#because even after going over patch notes there are still some areas of confusion for me; like the LTE story events

[nekoprankster218]

Random Thoughts on CounterSide Origin update

So I don't follow news and updates on my games that often, so I was completely blindsided that this recent CounterSide update was gonna be reworking the entire game basically. Definitely spending a bit more time than usual tonight getting used to what's been moved, what's been changed, and what's been removed. I can certainly see why a lot of this has been controversial with the playerbase.

I actually do think there have been some decent changes tho, like:

LOVE that Dives no longer cost Info (I was broke when it came to Info recently) and that I can do Dives while still having World Missions being done at the same time. Also love getting to grind Dives again without having to wait for the next time I can reset them. Edit: OH AND I SOMEHOW FORGOT! But the new system of how they do the Dive squads- *chef kiss* I was also having a problem of my stronger squads getting burned out and failing the Dive because my weaker squads couldn't pull through, so the new system of a single squad just going until it dies before it cycles to the next squad is so far doing wonders for me. We'll see how I do once I get back to the higher coordinates.

LOVE a lot of the freebies they've been giving out for this update, and the special event giving the chance for free Awakened Units!? I'm already close to halfway for my first Awakened Unit testimonial and the time given for this event is REALLY generous for the pretty big rewards being offered. This is definitely a good time to login in for both new and old players just for collecting all the free stuff and promotional rewards.

I like that there's more space on the home screen to play around with when customizing. While I'll need to re-adjust on where I go to click certain stuff, it is nice that the UI isn't covering some of the characters and trophies I squeezed into my home screen (mainly those on the edges and the right half of the screen).

And I'm so far kinda neutral on how they changed the Dupe system and Limit Fusion system, as well as most of the UI changes. I might need a few more days of play before it gets to me or something. I'm mainly neutral rn since a lot of my units were already pretty upgraded before the update so for the time being Limit Fusion (and by extension Skill leveling) won't be so costly for me.

Oh but I do have a few issues still.

WHY would they think that getting rid of Unit EXP in battles was a good idea. That was how I was leveling most of my units at this point. Not just because of Salary Negotiation mats, but also leveling Units starts to get expensive with Coins! And I liked leveling most units that I'd never use via farming battles since I'd get free Quartz without having to invest mats (beyond the Eternium used for those battles obviously).

The current UI does mean that farming the daily limited battles gets a tad bit longer and more tedious, although that is countered a little if one uses the new "Favorite" feature to pin battles. However, the new UI also generally makes the organization of all the side stories and events messy. I like the timeline idea to illustrate when each story is taking place in connection to the Main Story, but it is annoying to scroll through and some of the branches start to get confusing and messed up.

I'm also a bit confused if Limited Time Event stories are still going to be a thing, and if so, where they are going to be located? I saw some previous LTE stories on the timeline UI, but I'm not sure if that means they've been added as permanent side stories as they are currently locked for me; and if so, if LTE stories going forward will be added to the timeline permanently after their run, or if LTE stories are being retired as a feature as a whole and they're adding all the past LTE stories as permanent content now because of that.

So in summary, pretty monumental update that, while having its downsides and areas of needing to get adjusted to, I don't necessarily think it'll be the doomsday others have been complaining about (although this is coming from someone who is currently not too big on PVP, wasn't too deep in Challenge mode or Shadow Palace when it was still around, and doesn't really understand stats, min-maxing, and the technical aspects of gameplay that much).

[disneyprincemuke]

midnights, 10 * mv1

the 2023 season has ended and geri horner has made the mistake of inviting you to a house party where max is in attendance

pairings: max verstappen x fem!reader

warnings: swearing again huhuhu

notes: the real reason i procrastinated this is because i'm a loser and can't come to terms with the fact that this series is ending like HUUUUH

(series masterlist)

(prev)

you stare at the well-lit home, lips pressed together as you debate in your mind how much right you still have to be here. sure, you were personally invited by geri horner despite knowing about the breakup recently like everybody else, but you’re not quite sure if you belonged.

after all, you’re not max’s girlfriend anymore, and this is more of a team party to celebrate the season. you’re sort of out of place.

by the side of the house, you can see the strobing lights reflecting off the walls and the music coming faintly coming through. it’s still early in the evening, which makes you tilt your head in confusion as to why the party has already started.

perhaps someone has already taken over the playlist to start the party earlier than planned by the hosts themselves. something tells you daniel and yuki are already in the backyard in fits of giggles over their music choices.

because you can very clearly make out the high-pitched tone of baby shark playing.

“(y/n)!” a disembodied voice says over the music, a familiar redhead walking on the grass of her front yard with her arms held open wide for you. “i’m so glad that you made it!”

realistically, you were not going to come at all. but when the older woman texted you about a week ago about not forgetting your work commitments within the area like you mentioned a couple of months ago, it was hard to reject her all together.

especially when she expressed to you how much she missed linking arms with you every other weekend with shallow and petty rumours you hear; wine glasses in your hands as your boys did the racing part of the weekend.

just one last hoorah for the better part of the past 6 years you had.

you never really got to thank geri for her neverending and unconditional hospitality all because you were max’s girlfriend.

“i wouldn’t miss it for the world!” you mimic her gush, smiling widely as you gladly take her in for an embrace. “i’m sorry i didn’t get to meet you earlier. i was swamped with meetings and presentation preps.”

“oh, don’t even worry about it,” geri laughs, waving your apologies off as she pulls away. “you know, christian promised a cute little performance tonight for the team?”

you raise your eyebrows. every year, christian horner hosts their annual year-end party in his home. and every year alike, he will tease everyone about some performance that he will be doing against his best wishes. they never come.

it gets max excited and giggly at the possibility, only to be disappointed at the end of the day.

“do you know if he will actually do it this time?”

geri links arms with you, hunching as a giggle passes her lips. “he said because you made the extra effort to come tonight, he’ll finally do it just for you.”

no. it’s because this is the last of their parties thrown you’ll ever attend.

when you put it like that, your heart kind of hurts. you had no idea how integral being on the paddock on race weekends was to you. not until today.

you feign a laugh, wiping your palms on your blouse. “tell christian i’m so touched.”

“don’t even worry about it,” geri laughs, squeezing your arm. “come on, let’s go to the backyard where everyone currently is. you arrived pretty early, so i’m guessing you’re not quite used to the organised chaos.”

max was never a diva unless it came to attending parties or being at the paddocks on time. it’s like he had a personal vendetta against coming early.

“yeah, i can hear daniel speaking coherently so that’s always a sign,” you grin, following her across the grass patch to the side of the house. you don’t plan to stay very long.

the reason you came before the actual party started is so that you can avoid max. at least you can tell yourself that you at least tried to avoid regression of all the progress you have made.

as you make your way into the backyard, loud squeals and shrieks slowly come in as you see christian’s kids running around. on the dj table is in fact daniel and yuki attempting a remix of the children’s song as they hype up the girls.

“oh, it’s (y/n)!” yuki throws his hands in the air, jumping off the elevated dj booth. he jogs over to you and immediately throws his arms around you. “i haven’t seen you in so long!”

“yuki!” you squeal, arms wrapped around him as he picks you up, spinning you around before putting you down gently. “i miss the way you cook for me, you know? i don’t quite do it the same as you.”

“i’ll send you the recipes!” yuki beams, pulling away from you. “and then you’ll have to let me try them someday — that’s my only rule.”

"you're the boss," you shrug jokingly, rolling your eyes playfully. yuki taps you on the shoulder politely, answering the screaming kids in the backyard.

he politely excuses himself, jumping onto the dj platform again.

"oh, hey, it's you!" you look up to meet daniel's eyes, the australian taking you into a tight hug as you sway side to side. "i've missed you."

"my god, hey," you hug him tightly, taking a deep breath before letting it out shakily. "i'm sorry i'm so bad at answering your texts! i've just been so busy and totally not in the mood to talk..."

daniel gives her an understanding smile, squeezing her shoulder. "you know, i totally get it. don't sweat it, mate."

"thank you. is heidi coming today?" you ask softly, looking around for the other woman's presence.

"a little later than usual. she's coming from work," daniel explains. he leads her towards a patio table, arm slung over her shoulder as they walk. "so, how have you been?"

"hey, look who decided to arrive!" liam laughs, beckoning the older driver towards the filled table. he lifts his bottle of beer up and sends max a small nod to welcome him. "how nice of you to join us!"

max scrunches his nose. "thank you," he lifts his hand to try and quiet down the cheering from the majority of the table, "no need to clap. i was going to come anyway."

"have you had dinner?" yuki asks, a plate in his hands with some food still. "the food is great."

liam chirps, pointing at the grill near the patio of the house. "lucky for you, there's still food from the barbecue earlier."

max smiles, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jacket. he takes the empty seat next to daniel. "if christian's the one who grilled them, i might have to lie and say i've already eaten dinner."

"don't be ridiculous," hannah laughs. "christian hasn't touched that grill as per geri's request for parties like these. you know who does the grilling this time of the year."

max tilts his head. it takes him a while to process, but when he realisation strikes him, he feels his heart sink in his chest. you were here?

he almost wants to just call another uber to go home knowing that he missed your presence at the party. every year at parties like these in christian's home, you're in charge of that grill.

simply because christian gets too caught up in conversation with those around him and only produces near burnt meat. everybody has apparently complained about it for years, but when you came into the picture, you kicked the team principal away from his food duties.

you're much more efficient with the grill, anyway.

hannah's jaw drops when she notices max's silence. she presses her lips together. "oh, i'm sorry. i didn't mean to-"

"it's alright," max smiles, dismissing her apology. "i just didn't know she attended."

"attended?" daniel snorts, leaning back in his seat. typically, daniel would never drop a fact he isn't sure you wanted out, but he's very wasted in his defence. "she's still here. geri called her in a while ago."

max's world starts to spin. this could be his chance. the only one left to make things right with you.

in fact, it didn't matter the outcome of the night. he just wanted to talk to you - see you one more time before he calls it quits on the hopes of ever having you back in his arms.

"she's still here?" max perks up, his hands gripping on the armrests of the patio seat like his life depended on it. he looks around the table, at liam, at hannah, everyone, but they don't give him an answer.

they just stare at him, lips parted as max's chest starts to heave from the simple thought of you being a few metres from him. he throws his hands in the air. "guys?"

"yes," yuki spits out, putting his plate on the table. "she is still here. she's inside the house with geri and the kids."

he breathes out shakily, scanning the exterior of the home. he nods, all the while he feels like his body is floating. he never thought he’d ever come by you ever again after everything that happened.

especially with all the rumours that can be taken out of proportion without you talking, it’s all definitely too much.

"oh, i need to talk to her," max says hurriedly, scrambling to get to his feet. he is only able to take one step away from the table when the lights go out and christian's voice is heard on the speakers set up at the dj booth.

he sighs, forced to sit back down again. of course this is the year christian decides to follow through with his promises to perform for the entire team.

daniel sighs, though a sloppy smile stretches his lips. "oooh, christian's going to get down and dirty," he mutters, wiggling in his seat while he giggles with his beer bottle right by his mouth.

that’s when he sees you, running out of the doors that lead to the backyard, surrounded by christian’s squealing and giggling children that sounded above the booming music. your hair is up in a claw clip, your fringe framing your face just as well.

while christian’s performance is something he’s been looking forward to his entire formula 1 career, he can’t help but bask in the overwhelming familiarity that washes over him at the sight of you.

you stop right before the table, the other end from him, hands wrapped around geri’s arm as you watch christian in awe.

his entire world stops then and there, suddenly unsure of how to approach you. will he really be able to handle it if you refuse his apology?

how everything would crumble for him again if he left today without you back in his life the way he wants it? it just seems near impossible.

he watches you throw your head back, laughing before looking around. he tells himself to look away but he just can’t — meeting your eyes a feeling he’s been yearning for all these months without you.

you freeze when your warm eyes meet his blue ones. your jaw drops slightly, the smile is completely wiped off and you let go of geri’s arm. he sees your chest heave as you take a step back away from geri.

your stare lingers, making max contemplate if that was an invitation for him to come to you. but max cannot fathom the glistening of your eyes — are they tears or just the reflection of the lights that surround you?

the music abruptly stops, making you turn to the stage, erupting in cheers as you clap your hands.

he watches you run towards christian, throwing your arms around his team principal as your hands come up to wipe your face.

he watches you talk to him for a bit before you quickly excuse yourself to walk towards the house. here he is with an empty stomach and all the courage in the world.

he runs after you, leaving and ignoring daniel's calls for him to come back and think it over first.

"(y/n)," max calls out into the well-lit house, eyes darting all over the near empty house for you.

your shoes go against the floor, snapping max's head towards the bathroom door. chest still heaving with your fists clenched by your sides. mascara pools under your eyes; almost unnoticeable if he hadn't had you memorised like the back of his hand.

a shakey breath passes your trembling lips as you slowly drop your head. your eyes dart to the group of kids stumbling over their feet to get themselves out of the house.

a small part of all this feels planned. if not by geri, most likely christian. that damned performance was just a ruse to get you to stay longer until max arrived for the evening.

it's genius, actually.

"max."

all of the thoughts that flooded your brain when you locked eyes with him earlier are suddenly gone. something about you never wanting to see him again, or perhaps it was an 'i miss you' threatening to spill out of your mouth now that he's here?

you can't seem to remember and it's only adding to the growing frustration in your chest.

oh, how you've missed being this close of reach to him. if you really tried, you can smell his cologne from the other side of the room and you can almost imagine how his hand would feel in yours.

but you barely recognise the man standing in front of you. the same goes for him, eyes roaming every part of your body as you stand in silence.

it seems so much has changed in such a short amount of time.

you look slimmer than how max remembers you. but you look happier - a state that he has rarely seen you in for a long while. maybe the relationship really was meant to meet its end when it did.

but the tears falling on your cheeks made him convince himself otherwise. maybe you missed him too; maybe these past 2 and a half months were just as excruciating for you as it was for him.

just sitting and hoping on his maybe's again.

"fuck," max says under his breath, finally finding it in himself to walk towards you. "fuck's sake. come here."

a million possibilities run through your mind. as he makes his way over to you, you're frozen in place once more. is this really how it's going to be? after all that process you made, after all the tears.

all those were to only end up in his arms again? you being to wonder: what were all those tears and sleepless nights for if you would only run back to him?

all of your preached rationality ceases to exist when he's a pace away from you, your arms thrown around his shoulders as you bury your face into his neck. his grip around your waist is tight, his face buried in your shirt as he lifts you up slightly.

"i'm sorry," max whispers, nuzzling his face deeper into your shoulder, his own tears spilling out of his eyes to the fabric of your shirt. "i'm sorry. i shouldn't have let you walk away."

but you shake your head. the mental image of that picture of max and kelly walking in the paddocks flashes in your mind suddenly. you try to unwrap his arms around you, but then he only tightens his arms around you.

"i'm sorry. i should have asked you to stay," he confesses, his mind a mess from all of the things he's thought of saying to you. "i should have told you that there's a way to work it out. it didn't have to come to a breakup."

"but you turned to her anyway!" you say through gritted teeth, taking a deep breath to muster up the courage to pull away. and you do, stumbling steps back as you go into a sob. it would have been all fine if those pictures never leaked. "you went to the one person i didn't want to see you with!"

max's hair is dishevelled, his tear-stained cheeks are flushed and his lips are swollen. "what?"

you shake your head and hold a hand up, taking another step away from him. "don't act stupid. i always knew you wanted kelly. you got what you wanted when i broke up with you, didn't you? that's why there were pictures of you together after news of our break-up leaked. isn't it, max? to rub it in my face?"

"you don't even know what you're talking about!" max fights, throwing his hands in the air. "i could say the same for you - wearing the first dress i got you out to the club and leaving with some other guy? your pictures were more suggestive than ours; we were just fucking walking!"

you laugh dryly, rolling your eyes. you wipe your eyes roughly and throw your head back. "at least i can admit if something had happened. but you're still fucking denying every little thing. you're such a cunt, max."

"i'm not denying anything."

"yeah, you are!" you point an accusing finger at him and click your tongue. "you wanted out but didn't want to be the one to rip the bandaid off! what was it, max? some sort of familiarity with me that you couldn't bear to leave?"

"absolutely not. i fucking love you!" max's eyes widen in disbelief at what he's hearing. "nothing happened with kelly - i was doing her father a favour!"

you smile slightly and raise your eyebrow. "i've heard that excuse before, max. go say it to somebody who will believe you."

max rolls his eyes. "you already broke up with me. what do i get from lying to you now?"

"who knows? maybe you just don't like the thought of me moving on," you shrug, placing your hands on your hips. "pretty self-centred if you ask me."

"literally," max takes a deep breath, "just shut up and listen to me."

"literally," you mimic him in the same tone, "there's absolutely nothing to talk about."

you turn around, pushing the hair out of your face. you've stopped crying, your throat sore from all the panting and screaming you've just done. thank god for the music booming outside - your conversation is safe from nosey ears.

maybe christian turned it up when he saw max running after you.

max shakes his head, falling silent. "you've got no fucking idea what you're talking about. i loved you then, and i love you now. if i didn't..."

"if you didn't, then what?" you snort. "you expect me to believe you?"

he takes a deep breath, locking eyes with you. he takes a cautious step forward. "i have thought about you so much since we've been apart. i don't think anything has ever been so clear to me before."

"yeah?" you smile lopsidedly. it immediately drops when he takes another step, and you set it off with a step back. "seemed pretty clear to you when you let me fucking walk out of your driver's room without another word."

max sighs. "i should have fought for you harder that night. i'm sorry."

"then why?" you cry, tears falling out of your eyes immediately. your hands come up to cover your eyes as you break into a full sob. "why didn't you chase after me? why didn't you call?"

you tear your hands away from your eyes, one palm resting on your chest while you heave. "why didn't you text me? why didn't you bother reaching out? you had every fucking opportunity, max! why did you let it get this fucking far?"

max only drops his head in shame. of course, he had his reasons not to reach out to you. "i don't know," he says softly, shaking his head. "i didn't think you still wanted to be with me. you broke up with me. i didn't know what to think. i thought it was over."

"i spent the better part of 6 years of my life with you," you say weakly. a lump forms in your throat, prompting you to close your eyes. you squeak out a sob as you drop to your knees, a soft thud coming from the contact. "and you couldn't even ask me to stay."

you look up at him, teary-eyed as you clutch onto your chest in desperation. "i would have stayed if you said don't go. i waited, max."

he nods, walking over to where you are. he gets dejavu as he drops himself next to you, sitting cross-legged in christian's apartment. it's just like the time you broke up.

you adjust yourself, sitting a proper few centimetres away from him. both of you press your backs against the wall behind you. the music is just as loud as before, consuming the silence that you let fester the air between you.

you drop your head on the wall, the sound of both your cries barely heard within the music between you.

"but i did miss you," you whisper. "every single waking moment in the days after. i kept thinking i made a mistake, and that you knew it too. i kept holding out hope for you to show up at my door, telling me off for being stupid and breaking up with you."

max just looks down at his legs. he claps his hands together, shakily trying to steady his breath as he calms from his sob. "i didn't think you'd want me back. the state of our relationship before we broke up... (y/n)... you're rational enough to admit that that wasn't going to do it for us. we needed the time apart to figure it out."

you smile to yourself, nodding slightly. barely noticeable. you let a moment pass. "nothing happened, by the way."

"hm?" he hums, turning his head to look at you.

"after the club," you admit. "i blew him off at the lobby of my apartment building. i stumbled home and fell asleep on my couch. dress, makeup, heels - the whole shebang."

max smiles. his hand flinches, two voices in his mind fighting over the next course of movement for him. he ought to make the first move once in a while.

he reaches over to you, firmly grabbing your hand. "i'm sorry i didn't know just how much you meant to me. it shouldn't have taken a breakup for me to realise that you're the love of my life."

you smile back at him, squeezing his hand. "i never wanted to break up with you." you drop your head on his shoulder. "i was just so tired. i would look at pictures of us wishing it was that simple again."

he rests his head above yours. suddenly, it all seemed so quiet. you feel your broken bones mending, the lump in your throat disappearing and a weight lifted off your shoulders.

but if it had been this easy, maybe there's something more. something you're not quite getting yet even after spending almost 3 months apart.

"i totally get it if you say no," max whispers, taking a deep breath. he can't go on without trying to make a move himself. you're already right here. "but do you wanna grab dinner some time with me?"

you lift your head, lips parting. you stare at him with wide eyes while your brain goes into overdrive. a million questions run through your head.

is this really for the best? is this a resolution you can live with?

on one hand, if you choose to be with him again, the puzzle pieces can fit the way they used to again. it will be you and him against the world once more - the way it always should have been. but how sure are you that it won't end up in shambles once more?

will you never find yourself in gut-wrenching pain ever again from what seems like the worst loss you'll experience in your life? would it even be worth it?

you take a deep breath, and you squeeze his hand.

ending 1.

ending 2.

taglist: @merchelsea @leclercdream @labelledejourr @laneyspaulding19 @lpab @graciewrote @hollie911 @thatsojasminesworld @mycenterfold @princessria127 @ironmaiden1313 @dl-yum @crlsummer @brekkers-whore @minkyungseokie @honethatty12 @barelytolerabled @vellicora @lokigoeschoki @avg-golden-retriever @lokigoeschoki @cherry-piee @telengraph @eviethetheatrefreak @hrlzy

[7-wonders]

Per Aspera Ad Astra (Duncan Shepherd)

Summary: Two years later after facing death at the hands of his uncle, Duncan is preparing to do the most difficult thing he's ever done.

Word Count: 2.2k

A/N: Here it is babies, the epilogue of Memento Mori. I'm happy with how it's ended, and I hope you are too! Let me know your thoughts, and thank you so much for reading.

Per aspera ad astra—Through hardships to the stars.

All prior chapters

Two years later…

The small park near the Potomac that Duncan Shepherd finds himself in could barely be considered a park. With D.C.’s money funneled into the areas surrounding the main attractions of the city, this little patch of land with a few trees and benches has been all but forgotten by the general public. There’s people that frequent the park, to be sure, but it’s just deserted enough to make it feel like he’s alone no matter where he is. Maybe that’s why he likes it so much.

Not only is it a nice, secluded park to be alone with one’s thoughts, but it’s also a nice, secluded park to have clandestine meetings at. Duncan waits under a tree that he’s so often been under in this position for, on the lookout for a contact for some sort of information exchange or other deal. As he checks his watch, noting that it’s now 4:33 when they were supposed to meet at 4:30, he’s reminded of when he was 18 and standing in this very spot, having been trusted to oversee an evidence exchange between himself and a cop on the family’s payroll.

He had been so nervous on that day. Today, he’s feeling those same nerves all over again.

Finally, a dark figure appears from the parking lot. Michael Langdon, dressed in all black with a dramatic red scarf wrapped around his neck, walks along the cracked sidewalk like it’s a runway at Paris Fashion Week. For Michael, most everything is his runway. Duncan has never met someone whom the saying “all the world’s a stage” applies to more than his oldest friend, his brother in everything but blood. Duncan can’t help but smirk as he shakes his head, crossing his arms over his chest and trying his best to look like he’s disappointed.

“We agreed on meeting at four-thirty,” Duncan says. “Does the sanctity of a set meeting time mean nothing to you?”

“Sorry. I have a good excuse, though.”

“Which is?”

“I didn’t want to be here.”

Duncan laughs and shoves Michael’s shoulder, the two getting into a small tussling match before remembering that they’re both grown adults and they should probably act like it. After they’ve straightened up, Michael looks at him.

“Well then? Do you have it?” Michael asks.

Duncan rolls his eyes, feeling almost affronted at the mere suggestion that he doesn’t have it. “Of course I do. You think I brought you out here for nothing?”

“Still a little confused as to why you had to bring me out here in the first place.”

“It’s not exactly easy to keep secrets from or around our family, Michael.”

Michael doesn’t even need to say anything, because Duncan’s right. The Shepherd family is great at keeping secrets from those that aren’t family, but within the family? If Annette were to find out about any of this a moment too early, she would immediately ruin the secret that Duncan has worked so hard to conceal. It would be out of love, he knows, but he still wants this to be perfect.

He needs this to be perfect.

Reaching into his jacket pocket, Duncan carefully grasps the small box that he’s carried around with him for over a week now, too paranoid to attempt to try and hide it anywhere in his apartment. At this point, the box’s very dimensions are familiar to him, with how many times he’s opened the box or simply held it for reassurance.

Duncan glances around both ways, paranoid that he’s being watched even though there’s no possible way and, as far as these types of meetings go, this is probably the most low-stakes one he’s been on. Once he’s sure that his fears have been assuaged, he opens the box for Michael to look into.

The ring is still just as beautiful as it was the first time that Duncan saw it. He had been looking for the perfect engagement ring for months, and was becoming increasingly frustrated at designs that, while certainly pretty, weren’t a ring that would fit Y/n’s personality. Nothing was totally right: either the design on the band was wrong or the diamond was too big or it just didn’t look like something that she would wear.

Finally, he finds the one, in an antique store that Y/n’s dragged him to on a cool September weekend. While she’s looking through collections of old photos and trying to convince him that the Victorian child of indeterminate gender is surely not going to haunt him if the photo ends up being bought (it won’t, not if he has any say), he spots it in a display case. A golden ring with delicate filigree twining around the band, small leaves fixed against the prongs in which a simple diamond is set.

It’s certainly not a traditional ring, but nothing about their relationship has ever really been traditional.

He had grabbed it while she was still distracted by the spooky, definitely haunted photos and faked having a work call so that he could escape to the front of the store and purchase the ring without her knowledge. The woman minding the shop was unable to stop smiling once Duncan whispered that this was going to be an engagement ring and asked her to ring the purchase up as quickly as possible. He was just thankful that she didn’t accidentally mention anything when he again came to the register, where Y/n purchased a couple of old photos that, while questionable, didn’t have any figures in them that would haunt their home.

From there, everything had gone smoothly. Duncan already knew Y/n’s ring size, and the jeweler he had used before was all too happy to provide a quick turnaround on resizing and fixing the minor imperfections on the ring. And once it was returned to him safely a week ago, he hadn’t let go of it.

Michael appraises it for a long moment, his face infuriatingly blank. Duncan shouldn’t care about Michael’s opinion on an engagement ring, but he does, because Michael is one of two people he’s closest to in the world. Finally, finally, Michael meets Duncan’s eyes and smiles.

“Perfect. You found it at an antique store, you said?”

“Yeah.”

“Even more perfect, because that means it’s unique.” Duncan puts the box back in his pocket, satisfied with the answer. “You did good, Duncan. She’ll love it.”

“You’ll be my best man, right?” Duncan blurts out suddenly, his mind apparently deciding that it’s now or never. When Michael doesn’t immediately respond, Duncan panics and tries to stutter out an explanation. “I mean, you’re really the only person who I could think of to stand by my side on the most important day of my life. You’ve been by my side for all my other important days, and–”

“Dunc,” Michael stops him with a hand on his shoulder, “of course I’ll be your best man. C’mon, did you even have to ask?”

He smiles. “I didn’t want you to think that you had it in the bag.”

“If you dared to even ask anyone else, I would kill them.” That’s not a joke, and they both know it. Still, they laugh. “But you know she has to actually say ‘yes’ first, right?”

Duncan nods, because of course he knows that.

And three hours later, as Duncan exits the restaurant with Y/n, still his girlfriend, he doesn’t think he’s even going to get the question out so that he can potentially be turned down. He had a plan. He was going to order her favorite type of wine, she was going to ask what the occasion was, and then he was going to get down on one knee and make her cry with his poetic proposal.

But then the restaurant didn’t have Y/n’s favorite type of wine, because he didn’t think to ask in advance if they could reserve a bottle for his table as well. And the suit that he had planned on wearing, the suit that he wears for every big event, wasn’t ready for pickup at the dry cleaners. And then he was late because of fucking traffic. At that point, when he finally made it to the restaurant to see her waiting patiently for him, he was already so upset at his plans being derailed that he decided to cancel his entire proposal idea for the night.

Y/n is none the wiser as they walk through the National Mall, chatting happily next to him about the latest book she’s been reading and the controversy surrounding the author on “BookTok.” The sun is beginning to set behind the buildings, casting a beautiful golden glow across everything it touches. The light catches Y/n’s eyes as she looks over at him to catch his reaction, and Duncan’s taken aback by how his breath catches in his throat at the sight.

This is it, he realizes. The moment that he’s been waiting for. It’s not what he had planned, but he knows it’s now or never, because there might never be a moment for him that screams “proposal” again.

“Y/n,” he calls her name, gently pulling her to a stop in the Constitution Gardens.

“What’s up?” she smiles at him, like she just knows he’s nervous about something. She probably does know, because she always knows.

“This…isn’t how I imagined any of this happening.” His hand goes into his pocket, and he grasps the box. “But then I thought, when has anything in our relationship gone according to plan?”

Her smile widens as she starts to get the hint of what’s happening. When Duncan gets down onto one knee, her mouth falls open. “Dunc,” is all that she can say, her tone warning that this had better not be a joke. As if he would ever joke about anything like this.

“I’m not the best with words, and you know that–I tend to talk with violence. We’ve been through so much together, and I can’t think of anybody else I’d have wanted to do any of the last three years with. And, after these three years, there’s nothing I’m more sure of than knowing that I want to do the rest of my life with you. So,” he opens up the ring box, “will you marry me?”

He’s barely finished asking the question before Y/n’s nodding and pulling him up to his feet and kissing him with a laugh. “Did you even have to ask?”

“Is that a yes, then?” Duncan’s grinning, already getting the ring out of the box and grabbing Y/n’s left hand so he can place the ring where it belongs.

“Yes. Of course I’ll marry you, Duncan.”

They kiss again, and then one more time for good measure. Y/n pulls back briefly to admire the new ring on her finger and how it’s glinting in the evening sun, and Duncan thanks the sunset for staying around for as long as it has.

“Y’know, I thought that you were going to propose at the restaurant.”

Duncan laughs like that wasn’t his plan and shrugs it off. “You really want to get married to me?”

“As if we’re not basically married already?” Y/n kisses him again, and Duncan’s sure that this is the best day of his life. “The only thing that changes after this is that now I can’t be forced to testify against you in court.”

“Is that right?” Y/n nods. “I should have put a ring on it two years ago, then.”

“You’ve rectified the mistake now, my love.”

Duncan grabs Y/n’s hand and swings her towards him, running his thumb over her ring.

“Should we head home, fiancée?” he asks. Y/n grins, pleased at the new pet name, and Duncan immediately files that away to use all the time now. “I’m sure there’s a lot of people that you want to call and tell the good news to.”

“That,” Y/n raises her eyebrows, “and we’ve got a lot of celebrating to do.”

She laughs as Duncan immediately nods, picking up the pace to get home now. Still, she’s not complaining, in fact, she’s jogging next to him, challenging him to actually break decorum and race her home. For her, he would.

Duncan Shepherd has worked hard to get to where he currently is in life. He’s quite literally shed blood, sweat, and tears in the process, and nearly lost his life multiple times. He’s faced heartbreak and loss, anger and grief, and thought that there would never be anything more for him than his work. Nearly running down the street with the woman who’s now his fiancée, both of them giddy with love and eager to get home and show each other just how much love they have, he knows that it’s all been worth it.

It’s all led him here, to the beginning of the rest of his life.

//

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[lavandermin]

from sea of flowers, garden of eternity | xiao

pairing | xiao/reader

word count | 2k

genre | pwp, fluff, light angst, brief smut

note | glaze lily spirit reader, you are also in perpetual pain I’m sorry

“Xiao…” he hears your voice meekly call.

The adeptus is already on his feet before you can fully enter the room, his eyes quickly focused on you. He scans your body language diligently, looking for signs of pain or discomfort. It’s become a routine by now.

“Are you…?” His voice trails off when you shake your head apologetically. The slight strain in your smile doesn’t go unnoticed by him.

“I’m alright for now. The pains haven’t started yet. I think I’m set for another few hours, a day if I’m lucky,” you reassure him. “I just— wanted to check on you.”

Xiao gives you a blank look, one you recognize as confusion. “Check… on me…?”

“Just to see how you’re doing,” you clarify with a shy smile. As you make your way to sit on the bed, you gently pat the space next to you.

There’s a slight red upon his cheeks as he chooses to take up your invitation. The bed dips under his weight, and words do not need to be spoken to know both your minds drift briefly to past trysts that took place where you sit.

“I’m heading out to patrol the area in an hour. If you need anything at all, speak my name,” Xiao announces quietly. It’s a brief awkward silence as he rigidly sits next to you—tense almost. You answer him with a simple nod, hands absentmindedly rubbing little circles on your legs to ease the tingles of pain that slowly resurfaced.

Conversation was scarce the past few months you were placed into his watchful guard. The relationship you both harbored was a blurred line you tried not to think about too much for fear of over-complicating it.

And with your entire being, you could say you came to the unfortunate doom of falling in love with him. The emotional distance he kept oftentimes only confused you as much as your own emotions left him puzzled and a little flustered.

He kept you alive. That was the simplicity of the details Xiao was given. Perhaps it was a favor he was doing you, but he diligently carried it out with all the steadfastness of a contract bestowed onto him by the former Lord of Geo.

—

“I’m sure you are aware of the situation near Qingce Village,” Zhongli had brought up upon summoning Xiao several moons after the stirrings of a slumbering god.

Though the situation was previously dire, all was settled—Xiao knew this as a fact, for he was the one that swiftly took care of the aftermath of a dormant god’s power seeping through the earth. So, the battle hadn’t ended then…

“I was careless—“

Zhongli cut him off, carefully setting down his cup in its saucer. “On the contrary, this was in no way able to be foreseen by you. The world has a way of ending and raising new questions, just as easily as it provides answers to those who seek them.”

On the small garden table, Zhongli’s eyes trail to the glaze lily that sits in a small decorative vase. Unlike most, this lone flower is fully bloomed despite the time of day. It glows ever so slightly—weakly almost.

“You are aware that glaze lilies grow in the Qingce area, and there are a few wild outcroppings that shy away from prying eyes,” Zhongli starts.

His gloved finger reaches out to tenderly graze the petals, and at once the flower closes up. The petals take on a dullness, and visibly they start to wilt in small patches.

“The reasons are uncertain, but rumor spread around the village of a wandering ghost that followed the moon aimlessly. A spirit born of glaze lilies appeared after the battle that took place near there. It seems the power seeped deep into cracked earth among the flowerbeds.”

The young adeptus remained quiet, taking in the information. What exactly did this have to do with him, he wondered?

With a hint of apprehension, Xiao asks, “This spirit—has it taken on a malevolent nature?”

Instead of answering straight away, Zhongli wordlessly stands and makes his way back indoors. Xiao obediently follows, curious of the nature of this spirit.

“Nothing of the sort. However, these glaze lilies fell victim to the corruption of your karmic debt and at the same time were nurtured by immense adeptal power. There is a wavering balance that must be kept, for her body is as fragile as a flower’s and cannot withstand the depletion and shifts of adeptal energy.” With graceful steps, Zhongli stops before a door. “No other adeptus has successfully remained compatible with the energy she needs. So far it has only brought excruciating pain for her, and I fear she may die at this rate.”

With a silent nod, Xiao processes this information. His gloved hand is unmoving on the door handle.

“What are the terms of this contract,” Xiao silently asks, amber eyes trained on the door in front of him.

“My time has long passed to give you a new contract, Adeptus Xiao.” Zhongli chuckles fondly at the serious habits of the adeptus before him. “This is a choice I am giving you. It may take centuries for her body to adjust to the adeptal power she now harbors. If she is compatible with you, it is up to you to decide whether you supply her with your adeptal energy, otherwise she may not make it past next week.”

Xiao remains quiet for a brief moment before speaking softly, “Her body is tearing itself apart…”

“Correct.”

There’s something in that fact that stirs feelings Xiao isn’t used to in his chest. He accepts, and the first memory of you that adorns his mind is one that clenches his heart in a way he rarely experiences. The pain that twists and contorts your face as you desperately heave, body seemingly tearing itself apart in a way the naked eye cannot see.

You’re a beautiful tragedy born of moonlight and sweet soil. And in that moment when your eyes meet his, a single tear rolls down your cheek. He cannot fathom the thought of letting your life end as quickly as it began.

The door behind him clicks shut, and he takes your fragile life into his hands.

—

The lights of the house are dim—a subtle golden glow against a comforting darkness in the blanket of night. A meadow of glaze lilies surrounds the little cottage in a sea of fragrance. A prominent mark of your abode.

The little house defended by mountains is secluded, one which Zhongli sent to be made for you while your body stabilizes.

And though the exterior is tranquil, within its walls come soft pants and gasps. Xiao’s brows are knit together in concentration as he ruts against you.

“Please—Ah…nnh a–again,” you beg against your trembling body’s protests.

And he wordlessly complies, folding your legs until your knees are practically at the sides of your head. His hips pick up the pace and his thrusts become desperate, bodies covered in a sheen of sweat. The moans you let out are loud—obscene as he fills you up until you’re overflowing. The pains have long subsided, and you choose to let him overcompensate in giving you the energy that will get you by another few days.

In the serene calm of night, the tranquility is drowned out by the squelching sounds of your bodies meeting each other through desperate thrusts as both of you are sent over the edge. His name falls from your lips in a melody Xiao has grown addicted to. For the nth time that night you come undone beneath him, your essence stabilized.

There’s a swelling warmth in your chest that blooms like spring meadows as Xiao buries his face in the crook of your neck. The tips of his ears are a bright scarlet and though he tries to control it, he is still left a breathless mess as he rides out his orgasm.

“Is it…enough?” Xiao asks between pants, his cock still buried deep within you.

He’s still twitching within you and your entire body shudders with delight at the feeling.

“You… haah—can keep… going if you want,” you offer weakly. There’s a dazed look in your half-lidded eyes that makes Xiao’s chest squeeze. “‘M full but you’re still…”

Hard.

You glance down to where you two are still joined together, the view of his come leaking out of you shamelessly sending heat between your legs again. The tips of Xiao’s ears turn bright red though he tries to remain composed.

“I’ll be fine. You should get some rest to preserve the energy longer.”

He pulls out and ignores the way your eyes look away dejectedly. Before he can stand to go, your hand gently tugs him back down. Xiao allows himself to be pulled against you, his head resting in the valley of your naked chest.

“Stay with me for a bit?”

Xiao doesn’t answer right away, and your heart leaps when he lets out a little sigh and agrees.

“Alright.”

The minutes tick by in tranquil silence. Both tired bodies ignore the sticky feeling of sweat and sex. It’s a feeling you’re both quite used to by now.

“Xiao?” you start quietly after a while. He hums in response, your fingers running through his dark hair soothingly. “Can I kiss you?”

The question is soft, self-conscious almost with the fear of rejection. But you were beyond a breaking point. The feelings were welling up in your chest like a high tide as you felt him tense up at your question.

Sex was common—quite often as a means of easily transferring adeptal energy to you. And because it was a painful process to take in, you found that this method dulled the pain through the twisted pleasures and mixed sensations.

But that’s all it was— a means to keep you alive. You could never say there was a time Xiao kissed you and he always showed restraint in touching your body more than necessary. His bodily needs were never foremost on his mind and he would never tell you how his hands ached to roam your body, how this arrangement became an illusion of a different reality he couldn’t have. And so he locked away his emotions for his own sake.

Xiao lifted his face from your chest, his golden eyes wide with momentary confusion—perhaps even shock. And your face… those wonderful sparkling eyes that glistened with glossy tears on the brink of rolling down your face. He wished he wasn’t the reason you were crying.

In an instant he propped himself up on his forearms, feeling you lightly tremble beneath him from holding back the urge to cry. A quiet hiccup left you as you were overwhelmed by bottled up feelings all at once, his thumb gently brushing your tears away.

“Why?” was all he asked.

Though it was a genuine question, his actions remained tender and calmed the anxiety that gripped your naive heart.

“Because I love you—because I think I love you.”

Quietly you hiccuped beneath him and Xiao gently rested his forehead against yours, eyes closed.

“Then love me if it makes you happy,” he responds softly. The tears that twinkle down your face like falling stars are gently kissed away by his soft lips. “I’m with you until the day I die, and if loving me makes living less painful for you then use me as an anchor to reality.”

Your soft crying is hushed as Xiao presses a tender kiss to your lips. It’s short and just enough to bloom your heart with newfound emotions you had yet to experience. Perhaps you reminded the adeptus of himself in a simpler time—naive, innocent. For that, he took pity on you, and also fell deeply in love with you though he would not know it for a long time.

Simply put, he wouldn’t allow himself to know it.

The flowers that surround the small house glow and dance in the night breeze. They bloom with your newfound knowledge—heartache.

[somewhatgreatexpectations]

For The Lover That I Lost (Wanda Maximoff/ Reader)

Hello! Welcome to part 9, inspired by Sam Smith’s “For the Lover That I Lost”. This now takes place post-civil war. 

Summary: Y/n and Wanda are finally able to talk. Will the talk end in love or tragedy?

“All of the memories feel like magic, all of the fighting seemed so sweet. All that we were, my love, was tragic and you're the last thing that I need.”

“Do you think we could have that talk now?”

For a moment you just stared at the clouds floating past the small window you were seated by and let the question hang in the air. She had given you space for a few hours, but you knew this moment was bound to come. 

The problem was that your healing was precarious, you knew that, and you didn’t know if it could withstand a conversation that was sure to open the wounds you had spent months patching up. 

“Y/n?” Wanda called, cautiously placed a hand on your shoulder. 

With a deep breath you turned your body to face her. “I thought about it, and I don’t know if that’s a good idea, Wanda.” You answered honestly. 

Her brow furrowed slightly, “I understand your hesitation, but-“

“Look, Wanda, allow me to save you the trouble.” You began steadily, “You’re sorry for how everything happened. I accept your apology. You don’t want to lose me from your life. Give me some time and then we’ll work on rebuilding the friendship. Did I get everything?”

She stared at you, her eyes troubled. “Well, not exactly, I was trying to-“

Once again, you interrupted her. “And I won’t stand between you and Vision.”  You added with a snap, as if you had just remembered something important. 

“Will you stop interrupting me?” Wanda exclaimed, shocking you into silence. “Sorry, I just-… I forgot how stubborn you can be.” She rubbed her arm in embarrassment. 

You stared at her silently, granting her wish of no interruptions. Waiting for her to get to her point, that you still weren’t sure you wanted to hear. 

As you observed her, you noticed the way she nervously spun the ring she was wearing on her finger while she seemed to ponder where to begin. “Have you always done that?” you gestured to her hands, unable to stop yourself from asking.

Her eyebrows raised at your question, obviously not expecting it. “I…” she thought about it for a moment, then ducked her head slightly. “I guess it was something that I picked up from you. For so long, your nerves were intertwined with my own that it just became a habit from watching you, I guess.” She mumbled.

You bit your lip and nodded but said nothing, taking note of how her eyes closely observed the action. You gestured for her to go on.

Wanda took a deep, steadying breath, making sure she maintained eye contact with you. “First, I am no longer with Vision. I haven’t been for months.” Your eyebrows raised curiously. “You were right though, part of what I wanted to talk about was how sorry I am. Y/n, I am, so, so, sorry. You deserved so much more than what I gave you. I don’t expect you to forgive me because I certainly don’t forgive myself.” The sincerity in her voice took you by surprise. 

The glassy look in her eyes and prominence of her accent were tell-tale signs of how upset she was. It was information you wished you didn’t know anymore. You dropped your gaze to your lap, it was easier this way.

“There is no excuse-“ she continued until a quiet knock on the wall made her stop. You both looked over to see a sheepish looking Steve Rogers standing a few feet away. 

“Sorry to interrupt. Again.” He coughed awkwardly. “I just wanted to let you know we’ve landed at our temporary hide-out. It’s that house up in the distance.” He gestured vaguely as the door to the quinjet opened to reveal an open field with an unsuspecting two-story house located in the center.

Under normal circumstances you would have thought it was a beautiful sight. The knowledge that you were all there on the run, tarnished that though. You let out a quiet breath. “It’s beautiful. Where exactly are we?”

“Spain. A very rural area at that.” He replied easily.

Despite the view, Wanda couldn’t take her eyes off you. She needed to talk to you uninterrupted and it seemed as though the universe was actively trying to prevent that from happening. All she could do was hope that this wasn’t an omen. That she still had a chance. 

“How long will we be here?” Wanda questioned, finally tearing her eyes away from you.

At the question, Steve shifted in discomfort. “A few days... if that. When Natasha arrives, it’ll be best if we split into small groups at most. We’re wanted fugitives now.”

“Natasha?” you asked with a tilt of your head, distinctly remembering her on Tony’s side.

Steve nodded. “She helped me and Bucky get out. She’s wanted now too.”

Both you and Wanda shared a look of surprise, Wanda speaking up before you could say anything. “Thank you for the update, Steve. We’ll meet the rest of you inside.”

With a knowing nod, Steve took the hint and turned to catch up with Sam who had already began walking ahead. “Guess we better head out.” you mumbled.

“Can we take a walk before we go in? I’d really like to finish our conversation.” Wanda requested hesitantly, her eyes pleading.

With another steadying breath, you nodded. She seemed determined and obviously wasn’t going to let this go. “Okay, Wanda.” You stood up and walked with her out of the quinjet, veering to a small path that was on the side of the house rather than going inside. 

After walking a decent amount, Wanda stopped and took your hand, effectively stopping you as well. You looked at her expectantly. She decided she couldn’t handle another interruption and decided to just be bold. “You’re the love of my life.”

Her words were so unexpected that you just stared at her for a moment, opening and closing your mouth as you tried to process. “I’m sorry, what?” you eventually choked out.

“You are the love of my life.” She repeated with three light squeezes to your hand. “Pushing you away – not fighting for you – was the biggest mistake of my life. A mistake I never plan on making again. I was confused and thought that my powers were tied to my heart. I was wrong. The only person that has ever held my heart and will ever hold my heart is you. I want to grow old with you. I want you for the rest of my life.” Her words were passionate and desperate as she tried to express the true contents of her heart, hoping you’d believe her. 

Disbelief was the only thing you could feel as you watched her shimmering eyes remain on yours. Shortly following the break-up you had dreamed of a moment like this. Not anymore though. You couldn’t. You had spent months learning to live without her. The risk of allowing her back into your heart came at much too high a cost. You wouldn’t recover a second time. “I-I learned to live without you, Wanda. I can’t risk it with you again. I’ve played before and lost.” You answered, finally pulling your hand out of her grasp. 

“Do you still love me?” she asked in a pleading tone, ignoring your words. She took your hands back in hers, you noticed that they were shaking ever so slightly. “Tell me you still love me. Please.”

You swallowed thickly and met her eyes, “I don’t love you anymore.” You said weakly, so weakly that you didn’t even believe it yourself. 

Wanda shook her head, clearly on the verge of tears. “I don’t believe you. I know you still love me. A love like ours doesn’t just go away. I love you, Y/n. Let me show you.” Without a moment’s hesitation, she took your face in her hands and connected your lips passionately.

Wanda sighed contently at the contact she had been missing, the way you both fit together like two pieces of a puzzle. The rush of electricity was a feeling she longed for. Getting swept up in the moment, you returned her kiss temporarily before the shock wore off and the hurt settled once again. 

Pushing at her shoulders you quickly stepped back. “You can’t just kiss me and expect everything to go away, Wanda.” You shouted at her. “I think I should go.” You mumbled turning to leave.

Watching you walk away again was a nightmare vision to Wanda and she would be damned if she gave up so easily again. She ran and stopped so she was directly in your path, preventing you from going any further. “Y/n, please, I can’t imagine my life without you” The tears she had been holding back bubbled over the surface and fell down her cheeks. You fought the urge to brush them away.

“You know, I used to think of you as the person that I was going to spend the rest of my life with too. As somebody who would never hurt me. Ever.” Wanda listened to you quietly as tears flowed more steadily down her cheeks. “Now all I see when I look at you is that last moment on the roof. Of you with him. It doesn’t matter what you say, or what you do… it’s too late.”

A sob escaped Wanda’s lips as she briefly covered her face with her hands. “Y/n, please… This can’t be it.”

“It is though.” Blinking back tears, you moved to step around her. 

“Y-you’re a coward!” She cried after you, at your retreating figure. The pain clear in her voice. 

Anger quickly replaced the anguish at her words. You spun around to face her, her jaw clenched. You couldn’t believe her. “I’m the coward? No, Wanda, you are!” you shouted back.

The woman in question ran a hand through her hair, tears falling even faster. She seemed at a loss. “You’re the one that chose to run instead of staying and fighting!” 

Her words made something in you crack, she had no right to be angry. To pin the demise of what you both once were on you. “How is that fair?” you snapped at her. “I was supposed to stay and fight for someone who had very clearly decided they didn’t want me anymore? You don’t get to pardon yourself. The ashes of our relationship are on you and you alone.” You gritted out bitterly. 

For a moment she just stared at you, her chest heaving as she clutched at her chest. Almost as though your words physically impacted her. “I…I’m sorry.” she took a deep breath and recollected herself. She reached out to you, you stepped back. Her face contorted in pain at the knowledge that you didn’t want her anymore. 

“I know I don’t deserve it and you have no reason give it to me, but please, give us a second chance. Let me prove to you I mean what I say, to prove that you… you are everything. There will never be anyone else. I love you.” her eyes met yours pleadingly, slowly breaking before your very eyes.

You took your own deep breath and braced yourself for the words you were about to say. “Wanda, we don’t stand a chance. It’s sad, but it’s true. We’re bound to end in tragedy.” You said quietly, staring off in the distance because you weren’t sure you could handle watching her reaction. “It’s time to move on.”

Like a magnet though, your eyes found hers either way. 

Broken. That’s the only word that came to mind when you saw her expression. Broken sobs left her lips. Her eyes glistened as they desperately searched yours for something, something that you had blocked off long ago. “You don’t mean that.” She whispered, her lips trembling along with her words. 

You shut your eyes for a moment and prepared yourself to close the door on what you both had. “Goodbye, Wanda.” You whispered as you walked off without looking back.

If you did, you would have seen the way she fell to her knees. The knowledge that she had no one to blame for her own broken heart but herself bringing her to her knees. She buried her face in her hands as sobs wracked through her body. Longing for the comfort of your arms.

Silent tears rolled down your cheeks as you listened to the sound of her cries in the distance, but you knew it was for the best... At least you hoped it was.

That night Steve announced that it would be in everyone’s best interest to split up for the time being as he handed out older phones to everyone so each of you could be contacted and check in. After his announcement everyone retreated to their room. You quietly let Steve know where you planned on going and told no one else. 

As you discreetly prepared to leave the following morning, you found a dozen flowers at your door, half purple violets and half white dittanies. The memory of the last time you saw these flowers filled your mind bittersweetly. A memory that no longer felt like it belonged to you.

When Wanda awoke, she was disappointed to find the flowers she had gifted you back at her door and the room you were staying in empty. Even if her heart ached, she knew that she couldn’t give up. She’d try and try again because your love was worth fighting for and she wouldn’t let you go again. She was determined to spend the rest of her life trying to win you back if she had to. There was no other path for her.

And there we have chapter 9! Angst, angst, angst. I got a little carried away lol. Only 3 more to go, where do you think the reader and Wanda will go from here? As always, hope you all enjoyed and thoughts and comments always welcome. 

P.s. did anyone catch a hint of a different Sam Smith song in there? It may be a hint for the next chapter, it may not be. Still deciding. 

[delldarling]

bearberry bargain | pyre

male arctic fox shifter x gender/body neutral reader 10,261 words lemon | older shifter, knotting, oral, penetrative sex, no choking but there is throat touching, tricks and bargains, getting lost note: this was the Story of the Month for December 2020 over on my Patreon! It is loosely tied into the same world as my dragon fellow Arroven, but reading Arroven’s story first is most definitely not required. 

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The tundra is a gorgeous, but unforgiving landscape. You can hear the words on repeat in your head, clear as a twice damned bell. Worse than that, you can see Bristle, the orc woman that had served as your guide out here, in your mind's eye saying the words as she gestured to the fog drenched terrain. And The Mirrored Teeth are a little more dangerous than most. In the rain, or like now, in the fog, the stone spires gleam. They are beautiful, and all too easy to mistake for a far off porch light, or street lamp—but that isn’t what’s truly dangerous out here.

Bristle’s partner, a curly haired satyr by name of Rhim, with coins jingling in his carefully coiffed beard, had then stepped up to speak. Unfortunately, The Mirrored Teeth weren’t named for the teeth-like spires alone. The mirroring, or in this case, echoing, is the real danger. Voices carry strangely out here when the fog is thick, and if someone is lost? Our first instinct is to travel towards a light, or someone shouting. Whether the voices are our own, bouncing back to us from the spires or the mountains, or they’re the product of a still-living magical area?

They’d both spoken in unison then, smiling at each other with the ease of familiarity: Don’t follow the voices.

Each person in the tour group had been given a small token after their list of safety precautions, to serve as a tracker in case someone was separated. One person had asked if it was likely to get lost, and Bristle had snorted before she’d adopted her tour guide voice again. To come out here in the first place, everyone had been asked to sign a waiver because, inevitably, someone did end up wandering away. They followed voices that sounded like loved ones from past or present. They followed voices that sounded like themselves, calling out warnings. It was generally why people ended up taking the tour in the first place, listening eagerly for a voice they’d long since thought lost, or some kind of warning from their future self, so compelling and entrancing that they must be the product of magic. Most, though not all, of the people were generally found. Overtired and aching from sleeping on the ground out in the cold, but otherwise unharmed. Whatever caused the voices, magic or not, didn’t seem to hurt people, only leave them confused.

A few of the others currently with the group had come out for more academic reasons. Art and science in most cases, but otherwise those going on the tour were magic chasers, looking to record the fog voice phenomena for further study.

You might not have come out here with a recorder, but you can’t exactly deny that magic chaser applies to you as well. Claims of The Mirrored Teeth holding tangible residual magic are terribly rampant. You’ve wanted to witness it for yourself, to hear the voices, or feel the soft ache of magical energy on your skin, just the once. You’ve wanted… Well, it’s hard sometimes, not to want to feel the call of magic.

“And look where it’s led you,” you mutter, searching your pockets for the hundredth time. You know you won’t find the token, that you must have lost it when you slipped on some slick moss about an hour ago, but you can’t stop yourself now. It’s like trying to leave a loose thread alone once nervous fingers have found it. You keep reaching for the token, keep trying to find it, even though you know nothing you do will help any longer. You don’t recognize any of the surrounding terrain.

When you’d started out with the tour group, there hadn’t been anything but fog and the scrubby ground, hardened by a hidden layer of permafrost. You’d seen pictures of the teeth-like spires, but hadn’t been able to spot any when you first arrived. Now, every time you turn around it feels like you’re surrounded by the damned things. They radiate a soft glow, magnified further by the heavy mist and from far off? They look just like the teeth they’re named for. “Done in by moss,” you add, straining your eyes to see further through the fog. ”Not even by the voices!” Which, frankly, was disappointing. Not that you wanted to be lost in the first place, but hearing some of the voices the Mirrored Teeth are known for would have at least given you a better reason. An expected reason to be lost or wandering away from the group. Instead you’d simply slipped, brushed off a handful of withered greenery and pebbles, and had gotten back to your feet to find yourself alone.

You’d shouted yourself hoarse after the first half hour, calling out for Bristle and Rhim, staying in the same place, or assuming you’d stayed in the same place. You’d bent to find the token again, but even that had apparently been too much movement. Every time you lifted your head to look away from the ground, there was a different bit of flora springing up in front of you—and then you’d nearly smacked yourself head first into one of the spires, none of which are clearly marked on the map you have of the surrounding area. There’s always too much mist to plot them.

“Bristle! Rhim?” You call out again, cupping your hands around your mouth, not knowing if you should even hope for some kind of answer. What if they don’t answer because of the echoes? What if that’s the reason they’ve yet to answer in the first place?

The soft crack of a branch makes you whirl, throat growing tight when you spot the shadow of three figures through the fog. They straighten up, huffing, and the fog slowly spins away, shadows coalescing and revealing an older man shouldering a pack that he’s clearly just dug up from the ground. For a moment, he’s silent, staring, hand clenching tight at his pack as his eyes rove over your face. His gaze dips to your feet and lifts quickly back to your face before he wipes the surprise from his expression. “I hoped I was mistaken,” he grouses in a soft voice, tossing his head to get his ragged mane of salt and pepper hair out of his eyes. “But ‘lo, a human. Those tours are getting earlier and earlier every year, aren’t they?” He sighs, not asking like he expects an answer, but more like he’s just making an unpleasant statement. For half a second you have a retort on your lips, but the longer you stare, the more words vanish from your vocabulary.

The man has clearly tried to tame his ragged hair, weaving it into a messy, short braid that’s just long enough to hang over his right shoulder. There are earrings hanging from his right earlobe, dangly things that clink softly while he brushes impatiently at the dirt on his knees. His jacket, once a lovely heather gray, and obviously a match to a long lost suit, is patched and worn in multiple places. His jeans are nothing to write home about either, with frayed hems and patched knees. He has silvery stubble on his cheeks, and crows feet at the corners of his copper eyes, and—and a long tail, like a bottlebrush, fur standing on end. Until he sees that you’re watching. The tail vanishes behind his legs and your eyes zero in on his sharp nailed fingers, the backs of his knuckles covered with pale, soft looking hair. He grimaces, baring razor edged teeth, and promptly makes to stride past you, not even bothering to wait for you to get out of the way. He draws a rough breath as soon as he bumps into you, flinching away from actually knocking you to the ground, but it’s near enough to set your temper stoking.

Frankly? His manners are atrocious. But you’re also lost somewhere out in the tundra, and even if he doesn’t know where your tour is, he knows of them. You wrestle your temper into staying silent and rush after him.

“Wait! Hey, wait up,” you ask, ignoring the thrill that runs through you when you snag hold of his jacket sleeve and his tail bristles again. He’s not just hiding a tail either. His feet look more like great canine paws, which means—

The man whirls, and you spot two furred ears hidden under his uneven hair before he yanks his arm away from you, breathing far too fast. “Surely you know better than to grab at a shifter?” He hisses, leaning in close to your face. For half a second, he’s close enough for you to feel warmth radiating off of his body, but then his nostrils flare and his voice grows quiet. “Or are you from one of those backwater humans only villages in the East?”

“I’m—I’m sorry for grabbing you,” you blurt, mildly startled by his proximity to your face. “And while yes, that wasn’t a smart idea, I’m lost out here. Would it have been smarter of me to let you leave me in the dust before I asked for directions?” You take a slow step back, though you don’t let your eyes drop from his. You’re not going to take your eyes off of him for even a second if it means the fog is going to swallow him up and leave you all on your lonesome again.

The shifter narrows his copper eyes, highlighting the faint wrinkles in his brown skin. “Lost, you said?” He straightens, and keeps staring, eerily still. His frown only grows more pronounced when you nod your head. “You’re three days out from where the tours start. How long have you been lost?”

“Three days,” you repeat, uncomprehending. For another few seconds, the words don’t make any kind of sense. You’ve been separated from your group, according to your watch, for just over an hour. When you glance at the timepiece, only another handful of minutes have passed, but not enough time to even come close to explaining three days worth of travel. Your pulse is already racing, but it’s beginning to grow past the point of discomfort and into painful territory with how hard your heart is working. How the hell are you supposed to get back? “That’s not possible,” you breathe.

He doesn’t soften, but for a few moments he doesn’t look quite so irritated. “If you heard anything at all on that tour, then I’m sure you know it is possible. Residual magic, yes? It can do quite a bit more than just throw voices like a puppeteer.” He shifts his weight, like he’s ready to leave the moment you give him a chance.

“I’ve been lost for an hour,” you say, hoping that will spell out exactly how ridiculous you find his claims. “And I did my best to stay in one place. I’ve barely even begun to walk anywhere, and I didn’t—didn’t feel anything magical.”

“Isn’t it terribly rare to feel anything magical?” He asks, only gently mocking. “So few people even notice when something magical has happened to them. Now, it sounds as if the fog leapfrogged you through space,” he adds, wrinkling his nose. “Or did those green guides of yours not mention that something like this might happen?” He waits, but when you don’t immediately answer, the shifter sighs again, shakes his head and pivots, heading back into the still-swirling fog, ready to leave you behind.

You make another desperate grab for his sleeve, thankful that he only grimaces when he turns back to face you again. “In fact, yes, they did forget to mention! If you happen to have a satellite phone, or maybe-”

The shifter laughs and your grip on his sleeve grows slack. He’s rather handsome when he smiles, and looks like some kind of down-on-his-luck musician, dreaming of his glory days. You hastily let go of his sleeve, before he decides to yank himself away a second time. “Me? Ol’ Pyre, wandering about the tundra with a satellite phone?” He lifts his bag, clumps of dirt still falling from it. “I’m coming out this way to spend the winter in my other skin, and generally? Foxes have no use for phones.” He lifts his chin, scenting the air, and then nods his head in the direction behind you. “Head that way and the fog is likely to lead you right back.”

“Likely or certain?” You press, scowling. “Because there’s a rather large difference between those two options, and I’m not going to risk myself on likely.”

Pyre huffs out a sharp edged: “Which do you think?” before he registers the way your hands are starting to shake with nerves. His mouth opens, and then snaps shut. For a long moment he’s quiet, gritting his teeth, eyebrows furrowed. “You’re not prepared for more than an evening trek through the tundra, are you? Enough food for a snack and dinner round a campfire before they herd you back?”

A small wave of relief loosens your shoulders. If he’s asking, then surely he’s not going to turn tail and leave you all by your lonesome? You start to smile, ready and willing to ask for further help, but Pyre turns away with a quiet curse.

“Pitiful idiots,” he says, glancing up at the sky, even though he can’t see anything but the vague hint of daylight through the thick fog. “Three days. And leaving would be akin to murder.” He bares his teeth, still looking up for a few seconds longer before he turns a sharp look your way, fingers curling and uncurling at his side. “I’ll lead you as far as the Slavering river. If you stick to that and keep yourself from wandering off into the fog again, you’ll certainly make it close enough for those idiot guides to find you.”

Slavering, the river is called, Bristle’s voice picks up in your head again, because they once thought the tundra a hungry thing, with teeth besides. She’d gestured to the West, though none of the group had been able to spot or hear the roar of the water yet. It had just been another wall of fog over hard earth and low growing shrubs. We’ll end our hike there.

You offer Pyre your hand, still worried about the trek, still ill at ease with what the fog has done, but feeling decidedly less panicked. Residual magic my ass. As soon as I’m back, the guides are going to expand that little safety speech of theirs.

“Thank you, really. I appreciate it. If I hadn’t—”

“Save your breath for the walk,” Pyre mutters and fully ignores your outstretched hand, skirting around you in a wide arch so he won’t risk touching you accidentally. He doesn’t get more than a few paces away though before he’s turning to look at you over his shoulder. “And keep up. If the fog decides to deposit you somewhere else, there aren’t many other helpful shifters wandering about the area.” He saunters off ahead, trusting you to make your own way, but the fur on his tail doesn’t lay flat until you’re jogging to catch up with him.

“Are there dangerous shifters then?” You risk asking, thankful for your heavy coat and the weight of your own pack. Bristle and Rhim hadn’t mentioned any shifters in the area at all, but then they also hadn’t told any of you that the residual magic might move you without your knowledge. Perhaps they would have, if you’d been allowed to stick around, but it feels like a glaring oversight, now that you’re all the way out here. Maybe this is why they make everyone sign the waiver. Not because of some idiotic, siren-like voices, but because of magical fog.

Pyre’s ears twitch, visible for only a split second through his hair. “Don’t wander off,” is all he chooses to add before he falls silent, doing his best to stay several steps ahead of you to discourage speech.

“That’s encouraging,” you mutter, and his ears twitch again, but he doesn’t respond. The walk to the Slavering is going to feel like a very long one from the looks of it, and it isn’t just because everything looks much the same no matter which way you turn. You shove your hands deep in your coat pockets, watching the middle of Pyre’s back, and do your best not to unconsciously search for the lost token. You already know your pockets are still empty.

————-　🦊　————-

Despite Pyre’s desire for absolute silence, he mutters about things without thinking. He comments quietly on a hare speeding away when a noise startles you. He grabs up handfuls of wild berries off of the scrubby bushes you pass, promptly dropping any that are too spoiled to be edible. He flicks some of them away with soft, but mocking farewells until he recalls that you’re not far behind him, listening to everything he says. Pyre’s threadbare shoulders always rise with embarrassment, but after the third time it happens and he remembers you’re there, he sighs, shaking off his chagrin. He pauses just long enough to grab your arm and slap some of the berries into your open palm, doing his best not to meet your eyes.

When he speaks, he keeps his eyes on your fingers, touch careful and tense. “Eat those if you’re feeling peckish, or save them for this evening and you can boil them down into tea. Don’t dive into any of your stores if you can until sometime tomorrow.”

“What about you?” You ask, noticing that he’s barely kept any at all for himself. A berry or two slips away, rolling off of your hand and dropping to the ground.

Pyre arches a brow, closing your hand around the berries so no more can fall before he takes a step back. “I’ll be hunting as soon as I leave you by the river. I’m more than well equipped to look after myself out here. A few berries won’t make much of a difference.”

“Is this a regular thing for you then? Coming out here to the tundra once a month for shifting?”

“For the winter,” Pyre corrects in a sour tone, and then turns back to his chosen path again. “Coming out to the tundra isn’t a regular thing for you though, is it? Or was it just the magic that left you so frightened?”

The berries he’s given you are small and gleaming red, and you don’t much care for his continued irritable attitude. You pop three into your mouth while you ignore him, expecting it to be, at the worst, bitter. Instead it’s dry. You make a noise of distaste, which makes Pyre glance back again. He stops, confused for all of two seconds before his eyes widen and he chokes on his laugh. The sour twist of your mouth is clue enough. “Definitely not a regular traveling spot,” he states. “Unfamiliar with bearberries?”

“I hope that isn’t what they taste like when they’re boiled,” you mumble, doing your best to refrain from scrubbing at your tongue. “And no, the tundra isn’t really a prime vacation spot for me or most anyone else. The draw of lingering, tangible magic is a little too much for some people to ignore though. Maybe not everyone, but some of us.”

Pyre hums, tail raising when he hops over a strange looking crack in the earth. “Feeling a call?” He asks, voice far too even to be pleasant.

That’s a personal question in most places, and Pyre has already quietly mocked your interest in magic once. He does seem the type to poke at uncomfortable topics though, to try and get a rise out of someone. His tail is still bristled out as well, quietly hinting that he’s not in a pleasant mood. “Is that why you come out here during the winter? I don’t hear much about other shifters vanishing for an entire season, fox or not.”

“The only call I’ll ever feel is the one to shift,” he grumps, but he does smack his lips and slow down for a moment, letting you keep pace. “I make bad decisions,” Pyre finally adds, as if that clarifies anything at all.

“All the time? Or-”

“Smartass.”

“That wasn’t even hard, are you really going to fault me for that one?” You wait, patiently, but no answer is forthcoming, and then he rushes forward a few steps ahead. “I’ll take that as a yes?” You call out, but Pyre just keeps walking, like he’s reached the end of his tolerance for speaking politely with another living being. “Well, that was nice while it lasted,” you mumble, frowning when you spot his shaking shoulders. He’s—he’s laughing. Maybe he isn’t suffering from lack of manners entirely, but instead has been too long out of practice.

“Not all the time,” Pyre calls back when he trusts his rasp of a voice not to betray his amusement. “Just a fourth of it.”

For the season, he’d said. You snort and don’t even try to hold back a smile when Pyre tilts his head to look at you. His head immediately snaps forward and he shakes it, as if to ward off an unhappy thought. He’s grumpy because... he’s awkward and shy? The last of your fear, still borne aloft by the way he’s spoken thus far, by his quiet mutter of akin to murder eases immeasurably. You follow after him now in less strained silence, a bit more confident now that you’ll make it back to the tour group in one piece.

————-　🦊　————-

Your confidence lasts until early evening, when visibility is becoming a huge issue for you. No matter how well you might see in the dark, the fog feels like it’s pressing in on you from all sides. Pyre hasn’t slowed by much, but then you see the pale, rapid swish of his tail, moving so fast it looks for a moment like he has more and then you recall that he’s a shifter. His eyesight, as well as his sense of smell, are by far better than your own. He might be able to keep going well into the night, but—You grunt, catching your toe on a white rock the height of your ankle. Before you can fall, or do much more than exclaim in quiet pain, Pyre has his hands on your shoulders, keeping you up and steady.

“It’s dark,” he says quietly, by way of apology. “We’ll stop for the night just up ahead. Can you make it?”

“Without tripping over rocks or falling on my face, you mean?” You breathe in, and promptly swallow. He smells a bit like fresh campfire smoke and the faint citrusy scent of the bearberries and he’s entirely too close. You don’t necessarily want him to move away though, not with the darkness growing thick around you. “Probably not,” you admit quietly.

Pyre hums, breathing in slowly, and the sound is terribly intimate. “...you need a hand?”

“Unless you’d rather I trip and skin my knees and palms in the dark? Yes.”

“Humans,” Pyre says, amused, and clucks his tongue as he takes hold of your wrist, turning away to continue on and pull you after him. He only pauses when you try to tug your hand away.

“You can hold my hand instead of towing me along like a kid at the fair. I don’t even have sticky fingers.” You turn your hand, thankful when he lets you adjust his hold. His fingernails, thicker due to his shifting nature, dig a little too hard into the side of your hand before he reflexes his grip.

He pauses, tense, even though his palm is a soothing warmth against yours. “Not sticky,” he finally agrees. Pyre hesitates, like he wants to say more, but a low, strange voice calls out something from far off. As soon as you hear it, the voice has it’s hooks in you. Your entire body grows tense, hair prickling, listening as hard as you can to try to make out the words. “No,” Pyre says in a low growl, trying to interrupt your concentration. He’s only barely louder than the voice. “Don’t listen. It’s all too easy to-”

“That sounds like—”

“It sounds like nothing that matters. Even if you know the voice, it doesn’t matter.” Pyre grunts when you turn your head, trying to follow the fading voice with your ear alone. He rips his hand out of yours so he can take hold of your face, pulling you close until you’re nearly nose to nose with him, thumbs on your cheekbones, fingernails scratching gently behind your ears. “Right now, the only thing that matters is making camp for the night. We’re heading this way and you are not going to go looking for that voice in the dark.”

You suck down a fierce breath, closing your eyes as the last of the echoing voice fades away. As soon as it’s gone, your shoulders start to slump, and you feel strangely hollow. “That is why they make us sign that waiver?” You ask, opening your eyes to find Pyre still terribly close, his hands still cradling your face.

For a moment, he lingers, breath warm against your lips, the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes deepening the longer he stares at you up close. The bright copper of his eyes is muted in the darkness, but the white in his hair, in his eyebrows, stands out brilliantly, and you think there might be more of it now than there was earlier this afternoon. “I knew you’d be a bad decision,” he whispers, and inexplicably, you think he might be about to kiss you. Your heart begins to gallop around your chest, your hands lifting to grasp at his wrists, his own still on your face—and then Pyre pulls away, dragging his nails over your skin. He tangles his fingers with yours and leads you quietly through the dark.

You’re not sure whether you should ask about his other bad decisions again… But you desperately want to.

Putting together the camp is a chilly affair at best. The shelter you help Pyre fumble through in the dark, though of course he has no trouble navigating the process, is little more than a heavy tarp tied securely between two of the tall, white teeth. There isn’t much wind, but now the mist is heavy enough to dot your eyelashes and bead along your sleeves. You don’t quite believe Pyre when he says he can get a fire going, forcing you to sit next to the small ring of stones he’s gathered. “There’s a copse of trees not far from here,” he explains, tilting his head to your right, though you can’t see anything through the fog, and especially not in the dark. “And I’ll be able to scrounge up enough for a fire.”

You want to ask him if he’ll be able to find his way back to you. If he thinks you’ll be safe sitting here on your own, especially after the voice from earlier. Voicing your concerns feels a bit too much like an invitation for bad luck though, and you still don't know Pyre very well. He might be helping you out of the goodness of his heart, but he's already dubbed you a bad decision. You're not sure you want to push things. “Won’t the wood be wet?” You ask instead, chafing your hands together to stir up a little bit of heat.

“No fear of shifters,” Pyre scoffs, straightening up and pulling his bag off of his back. “No screaming at strangers when you're lost in the foggy tundra, but you're worried about damp firewood?" You scowl, knowing full well he can see your expression. That surprises a rough sounding laugh out of him. "I may choose to spend my winter as a fox, but that doesn't mean I don't turn back into a man when spring comes." Pyre brandishes a small box, a tin filled with what sounds like matches. He rattles them about for emphasis. “Charmed matches are a necessity out here, not optional. Even if the wood is damp, they’ll catch well enough to last us the night.”

Charmed matches aren’t exactly common. A package of them, when used only in dire situations, should last someone a score of years at least, and as the spells to make them are some of the few guarantees of still working magic… They cost a pretty penny. “...should you be wasting them on me when I’m supposed to find the tour guides tomorrow?”

Pyre shakes the box at you, silently insisting you take it from his hand. When you take it from him, there’s more hair, more fur on his fingers than there was earlier in the day. You wonder if it’s a conscious change to help stave off the chill, or if it’s simply too close to when he shifts. “We need some way to boil a bit of water for bearberry tea, don’t we? Unless you’d rather eat them plain.” He sounds like he’s smiling, but the dark is getting more oppressive and you can’t see it. Pyre’s tone turns a little more serious, a little more apologetic as he continues: “And using them seems to keep away the voices, so yes. As I’ve taken responsibility for your safety—”

“Responsibility,” you murmur, arching a brow, but you can’t exactly disagree.

“—I’ll do exactly as I said. You’ll get to the Slavering, and I’ll even give you a match as a gift. You can make a torch as you head back and the voices should leave you be.”

You don’t shake the tin of them, knowing that they’re valuable, but you stroke your finger over the top, following the raised patterns of letters. “Will they work, even if they’re unlit?”

Pyre waits, and you don’t know whether he’s reluctant to give you an answer or he doesn’t actually know. “Are you worried about me going to grab the firewood?”

Well, it was kind of ridiculous, trying to hide your nervousness from him anyway. You’re lost in the tundra with someone you don’t know. No matter how resilient you are, it’s going to be nerve wracking. “I’ve never felt quite as strange as when I heard that voice, even with you pulling me back from it…” You stop, a frown growing on your lips. “But the voice didn’t do anything to you. You had no problem telling me not to listen to it.”

Pyre crouches, his knees popping, and groans quietly, rubbing at the patch just under his left kneecap. You can see his hands, pale fur the only spot of brightness in the night. “They don’t much affect shifters. We’re…. We’re already rather full of magic ourselves, even if it isn’t the kind one can use by uttering spells or mixing ingredients in a pot. Whatever the reason, the voices don’t seem to like magic. So a box of those matches?” He reaches out to tap on the tin with one long nail. “It should keep you from falling prey for the few moments it will take me to gather wood. I still wouldn’t get up though, then you might risk dropping it.”

You don’t know everything about the tundra, even with what research you did before you came on the trip, and the talk of magic here? It’s still something people want to study. One of the ones that came with a recorder would probably be thrilled to hear this much about the place from… Pyre might not be a year-round local, but he knows quite a bit. If he can hold off his shifting, maybe you’ll ask him to talk to one of them. “I’ll be safe,” you say, extrapolating, “as long as I stay sitting here. You’ll be able to find me again?”

“...I’ll be able to follow your scent, yes,” he admits, like he expects you to be irritated with the thought. Far, far away, another voice echoes, much fainter than the one you’d heard before. It doesn’t sound pained or panicked though, it sounds a bit like—Pyre takes your fingers, almost crushing them around the tin box in your hands. The voice vanishes. “You’ll be safe,” Pyre repeats, and a breeze whisks through the area, catching at his wild grey and white hair.

“Then get the wood,” you say, before you lose your nerve. “I’ll wait.” Pyre’s hand, still curled tightly around your fingers, eases. He brushes his thumb over the valleys between your knuckles and then pulls away.

“A few moments only. I promise,” he whispers, and then his canine-like feet are scuffing through the hard dirt and lichen covered rocks.

As soon as he’s gone, you soothe yourself by running your fingers over the tin of matches, trying to figure out what words are written along the top in fine, curling letters. There are too many loops though and when you do your best to try and focus on it, bringing it up close to your face, all you can see is that places on the tin have been worn down. Whatever it might say, the color on the tin won’t help you figure it out. It feels like only seconds, but another noise echoes in the darkness, your heart jumping back into overdrive. You clutch at the matchbox, but then Pyre is stepping out of the heavy fog, dropping a heaving armful of twisted branches and thick tangles of what looks like weeds.

“Moments, I thought you said! What was that, 30 seconds?” You ask, trying to calm your racing heart.

Pyre laughs. “I think you were just lost in thought, hm? It’s easy to lose track of time in the dark.” He kneels at the ring of rocks, cursing, even though you can’t hear any popping in his limbs this time. “Now, give me the matches and let’s get things a bit warmer, hm?”

You hand them over, and then get to work. You feel more than see Pyre’s surprise when you start picking up the branches and weeds. “I may be human, but I can help do a bit of work. It’s the last I can do after you helping me like this, what with your shifting getting close.”

“Noticed that, did you?” He asks, tin creaking as he opens and closes the lid. You glance over, but other than his pale fur, you can’t make out what he’s actually doing. A second later and he’s striking one of the charmed matches over a rough rock, and then it blazes merrily in a bit of fire smaller than a penny. “I won’t be a danger. I’m old enough to keep my wits. My… I should warn you, my breed of shifting isn’t always so pretty as others though.”

“Is that why you come out here?”

“One of many reasons,” Pyre mutters and holds the match to the wood in the fire pit. The match doesn’t burn down immediately though, or even catch the weeds when he touches it to them. Pyre deposits it carefully in the exact middle of arrangement, planting it almost like a seedling in the wood and weeds. Only after he removes his hand does the match start to spark, and then fire twists open like a blooming flower. It’s gorgeous. You lift your eyes to Pyre, awe clear in your gaze, and then you have to blink. He’s still the older man you saw this afternoon. He still has a mostly human face, but his arms look longer now, and his copper eyes flash strangely in the firelight. He glances at you, and you see that his mouth has grown wider, the edges either curling back towards his cheekbones or… Or his jaws are elongating. “Frightened?” He asks, and then you realize that you’ve been staring.

“Mildly startled,” you correct, refusing to look away. Whether he’s a pretty kind of shifter or not, you can still see him in his eyes and the way he holds himself.

He chuffs, and the noise warms something deep in your chest. “Smartass,” he says, sounding very fond. “I’ll make some of that tea now then, if you’d like it.”

“Bearberry tea,” you muse, reaching in your pocket for the rest of the berries he’d given you. Pyre unearths a small cooking pot from his bag, as well as an earthenware mug, glazed some kind of deep green. He hands you the mug and then holds out the pot, nodding his head when you lift your berry filled hand over it. It takes longer than you would like. Pyre has to mash the berries down and then he surprises you by standing and tugging at the tarp edge of your shelter. Water, mist really, beaded so heavily along the taut plastic that there’s enough to fill the pot near to overflowing. It’s much more than you would have thought, but Pyre seems unsurprised, even though you’ve both been relatively dry since he started building the fire.

“Alright,” you finally say, watching Pyre stir the faintly pink water with a metal spoon from his bag. “You mentioned bad decisions, and I’m not wise enough to leave it well alone. What are all these ‘bad decisions’ that drive you out into the tundra for an entire season? And, I can’t not clarify, were they flings?”

Pyre stares at you, eyes gleaming in the firelight, his too wide jaw falling open due to your blunt questions. When he laughs this time, it’s a sharp bark and more fox-like than human. “Oh, you are one of them. Much more perceptive than many of the others.” He licks his lips, still human-smooth, but his ears have grown longer. They’re peeking out from the sides of his head, poking through his hair now. “Some of them were flings. Some of them were just… A way to stave off loneliness, even if they were unpleasant.”

“And where am I falling on that scale?”

Pyre arches a thicker brow, baring his sharp teeth in a slightly eerie smile. “I wouldn’t be opposed to a fling with someone like you, but your companionship is more than enough if that’s all you want to give.”

You can’t help but laugh. “Then how, exactly, am I a ‘bad decision’? Making friends isn’t a bad thing, is it?”

Pyre’s smile wavers. “No, no it isn’t.” He looks away, into the middle of the fire, where the charmed match is still blazing like a seed of flame. “The bad decision is that my loneliness drives me to go looking in the first place.”

You let a few moments pass in relative silence, puzzling over his words. It sounds more than strange, but you can’t put your finger on why. “What does that mean?” You finally ask, noting the way he’s digging his nails into his thighs.

He looks back at you. “Anyone who wanders out here is an offering, of sorts. To help bear the brunt of winter. The tours… They’re more like a ritual than those guides of yours realize.”

Your head feels strangely empty. Ritual, he’d said. Slowly, you think back to the myths linked to the tundra, to the Mirrored Teeth, to the folktales attached to cities and Serpent Towers. There had been something about bearing the brunt of winter, holding it back from sweeping over the land…

“Your time here will be no more than the three days I promised. You will be taken back to the Slavering, with only this time gone from the memories of others, and I will do nothing but what I promise: to lead you back, if that is all you desire.” Pyre creeps closer, long arms and long fingers bracing himself on the dirt. All it takes is a single stretch and he’s by your side, towering over you in his half shifted form. “The bad decision was that I was given the right to choose without any warning. That I could only claim those I charmed away.”

“You charmed me?” You whisper.

“You heard my voice,” Pyre explains and your heart beats painfully in your chest. He is why people vanish from the tours and come back tired and dirty but… But most of them come back unharmed.

“What happens to those that don’t make it back?” You ask, trying to quell your panic.

Pyre’s shoulders hunch. “Sometimes people react poorly, and they run. Running in the fog is never wise.”

“How am I… How am I supposed to help you keep winter from swallowing the world?”

Pyre barks out another laugh, though he’s grimacing. “Those years I don’t have a companion, winter escapes my hold. It’s much easier to keep in check with help.”

“Helping how?” You ask, voice going brittle.

“Companionship. You’re already bound to the three days,” he says quietly, nodding his head to the pot of slow boiling bearberries on the fire. “You ate three of them. If…. If you choose to help, to spend the winter with me, then you can drink. You’ll be with me through the entire season—”

“Out in the middle of the tundra, with nothing but a tarp and an evening's supply of food?” You ask, getting to your feet. You take a step away from the fire, nervous energy making you move, and then freeze when you hear a far off voice again. You glance down at Pyre, angry and convinced it must be him, but then you recognize it. The voice, low and soft as it echoes strangely through the fog, is you.

“The voices are possibilities only,” Pyre says, talking over the needy sounding moan. It vanishes, like nothing more than smoke on a fast moving breeze. “And I would take you back to my home, I wouldn’t make you wander out here and sleep on the freezing ground!” Pyre starts to get to his feet and then thinks better of it. He stays where he is, looking up at you, holding out a hand. “If you drink, all I require is companionship. Loneliness lets the ice creep further out, but friendship, or, or anger or passion keeps it at bay. With your help I can bind the overflow of ice in the teeth. But if three days is all you’ll allow, then I’ll find another, I promise. You’ll be free of this, and you’ll forget this ever happened.”

You’re out in the middle of the tundra, wreathed in magical fog and standing before a shifter, a… a spirit? A deity? That keeps winter at bay. You did want magic, didn’t you? You ask yourself. You look down to his open hand, brown palm calloused, nails long and sharp, white fox fur growing longer along his arm.

“No one will even notice I’ve been gone?”

“You’ll be lost in the fog for three days, according to them. What life you’ve missed will feel like a blink, but no. They won’t realize you’ll have been gone for the entire winter.” Pyre’s mouth closes, stubbled throat working as he swallows.

Slowly, you sit back down, picking up the glazed green mug and holding it out for Pyre to fill. “The winter then. If we end up hating one another? You have no one to blame but yourself.”

Pyre doesn’t answer, but he watches like a predator after he fills the mug with bearberry tea, copper eyes caught on your lips. You finish half the cup, and what chill lingered in your bones slowly fades away. Carefully, Pyre takes the cup back and downs the rest, long tongue licking stray droplets off of his lips.

————-　🦊　————-

You travel with Pyre for three days before you reach the banks of the Slavering, only when you do, the tour guides aren’t waiting for you. This is where the Slavering begins, the thick snowmelt coming off of the high mountaintops and rolling down through the craggy rocks to make a river. There’s a cave entrance not far from the rapids, covered over with weeds and just large enough for Pyre to stoop over and fit into. You stop at the entrance, with him close behind you, and stare into the far off dark.

“It’s not like a dungeon in there, is it?”

Pyre grumbles, somewhere between indignation and a laugh. “You always know just what to say. No, it’s not like a dungeon. There’s plenty of modern day amenities inside. I’m a shifter, not a beast.”

Cautiously, still not entirely trusting him, you head inside. It’s dark at first, and earthy smelling, just like a cave, but then Pyre strikes another one of his charmed matches and pulls you to the side so he can lead. There’s a lamp up ahead, the frosted glass globe just big enough for Pyre to reach in and set the match. Heat and light seem to roll through the entire area, a locked, wooden door revealing itself to the side of the lamp. The cave floor, still cold and a bit damp, is actually stones, pieced together into what looks like a strange little map. You frown down at the stones, eyes tracing the edges of a single, deep blue vein, wondering why the chips of pale rock surrounding it strike you as strange.

“The Teeth,” you murmur suddenly. “You have a map of the teeth in front of your door?” Some of the spots are much smaller than others, more like a pinprick of pale stone as opposed to some of the hefty chips. If you unfocus your eyes, the map looks like a reflection of the stars.

“Magic,” Pyre explains, though he doesn’t sound pleased with his own answer. “There’s plenty to talk about when it comes to the Teeth, and the voices, just… Let’s go inside. It’s going to start snowing soon.”

When he opens the door, all the lamps inside are lit. Much like Pyre himself, his decor is frayed and worn down. There are heavy furs on the walls, and tapestries too, both simple and grand, but fragile looking. There are furs on some of the furniture as well. There’s a large stone fireplace, with hooks over the mantle made of horn and a set of stone stairs that curve out of sight. There’s no sign of things like phones or televisions, but you feel like you should have expected that. Companionship through a screen probably didn't fulfill the parameters of his… his curse?

That’s something you decide to ask about later. After all, you have the rest of the winter to spend with him, and he explained plenty over the three day trip to the mountain. The teeth are made of contained winter. The larger the teeth are, the more someone helped Pyre through that season. Through friendship, or anger, or passion, they melted the ice and snow. Pyre would take the melt and bind it in magic-made spires, but he couldn’t build on only one. Each spire was the product of a different person, each fling or friend made or fight had melted the snow at different rates. If your help has already begun, then you know some of the snow must have melted already due to your anger over the past few days, but it’s not something you think you can hold onto. Pyre tricked you into the three days, gave you the bearberries and bid you eat if you were hungry. You’d eaten three of them. The rest of the winter though? That you chose yourself. At least for a while, you’re ready to try and enjoy a little bit of the magic, keeping back winter or no.

“It’s not quite past midday,” Pyre says quietly, voice a strange melding of fox and man. “If you’d like food, I will make it for you. If you’d like a rest, I’ll show you to your room.”

“My room?” You ask, only sounding mildly sarcastic.

Pyre narrows those coppery eyes of his. “Sometimes I think you say these things on purpose. Yes. Your room.” He heads for the staircase, his toenails clicking on the stone floor before he reaches the layers of rugs, the soft padding of his feet on them makes you smile. “I would hardly complain if you decided to join me in mine, but even so, you will have your own space.” He tosses his head, earrings catching in his hair and then vanishes up the stairs.

You move at a much more sedate pace, still examining your surroundings. There’s a very old looking table, covered with the remnants of a puzzle that looks to be from forty years ago at least. There’s a rack of old bottles, some of them look like wine, but others are clearly beer, and still others look like glass bottles of soda, the liquid half evaporated. Pyre’s house is going to be a treasure trove of history, of things left behind by others. The winter is going to be very long, you’re certain, but it won’t be forever. All of the people that left these things behind have obviously left and returned to their homes. You turn on your heel, slip your bag off of your shoulders and leave it at the foot of the stairs. You can come back for it later.

The lamps, all seemingly lit from that single charmed match, spiral up the staircase. There aren’t any doors that open up off the sides, only a hallway at the very top and three open doors leading to the far end. The first one you pass is a bathroom, with a large tub carved out of the stone of the mountain. There are elderly looking cupboards in there, and what looks like a wood burning stove, though it’s empty. The toilet, you assume, is behind the drawscreen, and when you peek your head farther in, there’s also a shining, copper mirror hanging on the wall. The second room is where Pyre is, hands fussing over the thick curtains around the bed. There’s a fireplace against the wall, and a nightstand next to the bed, and more furs draped over a chair made of wood and horn in the corner. There’s a worn desk, obviously hand-made by someone unskilled, but a beautiful bookcase next to it, filled with books in various states of wear. Some of the spines are cracked, but others still are pristine. To the right of the bed, there’s a single paned window. Snow is coating the sill outside, thick flurries weighing down the weeds that are growing in the cracked stone.

Despite the magic, despite the voices and his promise, it still hadn’t felt quite so real, wandering through the tundra with him. He’d said the snow would be coming down soon though.

“It’s lovely,” you answer, honestly, even if not everything is to your taste. It almost makes you want to laugh though, because it definitely looks like it’s somewhere removed from the normal world, some kind of strange mish-mash of time periods all pressed into a two story place. You wonder, without Pyre, would anyone ever find this place?

“Parts of it,” Pyre says, strange looking hands pausing in their tying of the curtains. He’s looking at the headboard, you realize. There’s a faint gouge in the dark wood, but it doesn’t look like it was from Pyre. It looks like a very human scratch. Warmth crawls over the back of your neck, though you’re not sure whether it’s embarrassment or eagerness. You’d been feeling a healthy dose of attraction with Pyre before he told you about everything, and it had taken a bit to sort through your feelings on the matter, even with you making the final choice to come here. You still don’t know how things will continue, but for now…

“Let me see what I can do to help make a few more lovely memories then,” you say suddenly. Heat is pulsing through you now, warming your cheeks and the tips of your ears and zinging down along your spine. Pyre’s head snaps to the side to find your hands working slowly at your clothes. He doesn’t move any further, doesn’t even tip back his head, just stares at you over the crest of his shoulder, pupils swallowing down the copper of his irises.

“If—you don’t have to do anything,” he insists, and his tail swishes, slowly, just the once. It doesn’t bristle out as it had when you’d first spotted him.

Your coat drops to the floor, and his eyes follow it. “I know. We were flirting though, before you told me about all of this, and I still…” You glance away, only for your eyes to snap back to Pyre as he drags his patched suit jacket off of his shoulders.

He slows when he realizes you’re watching, but doesn’t stop. A slow grin pulls at the corners of his wide mouth. “You still want to feel magic?” He taunts, and laughs when you roll your eyes. He stops laughing when the rest of your clothes hit the floor, the hint of a whine escaping him when you take a step closer, shivering when you feel the temperature of the stone on your bare feet. “My room,” Pyre says roughly, though you can’t tear your eyes away from him. He’s still a wonderfully strange mix of man and fox. His face is still humanoid, with lips and stubbled cheeks, and so is the shape of his shoulders through his holey t-shirt. There’s soft curls of hair peeking out of the stretched neck of his shirt, but along the backs of his arms it looks more like fur and his feet are still wholly canine. His tails, tails plural, are starting to grow longer too, and you recall the way he’d seemed to coalesce into one person when the fog had rolled back.

Pyre crosses the room, hesitating before he places his hands on your shoulders, thumbnails scratching gently at your bare skin. The chill of the room had been seeping into you, but at his touch, warmth chases it all away. When you slide your hands up his chest, Pyre’s eyes fall closed, gray lashes bright against his skin. “M’ room,” he repeats again, but pulls you into a kiss as he tows you out the door. There’s no more time for examining the hallway or the knick-knacks he might be keeping in his own space. There’s his lips and his stubble scratching at your skin and his hands splayed over the back of your neck and the base of your spine. He coaxes you into his room with deep, slow kisses that leave your head spinning, whispering things that make your pulse speed. “Want, want the smell of you on my sheets,” he says against your neck, dragging sharp teeth carefully over your throat. He growls when your hands dip to undo his trousers, your thumb following the trail of hair that vanishes beneath his underwear. “If this is, if it’s��”

“I agreed to the winter,” you remind him and then he’s turning you and letting you fall back onto his bed. You have a moment to register soft fur, and crocheted blankets, and comforters too, before Pyre is pulling his shirt off and tossing it across the room. He wrestles with the rest of his clothes, leaving you another moment to admire him. The hair on his chest and trailing down his abdomen looks human, much coarser than the fur on his arms and below his knees. Between his legs is a thick cock, hard and beginning to leak, with a small bulge near the base of him, and then your gaze is drawn back up as he crawls onto the bed, moving much slower than he had in the hall. He doesn’t press, doesn’t rush, just leans his body over yours to kiss you again, careful with his teeth. He groans when you reach up and tug at his braid, pulling the rough tie away and tossing it to the side. You comb your fingers through his hair, tangling your fingers in it to keep him kissing you and tense when his cock slides over your thigh, hot and hard and enough to make you buck up, already seeking friction. Pyre kisses you until you’re breathless, leaving you sucking at your own lips and trying to calm yourself as he urges you further up the bed, back to a veritable nest of pillows.

He isn’t slow when he settles himself between your legs, hands curling around your thighs and pushing them carefully back towards your chest. He isn’t slow when he drags his tongue over you, hot and slick and slightly rough. He’s careful as he can be with his teeth, but there are a few pinches that make you gasp and tremble. He laves his tongue over them, soothing the sting, but his nails are pressing hard into your skin and you’re fairly certain you’re going to bruise, simply from the continued pressure. Pyre is noisy too, whining and groaning as he tastes you, as you do your best to rock yourself against his tongue, hand tugging at his hair while he sucks and eats. The ache of orgasm, painful-but-sweet, is starting to build, starting to make you tense everytime he opens his jaw, teeth dragging over tender skin, leaving you wet and shuddering. He huffs when you whimper, and pulls away before you can come, copper eyes as bright as flame when he moves to sit back against his headboard. The loss of him feels sudden, and the cold is sharp without his warmth against you.

“That was on purpose,” you murmur. Pyre arches a brow, trying to keep from smiling when you scowl at his crooking finger. You still get up, on shaking knees and gasp when he tugs you over and onto his lap, your back against his chest, cock slick and sticky against your ass.

“I want to feel everything when you shake apart,” he murmurs, hand splaying over your sternum as he helps you arrange your legs. By the time you’re straddling his thighs, his fingertips are dipping into the hollow of your throat and his cock is rutting against your thigh and every part of you is on edge, desperate for more. You’d been so close. Pyre licks at the side of your throat, pressing his hand harder against your chest to keep your back still. “Lift your hips,” he urges, and takes his cock in hand, dragging the head over you as you do your best to listen. Like fitting a key into a lock, Pyre finds the correct angle, breathing raggedly as you press yourself down. As soon as you’ve taken enough of him, he lets go of himself and then presses on the top of your thighs, making you gasp out his name as you take him in deeper. He eases off after a moment, letting you adjust, letting you wriggle and groans out your name roughly as you do your best to ride him.

You think for a moment about saying something, about teasing him or trying to rile him up, but it’s all you can do to keep up what rhythm you have, heart beating terribly fast against the hand he has on your chest. He lets you move, lets you reach back and clutch at the messy locks of his hair, his breath warm against your throat and the top of your shoulder and then Pyre pushes roughly against your thigh again, thrusting up until his knot is grinding against you. “Fuck, fuck, Pyre, that—”

“Too much?” He asks, waiting while you shake, trying to steady your breath. You’re probably going to ache later, probably won’t want to do much but doze or take a bath in that massive stone tub, but right now? Right now you want to be greedy.

“More,” you get out and Pyre laughs, that eerie, fox-like noise echoing in your ear as he teases you with the knot, pressing you down and then pulling back his hips. Pillows cascade off the edges of the bed, spilling over the floor. You start squeezing, doing your best to drive him over the edge, so sensitive it almost hurts. “Please,” you whisper and then you’re too busy for speech. His knot stretches you and his hand dips between your thighs, stroking and his fingers press into the base of your throat. He’s not choking you, but he’s starting to squeeze and then you’re coming. Pleasure washes over you in a fierce, pulsing ache that shoots down to your toes and fountains back up your body. You shout out his name and shake in his arms, eyes falling closed as his knot expands, locking you in place. Your eyes flutter open and closed and drift to a steamed up window, much like the one in your own room. Weeds are still poking up through the cracks, but now it’s not snowing outside, it’s raining.

Pyre turns his nose to the space behind your ear, breathing deep, his own limbs growing loose. “The winter might well be softer this year,” Pyre mumbles, voice raspy, his hand smoothing down your sternum and over your hips. “And I have you to thank for that.”

“We still have the rest of the winter ahead of us,” you remind him, but you’re too sleepy to argue with him any further. Whether you end up enjoying the rest of your time here, you do know one thing: Passion will definitely be a huge part of fulfilling your bargain for the winter.

————-　🦊　————-

[findingjoynweirdstuff]

Dream SMP Recap (June 2/2021) - Self-Care and Reconciliation

Fundy tries some speedy self-care to follow Quackity’s directions of “finding himself.”

Foolish finds out about the supreme fridge and isn’t pleased. 

Antfrost seeks out Foolish, Bad and Puffy to find peace and make amends after what happened with the Egg. 

---

VOD LINKS:

Philza

Tubbo

Fundy

Foolish

Eret

Captain Puffy

Antfrost

Michaelmcchill

---

- Phil works on the basement some more

- Tubbo works on his outpost

- Tubbo comes over to the Arctic and visits Phil in his basement to “spy” on him 

- They go to Tubbo’s outpost and Tubbo asks if Phil would like to make a TNT canon with him. Phil sees Las Nevadas 

- Tubbo’s a changed person since he tried to kill Phil’s friend, and now he and Phil are on good terms!

- Tubbo and Phil start attempting to wrangle a Ghast together for the outpost

- A few days ago, Quackity told Fundy that he could have a plot of land in Las Nevadas under certain circumstances, and Fundy has a choice to join the nation or not

- When he and Quackity spoke, Quackity said that this plot of land can be his if Fundy can find himself. Fundy needs to fix what’s broken

- Living in the middle of nowhere away from other people isn’t good, so today, Fundy wants to take care of himself and become a better person

- Fundy’s snow fox is outside, but Fundy decides to let him roam for the time being

- Fundy goes outside and creates a board with signs: 

FUNDY’S PLAN TO BECOME BETTER MAN:

Healthy diet! fish, steak, vegetables, fruit, dary, grains

Take care of himself. be able to cut down tree fast

mine diamonds

be able to accept therapy say “im okay with therapy”

good friends, get 3 people to say im a friend

sleep

take care of pet :)

learn to count

- He sets up a timer to do these eight things, and once it starts, he immediately runs off to fix his diet

- Fundy fetches some cod from the sea and spots Tubbo’s outpost in the distance. Curious, he goes over -- if someone lives there, that can go towards his friend goal

- Seeing that Tubbo isn’t online, Fundy messages Phil instead. He asks if they are friends, and Phil just asks what he wants. After a lot more pressing, Phil says they are friends! Fundy is his grandson, after all

- Phil asks if Fundy is safe. Fundy is overjoyed that he cares about his safety, and counts that as two friends! Fundy says he should come by to play cards sometimes, and Phil likes the idea

- To himself, Fundy whispers: “You are a friend and you are appreciated and worth something. You are cool. You are special. You are loved.” 

He counts this as the final friend, and has now completed one goal!

- He creates a small patch of dirt and plants wheat, then goes mining for diamonds

- Fundy chops some trees and returns to his house

- On his bed, he psyches himself up and musters up the courage to say something

Fundy: “I...accept...and am okay...with...”

(he struggles to say the last word)

Fundy: “I accept and am okay with...therapy. I accept and am okay with THERAPY!”

- He then goes outside and learns to count by killing zombies

- After that, he has to go find his pet snow fox. He asks a nearby Enderman where he is

- Fundy and the Enderman go searching together

- Fundy can’t find the fox. He keeps searching around the forest, until he comes back towards his house and finally finds the fox sleeping on a nearby hill

- With all his other goals done, there is only one remaining: sleep.

- He goes to his bed, hesitates...

...and sleeps.

(This is a set up for next stream)

- Foolish returns to his summer home from Las Nevadas and finds the WAR sign, confused. He then notices the disappearance of the supreme fridge

- He reads the war note left in the chest for Ponk and is outraged. That fridge was his gift! Of all the buildings that have been built here, the fridge was the one thing he allowed

- There will be consequences, but as Foolish will be gone for a bit, he can’t do anything now. 

- Foolish begins to go through the stages of grief, mourning the fridge, before leaving a note:

---

You destroyed my fridge. It was my gift from Ponk. The one structure that was built for me on this server was destroyed. Once I go through the 5 stages of grief...I will then add on a bonus stage.......REVENGE

---

- He kills one of the L’Sandburg citizen llamas to send a message

- Foolish goes to the main area and visits Eret’s fortress, noticing the totem statue Eret made in mourning. He changes the sign to simply say “in honor of Foolish” instead

- While working on his pyramid some more at the summer home, Foolish notices Antfrost just over the hill. Ant comes over, seeking to apologize for killing Foolish

Foolish: Listen Ant. From the very start I blamed the egg. And I don’t believe the REAL Antfrost killed me. Nice to see some blue eyes as well

Ant: but we didn’t listen to your warnings, we had our chances and we betrayed you and our friends. I wouldn’t blame you if you killed me right here

- Foolish doesn’t. He tells Ant that he’s moving on. 

- Ant asks if there’s any way to make it up to him, and Foolish says he could use some help gathering sand (Antfrost finds sand tasty, but Foolish doesn’t eat sand. It has too many calories)

- The two gather sand together

Foolish: I hold nothing against you

Ant: thank you

Foolish: Honestly I think the banquet has changed me for the better

Ant: how so

Foolish: It has given me new found strength. Basically from here on out...I’ll be less timid to take action

Ant: well at least something good came out of it

Foolish: So how about you Antfrost, what’s next for the old sly cat

Ant: I need to talk to Puffy and Bad and Sam and everyone I’ve wronged

- Ant asks if Foolish has seen Puffy anywhere, whether there’s something he can give her as a peace offering. She likes llamas

- Foolish thanks Ant for his help. Ant says if Foolish needs anything, to let him know. Foolish looks forward to happier times

- Puffy comes on later and finds the book Foolish left in the chest. She reads it, but she still thinks getting rid of the fridge was better for the aesthetic, and she had to get back at Ponk

- She writes another letter, this time to Foolish, titled “To my sharkyson”:

---

Dear Foolish!

It was not my intention to make you sad or angry! I didn’t know you cared so much for the fridge as well. it was kinda ugly and it stood out so much from the rest of the builds! But I assure you I’m not allied with Bad, my whole goal behind L’llamaburg was to keep an eye on Bad so he didn’t build any further on your land or cause you more problems.

Once Bad was gone I fully intended to disband l’llamaburg and tear it down!

Sorry for any sadness I may of caused.. you don’t need a fridge though to be reminded of how Supreme you are!

---

- Ant is at the animal sanctuary. Everything’s been destroyed, but at least Floof is still alive

- He saves Asshole the fish from suffocating out of the water and puts the fish back in the aquarium

- Ant goes looking for Bad. They need to talk

- They meet at the Community House. Bad hasn’t seen Ant in a while, he hasn’t been around. Bad asks if Ant is okay, and Ant doesn’t know. He died

- Ant asks what happened. Bad says things didn’t work out according to plan. Ant remembers Quackity coming in at the Banquet...

Ant: “Bad, what did we do? I killed Foolish...”

- Bad says stuff happens and he doesn’t think anyone would blame Ant

Ant: “Bad, I killed him! What do you mean you don’t think anyone blames -- Bad, we’re monsters! Do you know what we did?”

Bad: “W-well, I try not to think about it!”

Ant: “Well you can’t just ignore -- you can’t act like we didn’t do -- Bad, I killed Foolish, we were gonna kill E-- oh my god, Eret’s on the server too.”

- Bad thinks it’s fine, Foolish will recover and Puffy killed Ant but it was one for one. Ant remembers all the horrible things he said to Puffy before he killed Foolish and asks where Bad went afterwards

- Bad had no choice but to run. He couldn’t save Ant, they were outnumbered

Ant: “...Do you not feel bad about anything? Bad, we’re...we’re mon-- we did horrible things!”

Bad: “Well I mean, yeah, you did do some horrible stuff...”

Ant: “No, YOU! You did some horrible stuff! Who pushed Skeppy into lava, Bad? Who betrayed their friends? We betrayed Sam, Bad!”

Bad: “Okay, we did some horrible stuff -- hey, no! Okay, but -- there were good reasons at the time, or we felt like there was!”

Ant: “No! No no, Bad, we let the Egg control us! No! Did the Egg give you what it promised?”

Bad: “No, ‘cause...we never completed the plan...whatever it was. Ant, I can’t remember exactly...it’s not -- look, it’s -- I don’t know...”

- Ant asks if he’s talked to Sam and Puffy yet. Bad’s trying not to think about it, but Ant says they can’t ignore this. They’re friends, they should make amends

- Ant asks if Bad’s been back down there, but Bad’s steered clear. Ant is feeling normal again

Ant: “I...Bad, do you not...We’re fucked up! We did horrible things! Our friends tried to stop us, and we didn’t listen! We didn’t do anything!”

Bad: “There’s a lot of ‘we’ going on here...”

- Bad points out Ant didn’t really say anything. Ant accuses him of blaming him

Bad: “No, I’m just saying that...if the collar fits!”

- Ant says they both did horrible things, they dragged Hannah in, Punz too and Ponk. Bad hasn’t checked up on those three since. It doesn’t seem like Bad feels bad. Ant’s been gone because he felt ashamed

- If there’s anybody that they’ve hurt the most, it’s Sam. They were the Badlands

- Bad says they were brainwashed. He knows it’s not an excuse, that they should still own up to it even if they weren’t fully to blame

- They both killed one person each. Ant accuses Bad of putting the blame on him again and says that Bad killing Skeppy was worse because they’re platonic soulmates

- Ant wants an apology for letting him die and leaving him. Bad didn’t do anything, he just watched Ant die. Bad was caught off guard. On the other hand, maybe it was a good thing that Ant died, since otherwise they would’ve killed more people

- Ant says they should own up. Bad apologizes for letting Puffy kill Ant. He should have protected Ant, not just from Puffy but from the Egg too. Ant forgives Bad and says sorry for not protecting Bad from the Egg either

- Seeing as Puffy’s online, Ant suggests they go look for her. Bad says he’ll talk to Puffy later. Ant asks about Skeppy -- Bad talked to Skeppy right after what happened, but he hasn’t seen Skeppy since. They had a bit of a confrontation

- Ant wonders if Sam will forgive them. The Badlands wouldn’t be the same without him. He leaves Bad

- Puffy comes down the Prime Path and meets Antfrost face-to-face. The two have a bit of an awkward greeting

- Puffy reminds him of what happened. He doesn’t know how to apologize, but he says sorry. For saying awful things, for killing Foolish. He doesn’t expect her to forgive him, but he apologizes for what he did

- Puffy says it wasn’t right that she killed him, even though she was acting defensively, and she apologizes as well. Ant didn’t deserve to die either, he was blinded by the Egg. She holds Bad more to blame -- Antfrost talked to him recently

- Puffy forgives Ant. She asks how Bad handled it, and Antfrost says Bad is full of guilt and is hoping he can just forget about it

- Bad hasn’t apologized to Puffy, but Ant says he’ll get around to talking to everyone. Puffy made a burner Twitter account to hate on Badboyhalo and if she doesn’t get an apology, she might have to use it

- About L’Sandburg, Ant says he was there for like five minutes, but he doesn’t know what’s been happening since

Puffy: “Ant, you have to be your own person, Ant. He always uses you as his little pet to do things for you, and you murdered a man now because of it, because of Bad.”

Bad uses Antfrost to do things. Why didn’t Bad kill Foolish himself? Why was Antfrost thrown under the bus?

- She tells Ant that he needs to stand up for himself. She had to watch so many “RIP that pussy” and “Why’d you have to kill my cat” edits, it was the worst timing

- Puffy messages Bad asking if he’s apologized to Ant. They spot Bad nearby and walk over to confront him. He’s selling arrows

- Bad says he said sorry for letting Ant die, but Ant wants an apology for Bad making him do everything. Bad says they were both just following the Egg’s orders, that Ant had a grudge against Foolish -- but Ant says he didn’t, that Bad said he had to kill people

- Bad says sorry, but the Egg just wanted it that way. They accuse him of making excuses. Bad apologizes to Antfrost for making him kill Foolish, and the two hug

- Bad and Skeppy had a disagreement after the Red Banquet, and he has to check up with him to make sure he’s okay

- Bad says sorry to Puffy for what they did while under the Egg’s influence. Puffy was told that they were turning a new leaf, letting bygones be bygones so many times that if she took a shot every time she was told that, she would get alcohol poisoning

- Bad says sorry for everything to both of them, from the bottom of his heart. Puffy accepts to be the bigger person. They’ve always been a trio, always been friends, and now that the Egg’s no longer here, she’ll let it slide

- They do a group hug

- After some chatting, Puffy accuses Bad of having a Wattpad account to write Skephalo fanfiction and they continue talking about Skeppy’s merch boxes

- Michael joins the call! They all hang out together

- Later on, Eret and Foolish join in as well! 

- A while after, they all go over to Ponk’s stairway to heaven to finally destroy it

(The build dates back to at least early July, possibly June, of 2020)

---

Upcoming events remain the same.

[crystalas]

Junk Yard Talks

A continuation of the Demon Bull Divorce AU. I’ve never done anything like this before so if you have any questions or prompts by all means go for it.

Takes place after Hindsight.

MK, Mei and Red Son are scrap hunting in the junk yard for stuff to upgrade the tuk-tuk and truck, they run into a certain pair of demons.

Junk yard talks

Mei had never thought of exploring the city’s Junk Yard because if she needed any parts for her bike, she could always buy them brand new from the shop but according to Red Son it was a treasure trove of finds. For her it was a treasure trove of smells.

“Especially for prototypes and if you’re on a budget!” he had explained giving MK and a side long glance, “For me at least if a prototype blows up then at least I don’t have to worry about costs!”

“So, what are we looking for?” MK demanded as he inspected a rusted-out van.

“I don’t know that’s the beauty of looking!” Red Son exclaimed “You never know when inspiration will hit you!”

“Hopefully inspiration will hit us without us needing tetanus jabs afterwards” Mei muttered as she navigated around some sharp looking scraps and then glared at MK.

“Don’t give me that look it was his turn to choose what we did for the day!” MK whispered back at her. “I thought you’d be into this being a motor head yourself!”

“When he said we were going to be looking at machine parts I thought he meant shopping not dumpster diving!” she hissed back. And Red Son had begun to rummage through what looked to be a car that had been hit a train, MK kept his hands in his pockets as he looked around. It was weirdly giving him an idea to draw a monster made of junk maybe with an old digger spade for a jaw and rusty chains for hair…he took out his little note book he always kept on him when such idea struck him and began to sketch down the parts he wanted to use.

Huh maybe Red Son was right about inspiration hitting you here.

“Monkie Kid!” a voice demanded “It’s your worst nightmare!”

“Yin!”

“Jin!”

“The gold and silver demons!” the two voices sang before mimicking a rock solo, only then did MK look up and saw the two demons glaring at him crossly as they perched on top of nearby junk pile obviously hoping for more of a reaction that dumb confusion.

“Oi mate!” the gold one growled “It’s considered common courtesy to at least look at your demise!”

“Sorry I was in the zone!” MK apologized as he took out his staff to fight.

“Yeah, well you’re being very rude!” Yin declared.

“Barging into our home, not even acknowledging our sweet introduction; downright disrespectful I’d call it!” Jin cried.

“Hey MK did you find anything?” Mei asked and MK waved her off. “Hey weren’t those the guys who tried to run Pigsy out of business?”

“Yeah, I gotta fight them so give me a minute”

“A MINUTE??!” the two demons roared “You got some nerve!”

“Need a hand?”

“Don’t ignore us!” Yin shouted and MK looked up to see the two demons leaping down prepared to fight and MK prepared to do battle.

“What’s going on Noodle boy?” Red Son demanded as he turned a corner just to see everyone in mid fight pause and stare at him before Yin and Jin took a step back.

“Monkie Kid! Not Monkey King!” Yin grumbled and smacked his brother around the head “Told you we should have written that down!”

“Kid, King it’s kinda easy to mix up!”

“Hey are we fighting or what?” MK demanded “You wanted this!”

“Nah we’re good!” Jin exclaimed “Hey Red Boy how are things?”

“Not bad all things considered” Red Son said “How are you two doing? Last I saw you were on TV trying to out cook Pigsy”

“Yeah, to be fair that was one of our more thought out plans we had…” Jin muttered.

“You know these guys?!” Mei demanded reminding the demons of the humans in the group. Red Son turned around to face his friends.

“Oh yeah we go waaaay back!” Jin laughed and patted Red Son on the back.

“We are probably the first demons to start mixing Tech and magic, these two are great to bounce ideas off with. Speaking of which, how did that improved calabash idea go? Did you managed to get pass that whole melting the victim problem?” Red Son asked and MK perked up at that last bit and saw the two metallic demons giving him an interesting look that was a mix of “don’t you dare tell him about that” and “Please don’t tell him about that”.

“Nah it kinda went belly-up we had to go back to the drawing board ya know?” Yin exclaimed and hustled Red Son away from MK in case the Monkie Kid decided to remind the two that the calabash did indeed work and he broke it when they tried to kidnap him with it.

“Pity” Red Son muttered “The idea of having an entire illusionary world that you can carry on you sounded like a fun idea. To be able to recreate places from memories or even create new locations entirely… you could have made it like a vacation spot for demons!”

“That’s a way better idea than using it as a holding cell for our enemies!” Jin moaned out loud to which everyone except MK turned to stare at him confused, Yin just face palmed.

“Anyway, you looking for anything in particular?” Yin interjected before anyone could question that statement Red Son pulled out a blue print.

“I’m looking to improve this, which needs better suspension…” he began and Yin looked at the blueprint nodded sagely, before scanning the junk yard.

“Yeah, I think I saw a quad bike over there, the engine is totally buggared but everything else is good to go!” he exclaimed Red Son grinned and trotted over with Yin leading the way. Jin watched the two go before glancing back at Mei and MK who were still on guard, sword and staff in hand just in case.

“So…how’s Red Boy been lately?” the demon asked quietly.

“Huh?!” Mei spluttered.

“I mean what with the whole divorce thing going on…”

“DIVORCE!?” MK cried out before being shushed by Jin loudly, he shot a look over to where his brother and Red Son had gone. “Sorry…but divorce? Red Son said his parents were going through a rough patch not ending it entirely!”

“That’s not what we heard on the ol’ demon grapevine, DBK going the whole nine yard on it. that’s practically unheard of in our community especially royalty. If you’re a king and you didn’t like your wife you just got a consort or something…”

“What did they say about Red Son?” MK asked concerned.

“Yeah, I heard you guys saying about mixing up Monkie Kid with Monkey King” Mei asked, all three scanned the area in case Red Son was in ear shot before returning to the huddle.

“We were told that until the whole thing was sorted out Red Son now belong to Monkey King’s court, turns out they meant YOUR court” Jin explained.

“Court sounds so uptight and fancy, I prefer the word team…” MK muttered before getting back on the topic. “Wait so why did DBK do that?” he demanded to which Jin just shrugged.

“No clue…” he muttered.

“How come he never told us? Does he even know himself?” Mei wondered but Jin couldn’t answer as Red Son and Yin came back easily dragging a quad bike that looked like someone had tried to drive it through a boulder and failed.

“Hey look these are practically brand new and we can use the fourth as a spare!” he chirped happily.

“Good find mate!” Jin beamed, “Why don’t you guys stay for lunch? We’re having toad in the hole!”

MK and Mei blanched at the idea of eating roasted toads or something and the demon brothers grinned.

“Oh, come on we’ll be having some spotted dick for afters!” he chuckled Mei nearly gagged at the idea and Red Son gave a sigh.

“Relax Toad in the hole is an English dish of sausage in batter, and spotted dick is a steamed current pudding” Yin and Jin gave a groan.

“Spoil our fun why don’t you?” Yin growled.

“You know how to cook English dishes?” MK asked.

“We travelled to London during the whole industrial revolution, very informative on the top-of-the-line tech at the time and what can we say? The accent stuck!” Jin explained “you found it fun too didn’t you Red?”

“You went too?” Mei asked and Red Son crossed his arms and looked annoyed.

“He didn’t stick around like we did, not after the Spring Heel Jack incident” Yin chuckled and playfully punched Red Son’s shoulder who gave a half-hearted growl.

“In my defence it was the one time and that old bat deserved getting her eye brows singed off, ‘filthy savage’ indeed!” he grumbled “all the other spring heeled jack sightings were not me!”

 Notes: I love the head canon that Yin, Jin and Red Son hang out and helped each other with their projects. Also, Spring Heel Jack was a Victorian creepy pasta of a being who could breathe fire, leap inhumanly high and vanish in an instant…sound familiar huh?

[littlemisslipbalm]

Little Border Town Pt. II

Summary: Harry starts to find himself more and more drawn to the bookshop owner. She’s maybe not as annoying as he first thought. And maybe Harry isn’t the worst like she thought either. A little notebook, drinks, shoes, and a boat begin to show each other that. 

AKA: Harry and Y/N are neighbors that fight all the time, the whole town wants to know when they’ll just fuck. 

ello loves,  part 2 is finally here pls let me know what you think!! barely proofread sorry... also i think theres gonna be quite a few parts to this because i keep not getting all i want to say said in each part. and im trying to keep the chunks relatively short. — also I made one direction lowkey exist bahaha

Word Count: 9.2k | Warnings: flirty fighting/banter, slowburn 

Part 1

-

The next day Harry found himself walking into the bookshop next door without really thinking about it. He hadn’t seen Y/N again for his early morning run and he had his list for her of the Paul Simon albums he already had. They hadn’t had their windows or shades open last night either so it was the first night he didn’t give her a salute and she didn’t flip him off. The jostle in routine seemed a little weird to him so as he walked through the shop's door and the bell sounded, he thought the smile on his face was because he was well rested and unbothered by anything.

Y/N had slept in this morning. She couldn’t put her finger on it, but the beginning of Fall always put her in a cozy sleepy mood. She wanted to go to a pumpkin patch and watch a fire burn out in a fireplace. She wanted to listen to her halloween playlist and plan out an intricate costume with her friends. All of this was a wistful dream though. She had quickly learned that the little border town didn’t celebrate Halloween how they did in the States or any major cities. It was okay, at the end of the day, even if she was a little bummed about it. This was her new life and she would have to adapt to the new customs.

After she walked downstairs and unlocked the door, she went back over to her front counter. Yesterday, right when Harry had come in, she had found a booklet of Marie’s. It was leafed over to the point that all the pages were crinkled and dirtied from hand debris. Each page was filled with her loopy handwriting, all of it in French. She must have only liked blue pens because even if the type changed over different pages, the color was always blue. Each page was headed with a name, a customer’s name Y/N was starting to realize as she leafed through the pages. She sat back on the wooden stool she had gotten for behind the counter and propped the book in her hand. After the name of the customer there were extensive details on them. Not their purchases specifically, but their preferences, their personality, and just tidbits about any quirks they had or interesting things Marie had decided were of note.

She found many names that were now familiar to her after her few months of living in the little border town. There really weren't that many people to get to know and the tourists were starting to die down now that the school year was getting back in. After a few minutes of pouring over Monsieur Friedfrickson’s page, who lives across the street from her and runs the flower and gardening supplies shop, she flips to an even more familiar name’s page.

“Harry Styles.” The page had the name written out in strong tall letters. Marie had used a blue inky pen for his page, not a ballpoint. “Likes Music. Poetry. Love stories. Romance with a happy ending, but also likes the practical love too.” The interests are laid out plain and she purses her lips at the idea that Harry is interested in romance novels. She wondered what type of poetry he liked since Marie didn’t seem to think that had to be elaborated on. “He’s a special one,” it reads and Y/N scoffs to herself, really Marie? She reads on, “His heart is in the right place, but he’s got a mouth on him. Quick-witted and charming, but kind-hearted and sincere.” She pauses, and flicks the page back and forth, checking that it still reads Harry’s name when she gets back to it. Was she really the only one who found Harry vapid and annoying? Sure she had softened a little towards him since she had arrived, but they were by no means friends. “While seemingly perfect in every way, Harry is actually-” it reads and she mutters to herself, “Ok, now we’re getting somewhere.” “While seemingly perfect in every way, Harry is actually scared of his own shadow.” “This can’t be real!” She once again scoffs at the book and looks up to the ceiling like Marie is going to talk back to her from beyond. “His exterior persona is very strong, both physically and in his personality, but it seems like he’s just waiting for that right person that he can really be vulnerable with and let them into what he’s really thinking. He’s looking for his Angie.” Now she’s just confused. Who the fuck is Angie? She almost doesn’t finish reading the page because honestly it’s just making her mad, but there’s only a few more lines. “Lots of tattoos, why so many tattoos? Thinks he’s funnier than he is. Flamboyant Harry is best.” And beside that last sentence is a star. She tries to hold in her laughter. At least it wasn’t a complete page of praise for Harry.

Thinking back to her knowledge of Harry, she realizes that Marie must have known him for about three years. Maybe more if he had come to visit before moving there officially. She agreed with Marie that Harry had a lot of tattoos and that he thinks he’s funnier than he truly is, but she was yet to see flamboyant Harry. She knew he painted his nails and wore rings, as well as interesting clothes, but she wouldn’t say he was particularly flamboyant for any of that. That comment definitely piqued her interest. When would Marie have seen Harry where he was being flamboyant?

Her eyes scan over the page once more and realize that this book is only for the most current year. Marie re-did the customers' outlines every year. So this was this past year before Marie died. She wondered where the other books might be and if Harry’s outline had changed over time and also if her name was in the one from when she had visited. That would be interesting to read. It’s strange to read a dead person’s private musings. To her knowledge, no one else alive knew the contents of these pages and these pages seemed especially personal since they spoke of people’s lives and who they were at their core. Maybe that’s why she didn’t hear the chime of the door this morning when the first customer arrived.

Her eyes don’t shoot up from the page until two ringed hands enter her eye line on the counter. The tanned skin, with the gold and silver dazzling rings on each finger and the cross tattoo all register in her mind as her eyes go wide. She snaps the book shut when her eyes meet Harry’s almost ivy green eyes - they’re darker in the foggy fall light streaming through the window today. She hadn’t even turned on the lights yet in the store, the natural light being enough for her this morning. The book is clutched in her hands as Harry’s smile widens to a grin of amusement.

“What have you got there?”

There’s no cover on the book so he can’t make anything out about it. He assumes it’s some novel she’s embarrassed of and has chosen to slip the cover off of to keep anonymity of it. This assumption is why his tone is so teasing and why she grimaces at him in response. Her cheeks have also tinted themselves, she’s flustered that the man she had just been conversing about with the book was now in the store.

“None of your business.”

“I guess not.” He replies easily when she responds curtly and places the book out of sight somewhere under the countertop.

“Why are you here again?” She’s avoiding his eye contact now, feeling like she’s been caught doing something she shouldn’t have been even though it was perfectly within her right to read something that now belonged to her.

Harry’s smile falters with her followed curt reply. Annoyance settling in, Harry straightens up and removes his hands from the counter. The familiar feeling doesn’t exactly feel nice, but familiarity is better than discomfort. “You wanted a list of my Paul Simon records? So you could order me one I didn’t already have?”

She looks at him curiously as the conversation comes back to her from yesterday morning and she nods. That conversation was real. “Oh yeah, I said that.” She replies, still not looking at him. “Okay,” she says when he doesn’t move or do anything. Her eyes widen, silently asking him to get on with it.

His hands shove into his pockets, searching around for a list he apparently had made. They come out empty. He pats over his jacket pockets and feels nothing but his phone and wallet, no list. “Fuck,” he mutters beneath his breath. She scratches at her eyebrow and sits back on her stool, seeming like she might be waiting awhile. After a few more minutes and no produced list, she sighs. “Do you just want to go next door and grab it since you obviously forgot it?”

“I didn’t forget it…” His voice is low and he shoots a glare at her, the annoyance that had come back had now doubled.

“You did, but it’s okay if you can’t admit that-”

“It must have fallen out of my pocket!” He insists.

She rolls her eyes and stands up. Walking to the front door, she looks on the ground and then a little ways outside. “I don’t see it, just go back and get it. You probably left it in your boudoir, it’s fine.” Her tone is a little less condescending now and more understanding. She forgets stuff all the time and she really wasn’t trying to be rude when he first came in. He had just startled her is all.

He turns around to face her. Her body is now completely out in the open area of the front of the store. His head tilts and one of his loose curls flops over his forehead while he takes in her appearance. “Why do you do that?”

She wets her lips and steps closer to him, more on her way back to the counter than anything. “Do what?” She’s oblivious to what he’s taken note of.

“When you have a conversation in English you’ll swap in some words that are French. They’re easy words to figure out and you don’t do it a lot, but you’ve done it enough times for me to notice.”

“Oh...I don’t know. I prefer French to English. It’s so much sexier.” She walks closer to him and utters her next sentence as she brushes past his shoulder. His gaze follows her every movement. “Would you prefer a girl to whisper in your ear, “let’s go back to my bedroom” or “let’s go back to my boudoir.”?” Her French accent hangs in the air with the word and compared to the hard American accent she had employed for ‘bedroom’, ‘boudoir’ sounds far more dirty this time than before.

A shiver rolls down Harry’s spine, but he doesn’t let it show. She shrugs her shoulders, “I think the answer is clear.” He clears his throat in response and a smile grows on her face. “Don’t you agree, monsieur?” She leans her head into her hand now that she’s behind the counter and looks up at him sweetly. He knows she’s teasing him now, her smile more of a sultry smirk.

“Piccola diavola,” his Italian rolls off his tongue and she squints at his words. She knows “devil” but the first word troubles her - it just means little. Her Italian really wasn’t strong and it hadn’t improved that much since she’d been in the little border town. But she also wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of asking what he had said. Harry chuckles at her confusion and relaxes now that he feels the playing field has leveled once again.

“So your list… Do you want to go grab it? Or if you can just list it off the top of your head? As enthralling as your conversation skills are, I actually don’t have all day.” She trails off again, her questions lilting from her mouth after regaining some composure.

“I wasn’t the one teasing about taking someone up to their bedroom,” he huffs. Her face colors with crimson. While she had been teasing him, she didn’t want to be called out for it.

“Wasn’t teasing…”

“So it was a serious offer?” He inquires with a lop-sided grin, changing the meaning behind her words in one fellow swoop.

“That’s not what I was saying! Shut up and give me your list.” Now her blush was all over her face and neck, and she was totally and completely flustered by Harry.  She glanced down at her hands that were fiddling with a pen and paper, ready to write his words down.

“I can either shut up or tell you my list. But it’s sadly one or the other, love.”

She groans and takes her free hand to run it over her face. “Just tell me what you already have, Harry. Please.”

“Okay, okay,” he chuckles and spreads out his hands in front of them both. He crosses back to the counter and leans on it once more. They are in close proximity once again, only the counter between them now and she can feel his hot breath fan over her softly. Smells of wintergreen gum, her favorite.

She glances up at him and their eyes hook together for a moment before she tears hers away to look back at the paper. He rattles off a good amount of Paul Simon’s albums and she nods approvingly as she scribbles the names down. She would have to look through his discography to find the ones Harry didn’t have and she probably could’ve made Harry do that and then give her that list, but she didn’t. It was too late now to do that as well, so she’d just have to live with her decision.

When he finishes, she glances at him once again. His eyes are very large. A detail that isn’t really important about him is seared in her mind. They’re big and they’re staring right at her. His pupils are almost as big as his irises, it was interesting. Her eyes shift under his gaze after a beat and she straightens up again. While they went over his list, she had indulged in the close proximity, the mingling of warm breath and brushed hands as she scribbled and he pondered. She nods a farewell, “I’ll let you know when I order next, but I won’t say what album you’ll get. It will be a surprise.”

“I wouldn’t expect anything else from you,” his smile snaps back to his face and he scratches absentmindedly at his side. He hesitates before exiting the store. “I have a question.”

“Don’t need my permission.”

He emits a half-laugh, half-scoff from his parted lips. “Wasn’t asking for it...How come you never go out?”

She stares at him curiously, her head tilting to the right. “How would you know I don’t get out?” She challenges him.

“There’s only one pub in this little town and I’m your next door neighbor. I know.” He’s insistent on being right.

She scoffs, but only in an attempt to cover up her embarrassment. Her skin had finally cooled from all the excitement that had happened earlier and she wasn’t in the mood to grow red once again. Today was the first day she had ever felt flustered by Harry. It was annoying, it made her feel out of control. She liked to go out well enough, maybe more than the average person. But she’d only been in the little border town for a few months and going out hadn’t been on the top of her list of things to do. Sure, it would be nice to go get a drink out in the town, but she didn’t really have anyone to go with. Meeting people wasn’t hard in the town, but there weren't many people who were her age and she hadn’t particularly clicked with anyone where she would want to go out on the town with them. It was embarrassing to face the fact that she wasn’t flourishing as much as she had hoped. She was happy, but being confronted with the truth that she hadn’t gone out yet dampened her belief in her success in the little border town.

“I - It’s not at the top of my list of priorities,” she stutters, her chin raising a little in indignance.

One of his shoulders shrugs and Harry makes a little face as if he was indifferent to her answer, even though she knew much better than that. Harry always wanted to get a reaction out of her, maybe that was all he gained from their interactions - entertainment. She didn’t know, but she didn’t feel like giving him the satisfaction and left it at that. His eyes meet hers again, his stare far more intense now. “Ciao, diavola.” He simpers, repeating the little nickname. It was far more sultry of a nickname than ‘Shrimp’ but she wasn’t going to complain. She rolls her eyes in response, the only correct one at that.

-

That night, she found herself feeling pulled to journey down to the pub. It was on the Italian side and like she had acknowledged to Harry, she hadn’t been. She wouldn’t admit to anyone, especially not Harry, that his question had been what had pushed her towards the establishment when night fell. Yet, here she was. Her pants were dark red silk that matched the black tank top with red embellishments that she wore over her chest - the only part of her it really covered. Her boots were a matching black with gold metal bits, they were knock-off horsebit Gucci shoes, the closest she could get to the real thing with her modest budget. She was having to be more frugal lately, after buying her car here in September, she had really seen how little money she truly had.

The heels of her boots clicked against the cobblestones as she stalked up to the front of the bar. There was happy chatter seeping out the open door, the warm but dimmed light also flooding out along with the sounds of people within. Taking a deep breath and fiddling with the waistband of her pants for a second, she made her way into the bar. Stepping off the deep end and making the plunge. She knew there was nothing to be afraid of, but after months of not going there, she felt a little sense of apprehension now.

The warmth was the most surprising bit of the bar that she felt when she stepped past the threshold. Some Italian song was buzzing below the words of the patrons and she smiled at the automatic welcome she felt upon entering.

At the tables, there was a mix of younger and older patrons. At the bar, there wasn’t much of anyone. The young bartender leans across the bar to talk to another man, who had dark brown wavy hair and a dark linen shirt on. He’s seated at the bar and his back is to her so she can’t make out anymore than that. She doesn’t notice the myriad of tattoos gracing the patron’s arm that rests casually on the bar as he laughs at something the bartender had said, just for him.

She smiles, thinking it’s a cute little flirtation between the two and hates that she has to go over to break it up. Her movement gets the bartender’s attention easily and has the patron glancing her way as well. The smile she had once had falters off of her face and her eyes go wide at the realization of who she has settled herself beside. She had left a seat open between her and the man, but now she wished she had chosen a spot across the bar and simply flagged down the bartender. Better yet, she wished she had stayed home. As her smile falls away, Harry’s only grows wider. He’s grinning down at her as he moves his whole body to face her.

“Ciao!” The bartender starters, not noticing her discomfort at seeing Harry. He begins to ask what she would like in Italian, but her eyes widen even further. He’s speaking far too fast for her and she blushed in embarrassment. In her fluster, she forgets to even try French and she just stares dumbfoundedly at the handsome man behind the bar, who’s now looking at her with great curiosity. Harry has watched the entire thing and chuckles behind his glass. She has no attention span left to allow her to even try and guess what he’s drinking.

He interjects for her, actually saving her any more embarrassment, surprisingly. “She doesn’t speak Italian. She’s from the French side and new in town, so she hasn’t been able to refine her Italian.” The bartender gives a smile and nod of understanding in her way and she wishes she knew what Harry had just said. Whatever it is makes the bartender switch to French for her and her jaw goes from being dropped back into a normal position.

“What can I get for you, mademoiselle?” He transitions smoothly and she smiles, his French accent sounding practically perfect. She’s recomposed herself, but Harry is still watching her intently, like a reality television show that he can’t wait for the trainwreck finale to occur on.

After she orders, the bartender gives her a wink and then walks off to get what he needs to begin preparing her drink. Harry slides over, eliminating the courteous one seat between them. Her eyes watch the movement and she refrains from the letting out the sigh festering in her chest. She really had hoped he would not be here tonight, at least that’s what she believed. She truly felt embarrassed that the night after Harry had accused her of never going out, he had seen her out. But it also was nice not to be sitting in the bar alone. It seemed that Harry had been sitting alone at the bar before she had come in,  but she also wasn’t Harry and didn’t know how much enjoyment she would have  gotten out of being alone.

“I see my words had some effect on you.” He says out of the corner of his mouth after running his tongue over the bottom of his lip. Her scoff once again dies in her throat because she knows he’s right and he knows it too. There is no being proud right now. He essentially caught her red handed.

“Thought I’d come out and see what all the fuss was about. I see you’re alone tonight, but I assume that’s how most nights go.”

“You should know by now that is simply not true.”

“Just because you leave with someone doesn’t mean you come with someone.”

“I guess…” He trails off.

She picks up when he doesn’t seem to have any more of a response. “How do you even meet people here? Isn’t it all locals?”

“Not always. Not all of the people here are locals tonight,” He scans the crowd. “She’s visiting...So is she...that whole group actually. Look French. So we’ve got a group from Nice tonight…” He looks a bit more. “Eh, that looks like it tonight, but still. It’s plenty.” He finishes with a smirk and she grimaces, understanding the meaning behind his words.

The bartender returns with her White Russian, which Harry had cocked his head at, but had kept his opinion to himself for once. Expecting Roman to return to their conversation, Harry turns his attention back to him, but he is only greeted with the side of his head because Roman is still staring at Y/N. He coos something to her in French, that Harry can’t pick up and his nostrils flare when she emits a giggle following their exchange. The two people he was last talking to were now ignoring him to talk to each other. How rude.

After another moment without their attention, he huffs loudly. Roman seems too entranced in Y/N to notice, but her eyes slide over to him. “Yes?” She inquires, albeit disdainfully.

Harry isn’t sure what to say to her now that he’s gained her attention. He was on his second drink and her stare has made his mind go blank. All he had wanted was for her to stop flirting with Roman so that she’d pay attention to him. But he hadn’t thought of his next step yet. He takes a sip of his beer to grant him a little more time and she rolls her eyes at his action. His mind rattles through possible things to say, but every single one is coming up as not good enough.

“I used to be in a band.”

Her head tilts and she swivels more to Harry. His comment is unexpected and rather intriguing. She had expected something annoying or rude. Truly she had just expected him to say “Nothing” once he had swallowed his drink so he could distract her from enjoying her night.

“You were in a band?” She asks incredulously, her voice pitching slightly higher than normal. While Harry was many things, including handsome, she just didn’t think he had the right persona to be in a band. He dressed like a grandfather most days and he tended to a little shoe shop, he didn’t come off as a guy who would enjoy traveling around performing. The constant praise would be on brand though, she conceded.

Harry nods and bites back his smile, knowing he had struck the perfect chord. “I was...it only took off in the UK but we were pretty popular.” He boasts.

“So what do you play?”

Harry’s eyes widen, expecting more of a question about the name of the band or something. “Well, it was, like, a boy band…” He says.

She was taking a sip of her drink and she contained her little laugh behind her glass. Another hum as she swallows the liquid that burns her throat a bit. “Oh. Interesting. So no instruments.”

“Well I can play a bit of guitar and piano!” He adds quickly, seeing her eyes shift away from him, like she thinks the conversation is over. “I was thinking of trying a solo thing, but then plans changed...”

“And now you’re here?”

He echoes her, affirming the question. “Now I’m here and I’m not leaving.”

“You don’t miss it then?”

“Didn’t say that. I miss it at times, but this is where my life took me and I’m happy to be here. Maybe happier than I ever was in the band.” His eyes stare at the liquid in his glass and he swirls it lightly, determined to study the way it moves as he ponders something quite personal to him. He never really talked about his past with anyone here. Saying he was in a band and retrospecting that time are two very different things to share with someone. She’s just watching him now, not trying to make a quip or bug him. His demeanor shows that’s not something he’s very interested in hearing right now.

She experimentally puts a finger on his knee when it seems that he’ll never raise his gaze from his glass. His eyes move down to the tiny pressure he feels and sees her painted nail poking in to him. His tongue darts across his lower lip as he raises his head to meet her eyes. He notices the sparkle in them, she finds amusement in the childish gesture and so does he.

“I do miss the stage though,” he admits, smiling more now. “Performing. It was like nothing else.” Instead of a sad state of mind, his look is far more wistful now and she actually feels the smile growing on her face.

“You’ll have to sing for me sometime, then.” She says resolutely after taking the last bit of her drink and then pushing the glass across the bar. Roman had wandered off, much to Harry’s pleasure, but now they both needed another round so she was looking for him.

Harry slides over a chair so that they’re sat side by side. He had originally done it to reach across her for a napkin, but then hadn’t retreated to his original seat after he was successful. They talk as they drink, but most of it seems to be flirtatious teasing even if neither of them recognize that fully. Harry just wanted her attention earlier and now he found that he wanted to keep talking to her all night. It was a Friday and usually he would be looking for someone to take home. The group of women at a table that he had observed were visitors would be a perfect place to start his quest, but that wasn’t on his mind. He liked watching the different shades of blush Y/N’s face kept turning as she drank more and how silly she was getting with each passing drink.

She was enjoying her time out, she had only gotten wine drunk in the confines of her little home since she’d been in the little border town. And that endeavour was all by herself. It was much more fun when you had someone to talk to, so joking around with Harry was a nice surprise. She no longer felt embarrassed about showing up after he had teased her for never going out earlier today. Now she felt empowered, like she could come to the bar whenever she pleased. He was nicer than she had realized. His hand was quick to encircle her back respectfully when she laughed a little too hard at a joke and began to tip off her stool. His smile was genuine and his eyes didn’t flit over her body more than once. His jokes were funnier than she had first thought or maybe that was just the alcohol clouding her mind, that one she wasn’t sure about. But, truthfully, Harry was exceeding expectations tonight and being a stand up human being for once, in her eyes.

A couple at the end of the bar, locals, watched on as the shoemaker and the bookkeeper threw back their heads in boisterous laughter and placed their hands on each other chastely. The older women smiled to themselves as Y/N smacked Harry’s bicep after an especially cheeky joke he told her. They were going to have a field day with this interaction once they told their friends tomorrow morning.

After drink three, she definitely felt drunk. Not completely out of it and can’t walk drunk, but I haven’t drank anything stronger than wine in months so three cocktails are kind of hitting me drunk. And because of that buzz that’s enclosed her mind and body, it makes perfect sense to her that Harry’s hand is resting casually on her knee as they talk. It also makes perfect sense to her to cross her legs, causing two things to happen. Harry’s hand shifts up further on her thigh and her boot is now dangling right next to Harry’s shin. The fabric of his cream linen trousers look especially soft and so the next logical move in her mind is to rub her foot against the fabric. She hooks around her foot easily and the patent leather of her shoe slips softly against the pant leg that flows over Harry’s calf.

He hums lowly at the feeling, but makes no other notion to acknowledge what she is doing. After the hum he gets back to the story he’s telling her about his boat. She had been extremely interested in the boat initially, but not she was transfixed on the feeling of the fabric slipping past her boot. When he shifts his leg, absentmindedly or not, she almost squeaks because this movement has Harry’s foot brushing around her ankle. The footsy was occurring without any acknowledgement of it besides small sounds the two had made in their chests. No knowing looks, just the presence of each other’s bodies against one another.

He had switched to a Manhattan after his second beer for some reason that she didn’t ask, but he was enjoying it nonetheless. When she slipped her foot against his calf, it had sent a spark of electricity from the point of contact up to his alcohol muddled head. It felt nice so he went with it.

Around midnight the two of them were practically in each other’s laps, nursing their fourth round. Brains a million miles away while their glassy eyes stared at each other. Harry’s arm nestled around her waist while hers played with the stir stick in his glass. Their heads inches away, closer than they’d ever been before.

Somehow they decided they should walk home about then. Maybe Harry had checked his phone and decided he was done. Maybe she had glanced at the clock above the bar and realized she needed to go to bed. Either way, they slammed down the last bits of their drinks and stumbled into the street. With only each other to hold them up, they had some trouble gaining their balance. They could walk just fine if they wanted to be serious, but Harry kept trying to step literally on her toes and she kept throwing all her weight into his side. Both of their actions would cause them to stumble one way or another along the empty streets. Their blurred minds thankfully didn’t get them lost, but the travel time back to their places was far greater than the travel time to the bar initially.

Finally arriving at the border of Italy and France, their shops and homes, she stared up at Harry under the glow of the streetlamp across the street. His hair looked more dark brown than his usual caramel chestnut in the light. His linen outfit billowed across his pectorals that were exposed. A tan golden color that he seemed to maintain from his frequent runs and trips on his boat. His jaw had a bit more stubble on it now, his morning shave no longer sleek on his skin. His mustache was still the most prominent bit of facial hair he had and she wondered what he might look like without it. She also thought if she’d ever kissed a man with a mustache, her mind was pretty sure she hadn’t.

As she stared, she moved from his side and took a step closer to her door. His hand reached out and grabbed her wrist, stopping her and bringing her attention to his eyes. He dropped her hand and stepped closer to her. They had been laughing about some weird encounter she had in Nice the other week. But now their laughter had faded out, the conversation all but forgotten.

“Hi.” She says meekly.

“Hi,” Harry laughs.

“I had fun tonight,” she muses and takes a step forward. She began swinging her arms back and forth, rocking on her feet. She felt antsy now that it was so quiet. The silence made her realize it was really just her and Harry together right now. Which wasn’t unusual, they had been alone together plenty of times. Maybe it was the time of night, but it felt far more intimate to her this time which made her squirm a little. Why was she nervous with Harry right now?

Harry nods and laughs again at her actions. “Yeah, you’re not so bad.”

Neither of them realized the proximity of their bodies until her hand swung a little higher and hit Harry’s hip bone. “Oh! Sorry!” She moves to take a step back, but Harry grabs her hand once again and tugs her even closer. Bringing them chest to chest under the lamp light. Her eyes flicker between where their bodies touch and Harry’s face. He’s looking down at her sweetly, gently. She feels safe with the way he’s looking at her. The warmth radiating from him was a nice contrast to the dark cold of night. The open expanse of skin that lived between the two sides of his mostly unbuttoned shirt seemed to have the most heat coming off of it. He had a jade cross that hung between the two muscles and she almost reached out to play with it. If it hadn’t been so dark and she hadn’t been so inebriated she would have realized the color matched his eyes almost exactly.

He’s not quite sure what he’s doing, but for some reason it feels like he might kiss her. The mood that was set by their surroundings made it sound right. Romantic even. Her lips look precious too, plump and puckered, flushed from alcohol and the brisk night air. They look a little glossy too from the last time she had wet them. He wanted to feel them for himself. His head ducks to move his lips to touch hers.

Upon registering his movement, she moves her hand from his grasp and places it on his chest, causing him to take a small step back.

“I think...I think this should be goodnight, Harry.” She breathes out. She’s trying to clear her mind enough to have conviction in her decision.

After a little intake of air, less than a gasp, Harry agrees, running a hand through his hair, “Yeah, you’re probably right.”

Her hand slips from his warm chest, immediately curling in on itself to maintain the warmth his body had just provided. She watches her tendons in her hand ripple before looking back at Harry with heavy eyes. He doesn’t seem to want to make eye contact with her, but she’s determined to leave on a good note.

“Thank you, Harry.” He looks up from beneath his lashes at his name, like a shy toddler. “You gave me the push to face a fear of mine.” With her final words she crosses the little distance between them once again and places a chaste kiss to his cheek. Immediately, his cheek flushes and she can feel the heat beneath her lips, as well as the light prickle of his stubble. Harry swallows, causing his Adam's apple to bob quickly, at the contact. His senses get overloaded with the sweet kiss and the smell of her perfume. It all swims through his consciousness.

She smiles as she pulls away and then turns to let herself into her place without another word. Once unlocked, she gives one last glance to Harry who’s also busying himself with opening his door. She doesn’t see that his free hand is caressing over his cheek where her lips had just been.

-

The next day, she woke up and groaned feeling the stiffness in her body. Especially her head. Oh god, her head. It was like she was back in college, but worse because she wasn’t as young. At least she didn’t have to roll out of bed for an 8 am lecture. For that, she was thankful. Still, the pounding needed to stop or subside at least. Grumbling, she threw her legs off the side of her bed, the fuzzy socks she had slipped on in her drunken stupor settled on the hardwood. She dragged her body to her window and raised the shade. Her window was fogged from the difference in temperature outside and in her room. Kneeling down, she began to pull open the window, in need of the cool fresh air on her clammy skin. Three drinks, or was it four? She couldn’t remember, either way, it was too many.

Her eyes glanced around the view of the window. It wasn’t much since it was so close to the building right next door. Peaking up, she could see the already clouded sky. To the left she could see the street and to the right was more buildings. The scene most easily accessible was the window right across from her. The shade was mostly closed, a little bit of the floor could be seen where Harry hadn’t lowered it completely. It was just the same hardwood as what she sat on staring back at her. She sat there, breathing in the crisp morning air. After a night of drinking, she usually woke up rather early, today was no different.

It dawned on her, far too slowly, that a pair of feet had entered the plain hardwood scene she had been staring at outside her window. A tiny stage now filled with two matching characters. The pair of feet were tanned and large. Little tattoos seemed to be sprinkled both on the toes and the ankles of the feet. She couldn’t read them even if she tried. But upon realizing what these feet might be doing, she had been discouraged from staring any longer. Still, her brain was foggy and her body was not nearly quick enough to hide her from view as the owner of the feet did something to open his shade as well. Then, once again, like deja vu, she was staring at her naked neighbor. Thankfully, this time, he had briefs adorning his hips to keep covering the part of him that would keep her up for weeks trying to forget again. The briefs were, just that. Brief. Low on the hips and barely touching his thighs, it seemed they really only existed to keep that one appendage covered. Still, she had to tear her eyes away from the lower half of his body and let the embarrassment wash over her when she met his eyes.

The knowing smirk of his has him nibbling at the inside of his cheek. She had been checking him out. It was a nice confidence boost after last night. The awkwardness of her stopping him from kissing her had him spiraling in his mind when he went to bed. He didn’t know why he had even tried to kiss her in the first place, probably just because he was drunk. Yeah, he was drunk and feeling needy on a friday night. That’s what it was and she had been there.

He’d have to thank her today for putting a stop to that colossal mistake. They were barely just friends, he hated to think what would happen if he’d done something so reckless as to kiss her out of the blue. Still, he couldn’t shake the thought in the back of his mind that he had gotten the vibe from somewhere. Why else would his drunken mind tell him to kiss her under the glow of the lamp light. He thought back to the bar and what they had talked about. He wouldn’t categorize it as overly flirty. He thought back to their physical interactions at the bar, okay, maybe his hand on her thigh and her playing with his drink was a little flirtatious. But that could be boiled down to him being close to hear her in the bar and her idle fingers wanting something to do while she was drunk. The footsy, though. He wasn’t sure if he could explain that one away. Instead, he would choose to ignore it. If he didn’t think about it, did it actually happen? Was it something he had to worry about? Not in his mind.

Returning his focus to the girl in the window across from him, his smirk was now fully fleshed out on his face. She was still sitting on her knees as Harry looked down at her and if they were in the same room this might have seemed like a rather compromising position. Her cheeks were still red, noticing the difference in height, she clambered to her feet.

“G’morning,” Harry’s voice is groggy and deep. Scratchy almost from the alcohol he had drank last night. It rings through her ears lowly and seems to have her blushing even more. It’s a different feeling than how his voice used to make her feel.

“Hey,” She clears her throat before responding, not wanting her morning voice to crack in front of Harry. Usually she would talk to herself a bit or sing along to her music before going downstairs, not wanting her first customers to hear her as if she just woke up. For some reason, she makes a little wave along with her greeting, feeling especially awkward at this moment. Harry chuckles and repeats her motion. His large hands mimicking the same daunting motion makes her laugh and releases some of the nervous energy she had been holding in her body.

“Fancy seeing you here,” he openly flirts, placing one hand on his naked torso and the other against the frame of the window, leaning towards her. His movement flexes just about every muscle in his body and she keeps her eyes trained on his face, determined not to be caught gawking once more.

A roll of her eyes and she’s back to staring straight into his green ones that he’s still blinking awake. “It’s almost like we’re neighbors.”

He scrunches his nose at her deadpan. “You’re no fun,” he mutters.

She sighs, “I’m fucking hungover after last night…” and runs a hand through her tousled hair.

Her foot rests itself over her other, causing her hip to just out slightly. The movement of her body that accentuated her curves and her words have Harry blushing now. The red flowers at the center of his chest and begins to spread up his neck and cheeks. He’s once again presented with the almost kiss last night.

“Big night out for you,” he laughs, “I’ll admit I don’t usually drink that much, bit of a lightweight myself.”

She only hums in response, her fingers beginning to twiddle with the hem of her t-shirt. It reminds her of what she is precisely dressed in. The big t-shirt and tiny pajama shorts that Harry can’t even see are the only things on her body besides the socks on her feet. She glances down at her legs and takes in the expanse of fleshy skin that is showing just below the shirt. Harry’s eyes follow hers and admires the skin there, wondering what it would feel like underneath his big hands.

“I should probably start getting ready for the day,” She says finally, shaking herself from the random thoughts flitting around her mind about bare thighs and the man across from her. “Are you open today?”

Harry emits a noise from the back of his throat at her question. He draws his arm back from the window and stands up straight. His head tilts as he thinks about her question, his mind still muddled this morning.

“Er..no, actually. I was planning on going out on the boat today, switching my closed day to today instead of tomorrow. Why?”

“I’m in need of shoe repair,” she smiles, her eyes catching the glimmer of the sun starting to peak out. Harry swears it’s her eyes genuinely sparkling on their own accord. “But if you’re out today, it can wait.” She begins to walk away from the window to go to another room in her apartment.

“No!” Harry steps forward, but is restricted by the screen, which keeps him from falling out of his window. She swivels around, looking at him curiously. “I can - you can just come over. I’ll fix it up for you before I head out.”

“Really?” She’s truly surprised that Harry would do such a nice thing for her. She knew they were getting along better, but for him to open shop just for her repair seemed overly nice.

“I mean,” and Harry’s once again blushing under her gaze and he’s hoping she can’t see it. “What are neighbors for?”

“I guess,” she’s still unsure. He seems like he’s nervous, his body tenses and one of his hands twisted in his curls. Harry’s so weird. “Thanks.”

-

She jogs the short distance from her front door to Harry’s once she’s ready. The pair of deep teal almost navy loafers she needed new soles in - she was pretty sure - in hand. A red pinstripe blouse half buttoned falling over her figure perfectly, hugging the right spots and flowing over the others. She’s in white jeans today that are flared slightly but also cropped. As it gets closer to Halloween she keeps having to remind herself not to dress festive and it’s a struggle everyday.

When she reaches the door, it doesn’t open. The cream door doesn’t budge as she tempts the handle with her free hand. She looks between the handle and the inside of the shop. Her eyes search for Harry’s figure. She had been inside his shop only a handful of times, never for a repair before. Maybe less than a handful, once to check it out and once again when she thought she needed a new pair of shoes and then decided against it. Oh, and that one time she went over to yell at him about something. Maybe the planters, maybe the shade, she couldn’t remember anymore.

Now that she thought about it, she had been in the bookshop once more. Two and a half years ago when she had visited the little border town for the first time. It was a little fuzzy for a memory, but she was sure she had at least peaked into the shoe shop after her lengthy visit with Marie the second day there. It looked just as it did now, maybe it used to be a little more vibrant, but she couldn’t be sure. She remembered an older man in the shop greeting her in Italian and her offering her sad ‘Ciao’. Back then she was even worse at Italian. He had looked at her with kind eyes and a sweet smile. It was a similar lopsided grin that she had now grown accustomed to on another man’s face. After beckoning her over to him the old man had turned away from her and shouted into the back of the store in quick Italian. It blew over her head completely. There must have been someone in the back of the shop who he had talked to. She was sure of it, because after she had perused the cute boots and shoes he kept, she saw a swish of hair coming around the counter. It was just as she was turning around to exit the shop, after she had bid farewell to the man she now connected as Joe. Whoever it was had long hair and was tall, slinking out into the main shop floor. The mysterious stranger was whoever Joe had shouted to in the back.

Y/N wasn’t the quickest when it came to timelines and how people could change over time. She didn’t connect the year she had visited with the year of someone else's arrival or the same chestnut waves cascading around someone’s face, just now much shorter. It made perfect sense who would be in the back of the store, but for some reason the idea of time and hair length were standing in this girl’s way. Oh well, maybe Harry would spell it out to her someday.

Harry finally rounds the counter that separated the back room to the front. The shoe shop was set up a little different from the bookstore. Her counter was right when you came in while Harry’s was about halfway through the shop. He shakes his head and laughs at her expression. The sound brings her out of her memory as well as a grimace on her face.

“Sorry, I was a million years away.”

“I’m pretty sure it’s ‘a million miles away’, love.” Harry continues chuckling while correcting the girl in front of him.

She holds up her pair of shoes, ignoring his teasing. “Fix my shoes, shoe man.”  

His smile drops and he walks back from the door. His feet taking back steps as he beckons her into the interior of the shop. When they reach the corner, he takes the shoes from her hands and places them between their bodies. The teal loafers stare up at them. Harry inspects them, a serious expression falling over his features. His brows scrunch together slightly, the wrinkles in his forehead growing more prominent as he examines the shoes. Large hands reach out and begin to finger over the patent leather on the top and the leather soles. After a few minutes of silent deliberation, he places down one of the shoes and then holds the other up as if to showcase it.

“These,” he juts out the shoe in his hand, “need new soles. What did you do to ‘em?”

“I wear them a lot.” She insists while Harry looks on quizzically.

“I’ve never seen you wear these.”

Her brow quirks at his comment. “I wore them a lot before I got here,” she corrects. “They’ve been feeling wonky every time I try to wear them, must be because they need new soles.”

Harry nods, now satisfied with her answer. He hums, regarding the teal shoe in his hand once again. “Alright.”

She looks at him confused once again. “Alright what? Can you fix them?” What does he mean by ‘Alright’? “I’ve honestly missed wearing them these past few months.”  

Harry bites his tongue, a quip ready to be voiced. He’d gotten so used to fighting with her, he was confused how it had slipped away all so easily. His fear of them not talking if they stopped fighting didn’t seem to come to fruition so he could rest easy on that front. But now he was going to have to retrain his brain not to be rude after every comment Y/N made.

“Yeah, of course.” He sighs, placing the shoe next to its mate and then turning his face to her. She had been chewing on her bottom lip, actually worried for her shoes. They really were her favorites. She’d had them forever and it would be heartbreaking if they had to be thrown out. If she couldn’t wear them though she was almost sure she’d just let them collect dust in her closet rather than dispose of them if it really came down to it.

“But it’s like a good amount of my day to replace soles…”

Her face falls, but she tries to hide it. She knew Harry was doing a favor by taking a look right now. If he could fix them it didn’t matter when he did it. What he says next though truly throws her off. No normal enemy-ship turned somewhat friendship overnight would engage in what Harry was about to propose. If any such relationship other than her and Harry actually existed.

“Do you want to come out on my boat today?” His brow arches, his lips in a soft smile, he’s being genuine.

“Why would I do that?” Her brows raise along with her voice, taken off guard by his suggestion.

“More fun waiting for me to fix your shoes on a boat than in your shop.” He says simply before taking the shoes and placing them in a little cubby hole behind the counter for safe keeping. “Trust me, you’ll love it.” Her expression doesn’t change. “Just say yes,” He pleads now.

She sighs, “Fine.” All of the reasons not to go out on Harry’s boat are at the forefront of her mind, but she still finds herself saying yes easily. His pleading really wasn’t necessary to get her to agree. The bookstore could live with being closed today, it wasn’t going to hurt anyone.

[niqhtlord01]

Humans are weird: PTSD

( Don’t forget to come see my on my new patreon and support me for early access to stories and personal story requests :D https://www.patreon.com/NiqhtLord )

Bok examined the utensils before him carefully before reaching down and delicately picking up one between two of his talons. Unlike humans his people lacked the dexterity they had when using tiny tools so holding on to the metal strand was understandably difficult.

"This is a fork, yes?" His friends opposite him at the table nodded as they continued scrolling through their phones waiting for their meal to arrive. The day was sunny and the air carried with it the warm breeze of what the humans called "spring" and they had insisted they all go out for lunch at a nearby café opposite a park.

The weather was a sharp contrast to the freezing temperatures of his own homeworld were warmth was a luxury so even though he was happy to join them he still felt like this much warmth was unnatural and that any moment the cold winds would return.

"What do you use it for?" Bok asked, still taking note of the strange fork like design.   Mark opposite him picked it up and stabbed the fork into a free bread roll sitting in the middle of the table and brought it up to his mouth. He proceeded to take an overly dramatic bite out of it while grunting loudly.

"Like this." Mark said through still chewing teeth while Bok's other friend Kevin between the two of them looked embarrassed.

"This is why we can't take you out in public." Kevin said putting down his phone and taking a bread roll for himself, cutting it open and spreading butter over it. "Things would be far less dramatic without my radiant personality."  He replied, grinning like a fool at him as he swallowed the rest of the savaged bread roll. It was then that the waiter decided to come over to the table again and ask what everyone would be having. Mark picked up his menu and pointed to it.

"I'll have a-" Mark began before he was cut off by a loud rattling sound from the park nearby. Bok turned toward it and saw several young humans tossing a animal skin sphere into a metal loop and cheering loudly as it went in. Several of the humans came over and began praising the one who had made the shot before they continued playing their earth game.

When he turned back to the table Bok noticed something odd came happened to Mark. His mouth was hanging open as if stuck mid sentence while his eyes were transfixed on the park behind them. His jaw moved as if to say something but no words would come.

The waiter who had been writing down his order before looked at him oddly. Before they could ask anything else Kevin cut in. "We're still deciding." The waiter looked at Mark again before nodding and leaving the table.

As soon as the waiter left Kevin turned to Mark and began speaking to him softly. "Mark, can you hear me?" Mark mumbled something and began breathing faster. Bok sniffed something odd and looked to see Mark's hand tightly gripping the fork, his finger nails digging so deep into his palm that they'd drawn blood.

"Is everything alright?" Bok asked. Mark didn't respond; he didn't even appear to register anything going on around them now.

"Mark, listen to my voice." Kevin's voice was soft and reassuring as he continued talking to Mark. "You're home, you're safe, you're among friends."

He repeated those words several times and Mark appeared to calm down somewhat, but his eyes remained focused on the park. Kevin turned to Bok and said "Ask him about his day."

"What?"

"Ask him about his day." Kevin said again more insistent this time.

Bok was confused to what was going on but then again there was much of human culture he did not understand.

"How was your day Mark?"

"My....day..." Mark word's were near silent as if being spoken from far away.

Kevin nodded and motioned for Bok to continue. "Yes, I heard you finished a new game on your computer before you came here."

Mark blinked and his eyes slowly began to focus again. "I...did. I ...beat a new game."

"That's great," Kevin joined in, "what was it called again?"

"Monster tycoon." Mark's words were becoming more assured and Bok saw the grip on the fork lessening.

His eyes blinked several times and he shook his head. Looking down at his hand for the first time he saw the blood and dropped the fork, the metal clanging to the table. Mark looked up at both of us, a mixture of fear and embarrassment on his face.

"I'm......I..." he began but Kevin waved it away.

"There's nothing to say man." Kevin slowly put a reassuring hand on him and though he jolted at first it seemed to comfort him. "Do you need anything?"

"I think I should go home." His words were a bit sheepish as he eyed his bloody hand and then stuffed it in his pocket.

"We'll take you home." Kevin put some money on the table and then helped Mark out of his chair while Bok looked on still confused.

"But we haven't even orde-" Bok began before Kevin shot him a glare he knew was a human way of saying to remain quiet. He sighed and stood up with them and the trio called a cab to take Mark home.

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

Some time later Kevin came back out of Mark's apartment and met Bok waiting on the street.

"He should be okay now," he said while pulling out a cigarette and lighting it, "I turned on the tv to  a comedy and put his game on the pc for him so he has something to distract him."

"Why does he need distracting?" Bok asked.

Kevin took a deep inhale and blew out a cloud of thick grey smoke.

"You know Mark was in the core, right?"

Bok nodded and so Kevin continued. "You didn't hear this from me, but during his third year in his tour he got sent out on a patrol to a school; sorta like a relief mission to drop off supplies and build trust and all that."

"While he was there a group of the kids were playing outside and wanted him to join in; the area was marked as a green zone so he went over and played some basket ball with them.

"After the supplies were all offloaded they were attacked." He took another drag and then threw the butt down to the ground and stepped on it. "An insurgent fired a rocket at their vehicle from a nearby building and it ricocheted off before impacting just a few feet from Mark knocking him out."

"He woke up after the battle with a few scrapes and bruises,  but everyone one of those kids he had played with were dead."

Bok looked shocked. He couldn't imagine what a horrible moment must have been like. Kevin took a look back up at Mark's room. "His vest stopped the shrapnel from killing him, but those kids got torn to pieces."

"Now every time he hears anything related to basket ball, like a ball dribbling or the whoosh of a net, he locks up and has flash backs to that day."

"But that was years ago," Bok stated, "why has he not recovered from it?"

Kevin shook his head. "Something like that changes you Bok; at least for us humans." he pulled out another cigarette and eyed it for a moment before throwing it away without even lighting it. "A piece of you gets broken and yeah you can try to patch yourself together again and go on with your life, but those patches are paper thin and you can fall apart with just a breeze of wind."

Bok scoffed. "Here I thought Mark was made of sterner stuff."

Kevin rounded on him with a stare so cold and full of hatred he couldn't believe humans were capable of such anger.

"Because you don't know humans I'm going to pretend you didn't just say that." Kevin said icily. "Mark is one of the toughest people I know because most other people that go through that can't handle the pain and put a bullet through their skull."

He pushed passed Bok and didn't even bother looking at him.

"That man decided to keep living with that pain. Don't you ever call him fucking weak again."

[hannahdra-ws]

and now (you’re hyper paranoid)

Summary: 

hypochondria; n; abnormal anxiety about one's health, especially with an unwarranted fear that one has a serious disease.

(or: Janus has a very bad time.)

Romantic, established dukeceit

TWs: hypochondria, covid-19, panic attacks, unspecified eating disorder, coughing, crying

----------

Through the uneasy feeling, Janus knew he was being a little unrealistic.

He's perfectly healthy, he rarely gets sick. He hasn't even had the flu before. He's double vaccinated, and he wears his mask everywhere. He's certainly never gotten food poisoning before.

So he doesn't know why he's freaking out so much.

read on ao3

Janus stared at the plate in front of him, heart thumping so loudly he was almost sure the others at the table could hear it. It wasn't anything major, it was just meatloaf with a side of mashed potatoes and corn, and Patton and Logan (mostly Logan) spent a lot of time on it, so there's no reason he shouldn't eat it.

The others are enjoying it too, bantering and joking across the table without a care in the world. Roman was basically sitting in Logan's lap, and Four Idiots (as Janus and Remus dubbed them as) kept sending each other equally besotted expressions. Remus was next to him, gesturing animatedly while he talked with one hand and the other hand tightly gripped in Janus's own.

He felt off kilter and shaky, watching everyone eat their food. Janus knows he should be eating too, and logically he knows that there is a very small chance of him getting food poisoning. But that doesn't make the debilitating anxiety welling up inside him go away.

Oh God, he's going to get sick, somethings wrong with the meat he'll get sick and vo-

Ugh. Virgil's the one that has the anxiety problem, not him. Why did his brother have to give him his mental illness? Bitch.

Suddenly, a loud noise happened, forcefully dragging Janus out of his mind. It was Roman, coughing loudly. He kept hacking, and hacking, and Janus abruptly felt faint. 

The others were watching with concern, and Logan was patting Roman on the back to get whatever had lodged in his throat out. Eventually, he did clear his airways, after a long breath in and a particularly violent cough. 

Patton inquired if he was okay, and Roman nodded, face red and tears streaming down his face from coughing so much. "Sorry, I choked." His voice was scratchy from coughing. But he was smiling, and that should have been an indicator that he was okay, he just choked, he's fine-

Remus made some comment, and Virgil flipped him off while still looking worriedly in Roman's direction, but Janus suddenly couldn't hear through the ringing in his ears. Remus must have noticed either the way he abruptly went still, or the fact that he had barely eaten anything, because he squeezed his hand in question. Janus abruptly stood up from the table, almost knocking his chair down in the process.

Remus frowned, a small, confused thing, "Jaybird? You alright?"

"I'm sorry, if you'll excuse me," Janus managed to choke out, before quickly ripping his hand from Remus's and stumbling away, ignoring the protests and calls from the table behind him. 

He hopes no one noticed that he didn't finish his meal.

----

Janus stumbled to his room, heart beating out of his chest, thump, thump, thump. He quickly locked the door and slid his back down to the floor, digging his gloved hands in his hair and pulling.

Roman's dry hacking wouldn't leave his head, oh God he sounded sick, but he's not he just choked he's fine, he doesn't have covid none of you do you're all vaccinated, fuck-

Janus was acutely aware that he was crying, now, his chest tight and his throat sore from the tears. He was trembling, small and terrified against the back of his door, and he couldn't stop thinking.

Janus had to go back to school in a week. School, with its crowded areas and unvaccinated people and possible removal of masks. The very thought of it makes his heart jump into his throat, dizzy with terror.

What if one of them had covid, and we just didn't have any symptoms, what if the vaccine doesn't work against the variant, fuck, he's going to get it, maybe he already has it, he's going to die he's going to die he can't breathe-

He suddenly had the image of his own funeral in his head, his boyfriend and his friends and his brother at his own funeral, crying softly and holding each other. He envisioned himself in the afterlife, waiting for them, watching Remus suffer alone because he wasn't there-

And that horrifying image in his head is what turned his soft crying into desperate sobs, shaking and pulling his hair so tight it stung. 

And that's also when he finally registered the frantic knocking on the door, how long has that been going on? and Remus's panicked voice coming from the other side.

"Jan? Baby, I can hear you crying, fuck, are you hurt? If you want me to fuck off, tell me, but- Oh, Jay, please answer, even a knock, just let me know if you're alright-"

Janus reached with trembling hands to unlock the door, even as his mind went no don't he could be sick, and he quickly moved away from the door a little so Remus wouldn't smack him in the face with the door when he came bursting in.

And burst in he did. In a flurry of motion, Remus quickly came in and shut the door behind him, then sat on the floor with panicked, worried eyes looking at Janus.

"Janus? Can you- fuck, I'm not good at this- can I touch you?"

Somewhere, in the back behind the panic, Janus found his stumbling endearing.

Janus debated for half a second, social distance 6 feet apart you'll die you'll die you'll die, before crumbling to his desire to be held.

"Pl- Please, hold me, I- I can't-" Janus's voice came out absolutely pathetic, broken up in sobs and small and trembling, but Remus paid it no mind. He quickly scooped up Janus in his arms, and Janus held onto him for dear life, like he'll be swept away if he doesn't. He cries so hard he's almost heaving, shaking like a leaf in Remus's strong, tattooed arms.

Oh, Remus, make it go away, He thought, and then cried harder because what a childish thing to think.

"Shh, shh, you're alright, I've got you. Can you breathe with me, darling? In and out, you're okay," Remus's voice was calm and soothing, the panic deliberately gone from his voice, probably to not make him feel worse. He breathed in deeply, over exaggerating his breaths so that Janus could follow along.

Janus tried to follow the rhythm, hiccupping through his tears. He stumbled a few times, and it took a bit, but he eventually was able to settle his breathing. His tears had started to slow, and he suddenly felt overwhelmingly childish. 

He just had a breakdown over something so stupid. It's not like he's the only one affected by covid, they're in a fucking pandemic, and he has no right to panic when he's not even sick. He's fine. 

Janus and Remus had only been together for a few months, so Remus hadn't seen this side of Janus yet. This was sure to make him leave. Fuck, he's so stupid.

"There you are, baby," Remus crooned with a soothing voice, and Janus flushed despite himself. Remus wiped away one of his lingering tears, his palm cupping Janus's cheek, and Janus leaned into the warmth, suddenly exhausted. He felt boneless and hollowed out inside of Remus's arms, like his limbs were made of lead.

"I'm sorry," Janus croaked, and Remus was shushing him before he could get more words out.

"No, shut up, you're not allowed to apologize for having a panic attack. You have nothing to apologize for." Remus was strong and steady, and Janus opened his eyes that he didn't mean to close. For some reason, he wanted to deny that what just happened was a panic attack. "You're okay, love, we're okay."

Janus gave a small laugh in spite of himself, and Remus huffed, indignant. "What?"

"Nothing, just- you use a l- lot more cutesy nicknames when you're calming me down." Janus noted, and Remus puffed up like a peacock, but he was smiling. 

"Would you rather I use my normal names? J-anus? Two Dicks? Hot ass? Da-"

Janus cut him off with laughter and a smack to the arm, "Shut up, you awful man, that wasn't an invitation-" 

Remus was laughing too, grin blinding. When they both stopped laughing, they just sat there for a while in comfortable silence. Remus traced the vitiligo patches on Janus's back through the clothes (Janus flushed at the fact that Remus just knew where they were) and Janus traced the tattoos on Remus's brown skin.

After several long, quiet moments, Remus's quiet voice broke the silence. "Do you want to talk about it?"

Instantly, Janus went tense, before shaking his head no. He couldn't explain it without sounding stupid, and he didn't want Remus to leave.

Besides, there was nothing Remus could truly say that he hasn't heard before. 

Nothing will make it go away.

Remus nodded, content with not pushing. "Well, I say we move the cuddling to the bed and not the floor, how does that sound?"

Before Janus could respond, Remus just scooped him up, effortlessly in the air. Janus squeaked and held onto Remus before Remus just dumped him down unceremoniously onto the bed, bouncing a little on the springs. 

Remus laid down on his back, and Janus immediately crawled to him and curled up next to him, laying his head on Remus's chest and Remus wrapping an arm around him.

"Nap time," Janus mumbled into Remus's shirt. Janus felt more than heard him chuckle.

"Well, if the king says it's nap time, then I have no choice but to obey." Janus swatted at him lazily, and he couldn't see it, but he bet Remus grinned. Remus laid a quick kiss to his temple and his heart swelled.

The worry still pricked in the back of Janus's mind. He was sure that later, he was going to freak out over this moment, that the sudden contact made him contract an illness.

But right now, at this moment, he's fine. He's with his boyfriend, and his other friends and his brother are in the house somewhere too, no doubt worried about Janus. They're all vaccinated, healthy, and safe. 

I'm okay, he thought, the thought not panic induced this time, and fell asleep next to Remus, and dreamt of nothing but warmth.

[bloody-bee-tea]

Take me out

This is my 300th fic for The Untamed!

Jiang Cheng is absolutely looking forward to a hot shower and an early evening. He isn’t drenched in blood for once—neither his nor his target’s—but his target got one, two good hits in before Jiang Cheng managed to kill him and Jiang Cheng is starting to feel it.

It’s nothing a good, hot shower can’t fix though and Jiang Cheng feels relaxed just thinking about it. 

He just peeled his first layer of clothes off when his phone rings.

Jiang Cheng groans and debates for a very long moment if he should just ignore it, because he deserves an evening off, goddammit.

But curiosity gets the better of him, so he fishes his phone out of his jacket on the floor and he frowns when he sees Nie Mingjue’s name on the display.

“Hello?” he asks when he answers the call and worry settles in his gut when Nie Mingjue’s answer comes a beat too late.

“I need your help,” is the first thing Nie Mingjue says and Jiang Cheng straightens up just by hearing his voice.

“What’s wrong?” Jiang Cheng asks, already leaving the bathroom and putting on his shoes again. 

If Nie Mingjue needs help Jiang Cheng will of course do everything he can for him, especially if he sounds as tense as this.

“My house is under surveillance,” Nie Mingjue tells him, his voice tight. “My security knows they are there but they can’t find them.”

“Who are they?” Jiang Cheng wants to know, already back in work mode as he gathers his knives.

“I’m not sure. But Huaisang is going to come home, soon,” Nie Mingjue tells him and Jiang Cheng finally understands his worry better.

If those people are not only there for surveillance but to do a hit on the Nie’s, Nie Huaisang would be a convenient target.

“I’ll be there in half an hour,” Jiang Cheng promises him. “Call Huaisang to tell him he should be late,” he instructs him and then hangs up on Nie Mingjue.

Jiang Cheng is a professional through and through but there’s a part of him that went into full panic mode when Nie Mingjue asked him to help him, because Nie Mingjue is not supposed to know about Jiang Cheng’s work.

Jiang Cheng made it a point to keep it as far away from him as possible, knowing damn well that Nie Mingjue would hate him should he ever find out about his line of work, and Jiang Cheng couldn’t stand that.

It’s already bad enough that Jiang Cheng is hopelessly in love with Nie Mingjue without any hope of reciprocation, but to think that he would lose him completely as a friend if Nie Mingjue finds out what Jiang Cheng does for his living is enough to make Jiang Cheng panic.

But it seems like Nie Mingjue knows what Jiang Cheng does—or at least suspects enough to know that Jiang Cheng can handle this—and Jiang Cheng pushes that thought far, far away for now.

He has to do a job; there’s no time to panic over something he can only speculate about anyway.

When Jiang Cheng arrives at the Nie residence, he doesn’t approach it from the main entrance; he circles the property once, taking note of the people surveilling the area and Jiang Cheng clenches his jaw when he realizes that they are most definitely not there for surveillance.

This is most definitely a hit on the Nie’s and Jiang Cheng can feel his fingers itch to kill each and every single last one of them simply for daring to put his friends into danger.

But before he gets started on that, he pulls his phone out again and dials Nie Mingjue’s number.

“How is it?” Nie Mingjue asks him immediately.

“Nothing I can’t handle,” Jiang Cheng gives back and he winces when he realizes that he’s probably only digging his own grave here.

Nie Mingjue has a very firm stance on assassins and the work they do and it all boils down to “They shouldn’t be doing this and need to be turned in”.

“But?” Nie Mingjue asks him when Jiang Cheng stays silent for a beat too long.

“I need you to pull back your security. No, wait, that would alert them,” Jiang Cheng rushes out, cursing himself for how unconcentrated he is. “Tell them to keep doing their rounds, but not to interfere, no matter what they see or hear.”

“Done,” Nie Mingjue says and promptly hangs up on Jiang Cheng.

Jiang Cheng takes a moment to center himself and to push every lingering thought of Nie Mingjue knowing about his work and maybe, probably hating him away, so that he can concentrate on the job he has to do. 

When he feels centered again, he gets started.

It’s not an easy task, because after he killed the first two, the rest of them notice that something is wrong and from then on Jiang Cheng has a hard time getting the drop on them, since they are already watching out.

But he manages to make his way through them almost unscathed until the very last man. 

Jiang Cheng briefly hesitates when he realizes that it’s Wen Zhuliu, because if there’s one fellow assassin out there who could take Jiang Cheng, then it might just be him, but the lives of his friends are on the line here, so Jiang Cheng tightens the grip on his knives and then dives right in.

He manages to stab Wen Zhuliu into the back, before he notices him but after that it’s a hand-to-hand fight.

Jiang Cheng is by no means bad at those, but Wen Zhuliu has years of experience on him, not even to mention his more solid build and Jiang Cheng knows this won’t be an easy fight.

He manages to keep Wen Zhuliu away from him for the most part, darting in and out faster than Wen Zhuliu can react, but Jiang Cheng does take a few hits. 

Wen Zhuliu prefers knives too, so soon enough Jiang Cheng has slashes all over his arms and chest, and Jiang Cheng is pretty sure Wen Zhuliu got him in the face once, too.

Still, the first hit Jiang Cheng got in seems to slow him down considerably, and Jiang Cheng presses that advantage mercilessly.

In the end it pays off that he took some deliberate hits because between one moment and the next there’s an opening and Jiang Cheng sinks his knife into Wen Zhuliu’s chest.

“And your master is next,” Jiang Cheng hisses as he twists the knife for good measure too and he’s honestly looking forward to killing Wen Chao now.

How dare he put Nie Mingjue and Nie Huaisang in danger.

“Good,” Wen Zhuliu says, right before he drops dead and Jiang Cheng frowns down at his lifeless body.

He always suspected that it was just a contract that keeps Wen Zhuliu by Wen Chao’s side, but whenever he saw the man in action he started to doubt it. He did seem rather committed to protecting Wen Chao.

Well, now Jiang Cheng just has one more reason to kill Wen Chao.

Jiang Cheng circles the property one more time, checking if he really got everyone, before he knocks on Nie Mingjue’s front door.

It’s flung open seconds later, so clearly Nie Mingjue was already waiting for him.

Nie Mingjue looks him up and down once, before he simply drags him into the house and pushes him towards the first bathroom they come across.

“Strip,” Nie Mingjue orders him and despite the situation Jiang Cheng goes a little bit hot under the collar.

He knows Nie Mingjue doesn’t mean it like that, but it certainly does things to Jiang Cheng to hear that command from him.

“It’s not so bad,” Jiang Cheng tries to argue, but he knows it’s hopeless when Nie Mingjue glares at him. “Fine, whatever,” Jiang Cheng mutters and pulls off his shirt.

It’s completely ruined, with how Wen Zhuliu slashed at it and Jiang Cheng already hates the thought that he has to put it back on again once he leaves.

Nie Mingjue sucks in a surprised breath when he sees the wounds on Jiang Cheng’s body, and by now he really starts to feel it. It really doesn’t help that the hits he took on the job before start to hurt now as well.

“You really should be more careful,” Nie Mingjue tells him as he gets out a first aid kit. 

“That’s not always possible,” Jiang Cheng gives back and tries his hardest not to think about the scars marring his chest.

It’s not like Nie Mingjue cares either way.

Nie Mingjue’s mouth twists at that but he gets started on disinfecting the mostly shallow wounds on Jiang Cheng.

Jiang Cheng frowns when he notices that, because Jiang Cheng might be good but he’s not that good. He’s pretty sure that if Wen Zhuliu had wanted to kill him, he would have dealt more damage than just some thin slashes.

“Are you alright?” Nie Mingjue suddenly asks him and when Jiang Cheng comes out of his thoughts he realizes that Nie Mingjue is already mostly done patching him up.

“Thank you,” Jiang Cheng says and bends down to reach for his ruined shirt suddenly itching to get out of here, no matter if Nie Mingjue is done patching him up or not. “I’ll get out of your hair in a moment,” he then tacks on and just hopes that Nie Mingjue will give him enough time to gather his things before he calls the police on him.

Nie Mingjue always reiterated that it’s important to him that people do honest work, and contract killers surely are not that. It’s a wonder this house is not crawling with police already.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Nie Mingjue asks as he reaches out to grab Jiang Cheng’s wrist, stopping his motion.

“Leaving?” Jiang Cheng asks, beyond confused, because he thought this is what Nie Mingjue wanted.

“You’re injured. You’re not going anywhere,” Nie Mingjue tells him and then he throws a shirt in Jiang Cheng’s face.

“I didn’t want to impose,” Jiang Cheng mutters, as he picks the shirt off his head and gratefully shrugs it on. 

He does feel better, now that his scars are not on full display.

“You can’t impose,” Nie Mingjue gives back, but he’s not meeting his eyes and Jiang Cheng’s stomach drops.

Maybe Nie Mingjue is just keeping him here until the police arrive.

Jiang Cheng knows that he should feel betrayed by that, but he knew that Nie Mingjue wouldn’t tolerate his job so this is not as much of a surprise as it probably should be.

If Jiang Cheng is completely honest, it’s what he deserves anyway.

“You can tell me if we’re just waiting for the police to arrive,” Jiang Cheng lowly says and he keeps his eyes trained on the ground. 

“Why would you think that?” Nie Mingjue wants to know and he sounds honestly confused.

“It’s what I deserve, isn’t it?” Jiang Cheng asks even though it feels like his heart is breaking.

He curses himself, because he always knew that it would end this way if Nie Mingjue ever finds out what he does and it was more than stupid to fall in love with him in the first place.

“You deserve the world,” Nie Mingjue gives back and Jiang Cheng startles when he cups his cheek in his hand. “And I would like to give it to you.”

Jiang Cheng can only blink at that, because what Nie Mingjue says doesn’t make any sense at all.

“What?” he asks dumbly, because maybe Wen Zhuliu killed him after all and this is just his afterlife or something, because that would make so much more sense than whatever is happening right now.

“Wanyin, let me take you out,” Nie Mingjue says softly and Jiang Cheng’s mouth works without his permission.

“In a date way, or with a sniper?” he asks. “Because I can recommend a few that could take me.”

Nie Mingjue stares at him for a moment before he huffs out a “Fuck you” and simply walks away from Jiang Cheng.

“What the hell just happened?” Jiang Cheng asks into the now empty room when Nie Mingjue really simply leaves and he jumps when Nie Huaisang answers him.

He didn’t even notice him enter the room.

“He really does love you, you know,” Nie Huaisang tells him, hiding half of his face behind his ever-present fan.

“Yeah, right,” Jiang Cheng bitterly huffs out. “As if he could ever love someone like me.”

Nie Huaisang stares at him for long moments before he drops the fan.

“He loves me, doesn’t he?”

“You’re his brother. That’s different.”

“You really think that would make a difference if what I did would go against his very morale?” Nie Huaisang asks him and Jiang Cheng frowns at him.

“What you do? I doubt that Mingjue has such a hard stance on poetry and art.”

“I’m not talking about that.”

“What else are you doing then?” Jiang Cheng wants to know and he watches as Nie Huaisang’s eyes go wide.

“Jiang Cheng, I’m the Headshaker. Please tell me you know that!”

“You’re the who?” Jiang Cheng incredulously asks and Nie Huaisang starts to laugh.

“Oh, this is gold!” he wheezes out and Jiang Cheng simply plops down on the floor because he’s not sure his legs will carry him for a moment longer.

“Huaisang!” he snaps when Nie Huaisang simply keeps laughing instead of explaining his very bad joke.

“Sorry, sorry, it’s just—I always thought you were too afraid of rejection to take that last step, or that you maybe didn’t love him enough to take a little risk, but it turns out you’re afraid that he’ll turn you in!”

“That’s not funny,” Jiang Cheng tells him, when Nie Huaisang won’t stop laughing but it still takes Nie Huaisang so very long to calm down.

“It is, especially considering that half your contracts come from me,” Nie Huaisang says when he finally caught his breath again. “I thought you wanted to keep business out of our friendship and that’s why you never said anything. Did you really not know?”

“How the hell would I have known about this?” 

“It is kind of obvious, when you think about it,” Nie Huaisang tells him but Jiang Cheng shakes his head.

“Nothing about this is obvious,” he presses out and rubs his temples.

This is really too much for one single day. Jiang Cheng isn’t even sure what he should freak out about first.

“So,” Nie Huaisang carefully says, once he gave Jiang Cheng a few moments to process everything. “Now that you know, will your answer to my brother be different?” he asks and Jiang Cheng narrows his eyes at him.

“What answer?” 

Nie Huaisang smacks him over the head with his fan for that question and Jiang Cheng rubs the place as he glowers at Nie Huaisang.

“He loves you. And he’s not going to hand you over to the police because he doesn’t treat the people he loves like that.”

Jiang Cheng doesn’t dare to tell Nie Huaisang that he still doesn’t believe that, because he does not want to get hit by him again, but Jiang Cheng still has his doubt.

“It’s still different with you,” he finally mutters when Nie Huaisang simply waits him out and Nie Huaisang sighs.

“He knows your work. Hell, he knows your work before you even know it because you keep getting it from me, and he’s not as against this as you might think. Yes, da-ge hates injustice and he is a firm believer that everyone should be held responsible for their actions, but that doesn’t equate to handing you over or wanting you dead.”

Jiang Cheng mulls that over for a few moments, because it is what he believed for the longest time but in the end he only sighs.

“I love him, too,” he finally admits and Nie Huaisang beams at him.

“Good,” he cheerfully says and promptly turns around and leaves the bathroom.

Before Jiang Cheng can call after him, or even push himself to his feet again, Nie Mingjue steps back inside and Jiang Cheng flushes when he realizes that he probably heard everything.

“I still have to patch up the cut on your cheek,” Nie Mingjue says as if nothing at all is wrong and Jiang Cheng barely manages a nod, he’s so embarrassed.

But Nie Mingjue doesn’t seem to mind; he simply gets started on tending to the cut on Jiang Cheng’s cheek and Jiang Cheng really wishes he would have done that when Jiang Cheng was all lost in his head, because Nie Mingjue is really close, and he’s looking directly at him and he has one hand on the side of Jiang Cheng’s face, and it’s all a little bit much to take.

“Listen, Wanyin,” Nie Mingjue suddenly says. “I know you put the ass and sass in assassin, but I would really like to put in some sin with you, too,” he says with a wink and it’s so completely ridiculous that Jiang Cheng bursts out laughing.

“That was so bad,” he wheezes once he regained a little bit of his breath and Nie Mingjue smiles at him.

“It was,” he agrees. “But it made you laugh, so it was worth it.”

That sobers Jiang Cheng up right away and he blushes again.

“But you mean it?” he has to ask, because maybe Nie Huaisang read this completely wrong and Nie Mingjue did mean taking him out in the sniper way.

“Of course I do,” Nie Mingjue immediately says and Jiang Cheng sags in relief. “I’m in love with you. I’d like to take you out. On a date,” Nie Mingjue hurriedly tacks on and Jiang Cheng fears his heart is going to beat right out of his chest.

“I would like that,” Jiang Cheng admits and he is not at all prepared for the soft smile on Nie Mingjue’s face.

“Good,” Nie Mingjue says and pulls Jiang Cheng up.

When he over-balances with the sudden movement, Nie Mingjue takes the opportunity to brush a fleeting kiss over Jiang Cheng’s cheek, making him blush all over again.

“That’s a good look on you,” Nie Mingjue mutters, his lips fluttering over Jiang Cheng’s cheek, and despite his best efforts, Jiang Cheng simply cannot glare at him.

“What? Flustered and embarrassed?” 

“Blushing and in love,” Nie Mingjue gives back and Jiang Cheng’s face only grows hotter at that.

“Shut up,” he snaps but when Nie Mingjue only smirks at him, Jiang Cheng decides to give back as good as he gets.

The smirk puts Nie Mingjue’s dimples on display after all and Jiang Cheng leans forward to brush his own lips over the place where the dimples are.

It seems to have caught Nie Mingjue off guard as well, because he’s frozen for a moment, before the look on his face turns impossibly softer.

“Make me,” he still dares Jiang Cheng, who never met a challenge he wouldn’t take, and so he simply leans in and finally brings their lips together.

It doesn’t last long, and it’s relatively chaste, but when they part Jiang Cheng feels like he’s going to burst out of his skin with happiness.

“Come on, now,” Nie Mingjue says, the same happy look on his face that Jiang Cheng is no doubt sporting. “You need to rest.”

“I need to report,” Jiang Cheng gives back, because the Wen Chao issue has to be addressed, but if he’s honest, he feels like crashing at any moment now.

“You can report after a nap,” Nie Mingjue decides and pushes Jiang Cheng towards his bedroom.

“I thought you wanted to sin with me,” Jiang Cheng says, getting a little bit nervous when he sees Nie Mingjue’s huge bed.

“I do want that,” Nie Mingjue says and presses a kiss to Jiang Cheng’s forehead. “But you will rest first.”

He pushes Jiang Cheng down on the bed, and manhandles him under the covers, before he hovers unsurely at the side.

“Get in here,” Jiang Cheng sighs out, not wanting to keep Nie Mingjue out of his own bed, but also wanting him close.

Suddenly the thought of getting to cuddle with Nie Mingjue and being held by him, is the most important thing in the world.

Nie Mingjue obediently slides under the covers with him and Jiang Cheng lets out a happy sigh when Nie Mingjue gathers him up in his arms and pulls him close. It’s a very comfortable place to be in and Jiang Cheng is crashing hard.

“Sleep,” Nie Mingjue mutters into his hair and the last thing Jiang Cheng feels is how he follows it up with another kiss.

It’s a very nice feeling to fall asleep to.

Link to my ko-fi on the sidebar!

[stellarstarwarsimagines]

“Apart from being sexy, what do you do for a living?” with poe? love your work so much 💕💖💘💓

Of course I can! Thank you for being so sweet, and thank you for requesting! 

You weren’t a fan of fighting. You’d much rather strategize and negotiate over a table for hours before charging head long into battle with blood and loss after loss. 

Until someone messed with your family. 

There was no sympathy in your punches, no mercy in your kicks, no pity in your eyes while you held the First Order Officer against the wall by his throat. His leather gloves clawing against your arm in an attempt to get free. While you knew your communication device was going off, and you were sure it was Rey, you couldn’t answer when you were so close. She had volunteered to take this job on her own, worried for you, but who needed the Force when you had fury? 

While yes, your heart was pumping against your chest so hard it hurt and your whole body felt hot with rage, your voice was calm as you spoke to the terrified officer, pausing between each word so you were sure he would understand. “Where. Is. He.” 

“I’ll never tell you, scum!” He had surprising stamina for someone struggling to breathe. 

Even as he refused to tell you where he was, you didn’t panic. “You sure about that?” You asked, making a glance down to his crotch then looking back up at him with a smirk. 

His eyes widened at your implication, but you didn’t give him the chance to say anything, plunging your knee as hard as you could into the area. His response was immediate as he crumpled against the wall, screaming out in agony as you tighten your grip on his neck. “Do I need to ask again?” You said. 

But he was saved from responding as a familiar voice called out your name, and you turned to find Finn looking at you in shock, holding up a very beaten up man who was also staring at you, his eyes wide. 

“Damn, that was sexy.” Poe Dameron said, staring at you with something that seemed much like awe. 

Relief filled your chest, and your fury vanished looking at him. You hadn’t realized until that moment how scared you had been. Even when he looked horrible and had several visible injuries, most likely for that smart mouth of his, you felt your chest lighten at the fact that he was alive. You let go of the Officer, him being the farthest thing from your mind now as you ran to Poe’s side. “Hey . . . How much pain are you in?” You asked, your hands reaching up to cup his cheeks, your thumbs brushing the unbruised bits of his skin. 

He seemed dazed at your actions. “None right now that I’m looking at the sexiest woman in the galaxy.” 

Well that was . . . not completely unlike Poe, but you glanced at Finn anyway, confusion lining your features. While he would say something like that in private, saying it in front of someone else was not like him. 

“He hit his head.” Finn replied. 

You suppressed a groan. Of course he had. Anything to make escape more difficult. You turned your attention back to the man in front of you, noting with the slightest bit of amusement how he was still staring at you in amazement. “Poe, listen, we’ve gotta get out of here. All right, honey?” 

“Honey, huh? I like the sound of that.” Poe replied with a smirk. 

His words only served to confuse you more, but you knew that you didn’t have time to unpack that right now. Your goal was to get everyone out of here, and thank goodness your best friend and a round droid arrived right on time. 

“Do any of you keep your comms on?” Rey yelled, frustrated. “Let’s go!” She said, waving the rest of you along. 

BB-8 beeped, excited at the sight of his master, and Poe, once he caught sight of him, was as enthused. “Buddy!” He yelled, leaning down to rub his head. He would have fallen to the floor when he did if Finn and you hadn’t grabbed a hold of his shoulders when he stumbled. “How’d you find me?” 

“Swooning over BB later, leaving now.” You told him, swinging his other arm over your shoulder to help support him. 

His brow creased as he looked at you, but he didn’t object when the two of you started moving him along. “How do you know my droid?” 

You glanced at him in disbelief. “How do I know your -”

“Wait.” Finn stopped you, sparing Poe a glance as you hurried through the various hallways in the process of blowing up. “You don’t know who that is, do you?” 

Poe raised his eyebrows at Finn. “Should I?” 

Damn it. 

“Must’ve hit his head harder than I thought.” Finn said. “Partial amnesia.” 

“You think?” You groaned. 

By this time, you had all reached the Falcon, and since Poe was out of commission Rey hurried to help Chewbacca pilot, while Finn moved to the gunner position. You sat Poe down on one of the small beds, and grabbed a med kit. Medical wasn’t your speciality, but you could at least get a good start. 

“So, apart from being sexy, what do you do for a living?” He asked as you began bandaging up some of his wounds with bacta patches. 

Even though you weren’t out of the clear yet, being with Poe, no matter that he didn’t have a memory of you, sent wave after wave of relief through your body. A soft smile formed on your face despite your worries about his injuries. It was nice to know he still found you attractive after all this time. “I’m a battle analyst most of the time. In my free time, I fix X-Wings and worry about my brave, reckless, pilot of a husband.” You replied, shooting him a pointed look. 

The cutest pout formed on Poe’s lips for a moment and he sighed. “I guess all the good ones are taken. He’s a lucky man, but he shouldn’t worry you like that.” 

For the first time, you had to fight back the urge to laugh. “Would you mind telling him that for me?” 

“Just point me in the right direction.” Poe replied, leaning back against the wall of the nook with a charming grin. 

“Commander Dameron?” 

Both of you looked up at the door where Finn was standing. “General Organa is asking for you on the comms.” 

“I’ll be right there.” You stood up, giving Poe another glance who was once again looking at you in amazement, and you figured he had finally made the connection of who you were. You didn’t say anything, sending a wink in his direction before patting Finn’s shoulder on your way out. 

“I married that?” You heard him ask Finn. He must have nodded, because right as you were turning the corner you heard him go, “damn.”

[redhoodssweetheart]

Star-Crossed Lovers Part Two

Pairing: Jason Todd x Fem!Reader

Requested: Yes @sarcasmismyfirstlove​

Word Count: 2.5K

Warnings: Swearing, angst, Reader has an assumed name in this (she is not named, but she goes by Sophia Turner since she is in hiding)

Description:  Y/N now lives in Metropolis, she likes her life, but she misses the one she lost.  Jason has spent eight months trying to find her, but to no avail.  Maybe they truly weren’t meant to be.

A/N: I originally wasn’t going to post this part so soon.  But I got inspired today and couldn’t stop writing it.  I hope y’all enjoy.  And please pretend that’s not a notebook for school okay.  I’m too lazy to go looking for something new right now. 

Her window was open letting in a nice spring breeze.  Dinner was cooking in the oven and she was reading over the events from that day.  It had been eight months since Y/N had hopped off the bus at the Metropolis station and entered the motel she would be staying at for the next few days. That was when she had found a quaint apartment that would do until she got on her feet.

Her phone buzzed and she looked over at it.

Clark: I need a favor, Sophie.

Sophie.  The name she had assumed when she moved to Metropolis.  Her full name was Sophia Turner.  Sionis was more than likely dead, but Y/N wasn’t taking any chances.  She hadn’t stopped looking over her shoulder since that night, and sometimes she would dream that he had found her. 

In her dreams sometimes he was torturing her, but sometimes it was Red sitting in that chair.  He was begging her to do something while Sionis laughed sadistically and said, “My little puppet ain’t gonna do shit, Red.  She used you.”

“No!”  Y/N would cry when she registered the betrayal on Red’s face.  

She would sit up straight in her bed and gasp before the dream went any further.  Most of the time she would look at the clock and see it was still in the early hours of the morning.  

Now she was staring at the text from Clark and sighed.

Sophia:  I’m listening, but you’ll owe me, Kent.

Clark was a good guy.  A little flighty at times, but that was part of his charm.  He was the one that had taken the risk on her when she had gone to the Daily Planet trying to get a job.  He never abused that either.  He was a genuinely good guy, something that had unnerved Y/N at first, but now she was grateful for it.

Clark:  I’m supposed to be meeting with Lex Luthor tomorrow to ask him about the Superboy project, but I’m needed elsewhere.  Sort of a family emergency.  Do you think you can cover for me with Lex?

Lex was Metropolis’s biggest asshole.  And she could eat him for breakfast.

Sophia: Sure thing.  Need me to water your plants while you’re away?

Clark:  Please?  I’ll leave the key to my place in my top desk drawer, just pick it up tomorrow when you come in.  You’re a lifesaver, Sophie. 

A lifesaver….  Sure.

Jason came home to the manor at least once a week for a good home cooked meal and so he wouldn’t be alone at the safehouse.  He hadn't returned to the one that he and Y/N had always frequented.  He couldn’t, she was still haunting the place.  Tonight however when he entered the manor he heard Dick and Tim arguing.

“You need to tell him,” Dick hissed.  “He deserves to know the truth.”

“No, I made a promise to her that I wouldn’t,” Tim spat back.  “Plus I haven’t even found Sionis yet.  How would it look if Red Hood showed up in a city other than Gotham?  Sionis knows about them, and Y/N would be compromised.”

Jason’s breath hitched at the sound of her name.  Tim knew?  Tim knew and hadn’t told Jason anything.

He threw open the door so hard that it let a dent in the wall, Dick cringed knowing that Alfred was going to be mad at that.  Tim looked coolly at Jason, unbothered by the display.  “Where is she, Replacement?”

“Who?”  

Jason was starting to see red.  “You know damn well who.  Y/N.  Where is she?  What the fuck did you do?”

Dick came over to Jason and put a hand on his brother’s shoulder, but it was roughly tossed off by Jason, “Jay--”

“Don’t,” he snapped, his gaze going to Dick.  “Don’t you dare.  Tim knows something and I want to know what it is.”

Bruce entered the kitchen, having heard the raucous that his boys were causing.  “Tim, Dick, I need a moment alone with Jason.”  They nodded and swiftly made their exit.  Bruce leaned against the counter, “Y/N’s story about how she came to work with Sionis was true.”  Jason looked at Bruce confused.  “Except I met her a month before she met you.”

“What?”  Jason’s tone relayed the shock he felt.

Bruce closed his eyes, “She got mixed up with the wrong people because of her boyfriend and after Sionis killed him he kidnapped her and forced her to take on the role as a bodyguard.  Commissioner Gordon came to me with a note from an anonymous source from someone in Sionis’s organization telling him to send the Bat to a certain location.  I met with Y/N and she told me that she wanted out, that she didn’t want to be payment for her ex’s misdeeds.  She fed me information and in exchange I promised to set her free.”

“So you knew that she was going to fake her death this entire time?!”  Jason’s anger was returning.  He had spent the last eight months agonizing over where she could be, turning over every stone only to come up with a dead end.  And this entire time Bruce had known it was a ploy all along.

“Yes, but  didn’t know the two of you had been involved.  She never disclosed that to me, and I didn’t expect her to tell me things she did in her free time.”  Bruce looked regretful, “Jason, I think you were the only normal relationship in her life and I think you brought her some semblance of happiness.”

“Apparently not enough to tell me the plan,” he said bitterly.

Bruce pulled something from his pocket and passed it over to Jason, “It’s from her.  I don’t know where it came from, but if I had to guess I wouldn’t be able to figure it out either.  I haven’t read it, but maybe she will answer some of your questions.”  With that, Bruce took his leave.

Dear Red,

By now you probably know that I’m not dead.  Maybe you even know that I met with Batman a month before I ever even met with you.  That was purely coincidental.  I didn’t plan on things progressing like they did between us.  It made my job a whole hell of a lot more complicated that it needed to be.  And for what it’s worth I’m sorry for how it all went down, but Red, I hope you understand that I couldn’t tell you.  That was just not an option.

I’m somewhere safe for now.  I have been for awhile, just blending in and living my life to the fullest that I can.  I hope you’re doing well too and not getting too many bullet wounds.  Who’s going to patch you up now that I’m not there :p

He chuckled at the little hand drawn face.

I do miss you, Red.  Our banter.  Your kisses.  How you made me feel normal for a few hours a night.  Even with the mask on I could still pretend we were just two average people living our lives.

We were dealt a shitty hand, and as I told you that night we truly are just star-crossed lovers.  I’ll see you in the next life, Red.  Maybe that one will be kinder to us, and maybe I can finally see what color your eyes are.  Can I tell you what color I think they are?  Blue, I always imagined you had the prettiest shade of blue eyes.  Like the sky on a summer day.  Cloudless and beautiful.

I need to cut this short before I start crying on the page.  Take care of yourself, Red.  I’ll be waiting for you at the River Styx or maybe you’ll be waiting for me.  And I’ll finally know your real name and what color your eyes truly are.

Goodbye, Red.

Y/N

Jason stared at your name signed at the bottom for the longest time and finally when he tore his eyes away from it, he neatly folded it and put it back in the envelope.  He then headed up to his room and stored the letter in one of his drawers, not wanting anyone to disturb it.

The Daily Planet was bustling when Y/N arrived to work the following morning.  Clark - who was usually in before her - was nowhere to be seen.  She hadn’t expected to see him, but it was still weird.  

Wandering over to his desk she found the key like he had promised and stuck it in her pocket before heading to her own desk and preparing for the meeting with Lex.  Lois stopped by her desk to say good morning and chit chat for a few minutes before going to work on her own assignments.  Around ten thirty Y/N headed out to LexCorp.

“Mr. Kent was supposed to be interviewing Mr. Luthor,” the receptionist said.

Y/N kept the forced smile on her face, “Yes, that’s true, but Mr. Kent unfortunately had an emergency that has taken him out of the city and he asked me to fill in.”  She showed the receptionist her credentials.  “I am more than qualified to handle the interview today.”

“It’s fine Lacy,” a new voice added and Y/N turned to see Lex standing there with a smile on his face.  “I was alerted of the change last night, Mr. Kent was nice enough to email me and let me know.  Miss Turner, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“You too, Mr. Luthor,” she responded.  As she made to leave the receptionist area she shot a scathing look at the girl behind the desk who was frowning.  She probably thought Y/N was some groupie waiting to throw herself at Lex.

As if.

The two of them made it into Lex’s office and he offered her something to drink.  “Water, coffee, tea?  Just say the word and I can have it here for you immediately.”

“No thank you, I’m quite all right,” the quicker that she could get this interview over the better.  She got her recorder set up and looked to Lex, “Clark informed me that he was going to be talking to you about the Superboy project, is that correct?”

“Yes it is, everyone has been dying to know more about the program,” he responded.  “The world needed a Superman, as I’m sure you’re aware Superman was thought to be dead there for a good while.”

Y/N had known that, although she had been in Gotham at the time more concerned with her own welfare than that of a superhero that had supposedly died.  “I am, so you decided to respond and give Metropolis hope then?  That is what Superman represents, is it not?”

There was a shift in Lex’s smile that Y/N picked up on, but she wasn’t going to push him on it.  He apparently had a dislike of Superman, but if he didn’t like him then why create a clone?  “Yes it is, and yes I wanted to give this city some hope that everything was going to be okay.  That LexCorp would make sure that while the big, bad Superman was away I would be the one to look after us.”

Y/N hummed, “Mr. Luthor, how long have you been working on this project?  This doesn’t seem like an overnight solution and you seemed to unveil it fairly quickly?”

“Are you trying to insinuate something, Miss Turner?”  Lex’s eyes narrowed.

Y/N’s smile turned predatory, “No sir, just merely asking some questions.  I wondered how something as complex as replicating Superman’s powers took place so quickly.  And how?  How did you replicate Superman’s powers?”

“I had some of Superman’s DNA on hand, a gift from the Man of Steel himself,” Lex replied coolly.  

Hardly, Y/N thought.  She knew how these heroes worked, their identities were pivotal in maintaining some semblance of a normal life outside of hero hours.  There was no way that Lex had legally obtained that DNA sample he claimed to have gotten from Superman.  “It sounds like you and Superman are close, would you say that the two of you are friends?”

“Oh yes,” Lex matched her smile as if trying to intimidate her.  What he didn’t know is she had been around some of the worst Gotham had to offer and he didn’t frighten her in the slightest.  “We were very close.”

“You must have been crushed when everyone thought that he had died.”  She saw through his smile and the lies.  Superman and Lex weren’t close, but he wasn’t going to say that in something that would be printed in the Daily Planet.

“I was, it was like losing an old friend,” Lex rested a hand over his chest for dramatic effect.

Before she could ask her next question they heard someone saying, “Sir, sir you can’t go in there.”

The door to Lex’s office opened and revealed Bruce Wayne.  Y/N had never had the pleasure of meeting him when she had lived in Gotham.  She hadn’t run in those circles, but she would know the billionaire anywhere.  “Lex, we need to speak now.”  His gaze landed on her and she froze.  For the first time in a while she felt exposed under the intense look he was giving her.

“Could it wait, Bruce,” Lex forced out.  “I am in a meeting with the lovely Miss Sophia Turner here.”  

Y/N turned to Lex, still feeling the weight of Bruce’s stair on her back as she did so, “It’s all right, Mr. Luthor.  You seem to have some important business to attend to right now.  Thank you for your time.  The article should be out by Friday if all goes well.  Email me with any other information you can disclose about the Superboy project that would be pertinent for the article.  Have a nice day,” then she fled as quickly as she could.

Bruce watched Y/N flee the office.  Sophia Turner, huh?  He wasn’t surprised to find her living under an assumed name.  He looked to Lex who was glaring at him, “Did I interrupt something?”

Lex’s eyes narrowed, “You damn well know you did.  Now what do you want?”

“You have a leak,” Bruce said, causing Lex’s face to pale.

Y/N made it back to her desk without any other blasts from her past and she began to go over the information she had from her interview and checked her email to see that Lex’s assistant had sent over any other relevant information she would need to type up the remaining gaps.  

A few hours later she was closing up shop and heading to Clark’s to make sure his plants didn’t die.  As she moved down the sidewalk her mind drifted to thoughts of Red Hood, wondering what he was up to and if he were okay.  She also wondered if he had gotten her letter yet or if maybe he had thrown it out the moment he knew that it was from her.

She wouldn’t blame him if he had.

As she continued down the street she accidentally bumped into someone.  She stumbled for a moment and looked up as she said, “Sorry.”  When her eyes met his, she was shocked to find the prettiest blue she had ever seen.

He smiled at her, “It’s all right.  Have a good evening.”  Then he was sidestepping her and going about his business.  She watched him go, wondering why he seemed so familiar to her.

And those eyes.

Like the sky on a summer day.  Cloudless and beautiful.

[mypoisonedvine]

Love, Theoretically | Sebastian Stan x reader (Chapter 1)

for @evnscvll​​‘s 3k celebration challenge, I immediately broke the rules and took only one prompt: Love, Actually.  then I made it into a series.  oops.  but she made me that lovely moodboard anyways!

summary: having lost your husband, sister, and best friend all to the same extramarital affair, you ran away to a secluded villa in the Hungarian countryside to write and get a little time away from the life you’d left behind.  you were only looking for peace and perhaps some inspiration for your novel, but instead you found an unlikely connection with the immigrant repairman-- even though the two of you don’t speak the same language.

word count: 2.3k

warnings: mention/description of infidelity, awkwardness, me teasing y’all by making this a slow burn

(quick note: I’m not fluent in romanian but I did my best to translate the dialogue as accurately as possible, rather than as literally as possible.  if you don’t speak it I would recommend not translating seb’s lines so you get the full experience of having no idea what he’s saying just like the reader in the story but I won’t tell you how to live your life)

You usually trusted your intuition, but up until now you'd convinced yourself that you were being paranoid by worrying about your husband.  Trusting him was more important than anything, and definitely more important than a strange feeling in your gut that something was wrong. 

The sad thing is, you would've never guessed that he was having an affair with your sister.  Not in a million years.  All the sneaking around, the strange stories that didn't add up… you would've put your money on a secret gambling addiction (pun unintended but welcome), or maybe that he'd secretly lost his job.

But even with all your suspicion, all your low self-esteem, all your fear that he was too good for you… nothing could've prepared you to walk in and see him with his face between your sister's legs.

He didn't even do that to you; he said he didn't like the taste.  You realized now, as you stared out the window of the train at the trees flying by, that that should've been a red flag from the start.  For a man who had claimed to be a feminist, things were never really equal in your house.  You both worked full time but you were saddled with more chores; you made more money than he did, but for some reason, you found yourself asking for his approval on large purchases; and of course, whenever you'd talked about children, he'd always just assumed you would stay at home forever and do most of the child-rearing.  He told you that you'd need to handle them when he was too tired from work-- but what about when you were tired from watching them all damn day while he was working?

God, you needed to stop thinking about this.  If you cried on this train people would probably look at you funny and you did not need that right now.  You couldn’t take any more reasons to believe people dislike you.  Even as much as you wanted to say that you didn't want or need your husband’s approval anymore, you still felt so shitty, so fundamentally worthless that he'd chosen your sister over you.  He hadn't wanted to touch you in months.  You wondered if it had been going on longer than that: when you'd blown him after that company party half a year ago, were you putting your mouth on something that had been in your sister's--?

"Something to drink, madam?" the attendant asked as she rolled by with her cart, pulling you from a very dangerous cycle of thought.

You jumped a little and looked over to her as she smiled at you-- no hint of judgment or confusion as you wiped a tear away.  In her shoes, you would be nosy and want to know more about the woman crying on the train.  Then again, maybe it was obvious to her: a woman, alone, who bought the last ticket just before the train left, carrying only a small briefcase and a few hastily-packed suitcases… a woman with nothing to lose, going nowhere as fast as possible.  Could it be anything but her having been done wrong by a man?

"Tea, please," you nodded with a smile of your own-- weaker than hers, more awkward.  You'd make a bad stewardess.

"Black or green?"

You didn't trust them to steep the green tea at the proper temperature, so you asked for black and nodded in thanks when she handed you the warm paper cup and rolled on by to the next passenger.

What really made your head spin, you considered as you sipped at your drink, was not your husband’s actions but your sister’s.  You remembered when you were both teenagers and her boyfriend had cheated on her, she’d gotten so upset with the girl he’d done it with rather than him.  You had thought that was ridiculous because the girl didn’t owe her anything.  You understood better now, and of course, your sister did owe you something.  You two had had your rough patches but overall, she’d been your best friend for most of your life.  So much so that she was the one you went to when you were worried about your husband.  She told you to give him space.  You would’ve never imagined that was her way to get you to back off, to cover her own sins and give her more freedom to shag your husband in your goddamn bed.

Yes, that was the real betrayal.  Lots of people have ex-husbands, but you couldn’t exactly turn her into an ex-sister.  You were stuck with her, but you had no plan as of yet to face her again.

The night in the sleeper car was restless, literally.  It was so dark out that you couldn’t see the trees or mountains anymore, but if you focused really hard and made sure to turn off every light in your room, you could just barely see the stars in the sky.  You hoped that you would have plenty of time to spend looking at the stars once you reached your destination.  As much as you’d loved the city lights of London for the past several years, you really needed to be somewhere that was actually dark at night.  And where the air was clean.  And, best of all, where nobody knew who the fuck you were.

You stepped out of the train and onto the platform, feeling very much like you were surrounded by people ending their stories-- reuniting with loved ones, finishing vacations-- while yours was just beginning.  Well, you supposed it made sense that most of the people travelling from London to Nyíregyháza, Hungary were probably from Nyíregyháza, Hungary.  Unlike you, who had only been here once while backpacking through the area in college and fallen in love with it.  You were lucky that the owner of the secluded cottage you’d crashed at back then had picked up the phone when you called from the train; you were especially lucky that she was willing to pick you up from the station, you not being quite dressed or prepared for backpacking.

Exiting the station and finding the cobblestone street, you were nearly tackled by a portly old woman as she tried to get your attention.

“Mrs. Alberti?!” you asked with wide eyes.

“You should at least pretend I haven’t aged a day,” she frowned, her words coated with her thick Hungarian accent.  

“I was just surprised that you’re still running the cottage!  I figured you and Mr. Alberti retired ages ago,” you explained, following her back to her car and putting your luggage in the boot.

She seemed a little crestfallen, wistfully considering your assumption.  “Well, it’s not quite what it used to be but yes, I am still the owner.  Sadly, Mr. Alberti passed away several years back.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry to hear that,” you replied, hoping to be as comforting as reasonably possible, “he was such a sweet man.”

“Yes, but he had a long illness-- and before that, lived a very full life,” she smiled confidently, walking to the driver’s seat as you followed along the other side and got in the passenger.

“It’s too bad he won’t get to see you again, though,” she continued as she started the vehicle.  Considering how old it looked, you were impressed that it worked on the first try.  “He would’ve been amazed to have a repeat customer from somewhere so far away.  I certainly am!”

“Yes, well, I have great memories from staying in the villa, and decided to go in search of some of the lust for life that I had back then-- chasing after youth never backfires, right?” you joked.

“I wouldn’t know,” she replied with a smirk.

You knew you were getting close to the old house when the roads turned from asphalt, to cobblestone, to gravel, and finally to dirt.  As much as you figured trees and grass looked basically the same everywhere, you appreciated that it somehow managed to look totally different than England.  Maybe it was the scattering of blue wildflowers, or the way the wilderness was dominating the few signs of human existence rather than the other way around.  Driving it was different than hiking it, certainly, and you wondered if you would find the time or energy to climb the foothills on the other side of the lake like you had before.  Maybe you didn’t want to find out how much athletic ability you’d lost since college…

“Here we are!” she announced as she made one last turn and yep, there it was: a lonely stone cottage, with flowers all along the walls and pink wooden shutters.  

You could tell it had aged since it had looked how you remembered, but if anything it had gained a quaint charm, with its moss and ivy and old trees which sagged under their own weight.  Figuring you would have more time to take in the scenery in the indefinite time you planned to spend here, you decided to make good time and gather your things first.

As you opened the boot and reached in to grab your luggage, someone appeared beside you and pushed your hands aside, saying something that you couldn’t parse at all.  You stepped aside and realized that it was a young man-- not horrifically young or anything, but certainly… strapping.  He shot you a smile, and you couldn’t think of the last time somebody had looked at you with so much joy on their face.

“Oh, thank you,” you nodded, letting him lift your suitcases (which he did with ease, just to make it all extra cruel).

“This is Sebastian-- he lives here and does odd jobs for me,” Mrs. Alberti informed you, "Don't waste your time talking to him; he doesn't speak a word of English."

"Oh, he only speaks Hungarian?"  You turned to him again; "Szia, hogy vagy?"

He shook his head and smiled awkwardly.

"No dear, he only speaks Romanian," Mrs. Alberti explained with a laugh.  "Can't you tell I can only afford to run this place by using cheap immigrant labour?"

"Salut," he greeted.  At least you could figure what that meant.  You chuckled uncomfortably and looked to the ground.  

You followed Sebastian and Mrs. Alberti into the house, admiring how little the interior decorations had changed-- it was all macrame and flowers in old-fashioned ceramic vases, with lots of oddball Hungarian trinkets to round it all out.  Perhaps the only thing you could notice that was different was new floorboards.

“You like the new floor?” Mrs. Alberti asked, as if she were reading your mind.  “Sebastian put that in for me.”

Sebastian seemed to perk up as he set your bags down briefly, clearly aware he was being talked about.  

“Remember?” Mrs. Alberti addressed him, motioning to the floor.  “You put in the new floor, huh?  Új emelet?”

You wondered why she’d seemed to laugh at you for trying to speak Hungarian to him, when she was doing the same thing.

“Da,” he smiled, pressing his shoe down onto the floor to apparently demonstrate the lack of creaking.  “Ți-am făcut un etaj nou.”

“Alright, go ahead and take her bags upstairs,” Mrs. Alberti instructed him, motioning to the luggage and then to the staircase.  He nodded and picked them up again, starting to walk across the room.  “He knows where your room is, just follow him,” she told you.  

The stairs, unlike the new floor, did creak, and you weren’t sure how far behind you were supposed to be on the staircase to avoid having his ass right at eye level.  You didn’t want to stare at it… but either the jeans were doing him a lot of favours, or Mrs. Alberti’s ‘odd jobs’ do a body good.  Maybe a little bit of both.

He used his back to push open the door to your room, setting your bags just inside before turning to leave again, like he thought it would be rude to step inside.

“Wait,” you requested, but he kept going-- probably the whole ‘not understanding English’ thing.  God, you were going to look so stupid at least a few more times trying to get through to this guy, you could sense it.  Forced to get his attention another way, you reached out and grabbed his arm; not hard, but it was definitely a slightly aggressive thing to do anyways.  It worked, though, and he turned around with an expectant look.  “Could you help me unload?” you asked, gesturing towards the bags.  

His brow knitted with confusion as he tilted his head.  You sighed, not sure exactly how to pantomime this.

“One of my bags,” you began, pointing to one of them, “is heavy--” a lifting motion-- “could you--” you pointed to him-- “unpack it?” 

That seemed to make more sense to him, and he stepped back into the room with you.  “Voi încerca,” he said, somewhat to himself, as you opened the suitcase.  Inside was your typewriter; he nodded with understanding and scooped it up.

“Unde?” he asked, and regardless of what it meant, you were going to show him where to put the typewriter anyways.  

“Just over there, the table by the window,” you pointed to it.  He nodded again and walked past you, setting it down, and even adjusting it a little to make sure it was centered.

“Thank you!” you piped up when he turned back to you.  And just like that, you were plunged back into awkward silence.  You pointed to him, and then the typewriter as you pantomimed typing.  “Can you type?”  He seemed to understand what you meant.

“Nu,” he shook his head, “când eram mic, trebuiau înregistrați anual.”

“...huh,” you mumbled, not sure what to do with that.   

“Plec acum,” he announced as he started to step past you again.

You cleared your throat and let him walk out the doorway.  “Right, um, have a good afternoon…”

He gave a little wave as he walked down the hall, and you sighed once he was out of sight and making his way down the creaking stairs.  You impressed yourself with your ability to embarrass yourself constantly, even with total strangers.  But, all that aside, you were finally ready to settle in and properly enjoy your change of scenery.

[love-of-fandoms]

Moonflowers (Apollo + OC)

Blood of Zeus Apollo Oneshot, can be read as reader-insert

Pairing: Apollo + OC

Word Count: 4909 words

Prompt: “Do you think the moon is jealous of how pretty you are?” From this prompt list

It was a rare, calm day at the peak of Mount Olympus when Apollo saw it. Nobody was screaming at anyone for cheating, Zeus’ long list of bastards weren’t being harassed for their illegitimate status, and there were no impending threats.

As such, Apollo was able to peacefully stare off the balcony and watch the mortals uninterrupted. He wasn’t watching anything in particular, just observing, eyes flitting from place to place. Occasionally he’d spot one of his many ex-lovers, though to call them ex lovers always sounded wrong. To be someone’s ex implied bad blood between them, but Apollo never created false expectations. He was upfront in the fact that he didn’t do romance, and while he would say pretty words and was always up for sex or cuddling, there wouldn’t be any relationship, not one with commitment, at least. So when he would spot someone he had taken to bed, he would smile slightly, or frown if they weren’t doing well. But he wouldn’t intervene.

It wasn’t a person that caused his gaze to stop on a particular thing, though. Rather a beautiful garden.

There were many beautiful gardens all over the world, many just in Greece alone, but what had stood out at first with this garden was that it wasn’t some palace courtyard, or in the middle of a prosperous city. Neither was it in some rich merchant’s villa. This beautiful, well maintained garden was in the middle of a forest, the Efki Forest to be specific, with not a single town for miles around it. The god’s eyes narrowed in curiosity as he looked at it. There was a small cottage in the garden, and many animals roamed the gardens freely. He admired the beauty, content to look at it from afar, but his contentment to stay on Olympus was disrupted when he caught sight of a specific patch of flowers in the center of the garden.

Moonflowers.

Flowers that bloomed only when the sun was set, or almost set. However, it was midday as Apollo gazed at the widely blooming moonflowers. Apollo barely processed a thought as his feet took him to where his chariot was kept, barely even noticed as he climbed on and allowed the horses to take him to the garden.

Moonflowers blooming during the day wasn’t just rare, it didn’t happen. It didn’t happen unless Artemis blessed them. So that begged the question, why had his twin blessed a random patch of flowers in a random, oddly placed garden? Motivated by his profound curiosity for the occurrence, and perhaps by the ache he felt whenever his sister was gone from Olympus. She had departed on a hunt two weeks ago, and knowing her she could be back today, or in a year.

Apollo stepped off his chariot, allowing the horses to go back to Olympus until he called for them. Looking around, he saw that the garden was even more vibrant up close, and surprisingly the animals were not skittish at all. While most would flee at the very sight of what appeared to be a gigantic human, these animals were calm, and some even approached him and rubbed against his legs. Apollo’s brows furrowed in confusion. He had seen this happen with Demeter and Persephone only a handful of times, Aphrodite once or twice, but most animals were just normal around him. Not particularly frightened, but not particularly inclined to like him either. He crouched down, peering at the moonflowers curiously.

“Oh!” a soft voice exclaimed, and Apollo whipped around, standing as he did so, and the sudden movement caused the rabbit that had been curiously sniffing his toes to bolt off. Standing at the edge of the clearing, where the garden ended and the true forest began, was a human woman. She had long, brown hair, so long in fact that Apollo wasn’t sure it had even been cut, and wore a simple white dress that hung loosely around her pleasantly plump figure. She was short, not just because Apollo himself stood at 10 feet, but even for a human she would be considered short, just barely 5 feet, and in one of her hands she held a basket of what looked like mushrooms.

The two stared at each other for a moment, the human gaping, and Apollo simply studying her with his head tilted slightly to the side.

“Um, h-how may I be o-of serv-vice, Si-ir Apol-Apollo?” she stumbled out, bowing her head meekly, and Apollo’s eyes widened at her easy recognition of him, though beyond that he did not show his surprise.

“I was simply admiring this garden, little one,” he said with a soft smile, gesturing around the area, and the human nodded slowly. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” she nodded again.

“Y-yes, I put a lo-a lot of work in-into it,” she stammered, and Apollo’s eyes widened once more, his smile becoming wider as well.

“Oh, this is your garden?” she nodded in confirmation, her hair falling down in front of her eyes as she did so, making her seem even more meek. “Then perhaps you can answer my question,” her face scrunched in worry at the statement.

“Wh-wh-what question?” Apollo chuckled then, the sound soft and sweet, causing the human’s tensed shoulders to relax unknowingly.

“Nothing bad, I assure you,” he said. “I simply wished to know how your moonflowers had come to be blessed by my twin?” he asked, and the woman’s face relaxed.

“Oh,” she sighed in relief. “They’re just such a pretty flower, and only blooming in my garden at night seemed like such a pity, since most only really appreciate it in the day, so I prayed to Artemis to allow them to bloom all the time,” Apollo’s eyes widened.

“And she granted your wish?” the woman nodded. 

“She was… impressed, I suppose,” she was no longer stuttering, Apollo was happy to note, she was clearly in her element talking about her garden, a sort of comfort zone, but her voice was so soft. It was pleasant, melodic even, if Apollo were to be poetic about it, which he always was, but quiet. He stepped closer, wishing to hear her better, and a slight pink came to her cheeks. Apollo thought it contrasted quite prettily with her sea green eyes, which he could see as she timidly rose a hand to brush her long unruly hair out of her face. “I have a-a way with animals,” she explained, gesturing to the animals calmly walking around them, and Apollo’s head tilted in confusion.

“I had wondered why they were so calm,” the woman smiled now, and Apollo’s breath was almost taken from him at the sight. It wasn’t a large smile, only a small quirk of her lips, but her eyes squinted and shone with a joy he couldn’t quite place, and Apollo thought it was one of the most beautiful sights he had seen in his long life.

“I don’t know why,” she began, walking over to a brown rabbit and sinking to sit on her knees in front of it. Instead of scurrying away, the rabbit actually hopped up to her, it’s ears perked happily. She reached down to stroke it across its head softly. “But my presence calms animals, and they make me happy,” her smile widened a bit as another rabbit hopped over, butting its head against the other’s as if fighting for her attention, though it was only an adorably friendly competition. “Call it a nice symbiosis, if you will,” Apollo nodded, approaching her slowly, not wishing to spook the rabbits. She glanced up at him, one corner of her lips quirking further up into a mirthful smirk. “Do you want to pet them?” she asked, gesturing to the rabbits, and Apollo simply nodded. “They’re siblings, Ruo and Dina,” she said, motioning for him to crouch down, he did so, reaching out his hand to stroke them, but he stopped when they flinched away.  The woman giggled a bit, and Apollo felt a pleasant warmth spread through him at the sound. She reached for his own hand, stopping before she touched him, and he nodded his permission. She grabbed the back of his hand, and Apollo found himself in awe of just how… tiny she was. Granted, he wasn’t even in his human, form, and thus was still huge in comparison to all humans, but still. Her fingertips barely met the base of his own fingers as she guided his hand towards the rabbits. They sniffed him cautiously, before one of them hopped forward and rubbed its head against Apollo’s palm.

“Amazing,” he murmured, stroking softly down the rabbit’s neck and back, and the woman grinned.

“Isn’t it?” she exclaimed, allowing the other rabbit to hop up into her lap and snuggle into her soft thighs. Her hand left Apollo’s to stroke the rabbit, and the back of his hand felt suddenly cold without her contact. The woman hummed a nameless tune as they sat there, stroking the rabbits, and after a moment, Apollo realized something in horror.

“How rude of me,” he began, voice quiet as to not spook the animals. The woman’s brows furrowed as she turned her head to look at him. “I have not asked your name,” the woman smiled softly.

“Althaia, my lord,” she answered, and Apollo scowled at the title.

“There is no need to call me such things,” he assured her, hand leaving the rabbit to rest on her shoulder. She flinched in surprise, wide green eyes gazing up at him. For a moment he thought he recognized her eyes, but he ended up attributing it to the forest surrounding them.  “Just Apollo will do,” she nodded shyly, her cheeks pink once more. “Are you alone here, Althaia?” she shivered slightly at the sound of her name in his voice, and Apollo relished in it.

“I-I have the animals,” she answered, gaze darting to the side, and Apollo sighed.

“But there are no other humans? Or perhaps nymphs?” she shook her head.

“I’m the only one,” she said, and Apollo hummed, displeased.

“Well that won’t do,” he said, and Althaia flinched.

“Wh-what do you m-mean?” Apollo was sad to hear her stutter return as she asked him that.

“You can’t be alone for so long, humans aren’t made for it,” he said calmly, but Althaia only seemed to become more distressed.

“B-but my garden! The animals!” she protested, but Apollo held up a hand, stopping her from going on.

“I am not suggesting you leave this wonderful place you’ve curated,” he quickly soothed her, and Althaia’s shoulders slumped in relief. “I simply meant that I would have to visit you, so you don’t get too lonely,” he smiled brightly at her, and Althaia was reminded that he was the sun god as his beautiful grin almost blinded her.

“Oh! You-you don’t need to b-burden yourself with that, my lo-” at Apollo’s look, she cringed. “Apollo,” she amended.

“It’s not at all a burden, I assure you,” his voice was serious as he said this, and he fully turned to her, a huge hand gently grasping her chin to get her to look him in the eyes. “It would be my honor to visit you in such a beautiful place, to be in the company of such a beautiful woman, too” Althaia blushed brightly, trying to avert her eyes, but Apollo simply leaned closer, refusing to allow her to hide. “Would you accept my company?”

“Of course!” she nodded hastily, cheeks a bright red, and Apollo grinned at her.

“Wonderful!” he announced, standing when he realized how much time they had spent in the garden. He had been gone from Olympus for bordering on three hours at this point, and the sun would need to set soon. “Until our next meeting, Althaia,” he bade her, and Althaia bowed her head as he called his chariot, the horses appearing almost instantly before him and allowing him to climb on.

“Goodbye,” Althaia, rose a hand to wave at him as he flew away, going to set the sun. “Apollo,”

Althaia didn’t expect to see Apollo for months, or perhaps he wouldn’t come back at all. But instead, much to her surprise, he came back only two days later.

This time, Althaia was in her cottage preparing a stew with some of the mushrooms she had gathered. Upon realizing this, Apollo shrunk himself to human size, where he stood around 6 foot 3, and knocked on her door. Althaia let out a shout of surprise, dropping a plate in her shock and cursing when it landed on her toe. She stumbled over to the door, whipping it open to reveal Apollo. It was an overcast day, but the sun god still seemed to shine, as if it was him who was emitting pure light, instead of reflecting the sun’s. Her eyes widened.

“A-Apollo!” she greeted, bowing her head. “I di-didn’t expect you to be back so soon!” Apollo smiled softly at her.

“Why wouldn’t I wish to come back as soon as I could?” he countered, and Althaia blushed. She couldn’t be that important. “May I come in?” Althaia’s eyes widened as she stepped aside, allowing him into her small cottage. He found himself having to duck, the cottage more suitable to people around Althaia’s height. A bed was pushed against one wall, with a window just above it, letting light stream in. On the opposite side of the cottage was a table with a shelf where various bowls and pots were placed, and a window above that. A firepit sat in the middle and two chairs next to the fire pit. There were herb racks lining the walls, and Apollo was surprised to see an easel with a beautiful meadow painted across it.

“You paint?” he asked in surprise, and Althaia blushed as she quickly went to cover the painting.

“Um… yes,” she muttered. “Not very well, though,” Apollo’s hand reached out to stop hers without even a glance as she went to throw a sheet over the canvas.

“I would disagree,” he hummed, finally taking his eyes off the painting to look at her, gently taking the sheet from her hand and throwing it back over the chair it had been draped across. “I think this is beautiful,” he told her, eyes flitting away from her to take in the painting, and Althaia simply gaped at him, unsure of what to say. Now that the two were inside the cottage, Althaia could now see that Apollo was in fact glowing, his golden light showing slightly on the walls and her painting. She found herself feeling… dull. Even his eyes were a beautiful golden shade, his blonde flowing hair shining even brighter than a human’s would. She found herself uttering it without really thinking, a stray thought.

“Do you think the moon is jealous of how pretty you are?” she murmured, and Apollo’s eyes widened as he turned away from her painting, fully facing her.

“What?” he had heard her perfectly well, and a small smile was present on his face as he asked her to repeat her question. She blushed, her head ducking down to avoid his gaze.

“I-it’s nothing,” she muttered, and Apollo chuckled, stepping closer to her and hunching his shoulders so he could look her in the eyes. 

“I’m quite sure my twin is prettier than me,” Apollo told her with a soft chuckle, and was pleased to hear Althaia giggle sweetly.

“I’d say you’re both equally pretty,” her voice was still quiet, as if she half-hoped that he wouldn’t hear her, and his smile widened. 

“Why thank you,” he said, accepting her praise. She had met his twin sister, after all. Althaia darted her eyes to the side, avoiding him again. His smile turned down a bit at that, but he tried not to take it personally. She was shy, after spending who knows how long alone with only the animals for company in this forest. Shy and perfect.

Apollo hadn’t realized he was stepping towards her, pulled by an inexplicable force, until Althaia let out a sharp gasp as their chests touched. Her breasts brushed his abdomen as she breathed heavily, and Apollo’s eyes were drawn to a pendant around her neck. It was dull, as if she had worn it for years, but he could still make out the design. It was a half moon, half sun symbol. Apollo’s eyes widened as he lifted his hand to allow his fingers to brush against the pendant. Althaia’s chest stilled as he did so, holding her breath.

“Where did you get this?” he asked, and Althaia smiled shyly.

“You and Artemis gave it to me,” she told him, and Apollo’s hand pulled back as he gasped. That was why her eyes were familiar.

There are only two times a day Apollo and Artemis could see each other when they weren’t on Olympus. Dawn and dusk was their time, when the moon and the sun shared their light over the same place, and the twins could enjoy time together.

Often, they would follow the line across the Earth to spend more time together, making a single dusk or dawn last for hours or days.

It was dusk on this particular occasion. Artemis was trying and failing to improve Apollo’s skills with a bow. While she was the goddess of the hunt, her twin couldn’t use ranged weapons for the life of him. He pulled the string back, breathing in deeply as Artemis had instructed, and focused on the tree he was aiming for. After a moment, he loosed the arrow, and it went flying… a solid 45 degrees to the left of a tree. Artemis began to sigh disappointedly, but they froze at the sound of a startled squeak. Apollo’s head snapped between her and the direction of the squeak.

“Did you-”

“Let’s go,” was all Artemis uttered before she was sprinting through the forest, through the bushes before Apollo felt like he could even blink. He followed her after only a moment.

That was not the squeak of an injured animal. That was a child. A human child. Had he just shot a human child with his sister’s bow?

Apollo burst through the bushes the arrow had gone through, gasping in relief to see a rabbit with an arrow through its side. He was less relieved, however, to see the small child kneeling next to the rabbit, tears welling up in her eyes. Artemis knelt down next to the child, a hand going to her shoulder.

“I’m sorry, little one,” she murmured to the girl, who’s head snapped to gape up at the goddess. “We didn’t mean to scare you,” the girl hiccuped, some tears streaming down her cheeks.

“Did you mean to kill Samis?” she asked accusingly, and Apollo flinched.

“No,” he muttered, kneeling down on the opposite side of the girl as his sister. “That was my mistake, I’m sorry,” the girl looked up at him sadly.

“She has three babies,” the girl said, her eyes narrowed, and Apollo and Artemis exchanged a look. “Are you sure you’re sorry?” Apollo cringed, sighing before nodding.

“I am,” he said to the girl, who turned her bright green eyes to glare directly at him. “How can I prove that to you?” the girl stood suddenly, one hand shooting out to grip Apollo’s finger, unable to even reach his palm to actually grasp his palm. She also reached out to hold Artemis’ skirt. The two gods exchanged awkward glances, before the girl began to lead them further through the forest.

“Where are you taking us, little one?” Apollo asked, and the girl just looked over her shoulder to shoot him an upset glare. His eyes widened, and he shrugged his shoulders.

After a minute or so of walking, the girls hands dropped to her sides, and at first the two gods thought that perhaps her small arms had gotten tired being raised so far above her head, but then the girl crouched down in front of a bush, whispering softly.

“Hey guys,” she murmured, and the gods were stunned when three baby bunnies timidly hopped out of the foliage. “Y-your mom is-isn’t coming back,” she stuttered through some tears, and the baby bunnies seemed to understand her, their ears drooping sadly. “But this guy is gonna take care of you,” she said, gesturing over her shoulder at Apollo, whose eyes widened in shock. Artemis’ hand rose to her mouth to stifle an amused chuckle. 

The girl grabbed the bottom of her skirt, lifting it slightly to make a sort of hammock, and gestured for the bunnies to hop in. They did so without complaint, and she stood, turning to Apollo. 

“Do you know a safe place for them to live?” she asked, and Apollo nodded, a soft smile on his face.

“I do,” he confirmed.

“And you will feed them at least twice a day?” she asked, and Apollo nodded again.

“I will,” he agreed.

Usually, a god of Olympus would be offended at the audacity of a mortal just presuming that a god would do them a favor. Or presume that the mortal could just decide how a god repays them for a slight. But Apollo found himself endeared to this young girl.

“Where will you take them?” she asked, and Apollo smiled.

“I will bring them back to Olympus,” he said, and the girl’s eyes widened.

“O-Olympus?” she gasped. “Are you-” Apollo nodded, cutting her off.

“My name is Apollo, this is my twin sister, Artemis,” the girl gasped, bending at the waist in a low bow.

“I-I’m sorry!” she squeaked, and Artemis sighed, kneeling down next to the girl.

“Don’t apologize, little one,” she soothed, and the girl took in a deep breath. 

“B-but I-I shouldn’t ha-have,” Artemis cut her off.

“It’s alright, sweetheart,” she assured the girl, turning to Apollo.

The mortals would just call it “a twin thing”, but their connection went deeper than that. Upon sharing a look, they both knew exactly what they would do. Artemis place a hand on the girl’s small shoulders, standing and leading her to Apollo. The two gods brought their hands together, a burst of deep blue and yellow light came out from their hands. The girl flinched back, her eyes squinting at the assault to her eyes. When the light faded, the gods held a beautiful pendant between them. One half was the sun, the other the moon.

“What is your name, little one?” Artemis asked, and the girl blushed.

“Al-Althaia,” she answered, and Artemis and Apollo smiled. It was the same, radiant smile on their faces, and Althaia couldn’t stop her mouth from falling open in awe.

“Well, Althaia,” Artemis began. “Accept this token from us,”

“As proof that you have done no wrong,” Apollo finished, and the two gods knelt to drape the pendant over her head and around her neck. The girl grinned shyly, and the two gods grinned back. Apollo cupped his hands together, placing them in front of where Althaia held her skirt, and after she nodded, the bunnies hopped into his palms. After a moment, Artemis turned to her brother, whose glow was beginning to fade as night truly began to fall. “Go back to Olympus, I’ll take care of her,” he nodded, calling his chariot to carry him back.

“Althaia,” Apollo breathed, his hand going to her cheek, gently tilting her chin back so he could meet her eyes. He laughed breathlessly. “They’re still alive, you know,” her eyes widened.

“Wh-what?” she gasped, and Apollo chuckled.

“The three rabbits, they’re still alive,” he repeated. “You didn’t tell me their names, so I had to give them new ones, I hope you don’t mind,” Althaia’s mouth dropped open in shock.

“Th-that was t-twenty years ag-ago,” she gasped, and Apollo nodded.

“Olympus is a special place,” he said, and Althaia giggled.

“Really?” she quipped sarcastically, and Apollo grinned at the sass, glad that she was at least coming out of her shell enough to say that.

“-and as such,” he continued, his grin fading to a fond smile. “Aging works differently. For some, it slows, but for others, it stops completely,”

“Wow,” she muttered, and Apollo nodded, his hand finally dropping from her cheek, only to grasp her own.

“Would you like to see them?” he asked, and Althaia’s eyes widened.

“Y-you mean… go to Olympus?” she gasped, and Apollo nodded.

“Of course,” he said, beginning to lead her out of her cottage, calling his chariot. He only stopped when Althaia dug her feet into the ground, eyes wide. “What is it?”

“A-am I even allowed on Olympus?” she asked, and Apollo shrugged.

“Gods are allowed to bring mortals to Olympus, as long as they don’t bring too many,” he told her, eyes warm, and Althaia hesitantly began to follow him once more. She blinked, and suddenly Apollo was 10 feet tall once more, and there was a golden chariot behind him, pulled by beautiful golden horses. His huge hands dropped to her waist, and he raised his brows. “May I?” she nodded, and he lifted her up onto the chariot, stepping on behind her. “Ready?” he asked, and Althaia nodded, this time with more apprehension. 

Apollo clicked his tongue spurring the horses forward, and Althaia screamed when they were suddenly airborne. Apollo laughed, an arm wrapping around her waist and hoisting her higher, so the crown of her head rested just under his chin.

“Relax,” he said in her ear, and Althaia’s hands went down to grasp tightly at his forearm. If he was mortal, Apollo was sure she would’ve scratched his arms deep enough to draw blood. Her looked down, seeing her eyes tightly squeezed shut. “We’re above the clouds, open your eyes,” he told her, and Althaia shook her head.

“It-it’s scary!” she said back, and Apollo’s grip tightened.

“You have no need to be afraid, Althaia,” he said, lips brushing the shell of her ear. Althaia shivered. “I would never let you fall,” he assured her. “Open your eyes, little one, see how beautiful things are from up here,” Althaia nodded this time, taking a deep breath in before opening her eyes. She gasped at the sight that affronted her eyes.

They were above the clouds, indeed, but she could still see through breaks down into the forest. The sun hit the clouds in the most beautiful way, making them shine yellow and orange.

“Wow,” she murmured, and Apollo chuckled.

“Beautiful, right?” he prompted, and Althaia nodded vigorously.

“It’s gorgeous!” she shouted above the wind, and Apollo nodded, tucking his chin against her neck.

“Just like you, little one,” if he had been able to see her face, Apollo would have been both endeared and amused by  the fiery blush that took over Althaia’s cheeks.

They rode to Olympus in silence after that, and it wasn’t long before they were in one of the many gardens. Althaia looked around excitedly, turning to Apollo when she didn’t see any of the bunnies.

“Where are they?” she asked, and Apollo chuckled, leading her further through the garden, softly calling for them as he did so.

“Come out!” he called. “Dusk, Ef, Ki!” he continued, and Althaia looked at him in surprise at the names.

Althaia grinned at the rustling of bushes ahead of them, kneeling down just in time for a large rabbit with a soft auburn coat to dart forwards. Without missing a beat, the rabbit lept into her arms, excitedly snuffling at her neck as she embraced him. Apollo chuckled, amused.

“This is Dusk,” he told her as he knelt down beside her. “He’s the most… exuberant of the three,”

Dusk, when we first met.

Two more equally large rabbits came out after their brother, though more careful with the approach. One, who Althaia remembered had a grey coat last she saw, had a coat of almost pure black, with some brown fur peeking out when the light hit it just right. The other was a light brown color, with a white spot just on his nose. They cautiously sniffed at Althaia’s legs before following their brother into her embrace.

“Ef,” Apollo pointed to the almost-black one. “Ki,” the light brown one.

Efki, my forest.

After a couple of minutes, Althaia finally raised her head from gazing in adoration at the trio of rabbits, who in that time had shuffled off her lap and were contently laying against her. Tears were in her eyes as she smiled brightly at Apollo, who was taken aback by her expression.

“Th-thank you,” she breathed, and Apollo smiled softly, shifting closer and raising his arm, an invitation if she wished for it. She took it, leaning against Apollo’s side with a happy sigh.

“Of course,” Apollo placed a kiss to her temple, a sign of affection so common for him that he didn’t consider how it would affect a girl with little to no contact with people for possibly years. Althaia flinched, glancing at him out of the corner of her eye, to find that he was looking at her adoringly, golden eyes shining. “Anything for you,” he said softly, a whisper that Althaia could barely hear. She smiled shyly, relaxing further into Apollo’s side, content for now to snuggle with the rabbits and the sun god.