#au tag will be made if i draw him again trust

[azzymaxxing]

ummm

been thinking about this awhile .... my son made of slop

[meownotgood]

let us live, if we must die. / chapter three: eclipse

You are a witch, and since the purging of all magic, you've been forced to live a life of solitude and secrecy. Your destiny was always beyond your control — until, by a pure twist of fate, you unknowingly fell for the kingdom's only prince. 

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pairing: prince!aki x witch!reader

word count: 15.3k

tags: fantasy au, royalty au, reader is fem, reader has many Thoughts, hurt / comfort, aki comforting reader, angst, but don't worry they're figuring things out

notes: thank you for patiently waiting for this chapter, I hope you enjoy it!! the next chapter will be long as well, so I appreciate your patience again... love you and appreciate you

masterlist read on ao3 join the taglist here!

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You always knew Aki was royalty. 

In the time since you first hid away in this forest, you've learned to take necessary precautions. You track the whereabouts of demons each time you go out, drawing them away with spells, and watching for fresh footprints. You learned to attune yourself completely to the magic circle you created, to be sure you'll catch the faint waves of an unfamiliar aura the moment it enters. 

Spells can summon certain books from a handful of easy to find materials, and those books can then be used to summon more. Your mother's grimoires, the few you managed to take with you when you fled the city, became your gateway into a world you'd never once known. 

Deciphering magical tomes takes patience. It's a lengthy process, but it's worth it. You've learned the means to make valuable potions, and you've mastered spells that could save your life: invisibility, hypnosis, spell-shields. With so much time on your hands, and with the unbound freedom to do so, you have no reason to ever stop honing your magic. 

You can always learn more, you can always be safer. You must be prepared for every situation, and you need to take all outcomes into account. No-one can be trusted; no-one but yourself. In the moment of truth, you can't afford to make any mistakes. You need to be ready. For anything, and everyone. 

And so, when an inexplicable, elven, injured stranger comes knocking — and promptly passes out — at your door, the first damn thing you're going to do is check all his pockets. 

It doesn't take the wisdom of a thousand year old wizard to know he was from the city. The kingdom is the only notable settlement for miles. There's small towns here and there. Farmland you'll pass if you're making your way to the gates. No offense to him — to Aki, right, you still need to learn his name — but he doesn't seem like a farm boy. Or an adventurer. Or royalty, for that matter. 

You couldn't have known. Obviously, he'd be from the city, but royalty? An alleged demon-hunter and a man of royalty, how does that make any sense? 

Staring up at the shadow-filled ceiling of your bedroom, you pull your blanket up to your chin, and rub your pained temple with two fingers. You can't seem to get comfortable, no matter how much you've been tossing and turning in your bed. The living room has been silent. Aki is probably asleep now. Your mind can't seem to stop racing, either, and perhaps that's why you can't catch any sleep. 

The clothes he showed up in were simple. Racking your brain and snuggling into your bed, you bring yourself back to the moment you met him. You recall the discomfort in his expression, the crimson on his palm. The way moonlight framed him with dark hues and fuzzy edges. 

You don't know enough about jewelry to be able to tell if the earrings on his pointed ears are the expensive sort. They're simple, black, and made with smooth metal. You remember seeing a gemstone you couldn't recognize, delicately placed in the center of a hanging star. Now that you're thinking about it, they could be worth more than your life, if you're unlucky. Or maybe they're worth nothing, you suppose. Just the sort of imitations they sell for substantial mark-ups at early morning markets. 

After the mysterious stranger passed out on your doorstep, you dragged him inside and out of the rain. You didn't have a choice in the matter at the time, really. He was already limp and Gods, was he heavy. Setting up the cot and plopping him onto it was the true challenge. 

Miraculously, you found no other major injuries once you inspected him. And thankfully, most of the plant life you collected that day is perfect for healing. 

Thankfully for him, at least. You weren't exactly thrilled to spend your entire stock on someone else. You'll have to put your plans to practice potion-making on hold, you suppose. In any case, he came at just the right time. Thank the Gods for that. 

The gash on his side was as dire as you thought. It was a jagged, clearly painful slice, no doubt made by the trained swipe of a demon's talons, and enough to make you wince when you removed his shirt to examine it. Demons usually aim for the throat, whenever possible. Aki is lucky he managed to throw one of them off its aim. 

You tended to the wound quickly, cleaning it with fresh water, and salving it with herbs. Finally, you wrapped his torso in makeshift bandages, tearing off parts of your cape when you began to run out. 

You rinsed his shirt, scrubbing what stains you could out of the fabric. Upon further inspection, you noticed his hands were covered in scrapes. His fingers are long and thin. Pretty, almost. His palms were calloused, rough to the touch. Dried blood was caked into his skin. Carefully, you scrubbed the blood from his palms and his knuckles, while you tried to keep your gaze from drifting up to his face. A pointless endeavor, in the end. 

His hair fanned out around him, still slightly-damp. His brows were pinched as he slept. Warm firelight danced softly over his features: a sharp jaw, a straight nose, messy bangs. You forced yourself to look away, your face growing hot. You can't get distracted. Before he wakes, you have more important things you need to take care of. 

Once you were all finished patching him up, you leant close to make sure he was still sleeping; his chest rose and fell steadily, he exhaled in slow, calm breaths. Then, you proceeded to rummage through what he had on him. If you couldn't pick his brain yet, your best shot at discerning who he is or what he's after would be to search his belongings — and that you did. 

His pants had no pockets on the back, but two in the front. The left pocket was empty, save for one silver coin. Money means nothing to you, and so you returned it, right where it was. A promise to get out of your hair eventually was the only payment you needed. 

The other pocket, however, did carry something. Something very, very terrible. 

In the right pocket of his trousers, you found a small, gold medallion. It was smooth, circular, with a sparkling blue gem in the middle — reminiscent of the sea, and the color of his eyes. Intricate engravings surrounded the stone: runic text you couldn't quite make out in the low light, and the sun, the moon. Along with a winged dragon, curled around the empty space. 

Your heart sank so deep in your chest you just about let it drown, and that's when you knew you were absolutely doomed. 

This is the kingdom's symbol, the kingdom's royal crest. Commoners and knights are allowed to carry similar motifs, but only someone of great importance would have a medallion with this stone, and these exact symbols. 

Sapphires are only meant to be worn by descendants of royal families. They're priceless. Imitations can rarely capture their luster, although creating them is punishable with prison time — and Gods, with the way this gem sparkles when you hold it close to the fire, your head is practically spinning. 

You hold the medallion in shaky, unsure hands, unable to tear your gaze away. The room begins to twirl around you, and the gem inside shimmers, with a depth unlike anything you've ever seen. As though worlds upon universes are hidden inside it. Your throat feels as dry as a desert, and your heart won't stop hammering. You glance up. None the wiser, the man you've saved is still sleeping peacefully, his features soft, and his lips parted slightly as he lets go of faint, steady breaths. 

Oh, you've really done it this time. Could you have crossed paths with anyone worse? 

Perhaps he's a thief. He could have stolen the medallion, snatched it right out of the pockets of some oblivious royal advisor, and now he's hiding out here to avoid getting caught. As much as you want to believe that, as much as you want to imagine you don't have a man of importance in your cottage right now, that conclusion hardly makes sense. 

This man, a thief? And one skilled enough to steal a royal medallion, of all things? With the way Aki came stumbling into your magic circle and onto your doorstep, you doubt he'd know subtlety if he was hit over the head with it. 

He doesn't talk like how you imagined royalty would — Granted, how does a royal person talk? You always imagined some sort of overly flowery, fancy speech. Like the kind in the books you've read, about places and tales you'd much rather escape to. 

Aki. You've never heard a name quite like his before. Just a few syllables, just a few letters. Kings and princes and squires usually have much fancier names, don't they? The knight in the book you've been reading is named Heinrich Vincent, and the princess is called Miss Edith Violet. Perhaps only the most important people have important names. Or perhaps, those books are just as you assumed they were: fairytales, and nothing more. 

Aki is someone special then, he must be. That's your assumption — it's the only assumption you can come to, despite how the very thought makes your chest ache. He's probably a royal guard, someone with a bit of fighting experience, who thought he could stand a chance against a forest full of devils. Maybe he's some duke's distant cousin. He could be a mere knight, accepted as royalty after he became a princess' suitor. 

Honestly, he could be anything, for all you care. Your magic is what caused him to nearly die out there. It was your spell, your doing that drew the demons together. You, heralding demons with your magic, like you're one of the archmages the history books warn about. 

Your magic. Damn it all. The predicament you've found yourself in is so much worse than you ever could have imagined. 

As the night stretched on and the rain battered your cottage, your more present problem helped to keep your worries at bay. You kept busy, preparing his medicine, and tending to the roaring fireplace. He mumbled in his sleep, occasionally. It wasn't really anything of note, merely fragmented sentences that barely made sense. Mumbled swears and slurred, barely-there apologies to no-one in particular. 

When the man awakened, you held your resolve. You ignored the skip in your heart when his soft eyes met yours. You kept your unpracticed voice from wavering, and didn't shy away from any conversations. 

It's been a very long time since you've heard someone else talk, especially this much. Those knights from ages ago only spared you a moment and a handful of words. Your own voice is comfortable, a melody your ears would gladly be wrapped in. You hate this, though. You despise the way you sound when your tone is threatening to wobble. The lump in your throat is all his fault; you can't think when he's speaking to you, can't focus on anything but the firelight as it flickers over his face. 

And Aki's voice is smooth. Ridiculously smooth. He sounds assured when he speaks, his tone deep, words careful. You can't help but be hung onto everything he says to you, your spine tingling and your heart racing. It's strange, to hear a voice besides your own for once, and to have someone else filling the empty space in your quiet little cottage. 

Aki's voice holds the ocean, every word plunging you into deeper depths, until he has warm waves rolling gently over your shoulders. Heat and exhilaration engulf you whole at the simplest of sentiments. Thinking to yourself, you toss and turn again, your worn, wooden bed creaking slightly from your movement. Even now, you can't help but think of him. You picture his voice, quiet and calm. You imagine the soft smiles he gave you, and your veins surge with a feeling you can't possibly describe. 

You could listen to him speak forever. But Aki and forever are two luxuries you aren't afforded. 

If he ever discovers who you are or what you've done, you won't even get a trial. He would hate you. You could never be allies, not with the secrets you hold. Not when he is royal, and you are a witch. 

A man with such important ties to the kingdom, royalty or not, could make your fate whatever he wished. They'd schedule your execution for the very next morning, surely. The sooner you're disposed of, the better it is for the land. Hundreds would crowd the square to gawk at the witch a nobleman captured. Your poor mother would be frowning upon you from the heavens, as she watched her only child suffer her same fate. 

Even as your eyes met those of your executioner, your hands tied behind your back with your wrists rubbed raw from the rope, and your head rested over a thick piece of wood, you wouldn't fight back. None of them would see an ounce of your magic, for better, or for worse. It would die with you, and everything would be your fault. You should have been more careful. Less kind. 

Would Aki want to dispose of you himself? Could he be the one to bring his blade down on your neck? Would his normally-gentle expression be contorted in disgust, guilt, or conviction, as he whispered a deathly quiet I'm sorry to you, before his hands tightened on the hilt? 

You aren't sure, nor do you want to know. If he ever proves dangerous, in order to survive, you would have to take matters into your own hands. He seems to trust you now, but if you became enemies, if you were ever forced to —

Aki's soft, slight smile drifts through your mind right then. In your dark bedroom, you can't help but groan, and cover your face with your hands. 

No, you couldn't, you wouldn't. And it isn't just because it's him. It isn't simply because Aki is inexplicably kind and intriguing and the first person to speak with you in years. When you imagine him discovering the truth, learning who you are and deciding he hates you, a metaphorical knife twists into your gut. You'd rather he just take you to the kingdom and have you dealt with there, because even with your life on the line, you know you couldn't hurt him. 

This man could very well lead you to your end. So why, why did you tell him to stay? 

Death has always scared you, always haunted you. You've heard the stories they tell of mages, tales painting them as wicked beings who crush those who stand in their way under their feet. You want to be better. Pin you as soft, weak, or everything in between, you hardly care. Magic was meant to help, not harm. One day, perhaps far after your lifetime, magic and death won't walk hand in hand. One day, you hope you might be free. 

And Aki — he would have died without you, you're sure of it. He might not be an adventurer, but you can buy that he's an experienced fighter. His body is covered in scars, in slashes left by devil claws or teeth. His palms are rough and calloused, which would make sense if he often wields a sword. He claimed to be a devil hunter, and when he spoke, the clearest sense of desperation present in his voice, you couldn't help but believe him. 

You are a mage. A terrible, less than human blight, according to those in the kingdom. And Aki might be royalty. If you ever wound up following him to the city like he offered, you could be punished for even laying a single finger on him. 

But were you just supposed to let him perish? 

When you stood frozen in place at your door, clutching your heart as thunder broke through the night sky above, you were reminded of the kingdom. Of the death you witnessed there: the deaths of strangers, your acquaintances, your family. Your mind whirled with the image of the man you saw through the door's peephole. Chest heaving, blood dripping over his fingers; dull crimson, like the blade of an executioner's sword. 

You've seen the way one looks when light is slipping from their eyes, with no hope left of clinging onto it. You imagined the sapphire spark to Aki's eyes fading into nothingness; crushed, and crumpling. Right then, your mind must have made itself up. 

Aki doesn't deserve to die. Royalty be damned, he doesn't deserve to be eaten by those demons, left behind in an endless forest, afraid and alone. Trusting him here might wind up as the worst, most regrettable decision you've ever made. And yet, he has already trusted you with his life, hasn't he? 

Your heart just needs to take the first, fatal step. Perhaps you need to let yourself trust. 

Fucking hell. You need to stop your incessant thinking and let yourself sleep, that's what. Honestly, you've never felt this stressed in your entire life. How in the world are you supposed to handle this? Handle him? 

He won't discover you're a mage, you'll make certain of that. You can't afford to be naive, no matter how you might be feeling. It doesn't matter how fast your heart is pounding right now as you lie in bed, sleepless, unable to keep your steady stream of thoughts from flowing back to him. Simply put, it's your fault he's in this mess in the first place — and you're going to be the one to fix it. 

With a few small adjustments, you can make sure all of the magical items in your cottage are properly hidden away. You could heal him faster, if you were allowed to use magic. A potion would have him feeling better in no time, a healing spell could seal his wound almost immediately. Though, obviously, you'll have to work with the old ways for now. You'll need to make sure you're waking up early tomorrow to gather the necessary materials. 

His wound will need to be tended to frequently, to keep it from getting infected. You'll prepare a concoction of herbs for him to take twice a day, and that'll help to keep his energy up. Rest will be important too, of course. There's plenty of normal, boring books strewn around your cottage, if he needs something to put him to sleep. As long as everything goes to plan, he should be fine to leave in a couple of days. 

Right. Just a few days, and he'll be gone. The stranger you met by chance, who you saved on purpose, will fade into the forest until he becomes a fuzzy, unimportant blip in your memory. 

Somehow, the thought doesn't fill you with the relief you would've expected. 

In your cupboard, you still have some white-hazel left. Normally, the small, thin-petaled flowers don't grow during this time of year. You've decided to start keeping some extras as of late, just in case. White-hazel makes the mind foggy. The dried petals have to be sealed carefully in a jar, because the smell alone can get into your head. You would use small batches of it to ward away demons, before your distraction spells were perfected. 

You doubt you'll ever be able to forget him. However, with a potent enough dosage, if you gave Aki some of those petals, you could erase every memory he has of you. 

You'll allow him to stay, just long enough so he can recover. Once he's healthy, you'll send him on his way with a filled flask — a potion, infused with a hint of your magic. He'd only need to take a sip or two. Then, everything up until the moment he entered the forest would be lost. He wouldn't remember you, or your cottage, or the pain the demons brought upon him. It's better this way, really. 

In the meantime, you must avoid growing closer to him. Revealing even the smallest of details could put you at risk, before you have the chance to make good on your plan. He doesn't have to know your name. Nor anything about you. 

Aki is nothing more than a stranger, an unlucky coincidence, an empty promise. Ultimately, he will stay that way. 

When you eventually drift off to sleep, it isn't until hours later. Your heart stays tied up in knots, and you dream of nothing but a cold, shuddering darkness. 

— 

One thing's for sure, if Aki is a man of royal blood, he certainly doesn't act like it. 

He isn't… uncouth, as a fancy nobleman might call it. Actually, he's pretty damn polite. He always keeps his space in the living room tidy. His voice is gentle when he speaks to you, dripping with a thick sense of kindness you aren't at all used to. In the few days since he first started staying with you, he's been nothing but patient and respectful.

He's kept to resting, mostly. After the first night, you managed to move all of your spellbooks and magical items to your bedroom. By the second, you had properly concealed everything behind magic that should be impossible to detect. Although you weren't about to give him a reason, you finally made sure to mention he should continue sleeping in the living room, and avoid entering your bedroom under any circumstances. 

When you told him this morning, Aki didn't question it. He flashed you a slightly amused look, while he tugged on the laces of his boots to tighten them, and plainly, he answered, Of course. It's your bedroom, obviously I wouldn't go in. Do you take me as rude? 

Huh. No, he's far from rude, even though you never wound up formulating a response. He doesn't complain about the bitter herbs you have him take. He barely winces or grumbles while you tend to his wound, rewrapping his bandages. 

Sometimes you'd find him pacing around the living room to stretch his sore legs, but otherwise, he's been getting plenty of rest in his cot — just as you'd instructed. He's so quiet some days, if you're reading or tidying things in your bedroom, you'll tend to forget he's even there. Aki is different from what you were expecting, that's all. 

He's a good sort of different, though. Maybe it's your fault, for having such silly expectations in the first place. You thought people from the kingdom — especially people of royalty — were supposed to be stuck-up, selfish, boring. Overly-posh, and with nothing interesting to talk about besides themselves. 

You admired those from the castle when you were younger. You wanted to be noticed by them, or maybe you wanted to be them. Now, you can only imagine royalty as bland and heartless. They spend their days cooped up in their castles, tending to dull affairs. And for their nights, they attend such fancy dinners and parties, while the commoners in the kingdom are left to rot. 

Aki serves to defy all of those expectations. 

Granted, the moments you've spent together since the night you first took him in have been few and far between. He didn't seem to notice how you initially avoided him, and he didn't protest when you'd leave for the entire day to forage. He doesn't comment whenever you stow away, the door to your bedroom shut tight, while you keep to yourself for hours at a time. It's difficult to find words whenever he's near. You get choked up inside, your heart pounds in your ears like that of a frightened rabbit, and you aren't sure if it's because of the lingering fear, or perhaps the proximity. 

Tending to his wound shouldn't be the event your overthinking brain makes it out to be, but Aki sits so close, closer than anyone else has ever been. You can hear the echoes of his breathing, can feel his soft and scarred skin underneath your fingertips. His muscles tense as you press gently to the sore scrape on his side. 

Can he hear the quickened edge to your breathing, too? You wonder if Aki knows he's already killing you from the inside; no-one has ever trusted you like this, just as you've never trusted another. It's relieving to know your foolishness is mutual. 

Your conversations while you're patching him up are pleasant, albeit brief. They're space and silence fillers. Still, it's the only time where you truly get to talk to him. Where you can exchange more than a couple of words, at least. You know you only have yourself to blame, but you don't want him to realize you know more than you're letting on. You try to keep your time together and your questions to a minimum. 

Aki explains that although he's found himself in plenty of scuffles with devils before, he hasn't been wounded like this in quite a long while. Weaker devils rarely faze him, but this time, he was distracted. It'll be relieving to finally recover, he says. He wants to be able to move, to fight again. He's been growing a little stir-crazy here, apparently. 

In a hurry to leave, are you? You mumbled, while you carefully pressed a damp rag to his skin, your gaze focused on the task. The fireplace crackled from beside you, warming your limbs and chasing away the cold chill of the night. You miss the kingdom that much? 

I don't miss it at all. Aki answered, not missing a beat. He shivered from the coolness of the cloth, a fire-lit glow pooling over his slightly-tanned skin. I just feel like I could be more useful. I'm not accustomed to… to this. You're the first person I've ever owed my life to. The sooner I recover, the sooner I can begin finding some way to repay you. 

You wanted to reassure him repayment won't be necessary. In the end, you held your tongue. 

Aki continued, and with nothing else to fill the air, you listened. He's quite a good story-teller, in your opinion. As your fingers curiously felt the ridges of another deep scar on his stomach, Aki recounted the tale behind it: he was far from the city. Miles and miles, in fact. The devil he encountered was three times his size. It had a body made of bone, with a wolf-like, hollow skull, illuminated only by red eyes that shone like glowing, flickering flames. 

And you defeated it? You hum in slight disbelief, a brow raised; this time, you're looking up at him, bandages held loosely in your hands. All by yourself? 

Yes, all by myself, Aki answers, tone smooth and unflinching. His expression can't be read, but you swear you catch a hint of a barely-there smile on his lips. 

Defeating it was the easy part, He says, pointing to the jagged scar, Save for the blow it landed right here. I followed its trail into the mountains, and by the time I tracked it down, I was utterly lost. I slept out there for three days before I finally found my way back to the closest town. I showed up exhausted, hungry, and covered in every kind of scrape and bruise you can picture. 

You smooth out his bandages and secure them with a tight knot. Sounds like how we met. 

Yeah. Those townspeople weren't as kind as you are, though. They fed me river snails. 

Right then, you can't stop yourself from laughing. You're chuckling through your words — he sounded so damn serious — and you're gazing up at him with a rather playful grin. 

Snails? You question, Did they taste disgusting? 

Aki is smirking slightly, a potent spark burning in the back of his sapphire eyes. They were awful. Way worse than any medicine you could ever give me. I guess the people there thought the snails had healing properties- It took me a whole week to recover, by the way. And the inns were out of rooms, so can you guess where they had me stay? 

I'm not sure. Where? 

A brothel. 

When you freeze, your eyes going as wide as a full moon, Aki clears his throat, and he nervously glances between you and the fireplace. It was uneventful. Very, very uneventful. Definitely nothing like what you must be imagining- sorry. We should save the rest of those stories for another day. Right? 

You remember rolling your eyes, before you breathed an amused exhale, and proclaimed that yes, it certainly sounds like a stupid story, but you would like that. 

The logical side of you says you probably shouldn't. Aki isn't your ally, nor could he ever be your friend. Looking forward to the few moments you spend together is pointless, when the both of you will be forced to forget them in a few day's time. 

Aki's experiences are enthralling. His voice is like a damn vice, lulling you into getting lost in him. You haven't been anywhere but the kingdom many ages ago and this forest. But Aki has seen towns, oceans, and mountains. In pursuit of the devils he's set out to slay, he's been to places you could only dream of. He is a dream you cannot have, a friend you must not make. 

As the days stretch on and on, and as your forgotten dreams meld with the intricate stories Aki recounts for you, those little talks seem to stick inside your mind. 

If only things were different. If only you weren't you, and he wasn't what you know him to be. A man of royalty, conversing with a witch. 

Darkness will always be ruined by light. 

For now though, you have to focus on the present. Aki has been healing well from his injury. In only a few days, he's recovered most of his energy. Although he still needs a bit more time before he can put a true amount of strain on himself, he's fine to walk, at least. Fine to leave the cottage, as long as he isn't wandering far. 

And he's well enough that he can finally join you, as you venture into the depths of the forest to search for the belongings he left behind. 

— 

"Do you think my bag is still out here?" 

Staring down at your feet, you breathe a light tsk at that, and you kick a pebble with your next step forwards to send it skittering in front of you. "Possibly. Demons don't tend to mess with human junk. What did you have in there?" 

Aki hums in thought, his brows pinching. He attempts to count by using his fingers. "I had a notebook, a pen, some ink, some gold… some clothes, I think. Nothing too important." 

"If they got into your bag, maybe they'd take the coins," You answer methodically, "But otherwise, everything should be right where you left it. Keep an eye out, and let me know if anything starts looking familiar." 

The bright rays of the sun warm your bare skin, shining onto your arms and shimmering over the rippling, shallow water. You've been following the river's edge for a while now, walking along the path it creates while occasionally veering closer to the forest to look around. Aki couldn't recall exactly where he was attacked; not that you can blame him. That night was dark, stormy, and either way, every tree and bush and field of grass looks exactly the same. However, he did remember hearing the babble of the river nearby. Following it gives you the best chance of finding his things, you suppose. 

Today, the sky is bright blue and cloudless. Gravel crunches under your boots. The river laps at the rocks, and morning songbirds chirp from the distant trees. With your hands shoved in your pants pockets, and your gaze focused on your feet, you make sure to take careful steps over fallen logs and twisted roots. Aki keeps pace beside you, following you more than he's following the river. 

His hair is half-tied up like the day you met him, showing off his delicate earrings and pointed ears. He looks much different in the sunlight. More handsome, surely, spotted rays shining through the forest's canopy to paint amber patterns across his skin. The sleeves of his tunic have been rolled up to expose his scarred forearms. 

He keeps a healthy level of distance from you, not straying too far or walking too close. He's glancing between the path ahead, the forest, and sometimes to you. You're glad. If he was any closer, you doubt you'd be able to keep your thoughts clear. 

Demons — or devils, as he calls them — are few in number during the early morning hours, so you made sure to leave with Aki just after dawn. By now, you likely have two or three hours at most, before the devils start appearing from their dens. 

You're already halfway along the river's trail. You should be able to finish searching, and you'll have plenty of time to head back to the cottage. You'll plan to collect some herbs and mushrooms on the way back. That way, locating Aki's belongings or not, this trip won't end up a total bust. 

You'll find his things though, hopefully. This side of the forest was where you placed your distraction rune. 

Aki has to walk a bit slower than you. Clearly, he's trying not to let the pain still left in his side show; he doesn't wince or falter much from the pace you've set. Although you don't mind, you aren't used to having to wait for someone else to catch up. You fall into a rhythm of skipping ahead, hopping over stones, and then stopping once you get a short way in front of him. Aki gives you an entertained look when you wait, turning back to glance at him. You decide to deliberately slow down to keep yourself at his side, and you try to ignore the heat you feel budding at the back of your neck. 

The sun's warmth is calming. It shines sparsely through the trees, evoking a heavy feeling in your veins when it hits your skin. If it wasn't for Aki walking so close beside you, you'd probably have fallen asleep standing up. You roll your shoulders backward, and stretch your arms to the sky. Then, you yawn, trying to blink away the fuzziness in your vision. To no avail, unfortunately. 

"Tired?" Aki pipes up. You hadn't noticed he was looking at you until his voice startled you awake. 

You rub your eyes, shrugging. "Kind of. But I'll be fine." 

If you instead were honest with him, with yourself, you are very tired. Your head feels weighed down by thick stones, as large and cumbersome as the ones in the river bed. Your limbs feel weaker and more sluggish than usual, as though they're actively working against you. Since Aki started staying in your cottage, you haven't slept well at all. Last night, you kept tossing and turning, thinking just to think some more. Your mind won't keep steady. 

You hate not knowing exactly what you're supposed to do. You hate that you can't figure him out, no matter how much you think or try to pry information from him. Your messy plan could go awry a thousand different ways because of a thousand different things and — 

Aki is still staring at you. Blinking, you turn away, hoping he didn't notice you zoning out. 

"You sure?" Aki asks, a brow raised. Okay, he totally noticed. "That's probably the fourth or fifth time you've yawned in the past five minutes. We can take a break, if you'd like. I wouldn't mind pushing our search back to tomorrow." 

"I'm okay, really," You scoff. You kick another pebble, and watch as it flies into the river, pushed by the current for a bit before it slowly sinks to the bottom. "Let's just hurry. The sooner we get out of here, the sooner we'll be safe from demons." 

For a couple of moments, you both fall into silence. The only sound to echo between you is your boots crunching the gravel. But still, Aki's gaze is on you: astute and sparkling. Even though you're staring at your shoes, you can clearly see him glancing at you from the corner of your eye, his mouth pressed into a focused line. He's pondering. Was it something you said? 

You didn't mess up, did you? 

Aki breathes a small hmm, and he calmly concludes, "You aren't familiar with devils, are you?" 

Suddenly, you're stopping in your tracks. Aki freezes beside you. His expression is unreadable as you turn to face him, giving him a particularly annoyed look. 

"What makes you say that?" You retort, hardly trying to hide the bit of harshness laced through your tone. You've been fighting the stupid creatures for almost your entire life, of course you're knowledgeable about them. Knowledgeable enough, at least. 

"Well, you call them demons," Aki replies, sounding indifferent. "Pretty sure my great grandparents were the last ones to call them that." 

"It's the same thing." You turn back to following the river, and continue walking while you speak. "I've survived out here for as long as I have, with demons lurking in every inch of this forest. And you think I know nothing of them?" 

Demons. You couldn't recall what your parents might've called them, or what those in the kingdom knew them as. During your earliest days in the forest, you remember summoning a book on, to quote the book's title: Formidable Demons and Magical Creatures. The book must have been centuries old. At the time, you didn't have enough experience to decipher it. You flipped through the pages and memorized the illustrations of "known demons", before tucking the tome away on your shelf, to be read at a later date. 

Damn. You have plenty of first-hand experience, but if most of your knowledge is sourced from some dusty old book you never actually wound up finishing, maybe he's right. 

"Sorry, I didn't mean it that way," He apologizes, speeding up a bit so he can continue walking beside you. "I'm not knocking how resourceful you are, it's impressive. Perhaps I should have worded it differently. You're familiar with devils, yes. But I think your perspective of them might be much different from mine." 

Your eyes narrow. Thinking, you cross your arms in front of you, and your gaze drifts back to the path ahead. 

"Okay, so," You start, your words a bit less assured this time, "I know demons- devils- come in multiple forms. They feed off of fear, they're always carnivores, and they can only be slain, they'll never die of old age. There. Promise you'll cut me some slack if I missed anything." 

"Don't worry," Aki hums, "That was perfect. Devils grow stronger in the presence of fear. I'm sure you already know as much. They become drawn to the fear people have for them, like a moth to firelight." 

When you find yourself absently glancing back towards Aki, your eyes wind up meeting his own. Holding his gaze feels soft, as though you're falling into clouds. You examine the distinct, pointed shape of his ears. His earrings shimmer once they catch the sunlight, and sway slightly with each of his steps. 

"Correct me if this isn't right, but I've heard demons love elves." Your brows form the slightest pinch. "Supposedly, their blood is ripe with magic." 

Aki laughs. "Those stories about elves are just tales. My blood is no more delicious than yours. And either way, even if it was true, I'd wager devils haven't done a very good job at making me their prey." 

"Makes sense. I guess those creatures don't care whose blood they're spilling, as long as they can get their fix of it." 

"What else do you think of them?" Aki asks, his head tilted slightly in your direction. "Of devils, I mean." 

You fall silent. Cautiously, carefully, you attempt to figure out what sort of answer Aki is wanting to hear. 

The oldest tales, just as old as the ones you once read about elves and kings and long-gone magical creatures, say devils were born jealous of humanity. They envied the magic humans were capable of using — and so, they sought to extinguish it. Your current understanding would tell you devils don't care for magic, or humanity, or jealousy. All they desire is destruction, for common folk and mages alike. 

The relationship between humanity and devils is reciprocal. Humans and elves are the only ones capable of destroying devils, but devils need people in order to grow stronger. Devils need their fear, their torment. Weaker devils will go after whatever they're capable of hunting, but intelligent devils know how to bend people to their advantage. They excel at manipulation. And as senseless as it might seem, devils do possess plenty of things humanity does not. 

You fiddle with the straps of your backpack, running your thumbs over the smooth leather and gold buckles. In response, you can only think to offer the most simple, obvious of statements. 

"I think anyone who chooses to make a deal with a devil is a fool." 

Aki goes quiet. Then, he grins, and breathes something of a half-laugh, half-sigh. The gentle sound does well to put you at ease. 

"Yeah," He replies, "Foolish, greedy, or desperate. Or perhaps all three. Careful-" 

Nearly tripping, you stop when he does. You almost walked right into a large log, where the river bends and breaks upon the mossy wood blocking its way. Aki briefly extends his hand out for you to take, but you hop over without his help, taking a large step over the log before returning your hands to your pockets. 

He's making that same endearing, pondering face again. 

"You've probably already heard this story, but," He begins, speaking while you both walk, "They say devils came into existence the day the elves cast their first spell. Mankind was impure. The Gods made devils our punishment for casting magic ripe with impurities. When elves first discovered healing spells, devils began to appear with the ability to heal themselves of any attack inflicted upon them. Humanity discovered fire magic. Then came devils with fire-drenched skin. Their bodies melted metal, and they scorched the ground they touched, leaving an ashen trail in their wake." 

You like the way Aki tells stories. He recounts them in such a deliberate way, as though he's reading directly from one of your fairytale books. This story is grim, and certainly one you've heard before. Yet, you can't stop the smile that begins to tug at your cheeks. 

"Mhmm. And then, the devils slaughtered everyone and left the world in ruin," You tease, glancing towards him playfully, your hands at your hips. "Do you enjoy scaring children with that old story?" 

"Occasionally. My version of it usually ends with humanity defeating the devils, though. You know, happy endings and such." 

"Right. A happy ending sounds nice. Don't want to scare them too much." 

Aki hums in agreement. "We could have one- a happy ending. That story isn't over yet." 

His story, or yours? 

You swallow, thickly and heavily. The trees above you whisper in the slight wind, and the river babbles, flowing steadily downstream. You try to keep your focus on the path ahead of you, instead of Aki walking beside you. 

"It's just a story," You assert. "Maybe magic was the source of demons a thousand odd years ago, but it hardly matters now." 

Aki's mouth forms the faintest pout, and he glances down at his shoes. "I'm sure it isn't much of a surprise, but I've never actually seen magic." 

"You probably never will," You answer, your voice turning somber, resolute. "People believe magic and mages to be dangerous. As long as they continue to think anyone capable of casting magic is a devil themselves, you won't even hear an utterance of the word." 

"Do you agree with them?" Aki asks flippantly, a brow raised. 

"Huh? What do you mean?" 

"Do you think mages are dangerous?" 

Out of everything he could have said, everything he could have possibly mentioned, why would Aki ask you such a question? 

Right then, you're sure your heart must have defied gravity and reason to drop directly into your throat. You nearly choke. Your spine prickles, unease running rampant through your system. You aren't sure how you manage to come up with any words in the first place, but somehow, you decide to talk without thinking. 

Your shoulders feel tense. "Obviously. Magic could be used to level a city, to mind control a king, to win any war. Or to start one, for that matter." 

Aki hums. For once, his smooth, persistently calm voice grows close to getting on your nerves. "It's difficult. Magic has already done so much harm, but it could do just as much good. When I think of mages, I just see… people. People who want to survive. They aren't monsters or devils." 

You stop in front of him, and he stops with you. Aki's head tilts slightly. As though he knows you want to speak, he's just waiting for it. 

"You know," You're starting, brows pinched, arms crossed, "Those sorts of statements could get you strung up for heresy." 

"Good thing we're far from the city then, right?" 

Nearly, in a hazy mix of confusion and exhaustion and fear and admiration, you almost form a rebuttal. Your arms drop to your sides, and your hands become clenched into fists. Your lips part slightly, to say something your mind hasn't quite decided on yet, just to close at the tightening of your jaw. He's messing with you. He must be. 

Mages aren't people — You aren't like him, you are fundamentally different. Surely, he knows what mages truly are as well as you do. You were born with a spark in your veins and a fire at your fingertips. Humanity, and perhaps the Gods themselves are afraid of you. No-one can stomach you but yourself. Aki is but a man; a foolish, stupid mortal. And you were promised a cage. 

Aki's gaze on yours appears to soften, his arms crossed loosely, his gaze flickering from the conflict on your face to your stiffened posture. Nervously rubbing your arm with your palm, you can't meet his eyes anymore; you can only look away. Your vision chooses to focus elsewhere, on anything but him. Fortunately, just beyond where Aki is standing in front of you, if you squint, you can spot something at the edge of the trees. A leather bag, partially torn open, resting in a patch of grass and tiny flowers. 

"Hey, is that your stuff?" 

Aki's eyes widen, before he turns to look in the direction you've started pointing towards. 

"Well, shit." 

— 

The scene surrounding where Aki's bag lay discarded is true to what he previously described to you. 

As you approach, and as Aki kneels down to gather his things, you glance around the area. You find his sword amongst the grass a foot or so away, steel separated from hilt, the blade tainted with dull blood-stains. The steel is chipped — from gradual wear or from a devil's fangs, you aren't quite sure. His bag is crumpled. A medium-sized hole has been torn into the side, certainly made from a devil's sharp teeth. For now, you slide your pack from your shoulders, and allow him to put his belongings inside. 

There's no gold in his backpack, nor could he find any in the grass surrounding it, of course. There is, however, some rations, a spare tunic, a quill pen, and a notebook — still in his bag, so thankfully, the pages were kept dry from the rain. 

Aki fussed over losing a jar of ink, but you assured him it wouldn't be a problem. It'd be best to head into the woods anyways, to find herbs for him and food for the both of you. Black Dragon flowers are common in this area, and when crushed up, they can be used to make ink. If either of you could find a few blossoms, you'd be glad to make some for him. 

"In return," You said, as Aki rose to his feet, matching your gaze with a curious one, "See if you can find me some wood. A few branches might've fallen during the storm. I need something thick and sturdy. About this," You gesture with your hands — "Big." 

"Ah." He dusts the dirt from his knees with his palms, and hands your pack back to you when you reach out for it. "For firewood?" 

"No, silly. We have plenty. It's for carving." 

Aki smiles, perhaps considering, or perhaps recalling the little sculptures made from wood that are strewn throughout the shelves in your cottage. "Right. Deal." 

With a plan now in mind, you crammed what remained of Aki's bag into your own pack — to use for scrap material — and you ventured through the trees, and into the forest. 

It's much easier to keep your mind from wandering with a task to occupy you. Gathering some mushrooms for eating and finding the flowers you mentioned doesn't take too long. Together, you and Aki head a short ways into the forest, staying careful to keep far from where the devils often make their dens. This area is relatively safe regardless, but it's still good to be on your guard. You let yourself forget about your previous conversations, while you quietly show Aki the difference between the herbs he needs and the fauna he shouldn't touch. 

You don't talk much, only a few words at most, until you're busy gathering the last of what you need. 

Aki comes over, a smooth piece of wood held in his hands. Rested on your knees, you grab the stems of a handful of herbs, and swiftly tug to pull their roots from the ground. You glance up at him as he leans down to hand the wood to you. The canopy of trees is much thicker here. Shadows dance across his face, his arms, his palms and his clothes — still dusted with dirt from searching through undergrowth with you. 

Hardly befitting of royalty, isn't it? Isn't he? 

You smile to yourself, and chase away the thought. 

"Will this do?" Aki asks, turning the piece of wood over, while he runs his fingertips along its rough surface. "It's the best I've found so far." 

"Mhmm, that's perfect. Thank you." You take it from him, and reach for your pack beside you, flipping it open to stuff the wood inside. There's little space left, but eventually, you're able to fit it carefully beside a few small pouches of mushrooms and herbs. 

Aki stands. He hesitates, before he sheepishly rubs the back of his neck with his palm. "This… might be a stupid question. But it's still okay that I'm staying with you, right?" 

"Of course it is- It's fine." You shrug, your focus kept on the foliage. With more carefulness, you gather a few of the thickest leaves. They'll be good for sealing his wound, for guiding it to fully heal. "Why? You want to leave that badly, huh?" 

Aki tucks his hands into his pants pockets. "I don't want to intrude. That's all." 

"I already told you, you're staying until you get better. No protests." Your tone seems to carry a familiar lilt of annoyance, but to his surprise, when you stuff a bundle of herbs into your pack and glance up at him once you're finished, your gaze is warm. You're donning the slightest, softest smile. 

"And just so you know," You mutter, glancing between him and your backpack as you snap it's buckle shut, "Your company isn't unpleasant." 

"Huh." Aki breathes a light-hearted huff. "Is that a compliment?" 

"Partially." 

Glancing away, looking towards the forest, he can't help but mimic your smile — shyly, almost. It's stupidly endearing. You hate how endearing he is. 

"Your company isn't unpleasant either. I mean-" He stammers, "It's nice. I enjoy talking with you. I was thinking, if you'd like, when we get back, I could-" 

Still staring into the trees just beyond you, Aki stops. An abrupt, nerve-wracking pause follows, long enough and silent enough to have your gaze flickering over him. His jaw is set. His eyes are wide, his face is slightly panicked. You swallow, freezing up. Slowly, without moving a muscle, you follow where Aki is looking — just in time to see the bushes a fair distance in front of you rustle. 

The trees sway, whispering dark promises as the wind picks up, a sharp breeze gliding over your bare skin. It's probably nothing. No, it's surely nothing. The chance of a demon- a devil- traveling all the way out to this side of the forest without outside influence is slim. You know this, and yet — 

You're fine. You have to convince yourself, you need to remember that no matter what, you're going to be perfectly fine. If it is a devil, the most important thing is to keep your cool. Level your head and breathe deeply, just as you've learned and practiced, like the books you read have instructed. In, and then out. You need to breathe. 

It's fine. It might not detect you if you're able to stay calm. Perhaps you're panicking for no reason. You're exhausted, you're seeing things. Your weary mind is playing cruel tricks on you. The longer your stare lingers on those thick, rustling bushes and shadow-filled trees, the more your breath sharpens, the stronger your heart begins to thump — Fuck, why can't you just stay calm? 

Stay calm, stay calm. This is stupid, you're acting stupid. There's nothing, there has to be nothing; no danger, no devil waiting to attack and tear the both of you in two. You won't need to defend yourself, you won't have to blow your cover. What if he already knows? With the way he brought up mages earlier, maybe he's going to run and leave you to be ambushed, maybe he planned this, maybe — 

A gentle palm is placed on your shoulder, and you practically jump out of your own skin. 

You whip around to look at the man you nearly forgot was even there; Aki eyes you with concern, never tearing his gaze from you as you scramble to unsteady feet. Standing close beside him, closer than you should be, you're focused on the forest again. Stress is present in your features, while an obvious shake lingers in your limbs. 

"Aki-" You mumble, speaking on the edge of an anxiety-ridden whisper, "We need- Shouldn't we-" 

"We're fine," Aki answers calmly, quietly. He reaches for your hand, and he grabs it softly. His palm brushes your knuckles. His fingers caress your skin as he squeezes faintly, and your heart pounds so hard it displaces your ribs. "Look." 

He points, and you allow your hazy vision to come back into focus. Through the trees, approaching cautiously while hopping among the shadows, you spot the thin legs, patterned coat, and small horns of a baby Great Elk. 

Aki hums, "I've never seen a baby one before." He murmurs low enough for only you to hear, in pleasant disbelief. "They never get this close. Sorry, are you-" 

Suddenly, as he is turning towards you, you're pushing away, and yanking your hand away from his. 

"I'm fine," You answer, taking a few steps back. At the sound of your voice, no longer hushed, the baby elk runs, scampering back into the trees. Aki watches uselessly as you retrieve your backpack and sling it over your shoulders. "Let's just go."

Your voice is unsteady. Your gaze is focused on your shoes. You clutch the front of your cape, the space closest to your heart, and you press one hand to the back of the other. Idly, your palm runs over the shape of your own knuckles, as your teeth nervously find your bottom lip. 

You understand what it feels like to let fire dance in your palms, to have spell-spawned sparks flickering underneath your skin. This is far worse. The hand Aki touched feels as though it's burning. 

"I'm sorry," He murmurs, "For a second, I really thought it was-" 

"I said, let's go." 

You're already turning, walking in a direction he'd never recall if you left him to be lost out here, and so Aki has no choice but to follow. 

He sighs defeatedly. "Okay. That's alright. We can go." 

As you and Aki walk back to your cottage, you make your way there with the most distance that's ever been between you. 

— 

"Hold still." 

"Shit- Sorry. I'm trying." 

Aki flinches as you carefully press a cool, damp cloth to his side. Squinting, using the dim light from the fireplace and the flickering candles to illuminate your task, you focus on cleaning what remains of his wound. 

These past few days, although still a bit sore, it hasn't been bleeding much. What was once a large, gnarled gash has healed into a faint, red scrape. It probably won't leave much of a scar after all. He has your medicine to thank for his quick recovery. You weren't sure how the wound might fare after he spent the day traveling through the forest with you, but aside from a hint of discomfort, he seems relatively healthy. Still energized, even. After setting the rag aside, you grab a handful of fresh bandages, which you made from the scraps of his old, stained tunic. 

"It's healed well," You comment plainly. You and Aki are sitting on the wooden floor, cross-legged, close to the fireplace. Close in proximity. The persistent heat of the fire flutters across your arms and your back, chasing away the cool night air. 

Reaching into a wooden bowl, you use two fingers to smear a thick herbal mixture onto the inside of the bandages. Then, you swiftly begin to wrap them around his bare torso, taking note of the way his muscles flex. 

You breathe a low, inquisitive hum. "Still seems tender, though." 

"It is. A bit." Aki supports his weight with his palms, leaning back to give you more room. Firelight curves over his chest, his shoulders, his collarbones. "But I'm doing alright, thanks to you. I'm sure I'll be fully healed soon." 

And soon, he'll be leaving. 

You try not to think about it as you focus on the precise movements of your hands. There's far too many stressful things you still need to mull over, and now isn't the time. 

Wrapping his bandages is a careful, but quick process; at this point, you're used to it. Aki keeps as motionless as he can manage while you tie the bandages off to keep them in place. You collect the wooden bowl in one hand, before promptly rising to your feet. He watches you snatch his spare tunic from where it hangs over the edge of his cot. He catches it once you toss it at him. 

"I'm going to make dinner," You remark, "Stew probably, same as last time." Already, you're turning on your heels, heading into the kitchen. You set the wooden bowl aside, and Aki scrambles to pull his shirt over his head. 

"Wait-"

He's rushing to come stand beside you, still straightening his tunic and fitting his arms through the sleeves, while you're plopping your backpack onto the counter. Aki reaches back, fixing his hair and pulling it from beneath his neckline. Busy focusing on opening your backpack, you give him a raised brow, a perplexed side-glance. 

"Let's make it together," Aki says — and with how ridiculous his preposition sounds, with how unheard of it is to you, you can't help but laugh. 

"That isn't necessary." You shrug, and turn back to your bag. You root around inside for a moment, before you find a small leather pouch, containing several bonnet-shaped mushrooms. 

"I know," Aki replies; he's already reaching into your cupboards, wasting no time finding a couple of bowls and a cutting board. His mind has been made, apparently. "I want to make it with you, though. Can you teach me?" 

Your eyes narrow. Your hands are shuddery as you pull the pouch open, briefly counting the mushrooms inside. Inevitably, you breathe a heavy sigh, your shoulders slumping from the weight of it. Aki sets the cutting board down, his gaze flickering over you, and you dump the mushrooms out onto the counter in front of him. 

"Chop these up into small pieces. Knives are in the drawer to your right." 

He doesn't need to be told twice. 

Silence falls upon the kitchen as you and Aki prepare dinner together, side by side. His knife — your knife — echoes rhythmically against the wooden cutting board as he carefully chops mushroom after mushroom. You grind herbs to use for seasoning with a mortar and pestle. The fireplace crackles, and your foot taps against the floor just slightly. Too slight for him to hear, and not enough to calm your nerves. 

Any slight lull makes you think too much. About devils, about the kingdom. About him, and what you're going to do once he's gone. At the very least, this silence is much more comfortable, compared to the prickling stillness that befell the both of you on the way back to your cottage. You're grateful you haven't yet ruined things. 

Since then, you've barely managed to regain the faintest sliver of your composure. Your heart isn't pounding anymore, thankfully, despite how close the two of you need to stand to work together in the kitchen. You designed your space for one, not for two. The stove is in the middle of the counter, and in order to reach to dump ingredients into a pot, you need to lean so close to him your arms nearly touch. 

Instead, your heart aches, twisting and pulling at your chest, sending blood rushing to your fragile hands and making them shake each time you remember the way Aki touched you. He grabbed your right hand. It still feels warm, in a way. Haunted by a touch softer than a flower's thin petals. Your mind swims, your grip on the pestle faltering slightly. 

Gods, you're ridiculous. A more composed version of yourself would surely be scolding you right now. 

First, you let a man you hardly know into your cottage, a man who happened to be royalty, of all things. Then, you panic over nothing, getting all freaked out over a harmless baby elk. Now, you're allowing yourself to nearly lose your damned mind over such a small, inconsequential, useless touch. Over Aki's touch. 

Aki, who's life exists in a universe far removed from your own. Who is going to leave, who has a few days left before he will have to forget about you. You really, seriously need to get a grip. 

"I'm sorry," You mutter, breaking the silence, your voice barely loud enough to be heard. Aki stops though, glancing in your direction, making it clear that he did notice. "Normally I wouldn't get scared like that. You know, when we were in the forest. I just- I'm stressed, that's all. Or tense, I guess. And exhausted." 

"I knew you were still thinking about what happened earlier," Aki concludes, reading you correctly. He scoops a handful of chopped mushrooms into his palms, and places them into the already-boiling pot on the stove. "There's no need to apologize. I must have startled you. I was… scared too, for a moment." 

Aki's knife swiftly hits the cutting board as he cuts the rest of the mushrooms, and you prop your head on your palm, your fingers drumming against the counter. 

He's only partially paying attention to the task at hand. His eyes continuously and not-so-subtly keep drifting away from the cutting board, and back to you. You really wish he wouldn't. Your heart is already beginning to skip again; you don't need it running and tripping over itself while you're trying to thinly cut up some parsley. 

"You're going to chop your finger off." 

Aki stops at your words. Your gaze is focused on your bundle of parsley and scissors, but he still looks towards you anyways, breathing a slight, playful laugh. He elegantly twirls his knife in a circle before returning it to the cutting board — only this time, he makes sure to watch what he's doing. 

"I cooked for my family a few times when I was a kid," He starts, chopping a mushroom carefully and slowly. "That was ages ago, though. I think I forgot everything I once learned." 

You still remember your mother's cooking lessons like she taught them to you yesterday. Keep your knives sharp. Watch the stove, try not to use too much firewood. You can add, but you can never subtract. Were those moments the last time you shared the kitchen with someone else? 

It's a bit difficult to get used to. You keep expecting to have more work, you still feel surprised when you turn to see someone standing next to you. But it feels calming. A crisp, fluttering feeling you can't quite put your finger on — not that you want to, you'd rather not face it. You've decided it's nice to make dinner with him, simply sharing your space, even though you aren't doing anything too special. For the first time in what might be forever, you aren't alone. 

Perhaps you should be savoring this. 

"I did too," You reply, pausing the movement of your scissors for a moment. "But when I was a kid, I hated cooking. I cut my hand once, the first time I tried to peel potatoes. My mom bandaged me up. From there on out, I would cry every time she asked me to cook with her." 

Aki breathes a slight hmm, and he reasons, "You were scared of getting hurt again." 

"I suppose so." 

"Did you ever end up cooking with her?" 

"No. I remember some of what she tried to teach me, but… I mostly taught myself," You answer, briefly hesitating. "This is the first time I've tried to cook with someone else since then, I think. I like it. I like your company." 

Too honest, perhaps. Your mother might have told you to keep on your toes in this situation, to avoid giving away too much information. But your heart is already beating fast, and the words have already left you before you've thought about them. 

Aki glances at you, your gaze staying focused on your hands, on your work. You seem lost in thought. He finds it difficult to read the blank expression on your face. 

"I understand. I think I get how you feel, honestly." His voice is smooth, calm. Drifting through you, until it sparks within your chest like a brand new star. "My mother never got the chance to teach me much. She was busy working, or busy tending to my younger brother." 

"Your mom," You answer quietly, "Do you miss her?" 

"Yeah. And you?" 

Your jaw tenses, your teeth uncomfortably grinding together. You place the parsley into the pot, and dust your palms over the counter. "Of course. You always miss the family you've lost." 

He's long since finished chopping up the remainder of mushrooms, but Aki's grip tightens on the knife, and he idly taps the tip of the blade against the firm cutting board. He hums a slight mhmm in agreement. 

"My mother always said cooking was one of the most important skills one could learn," Aki continues. "I thought she'd have more time to teach me. She would tell me, 'You need to be prepared if you go off on your own, you won't always like what other people make for you.' Something like that. I'm not sure I believed her, at first." 

"Uh-huh," You raise a brow. "And then you were forced to eat river snails." 

Oh. Realizing your change in tone only after the fact, you look at him immediately, your nerves prickling, your skin heating up with embarrassment. Truthfully, you haven't had much practice with conversations; Aki is the first. You've said more to him in the past few days than you think you ever have. 

Perhaps you should've thought more before you spoke. It's one thing to say something you might regret, it's another to raise tensions with him. He was serious, and you just made some stupid joke that sounded flat enough to be a rude comment — 

But Aki smirks, he laughs wholeheartedly; the sound rings through you, tender and burning. You feel a reassuring wave travel all the way down your spine. 

"Okay, I think I would've had to try those regardless," He hums, exhaling another amused huff of breath. He drops the rest of the mushrooms into the stove pot, and with nothing else to do but wait for the stew to be ready, he swiftly reaches for a rag, and begins wiping down the cutting board. 

"They were supposed to make you heal faster, or not get sick- or something, I'm not sure," He continues, "They never actually did anything. Trust me, if I was cooking for myself, I wouldn't have opted to include those." 

"At least you tried them," You reply, shrugging. "Now you've got a good story to tell. Besides, there's plenty of things that might look awful even though they taste pretty good." 

"Truffles," Aki says through a groan, "Gods, how I refused to eat those. It drove my parents up a wall." 

"What's that?" 

Propping your head up with your arm once more, you glance at him, diligently looking at him up and down, giving him all of your attention. Aki smiles, and he sets down what he's holding to turn towards you fully. Matching your gaze, he rests his elbow on the edge of the counter. 

"They're these shitty little black mushrooms," He says straightforwardly, and you can't help but chuckle. "Apparently, they're hard to find, so… my parents would be furious with me for wasting them. My dad, he was the one who taught us to be frugal. He made me try this chocolate. Super fancy, expensive chocolate. It was similar to the mushrooms, and my dad decided to tell me they were the same. He said, 'You know those are truffles, the mushrooms you hate, right?'"

Aki lets go of a small, breathy laugh, and he glances away as he recalls the rest of his story. "It wasn't. They're only called the same thing, but they're completely different- the chocolate, and the mushrooms. He got me to try some the next time we had them, though." 

"Hm," You reply, "Did you like them?"

"Nope. I didn't finish my first bite, I spat it out." 

Smirking, your gaze meets his own expectantly. "Your dad was probably mad, then." 

"Definitely. But I was expecting chocolate. Those mushrooms are good, but you're supposed to savor them. They are the complete opposite of sweet." 

"What's chocolate?" Your eyes squint as you think, trying to remember if the name is something you've heard before. In a book, maybe. It certainly sounds familiar. "Is that a mushroom too?" 

Aki stares at you, surprised. "You've never had chocolate?" 

"Nope." 

"It's- damn." His hand comes to hold his chin, his brows pinch with faint frustration. "It's sort of difficult to describe. It's sweet. It melts in your mouth, if that makes sense. There's a lot of vendors who sell chocolate in the kingdom. When we get there, I'll buy you some." 

Suddenly, as he seems to catch himself, Aki clears his throat. He stutters and glances away, "Er- if you wanted to go with me, that is. There's no need to make any decisions right now. It was just a suggestion." 

The room grows silent. Aki's gaze flickers to check on the stove, before traveling back to you. To your eyes, to your mouth. When your gazes meet again, you find it impossible to look away, despite how much your quivering heart desperately begs you to. 

Finally, you look down at your hands, and mumble hesitantly, "You'll be leaving soon." You press your thumbs together, nervously fiddling. "Right?" 

"That depends," Aki answers, "When do you think I'll be healed enough?" 

"Soon. Probably within the next few days, at the earliest. Your wound looks fine. You should keep resting, once you're feeling energized and no longer sore, then…" 

You trail off, unable to finish your sentence. Aki doesn't fail to notice how you're no longer looking at him, your voice becoming uncertain and much quieter. 

Aki takes a deep, long breath, and he speaks calmly, gently. "Whenever you tell me you're ready, I'll leave. There's no pressure to come with me, and I won't force you to make a decision. I don't have any problems with leaving alone. I'll be alright, you won't have to worry about me. Please, don't forget that." 

It should be fine, to let him leave alone. You'll follow your original plan. The next time he's asleep, you'll prepare the potion to alter his memory; you could have it done by tonight, easily. If he follows your directions, he shouldn't have a problem with making his way out of the forest safely. As foolish as he is, Aki is resourceful. He wouldn't let himself get caught out again. This is what should happen, to keep the both of you safe, and apart. 

So why do you feel so hurt? 

For longer than necessary, you're silent. In the corner of your vision, you catch the way Aki peers at you worriedly. 

"Are you alright?" He asks, his words taking you a bit off guard. 

Reflexively, you nod — but oh, how he is making this so much harder. You're fine, you were fine, until you heard his soft voice check up on you. Now, you feel like a dam on the edge of bursting. He noticed, of course he would notice. You're standing close enough for him to see your little tremors, for him to hear when your breath starts to hitch. You had made up your mind about your future long before you met him, but Aki had to go and change it all. 

Perhaps you hadn't realized how much it truly hurt until he'd spoken. Those are words you haven't heard before, you've never felt a sensation so suffocating. Your throat is dry, your heart is encased in thorns — but you're alright. You have to be. You have to tell him you're fine. 

"I'm alright," You answer quickly with a swallow, leaving it at that. 

"You sure? Your hands-" Aki murmurs, his gaze flickering down to them, and then back up. "You were doing that earlier." 

Ah. You were, and you are. Both of your hands have moved to timidly clutch the front of your cape, your thumb running over the grooves on the shiny front button. 

Sighing, you forcibly let your arms fall. You still can't look at him, so instead, you keep your focus on the dirty ends of your shoes. "I promise, I'm fine." 

You're sure you don't sound very convincing. 

The pot on the stove bubbles, the stove top's low, orange flame flickering faintly. Aki stays silent, considering his next words carefully. 

"You still don't trust me," He decides, his voice quiet and assured. It's a statement more than anything; he knows you do not trust him. He knows it's a fact he cannot change. "But if there's anything- something I did, or something you want to tell me, you can. I'll listen." 

As if you could ever tell him. 

It'd be foolish to let him see this different side to you, regardless of how much you already trust him — more than he realizes, clearly. More than logic and everything you've learned should dictate. Unfortunately, you can no longer keep your thoughts quiet. You've got a battle raging within you, and those aching waves of stress are pulling, pushing, and growing closer and closer to drowning you underneath. 

Aki can't stay. You shouldn't even entertain the thought; what the hell are you thinking? Aki is a stranger, he's dangerous. If he truly is royalty, you could be punished for ever thinking you were allowed to look at him, let alone speak to him. 

The kingdom isn't as far as you'd prefer it to be. His wound is healing. You are helping him get back on his feet. You're guiding him closer to leaving, little by little. 

Deep in your foolish, pounding heart, you want to believe Aki would trust you as much as you want to trust him, regardless of your best-kept secret. Yet, if anyone questioned him upon his return, if he was at all seen as suspicious, they could find out about you. His intentions wouldn't matter then. Protecting you or even himself wouldn't be an option. There's only so much he can do to bend the rules around witches. Royalty or otherwise. 

You hate this. You hate that Aki could discover the truth at any moment. He could look at you differently, with less kindness and more revulsion, once he realizes he's supposed to hate you. He is fucking supposed to, to hell with thinking mages are people, those words can't be trusted, he isn't meant to be trusted. With how distracted you've been, he could kill you, if he truly wanted to. But would he? 

The pit of your stomach swirls with a shadowy sense of dread and anxiety. You hate how you've become closer to him, you hate yourself for letting your guard down, even though you swore you wouldn't. Above all else, you hate how these sharp, never-ending feelings are becoming far too much. 

It hurts. There's a hundred thoughts gnawing at your mind, a thousand rapid beats of your heart to keep track of, and a million pins and needles under your skin, running up along your spine with a painful, oppressive intensity. 

You're worried. You're scared, scared of what will happen, scared of him, and everything. Scared of losing him, as awful as it sounds. Your cottage would become so lonely. You would fall into suffocating silence once more. Aki is different from the men you met before, from the people you've learned to fear. He is someone worth keeping. 

Each sensation — the stress, the longing — pushes at either side of you like two stone walls closing in. Closing and crushing and swallowing you; your hands are trembling, and Gods, you're exhausted. When was the last time you slept properly? Was your mind ever working as it should be to begin with? 

And why can you never seem to stop thinking about what it felt like to have your hand in his? 

In the end, it doesn't matter. 

None of it matters, your attempts to hang onto yourself and your wavering composure are rendered useless. He blends out of your focus as the world grows blurry around you. You grip the front of your cape tighter, your shoulders tensing before they tremor. Your breath is short, your throat feels tight, and your thoughts are fatigued like a string pulled taut. Fragile tears are beginning to fall down your cheeks, and you can do nothing to stop them. 

Aki freezes up completely, eyes wide, gaze locked on you. 

"Sorry," You're babbling, shaking your head, willing the tears to stop — although you know they most certainly won't. Your chest aches, your throat hurts. Small droplets fall from your face to hit your fingers and knuckles. You're so stupid, so weak. "I just- I don't want to-" 

Without an ounce of hesitation, Aki shifts closer. He's slow when he reaches out to you, giving you plenty of time to move away if you'd prefer to. You don't. Glancing down at you, his warm palm finds your cheek, his touch slight and delicate, as though he's still expecting you to flinch away. Carefully, his thumb swipes underneath your eye to catch a tear before it falls. His touch caresses you softly, far too softly. And finally, you break. 

He could hurt you, he could destroy you if he knew what you truly were. Instead, the fear all melts away, because he chooses to be gentle. 

Your shaking hands hold onto your cape as tight as you can manage, while your tears turn into hard sobs that shake your entire figure, and make his heart want to splinter and shatter. Aki mumbles something low under his breath, words you barely catch despite how close you both are: an earnest mixture of shh, and it's okay. 

In this moment, you have never been weaker. Not since the day you first left the kingdom behind you, and began to cry, when you believed you were meant to be alone. It's been years of isolation, since then. Is it so wrong for you to know you have needed this? 

For once, leaning into his touch feels right; it doesn't burn, it isn't nerve-wracking. It's everything you've ever needed — it is so much more as you press your hand to the back of his, keeping him in place so he won't pull away. You focus on the warmth of his touch, tenderness surging all around you, your heart pounding to a fierce, unsteady rhythm. 

It could be wrong, it could be reckless, to believe this is the safest you've ever felt. To know that if you were to pull him close like you've been wanting, you might not be able to let go. You want to embrace him, to have someone hold you, after ages and ages of feeling nothing against your skin and at your back but the whispering wind. 

Aki's arms around you would be far too overwhelming — to have him hold you tight while you breathe in the scent of firewood on his clothes, and listen to each beat of his heart, your head pressed to his chest. No, you wouldn't let go, not until you've memorized the sound. The thought alone could bring you to tears, if you weren't already breaking down in front of him, sniffling and holding onto your cape with a grip tight enough to make your fingers ache. 

"I scared you earlier, didn't I?" Aki says, his voice low, as calming as it always is. His breathing is slow, and yours tries to calm down to match. "I'm sorry." 

Maybe he did, but you've already forgiven him. Aki can't know the true reason why you're crying, or any of the multitude of built-up reasons. They'd be impossible to say, far too difficult to talk about. You can't tell him you might miss him if he leaves you behind, even though it's what you planned to let happen in the first place. Even though someone like you has no right to want to follow someone like him. To the kingdom, no less. You'd be shunned. Imprisoned. Or much, much worse. 

Aki is kind and thoughtful, his presence alone makes you want more — your tides pulled in his direction, an ocean of uncertainty reaching up to a bright, brilliant, unreachable moon. His touch is warm light, shining through thick darkness. Your darkness, illuminated wholeheartedly. 

"You're safe," He murmurs. His voice barely registers. "I wouldn't let anything hurt you." 

He couldn't, he has no idea you're a terrible, filthy liar. Aki is a good man. He reminds you of those knights in your stories — unwaveringly good, no matter the danger they're presented with. And you? You are nothing more than a witch. 

Thankfully, Aki doesn't need to know. 

He doesn't have questions, he simply continues to brush his thumb over your cheek, tenderly and rhythmically. His touch is slight, overly gentle in an attempt to keep you comfortable, but it's more than enough to gradually help you relax. You can't recall the last time you cried like this. Nor the last time you let anyone touch you, you never planned to allow this. You can't become overtaken by emotion, holding your focus is much more important. Perhaps you needed a way to finally let go of your budding stress. 

Aki seems to think so. He holds your face in his palm as you cry, never pulling away, grounding you with his presence. Ever-so patient, he stays, while you fully succumb to everything washing over you. Until the waves slowly subside, allowing you to breathe again. Your sobs begin to calm, your tears start to dry up. Your whole body tremors as you breathe a long, shaky sigh. 

Still, he keeps his pretty palm on your cheek. It belongs there, you think. 

"How are you feeling?" Aki says softly, after a few beats of silence. "Mad? Upset?" 

At first, you don't answer. You try, although you know it's futile; your mouth opens, but your voice is weak, your throat is sore. No words come out. You're feeling a thousand things, even if you could voice them, you aren't sure where you'd start. You swallow, and to your disappointment, Aki takes his palm away from your cheek, abruptly reaching for something. 

In a rush, he hurries to turn off the stove, swearing quietly under his breath. You hadn't realized how much time had passed — how long have you been crying? Long enough to make your nose stuffed and your throat sore, and enough to let the stew boil over, evidently. 

Aki leaves it, for now. He reaches over you to grab your backpack, briefly putting your bodies unbelievably close. He roots around inside until he finds your flask, still half-full with fresh water, and he sets it on the counter, allowing you to move at your own pace. You sniffle, and wipe your eyes with the back of your hand first, before you grab it, unscrewing the cap, taking a few sips. 

You want to tell him. You want to feel his soft touch again, you want his words of reassurance, and his trust, and his kindness. How could you fear him, when Aki is tenderness incarnate? As soft as the sky, as earnest as an echo. And as necessary as it is, you're already sick of lying; you don't want to hear his voice, look him in the eyes, and know you are lying to him. 

Though, you can't say a thing. Your voice is weak, your body and mind are exhausted. And so, this time, you resist. 

Aki breaks the silence first. "You're allowed to be mad at me. I wouldn't blame you if you were." 

"I'm not mad," You answer, screwing the cap back on the flask, setting it down on the counter right where it was. You aren't meeting his eyes, but your voice sounds clearer, less strained. "I'm okay. Just tired." 

Your shoulders shrug weakly. Aki's next breath seems to shake, his arms crossing around his chest frustratedly, his gaze traveling down. 

"I shouldn't-" His jaw clenches, before he lets go of an exasperated sigh. "A devil wouldn't have snuck up on us like that. We would've known- they aren't small, and they make much more noise when they're approaching. I shouldn't have worried you. If you think I should… head for the kingdom, I will. I could leave tonight." 

Your throat feels dry again. "It's fine." 

"No," Aki counters, his voice wavering; it never wavers, "This is my fault. To see you hurting so much, when I know that I- maybe I just-" 

"Aki." 

You glance up at him, and your abrupt utterance of his name forces him to meet your gaze. Your eyes are still red, your eyelids heavy with exhaustion, your cheeks damp from tears. Your expression is earnest, hiding a thousand emotions he couldn't begin to make sense of. But he wants to try. 

"Don't go," You murmur, softer this time. Close to breaking once more. "I've already forgiven you. Thank you. For being here." 

For showing you a kindness you aren't used to, for comforting you without asking questions. For finally making you realize that you aren't meant to be alone. You want to say his name a thousand times more. 

Honestly, you aren't sure what Aki takes away from your words. He seems to hesitate, but after a moment of thought, he reaches for the bowls he'd grabbed for the two of you earlier. One for you, and one for him. 

"You should get some sleep after we eat," He suggests, his tone nice and gentle, laced with concern. He places your bowl in front of you, on your side of the counter. 

"Mhmm…" You nod in agreement, and search through a drawer on your left to find a wooden ladle. "My head hurts." 

Completely serious, Aki replies, "Do you want me to stop talking?" 

Genuine and soft, you break into a laugh — a sound he is more than glad to hear — and you smile to yourself, while you pour some stew into your bowl. It warms your palms, steam brushing against your face. When you pass the ladle to him, he's instantly caught on the faint sparkle in your gaze. Hook, line, and sinker. 

"Absolutely not." You hum playfully, an eyebrow crooked. "It would be far too quiet. Besides, I like your voice." 

Aki fills his own bowl, and with the warm, pleased look that encompasses his features, you swear he almost seems flustered. "I hope you aren't implying I talk too much." 

"Nope. If anything, it's not enough." 

You reach into a drawer to grab silverware, and Aki heads over to the dinner table. He's already sat down across from your usual seat, and once you're able to follow, you notice your chair has been pulled out for you. 

Your conversations lull as the two of you eat together, once again enjoying the simple comfort of company. The warm stew soothes your throat. It has your body and your limbs relaxing, calming. You exchange a few words. Aki compliments your cooking, and you politely thank him for his help. You comment how you rarely see baby elk, they're normally so skittish. It was cute. It would be nice to see again, under different circumstances. 

Everything returns to normality. The same way it always was, when words shared between him and yourself become as natural as breathing. Once again, it feels right. 

The next time you speak, it's after you've stood and both rinsed your bowls, just before you're about to head into your bedroom. 

Aki clears his throat. He sits on the edge of his cot, his hands placed uniformly in his lap, the fireplace's low flame flickering over the sharp angles of his face. 

"Do you really want me to stay?" He asks, as he already has. Perhaps he's expecting the answer to change. 

You consider, drumming your fingertips over your bedroom's door handle. Then, at last, you answer. "Is it so wrong if I do?" 

"It isn't. I was thinking, actually, I… I don't think it's a good idea for me to leave," He says, glancing at you. "My wound is- it could reopen. It'd be better not to take any risks, to rest for another week or so. Or maybe two weeks. Or- I don't know. We'll see." His next words are entirely unsure, a shot in the dark, a question and a plea wrapped into one: "What do you think?" 

As one would expect, he'd leave it all up to you. 

Your hand grips the door knob tighter. You take a slow, gradual breath, and hope he doesn't notice your newfound reassurance. 

He isn't leaving. Not yet. Thank the Gods. 

"Of course," You murmur, without turning to look at him. He'd see the small smile on your face if you did. "You can stay." 

[aziraphales-library]

Hi! All of you do fantastic work! Do you have any fics with like magical curses and true loves kiss? I don’t really care about rating. Thank you again!!

Hello! You can fics along these kinds of lines on our #fantasy au tag. Here are some curse/true love's kiss specific fics...

The Fairy Prince, the Toad and the Snake by KannaOphelia (T)

Aziraphale supposed it was interesting that his flaming sword still managed to flame while underwater, but there were better ways to find out than dropping it down a well. He craned over the side and gazed down, seeing the glimmers of red and orange, far beyond his reach. "You've done it now," said the snake, watching him from the apple tree. "I suppose I have, yes." Aziraphale wondered if he could hook a rope around it or something, and draw it up. He wasn't quite sure how it would work. "Bound to happen," the snake said, not unkindly. "Don't want to go waving a big killing thing like that around. Sssssupposed to be a weapon." A Good Omens retelling of The Frog Prince, for Fairy Tale Inspired 2021

Fairest by lilliankayl (T)

(Snow White Retelling AU) Aziraphale has no memories of his father and very few of his mother. His father died when he was an infant and his mother remarried shortly afterwards. When his mother died just before his seventeenth birthday, his stepfather’s true colors were revealed. Now on the run and taking shelter from those who will help him, Aziraphale must never let the king find him, for it will surely mean his death if he is found.

The Dragon's Greatest Treasure by Sir_Bear (T)

Once upon a time, the kingdom of Eden was protected by the eternal knights. One of these ageless warriors, the healer Raphael, disappeared hundreds of years ago after saving Sir Aziraphale’s life. Now, while escorting prince Gabriel across the kingdom, Aziraphale is captured by the dragon Crowley. The two begin to fall in love, but can a relationship like their's work, when all Crowley sees himself as is a monster, and Aziraphale feels bound by his duty to the knights? *** He shrugged his scaly shoulders, his eyes looking about as if trying to find a change of topic. “Didn’t you have a magic sword?” “Uh…” “You did, you were waving it about and everything. What happened to it?” Aziraphale’s throat made a croaking noise, unwilling to answer. “Lost it already have you?” “Gave it away…” He muttered, despite himself. “You what?” Crowley’s golden eyes went wide, tilting his huge head to the side. “They’d be in danger without it!” He burst out. “There are dangerous creatures out there, not to mention you!”

A Demon's Guide to Love and Curses by cyankelpie (G)

(Crowley has been cursed by a witch, cut off from his powers, and trapped in serpent form. Only a True Love’s Kiss can restore him to his former self. There’s just one problem: demons can’t fall in love.) “So what’s your plan?” Crowley said at last, sounding resigned. “You want me to ssslither into town, find some random human, and see if I can fall in love with them? And get them to fall for me?” “Goodness, no. That would never work.” Aziraphale crossed the floor and pulled his cloak off the coat stand. “My plan is to take you into town, and then, together, we’ll find someone for you to court.”

(Someday I'll Be) Part of Your World by Pearl09 (T)

Aziraphale is a merman who likes human things a little too much. Crowley is a human who just wants to leave the awful place he’s at. A chance meeting, a surprising rescue, lead to more than the two of them ever imagined. Would they truly risk their own souls to be with each other? And, more importantly, will they meet the necessary requirements on time to keep them? A Little Mermaid au/fusion featuring two pining idiots.

hearts and thoughts fade away (I swear I recognize your breath) by Melime (M)

Due to a clerical error, Crowley is cursed by Hell, losing his memories of the past six thousand years. Now, Aziraphale has to regain his trust and find a way to cure him, but the only way to do this is by confronting his own prejudices regarding demons' capacity to love.

- Mod D

[rip-quizilla]

I'm Not Crying, You're Crying (Eddie Cries While Watching Tarzan)

@corrodedcoffinfest Day 27: You'll Be In My Heart

WC: 653

A/N: Okay... so I may have gone a bit rogue on this one. I know the prompt list explained this one as 'navigating love on the road', but when I hear the words You'll Be In My Heart I can't think of anything BUT Tarzan. So here's the weird little bit of fluff I came up with.

Tags: College!Corroded Coffin, crying, Eddie thinking about motherhood and the role it's played in his life, surprise at the end. It's an AU... but not the way you might think.

Divider created by @strangergraphics

In one of the smallest dorm rooms on the USI campus, four twenty-somethings had gathered around a glowing screen on a rainy Tuesday night.

“Wait, she’s taking the baby into a fucking tree?”

Eddie rolled his eyes, “Yes, Grant, she’s a gorilla. Gorillas climb trees sometimes.”

“But what if she drops it?”

Gareth scoffed, chiming in. “This is a Disney movie, idiot, that isn’t gonna happen.”

“I just watched a baby gorilla get mauled by a cheetah!” Grant yelled, incredulity plain on his face as he pointed to the TV. “You think they’d show that but draw the line at babies falling from trees?”

“A leopard mauled the baby gorilla.” Jeff corrected. “Cheetahs live in the savannah, dumbass.” 

“Would you all kindly shut the fuck up?” Eddie silenced them all, eyes trained on the TV with rapt attention as he watched Kala climb up the gnarled branches of a jungle tree, Phil Collins’ You’ll Be In My Heart crooning through the speakers. “You’re missing it.”

The other three looked at each other, confused but too scared to ask why he cared so much about some kids' movie, and continued to watch until-

“Dude, are you crying?”

“No!” Eddie sniffed, wiping furiously at his eyes. “You’re crying!”

Gareth’s nose scrunched up. “Bro, nothing sad is even happening, the mom got a new baby and the baby got a new mom-”

“They’re happy tears, jerkwad!” Eddie bit back, punctuating his reply with another sniffle. “This whole scene is about motherhood and loving your kid no matter what and it’s fucking beautiful, if you had a heart you’d be crying too!”

Jeff and Grant were laughing- to their credit, it was quietly and mostly to themselves. Gareth put on a mask of mock-sympathy as he grabbed a tissue and handed it to Eddie. “Those are some big feelings you’re having there, huh buddy?”

Eddie scowled at Gareth, swiping the tissue from him aggressively. He blew his nose into it, but not without giving Gare the finger first. 

Gareth patted Eddie’s back. “That’s okay, let it out big guy.” 

Eventually, the chuckling subsided until everyone’s focus returned to the movie. However, that scene still lingered in Eddie’s mind- the message about motherhood that this movie drove home for him every time he watched it. How Tarzan wouldn’t have grown into the man he was without Kala; a man so sure of his decisions, who trusted himself because his mother trusted him first. How no matter what happened, she stood by him and allowed him to chart his own course in life. 

Discreetly, Eddie pulled his phone from his pocket, tapping on his screen until he’d opened up a text thread. Quickly, he typed out a message. 

Love you, mom ❤️

The reply was instant, as it always was. 

I love you too bud! Everything okay?

Eddie smiled to himself as he typed out his response.

Yeah, all good! Just feeling extra thankful for my mom today :)

He turned his eyes back to the movie after hitting send, keeping his attention on the screen until he felt his phone buzz once, then again a few seconds later.

Aw, buddy! 🥹 That made my day!

I’m so proud of the man you’ve grown up to be. I raised a good one 😌

Eddie smiled, pride blooming in his chest. He and his mom had been through a lot, but they’d made it through because they’d had each other. Eddie couldn’t imagine what life might have been like for him if he hadn’t had her by his side. Who would he be? What kind of man would Eddie Munson have become? 

Now, here he was at college with his friends- his band- with a world of possibilities ripe for his picking. Could he have even gotten here without her support every step of the way? 

Maybe, he thought, but I would have been a hell of a lot more lonely.

[myloveforhergoeson]

reading round up REDO!

sorry for the double tag, first post didn’t save properly and i wasn’t able to give you all your flowers. please find them under the cut. i’m so embarrassed.

original here:

fic list:

assorted works of @ceruleanmusings <3

Blood Diamond; Year Five

ahh!! the blood diamond one shots are always so enjoyable to read and that make me think so much about my own characters and their backstories and childhoods as well. this one in particular really got to me; there isn't much room for childhood discussion in btrtv and the way you characterize young kendall and james made me MELT. so accurate to real kids, first of all, but there was so much shared about each other with just a few lines of dialogue. katie tugging james' hair at the end is like. the perfect precursor to their relationship as they grow older too lmao! i always look forward to your work :) <3

2. assorted works of @partiallypearl / @praetoravila <3

adorable kaela blurb

lolive ghost blurb

mighta found the one (but i need you too)

'cause i don't wanna keep you guessing

ipod shuffle challenge

all over again

pearl... darling.... there is nothing i love seeing more than your lovely works! from our dms to your full works, you are truly so creative it blows my mind! this month was no exception. the kaela blurb already had me by the throat... those two mean the world to me i mean it! and the various lolive blurbs and all over again... lord you had me crying with the last chapter of that one... and of course... the wag au one-shot... you are so sweet to me and my baby girl roxy, and that blurb had me literally giggling and kicking my feet hehehe. tysm for the sweet gift for my birthday <3 and your iPod shuffle challenge was so interesting! i love all the stories you chose to tell and how every word in the small drabbles packed a punch!!!! lovely as always <33 tysm for sharing :)))

3. assorted works of @selangkir <3

promptober one-shot!!

aughauifafvaibie there are never enough words to describe how well you write katie and the knights. even if this was just a short story reworked to be in kendall's pov, the strong ties between them are evident and i love the little quirks and rituals they all have that you sneak in there. how kendall instantly knows something wrong with katie, how katie pushes back against him, everything is just *chefs kiss* excited to read katie's pov if you ever wish to share that as well!!! <33

4. assorted works of @inkameswetrust <3

date night

god. in kames we DO trust. everything about this one-shot had me going through like. every single emotion possible for a person to feel. lyn is the character of all time + i love how james (and kendall, reluctantly) got to participate in a scheme akin to their youth to make sure her date goes perfectly :)) and the dual line between what was going on with lyn and Nathan helped kendall and james learn more about each other - even after being together for so long!! thought about this one for days ngl and the drawings you made live in my head rent free. im just 1000% obsessed thank you so so so much for sharing :)

5. assorted works of @naquey / @ithinkyouhealedmyheart <3

ghostwriter ch 3-8

AHHHHH RONNIE MY SWEET MY LOVE MY EVERYTHINGGG god the story you are weaving her for and kendall have me (affectionately) tearing my hair out. the way these chapters set up her relationships with most of the main characters is just so special. though everyone is just a little bit different than one another, and all the teens have their own special quirks, they're all still able to get along and make friends. i imagine in the tough Hollywood industry, that's all they have. ronnie slowly getting to know and opening up to the other girls, the band, guitar dude, and everyone else is so sweet! each chapter brings a new understanding to her character, and i love every little thing about her :) getting to read her and kendall's story is a privilege!! so excited for their future heheh <33

6. assorted works of @icegirl2772 <3

Take A Shot In The Dark Ch. 16

eee kaelyn!!! my sweet sweet girl!! this chapter follows one of my favorite episodes, and i love all the special additions you made for kaelyn and her story. so happy to read that she and neil are over... now james can step in and pick up her broken heart!! akifaiufaiufbaie i can't wait for them to get together, you've got me on the edge of my seat :))) <3

7. assorted works of @fiyero3305 / @fiyero0533

promptober one-shots!!

MY FRIEND!!!!!!!!!!! thank you so much for using my prompt list, i'm so happy you were able to find inspiration from the things i put together this month :) though i am just a casual fan of the umbrella academy, from my two seasons of knowledge, i'm confident in saying i love your version of the characters even more lol! each blurb brought in a new sibling dynamic, something of your own to bring to the table. just blew me away, truly. my favorite was the cemetery prompt you wrote with ben. got my heart squeezing harder than ever before! and the one with the psychic and klaus and allison was soooo so so good. so happy you were able to get these out and share them ;) looking forward to more in the future

8. assorted works of @bunnyfern

a field of blooming tulips

ahh!! my lovely crowe!! i love her and james' story so much :)) the bad boy chapter never disappoints... crowe getting hints of home and talking to luka in the middle was so great! i love getting little glimpses of her life back home :) her ever-evolving relationships with the others at the palm woods is so adorable too!! always a pleasure to read <3

[gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan]

Feel My Face

Author's notes: Alpharius in Living Water AU

Past =-= Next

Warnings: none that I can think of. Let me know if I need to add anything

Summary: Zariel and hisbrothers are slowly rebuilding lost trust

Tagged: @barn-anon, @bleedingichorhearts, @c-u-c-koo-4-40k, @egrets-not-regrets, @kit-williams,

Tagged continued: @sleepyfan-blog, @whorety-k, @ms--lobotomy @bispecsual @thevoidscreams

Tagged continued: @i-am-a-dragon34, @gra93fruit-blog

“I think,” Mara says after listening to both sides speaking and watching them all. “That Lana should get the choice on whether she stays ‘bonded’ to you five. Unless something happens and for the good of the Colony, it’s better to have your lot leave… permanently.”

The whole squad of alpha legion space marines stare at Lana, expressions of painful hope and worry plain as day on their faces and she thinks about the choices before her and closes her eyes for a moment or two.

“I think,” She says, licking her lips a little as she chooses her words with care, “That I’d like to get to know each of you all over again. Start off on the right claw, so to speak, before making permanent decisions.”

The squad of Alpha legion troopers agree to this, even if it makes them nervous, while the squad of Primaris Marines scowl, not liking the choices made, but aren’t going to say anything for or against it.

“We could help to chaperone, if you’d like?” Jophiel says, almost singing to Lana. “to make sure that they don’t try anything.”

Mara clacks her claw into the ground, drawing everyone’s attention, “Since that is Lana’s decision, we will give you another chance, but our requirement still stands. Approach with honesty and as your true selves, unless a disguise is requested or is required in an emergency. We do not appreciate being lied to... If you and your brothers can't manage even that, then you must leave.” Her words are solemn and heavy. 

“We agree to your terms,’ Zariel says with a solemn nod. He hears over vox coms the sighs of relief from his brothers. This is going to be difficult, but worth it. It’s rare that their kind of Astartes gets this kind of second chance. He’s not going to waste it and will do his best to ensure that his brothers comply as best he can.

The Scout-lings continue to make faces at them. Goodness, they are young which makes Zarius wonder where the fuck their babysitters, he means Scout Sargents are. He notices when the Blood Angel sends a message through text vox with a complicated emotional expression on his face that he can only partly decipher. Then he gently pokes the pair of Scout-ling Black Templars and says, “I think you should send a message to Arnault and Roland that the Alpha legionary issue has been resolved for now.”

Ramiel and Cedric make faces at him but do begrudgingly comply with his understandable request. For now, they will back off and wait for a call for aid, should the Gannet Harpies request or require it. Still, it's something that they will keep in mind, Ramiel gently tugging at one of Claude's arms as they say their goodbyes to the Harpies, heading back to home.

Zariel notices over the next few months that the Scout-lings always come in pairs now. They are respectful, and slowly, their personalities are revealed to him and his brothers over time. Some of the Scout-lings will talk with them, but a couple of them are aloof or hesitant to approach or speak to them. Per military politeness, if they are directly spoken to, they will speak back.

For some reason, the Scout-lings Raven Guard is very, very quiet around them. He speaks as little as possible to them. He's avoiding them like they are Plague Marines, which is rude, if somewhat funny at the same time. Occasionally, Orlys or one of the younger Alpha Legionaries in the squad will playfully chase Claude around. 

Until his battle buddy realizes what they are doing, and then they usually get rammed into at full speed by one of the Black Templars. Or pounced on by the bitey bastard of a Blood Angel. The little Ultramarines was with his very long ribbon tail and tried to lecture and scold them.

Zariel, the Apothecary-trained of the Alpha legionary squad, was eying the young Raven Guard assessing the younger space marine as the Scout-ling was helping to chase down prey fish with the age-mates in the Harpy Colony. He's purring softly as he nuzzles into Lana. It6's nice to relax and laze around for a bit. He closes his eyes briefly when Lana gently strokes the skin along his side, gently scratching him with her claws. As she helps him get some loose skin that are coming off to release.

“Are you plotting something?” Lana asks him, feeling the way Zariel's powerful frame shifts a little as he cuddles her.

“Always, love,” Zariel he responds with easy truth and a cheeky grin.

She hums a little and lightly scratches more of his tentacles, “anything in particular?”

“Oh, Just going to assess the spatial awareness of youngsters,” he says with faux-innocence. 

Zariel's teal eyes spark with mischief, and she chuckles a little before asking, “Why do you chase poor Claude around so much? You and your pod do it to him the most.”

“He's fun to chase,” Zariel says with a cheeky grin.”The other Scout-lings allow some physical contact in regards to sparring and play fighting. Claude doesn’t, not with us. His fellow Scout-lings yes.”

“You could respect his boundary,” Lana pointed out.

Zariel hums as he tilts his head a little as he thinks about that statement. He responds with, “it's much more fun to play-chase him instead.”

“I think his patience with your pushing will break one day,” she warns, “and you might not like the response he gives you.”

“I have survived snapping Responses from astartes far older and more dangerous than him,” Zariel says, not quite dismissing her words.

“If I'm right,” informs him primly as she arches an eyebrow at him, “I will say ‘I told you so’.”

“Deal, Lana,” Zariel says as he nuzzles into her as he buries his nose into her neck, pressing a light kiss to her pulse point.

Which has her squawking at him, her face flushed red, and she pinches and pulls one of his cheeks in retribution for being a bit of a horny brat in public.

[tiredly101]

The past can hurt part 1

Pairing: Wally Darling x Writer!Male reader

New Neighbor Masterlist

Illustrated Au, picture done by @kandavers. Hey peeps, I love the art of this person that I tagged so please show them some love because their drawing style of so cute!

First day of 1974

Wally was walking comfortably with M/n, M/n had been acting more anxious lately which normally happened when he had writer's block.

"Hey, my love" M/n started before trailing off and looking at Wally to then look at the floor which made Wally give him a loving smile and interlock their hands in a reassuring way.

"Well, I was wondering what if... We aren't real and this is a show, like the ones Sally do?" M/n finally asked before looking at Wally who cooed in a playful way while holding M/n's chin lovingly.

"And who would be running the show, hmm?" Wally asked in a playful tone while giving loving smile to M/n who return it in a weak way.

"Well what if it's Home-" M/n started asking before a coughing fit started out of nowhere while unknowingly Home's eyes concentrated on M/n in a angry stare. “Love?” Wally said worried at the sudden coughing fit that M/n started having saying to then his eyes widen when he sees M/n fall on his knees as M/n kept coughing. Wally kneeled down and saw some liquid that looked like black static falling from the corner of M/n’s mouth and M/n slowly looking at him with a saddened smile.

“I love you…,” M/n said softly as the liquid started to fall from his eyes in trade of tears. “Love? What’s going in on?” Wally said while grabbing his face with his hands and M/n smiled while leaning to his touch.

"Don't trust Home... Please don't trust Home... If you love me don't ever trust Home again" M/n said in soft beg while looking up at Wally as sobs and coughs wrecked M/n's body.

“It’s 1974 and I am not a main character which means Home has no use for me, my love...” M/n said softly while looking at Wally with a sad smile. M/n gave a kiss to Wally while crying the same static as it started slowly taking over M/n's eyes.

"What are you talking about?" Wally asked panicked while holding M/n's face in his hands since M/n head lolled to the side. "Don't trust Home and don't forget that I love you" M/n said softly while giving Wally a tender kiss with the softest smile before falling limp in his arms while his skin started to brake apart into ash.

"M/n! What's going on? M/n!" Wally screamed in desperation while hugging himself since M/n was literally carried in the wind.

"What does Home have to do with this?"

Tag list:

@farleyis @whynot5243 @fluffyart5000 @blueberricowboi @bonesbonesbonesuponbones @who-let-me-write-this @pr5is1ng @just-random-post @smiling-carcass @nettaw @sleepyscxry @theorchardcollective @thelostboys11 @darling-w @ametistacollinsworld @vampyrefay @cloudeecheer @lacunaanonymoused @waywardstardustcollector @welcome-home-puppets @redjeanjacket @fried-lotud @waywardstardustcollector @frindtheshapeshifter405 @lotusflowerexe @sleepyscxry @the-gayest-toad @mythjustiice @backyard-bear @beu-is-here0 @just-random-post @fic-fortress @elegantkidfansoul @eyesarefun @one-green-frog @beu-is-here0 @waywardstardustcollector @24-7lazy @azyimnothere @fluffyart5000 @chesterthejester12-blog @redjeanjacket @curiosityscrewedthatcat @gyaruthegory @azul7127 @unstable-and-introverted @seraphlies @akito-chan @myperfectpeachbouquet @darlingclown101

[littlemywashere]

Headcanons to the lovechild au (I finally came up with a name) part 2!

TW/CW brief mentions of trans pregnancy

If this makes you uncomfortable please block the tag 🌿🌼

In the au Max is a trans male, I try not to draw attention to it due to harassment I faced before and doxxing so if I ever stop posting about them please know it's not anything you did it's trauma

With the disclaimer out of the way here is my headcanons

Sam is the one that cooks for the family, he doesn't trust Max near a stovetop let alone chopping veggies, I feel like he'd wear a simple apron tied around his waist, and always holding his dad mug, which is broken but he glued back to together piece by piece, he has a sense of dad humor and will not hesitate to participate in tea parties with his family, though that doesn't mean he can't be stern, he knows how to handle the kids, and Max since he's used to it.

Whilst being the freelance police, he often has to put items up that might be deemed dangerous,

When Susan was first born, he was a total sap, listening to her first cry 'Hey there sweetpea I'm your dad..' etc mimicking her facial expressions, sticking his tongue at her, rocking her (just the basic stuff) he cried when holding her, and the same with all the kids

Of course he had self doubt, he didn't know if he'd be a good father- despite raising John, The geek and Sam jr

Now for Max I'd like to say there wasn't really a big change, he still acted the same he just had motherly instincts, nesting behavior to Sam this was regular Max- no need to be alarmed, that's until Sybil is the one that noticed the changes since she had experienced it and she herself is a mom Max definitely was overwhelmed by the changes, it wasn't all sunshine and rainbows Max dealt with wicked morning sickness, but Sam made it comfortable for him.

he just sorta lays down randomly on blankets and pillows. During the trimesters

The first trimester was difficult

The second trimester was a bit more easier

And lastly the third trimester was a breeze he mainly just kept them hidden in his fluff since they were the sizes of balloons, and being newborns he just had that protective instinct, not even Sam could go near without having his tie chewed off.

Max takes the kids to the park/beach teaching them to swim, he cheers on his little babies for the littlest things even waking up

Max doesn’t mind the kids calling him mama.

so in summary, Sam and Max are your average family going for vacations taking the kids along to see them in action fighting bad guys and mischief, which definitely backfired since half of the pups have Impulsive tendencies but then again when you mix Sam and Max together your just bound to get chaos.

(Edited) part 3 will be tomorrow! (Geek John Sam jr)

[moononastring]

Drawing Up the Plans - Eris x Iris [Modern AU]

Prompt: Modern AU Eris x Iris "celebrate" Valentine's Day. Inspired by this post. I have no other excuses. Rated: SFW. Brought to you by: Taylor Swift's - I Think He Knows & Gorgeous Author's Note: Happy Heart Day! Here are my morons doing their thing in modern au format. I had fun writing this so I hope you enjoy reading it :)

Find everything Eris x Iris here.

tagging: @thedeadromantics | @climb-the-mountian | @vanserrass | @ladystarrynight | @imma-too-many-fandoms | @carnythian | @thewilderheart | @lifeisbeautiful | @mali22 | @this-is-rochelle | @bowdawn | @positivewitch

Iris watched him with a look of slight disdain on her face as her...whatever he was, sat across from her at their local ice cream shop. Eris was sitting with one leg crossed over the other, an ice cream cone in one hand and his eyes locked on his phone in the other.

Her eyes narrowed slightly as he nonchalantly bought the cone closer to his mouth and licked the creamy sweetness. 

She clenched her fingers around her spoon and scowled. 

It was just ice cream. He was only eating ice cream and yet — Iris clenched her thighs together and her scowl deepened when his traitorous tongue darted out again to take more.

It was obscene. Slightly erotic. But mostly it was obscene and she couldn’t take her eyes off him. 

Iris didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing it was doing something to her. They’d only been orbiting around each other for a few weeks, and she was barely tolerating their interactions. He was so obnoxious and yet despite her many attempts to avoid him, they kept running into each other. The two of them ended up in the same space too often for it to be anything but fate.

She blamed it on how small this town seemed to be. And the fact that he was a rich, attractive man with too much confidence. Iris had moved into town a few months ago and during her first week, stumbled into him at the local bar where he spilled his drink on her. He insisted it was an accident but that hadn’t stopped her from throwing her drink at his face in return.

Needless to say, they treaded very aggressively around each other.

“Is there something wrong, Iris?” he asked and Eris met her gaze with a slight smirk, finally putting his phone away. “You’re awfully quiet.”

“Everything about you is wrong.” she mumbled and her gaze dropped to her own cup of ice cream. Iris had opted for a cup rather than a cone; She didn’t exactly trust what would come out of his mouth if she licked an ice cream cone in front of him. 

She twirled the spoon in the sweetness as Eris chuckled then made the mistake of looking up to watch him as he once more, slowly, took another lick of his ice cream with a raised brow. 

“You seem to have quite a problem with me and yet, here you are.”

“You asked me to meet you here, asshole.” she snapped and the corner of his wicked mouth lifted.

“Wound up a little tight today, are we?” he asked and had the audacity to smile as his tongue slowly lapped more ice cream.

Her lips curled in disdain once more as he smirked his way through another lick and Iris closed her eyes with a deep sigh. “What the hell do you want, Eris?”

“Are you not enjoying our date?”

Iris’s eyes shot open and both brows went up. “Date?”

“Yes.”

“You think this is a date?” she asked flatly.

“You think this isn’t?”

“When the hell did you ask me out on a date?” she asked with an incredulous laugh. “When did you dream that I said yes?”

Eris had the nerve to chuckle once more. “I asked you out to share some ice cream. On Valentine’s Day. Here we are. Date.”

Iris squinted then her gaze flickered around the shop and it hit her how blind she’d been; it was decorated with red and pink hearts everywhere. She’d been so annoyed when she walked in to meet him that Iris hadn’t even noticed. How the hell had she missed that it was Valentine’s Day? 

True, she hadn’t really celebrated it in years. But it wasn’t her fault that most of the men she’d tried dating sucked. 

Besides, it was the day after Valentine’s Day that was worth celebrating. All her favorite chocolates were on sale. 

Finally rolling her eyes at his smirk, she said, “Every time I think you’ve reached your limit of audacity, you surprise me by outrageously exceeding it.”

He smiled once more then took a deliberately slow lick of his ice cream. “I like to keep you on your toes. I think you rather enjoy it.”

“I don’t enjoy anything about you.” she snapped, stabbing at what was left of her ice cream. “I don’t even like you.” 

He snorted. “Sure. You definitely want to fuck me though. I bet you’ll like me a lot more then.” he said smoothly. 

Iris’s brows shot up and she let out a huff of laughter in disbelief, her grip tightening around her spoon. “You are one cocky motherfucker. Especially when this is your idea of a Valentine’s Day date,” she huffed. “A date I definitely did not agree to.”

“Don’t worry, I absolutely want to fuck you too,” he said, raising his ice cream to toast her. “In fact, I insist.”

Iris willed her face not to flush, for her body not to betray her by reacting to his words. In the midst of all their unfortunate meets and bickering, had she thought about what it would be like to fuck him? Sure. Would she ever admit it? Definitely not.  

“You’re unbelievable,” she said with a shake of her head. “How has no one in this town choked the life out of you yet?”

“It’s because I’m pretty.” he said with a smirk. “And very, very rich.”

“And so humble.”

“Exactly,” he said with a wink then straightened. “In all seriousness, when are we going to make this official between us?”

Iris rolled her eyes. “What, exactly, is there to make official?”

“You and me, little gazelle,” Eris replied with a knowing look. “Let’s not pretend this dance is anything but foreplay. Say yes and I’ll show you exactly the kind of dates I take a woman on.”

“Ah yes, the recycled list of dates you’ve used on all the women you go through?” she said with a snort. “Pass.”

“The kind of dates I only plan for one type of woman,” he said and the corner of his mouth ticked up in a way that made her toes curl. “And I’ve only ever met one of you.”

Iris watched him in silence, taking a moment to think of an appropriate response. He really was unbelievable. Obnoxious. Uppity. An ass most of the time. But…she had to admit, there was something that drew them to each other. Like an invisible string dragging them down the same path. 

She’d resisted at every corner. And yet…gym? Eris had been there. Cafe? He had been there. The park while on her morning walks? He’d somehow been there. If it weren’t for the look of genuine surprise on his face every time, she’d think he’d been stalking her. 

But then they also ended up at the same social events. Town meetings. Fundraisers. Parties. They’d had a…moment at the last gathering that replayed in Iris’s mind for longer than she would’ve liked. She’d deny it to her last breath but Lucien and Elain had witnessed it and though Iris loved having them as friends, she knew they were way too excited about whatever this was between her and Eris to let it go.

Iris placed her spoon in her ice cream cup and then leaned back in her chair, watching him curiously. 

“Eris.”

“Yes?” 

“What do you want from me?”

He gave her a small smile she hadn’t seen on his face before, one that softened his features and it made her instantly look away. “I simply want us to spend time together.” 

“Why?”

Eris shrugged. “You feel it. You know why,” he said. “I want to see where it goes.”

Irid did feel it. As much as she would’ve liked to deny the chemistry between them, it was hard to pretend nothing was there when seeing him automatically made her pulse start racing. She hated it. But she also wanted to see where it’ll go.

She pursed her lips and waited a heartbeat before answering, “Fine. On two conditions.”

He took another obscene lick of his ice cream and waved a hand for her to continue. She tried not to squirm.

“One, physical contact will be limited to what I am comfortable with and sex is completely off the table.” Iris said firmly. “My body isn’t a prize you earn. We will simply see if we have a good time.”

“Agreed,” he said graciously. “My body, however, is absolutely available should you feel the need to explore it. I will humbly oblige.”

Iris rolled her eyes for what felt like the millionth time. “I’m not interested in going on dates with an egotistical ass who just wants to show off his money.” she said with a pointed look. “Don’t waste my time if you aren’t actually serious about this.”

“I am very serious.” he said and frowned. “You think I enjoy feeling this way about anyone?”

Iris felt her heart flutter at the look he gave her. If she wasn’t mistaken, his ears had gotten a little red. “And what way is that?”

Eris took a bite from his cone and squinted at her for a moment before answering. “When we’re on our date, I’ll tell you.”

She hummed her agreement and tried not to fidget in her seat at the movement of his mouth. “Either way. If you’re trying to impress me just so I don’t pour more drinks over your head, know that I don’t want flashy, I want real.” she said firmly. “You need to earn my trust.” 

Eris watched her silently for a heartbeat then the corner of his mouth ticked up. “Okay.”

“And we tell no one.”

“Embarrassed to be seen with me?”

“Of course.” she said with a snort and Eris had the nerve to laugh softly. “Besides, I like privacy. People in this town are always in each other’s business. I know way too much about people’s bedroom habits.”

“Nesta and Cassian?” he asked with a snicker.

“Yes. Holy shit, do they have stamina.” Iris muttered, causing Eris to grin.

“They aren’t the only ones with stamina like that.” he said, nearly purring and Iris shot him a murderous look.

“Don’t.”

He held up a hand in mock surrender. “And your second condition?” he said then took another lick of his ice cream.

And this time Iris had finally had enough. She leaned over and yanked his cone from his hands, dropping it into her bowl. “You aren’t allowed to eat ice cream in front of me ever again.” 

Eris blinked then burst out laughing. “Why?” he said incredulously. “I thought the choice of strawberry ice cream suited our date theme.”

“We’re not on a date,” she said flatly. “And the way you eat ice cream is obscene and you should be fined for public indecency.”

Iris watched him laugh again and hated how it made her pulse race faster. Eris lit up when he laughed. It made him more youthful, and at ease, versus the usual expression that made a person want to punch him in the face.

“Ah.” he finally said with a smirk that Iris didn’t trust one bit. “I see you caught on to my tactic.”

Iris narrowed her eyes, willing herself not to flush. “And what tactic is that?” she asked, already regretting the question as his expression.

“I wanted to make sure you knew that ice cream wasn’t the only thing I could eat obscenely,” Eris said, his voice dropping low and Iris felt her body heating. “I hope my display was to your liking.”

This motherfucker. Iris took a breath and closed her eyes, slowly counting to ten before opening her eyes again to find Eris still smirking obnoxiously at her from across the table. Had she been paying extra attention to the way he ate his stupid ice cream? Yes. Would she ever admit it? No. 

Jerking her chin towards her bowl of ruined dessert. “Do you want me to dump it on your head or do you want to do it yourself?”

“I’d rather you watched me eat it again.” 

“I’d rather you choked.”

Eris chuckled and the sound made goosebumps erupt on her flesh as he stood. She watched him wipe his hands with a napkin on the table and then adjust his dress shirt, his eyes never leaving her face. Tossing the napkin into her melting bowl of dessert, Eris placed a hand on the back of her chair, his other balanced on the table, and leaned in close. 

“I’d be more inclined to believe you if you weren’t devouring me with your eyes, sweetheart.” he whispered and Iris scowled with a flush. Eris paused for a breath as she turned her head to look at him and the two watched each other silently, the world suddenly silent around them.

She wondered if his heart was beating as wildly as hers. If he could see her pulse racing.

Almost as if in a trance, Eris couldn’t help but lean in to gently kiss her cheek, before meeting her gaze again. “I had fun on our date.” he murmured.

“Not a date.” she whispered but Eris only hummed.

“Agree to disagree,” he said with a slight smile. “I knew you’d be my Valentine the moment you poured that drink on me months ago.”

Her face heated. She would not think about what that meant. “I doubt you expected your Valentine to want to choke you out.”

“Oh, I absolutely would want my valentine to choke me out. You can choke me all you want on our next date.” Eris said and finally pulled back with a wink, sliding a small gift bag she hadn’t even noticed across the table to her. “This was bought prior to your conditions so our agreement still stands.”

Iris blinked and gazed up at him. “You…bought me a gift?”

“Of course. I’m not one to show up to a date empty-handed.” Eris said with a pointed look.

“It’s not a date.” she repeated but knew, this time, her refusal sounded weak enough that Eris chuckled.

“You look adorable when you’re in denial.” he cooed and couldn’t help his grin as Iris scowled up at him, running a finger down her cheek before stepping back. “I’ll pick you up at 6, Friday evening. Wear something that’ll rip my poor heart out, little valentine.” 

Iris sat in the silence that followed his smug exit, stunned at the turn of events and how fast her heart was beating. She wasn’t sure what exactly she had agreed to with Eris but felt dazed. Excited. Turned on. Slightly annoyed.

Most importantly, she needed to go shopping. 

Iris would not think about the kiss on her cheek. Or about his promises. She certainly would not think about his tongue and what that stupid mouth of his could do. 

She would only think about finding a dress that would give him the bluest of balls possible. 

Her eyes fell on the gift bag again and Iris slowly pulled it closer to peek in. A note sat atop the tissue paper, hiding whatever it was that he’d gotten her. Biting the inside of her cheek, Iris pulled out the note, trying not to think about her mixed emotions having Eris of all people getting her a Valentine’s Day gift. She opened it and read,

Happy Valentine’s Day, little gazelle. Use it and think of me. Know I could do it better.

But here’s my number so you can tell me all about how you like it. 

Iris flushed deeply and immediately eyed the bag again. “Oh god.” she whispered. Those words could mean anything but knowing Eris – knowing the way he thinks…He wouldn’t. Would he?

She could practically see his stupid face and stupid smirk in front of her and with a scowl, Iris reached for the bag again, slowly removing the gift tissue to peek beneath it at the gift. A small groan slipped from her mouth and she immediately covered it again. 

Of course, he would. 

Of course, Eris Vanserra would think a vibrator would be an appropriate gift for someone he had barely been on a date with. An expensive one at that. 

He was outrageous. Outrageous. She didn’t know whether to be flattered or freaked out that he was thinking about her pleasure. How many guys thought about a gift like this? How many guys were this fucken bold? 

Then again, every interaction with this man only proved him persistent. 

“I knew you’d be my Valentine the moment you poured that drink on me months ago.”

The words replayed in her mind and Iris pursed her lips, glancing down at the bag once more, amusement seeping through the disbelief. Eris hadn’t hesitated from the moment he met her and Iris had to admit, though his methods weren’t great — it, unfortunately, made him come off as very attractive. 

Groaning quietly to herself, Iris shoved the note back into the bag and then sighed, knowing whatever resistance she had been building against him would disappear as soon as she tested out this gift of his. The asshole knew exactly what he was doing. 

And Iris had to give credit where credit was due — she always did like a man with a plan.

[crackedpumpkin]

Trigger warnings: Graphic descriptions of violence.

Hello lovelies~ A while ago i posted an idea I had for a Zombie Apocalypse AU with Leo, so I just thought I'd write a lil something more as well since I'm in the mood to procrastinate :)

Should I make this a legit series? Let me know in the comments and/or tags! If you have any ideas as well, feel free to drop an ask and let me know!!

P.S.: Hermosa = Beautiful

You run, and you run, but there's nowhere to hide. You glance over your shoulder, eyes wide and filled with terror as the walking corpses advance towards you.

Your back meets the cold brick wall behind you, a shiver creeping up your spine as the thin shirt you have on provides minimal protection against the danger approaching.

Where is he?

You begin to panic, eyes darting around in desperate search of the turtle who moments earlier, had convinced you to become bait.

You stifle a groan. He was nowhere in sight.

You never should have trusted him. The apocalypse had changed you, made you vulnerable to any hint of kindness and human(or non-human) interaction.

You were too soft, and this was the result of your stupidity.

Your eyes narrow into a glare, fingers curling around the handle of the sheathed knife in your pocket.

You lift it up, tugging off its sheath and readying yourself.

Maybe today's finally the day you die.

Even if it is, you'd go down fighting with your last breath.

The first of the three approaching zombies is mere steps away from you. You drop into a low stance, taking a deep breath to calm your beating heart.

And then you lunge.

Blade meets rotten flesh, and you stare into the empty, emotionless eyes of the groaning zombie.

It has only one intention in mind: To bite you. To make you one of them.

You forcefully remove the blade from its neck, sending it flying back with a kick into the others behind it.

They fall down like bowling pins, and you take the opportunity to grab the abandoned lid of a toppled trash can. You lift it up, using it as a shield against the inhumane strength the zombies had gained after they turned.

One lunges towards you, crashing against the lumpy metal you hold up to block it. Its hands scrabble for you, causing you to flinch.

Its nails almost draw blood, but you narrowly avoid them in time. Using the zombie's momentum against it, you find an opening to slam it against the wall, lodging the knife deep into their skull.

It sinks to the ground, the life fading out of its eyes.

A low groan echoes through the street behind you.

The last one.

You ready yourself, hands gripping the knife so tightly that your skin turns red. The cool breeze makes you shiver, lifeless corpses scattered on the floor around you.

You wipe off the blood on your cheek.

Then, you take a step.

"Cowabunga!!"

A yell causes you to look up, eyes wide in surprise. A flash of green barely escapes your gaze, and Leo lands in front of you.

His katanas are drawn, his lips quirked in that ever-so-annoying smirk of his. You glare at him, your earlier anger now returning with full force.

"You left me here by myself!!"

"Correction: I got held up." He lifts up a finger in response, before leaping towards the zombie that runs towards him.

With a single slice, the dismembered zombie falls to the ground in a helpless heap. Leo groans in disgust at its decaying teeth, eyeing the canines with a shudder.

"I could've died!" You protest, hands on your hips as the bloody knife dangles from your grip.

"But you didn't, hermosa! So in a way, my plan worked. Now let's get back to camp." He slings his swords back into their sheaths across his hip, sauntering towards you.

You poke the tip of your knife against his chest, barely covered by the hoodie he wore.

Your hoodie.

If he didn't look so damn good in it, you'd have told him to get lost by now.

"Don't do that again." You warn, your words cold and devoid of their usual warmth.

His hands are raised in surrender, breaking out into a sweat. "You got it."

You let your hand drop to your side with a sigh, beginning to walk out of the alleyway. He cheerfully drapes an arm across your shoulder, whistling gaily.

"So, what's for dinner?"

You scoff, "As if you eat anything I make."

"That's because your cooking is disgusting. I mean, who even has beans on toast anymore??" He grimaces, the disgust on his face apparent.

It ellicits a giggle from you, and you roll your eyes in response.

Maybe being soft wasn't so bad after all.

[teejaystumbles]

Your Love Is Sunlight

A Guild Wars 2 Dreamling fanfiction

(I wrote the Guild Wars AU I desperately wanted because I think Dream is absolutely made to be Sylvari - born from the Dream, connected to his race via their shared subconscious - it just screamed Dream to me and therefore I made two new characters in GW2 and wrote them a tiny story LOL. This is spoiler-free for Guild Wars, I tried to keep it in the early personal story and not mention major things. You don't need to know anything about Guild Wars to enjoy this, a lot of Sylvari things are actually mentioned and explained in this, anything else is not really important.)

It's a simple escort job through the Gendaran Fields to Lion's Arch but the caravan is big and a few adventurers have been hired as guards. Dream would normally not waste time with something like this, but he is expected in Lion's Arch and therefore joining the caravan is no hassle. He would be faster alone, but something about the colourful wagons and the cheerful atmosphere draws him in and he decides to tag along. The caravan is made up of a troupe of entertainers, actors and musicians, dancers and jugglers. Dream watches them laugh and tease each other with fascination. They are a mixed group, Human, Asura, Norn and even Charr, and despite their different races they seem to be getting along well. There are no Sylvari among the group and Dream is both relieved and disappointed. He had hoped to ask a sibling after their experience with these people, had hoped for new stories. But he doubts his questions would have been welcome. He looks like a member of the Nightmare Court, after all.

The group is setting up a camp for the night when Dream, lost in thought, trips over a root and stumbles into the back of a nearby human. The huge dog at the man's side immediately growls at him and Dream stumbles back as the ranger turns.

"I apologise…" Dream says and keeps a careful eye on the dog, but it goes quiet after only a click of the tongue of its master.

The man, who has a bow and sword strapped to his back, stares at Dream with a wide grin and bright eyes and eagerly takes Dream's hands into his own. "No matter! It is an honour to meet a child of the Pale Tree! Well met, friend!"

Continue reading on AO3 or below the cut!

Dream pulls his hands free and takes a hasty step back. The human's dog sniffs at his leg and he shifts uneasily. 

"Friend…?" Memories of dreams of so-called friends betraying each other fill his mind. 

Smiles and supper shared. Then stabbing him into the back when he turns.

He frowns and shakes his head to disperse them, forcing himself to speak. 

"I don't know you. We are not friends. Trust. Has to be earned."

The human stops smiling and looks at him with an almost pained expression. He brushes his shoulder-length dark hair out of his face and tugs on his earlobe. "You are right. Forgive my haste. My name is Hob Gadling. Just Hob is fine. It's a pleasure to meet you…?"

"...Dream."

The bright smile is back in an instant. "What a wonderful name! Dream. Beautiful, just like you!"

Dream feels himself glow and shrink in on himself, his petals shivering. There is no heart in his body but he feels a heat inside his chest that makes him feel like there should be. No one has called him beautiful before. He is too pale, too dark, too broken by nightmares. His sisters and brothers shy away from him, sensing the turmoil of his dreams, the negative emotions that shaped him. If this human knew him like they know him, would he still smile at Dream in such a way?

He does not dare find out and quickly turns away, leaving the human standing with a hastily mumbled apology. He flees to the far side of the camp and lays out his bedroll. The human had looked taken aback but had not followed him. Dream is - again - both relieved and disappointed at that. He lies down and closes his eyes, willing himself to rest and sleep.

~

He wakes from nightmares in the middle of the night, as usual, and silently slips out of the camp towards the nearby river to watch the moon and the glowing insects until the sun rises and the first people begin to stir.

The next day is uneventful. Except for a few huge glowflies attacking them when they pass through a swampy area, nothing happens that the hired adventurers can’t handle. Dream watches the human from last night  - Hob Gadling - masterfully use both bow and sword to swiftly deal with any aggressive wildlife. Their eyes meet a few times and Hob gives him a friendly smile every time. When they make camp for the night again Dream finds himself close to the man again but feels at a loss for words. Fortunately, Hob does not seem to have any qualms to initiate another conversation.

"Have you been to Lion's Arch before, Dream?"

Dream looks up from inspecting his daggers and sees that the human is busying himself with his pack and quiver, and giving his dog a few strips of dried meat. Dream watches him scratch the dog and coo at it quietly before he finds his voice.

"Yes."

Hob looks back at him. "And how did you find it? I think it's too big for me. I got lost the first few times. Ended up in a cave with a dead pirate playing hide and seek, I almost died - stupid old bastard." He laughs loudly and Dream can only stare in fascination. This human is so. Happy. While telling of a life-threatening situation. It is. Confusing. And fascinating.

Hob has set down his weapons and pack and sits on a log, watching Dream with clear, amber eyes. His smile shows no sign of diminishing.

"Won't you sit with me, Dream? I've always wanted to ask a Sylvari about those dogs some of you are keeping as companions."

Dream slowly and carefully perches on the other end of the log and says: "You mean Sylvan Hounds?"

"Yes! Those!" Hob pats his dog happily and looks at Dream full of anticipation, his eyes bright and friendly. The man seems genuinely nice. Dream will stay alert but simply talking to this human…is probably not that dangerous.

Gaining someone’s trust is the first step to a successful betrayal , a well-known voice in his mind whispers. Dream has always had the suspicion that it is the voice of Cadeyrn, taunting him from the Nightmare…

"They are born just like we are. From the Pale Tree, but they're not…sapient, like us."

"They're like dogs." Hob grins and pat's his hound again. Dream nods. "Yes."

"But they're plants."

"All Sylvari are plants."

"I know, it's fascinating, isn't it? And to imagine that the eldest of you are only, what, about 30 years old?" Hob laughs and shakes his head in wonder. Dream frowns. He does not like that his race is often compared to children. Sylvari have much to learn, that is true, but they are not simple . They are simply new to this world, their history short.

"Is it true that no one knows how old you can actually get?"

Dream lifts his eyes from the forest floor and stares at Hob in bafflement. He can't help a sneer and shifts subtly away from the human.

"It is. Why does that ‘ fascinate’ you? Because we are so young to have so far never died of natural causes? Because this world kills us rather than let us live our life to the fullest?"

Dream feels himself shivering with fury. He doesn't know why he is angry. Hob's question was innocuous enough, something anyone might ask a Sylvari. Death as such is not something the Sylvari view as a terrible fate, they find it interesting and do not share the same fear of it as the other races. His elder sister is constantly researching the topic. Yet Dream feels only rage at the reminder of how many of his siblings have died for Tyria, for the fight against the Elder Dragons. He thinks of his closest siblings, born with him and shortly after him. Destiny, as close to their mother as only the Firstborn are, rarely emerging from her grove. Death, named after what fascinates her most, always wandering, never in one place for long. Despair, dead. Desire, her twin, lost to the Nightmare Court. Delirium, who sleeps and stays inside the Dream rather than face the real world. Destruction, who chose to become soundless. Himself, always courted by the Nightmare, constantly fighting against his dark side.

He thinks of them and feels sadness, and rage. How dare the other races judge them? How dare this human ask him how old a Sylvari can get, when from the moment they are born they have to struggle for survival, for sanity, for recognition as sentient beings, for the simple right to exist?

They will never treat us as anything but expendable curiosities. We have to show them what we are capable of , Cadeyrn whispers in his mind. Dream drops his head into his hands and pulls at his sapphire blue leaves. 

Shut up! Get out of my head!

Hob beside him grows tense and leans forward. When a gentle hand lands on his shoulder, Dream flinches violently and looks up with wide eyes. Hob lets go immediately when he sees his face.

"Hey," the man says, his voice quiet and careful, "are you alright? I'm sorry, I shouldn't have pried. It's just," he shakes his head and pulls again at his earlobe, "I've always wanted to meet one of your kind and you looked lonely. And I thought you'd like someone to talk to."

Dream stares at him, momentarily lost for words, anger still rolling inside him. Then he jumps up from the log and snarls: “Lonely?! I am connected to the subconscious of my entire race and our mother. I am never alone . You dare make assumptions when you know nothing of my kin and I.”

He grabs his pack and stalks away, ignoring Hob’s soft plea to wait.

~

That night he dreams again of Despair’s death, of Desire’s subsequent descent into madness. How he begged them to stay, how they still turned from him and joined the Nightmare Court. How when he last met them, they had wrapped him in thorny vines and cooed at him to join them, licking the sap running from his throat where the thorns made him bleed.

‘Just let go, sweet Dream. Embrace your deeper urges, your violent tendencies, your love of the night. Come with me, brother. It will finally make you happy…’

Dream surges awake with a gasp and a cry, startling a nearby Asura, who looks at him first with worry, then with typical scientific curiosity. He makes haste to grab his bedroll and pack and leave their vicinity, before he becomes the subject of an Asuran study into Sylvari dreams. He finds himself drifting closer to Hob again during the day. When night falls they make camp for the last time on their journey. They will reach Lion’s Arch tomorrow and Dream will have to meet with Caithe and the other heroes of old to discuss the ongoing threat to Tyria. He might not see any of these people again, and it is that thought that lets him stay when he sees Hob coming towards him and gingerly set down his pack beside him.

Dream is no longer angry. He knows Hob is right in his assessment that Dream is lonely, despite anything he said last night. His connection to other Sylvari through the Dream is tenuous and constantly strained by nightmares, which others can sense when they meet him. He has thought about becoming soundless, like his brother Destruction, but has shied away from taking such a radical step to remove himself from the Dream. He cherishes the sense of love he gets from their mother, even if it is faint. He doesn’t think he could bear to lose it.

Hob approaches him cautiously and sits down on a tree root. He says: “I apologise for yesterday, Dream. I did not mean to offend.”

He smiles gently. "We’ll soon reach Lion’s Arch, and honestly, I could use the company, because…I realised that it is actually me who’s lonely,” he chuckles and tugs again at his earlobe.  Dream’s eyes widen at the man’s words, said softly and with a hint of sadness, but ringing true. 

“How about you ask me questions? I'd love to tell you anything you might want to know."

Dream licks his lips and blinks a few times to clear his mind. Hob's smile is making that warm place in his chest feel tender and mellow again. This human is truly...

"Weird."

"Huh?"

"You are the weirdest human I have ever met." Dream says, his voice rough. His throat is as dry as old bark. Hob laughs. "You're not the first to say that! Although I really don't understand why being friendly gets you called weird in this world."

He grows solemn, the corners of his mouth turning down. "Makes you think, doesn't it?" he muses and looks down at his dog, which is happily lying beside him, head on Hob's feet. Dream watches him closely, intrigued, and takes in more details. Hob is not particularly tall or particularly broad for a human, but he is still a lot broader than Dream. The muscles of his arms and legs are well defined by his shirt and leather trousers. This man is a fighter, his fingers callused by arrows and sword, the backs of his hands littered with scars, but his face is gentle and his whole demeanour one of kindness. Dream catalogues his colours the only way Sylvari can - by comparing them to plants. Hob's hair is as dark as ebony, his skin the colour of an unpeeled almond, and his eyes are like dark apricot tree sap. He has a strong nose and a chin with a cleft and the shadow of a beard that Dream finds fascinating. Hob is handsome, for a human.

"It seems you like animals better than your fellow men." Dream states rather than asks and Hob looks back up at him quickly and gives a small chuckle.

"Well, you're not wrong. I mean, I like people, I do, but animals - they're just easier, you know? A dog will not mind if you love it too much. It will give you its life and loyalty and love and never question yours if you treat it right."

Dream cocks his head and frowns. "Do humans not...like to be loved?" *By you*, he does not say but wonders as he watches Hob pet his dog. Anyone this man loves must be the luckiest person in the world, he thinks and is glad that his skin does not blush and the encroaching darkness of the night makes his stronger glow seem like a natural occurrence. Hob absently scratches his chin and huffs a laugh. "Of course they do. I'm just... too much, it seems. For some." He clears his throat and then adds with a grin: "So please, ask away. I will annoy you long before you can annoy me."

Dream frowns again. "You... are not annoying. You are curious, but kind. I find myself grateful... for your company. Hob." 

The smile Hob levels at him is nearly blinding and Dream feels himself glow even brighter. Hob's eyes twinkle and his delight is plain on his face. "You're glowing! Is that because it's getting dark? Do you only glow at night or also when it's bright? Do you all glow in different colours?"

Dream can't help but duck his head shyly and mumble: "It's...I..."

Hob sharply sucks in a breath and lifts his hands in an apologetic gesture. "Sorry, sorry, here I go again, asking about personal things. You don't have to answer that. I just," he falters and rubs his neck again, a blush rising on his cheeks. "It looks...very beautiful."

Dream feels his glow brighten even more and this time he can see that Hob has caught it. He leans closer and looks at Dream more closely. “It got stronger. Are you…are you blushing ? Is it like a human blush, when your glow-”

“Yes!” Dream blurts out and grips the bark of the root he’s sitting on tightly, his posture growing more and more rigid. Hob stares at him with his mouth open and his eyes wide in wonder. Then he smiles again and Dream knows if he wasn’t wrapped in a cloak he would be lighting up their small corner of the camp like a torch.

“Please stop,” he begs and wraps his arms around himself, “calling me beautiful.”

Hob scoots closer to him and waits until Dream meets his eyes again.

“Why?” he asks softly, “It’s the truth. You are gorgeous, Dream. Has no one ever told you that?”

Dream feels himself start to shiver. “No,” he whispers, “I am. Not used to compliments.” He is used to frightened glances, to suspicious glares, to whispers behind his back. ’He feels off.’ ‘His eyes are like tar pits.’ ‘He’s going to join the Nightmare Court, I’m sure of it.’ ‘Look at that one, are you sure he’s no courtier? Let’s better not get too close.’

Hob puts a hand on Dream’s shaking shoulder and this time Dream doesn’t flinch away. The touch grounds him and he feels himself lean into it. Hob’s hand is warm where it touches him and suddenly Dream craves warmth. He does not need sunlight and prefers the nighttime, having been born of the Cycle of Night, but he does not enjoy being cold. Hob’s touch makes him feel like he has only ever been cold. He can’t remember when someone last touched him with kindness either.

Hob must sense how Dream relaxes because after only a moment he gently coaxes him to lean more firmly against Hob’s shoulder. Dream wants to melt into his arms and feels instantly ashamed of his reaction.

You don’t know anything about this man. Humans are violent creatures of the flesh, always hungry, don’t mistake their intentions.

Dream would give an arm and a leg if it meant being rid of that voice inside his head. He closes his eyes and whispers: “You see me like no one before has. Sometimes I think too many nightmares made their way into my being…that I am tainted beyond help. Does not my appearance prove it? There is no light in my eyes, like in those lost to the Nightmare Court…and my siblings fear me.” The words spill forth almost without his consent.

Hob hums and wraps his arm tighter around Dream’s shoulders. “Well, for what it’s worth, I think they are fools. It is clear to me that you are not evil, Dream, and I find you more than beautiful. Your eyes are like the rarest black pearls,” 

Dream feels a gentle touch on his cheek and opens his eyes to stare into Hob’s warm amber ones, 

“and you’re the most magical thing I have ever seen,” Hob murmurs softly and brushes his fingertips reverently under Dream’s eyes. Dream inhales deeply and feels his gaze drawn to Hob’s mouth. Hob notices and quirks his lips but doesn’t say anything. Dream swallows and decides to take a leap of faith.

“Earlier…I wondered. How anyone could find you…too much. I thought…I would be so lucky. To be loved by someone like you.”

Hob’s nostrils flare and his eyes widen a bit before another one of his brilliant smiles lights up his face. He leans closer and says, lips almost touching Dream’s: “You’re in luck, then. You should know…I fall in love ridiculously easily. And I can tell that loving you,” Dream feels Hob’s breath on his lips and lets his eyes drop closed again, “will be no hardship at all. My Dream.”

Their lips meet and Dream sighs happily into the kiss, feeling Hob’s warmth radiate from his mouth and hands on his shoulders. Hob pulls back after only a moment but strokes Dream’s cheeks gently and gives him another smile that makes Dream feel like the sun has risen again. Still, he cannot help but give voice to his insecurities:

“Please. Hob. Be honest. Do you…fall out of love just as easily?”

Hob lets out a startled laugh and brushes a sapphire leaf out of Dream’s face. “Didn’t I tell you? I usually am told that I’m too much. Once I latch onto someone, it’s hard to get rid of me.”

He brushes his mouth against Dream’s glowing cheek and adds, more softly: “I’m like a dog, Dream. Treat me kindly and let me love you…and I will stay with you forever.”

Dream gasps and turns his face towards Hob’s. His hands come up to touch his cleft chin in awe and feel his stubble, trace the contours of his face and feel the silky texture of his hair. “You are a wonder, Hob Gadling.”

Hob blushes and laughs again and leans in to kiss him again, something Dream is only too happy to grant. He pulls Hob closer and down onto the mossy forest floor, so he can finally have Hob’s warm body cover his lengthwise. They trade kisses and gentle touches, marvelling at the other in the glow of Dream’s bioluminescence. After a while Hob suddenly hums in thought and a tiny frown appears on his forehead as he seems to contemplate something.

"Dreams and nightmares…I’ve heard your mother only puts special memories into the Dream, right? Significant ones?"

Dream nods and shuffles closer into Hob’s embrace.

"Ones with impact, that create significant feelings, good or bad, have a higher chance to resonate with her, and thus within the Dream, yes."

Hob grins and caresses Dream’s back and sides with his broad palms. Dream relishes the heat coming off his hands and body and sighs again happily. He wants to feel them against his skin, but there will be time for that later, he hopes. 

Hob says: "Let me give you a memory to stick, then. Let me give you a thousand . Your mother shall know my love for you and feel proud. I want her to know the depth of my gratitude for having given life to you, my Dream."

Dream pulls back to properly look into Hob’s face. He feels himself smile in what feels like the first time since his sister died.

"Very well. May my memories of you shine so brightly that they vanquish a thousand nightmares the Court has created, Hob Gadling. May your radiant smile live in the Dream as eternal inspiration and delight for our mother and all unborn Sylvari."

[fallen-in-dreams]

CHAPTER SIX on AO3.

Chapters on Tumblr: One. Two. Three. Four. Five.

Pairing: Gaara/Sakura.

Summary: Her descent into madness came after her friends were all dead and before she was sold off like livestock. To him. He knew a thing or two about madness. And there was peace to be found in the violence of that madness. Even if only for a time. Canon divergence AU.

Rated: Mature.

Chapter word count: 8,996.

Status: Ongoing.

Reminder: the tags/warnings are important.

Enjoy. :)

Warnings: dark themes. Arranged marriage (not what you think). Eventual smut (level and degree of that warning being necessary is subjective). Death. Suicide talk. Self-harm. PTSD – expect some well-known symptoms and some not well-known ones. Please don’t read if you’re triggered by psychological &/or emotional-related trauma and effects.

Notes: It's crazy how long this chapter is. Consider it an aberration. Not unwelcomed but strange all the same.

Anyway. Enjoy. ^_^

Tumblr version:

… Chapter Six: Executioner and Executioner. ...

.:.

You shout it out But I can't hear a word you say I'm talking loud, not saying much I'm criticized, but all your bullets ricochet Shoot me down, but I get up

-- Titanium, by Sia

.:.

Suna was cold at night-time. Colder than she would have thought possible before spending so much time in the village. But the more Sakura thought about it the more she realised how unjustified that presumption had been. Not all deserts got cold at night, but the dust wilderness in the Land of Wind did. She knew this already. So, it made sense that Suna would also experience similar temperature shifts. That, in some way, the two would mirror each other.

But is it always this still in the desert?

Silence. It was like a physical force in the air. That, or Sakura was sensing something she couldn’t understand. But what it could possibly be, she didn’t know. The silence of the streets seemed to be carried on the wind that swept through the village in the days following her outburst in front of Gaara. A peace that she hadn’t expected to feel, blanketed her. It felt like she had permission to be lazy, to goof off, to just be herself for a while, no matter what that meant anymore.

It was… soothing.

Sakura Haruno stood in the threshold of the open front door of the Kazekage mansion, just staring out at the night, hugging herself for warmth. Things had been a little stilted after her outburst, but the past week had seen a return to normalcy. Whatever that meant.

She licked her lips, then bit her bottom lip before cocking her head toward the sound just to her left. He was just outside the barrier that separated him from the Kazekage mansion. Prowling. Like the shadow that he was. She’d noticed a new addition to the seals from the first night here, ones some of the council had also had a hand in. Or at least some seals they were familiar with. Sakura didn’t trust any of them. Less even than she trusted the Root.

But as long as the shadow stayed out of her way, she would leave him alone too. For now. After she’d attacked him in the alleyway, the Root shadow kept a longer leash on her. Whereas before he’d clearly seen her as just some weak-minded little girl that his master had tempered, he was now watching with more caution.

Not as stupid as he looks.

That didn’t buy her anything but time, however. He could change his mind tomorrow and start hassling her again.

On a less ominous note, Sakura had finished perfecting the signs Sai taught her for his Super Beast Imitating Drawing jutsu and found some ink in the downstairs study to try bringing her creations to life. She’d started by trying to directly imitate Sai’s process. There had been some empty scrolls and a few paint brushes lying about the mansion and she’d taken one of each, just to be safe. She didn’t need to be interrogated by Kankuro or Gaara on missing small things like these. But as it turned out, infusing her chakra into the ink, drawing weird stick animals on the scroll, and then casting the jutsu on it was the easy part.

The hard part was not giving up when it failed miserably.

Every failure was disheartening, but not like the old days: the days when training with Lady Tsunade would only spur her on to do better and actually revive the dead fish that she’d been tasked with rejuvenating the first time she ever used her healing jutsu. She used to love the challenge. She used to see her failures as motivation to keep going.

When I wasn’t crying over Sasuke. Loser.

But now?

It wasn’t a natural impulse. Sakura had to force herself to keep going. So that was what she did. It had been slow going, with only the afternoons and night-time to practise, because of the stupid wedding planning, so it took her almost the entire week to get the ink creature to even look like something Sai might have created when he was first learning to do it. And even with her Yang Release energy, she could barely make them quiver let alone move or do anything useful. Sometimes they didn’t even look anything like she’d first pictured.

She thought something small like a mouse, to start off with, would make it easier. And save her patience. And save her ink. But now she was out of both. Luckily, she didn’t need to replace the scroll or paintbrush as they were reusable with every summons, given the ink literally lifted off the paper.

Another sound caught her attention, bringing her thoughts back to the present. To the cool air of Suna’s night. It was almost ten o’clock. The Root member was working later every night. She wondered what he was up to, desperately curious. Maybe if she managed to get her ink creatures working her first target should be the shadow. Or maybe use him as actual target practice.

She smiled at that, turning from the door, and walking slowly in the direction of her room.

Sakura paused at Kankuro’s bedroom door, frowning at it. He’d been the same since day one: a consistent paragon of politeness and familiarity that seemed unsure of how to handle her. She kept walking, her eyes drifting to Gaara’s door. Outside the stifled but still infuriatingly civil dinners he was avoiding her. She supposed it was for the best.

Sakura stopped in front of his door and pressed the palm of her hand against it. His chakra was steady. A rare early night for him. Whatever had caused him to return so soon and retire for the night so quickly, she didn’t know, but if he was as much of an overachiever as she’d heard, he deserved the time away from the stress.

She smiled at that. He’d been worrying himself over so many things. Kankuro had made a point of addressing some of these the past week, during their dinners. This was how Sakura knew just how much the brothers were worried about Temari. She didn’t know if their sister was overdue in returning, or if the worry was based solely on how things out there were faring, but it made her feeling strangely more connected to them.

She pressed her ear to Gaara’s door for a final confirmation.

They’re both finally asleep.

It was time for her to get to work.

.:.

Sakura rushed back down the internal staircase, returning to the study.

When she’d cornered him about obtaining ink under the pretence of writing in a journal a week ago, Kankuro had readily agreed to help. Sakura hadn’t wanted to go to Gaara for it, given his desire to avoid her. That was a whole can of worms she had no interest in opening. Kankuro’s ink had done its job but now, it wasn’t enough. She needed more. So, she took it.

I’ll wrestle my conscience about it later.

There was no way they’d understand why she had to do this. And why she needed access to the refined looking library on the ground level of their home, accessible via the study. There were some children’s books that she assumed one or more of the siblings had consumed as a child and she felt funny at the idea of stealing them. But they weren’t going far and if either of the brothers asked her about it later, Sakura was prepared to bluster and apologise, claiming to have thought it was okay to borrow them.

Likely, however, it would be fine.

The books were invaluable to her work. Sakura had decided to use reference material after the fifteen thousandth time her attempt at a rat came out looking more like a blob of paint with fur. Drawing from memory was so hard to do. But once she started using references of what small animals are supposed to look like, she got better at it. She practiced Sai’s jutsu until she got it down to an art. Well, her plebeian version of art, anyway.

She had initially thought to “borrow” one of the more adult-orientated books, with more mature and accurately proportioned artist renderings but they just confused her even more, when she tried to use them as reference. So simple, easier, and cartoonish animal images, it was.

Over the last week, Sakura had graduated from mice to larger rodents and was ready to try her hand at birds. Since they were supposed to have the power of flight, they made her nervous and she’d been avoiding them. Sai hadn’t explained whether or not she needed to understand the animals they copied to make it work, but she was finally going to try. It wouldn’t hurt to visualise a bird flapping its wings and then jumping to take flight as she sculpted its outline.

Sakura took what she needed from the library and raced back up the stairs, listening for any stirring from the other bedrooms as she silently made her way back to her own room. Heart hammering, books clutched tightly to her breasts, she held her breath, waiting. When no sound was forthcoming, she heaved a sigh of relief and gently opened her door, closing it with a click.

Nobody came at her out of the shadows.

Did I imagine that trick of the light where inanimate objects come to life?

She shook her head and sat down on the bed to peruse her spoils. One of the books was a story called An Ibis and the Oasis and she opened it up, unable to stop herself from quietly reading it out of curiosity. It was a tale about a foreign bird settling in the Land of the Wind after it got lost in the sands along the border. She smiled. It was a book about found family and overcoming hardships. Pretty heady for a children’s book but inspiring. She bit her bottom lip as it trembled and muffled the sound of her involuntary, soft cry.

Kami, get a grip.

She sniffled, skimming through the book quickly, ignoring the surge of emotion and found an image of one of the Ibis’s friends, a small hawk. She imagined it was more common in the Wind desert, and less likely to stand out if she sent it through Suna’s skies.

Sakura laughed at her own presumption that this was going to work at all.

She stood up and collected the necessities before getting comfortable on the floor, feet tucked under her bum as usual. With the book flat on the floor and page open to where she needed it, Sakura opened the first bottle and placed it in front of her. She could only infuse her chakra into the ink a few times before it became useless (what was up with that?), so every attempt counted. She’d discovered that the hard way.

Sakura unravelled the scroll in front of her and got to work with the paintbrush. It took her a few tries and an hour to make the basic shape, considering she was trying to save the ink. She had the shape of the head and body down pat but was having trouble with the legs and wings. They were tendrils on the paper. Wriggly and mulish. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes, imagining what the hawk would look like if she were a competent artist like her friend.

Focus, she told herself. Her emotions were trying to ruin everything. But she pushed them down.

It was like meditating. She had her legs crossed by this point, uncomfortable with the previous position of poking her heels into her bum. Focusing on the black of her eyelids, she tried to force all the frustration from her mind and body.

Breathe. Relax my muscles. Focus on my breathing. In. Out. In. Out. Slowly. Not too fast. There.

She was aware of every breath. Pushing and pulling. Circular motions of it coming and going.

Sakura had no idea if this was even necessary, but she felt a little better. The task didn’t seem so insurmountable when her heart wasn’t pounding in her ears. She almost felt like her old self again. She opened her eyes and smiled, stretching her arms out in front of her.

“Okay, I can do this.”

There was no response from an invisible voice.

Sakura traced the image of the bird in the book with her finger again, feeling the way her hand moved to trace the contours of the animal, how the movement became more precise in some places and freer, almost lazy, in others. She shifted her hand in the trace to mimic the way she held the brush and did it again. And again.

And again.

When she was confident that she could copy it better, Sakura returned the brush to her hand and tried again, on paper. She kept her eyes on the reference image, letting the strokes come more naturally, but keeping the intended creation in the corner of her eye.

That’s it.

She paused then slowed down when she got to the more difficult parts, taking a break to assess her work before diving back into it. Sakura lost track of time, trying, and trying again. It was probably after midnight now. She didn’t care. She looked down and let out a gasp.

It’s done!

She’d successfully made her ink drawing look like a bird. Sakura giggled and sat up straighter, excited. She took another calming breath and ran through the hand signs she’d memorised. The ink shuddered and shimmered before lifting off the page.

Sakura laughed and squealed, forgetting to be quiet as the bird shook itself. Standing right in front of her was an inaccurate ink sculpture of a hawk that still, surprisingly, looked like an actual bird. If she didn’t know it was supposed to be a hawk, she wouldn’t know what species it was but while she was no ornithologist, this was definitely still bird-shaped at least. It fluttered its wings like a newborn bird, then hopped around on one foot. Her face hurt from the strain of her grin.

Sakura’s bird would inspire a rude nickname from Sai, but it was hers. Her surprise was eclipsed by her pride.

Fly, she thought, then rolled her eyes at herself. “Fly.”

It turned its head to look at her and if Sakura didn’t know better, she’d say it was offended. But she just smiled back at it and verbally encouraged it again. The ink bird hopped around the room for a few minutes before deciding to give her suggestion a try.

Do ink creatures always act like this?

Maybe she wasn’t exerting enough control. Sakura tried to focus on the bird, thinking of flighty and strength synonyms and parallels, with no clue if it would even have an effect. The ink bird hopped again, then braced itself, bending low before pushing off the floor. Sakura let out a small “whoop!” of excitement before restraining herself. She didn’t want to wake her hosts. The ink bird struggled to remain upright for a few seconds before finally finding its equilibrium. The bird made no sound other than the flapping of its wings as it spun around and began to glide around the room.

It was weak. It was barely airborne. It was jagged and jittery and all things unstable. But she was so bloody proud of it.

Sakura sat back on the floor and just watched it, her grin never fading. When it finally ran out of steam and collided with the wall next to her bathroom, it exploded, leaving a weird splatter of ink against the wall that looked like a child had thrown paint at it carelessly. She laughed out loud at it.

Almost there.

.:.

She fell asleep trying to make another one. Her exhaustion was a killer.

When she finally woke again, Sakura was sitting on the floor, leaning back against the bed. She’d always had good chakra reserves, so the irony of having drained herself was not lost on her. The night had been spent trying to perfect that bird she’d succeeded in creating.

After she finally succeeded in conjuring the bird, she’d just let herself slip away. Luckily, the cold air from her open window had woken her up when the moon was still high in the sky, so she was able to clean up without risk of alerting her hosts. Then she’d promptly sat back on the floor and fallen asleep again.

Now, looking at the ink splatter the first bird had made on the wall, she was glad it had not collided with the back of the door. It would’ve messed up the numbered kanji she’d been writing in charcoal, to keep a count of her time in this gilded cage that was Suna. Sakura finally stood, grabbed the charcoal, and haphazardly wrote the kanji for the number sixteen on the back of the door for yet another day wasted in this village then tossed the compressed carbon residue back in her bag.

She stared at the long, messy list of kanji. The door was tall, and her scribblings hadn’t taken up much space yet, but they were beginning to look less legible.

Like I truly am losing my damn, fucking mind.

“Can’t lose what you never had.”

She knew something had been missing from her night of ink creating debauchery. Sakura scowled at her mirage then turned away, ignoring it. Instead, she threw herself at the bed, determined to get at least a few hours of sleep before the damn thing decided to wake her up.

Sleep.

It really was a wonderful, warm and cosy battery. She closed her eyes.

And waited. And waited. Again. For a little bit longer…

Groaning, Sakura rolled onto her back, opening her eyes. This was getting annoying. She still felt exhausted but not tired. She shifted as though uncomfortable, getting more and more irritable. Eventually, she groaned and, unable to drift off, Sakura grabbed one of the ink bottles Kankuro had given her and sat up on the bed, thinking. It was her brain. That was the problem. She couldn’t stop thinking about what she was really supposed to be doing in Suna. And inevitably, her musings spiralled in a Danzo kind of direction.

It’s been two years.

Sakura sighed. Well, almost two years. Her out of village missions had begun several months short of that. Danzo had been so insistent, demanding mission after mission of what could only be characterised as attempts to kill her in the most violent ways possible. Once she wised up and realised what he was doing, she’d wondered why he bothered to send her at all.

Why not just kill me quietly inside the village and then tell people I’d died on a mission?

The end result would be the same and she’d be out of his hair. By that time, she would’ve readily accepted it. Those missions came shortly after a realisation that she was all alone and the only thing she was good for anymore was getting other people killed.

If she’d had the courage, Sakura would have taken care of it herself. A quick slice along her carotid artery or jugular vein and she could bleed out in minutes. It would be a nice and painless death (the bleeding out, not the wound), her organs shutting down as she slowly drifted off. But she was a kunoichi, so a more violent death was on the cards for her, not the easy way out. She just had to make her peace with that.

Still, if she had a kunai right now, the temptation would be there. Sakura didn’t believe she would ever take her own life unless absolutely necessary, like the blue light of glimmering flames of an Anbu about to be snuffed out. But she couldn’t help the dark process her thoughts took when she imagined what to do if she had a weapon like a kunai right now.

No, first she’d go over every charcoal marking on the back of her bedroom door with the blade, carving them in permanently. Her first night here she’d lamented the loss of that possibility.

What next?

She wouldn’t touch the cactus that Matsuri and Yukata had given her. It felt disrespectful somehow. But the bed side table it lived on would be fair game. Chakra infused kunai straight down the middle of it. Or something not so lame as that. She’d figure it out then. Hm. The wardrobe was boring. The rest of the furniture was just… ugh.

I am so uninventive.

But there was a full-length mirror behind the large closet door that she used after dressing. It felt like such a shame to simply drag the tip of the kunai along its fragile glass. If Sakura really wanted to do some damage, she had her chakra scalpel to smash it. No, she’d have to think of something else for the mirror.

Sakura sighed. Not that it mattered anyway.

Her thoughts drifted back to Danzo but, had they ever really left?

She’d been making a mental note of the missions he’d given her over the years, and this was the perfect time to get them down on paper. Fortunately, Kankuro had provided normal paper as well, given that she would need something to write on with ink he had graciously given her. According to her lie.

Is it bad that I don’t feel guilty about tricking him?

Oh well.

She used the pillow to support herself and the paper as she sat back against the headboard of the bed, hand poised to write her list.

First year.

Sakura wrote the few missions she could think of, in bullet point form, leaving some space for things she might remember later. That year had been the worst, because it took her a while to adjust to the way Danzo did things. It was painful, shifting from Tsunade’s rule to his. And so suddenly. Abrupt and jarring.

It was a year of hell, including her very first seduction mission. She shivered at the memory of it, even now. Men were perverts. The whole bloody lot of them. On the surface, it was just another mission meant to devalue her worth, much like the ones that followed. Buried deep beneath that tainted surface lie a bloodied truth that she was less important than the steel she carried with her. Her first time as prey for men and she was oh-so bad at it. At first. Sakura wouldn’t have survived if she hadn’t upped her game, so to speak.

She shuddered again. Ink dripped from the edge of her pen; the same pen she’d stolen from downstairs. It was leaking. She wiped it on the side of the paper absentmindedly.

No matter what they did to her, she kept crawling back to Konoha. Her sick, twisted mind kept retreating to the village. Where else did she have to return to?

“Admit it, Danzou broke your weak arse before you even left for your first mission.”

Sakura had no rebuttal for that. It was true. She’d cracked. Months of pain, mind games and fatigue mixed in with both sensory deprivation and malnutrition would do that to a person. But somehow, she figured that wasn’t what the mirage was talking about.

Whatever.

Second year.

Officially, seduction missions were off the table after what had cruelly become known as the Temper-Tenten-Tantrum.

The Foundation are clever with their mocking, aren’t they? Bastards.

Sakura had been forced into dangerous missions in her first year but nothing like what Danzo had ordered her into during the second. The suicide missions had only been the past six months before this one to Suna, but for about the same amount of time before that, they’d been escalating towards it. She went from babysitting nobles who lined Danzo’s pockets (who were also perverts) to assassinations to joining doomed team missions. All of that diluted with solo missions that she, more often than not, failed due to having to choose between death and a slim hope of success.

The violence was the glaring common denominator amongst them all. But when she factored in the politics of each mission, the goal, and threat level, none of it linked up. It all seemed so random. Could it have all just been a coincidence?

No, no. It has to mean something.

She reread her list a few more times, squinting at the words as she attempted to fill in the blanks.

Seduction mission. Babysit an arsehole mission. Stand-in for someone who was due to be assassinated. Seduction mission. Babysitting more arseholes mission. Actual assassination mission. Retrieval missions. Go get yourself fucking killed mission.

In her memory, and without a list, they had always just blurred together. Her feelings about each mission just bleeding into one big ball of repression. Sakura pushed it all down, like she’d been doing from the start. She didn’t want to remember the specifics. That’s not what this list was about. It was about Danzo.

What the fuck is he really up to?

Sakura stared down at her final list. She refused to believe the bastard didn’t have a diabolic, long-term plan. She was missing something. It was just going to take time to figure it all out.

She yawned suddenly and sighed. It could wait until morning. Her body was finally shifting into “must sleep” mode and no way was she going to ignore it.

The sun was peeking over the horizon, spilling into her bedroom, and she groaned at the lost time. She rolled her eyes before closing them to sleep.

Sleep.

.:.

Why was she still here? Where did the time go? Night became morning but still the darkness lingered. Her mind still tittered about useless, unimportant things. Blood. Death. Murder. All the things she’d known before but had never been a reality. They came when she opened her eyes. They stayed when she closed them. Nesting behind her eyelids. In the black of that faux reprieve.

Gaara still hadn’t spoken to her.

She was going insane.

Another day blackened to night.

Why am I still here?

.:.

The room was dark and cold. The air was frigid. But she couldn’t feel that. Instead, she felt the shock of heat that raced through her body. The hot flame that didn’t set her on fire. But it did burn. It seared.

It was trying to kill her.

“Again.”

This time she screamed. Her brittle voice bounced off the walls, magnifying the sound. Each pitiful whimper made her jerk in pain at the sound of herself. Spasms, twitches, involuntary convulsions, and loss of muscle control. She cried as the cold hand of the jutsu came down. Again, and again. Her wet body conducted the electricity.

“Again.”

“Stop!” She screamed.

The air left her lungs and she gasped. “Please, stop.”

“Let the record show the time and date.”

How long had they been torturing her for? A week this time. Strapped to a metal chair in the interrogation room that was Ibiki-free these days. She blinked heavily through her blurry vision as her tormentor leaned closer, his face in hers.

“You will admit your guilt,” he said.

“I—”

She didn’t need to finish that sentence. Her body arched as he hit her; her head snapped painfully to the side.

“Admit it and all this will end.”

She sobbed and clenched her fists, pulling her body in as tight as she could in her restraints.

“She needs another dose.”

Sakura never knew what they were injecting her with. She struggled against their hold as several Root took pleasure in grabbing her. Holding her down. Touching places they had no business touching. Tilting her head. Sharp jabbing pain. Then a foul liquid was forced down her throat and she was losing grip on reality.

How much time had passed?

The next thing she knew, Sakura came to with her interrogator pacing in front of her, monologuing. She couldn’t even smile at the cliché evil bad guy look he had on his face. She tried to open her mouth to tell him. She was about to tell him. She had to tell him he was a fucking arsehole. That the world would be a better place if he sliced his throat open and bled out onto the floor. The words wouldn’t come.

But then he stopped. Her mouth snapped shut and the sudden pressure of expectation left her body. Straps were being released. Rough hands that didn’t care if they were hurting her in the process. She was being set free.

Free?

Sakura let out a pitiful sob of relief. He mistook it for compliance. She almost told him he could do whatever he wanted to her as long as he just let her go. She almost broke down. She almost let him win.

“Is she ready?”

“We’ll find out.”

Sakura fell to her knees, crying out as her skin scraped against the hard floor, ripping new, raw wounds. Manacles released, she immediately pulled away from her captors, scrambling into the corner. The water that had tormented her just as much as the lightning jutsu; it swam about her as she moved abruptly. Out of a bucket? Or spilled from a water hand sign? She didn’t know.

She looked up to see a blurry, familiar face that almost made her smile. An image of Tsunade in her mind, looking down at her, saddened at the state of her.

“I’m sorry.” She spluttered at her hallucination, then hugged her legs and buried her face in her knees. “I’m so sorry.”

Her captor hovered over her.

Danzo lowered his voice to a rasp. “You will be.”

.:.

Salty tears stained her cheeks as her eyes fluttered open. Warmth and comfort replaced frigid cold and hard. She was safe. She inhaled deeply, the bland colouring of the ceiling staring down at her. A gasp and a shudder; she focused on her breathing. There was no panic, but one could never be too careful.

The previous day she’d returned to her wedding plan duties and slept half the time. She was more awake at night, since the first creation of her ink creatures. This nightmare had come out of nowhere.

Sakura rolled over and fresh tears trailed down over the old ones, gravity diverting them into the corner of her mouth. She wiped at them before pushing herself into a seated position. She sniffed and looked around for tissues. Finding none, she grabbed a roll of toilet paper instead. It was nowhere near as soft, but it did the job.

She didn’t want to mentally unpack the nightmare that was more like a memory. She’d had too many of them over the years but there was something surreal about the vividness of the ones that assaulted her lately. She rubbed at her eyes carelessly and tossed the used squares of toilet paper into the bin.

Enough of that.

Her dream lied.

Danzo had never tortured her personally. Except for in specific circumstances when he wanted to either showcase his control or take credit for something his lackeys achieved, delegation and voyeurism were his bread and butter. His lackeys were the ones with the honour that came with tormenting her. Danzo had been there at first but quickly realised she would not give so easily. He was a busy man. He had a village to run. And a nation to squeeze until he could convince the daimyo to attack the others.

He couldn’t waste time torturing an insignificant kunoichi, even if she had been in Tsunade’s inner circle.

No, it was Root shadows that used lightning jutsu conducted through a body of water like a full bucket to make her scream. It was their favourite weapon of choice, for the most part. It was like electroshock therapy – an outdated and barbaric practise she’d heard about in a medical scroll about forbidden techniques where chakra application was optional. The idea of which was to trigger a brain seizure and “cure” the patient of any number of things. She supposed the Root thought they were curing her of loyalty to Tsunade.

Didn’t fucking work.

Not really. It just made her not care anymore.

Sakura fell back onto the bed and stared at the ceiling, trying to calm her breaths. The tears were dry, and she probably looked like shit, so she forced herself to get up and wash her face in the bathroom. The face that stared back at her in the clear and clean mirror above the sink was hollow and pale. She tried a strained smile, and it just made her look creepy. She rubbed her fingers gently over her face, outlining her cheekbones and grimaced.

I used to be pretty.

And she used to care about that.

But now?

Sakura had a lower opinion of herself than she used to, it was true. But still, she couldn’t help the resurgence of the vanity that had consumed her all those years ago. Sure, she looked like a shell of her former self, but she could still trace the high cheekbones with her forefinger, the surprisingly still soft feel of her skin; her face framed by her pink hair.

I’m still pretty.

Just hidden under a thick film of perpetual blood and grime, no matter how much she scrubbed herself in the shower. And her eyes only sparkled now when they were wet with tears or blood.

What Gaara must think of me.

Of the girl he thought of as a future bride.

She scoffed.

I’m an idiot for worrying about that. And so is he if he does care.

It was easy to mock Gaara, and herself, in her head. The idea that he’d care if she was still pretty, was ridiculous. And the fact that she did still care what she looked like was stupid. But if the Kazekage came to her right now and told her she was pretty, said she was beautiful, her heart would clench. Her smile would be genuine. Hell, she’d likely blush like a genin getting attention from their academy crush. It was because she really did like him…. No, respect him. He and Kankuro both reminded her of what she’d lost, but in a longing and familiar way, not grieving or remembering painful things. But somehow, she couldn’t picture what her reaction would be if the older brother told her he found her attractive. She mused on that. It made her wonder what would happen if she stayed in Suna. With Gaara.

Without marrying him… of course.

Her heart pained at the thought. First, she needed to get rid of the shadow and kill Danzo.

Dangerous ideals.

She shook herself of these painful thoughts. No. She was better off alone. Trusting anyone other than herself had been unsafe for over two years and that wasn’t about to change so easily.

Sakura ran her hands under the running water and washed her face again. And again. And again. When she finally turned the tap off, she could suddenly hear the rain her subconsciousness had smelled through the open window ten minutes ago.

It’s not raining.

It couldn’t be. That was crazy. Rain in Suna? It defied everything she knew about the region at this time of year. Though it wasn’t unheard of, it…. No, she had no idea how to finish that train of thought. This was just nuts.

Maybe Suna’s caught my crazy.

Sakura cracked opened her bedroom window and was immediately met with the pitter-patter of what looked and sounded like a cloudburst, not to mention smelled of dust and rain. She couldn’t help the genuine smile and licked her dry lips.

It was still nighttime. Stars still twinkled down at her weakly through the drizzly distortions. Lights that would be gone in a few hours when the sun finally rose. Giving into temptation, she pushed the window the rest of the way open and stepped onto the frame, pulling herself out and up onto the roof. Illuminated by what little stars could be seen behind the cloudburst and the bright moon that even the darkest cloud couldn’t hide, she made her way to the roof of the Kazekage’s mansion.

A flat surface on top of a circular body.

Sakura smiled to herself as she lifted her face to catch the rain, arms stiffly by her side. These sun showers were rare in Suna, apparently. It would be gone in a few minutes, so she waited it out, eyes closed and smile wide. It was almost meditative. It was calming. It was unobtrusive.

It was dangerous.

Her only warning was a shift in the air, like that rushing weight at sudden altitude changes, and her ears popped. Her vision blurred for a moment, and she turned quickly on the spot. The air changed around her. The shimmering of unfamiliar chakra. She’d missed it at first, so lost in her bliss. Her stupid moment of weakness.

How had he broken the barrier jutsu?

I let my guard down in enemy territory. Dumb.

But who was the real enemy?

Now, her blood boiled. She could hear her heart racing in her ears as her attacker fell on her from above. Men typically had a physical superiority, but with her chakra enhanced strength, she easily flipped him flat on his back. Heavily. It wasn’t enough to break anything since she’d reacted with surprise rather than strength. The man immediately rolled away from her and climbed to his feet.

Sakura sized him up.

Covered completely in black, like a cliché ninja and not wearing any kind of typical battle gear. His face was hidden behind a skin-tight mask, complete with a respirator, like the shinobi in the rain village wore. They all hid their faces, there, even if they didn’t always wear the mouthpiece. Sakura had gone head-to-head with enough of them to know it was just a thing they did. They wore masks to deflect the sun or water from their jutsu.

Water.

Sakura resisted the urge to look up into the sky again, keeping her eyes firmly on the enemy in front of her, the reminder of her blundering into the jutsu wet and soggy on her skin. She was soaked to the bone now. Her opponent shifted into a more offensive stance and readied a kunai. Meanwhile, Sakura was unarmed. Technically speaking.

Lightning chakra sizzled its way onto his blade, and she stiffened. There had to be some kind of trick because the rain didn’t conduct it into him. He nodded curtly. “Hi, pinky.”

Unfamiliar and muffled voice. Unfamiliar and subtle chakra. No headband, despite his attempt to copy Rain ninja clothing. He clearly wasn’t an official visitor to the village hidden in the sand.

I can kill him.

As he moved, Sakura reacted instinctively. She couldn’t touch the kunai directly and erred on the side of caution that he might be able to conduct the lightning through the air if she got too close. What she did was kick up toward his elbow, forcing him to change the angle of his approach. She needed him to open himself enough to lay her hands on his chest or weaker arm. Somewhere.

When he inevitably dodged her attack, she kicked out in front of her, toward his shin. He evaded that too. He was fast.

I’m faster.

It wasn’t just because of her evasion training with Tsunade. Two years of having to be faster or deader than her opponent had honed her avoidance skills even further. Something she had become a master at in other areas of her life too, truth be told. But Sakura had no lightning or wind techniques under her belt to directly combat the enemy jutsu, despite the expansion of her repertoire over the last few years.

Does he know this already?

She channelled chakra to her feet for a push of speed and darted to the side as her assailant lunged toward her. He shifted direction but she was already behind him, shoving her fist into his back. She could feel the give of his spine immediately, but her intent wasn’t to paralyse him, not yet. The mixed nerves along the spine were both fibres that transmitted sensory and motor control impulses between the spinal cord and the rest of the body. Any medic worth their salt knew how to dampen them just enough to hamper movement without stopping it completely.

She wanted a challenge, but not to be completely overwhelmed. And the sick, twisted knowledge that she could take his motor functions from him at any time.

This is not something I’d have even considered doing before Danzo.

Ignoring that line of thought, Sakura grabbed a hold of her would-be assassin’s shirt and spun him around. He used the momentum to lash at her again and she felt the crackle of his lightning enhanced kunai as it missed her by mere inches, but angry sparks of searing heat lashed out and grazed her face and neck. Wincing and gasping, she ignored the pain and grabbed his wrist mid-air, then squeezed. Her super strength broke all eight bones in his wrist and a handful of more in the rest of his hand. She also touched his back with her fingertips, severing some of the nerves in his spinal column permanently.

He fumbled, letting out a soft cry, dropping his weapon. Sakura caught it, the lightning crackling against her skin before disappearing. She held tighter to it, gripping the handle even more firmly once it full dissipated. It felt hot, pulsing through the palm of her hand. Third degree burns did that.

Luckily, it was still raining.

The man had to have another weapon, right? She decided not to drag this out by letting him dig into his ninja pouch, even in his weakened state. Maintaining her hold on his wrist, Sakura infused her own chakra into her new kunai and shoved it into his eye. His screams were muffled by the rain, but she heard him loud and clear. It made her smile, twisting her mouth into the most genuine look of excitement she’d felt her face stretch into for a long time. The brain was behind the eye, but Sakura knew that this kind of stab wound was rarely, immediately fatal. He thrashed as much as he could with limited motor functions, falling to the ground. She pounced on him, using her super strength to keep him from flailing too much.

What am I doing?

She wasn’t sure. The missions and battles of times before Danzo’s take over were hazy in her brain, so much so that she barely remembered how to fight without causing massive, bodily trauma. It was what the Root commander who’d groomed her had pounded into her.

Don’t go for the quick kill unless time is an issue.

Quick, painless kills were for weak shinobi. And she was supposed to be pretending to be strong. She looked down at her enemy, helpless underneath her as she held him against the rooftop, her knowledge of anatomy making him as useless as a genin under her power. As easily as her enhanced chakra strength could on its own. His pitiful attempts to summon more lightning chakra without use of his broken hand and no way of getting her off him reminded her of herself when those kinds of jutsu were once used to fry her into compliance.

Pitiful.

And there it was. Sympathy. Guilt. For what she’d just done to him.

Maybe I’m still me. A little bit.

She almost wrenched herself away from him. But that would give him leeway she couldn’t afford.

Sakura didn’t need to rip him. She didn’t need to pull him apart. Or even take her time showing him his insides before she finally ended things. No, he wasn’t her true enemy. The ones who tricked him into coming here and getting himself killed. She would save her most inventive torture for them. She took in the would-be assassin’s wide eyes, panicked look, trying to imagine him gasping into that mouthpiece, struggling to breathe. It was enough that he knew this was coming.

Switching her new kunai to the hand still holding him down, she concentrated chakra into the fingertips of her other hand and formed a chakra scalpel. With a screech, Sakura thrust her weaponised hand into her assailant’s throat. Blood splattered over her extremities, and she felt the warm stickiness of it on her face. The would-be assassin gasped, coughing, and spraying more blood onto her person. It didn’t take long for him to fall dead silent.

If he was capable of choking on his own blood right now, it would be quite the sight.

Sakura fell backwards as though in shock, an iron grip on the kunai even as it shook in her hand. Even as she recognised this weapon had been meant to kill her. She couldn’t let go of it. She had torn it from him. Tormented him. It was hers now.

The rain quickly died, and she suddenly knew why. She already knew why. But now she knew.

Blood dripped from the blade, fighting against the weight of lingering moisture from the rain jutsu. Blood dripped from her fingertips.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

Like a faucet. Like a lifeline. And her head was throbbing.

She sighed. The tension in her body released and she let out a low, bark of a laugh. Bum on the wet ground and blood on her person despite the fact that it had just been raining and she suddenly found the whole thing hilarious. She looked up at the night sky as it started to lighten before her eyes. Was it closer to dawn than she’d realised? The stars were twinkling ever so faintly, the drizzly distortions no longer blocking them. They were saying goodnight. Goodbye.

Don’t look at the body.

Sakura climbed to her feet as she sensed the familiar chakra. She should’ve sensed it before. Sensed him. She glanced at Gaara in her peripherals, realising he’d been watching nearby. He was so stoic. So seemingly disconnected. But the slow blinking made her wonder if he was forcing his apparent calm. She knew some of his tells already.

He doesn’t twitch. He flows. He doesn’t have any kind of jerky movements.

But she felt oddly composed under his intense stare.

“He doesn’t trust you, idiot.”

She couldn’t see her mirage. Perhaps it was hiding behind the blotch in her vision. Or the body of her kill.

“So instead of killing that stupid shadow that’s been taunting you, practically begging for it, you kill a random assassin instead?”

She really didn’t understand its confusion. She could kill this man. It was the perfect situation to let out her frustrations. Nobody would bat an eye at his death. Unless they were witness to it, maybe. Sakura glanced at Gaara again.

“His blood won’t wash off your skin so easily. What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Oh, so many things.

She sighed. Quietly, Gaara still watched her, perhaps waiting to see what she would do next. She cocked her head toward him, much like he did when detecting his Anbu in the area. The move got a reaction out of him; he shuffled his feet. Elegantly, she might add. Maybe he was disgusted by what she’d done. The man who used to literally house a demon. But he hadn’t interfered. She realised now, outside of her blood haze, that he’d been there the moment the would-be-assassin had made their move.

And he trusted me to handle it… right?

That or he just didn’t care.

Or the rain kept him and his sand at bay.

Or both. Or neither. Did he care?

These thoughts were dangerous and wishful thinking. There was no need to look further into this. Her heart was racing as her head began to pound loudly in her ears. Gripping her new kunai tighter in her fist, Sakura turned and walked away, still not looking at the body.

He watched her go.

.:.

Madness had many faces. Many guises. And tonight, it wore the mask of Sakura Haruno.

Gaara had never seen anyone he considered an ally look so bloodthirsty. Not for a long time. He knew the madness that had wrangled her. He’d seen it in the mirror for most of his life. He understood it. But where was her demon? It wasn’t a tangible tormentor or voice in her ear, like his had been. Not from what he could tell. But it was there, all the same.

Danzo.

Of course. It would all be tracked back to him. She wasn’t like this before.

It started with her ragged appearance on arrival to Suna. Then that scream the night he’d sent his third eye to check on her. And the state of her afterward. And it was in her everyday demeanour, not to mention how she would casually trauma dump on him as though it wasn’t a big deal to be the victim of sexual assault on missions, let alone the blasé way she’d talked about hurting others.

And then, what she’d done to that would-be assassin…

It wasn’t like a ninja’s life was flowers and rainbows before this Cold War but at least then there had been a consensus that bodily autonomy was to be respected, and that those who violated it were vile scum. Worse than scum.

Now all bets are off.

Gaara ran a hand over his face as he stared at the dead body of the attacker. The rooftop was still wet and bloodied from his jutsu and death throes. A real rain would have to come to clean it. He wasn’t going to put it on official record that it needed to be done manually. Gaara sighed, narrowing his eyes at the lifeless invader. He knew from looking at the man that he was meant to give the impression he didn’t come from any particular village, despite his similarities to rain ninja. He’d been Kazekage for seven years and knew all the darkest secrets of his beloved village. Even the ones the council had tried to hide from him.

Gaara didn’t react as an Anbu dropped silently next to him. The masked ninja released a scroll and moved the body into it, before nodding to his Kazekage and disappearing just as wordlessly. He’d be taking it to Baki. He wouldn’t be mentioning this. Ever. This would be their secret.

Hidden villages and their secrets.

And he was a party to them. It never sat well with him, but what else could he do? So many secrets and enemies. He glanced up at the sky, realising belatedly that the Root shadow was nowhere to be found. He’d been absent this whole time.

He probably knows, though, the sneak.

Gaara sighed and teleported himself into his home office, where he’d been when he sensed the invading chakra in the first place. The cracking of the seal. But there was no focusing on his late-night work after everything he’d just witnessed. He couldn’t stop thinking about the fight on the roof of his home. He sank heavily into his chair, trying to process everything.

Going after the protégé of the Fifth Hokage was a mistake, no matter how much she’d been leashed these past years. Of that, even Gaara understood. The least of the would-be assassin’s transgressions had been to force his way through the sealed barrier. At least the Root member had the decency to wait until he could figure out how to do it quietly. This had been brazened, seemingly with a presumption that nobody was going to notice such brute force.

Assuming he was working alone.

Which Gaara didn’t believe for a minute. It had been a foreign shinobi. There were several possible reasons for the attempted assassination, and many more that he was supposed to believe were the true intentions of this attack. In reality, it was likely supposed to be an attack on Suna’s security more than anything else, but the fake implication? His first guess was that the façade was meant to make it look like someone was pissed about this sham of an engagement between himself and Sakura. That was the most obvious intention, in his opinion.

Nice and cut dry.

The most suspicious part was how the Root shadow had been absent during the attack. Gaara presumed that the man wanted through the barrier, but he had not come running the moment it was breeched. So, either he really was just deliberately fucking with everyone’s nerves every time he skirted its boundary, or he wanted in under the radar. For a more quiet and underhanded purpose.

To kill Sakura?

That would be Gaara’s first guess. Sneak in under the seal then kill her, making it look like negligence on Suna’s part. Perhaps as an excuse for open war. Or whatever Danzo was really after. But there was no way a single shinobi, no matter how skilled they were with barrier jutsu, could break through it on their own. Unless they had enormous chakra reserves like Naruto…

It was further proof that someone in the council was working against Suna.

Gaara slumped over, resting his forehead on his desk in an out of character show of frustration. What it all it came down to was, the fact that Sakura was not safe in Suna. Or anywhere else. He needed to beef up security and keep a closer eye on her himself. Then there was the matter of her mental instability. She was worse off than he had realised. And Gaara still had no idea what to do about it.

In all honesty… her brand of madness scared the hell out of him.

.:.

[greypetrel]

Hey hey! From the prompts, maybe 'one laughing out loud in the dark after the other randomly blurts out a thought they had before going to sleep', for blorbos of your choice! :3

Hello there, Laya! <3

Thanks for asking as usual!

Since you gave me freedom of choice… We're back to DadWolf AU, still pretty early this time. Malcolm died (RIP), the situation in Kirkwall became to be... Not exceptional for mages (voices started to run about opening the Circle again), so with 4 mage children Varric, Solas and Leandra decided to move to Ferelden. Not everyone took it in stride.

Tis the prompt list.

A way to get back home (🎶)

'one laughing out loud in the dark after the other randomly blurts out a thought they had before going to sleep'

Moving to Redcliffe was proving to be more difficult than they initially thought.

Sure, the logistic had not been easy: not with two kids of five (“And a half!”), and Leandra with her own four children to help, the eldest of only ten. Looking for a house whilst staying in a cramped motel room had been a nightmare, everyone was constantly on everyone’s feet. And then, they finally found something that could suit the needs of both Varric and Solas, two people with wildly different tastes and needs and ideas even if time proved they could share a house, and at the same time be suitable for the most recent additions to their rag-tag household. Except, Aisling stopped talking and went from happy and cheerful to gloomy and detached.

She was always shy outside the household, and even inside it had taken a while for her to warm up fully and be at ease, even if Dorian’s arrival had helped considerably. She kept being shy with strangers, not talking much more than what little politeness they insisted on, but she made progresses, and she was laughing around them and she called Solas “papae”. And despite this, now she was stepping back.

It started with little things that passed as her being shy: needing to be coaxed into doing many things, not trusting the estate agent that had been helping them to the point of not speaking, not even a hello, and hiding behind Solas’ legs, clutching on the cloth of his trousers, whenever the woman tried to talk to her. She never expressed one single opinion on any of the houses they visited, no matter how much they all tried to involve her and Dorian in the choice (as much as possible, since Dorian was pretty sure he wanted a cellar coated in pure lead so he could build a nuclear reactor there). She stood silent, wasn’t interested at best or simply told them, very seriously, that she didn’t care, and they could choose whatever.

If at first Varric -who had his fair share of hurt and mourning to swallow after Malcolm’s death- said it was all Solas being overly worried ever since she started to call him “papae” (partially true), when they first entered in the house they bought, keys in hand to take measurements and have a definitive look about spaces, and Aisling sat by the entrance door, took a book out of her backpack and refused to move from there, it became impossible not to notice.

“I’m fine, thank you, I do not care for the colours of the walls and I hate the rooms up the stairs.”

It was all she had to say, before submerging in the adventures of Fantastic Mr. Fox, which she couldn’t read by herself save some few words here and there, but was putting a lot of effort to, or just looking at the pictures. They went around the house with a luckily more enthusiastic Dorian -he needed some diversion to leave his sister alone and not try to drag her around forcibly- and did what they had to in a tenser atmosphere than they thought it would have been. They roamed the empty house, both two floors, all the rooms up above, let Dorian choose his room. Aisling never moved, and stayed crouched on her book, following letters and drawings with her finger, a concentrated frown on her little face, cheeks puffed up as she formed the words she could understand slowly.

“Don’t you want to choose your room, Pikachu?” Varric tried to coax her, after a couple of hours.

“No, thank you.” She just replied, without even looking at him, and that was all she had to say on the matter. Any further question was just met with her asking what this or that word was read.

As the dwarf made his way up the staircase again, where Solas was lying on the bannister, looking at the child with a worried frown, he finally got to reason.

“There’s something wrong.”

“Oh look, it’s not me being an overworrier?”

“It’s not wise being sarcastic with the person bringing you cocoa in a coffee cup in the morning, Chuckles… You may even find yourself that it’s actually coffee.”

Sarcasm apart, they agreed that something must be done, at least to pinpoint what exactly was the problem. She was fine, health-wise (Solas checked): she ate plenty, didn’t throw one single tantrum, slept regularly. It was just as she was detached from everything else, and closed herself up, for unknown reasons that not even Dorian could shake her out to by constantly prodding at her more and more insistently and more and more vainly and showing he was anxious about it too.

So, one day, when Varric was at the new house with Dorian as the kitchen was being installed, Solas took Aisling and told her they would have gone to explore the neighbourhood, just the two of them. Nothing more, nothing less, just a long walk. She nodded and took his hand, and together they went, on foot, without a precise direction.

The house was in a residential neighbourhood on the outskirts of Redcliffe: as they walked the lane, they saw other houses, similar to theirs, with gardens and trees, and children playing in the warm September sun. Not too far, the town began properly, with a commercial street full of shops and people. Solas brought her to a library, just to check what was in store -it was a very small shop, but it sold more second-hand books than new ones, and it had something interesting- and in a place that made ice-cream, where Aisling could be coaxed in having a grown-up cone - ice cream always, always worked with her. And as the child trodded on, one hand in Solas’, the other clutched on a big cone she couldn’t lick faster than it melted, they found a park, at a reasonable distance. It was quiet, full of big tall trees and decently-kept lanes dotted with wood benches. Larger and wider than anything there was in Kirkwall, people walking there or jogging all seemed to agree not to speak too loudly, bothering the quiet of the late summer afternoon, as the light turned golden and speckled the lawns and lanes.

Aisling finally seemed to relax a little, moving a little away from Solas’ leg and looking around with more curiosity: there were considerably more people with dogs, big animals with short fur, huge round heads and keenly intelligent eyes. Solas had read of mabari hounds, but never really saw one himself: they were bigger than other dogs, the air about them more intelligent, making them look as if they were more than ready to break a neck, or lick your face and fetch a stick at the same time. They stopped, Solas asked if they could pet her dog to the owner of one that had stopped on his track to look at Aisling with ears up and his tongue lolling out of his muzzle in an expression that could as well have been a smile. He crouched down, hugged the child’s shoulders and coaxed her to walk back to his side, and offer her hand, palm up, for the dog to inspect. The animal sniffed it once and licked it, wiggling his tail with enthusiasm, and let the child pet his head (“Delicately, da’len, yes, like this.”), huffing happily.

After the meeting with the dog, Aisling was finally in a better mood. Enough that she smiled and finally accepted to speak, as they sat down on a bench to rest a little after the long walk.

“I hate the new house.” She grumbled, raising her legs on the bench and hugging her thighs, face hidden between her knees.

“I know, you don’t like the dark… But we can put all the fairy lights we got for the motel in your room, what about it?

“I don’t want a room.” She declared, with all the offense a child of six can muster.

“I see.” Solas considered, tentatively placing a hand on the shoulder opposite to his side. She didn’t move away, which was a success by itself.

“I liked our home in Kirkwall. Why couldn’t we stay there?” She whined.

“Because since Raina’s papa died, it’s not safe for mages there. You and Dorian would have been brought back to the orphanage.” He explained, as calmly as he could.

“The orphanage was better than the new house.” She declared.

This stopped the elf: bringing her home had been an impromptu decision, exactly because he saw her in said chantry-orphanage. She looked so out of place, so scared and helpless that he couldn’t bring himself to leave her there, a lonely elf with magic in the middle of other older children who pulled her hair and tried to elicit her to use magic to defend herself, with that awful Chantry Sister already talking of sending her to another facility for mages, labelling the clearly distressed child come from a destroyed Dalish clan as “dangerous”. He knew she had comprehensibly hated the orphanage, she had told him so one of the rare times she talked about it.

“Why so, da’len? I’m sorry we chose something that you don’t like, we had no idea.”

“It’s too big. I don’t want to sleep there. I don’t want a room, I hate it.”

“Why do you hate it? Is it too dark?”

“No.”

“I can’t help you if you don’t tell me what’s wrong, da’len.”

She groaned, shaking her head and scuddling closer, hugging his midsection, face disappearing in his sweater. In the brief moment she went from hiding in her knees to hiding in his side, he could see tears and a flush.

“We can paint the walls in whatever colour you like. I could paint you hallas and unicorns, if it made you feel better.”

“No.”

He let her be, caressing her hair and back, trying to soothe her a little as she cries. After a couple of minutes, she slowly crawled from his side to his lap, hugging his neck and crying some more. He let her: as such things went, she just needed to vent it out, and who knew since when. Leaving the Free Marches had not been an easy choice for no one of them, after all: it meant cutting all ties or possibly so with whatever life they had before; Varric was just the one more visibly hit by the blow, and the one to express it more openly. Solas had to come to a peace with the fact that whatever he had planned or hoped… Was now on an indefinite delay. Until the children would have grown, he sometimes told himself, until they would have been big enough to fend for themselves and… And, he had more doubts each day it passed, each day they grew more attached to him, and him to them, and they didn’t feel like fever dreams anymore. Sure, the child in his arm was real and living and with emotions of her own. After ten minutes, ten minutes of Solas thanking people stopping by to ask him if everything is all right with the child, Aisling finally turns, and sniffing loudly whispers in his ear.

“I don’t want to be all alone. It’s scary if I’m all alone. I wanna go back to Kirkwall in my room with Dorian. Or in the motel where we are all together. I was never alone with my mamae, before.”

Oh. So that was the issue. Indeed, they started to chant about how they would have a room of their own, like big children, ever since they told them they would have moved south, and promoted the thing as if it was something to look forward to, something good and exciting to keep them enthused about the moving. Apparently with her it just caused more anxiety than necessary.

“I see. Didn’t you feel alone in the orphanage, tho?”

“No.” She shook her head, bumping against his in the process. “There was a girl who snored like Varric. The room was dark and scary but she snored, and it didn’t feel alone.” She explained.

“I understand.”

“Can we go back?”

“We can’t, Aisling, I’m sorry.”

“Pretty please?”

“I’m afraid it’s really not possible… But we can find another solution.”

Slowly and shily, Aisling let him go, sitting back on his thigh and looking at him with red puffy eyes, hair a mess and snot on her upper lip, still pouting. Solas fished a tissue from one of his pockets and cleaned her up, helping her in the end to blow her nose. He waited for her to finish, before explaining his plan to her and, this time, asking for her input and her agreement.

He got the first real smile after they had closed the house in Kirkwall for the last time, and he decided he would have worn that smile as a trophy, if nothing else worked.

---

The first night in the new house ran smoother than expected. In the rooms on the upper floor there were beds, perfectly comfy beds with clean sheets tucked clean and tight. Big, grown-up kid beds for the two children, so they could still share a room when they liked (“That’s a good idea” Varric had said “We’ll have also less laundry to take care of, it’s a win/win.”).

But in that first night, the upper floor was absolutely silent and uninhabited, none of the occupants was there even if there was all they would need to start inhabiting the place.

Instead, all the new occupants were camping on the floor in what would be the living room, once the furniture would be delivered, with inflatable mattresses and sleeping bags, empty pizza cardboards left on the kitchen counter - they were suggested the place by the neighbours and it was good, even if not good as the pizza in Kirkwall, according to Varric.

The lights were out, save for a couple of strings of fairy lights -one shaped like unicorns, the other like bats. Everyone was asleep.

Or, apparently was asleep, because the human kid was still looking at the roof, intently, a furrow on his little brows still visible even if he tucked the sleeping bag up to his nose. He turned his head towards his left, looking at the blonde hair of his sister, curled up in a ball facing him, eyes closed and thumb firmly stuck in her mouth.

“Aisling.” He called.

No answer.

“Aisling!” He called again, turning on his side and snaking one arm out to shake the shoulder of the girl enough to wake her.

“Mmmmmmh.” She mumbled groggily, rubbing her eyes with both little fists as she woke up. “What is it?”

“Is the first floor cursed?” The boy asked, snaking closer to her, a very serious expression on his face.

“Whaaat?” The girl drawled, green eyes opening wide and voice raising.

“Sssht!” The boy stopped her, closing her mouth with one of his palms. “Why are we sleeping here on the floor? Solas and you were gone and then you all decided to sleep on the floor. Has he told you that there’s a ghost up?”

Aisling blinked in recognition and shook her head in denial. She mumbled something against Dorian’s hand, drooling on his palm enough for him to take it away with a “Bleah!” and rub it on the sleeping bag.

“No, if there’s a ghost papae didn’t tell me. I told him I don’t want a room.” Aisling explained, seriously and keeping whispering not to wake the adults up. “I told him I wanted to get back to Kirkwall and to our room.”

“Why?”

“I hate this house. Don’t you? It’s big and scary and now there’s a ghost on the upper floor.”

Dorian stopped to think about it.

“I like the garden. I had a garden with my mater and pater, but I wasn’t allowed to it. Varric told me we are more than allowed to it, he’s gonna build us a swing of our own.”

Aisling considered it, and nodded, frowning a little thinking that it was very sad that he was kept out of the garden. She scuddled closer to him, patting his cheek with sympathy.

“I like the garden too. The tree is not as tall as the ones in the forest where my mamae and I lived, but it’s nice.”

They agreed, nodding solemnly.

“Dorian?”

“Mh?”

“Can we still be friends even if we’re in all separated rooms?”

“Of course, why wouldn’t we be?”

“Because you’ll be aaaaaaaall the way there… You’ll forget about me come morning.”

“But we’re not that far…”

“We are!” Aisling insists, pouting. “It’s all the way past the bathroom door, you’ll be like at least a mile away!”

Dorian considered the distance. Indeed, they had to walk all the way down the long corridor, which had just one window at the end and it was dark in the evening. It wasn’t even the first door: their rooms were separated by the bathroom, and it was a big bathroom with two sinks. It was, indeed, considerably far: in Kirkwall, all they had to do was cross the room to reach the other and tuck in the same bed when one had a nightmare. Or enter the door in front of theirs to get an adult. A mile seemed, to Dorian as well, a good definition for all that distance, and he nodded solemnly.

“I promise we’ll be friends forever.” He says, proposing her his left pinky finger: pinky finger promises were the most solemn and true, the ones you can’t ever break, Varric told them.

“I promise too.” Aisling says, smiling and crossing her pinky with his. They swayed their hand this way and that, pinkies still crossed together, as a definitive seal of the pact.

Done that, still huddled close together, they sighed. Aisling closed her eyes, content, and Dorian did too, finally happy with knowing what was going on. It wasn’t long before Aisling spoke again, tho.

“Dorian?”

“Yes?”

“Can we invent a signal to communicate between the rooms?”

“Sure. What kind?”

“I don’t know, but it must be something that can reach through a mile…”

“Mmmmmh.”

Five minutes later, the adults were abruptly woken up by two things, forcing them to jump sitting and believing there was someone in the house, someone who somehow found them and possibly with not so good intentions.

The first was a thunder booming in the room, echoing loudly in the big and still void of furniture space.

Varric jumped up, cursing the Maker and Andraste, and Solas did too, avoiding the cursing but instinctively evoking a barrier over them all, blue and shiny.

The second thing was the shrill laughter of both children, cuddled together between them and covering their mouths with their hands, faces scrunched up as they were most evidently having a good time.

“… Da’len, was that you?” Solas asked, between the desperate and the resigned, heart still pounding too fast.

All his answer was the children laughing louder and starting to kick their feet, and Varric flopping back down on his back and laughing too, hysterically. They all laughed, there on the floor, silly as it was to hear thunder inside the house at 2am.

The faint burnt mark that the not-so-secret signal created on the wooden floor was never cleaned out, the plank never substituted. It stayed a secret under the carpet, but it brought a smile on the face of everyone in the household who saw it, in cleaning or when a corner of the rug was kicked backward.

The house was very loved.

[tj-dragonblade]

Tagged by @notallsandmen - thank you!

Rules: list your wips with a brief description

There are a couple older ideas that I have back-burnered pending actual inspiration, and a few that I haven't committed to yet, but none of those are on this list. These are the wips that at present I still expect to get written. Oh my god why is Every Single One of these porn or plot-plus-porn.

working title 'The Clothing One' Rated E. My stab at the classic Dreamling trope 'Dream has issues with nudity after 100 years in the fishbowl'. Hob is, of course, more than willing to work with him. Sex with clothes still on can be a very good thing, after all. Also draws on comic!Dream's penchant for slutty robes.

working title 'Impromptu Fishbowl Therapy' Rated E; pre-relationship, get-together, my nod to a fishbowl rescue fic. Hob has A Lot of Unprocessed Emotions when Dream finally shares his fishbowl trauma; when he has a dream about it, Dream visits it. They talk about it there, where both of them will be more open, and eventually re-enact an Extremely Cathartic rescue. And then they fuck. (this sounds like one of those 'describe your wips but badly' entries and does no justice to the vision of it in my head. Please trust it's better than it sounds).

Title: Bleed for Me Rated E. The Victorian AU; close longtime friends Hob and Morpheus are serving together in the army. But whichever disastrous high-cost war they're in is taking its toll on Morpheus especially; Hob finds him drinking alone in their tent one night, spiraling in depression and despair. In the course of talking him through it confessions are made and the night is spent taking comfort in one another to stop thinking about The Horrors for a little while.

Title: Insatiable Rated E; the result of several Smut March prompts. Dream gets rimmed and railed within an inch of his life, again and again and again. That's it, that's the fic. Fully drafted and in the 'polishing' stage!

working title 'For My Fellow Freaks in the Server' Rated E; the result of several more Smut March prompts (and one from April). Dream appreciates Hob's chest hair. And his stomach hair. And his arm hair, leg hair - all the hair. And his very human scents. Especially where they're strongest. And his semen. Did I forget anything?

working title 'The Conference AU' Rated E; from the Smut April prompts 'bed sharing' and '"Then do it already."' Academic colleagues Hob and Dream end up sharing a room at a conference. They thereby end up spending most of their time together and naturally sparks flare. Hob is trying not to rush things; Dream has other ideas.

working title 'Multiple Hob Fic' Rated E; from the Smut April prompt 'Double Penetration'. Dream wants More while they're having sex and Hob, who's been practicing wielding the Dreaming, creates a double of himself. The original is 2022 Hob, as he consciously works to see himself in dreams nowadays; the double reverts to his default dream-self of 1389 Hob. Then Dream suggests cycling through his other centennial looks, so two by two Dream gets to have all the Hobs we see on screen. Dream will have a vulva for several of these turns and one of the Hobs probably will too. As a treat. Dream also does more sharing of memories and impressions and feelings from those meetings than he intended at the outset, and Hob treasures this openness.

working title 'Pretty Dolled-Up Dream' Rated E; for the Smut April prompts 'jewelry', 'makeup', and 'finger fucking'. Dream dolls himself up in makeup and jewelry and Hob takes him apart with his fingers. Very basic so far but most of these smut prompts have elaborated on me as I go, so we'll see where this one winds up.

Tagging, no obligation @staroftheendless , @quillingwords, @littledreamling, @lenreli, @serenailith, @zalia, @esperata

[ownerofthisaccount]

Hello again everyone! This was probably not the next part you hoped for but I hope I can explain well.

@raisans-art has made some really good AUs, such as the Human Illusion Au. One of them is the Chimera Emmet Au where Emmet is captured and experimented on, turning him into Agee after being fused with his Pokémon. Those who watched episode 4 of Fullmetal Alchemist are getting flashbacks

Well, they made a quick sketch of if Ingo was the one turned, called Chei, and I made a drawing for that afterwards because I have enjoyed both designs. As a child I loved transformations and stories of experiment or body horror, so that’s probably a factor. I later drew a mini comic for it detailing how the first night would go down, as well as a side comic of ghost Emmet. I made hints that a part two would come, and even released a WIP of one of the images. Well…I can’t say it won’t ever happen, perhaps months later, but I don’t think I will finish it right now(most of the betas were deleted anyway, either on purpose for space or by accident because of fat fingers). I have Aspergers, and I can hyperfixate on things. This can be for weeks, months, years, even forever in a couple cases. Chimera Emmet happened to be one of those(the twins are still an interest, but I got into several AUs based on them because of it) and I been seeing it since it’s early stages when Emmet was still himself in there. I just didn’t have the courage to fanart it till Chei came out as I love both but lean more to drawing Ingo. I have really enjoyed drawing the two and seeing their interactions, how this bad end line would go, and mentally thinking up things. It was also nice to see other people’s excitement over this and sees their asks created more drawings and pieces. Not recently I’ve been feeling the start of the interest drop. I hate when this happens because you love the thing but you can feel yourself slowly drift from it and it…sucks. I have the outlines ready to be draw but not the push or energy to complete it. I did managed to finish one, being a drawing of the remaining four Pokémon and Pels going to Juniper and Drayden, but unfortunately this was one of the ones that got accidentally deleted and I can’t recover it(which was possibly another push). On top of that I have actually started doing commissions, and being these and the two projects I’m working on(my graphic novel and my favorite list), Ive been a bit drained myself. I have betas for a couple though that were detailed enough to be salvageable, so I won’t put them to waste.

This was supposed to be Chei reading the floor apology made by Agee, anxiously waiting for a response.

This one was supposed to be Ingo’s spirit sensing something wrong, while Agee comforts a weakened Chei while they think of a way to escape.

And my personal favorite, Ingo’s spirit panicking while Emmet’s spirit starts trying to piece together what happened while wishing he was still alive because Chei and Agee would make for an interesting double battle duo(even in death he thinks of battle strategies)

It saddens me to not have full pictures to share, but I won’t leave you empty handed. I’ll share what I was thinking up if I made the final two parts: so after the first night, Chei wakes up to find a poorly drawn apology on the floor from Agee, who still feels guilty for hurting their friend(and shocked when they see Chei is healed) by accident. Though not fully forgiving yet, Chei accepts the apology and slowly starts being less cautious around Agee. Eventually this comes to head when Agee protects Chei from a threat(most likely the scientists) which fully gains the latter’s trust so the two begin to become friends. During this the remaining four mons meet up with Pels(given this Au has mostly the same beginning, Pels still tagged along and escaped the scientists during the chaos that was capturing Ingo) and reluctantly decide the best course of action is to try to tell others, as they feel with Pels with the they could possibly convince someone. Ingo and Emmet’s souls are in limbo, not having moved on due to the circumstances of their deaths(I headcanoned in my ghost Emmet comic that he couldn’t move on until he knew that Ingo was alright and moving forward, so here the two likely wouldn’t till they both pieced together what happened and got justice for the experiments) watch as time pass and the fusions truly become family. However Ingo senses something is amiss and sure enough Chei is growing weaker. Unlike Agee, Chei is an unstable fusion due to the damage before the experiment. Agee colors dull in these bad conditions but Chei’s body and especially souls struggle to handle it, and start to unravel. Agee refuses to let his buddy die and decide to work with Chei to try to escape. That would’ve been part two. The final part would’ve been Chei and Agee combining their moves(multi train style) to break through the glass and begin and escape. They start breaking out everyone and fighting back the scientists when Chei grows too weak to fight and Agee protects him. Before they can be detained, Rescue arrive with the remaining Pokémon, Pels, and the humans fighting to incapacitate the scientists. Chei is wary around them since trust issues, but Agee is grateful for their help and lifts Chei onto his back to carry him. Once the scientists are defeated. The others help Agee out getting everyone outside where the chimera lays Chei down. The fusion would’ve curled up under a tree with Agee and the others by, leaving it ambiguous if Chei was getting better and healing, or peacefully passing away in a nicer area that wasn’t a cell. The final frame would’ve been the twins, now satisfied the experiments were freed and given justice, walking off into the afterlife together. Not a perfect story but I had fun with it. Now…I did prepare something to give you a nugget anyway:

And here it is! Marshrill design was recently released and as someone who loves and theorize the twins becoming Pokémon, this was certainly up my alley and I had to draw at least a quick sketch. Hopefully it makes up for no huge comic update.

But anyway, final huge props to @raisans-art again and I hope you all still enjoyed this. Thank you all, and have a great rest of your day

[jennandblitz]

wip word search game

thanks for the tag @msalexwp 🥰🥰 I had such fun searching my WIPs. I tried to get these from different works, rather than all just from one!

my words: thrill | magic | laugh | soft | wild

Thrill - Please Set Me On Fire - plus, a sneak peak for chapter seven

Greyback falls to his knees with a yell and Remus feels something viciously prideful raze through his veins. The look of pain on Greyback’s face should’ve made Remus feel queasy with horror but he thrills with it. Remus grips his knife tightly, watching. 

Magic - the next chapter of Always in this Twilight

He was convinced something would go wrong tonight, somehow, somewhere in his bones, as deep as he knew magic, Sirius thought it would all go wrong. The way Remus had held onto him, his fingers cutting sharp, had only made it worse. Remus’ fingers had dug deeper into flesh than Walburga’s ever did, but it wasn’t pain, somehow. It was something heavier than that, lighter at the same time though. Sirius had felt oddly breathless when Remus walked into the Hospital Wing, and had to stand there for a moment or two before he regained control of his limbs.

Laugh - Petrol in Our Blood (working title, unposted Formula 1 au)

“Lupin,” Black says jovially, but there’s an undercurrent of mirth to his voice. “Close out there wasn’t it? Good race.”

“Mhmm,” Remus retorts, taking his hand back to unzip the front of his race-suit. He shrugs out of the sleeves, shoulders narrower than Black’s but still well muscled. He ties the arms around his waist, the tight underlayer beneath cutting close to his obliques, clinging to his stomach muscles. “Didn’t look that close from my cockpit.”

Black stares at him for a moment, unzipping his race suit to mid-chest and rolling his shoulders in a way that draws Remus attention to the cords of his neck and the way they join with a satisfying curve to his broad shoulders, so easy to follow even beneath the cut of his underlayer. Then Black laughs. It’s a barking, roaring laugh, one that screams of University parties and hazings and chugging beer through a funnel, laughing at crude jokes. Remus clenches his back teeth, but Black stops laughing as quick as he starts and leans in close to Remus.

“Things may appear smaller in the rear view mirror, Lupin.” His eyes flicker over Remus’ physique. He knows there’s nothing to be ashamed of, his body is built for what he does, but he can’t help feeling judged by Black’s cool eyes and the acerbic nature of his words. “I was right behind you.” Then he straightens back up and his eyes are still dancing, mercury and steel and shining wit. Remus clenches his teeth harder and resists the urge to walk right past him. “Just imagine what I’ll be like—” Black is grinning again, smarmy and smug—“after another practice or two. All this raw talent.”

Soft - an as yet untitled sequel to In the Throes of You - bdsm club au

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

Remus raises his head from the pillow of Sirius’ shoulder, and raises an eyebrow at his boyfriend. Sirius holds his gaze, a smirk crawling its way across his gorgeous lips. “Surely that’s the point,” Remus retorts, low and soft in the quiet of Sirius’ bedroom.

Sirius laughs, tipping his head back so the light on the nightstand glistens across the shine of his bottom lip. This mythical creature, ready to shipwreck Remus on the rocks. “I know, I know. I want to consensually hurt you, not actually hurt you.”

Wild - You'll Always Be a Part of Me (working title, unposted)

“Fuck you, Moony. Where have you been?” Sirius is smoking a cigarette and waving it around dangerously. He smells of Firewhisky and hatred and Remus is on fire after the moon but he’s standing here fuelled by his own hatred. He hasn’t trusted Sirius for months, not since the beginning of the year when he was absent for a Death Eater attack. Wasn’t that suspicious? Wasn’t it awfully coincidental that the disinherited Black scion was gone that weekend?

“Me? It was the moon, Sirius, where the fuck do you think I was?” Remus slumps against the back of the sofa. Sirius is the one gesticulating wildly with his cigarette in one hand and his other hand clenched into a fist.

I tag: @siriusly-sapphic @stonecoldhedwig @spindrifters

your words are beautiful | sharp | hand | sofa | dog