a rather lovely garden that nobody aboard this ship visits. Shall we converse there?"

 Finn returned his smile with a slightly uncertain one of his own. "Yes, master."

[sassylilnobody]

Mistress Tremaine

Summer

Extravagant silk pooled around my ankles in the most feminine fashion as I stepped from an old, well-used carriage. The smell of rusted bronze trimming danced around me in a light breeze, raising the hair on my exposed neck and rustling my pinned hair.  A footman gently held my gloved hand in attempted assistance, but I snatched it from him, suddenly irritated. Quick apologies spewed from his mouth, doing little to hearten my dampened mood.  

I walked ahead, just as I had been taught to decades ago, with my shoulders back, spine straight, and chin high. A woman, and most especially a lady, must always carry herself with a sense of dignity and poise, even when carrying the heavy burden of grief.  

Dignity and poise. The words rang throughout my head as I continued my journey up a stone walkway that led to what was supposed to be my new home. The change of scenery seemed to be of little consequence to my daughters Anastasia and Drizella. They stumbled behind me, their obnoxious laughter and snide remarks towards the working staff of the chateau bearing great indication towards their entitlement and ignorance of the world. My mouth pulled tight at the edges, my face flushing at their remarks.  

Shame flooded through my body, twisting my stomach into knots and causing my legs to stiffen. Nevertheless, my posture never wavered, even as I stepped through the threshold of the grand home. An innocent smile of a child greeted me, her head a mop of blonde curls that cascaded down her back.  

I frowned, looking to my newly wedded partner beside the girl. “You didn’t tell me you had a daughter.”  

Autumn

Screaming, I threw an empty vase against the hearth, reveling in the explosion of shattering porcelain. Fire danced in the brick flue, reacting to the moving air it was meant to breathe. The contrast between the two scenes was almost laughable, but my rage was brighter than a forest succumbed to orange flames. Yes, fire could be gentle and warm, but it was also capable of unleashing chaos.  

Ella, the only piece of my late husband I had left, stared around the doorway to what was now my bedroom. Her mourning soul reflected my own, her eyes being the only ones to truly understand my anguish.  

“Is there anything I can do to help you through this?” she asked, her voice hoarse from what had to be crying. She was very quiet and couldn’t meet my eye.  

Rationally, I knew that she needed someone to cry on just as much as I did. Her father and my husband, a man whom we’d both loved with all we had, was suddenly and viciously ripped from us without so much as a goodbye. Despite this, my voice spoke of its own accord.  

“Get out.” I didn’t look up from my place on the floor, but I knew she was hurt by the words. Softly, she walked away. Her steps seemed hesitant at first, but as she moved, they gradually became heavier. As the sound faded away, I knew that she had to be running.  

The rest of my body sunk to the floor, dignity having been long forgotten. I curled around myself, choking on tears. Everything shook, making it hard to breathe. Devastating, convulsing sobs push their way from my mouth before I could think to stifle them, my heart pouring every piece of wretched, grief-stricken emotion I’ve ever felt out into the world.  

Poets often speak of pain and tragedy, but never do they explain how one is meant to pick themselves up after they fall. I suppose the descent is often easier to express, for great heroes die like stars. But what they don’t talk about is what you’re supposed to do when you’ve been stabbed through the heart, but survive the steel scraping the organ. What do you do when you’re expected to get back up?  

Winter  

I found myself slipping farther and farther from sanity as time passed. Days turned to weeks, and weeks to months. It all passed quickly I noticed, but each individual day progressed agonizingly slow. Ongoing insomnia enhanced my irritability and my body ached in the strangest of places. I soon found that socializing was beyond exhausting, so most of my time was spent in the massive chateau my husband left me, my only company being his ghost.  

Since dismissing the working members of the household, Ella was scarcely seen. She ran to and fro about the space, maintaining the house as best she could with nothing but elbow grease and her bare hands. She managed to put aside her grief while she worked, and she took demands without the slightest hint of frustration or anger.  

Somehow, her calm angered me. Ruthlessly, I commanded her to complete the most overwhelming amount of work. Whether I wanted her to scream, fight, or simply leave, I didn’t know. Day after merciless day, I howled at her. I called her the most hideous names and mocked her pain. I knew that I was being cruel, but I had lost the ability to care. Despite this, never once did she complain or show that she was upset. She would smile, and simply say, “As you wish, Madame.”  

Even the day she ran away, the only reaction she would give me was a smile. She had mounted her horse in the middle of a blizzard, tears trailing down her ash-streaked face. With bloodied hands from cleaning up broken glass and a dirt stained gown, she rode hard into the distance, crying the name she had been reduced to: Cinderella.  

Spring

The entire town was in an uproar. Seamstresses bounced around their shops, reveling in the surplus of business that had been provided by the grace of the King. Streets swarmed with bustling people, each one making haste to prepare for the upcoming event. The King had not only declared that there will be a ball held at the palace for the prince to find a suiter, but that there was an open invitation to every maiden in the kingdom.  

My girls squealed with excitement over the news, and for once, I agreed with the sentiment. If one of them, and it was a long shot that it would be, were able to snag the prince, then they would be saved from the squaller that my husband’s death had reduced us to. We would no longer be eating scraps. We could hold parties again. I just might be able to manage an estate for myself, never having to worry about my children having a roof over their heads.  

The days preceding the ball were a blur, but I can recount that they were some of the most exciting of my life. The girls finished last minute touches to their hair and gowns, and my heart welled up with pride as they descended the stairs and met with me in the parlor.  

“Oh, my beautiful babies,” I sighed, fanning my face with my hand to keep from crying. “I never thought I’d see you both dressed this extravagant again. Since your stepfather’s passing, I had begun to worry that you wouldn’t be able to live the life of luxury you deserve. I-,” my was cut off at the sight of a third body coming into the parlor.  

She held up a hand, silencing my rising questions. “It cost you nothing,” she said in a reassuring tone. “This dress used to be my mother’s. I’ve taken it up, and with it being the finest gown I own, I would very much like to wear it to the ball tonight.”  

She grinned, and for the first time in months, there was hope in her eyes. Now that I saw her, I noticed that she held herself differently then she had been. Her head was up and not once did her gaze fall to the floor. She assumed a confident posture and her complexation seemed to glow. Though the pale salmon fabric that hung from her shoulders didn’t flatter her much, it was easy to see why she was known through the town as an angel. She was truly one of the most beautiful young women I had ever seen.  

My eyes narrowed at her, gaze distrusting. “For what reason do you wish to attend the ball? Do you have hopes of meeting the prince?” I rested my hand on my hip, feeling as if I was scolding a small child. “You do know that he would never take a peasant such as yourself as a bride.”  

The girls snickered behind me. Ella’s expression wavered, but she didn’t lose her composure. “No, not at all. I was hoping to meet a... friend,” she answered shyly, blushing. “He’s an apprentice at the palace.”  

The way she spoke about him was concerning to me. Her smile was ever so slightly warmer and she her eyes drifted, almost as if she wasn’t even there anymore.  

I, myself, knew the feeling well. The butterflies, the tenderness, the excitement. Both the men I married, I loved with all that my heart could give. The first had been the sort of romance you read about in books; children slowly falling for each other. We were happy. The second was entirely different. I didn’t care for him at first, only sought the protection he could give. It wasn’t until I got to know and understand him that I started to fall. To think he only had to die for me to realize it.  

There was no such thing as forever and the sooner she realized this, the better. The good men always die young and all that are left are heathens that are desperate enough to attack children to experience the vast pleasures of the flesh. With that aside, her diminished social status would never allow her to marry any respectable man, let alone an apprentice at the palace. She had once been the heir to a thriving estate and her dowry would have been bountiful enough to pass blessings on to her family for generations. Since the passing of her father, she had been reduced to nothing more than a servant girl.  

My head rose, mind finally reaching a conclusion. “How can you expect to be seen at such a gathering dressed in rags? You are hardly fit to be seen in a brothel, let alone the palace.”

Ella drew back, visibly struck by my words. I was instantly flushed with shame, but some small, sickening part of me reveled in the reaction she gave. Never had she shown to be anything other than busy or content. I had gotten through her skin and the feat was delicious to me.  

“You are little more than a slave. You are nothing and let me make myself clear: you will not go to the ball.”  

Summer

I opened the grand front doors of the chateau, curtsying so low my knees brush the floor. “Your Grace, Captain,” I greet the bodies before me, a frown threatening to crack my stoic expression. Two men step into the lively abode at my invitation, one of which reaching into a bag at his side, slowly pulling out a rolled sheet of parchment.  

The man cleared his throat, tugging at the collar of his military uniform in what looked to be exhaustion. “I’m sure you’ve heard this spiel before; news travels fast in this town. While it seems to be a moot point, I am required to read you the King’s official proclamation.”  

The Duke behind him smiled, feigning an heir of slight acquaintance towards me. I quickly reciprocated the gesture, waiting for the Captain to continue.

“By penalty of death, as a subject of His Majesty King Kristopher the Second, you are hereby mandated to present yourself, as well as any and all other maidens residing in the estate (placement on the social hierarchy notwithstanding) to an elected member of His royal court. Should the original holder of the abandoned glass slipper collected by the King (on this night, three moons prior to this initial declaration) be found, King Kristopher the Second shall forthwith marry her, should she be willing.” The Captain paused, looking up at me from the creased paper he read from. “Do you understand the order that has been given to you?”

 I nodded, already preparing to call out for my girls. We had known that this day would come, and we had prepared accordingly. After all the universe had put not only me through, but my daughters as well, this had to be a gift. This was the last chance the girls had to prove that one of them could win the heart of the King, or else they would have to turn to other means to survive.  

My eyes drifted towards the Duke, who still smiled at me, and my stomach dropped. I would do what I must to keep my children from the streets but doing so would surely kill me. He and I became very well acquainted after the ball, though whether that was a good or bad thing, I was still debating. Our social circles overlapped so naturally we knew who each other were, but not by any means were we friends. During the ball, I had more to drink than I should have, which led to me stumbling down the right hall at the right time. I overheard some things that could have been damaging to his reputation, as well as the then-prince, and as compensation for my discretion, he vowed he would help get my family back on their feet. Of course, this meant that I must marry him, as well as offer my daughters to men of his choosing.

This was a last resort. First, I must try to trick the Captain into believing that either Drizella or Anastasia were the princess from the ball. If I could manage to do that, then everything would be alright.  

I called my girls from their bedroom, staring daggers into them. We had spoken about maintaining a certain level equanimity before the Duke and Captain, knowing that they would be asked to try on the glass slipper. They tried to carry themselves with dignity, but one could see the stress they felt about the situation. They knew how high the stakes were and would do anything to make this plan work.  

They both greeted the men politely, going about trying on the slipper with little to no comment. It did not fit Drizella, for the slipper was too large. She looked up at me defeated, most likely hoping to find some semblance of comfort. I tried to be encouraging, but my tension must have been visible. She looked down, trying not to cry, and excused herself from the room.  

Anastasia was met with a similar reaction when we found the slipper to be too small for her feet. This struck me as extremely odd, considering the girls has always had the same size feet, even as children. Drizella was technically older, but the two had almost synched up perfectly when it came to their development.      

After pleasantries were exchanged and goodbyes said, I walked the men to the door. My heart stopped and the contents of my stomach went cold. The Duke scrutinized me as he went to leave, a guise that I’ve never been able to unsee, even decades later. A smile unlike any warm expression I had ever seen cracked his perfectly constructed face. Dread creeped through me, almost crippling me with nausea.  

A kind voice broke through the haze, though in the moment, I struggled to focus on what he said. “What?” I asked.  

“I said,” he replied patiently, “are there any other maidens in your home? Perhaps a maid or servant that hasn’t been accounted for?”

I once again looked towards the Duke. I knew very well that Ella was locked in the attic. I was also aware that she was the girl that the King had danced with at the ball. The girl he had every intention of marrying.  

The Duke also knew this.  

I answered the Captain, never taking my eyes from the Duke, “No sir. I’m afraid I had to dismiss the household when my late husband died.”  

As if on cue, soft singing rang from above us. Without a word, the Captain pushed back into the house, searching for the owner of the voice. I remember the house breaking out into a flurry of chaos, though beyond that point, I can’t remember many details. When Ella was found, she was taken into a different room for a private audience with the Captain, and I remember the doors being closed.

Due to my shock, I barely registered anything else happening before Ella spoke to me. She stopped at the door, hesitating before turning towards my spot on the stairs. Her eyes were glazed over, but I saw nothing but empathy and understanding on her face.  

“I forgive you,” she said. She waited for a moment, possibly for a response, then left.  

There was so much that I wanted to say to her, but I couldn’t find the words. Regret, sorrow, mourning, grief, tenderness, maternity. All of it hit me at once, knocking me to my knees. The Captain followed behind her, leaving me with only the Duke. Both Drizella and Anastasia hid somewhere else in the house, and I prayed that at least one of them walked by. Of course, they didn’t.  

He walked towards me, a sick look on his face. I let out a sob, overcome with dizziness. Ella. My Cinderella. My mind repeated her name. For years after my union with the Duke, I would see her face in everything I did. Her joy, her understanding, her forgiveness.  

Despite my soul willing it to be so, I never saw her again. 

_____________________________________________________________

Sorry for the long post, but this was an essay I wrote for my Creative Writing course last semester, and I got really high marks for it. I’ve been thinking about writing a full-length extended version of it, but we shall see. Hope someone gets something out of it :) 

[blancheludis]

@ironhusbandsweek, @rhfenovemberbash Day 3: “You know what you’re doing, right?”

Fandom: Marvel, Iron Man Characters: Tony Stark/James “Rhodey” Rhodes, Obadiah Stane Tags: Established Relationship, Misunderstanding, Love, Arguing, Fluff, Stark Industries Words: 3.675

Summary: When Rhodey comes home one night to find Tony sitting amongst moving boxes, he suspects the worst, that Tony is breaking up with him. The truth, as it turns out, does not have him any less worried. 

---

The distinct sound of the key in the lock has Tony straighten with sudden panic. He is sitting on the ground in a mess of things he thinks about throwing away, but between him and the door is an assortment of moving boxes that he would not be able to hide even if he were quick enough to get to them before the door opens.

So that is how Rhodey finds him. Arms raised like a shield in front of him, eyes blown wide, and definite panic on his face. He could not have looked guiltier if he had tried.

To give Rhodey credit, he takes in the situation before he comes to any conclusions, then takes a step farther into their apartment and closes the door with a too calm expression.

“What is going on?” he asks, very carefully holding all accusations out of his tone. In his place, Tony is certain he would not have remained this unmoved.

“Platypus,” Tony calls, voice too high to be natural. “I didn’t think you’d be home so early.” Swallowing, he closes his eyes, cursing his mouth for speaking without waiting for his head to give green light.

“What does that mean?” Rhodey asks, staying right where he is, eyeing the mess Tony has turned their hallway into. “Were you planning on moving out while I was not looking?”

The very thought has Tony feeling sick. This apartment has been his first real home. All the credit for that belongs to Rhodey.

“No,” Tony exclaims hastily and gets to his feet but stays where he is, unsure whether he will be welcome. “No, it’s just, I’m turning twenty-one next week.”

With that, Tony’s mouth clicks shut. He has tried to prepare an explanation, but he is not good with words. Somehow, he always messes it up, no matter how much he practices. He thought he would have more time, did not expect Rhodey to be home so soon, catching him red-handed. A week longer, and everything would have been done and – well, that would not have made it easier, but Tony would not have had a chance to hide anymore.

“I’m aware,” Rhodey answers dryly, not taking his eyes off Tony as if that could cause the moving boxes between them to disappear. “I’ve got a secret party planned where we lock our door and spend the day with cheeseburgers and ice cream without ever getting out of bed.”

“That’s –” Tony cuts himself off. Perfect is what that is. An entire day with Rhodey. No obligations, no projects, no training. That is all he would have wished for if asked. “That’s utterly predictable but still very sweet of you.”

Tony smiles but Rhodey does not answer in kind. Stomach roiling, Tony feels a rising nausea.

“Well, it was until you were apparently planning to break up with me by disappearing without a word,” Rhodey says, keeping his tone so flat that the words do not register with Tony for a long minute.

When they do, he winces, staring at Rhodey, aghast. How could Rhodey ever come to a conclusion like that? There is no arguing that Tony is a disaster of a human being who manages to mess up even the simplest things, but this?

“That’s not what this is,” Tony argues, feeling breathless. In all the ways he thought this could go wrong, this was not among them. “I’m not breaking up with you. Ever.”

That would mean to throw away the best thing that has ever happened to him. His best friend. The love of his life.

Crossing his arms, Rhodey finally takes a step forward, if only to nudge one of the as of yet empty boxes with his foot.

“Explain this, then,” he says, in that tone that means he is not going to take any more excuses as an answer.

“I, all right,” Tony mutters, and cautiously stays where he is. Gathering his courage, he looks at Rhodey and says, “Obie called.”

He sees Rhodey stiffen and has been waiting for it too. Rhodey has never warmed to Obadiah. The animosity goes both ways, really. Whenever Tony asked, he did not get a clear answer from either of them. Rhodey said he does not know why, that Obadiah just rubs him wrong, but Tony is sure that is just because Rhodey has a fundamental distrust of everybody who was involved in Tony’s upbringing. It is endearing right up until it is not.

“What did he want?” Rhodey asks in a flat tone, even less willing now to let the matter rest.

Judging on the way they are standing, with the entire hall between them, tiny as it is, it feels entirely too much as if they are facing off. Tony wishes nothing more than that he left the moving boxes in his lab for a week longer.

“I’m turning twenty-one,” Tony repeats himself, unable to avoided the inevitable for any longer. Again, his voice gives out, knowing how little Rhodey will like this.

“I am still aware of that,” Rhodey comments, not hiding his impatience anymore.

Taking a deep breath, Tony keeps his head up and just lets out the truth. There is no cushioning it anyway.

“I’m getting control of SI back once I turn twenty-one. I would have just let Obie stay on as CEO, but he talked to me and said how much better it would be if I came back, that the company needs a ‘Stark at the helm’ again. I –” Shrugging, Tony trails off, unable to look Rhodey in the eye.

Obadiah’s call has surprised nobody more than him. He thought Obadiah was happy with the state of things, considering that Tony does not have much patience for business and Obadiah has not much patience for him these days. As supportive as he had been after Tony’s parents’ death, he probably thought Tony would get over his grief and the subsequent acting out quicker than this.

What Obadiah calls acting out is mostly just Tony having his own ideas about what to do with his life. Namely staying in Boston, sharing his apartment and life with Rhodey, and building more exciting things than weapons.

“You want to go back to SI?” Rhodey asks and sounds taken aback about it. His posture loses some of its defensiveness.

Tony does not want to. Life is good here. Up until now, everything has worked out well enough with him sending the occasional blueprint to R&D without ever having to get directly involved in how the company is run. Obadiah just thinks that is not going to cut it anymore.

He does not know what to say, so he bites his lip and stares at the boxes at his feet.

“Tones, look at me,” Rhodey all but orders and waits with infinite patience until Tony complies. His eyes are not as cool anymore, but the matter is far from resolved. “What are you doing?”

The usual, Tony wants to say, making life more complicated. Instead, he shrugs as if he could ever appear casual in a moment like this.

“You’re shipping out next week,” Tony finally answers, ignoring how much he is dreading that moment when the war is going to steal Rhodey from him again. “I thought that would be a good time for me to move too.”

In his head, it had sounded like a good plan. In any case, it would give him something to do while Rhodey was gone.

“We’re giving up our apartment?” Rhodey questions.

If they were not almost arguing, Tony could have kissed him for the use of we. Tony is making things difficult again, but Rhodey still thinks of them as a team, is still willing to follow Tony even without quite knowing where yet. It is his right to not sound too happy about it, though.

“I can keep the lease,” Tony offers and knows it is the wrong thing to say before he watches Rhodey’s face darken.

“That’s not what I’m talking about, and you damn well know it.” Despite the swearing, Rhodey keeps his voice calm, measured. He knows how badly Tony deals with being yelled at. Countless times, Tony has wondered how he deserves Rhodey in his life, and he has not yet come any closer to an answer.

Tony takes a step closer towards Rhodey, holding his arms slightly in front of him as he thinks about reaching out but does not quite dare it.

“I’m not giving up on anything here, Rhodey,” Tony says with vehemence. He knows that, if this relationship will break apart at some point, it will most likely be on him, but Tony is not going to be the one who calls things off. “But what did you think?” he continues, at once apologetic and firm. “That I’d stay in Boston forever, waiting for you to come home to me when you’ve got leave? SI is my company. I have to take responsibility for it at some point.”

Rhodey watches him. He does not look happy, but Tony did not expect him to be. The question is whether they will turn this into an argument – although Tony will not let it come that far. If Rhodey makes him choose, the way forward is clear. Stark Industries has never been that important to Tony, and it is certainly not more important than Rhodey.

“I have never heard you say anything positive about Stark Industries and now you want to take over?” Rhodey asks. A dozen more questions are hidden in there, all of them justified. Tony could not have been happier to turn his back on Stark Industries the very moment his father died. He always knew he could not hide forever, though.

“What else am I going to do?” Tony asks and would gladly take a viable solution. “Obie has been patient enough.”

Cocking his head to the side, Rhodey says, “You could screw them and do what you want.”

It is sometimes hard to reconcile the Rhodey who went to all their classes and did all their classwork with the one who regularly tells him to go against everybody’s expectations of him and take care of his own needs first. Of course, Rhodey needed to be a model student because not everybody can expect to get away with setting fires inside college buildings or correcting their professors or ducking out of classes because they are boring without repercussion. He did not have either the right skin colour, last name, or money for that.

“What if I don’t know what that is?” Tony asks and means it with every fibre of his being.

He wants to stay here instead of moving across the country. He wants to work on his own projects instead of slaving for a company he does not really think is his. He wants to have Rhodey close at all times instead of dealing with people he does not like and who do not like him because he is not enough like his father.

“Then find out,” Rhodey says. It is a challenge. He should know that it will not work to challenge Tony to just be a better version of himself. The rot sits deep within him.

Feeling every step of distance between them like a physical weight on his shoulders, Tony shrugs helplessly. “I don’t have time.”

In response, Rhodey scoffs. “Nonsense, Tony,” he argues. “You’ve got all the time in the world.”

Theoretically, that might even be true. Tony has enough money that he would not need to work a day in his life. The company is doing well enough that it can keep running like this for a while. There is no need to rush. If not for one little thing.

“I’ve already told Obie that I’m coming,” Tony admits sheepishly. He does not look quickly enough away from Rhodey to miss the displeasure flashing over his face.

“Then tell him you’ve changed your mind.”

Perhaps Rhodey thinks it truly is that simple. Sudden irritation flares inside Tony’s chest. Not much of it because he still hates arguing with his boyfriend, but enough that he looks up with fire in his eyes.

“Why are you so against it?” he questions, wishing that the few people he trusts in his life would get along. “It’s my life and my company. I thought you were on my side.”

That is a low blow and completely unwarranted too. The words hang between them for a moment, too late for Tony to take them back.

“I am,” Rhodey says firmly, sounding hurt that Tony would suggest otherwise. “But you’ve always been miserable when you had to deal with your father or SI. I just can’t see you returning to that life turning out any better than the first time.”

It is Rhodey’s concern for Tony that causes him to keep arguing, not doubt. Still, it feels like Tony needs to defend himself.

“This time, I’m in charge,” he says but does not wholly believe himself. It might be his name on the building, but he has never led a company of that size, or any company at all. He will have to work hard to catch up, to avoid being outmanoeuvred at any time by the sharks of the industry and his own board members.

In front of him, Rhodey’s shoulders slump. Tony is not naïve enough that this is the end of it, but at least it feels like they are not on completely different sides of this anymore.

“You don’t even like New York,” Rhodey points out weakly, looking at the moving boxes as if they have personally offended them.

Bolstered by the change in mood, Tony pushes some of the boxes out of the way and walks closer towards Rhodey so they are not talking from opposite ends of the hall anymore. He still does not dare to reach out but the closeness alone soothes his nerves.

“That’s why we’re moving headquarters to California,” Tony explains quietly, unsure how Rhodey is going to take another surprise. “I’ve set my eyes on a nice strip of land in Malibu for us.”

“For us, hm?” Rhodey says. Just those two words, but they are enough to make Tony feel like his world is crumbling. Where he was at first only afraid that Rhodey would not agree with his decision, he now thinks that Rhodey might not come with him at all.

It was never supposed to be like this. He was going to hide the moving boxes until Rhodey was gone and then let him fly to Malibu when he was next on leave. He would come to the house Tony is picturing for them and it would be too late to doubt his decision because everything was already said and done then, and perhaps Tony would have already found his footing then and everything would be all right. He could have shown Rhodey that everything is all right.

“Of course, for us,” Tony says hurriedly, stumbling over the words while he tries to keep himself from pleading incoherently. “I mean, I’m not going to force you to come with me. I meant it when I said I could keep this apartment for you. It’s just – I – we –”

He is not going to have a panic attack because his own bad planning is catching up with him. There is nothing to be afraid of. They have weathered worse things than this; Howard trying to pay Rhodey off to avoid the headlines of Tony being bisexual, Tony acting like a complete maniac at college with no regard for his own safety. The examples are numerous. In a twisted sort of way, it could be amusing that their downfall is coming now, when they have finally settled down, ready to be their own people.

A hand on his arms has Tony crashing back into the present. Rhodey is there, right in front of him. His eyes are warm but worried.

“Stop that, Tones,” he says quietly, waiting patiently for Tony’s breathing to calm down and the wildness to disappear from his gaze. “I’m not going to break up with you,” he then promises with enough conviction that there is no doubting him. “I just wish you would have told me. Before.”

It was perhaps rather short-sighted of Tony to think that he could avoid arguing about this whole matter by bypassing Rhodey completely. Relocating their home without asking would have probably been even worse than that.

Tony did not know how to ask, though. He cannot yet make sense of his own feelings, so he trusts himself navigating Rhodey’s even less.

“You’re not mad?” Tony asks, cursing himself for the hope evident in his tone. Rhodey is not one to exploit such weaknesses but old habits die hard.

“A little bit,” Rhodey admits, but he has still not taken his hand from Tony’s arm. “Because I don’t think you’ll be happy with this decision.”

Tony knows he will be happy anywhere as long as Rhodey is with him. And when he is not, Tony just needs to keep himself busy. Stark Industries will work just fine.

“I couldn’t leave Obie hanging for any longer,” Tony offers, knowing it has been unfair to shirk his duties for so long. Taking over Stark Industries might not be exactly what he wants to do with his life, but it is what he was raised for.

Sighing, Rhodey pulls him close and rests their cheeks together when Tony guiltily snakes his arms around him.

“You know what you’re doing, right?” Rhodey asks quietly, his breath warm on Tony’s skin. “You know what you’re getting yourself into? This is not just because you feel guilty you ran from SI after your father died?”

As close as they are, there is no room for lies between them, so Tony says, “I think I know what I’m doing.” That is the best he has to offer.

He feels Rhodey relaxing more into their hug. With reawakened humour, Rhodey remarks, “I guess that’s better than usual.”

For a long moment, they just breathe, holding on to each other as if there was real danger of them not being able to do so again. Tony wishes he would never have to let go, but then he draws back, remaining close enough that they never lose all contact.

“You’re going to come with me, right?” he asks, still afraid of the answer.

“Of course,” Rhodey answers without the slightest reluctance. Only then does he allow himself a smile. “You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

As if Tony would ever want to get rid of Rhodey. It still surprises him sometimes how much he loves him, how incomplete he feels without Rhodey at his side. Growing up, he had seen both extremes of love. Howard and Maria who were at best cool with each other and at worst cursed each other’s existence. And then Jarvis and Ana, who were perfect, utterly besotted and best friends to boot. If asked, Tony would have put all his money on ending like his father, no matter how much he wished for the opposite. Rhodey is more than his love, he is proof that there is hope for Tony.

Instead of trying to fit all of that into words, Tony takes the coward’s way out and says, “You’ll love the house.”

It is not a lie. The house will be gorgeous and Tony can already imagine them walking down its halls.

“I thought you were only looking at land for now,” Rhodey asks with some suspicion. It would not be the first time that Tony has gone completely overboard.

“I’ve already designed it,” Tony corrects hastily. He has the blueprints lying around and created a 3D model. “Do you want to see or do you want it to be a surprise?”

There are still some problems with the statics and getting the house exactly where he wants it to be. But it is not like a too steep cliff that has made all kinds of architects turn away would actually frighten Tony. He has been picturing their life there, so he is going to make it happen.

“No offence, Tones,” Rhodey says but he is smiling, “but I could do with less of your surprises.”

“I love you?” It ends up sounding too much like a question, although Tony has tried to overcome his insecurity regarding Rhodey’s feelings for him. Rhodey is not the kind of person who would let himself be tied down with someone he does not love, so it is unfair to question his commitment just because Tony still cannot imagine anyone choosing him.

Rhodey’s smile widens when he answers, “And I love you.”

In response, Tony shifts closer and does not hide his relief when Rhodey moves his arm immediately around him again. This is still the safest place in the entire world.

“It’s much warmer in California too,” Tony says quietly, hell-bent on selling the advantages of moving. “And –”

“Stop talking, Tones,” Rhodey shushes him, pressing a kiss into his hair. “I’ve said yes. You should have learned by now to quit when you’re ahead.”

A short bout of laughter tumbles over Tony’s lip. “It usually doesn’t feel like I’m ahead,” he says and means it.

No matter how much he tries, it always feels like he stumbles behind everybody else, trying and failing to keep up, to live up to their expectations. With Rhodey he knows he has someone who will always wait for him instead of running ahead.

“That’s what you’ve got me for. To remind you,” Rhodey remarks good-naturedly. “Now, let’s have a look at that house of ours. And then I’ll help you pack.”

Despite that, they remain where they are for long minutes, just enjoying each other’s closeness. It does not matter what they will pack or what Rhodey will say to the house. Tony would change all of it in a heartbeat. Because this, Tony being held in Rhodey’s arms, is home.

[youngster-monster]

Day 4 // Sunshine

In the end, love doesn’t come to him in a great fanfare of remembered memories and burning passion. It’s not loud, or obvious, or much of anything at all, really.

It comes with sunlight.

Cayde isn't prone to nightmares. He's seen some shit, but he's not haunted by them. He's not... Plagued by his regrets either. He has a lot of those – he's made more than his share of mistakes – but he's learned to move on. It's the most valuable lesson he's ever learned: earn your forgiveness rather than agonize over your guilt.

So, Cayde isn't really a poor sleeper. He's got his fair share of bad dreams, but nothing to drive him to insomnia.

Still. Some nights are worse than others.

He sits at the very edge of the Tower hangar, watching the pitch black sky stretching ahead of him. The moon is hidden behind a cover of dark clouds. The storm refuses to break: the clammy heat weighs heavy on him, the scent of ozone thick in the air.

He's glad he can't sweat, but even then the night feels stifling. Static electricity sends the faulty coupling in his legs awry. His right foot spasms with a faint crackle. His uneasiness isn’t a strictly physical feeling, though.

There’s… a dream, lingering in his mind like cobwebs. Red, and a touch — soft, warm, skin-on-skin. He’s not sure it’s a memory. He hopes it’s a memory. He’s afraid it’s a memory.

He’s… confused.

Dreams of the Queen of Heart tend to have that effect. It’s a mixed blessing. Half relief, to have that kind of joy-melancholy-nostalgia to hold on to. Half grief to find it missing, a lack, unsure if he wants it back or to forget it for good. A kind of elated pain, like the barely-remembered ache of pressing a bruise.

Cayde doesn’t think he misses being in love. Yet part of him longs for the way his entire body seems lighter, brighter, after a good dream; craves the dread of waking up in something kind of like cold sweat, hand outreached, chasing after a ghost.

Memory loss and feelings are a dangerous combination.

Thunder rumbles in the distance, echoing the chaos in his mind and the clatter of steps on the metal behind him. A drop of water lands just under his eye, ice cold. Just like that the storm breaks and the rain is falling, or rather pouring, the pitter patter of raindrops so loud suddenly it almost drowns out the sound of a voice.

“You’re up early.”

Cayde tilts his head back, throws Razel a Look. “You’re up late.”

Razel shrugs. He has that particular jerkiness to him, betraying of insomnia rather than a voluntary all-nighter. Like his skin doesn’t fit right somehow. He drops next to Cayde, no grace at all yet with an absolute certainty in his balance. He’s only clumsy when he doesn’t try otherwise. Which is often, mind. His legs hang over the edge, swinging absentmindedly.

He’s bored, Cayde realizes. He has nothing to do, too much nervous energy and no way to get rid of it, and the overabundance of it is making him vibrates right out of his skin. Listlessness doesn’t suit Razel.

He’ll be heading out again soon. Disappearing for weeks, with barely a handful of calls to assure them of his continued survival. Cayde is surprised to feel a pang of regret at the thought of Razel already leaving.

That’s new. He’s not in the habit of clinging to his dates, or his friends. Even before being a Vanguard he was very much the quintessential Hunter, obsessed with freedom and very little else.

Maybe the Vanguard is what changed it. He learned to be part of a pack, for a lack of a better hunting analogy. Got used to the company. Must be it.

Razel’s shoulders are tense, his jaw working with the same nervous fidgeting that makes him swing his legs over the empty air under them. Even when he’s standing still he’s champing at the bit to get moving again. It’s not impatience, not quite. Cayde is pretty sure he doesn’t even know he’s doing it. Just to try it out, he pokes Razel in the arm. He freezes, surprised, then all the tension seems to drain out of him at once as he notices it. The fidgeting doesn’t stop for long. But that’s just Razel, not the weird antsiness that drives him in the last hours of his stay in the Tower.

Groaning in defeat he lets himself slump sideways, falling half on top of Cayde and burrowing against his side.

“I hate this,” he says. “The… waiting.”

“The rain never stopped you before.”

“To be honest, it’s more like… Ikora stopping me. She doesn’t like it when I leave without saying goodbye.”

Razel never leaves without saying goodbye to him, Cayde thinks smugly.

He watches him out of the corner of his eye. In the gloom and angled just so, with his lashes covering the glow of his eyes, he looks almost human, deathly pale with ink black hair. Then lightning strikes and in that brief flash he is something more, eyes wide with wonder and very, very still.

Cayde looks away. There’s a churning in his guts, unease like a betrayal. The Queen of Heart—

Might not have been real, is definitely dead and has been for decades. A pipe dream, a fantasy more than a memory.

It’s easier to think like that when Razel is near. Easier to let go of things when he’s a tangible weight at your side, hotter than even his Exo body which keeps overheating in the warmer months. Even when he’s silent like he is now, without his usual ramble to fill the void.

“You’re weirdly quiet today,” Cayde says, gently prodding.

“You’re in one of your moods,” Razel says. It’s not judgmental, a simple statement of a fact. “And the storm is pretty loud.”

That it is. Cayde takes Razel’s hand in his, tapping the seconds separating lightning from thunder in the crease of his palm. “It’s getting farther away,” he says after a quick calculation.

“Cool. I don’t like the rain.”

They don’t say anything else after that. Not while the rain keeps pouring and the thunder slowly fades from an overwhelming drum to a distant rumble, then fades entirely. The lightning strikes get fewer and further in between. The rain slows to a stop.

Then the clouds dissipate like so much fog in the early morning sun, and dawn finally breaks.

It feels like waking up from a dream of drowning, breaking the surface of sleep and gasping for a breath of air. Night gives an odd twist to thing, exhaustion, solitude and darkness combining into a cocktail of weird introspection. The sunlight puts an end to all of those, leaving only a tired clarity.

Cayde feels his mood lift as he watches the sun turns from dark grey to a dull blue to the pink and gold hues of dawn. The sun is bright red as it crosses the horizon. The air is pleasantly cool after the rain and the sunlight is a welcome warmth across his metal plates.

He turns to Razel. Stops.

Razel isn’t looking at him. His eyes are lost on the early morning sun, drinking its sight with the air of someone who doesn’t often get the chance to do so, or rarely has the patience to try. The sunlight falls over his face, bathing him in gold. His markings seem to glow as bright as his eyes then, fiery orange glittering like precious metal. He’s smiling. Just a soft, unconscious small at the edge of his mouth, slowly growing until it creases his eyes. His hair has come undone from its usual ponytail, strands sticking in every direction at once, messy and feathery and—

He feels a pang in his chest and has to fight the urge to clutch his heart. It’s not sadness, he’s sure of it, nor relief, though it feels somewhat like it. It’s something far greater and far sweeter, a kind of painful joy—

Oh.

Oh.

His chest seems impossibly lighter all the sudden despite the weight of the realization. It shocks a laugh out of him.

Razel turns a curious look to him. The sunlight catches in his lashes, speckling them gold as it throws soft shadows over his face.

“Cayde?”

“It’s fine, buddy, I’m...” He looks at him again, drinking in the sight, off-kilter and delighted by it. “Yeah. I’m great.”

(Love feels pretty good, as it turns out.)

[danyka-fendyr]

As the Raven Flies: Part 8

Should I really stop writing these things early in the morning only hours before they’re supposed to be released? Well...yes. But alas, I probably won’t. As long as you guys are still reading, I’ll keep making insane life choices. Insane love to everyone who has ever left a single note on any of my posts.

Taglist:@dreamwritesimagines @rhabakoli @disengagefrmreality @superwolfchild-fan

Wordcount: 1988

Chapter 8: In which, you wouldn’t like Frank when he’s angry.

Eventually, Vivien finished crying, wiping away her tears in shame. James either didn’t notice or didn’t care that she was foolishly trying to hide the fact that she had cried, letting her clean up in silence.

“How do you feel?” He asked, voice quiet in the car.

“I’m okay.”

“You going to be honest with me or not?” 

“Cold. But like...cold inside.”

James nodded.

“I just...” she sighed. “I just want to go home.”

“Okay. We’re close to my house anyway,” James said, climbing back over into the driver’s seat.

She shook her head. That wasn’t what she’d meant, but she’d been emotionally vulnerable enough for the day, and she’d almost been blown up. She didn’t owe James any explanation about the hole in her chest or about how home meant one year ago or about how home meant anywhere but here and now and her. Home meant an entirely different person, and she wouldn’t be going home any time soon.

The rest of the drive was quiet, except for her occasional sniffles, but when they stopped outside of James’ house Vivien stiffened. There was a black car outside of his house, just a little farther down. She didn’t like that. She didn’t like that at all.

“James,” she said quietly. “Take another lap around the block.”

He raised his eyebrows, but followed her instructions anyway. The black car started up, beginning to follow them. That, James noticed, putting the pieces together.

“They’re following us,” he said.

“The question is, are they here for me, or you?”

“Why don’t we ask?” James pulled over, the black car copying him from a few feet away. “You ready for a fight.”

Vivien rolled her eyes. “Sure. Why not?”

They both got out of the car, and James slammed his fist into the dark window of the driver’s side. “Hey, jerk! Why are you following me and my girlfriend around? What, you think just because you’re her ex you can pull creepy crap like that?”

Vivien just stared at him. What on earth was he doing?

The window rolled down, and revealed...Frank?

“Last time I checked, you just wished you were dating her, punk, just like you’re going to wish you were dead when I’m done with you.”

He opened the door into James’ ribs, throwing him off his balance before Frank punched him in the face.

“Frank!” Vivien rushed forward, blocking his next punch, which was considerably easier to do when you weren’t lying on the ground with a bruised chest and potentially a broken jaw.

Frank stopped, scowling at her. “You should have been back 30 minutes ago, and I want to know what he did to you!”

Had she really cried that long? She hadn’t exactly been keeping track. 

“He didn’t do anything, Frank! I suggested we stop,” she lied. “I was in shock and I needed to get some sugar in my system. It wasn’t James’ fault at all. Leave him alone.”

Frank relaxed slightly, glaring at James, who was standing now, an impressive feat given the damage he had taken.

“I wouldn’t hurt her. She’s my friend,” was all James said.

Frank huffed. “Not five minutes ago you were telling me she was a little more than that.”

Vivien blushed, surprised to feel anything warmer than the cold that had been sitting on her chest. 

“That’s-I-” she stammered, unsure why she was trying to defend herself.

James was blushing also, speaking up. “We thought you were someone following us. I figured we should have a cover story in case you were just a normal person. And even if you weren’t, better to mislead you.”

Frank seemed skeptical, but also a little bit respectful, and Vivien was baffled as to how he managed to be both at the same time. 

He turned to her. “Karen is already at my place. We should go now.”

She nodded. “Just give me a minute. I want to make sure James takes care of that bruise somebody gave him.”

Frank rolled his eyes theatrically at her judgment but waved her on. She followed James inside, into a large, empty house that looked like it had come straight out of a Better Homes & Gardens magazine.

“This is where you live?” she asked before she could stop herself.

“Yeah. My Dad died a couple years ago, so my Mom does all the decorating now. Or, I guess, she pays someone to do it.” 

So that was why he had seemed to understand so well. “Do you miss him?”

She skipped past all the formalities. All the sorry’s, all the saccharine “that must be so hard” comments.

“All the time. Usually when I go watch baseball games. We used to do that together, but now...”

“Now you go alone and then you go home and you cry.” It didn’t sound mean. Just jaded.

“Yeah. Yeah, I do,” he said quietly.

“Where is your kitchen?” she turned to face him in the color palette of a foyer. “We need to put some ice on that.”

“This way,” he said, leading her back to a kitchen that was just as cookie cutter as the hallway.

He reached into the freezer, grabbing an ice pack, but before he could put it on his face Vivien grabbed it from him. She opened a few drawers before she found the towel one (close to the sink, like she’d figured) and pulled out a thin one, wrapping it around the ice pack. 

“There. That will help with the cold,” she said softly, pressing the ice pack to his cheek as he leaned back against the counter. “Sorry about that.”

“It’s okay,” he said. “He was just worried.”

“And angry and probably mentally unwell.” She was only a little bit joking.

“Well we can’t really talk, can we?”

She sobered, smile falling slowly off her lips. “No. No, we can’t.”

“Neither of us can,” he reminded her. He grabbed the wrist of her free hand, tugging her closer. “You’re not alone Vivien.”

She caught her breath. His eyes were really blue. How had she never noticed that before? How had she never noticed the soul-sucking, ocean deep, sky wide, awestriking blueness of his eyes? 

She swallowed. The way he was looking at her made her feel strange, made her heartbeat pick up faster than it should. That shouldn’t be pleasant.

“Thank you,” she whispered, feeling the deep need to break the silence. “For today. For not letting me blow up. For letting me cry.”

His hand that wasn’t holding her wrist came up to rest over the one still on the ice pack on his cheek. “You don’t have to hide it, you know? If you have to cry, you cry. Around me, anyway.”

She nodded slowly, not looking away from his eyes. It felt like she would be breaking something sacred if she did.

“Don’t hide from me, okay Vivien?”

“Okay.”

She waited another moment, savoring whatever this feeling was before she slipped out of his grasp. “I should go.”

He blinked, that look in his eyes disappearing like she had known it would. “Yeah. Umm..thank you. For taking care of me.”

“Yeah. Any time.”

She headed out the door, hands in her pockets. She felt the urge to both jump up and down and skip around the block and also bury her face into her bed and scream. Whatever that was.

“Ready to go?” Frank asked, leaning up against the car.

“Yeah. Why do you have multiple cars?”

“One is for getting shot at. The other is not,” he said.

“Enough said.”

She got into the car, the earlier weight that had been on her chest curiously lifted. Where it had sat, there was now just an empty hole. It was not good, but it was something. An improvement. It felt...light. Airy. 

She smiled. She felt okay.

Frank gave her the lecture of her life on the way back. On being reckless, on how she should have messaged Karen (she did have 8 missed calls), about how she was on a great path to lose dessert for the rest of her life. No really. He actually, literally said that. Vivien almost couldn’t believe her own ears.

“You can’t take dessert away from me!” She protested.

“My house. My rules.”

“Karen would never let you take dessert away from me.”

“Don’t try to use Karen against me.”

“This is ridiculous! All because I saw a boy you don’t like.”

“I don’t like him because he’s probably an enemy spy and set a bomb trying to kill you,” Frank said, adjusting his grip on the wheel.

“Well, you know what, if he did I guess I’d have to forgive him, wouldn’t I? Because he’s the only friend I’ve got.”

Frank quieted. No one ever had a witty retort for reminders of tragedy. It was difficult to laugh in the face of grief, especially when it haunted you as well.

“You’re still not getting dessert tonight.”

“Fine.”

Karen embraced her as soon as she walked through the door of Frank’s apartment. “I was so worried about you!”

“I’m fine. We just had to make a quick stop.”

“What she means by that is that lover boy had to make goo-goo eyes at her,” Frank said.

“That’s not-We didn’t-”

Karen looked entirely too delighted. “Suuuurrreee you didn’t.”

“I don’t have to listen to this.” Vivien marched off to find her room.

Frank’s place was small, but roomy enough to hold all of them. She suspected that he probably had multiple safehouses like this, and this one was obviously equipped to hold multiple people. She wondered how long he’d had it.

Still, it was small, and it didn’t take her long to find the room with all of her things in it. She made quick work of putting what little had been brought away before flopping down onto the bed. Karen had made sure to bring her comforter, remembering that it had been her parent’s before, maybe.

Vivien closed her eyes, wishing she could just go to sleep. After this day, all she wanted to do was sleep. However, there was still the matter of dinner. Karen and Frank would want her to eat with them after all the worrying they’d been doing. Sure enough, Frank knocked on her doorframe, standing where she had left the door ajar.

“Dinner is ready whenever you’re hungry. Just some lame TV stuff, but you know. Food is food even if it isn’t Karen’s cooking.”

“Which is, of course, the only reason you frequent our place for dinner.” She sat up as she teased him, getting out of bed.

“I’d be careful if I were you. Two can play at that game,” he warned.

She thought about James and how close she had been to him earlier today and decided that perhaps it was better to keep her mouth shut.

They headed out into what passed for a living room or common space where there were three TV dinners, just like Frank had said. Karen was sitting on the couch waiting for them, and Vivien joined her, sitting down.

“So, Frank told me James said he was your boyfriend?” Of course that was the conversation starter Karen chose.

“He’s not. And don’t we have bigger problems right now? Any theories as to who might want to blow us up?”

“Well that’s the main problem,” Frank said, sitting down with them. “There were four of us in that room. Any of us could have been the target, potentially, which doesn’t make tracking down a suspect easy at all.”

Vivien nodded. “We’ve all certainly made our fair share of enemies, haven’t we?”

“More than that,” Karen mumbled, a hint of bitterness flavoring her words.

“Which is why first we need to figure out who they were attacking, and then we can figure out why.”

Vivien stabbed her fork into her food. “Alright. When do we start?”

[peaches-of-1]

Demon AU: 666 So Fresh- Chapter 9

Chapter Warnings: References to past suicide attempt (as a child), pills mention, razor mention, some angst

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Zula was covered in sweat and nearly blacked out twice. Yoongi was pushing her hard, but she pushed herself harder. Flying was cool and stuff with air powers, but she wanted to have full control over everything her demon powers gave her. That meant weaponizing this wind power and Charming people like Jimin had done to her.

“C’mon, Zuzu. You’ve already gotten four of them knocked down. There’s just one more!”

Yoongi was referring to the objects of various weights placed in front of her. They were in a junkyard, and zula just had to create enough force to knock them down one at a time. She could pulse, but it was hard to focus her energy in one spot. Also, if she destroyed them instead, then she’d have to try again.

Her eyes were glowing something fierce when she looked up at Yoongi. “One more.” Zula panted out.

He nodded and she stood up straight. She held her two hands in front of herself. Taking a deep breath, she turned her fatigue and frustration into nothing but wind power.

Taehyung had decided to stay home today instead of watching Zula train. He had immortality and didn’t really need anything else. He wasn’t lonely, though. He had collected every past tool that he had used to hurt himself and put it in the toilet. Every blade and every pill bottle was put into a box. Fire in the backyard was too big and would bring too much attention.

He dumped the weapons of self destruction into the water with satisfying plots and closed the lid. Closing his eyes and holding the lid down, Tae made the decision to be better and flushed. For Zula. He was going to live.

Taehyung took the now empty box and put it into the trash. Then he sat down. Looking around him, this past week had changed him. Last week he wanted to just disappear. His life was dust. It collected on every surface and made it hard for him to breathe. She put air into his lungs and blew all the dust away. Well, most of it. He would never be perfect or completely fine, but it was easier to keep going knowing that Zula was there to support and love him.

He remembered a day from his childhood. His dad wasn’t happy about something a few days before he left for the military. Everything told Little Taehyung that it was his fault, whatever it had been. With his elementary mind, he came to the conclusion that if he was gone, they’d stop fighting.

So he climbed onto the windowsil of his 2nd story bedroom window and jumped out. All Taehyung could remember was seeing fire and light. It wasn’t hot, though. A scaled pinkish creature with black horns looked down at him.

“Tsk tsk tsk. I guess you don’t know what you are, little one. I’m going to take you back to your parents. Be more careful, ok? Or don’t. You’ll be fine either way.” She led him to the white in between place. “Now close your eyes and count to 5.”

He did as told, and when he opened them, Taehyung saw his mom crying and his dad standing next to the window with his arms crossed. It was still night time, and they were at the hospital.

“Mom? Dad?”

She couldn’t believe her eyes. His mom hugged her son close and his dad looked at him with worry. No, not worry, something else. A different type of anger, grief.

He looked away for a moment, “I know I should be happy...but you’re just like me. I’m sorry, Taehyung. You’re my son. I’m supposed to give you the best life, but I only gave you so much pain.”

Tae didn’t understand, and the topic was never brought up again. Even as his curiosity and experimentation began to grow, nothing was done about the mean words. The only words he ever got were from his father, the very man who condemned him to this immortal life.

“You are what you are. Embrace it.”

All his life, Taehyung had thought he embraced the fact that he couldn’t die when the face had embraced him, taken over his life. It became an obsession.

The door opened and his friends came in. Zula was leaning heavily on Yoongi’s shoulder, sweat reflecting off her skin and soaking through her green tank top. He set her on the couch next to Tae.

“She worked hard today. It’ll take her a while to regain her strength, so let her rest. She can bathe when she wakes up.” The then took off his own shirt as he moved to the bathroom closet to his bedroom. “I’m gonna take a shower. Make sure she eats if she wakes up.”

“If?” A cold fear claimed his heart.

“While I’m gone! If she wakes up while I’m gone!” Yoongi called from the hallway.

Yoongi surprised himself in the mirror. He still wasn’t used to his platinum blonde hair yet but was glad he made the change. He stepped into the shower and let his brain wander. First thing his mind went to was how proud of Zula he was. In only three short days, she had mastered the basics of her air power. All expansion from here on out would be up to her.

She looked real beautiful today. The way her determined face dared those wrecked cars to defy her by not flipping over. Lust was one of the most powerful Sins with a natural charming power. Yoongi smirked at the thought that Zula might have charmed him by accident. Why else would his heart have pounded when she cheered in success or actually be frustrated the few moments when she wanted to give up? Why did he like her so much?

And that boy, Taehyung. Yoongi was always happy to see him and wanted to do everything in his power to see that kid smile. It was more platonic feelings, but still. No one in 100 years made him feel the way these two Demi Spawn did. Was it because they were raised human? Maybe, but he had met so many half and full Spawn in his lifetime. These kids were just different.

Yoongi turned off the water and dried off. Putting a towel around his waist and over his shoulders, he went to his bedroom and looked through his closet. All new things. His Greed was happy since they belonged to him and no one else.

He pressed the button for the PA system that was installed in the house, “How’s she doing?”

A couple of seconds later, Taehyung’s voice came through. “Zula would like to remind you that she has a name. Also, she’s doing fine.” He chuckled. “We’ll have to go shopping again depending on how much she eats.”

“Ya gurl has the munchies!” Her voice came through but farther away than Tae’s.

“Don’t eat any of my stuff, or I’ll have your head.” Yoongi warned. “Also, we’re doing fancy Friday, right? The at home ball?”

A slight pause and then Zula’s voice spoke, “Right, yeah. We’re doing that today since it’s next on the list. I’m excited!”

Yoongi smiled. “Alright! I can’t wait to dance with you.” He pulled his hand back as if it were on fire. Why did he say that?

More importantly, why was he so nervous and worried to hear her response? It was taking Zula a while to say anything. Yoongi’s hart actually pounded in his hears every second he didn’t hear her voice come through the PA system. Then the transmission crackled.

Zula gave a confused giggled, “Um, what was that? You cut out after you said wait.”

“Uh, nothing. I’m gonna get dressed. Let me know if there are any songs you want me to play and get the sheet music for it. He did his best not to give away his feelings.

“Ok.” She said and that was it.

Yoongi tousled his hair with his towel and picked out a suit. Hopefully his words didn’t offend Taehyung. Wrath was a violent and surprisingly strong demon to have attached to one’s soul. Even if it was just half, the last thing he wanted was to be the reason why Tae was upset.

As a demon, Yoongi had been in several relationships and had lived many many years. With those years, he learned not to limit his love. It was very few and far between for him when he did feel any sort of affection, so he’d always give it his all. That also meant he didn’t waste time trying to convince himself he doesn’t have any obvious feelings and didn’t pursue those who did not want to be pursued...unless it was for money.

Because he kept thinking about how Zula would feel about certain suits during his choosing process, Yoongi admitted his feelings to himself. He liked her and would hell her when they had a moment alone.

“What do you think he meant by that?” Tae asked as Zula went back to her food.

Using demonic emotional energy really made her hungry.

She looked at him, “Not sure.” and shoved a spoonful of cereal shoved in her mouth.

“You probably like him more than you life me. It’d be better if we broke up and started dating him instead.”

“If I want to love Yoongi romantically and/or sexually, I can and I will. That doesn’t mean that I’ll love you any less. I do value your feelings, though, Tae. So if you really want to be monogamous with me--”

“I need to think about it. The possibility of non-monogamy just never occurred to me.”

Zula smiled, “It’s ok. Take as much time as you need to figure things out, alright? I’ll love you no matter what your answer is, Tae.”

He nodded and went off with an unasked question. Did Zula like Yoongi too, or did she just want to toy with him? Did her Lust want him or did her heart? It’d be best to figure this out while getting dressed. Taehyung could do anything for Zula. As far as he was concerned, Yoongi liking her wasn’t even a definate thing.

Still, the Wrath Demi Sparn needed to think with a clear head absolutely how far he would go for the girl he had known for only 10 days. He also needed to order something for them to eat tonight. Anger built up inside him, but this wasn’t the time for that. Nothing was set in stone. Even if it were, stones could be broken.

The trio dressed in their finest and most extravagant outfits. Yoongi was the first to be completely ready. He looked at the list on the wall. They used the lipstick tubes that were formerly used for Taehyung’s attempt count to write and decorate their list. Things they planned to do until the money ran out.

Since Yoongi was a demon of Greed, they wouldn’t run out anytime soon.

He wore a classic black suit with coattails and white gloves. He never felt “fancy” without them. He decided to wear his glasses tonight. Being on Earth for long had affected his eyesight. Yoongi was glad he had worn them since it allowed him to take in every detail of her outfit. Zula came down in a peach colored dress fit for a princess. A matching shawl was on her shoulders and a tiny tiara sat in front of her hair that was pulled into a bun.

“I guess I don’t have to ask how I look.” Zula shut his mouth by lifting his jaw with a finger.

“More amazing that usual. Flaming fucks, you look hotter than Hell itself.”

She smiled and twirled, “Thanks. And you look very classy.”

“Thank you.” He did a small nod. “Is Tae close behind?”

“Nah.” Zula shook her head. “He’s trying to choose a good tie.”

Yoongi made a sound of acknowledgement and began to play a bit to warm up his fingers and the keys. Zula leaned on the piano slightly.

She bit her lip, “I told my parents last night. They know I know what I am.”

“And?” He asked for more.

“They apologized a lot, a whole lot, but I am glad I grew up human. I don’t think that I’d ever feel normal either way, but it sure does explain a lot. Why people stared and wanted to touch me so much.” She laughed at it now and spun to the music.

A sigh left her lips. “Y’know, I could be completely in dress code and still get in trouble for being dressed inappropriately when it was just perverted teachers who wanted to blame anyone but themselves for looking at me. Just because I’m part Lust doesn’t mean they couldn’t control themselves.”

Yoongi looked at her, “So you’re happy?”

“With you and Tae? Knowing I’m Half of Hell? Of course!” Zula came back to the piano. “Hey, I’ve got questions. Demon questions, and you’re the only person I can ask right now.”

“God ahead.” He chuckled.

“First off, can you ever not sin? We’re born of it, right? So can we ever just be normal, well society’s normal or good?”

He shook his head, “Nope. People will say we’re slaves to our vice, but there’s not much else demons wanna do except sin. Like me, Greed, I’ll do anything to be rich. Some people can try to take a cleaner and less illegal path, but where’s the fun in that?”

Zla laughed, “Next question, how do demons get to roam Earth?”

“We can be summoned and break free, or we just leave if we’ve got enough curiosity about the mortals’ realm. All we gotta do is go to a gate, promise to Raise Hell, and--”

“And you’ve got no choice but to Raise it, so they let you go. Ok, one more. Can you really not say the Lord’s name or anything Holy?”

Yoongi eyed her, wondering how she knew that, “Nope. Banished from our tongue. Not like we’d want to.”

Zula recognized the song being played on the ivories and began to sing along.

Words fall through me And always fool me And I can’t react

He smiled at her and continued, singing the chorus with her.

Take this sinking boat and point it home. We’ve still got time. Raise your hopeful voice. You have a choice, you’ve made it now~

She knew the song perfectly and ended up sitting with Yoongi onto the bench. Their sides were touching as they sang and he played. When the song ended, they looked at each other and smiled.

“I really love-” Zula and him started in unison and then giggled.

She spoke first, “I love your smile, Yoongi. It really suits you.”

“I really love your voice...and you, Zula. I love.” He was nervous, but her reaction wasn’t negative. It gave him enough bravery to cup her face in his hand and ask, “Can I kiss you?”

Zula nodded and he placed his lips on hers. His heart was beating wildly in his ears and knew that she could hear it or probably feel it. Yoongi thought it would explode. He loved this feeling and couldn’t help but want more. He wanted her and struggled not to overstep his bounds.

She could feel how eager and greedy he was just by feeling his heart pound away in his chest, and it was a glorious sound. When it came to matters of the body, Lust knew all.

A clearing throat behind them made them separate. Taehyung was in a grayish silver vest with matching dress pants and a white dress shirt. He plopped onto the midnight blue couch they had moved in here to make this place better to listen in.

“So?” Tae asked, looking at the two of them.

“Yeah.” Zula nodded and tucked a stray hair behind her ear. She looked at him. “So?”

“Yea.” He’d be ok in a poly relationship, especially if it was them.

Yoongi glanced around, “So we’re?”

“Mm-hmm!” She chirped the same time Tae went, “Yep!”

“Awesome.” Yoongi’s smile got larger and he began playing on the piano once again.

Well, that went a lot smoother than Zula thought it would. She commented on how great Tae’s earring went with his suit and he reached out for a hug. She went over to him and let herself get embraced, tulle spreading about her.

The doorbell rang and Tae got excited as it was the pizza he ordered. He showed up at the door with money in hand. The pizza woman greeted him and questioned the attire.

“Just getting home or about to go out?”

“We never left, not gonna, at least for tonight.” He replied, putting the six pizzas in a red wagon he had set by the door.

She smiled, “Who’s we?”

Zula arrived and peeked into the mudroom, “Hurry up, Tae. Yoongi's getting hungry.”

“Ok, I’m coming. Tell our boyfriend not to get his coattails in a twist.”

“Our boyfriend, I love that.” Zula then disappeared to the back.

The delivery woman was super confused seeing this woman looking like she was on her way to meet the Queen waiting for pizza. She didn't have time to ask more as Taehyung gave get the money and closed the door after telling her to have a good night.

She ended up just laughing at the scene that had played out before her, “I love youth.”

The night soon turned into loud international pop music and Tae took photos of them eating pizza, playing piano, and dancing on the couch. His heart wasn't in pain when he saw Yoongi and Zula kissing. He was happy. It felt right, a little strange because it was all so new. Still, the three of them like this felt perfect.