#at least i was at a two days long painting camp and had a nice tho hard experience

[tryingtimi]

anxiety is so high i’m a bit immobile in creative aspects, so sorry for being a bit inactive. job interview makes me insane (gotta be in two days).

[ghostboneswrites2]

The Girl in the Shack || One Shot

New account! @ghostbones was banned! Transferring all my work here slowly!

Summary: Daryl & Aaron are out recruiting when they find you holed up in an old shack.

18+ MDNI || WARNINGS: profanity, nongraphic allusions to SA & general abuse, killing, TWD typical violence, description of malnourishment

        The sunlight filtered through the small cracks in the tiny shack, dust particles floating peacefully in the small beams of light. You had been there for days, too weak to move on. You didn't even feel the pain anymore, not from the bruises or the hunger. Not from how dry your throat was or how cracked and bloody your lips were. All you felt was tired as you stared up at the ceiling, crumpled up on the floor like you were already dead. You would be, soon, probably.

        That day was particularly nice. Daryl enjoyed the light breeze as it blended with the warm air. Perfect weather. He and Aaron were trekking silently through the woods. Aaron said he had a lead on a small group of men before Rick's group came along and he decided to pursue them instead. Now that Rick's people were settling in among the Alexandrians, Aaron wanted to give that lead one last chance before they moved on to scouting a different area.

        "Last I saw them, they camped out right over here, outside this little shack." Aaron told Daryl, as the two men came to a halt when they emerged from the trees into the small clearing around the dilapidated wooden structure. Daryl didn't speak, instead silently making a circle around the shack, examining the small signs of life left behind by this supposed group of men. There was definitely a fire there, and people, as he could see the tracks and some singed fallen foliage, but he wasn't sure the tracks were fresh enough to follow. They were hard to identify as it was. After all, this would have been at least two weeks ago, now.

        Daryl circled back to Aaron and gave him a nod, to signify that the coast was clear, before they decided to check inside. They moved for the door with silent steps, slowly pushing it open. You, in an act of pure, fear fueled adrenaline, shuffled to your feet and pushed your back against the wall opposite to the door, squinting at the raw daylight that cascaded over you. The two men stood stunned, taking in the tragic sight of you.

        You were clearly malnourished, as your bones were defined anywhere your skin was showing. Your lips were as crackled and bloody as they felt. Most of all, you had bruises over your entire frame, head to toe. Not just ordinary bruising, either. These were the kind that looked painted on. There were so many shades of green, yellow, purple, blue, and almost black. You pressed harder against the wooden panels behind you the longer they stared.

        "A--Are you okay?" Aaron was the first to speak. You didn't answer, you just studied him intently, watching his hands for any sudden movements before your eyes flicked over to Daryl, and back to Aaron when he spoke again. "Are you thirsty? I have water."

        You swallowed dryly at the mention of water. You didn't know how long it had been since anything liquid made it past your lips but it had been long enough to kill you by this point. Aaron could read the signs of dehydration all over you as he slowly reached in his pack and pulled out a full bottle of water. He held it out to you. "Here you go." He offered. "Untouched. Still sealed."

        After you took some time to consider, you ultimately decided you couldn't resist even if you wanted to. In the blink of an eye you snatched the bottle, causing Aaron to flinch at the quick movement. The two of them couldn't take their eyes off you. The way the whites of your eyes contrasted the dark bruising around them was uncanny. Your hair was so matted up that you leaves and dust clumped together within the knots. You looked absolutely feral, and your actions didn't exactly give off a different impression. You cowered in fear, but your eyes were full of rage, like a feral cat.  Beyond that, your clothes were torn and hung from your body loosely, like tender meat sliding off the bone. You had definitely been through something unimaginable.

        "Would you like some food?" Aaron offered softly, after they watched you down three quarters of the water in just few gulps. You looked at him with that same look of desperation and apprehension. He nodded, and passed you over a jar of applesauce that he liked to carry around, just to show people that they had an apple orchard nearby. Part of his selling point, he guessed.

        You flipped the top of the jar and poured it in  your mouth quickly, gulping loud as you swallowed the sweet sauce. When it was gone, and the men were still there, you realized you had no idea why they were helping you, or what they wanted. Aaron picked up on the sudden curiosity and offered you a smile. A warm, friendly, welcoming smile that you hadn't seen in a long time. The only people that smiled out there were the ones who relished in pain and suffering of others.  This one was different.

        "My name is Aaron, and this is Daryl." He introduced himself and his partner. Your eyes flicked between the two. Quite the contrast, as Aaron was clean cut and maybe even  a little casual, while Daryl was more grungy and dark, at least in the wardrobe department. The way Aaron looked at you was open and maybe even a little nervous, while Daryl's gaze was more narrow and calculated, as if he'd catch even the slightest sign of malicious intent.

        You decided neither of them could have been helping you out of the kindness of their hearts. Kindness always came with strings attached, at least in this world. You clenched your jaw, grinding your teeth together tightly,  and sucked in a deep breath. You clenched your fists as you mustered the courage to speak.

        "Just get it over with." You said. Your voice was laced with defeat and irritation. You looked away from the two men, staring blankly at the aging wooden walls.

        "I'm sorry?" Aaron tilted his head, knitting his eyebrows together.

        "Easy way or the hard way, right? If I surrender now can you just make it quick?" You asked with a quiver in your voice. 

        "Woah, we're not here to hurt you." Aaron said, eyes growing wide at the realization of what you were implying. 

        You allowed your eyes to peek back  over at them. They eyed you sympathetically. Even Daryl's untrusting glare softened when he realized what had happened to you, why you looked so rough.

        "Why don't you step out here?" Aaron suggested. "I--We come from a community. A big one, with walls, and food, and lots of nice people. We can help you. That's our job."

        "Community?" You asked. The word seemed to take your breath away. "I--I--'

        "It's okay." Aaron assured, stepping back a little and offering you his hand. "We promise. No tricks. Just good people trying to help. Come on out."

        When you took his hand and stepped out of the tiny shack, the sun illuminated you in your entirety. Daryl took notice of where your shirt had been ripped, exposing a large portion of your ribs. He noticed a boot print shaped bruise and his fists clenched a little.

        "That bruise." He nodded to it. "You know who did it?"

        "Not their names." You shook your head. "Just some guys."

...

        A week had gone by. As promised, Aaron and Daryl led you back to their community safely. Alexandria. Aaron's pictures did it no justice. It was an absolute paradise. A warm bed, hot showers, food, water, everything you could ask for at your own disposal. 

        A nice blonde lady named Jessie had come by on your first day and detangled your hair. She even trimmed it up to get rid of the split ends. She told you it would help keep it from matting up again. Later that day she brought you a basket of supplies, like food and hygienic products. Soap, a brush, even toothpaste and a toothbrush. You were still convinced it was all a dream, even a week later.

        Deanna, the leader, had checked in on you daily and reminded you that whenever you were ready, to come see her and she would give you a job chosen specially for you. She also still needed to finish your interview, as you weren't really in the place for that upon arrival.

        You were getting ready for a dinner at Aarons.  He stopped by to check in and offer you a meal. You had a little trouble eating a lot at once with how much your stomach shrank with starvation, but you couldn't turn down a real, homecooked meal. Not when a week ago you would have probably killed for a slice of bread.

        You smiled as you put on soft, clean clothes that actually smelled good and didn't feel stiff and crusty with blood and sweat. You couldn't believe you were in such a dilemma, but you had a hard time choosing a shirt. What was proper dinner attire? You just settled on a long sleeved gray V-neck that clung to your body. It reminded you of something you would have worn to high school or something. 

        When you checked the time, you realized you only had a few minutes until seven, when Aaron told you they'd be ready. You hadn't met Eric, but you heard about him from Aaron and how he was a nice cook. You took a breath to inflate yourself with some semblance of confidence before you headed two streets over and knocked on the door. It didn't take long for them to open the it, Aaron's smiling face greeting you nicely.

        "(Y/N). Glad you could make it." He grinned, stepping aside to allow you space to enter. You stepped in and looked around the house. It was nice, a little bigger than the one they gave you, but that was okay. You didn't need much space, and more space meant more places for threats to hide. "Dining room's that way. Make yourself comfortable. Eric's just finishing up the food. I'll go get the wine."

        "Wine?" You gawked, earning a small chuckle from your host. 

        "A particularly sweet one, I might add."

        Before long you were sipping wine and enjoying a mouthful of mashed potatoes. Aaron and Eric made small talk with you, and surprisingly you felt pretty comfortable chatting back. There was a small knock at the door that interrupted the conversation.

        "Oh. Must be Daryl. Hope you don't mind, (Y/N), we usually have Daryl over for dinner on Tuesdays." Aaron said as he stood from the table. You shrugged and shoveled another spoonful of mashed potatoes into your mouth as he walked away, chuckling at your content attitude. 

        "When's the last time you had a real meal?" Eric asked. You set your spoon down and wiped your mouth, looking up to the ceiling as you tried to recall.

        "I'm honestly not sure." You admitted. "Probably the night before the outbreak hit my hometown. I had made alfredo and chicken parm for the first time. Burned the chicken to hell but the noodles were good."

        "Wow." He said, sadly. "I'm sorry you've had it so hard all this time."

        "Yeah." You nodded.

        Aaron entered the room with Daryl, who looked much cleaner than the day you met him, and the two of them took a seat. Daryl sat beside you, opposite to Aaron and Eric.

        "I'll get your plate." Eric announced, heading into the kitchen.

        Daryl snuck a few glances in your direction. You were still bruised up but they had faded into a lighter range of yellow and purple, as opposed to how dark they were last time he saw you. Your hair looked shiny and soft, and most of all you looked human. He thought about how long he and his people had been on the road, how close they were to losing their humanity. They still looked better than you when they first got here. He thought you were a goner when he met you, that maybe the world had taken away everything that made you a person. He was glad to see that he was wrong, and shocked at how friendly you seemed to be. 

        All things considered, you cleaned up well and you were actually pretty now that he could see you without all the grime and suffering. 

        "Hey." You said timidly, offering a shy, thin lipped smile.

        "Hey." He grunted. "You been alright?"

        "Um.. Probably better than I've been in years." You chuckled nervously. He nodded, understanding.

        "It's a lot to get used to." He said.

        "I think I stayed in the shower of over an hour that first night." You admitted. 

        "Hope you like chicken." Eric chimed as he stepped into the dining room and set Daryl's plate in front of him, along with a glass of wine. The man began eating immediately, bite after bite, finishing before anyone else, and sucking his fingers clean. You could tell he was used to being out there in the world, and that he was good at surviving. You wished you were the same.

        "So, (Y/N), Daryl and I.." Aaron trailed off, taking a breath as he tried to find a gentle way to ask. "Well, the men that did that to you. We were hoping you could give us a description, maybe."

        "Why?" You asked, suddenly tense. Your throat felt tight as your mind raced at the mention of them. "Do you think they're here?"

        "No! No. Nothing like that." Aaron assured. "We just--"

        "I'm gon' find them bastards and beat 'em for all they're worth." Daryl spoke up. You looked at him with wide eyes, still trying to calm your racing heart.

        "What he means is that we wanted to make sure they never  cross paths with any of our people here." Aaron added.

        "Well, they had, um.. There were three of them, and they all had beards, and they, um--"

        "What were their races? What were they wearing?" Eric asked, trying to help guide you as you recalled their appearances.

        "Oh. I think they were all white. Not old but not young. Maybe in their forties? And they all had jeans and boots on and different shirts."

        "Perfect. Thank you. We're sorry we had to ask, but--"

        "It's okay."  You cut Aaron off. "If it helps then I get it."

...

        That dinner was two weeks ago. You were surprised when Daryl stopped by your house every few days to check on you. Sometimes he'd even stay for a while and watch a DVD with you or let you make him some food.

        When he came over one evening in the middle of one of your movies you were welcoming.  You were glad to make a friend. 

        "Hey!" You grinned. "I was just watching this corny rom-com. I'll restart it so we can suffer together." 

        He didn't say anything as he stepped in, and you giddily rushed over to the DVD player to restart the film.

        "Oh! Eric brought me some whiskey, too. I'll go get it." You rambled. "And, that lady Carol brought me some cookies, and I found some chips at the pantry. Jessie said they usually go to Deanna's family but she let me take them this time--"

        "We got 'em." He said. You paused, confused.

        "The chips?" You tilted your head.

        "Nah. Them assholes. We got 'em." He said. "Bunch o' sorry pricks. Just killed some guy for his car when we found 'em."

        You stared at him, wide eyed, as you took in what he was saying. You let out a breath as you plopped back on the couch.

        "Y'alright?" He asked, stepping closer to you.

        "Y--Yeah, I--I just wasn't--" You stuttered, unable to form a response. He gave you the time you needed to gather your thoughts. "I guess I just didn't think you'd actually find them. Figured they'd be long gone by now."

        "I told you I'd get 'em." He said, taking a seat beside you. You chest felt tight. You wanted to feel the relief he worked so hard to give you, but somehow the image of them just sent you into panic, alive or dead. "Hey." He said, gently pushing a finger under your jaw to tilt your head toward him. You looked at him as you blinked back tears. "They're gone. Ain't nobody gonna hurt you like that again. Now go get them snacks and that whiskey and lets watch this corny ass movie."

        And there it was, the beginning of it all. Daryl came over every two to three days after that and did whatever mundane activities you suggested. Sometimes he'd put his arm around you during a movie, or sometimes he'd give you a tight hug before he left after dinner.

        One night he came with some wine and a casserole Carol had made. 

        "Two nights in a row?" You asked him as you let him in.

        "Figured you were missin' me already." He teased. You rolled your eyes with a little smile. He went straight to your kitchen and got wine and casserole ready for the two of you before he met you back on the couch. You sipped the wine and dug in, as did he. He finished before you as he always did, and once you were finished, he pulled a DVD out of his jacket. 

        "Austin Powers?" You laughed, taking the movie and walking over to the DVD player to pop the disc in.

        "Never seen it." He shrugged.

        "I loved these movies when they came out." You told him, taking your seat back on the couch.

        "Guess I picked a good one." He commented as the movie started to play. When the movie finished, he looked over to find you sleep, curled up on the other end of the couch. He huffed a laugh and shook his head, standing up and scooping you in his arms, carrying you down the hall and to the single bedroom, before gently laying you down. Your eyes fluttered open as you watched him stand up over you. "Didn't mean to wake ya." He apologized, noticing a small glisten in you eyes as you looked up at him.

        "You carried me to bed?" You asked groggily.

        "You fell asleep." He said, clearing his throat and shifting uncomfortably.

        "It's okay." You smiled. "Wanna stay?"

        "Huh?"

        "With me. Wanna stay the night?" You clarified.

        "Like a slumber party?" He scoffed.

        "You're right. That was stupid. Goodnight Daryl." You said, scooting over to the side of the bed you usually slept on and rolling over, feeling a tad embarrassed.

        You heard him walk to the door and pause, before you heard quiet shuffling and then some silence. You were surprised when you felt a weight on the other side of the bed. The mattress rocked a little as he wiggled under the covers and found a comfortable position on his side, facing your back.

        "Wasn't stupid." He said quietly. You smiled to yourself as you scooted back. He took the hint and wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close to him.

[kivino]

TAKE US BACK || ZOMBIE AU || KYLE ‘GAZ’ GARRICK X GN!READER

Word Counter – 6.4k words

Summary – The new world was rotten, and you rotted away with it. 

Tags/Warnings – Zombie AU (heavily twd coded, don’t expect some l4d type of stuff /lh. Death and turning after the bite ARE slower, however. For the sake of drama. obviously), gore, blood, gn!Reader, established relationship, heavy angst, major character death. 

A/n – So, this fic is my contribution to the spooky season! Special thanks to @mockerycrow for helping me with the pictures for the header, you're the best, pookie!!! I have a playlist for this fic too, so in case you want to read this with complete immersion I’ll link it here. Enjoy <333

also available on my ao3

upd. if you saw that unfinished paragraph you didn’t see anything, move along 👁️👁️

“Kyle, I think…I think I’m bitten.” was all it took to shatter him into millions of tiny pieces. Just like that. Nothing mattered anymore, even that you promised each other to stay alive, no matter what. In the back of his mind, he knew all those promises muttered into his lips while he feverishly kissed you were empty, shallow attempts to silence his mind, to make him sleep in peace, thinking you’ll be there no matter what. And of course, he didn’t doubt your words even for a split second.

Kyle knew he was a fool to believe that. To think the two of you were inseparable. In a world like this, how could one even think of something staying forever untouched by decay that spread far beyond the horizon? Rot overtook everything, and if something was still untouched by it, soon enough that wither would find a way to slither inside, spoiling it forever. It would even find its way into people’s minds, ruining humanity in a manner no physical disease could ever hope to damage them. Kyle and you have seen it happen far too many times, and his only wish was for you to meet your end together, peacefully. But now…he only wished he had the strength to go on, he truly did. 

Because you needed him. Now more than ever. 

And so, he kept trying. If he didn’t then both of you would be done for. You didn’t deserve that, not when all he wanted was for you to be safe and well, not caring much about himself. You were the one who saved him when all the shit went down, now it was time to return the favor. So, he pushed himself through every agonizingly slow day. But he was starting to feel the already feeble remains of his strength slipping away from him. He wouldn’t give up, however. Never. Not when your life depended on it. 

That’s why while you were bedridden, weakness setting in your body as a permanent, bitter resident, Kyle was scouring the old town for fever and cold medicine, trying to be as quiet as possible, not to attract any undead. He had a gun, but he did not use it – too loud and bullets were a luxury, not a commodity. Kyle only had one bullet, following the advice of a nice older man with mutton chops he remembered meeting in one of the survivor camps a long time ago.

“Always save the last bullet for yourself or your loved ones. You never know who’ll need it more”

Methods aside, recent days were spent wandering abandoned houses in attempts to find at least some food for the two of you. Only when the darkness started to settle, Kyle would head back, throwing his backpack over the fence and barely managing to climb it, sore muscles and empty stomach sending jolts of pain all through his body. Even then, he was restless, sitting by your side, wiping your forehead of sweat, and taking your temperature. Your breathing was strained, chest rising and falling under thin blankets that barely kept you warm. And each time he looked at you for more than a minute at a time he felt his insides twisting in pain, eyes getting white-hot with tears, and throat closing, barely letting him take a short breath just so he doesn’t suffocate in his misery.

And then the sun rises, warm rays painting the room in a variety of colors, falling over your face, morning birds wake up Kyle from his nightmare-filled sleep. He jolts awake from the dreams, filled with the image of you, dying in agony over and over, crying out for help, begging him to do something. You get torn apart, your intestines spilling out on the damp floor, pulled out by a crowd of the undead who devour you with vigorous hunger, biting into your flesh until he can’t recognize your face from the bloody and mangled pulp that rotting hands and jagged teeth turn you into. Your raw, pained screams haunt him even when he’s awake, observing you lose your life all over again. Much slower and in a much more painful way. 

The sun rises. And so does Kyle. Your desperate pleas that drag from the dream are muffled as soon as he sees you sleeping. Forgetting, that you were getting weaker with each day that passed. Choosing to bask in your tranquil glow, in the way your eyelashes fluttered while you slept, choosing to neglect the worry clawing on the back of his mind just to stay like this with you for a little longer. Kyle knew he couldn’t delay the inevitable, but he still decided to make the best out of the short amount of time he had left with you. Hoping that some miracle would happen and you wouldn’t succumb to the decay. That the bite would turn out to be a bad dream you both had on the same night, waking up from it in cold sweat, searching for the comfort of each other’s embrace, while letting out relieved sighs, realizing that you’re safe. 

That would be great, wouldn’t it?

Instead, he shakes you awake with a gentle hand, almost not wanting to wake you up from your slumber. You blink up at him, looking even more tired than before you went to sleep. Circles under your eyes are even darker than the previous night. And Kyle is in pain once again. He wants to help you up, throwing your arm over his shoulder, to lead you through the long, silent halls of the school where you were staying, full of dust and damp, moldy smell, to have breakfast together. Like good old times. But he sees that in your eyes, you’re too weak to pull your weight up and stand up. So, he brings the heated-up cans of beans here, putting one on a stool in front of you, helping you to sit up before he even thinks of touching his food.

“Kyle, that’s twice what I usually eat.” You mutter, watery eyes rising to him, sitting on the mattress in front of you with his legs crossed. He raises his eyebrow and his head shifts to the side in a questioning motion.

“Well, you have to eat plenty to recover.” He said, matter-of-factly. You stay silent, unwilling to have that debate right now. You barely managed to stay awake as it is. Let him think that you’ll get better, despite everything you saw together. Despite every rule that you’ve discovered. Let him live in the illusion, in the waking dream that all will be well if he tries hard enough. “Well, what are you waiting for? It’s growing cold” 

You didn’t realize that you’d been drilling the can of steaming beans in front of you with your glassy gaze for the past several minutes, submerged in your thoughts deep enough to suffocate. You pick up the spoon with a weak, shaky motion. Then your eyes fall on the can. Somehow, you knew that you wouldn’t be able to pick it up. Failing at something so simple…you knew it’d hurt your pride even more. So, you opted to push the tin closer to the edge of the stool.

Kyle glanced over at you, beads of sweat glistening on your forehead. He sensed the fatigue from you, lacing the air that surrounded you and leaving dark, oily traces over anything your fingers lingered on. You breathed sickness. Your hands, which were able to easily bash an undead’s head on the wall just several days ago, now could barely hold a spoon steady without it trembling and threatening to fall, spilling all the contents over the moth-eaten blanket. He felt his heart squeeze in pain, and he swore that something shattered inside of him once again. 

“Let me help you.” Although it sounded like an offer, Kyle didn’t look like he was going to let you debate it, shuffling closer to you, taking the spoon from your hand in a swift motion. You purse your lips, knowing that protesting that would be stupid. If it wasn’t for how weak and sick you were, and for a lot of other circumstances, it would be a cutesy moment. Your dear spoon-feeding you something? Please, one’s teeth would rot from how sweet it is. But now it was just another deep, bleeding gash on your pride. Kyle blows on the food, cooling it off and promptly moving it towards your mouth with his hand cupped just under the spoon. You obediently clamp your lips around the spoon. “There we go.” He gives you a small smile, but you see the melancholy in his eyes when Kyle wipes the corner of your mouth with his thumb. He means well, yet you can’t help but feel like you’re a burden to him. 

You loathed being like this. Being this weak. Fragile. You were able to fend for yourself, you had resilience and strength, but now you were just rendered useless, only dragging Kyle down, depriving him of the freedom to go on.

He’ll die if he continues like this.

You knew it. He was exhausted, and you’ve been like this for a little over a week. Survival wasn’t about skill anymore, it was about luck. You lost yours already, the moment rotten, jagged teeth sunk into the flesh of your forearm like it was butter, drawing the first blood. But Kyle, he…sooner or later he will lose his luck too. And it was apparent that it was coming sooner than you anticipated. A bullet he won’t be able to dodge. An infected scratch. An undead that he simply didn’t notice because of how tired he is. A bear trap in the vicinity of someone’s camp. Something will get to Kyle. Or someone. And thankfully, you won’t be here to witness it. Hopefully.

 “What are you doing? Where are we going?” You barely managed to mutter out, clinging to him with all the strength you had, which, to be fair, wasn’t a lot. He could feel the cold of your hands clasped around his neck even through several layers of his clothes. Kyle’s hands carefully held you under your thighs as he went up the stairs, not showing any signs of exertion except for beads of sweat on his temples. 

“Just thought we might watch the sunrise together, like good old days” You could hear the soft smile that tugged on his mouth when he said that. Another reminder for you that he probably loathed the way you lived right now and would prefer to go back to the way things were. With you not being his…burden.

You didn’t need to be reminded of this. Of the “good old days”. Finding that abandoned farm, deep in the buttcrack of the countryside was what saved the both of you when the world started going to shit. You and Kyle met each other years prior, but it didn’t matter anymore. Not when everything as you knew it was gone.

Hiding there gave you a sense of normalcy you missed so much, after having to live for months, years like an animal. You didn’t feel like the world as you knew it was falling apart beyond that fence with cracked white paint. Deserted fields full of dead crops, empty house with a bunch of stuff forgotten or thrown around messily - it was obvious the owners wouldn’t come back any time soon. Snooping around gave you too much information - you couldn’t help but feel a bitter burn on the back of your throat when you picked up a framed family photo from the fireplace, five tan faces staring back at you with perpetual smiles etched into the glossy paper. 

You didn’t have the gall to throw away or burn everything personal the previous family left behind. Photo albums, children's clothes and toys, diplomas, drawings, letters, posters, and even something as small as shopping lists on the fridge, five life stories were packed into several boxes, taped and put in the attic. Kyle didn’t understand your wish to preserve something that wasn’t even yours, but he didn’t interfere, choosing to give you a hand instead. If it helped you to sleep in someone else’s bed calmer, replacing the presumably dead strangers, he was willing to indulge you.

Despite how far away from the civilization this farm was, seeing an undead roaming around wasn’t a very rare occurrence, but at least you could handle the occasional walking corpses. You wake up, you go on patrol. You finish patrol, and you meet the sunrise with Kyle by your side, wrapping his arm around your shoulders, with a blanket thrown over the both of you, sitting on the front porch, right on the creaking stairs. These fleeting moments felt so right. Like home.

Eventually, you had to continue moving. Started to run short on supplies ever since then. Running into all sorts of different people, relying on strangers, leading a nomad way of life. It wasn’t unfulfilling, since you only needed the company of each other to keep it together. In a variety of groups that you’ve been through it was always a known fact that you’ll stick by each other before someone else.

All he needed was your loving hug when you came back from a supply run. A soft kiss that you would put on that scar right on his cheek. Or to hold your hand under the table when you sat down to eat with whatever group you were with this week, like your love for each other was a secret meant only for the two of you. All you needed was his warmth, his comfort, his mere presence, that would light up your shitty day like a damn light beam. He managed to take your breath away each time he looked at you with such gentleness and softness that sometimes you didn’t think you deserved it. You’ve found the world in each other. A purpose.

So what is Kyle going to do when you’re gone?

The morbid thought suddenly crosses your mind, while the man carefully sits you down on a worn lawn chair with a soft grunt, plopping down on the ground by your side, warm palm reassuringly resting on your thigh. Bringing you down to earth. Gusts of frosty wind brush through your hair, nipping at your cheeks, nose, and ears. You missed the outside, despite it being quite cold and unwelcoming this time of the year.

“I think the herd's close. See that dust?” Kyle taps you lightly on your leg and points towards the horizon. And true to his words, there is a fine dark line separating the sky, burning up in a mix of reds and yellows, from the earth. “They’re moving weird.”

“What does that mean?” you croak at Kyle, not able to peel your eyes from that sheet of gray, bunched-up dust that sat on the edge of the horizon like a shadow.

“Means if we’re lucky they’ll pass the school.” Kyle mutters, trying to reassure you, giving your thigh a gentle squeeze.

And then it clicks.

When he came back from the supply run you were nowhere to be found in the wind-torn building. There were no traces of you in the old cafeteria on the first floor where the two of you would heat up the canned food that your taste buds got used to over the long months the end of the world stretched over. Before you got bit.

He felt his heart sink to his stomach, so nauseous from the mere thought of something happening to you. Kyle fought himself not to double over, press his forehead against the wall and throw up everything you two had for breakfast until he feels the acidic burn on his tongue and cries his damn eyes out from the pain. You knew that the herd was getting closer, why did you have to disappear right now? You two were supposed to wait it out together, by each other’s side. What were you doing, and more importantly, what were you thinking? Nothing made sense. Nothing at all.

Kyle felt the wall with an awkward, stiff motion of his hand, before putting his weight on it and sliding down, he felt like his legs could not hold him anymore. You barely had the strength to sit upright, where would you go in your condition? 

The only place he could think of that was close enough for you to get to was the motor inn down the street. Of course.

The herd was already here. Kyle had no time to spare, he needed to act now, to get you and run away as fast as possible. He remembered there was a car in that old motor inn, so that could be your getaway plan, sure thing he could figure something out…and to get there…He can use that old trick that another group of survivors taught you two. “If you smell like them, they won’t notice you, simple as that. Just make sure not to bump into anyone, or they’ll get real friendly with you.” Of course. It was that easy. You never resorted to that trick, preferring to avoid or dispose of the undead on sight. But desperate times call for desperate measures.

Kyle cringed at that sinking feeling in his stomach, but not at the thought of having to walk through the herd and probably be eaten alive, no. The possibility of you not being in that motor inn was what made that hollow pit inside of him grow. The fact that he might never see you again. Or that he would find you already gone.

He moves with calculated precision. Catch the undead’s attention, yellowish whites are dull under the daylight. Let it get close enough, it groans with each movement, joints snapping and clicking. Make the undead lose its balance, kick it in the knee, and the rotting leg almost falls off under the force that Kyle unintentionally applies. Destroy the brain, put a hunting knife right to the forehead, and let it thud to the ground, finally at rest. He’s thoughtlessly going through the motions, every step ingrained into his consciousness, almost like second nature to him. Rips through the stomach of the undead, black, resinous blood oozing out. Sinks his hands in the intestines, they smell so strong Kyle tears up and gags, hands shuffling around clothes caked with dirt and grime, swiping putrid, nasty mass all over himself. But it’s nothing. It’s alright. It will be worth it when he finds you.

After that, everything he remembers is under a thick blanket of haze, accompanied by the smell. You never get used to it. He feels nauseous, his insides twisting in worry, gnawing and biting at his heart like a terrified, desperate dog. His eyes grasp onto anything, but all Kyle sees is the sea of rotting flesh all around him, groans and moans of the undead so echoing in his ears loud all he wants is to tumble to the ground and end it all. He barely breathes with how tight his chest is squeezing his heart, it feels like in a split moment his insides will collapse onto themselves, capturing him in this meat cage. He has to remind himself that he’s not doing it for himself, he’s doing it for you, only for you. Kyle has to let his thoughts travel to your voice, to the way your nose scrunched when you laughed, to the frown between your brows when you slept in his arms just so he doesn’t go mad. Stares from decomposing, milky white eyes with yellows, blues, and reds here and there felt like stabs right through him, each could be the last if he gave himself away.

He could be grabbed by any of the half-rotten hands with sickly yellowish bones sticking out like spears of the cavemen, bitten, dragged away, or devoured. But he pressed on through the seemingly endless crowd of the undead. He would be lying if he said it didn’t affect him. That abandoned motor inn was like a beacon right now, but his imagination still ran wild, his hope growing more and more dim with each minute spent away from you. He didn’t feel like any hero. Kyle was scared. Mostly for you, but he could feel the tremble in his knees at the mere thought of any undead in the crowd recognizing him as an impostor. If that happens, he won’t be able to mutter even a single word. Rotten fingers will dig into his flesh, tearing it apart and Kyle will meet his end like this, on the damp ground, abandoned and scared out of his damn mind.

When Kyle pressed himself against the closed door of the motor inn, he finally could breathe in again. It wasn’t the time for a break, however. He still needed to find you. He wanders through the dusty, ransacked rooms in a daze, fixated on finding any traces you left, noticing the old rusty car in passing. The getaway plan. If the two of you are lucky enough. Footprints in the dust. They look new, and similar to the ones on the soles of your old boots. He follows. Your thin blanket lies forgotten on the stairs. Kyle practically flies up to the second floor, picking up the blanket, while he’s at it. More footprints in the dust, door to some old office is left ajar.

First, you felt the smell. Then you heard him cry out your name in surprise. And then you finally saw Kyle. He’s a blur of red, black, and brown. Covered head to toe with blood, guts, rotting flesh, and dirt, you presume. A sad, heartbreaking sight. Kyle, however, doesn’t mind it and immediately runs towards you, falling on the floor with a loud thud, and you’re sure he might’ve scraped his knees with how hard he landed. His arms cage you in a tight hug and you hear him let out a shaky exhale. Tears start to sting your eyes when you feel him pressing your head into his shoulder, stroking you with a gentle motion. You weren’t sure if he was trying to comfort you or reassure himself that you’re real, and not a fragment of his imagination. Regardless, you manage to reciprocate the hug, raising one of your arms and wrapping it around his back.

All of these days you saved up your energy for the last push. You needed to get away from him. You couldn’t trust yourself to remain near Kyle anymore. Any moment you could turn. You felt it in the way your bones ached with every gust of wind, how your blood boiled under your veins and your vision turned even more blurry. And in that case, you’d be a threat to Kyle, possibly getting him at his most vulnerable. It didn’t matter that you’d be long gone by then, you would still never forgive yourself if there was any possibility of it happening. Because, deep down you knew. No matter how skilled and ruthless Kyle was with handling the undead…he didn’t have it in him to bash your head in. So, you only had one choice to ensure his safety.

Yet he finds you. Here. You could feel your cheeks burn from being so angry at him, for his lack of acceptance that you were on the brink, and all it would take for you right now to fall into the abyss would be a light gust of wind or a slight shove. But you couldn’t blame him. You thought a lot about what you would do if the roles were reversed. The scenario brewed in your mind, haunting those short hours you were awake and trapping you in restless dreams.

You would want to live in illusion too.

“There you are.” You could practically feel something inside of you crack when you catch his smile beaming at you. Kyle just went to hell and back to get to you. And he still finds it in himself to smile at you, wrapping the blanket around your shoulders with hurried, but soothing movements. You were so weakened by the bite that you couldn’t even find any strength to go down the stairs and get the blanket when you dropped it. Humiliating. “Come on, we have to go, now, we can’t stay here.” He tries to scoop you up in a warm hug again, but you dig your heels into the ground. “Are you alright? Are you hurt?” he looks at you again, trying to catch what is wrong,

“No.” Kyle looks you over, eyes open wide, expression of confusion and sadness on his face. Of course, he doesn’t understand.

“You don’t…have anything on you. Then how, how did you even…” You didn’t have any grime on you at all, looking like you just walked through the herd of the undead without any preparation. But then his eyes trail lower and he sees it. Your left hand, cuffed to the rusty radiator. Suddenly the wave of terror cuts through him, like a fine, thin string through a block of fresh clay.

You came here to die.

“They stop paying attention to you once you’re far along enough. So…I guess that’s it.” He hated you for saying that. God, he hated you so much, he wanted to cling onto your body and suffocate you, arms wrapped around you in weak, pathetic attempts to shield you from any harm. “I…I don’t have any time left.” Kyle felt like he got punched in the gut. Air squeezed out of his lungs, wheezing in pain that he felt for you, because of you, chest aching, tearing apart, and baring his heart under the cage made of bones. 

“No. No, no, no, no, you can’t say that! Why are you saying that?” And for the first time, since Kyle saw the bloodied, ragged teeth marks on your flesh, he broke down into minuscule, fragile pieces right in front of you. His voice trembled, frantic and exerted, refusing to believe you even dared to make peace with the inevitable. He grabs your shoulders firmly and his fingers dig into you so hard he can feel how cold you are through your clothes.

Key. He has to release you from the handcuffs. The herd was here, the way the floor vibrated under his feet, and the way gargled moans and sighs echoed outside made Kyle even more agitated. Where did you get those handcuffs anyway? It only takes a moment for him to remember. One of the supply runs that feels like a lifetime ago. Police station. Searching the bodies, or rather, what was left of them, for anything useful. You take out the handcuffs and show them to Kyle, telling him some kind of joke. He can’t remember what it was or the way you smiled, only that you made him laugh. 

He wished instead of quiet rasping he could hear your laugh again.

“Where is the key from the handcuffs, where did you put it?” Kyle jumped to his feet and started looking over the room in a hurry, suffocated by the fear of losing you. He was wishing, hoping that you would show him where you hid the key, somewhere, anywhere, Kyle needed to throw you on his back and run right this moment.

“Fuck, listen to me, listen. To me.” you tried to snap him out of his delirium, with your harsh tone, freezing palms digging the bloodstains Kyle left on your blanket “You know what you have to do.” He shook his head wildly, looking at you like were mad for even suggesting something like this. “I don’t want to become one of them! You have to make sure I won’t come back.”

“Have you lost your damn mind?! I-” Kyle didn’t understand you. How can you say, make a request like this? Something was fundamentally wrong and the bite, the illness were to blame.

“Have you?” you interrupted, pouring all of your strength into this yelling match. You didn’t care anymore. You felt your fingers going numb, black, inky spots dancing on the edges of your vision, taunting you in their vicious dance macabre. You did not have time for his lame excuses and whatever it was he was trying to be right now. “I’m asking you one thing, and you can’t even do that! What the fuck is wrong with you?!” You couldn’t feel the way tears burned your cheeks.

“Listen to me, please! I’m not putting a bullet in your head; do I look like a fucking murderer to you?” Kyle pinches his brow in frustration, not even able to look at you right now. Every single suggestion and comment from you stings, fucking hurts and tears him open once again. Because you’re talking nonsense. Absolute bullshit. And you don’t even realize it, he thinks, blinded by your sudden chase after death.

“I’m fucking dying and you’re worried about not being a murderer? Are you being fucking serious right now?” You couldn’t believe your ears, quite frankly. It was the only thing that you had asked of him. The only thing that you wanted. To be finally released. You couldn’t bear it anymore. Your body working against you, living with the constant threat of turning any second, massacring and desecrating Kyle’s corpse as a bloodthirsty, disgusting creature, that will have your face, your body, your hands, and your voice, but not anything that makes you – you. No memories. No love. No inner strength and compassion. Just hunger and urge to slaughter, destroy, and ravage everything in your sight.

“You know that’s not what I meant! Why are you doing this right now?” Kyle felt like he was about to collapse into himself from despair. He couldn’t just do what you were suggesting. And you knew it, yet you chose to ignore it and refuse any acceptance? You always listened to him, even if you didn’t quite agree. You always were patient with him. What’s gotten into you now, what happened?

You don’t have any more time. That’s what happened.

“Oh, so I run away, trying to keep you safe so you live another day and see another one of these stupid sunrises, cuff myself here just so I don’t harm anyone and you can’t even do what I’m asking you to?!” Your voice rises to a volume you didn’t even know you had in you right now, after dragging yourself through the imitation of your former life for a little less than a week. To think your suffering so far lasted less than a week, yet you were ready to end it all right this moment.

Because you could feel it in your bones. You were close.

“Well, tell me, what’s the point of me living if you’re dead?!” You can hear the way his voice breaks in the end. Desperate. Pleading.

The silence rings in your ears with how loud it is. 

“I’m sorry.”  You croak at him after a short while, eyes trained on the dirty floor. Kyle chuckles, the sound that you love so much, but then it’s followed by a muffled sob. He kneels in front of you once again and your eyes rise to meet his. You can’t help but think that he looks even more beautiful covered in rotting guts, with his eyes full of light and love for a doomed failure like you.

It’s almost impossible to breathe from how hard your heart aches. God, you love him so much. You want to take all the pain from him with you, into the vile, putrid abyss. Kyle takes your hands in his. You’re terrifyingly cold. And he’s too warm. You feel tears rising to your eyes, prickling at them, as you fail at your attempts not to break down right now.

“I can’t stay mad at you when you make that face.” Kyle says with a small laugh that breaks into dry sobs, as his shoulders shudder violently with every single one, before he clings onto you, seeking comfort and reassurance, that you’ll be here. With him.

His embrace feels suffocating. It’s so tight you think any more pressure from him will break your bones into yellowish sharp daggers and fine dust. And you’d forgive Kyle if that happened. You’d forgive him for anything, quite frankly. Funny, how now you have the answer to what you would do if he was the one turning. You’d let him devour you wholly, in the ultimate show of love. You’d let him bite into you, whatever he wanted – neck, arm, a leg, he could have. You’d lay in the pool of your blood, muffling your pained cries by stuffing that worn blanket into your mouth. You’d slowly slip away into oblivion, letting your undead beloved gnaw on your bones and taste the love that would seep out of your flesh. You would probably turn a lot faster if that happened too. And then you’d be together for eternity. You knew Kyle always wanted you two to be together. Both in life and in death.

“I’ll wait for you. I promise.” You barely manage to squeeze a smile out of yourself to comfort Kyle, feeling your strength leaving you. Succumbing to the weakness that spread a dull ache over your body, to that festering rot inside of you, that was finally overtaking. You felt cold, thin digits of terror sink right through your chest, sweat prickling once again on your forehead and temples. There was no use clinging unto something that was unsalvageable. Your body and your mind were beyond repair. You knew it. Only he kept you here.

“Please…don’t leave me.” Kyle couldn’t feel anything besides the pain and hot needles jabbing his eyes. Your touch almost felt unreal, how weak, subtle it was. He tore away from you only for a moment, bloody palms cupping your face. His lips pressed against yours in a quick, feverish kiss, and even more pecks like this followed – to your forehead, eyelids, corners of your mouth, and nose. As if this would save you from inevitably losing the remains of your strength. As if you weren’t clinging to your last seconds with him as it is. “Please…please.” He whispered against your skin. His tears glittered like gemstones in the dim glow of the sunset. Kyle looked so beautiful like this. Yours.

He missed the moment when he stopped feeling short, warm breaths on his neck and your body started to get cooler to the touch. But he wasn’t ready to let you go just yet. A little more time, that’s all he needed. So, he lays your head across his lap, carefully, gently. Like he’s trying not to wake you up from a peaceful dream about places far better than this world. Kyle desperately tries to find that strength to make sure you won’t come back, to grant your last wish, but he just…he can’t. Now when you were right here, beside him, getting your well-deserved rest.

But you started stirring back to life unexpectedly, and just when Kyle wanted to say something, he realized, that it wasn’t quite you. The glazed-over eyes with a milky white cloud over them looked right through him, the blood that was dripping down from your nose, ears, eyes, and mouth after your brain finally shut off from the illness. The strained rasp, full of pain and hands that started grabbing and clawing at Kyle with crooked fingers, contorted into bizarre figures.

Kyle’s heart leaped down to his feet again in fear and he forced himself to push away your undead form, reaching out to him, pleading for something he no longer understood, as he crawled away, still facing whatever you turned into. If his heart wasn’t pumping blood through his body as fast he would’ve felt the small cuts from scraping his hands on the dirty floor. But his eyes were on what was left of you.

There were no traces of what he was searching for in this hollow shell, stolen from his love, stolen from you. Crimson trickling down from the mouth, the creature in your shape bares its bloody teeth and lets out a gargled moan, stretching the trembling hand towards him, demanding flesh, demanding sacrifice. And in Kyle’s mind, this isn’t you. This just can’t be. Absolutely not.

Kyle thought about the way you held him in your arms, while he gripped his shoulders in a tight hug. He thought of the way your thumb brushed over his knuckles. His thoughts traveled to the distant past, when you met him years ago in that summer camp, even before the world started rotting, only to be reborn a sick copy of itself.  He remembered your smile when you sat near countless bonfires. The way fire played in your eyes. Your old leather jacket, the tent in your old survivor camp, the older man with mutton chops.

It wasn’t long before a bullet was between his fingers, being drilled by his sharp eyes. Kyle sat there, silent, eyes trained on the gun in his hand, unable to even look at your cuffed undead. Contemplating. Letting his mind stir around, thoughts sticking to the inside of his skull, brewing and bubbling there, like heavy resin. Kyle’s heart sent waves of dull, ringing ache all over his body. His eyes were on fire, burning and raw from tears.

Nothing made sense anymore. Kyle’s endless search through his mind landed on another memory again. Survivor camp in the forest. Ring of mountains to the west. A woman with dark, brown eyes and a shaved head.

“Turning is not the end. They still harbor the memories of their former selves. They’re just prisoners in their own bodies. I know that it’s not the end for them, it can’t be.”

Right now, Kyle would’ve clung to any lie that would explain to him your state. He would’ve believed any tale. You can’t just be gone in an instant, just shedding all that made you yourself like a snake sheds its skin, or a bird picks out the old feathers. How could he ever accept that you were gone, like a puff of smoke on the wind, leaving no visible trace, only the gaping, bloody hole in his heart and years’ worth of memories in his head?

All he ever wanted was to be with you. In life and death.

A minute passes. Another one follows.

A single gunshot echoes through the valley, drowned out by the rumble of the herd.

Taglist - @mockerycrow, @stridersdiner

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[luveline]

Hi! I have a req for zombie Steve! Maybe one about the day they got stuck in the taco truck and he asked reader to sing for him! Sending all my love to you Jade! 🥰

thank you for your request! steve zombie au —you and steve get stuck in a taco truck with no idea what you mean to one another. 3k, fem!reader

You and Steve stand side by side. The wind is gentle, the sun occluded by a swath of thin clouds. He has a hand reached out to touch your thigh as you stand there, his knuckles pressed to your jeans with light pressure. 

"I wish," you begin, a dangerous game, "that someone was about to open the shutter and ask us what we want." 

Steve doesn't laugh, but he huffs through his nose. He's growing softer and softer these days, which isn't to say he's soft at all, but he's less coarse. His grumpiness wanes. You think it might have something to do with your sleeping in his lap nearly every night, arms wrapped around his waist while he sits and keeps watch as you rest. Sometimes when he wakes you up to take over, he even deigns to sleep on your thigh. 

It's hard to be mad at each other while you use one another like pillows. Hard, yet not impossible. 

"I wish I was living on a private island," Steve says. "With a private chef. And–" 

"Private dancers?" you tease. 

He does smile, then. Like you're friends. Like you could be more. You hope so —he kissed you two weeks ago and he hasn't said a thing about it since. You'd hoped he might kiss you more, but you're content (kind of) with this odd in between. 

He doesn't regret it, surely, having been nice to you on multiple occasions since; smoothing your cheek with his knuckle, or nudging you affectionately when you say something meant to be funny. Tiny moments of sweetness. 

He'd been sweet before every now and then. Steve isn't mean. He can be, but that isn't the centre of his character. He's brave, loyal, and good to you. He's funny when he lets himself be, and he'd surprised you by being rather creative a few weeks ago, when he'd found a stone that felt gritty and scratched the two of you onto a stretch of sidewalk. "There," he said, giving sidewalk-you an oddly pretty smile, "maybe one day someone will know we were here together." 

Together.

"Should we go in?" Steve asks, shielding his eyes from the sun. 

In another welcome warming toward you, Steve asks you your opinion more and more. 

"Is there any point?" you ask. 

"All the food is spoiled for sure, but maybe it'll be worth it. My knife is still stuck in that geek's skull in Masy Daisy. There's probably one in the truck I can replace it with."

"Or a spatula, if not."

"Maybe a ladel," he agrees. "Alright, come on. I'm gonna lift you through the window." 

"Why are you going to lift me through the window?" you ask, startled. 

"For the knife?" 

"But why not the door?" 

"Door's locked, genius." 

"Why don't I lift you through the window?" you ask. "And shouldn't we at least try the door?" 

You try the door and Steve doesn't mock you when it doesn't work, because it had been sensible to test it even if the chances were low. He slides his fingers under the shutter and lifts it until it locks from opening any further, rusty paint specks flaking to the ground. 

"You'll have to lift me," he says, as though you hadn't suggested it yourself. Infuriating. "Do you think you can?" 

"You don't think I can?" you ask. 

His gaze softens, just a bit. "You could barely move the day before yesterday. It's cool if you still feel achy." 

He feels guilty for letting you drink water that went bad. It had been a mix up. You asked him to pass you the water bottle and he'd grabbed one someone left behind a long time ago, unaware it was the wrong one until you'd thrown up an hour later. Terrifying, how quickly it upset your stomach. He put a new rule in place swiftly after that any debris in your camps must be swept to the side of the room, even if you're both exhausted. 

"I don't feel achy. The only thing that's bothering me is my sore throat," you confess, squaring your jaw. "Come on, Harrington, I can lift you. I'm super strong." 

"You're strong," he agrees. "Okay, uh, am I climbing on your back or are you gonna boost me?" 

"Boost." 

You make an anchoring point with your hand and Steve, after giving you a strange look, pulls the shutter open again and steps into your hand. You're expecting him to be somehow lighter and heavier than he actually is —your hands hurt from the pinpoint of his weight but you'd thought it would be harder to lift him up, and so you'd been trying to give it your all. 

"Oh, shit–" Steve's curse is cut off by a loud thump and crash, a clattering of metal against metal as the shutter swings shut behind him. 

"Steve!" you shout. Your voice isn't used to yelling. "Steve? Are you okay? I'm sorry! I'm really sorry!" 

He's laughing inside, but when he pops his head back out of the truck he glares at you. "What's that about?" His glare melds into a softer look. "You're way stronger than you look."

"I'm sorry," you say. 

"It's fine," he says, emphasising with a smile. "It's only a concussion." 

You frown at him. He mocks your frown. 

He's definitely flirting with you. 

"What do you want?" he asks. 

"For you to be quick. I'm getting the heebies out here." 

"Well, don't say I never tried to grant your wish," he says. 

He puts the shutter of the taco truck onto a locked hinge so it keeps itself up and turns away from you. The counter isn't so far from the floor after all, and you can see pretty much everything he does as he scans the interior for useful things.

He grabs a kitchen knife that looks sharp and a saucepan with a hole at the end of the handle that looks perfect for tying to his backpack, passing them down to you carefully.

"There's, uh, there's some t-shirts in here, taco truck shirts. Shit, that's hilarious, should we take them?" 

"Yeah," you say, happy if he's happy, "we can be matching." 

"Sweet." 

Steve climbs up onto the counter. You hold your hands out to help him down, and for a second you think he might let you, his hand in yours. His gaze snags left, and he pitches back into the truck on a mad scramble. 

You turn to where he was looking, catch a snapshot of what looks like a writhing hill approaching you, and then Steve's grabbing your forearms hard in his grasp and hissing, "Climb up! Climb up, Y/N. Grab me!" 

Your heart rockets into your mouth as you grab his shoulders, fingers aching as they twist into the fabric of his jacket. Steve yanks you inside, and you almost break his chin with your forehead as you topple inside and on top of him, the two of you hitting the short length of flooring with a bang. 

"Stay down," he says, hand behind your head, "and be quiet." 

Your forehead hurts from hitting into him. You can't imagine how his chin feels. Pulse capering with fear-wrought adrenaline, you hide your face in his neck and try not to pant wetly into his skin. His arms tighten around when the sounds grow closer. Moaning breath. Shuffling, heavy feet. 

He holds you. You don't have the wits to revel in it.

You're not sure how long you stay like that, laying on his chest, your hands digging into his sides. He doesn't complain, doesn't hiss or murmur chastisement. Steve hugs you to him and lets out staggering, harsh breaths. He's scared too. 

When the sound of the geek herd is a distant memory, you attempt to sit up, and surprisingly he lets you without comment. You kneel on the divoted flooring and blink, and before Steve can sit up himself you're moving into a crouch to peek over the counter. 

Your bags have been tramped, your things strewn across the road outside. Steve crouches next to you. "Shit," he says. 

"Did I hurt you?" you ask, gesturing to his chin. "I'm really sorry, Steve."

"You say sorry too much," he says, eyes still on the road. "I'm sorry for almost pulling your arms off, okay? Let's call it even." He turns to you. A little frown pulls at the corners of his pretty mouth. "Did I hurt you?" 

He grabs your elbow like he might check. 

You shake your head vehemently. "No, I'm grateful. I don't know why I didn't notice them coming, I'm an idiot, I was–" distracted by you, you think. Your happy smile. You cough. "I'm stupid."

"You're not stupid. You're reckless, and you could've killed yourself by not keeping an eye out, but you're not stupid." 

His chin has a red mark on it. You nibble the inside of your bottom lip unhappily, eyebrows furrowed and then pinching upwards. 

"I'm sorry," you say again, quick and upset with yourself. 

"Are we okay? Are we alive? We're fine, dummy, and it's okay. Don't be sorry, just help me down so we can get our stuff back. I hope the jar of cut peaches didn't smash." 

You both stand with aching knees. You reach for hinge on the shutter to see if you can open it wider and almost lose a finger when it comes crashing down, a cruel metallic screeching sound slicing through the air. You both flinch away from it, eyes screwed closed and hands held upward. 

Steve blinks, lowering his hands slowly. 

You leap to open it again, embarrassed, wanting to do just one thing right today, but it won't budge. Steve stands next to you and fiddles with it. 

"Uh," he says, giving the shutter a good shove. "What did you do?" 

And so begins one of the worst nights of your life. You and Steve spend hours trying to open the shutter. You push it, you beat at it with a heavy saucepan, you even break a knife in half and nearly blind yourself trying to force a gap in the seam. Nothing works, and you and Steve grow more and more afraid. 

It startles you that he doesn't yell. He doesn't blame you once. He keeps trying to get the shutter open, and when hours of attempting to free you proves fruitless, he sits down in the corner of the van and sighs. His head in his hands, you can't see his face, or gauge his feelings. His slumped shoulders tell you he's tired, but tired of you? Is he bubbling, bottling his anger until the last moment. 

You sit down in front of him, your face a little tacky from the occasional self-loathing tear. Your throat aches something fierce. "Don't worry, Steve," you say hoarsely, "I'm gonna keep trying. Just rest, and don't panic. I promise I– I promise I'll get us out." 

Steve scrubs his face. He parts his fingers, looking at you from between them with an unreadable emotion. 

"I'm really sorry," you say, tears welling thick and fat as heavy rain, quick to race down your cheek. You ignore them as Steve holds your gaze.

He takes your hand. He threads your fingers together. He isn't your boyfriend, but he acts like one, and he sounds like one when he asks, "What did I say about sorry?" 

"I know, but this is my fault," you breathe. 

"It's not your fault. It's not. Don't cry," he says. "Let me think of something. I'll think of something." 

He doesn't let go of your hand. You take it as a cue to stay, and you do, depressed beyond words at the reality of your situation. Again, your circumstances ruin the intimacy of his closeness. He tries his best to comfort you, you know, his thumb rubbing tiny slow circles into the back of your hand.

"Maybe we should sleep," he says, "and try again tomorrow. Maybe the hinge will relax, or something." 

You nod numbly. With no reason for a first or second watch, you're expecting Steve to lay flat and sleep without fuss, but he bundles up the spare uniforms inside and leans his head on them, gesturing for you to rest your head on his chest. You do as instructed. Even before he kissed you, you were sleeping in his lap. His chest is no different. You try not to read into it as you settle there, in the same way that you try not to read into his hand on the small of your back, the tip of his ring finger pushed a half of a centimetre into the waistband of your jeans. He probably doesn't know he's doing it. 

You're going to die. You're gonna starve to death in here, with him, your boyfriend who isn't your boyfriend, having survived hordes and herds, malnutrition, infection, and a boat load of moderate to severe injuries.

"I'm so sorry," you whisper. You shake under Steve's hands. 

"It's not your fault." 

"It is. I shut it. I got it stuck." 

"But why were we in here?" he asks. 

"Because… the herd?" 

"But why were we in here?" he asks. "Why did we come this way? Why did we follow this road?" 

You sigh into his chest, "No, Steve." 

"I asked you to come this way with me. I didn't even ask. I told you we were coming here and you trusted me. You've never," —he swallows audibly— "said no. This is my fault. It's all me." His voice doesn't harden, exactly, but it pulls taut and tensile. Unbreaking. "Just sleep. I'll get us out of here in the morning, I swear." 

You try to do as he asks. You know he isn't sleeping either, though he might be pretending you are, because he starts to do what he only does when he thinks you've fallen asleep, his hand stroking up and down your back. 

You rub your cheek against his chest. 

"You said…" You lick your lips, wondering if you're making a mistake even as you continue, "You liked Fleetwood Mac." 

"Yeah?" he asks quietly. 

"I liked them too."

"You did?" 

"My favourite one, was, um, You Make Loving Fun."

You don't say it, but it's right there between you —the word love. Even with danger hanging over your heads, a mention of love feels awkward, awkward but exciting in that breathless, silly way. At least on your part. 

"I don't remember that one." 

"That album had all the good ones, that's why. It's forgotten." 

Steve smooths a hand down to your jeans. He creeps ever further, his touch just shy of skin he's never felt before. "Would you sing it for me?" 

"I'm all scratchy." 

"I don't care, I think I'd know it if I heard it. Sing it for me." 

You sing the first line, and the second, shaky with insecurity and off key. It's been so long since you heard music, you barely remember how it goes, though you can't forget the words. You're barely singing your way through the end of the verse, "This feeling follows me wherever I go," when Steve starts to tremble underneath you. 

You look up. His lips are pressed tightly together and his eyes are shining with delight. 

You pout, knowing exactly what he's gonna say. "What?" 

"You sound like a dying cat," he says fondly, bursting into laughter. 

You sit up and turn from him showfully, slapping his thigh as you go. You're not mad, but it's fun to pretend with him, and even better when he says, "Sorry, I'm sorry, don't be mad, you sound like you've swallowed glass, is what I mean. Hon– Y/N." His hands grabbing at your arm, pulling you back in. 

You resist him. 

His grip slackens. "Hey, I didn't mean it. I'm kidding," he says. 

You shake his hand off of you and stand up. Squinting, you creep toward the door, and you can barely see it in the poor lighting of the truck, but you read it aloud anyways. "Door locks from behind. Do not forget your key." 

"What?" 

You try the handle. 

You hadn't bothered because it was locked from the outside. But this is a food truck, and it would be a fire hazard to lock closed with no escape. The door opens stiffly, but it opens, and the cool air of the night kisses your cheeks. 

"Oh, thank god," Steve says. 

You prop it open with your foot even if you're sure it won't lock. "Do you really think I sound like a dying cat?"

Steve nods firmly, already sitting up. "But I thought that might be cruel if we died here together. Hence the backtrack." 

You and Steve climb down out of the truck and search for your stuff in the dark. The jar of peaches has survived, as well as your favoured pack of playing cards, which you'd envisioned strewn about the street. 

"Here," he says, pressing it into your hand. He turns his flashlight on and shines it downward, looking for the rest of your canned food. 

"Thank you." 

"You're welcome." 

You really do like him, love him, even. You're grateful for him, and the euphoria of knowing you're not doomed after all rises fast. But he's a dick. You can be a dick back. 

"Hey, Steve?" you ask sweetly. He turns, torch in hand, looking pleased. "Hey. I was thinking, now we aren't going to die and all, I could teach you some games? Gin rummy?" 

"Sure." 

"We can bet using the jar of peach slices. I'll go easy on you, though, 'cos you've never played it." 

He smiles at you. "Thanks, Y/N." 

You smirk to yourself and step forward to pick up a stray can of spaghetti shapes. "No problem," you say under your breath. "No problem at all." 

—

"

[subnautica-reviews]

Welcome to total drama persona. I’ve pit three teams of persona users (well, two teams of all persona users and one team that has a goddess but they needed an 8th member) against each other through the challenges of total drama island 2007 tosee who comes out on top. Since there’s three teams, i’m putting in AS’ spa hotel as a reward for the winning team, while the losing team has to vote someone off.

For our teams we have:

Not So Happy Campers:

The three teams will first compete in a cliffdive competition. The team with the most divers gets carts that make bringing crates to base camp easier. There they’ll construct hot tubs from the parts in the crates. The team who has the best hot tub in Chris McLean(the host)’s opinion wins.

The cats win the carts, cause even Futaba would probably jump, given that she always goes directly with the thieves through all their dungeon crawling adventures. Given these are the Royal thieves, they’re all making huge leaps in palaces n stuff.

I also think that the bears are more likely to get all their members off the cliff cause Chie would just push everyone. I doubt Fuuka or Yukari’s jumping without any pressure though, meaning the dogs have more chicken hats.

The dogs would get their carts to camp before the bears cause they have more strong members. Also the bears have the least techsperience of anyone here, so their hot tub is easily the worst.

The cats win here not because of tech, cause fuuka is the most techsperienced person competing, but because Yusuke painted their hot tub, which Chris thought looked nice, meaning the cats get luxury tonight.

The bears have to vote someone off. They’re voting their bear.

Marie survives because Teddie likely said something out of pocket (as he usually does). 7-1 vote, most likely.

The Big Sleep:

The first part doesn’t matter. The challenge is simple. Stay awake as long as possible. First team to be fully asleep loses. Last team to still have members/a member awake wins spa hotel.

Aigis is actually first to fall asleep, cause she’s on a 24 hour timer. Nobody else is, though Ken isn’t exactly far behind.

Between the cats and dogs i feel like being able to pull an all nighter in the metaverse is more impressive than any staying awake feats sees has. Sees has fuuka’s ten day stay in tartarus, but that was 10 hours for her. The thieves had at least twelve in Maruki’s palace. Tl;dr Dogs Lose.

The bears win against the cats though, cause goddesses don’t sleep. Tl;dr Marie sweep. IT get luxury.

Alliances formed. For the dogs: Yukari and Mitsuru formed an alliance. Fuuka and Junpei formed an alliance. Ken, akihiko and shinji formed one (we are assuming post femc still alive shinji).

For the bears: Chie and Yukiko (obviously). Kanji and Naoto (begrudgingly on Naoto’s part) and nobody else.

For the cats: Futaba and Yusuke (+Akechi, because Futaba’s scheming). Ann, Haru and Makoto formed one. Ryuji and Sumire just kinda paired up cause there’s nobody else willing to work with either.

Futaba tells Akechi to convince Ken to get the dogs to vote off Aigis. Akechi understands how that’d be advantageous and uses is best detective prince smile while speaking to Ken. Ken’s strong social position allows him to also get Fuuka and Junpei in on the vote.

Meaning that in a (probably) 5-2-1 vote (idk who Aigis, Yukari and Mitsuru voted for tbh) Aigis goes home. If only she had a more durable battery.

Dodgebrawl:

The challenge is slightly different. The teams will be doing 7 v 7 games of dodgeball (One Cat sits out). Team with most wins gets luxury. Team with least wins votes someone off.

Initially Futaba sits out cause she sucks at physical activity. During the Dogs v Cats game however, Ryuji loses his footing because of his knee injury, costing the Cats the match. They make him sit out the next match.

First the dogs face the bears though. Easy win for the dogs. The bears have hard hitters like Chie and Kanji but it’s not enough.

The cats, now with futaba instead of Ryuji cause he’s injured, now face the bears. It’s tense. Chie and Kanji hit like trucks, but so do Makoto and Yusuke. Yosuke almost dodges everything, but a well timed Sexy Technique❤️ sacrifice play from Ann takes Yosuke out of the game. At that point, the Cats’ numbers advantage overwhelms Chie and Kanji.

Rise decides to work on an alliance with Yosuke. She also convinces Naoto and Kanji to help her with a vote against Marie (Rise doesn’t like Marie). Chie and Yukiko vote Rise with Marie (Chie and Marie don’t like Rise).

4-3 vote sends the Bears’ goddess home despite the fact that she carried them last episode, all because Rise was a little annoyed by her.

Not Quite Famous

Talent show. Each team sends three acts. Each act gets judged. Team with the most points by the end wins, team with least points sends someone home.

The Dogs: Akihiko wants to punch something very hard hard and break it. Junpei plans to hold another Junpei’s Believe it or don’t. Finally they decide Shinji should cook.

The Bears: Kanji’s making a plushy. Rise’s singing and… idk Chie’s doing backflips or something.

The Cats: Yusuke’s painting, Ann’s modelling and Sumire’s doing a gymnastics routine.

While the performances are happening, Futaba gets to work on Ryuji. She convinces him that the girl’s alliance is planning to boot him. She suggests that he and Sumire vote for Ann tonight, should the cats lose, as Ann’s their weakest link. Ryuji agrees, mostly to save his own skin.

In an attempt to make herself useful, Yukari decides to sabotage one of the other performances, specifically Yusuke’s paint. As a result, the Cats have a rough start. Junpei’s believe it or don’t also doesn’t hit with the audience that well. Chie’s backflips are ironically the winner of the first round. Futaba saw Yukari sabotage the paint, since she planted the paint there in hopes someone’d try the sabotage.

Akihiko, Kanji and Ann all do pretty well. Ann’s Sexy Technique❤️ gets the cats their first points. The other teams are still ahead though.

Finally, Shinji’s cooking and Rise’s singing knock it out of the park. Sumire unfortunately messes up part of her routine. Rise got 1 point more than Shinji though, making the Bears this episode’s winner. The Cats lose, meaning they finally have to send their first person home.

Futaba talks to the girls alliance and tells them about Akechi talking to Ken and about Yukari sabotaging the Cats, insinuating that Akechi’s falling back on old habits and betraying his team. The girls agree to vote Akechi. Futaba also tells Yusuke and Akechi to vote Ann. Akechi’s getting a tad sus but plays his part for now. Futaba throws her own vote on Ryuji.

4-3-1 vote, Ann goes home. Futaba mentions that she voted Akechi as intended. Akechi, noticing Futaba’s plan, claims to have voted Ryuji. Makoto and Haru are made to be suspicious of one another.

[pandorafallz]

Vampire AU | New clothes, new friends

Jake eyed his new piece thoughtfully in his hands, his tail swishing along the grass. A simple hair fork really. About thirty centimetres long, with two prongs at one end which had very little design and wouldn’t need to when buried within the mass of hair while the joint was where he had really put the work into its design and beauty. It was a simple hunting carving pattern, he had noticed it on many bows, on both training and personal variants but he wanted it to look nice and for it to be something meaningful and dedicating a piece towards his hunts seemed meaningful enough.

Morgan hadn’t been wrong when he said he’d enjoy it. In fact, it was something Jake fell into quite naturally when he had been shown the carving techniques from Manru and then Hukinli the other day. A natural, they had said and it had warmed his heart to feel himself…more at home with the art than he had with the other areas.

He could weave adequately well, he knew how to loom and all of that, just as much as he knew to make beautiful beads and he had continued to do so and that was okay, but it was a little tedious. But craving and shaping bones was… more fulfilling. He hadn’t tried wood shaping for one reason and that being was the head of that area, Ateyo was a very… unpleasant teacher and had an even worse mate, Artsut whom he rarely interacted with, thankfully, but it spoiled his interest in wood shaping.

He turned the fork in his hand, unable to help but note the slight inconsistencies in his carving but he could correct that or add paint to the inside of the carvings to cover the imperfection. He sucked on his teeth a moment before he set it into his basket and plucked out a new bone.

A femur, at least one femur from a Viperwolf that Kim had brought back from a run-in with a small pack early this morning. Nadine somehow had made it work for lunch. Turns out, Viperwolf meat was very lean, and surprisingly tasty wrapped in a nan-like bread made from a type of Pandora grain with some steamed vegetables. It was much coarser in texture but still, delicious.

“How is your work?” N’deh asked, appearing from the depths of the treeline with a basket of fruits from his foraging.

“My hair fork is done, more or less.” Jake picked out of the basket to show him, feeling prideful as N’deh set his basket down to take with a clear interest in the Na’vi’s expression. “I’ve got an idea of what my hair is gonna be so I’ll be needing this to keep my hair off my face.”

“You have decided?”

Jake nodded, his hand running through his straight single braid for a moment. “Some sort of thick locks. It’ll be easier to have my hair done in advance. The rest of my clothes are still gonna take a while to make.” He liked the idea of dreadlocks once they were set in; less maintenance to handle and he was okay with that. His tswin wouldn’t have that same treatment so he’d rather keep it braided and protected. However, he wanted dreadlocks that would style well, so naturally leaving his hair to mat up would be less than ideal.

“Thick locks. That’s a bold choice.” N’deh considered, “Those are not easy to craft. The Kame’tire are a clan that has crafted such styles of hair. I met a traveller of their clan once, Siul who sought the Tawkami for more flowers for work against a deadly yavä close to his clan.”

“I don’t think we’ll wear them quite like they do. I’ve seen pictures that Ruby had pulled from the data banks each of the research shacks had.” Jake said. They had another shack haul to do and he very much wanted to be a part of it but until their outfits, at least, one version was done, most of the Dreamwalkers weren’t out and about as much unless at their camps or Hometree. “Yavä?”

“Some sort of deadly air that clouds the minds and can lead to death. I didn’t inquire further since it wasn’t my business.” N’deh handed the hair fork back to him thoughtfully. “Came about after the Sarentu clan went missing sixteen years ago. The clan was blamed by neighbouring clans for their disappearance as they were the last clan to house their company.”

Jake blinked a little though he couldn’t help his mind stall a little. “A whole clan went missing? Neytiri spoke of that clan with pride.”

N’deh sighed but nodded. “The Sarentu were a travelling clan, they often journeyed in smaller groups but often had moot points to reconnect and celebrate as a whole again. The Omatikaya held Sarentu guests for a week or so when Mo’at was a child. Our mother would tell wonderful stories of them.” N’deh looked a little put down the more he spoke. “It is a great sadness that they are gone.”

Jake uneasily shifted, twirling the femur in his fingers. “Indeed.” He didn’t know what else to say. What could he say that wouldn’t be dismissive? It… sounded a lot and he could feel the empathetic ache because how would he feel if the Omatikaya just…disappeared? Everyone he knew was gone… or worse, dead. The unknown nature… and the void that would follow. It was unimaginable in a lot of ways.

N’deh composed himself after a moment. “What is your plan with that?” He directed his question down to the bone he had still.

“I was thinking about a small blade?” He didn’t need the whole bone but he could use the smaller pieces made from this to make decorative beads for his hair and this femur had a good diameter to it as well.

N’deh eyes it for a moment though not convinced if the hum he gave was any indication.

“I’ll need Morgan’s help with my hair. This will be a Thank-you gift for his work.” Jake explained.

“We still have some hide left, I can get some prepped for the handle?” N’deh offered.

Jake peered at the basket. “Aren’t you busy?”

N’deh gave his own work a passing glance. “I can sort them later. The hide shouldn’t take too long to prepare.”

-

So, Jake continued on with N’deh’s help as he marked out the length relative to a human and began to slowly carve the bone away with his small hand tools. What he couldn’t chip away, he had a rough hand stone sand the bone down and closed the pores in the process as the shape of the blade began to take shape. He kept the handle almost bare since it was going to be covered but decided on a small hunting pattern at the very least; Morgan would get a good surprise when the handle hide needed replacing.

Nadine came back from her foraging looking like a happy gremlin with her basket of eggs and seeds.

“I found good seeds that make smooth flour!” She cackled. “Better than the ones they use at Hometree since these aren’t growing close to their gathering spots.”

“Ooh, what you making?”

“Pasta.” Her eyes were alight as she set the basket down beside the fire. “I need my rolling pin and a flat, clean surface but…I can make it work. Better if I had access to a pasta roller but…meh, I’ll make do.”

Nadine’s flat surface that wasn’t inside was in fact a large slab of stone that was washed down a few times; once with disinfectant and the rest to clean it away. And was set down upon a giant leaf for further space that may be required.

N’deh moved off to sit beside and watch Nadine grind the seeds into flour, still working on cutting the hide for Jake and asking about the processes and what ‘pasta recipe’ she was making.

It took a second for Jake to realise that…Na’vi didn’t have pasta. At least, not the Omatikaya. The concept was new, despite having all the ingredients available. They had a lot of recipes of course for wonderful food of course but why expand when you had something for everyone? Traders of course may add to it from their cultural exchanges. Food would of course be a delicate trade of knowledge and connection. Was it possible that the Omatikaya knew of such recipes and didn’t use them or simply didn’t know? They did have to help feed the whole clan; it was a lot of preparations for that much pasta.

Still, he couldn’t help but...enjoy the idea of Nadine teaching the clan something. Something that could be received well. To share that knowledge with the clan, not just the clan teaching them. He wondered what else could be received as well… food-wise.

Jake finished the carving by the time Nadine had made the pasta dough, spending ten minutes longer to sharpen up the blade edges then N’deh handed the hide for him to wrap the handle neatly and orderly until it was done. He turned it happily in his hand, content with the result.

“You finished that bracelet yet?” Nadine asked as she rolled the piece of pasta dough flatter and flatter.

“This is a knife.” Jake pointed out, holding it up.

“No, I mean that pretty purple one you were making last week?”

Oh. “No, not yet.” He had gotten sidetracked on that project with other things. He hadn’t given it yet because he wanted to be…happy about it. Content to make it perfect. It was almost there but not yet. He hadn’t figured out a good latch for it. “But I’ll let you know when it’s done.”

Nadine craned her head up to him. “Maybe I’ll see someone else wearing it.” She chuckled. “She’ll love it. You’ve got taste.”

Jake gave her the middle finger with a roll of his eye. Nor was he gonna open that topic further. Nadine of course would see through him but it wasn’t like he wasn’t expecting her to find someone, most likely Morgan, to bone once she was ready.

N’deh’s eyes flickered to him but he said nothing to add to it as he rose to get back to his basket of fruit and a few bowls from storage. Jake took a large leaf from a nearby tree and gently wrapped it up, using a small vine to bind it together.

-

It was well into the afternoon when Morgan seemed to appear, jumping off the back of Neptune as Jerome set the gentle horse off to their makeshift stables. They weren’t empty-handed. Morgan came carrying a wrapped bundle in his arms, grinning happily and excited.

“Have fun?”

“Yep! We checked on Kendra’s refinery. It’s done now and they’re making a good amount of fuel.” Morgan said, putting the goods down onto the grass and began to stretch out his arms. “We can restart the shack stealing without concerns. I made a few adjustments to their engines so they shouldn’t have any problems once they switch to the new fuel sources.”

“Ooh, was it nice?” Nadine asked. “It’s been a while since you handled an engine.”

“I helped them build it but…yeah.” Morgan shrugged “I forgot how much I loved tinkering with tech.”

[Once an engineer, always an engineer.]” Nadine quipped in Spanish.

Morgan blew a raspberry and then turned his focus to Jake. “I popped down to Hometree to update them on our plans and they finished this for you.”

From his pile, Jake watched as he pulled out two stringy pieces of fabric and held them out. A loincloth,

The loincloth came in two pieces, not many humans knew that unless you were in SciOps or had seen a Na’vi put them on. The external that everyone saw and made to look nice and then there was the second one underneath. The underneath was essentially a cup (the type used to protect males in sports) on strings however shallower since their genitals didn’t hang out so it fit both males and females comfortably. It slipped up around their legs, the string tailing the thigh gap between until it reached their tail where it was secured there for good measure before the outside one was put on.

Jake realised and he recognised the… design of it. It wasn’t just a random one being shared with him to start the process of hiding him among the people. This had been one of the pieces he had shown the weaver.

The outside of this was a warm brown, with dark yellow threading laddering up one side with a few hunter’s signals in a complimentary dark red on the right. On his piece, it had a back cover as well instead of tapering straight off to a tail loop that the Omatikaya’s had, nothing spectacular but there was a hole made for his tail instead and the woven leather waistband adjustable. It wasn’t as big and colourful as a typical Na’vi but the designs came with clan honours; your position and placement. He had a place through Uturu, he worked well and had provided for the clan so he had the designs on, otherwise, it would be plain.

He felt his heart speed up in excitement at the sight. Jake stood up and took them from his hands. “They finished it?!”

“They were inspired.” Morgan chuckled. “I think they were excited about new projects and being allowed to be more adventurous with their designs. They’re working on the others as well.” He explained.

Jake turned the loincloth over in his hands then eyes the crotch piece first in his other with a heavy sigh.

Fun.

“Put it on!” Nadine called, “Let us see those lower cheeks of yours!”

Jake poked his tongue out.

“Yes,” N’deh jumped on the bandwagon with a sly grin, “The weavers would be joyous that you put it on straight away. Delighted, even.”

Jake gave him a sour look and then rolled his eyes. “Fine.” Feeling their eyes on him as he left, Jake clambered up to his mauri and shut the curtains for some level of privacy. He dropped his pants with some level of reservation, then his boxers; the cool air ticking too close for comfort as he hastily pulled the cup string first.

He felt like he was giving himself a wedgie he slipped the wider fabric underneath to cover the goods and to attach it to his tail strings then tightened it.

“Ugh” Yep, right up his ass. Crouching was going to be shit.

The actual cloth itself is far better. He sipped his tail into the back hole first before he secured the front and let it sit happily at his waist. His tail swished a little, he could feel the rim ticking but… nothing worse than usual. It was…very breezy still. The air going where air shouldn’t and…his ass still felt on display, even with the shed of cover the backcloth gave which was more than that the Omatikaya had.

Carefully, Jake popped a squat with immediate regret, hissing a little but forced himself to bear through the discomfort.

“<You okay in there?>” Jerome called, far too cheerfully. “<Need help>”

“<Fuck off>” Jake called back, straightening up to feel how the cloth sat with that movement. Nope, he wasn’t leaving soo soon. Walking like a baby deer.

It took ten minutes of privately testing his movements for him to get…marginally used to it. Bending down, crouching, rising, repeat. The first layer had settled and barely moved, thankfully but he wasn’t used to the breeze about his crotch still.

The wolf whistles from almost everyone as he clambered very awkwardly down, barring N’deh made him glower at them with a sour look. Kim had appeared as well from her mauri at the commotion, tiredly rubbing her pregnant belly though she seemed to grin a little as she noticed the new addition to his attire.

“Looking good, Sully,” Morgan called. “If you rid the shirt, you’ll fit right in.”

“Hey, my backside is naked enough. My top half can wait.” Jake huffed, resisting the urge to try and pull the swing out from between his cheeks. Yep, he hated this.

“You look stunning.” Nadine cackled. “You have really defined cheeks.”

Jake flipped her the bird again. “Go make pasta and leave my ass alone.”

“Pasta’s cooked and cooling. I’m shit at shapes but I think I’ve got a good start for tagliatelle.” Looking rather pleased with herself.

“Kinda looks like Pappardelle.” Jerome remarked.

“Unless you’re Italian, Jerome, get off my ass about pasta.” Nadine quipped back. “I’m learning.”

They continued to brattle on so Jake took that as an escape to slowly sat down on his log, prodding Morgan for his attention.

“What?”

“Can I ask a favour?”

“Shoot.”

“Can… can you help me with my hair?” He asked, a little nervous.

Morgan’s eyes moved up. “What style were you thinking?”

“Some sort of deadlocks? Or something similar?” He asked, “The Kame’tire clan have their hair similar but I don’t want to straight up copy either yours or there’s but I’m open for a compromise. Think you could help?”

Morgan hummed, frowning as he moved around to his braid. “Dreadlocks take years to start naturally and it’s high maintenance the first few years before they mature.” He ran his fingers through his own dreads. “I had to teach N’deh how to work with my hair type to help me, so he’s got experience as well. Thankfully, I came to Pandora with my locs just about mature so I didn’t have to panic too much when I got abandoned.”

“What can you do?”

Morgan let out a heavy huff, his fingers coming to his hair, feeling the straight hair. “I…straight hair is hard to work into locks but not impossible. Most people can leave and let nature take its course but… I can’t let you do that to your avatar’s scalp. Na’vi hair is thinner than human hair and more hairs fill the scalp than humans too. I could… try instant locs. Not dreadlocks.”

“What’s the difference?”

“Locs are cultivated, Dreadlocks aren’t.” he replied, “The term is often mixed up and used interchangeably, depending on where you live. Instant locs will give you an immediate look. Instant locs aren’t typically permanent but they can be nurtured to be. It will take time to set in and for your scalp to grow the locs than you or me having to do it manually. It is a commitment, Jake, not something to flash at the RDA.”

“I understand,” Jake realised the man’s concern. “I want something that lasts and is stunning. Not a costume or anything.”

Morgan moved around him, his eyes fixed on him for a moment then back to his hair. “Set your avatar down by your ramp where I can reach. I will help but I will also teach you how to do them yourself. I can’t always be here and you exist in two bodies. It’ll take a while to do. I can do half before bed.”

“Okay.”

-

Morgan wasn’t kidding when he said it would take a while. His avatar was left mostly hunched over a loom frame, chin resting at a soft angle, arms hugging the frame for stability and his head tilted down enough for them to work from down to up.

N’deh helped by unravelling the kuru, separating the hair and rebraiding it, this allowed Jake to opt to have a few inches of hair from either side of his head shaved in advance. Morgan, with a thin bone crochet tool, began to section off the long strands of hair first then added a coarse waxy substance to help keep strands together since they were so long.

Jake sat out of his wheelchair, legs dangling limply off the edge of the ramp as he leant over and watched as Morgan backcombed the hair strands, a bit at a time, then began to use the crochet hook through the hair, twirling it and twisting as he went, talking him through it as well.

With the amount of hair, on the basis of the Dreamwalker having a larger scalp than a human, and the length of hair, it took well over sixteen hours for the whole thing to be done, with several breaks for everyone, to move the Dreamwalker a bit so he didn’t link with unwanted aches and to feed it. He opted not to go to Hometree so instead remained with Morgan and helped, taking over a few times to get used to it and with his guidance on the matter.

Jake was relieved to stand up and flex once the locs were done, touching them delicately, feeling the air breezing against the sides of his head and the weight of his new hair down his back and shoulders; unfamiliar but… it felt nice. He felt a deep sense of pride in how he looked and it shuffled away the distinct awkwardness of the loincloth. Jake had to admit, he had cared for his Dreamwalker more than his human body but his Dreamwalker felt…more belonging than before.

He knew it was much like what N’deh had criticised him about his mauri.

‘Be respectful of what this body provides you’

That felt fitting now. More so than ever.

“I’mma gonna go and nap. My hands need a long rest.” Morgan complained, but looked quite chipper as he packed up “Don’t overwork them too much.”

Jake gave him a two-fingered salute as he passed and crawled up to his link shack. His mind touched back on the gift he had let to give Morgan but he could wait till he had recovered and rested. So, Jake didn’t linger for long. The afternoon sun was still high, so he had plenty of time before the others would return from Hometree. Plenty of time for practice more so with his new hair and wedgie-inducing loincloth. He had to learn to live with that in everything, hunting and training included. He didn’t want to look like a complete rookie with his cheeks clenched at every step.

Jake picked up his sling, shrugging off his shirt to…try and get used to it. He found his ammo pouch, going for the carved rocks this time as he made his way down towards the lakeside to their target.

It took some minor adjustment without the confines of his clothing as he pulled his arm back, winging the stone before he let it sail at the right moment, the sound whistling through the air and then hitting the target with a satisfying thud.

Jake lined up for a second shot and began to wind—

“That loincloth suits you.”

Jake swore, the rock pining out of the sling before he could stop it but it had no momentum to far further than a few feet into the grass.

He spun around, only to be faced with… Mo’at of all people standing a few meters away with a curious look on his face.

“You really need to stop sneaking up on me!” He exclaimed, his heart thudding in his chest. By Eywa’s grace, she was silent.

“I do enjoy the effect my silent steps have, Jakesully.” She remarked, her eyes twinkling in amusement. “You should be more aware of your surroundings.”

Jake sucked in a few calming breaths. “Point, yes.” Maybe. But still, she didn’t need to sneak up on him in his own home. Jake bent down, recovering his dropped bullet. “I thought I’d practise my slinging before the others came back. I’m surprised you’re… here. Not Neytiri?”

Mo’at inclined her head towards the camp. “Neytiri has tsakarem duties to attend to today. N’deh speaks of having the Omatikaya provide more mauri covers to mask your metal homes entirely, to look like a Na’vi camp. He intends to change Txon'ong’s bones to resemble a more striking totem. I came to see if what would be necessary.”

Jake chuckled a little, glad to feel his heart start to take a slower pace now. “Not just that?”

“It was mentioned you had your hair restyled, I got curious.” Mo’at admitted a little, “I didn’t expect you to be…dressed in a loincloth as well. It took a second to realise it was you. The eyebrows gave you away.”

Jake grinned a little, a hand coming to his waistband. “I’m getting used to it first before I parade in front of the clan with it on.” He wasn’t gonna make a fool of himself.

“Wise decision.” Her lips were curled up a little as she said this, “You do look…tense.”

Jake snorted a little at that. Tense. That was one way to put it. “How you wear these every day is almost beyond me. At least I got my back-flap going for me, don’t need a temper tantrum about it now.” He reached back to tug the backcloth with some merit. “So glad Bree knew to include it so my goods aren’t constantly on display.”

Mo’at had to chuckle at that. “She knows what is comfortable in this compromise of your new clothing. She had told me at length of the merits of human clothing when I inquired.” There was a soft gesture for them to start walking. “I have some foraging as well I’d like assistance with. I do have much to discuss still in regards to… your plan of this ‘new clan’ idea my husband and daughter spoke of.”

Ah, fair. Eytukan had mentioned he would discuss this with Mo’at but hadn’t gotten back to him over the last week about it. It was easier to talk when doing stuff as well, like a shared duty, no doubt why she was offering.

They headed northeast for several miles before they reached a very hilly side, the trees much more spread out but it was easy to see the familiar plants now; herbs and larger flower heads.

“Twenty miles east, we get into the Tawkami Clan’s territory, this is far foraging for me but often worthwhile,” Mo’at explained as she knelt towards a large bud of flowers. “I would be cautious about going too far. They do not like Dreamwalkers.”

Yes, he had heard that before. “Will that opinion change with exposure to us? The ones that drop out from the RDA?”

“Perhaps but I wouldn’t test that quite so soon. With your… new appearance, they may not realise you aren’t one of us.”

Jake pulled out his knife and gently cut a few leaves from a plant or two, being careful not to remove too many as Mo’at did the same. He could sense there was a tone to her voice. “You’re worried about that?”

“I am. I know and understand why you must resemble one of the people. People outside of the Omatikaya may not. I fear they may get…aggressive if they are to find out you’re not one of the people.”

Jake considered her words softly. “What has Eywa said?”

“She had been silent on the matter. I believe she is…waiting to see what path we’re deciding before she graces us with any answers. I do not sense displeasure.”

“Will there be harm done in not telling the other clans that they’re in the presence of Dreamwalkers?” Jake proposed softly. “That’s probably where we should see it; is there harm made in saying something, or not mentioning it, that sort of thing? Now, I don’t see my origin as being something shameful to hide. We hide from the RDA, not the people. They will learn to See us when they see us respect the world first. Change will take time.”

Mo’at considered his words carefully, with a thoughtful expression as she rose to her feet. “That is one way to see it, I suppose.”

Jake hummed with a nod, “It’s not easy. I understand both your difficulties in his. I don’t want to overstep and disrespect the way of the people. No one does.”

They settled into a moment of quiet as he helped collect more herbs for the Tsahìk. His height helped get more higher plants to spare her from climbing something.

Jake however paused abruptly as he heard a distant sound. Steps and snapping of sticks mostly but… there was a whirl of an…exopack that sharpened his awareness and followed it; the sound was… isolated; Singular. Not grouped.

Was it the RDA? Or someone alone? Lost or abandoned?

“Jakesully?”

“Wait… I hear something.” His ear twitched before he headed towards the sound and pushed through to see the back of… a human treading carefully (for a human) through the trees, a basket of fruits in hand. The guy looked to be somewhat short with pale skin, and short curly auburn hair that was shaved at the sides. His gear was loosely padded, but not the SecOps standard of gear. He had a gun in a holster but both hands were on the basket; he didn’t look like a SecOps guy. SciOps, maybe? The padding on the knees wasn’t standard. Maybe another sector?

MineOps?

Jake paused as he stepped on a twig himself, wincing as it dug into his foot but the echo reached the human who spun around.

The man froze up as he caught sight of him in the bushes and for a moment there was almost a tese second of staring (he had really wide brown eyes) before the guy dropped his basket of fruit and bolted like a fast little fucker.

“Wait!” Jake took off immediately after him.

Mo’at was close behind, surprisingly, but Jake was a little faster on his feet with his height and turned easily on a dime and leaving her more in the dust. The man dipped easily through the trees, weaving through them and less hindered by higher branches and then seemed to break the treeline and straight into a crack in the rocky hillside.

Jake barely stopped himself, sliding on his knees and lunging his arm painfully into the crevice and the guy elated a high-pitch squeaked as he accidently struck the guy in the back but he couldn’t grab him before he was gone.

“Avatar! Avatar!” Jake echoed, wheezing a little, waving his 5-fivers in the gap. “It’s Sully!”

He pulled his arm back, hissing at the lightly scratched skin and blood of ramming his arm and chest into a rock surface. Fuck, he shouldn’t have done that.

After a second, Jake bent down so he could peek into the crevice. He could see better in the dark with his Dreamwalker eyes so it was easy to make out the near hyperventilating sprawled-out human on the floor, lying on his back against some rocks.

“It’s Jake! Shit, sorry for scaring you!” he apologised a little, still trying to catch his breath. “God, you’re fast! Were you part of a short-distance running or something?”

Mo’at finally seemed to catch up, less flushed and far more dignified than he ever was.

“Fuck….” The guy groaned, his exopack whirling with each of his breaths. His cheeks were flushed for obvious reasons as he stared, wide-eyed still but looking less prone to about to pass out. His hands were shaking in tight fists against his chest from adrenaline.

“Take your time,” Jake knelt a little. “Ooh, I haven’t run that much since I got chased by a Slinth.” Which was saying something. Neytiri had been training his body for long-distance running, not short bursts of speed like this.

“Xavier!” Another voice echoed, distant and alarmed before there was a flurry of feet.

Jake ducked his head back as three people appeared from the depths of the cave to the sprawled man.

The first was a woman, with beautifully smooth ember skin, her hair tied back from her face in coils and each seemed to be bound in very aesthetic cording and some synthetic beads. Her clothes were dusty, basic casual clothing with padding on the knees and elbows.

The next guy’s attire was similar, but he had a dark burgundy hard hat with a light on the front. He was a short man but very thin, what stood out to him was the clear glowing left eye and facial scars and hints of external implants almost hidden by his helmet and mask by the silver glinting in the light.

The woman that followed was a very Kung-stern in her attitude. Tank top, body pads, hard hat on top of straight near black hair, around her neck were her dog tags and on her right arm was a simple skull and crossbones tattoo with a hardhat and hammer as the crossbones.

The moment he was spotted, the first woman reached back and clearly for her weapon. He ducked back away from the entry swiftly, hands raised and barely stopped himself backing into the Tsahìk.

“It’s Sully! I’m Jake! Just got a new hairstyle!” He called, hoping she didn’t fire at him. She didn’t, thankfully but her weapon remained raised at him as she slipped out from the crevice and into the light.

Mo’at stiffed a little but remained tense at the sight of the weapon. Cautiously examining this interaction.

Her eyes raked over him slowly before she frowned at him, lowering the muzzle of her gun. “Why are ya wearing a thong with curtains, Sully? I could have shot ya!” Out of her mouth was a very strong southern accent.

“Long story, almost had an RDA run-in and rather not tip them off that avatars are about with the Native clans here.” He summarised, “Not the complete look but… this is a good start.” He rose to his feet, giving them a nice long twirl to break the tension. “So, apologies for scaring the shit out of your buddy in there. He bolted before we could talk.” He grinned sheepishly, a low groan echoing before the guy peeped his head through the gap with a disgruntled look, hands still shaking as he gripped the rock side.

The woman sighed deeply, slipping her gun away into the back of her pants. “Names Xanthe May, I try to keep The Vents secure. The one ya scared is my husband, Xavier Holton, then there’s Moran Kellis and this is Alejandra Castro our group leader.” Xanthe stepped aside, allowing the other woman, Alejandra to step forwards and take control of the situation.

Jake turned his attention to her fully as she gave her scrutinising look to both him and Mo’at, mostly eying the Tsahik more so.

“Do you want us off your land? I know we didn’t ask but we weren’t planning on running into anyone.” She asked, very bluntly. “The fact you’re here, Sully, does seem to suggest you’re on good terms with the Na’vi?”

“We are. We have a deal with the Omatikaya at the least, they protect us from the RDA and educate us on how to live with Pandora and with the people. We work with them every few days of the week in return. We’ve found the others that escaped the RDA. They’ve accepted the deal to stay at their chosen location.”

Alejandra’s head turned curiously. “I expect that offer extends to us?”

“It does,” Mo’at spoke, more cautiously than Jake, “But, I do have questions.”

“Shoot.”

There was a moment of pause, Mo’at’s brow pulling in confusion.

Jake decided to step in and help. “<That means ‘Go ahead and ask’. English tends to shorten or abbreviate sentences like that.>”

Mo’at sighed a little at that, “<then say that. There is no need for reducing your language to a simple word.>”

“<Not on earth, whole other story. It’s a cultural thing.>” Jake said. “I won’t go into it now but remind me to explain what a tripe contraction is later if you’re curious. You’ll hate it.”

Mo’at moved, her head turning to the cave entryway more closely “You are living in a cave?”

“Yes. It’s actually part of a massive cave system. It connects to other systems all under this region. We’re still mapping it out.” Her eyes seemed to light up a little as she spoke, her lips curling up a little with clear passion in her work.

Geologist, most likely. They loved their rocks.

“You’re miners, obviously from your gear so I suppose you’d know how to survive in a cave. How long have you been out here?” Jake asked curiously.

“About a month or so.”

“A month!” Jake laughed a little. “Woah, I thought a week at best.”

“You hid very well…for humans.” Mo’at noted, eyeing the entrance more thoughtfully, “This spot isn’t part of our typical patrols.”

“We know caves. Figured we have better chances in caves than we do out in the surface world with minimal weaponry. We have a SciOps gal who knows her shit and how to avoid the poisonous plants and animals, even the ones inside the caves. I found this cave about a year ago in a geological survey. Deleted it off the servers with a bunch of other useful data the RDA didn’t give a fuck about if it didn’t have Unobtainium underneath. I realised the potential but didn’t want to bail too soon. Kung’s death last year stuck…a lot of fear in my crew. Figured it was safer out in the caves of nature than in the shit hole the RDA is digging into the side of this world.”

Ah, he didn’t know much about that, Kung herself didn’t speak of it but… the fact her daughter’s death reached MineOps meant it was not a simple death. He was curious to ask but knew better than right now.

“How many are you living in there?” Mo’at asked.

Xanthe at this point seemed to disappear back into the cave, her hand coming towards her husband to help him up and distantly spoke before they headed away. Jake didn’t pay them much more attention but  Moran seemed to dither about the entryway regardless with his arms over his chest and his prosthetic eye glowing cryptically in the shadows

“Twelve. Most of us are MineOps. That covers geologists, mineralogists, Speleologist and… well a few more but either way, we know what we’re doing out here.”

“That’s a good number of you living in a whole. How’s life?” He nodded towards the cave. “Cramped?”

“No, it gets bigger on the inside. We’ve got a good trail line and the best spots and the shortcuts to a few various areas that you can dream of, buddy.”

“Try me.”

“Two words; Hot Springs,” Moran called with a smug grin.

Jake’s amusement dropped into pure jealousy that his tail dropped a little. “Damn… you really picked a good area.” He could bet the miners were really enjoying Eywa’s creations really well. “We’ll have weed soon, would that buy passage to your hot springs?” he immediately bargained; it’d cut the share down with the other camps but… they’d see it worth it if it meant they’d have access too. They’d provide a good excuse to visit the camps as well. Who wouldn’t want to be part of that?

Alejandra’s head tilted though her eyes seemed to light up a little more in deeper consideration. “Yep, I’ll still need to run it past my crew. Maybe if we take those offers, we’ll invite you down.”

“We can come in?”

“Not this way, obviously. We covered up the closets Na’vi-sized exits but there’s one four hundred meters west but we’ll have to make it safe first before you come in since it’s basically a vertical drop. We didn’t install anything lasting.” Alejandra explained. “We actually dug in from another site and trekked underground for miles. Barely avoided massive bat monsters and got where they were too big to get. The upside of our diminutive stature compared to the rest of life on this world.”

“You have a radio?”

“Of course. We don’t go caving without it. I gotta keep my people safe at any and all times here.”

“Why did you leave?” Mo’at asked.

Alejandra sighed deeply. “MineOps started to get funds cut. Selfridge wanted more work done and began to have us cut corners to achieve the new daily output he wanted. Safety checks were the first to go. Not just in the mine but it affected the SecOps Patrols as well since the building counted as MineOps facilities. Accidents happened. Moran, for example.” She gestured to him.

Moran left the cave, pulling away his hard hat to show off the extent of his scars and the implant that… actually showed he was also missing a left ear. What was there was the implant that stretched around his cranium, covering the ear space but he could see there was a hole in the side; making it possible for his ear to be functional still? Jake wasn’t sure.

“Faulty equipment gave the wrong reading time for the mine explosives,” Moran said to simply the explanation as he slipped the hat back on. “If I wanted to look pretty again, they would have sent me back home.”

“A failed safety rail caused Kung to fall head-long into barbed wire till she grew two inches. Her death was a…vivid realisation that the MineOps facility wasn’t safe and our people were expendable. Replaceable. I couldn’t have that. My people deserved better. At least out here, we know how to track our safety, we know what is safe and what isn’t. We can trust ourselves rather than live with ignorance or hope for change that will never come. We sure ain’t putting more money in some guy’s pocket at the expense of our lives.”

Jake nodded. “I respect that. Get out before it gets worse.”

Alejandra nodded, “Sometimes ditching is the only thing you can do. The Mine is become a death pit. We have lost miners to accidents before. It’s not uncommon but… now it’s amping up because Selfridge wants to drain the remaining ore but also start preparations for the new mine. He doesn’t seem to get that there’s a process to closing a mine. We can’t close it and still keep it operational. There’s not enough miners for that.”

“Did you not offer complaints against your leaders?”

Alejandra snorted a little. “Complaints go nowhere. Selfridge has them cleared if they’re not considered important enough. He wants results, at any cost it seems.”

Mo’at looked a little disturbed at that. “He doesn’t value even the life of his own kind?”

“Nope, unless it’s his next paycheck, he doesn’t care enough.”

“Damn.” Jake hated every word of that. Yep, he had made a good call to bail as soon as possible. Now here was the proof that it was people’s best option to leave. How was it safer out here?

“I see…”

“Give me your radio, I can patch you into our group frequencies. We found all the other human camps so far so we’re staying in contact. We gotta have each other’s back out here.”

From her waistband of pouches, the miner handed over her radio and allowed Jake to fiddle about until he had done it.

“Thanks.” She took it back from him “I’ll update the others when I get back.”

“Let them know if you’re gonna accept the offer. If you don’t, the Na’vi won’t do shit if you’re discovered by the RDA and you’ll be left to your own devices.” He clarified, should they want to know the alternatives.

“Alright, I’ll keep them informed.”

“Sweet. Also, does anyone have an Avatar?”

“Murphy, he did but it died in transit to Pandora. He never got clearance for a second to be grown planetside”

“Ah, damn.”

“Why?”

“Just wondering. Since Avatars stand out in human clothes, we’re having them disguised as Na’vi to stop the RDA coming for the Omatikaya if they clock on.”

Alejandra’s eyes dropped down, eyeing his loincloth a little more. “Fair enough. One last thing…” She shifted on the balls of her feet and reached into a pouch at her hip where her radio was stationed and pulled something out. “Catch.” She tossed it up into the air.

Mo’at caught it before she opened her hand to reveal a… rough reddish and white stone. Jake leaned towards it curiously to see what it was. Shiney rock.

“Is…that quartz?” He directed this question down but where Alejandra had stood was now a human-less area. That was one way to leave a conversation. Throwing rocks and dipping. A soft chuckle escaped his lips. “I bet that would make good beads.” He added to Mo’at at the very least. “I suppose we should head back. You gotta talk to Eytukan about the…new additions. Hopefully.”

Mo’at eyes the stone in her hands and then to him. “I’ll inform him in a bit. Let me tend to you first.”

Her hand touched at the scrapes on his arm, shoulder and chest; he had all but forgotten that. Now that it was pointed out, he could feel the stinging again. He was probably gonna bruise as well. His own fault really

Still… it was kinda worth it. Who knew a grown man could make such a sound? Almost as impressive as Zeke with teylu down his back.

The Masterlist

[tieflingtareon]

My love, are you the devil? (Oh, call me a devil)

Chapter 2 | Words: 4,525

Summary: Astarion found himself often surprised by his heroic companion. He had one goal. To become the favoured companion of the group, to earn the Tieflings loyalty, to make Tar'eons strength his own. Yet Tar'eon isn't like the usual target of his manipulations. Despite his naivety, he does not seem gullible. There is something very wrong with their 'leader' to begin with. Astarion isn't sure if he wants to control it or eradicate the threat it posed. But can he really do either when Tar'eon himself seems so...unwaveringly kind?

That devil is getting into his head, while others get into Tar'eons. He doesn't appreciate not having the upperhand after years of being at the disadvantage. He will find a way to make him see.

He is the one he should be listening to. Astarion would make it so, no matter the means.

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/50668558/chapters/127995079

Astarion expected a much lengthier conversation when it was revealed that he was a vampire. He truly did. Expected the attempt of a pitchfork at the very least. He was sure Tar’eon wouldn’t let anyone run him through, but he had thought there would be at least one attempt from Wyll.

But no. Tar’eon insisted that he trusted him. A stupid decision, on his part, but…well, it was nice to be trusted. He’d never had anyone trust him before. He was beaten half to death in the alleyways by Gur, was abused by his master for two centuries, had charmed his way through his undead life, slaughtered many, and yet…Tar’eon extended his trust to him. And true or not, it saved his hind.

He even bothered to call them all friends. A ridiculous notion. They all have their own selfish reasons for being here, but the objective was to remove the parasite in their heads.

The most surprising part of it all was that Tar’eon offered up his throat again.

“Not nearly as much as last night but…I’m sure I can manage a little bit of wooziness first thing in the morning if it meant you only feed from me. Having you out every night may catch the wrong attention. I’d hate for you to get hurt while away from camp.” Where I can’t protect you, was unspoken, but Astarion could fill in the gaps. He’d assume it was because it was a burden to have him bring trouble back, if not for the sincerity in Tar’eons voice.

If not for the sincerity that he could feel when he allowed the connection to dance and brush against Tar’eons. It was hard to control, honestly, but when he yearned to know what he was thinking, it was like the tadpole knew and called to Tar’eons own.

Tar’eon barely let him into his mind though. When he detected his presence in that moment, the brush to grasp if his sincerity was true, Tar’eon allowed only that much before shutting it down. Shutting him out.

He supposed it was fair. He may trust him not to bite without asking, but he did not trust him to know him. After all, despite their time together as a party, they did not know each other personally. Victims of circumstance, forced into proximity. That was all it was.

Tar’eon had told him so when he called him a saint. Now…he simply had to let this be it. Tar’eon would give him blood nightly, he would not hunt, and they would both fight side by side until they found a cure, or…well. Became mindflayers. Or died. Death seemed preferable to all those tentacles. He was still vain, even if he couldn’t see his own reflection.

Oh, how he missed staring into a mirror. He knew his hair to be white, and his eyes to be red, knew himself to be handsome and undead, but…he did not know what he looked like when he was scared or angry, how his face looked when he smiled or frowned. It was a mystery to him. He could only see himself through others, through their words. One target painted him once, in the early days of his enslavement. When he still felt anxious about bringing them back, when he still felt guilt.

The artist had painted long, flowing hair, ruby eyes and pale skin. He’d looked ethereal, like a vampire should. Enticing.

He tried to keep it, simply so he could remember his own face, but Cazador had taken it. He couldn’t remember if he broke it or if that had just been what he was worried he would do. Some early memories were like that. So distorted by fear that he couldn’t remember certain things with clarity.

He does remember a few years after that a target had touched his hair in front of him. So enthralled by his beauty that she hadn’t been able to resist caressing his curls.

"They’re so lovely…I can tell you have your mothers looks, even without meeting her.”

Astarion had smiled. Back in those days, he could still remember his own mothers face. Not anymore.

"I do.”

Cazador had cut his hair only a few days later. Jagged and uneven. He couldn’t remember why, but he knew it was punishment for something. Then he told him to fix it himself and find him dinner.

Astarion’s hair never grew back. That would require a body that could create and grow. But he was stagnant. He healed faster than most, and he had strength above most humans, but he could not grow old. Time would never pass inside his body. Time passed around him, and that was that.

His life had been stagnant and dark until he was kidnapped and given this little parasite inside his head. A parasite that allowed him to feel the warmth of the sun on his skin again. That allowed him to enter homes freely, to cross running water — Hells, to even enter holy ground.

It was like being alive again. Yet he had all the perks of being an elf, and a vampire, at once.

He was a living vampire, truly living for the first time in two centuries, and he intended to keep this freedom at any cost.

He just needed to learn more about the squatter in his skull. Tar’eon would help simply by keeping him alive long enough against the enemies they faced to find out how to control and harness these pests. If there was even a way to do so. It would be such a waste.

The goblin camp smelt rancid. He cursed his heightened senses. The entire time they wandered through it, Tar’eon lying his way passed every guard with such ease…it was terrifying how good of a liar he was. It was like he was a different person when he was in enemy territory, compared to the camp, or the grove.

He used his large body to intimidate, used a vipers tongue to slither further inside the camp despite being a tielfing himself, the target demographic to these cult-obsessed goblins at the moment.

Tar’eon seemed to take delight in humiliating and fighting them compared to falling Kagha, or the Owlbear mother.

Astarion found himself enjoying this new side of Tar’eon, the one that threw shit in the face of a goblin who tried to humiliate the tielfing, and made the cocky creature, Crusher, kiss his boot.

He also found himself amused when Tar’eon turned the Owlbear cub against its tormentors, offering his scent to the cub so he could find their camp later on. An apology, he assumed, for slaying his mother.

Tar’eon looked a little lighter after doing so, before he took his steel gaze to the large doors that led inside.

Tar’eon seemed to notice something the others hadn’t, because once inside and the guards convinced, he took Astarion’s wrist gently to slow his strides, stepping past him and dipping his head low to whisper in his ear.

“That drum by the door. It’s a war drum. I noticed one during the last fight.” He still bore a bruised cut against his cheek from where a goblin struck him with a rock from above. Astarion stared at it for a moment before his eyes travelled to look at the drum in question.

“Strike it with one of your arrows.”

“Are you kidding? They’ll attack us, you fool.” Astarion scoffed. Surely Tar’eon wasn’t that stupid.

“Trust me,” Tar’eons gaze dragged from the war drum to Astarion’s red eyes. “As I trust you.”

Astarion scowled and removed his wrist from Tar’eons hold. It was more of a caress than a grip, but Astarion did not care. He looked Tar’eon dead in the eye as he raised his bow and drew it back.

The string snapped forward, propelling the arrow head into the skin of the drum, rendering it useless. He doubted Tar’eon could talk his way out of this one. At least he didn’t mind a little bloodshed.

But somehow, by a miracle, Tar’eon played his role perfectly.

“I’m so sorry, my companion is skittish after the long journey to visit the priestess, he thought he saw a shadow over there! Though, perhaps he did.” Tar’eon chuckled and goblin looked disgruntled but seemed to let it go.

Astarion looked at Tar’eon in shock, surprised he managed to lie his way through so effortlessly. He almost approved.

As they walked to towards the door, Tar’eon stopped, stock still. Astarion paused with him, curious, and he snarled at Wyll who walked into him. Shadowheart looked delighted though. There was a glint in her eyes, like she knew something they didn’t.

“…what did you say about my companion?” Tar’eon turned slowly to the goblin who had greeted them quite hostilely when they walked inside.

“W-what? Nothing. You’re hearing things. Priestess Gut is ahead.” It quickly dismissed. But Tar’eon didn’t look like he heard nothing. What had been said? Astarion hadn’t been focusing well enough to hear it. He didn’t care for their grotesque voices anyway.

Tar’eon turned around completely, his gaze cold, more like ice than fire. His eyes slowly travelled to Shadowheart, who smiled at him. He gave a small nod and Shadowheart unsheathed her crossbow, sinking an arrow into the goblins throat within the span of an inhale.

Like that, the fight ensued. Without a moments hesitation, Tar’eon unsheathed his longsword and slashed across a goblins face.

Strike first, lest you be struck, he supposed.

The group made quick work of the goblins, and Astarion took a few minutes to collect his arrows and loot what he could before Tar’eon stole everything.

“You’re weighing yourself down, you know? I would *love* to lend a hand if you let me.” He insisted, wanting his pick. He got the chest, but Tar’eon raided the goblins dry.

“It’s okay. I can carry more than you.” Tar’eon said like it was obvious, looking down at Astarion. Physically, at least. After all, he was…a lot larger. He could handle more weight, Astarion supposed. It was worth a shot.

“Yes, well…anyway. What shall we do with the bodies?”

“Nothing.” Tar’eon looked down at the slain bodies, and something akin to hunger grew in his gaze. His sword was still coated in blood, and the tip grazed the fingers of a goblin.

He seemed to catch himself and wiped his blade off with a rag, sheathing it.

“I don’t intend to be here long. We have a job to do. Find the Druid, find a cure, and convince the drow to leave my people alone.”

“Convince? You may as well slay the drow like you did the goblins. Might make this whole…process faster.”

“I would like to avoid as much bloodshed as possible.” Tar’eon hummed. Astarion barked a laugh.

“You…are full of surprises, aren’t you?”

“You’ve told me that more than once.”

“And each time, you’ve been covered in blood that isn’t your own.” Astarion mused with a small squint of his eyes, a smile teasing his lips. “What on earth did that goblin say, to break that…beast from its cage.”

Tar’eon narrowed his eyes. Disapproval. Astarion almost cared, but he didn’t.

“…I don’t like these goblins to begin with. But I had planned to be civil. They did not.” Was all he said before he turned with a whip of his tail, opening the door just enough for them to exit, and closing it behind them, least someone find the bodies before they finished their search for the Druid.

Astarion was pissed at the lack of answers, quirking a brow to Wyll who only shrugged. It seemed he hadn't heard the goblins comment either. Great...

He glanced at Shadowheart who was speaking to Tar'eon in a low voice, the tiefling looking around to surveillance the new room they had entered. She knew exactly what the goblin had said, and neither were inviting him into the conversation.

Tar'eon seemed closest to Shadowheart it seemed, and he wondered when the two would shack up together. The Shar worshipper with a tiefling bard...an odd combo, but their personalities melded well. He could wax poetry about her Lady Loss and lady bits, perhaps. He was sure she'd go wild for that sort of thing.

Astarion disliked that she would have more influence over Tar'eon than he would though. It was hard to manipulate someone who's heart and mind were already occupied with another. Unless they'd been dumped. Then it made it a hundred times easier.

The group walked further in, and Tar'eon walked forward with purpose toward the priestess. He heard her name from another goblin and assumed it had to be the priestess they were looking for. Perhaps she could present a cure. Astarion wasn't sure if he trusted the Absolute worshipper to cure them of their little parasite. She seemed rather daft.

But Tar'eon insisted they meet in her quarters and watched her walk off.

He snapped his head suddenly, looking past Shadowheart to the staircase to the right. His gaze met Astarion's and he nodded towards the staircase. Faintly, Astarion could hear crying, moans of pain coming from deeper in the sanctum.

Ah. He wished to play hero again. So be it.

Astarion was learning to just accept it and follow at this point.

The group made their way towards the crying and the scene they came upon was one Astarion was quite...familiar with. A young man was stretched out on a torture device, a rack, with two goblins poking and prodding, asking questions.

Astarion glanced at Tar'eon. He was intrigued by the look of interest in his eyes. He watched as Tar'eon approached the goblins, blending himself into the shadows. It was in his nature to hide amongst them. To observe. Right now, all he wanted to do was observe.

To watch as Tar'eon took a blunt instrument up and convinced the guards to learn from a 'professional'. The cry of pain from the mans lips almost had him feeling sympathy. If only because he too did not like having any blunt force trauma to his genitalia.

It made the goblins leave though when Tar'eon threatened them with the same punishment if he did not allow him to do his 'job' in peace.

They were scarce in moments, and Astarion watched Tar'eon with interest, to see if he'd continue his punishment, and for a moment, he almost thought he would. But like he was shaking off the temptation, he shook his head and dropped the club. He picked the lock of the rack and helped the man down, his hands gentle, his words equally so as he requested information on the druid, Halsin.

Liam blabbered about a Nightsong before he ducked away into the shadows, disappearing. Tar'eon frowned.

"I hope he makes it out safely."

"Oh? Do you?" Astarion mused with a smirk. "I never would have guessed." He chuckled and stepped out of the shadows. "And if those guards come back to check on the prisoner? What then?"

"He escaped after we left him." Tar'eon said plainly, like he was used to lying so blatantly.

"And if they don't believe us?"

"Then we eliminate the army intent on the grove ourselves." He said it with such conviction, with a gaze so steely, that Astarion almost believed him. Like his own conviction was enough to get them through a whole army of goblins.

"...That would be quite troublesome. But fun. I do love a good bloodbath."

"You just enjoy blood."

"Only the finest." Astarion insisted, a hand to his chest like he was offended by the notion that he ate anything less than he deserved. Until recently, he had. Tar'eon was quite the upgrade if he was honest.

Tar'eon quirked a small smile, his eyes almost...fond? And directed at Astarion of all people. The man truly was surprising.

"I'll take that as a compliment."

Astarion had nothing to say to that smile, and Tar'eon seemed to take that as the end of their conversation, continuing his walk down the hallway.

Perhaps there was still a chance to gain Tar'eons favour...his protection. His loyalty. It wouldn't be a hard feat. But Astarion only knew one way to make anyone listen to him, and in this case, hopefully only him. He wasn't sure Tar'eon would take him up on a night alone. He seemed like the 'only hand holding before marriage' kind of guy sometimes, and yet he could have such a cruel streak at the most surprising of moments. He was an enigma, like two different people were stuck in the same body. The hero and the beast. He wondered if he could at least convince this beastly side to take him up on the offer.

He'd met many people in his long life. Slept with many. From maidens to sadists, he could deal with anything thrown at him.

He would let their juxtaposed leader carve his mark into his pale skin if it meant he could gain the tieflings protection. Wouldn't be the first man to do so. And perhaps, he could use his strengths further into this journey.

He almost ran into said tiefling when the man stopped, as concrete as the walls around them. Astarion scowled, ready to snap at him before he saw what Tar'eon was looking at. An alter...

A Loviatar worshipper. Huh. He hadn't met one of those in a long time.

Tar'eon approached without fear, only curiosity. Had he ever met one of Loviatars worshippers? Astarion wasn't sure.

"Greetings, child." His voice was haughty and Astarion almost wanted to laugh at the way the man tried to talk so high and mighty. "I've met few aside from goblins here."

Tar'eon just stared at the man, and Astarion quirked a brow, waiting.

"Are you also here to assist with the prisoner?"

"I'm only passing through." Tar'eon says with ease, ignoring the goblins witnessing their conversation. Astarion sends them a look that insists they do not bother speaking up, and somehow, it works. Would hate to ruin the fun after all.

"Your tastes must turn to the exotic, if you would stop here by choice." Astarion gave a hum. Indeed. What kind of exotic tastes were their leader hiding from them?

"I was invited to discuss pain and its intricacies, but even I find these goblins crude and well - primitive. Pain without purpose is a terrible thing, wouldn't you agree?"

Tar'eon made a sound like he agreed.

"It's appalling." He agreed, and for once, Astarion couldn't tell if he was lying or not.

"You know the Maiden of Pain? How refreshing, but there is more to us than that." Tar'eon was hanging out his every word, it seemed, and Astarion wasn't sure if he was annoyed or intrigued by that. "Yes, we worship her through pain - often our own. But it is an intimate and loving thing, and one we offer up. If you would permit it...I can show you firsthand."

Astarion stood straighter, more than intrigued now. Surely Tar'eon wouldn't take him up on it. It was a clear invitation to be beaten, and he could not see the appeal - not for someone like the teifling.

For a moment, Tar'eon had that expression again. The same he'd worn the day he took that portal man's hand, before horror set it. The same glint in his eyes as the one he had when he bludgeoned the mans balls on the rack.

Then, it vanished, his expression becoming almost afraid.

"...Okay. Show me, firsthand." He slipped the top half of his armour off over his head and turned to Astarion who was the closest, placing it in his arms with a haunted look in his eyes. He unlaced the shirt beneath and slipped it off. "I think I might deserve it, if nothing else." He murmured and turned to the man.

"Oh, I have something exquisite in mind. Both Loviatar and I are interested in how you handle pain, dear one." The nickname sent a cold chill up his spine. He hated the way it sounded on the mans lips. If he had been addressing him, he would have ripped his tongue out of his mouth. It was still tempting.

But Tar'eon did not react. He stood tall, back straight and tail swinging side to side against the disgusting floor. The drag of it reminded Astarion of defeat. Like Tar'eon was giving something up in this moment. Sacrificing for what was right again.

What was going through his mind right now was impossible to decipher. Where had the playful man from just minutes ago gone?

"And should you delight her, you will most assuredly receive her gracious blessing - trust me. Simply face the wall, and we can begin." The worshippers eyes travelled down the tieflings body, and Tar'eon neither posed or shied from it. Instead, he walked to the wall and faced it without complaint. The muscles of his back flexed and tensed as he rolled his shoulders, letting out a slow breath as they shagged.

He was mentally preparing himself. Astarion watched with hawk-like eyes.

He did not need to fuss over a man he barely knew. If anything, he should enjoy the show. He tasted sweet, and Astarion was sure he sounded just the same when in pain. The link between pleasure and pain was a fine line, and Astarion was curious to know if their leader was the kind of man who liked a little pain. Or could grow to like it, at the very least. Being bitten was not a nice sensation. Fangs piercing your skin hurt. It was painful, like two shards of ice and then a burning fire in your neck.

Yet Tar'eon was offering to let him drink nightly.

At the very least, he was a masochistic hero.

Astarion watched the man breathe and cry out at the first strike, grasping the wall in front of him. He almost stumbled and widened his stance so he wouldn't buckle again, taking in a shaky breath as blood dripped down his back. A mace is no gentle weapon, neither clean nor painless. It slices and rips flesh on impact, and Astarion watches as the red slipped down his back, his mouth pooling with saliva.

He wanted to lick him clean. Shadowheart made a comment, but he found the pumping of Tar'eons blood more appealing to listen to.

The priest seemed ecstastic to hear his voice, his cry, and praised him as he readied another blow. It struck even harder this time, tearing into more skin, over his left shoulder blade. Tar'eon gasped sharply and bit back his voice this time, teeth gritted. His hands fisted against the stone wall. The hem of his pants collected the blood that slipped down his back, the trail that raced down his spine. There was a small pooling in the dimple on his back, above his tail, and Astarion felt a touch...breathless.

His undead heart is racing with the desire to lick the fresh blood off his skin.

"My, my. Who knew our friend had so much blood in them?" Tar'eon actually looked at him, and he couldn't read his expression, but in the dim light, his eyes glowed. He felt pinned in place. He wished desperately to look into his mind, to understand these moments where Tar'eon seems so...not Tar'eon. But the tadpole wouldn't grant him access. Or perhaps Tar'eon wouldn't.

"Try not to lick your lips as you say that." Shadowheart remarked and Astarion smirked. She worshipped Lady Loss. He was sure she found this just as invigorating in her own depraved way. His enjoyment was just more obvious and in tune with his nature. Was it a crime for a vampire to enjoy when others bled?

Astarion gripped the armour tighter as another blow came to his skin. Tar'eon couldn't hold back his cry this time, the mace tearing through more skin, raw and tender and so bloody. After the feeding he had last night, it was a shock to see how much blood was still left for him to ooze out.

"...A child can hit harder than that." Tar'eon breathed, chest heaving, sweat along his brow. He stared ahead at the wall, and Astarion's gaze moved to Wyll who had remained the furthest away from the ritual, looking...sad. Like he pitied Tar'eons 'cleansing'.

Another blow landed and Tar'eons knees finally buckled, forehead against the cool wall, claws digging into the cracks in the stone as his body trembled from the pain. Such a large man...taken apart by four blows from a mace? Astarion almost couldn't believe it.

Wyll broke through the crowd as the priest took a step back, looking disappointed at the withholding of his pain. The man crouched beside Tar'eon, offering him a hand.

"Are you alright...?" Tar'eon looked up at Wyll, looking flushed and sweaty. He took the hand offered to him and groaned softly as he stood, stumbling into Wyll's shoulder and resting there for a moment, simply breathing slowly. Wyll went to place his hand on his back and thought better of it last moment, curling it into a fist and dropping it down to his side.

"We should rest. You should rest."

"I will be fine."

"You're in no shape to fight if needs be" Wyll hissed into his ear, and Tar'eon shook his head.

"I will force myself to be. Wyll - I needed this. Okay?"

"You needed to let him beat you down like a dog?" Wyll's eyes narrowed at the priest as Tar'eon stood up straighter, his hand still on Wyll's shoulder to keep steady. Astarion watched the pair. Since when were those two so closely knitted together? Maybe because they were both heroic at heart...sickening.

"You heard him. He needed this. He cleansed himself. I'm afraid the Maiden of Pain cannot bestow her blessing, since he chose to withhold his complete self from this ritual, but...it was certainly necessary nonetheless, wasn't it, dear one?"

Tar'eon turned his hollow gaze to the worshipper.

"...Yes. It was. Thank you."

"Did you enjoy yourself, child?"

"Not all pain is to be enjoyed." Tar'eon chuckled sardonically, moving over to Astarion now. Astarion still desired to lick the dripping blood off his skin, but now, he found himself equally interested in his words. "Sometimes pain is simply necessary."

The priest chuckled and seemed to allow that, turning back to his weapons, his implements of pain.

Tar'eon took the shirt from Astarion and his face screwed up in pain as he slipped it back on, taking a moment to simply breathe through it. Shadowheart stepped forward.

"Let me..." Her hand glowed as she reached out, but Tar'eon grabbed her wrist and shook his head. Shadowhearts lips thinned, but the glow vanished.

"Interesting. I'm starting to think you really do enjoy the pain, darling. The rituals over, let the cleric knit you back together, and let us go spill more...less appetising blood." The armour was lifted from his hands and Tar'eon stared down at him.

"...Let us set up camp."

[theverycoolfish]

Marvelous

First of all we celebrate on Christmas Eve but let’s start with advent: okay for the 4 last sundays before Christmas Eve (if Christmas Eve is a Sunday that counts) we light a candle. Like first Sunday until 2nd 1 candle 2nd until 3rd 2 candle and so on.

We also hang up stars in our windows

Like that one

Next exciting thing is Lucia. It’s on 13th December. Everyone dress up in white nightgowns (the design of them is at OLD no one have worn them for something else than Lucia for ages) (fuck gender roles put the boys/men in dresses) (I wish it said fuck gender roles more but after this it’s decided by gender :/) (but people are starting to break the roles a little and throwing in alternatives so yay but if I start going into the alternatives I will find myself writing a long text about folklore) okay traditionally it looks like this (I found the pictures on Pinterest):

Sadly the woman with the candle-crown ”should” according to some be white and have blonde hair but the times are changing and now it’s more variety :) well I was in one of those and we had 4 different candle crown people. Neither were blonde. They were all perfect.

We sing songs (or well the dressed up people do and the rest listen and watches) its kind of nice kind of wtf are we doing which IS FUN. All that to celebrate some Italian saint and we haven’t even been catholic since 1523 (or well that’s the year the guy who changed that became king) (he needed the church’s money) (okay now I nearly started rambling about history too)

On Christmas Eve there is two movies you have to watch. One is called Donald Duck but it’s actually it’s a lot of clips from old Disney movies/short movies and it’s presented as if they wish everyone a merry Christmas and tell everyone a wholesome/fun story. (It includes but is not limited to Lady &Lufsen dining, Donald Duck trying to photograph a bird, Mickey Mouse, Donald Duck and Goofy camping, the mice sewing cinderella’s dress, Robin Hood stealing Prince John’s money, Santa Claus and elves fixing toys and stuff for the kids [you REALLY should have a paint like that])

According to Wikipedia it’s been streamed on live television since 1960 and at been on top 4 most streamed programs EVERY year since at least 1994 (no data before that year)

It probably costs a fortune because it’s fucking Disney but we’re a lot of people who really likes it and we all divide the day in before Donald (it hurts to not say Kalle which is his Swedish name) and after.

Ofc we have Karl Bertil Jonsson too which I rambled about in the tags that is now screenshotted in the previous reblog.

If there is at least one kid in the family: sometime in the evening dad or grandfather or uncle or someone (usually male person) has to go outside to ”buy the newspaper” or ”buy some milk” soon thereafter Santa knocks on the door. Comes in, speaks a little with everyone, maybe eats something and gives presents. Then he leaves. Soon after that dad returns home. The store was sold out on newspapers/milk/literally anything.

It’s not a complete list but I need to rewatch Karl Bertil Jonsson. The animated version ofc not the live action. Nothing against the live action it’s just not a classic

my only advice is to BE CAREFUL posting about holiday traditions around europeans. you'll post something casual like "anyone else watch the old Grinch movie every year? what a classic" and a european will appear as if summoned and say some shit like "funny how USAmericans always CONVENIENTLY forget that Not Everyone On Earth is from The USA…….. no of COURSE we dont watch 'the grunch' or whatever the fuck that is…. our tradition is to attend a community showing of Glummdorf the Racial Stereotype"

[stupidbeecandle]

Can you tell us more lighthouse strories? :)

Hmm. I made a few other lighthouse stories but I think a lot of them are harder to track down these days? I should probably just make a pinned post.

Stories: The lighthouse and the watch house were right next door to each other the same way you might put a shed out back if your shed was a three-story glowing tower that screamed at a decibel level akin to violence at predictable intervals. There was a white painted line, or maybe it was yellow? On the rocks in a circumference, you were never to cross because beyond that line the noise could permanently deafen you.

The house we stayed in had a rich history of tear-downs and rebuilds. The Atlantic ocean is not fond of houses and does its very best to destroy them with ice, tides, and occasionally very large rocks. It was two stories, downstairs there was a kitchen, a living room, and a gear-storage room where we had a bunch of fancy-schmancy equipment set up and either running, or ready to take out and run. Upstairs were the sleeping quarters but it was weird. At one point the house had belonged to a family with normal bedrooms, then some new owners came in and boarded up the upstairs into two gendered halves so that boys and girls couldn't touch each other in ungodly ways. Then some door-holes were cut in those shodily put up barriers so the upstairs kind of had a spirit-halloween popup store vibe with the construction.

No heat, no electricity or running water. Water was usually packed in on ships and the bathroom was converted to a compost system that was actually fairly well done. Fire stove and gas appliances that we shipped gas in with kept the downstairs super cozy so often we just slept there instead even though it was cramped and sometimes we wanted to kill each other. One of my teammates had the nastiest unwashed white girl dreads Id ever seen because she didn't take advantage of any of the camp hair-hygene options available and kept trying to convince us to dredge our hair with seawater and tie it in knots. Blessedly I had lost my sense of stank by a few days into expedition mode.

Once I lost my hat in the wind and it blew into the circle zone of bodily harm near the lighthouse and I timed my sprint so I could run in, get my hat and get out before it could go off again in what was a spectacularly stupid move, exactly the half brained shit you would expect from an 18 year old with no thoughts in her head.

The moose washed up but so did a leatherback turtle which took a lot longer than the moose to clean and prep. We never killed animals but we often recorded the contents of dead ones and used/sold/donated bones and things to museams, researchers and various societies. We all hated the turtle, while the moose brought us together in a task of madness and hubris, no one wanted to touch the turtle and it was the most cursed task on the island for some time.

Various sea birds (assholes) were the main species living on the island. You had to walk with one hand raised above your head in a fist at nearly all times when they were nesting because the assholes were stupid and would attack the highest part of your body thinking it was your head. You would wear a glove or use an umbrella if you knew you would have to be out there for more than a few minutes.

All of the food was vegan and I hated it. We had a joke that if you threw the vegan scrambled eggs on the ground they would bounce higher than the hight you threw them from. They didn't bounce that high but they did bounce suspiciously high.

The other lighthouse I stayed at had a fancy helipad we could all sit out on made of wood. On off days we would sun ourselves. For some reason despite only a 3 hour difference between the islands great duck island was green and sometimes nice while great rock island was grey and bitterly cold.

Thgis lighthouse had electricity but still no plumbing. It was a much larger research station with at least one permanent resident but I didn't stay long. they studied burrowing owls, horribly invasive rabbits, ruins from early new england settlers and a now feral cow population the settlers just left for some reason.

Its bizarre to be warned about the dangerous cows that lurk in the woods nearby and how they can appear and disappear into the trees faster than you will realize it. It is even more bizarre to be walking in the woods planting your little pink flags to mark burrows when out of nowhere there is a huge godamn cow in front of you that is blessedly more afraid of you than you are of it as it slowly backs back into the trees and disappears.

Loved the research lighthouse life and the cool stories I got to be a part of. Unfortunately decided that it was not what I wanted to dedicate my life to for various reasons tumblr wouldn't find interesting.

For people who are super interested in lighthouse adventures, look up college of the atlantic where I was a student when I had my cool lighthouse adventures (they have a kickass program)

For people who just want to get the fuck away from everyone, enjoy some nature and live a nice quiet life I much more highly recommend checking out forestry jobs.

[seijorhi]

Fracture

i apologise in advance.

Miya Osamu x female reader

TW non-con, dub-con, psuedo-infidelity, referenced character death, angst, drunk reader, gaslighting, age gap, the slightest hint of nsfw

‘Yer still coming home for summer, right?’

How many weeks had your sister spent lovingly bullying you into coming down? How many hours had you spent listening to her gush over the phone about how excited she was?

And until about three months ago, you’d been excited too. 

Despite the ten or so years between the two of you, there was nobody on earth you loved more than your sister. When you were sixteen years old and your parents passed away in a car accident, she was the one who stepped up to take care of you, putting a roof over your head, making sure you ate, slept and kept up your grades, balancing two jobs to do it. 

And she grumbled and you fought, but she’s the only reason you managed to keep it all together enough to graduate high school, and when it came time for you to leave home for university, she was the one blinking back tears and loudly complaining about you ‘abandoning your poor older sister in her time of need’.

As if she hadn’t sat with you for hours, pouring over your options and gently nudging you in the direction of Tokyo. 

“It’s just a few hours away,” you’d told her. “I’ll come back and visit you all the time.”

There was truth to that. The first six months of uni, you came home every other weekend arms full of expensive textbooks and mountains of assignments to write, but then she met Osamu.

You’ve never seen anybody fall so hopelessly in love as quickly as she had. Miya Osamu may as well have hung the damn moon in the sky for how your sister looked at him. And you suppose you can’t really blame her; he was stupidly tall, broad shouldered and handsome. Even back then his restaurant was a wild success, the man was talented and clearly knew how to cook. Nice was the wrong word to describe him, but Miya Osamu was good, and so long as he made your sister happy, that was enough for you.

And it wasn’t like he was the one to drive you away. 

Osamu liked you – he let you camp out in his restaurant and work on your assignments when you desperately needed a change of scenery, stopping to humour you with conversation if it was quiet. He made you laugh, he was interesting, and the more your sister brought him around, the more you realised that you actually kinda liked the guy. 

Things were just easy between the two of you, you never had to pretend to be anything but what you were.

You were the one who started putting space between you and her. It wasn’t intentional, at least not on their part, but somewhere along the way you’d started to realise that Osamu wasn’t the odd one out anymore; you were. She was building a life with him, and fortnightly visits turned into monthly ones, and then eventually it became once every few months and after that only on holidays and special occasions – their wedding being one of them.

At Christmas, cheeks flushed with alcohol, she’d pulled you into a one armed hug, pouting into your sweater. “You never come visit us anymore,” she’d sniffled dramatically, “I miss you.”

But it was Osamu – fingers laced with your sister’s, a hint of a smile curling at his lips – who’d voiced it. “Come spend yer summer break with us.”

Three months later you’d awoken to a call telling you that there’d been an accident. Your sister was dead.

Weeks pass by in a blur. Your classes are a haze of droning voices and mindless typing, you submit papers you don’t remember writing and you get good marks anyway. Your friends don’t know how to act around you, everything feels surreal, like you’re moving around in a dream, nothing touches you anymore. It hurts, but you’ve wrapped up that pain and put it someplace safe, seeking it out only when you’re alone and you just can’t bear the numbness a second longer.

The trip you’d promised to take back home to Osaka is the furthest thing from your mind, at least until Osamu calls you in the early hours of the morning, a week or so before the semester ends.

“Yer still coming home for summer, right?”

The word ‘no’ lingers on the tip of your tongue. The last time you’d seen each other was at the funeral, his face blank and hollow, eyes rimmed in red. He’d barely spoken more than a few sentences to you, but he’d stayed by your side the entire time, calmly thanking those who came up to express their condolences. 

You’d lost your sister, but he’d lost his wife. 

“Do you still want me to?” you ask him quietly instead. If you were in his shoes, you’re not so sure that you would. 

Yet Osamu sighs heavily, and you catch a faint clinking sound on the other end of the line, like a bottle being set back against the marble countertop. “I just–” but he breaks off and something inside of your chest tugs. “I want ya here. The house is empty… she’s gone and I… I want ya here. Please.” 

How could you possibly say no after that? Maybe you’ve been selfish, so wrapped up in your own grief and misery. You’d assumed that because Osamu had Atsumu he’d be okay. Not right away, of course, but he’d have that support around him – a support system that you were without.

It didn’t enter your mind that perhaps he was struggling too. That he was spending night after night alone in a house etched with memories of her. And just as you’d thought that Tsumu was the one keeping his head above water, maybe he was offering a hand to do the same for you. 

—

He’s waiting for you on the porch when your taxi pulls up on the kerb. The driver’s nice enough to help you with your bags, but Osamu is quick to intercept, waving off the help with an impatient huff that almost makes you laugh.

“Yer here,” he says once he sets them down on the porch, grinning as he tugs you into a warm embrace.

It’s then that you get a good look at him, a proper look – and for a moment, you’re taken aback. You haven’t seen him since the funeral a few months back, granted, but Osamu doesn’t look the way you imagined him to – especially after your call the other night. There’s no hint of pallid skin, no bloodshot eyes with heavy bags underneath or a 5 o’clock shadow on his face. No, even with his dark hair still a mess, dressed in jeans and his Onigiri Miya tee, Osamu looks good. Healthy even, if the way the sleeves of his shirt cling to his biceps is any indication. 

It takes you a second to realise that you’re staring, because Samu chuckles, brushing past you to bring your stuff inside.

“Y’know, most people start with a hello,” he calls over his shoulder. 

Your cheeks heat, a hint of shame curling inside of you. Were you expecting him to be an inconsolable wreck? You know better than most that grief messes with people differently, and it’s not fair of you to judge him, however unintentionally, for not fitting that image of the grieving husband.

It’s a good sign. 

“Hi, Samu,” you reply somewhat sheepishly, following him inside.

He’s already walking towards your old bedroom, the ‘guest room’ now (though you and he both know it’s always been yours), leaving you to trail behind the older man. Your intention is to stop him from going to too much effort, but as you walk past the living room, something catches your eye.

Or rather, the absence of something. Faltering in your step, it takes you a second to realise what’s missing, but as you glance around, brows furrowing in confusion, it hits you. 

The pictures of you and your sister, the cute ones with her and Samu, the old family snaps that used to line the walls and sit on the TV unit, they’re gone. And it’s not just the pictures. The artwork your sister had painted that used to hang by the wall next to the kitchen, the little pot plants she’d doted on like children, hell, the throw that she’d knitted one winter that was always lying on the couch; they’re all gone.

The room feels almost alien without them, unfamiliar and cold. He’d hung up some cool photography stuff to fill in some of the spaces, but instead of homey it just felt… modern. Like the pictures you see in magazines of staged houses that nobody actually lives in. 

And you must have been standing there for a while, because you don’t notice it when Samu comes back to find you still holding your purse, gazing around like a lost child.

“I didn’t get rid of ‘em, if that’s what yer thinking.”

You turn to face him, except Osamu isn’t looking at you. He’s gazing at the walls around you both, his face strangely impassive – except for his eyes. It’s impossible for you to miss the hurt that swims there, the faint sheen they didn’t hold only moments ago. “I packed them away – they’re in yer room if ya want to look through any of it, it’s just…” he trails off, finally glancing back to look at you. And once again, you feel that flicker of guilt slowly eating away at you. “It was painful, seeing her face everywhere.”

Before you left your apartment that morning, you swore to yourself that you wouldn’t cry today – but the tears come unbidden, and one moment you’re standing there staring at him and the next you’re choking on a sob, hand coming to your lips to try and stifle it.

Osamu’s there in a second, solid arms wrapped around you, pulling you into his chest. He doesn’t say a word (what’s there to say anymore?) he just hums softly, stroking your back with a gentle hand as you fall apart once more.

—

It’s surprisingly easy for the two of you to fall into a rhythm. There’d been some part of you that was hesitant about this whole thing – despite having a relatively good relationship with your brother in law, you knew that the only real connection between the two of you was your sister.

Without her, living in the same space and trying to navigate around the holes that she’d left, you’d expected it to be at least a little awkward between the two of you. But with Osamu working full time, it was kind of a non-issue. Aside from the first day when he’d taken the morning off to help you get settled, he was usually gone before you woke up, and most nights he wasn’t home until nine or ten. How he worked such long hours six days a week without collapsing out of sheer exhaustion was beyond you, but you tried to make things easier for him, cooking dinner for the two of you.

“Y’know ya don’t have to do this every night, right?” he asks you one night, sticking the leftover chicken into the microwave. “I have a restaurant, I can sort out my own dinner.”

You don’t tell him that despite being a rather terrible cook, it was one of the things your sister made sure to do every night in the weeks following your parents’ death. You’d spend most of your day holed up in your room if you weren’t at school, but dinner was the one time you’d sit and talk with her. It became a ritual; something sacred and special between the two of you.

You’re a better cook than she was by far, no comparison for Osamu, of course, but it’s the only way you really know how to help with… whatever this is. 

Instead, you just offer him a wry look from your position on the couch, “And yet, you never do.”

He scoffs at that, a hint of a smirk curling at his lips, “Why would I eat there when I know yer cookin’ for me?”

—

Of course, as easy as it is to slip into living with Osamu, you can’t escape what happened there forever. 

It doesn’t slip your notice the first night you spend there; the spare toothbrush in your bathroom, the decidedly masculine body wash in the shower, or how one of the shelves in the vanity was stocked with shaving cream and cologne and a few odd skin care products. You’d assumed that they were Atsumu’s, spares stashed away for the odd nights he crashed here. There’s another bathroom off the master bedroom, so you know it can’t be Samu’s stuff.

Except you find yourself proven wrong one night, when fresh from your shower and clad only in a fluffy white towel, you open the door to find a shirtless Osamu filling the space, one arm propped up on the doorframe. 

“Anyone ever tell ya yer a bit of a bathroom hog?” he asks, smirking down at you.

And you’re so taken aback, utterly confused as to why he’s standing there half dressed, why it matters how long you take in the bathroom – never mind that the only thing covering you from complete nakedness is your towel – that you can only stand there, gaping like a fish as he laughs, takes you by the shoulders and physically shifts you out of the way as he slides on past.

It takes you until the following morning – Osamu’s sole day off – to ask him about it, clutching nervously at your cup of coffee while he busies himself making breakfast for the two of you. 

“Samu, um, about last night…” you timidly begin. 

He glances up at you from the stove, a single eyebrow raised. “What about it?”

Your cheeks are already burning, eyes darting between his face and the mug in your hands as you struggle to find the right words to bring it up without making things weird. “Well, I-I was just wondering… um, why you were using my bathroom?”

You’re not sure what kind of reaction that you’re expecting, but the dark look that flashes across his face isn’t it. For a split second, your insides clench, terrified that you’ve said the wrong thing–

But as quickly as it appeared, Osamu’s expression smooths over. He exhales heavily, setting down the spoon in his hand as he turns to face you properly, and when your eyes flicker up once more, you realise with a start that it’s pity that’s taken its place. 

And a second too late, the pieces inside your head fall into place.

“Oh.”

Osamu nods only once. “I can’t go in without seeing her lyin’ there… I thought ya knew.”

And it’s like all the air’s been sucked out of the room. She’d died in their bathroom – slipped on the wet tiles and cracked her head open on the edge of their bath, and Samu had been the one to find her. 

Weakly your eyes flutter shut, bitter nausea churning in your gut. How could he stay here, sleep in the next room when–

“Hey, hey, calm down, I gotcha,” Samu’s voice is at your ear, and your head’s spinning, pounding, and you can’t breathe. The mug in your hand tumbles to the floor, your coffee spilling across the wooden floorboards as weak fingers clutch at empty air, and then those arms are around you once more and Osamu’s trying to soothe you.

Breakfast is forgotten as he tugs you towards the couch to sit. And as he holds you, speaks to you in that calm, unwavering voice you try to focus on the scent of him (masculine and earthy, a hint of spice and cedar), the fabric of his shirt under your cheek and the gentle, almost lazy circles he rubs into your side and not the mental image of your sister, lying broken and bleeding on the bathroom floor.

—

It doesn’t take much effort to find the stash of your sister’s things that Samu set aside in your room. You lose hours flicking through pictures of her, smiling through your tears as they dredge up old, happy memories of the two of you.

Even the ones of her and Samu, his arms looped around her waist, resting his chin on the top of her head; she’s always wearing that bright grin that makes your heart ache.

There are a few of the three of you – one from the last time they’d come to visit you in Tokyo and you’d dragged them off to Disneyland. You’re standing between the two of them, beaming at the camera while Samu’s arm hangs off your shoulder and your sister, grinning widely and wearing the minnie mouse ears she’d bought at the first opportunity, tosses up a peace sign. 

Softly wiping away your tears, you set it aside. You’ll have to ask Samu if you can take that one home with you.

—

“What’re ya doin’ tomorrow?”

It’s late, and the two of you are sprawled out on the couch, watching TV with a bowl of snacks between you like the old days when he asks.

“Not much,” you reply. “I was going to go to the markets at some point in the morning and maybe head to the beach after that, why?”

Grey-ish brown eyes flicker across to you, “A few of my old teammates are in town, we’re meetin’ up for some drinks. I want ya to come with me.”

“Oh,” the word slips out before you can stop yourself. “Um, yeah… if you want?”

It ends up sounding more like a question, a fact that doesn’t slip past Osamu if the amused little snort he gives in response is any indication. And it’s not that you don’t want to give up your plans in favour of going with him; you get along pretty well with Atsumu and you’ve met most of his old teammates at least once or twice, it’s just that you’re a little confused as to why he’d want you there to begin with.

They’re all at least twelve years older than you, and while it occurs to you that maybe he’s just inviting you along to be polite (not that that’s ever been his style before) the last thing you want is to be stuck feeling like an afterthought, all but ignored as he and his friends catch up.

“I said I wanted ya there, didn’t I?” He doesn’t wait for a response, “‘sides, Tsumu already asked if you were comin’.”

Which is how you find yourself dressed up for the first time in months, fingers smoothing out the hem of your dress as Samu tosses you a lazy grin from the driver’s seat. “Relax, wouldja? They ain’t gonna bite.”

You know that. They’re good guys, but no matter how much rationalising you try to do, you can’t seem to quell the anxiety eating you up, and the frustrating thing is that you don’t know why you’re feeling it.

He’d neglected to tell you that they weren’t meeting at some bar or restaurant, but at Atsumu’s condo in the city (‘Showy fuckin’ bastard’ Samu’d huffed as he’d pulled up in front of the building), but you suppose it really doesn’t make much of a difference.

“Ya look good,” he compliments, eyeing you for a moment while the two of you wait for the elevator. 

Cheeks warming, you drop your gaze and stutter out a quiet thank you. Apparently unsatisfied, he leans closer, reaching one large hand up to gently ruffle your hair – grinning in satisfaction when you shriek and try to pry it away. “Relax,” he whispers again, the warmth of his breath tickling the bare skin of your neck. “Yer too wound up.”

Distracted by the arrival of the elevator, you fail to notice that instead of returning back to his side, his hand drops to your shoulder.

And it should be easier to do just that once you have a drink in hand. Atsumu greets you with a one armed hug, the only hint of anything out of the ordinary being the way his gaze lingers a beat too long as he studies your face, his eyes sharp and missing nothing. But whatever he sees (or doesn’t see) his expression softens into a smile, “Glad ya came.”

But even as you’re greeted by the others, falling into an easy conversation with Kita and Aran you can’t seem to shift the uneasiness in your stomach. There’s something in the air, a tension nobody really wants to admit to.

And you can’t quite tell if the others are surprised that Samu brought you at all, or if it’s just because you’re a living reminder of a tragedy that’s still fresh and raw, and everyone’s trying to pretend that it’s not. You don’t blame them for it, of course, they only mean the best. But you can see it in the way Suna side eyes you every now and then, how skilfully Akagi skirts anything that could touch a nerve when he comes up to chat.

It’s like they’re all walking on eggshells – though whether it’s for your benefit or Osamu’s, you’re not entirely sure. For his part, Samu sticks close, keeping your drink topped up, an arm slung over your shoulders as the afternoon wears into the evening. 

Yet despite that, the alcohol you’re drinking far too quickly starts to work its magic, filling your body with a warm, pleasant little buzz, and you actually start to enjoy yourself. You laugh easier, giggling when the twins start to bicker, gasping in wicked delight when Suna offers to show you certain embarrassing photos of both of them on his phone (he has quite the collection), even letting Gin and Tsumu drag you into taking shots with them.

And all the while, Samu watches you, a soft smirk playing at his lips.

—

By the time he unlocks the front door and you stumble back inside, you’re absolutely plastered, giggling at nothing and tripping over your own feet.

As always, Samu’s there to catch you, strong, muscular arms wrapping around your waist and pulling you flush against him. “Careful there, princess,” he laughs.

You grin up at him, carefree and heartbreakingly beautiful. For the first time in months you feel light, you feel amazing and you don’t want this to end. Kicking your heels off, you skip inside, leading him by the hand. “Samu,” you call back over your shoulder. “I wanna dance.”

“Nobody’s stopping ya.”

“But there’s no music,” you pout, and once again he chuckles, letting you go to settle back into the leather couch as he pulls out his phone. A moment later a familiar, lively melody floods the living room, and you let yourself become lost to it. It doesn’t matter that you’re drunk and dancing alone, Samu’s dark eyes following your every move, you’ve never felt so free.

Arms raised in the air, hips swaying hypnotically to the beat, you lose track of time. It could’ve been minutes or seconds or a whole hour, but suddenly you’re not alone anymore – Samu’s there with you. His cologne invades your senses, why does he always smell so good? His body’s warm, almost hot as he slots himself behind you, caging you against him. 

“Fuck, baby,” he growls, his voice sending shivers running down your spine. “Yer a little tease, ya know that?”

And there’s something wrong with that, you know there is, but you can’t seem to think of what it is – not when the weight of his hold’s impeding your movement. A pout adorns your face, a soft, almost petulant whine escaping your lips as you try in vain to untangle yourself, “Samu, lemme go. I wanna dance.”

He huffs out a laugh, but that doesn’t sound right either. “Don’t wanna dance with you, pretty girl.”

There’s something hard pressing against your lower back, and his hot breath ghosts over your neck a moment before lips descend to suck on the sensitive flesh.

In a split second, all that blissful, warm, drunken happiness evaporates. Samu groans lowly, his chest rumbling at your back, but there’s a pit of something cold and urgent that’s seeping through your veins, distant, foggy alarm bells tolling inside of your head and you don’t understand what’s happening, but you know that you don’t like it.

You want it to stop.

“S-Samu,” you whine, shifting uncomfortably against his hold. 

This time he listens, drawing back just enough that he can turn you around to face him. And those familiar eyes are hooded and dark, burning with an intensity that makes you want to recoil even as he stares down at you, taking your cheek in hand.

You don’t even realise that you’re crying until his thumb’s brushing away your tears. There’s nothing comforting or pleasant (nothing of the Samu you know) on his face as he studies your fearful expression, but eventually he lets out a heavy sigh.

“She was positive I was cheatin’ on her,” he admits. “Did she ever tell ya that?” He pauses for a beat waiting for a reply, but when it’s clear that you don’t have one for him, he just scoffs, “No, ‘course not. That’d be admitting that not everything about our life was picture perfect, and heaven fuckin’ forbid we do that. Y’know, that's why she wanted ya back here so bad. She needed a buffer.”

Bitterness clings to every word like poison and you flinch, renewing your struggles to get away. Not that he lets you – the moment you start to squirm the arm around your waist tugs you closer, anchoring you against him. The tears come faster, followed by soft, hiccuping sobs, but Samu seems beyond caring at that point.

“Stupid bitch never could see what was right in front of her face. That’s what we were fightin’ about that night; she said she was gonna leave me.”

Your heart clenches, fear pooling in your gut, but Samu just smiles at you, a mockery of sweet tenderness, reaching back to tuck a stray lock of your hair behind your ear. “But you know I’d never hurt my pretty girl, don’t ya, baby?” he asks. “Just want a taste tonight.”

You don’t even have time to suck in a breath before he’s kissing you, cradling the back of your head as his mouth moves hungrily against yours.

And all you can taste is the whiskey on his tongue.

—

You can’t tear your eyes away from your reflection in the mirror, the faint, reddish blemish colouring your neck.

A hickey.

Tentatively, as if trying to prove that it’s real and not a figment of your imagination, you prod at the mark, only to wince at the tenderness. Definitely real.

You’d woken up to an empty house – unsurprising considering it was well past ten and you knew Osamu had work today – with your head pounding and your mouth uncomfortably dry. Wracking your brain, you can’t seem to conjure up a rational explanation for the bruise. Granted, you can’t really remember much of last night, only fragments of being at Atsumu’s place, and certainly nothing after you’d started taking those shots.

Which doesn’t make the uneasiness sitting heavy in your stomach any easier to take, because you know that you hadn’t been cosying up to anybody before you’d lost track of the night, and if it had happened after, then surely Samu or one of the others would have stepped in and put a stop to it.

And that should’ve been more of a comforting thought than it was, because if it didn’t happen at Atsumu’s then that meant it happened afterwards, when you were here with Samu.

Your heart thumps unevenly against your ribs.

Osamu. Your dead sister’s husband, your brother in law. 

A hickey on your neck isn’t just a kiss. It’s not a simple, drunken peck against your lips, it meant that somebody had sucked on the skin, bitten at it, kissed until blood vessels broke – it’s not the kind of thing that happens accidentally. 

A wave of nausea threatens to overtake you, and you barely manage to make it to the bathroom before you’re violently emptying the contents of your stomach into the porcelain bowl. And you know as you collapse onto the cool tiled floor, shaking just a little, that this time at least, the alcohol isn’t to blame.

You know Samu; you trust him implicitly. Whatever happened, it must have been a mistake or something. You’d both been drinking, and he’s still grieving and–

There’s no point jumping to conclusions or working yourself up any more than you already have. You’ll just bring it up with him when he gets home, you decide. 

Yet anxiety and guilt gnaw at you as the hours crawl by, you’re half tempted to pick up your phone and just call him to ask point blank. The clock feels like it’s mocking you every time you glance up, and while you try your best to distract yourself with household chores and then busying yourself with dinner, none of it works for long.

By the time he does stride through the door, a little before ten, you’re an anxious wreck, all but wringing your fingers as you sit rigid and tense at the table. Most nights you eat before he gets home, hunger getting the better of you, but tonight you don’t seem to have much of an appetite. 

“Smells good,” he comments with an easy grin, toeing off his shoes and dropping his wallet and keys by the door.

You open your mouth, but the words seem to get stuck in your throat as he drops a kiss down on the top of your head and walks on past to grab a bowl from the kitchen.

“I’m starving.”

Instead, you just swallow nervously as he pulls out the seat next to you and sits, not wasting another second before digging in. Your eyes quickly dart over to study him, but you don’t see any hint of guilt or unease on his face. He just looks like the same old Samu, a little tired maybe, but otherwise totally normal, and so you force yourself to pick up your spoon and follow suit. 

And he’s never been one to fill silences with meaningless chatter, but tonight the quiet between the two of you feels oppressive, every clink of metal against ceramic echoing too loudly, every chew, every swallow setting you on edge. You can’t even taste the food, your stomach too twisted in knots for you to feel anything but nauseous after a few bites. 

“… Is everything okay?” he asks after a few minutes, and it’s so sudden amongst the tense silence that you visibly jerk, almost dropping the spoon you’d been toying with. 

You glance up to find him staring, brows furrowed in concern, and once again your stomach flips. It’s now or never.

“Um… did anything happen last night?” you ask, your voice barely more than a whisper.

Osamu’s frown deepens fractionally, and he tilts his head as your fingers twist in your lap, “What d’ya mean?”

Did we kiss? The words dangle on the tip of your tongue, but as you nervously meet his eyes, you find nothing but confusion and concern there. And for a moment, you almost speak them, but then Samu’s reaching across the table to take your hand in his, and as his warm palm swallows up yours, you lose your nerve.

“You sure yer okay?”

Whatever happened, he doesn’t remember it and neither do you. 

Smiling tightly, you nod. “Yeah, it’s nothing. Nevermind.”

There’s no reason for you to drag him through the mud for this, you’re already feeling enough guilt and shame for the both of you.

—

You try to put it out of your mind, but it’s not that easy.

Lying awake in bed at night, your brain unwittingly turns over possibilities of what else could’ve caused the mark if not Osamu. Guilt gnaws at you every second that you’re around him and all the while he’s painfully oblivious to it all.

He’s always been affectionate with you, but all those stray, unthinking touches now carry a different weight with them. You find yourself ducking away from them more often than not, pretending that you don’t see the almost wounded look in those greyish-brown eyes when you do. You start to avoid him, finding other places to be whenever he’s home.

And you hate yourself for it, because Osamu’s been nothing but faithful to your sister for as long as you’ve known him. You’re the one acting like there’s something wrong between the two of you, like he’s treating you any differently than he always has when you know that’s not the case.

You know that, but when you catch sight of the fading bruise in the mirror, your stomach twists into knots all the same. 

There are excuses and justifications aplenty, but none of them make you feel any better. You still find yourself sniffling into your pillow, swallowed up by your guilt when you imagine how devastated your sister would be if she knew.

You’d let her husband kiss you. Being drunk and miserable and grieving didn’t change that. Whether he knew it was you or mistook you for her; it doesn’t matter. Maybe it was a mistake, letting him talk you into coming.

Things were still too raw, too fresh. You’d thought that coming here would help, but so far it’s only made everything worse, and unintentionally or not, you can’t kid yourself that your presence is doing anything to help Osamu anymore.

You need to go back to Tokyo.

Somewhat selfishly, you’re tempted to put it off until the weekend, because you know that Onigiri Miya has a stall for the beginning of the summer festival and he’ll be too preoccupied with that to think about anything else – but you just can’t bring yourself to do that to him. 

No, it’s better to rip it off like a bandaid; nice and quick. 

You’d planned on breaking the news over dinner, but as you pick your way through your noodles, you notice that Samu’s quieter than he usually is. Every time you risk a glance up he’s staring at the table, looking entirely lost in thought, and it just doesn’t feel like the right time to bring it up.

Tomorrow, you decide, you’ll cook his favourite for dinner and tell him then.

—

The knocking startles you from your sleep with a jolt. It’s quiet, hesitant almost, but you’ve always been a light sleeper.

“Samu?” you croak out, fumbling blindly for the phone at your bedside to see what time it is. 

The door opens, a crack of light from the hallway spilling into your room as Osamu looks in. “Sorry,” he murmurs, “I know it’s late, but I need to talk to ya ‘bout somethin’.”

He’s shirtless, clad only in a pair of cotton pyjama pants, but he doesn’t look to be in any immediate kind of trouble. Still, he wouldn’t have disturbed you in the middle of the night if it wasn’t something important, so you blearily wipe the sleep from your eyes and force yourself to sit up as he slips into your room and shuts the door behind him.

“What’s wrong?”

He hasn’t bothered to turn on the light, and even with the moonlight streaming in through your window, his face is cast in shadow as he takes a seat on the edge of your bed. And it’s silly, especially considering he’s the one who’s shirtless right now but it’s hard not to flush at the realisation that you’re only wearing a thin, satiny slip. You feel almost naked – he’s seen you in bikinis before, but it feels different here, when he’s the one in your bedroom.

“You asked me the other day about what happened the night we went to Tsumu’s,” he begins, his voice quiet and soft in the early hours of the morning, and suddenly your state of dress is the last thing on your mind. 

Swallowing tightly, your pulse quickens and you still, waiting for him to continue.

And you feel, rather than see, the way he stares at you, inching a fraction closer when you don’t immediately answer. “And I lied. Or I didn’t exactly tell ya the full truth.”

“Which is?” you force out.

Samu’s shoulders rise and fall as he takes a deep, slow breath in and exhales heavily. “You were drunk and ya came onto me, tried to kiss me.” You flinch, a choked sound escaping your throat at the blunt admission, but he’s quick to reach for you, his hand coming to rest on your knee, squeezing it reassuringly. “And in the heat of the moment, I let ya.”

Hot tears prick at the corners of your eyes, but the moment you try to turn away from him, biting your lip and trying to blink back the tears, he stops you. 

“Osamu–”

“‘Cause I’ve spent years waiting to kiss those lips, an’ I’m tired of pretending we both don’t want this.”

And he’s kissing you; soft and sweet and gentle, his lips molding to yours as he cups the back of your neck. You wonder if he can feel your pulse racing under his fingertips as he draws himself closer, groaning into your mouth.

It doesn’t matter that your hands are on his bare chest, pushing at him, hitting him – those muscles aren’t just for show; he’s immovable. The more you squirm, trying to extricate yourself so that you can plead with him to stop–

This is a mistake. A horrible, awful misunderstanding. He’s upset and grieving and not thinking clearly and you have to stop this.

He doesn’t know what he’s saying.

– the more his grip tightens until it starts to hurt and you’re whimpering into the kiss. Your tears are wetting his cheeks, but he doesn’t care, won’t stop and there’s a panic that rises within you every second that you’re entangled with him.

“Don’t do this,” he mutters, breaking the kiss as a sob rips its way free from your throat, “Don’t pretend ya don’t want this, baby. I know ya do. Stop being a little fuckin’ tease.”

He leans back in, intent on capturing your lips again, and in an act of desperation you reach for his face, cradling his cheek in your hand. “Samu, please,” you beg, wide, imploring eyes searching his face for any hint of a reprieve. “You’re scaring me. Stop, please, j-just for a second.”

Just a second, that’s all you need to try and snap him out of whatever the hell this is. One second. 

Osamu stills, his face mere inches from your own, his body hovering atop yours. His breath, ragged and uneven, ghosts over your skin, leaving goosebumps in its wake, but you don’t dare move as he leans into the touch, grey eyes fluttering shut.

He sighs, the sound almost like a shiver. “Ya don’t need to be scared, ‘m gonna take good care of my girl.”

He doesn’t give you the chance to say anything else, not as he forces himself onto you once more. You used to marvel a little at Osamu. Tall, handsome and strong, even in his mid thirties; Samu was fit. Now, straddling your waist, pinning your wrists to the wall with one hand, the other palming at your tits, he dwarfs you entirely. He isn’t impatient, not as he kisses you languidly, not as he slides the soft, satin up your thigh, revealing your underwear.

Your hiccuping sniffles aren’t enough to move him, you’re not strong enough to physically fight him off. He doesn’t pay the tearful, breathless pleas sobbed out between kisses any mind. 

Osamu grabs you by the waist and flips you onto your front, lips brushing at the nape of your neck as he smooths your hair back, and you’re utterly helpless to stop him. 

And as his hand runs down your side and he coaxes your hips up into the air, you almost wish that he was rough. Because this pretense of gentleness, glinting steel masquerading as silk – it’s too intimate, and you feel complicit.

Like you’re willing.

Like you want this with him.

An act of love as he tugs your panties down to your knees and hums in quiet satisfaction at the sight of your bare cunt, glistening just for him.

There’s a voice in your head telling you you should be screaming and kicking and snarling like a wild, feral thing, but Osamu’s grabbing at your ass, spreading it to get a better look, his thumb gliding along your slit and all you can think about is the picture he’d packed away, the one of the three of you at Disneyland. 

Samu’s arm slung over your shoulder, and your sister’s bright smile.

He spits; a warm, fat glob of saliva hitting your pussy, and as it slowly dribbles down the only sound that leaves your lips is a soft, broken whine. You don’t fight him when he takes his cock in hand and guides the flushed head, pre-cum already oozing at the tip, along your cunt, you just lie there, a toy for him to move and manipulate however he wants.

“You’ll forgive me for this, I know ya will,” he murmurs, softly squeezing your hip just once as something thick and blunt presses at your entrance. 

But it doesn’t matter, not as his cock sheaths itself inside of you with one hard, brutal thrust, because you’re not sure you’ll ever be able to forgive yourself.

[nemeseos-noctua]

Here's the other: How'd they react to their S/O who cherishes their gift given by their beloved so much, that one day the gift was destroyed by a hilichurl and they went so livid they practically fought the creatures to death and threw them to a lake somewhere, and sulked the whole how they don't deserve them anymore cuz of how careless they were. For Razor, Albedo and Xiao 👉👈

𝐅𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: razor, albedo, xiao (separate) x gn!reader

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: not proofread, mc is referenced as an alchemist/adventurer in albedo’s, one swear word in xiao’s

𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒: im EMBARRASSED at how long this is and how MEANINGLESS THE WRITING IS IM SO SORRY 

he made you a paw-shaped clay sculpture!

it was cute and small, fitting right into the palm of your hands

to others—it may look like some worn-down toy, but to you, it was a good luck charm from the ever-cute razor

but perhaps, it wasn’t quite the clay-shape that you held close to your heart... no, it was the strenuous effort razor put into sculpting the paw

you remember it vividly. how the boy would dig his hands into mud and sit under the burning sun, carving the dirt with his bare fingers as he hid the gift from your sight

so when a good-for-nothing hilichurl decides razor’s paw-shape charm was a nice pebble for hot potato... boy were you livid

Patting the ground beside you, [e/c] eyes widened upon the feeling of nothing but grass.

What...? Peering over, you stared blankly at the empty space, comical arrows pointing at the now-gone charm you had received from Razor. Just where was it? You swore it was right beside you...

And as if Barbatos were laughing at you, the wind blew, burning your eyes as the sight of mitachurls and hilichurls danced around the fire in the distance, tossing what looked like a rock into the air.

Ah. 

You blinked.

That was the charm Razor made.

first of all... how did the hilichurl get it? the charm was literally right beside you!

agh, whatever.

you’ll just retrieve it. easy, right?

no.

first of all, your power would literally turn the lush grass into a desolate canyon (not really). second of all, you’d probably end up destroying the paw in your rampage

hah...

—if the hilichurl didn’t destroy it first

Materializing your weapon, you couldn’t help but hope that the paw had miraculously survived the impact of a hilichurl throwing it against the floor.

Hah, what were you thinking? Of course it didn’t... physics just didn’t allow it.

But you know what physics did allow? Why, beating these enemies to a pulp, of course!

once you floored the hilichurls, you quickly scrambled as to look for signs of the paw anywhere

berating yourself as to how utterly foolish you were for letting it go and leaving it unguarded in the first place, you stared in defeat at the sight of crumbled clay and hardened dirt in the grass of the hilichurl camp

why? why were you so careless? seriously, how did this happen? if you had just kept it in your backpack like a regular person, razor’s hard-earned hours and craft would still be as grand as ever-

“[y/n]?”

Blinking, you hadn’t realized you had been sulking in the midst of this hilichurl camp. [E/C] eyes lifted up, widening once they had landed on none other than Razor, his crimson eyes like the agates that littered Dragonspine, his hair as grey as stormclouds.

“Ah... Razor...” You smiled in exasperation, staring at anywhere but said boy. How could you face him after watching his clay paw get destroyed by some measly hilichurls?

“Are you okay?” He asked, glancing around at the scene before him. The grass wilted, the camp that he remembered being obnoxiously loud and disturbing was silent and empty.

“Yeah, no biggie,” Waving off his concern, you began to walk away, your heart sinking with each step.

First, you let his gift get destroyed. Second, you walk away from him.

You were such a terrible partn—

“[Y/N]?” Razor’s voice cut through the air, a tension you had created solely on the thoughts of your own mind. Gripping your wrist with a tender touch, you didn’t fail to notice the way his eyes drooped down ever so slightly.

“Did I... make lupical mad?”

Gulping, you quickly waved your hands in front of your face, eyes widened as you tried to carefully explain the series of events that had just led down to this very moment.

“I—well, you see, your uh, paw-clay-thingy... I was careless and I—“

“Break it while hunting?” Razor answered, tilting his head as his hold merely stayed still, not wavering for a second, as if you were a boar in his hands.

“Ah...” 

Razor was much better at observation than you had thought.

“It’s okay. I make more for lupical,” Razor nodded, already beginning to pace over to a pond as he dipped his gloved hands into the water, wafting around for dirt as you rushed up behind him.

“Wait! But I was careless... you don’t need to make ano—“

“It’s for lupical. Lupical close, I give lupical gift that never break.”

Everlasting—that was what he wanted to make.

And a part of you couldn’t help but agree.

albedo, in all of his alchemy prowess, made you an artificial flower

how? don’t ask him. he’ll spew some lengthy thesis and paragraph about the fundamentals, the research, the prototype, the testing, the—

ahem, anyways!

you had never intended to bring it outside. but one day, you had left your camp under the supervision of barbatos (wow go barbatos) and ventured off to fetch some materials

and when you came back? you were met with the sight of hilichurls and slimes raving around your tent

what the—

“I...I’m hallucinating,” You deadpanned, slapping your wrist at the sight of pyro slimes and masked hilichurls dancing around your tent, the inside of your humble abode moving around as if it were possessed.

And the cherry on top? A pyro abyss mage emerged, the flower floating besides it. But oh boy, it was no flower anymore... it was a flaming flower.

At that moment, you were left to ponder. Maybe, just maybe, you kinned a whopperflower at that point. Because oh boy did your temper and sanity explode on those little enemies, the way your blade sunk into their forms—

you were already planning your apology to albedo. he trusted you and loved you enough to make an artificial flower for you... and yet, it so pitifully crumbled at your touch

okay, not quite your touch. but it crumbled at the ugly pyro abyss mage’s touch

so, as any good s/o would do, you sulked while rebuilding your camp. it’s okay. as long as albedo didn’t know his creation was charred, all would be well. besides! he was quite a busy man! chances were low that he’d discover!

busy, he was, observant, he is

perhaps, you should’ve known

“Ah... hi Albedo,” You winced, opening your tent to smile at the alchemist who merely stared at you.

“You were gone for a while. Is everything okay?” He noted, remembering your absence from visiting his own camp at Dragonspine. As an alchemist, he knew what it was like being holed up in a camp. But for two weeks? Even he needed breaks.

“Well, you see... I was out... gathering materials! Yes!” You gave him a weak thumbs-up, wailing internally once his piercing azure eyes trailed around your camp, noting that nothing looked new. 

 “You don’t need to lie to me, [Y/N]. Is something the matter?”

“I’m sorry!” You cut off, clapping your hands together in a prayer-like position, guilt welling up in the pit of your stomach.

“...Why?”

“Your flower—I left it unsupervised and it was set aflame and I’m so so so sor—“

“Don’t be.”

Mouth dropping, you stared up at the male, an amused expression painting his face like the canvases he dedicated to you.

“At least you were not hurt while it was set aflame. Come, I’ll show you how to make some more,” Opening your tent for you all the way, Albedo held a hand out to you, eyes flickering in mirth.

“And next time, don’t try to run away from your problems.”

“You cheeky littl—“ A blush of both embarrassment and fluster formed on your face, shocked at his sudden remark.

he made you an adepti amulet

enhanced with super-cool-adepti-no-mortal-can-have power, xiao had informed you that all you needed to do was hold up the amulet and it’d scare any kind of enemies away!

cool, right? too bad you left it unattended while fighting the irritable anemo cube! now it’s at the bottom of the sea <3

how did this happen, exactly? well... you see... when wind picks up and becomes strong... light-weight objects will fly up into the air!

and sometimes, those light weight objects will fall into the sea, and sometimes, those objects would be gifts from your adeptus boyfriend who was waiting for you back at wangshu inn—

ahem. anyways. you beat the crap out of the anemo cube (aka, beth. aka, tornado cube. aka, cube waifu)

I should just... not go back to Wangshu Inn today. Haha... I’ll go ask Katheryne for a commission... You nodded, stuffing the turquoise shards of wind into your pockets, your bags filled with mora and enhancement ores being thrown off the side of the cliff.

—Along with the adepti amulet Xiao had made for you.

Seriously... you still had to wonder just how that happened! One second, you were avoiding getting sucked up by the vent of the anemo cube... and the next, your bag was traveling the world!

Can’t have shit in Teyva—

Trekking back to Mondstadt in defeat, you were innocently oblivious to the worry of the Yaksha back in Liyue.

are they okay? do they need help? did they go to dragonspine? all these questions spun around xiao’s head as he watched the moon rise, his mask dissipating into the wind

you told him you’d return tonight... yet you hadn’t. and a part of him had wished you hadn’t left liyue, so he had at least some control over whatever dangers dared to attack you

but, he knew you were strong. why else would he love you, anyway? he does not find appeal in being the savior 24/7

so, he waits. atop the balcony of wangshu inn, across the stars and moon, he prays to his archon, wishing—no, hoping you arrive safely

And—you did. You arrived back at Wangshu Inn.

... Three weeks later.

“You’re late. Very late,” Xiao’s voice blared in your ears, a blessing and a curse all at the same time. You didn’t know how to tell him the amulet was thrown off a cliff—but at the same time, you really wanted to run your fingers through his hair.

“Haha... sorry about that,” You laughed awkwardly, scratching the back of your head as Xiao merely grumbled, appearing before you with a piercing stare.

“Where were you? You did not even send me a letter.”

“I’m sorry... it’s just... eh... well...” You looked away, your heart churning against your ribs as Xiao extended his index finger out, tilting your chin to face him.

“What?” He asked, his tone harsh yet soft, longing yet logical.

“I uh... kind of... lost your adepti amulet... I’m sorry.”

He blinked.

“You waited three weeks to tell me that?” He asked in disbelief, almost in disappointment. Seriously, he was an adeptus! A Yaksha, at that! He could’ve just made another one for you... But nooo... you decided to wait three weeks in the land of the free (America?) and then worry him to death.

“Mortals...” Xiao muttered under his breath, crossing his arms with a huff as he turned his head away, the wind picking up.

“Hey, wait! Aren’t you going to say anything? Like a disappointed lecture or something?”

“No.”

Disappearing, you facepalmed, already pulling out some sweetflowers and milk to whip up some almond tofu.

Damn that adeptus. Who was he to tug your heartstrings like that?

You sighed, sitting beside a cooking pot as lingering yellow eyes watched your form, their irises softening at the sight.

— constellations! 💫

[bugnirvana]

🎸🤘brother from another mother🤘🎸[Eddie Munson & Reader] HCs

warnings: drug usage from eddie, implied from you. that’s basically it

terms used: masc (per usual)

a/n: I’m making this to soothe my anxious soul. i am in a constant state of anxiety, allow me to enjoy this please. requests got me anxious n shit. I love them but human interaction makes me so fucking nervous lol. anyway. watching anola holmes rn. i make a lot of “mbb runs over gay people” jokes but she’s truly so radiant and such a good actor! love her to bits. ok enough rambling. Im so nervous. reader and eddie have the kind of relationship/brotherhood ig that dustin and steve have. two men with nice hair yet totally and completely different? insanity. ok for real now.

the both of you met via hellfire, however, you’re in the year above the main stranger things kids so you get an entire year free of them and their bullshit

it’s ok it’s fine you love them nonetheless

this is about Eddie though. oops

Eddie literally just takes you under his wing as a younger brother and you love it

You will become the baby metalhead the world has always needed

He definitely helps you make a vest

painting with you and shit.

he loves every minute! Genuinely. He loves helping you with crafts and gets paint EVERYWHERE

probably would let you borrow some of his rings and stuff

maybe even keep some

the both of you love sharing music with one another

you find a new band? He’s probably heard of it but he’s going to act like it’s something he has no clue of just to make you feel good

You also definitely get all of your music taste from him

also just in general a grunge aesthetic

you weren’t exactly normal going into highschool but you also weren’t on his level

you let him in on ALL the gossip. he loves it

y’all have probably gone camping at least once or twice together just cuz

he’ll tell you stories about campaigns he held before yours and oh my god are the stories so entertaining

he’ll also tell you stories about his concerts and shit, like if any fights broke out from the drunk dudes lol

speaking of concerts…

he probably taught you how to play guitar

and if you knew how to already he’d teach you on how to improve

actually asks you to play with the band at one point

mainly just a simple line from a song or two but every moment is so amazing

one day you ask him if he could do your hair like his

if you have short hair oh my god did you look silly

if you have long hair he loved it

you had to tell him to stop using so much heat on ur hair or else ur hair was going to get badly heat damaged

he just ended up using copious amounts of hairspray in the end

You found him high one day and all he could do was tell you to not do drugs or whatever to be a good influence

you listened for the most part but that isn’t to say you didn’t dabble at least once or twice

did you tell him?

no…

-t directly? you let it slip out once though

he wasn’t really mad he was just curious of your experience and kind of concerned because of how young he is

also where the hell did you get it from????

that’s another question for another day

you know how eddies uncle has a lot of mugs?

eddie probably has some stashed away in his room

he eventually gives you one as a birthday present and you understand the meaning to this.

officially adopted by Eddie Munson

ok back on topic

he definitely at least attempts to get you to wear a leather jacket but you reject, claiming “it’d be too hot”

he says fine, but you’re missing out

over all he takes good care of you. good older brother figure and you wouldn’t trade him for the worldl

anxiety has kind of been soothed I guess. eddie munson brother true.

FUCKING FRANKIE GRANDE ON SPREE??AND THE GUMMY BEAR SONG WHILE HE HITS A DUDE WITH HIS CAR OH MY FUCKING GOD. new favorite movie

[robininthelabyrinth]

Instead of freeing Nie Huaisang after the indoctrination camp Wen Chao keeps him and forces him to act as entertainment in an effort to humiliate the Nie's. Jokes on him though, as Nie Huaisang uses his new position to send coded messages.

In Here, With Me - ao3 (chapter 1/2)

- Untamed verse -

Left behind in the indoctrination camp when all the other sect heirs escaped, Nie Huaisang found himself in Wen Chao’s clutches, left to his amusement – and his amusement was to force Nie Huaisang to serve at his entertainment.

Are you telling me you’re a clown?!

“Rude, da-ge,” Nie Huaisang huffed, rolling his eyes at his brother’s note. “Very rude. I’m an entertainer.”

Although a rather large portion of his brand new entertain-the-troops routine was being laughed at, yes…

Damnit, da-ge! Leave a man some self-respect!

Sadly, there wasn’t enough space for him to get that sentence in along with the rest of the information he was sending back home, battle plans and supply lines and the rest. Just enough for a single additional sentence –

Sometimes the most dangerous place is the safest.

A little later, he got his brother’s response: Stop making sense. I hate it when you do that.

Nie Huaisang smiled.

-

“Can you stop shoving me around?” Nie Huaisang complained to Wen Chao after the first day of being the Wen sect’s punching bag. “You want me to entertain people, I can be entertaining! In ways other than slapstick!”

“Oh yeah?” Wen Chao sneered. “Like what?”

“I can tell stories,” Nie Huaisang said promptly. “I can paint. I compose poetry on the spot, including lewd poetry. I can do astronomy readings and calculate fortunes. I can juggle my saber. I can –”

“You can not.”

“Which one?”

“Juggle a saber!”

Nie Huaisang crossed his arms. “I can too! Or, well, da-ge always says that’s what I’m doing when I’m trying to train…”

Wen Chao sniggered. “Oh, this I’ve got to see. Someone get him a sword!”

“I can’t use a sword!” Nie Huaisang exclaimed. “Saber, saber! One side sharp only! If I tried it with a two-sided blade, I’d cut my arm off and then where would you be, huh? Without any entertainment, and no hostage, either!”

Wen Chao rolled his eyes. “Saber, then.”

Everyone looked at each other uncertainly – the saber wasn’t a common weapon for Qishan Wen.

“Just get me mine,” Nie Huaisang suggested. “What, are you all afraid I’ll fight my way out if I have my own spiritual weapon with me? Me?”

They were not afraid of him.

Nie Huaisang gripped his proper Nie saber that was warm under his fingers, with the clean blade that (currently) showed no sign of words, and smiled.

-

The Jiang sect won’t listen to my warnings.

Nie Huaisang gritted his teeth and stared at his saber. You’re joking, he wrote on the blade with his finger and a bit of qi. I warned you a whole week ago. We’re attacking tomorrow! With overwhelming forces!

I’m trying my best! I can only smuggle so many cultivators nearby without permission. What am I supposed to do, write off the whole place as a loss and just kidnap all their disciples to keep them from getting murdered?

Why not? If that’s all you can do, at least it’s something.

-

“The wine that’s going to the main table is on the bottom left,” Nie Huaisang said when he found Wen Ning standing there.

Wen Ning jumped. “Oh! Nie-gongzi…”

“You’re here to rescue Jiang Cheng, right? And you’re going to drug the wine? Bottom left.”

“…thanks.” Wen Ning hesitated. “Do you need a rescue, too?”

“Oh, no, I’m good. Tell Jiang Cheng that I’m sorry I couldn’t help more, and next time he should listen when my brother says to run away. He doesn’t say it often, so when he does, he means it.”

Wen Ning hesitated still.

“What?”

“Did you really break Wen Zhuliu’s hand before he could melt Jiang Cheng’s core?”

“It was,” Nie Huaisang said with great dignity, “an accident.”

-

“Listen, I get you,” Nie Huaisang said to a confused-looking Wei Wuxian. “Revenge is nice, rescue is sweet. But I need you to let Wen Chao get close enough to the Nightless City that me making my way there as the terrified last surviving witness is at least plausible, or we lose our best in to get info from the Wen sect. So just, you know, wait a bit longer, okay?”

-

“Meng Yao!” Nie Huaisang hollered, throwing himself into Meng Yao’s arms. “Oh, it’s so good to see you again!”

“Uh,” Meng Yao said.

Wen Ruohan laughed.

Nie Huaisang burst into tears and buried his face into Meng Yao’s neck.

Wen Ruohan laughed harder.

Meng Yao smiled awkwardly, but that was probably the fact that Nie Huaisang had already sealed his spiritual energy and had a knife to his belly.

“You’d better be here as a spy,” Nie Huaisang whispered in his ear as the Wen sect ignored them.

“Definitely,” Meng Yao murmured back, though his tone wasn’t as definitive as Nie Huaisang would prefer. “I need Wen Ruohan’s head to get my father’s approval.”

“Does my brother know?”

“…no.”

“Who does?”

“Huaisang –”

“I have my own ways of passing information. Well?”

“…Sect Leader Lan.”

“I look forward to finding out if he confirms it,” Nie Huaisang said, patting Meng Yao on the cheek, and then blubberingly begs his way into sharing a room with the man. He’s gotten pretty good at getting Wen Ruohan to agree to these sorts of silly requests – the man had just the same awful sense of humor as his son.

-

“I can’t believe you survived this long as the Nie sect’s spy,” Meng Yao marveled when it was all done.

Nie Huaisang shrugged. “I’ll give you lessons,” he offered with a grin. “If you like. It’s my one skill, apparently!”

“The war is over,” Meng Yao pointed out in return, shaking his head and smiling. “My father has accepted me back into the Jin sect and given me a new name. What use do I have for the skills of spy?”

“Of being a Nie sect spy,” Nie Huaisang corrected, and put his hand on Meng Yao’s shoulder. “If things don’t go well for you in the Jin sect…Think about it, will you? If da-ge won’t accept you, then I will.”

[xxxsweetdreamzxxx]

warnings/tags: dom!Yixing sub!reader, fanfic, smut, slight fluff; cursing, size kink, fingering, unprotected sex, railing, cream pie

summary: over a weekend, the sexual tensions between you and your best friend Yixing come to a breaking point

word count: 4.7k (um, wow)

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

i went all out on this one, hope you all enjoy!!

P.S. only the ending is based on a dream this time, I made up the rest :>

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

"What are your plans for this weekend?" You asked the two men in front of you.

The three of you sat around a small round table outside your favorite local coffee shop, a few blocks from your work. Around you, the city buzzed in the excitement of mid-day. The autumn sun peeked through whatever gaps in the buildings it could to light up the streets below. Every now and then, the sounds of downtown - a speeding car, a siren - would interrupt the conversation. 

Their answers to your question were both something along the lines of 'absolutely nothing' with looks of dread for the boredom to come. 

"Why do you ask?" Junmyeon, the one to your left, asked. 

Shrugging your shoulders and peering into your nearly empty coffee cup you replied: "I don't know, I was maybe hoping I could tag along with one of you since I don't have anything to do either."

To your right, Yixing was quiet and deep in thought. "I know." He suddenly announced. "Let's go camping!"

You pondered the idea for a moment. The chance to completely disconnect from and forget about the stresses of adult life - even if just for a couple of days? Not to mention a whole weekend alone with your two favorite people in the whole world. Sounded better than any other activities you could think of at the moment. 

"Sure why not." you agreed, looking to Junmyeon. "Are you coming with?"

"I'll have to be back Sunday night, but sure."

"We'll bring two cars then, since me and y/n don't have to get back until sometime Monday." Yixing proposed.

Junmyeon knowingly smiled at him. "Must be nice getting a long weekend, I should join you guys' office."

The conversation trailed off into unrelated chatter, until your lunch breaks were up. Parting ways with Junmyeon, you and Yixing walked back to your building a few blocks away, continuing the conversation alone.

In your sophomore year of high school, the two of you had become fast friends, both having the same interests and intended career path. He had then introduced you to his friend Junmyeon, and although you didn't have as much in common with him as Yixing, his easy-going  personality made you warm up to him quickly. Throughout the remaining two years of high school, the three of you had been inseparable. You didn't even have any girl friends, but you didn't need any with the boys always around. 

Although, you would be lying if you said you'd never caught feelings for either of them. The truth was both were very attractive and had girls falling for them left and right. Multiple times over the years you yourself had gone through phases of having a crush on one, then the other until finally you decided it wasn't worth potentially ruining the friendship. These days, those feelings were rare - and dismissed as quickly as they came up. 

Entering your office building, the two of you rode the elevator up to your floor. Exiting quickly through the still-opening doors, you said your goodbyes to Yixing for the rest of the afternoon with a slight wave as you both headed to your individual desks.  

                  .•°•. _ .•°•. _ .•°•. _ .•°•.

The rest of the week was uneventful, work progressed at the office smoothly. Later on that day, you'd gotten out of the shower after work to find Yixing and Junmyeon already texting in your group chat and making plans. Junmyeon was in charge of food and drinks. Yixing had a large tent that could be used, and would pick you up Saturday morning.  

y/n: you guys have to leave at least one thing for me to do

not_a_sheep: bring yourself

y/n: very funny

suh01: don't worry y/n, we'll work your ass off once we get there 

not_a_sheep: we? I never agreed to this

y/n: promise

suh01: i'll make sure of it

y/n: lol k

y/n: I can also bring equipment like flashlights and first aid just in case

not_a_sheep: good idea

And so it was that you awoke early on Saturday, pulling your hair into a loose ponytail. You dressed in some light denim shorts, a tank top, and a cropped jacket that provided just enough warmth until the day heated up. You kept your makeup natural, so if it was damaged by the outdoors in any way it wouldn't be noticeable. 

Feeling your phone buzz in your pocket, you quickly opened it to the lockscreen and glanced at Yixing's text signaling his arrival. Grabbing the backpack you'd packed the night before, you slid on your sneakers and headed out of your apartment and to the street. There he was waiting for you, Junmyeon sitting behind him in his car. Waving briefly at Junmyeon, you turned to Yixing's car as he rolled down the window. 

"You can toss your bag in the backseat." He instructed, smiling at you. 

Doing so, you then got in the passenger seat, closing the car door. He sped off in the direction of the country with Junmyeon following close behind. You picked up the soft sound of music playing at a low volume through the speaker. Only when he turned the volume louder did you realize he was playing your shared favorite band on the radio. Turning to smile at him, you saw he'd been waiting to see your reaction and once he did a grin spread across his face. God was that a cute grin. 

You ignored how flushed you suddenly felt by averting your gaze and singing along to the music. And that's what you continued to do for the next two hours. You didn't hold back one bit, you were so comfortable with each other. Your voices mixed in a passionate duet - you both knew every line the lead singer sung. 

Before you knew it, you were racing past open plains and small pine forests with no signs of civilization in sight. After passing by a few potential spots to set up camp, he pulled off the road near the edge of a forest and field. Rolling through the bumpy grass for a minute or two, he finally stopped and parked the car once the road was out of view.

"Wow, we're in the middle of nowhere." You observed, exiting the car and taking a look around. 

"It's perfect!" Junmyeon called, walking over from his car which was parked a little ways away. Once he'd gotten closer, he spoke again at a normal volume. "So, what did I miss out on in the past two hours?"

"Only a concert sung by y/n and yours truly." Yixing replied with a shrug.

At this Junmyeon laughed. Leaving the boys to talk about the drive, you walked around to the trunk of the car. Opening it, you took the tent out which was still folded up in its bag.  

"Where should we set this up?" You asked, holding it up for them to see. 

"Somewhere near those trees." Yixing pointed. As you began carrying it over, you heard him call out to you again. "Hey y/n, Junmyeon and I are going to quickly gather some firewood for later!"

"Alright!" You yelled without looking back. 

You walked over to the flat area that he'd instructed, a few yards from the trees. Making sure the cars were still in sight, you sat the tent down and began to unpack it, separating the pieces. Unfolding the stiff main walls of the tent, you attempted to flip the thing right-side up - except now it was too big for you to move. You tried a few more times before stepping back for a moment so you could muster up all your energy. 

You felt someone standing behind you the second before they tapped you on the shoulder. Startled, you spun around to find Yixing right next to you with that grin on his face. Behind him you could see a pile of fallen branches he'd set on the ground. 

"Need some help?" He asked. 

Sighing, you smiled at him in defeat. "Sure."

Each taking one side of the tent, you easily flipped it over with his assistance. It consisted of a single large interior room and a separate screened "porch" in the front. You then found a rock that fit in the palm of your hand, and used it to pound one of the stakes on a corner of the tent into the ground. It worked well. Moving to do the same on the next stake, you bent over to reach it. You could feel Yixing's eyes glued on your figure the whole time you drove the stake into the earth. 

Straightening up, you glanced at him with a teasing look on your face. "What?"

Embarrassed that he'd been caught, he quickly looked away and acted like he was going to work on one of the stakes that you hadn't gotten to yet. 

"Yixing, did you need something?" You asked in the same tone, subconsciously very aware of his intent but refusing to fully acknowledge it. 

Chasing him down around to the other side of the tent, you found him still avoiding your eyes, a slight pink painted across his cheeks. "Can I use that rock?" He asked, refusing to make eye contact. 

"Oh, sure." You replied, handing it to him. You were stopped from making any further comment by Junmyeon's approach, branches in his arms. 

"Who wants lunch?" He asked, dumping the wood with the rest. 

"Me!" You were starved after not eating breakfast. 

Heading off to his car, you decided to keep it silent between you and Yixing as you waited for Junmyeon to return. He returned with some sandwiches he'd prepared for all of you, and nothing was said for minutes as you devoured them. Then the idea of a hike was brought up and agreed to. 

After finishing every bite of your lunch, water bottles were gathered and the three of you made your way into the forest. Junmyeon led, while Yixing was in the middle and you brought up the rear. You soon came across a creek, and decided to follow it so you could easily retrace your steps when you decided to head back.  

Yixing's back was facing you as you followed him along the trail that Junmyeon chose. With him in your view the entire time, you couldn't help but take note of his broad shoulders, his tight ass. The way his sculpted muscles moved as he walked showed his strength - it was all very attractive. Continuously you were shoving these thoughts from your mind only for them to return again. 'He's my friend.' You reminded yourself. 'I can't think like this.'

Eventually you opted to just stare at the ground until you got back to the tent - several hours later. By the time you returned, the three of you were exhausted, muscles aching. The sun was already lowering in the sky, turning it all shades of orange, pink, and yellow. Grabbing the wood gathered earlier, the boys built a bonfire the best they could while you went to grab the marshmallows out of Junmyeon's car.

When you returned, the wood was already ablaze. They'd created the perfect campfire, setting the biggest logs flat on the ground as seats. It was just dark enough now that the fire created a barely visible glow that warmed the ground and air near it. Already sitting, they turned to look your way at your approach, Yixing's face lighting up with the sight of the marshmallow bag in your hand. His grin made your face feel hot and you quickly looked at Junmyeon instead, who smiled at you, understanding conveyed in his gaze. 

This exchange made you blush further, as you looked down at the grass and sat down next to Yixing on a log. Why did you feel this way? And why the fuck did you just sit next to him? Maybe you were just going through another phase of crushing on one of your best friends. These thoughts ran through your mind as you focused on opening the marshmallow bag. 'Nothing'll come from it, as usual.' You reminded yourself. 

Pushing these thoughts to the back of your mind again, you asked: "Do we have some sticks for this?"

"Here." Junmyeon replied, leaning over to hand you some he'd gathered. It occurred to you that this whole time he'd been watching you, reading you. 

The sky darkened, and the night got late. The three of you ate marshmallows, both golden and burned. Stories of all genres were told by everyone. Laughter filled the air. At some point, drinks were brought out, and enough was had to the point that everyone was tipsy. The tales became more ridiculous, small secrets were spilled without any thought. But it was okay, you probably wouldn't remember any of it by morning. 

Slowly, one by one, you began making your way to the tent as time creeped into the early hours of the morning. Junmyeon was first, followed shortly by Yixing after he'd put out the fire. He asked if you were coming too, and you replied with something like "in a minute."

When you did stumble your way over to the tent several minutes later, you moved to open it when you heard hushed voices. They were practically whispering, but bless your good hearing - you could just make out most of the words.

"Are you sure?" Yixing asked, excitement detectable in even his whisper. 

"I think so," Junmyeon replied, "...can't look at you... blushing..."

You put your ear even closer to the tent wall, struggling to hear Junmyeon. 

"I'm scared to make a move." Yixing confessed. "I'm scared I'll ruin everything." 

Then Junmyeon said something inaudible. 

In your drunken state, none of these words made sense. Did he have crush on somebody? Deciding you couldn't stay awake out there any longer, you finally entered the tent. They already lay on the ground, falling asleep. Junmyeon acknowledged your presence with a soft "hey" before rolling over on his side to face the wall of the tent. Yixing lay in the middle. You slowly crawled next to him on the other side and laid down. 

After a few minutes, Yixing spoke the last words you heard before drifting off to sleep. "Goodnight y/n."

                  .•°•. _ .•°•. _ .•°•. _ .•°•.

The light of the late morning sun filtered through your lashes as you blinked open your eyes. The first thing you noticed was the throbbing in your head, the second was the arms securely wrapped around you from behind. Remembering the sleeping arrangement the night before, you quickly realized it was Yixing, spooning you like a child hugging onto its favorite plushie. At this revelation, your heart began pounding rapidly. 

You reached to touch his hand. "Yi- yixing?" You asked in a quiet voice. 

"Hmm..?" He moaned, semi-awake. 

For painfully long moments he continued holding you as he fully awoke and assessed the situation. When he realized he suddenly pulled away, sitting up and mouthing a "sorry," hoping Junmyeon wouldn't hear. Taking deep breaths to calm your heart, you sat up as well. 

"What time is it?" You asked in the same tiny voice. 

He grabbed his phone off of the ground and looked at the time, surprised by it. "10:23."

"Ugh." You groaned, rubbing your forehead. "My head's killing me."

At this, Yixing became concerned. "Do we have pain killers?"

"Yeah, in my emergency bag." You replied, still holding your head with your hand. 

"I'll go get them." He said without a second thought, quickly exiting the tent. Not two minutes later, he came back pills in hand. 

"Do you have water?" He asked.

At your motion to your water bottle a few feet away, he leaned over and grabbed it. Opening the pill bottle, he took out a dose and handed it to you. Then he did the same with your water. He made sure you took and swallowed them, concern never leaving his expression. 

"Isn't your head hurting too?" You asked. 

"A bit, but I'll take care of it after you start feeling better." He replied. "You're more important."

Not knowing whether to take that as a compliment or not, you pouted. "No I'm not, you're equally important. Where's your water?"

"Gone since yesterday." 

After thinking a moment, you held out your water bottle to him. "Here." 

He stared into your eyes, a little taken aback but looking to see if you were truly fine with it. For once, you met and held his gaze, letting him know you were. Taking the bottle from your hand, he swallowed the pain killers. You watched as the tip of your bottle that had been on your lips moments before touched his. But it was the way that he tilted his head back as he took a sip that made your indecent thoughts return. You snapped your head towards the wall, covering your reddening face with your hand. 

He set the bottle down again, not noticing your state. "Thanks y/n." 

He then moved to exit the tent again, waking Junmyeon. After rubbing his eyes and running his fingers through his hair, Junmyeon left you in the tent alone, still just as flustered and replaying the morning's events in your head for minutes on end. 

After you'd calmed down, the rest of the morning and afternoon flew by. Pretending like nothing happened, the three of you went about activities similarly to yesterday. You had brunch, then walked into the forest again, heading for the creek. This time, you went in, the coolness of the water refreshing from the mid-day heat of the sun. After splashing around and playing for hours, you returned back to the campsite and roasted some sausages over the fire for dinner. When the last bite had been finished, the three of you continued talking right up until the end of your time together.  

Standing up from a log, Junmyeon sighed. "Well you two, I've gotta bounce. I'll leave what food's left with you."

"Aight man." Yixing stood up, giving him a quick hug. "See you in a few days."

Yixing then said something quiet to him, causing Junmyeon to nod. 

"Bye y/n!" Junmyeon called, waving at you. 

A little confused that he wasn't offering a hug as usual, you didn't voice it and waved back. "Bye!"

With a smile, he turned and walked to his car. After removing the cooler with food inside, he took off, leaving you alone with Yixing. On your own, not as much was said, you chose your words more carefully. He started the fire up again with some new wood that had been gathered that day. You sat on separate logs, slowly conversing as the sky became colorful, then dark. This night was a bit cooler than the last, and you began to shiver slightly. 

During an awkward silence, he noticed this. Without saying anything, he reached out an arm, inviting you to sit on the same log as him. Heart rate speeding up a bit at the thought, you shuffled over to sit beside him after no hesitation. Wrapping his right arm around you, he pulled you close.

"Better?" He asked, smiling a sweet smile. 

"Mmmh." You agreed, trying to loosen the way your body had tensed. 

The minutes ticked by, and the only thing you could hear was the pounding of your heart deafening your ears. Then your worst fears came true.

"Y/n... is that your heartbeat?" He questioned. 

When you refused to answer, mind racing, he pulled your face around to look at him, hand on your cheek. "Hey, are you alright? Your face is burning up."

In that moment, a feeling overcame you. Maybe it was because of the way he cared so much, the genuine concern he expressed. Or how you felt infinitely safe around him in a way you couldn't describe. Although, it could've also easily been the way the firelight danced off his tan skin. The way it lit up his warm brown eyes more powerfully than the sunlight could ever dream of. It could've been any combination of those things or others. But something compelled you to pull down his face to yours, brushing your lips across his in a soft kiss. 

Snapping out of it, you pulled away, seeing the shock on his face. "Oh my god, Yixing I'm so sorry I-"

You were cut off as he kissed you back, a long deep kiss that you melted into. When you finally pulled apart, you giggled at how stupid you'd been. 

"What?" He asked, smirking. 

"I'm so blind. I thought you didn't like me in this way."

He shook his head. "I have for a long time y/n." 

As he met your lips again, your heart felt as though it was soaring above the clouds. Wrapping your arms around his neck, you ran your fingers through the hair at its base. Quickening the pace of your kisses, you began to breathe heavier. Panting, you felt him pick you up by your waist and place you on his lap. You began to grind your hips down into his. Groaning, he quickly stopped you by gripping them, firmly holding you in place. 

"Slow... down.." He panted, speaking between your kisses. 

"But- I want this." You told him, meaning every word. The wetness already pooling between you legs confirmed it. 

At your spoken consent, he released his grip on your hips. Straddling him, you began moving again, slower than before like he'd instructed. A growing bulge felt between your legs made you keenly aware of his arousal. A stronger thrust on your part made him grunt and swear against your lips. 

"Shit y/n."

Suddenly you both lost your balance, crashing onto the grass a few feet away. You were only on top for the few seconds it took him to remove your shirt before he rolled you under him, pinning you in place. He took control of the pace, speeding it up. Being completely engulfed in his shadow made you want him more.

Spreading your legs wider, he unbuttoned your shorts and began pulling them down. Then he tugged at the waistband of your soaked panties and pulled them down to your ankles as well. Fully exposed to him, the scent of your arousal mixed with the smokiness in the air, penetrating your sense of smell. There was no way he wasn't aware of it too. You felt him move a hand down your body towards your naked heat. 

When you felt the first touch of his fingertips against your folds, trembles rocked your body. You forced yourself to relax, settling down into the soft grass. Only to get excited again as he started tracing fast circles with his thumb on your clit, spreading your slick. You felt him smirk at how wet he'd made you. You arched your back up off the ground, moaning at the pleasure.

Beginning to feel your high building, you didn't warn him just yet. But unexpectedly, he inserted two fingers into your dripping pussy without warning. You cried out, sucking in a sharp breath as you flexed your walls and came onto his finger all in seconds. A little surprised, he pulled them out. Whimpering, you rode out your first orgasm underneath him.

After you'd calmed down a bit you moved to unbuckle his pants. He held your hand away for a moment. 

"Y/n, I didn't bring a condom. And... I don't want to hurt you." He said carefully. 

"I..." you panted, "don't care... I can take it." Another breath. "Just take care of me afterwards."

After hesitating a moment, he let go of your hand, and assisted you in removing his clothes. First his pants, then shirt, then his boxers. Springing free from the fabric, his cock stood erect as you took it in. It had good length, but its girth was what made you lay your head back on the grass and prepare yourself. The following seconds inched by as he moved towards you. 

Pulling him down closer onto your body, you led him into another round of rough kisses as you felt the tip of his cock brush against your clit. Taking his hand in yours, you intertwined your fingers with his, waiting. 

Pain shot through you as he slid into you harshly with a single thrust. Pushing deeper, he used his strength until he was balls deep in just two. He filled you up so much, almost too much. Bitting your lip, you did your best to adjust to his size. But he didn't give you much of a chance to, as he pulled out entirely after only being inside for a few seconds. The empty feeling was more painful than the full. You throbbed, desperately needing him back. 

Thankfully he didn't wait long before fulfilling this as he repeated himself multiple times. Your combined pants and moans filled the night air as he forcefully fucked you into oblivion. It didn't take much of this to cause your second high. Aggressively pounding into you again for the unknownth time, he hit that sweet spot. Your mouth fell open and you gripped some blades of grass next to you with your free hand. 

"Th- there-" you managed. 

Understanding, he didn't remove himself fully again, only doing so partially before angling himself to hit the same spot. He only did so twice before you came undone for the second time that night. 

"Yixing!" You cried out too late.

You clenched around his cock, feeling it twitch inside you. He swore, arms becoming shaky and breath choppy, warning you right before he came. Hot strings of his cum shot through you, filled you up to the brim. Your combined wetness then spilled out of you onto your inner thighs and the grass. Pulling out completely, he flopped down onto the ground next to you, grinning and breathing heavily. 

Reaching out to touch his face, he held your hand against it. Then he pulled you closer, kissing your swollen lips gently. Parting, he looked into your eyes and smiled. You still couldn't look at him in this way without blushing, but it didn't matter anymore. Taking you into his arms, he held you as exhaustion caught up with you. Not a word was said, but none had to be for you both to know the mutual happiness you felt.

                  .•°•. _ .•°•. _ .•°•. _ .•°•.

 

You awoke to the sun peaking over the eastern horizon, lighting up the nature around you. Laying on your side, you felt something warm pressed up against your back. Rolling over onto your other side, you winced at the prickling of the grass on your bare skin and the soreness between your legs. You saw it was your best friend's bare chest that had been pressed against your back. He appeared to be sleeping peacefully, slightly curled around your body. 

Realization hit you as you remembered the events of last night. Eyes widening, you gasped and covered your face with your hands in embarrassment. Peaking through your fingers, you saw his eyes were now open, that same adorable grin plastered across his face. 

"Morning honey." He stretched a bit before realizing where you both lay. "Oh god, did we fall asleep here?"

"Mhmhmm." You replied with a nod. 

Sitting up, he grabbed his pants and pulled them on before standing. Offering you a hand, you accepted it and tried to use your legs. Immediately they buckled under you. No way were you walking to the tent. 

"Whoa!" He exclaimed as he prevented you from falling. He then scooped you up from the ground and into his arms. 

"What the hell have you done to me?" You playfully asked, poking his cheek. 

"I'm so sorry." He replied in a serious tone.

"Hey!" You scolded, not meaning to make him feel bad. "I asked for it."

He side eyed you as he carried you into the tent, smirking slightly. "Yeah you did."

Setting you down on the floor, he laid down next to you, cuddling up to you again. A few soft words and kisses were exchanged as you drifted off to sleep together again. It looked like this was what the rest of your trip would consist of, and you'd be lying if you said the thought didn't please you.  

[bokettochild]

The Worries and Woes of Heroic Hair

Y'all were busting out hair headcannons before I left, so I saved a few and wrote a fic for them.

Featuring:

Pre-maturely grey Twilight

Curly haired Legend

Long haired Four

(As well as a reference to long hair Sky)

Warriors had gained the unfortunate title of ‘pretty boy’.

In a group of beautiful men and boys that literally sent women swooning, no matter what world they were in, he’d somehow been labeled the “pretty” one. Never mind he was more mature looking than half of their number. Never mind that Legend and Hyrule looked like a pair of porcelain dolls hand painted by a master artist. Never mind that Wild literally had half of his world falling heels over head for him. No matter how many women in the War of Ages had gushed about the adult Hero of Time (much to Mask’s annoyance). And sure, let’s just forget that Wars had heard not one, but two princess’s complimenting Twilight’s ass.

Yeah, okay, he was the pretty boy, sure.

Maybe that was because he was the only one in the group that actually had any understanding of a little thing called personal hygiene! Honestly! Had no one introduced the vet to a bathtub when he was younger? Or Wild to a hairbrush? And Hyrule... oh Hyrule...

Honestly, it was a pain, trying to not say something to his brothers that might be taken as rude or offensive. At least his own two boys were a bit better. During the war he’d pounded some sense into their heads after scrubbing their ears clean enough that they could actually hear him when he spoke, and Time and Wind both showed some (although not much more than the others) level of personal grooming, even if it was the basic wash and brush that Wars had required of all of his soldiers.

The others though? He had been beginning to think they might be hopeless, but then he’d had a chance to do something about it.

“Wars?”

“Hmm?” Bright blue darted up from the journal Warriors had been writing in, meeting Wind’s pout with a soft chuckle at his baby-faced brother. One day, Wind would be as grizzled and scruffy as his grandfather (would be his grandfather) but for now he would take him time teasing the kid for his baby-face. After all, it wasn’t like he’d be getting another chance to get revenge on the man who’d teased him up to his wedding day for his “lack of masculine charm”.

“My hair is knotted. In the back.” Wind didn’t even bother waiting for a signal, instead just plopping down in the captain's lap and dropping a brush by his knee. And really, with how the war had gone, Warriors should have expected that.

Any injury that impeded movement meant Wars was helping his two boys with whatever was needed during the war, and near the top of that list had been brushing hair. Broken arm or sprained wrist or whatever Hyrule had diagnosed it as (he’d been a bit too wrapped up in helping hold Wild still so he and Legend could treat the kid’s crushed hand to hear the healer’s final word), he was always happy to help the younger hero sort out his problems.

At least Wind let him help, instead of sending him scandalized looks and rude signs at the mere mention of a bath, like Legend did, or simply darting away like Hyrule.

“Wind,” Sky frowned slightly. “You didn’t have to disturb Wars, any of us would have been willing to help.”

The sailor cocked a brow, leaning back into his touch as he worked over the knot with nimble fingers well accustomed to working through tangled golden curls. “Says the Hero of Eternal Bedhead.”

Crystal blue eyes darted up to messy bangs. “Is it really that bad?”

“Yes.” Sailor and captain deadpanned together, matching grins on their faces as they stared at the Skyloftian.

“Oh feathers.” Sky huffed, running his hands through his hair and looking at the two expectantly. “Is that better?”

Wind snorted. “Sky, you need a hairbrush for your bird’s nest.”

“But,” Sky cocked his head like a confused puppy. “I don’t have a bird’s nest?”

“He means that your hair is a mess.” He chuckled, pausing in his work to pat the ground at his side. “Here, I’ll do you next, ‘kay?” And bless Sky for being a patient and reasonable person, because at the very least the Skyloftian just sauntered over easily and sat hot-cross-buns on the ground beside him, watching lazily as he worked at the sailor’s messy hair.

“It’s not that bad,” The Sailor huffed. “You can’t honestly be taking this long.” The kid wasn’t fooling him though, Wind was leaning into the touch, almost slumped against his chest in a boneless pile of teenager.

“You’re dry as a desert.” He scolded softly in response, rubbing some of the bristly hair between his fingers. “I’ve told you salt water dries your hair out, you need to take care of it or it’ll never grow out properly.”

Wind shifted awkwardly. “I didn’t have time. I did try, I mean it! It just... We’re always so busy and...”

His hands were already reaching for his pack. “You’re lucky mine dries out too. I’ll need to get more in the next town, but I think this oil can last us both long enough to get you some again.”

“Oil?” Sky frowned thoughtfully. “What for?”

“Split ends and dry hair.” Came the practiced answer as he rubbed the substance in question over his hands and began to card it through the sailor’s parched curls. “I suppose you could say it’s like with birds. They have to oil their feathers to stay healthy, right?”

“Oh! Okay, yeah, that makes sense.” The Skyloftian mulled over the concept for a moment. “We need to do that to our hair?”

Long fingers stopped mid stroke, royal blue blinking slowly in the clueless sky child’s direction. “Oh, you poor, clueless bird-boy you, your hair must be parched!”

Wind’s giggles shook them both, but Sky simply looked hurt. “I try. How was I supposed to know?”

Fingers slick with hair oil curled to point at the other hero. “I am massaging this stuff into your thirsty scalp right now. Wind, move.”

The sailor tumbled, giggling from Wars’ lap, leaving Sky to stare down at the captain’s crossed legs. “I’m- Warriors I am not sitting in your lap.”

“I don’t expect you to.” Brush in one hand and bottle of hair oil in the other, Warriors moved to stand behind the Skyloftain. “Just stay right there and let me work, and I swear if someone else tells me to my face that they’re not taking care of themselves- Sky! Look at this!”

The Skyloftian shifted, trying to look for only a moment before huffing. “Warriors, I can’t see the top of my own-”

“When’s the last time you trimmed this?” Brittle tips crinkled under his fingers as he stared at the mess that was Sky’s hair. “Your split ends are horrible!”

“Crimson usually trims it for me.” Came the softly mumbled response, and Wars had to hold back an affronted squawk at the words.

“You’re entrusting the care of your hair to a bird? Sky, my lovely, my dear friend, my brother, what the actual Ladies?”

“He does a good job!”

“If you call this rat’s nest a good job! Honestly, it’s no wonder Legend finally agreed to let you cuddle him, he must feel right at home with this mess!”

“Ouch.” Sky huffed, crossing his arms loosely and pouting.

“That aside,” He began working the first knot out, fluffing Sky’s hair lightly in his fingers. “It’s a good color, nice volume too. Have you ever considered growing it out? Without the split ends?”

“Huh?”

Caramel hair parted easily in his hands, springy and soft despite the brittle ends. “You’d look fetching with long hair, Chosen One. My, imagine what Sun would say if she saw you!” Sky stiffened as the soldier ducked down, voice lowering and eyes glinting with mischief as he whispered in his friend’s ear. “If she wasn’t already swooning at seeing you again, she’d be dizzy at the sheer beauty.”

“Wars!” Long ears twitched, tellingly red as the Skyloftian battled a fierce blush.

But the captain was already lost in his rant, taking pleasure in making Wind continue to giggle as Sky whined softly in protest at his teasing. “I can see it now! You arrive fresh out of battle, sword in hand and hair whipping in the wind, cape swirling like the wings of the goddess herself! She sees you. Your eyes meet. You shoot her one of your dashing smiles and she stumbles back, breathless, and you have to dart forwards to catch her before she swoons away altogether, so bedazzled she is by your handsome visage!” He flourished with a smile, letting oiled locks fall over Sky’s eyes with a laugh as the Skyloftian blushed brighter, not bothering to shift his bangs and instead hiding behind them, trying and failing to hide a pleased smile.

Wind didn’t stop giggling until Sky had had to punch the captain in the leg to make him finally cease the teasing.

“Smithy,” Twilight’s laughter rung through camp as he brushed long bangs out of the smithy’s eyes, the younger hero still smushed against the rancher's side sleepily, headband askew and half hanging in his eyes. The boy’s hair curtained his face, falling back into place the moment Twilight lifted his hand again, producing rumbling laughter form the farm-hand. “Four, you- when in Ordonia’s name did you last trim your hair?”

“’s not that long.” Came the murmured reply as Four pressed his face further into Twilight’s side, nestling closer with an irritable huff. “Leave ‘lone, Twi.”

The smithy might have denied it but... his hair really had grown out.

It wasn’t really that apparent with the headband keeping it back, and Four was decent enough at keeping his hair out of his face. But headbands, no matter how trusty, didn’t stay up forever, and when one was as active as a Hero of Courage, it wasn’t uncommon to find one’s self with their hair swinging loose in battle. Not that most of them minded, Wild kept his hair tied carefully and Legend tucked all of his under a hat, meanwhile the others all had shorter locks that, other than the swishing of their bangs, mostly stayed out of their faces.

Four on the other hand...

Four’s headband had fallen loose into a mud puddle, and until he was able to clean it the smithy had been walking around like a sheepdog, bangs fluffing into his eyes and making the shortest hero huff in an annoyed manner as he kept swiping his bangs aside. Unfortunately, they weren’t long enough to tuck behind his ears, only to hang in his face and send him stumbling over and into all sorts of things with sharp yelps and soft swears as the hero closest to him would have to offer a hand or scoop up the small smithy again.

Wars didn’t say anything, but when Four finally approached him one evening, eyes flickering icy blue as he dashed his bangs out of the way and tugged at the scarf draped around the captain’s neck (the others’ favorite way of getting his attention he had found).

“Hey there, smithy, what’s up?”

“Cut them.” Four huffed, pushing the loose hair back again only to have them drift back over his glinting eyes, and then, as if an afterthought, he tacked on ‘Please?’.

Royal blue darted up to Sky, who smiled on the edge of the campfire, a knowing look in his eyes. “Did Sky tell you I could help?”

“No. I figured that out myself. He just... pushed me.”

Laughter bubbled up in his chest. “Ah.”

“So, can you help? Or do I need to wander around looking like a Mogma?” Sky could be heard muttering across the camp at that, and Four’s ears twitched as he huffed, clearly having taken offense at whatever had been said.

He nodded, a bit unsure why Four glared across the fire at Sky, but willing to help. Oh goddesses, was he willing to help; Four’s hair bugged him nearly as much as Wild’s did, and he had been dying to fix it for the smithy. He wasn’t sure what Sky had said, but he was thankful for the other knight’s willingness to aid him in his battle against poor hygiene, and if he could turn another hero with the power of a good haircut, well! “Anything you have in mind? Just what you had before, or...?”

“Bangs.” Four dropped down hot-cross-buns, just like Sky had the other day, in front of him, arms crossed and expectant as he huffed at his long bangs.

“Right.” His brush and scissors were already sitting at the ready as he reached out to gently push the hair out of his friend’s eyes. “You good?”

“Annoyed.” Four sulked. “I can’t see anything and Twilight has been called me a sheep-dog.” Accurate. “I just want my hair short again, but the last time I cut it, it looked like I was attacked by a cat.” The smithy shivered, clutching at his sleeves as he shook his head, hair falling back into his eyes as he did so. “I just let it grow after that, but the bangs bother me if I can’t push them back.”

“Noted.”

Four’s hair was a bit silkier than the others’, but similarly brittle, although that was likely due to the heat of the forge rather than sea salt and extended time in the sky. He didn’t even bother asking about oiling the locks as he worked, brushing out all of Four’s hair with care and sectioning out the bangs with the same amount of agonizing detail Legend put into his paintings or Wild put into his cooking.

“Hair cut?” Twilight called from across camp.

“You could use one too,” Four huffed, unmoving save for his eyes darted to glance over his shoulder. “Your hair is beginning to look like wolf ears, rancher. Wolfie might take offense that you’re stealing his look and come maul you.”

Chuckles sounded around the camp, Legend wheezing lightly while Time and Wild shared a look. Wars didn’t know what that was about, but he smiled as he worked, humming lightly under his breath as he clipped a bit here and a touch there, releasing the hair to stare at it, adjusting it a bit, taking another section in hand and snipping it, and repeating the whole process.

Four was still as a statue the whole time, occasionally humming along to whatever tune happened to be on Warriors’ mind at the moment, but otherwise as poised and picturesque as a statue as the captain worked over the smithy’s blond locks.

This close up, Warriors was beginning to wonder why they never met any lovely admirers of the smithy, Four was certainly not lacking in the looks department, and had the kid lived in his time he’d find himself having to beat off girls with a stick. Honestly, how was he the pretty boy here?

“Nearly done?” Came the patient hum, and he snapped himself back to reality as he brushed Four’s bangs back into place, trimmed and tidy, along with the rest of his short hair.

“Yep.” The scissors finally came to rest in his lap as he whisked away the cloak that he’d used to catch the trimmed hairs. “My, my, smithy, you almost look as if you were going courting! Legend, lend a man your shield for a tick, would you? Four needs to see his new cut.”

The veteran rolled his eyes, but the shield was offered readily enough when Four trotted his way over, and while the smithy looked a bit surprised that Wars had bothered to braid most of his hair out of the way during the cut, he didn’t look at all displeased.

Wars counted that as a win.

He’d run out of oil a few days ago, and already his hair was beginning to frizz in this thrice-forsaken heat.

Being born with curly hair was nothing of the blessing his mother had made it out to be, no matter how she liked playing with her ‘baby boy’s’ hair. Of course, his beloved liked it too, but he was going to chalk that up to being a woman thing, curls were a pain if they weren’t on kids, especially if they were eon him.

Thank Hylia that Lilith had taught him to straighten it all out, he would have been driven half out of his mind if he hadn’t been able to control it on his way through basic, and the teasing would have been so much worse than it actually had been.

As was, the captain was only too happy when they next came to his Castletown, and after he’d made sure the others were settled in the castle with his cousin, he’d gracefully made his exit and headed out to the town. Getting through the streets was a pain, his armor and scarf giving him away as the hero and practically inviting the whole market to start competing for his attention, along with the hundreds of shoppers who surged close with questions and thanks and admiration. Not for the first time, Warriors found himself thankful that he handled crowds better than many of his fellow soldiers, and even if all the attention was a bit much, he wasn’t overwhelmed like poor Wild would have been.

Oh heavens, the day they finally figured out how to explain the portals and heroes nonsense to the public to excuse the sudden aging of the Hyrulian Hero’s child, Wild was likely going to have to start wearing a hood or something when they went into town.

The dye shop was a way into the market, and it had taken quite the bit of fancy footwork to avoid stepping on anyone as he’d answered questions and received thanks from the enthusiastic, if not slightly push, people of Hyrule. If he closed the door of the shop after him with a sigh of relief though, that was between him and Gyssel, the shopkeeper.

“Back again, Link? Same materials as the last time?”

“If you please.” He nodded with a smile. “Though I might have a bit of a glance around, I’ve a friend in need of a few things.”

The old woman nodded with a chuckle. “Right then. Oh, and if you see those two lovely gents who popped in here earlier, would you be willing to lend ‘em a hand? Poor dears looked lost as two minish in a fairy pond when they stumbled in here, but I’ve been batting a thousand with the customers all day and haven’t had a chance to pop over and offer help. You know the shop same as I do, so, if you have a moment, could you check in on them while I wrap your things?”

“Of course.” He nodded, smiling his best as he moved towards the back wall.

The other voices in the shop were mostly those of tittering ladies and mischief making pranksters, all too young and too high to belong to the ‘lovely gents’ that Gyssel had been speaking of, and it wasn’t hard to trail the rumble of a man’s voice to the back of the store where the hair dyes were. He grinned as he rounded the corner, but froze when he found himself face to face with a startled, and maybe somewhat abashed rancher.

“Twilight?”

“Warriors?”

“Shit, Wars is here?”

Royal blue darted down to meet the snapping violet of the veteran. “Legend? What are the two of you doing in here of all places? Are you lost?”

“No.” Legend huffed, foot tapping agitatedly at the floor as he gnawed his bottom lip, a sure sign of awkwardness if one knew the vet.

“What are you doing- oh.” Twilight’s face faded from confusion to understanding. “You’re the city boy, of course you shop in joints like this.”

He cocked a brow, hands coming to rest on his hips as he stared down the two other heroes. “Says the guy who’s been wandering around looking for something long enough the owners worried. Honestly, what could the two of you even need?”

Midnight and violet glanced warily at each other, and to his surprise, twin flushed lighted his friend’s faces as Legend had crossed his arms and Twi had rubbed at his neck.

“Hair dye.” The rancher admitted softly.

“And shampoo.” Legend had tacked on.

Warriors let his eyes blow wide an overdramatic gasp sounding in the small corner of the shop as he rested a hand on his collar. “Why, vet, you don’t mean to tell me you’re planning on actually taking a bath, are you! My heavens, what next? Will Hyrule somehow produce a wedding cake in time for Time and Malon to announce they’re having a baby?”

“They’re what!?!” Twilight yelped, sounding, ridiculously, like a dog that has just been kicked.

“I’m teasing, rancher.” He chortled. “Trust me, if Time knew of such a thing, he wouldn’t have shut up about it. Miss Malon’s still trim and terrifying as last we saw her; I have little doubt.” At the rancher’s breath of relief, he shook his head. “Honestly though, soap? Vet, last I checked-”

“It’s hot.” Legend interrupted, avoiding meeting his gaze by rolling his eyes.

“And?”

“And in case you didn’t know, our resident vet is a-”

“Don’t say it!” Legend huffed, glaring at Twilight and tugging his blue cap tighter over his head.

Come to think of it, Legend hadn’t taken the baby-blue cap off in ages...

“Is a what?”

Twilight looked down warily at the seething veteran, face twisted up between a playful grin and a wary frown, as if he didn’t yet know whether he wanted to tease and face the vet’s wrath or hold his tongue and avoid making a scene.

“Look,” Warriors sighed, glancing between the two country boys with a sigh. “I won’t tease at all, alright? But the sooner you own up to whatever nonsense you did to yourself, the sooner we can find you what you need and get ourselves out of here.”

The flush on Legend’s face darkened, eyes darting down as the vet shuffled his feet, and Wars found himself being reminded that for all the vet’s snark and sass, he really was as much of a kid as Wild and Wind were, just more accustomed at having to act otherwise.

Thin fingers rubbed at the rings on the vet’s pale hands. “Well, you see- that is- augh!”

Something inside him blossomed with warmth, a smile stretching across his face. Golden Three, Legend really was just an awkward teenager, wasn’t he? He even stumbled over his words when he was embarrassed, just like Time used to. Of course, Time had been twelve and Legend was nineteen, but that was beside the point.

“So-” The vet was nearly pouting as he struggled with his words, fingers rubbing steadily at his rings as he avoided Wars’ gaze. “You know how Ravio has curly hair?”

“Yes.”

“And you know how Ravio and I are- uh, each other's- reflect-”

A laugh bubbled out of his throat unexpectedly as he reached out to ruffle what could be seen of the vet’s frizzy bangs. “You’re a curly top! Why didn’t you say sooner?” Legend glared at him with a huff, but violet didn’t shift to indigo, so he knew it was all just an act. “Wind and I are too, I was actually in here to get some things for the two of us, and Sky too. I can help you as well if you don’t mind, just let me-” He motioned to the blue cap that was pulled snig down to Legend’s ears.

The vet huffed, but reached up to finger the blue fabric. “You won’t laugh, right?” Stern eyes met his own.

“Of course.” He smiled reassuringly.

Legend’s gaze searched his face for a moment, wary, but open, and even if it made him uncomfortable (the odd glint of gold at the edges of the vet’s eyes was a bit unsettling) he withstood it until Legend nodded, seemingly to himself, and pulled off his cap.

Pink curls spilled down to the vet’s shoulders as a bright blush colored pale cheeks. Twilight didn’t make it any better by reaching over to ruffle the vet’s head, chuckling soft and warm and surprisingly fond as Legend hissed back at him.

“Can I- that is- do you mind if I touch? I can help you find what you want better if I know what you need.”

A stiff nod.

The pink hair was just like fairy-floss, but less sticky (still dirty though) and he had to remind himself what he was doing once he got his fingers in it. A quick check at the texture and ends of Legend’s hair, as long as a quick check of the scalp and roots told him all he needed.

“Whatever dye you used to do this messed you up, vet. Honestly, I don’t know what you were thinking, but you’re dry as a mulduga’s arse. Did you bleach your hair before dying it or something?” There was a murmur in reply, but not anything he could really make out. “I’m sorry, what?”

“I said that’s me natural color.” Legend huffed, tensing under his hands. “I bleached it blonde a few months back, but no, I didn’t dye this shit, it just happened.”

Twilight, very unhelpfully, giggled.

Warriors blinked. “You have pink hair?”

“Yes.”

He fought the chuckle that built up in his chest, but it did little good as he ruffles the frizzy curls and let Legend replace his hat. “Alright then! Well, I’d avoid bleaching again if I was you. The pinks out and it’s healthier if you give it a rest between dyes. I have to admit though,” He settled his hands on his hips and looked between the two other heroes with a smirk. “I never took either of you two as the sort to dye your hair.”

“Throws off the guards.” Legend huffed, tugging his cap back over his hair and making Warriors wince. Ah yes, Legend’s Hyrule’s guards.

“Fair enough. I can find you something to help with the drying out and dye damage. Twi though...” He frowned, stroking his chin in thought. “Why do you even need hair dye? Trying something new?”

Now it was the rancher’s turn to look embarrassed, rubbing at his neck and ruffling his hair. “No, actually. I jist need- rather- want? I guess? I-”

Legend huffed, patting the rancher’s arm in a rare show of compassion. “He’s been greying early and it’s making him self-conscious. I told him we could look for a dye to hide it, since he didn’t want to go about stealing Time’s position as the resident Old Man.”

Oh. Well, that made sense. “Right! Fair enough. So, you want your natural shade, yes?” At the rancher's nod he pressed on, clapping his hands as he listed what they needed. “So, hair oil, some dye, and shampoo for Legend, preferably meant for damaged and curly hair. Anything else?”

Even though the two shook their heads, they all walked out with a bit more than what Warriors had listed, but despite the fact that Legend complained about it all, no one seemed to mind too much when he pulled the three of them together after the others had gone to bed and helped show them had to use the various toiletries without making too very much of a mess. It cost a pretty penny to get them all sorted, but Legend was clean, Twilight was a brunette again (the silver streaks were rather fetching though, and he’d made sure to make sure Twilight knew that before they dyed it all away) and Wind and Sky had what they needed to prevent their hair drying out again.

And even if it made a sizable dent in his wallet, he’d refused to be paid back. It was worth it anyway, since now he and Legend both had straight hair again (and the vet had actually washed!).

He could see now why Wild and Hyrule liked playing with their respective mentors’ hair though, it was almost addictive.

Time took one look at the three youngest and groaned, and Warriors almost echoed the action.

“What were you three even doing?” His now-eldest huffed, pinching the bridge of his nose with a heavy sigh as he tried not to look at the three teens, all of which were covered in mud and grass stains, and only looking slightly remorseful, despite their horrid clothing and scraped faces.

Had it been anyone but Wild and Wind, Wars would have sat back and watched as karma paid her long overdue visit to the mischievous mask-loving hero, but since it was his kids that caught up in paying back the silver in his own hair, Wars had to stand with Time and try his very hardest not to chuckle at the sight before him.

It took no trouble at all to picture Mask sitting, unrepentant, amid the other youngsters, a challenging look on his face as he dared the captain to even try and ground him for running off again.

“We were exploring.” Hyrule grinned sheepishly, rubbing at the mud that had dried on the side of his neck. “We um-”

“We fell in a swamp.” Wild snorted, wrinkling his nose and shaking some gunk from his hands with a pout. “Even I think we stink.”

Time’s lips twitched, brows struggling to remain in a scowl as he answered, voice wavering with a hint of laughter that made Wars smile to himself. “Is that so, Cub?”

“We smell like boko guts.”

“Or boko crap!” Wind cackled, the only one not soaked in swamp goo but instead spattered with ordinary mud that came from likely tripping and falling in the dirt from laughing too hard.

“Bathe.” Time chuffed, shaking his head fondly. “All three of you. Rivers there and I’m sure Wars has soap aplenty to help.” Hang on, what? Time’s eye met his own, blinking- winking? with a bright and shit eating grin. “Have fun with you sons, dad.”

Oh Ladies, Karma messed up again, didn’t she?

“Mask, I swear-” He growled, glaring at his- was Time his eldest now? His middle child still? The youngest since he’d been the last to join the family?

“Don’t, you’ll set a bad example.” The overgrown forest gremlin chuckled, walking away with a condescending pat of the shoulder.

Some things really never changed, huh?

“Right then.” the captain turned to glare stillness back into the three youngsters, two of which were already trying to sneak away, and the third- of thank Hylia for Wind, the kid was standing at perfect attention with a smirk on his face that screamed ‘I’m the eldest and I’m about to watch my little brothers get scolded and I’m going to enjoy every second of it’, snotty little salt-bathed brat. “Jump in or I punt you.”

Hyrule and Wild exchanged a look, a sure sign of danger, and both sprinted in opposite directions.

He huffed a laugh. Amateurs. Mask and Wind had run him ragged during the war, but once you’ve fought to pre-teens on the daily, there's nothing a pair of teenagers can pull on you that will truly surprise you or throw you off. It was the work of moments to have Wild slung under one arm (wolf pups, honestly, Mask was the same way) and Hyrule by the back of his collar (Wind’s customary position).

“H-how?” Both boys stammered.

“Experience, mud moblins.”

“Do I weight anything to you?” Wild stammered, staring up at him with wide blue eyes.

The grin on his face was easier than usual in situations like these, but then again both teens had given up fighting against him sooner than the last two had ever done. “Hardly. You’ve always been a lightweight.” And with those words he promptly administered a light kick to Hyrule’s lower back, knocking the kid floundering into the stream, and following up with a well-practiced toss that send Wild rocketing in after.

Wind, already stripped down to his shorts and standing waist deep in the water, raised his hands with a shit eating grin. “Six out of Ten, Wild.” The little sea monster called to a spluttering Wild as the kid surfaced, only his face peeking above the surface as he treaded water with a pout. “You need to work on your form, but otherwise- ack!”

A wave splashed up from Hyrule’s direction and Wild sent an appreciative grin the other boy’s way while Wind’s grin melted into a playful one, eyes glinting dangerously.

“Oh, that’s it! You’re just asking for trouble now! Never start a water battle with a pirate, you two, you won’t like how it ends!”

Another, mischief filled, glance was exchanged and both feral heroes descended on the young sailor. It was like watching cucco’s descend on a bokoblin, and Warriors watched with laughter bubbling in his chest as he stripped off his gunk-stained tunic, courtesy of the mud-covered boys he’d wisely decided to pick up, and moved on to his chainmail. The sound of the three youngest heroes' shrieking and shouting sweet music to his ears as Time and the other older heroes made camp just off of the riverbank, teasing each other and generally messing around.

“Wars, why are you- are you joining us?” Wild cocked his dripping head with a curious look as he watched him.

The undershirt slipped off easily as he waded into the stream’s center. “Of course, you two got me muddy too after all, and it’s not like I trust y’all to actually clean up by-” At the slowly spreading grins on the faces of the three, the captain realizes his mistake. “I don’t trust you all to clean up properly, so I’m-”

“Warriors said ‘y’all’!” Wind chortled, eyes glinting madly as a grin stretched over his face. “Oh boy! Just wait ‘till I-”

“Slip of the tongue.” He clipped back, hands settling on his hips as he stared down the three teens. “You tell Twilight about this and I will personally wash your mouth out with soap.”

“You’re the one who said it!” Hyrule pointed out.

“And whoever tells the rancher is committing a verbal atrocity that will only lead to far more in the future.” He huffed. “No one tells, you hear me?”

Wild looked between the others, brows furrowed and lips pursed as he took in Wind’s triumphant grin and Warriors’ scowl. “What’s wrong with saying ‘y’all’?”

The captain staggered back dramatically, hand on his chest and a horrified expression on his face as he stared at his son. “No! Never say that word! That word is an abomination!”

“What word?” Hyrule cocked his head, eyes glinting knowingly, but the captain failed to recognize it in time.

“’Y’all’!” He spat with contempt. “We do not say ‘y’all’ in this house! ‘Y’all’ is a cursed word and the next person who says it is-” - ‘Is on Mask watching duty’ was his go to consequence, but that wouldn’t exactly work right now; Time was a bit old to actually need a supervisor- “is on clothes washing duty with Legend.” He settled on at last, choosing the chore that everyone except, surprisingly, the veteran minded.

“Say the man who just said it four times in a row.” Wind teased, darting out of his grasp with a wide grin.

“Wind! I was trying to see how many times I could make him say it!” Hyrule huffed, pouting at his brother adorably.

“I still don’t get it.” Wild grumbled. “It’s a word? There’s nothing wrong with it as far as I know, ‘y’a-” The captain’s hand was clamped around the kid’s mouth before he could finish his sentence.

“Let's just not.” Warriors huffed; he was beginning to mourn Twilight’s mentor position at the moment. Fortunately, Wild was willing enough to still in is hands and not push the topic, unlike the other two who just egged each other on with ever widening grins. “Right.” He rolled his eyes. “First one with a clean face gets the strawberry scented soap; go.”

Silence fell as nothing save splashing rang over the stream as faces ducked beneath the water, all three boys falling for his favorite trick of all time. Heck, even the old man would probably still cave to the offer of strawberry soap, even now that he was an adult, and Wars couldn’t blame him at all; strawberry scented bubbles were the best bubbles and Twilight and his goat-milk soap could go sniff a skunk if they wanted to contest that.

It took hardly any time at all for all three to emerge, fresh faces and glowing, three sets of eyes al sparkling up at him as a warm chuckle blossomed in his throat. Naturally, he gave the promised soap to all three, citing the ‘I can’t tell who finished first so you all win’ excuse that Grandfather had taught him ages ago.

Wind dutifully set about scrubbing himself clean, and in the meantime, he guided the less experienced duo. “Take so much,” He dolloped a generous potion into Hyrule’s cupped hands. “And rub your hands together, yes, just like that, work it up to a nice lather and just scrub it all over. Take care you get the smelliest bits first so you don’t run out of soap before you get there, yeah?” Both forest children nodded, dutifully following his instructions as he moved to help scrub the traveler’s sopping curls.

It was an easy pattern to fall into, scrubbing the two heads with especial care to remove any sticks and twigs he found along the way. Hyrule was the easier of the two, but Wild held still better while he worked, almost melting under his fingers as he messaged suds into his son’s long locks, a light smile playing over both their faces as he worked, content to sit in the cooling water of the stream as the sun began to set, hands buried in his kid’s long hair as he worked out mud and filth and who knows what else.

Rinsing the sweet-scented bubbles started out innocently enough, but Wars was given a front row seat to watching an accidental splash descend into a full-on war on the water as he scrubbed his own hair clean, and well, if he joined in once he was finished, well, someone had to show Wind that he wasn’t the only hero with some experience on the water.

Wars sighed as he watched Time stirring quietly on his bedroll.

Honestly, his middle kid (he’d finally settled on letting Wind retain his position on oldest, since there was no way Time could be the eldest brother with his gremlin behavior) was something of an idiot. Oh, he loved all three of his boys dearly, but Time was an ass and everyone who knew him well knew it (except maybe Twilight, but that guy was an ass too).

Time hadn’t been sleeping recently, and it was easy to see in the dark bags around his eyes and the almost drifting expression on his face at nights. It was for lack of trying either, the kid- man? - the hero would settle down on his bedroll every night same as the others, but even with sharp eyes shut tight and blanket pulled to his ears, the ‘Old Man’ couldn’t lie still for more than thirty minutes, constantly shifting and fidgeting on his bedroll even as the other heroes steadily dropped off to sleep.

It was just the two of them now, the captain on watch and their leader trying to pretend he was asleep with a scowl on his face.

He was scratching again.

“Alright, that’s enough of that.” war clapped his hands against his knees and pushed himself p, staling over to stand over the largest of the bedrolls and staring down at the lump within. “What’s up, Sprout? You normally snore like a hinox all night long, what’s eating you?”

A single blue eye stared up at him wearily. “If I knew, I would have killed it by now.”

Oof, bad night then. “Do you have any idea what it could be?” He was already settling down next to the group leader’s head, hands reaching to grasp Time’s own and bring them down from where he was, likely unconsciously, clawing at the sides of his face.

“No.” Came the frustrated huff.

“Missing Miss Malon?” He suggested, running his fingers through short blonde hair thoughtfully, mind miles away in a two-story house at castle town as he fell into the all too familiar trap of playing with one of his boys’ hair.

“I thought so at first, and while I do, it doesn’t usually stop me from sleeping.” Time grumbled, staring up at the night sky with pursed lips. “It’s not nightmares or visions either, if anything my dreams have been normal for once.”

“Anxiety perhaps? Are you worrying about the others? Twilight, maybe? Wild?” At the questioning glance he received he shrugged. “Kept me up enough nights, even if you two were there. A bad thing happens once and you're not likely to forget it.”

“Hmm.” Time hummed, leaning unconsciously into his hands and settling on his bed-roll, shoulders falling lax as his single good eyes fluttered softly. “Maybe.”

Whatever it was, it wasn’t bad enough that War’s fingers didn’t put it to rest, and time was asleep in mere minutes, soft snores rumbling over the camp as the captain continued his ministrations, eyes and ears sharp and alert for any disturbance near in within the camp, but body relaxed as he kept the steady rhythm of his fingers through short and silky hair.

When his watch was over though, and it was time to wake the veteran to take his, Wars found himself stuck. Time's fingers were curled tightly in his blue scarf, the man’s head resting easy against his thigh, and any motion small of subtle, would likely send majestic blue fluttering open again with an exhausted air.

Ah well, time to be creative.

Legend grumbled, as usual, at being woken by having his feet touched, and the captain echoed his discomfort as he wrings is sore and likely sprained hand. Time was still asleep though, so there was that at least. Now just to figure out how best to position himself so he could sleep.

Soldier’s experience won over logic, and Wars was asleep in seconds, leaving the camp under Legend’s watch and Time snoozing blissfully at his side.

[jamaisjoons]

the summer bucketlist | m.list

When the weather sees the return of sunshine and warmth, the joy and exuberance of summer is revived, and everyone rushes to enjoy the season to the fullest. Bonfire nights with your friends, seeing brilliant firework displays or laying under the stars on a humid night and watching the world go by. Learning to surf, or dive or snorkel or simply collecting seashells along the shore. Late nights at the amusement parks, thrilling roller-coaster rides or spectacular views on the Ferris Wheel. Skinny dipping in a lake after dark, attending a film or music festival, or even just visiting the popup street market in your city. Everything you had been dreaming off since the start of autumn, you can do once again. And who better to do it with, than the boys who bring more joy and warmth to our lives than summer itself?

Welcome to ‘The Summer Bucketlist’ - a writing event/author collab hosted by @jamaisjoons​

The Summer Bucketlist: BTS Edition - is an event in which various different authors can sign up to write a story based on traditional Bucketlist Items. Find their stories below!

⟶ song of the sea; knj ⇥ @jamaisjoons​       ➳ fantasy au. little mermaid au.            ↳   ⎡Take a Trip to the Museum⎦

« Captivated by the sight of you, he can’t help but watch you swim around his home. And when you turn to leave, he doesn’t know what overcomes him - but as if spellbound - he finds himself following you back to land. »

⟶ molotov cocktail; jhs ⇥ @yeoldontknow​      ➳ bartender au. arranged marriage au.           ↳   ⎡Take a Cocktail Class⎦

«  You met him January, on a night when you were newly single and newly wanting to break free from your father’s unyielding control. You left him in January, full of regret but full of purpose. You meet him again in July, and now you want nothing more than to run to the ends of the earth with him, to burn down the shape your life has taken in the hope of making something new. »

⟶ luminous; pjm ⇥ @luffles424​     ➳ summer festival au. tentacle monster au.          ↳   ⎡Watch Fireworks⎦

« The Busan summer festival is your favorite event of the year. You like all the food and things to do, but your favorite part is watching the fireworks at the end of the night, gathered with friends and family. It’s fun and joyous. Except this year you’re spending it without them. So you find a secluded spot on the beach to watch alone. Except... you might not be as alone as you thought you were out here.  »

⟶ sticky situation; kth ⇥ @jiminsfault​     ➳ camping au. established relationship au.          ↳   ⎡Go Camping⎦

« You hate camping, but Taehyung is determined on changing your mind on that. »

⟶ pull me in; jhs ⇥ @guccybangtan​     ➳ established relationship au.          ↳   ⎡Go to a Water Park⎦

« In the heat of the summer, there's nothing more relaxing than relaxing than a nice trip to the water park.  »

⟶ a beautiful epiphany; jjk ⇥ @onherwings​     ➳ friends to lovers au.           ↳   ⎡Join an Art Contest⎦

« Who would have thought that falling in love with your muse could either lead to something beautiful or bring you to your own demise? »

⟶ love grows where you go; myg ⇥ @rookiegukie​    ➳ arranged marriage au. pining au.         ↳   ⎡Watch the Sunset on the Beach⎦

« Determined to make you and Yoongi grow closer for your upcoming wedding in two weeks, your parents plan a trip for the both of you that lasts five days long. You know you should be ecstatic about it, considering your longtime crush on your fiancé, but by how you're positive that he secretly despises your whole being, you don't find this mini vacation with him something to look forward to. That is until things take an unexpected turn and suddenly, he makes it apparent he doesn’t hate you at all as you reckoned.  »

⟶ petrichor; pjm ⇥ @taetaewonderland​    ➳ strangers to lovers au. domestic au.         ↳   ⎡Go on a Picnic⎦

« There are smells in the world that can trigger your brain to think of a memory almost in an instant. »

⟶ sun cockblock; myg ⇥ @cremeandsuga​    ➳ best friends to lovers au. summer au.         ↳   ⎡Join a Sandcastle Building Competition⎦

« Cancún was always a trip to remember - sun, beaches, hookups and day drinking, not to mention the annual sand castle competition you entered with your best friend every year. Yoongi smells like Copper Tone sunblock and heaven. Entering a sandcastle competition with one of the least competitive people in the world was pure agony — but it didn’t dawn to you that your best friend wasn’t competitive because he was confident he would win. Upon your loss, he sees you trying to soothe the burn of it (and the sun) with the beach bartender. He may smell like Copper Tone sunblock and heaven, but he’s sure you feel like heaven.  »

⟶ rejuvenation; myg & jhs ⇥ @caught-in-a-seesaw-stigma​    ➳ spa owners au.         ↳   ⎡Treat Yourself to a Spa Day⎦

« You finally get a break from work and you decide to indulge in a little pampering and self-care. During lunch, your friend slips a card into your hand for an exclusive spa with a special referral discount. How can you resist? Let’s hope the Bangtan Blossoms Spa provides the relaxation & rejuvenation experience you desperately seek. »

⟶ just a taste; kth ⇥ @xjoonchildx​   ➳ pwp au.        ↳   ⎡Go Wine Tasting⎦

« He’s hot. he’s considerate. He’s refusing to make a move. weeks of sexual frustration come to a head at a wine tasting and -- this is going to shock NO ONE -- smut ensues. »

⟶ lollipop; myg ⇥ @ironicarmy​   ➳ neighbours to lovers au.        ↳   ⎡Attempt to make Ice Cream⎦

« It’s a hot summer day, he’s desperate, and your ice lollies taste like heaven.  »

⟶ carnival lights; kth ⇥ @taephilia​   ➳ haunted carnival au. horror au.        ↳   ⎡Visit a Carnival⎦

« With half of your friend group graduated and leaving your hometown to move to the city for work, you and your friends decide to have one last adventure together (in the words of hobi even though it’s only may and you see each other like every day). But things are always different in the nighttime and you never know what’s lurking between the funnel cakes. »

⟶ midnight menagerie; knj ⇥ @jooneggs​  ➳ friends to lovers au.       ↳   ⎡Go to a Botanical Garden⎦

« Like water, cradling your fragile soul, Namjoon has held the lily of your heart all your life and you wish you could let him know just how much that means to you. Coincidentally, it just so happens you can: in a week's time when you're stuck in the holiday of your life at Namjoon's father's Botanical gardens. Will you finally get to repay him in a bed of roses or will he be the one to make the bouquet for you? »

⟶ ferris drink; jhs ⇥ @salvejoon​  ➳ pwp au. established relationship au.       ↳   ⎡Ride a Ferris Wheel⎦

« Your boyfriend has a bucket list of places he wants to do the nasty and next up is a Ferris Wheel. »

⟶ hose wars; ksj & myg ⇥ @babybinnyboy​  ➳ neighbour au.       ↳   ⎡Have a Water Fight⎦

« Spending a summer in a little coastal town was supposed to be relaxing. It wasn't supposed to include a broken AC unit, record break heatwave, a hose, 2 ridiculously confident, attractive neighbors with an annoyingly low fence. »

⟶ cut shot; myg ⇥ @kimtaehyunq​  ➳ vacation au. established relationship au.       ↳   ⎡Learn to Volleyball⎦

« He hates the water, he hates the heat, and he hates the Sun. Any form of physical activity is a big no-no, yet Min Yoongi will go out of his way to show that he loves you on your mini vacation. »

⟶ eternal summer; pjm ⇥ @aiimaginesbts​  ➳ childhood friends to lovers au. vacation au.       ↳   ⎡Go Sightseeing on Vacation⎦

« Breaking up with my boyfriend leaves an empty spot on the overseas vacation that I had been looking forward to for a long time. I’m torn between abandoning the trip or going it solo when someone offers to tag along. However, having Jimin, my best friend go with me may not be the best idea — since my crush on him has never gone away. »

⟶ sway with me; knj & jhs ⇥ @minjoonalist​ ➳ established relationship au.      ↳   ⎡Take a Boat Ride⎦

« You love celebrating your anniversary, it was the only special part about summer that you looked forward to every year- But when your husband Is unable to make the availability due to his job- You thought why not make the best of it? »

⟶ ecstatic shock; jhs ⇥ @iluvstrawberry​ ➳ strangers to lovers au. abo au.      ↳   ⎡Host a BBQ⎦

« The garden party your parents throw every year is coming up. Seeing your conservative parents, is something you definitely don’t want to face on your own. But with all your friends being busy, you’ve decided to accept your fate and drown your sorrows at your favourite bar. Enter: Jung Hoseok, bartender, lifesaver and the most gorgeous guy you’ve ever seen. »

⟶ kaleidoscopic; knj ⇥ @boywivlove​ ➳ established relationship au.     ↳   ⎡Go Paintballing⎦

« You and Namjoon decide to blow off some steam and go to a paint balling range, one multicoloured blitzkrieg later; bruised, sweaty and victorious you celebrate your win. »

⟶ undercurrent; jjk ⇥ @jjungkooksthighs ➳ best friends to lovers au. post college au.     ↳   ⎡Go Diving⎦

« After a year and six months of sea fare and many more nights of sunken eyes that had been dotted with the black shadings of sleeplessness that you’d helped to nurse him because of, the fruits of your best friend’s efforts had earned him the completion of his mission to map the entire eastern seaboard. In all his work, though, Jungkook has not gotten the chance to dive at many of the areas scattered around the ocean in the vastness of the seas. You decide to take him to a previously unmarked, unmapped sector of the sea after following his own nautical charts. The catch is this: you’re afraid of the water. What happens when you find yourself following after him and into the arms of the sea after years of pent up sexual frustration that you blame entirely on him? »

a/n: this is incredibly late but onefgeoingoeitng i hope you enjoy reading all of these works! If you participated in the collab but your fic isn’t on here, it’s because it hasn’t appeared in the tags! please feel free to DM with the link to the fic!!