#but I’m trapped in another country thousands of miles away

[the-based-brit]

Happy America Day to all my American friends! 🇺🇸🦅🍔🌭🍻🎆🎇

[fuckmeyer]

Ok that was amazing!!! I would love more behind the scenes details on CN now 😭 still on my phone so apologies if this is too long

“Answer the question, Isabella,” said Edward. “When did you last feel you were alive?”

With you, I thought immediately. Which led me to a grimmer answer.

“When I jumped off the cliff.”

What if I really had drowned?

“I heard about that,” he said quietly. “Rose told me. She said you were trying to kill—”

“Well, I wasn’t.”

“Well, you did,” he said. “God, if we weren’t already dead, I imagine I would be furious at you for doing something so stupid.”

“We aren’t already dead.”

“True,” he said. “There is a possibility I am somehow still alive, and my hallucination of you is simply filling in the gaps based on the information I’ve received.”

“You’re alive, I’m alive, and I’m right here.”

I lunged towards him again.

He dodged me, again.

Then he laughed at me. Again.

I wheeled around and snapped, “It’s not funny.”

“Isabella Swan, who lives thousands of miles away in one of the remotest parts of the country, who has never been farther east than Boston, is sitting next to me in a dungeon in Italy as I wait for the Volturi? Yes, in fact, I find it quite hilarious.” Except his laugh hadn’t sounded amused. Actually, he sounded bitter—and thirsty. “I cannot believe that as a figment of my own imagination you should need me to spell out how farfetched a scenario this is.”

“I cannot believe that as a real live person who’s sitting next to you in a dungeon in Italy, I have to convince you I’m really here. Newsflash: stranger things have happened.”

“Such as a vampire falling in love with a human?” he joked dryly. I groaned, rubbing my face in annoyance. “Don’t get me wrong, I understand your existence is predicated on my believing you’re real, thus you’ll do anything in your power to convince me. While I’ll readily admit to fantasizing about you being here, you’re kidding yourself if you think I’m insane enough to believe you’re actually here.”

Oh god. He was insane.

“As far as I’m concerned,” he continued, “we have two possible theories. Either I’m alive and you’re another hallucination—”

“You can hear my heartbeat,” I said, voice crackling. “You can smell my scent. If you wanted to, you could—” taste my blood “—t-touch me, and you’d know—”

“Ah, there it is.”

“What?”

“You want me to touch you,” he accused.

My cheeks had grown so hot, my head pounded. “That’s— I’m just saying, if you wanted to—”

“If I wanted to, what?” he snapped. “If I wanted to, I could taste your blood, is that it? Is that what you want?” I shook. When my lips parted, the bottom one trembled. The chill in his words ran through my veins. “What a convenient situation we find ourselves in. A starving vampire and his singer are trapped in a tiny box where no one can hear her cries for help, and she is throwing herself at me, begging me to touch her so she can—"

“Not throwing. Not begging. No. I-I’m not—I’m not saying you should drink me,” I said, nervousness making my voice uneven. “I’m saying if you wanted to go about this empirically, you would touch me. If I was a hallucination, you wouldn’t be able to.”

“Which provides us a perfect segway into theory number two,” Edward said without acknowledging my comment: “I’m in hell.”

“Hell!”

“Of course, you would want me to touch you.” The edge in his tone grew. “You want me to bite you, don’t you? You want me to taste your blood. You want me to drink every last drop from your beautiful veins until nothing is left because you are mine, mine—”

“All I’m asking is that you definitively prove I don’t exist. Which you can’t. Because I do. I’m trying to make you see that I’m real. That’s it.”

The low growl that punctuated our conversation made me shiver. Every molecule in my body tingled at the same frequency.

“And the second I buy into the idea that we’re finally together,” he said, “you’re going to die in my arms. I see your tricks.”

thank you, anon! :)

COME NIGHTFALL CHAPTER 27: VOLTERRA - DVD COMMENTARY

[i rewrote their meeting scene about a thousand times. i have a billion versions of that Verdict chapter where Edward is anywhere from a slobbering mess to a conniving little gremlin child. anyway, this is the earliest version of this scene, written March 2021:

In the darkness of the cell, I could see nothing except Edward’s marble-black eyes. His growl stole through the air around me. He circled me; the air sifted around me, choking me with dirt and blood and wet rat smell.

I came all the way here to die at the hands of my mate. I survived Victoria and Laurent and Jasper to die at the hands of my mate. I went all that way and went through all that effort to die by the hands of the person I thought I loved. My “mate”. Fuck this guy.

I swallowed, breathing ragged. “Kill me, coward. Do it.”

The growling ceased.

“Edward.”

In the corner, he snarled and snapped his jaws; I flinched, still blind in the dark.

“You’re not real.”

“You can’t smell me?”

Edward erupted into a grin of gleaming black teeth. I inhaled. “Nice try.” Clothing rustled, and a tiny thwip of paper hitting the ground.

My fingers fumbled around the sharp, folded edges of thick paper. My thumb traced the shape several times over. “A crane.” But that paper… Despite the musty stink of the cell, I smelled charcoal, acrylic, dried b—

Dried blood.

My dried blood.

The drawing I had given him. He had folded it. Into a crane.

“My crane.”

Edward’s slight cackle wheezed through his crackling chest; I flinched at the sound. “Can you believe I haven’t killed you yet?”

“Are you going to?”

“No,” he said without hesitation. Then added, “I am going to die here.”

My heart sunk. “You can’t die here.”

“Sure I can.”

“No you can’t.”

“I’ve lived long enough. I met you. I can die.”

“What?” Panic rose in my chest. “You can’t die, Edward.” I couldn’t die. Not until I saw him again. Since this wasn’t technically seeing him, I figured I could get out of this encounter alive with a loophole. “You—promised you’d come back.”

“I did.” Beat. “You’ll have to forgive me for breaking so many of them.”

“I won’t. Not if you die I won’t.” The deeper I fell into this world, it seemed, the tougher choices I had to make. Every step of the way felt like a failure, even if it wasn’t. “You made tough choices.”

“You certainly don’t sound like my subconscious. Maybe I really am dying.”]

[ok i guess we should actually start this scene]

“Answer the question, Isabella,” said Edward. “When did you last feel you were alive?”

With you, I thought immediately. Which led me to a grimmer answer.

“When I jumped off the cliff.” [girl you should have lied what the fuck]

What if I really had drowned?

“I heard about that,” he said quietly. [i vaguely sketched out Alice's POV from when Bells jumps off a cliff. dated December 2022: "Rosalie calls Edward and tells him Irina is on her way to the Volturi. She feels that Edward needs to take responsibility for Isabella because Irina going to the Volturi means that everyone’s on the chopping block. She advises Edward to stop Irina before she gets to Italy.

How would Rosalie call Edward? You have to assume I suppose that Edward flew from Brazil to Miami only for Rosalie to call the airport and request that a Mr. Edward Masen pick up the phone.

Why doesn't Edward corroborate? Why the fuck would he? This gives him perfect plausible deniability to go off and kill himself with reason so he's never tempted to come home to Isabella again."] “Rose told me. She said you were trying to kill—”

“Well, I wasn’t.”

“Well, you did,” he said. “God, if we weren’t already dead, I imagine I would be furious at you for doing something so stupid.” [this later becomes inspiration for Chapter 5: Alliance of By Starlight.]

“We aren’t already dead.”

“True,” he said. “There is a possibility I am somehow still alive, and my hallucination of you is simply filling in the gaps based on the information I’ve received.”

“You’re alive, I’m alive, and I’m right here.”

I lunged towards him again.

He dodged me, again.

Then he laughed at me. Again.

I wheeled around and snapped, “It’s not funny.”

“Isabella Swan, who lives thousands of miles away in one of the remotest parts of the country, who has never been farther east than Boston [visited, never lived there], is sitting next to me in a dungeon in Italy as I wait for the Volturi? Yes, in fact, I find it quite hilarious.” Except his laugh hadn’t sounded amused. Actually, he sounded bitter—and thirsty. “I cannot believe that as a figment of my own imagination you should need me to spell out how farfetched a scenario this is.”

“I cannot believe that as a real live person who’s sitting next to you in a dungeon in Italy, I have to convince you I’m really here. Newsflash: stranger things have happened.”

“Such as a vampire falling in love with a human?” he joked dryly. I groaned, rubbing my face in annoyance. “Don’t get me wrong, I understand your existence is predicated on my believing you’re real, thus you’ll do anything in your power to convince me. While I’ll readily admit to fantasizing about you being here, you’re kidding yourself if you think I’m insane enough to believe you’re actually here.”

Oh god. He was insane.

“As far as I’m concerned,” he continued, “we have two possible theories. Either I’m alive and you’re another hallucination—”

“You can hear my heartbeat,” I said, voice crackling. [bro the amount of times Edward has hallucinated or pretended a human's heartbeat is Isabella's is INCALCULABLE. she has no idea how terrible an argument this is. it's like The Tell-Tale Heart up in this bitch] “You can smell my scent. If you wanted to, you could—” taste my blood [the desperation is palpable. she has wanted him to drink her blood since Chapter 14: Explanations of In The Afterlight when she first dreams about it lmao] “—t-touch me, and you’d know—”

“Ah, there it is.”

“What?”

“You want me to touch you,” he accused. [YES GIRL SAY YES]

My cheeks had grown so hot, my head pounded. “That’s— I’m just saying, if you wanted to—”

“If I wanted to, what?” he snapped. “If I wanted to, I could taste your blood, is that it? Is that what you want?” [YES] I shook. When my lips parted, the bottom one trembled. The chill in his words ran through my veins. “What a convenient situation we find ourselves in. A starving vampire and his singer are trapped in a tiny box where no one can hear her cries for help, and she is throwing herself at me, begging me to touch her so she can—"

“Not throwing. [girl you just threw yourself at him] Not begging. No. I-I’m not—I’m not saying you should drink me,” I said, nervousness making my voice uneven. “I’m saying if you wanted to go about this empirically, you would touch me. If I was a hallucination, you wouldn’t be able to.”

“Which provides us a perfect segway [WAIT this should be segue holy shit i did not mean the scooter!!!!! omg i'm editing this rn] into theory number two,” Edward said without acknowledging my comment: “I’m in hell.”

“Hell!” [i really wanted to make a Dante's Inferno/Biblical reference, but at this point i was rushing to get the last chapters out. i wanted it to be over; i was so disappointed at how CN had turned out. shoutout to my beta Soup for helping me get over the finish line!]

“Of course, you would want me to touch you.” The edge in his tone grew. “You want me to bite you, don’t you? You want me to taste your blood. You want me to drink every last drop from your beautiful veins until nothing is left because you are mine, mine—” [thus far, this is the closest Edward has ever come to admitting the truth to her: he has a very real desire to drink her blood. to ME this scene is so sexually charged...]

“All I’m asking is that you definitively prove I don’t exist. Which you can’t. Because I do. I’m trying to make you see that I’m real. That’s it.”

The low growl that punctuated our conversation made me shiver. Every molecule in my body tingled at the same frequency.

“And the second I buy into the idea that we’re finally together,” he said, “you’re going to die in my arms. I see your tricks.”

send me 500 words of my fanfic & i will give you the equivalent of a DVD commentary on that snippet

[artdev]

I’m probably gonna get attacked for this lol

Tommy Character Analysis

From a sane yet angry child

The character of Tommyinnit is one of the worst characters on the entirety of the Dream SMP. Yes, the other characters have their flaws, and they have all done some very horrible things, but Tommy has continuously made bad decisions. These decisions have done nothing good for himself and have caused suffering for the other members of the SMP. In this essay I will provide reason to the fact character Tommy fucking sucks and every other character, yes including Dream, are so much better and have redeeming qualities to their characters. I will give a disclaimer: this is about THE CHARACTERS not the CONTENT CREATORS

Tommy’s First Days on the SMP

Tommy’s first day on the SMP was the last day of peace that server would ever see. From the get-go Tommy did nothing but cause nothing but problems for the original people on the server (Dream, George, Sapnap, Bad, Sam, Ponk, Callahan, and Alyssa) which resulted in a ban from not only from Dream, after refusing to obey under his exile he was put in, himself but also from George. The bans were lifted but everything spiraled from that point on. Tommy was the spark that started the disc war. This was a war that spanned over a series of months because Tommy would not stop killing Dream, so in return Dream confiscated tommy’s discs as a punishment, it was Dreams server, so he was not going to let Tommy go around causing problems without consequence.

Quick history

L ’Manburg

L’ Manburg started out as nothing but a drug caravan, started by Wilbur and tommy, would grow into a large country separated by large black walls keeping everyone out and let only a select few in. After a war Tommy did the only selfless thing, he would ever do in his whole time on the SMP. He gave up one of his discs for L’Manburg’s independence, after losing a dule with Dream. In all this tommy keeps up his thieving and antagonizing ways.

The election

The election was Wilbur’s attempt to regain power and respect within his country, there were multiple parties, POG 2020 (Wilbur and Tommy), SWAG 2020 (Quackity), Schlatt 2020 (JSchlatt). POG 2020 was the overall winner but was beat out by 1% by Schlatt and Quackity who had formed a coalition. With Schlatt as the president and Quackity as the Vise President the country is changed to Manburg, the walls are torn down, and Tommy and Wilbur have their citizenship is revoked and are banned from Manburg.

Pogtopia and Manburg v Pogtopia

Pogtopia was the ravine that served as a base for Tommy and Wilbur after the election. This is when techno (my fuckin beloved) had joined and sided with Tommy and Wilbur with the promise of chaos and war. With techno on their side, they start to build up and prepare for war. The war between Pogtopia (with the old residents of Manburg) and Manburg (pretty much everyone else on the server). The war ended with Schlatt having a heart attack in the remains of the destroyed drug van, Tubbo becoming president of Manburg, followed by Wilbur blowing up the country, with assistance from techno, and his grand death at the hands of his father.

Exile

Tommy was sent into his third exile by Tubbo after Tommy once again was causing problems for Tubbo and the new L ’Manburg. Tommy was sent thousand and thousands of blocks away from the greater SMP and he was not allowed to return unless he wanted to die. After spending months in exile with Dream coming by every day and taking Tommy’s things, and tommy almost taking his last canon life, tommy had escaped exile and went to the closest place he could go. Tommy set up a base under Technoblades retirement home and was soon discovered by Techno. Despite Tommy stealing Techno’s items and just being a annoying ass bitch, Techno let Tommy stay. With the help of techno tommy was able to sneak in and out of L’ Manburg.

Final L’ Manburg War

After a confrontation in the remains of a now destroyed community house, Tommy had sided with Tommy, another declaration of war, with Dream and techno going to blow up L’ Manburg. Tommy planed with the other members to gather resources to face off the most powerful people on the server. In the end L’ Manburg lost and was destroyed with nothing left but a sizable crater in its place.

The end of the disc war and drams imprisonment

The end of season two of the SMP was the end of the disc war, after tommy and Tubbo meet up with Dream at the top of a large mountain, where the three fought to get the discs. Dream eventually leads the two brits to a bunker where Dream had been collecting the attachments on the server, like Tommy’s cow henry, Ghostbur’s sheep Friend, and open slots for other pets and Skeppy. While Dream was going to kill Tubbo he was stopped when the entirety of the SMP, lead by Punz, came through the nether portal that led into Dream’s base. They surrounded Dream and caused him to surrender, and landed him in pandoras vault, a large prison built by Sam under Dreams request. Whist Dream has been in prison Tommy has visited a few times and has done nothing but was nothing but an annoying child to an already suffering man. During what was supposed to be Tommy’s last visit he ended up being locked in the cell with Dream due to a potential security breach in the prison, meaning tommy was stuck with Dream for what was only supposed to be a week. Tommy was stuck with Dream for more than a week, like was stated in the terms and conditions of the prison, this extended time alone with Dream was bad for the both of them and it led to tommy losing his last canon life. Tommy was revived by Dream three days later and was freed from the prison shortly after, now out and full of fresh trauma.

Present events

After being revived and released back into the world tommy swore that he would kill Dream. As of tommy’s most recent lore stream there was an attempt. Tommy armed with invisibility and fire res pots, under the cover of Ghostbur paying Dream a visit, snuck into the prison to kill Dream. When tommy finally go to Dream’s cell, he got to trigger happy and took out the axe to soon which ended in tommy being caught by Sam and left Ghostbur stranded with Dream on the other side of the lava. Now that Dream had Ghostbur he would be able to bring Wilbur back and that exactly was happened, Wilbur is now back and as crazed as ever with 13 and a half years of isolation on top of that.

Tommy and His Trauma

I will not ignore Tommy’s trauma, nor will I downplay what he’s been through, cause truly been through a lot. That being said his trauma should not be used as an excuse to blow off what he’s done, if one is going to do that you better danm well not go around and ignore others trauma. Tommy has been through some horrible things, his exile, Dream’s manipulation, being beat to death in prison then being revived, losing not only a brother figure but also a place he called home, as well as the manipulation from Wilbur, these things can really do some damage to a kid or an adult. Tommy though uses his trauma to excuse any wrong thing he does. There are characters on the SMP with similar trauma, Jack Manifold was the first character to come lose all his canon lives but he came back out of spite, both Tommy and Jack went through something similar. Jack, however, doesn’t use this trauma to make excuses for being a massive prick. Jack uses what he’s been through as motivation, while it’s one of his motivations to do something bad, but he doesn’t use it as a hindrance. Now let’s look at someone has experienced the same things as Tommy, Tubbo, Tubbo went through almost everything Tommy went through plus more. Tubbo was manipulated by Dream, saw his country get blown up TWICE, hell he had to mourn the death of his best friend on TWO SEPREATE OCCASIONS, he was killed by someone he thought he could be trusted, was manipulated as well as verbally abused by Schlatt when working in his cabinet. Tubbo has gone on to build his own little town, start a family, he had run a country pretty danm well and created NUKES. Tubbo doesn’t let what happened to him hold him back from doing great things or keep him stuck in his old ways, Tubbo was able to break from what he originally was, a side kick, and has done wonders.

Tommy and His Relationships

Keep in mind this is not about whether Tommy cares about people it’s about how he acts and how that affects others. Tommy cares people so I cannot shame him for that, but despite that he still causes problems for said people.

Tommy and Dream

Tommy and Dream have never gotten along, anyone with fuckin eyes can see that from a mile away, they are always at each other’s throats and always butting heads. Dream is normally pretty levelheaded, until Tommy comes around. When Tommy was trapped in the cell with dream that was bad from the start, but the extended time was even worse. Tommy has always been an aggressor towards Dream, during the war for L ’Manburg when Dream was meeting with Wilbur, Tommy lashed out at Dream and put the independence of this new nation on the line to try and fight Dream. Now on to more recent examples, Tommy’s death. When Tommy was trapped with Dream in the cell Dream was pretty stand offish, if anything he was excited at first, being stuck in a cell with no one to talk to is pretty fuckin lonely. That excitement was sure to be short lived. Tommy is quick to start antagonizing Dream, hitting him, hurling insults at him, and just being all around unpleasant, Tommy would also take things like Dream’s clock and books and throw them into the lava just to upset him. Tommy also killed the one thing in prison that Dream had, a cat that he named hope, another thing Tommy took away just to show “what happens to things you care about”. All these things would build up over time which lead to Dreams burst of anger and caused Tommy’s death.

Tommy and Technoblade

Time to get absolutely PISSED. Techno was never a person to Tommy, he was just the Blade, a weapon to be used till he was not needed. Ever since Techno first logged on Tommy though he had scary dog privileges, getting mad at techno for when he went and assisted Wilbur in the destruction of L ’Manburg when techno had made it clear he was not a fan of government. After Tommy had fled from his exile he went to hide under Techno’s home without Techno’s knowledge, before he was discovered by Techno, he would steal from him and use them in useless ways, such as decorating his hidey hole with gold blocks or how he stole Techno’s gapples and ate them when he didn’t need to, practically wasting them. Once he was found by Techno, Techno let Tommy live with him despite being a leach, he let tommy eat the gapples, and even assisted in getting tommy in and out of L ’Manburg, he even hid Tommy from dream and lied to one of the most powerful people on the server to keep tommy safe. Techno was very patient with Tommy and what does Tommy do? He goes around and goes back to Tubbo, the man who exiled him in the first place, actively backstabbing Techno, and when him and Dream team up and destroy L ’Manburg for the second time he has THE GULL to get mad and shame Techno for it, it’s fucking awful.

Tommy and Tubbo

Tommy and Tubbo are great friends, I can’t lie about that, but he still manages to make shitty decisions that affect him. When Tubbo was president of the New L ’Manburg Tommy started causing trouble, all starting when he (and Ranboo) burned down George’s house, forcing Tubbo to put his vice president under a probation. Even after being put under the probation, he still caused problems. Tommy made Tubbo choose between the safety and freedom for his country or his best friend staying, in the end it was tommy’s fault for being casted into exile, he just wouldn’t behave and follow the rules. He also constantly pushed Tubbo’s trauma to the side to put a spotlight on his own, making him the center of attention, ignoring someone who’s supposed to be his best friend. Now, I will say, he did do something good for Tubbo, during the final disc confrontation he gave Dream the disc’s they were fighting so hard for in return for Tubbo’s safety, I have to give credit when credit is due.

To The C!Tommy Apologists

I know people are going to come after me for this, to any Tommy apologists reading this, please just can it /nm. In canon tommy is about 20 something? You can’t keep using “Oh HeS a ChILd!’ CC!Tommy is a child. Yes, I understand he’s traumatized, so is every other character on the SMP, he isn’t special. Also, PLEASE FOR THE LOVE OF GOD LEAVE US DREAM APOLOGISTS ALONE. All your arguments are so similar and you all thing dream, who is obviously mentally ill, deserves the everyday beating which is incredibly fucked up. Now I know not ALL Tommy apologists are like this but it is a lot of them, regardless of what dream did, he does not deserve to be rarely fed and he does not deserve the constant torture. Also please stop wit the whole ‘dream is obsessed with tommy’ shit, I can’t remember the tag for it at the time of writing this, but it is the creepiest thing I’ve seen and everyone portrays dream to be some yandere stalker and its just not poggers to be honest, and it comes off as very predatory which is ALSO not poggers. To any tommy apologists friends I know IRL this is not directed at you and just know I love y’all.

[buildmeafairytale]

Female Reader x Male Selkie

This is my very first commission! I was commissioned by @shy-basementchild for a birthday present for her friend, @anjhope1. They’re the sweetest and I’m so glad I got to write this for them! It was fun to write and a new experience to write for someone other than myself. I hope you guys enjoy reading it and if anyone is interested in a commission or monster match, my ko-fi is here. 

You leave your house in the afternoon and the cool air is nothing but a familiar comfort under the layers you have on. Like most days, the rocky beach beckons you to its shore. You manuvare the cliffs like you’ve done it a thousand times. You probably have by now. This place has been home for a while now. The town is more of a small fishing village but there’s a touristy block that has lots of shops that you frequent. It’s a cold and rainy place, but it just makes your house feel all the cozier for it.  

The beach is even colder, with the chill turning your nose rosie. You breathe in the crisp air, relishing in the way it stings your lungs. You gaze out towards the rolling waves only to see what looks like a head poking out of the water. It’s foggy and far enough away that you convince yourself it’s a seal, not dwelling on it while you take your walk. 

You’ve established a routine in this seaside village. You do a bit of freelance work in the mornings and leave the afternoons for your adventuring, finding the best coffee spots and shops in town. But the beach is your favorite by far. From the way the rocks crunch under your foot to the rhythmic sounds of the waves lapping the shore, this was your happy place. 

The next day is quite the same. You walk your beach, picking up stray bits of trash you find. This time when you look out to the ocean, the head that pops up looks much more like a man’s than a seal. Your breath catches in your throat and you can’t tear your eyes away. He’s still so far away, bobbing along with the waves and seemingly staring right back at you. And then he’s gone, just as quickly as he was there. As you walk the hair on the back of your neck prickles. You feel like you’re being watched but every time you turn to look no one is there. 

This goes on, but the next few times he seems to get closer. It takes some time to come to terms with the fact your mind isn’t playing tricks on you, but by the time he’s closer to the shore you can no longer deny it. You wave and he just tilts his head and stares. You’re confused and unsure about things, and feel a bit crazy. You wonder if the fishermen working the docks would know anything about the mysterious man in the water so you make a trip down there

The docks are several miles up the beach, and you always make a point to avoid it. It’s bustling with people going between boats emptying lobster traps and the air smells like fish. You're nervous and watching your feet, making sure you don’t misstep on the slippery wood underneath you. You feel like everyone is looking at you but hardly anyone has seemed to bat an eye at your presence, all of them too busy to worry about you. You keep scanning the crowd in hopes of finding someone to ask about your man in the water. You’re ready to give up when you lock eyes with a man. A man you would recognize anywhere, since you’ve seen him everyday floating in the waves.

He is a presence and something to behold. He sits high up on a fishing barrel and his feet are still firmly planted on the ground. Muscular legs connect to a thick middle wrapped in a classic fisherman’s sweater. Long chestnut hair is tied back from his face and he holds a knife and apple in his hands. You stare and he raises his hand in greeting. The noise of the docks retreats to a buzzing in the back of your mind and you hold your breath. Time stands still and butterflies build before you're being bumped into by busy workers. The spell is broken and you rush out apologies for being in the way. You turn and leave as quickly as you came, having even more questions than when you arrived. 

The next day you’re at your beach early with a book to occupy your time. You decide to stay there until you get some answers. You’re comfortable waiting and hope maybe he’ll come say hello. The grey eyes haunt you every time you close your own and you are restless. Was he some sort of creep, watching you from the water? He certainly didn’t look like the type to spy on women. He didn’t look like the type that would have to, gosh. Not that his good looks automatically made him trustworthy, but they certainly lowered your inhibitions. 

While you were lost in thought of the handsome stranger, he had materialized in the sea not a hundred feet away from you. It startled you, but you waved anyway. 

“Hi!” you yell out, tired of the voiceless staring contest that has been occurring. His lips twitch and he echoes your sentiment.

“Hi there,” he calls back, bobbing in the water.

“Isn’t it a bit too cold to swim?”

“A bit too cold for you, maybe,” he observes, his voice amused and carrying without strain despite the sound of the crashing waves.

You don’t know how to respond to this and the conversation fades when he dips under the surface, popping up a few feet away from where he was. His movements in the water are graceful and he swims in little laps not far from you. His upper body is bare to you above the black water, and he is thick corded muscle under a layer of softness that makes you want to touch him. He says nothing else to you but he doesn’t protest to your eyes on him. He seems content to be in your company and it isn’t for another while that he swims away and around the side of a cliff face, waving goodbye at you. You lose sight of him and while part of you is worried, the other part of you knows he must do this often and is obviously a practiced swimmer. 

He’s there before you the next day and chattier too. He tells you his name is Aegis and asks you for yours. He asks what you do for work and how you like living in the small town. You tell him about your house up on the cliff and how much you love it. For how brooding and intimidating you first had found him, he was quickly becoming a friend. The conversation flowed easily and was comfortable, the two of you bantering a bit too.

“There’s so much beach, too. I love to see the water.”

“Not much to do besides sit at the beach, yeah?” 

You shrug, “I like it here, it’s quiet. Or used to be, not that I oppose the company,” you jest at him, watching him take it all in stride. 

“I’d hope not,” he flashes you a grin, “can’t have my beach buddy getting sick of me so soon.” 

You give him a goofy grin back, trying to tamper down the butterflies growing in your stomach. You sit closer to him and the water, finding a comfortable seat on a washed up driftwood tree. “Maybe when it warms up I’ll join you for a swim,” you speak softly, picking at shells and rocks you like. You squeal when cold water splashes you, Aegis laughing when he has your attention.

“You ass!” you squeal out, going to splash him back. He bobs under the water again to evade you, an unmistakable grin stretched across his face. Your hand goes in the water to splash him back but it’s so cold it hurts and stings at your skin. That snaps you out of your playful game, and when Aegis comes up and sees the serious look in your eyes he tilts his head. 

“What’s that look for?”

“Aegis, seriously, how the hell are you okay to swim? You aren't even wearing a wetsuit!. I don’t know how you don’t get hypothermia! ” You’re concerned and can’t help but reprimand him, unsure how he manages to not even have red skin from the water.

“I guess I’m just built different, lovely,” he says with an easy smile, leaning into a backstroke.  

“Oh, built to withstand freezing cold water? Yeah, you’re different all right,” you tease back, retreating out of the water’s reach. 

Things go on like this for days and the two of you get familiar with each other’s schedules, seamlessly working into the other’s routine. Aegis seems down today though, and he doesn't hesitate to inform you why. 

“I have to go on a charter for a few days. I won’t be back until Tuesday,” he pouts, his pillowy lips exaggerated. You try not to let them distract you too much but he smirks like he notices you looking. You play along, pouting back.

“Aw, you’re gonna miss me too much?” you tease, despite knowing the next several days without him aren’t going to be as fun. 

“Desperately,” he says back, in an all too serious way that makes your heart race. He winks and grins, dispelling the intensity and turning things playful again, something he seemed greatly skilled at. He flirts in jokes but never leaves any tension or pressure lingering which you were grateful for. 

The days he is gone feel as if they last forever. It’s silly, really, how fond you’ve grown of him in such a short amount of time. You avoid the beach completely while he’s gone, knowing it will just make you miss your friend even more. Despite the way the time crawls by, though, Tuesday morning eventually comes around. 

Something shocking greets you when you arrive at your beach that day. Aegis is there, but is perched on a large flat boulder. Instead of the thick legs you saw filling his jeans like you did on the docks, his lower half is that of a seal. It’s longer than his legs would be and heavy with blubber. He studies your reaction and you’re fascinated. You’ve heard talk of selkies before, the legend being popular in this part of the country, but you hardly thought you would see one in real life. 

You try to look less confused than you are, not wanting to hurt aegis with an adverse reaction. You can feel his eyes on you, watching you watch him. 

“Uh, hi?” you say to him, getting a calculating ‘hello’ back.

You nod to yourself while looking at him, “Okay, this makes sense? This is a better explanation than I had, at least.”

 “Trying to rationalize my swimming habits, lovely?”

“Trying to rationalize you, lovely.” you toss back, feeling better when the same devious grin he’s worn around you makes an appearance. It’s still Aegis, and this is who he is. Or part of him, apparently. 

“I wanted to show you, but I have a rule, lovely.”

“Rule?” you ask him, confused.

“Yes, a rule. Humans have taken advantage of my kind far too many times. So if I’m showing you this, and I’m going to keep coming back to see you, I need you to listen to me,” he tells you, full intensity focused on you. He goes on to explain the history of his people, the power of the sealskin, and the way humans would steal them to control selkies. He tells you in the past someone tried to steal his sealskin, but he could feel their intentions and replaced it with a fake, catching them in the act. These stories obviously pain him, and hearing about the kind selkies being taken advantage of in such a way is enough to make your heart clench. 

“Never touch my sealskin.” He says, informing you of his rule. 

“I would never,” you vow, throat tight with emotion. He nods at you, and then smiles. “Well come on then, out with the questions.” He doesn’t have to ask you twice, beckoning you close. You sit by him and let the questions start. They pour out of your lips and he answers them readily with a gleam in his eyes. 

You’ve never been this close to him and you really soak in his appearance. His tail is mottled with creamy spots and patches, reminding you a little of your own birthmark. His lower half looks so soft and squishy but you know it must be powerful. Hair dusts his chest and other human skin, the curls making you want to run your hands over them. 

It feels like some beautiful dream. You thank him for sharing this part of him with you and head home for the day, but as soon as you’re inside you're doubting that it really happened. But it did, and you see him again and again, each time feeling less like a daydream and more like a wonderful and magical reality. 

“Your hair is going to get so tangled like that,” you tell him one day as he swims, watching his hair trail after him in the water. You wince in sympathy when you imagine him picking out the knots. 

He grunts, “You’re telling me, I go through so much conditioner getting the knots out,” he responds, peeved. 

“Well swimming with it down would do that! Why don’t you let me braid it?” you offer, instantly regretting it. The thought of sitting that close to him, of feeling the heat off of his skin as you run your hands through his hair is enough to make you feel light headed. Say no thanks, you think, unsure how you’ll handle this. Of course, he readily agrees. 

“Okay,” he smiles, and you turn to let him get out of his sealskin and cover up. He sits in front of you and his shoulders part your thick thighs. You pick up his hair and it’s a matted mess. You don’t feel like running up to your house to get any tools so you slowly part the tangles with your fingers.

“It’s a knotted mess, Aegis,” you scold, trying not to hurt his scalp. He whines and exaggerates his wincing, acting as if you’re wounding him. “Big baby,” you mutter, sectioning off chunks with your hands. By the time it’s braided and secured with your extra tie the sun is going down. He’s slumped against you, sleepy. 

“It’s supposed to be nice tomorrow, pretty girl. Swim with me?” he asks, voice slurred. You’re hesitant, not because you don’t trust him, but you’re a bit embarrassed about the idea of him seeing so much of your body. 

“I have a birthmark,” you mutter, not looking at him. He turns and frowns at you with his forehead scrunched. 

“Okay, and? You don’t owe me anything, but you know I have a literal tail right?”

“Oh what, you showed me yours and now I show you mine?” you giggle at him.

“I don’t think I’ve shown you anything yet,” he winks at you, flirting back while he gets up. The two of you get ready to leave your beach, packing things away. Aegis grabs his sealskin, but instead of putting it on he neatly folds it. “Would you give me a ride home? If you don’t mind, I mean. All dried off and I don't want to get in again.”

“Of course, just let me get my keys.” 

The drive is quiet and comfortable, and his house isn’t far. To be fair though, nothing in this town is very far. When you pull into his driveway he leans over and kisses you on the cheek, eliciting a small gasp from you. 

“Goodnight, sweet girl,” he tells you, an easy smile on his face. You feel your own heat up and you mumble back a goodnight. Your cheek tingles with his kiss your whole drive home. 

In the morning you’re there earlier than normal and in your bathing suit trying not to look nervous about his reaction. Your birthmark stretches across and over a great deal of your skin, and while a lot of people assure you that it is unique and beautiful, you have been ridiculed plenty for it in the past. It makes you nervous to show new people and you only reveal it to those you trust. But you trust Aegis and he obviously trusts you too. 

It’s as if Aegis can sense your nerves because he doesn’t make you wait long and talks you into the water right away. He compliments you but doesn’t linger or talk about your birthmark, only pulling you in the water with him. The cold has you sucking in air and your nipples pebbling in your swimsuit but Aegis pulls you close. The heat coming off of his body works to warm you, making the swim much more doable. 

“You’re not luring me out into the ocean to drown me or anything, right?” you ask, legs bumping into his tail. 

“I’m a selkie, not a siren,” he tsks, “we’re much nicer, I might just dunk you a few times,” he retorts, swimming further out. 

“Um, are there sharks out here?” you ask him, suddenly aware of how far you are from shore.

“I’ve never had a problem with them,” he shrugs casually, doing nothing to assuage your worries. 

“Sharks eat seals, ya know,” you point out to him.

“Good thing I have you here to protect me then, huh?” he teases, curling your legs around his middle. Once you’re secure, he gives a few strong thrusts of his tail and sends the two of you back closer to shore. You play in the water most of the day and go up to your house to eat. He showers and you take him home again, only after he insists you re-braid his hair. 

You spend more time together and swimming with him quickly becomes the best part of your day. He kisses your cheek every time you drop him off at home too, his lips lingering more and more. The touches shared as you swim together have gotten less and less innocent as well. You find yourself falling for him and you think he likes you too, but one day the two of you reach a breaking point. You’re having a nice picnic after a long swim when things take a turn. 

You reach across Aegis’s lap for the pitcher of juice, rattling on about your day, when it slips out of your hand. It spills onto his seal skin, and you don’t think you’ve ever panicked so quickly. “I’m so sorry! Oh my gosh let me clean that,” you grab towels to try to dab up your mess, picking up his seal skin in the process. Apologies keep falling from your lips but then you notice that Aegis is just staring at you with a clenched jaw. You gasp and drop the sealskin, realizing what you’ve done. As soon as it falls from your grasp, Aegis has it in his own, finally able to move to do so. He stands and starts to walk towards the shore and already has the sealskin halfway wrapped around himself before you can belt out another apology. 

He wades into the water and you run to try to catch up. You get close, begging him to wait, until he finally turns to you. “I had one rule!” he barks out at you, seething. “You’re just like everyone else! How dare you!” His words are laced with venom, and you can’t help but step back as if he’s striked you. There is a block in your throat and you don’t say anything else, you only stand there and watch him leave, taking his selkie form and swimming into the depths. 

Pitiful whimpering noises start to leave you, and since you’re all alone you let yourself cry. You’re ashamed you slipped up and touched his pelt, unable to get the betrayed look on his face out of your head. You’re angry at him too for not listening or giving you the benefit of the doubt, though. Some friend he was, you pout, shakily hiking up the cliffside. 

You hope that Aegis will come around. The guilt is like rolling concrete in your stomach and you try to assure yourself that things will be okay. You just go through the motions to try to make yourself feel better, showering and taking your time brushing out your hair. Everytime you blink, though, his angry eyes are there, looking so accusatory back at you. It was an accident, you know you didn’t mean to, you tell yourself, wishing you could take back your mistake. 

You go back to your beach the next day, hoping he’ll be there. He isn’t, and he isn’t there the next either. Or the day after that. You’re getting fed up with him avoiding you. You just want to talk things out and have your friend back, but it seems as though he is  set on being stubborn about it. 

You’ve been stress cooking the last few days, and when you looked to survey the damage you realize that you made most of Aegis’s favorite foods. The plan falls together then and you package it up to bring it to him at work. This could very well be crossing some boundaries but you could deal with that if it meant Aegis would forgive you. 

Traversing the docks is just as nerve racking at it was the first time, this time maybe even more so since you’re carrying a hot dish with you. You duck under the arms of the people towering over you, and you finally get to the stretch of winding docks Aegis can usually be found dwelling on. And he is there, sitting right next to his boat like you expect him to be. What you don’t expect, however, is the stunning woman sitting next to him, stroking his arm in a too familiar way. She’s almost tall as he is with a scarf tied around her hair in an effortless way. You feel your heart sink into your stomach when they both turn and see you. 

All of the sudden you feel ridiculous and humiliated, standing on the docks with a tupperware of food for a man who has already apparently moved on from you. You’re a deer caught in the headlights, but the woman starts to stand and smile at you. You pivot on your feet and hurry back the way you came, maneuvering through the crowd with a level of ease provided by your small stature. The whole walk home your face is burning in embarrassment. This isn't some stubborn silent treatment after a fight. You had broken his one rule and now all the romantic gestures and sweet words meant nothing. 

You know there was nothing official or set in stone, hell, the two of you hadn’t even really kissed yet, but it certainly felt like things were leading that way. Your eyes burn when you think of the way his lips lingered on your cheeks and the way he let you wrap yourself around him in the water. You think of him doing those things with another woman and feel sick to your stomach. You enjoyed life just fine before you met him, and you tell yourself you will enjoy life just the same now that he wants nothing to do with you. It was an obvious lie, especially to yourself. You cry when you reach the safety of your home, wrapping yourself in a nest of blankets you refuse to leave. 

You eventually have to leave though, just to get some fresh air and try to shock yourself into feeling better. Instead of walking your shore, you end up at one of the cliffs looking down on the water. You don’t stray too close to the edge in fear of the height but it still provides you a great view of the ocean. You sit and watch the waves crash against the rocks below. 

While you’re up there, you hear a car sputtering in the distance. You watch it get close and pull into your driveway and out steps one of the friends you made in town. His name is Jamie, and he works at the touristy coffee shop you frequent. “Hey!” he waves, walking over to you on gangly legs. “I hope you don’t mind me stopping by, you’re always gushing about this place and I wanted to see what all the fuss was about,” he tells you, giving you a boyish grin. He’s sweet and you don’t mind him joining you.

It feels good to reclaim your beach like this, hanging out with a new friend. Jamie is nice and genuine and has no rules to follow when it comes to your relationship with him. He feels safe and easy. After the first day he comes by, you don’t expect him to come back. But he does, he comes back again with your favorite drink order in hand. “I got your usual,” he tells you, a bright smile on his face when you open your door to him. 

“Aw thanks, you didn’t have to do that!” you tell him, excited and flattered by the gesture. He just shrugs and smiles at you more, scratching at the back of his neck. “Let me just get my coat,” you say, ready for another walk on the beach. He is too, and you spend the day rattling on to one another. He’s a little awkward and it makes you feel awkward too, but it’s more endearing than anything. You can’t help that your gaze keeps wandering out to the sea, waiting to see Aegis between the waves. You don’t, though, even if you think you feel his eyes on you. 

“You okay?” 

You shake yourself out of your thoughts, “Sorry,” you smile, “just daydreaming a bit is all.” Daydreaming about your days here spent with Aegis, the sun shining in his ocean grey eyes. You miss him and wish things had ended differently. 

Jamie sits on a rock and you follow his lead, getting comfortable and enjoying the rare moment of sunshine. Jamie suddenly clears his throat next to you, catching your attention. “Would you,” he sputters on, his cheeks pink, “would you want to go on a date sometime? I’d really love to take you on one.” Your heart is pounding and ears are ringing. This sort of thing always makes you anxious but you’re stopped before you’re able to respond. 

“No.”

A firm and angry voice sounds from behind you. If you thought you were nervous before, it was nothing compared to this. Jamie’s gaze is locked above your head and he looks confused. 

“Uh, I wasn’t asking you?” 

“She will not be going on a date with you. I’d say sorry but I’m not,” Aegis snaps out, and you stop yourself from turning to look at him. 

“Aegis, what the fuck?” The woman from before is there too then, and you finally look at them. They’re both dripping wet and carrying seal skins. The woman is a selkie too, then. Your heart drops and it makes sense he would rather be with her. She was gorgeous and surely easier to trust than a human. 

 “I’m so sorry for my brother’s behavior,” she scowls, “he can be a real dickhead sometimes.” 

���Brother?” you ask, shock lacing your voice. Aegis and his sister snap their attention to you, then, and his face morphs from a mask of fury to one of understanding and sadness. He comes closer after a pause. 

“Yes, sweet girl, my sister. You thought the worst of me, yeah?”

Jamie chimes in “Uh, sweet girl?” he asks “Oh! Oh shoot, sorry, gosh, sorry I thought you were single.” Jamie looks at you though, and sees your red cheeks and your inability to form a response and comes to your aid. “Actually, do you want to go home? You look uncomfortable.” You just nod and get your things, grateful to have a friend like him. 

“Yeah, I think I should head home. Um, I’ll talk to you later Jamie. Nice to meet you, by the way,” you say, polite and looking at Aegis’s sister.

“Were you...swimming? It’s freezing!” is the last thing you hear Jamie say before you’re rushing away.

Aegis tails you to your house, pleading with you. “Please, at least let me talk to you,” he begs, desperation clear in his voice. You’re out of breath from your quick ascent up from the beach and too flustered and embarrassed to talk to him. You’re angry that he thinks he could ignore you after blowing up on you and then come back acting like he had some sort of claim on you. 

“Not now,” is all you manage to say.

“Aegis! For fucks sake, leave her be!” his sister yells out, and you’re grateful for the intervening. You head inside your house and leave the rest of them outside. Jamie leaves and Aegis and his sister head back down towards the water, likely leaving the same way they came. Aegis looks back several times, catching your eye in the window. I’ll talk to him soon, you think. Just not right now, not until you sort out the mess of feelings you have. 

You can’t help but be conflicted. Seeing Aegis standing there dripping wet and all possessive over you stirred your desire. You have to remind yourself to be angry and stand your ground. He needs to learn how to communicate, not just act like a neanderthal and manage to win you back based on sheer attractiveness. His words still stung and he had lots of making up to do. 

As you busy yourself in your home, you see dark clouds gathering through your window. You turn on the local news and it looks like a bad storm is set to ravage your town. You’re nervous. You knew the rainy season could be bad here but the locals often discussed the occasional hurricane-eske storms that tear through. You are unsure how well your home will hold up. You try to secure what you can and get ready to hunker down for a while. 

Sure enough, thunder starts to rumble. It’s deep and shakes the earth beneath you. The wind and rain howl outside and you pray your generator holds up. You entertain yourself for a bit, curled up watching a movie, but soon enough the weather is too bad to concentrate on anything else. When an especially loud bout of thunder hits you start to feel panicky. It rattles your windows and you make a point to stay away from them. They rattle so loudly that you almost miss the pounding on your door. 

Almost, though. When you realize someone is knocking your heart beats even faster. You pick up the closest thing you could use as a weapon, unsure who could be here. You peek through and see Aegis standing outside, soaked to the bone. You’re relieved that it’s him, but not entirely happy he’s here. You wrench the door open and allow him in, the wind promptly slamming the door back into place. He settles onto a stool and you stay on the opposite side of the room, occupying yourself with looking outside.

“I wanted to make sure you were okay,” he explains, and you nod. “I’m sorry,” he says.

“I didn’t mean to touch it, Aegis. I really didn’t! And you know that and still left,” you manage to get out past the knot in your throat. 

“Aye, I know. I made a mistake, I got angry.” His voice gets softer, “I got scared, my sweet girl.” 

You sniffle and look away, annoyed at the effect he has on you. He crumbles down your walls one word at a time. 

“I was stupid and didn’t know what to do. My sister had to come talk some sense into me.”

“I didn’t think she was your sister,” you mumble and he nods, giving you a watery smile.

“I’m sorry for that, too. After I saw you with that man on the beach I was so angry. She reminded me I had no right to be, I had no claim on you. I didn’t like hearing that,” he says. He stands then, eyes locked on your own.

You are on the other side of the room, backed up against your wall. As if the space between you could stop the pull of your heart. Your eyes are wide and flooded over and you don’t care to hold your tears back anymore. He walks towards you and he holds his sealskin in his hands. The closer he gets to you, the more you can feel your knees buckling. You feel them lock right as Aegis locks an arm around your waist, wrapping his seal skin over your shoulders at the same moment. When the pelt brushes against your skin and envelops you in its warmth, you feel more at peace than you have in days. It is like Aegis’s very being is intertwining around yours. His essence permeates through your skin and curls around your cells, and you relish it and relax into his hold. You knew the sealskin had magic to it but you didn’t realize how much it would affect you.  

“What-what are you doing?” you whimper out, making no move to stop him.

“I want you to know I trust you. I want you to trust me too. I know you didn’t mean to hurt me, sweet girl,” he says. “After my tantrum and being away from you, I realized I’d give you my damn sealskin if it meant I could be yours.” He wipes away your stray tears and brushes your hair out of your face, gentling you. “Shhh, I’ve got you. No more crying, not because of me,” he pleads. 

“O-okay,” you reply, wobbly and unsure what else to say. The euphoric feeling of his sealskin is still lingering and you know he’s speaking the truth to you.  

“My love,” he cooes, “won’t you let me earn your forgiveness?”

You sniffle and nod, stretching toward him for a kiss, a real one. He obliges you, his bearch a scratchy comfort to your flushed skin, grounding you. He tastes like salt and wind, his kiss flavored by the sea. It’s chaste but perfect and when lightning strikes and sounds you break away from his lips only to curl further into his arms. A fearful noise escapes you and you bury your face into his neck. His hands rub your back and you take some deep breaths. If your house has lasted this long then it’ll be okay. You’re safe in his arms with his sealskin warm around you. 

You pull back, intent on kissing him more thoroughly this time. He is eager too and pulls you flush against him. He pulls you away from the wall and shuffles you onto the couch, not allowing a centimeter space to form between your bodies. You kiss him over and over, soft moans leaving you every time his lips mould to your own. His hands find your skin under your sweater and you are eager for more, burying your own in his hair. . 

“Let me lay you down,” he says, “let me show you how much I missed you.” 

Heat has gathered between your legs and the tingling of the sealskin on your flesh feels as though it has concentrated itself there. You pinch them together and he notices, pulling a leg over his hip to grind into your center. You whimper into his mouth, his lips pulling into a smile. He strips you of your sweater and makes sure to plant kisses across your birthmark. You lose the rest of your clothes and as his hands wander, so do your own. 

You tease his waistband, slowly slipping your hand inside. He rumbles a deep encouraging noise and you take him in hand. His cock is thick and heavy, pulsing in your grasp. It’s bigger than anything you’ve taken before and you aren’t sure that it’ll fit. You tell him as much, looking up at him with wide lust filled eyes. 

“It’ll fit sweetheart,” he whispers, his fingers tracing the crease of your labia. “I’ll make sure you’re ready for me.” 

He parts your folds and coats his fingers, your legs spreading to give him more room. He dips the tips of his fingers just barely inside of you, becoming familiar with your entrance. You aren’t good at being patient, though, and his cock is so close. You arch and moan, shifting further toward him and presenting yourself only for him to halt your movements. “Don’t tease,” you whimper out, only earning an amused laugh from your selkie. 

“Alright then,” he kisses you with a smiling mouth, “no teasing,” he says, promptly thrusting two of his thick digits into you. A surprised moan is torn from your throat and he glides through your walls easily, aided by your arousal. He scissors and curls his fingers in and out, stretching you open for him and spreading around your wetness. His thumb finds you clit and your mouth falls open, making room for his tongue to tangle with your own in a sloppy kiss that makes your cunt tighten.  

“Please,” you beg him, “I want you,”

“You beg so pretty,” he relents, fingers retreating after a final movement. 

He places himself between your legs, bending to kiss you again as he does. He kisses your cheek too before rising back up. He presses and rubs himself between your lips, making sure he’s covered in your wetness. His hips stutter when the head of his cock meets your folds but you paw at his shoulders, wordlessly pleading with him to continue. As he splits you apart underneath him a shaky breath leaves his lips. He hilts himself and stays there for a moment, soaking in the feel of your velvet cunt pulsing around him. You tighten around him in an attempt to get him to move. You try to tilt your hips up but he grabs them, forcing them in place. 

“Don’t move,” he gasps out, looking strung out above you. His head is tilted back and his eyes are closed. He’s beautiful and all yours. The magic of his pelt connects the two of you on a deeper level that has you feeling floaty and out of control, but the stretch of his cock and feel of his hands ground you.

A whine leaves you and you clench down on him, hoping to spur him into action. “Fuck,” he sputters, pushing even harder into you. You can feel him so deeply and it’s impossible to tell where one of you ends and the other begins. 

“Aegis,” you moan out, “move, please.” you cry out, nails digging into him. With a clenched jaw he follows your request. He retreats then pumps into you again, slowly but forcefully. His pace starts slow and he fully hilts himself inside of you each time. Your hips twitch up and the head of his cock notches against a spot inside of you that has your eyes rolling up into your head. He notices and makes a point to angle his hips toward it. Your legs turn to jello as he speeds up, snapping his legs against you. You reach down and rub your clit, Aegis encouraging you. 

“You take me so well. Fucking made to be wrapped around me, weren’t you?” he says, “That’s right, take your pleasure,” he whispers, his hot breath on the shell of your ear. His words have a tightness building in your gut, the coil wrapping tighter and tighter until you cry out in release. With you cumming underneath him Aegis can’t hold back any longer. He drives into you with rhythmless thrusts and moans out above you, a high pornographic sound that has aftershocks running through you as he spills inside of you. Little jerks of his hips extend your pleasure as the two of you slowly sink together.

Aegis is twitching and cooing at you as the haze clears from your mind. He wraps his arms and legs around you, the heavy limbs tangling with your own. He nuzzles into you as content as can be. Sweat is cooling on your skin and he covers the two of you with a throw blanket, the storm outside long forgotten. Your face is peppered in kisses as you drift to sleep, his pelt still a comfort underneath you. 

[jimlingss]

Hi! Here’s a request for your Drabble game: namjoon + fantasy au + “Take this seriously, it’s a life or death situation!” Can be funny or angsty and sorry if this request is too specific haha

Anonymous said: Hello Kina! I love literally all of your works! Can I request this prompt? “That’s barbaric.” “That’s how you survive.” Any member!

Anonymous said: zombie au with any member ?

Zombies count as fantasy, right? lol

↳ The Unintended

2.5k || 50% Angst, 50% Fluff || Kim Namjoon || Zombie Apocalypse!AU

You’re lucky to have Namjoon by your side.

He’s always been the outdoorsy type. One of your first dates together was a camping trip in the wilderness. You remember being mortified then — having no place to do your makeup or properly shower or be able to make yourself look good for him. But now you look back on the memories with fondness. He didn’t care back then and he doesn’t care now.

Not to mention, Namjoon was also a boy scout for eight years. When he got too old for that, he took up rock climbing and spent hours in the gym to beef up his arms. It’s where you met him in the first place as a receptionist at the gym where you were working part-time while going to school.

He knows how to fish. How to set up traps. How to start a campfire. 

Namjoon’s saved your life countless times.

But then again, he’d argue you’ve saved him lots of times too. Years of schooling to become a nurse wasn’t wasted on you after all. And you’re the better cook than he is.

“Look what I caught!”

You look up from the fire where your dear husband is holding a usual fish. But in his other hand is a rabbit held by its ears, dead. It’s dripping of blood, limp in his grip and you feel a twinge of guilt.

“That’s barbaric.”

“That’s how you survive,” he says. “I’ll prepare it to roast.”

You hum, taking the fish from him and the pair of you fall into routine. Namjoon works alongside you to prepare the food, poking the fire interchangeably and the both of you looking up once in a while through the thicket of the forest. 

After a moment, you pipe up, “Hey.”

Namjoon glances up at you and says “hey” with a tender, dimpled smile. 

The corner of your mouth quirks without being able to resist. “I’ve been thinking we should get on the move again. I saw a cottage down the road on our way here. Maybe we could check it out.”

“It’s probably already been ransacked.”

“Yeah, but it’ll be nice to sleep with a roof over our heads. I don’t want you to stay up and have to keep watch.”

“We take turns.”

You give Namjoon a look. “You never wake me up for my turn.”

He smiles sheepishly and you put your blunt knife down, quickly growing solemn. “I’m serious, Joon. It’s not good for your health to not sleep and I can’t— I can’t have you breaking down on me.”

Namjoon softens when he recognizes your distressed tone, when he sees your expression marred with worry. “Okay,” he murmurs gently. “We’ll leave tomorrow morning then.”

You nod and the two of you fall into a comfortable silence. 

As the fish and rabbit are roasted over the blazing fire, smoke fills your nose and you cough before batting it away. You’re starving — in general, you’ve been feeling weak these days but you don’t dare say anything to Namjoon. God knows what he’s putting himself through to make you feel as comfortable as you can. 

You don’t want to worry him even more.

But you can’t hide your groan or sickly expression when the fish you’re supposed to eat comes up to your mouth.

Namjoon’s immediately alarmed and wide-eyed. “What’s wrong? Is it bad?”

You hand the stick that’s pierced with the fish over to him while cupping your mouth, trying not to vomit. “I’m sorry. It just smells really bad.”

“I made it the exact same way before.” He frowns and bites into the fish that’s still steaming. Namjoon chews in his cheek. “It tastes fine, Y/N.”

You shake your head. “I’m good. I’ll have the rabbit.”

But as you shift over, your husband’s eyes bore into your profile.

Namjoon stares at you. He gawks.

Then his mouth opens and he says— “Are you pregnant?”

Your eyes double and you look back at him. But then you scoff. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

You look away from him, picking at the meat, but you swallow hard in the meanwhile, mind racing. It’s not possible. It shouldn’t be possible. You haven’t had your period for three months — but you didn’t think twice about it. Not when there were more pressing matters. Not when you just assumed it stopped because you haven’t had your nutrients and you’ve been starving.

Namjoon knows the gears in your head are turning by your expression. He knows after years of being together.

“Y/N.”

“I already said it’s not possible.”

“There’s a city ten miles away from here. It’ll take half a day to walk there, but there should be a pharmacy or a hospital—”

“We are not going to the city,” you interrupt in exasperation. “It’s a death sentence, Namjoon, and we’re fine out here.”

“Not if you’re pregnant.”

“I’m not.” You deflate with an annoyed sigh. “I know my body best, alright? So just drop it.”

Namjoon stays silent. 

The rustling leaves of the forest and the distant sound of the river rushing fills the growing space between the two of you. And it sinks in how harsh and upset you got. You look up towards your husband with remorseful eyes. The last thing you want is to fight out here. Who knows when it could be your last moment together. “I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s fine. I was just worried.”

You nod. “There’s nothing to worry about.”

Yet deep down, uncertainty swirls and you’re green with nausea again.

...

It took a year to happen.

At first, it was called a flu outbreak. Authorities kept it contained for a few weeks until it wasn’t anymore. Within the span of another week, it was declared a worldwide pandemic and entire countries went into quarantine. 

Life itself shut down. People complained and protested, and when thousands started to drop dead, there were protests for lack of government action. Then, it was millions dead.

Developing countries fell first. It didn’t take long after that for developed nations to follow.

Chaos. Panic. Looting. The dead walking the streets.

You still get nightmares about it. Namjoon does too — when he’s holding you and suddenly jolts awake, gasping. It’s then and there that you know he’s had a nightmare of one of the many close calls.

“I thought the cottage was closer than this.”

The both of you are trekking through the forest, lugging your bags and weapons, trying to remain as quiet and elusive as possible. 

Namjoon looks over his shoulder. “Do you need a break?”

You shake your head. “I’m fine.”

“It should be up ahead.”

You hum, feeling the heat of the sun beating down on you. But it’s still better now with the canopy of the trees hiding you. It’s refreshing even. You admire the unfamiliar scenery. 

All at once, you stop. None of this should be unfamiliar.

Namjoon doesn’t hear the crunch of leaves behind him and turns around.

“This isn’t the direction of the cottage, is it?”

“Y/N.”

Your brows furrow deep enough to hurt. “I already said we’re not going to the city, Namjoon! Why don’t you ever listen to me?!”

Suddenly, there’s snarling in the distance. Namjoon, on alert, clasps his palm over your mouth and both sets of your eyes flicker over. There’s a shadow in the distance, a lurching figure amongst the trees. It snarls again, jerking a bit in your direction, but then no sounds follow. 

It passes.

You breathe a sigh of relief.

“We have to go eventually, Y/N,” he whispers. “We need more supplies and if I can get my hands on a car, that would help us.”

“But—”

Your husband gingerly takes your hand, cradling it softly. “We’ll be careful.”

You gaze at him, searching his expression as if you’re painting his features to the forefront of your mind. But you already have. Yet, it’s not enough to feel comforted. “I can’t lose you, Namjoon. I can’t.”

Namjoon reaches out to hug you, embracing your body, frame overtaking yours.

You grasp onto his shoulders, trying to savour the moment and capture his warmth.

“You won’t. Not if I can help it.”

You nod into his chest.

The trek to the city is completed by afternoon and you find yourself standing in the remains of what was once civilization. There are decayed buildings, abandoned tanks, and much to Namjoon’s delight, many deserted cars. You see zombies bumbling around too. They’ve infested every corner street, every line of the road, and alley, nook and cranny. 

Their bodies are decaying, some with skulls lodged in half and their brain unraveling behind them. You have to hold back a gag when you can smell the rotten odour from here.

Luckily, you and Namjoon move quickly. You throw bricks and bottles at a distance to attract them and run the opposite way together.

First, you get to the small grocery store, opening your backpacks for the spare cans of beans and peas. It’s not much, but it’s a lot at this point. Namjoon even manages to score bandages.

“This is enough,” you murmur when you’re back on the open street again.

But before you can move on out, he stops. “Wait.”

You follow Namjoon’s line of sight. Across the street is a pharmacy and a horde of infected.

You pull your husband back before he can book it and the both of you hide behind discarded crates on the road. “Wait, why?”

“You know why. There were none in the grocery store. I checked, but if there’s any place that has them, it’s there.”

If looks could kill, Namjoon would be six feet under and then crawling out of his grave as a zombie. Maybe as the first one who wasn’t bitten or infected by the virus. “You’re being an idiot.” 

Namjoon grins. “Well, I was thinking of just shouting a battle cry and running straight in there.”

“Take this seriously,” you hiss and punch his arm. It does little to even push him back, much less hurt him. It doesn’t help that his muscles are rock solid. If only his brain was as developed — but if you were being honest, Namjoon was quite intelligent too. Except for right now. “It’s a life or death situation.”

Namjoon smiles, practically from ear to ear. 

The dimples on each side of his cheek crease and before you can react or say much else, he leans in and captures your lips with his. It’s a soft and sweet kiss. Then your husband cradles your face in his hand and tilts your head to deepen the kiss. You’re rendered to complete silence, melting into his touch as he takes your breath away. 

When he pulls from you, your lashes flutter.

You’re completely dazed. 

Until he grabs a rock near your foot and chucks it. It smashes into the window of a nearby boutique, glass shattering and all the zombies turn their heads. They snarl at a high pitch, screeching out as flounder towards the noise. Namjoon darts behind them, right out of your grasps.

You’d shout his name if it didn’t mean your own death sentence.

The wait is agonizing. You feel like you’re going to get a heart attack as you watch the door, unsure if he’ll come out. Even if he does, you don’t know if he’ll still be human and the Namjoon that you love. The one that you decided to marry, that you saw on the other end of the aisle and who cried like a dork when he saw you in the dress. 

Those years feel like another world. But they’re still memories you cherish.

The five minutes feels like an hour. You’re cursing, praying, regretting.

But then the buff idiot, your idiot, comes out and runs back to you with a massive grin. Uninjured. With bottles of penicillin, some kind of allergy medicine, and a pregnancy test you grimace at.

You seek refuge at an apartment building on the edge of the city.

It’s an expensive one that was fenced in and boarded up — one of the last to fall to the ruins.

You choose a room on the second floor that’s easy to get into and easy to escape if need be. Unfortunately a zombie lurches out from one of the rooms much to your horror, but Namjoon kills it. He takes his hatchet right into its skull and checks the other rooms before dragging the corpse out when you look nauseous again.

When it’s all over, Namjoon dusts his hands off like it was just some spring cleaning.

“What happens if I really am pregnant?”

You hold the test, motionless, until your head lifts to meet Namjoon’s softened eyes. There’s an overwhelming urge not to take it, to throw the box out the window and keep convincing yourself that it would be impossible to be carrying. But Namjoon risked his life for this.

And you know he won’t let it go. Not until an answer is certain.

“Then we’ll figure it out,” he murmurs gently.

“I can’t give birth on my own, Namjoon.”

“I know.”

“If the baby even makes it that far,” you whisper and he grimaces. But what worries you far more, what’s put you in so much denial, and made you sick with terror is the fact that you know— “I’ll slow you down even more, Namjoon.”

His brows furrow, lips becoming lopsided. “You don’t slow me down.”

“How many times have you almost died trying to save me?! I-I can’t keep up.”

At once, Namjoon engulfs you with his arms. He holds you close, body flush against yours and you press your face into his broad shoulder, smothering your worries for a moment with his soothing comfort.

“I love you,” he sighs against your ear. “No matter what happens, I love you. There wouldn’t be a reason for me to keep living if you weren’t here, Y/N. I’m only trying this hard because you are. You’re my purpose now. You and this baby, if it’s real.”

Your fingers clutch onto his jacket, hanging onto your husband as your anchor. “Shut up,” you mumble against his clothes. “You know I hate it when you talk like this. Like you’re saying goodbye.”

Namjoon smiles faintly, remembering how you made him promise to never say goodbye. “Sorry.”

He lets you go and you turn into the bathroom.

The minutes that follow are excruciating. Maybe you’re just impatient, but you’ve grown to hate waiting. But still, you wait by yourself while kneeling on the cold, tiled floors, staring at the stick you peed on.

It’s faint. And you pray your eyes are wrong. But as the minutes go by, it becomes stronger and stronger in colour.

You leave and Namjoon looks at you expectedly. 

“Well?”

You thrust the stick towards him. Two lines.

[siriushxney]

: ̗̀➛ searing light | chapter two

— pairing ; darkling!dream x sun summoner!reader

— au ; shadow & bone

— wordcount ; 2.6k

— warnings ; fire, reader gets pushed around, rude soldiers/commanders

— note ; welcome to chapter two of searing light! I actually really enjoyed writing this part and coming up with how to twist the original story in my own little way — I hope you enjoy!

previous | next

when the moon was high and the sound around you was minimal, thoughts flowed easier — flowed into the streams of what if’s and premature regret and mourning. whatever happened the next day would either be a successful day — one to be celebrated with a feast unlike any other, or it would be another tick carved into the wood, next to the dozens of them that already were scratched in. you were sure that even those numbers were off, for when a certain number was reached without success, people started to lose faith.

this skiff however was designed for greatness — made by the hands of the second army, reinforced with grisha steel and said to be lighter — faster.

something wasn’t right.

if there is one thing that you had learned through your tough life growing up in ravka, it was that when your gut told you something — you trusted it. if your gut told you to avoid someone, you avoided them; if it told you to take a different path, you took the next path over; if it told you that no matter what anyone said, something was going to happen — you had to do something to stop it.

if not for yourself, for wilbur.

—

when the sun rose, and your boots were laced tightly — you made your way to the tent full of maps, careful to make sure your superiors were nowhere to be seen. the lot of them were seated in the food tent as they discussed today's trip and how long they thought it would last in the fold.

they had no shame when it came to talking about the failure of the second army when it came to this, and had even less shame when talking about the lives of their own people being lost. if ravka didn’t lose the war from the raging countries surrounding it, the fold was guaranteed to do the job for them.

walking into the tent that looked the exact same as it always did, despite being situated in a different part of ravka that you were used to. there were maps of different sizes displayed and thrown about, a rough and stained carpet laid on the grass and uncomfortable benches that you had known all too well pushed underneath tables.

quick feet brought you to stand in front of a cabinet which held map’s upon map’s — some of this part of ravka, and some of the ravka on the other side of the fold. the ravka that people on that side referred to as west ravka.

free from the royal blood on ravka’s soil that sat stuck behind the black barrier, west ravka sought out to become their own standing country — a hope that the fold would vanish, no longer clouded their minds. only the thought of independence and selfishness flowed through them.

“where are you…?” your tongue poked slightly out of the side of your mouth as you sited through the heap of yellow tinted paper, hoping to find anything and everything you could on what laid on the other side of the black wall.

beyond the fold - ravka

“aha,” the text at the top of the map caught your eyes. sifting through the numerous ones below it, you confirmed that you had found what you had come looking for. taking the maps in hand, making sure each was rolled up tightly so you could fit as many as you could into the small space, you rushed over to the trash bin in the corner.

with a look around the tent, and several peaks over your shoulders, you pulled out the box that weighed heavily in your pocket, despite weighing nothing compared to what you were used to carrying around.

what you were about to do would either get you a one way ticket to see the generals or aboard the skiff — either or, you could end up dead as a result.

a sharp flick of your wrist, a spark, and a light flowed from the tip of the match — the wood below it becoming charred as the flame ate at the wood with every second it burned bright. with one last look at the fully pieced together maps, and your ticket onto the skiff — you let the match fall — turning your back to it immediately, and not wasting any time as you fled the scene.

the sight of smoke wafting from the top of the tent, group’s of gasps and hurried feet rushing to it sounding from behind you.

blue eyes watching as you paced away hurriedly.

—

“well I don’t know what we're going to do.”

“we have to do something!”

“you think I don’t know that?!”

“we need to re-draw all those maps or the general will have our heads-“

“excuse me?” heads snapped in your direction, all your superiors looking at you with harsh eyes and deep frowns.

“what?”

you held back the scowl that wanted to cross your face at the women's tone, but for the sake of winning them over, you held yourself back. “If I may, I volunteer to go through the fold,” they looked at you with wide eyes. “i’ll re-draw everything-“

“you’re merely one mapmaker with thousands of miles to cover — we need more than one cartographer,” the woman shook her head as she looked down, her words directed at her fellow generals.

the other general thought, his eyes darting between you and the woman. “you’ll board the skiff shortly — alongside the rest of your squadron,” you fought to keep the look of shock off your face. “alert your tent of the decision immediately, you are dismissed.”

“sir, with all due respect-“

“you are dismissed soldier, that is an order.”

you couldn't fight orders — with a small nod and downcasted eyes, you shuffled your way back to your tent full of guilt and mind racing with second thoughts. all you wanted to do was get onto the skiff alongside wilbur, just you and youself alone — but in the process of doing so and with a selfish decision on your part, you had just put people who you had spent the last few years with in jeopardy.

it wasn't your intention at all.

lifting the flap of material that acted as a makeshift door to the tent, you walked in quietly, unsure of when to break the news or even how to start.

carey, a boy that you had gotten to know well over the years and someone who you considered to be one of your only friends alongside wilbur, stood at your arrival. his smile was bright and large.

“hey Y/N, do you wanna go for a walk? maybe watch the send-off together-”

“we have to board the skiff.”

heads around the tent shot up at your words, some eyes of questioning and confusion, others full of fear or anger.

luna shot up and paced to you hastily, giving you no time to react or prepare yourself as she grabbed you by the lapels of your uniform and swung you around so your backside was against the table.

with the force that she had shoved you into the hard wood, utensils and paper had gone flying — and your hands found purchase on the rough and spilled wood as you tried to steady yourself — jagged and pointed pieces pricking your skin.

“what did you do?”

“I didn’t do anything-” you tried to pry her hands off of your uniform, but the sheer power she had was nothing you could fight with.

she was like a mouse who could kick a cats ass.

“luna let them go-”

“can it carey! they aren't into you so why don’t you just mind your own business and find someone else to fawn over,” it was no secret the boy had a crush on you — but in the heat of war and the constant fear for your life, there was no room for him or anyone else.

her fists still gripped your jacket harshly — your body jerking with every movement she made. “now, tell me what you did to get us all on that death trap, or saints help me-”

“whats going on here?” luna’s head had snapped over immediately, her hair whipping behind, and her hands disappearing just as fast as she turned.

tilting your head to the side, the first thing you noticed was the colour that stuck out like a sore thumb in the tent — bright purple. eyes trailing up the figure, you next noted the blonde hair that was draped over their shoulders. and lastly, the blue eyes that could hypnotize anybody they were simply batted at.

it was the grisha that you had made eye contact with a few days prior.

“nothing-” the grisha sent one look to luna and the girl immediately quieted.

“are you okay?” the grisha questioned you suddenly — the harsh look that once covered her face now melted into something more sincere — more concerned.

you pushed yourself up from your uncomfortable position that luna had managed to bend you in over the table, carey’s hands helping you in any way he could despite being brushed off. “I’m fine, thank you for your concern,” you stepped away from luna hesitantly — unsure of what the girl would do with her eyes still holding a deadly intent.

“I was sent here to lead you to the skiff — the group of you are running behind,” the girl mainly spoke to you, her eyes wandering as she spoke however. “I’d advise you to get your materials and get to the skiff immediately — anybody found at the camp who should be on the skiff will be punished.”

carey rushed to collect his things as soon as the words were muttered, luna trailing behind stubbornly, only leaving behind a glare directed at you, before her back was fully turned.

with the bag on your hip containing everything that you had needed, you made a move to exit the tent — the grisha following behind you immediately.

“you know I do have to ask — what were you thinking?” she asked as soon as the two of you had exited the tent.

“excuse me?”

“you exited a tent that had smoke pouring out of it, and didn't bat an eye when panic washed over everyone — I wanna know what you were thinking setting whatever was in there on fire-” you hand gripped her kefta quickly, your eyes wide and mouth opened in shock.

“be quiet would you?! I’ll explain everything if you just keep your voice down,” her eyes didn't meet your own, only observing your hand that wrinkled the tough purple fabric on her arm. you released it immediately with a short and quiet apology.

the blue eyed grisha looked up to you, to the skiff, and back to you — her eyes holding a glimmer of amusement. “I know you did it, and I have a feeling I know why you did it too — your lover boy is on the skiff.”

lover boy?

looking at the skiff, you could see wilbur, plain as day, looking at the two of you with confusion — or more to say confusion towards the grisha stood by your side, and anger towards you and your appearance.

“I don’t have a lover boy.”

“the tall curly haired one — it’s not hard to tell.”

you grimaced at that. you and wilbur were nothing more than friends, siblings to say the least — raised at the hip with minds so alike it was scary.

“that so-called ‘lover boy’ you speak of is wilbur, and I can guarantee there's nothing going on there.”

the grisha hummed quietly, her eyes bouncing between the two of you before finally sighing. “If you say so,” she offered you her hand. “I’m niki.”

as you went to introduce yourself, the harsh call of your name interrupted you — wilbur yelled your name as he dodged and squirmed his way through the crowd of people who made a move to board the skiff. you turned back to niki with a bashful smile.

“why am I being told that you're crossing the fold?” wilbur distanced himself from niki — unsure and untrusting of anyone who was gifted in the small science.

“because I am?”

“no you’re not.”

“yes they are.”

you knew wilbur wanted to snap back at the girl with a ‘I wasn't talking to you’ card, but the coat that adorned her body stopped him in his tracks. he had told you once before when the two of you passed a group of grisha women at your old camp that “grisha women were scarier then grisha themselves.”

wilbur was scared of the grisha in front of you.

“yes I am, and you can’t do anything about it,” you tried to bring the atmosphere to somewhere different — wilburs eyes coming back to you instead of the offput stare he was once giving niki.

“all aboard! skiff is leaving in t-minus two minutes!”

“well, that's our que,” niki gripped both your sleeve, and wilbur’s and dragged you to the bridge that led up onto the skiff. bodies rushing up, and some attempting to rush down — hands dragged them back on.

some people were in a frenzy to get off the skiff, while some stood stiffly looking out into what they were about to enter — eyes holding nothing more than fear and questioning.

questioning if they would return.

“you have nothing to fear, I promise — the new skiff was built by my colleagues and me. it was built to go faster,” niki spoke, her hand laying gently on your shoulder as she guided you and wilbur to stand on the side of the deck. “all you need to remember is to stay quiet, don’t light any lanterns, and most importantly — keep your head down.”

the squeak of the bridge’s hinges echoed throughout the skiff — the wood and steel alike being pulled up to close the entry and exit point. there was no way off unless you made a jump.

in less than a moment after the bang sounded from the bridge closing entirely, your body was jerked into niki’s — her hand coming to steady you, much like she did with wilbur as he swayed slightly.

every second you inched closer and closer to the fold, the unwelcoming and crip air nipped at your nose, ears, and cheeks — the sound of screeching and echoing howls the monstrosities that lived within let out, made your knee’s feel as if they would give out any minute.

being on the outside had been scary enough — but going in, head first was unimaginably more horrific. no nightmare or intrusive thought could have prepared you for what you were about to enter.

what you were about to experience.

the grisha and first army soldiers alike that stood near the front of the skiff disappeared into the black smoke when the skiff had finally breached the darkness, and second by second, that darkness had grown closer to you.

with her hands on your shoulder blades, and your wrist held tightly by wilbur — you took a deep breath.

the light disappeared and the air grew thick — breathing needing more forces, and your head beginning to pound due to the pressure drop.

you were in the fold, and there was no turning back.

—

crowds of soldiers and grisha gathered on the dock, watching as the skiff was engulfed by the black smoke — whispers of worry, reassurance, and mourning echoed about. they would wait for the news of the skiff not returning, or they would wait for a skiff full of allies and friends to return — goods in hand and smiles on their faces.

but he didn’t pay mind to any of them.

he stood tall against the harsh wind — the black cloak and kefta flowing with it, and hair blowing wildly. his eyes never leaving where the skiff had entered.

“general, the first army’s headman would like to speak with you before you leave for the little palace.”

“of course, tell him to meet me in my tent,” the grisha hummed in response and turned to relay the message to the leader of the first army. “oh and sapnap?”

“yes general?”

“tell george to keep his eye on the fold — I have a good feeling about this trip.”

if only he knew what would unfold inside of the darkness only miles ahead of him.

— authors note ; I didn’t want to put this at the start as to not spoil the meeting of a character, but I wanted to clarify that niki and wilbur are not love interests. strictly platonic. the dynamic will remain there however!

— taglist ; open

@dreamslittlebitch //

[stillness-in-green]

I felt like the plf war was rushed

1.Plf advisors getting hype but no payoff

2.Only miruko, Momo, and Kirishma got time to shine

3.Machia got defeated to easily

4.The war felt more like a raid

I don't know if I feel like it was rushed, per se--it's by far the longest arc in the story so far by number of chapters, and would be even if you cut off the Tartarus jailbreak and the entirety of the hospital aftermath. What it absolutely does feel like to me is unbalanced.

You note that the "war" feels more like a raid, and you're right. As a caveat, it's worth keeping in mind that "Paranormal Liberation War" as a name for the arc in question is entirely an invention of the fanbase. To the best of my knowledge, the reasoning for the name was that big action shonen series like BNHA (Naruto, Bleach, Hunter x Hunter, etc) always have a war arc, so what we were seeing in the lengthy, mass combat confrontation with the PLF had to be HeroAca's equivalent. It's not a term that's in the manga itself, however, not called as such by the characters, not referred to as such by Horikoshi or his editors, not even namedropped in chapter or volume titles. If it feels like a raid, that's probably because that's what it was intended to be.

And that's the problem, really. This arc shouldn't have been about a couple of raids; it should have been about a war.

(Below the cut: a bunch of fired-up complaining. Uses some harsh language, and talks about both injuries and deaths we did see and some we logically should have.)

From the outset, we were told that the resources Shigaraki had amassed were "on par with, or even stronger than" the resources of the hero-saturated society. Yet, we're expected to believe that a force that strong is so easily taken down by a single coordinated set of raids? Yes, the heroes had the benefit of surprise, but there's just so much that doesn't work for me.

First off, and to get this out of the way, it's ridiculous that the heroes even had the benefit of surprise. The MLA had an unknown number of hero double agents. They had people in the government; they had people in the infrastructure. This is an organization that had been living undercover completely unsuspected for multiple generations--how did the HPSC ever manage to carry out a massive, country-wide investigation on such a secretive group and coordinate multiple simultaneous, comprehensive raids without a single person finding out and alerting the higher-ups over a period of only three and a half months?

When exactly did Hawks have time to go and revive Best Jeanist--which he tells us he did personally--such that none of the bugs and micro-cameras he was covered with picked up on it, and both he and BJ could be back in the positions they needed to be in for the raid to begin?

How did Skeptic find out about the raid such that he only discovered it at the last possible second and not minutes, even hours, before it kicked off? How did hundreds of heroes (and even "hundreds" is being conservative, given the fact that they had seventeen thousand people to detain) close in on the villa without anyone from the PLF noticing, either Skeptic with his information network or mundane precautions like people on watch?

Even granting the heroes their surprise advantage--which I don't want to--if the advisors were all supposedly "stronger than the average hero," why didn't we see any of them winning? Okay, yes, Hose Face beat Midnight, but he had every possible advantage in that "fight"; I hardly count it as some big impressive defeat that shows us that the villains were holding their own.

Here's another thing: the MLA styled themselves as an army--they were demonstrably trained in troop tactics. When we saw them in Deika, even their nameless on-the-ground people were capable of coordinating with each other on the fly in response to the movements of the enemy, as we saw come up repeatedly:

Yeah, they were off-guard at first, but as soon as the advisors made the front line (which, you'll note, was immediately), that disadvantage really should have begun eroding. Certainly once Geten--Geten! The number one MLA member most willing to disregard collateral damage! And there he was being a proper leader!--got to the front and started yelling orders, we should have seen the PLF rallying, and I can't imagine any sensible justification for the tides not turning when a) Re-Destro showed up to occupy the highest-ranked hero on the field, b) a bunch of heroes peeled off to try to stop Machia only to get trampled for their efforts, and c) Trumpet got dug out.

You know who don't style themselves as an army, though? Heroes. Oh, they get some basic lessons in cooperation as students, but the extent of such lessons we see is stuff like "why it's important for heroes to have signature moves"--so that on group missions, their reputations will precede them and fellow heroes will already know their shtick. U.A. teaches the odd lesson plan that involves the kids fighting in groups, but there's a huge difference between you and 3 to 6 of your buddies fighting a similarly-sized group in a practice fight, or a handful of heroes teaming up to take down some criminal low-lives, and the mass combat scenario that was the raid. For heaven's sake, look at our closest other equivalent: the raid on the Hassaikai base. At every turn in that encounter, the heroes let themselves get split up and picked off, winnowing down their numbers. It's even explicit in the narrative that hero team-ups were, in the age of All Might, uncommon, and heroes are only just beginning to adjust to fighting in teams. The erstwhile MLA should have had the advantage there.

As to Machia's defeat, I think the big problem with it is not how it happened, per se, but the timescale involved. The plan itself was sound enough, and even with all the kids' efforts, it still took Machia reaching Shigaraki and not getting any new orders to follow to really do him in. Given what we can extrapolate about his movement speed, though, I just don't think the kids should have had time to set all those traps, especially given how much of that equipment would have had to be fabricated by Momo on the fly. I know she's gotten stronger and all, and good for her, but you're telling me that in the four months between Joint Training and the raid, she went from passing out because she created a bag of goodies and one (1) cannon to being totally fine and still able to coordinate her fellow students while cranking out 23 jars of sedative, dozens of feet of rope/cable, multiple fire-resistant coats, explosives they somehow had time to bury, and three cannons?

For fuck's sake, Jirou gave Machia's ETA as under ten seconds. Yeah, Mount Lady slowed him down, but "only a little"--how much time could she possibly have bought them, that the kids were able to to coordinate and enact everything that plan involved?

You guys, go read this post by @codenamesazanka. Machia is so fast. So unbelievably, incredibly fast. "Twice as fast as the fastest train in the world" fast. "Horikoshi clearly did not stop to think about the distances involved here" fast. Three miles in ten seconds fast. It would have been hard enough to square with the needs of the plot that the kids were sufficiently far from the villa to have the kind of time they needed to swing Momo's plan at all, but Horikoshi explicitly letting Machia get right on top of them before the kids even start just makes it completely impossible for me to credit. Machia clearly being slower aboveground than he is when burrowing does not make that much difference to my suspension of disbelief.

My other big complaint? More people should have died, for real. The PLF warriors would not have been holding back. They were ready and willing to kill anyone they came up against. The heroes did have to hold back, because heroes, as we're told over and over again, are not supposed to kill, no matter how dire the circumstances. That difference in ability to exercise force should have been yet another significant advantage for the PLF. I could write an entire list of characters that I think could have reasonably been killed during the raids. That wouldn't be to say that I think any individual, specific character on that list should have died, just that, based on the parameters as they were presented to audience, some number of them should have.

I mean, honestly. How did Horikoshi wanna show us Gang Orca's unmoving claw in the wake of Machia's passage and not have Gang Orca on the list of the dead? How did Fat Gun run right into a mass melee and still have enough fat left over afterward to survive getting trampled by a walking mountain? How did Thirteen survive not getting pulled out of the hospital basement when Shigaraki's Decay hit? How did Trumpet survive getting a staircase dropped on top of him? How did Gran Torino survive a fist through his tiny old man chest cavity?

I could go on and on, but it's not just about the deaths, either. I'm not saying that Kamui Woods necessarily should have died by swinging himself face-first into a blast of blue fire, but I am saying that he should have been out of commission for longer than three goddamn days. You bet your ass I'm saying that after telling us that Hawks' weak point is fire, making us watch him spend at a solid minute or more with his wings wholly enveloped in Dabi's 2000 degree flames, and having Dark Shadow exclaim that his back is completely burned away, Hawks should never have grown his wings back, much less so quickly that they were already visible under his shirt a single day later.

More deaths, more maiming--heck, even more retirements. I'm not saying I love that kind of thing in my fiction--I don't, actually. I think an overreliance on it is a sign of edgelordy nonsense. But the scenario that we had demanded to be treated with the kind of gravity that would have led to such an outcome. To set up a conflict like the raid and have the villains only barely be able to scrape a partial escape, to try to tell us that Shigaraki's victory in Deika granted him such a terrifyingly powerful force only to have them lose every battle they got into, to tell us this was a blow that shook Hero Society to its core, only to be so unwilling to kill or retire any heroes the audience cares about that Midnight is literally the only significant loss… It doesn't work. None of it works.

I don't have much to say on which characters did or didn't get a highlight. I think there were a few more people than you listed that got some good scenes--Tokoyami and Uraraka both got material I liked quite a bit; Dabi famously out-trended the U.S. presidential election on Twitter when he (literally) came clean, and Mr. Compress gave us some wonderfully interesting and characteristically opaque material to chew on. On the whole, though, adding more character moments would only have been dragging out the problem: the scale of the PLF's threat and the HPSC's chosen method of dealing with it are simply incompatible with the feeble "neither side truly won or lost" resolution we got.

And that's my rant on that--thanks for the ask!

[jay4firefic]

Hi! I’ve been reading through your Buckeride fics and I know this isn’t on your prompt list but I can’t get the idea of long-distance Kelly and 118!Buck where Buck sends him postcards like he used to do with Maddie. Like imagine a post card with a pic of Buck and the first baby he delivers, or Buck mastering a complex Bobby recipe or screenshots of a daring rescue. And Kelly peppering his locker with all of these.

So this is definitely not what you requested, but it's where my weird little brain took me. 1200 words, Buck x Kelly. Buck copes with losing Kelly by hiking across the country. Kelly copes with losing Buck by reading his postcards and sending replies in the form of books. Fair warning, I haven't read all of the books mentioned in this but I'll get around to them eventually.

The first time Buck drops a postcard in the mail to Chicago is a generic shot of the desert, picked up for 60 cents in a tourist trap not far from the head of the trail. Buck prints the address of Firehouse 51 carefully onto the back of the card and spends the rest of the night agonizing over what to write on the rest. In the end he scrawls a messy 2,653 miles to go, wish me luck, and drops it into the mailbox outside of his motel without a return address - he doesn’t have one.

The second is a black-and-white reproduction of Ansel Adams’ Monolith, the Face of Half Dome tucked inside the front cover of the artist’s biography and shipped together in a package from the same post office where Kidd mailed his latest resupply. Yosemite was too fucking crowded. Ansel Adams Wilderness was beautiful though. Did you know he did a whole series on Manzanar, the Japanese internment camp? He was an interesting dude. Hang onto this book for me if you can, please.

His next care package contains a book - Only What We Could Carry: The Japanese American Internment Experience - and even though he hasn’t factored an extra book into his pack weight, he tucks it into his bag along with everything else. When he cracks it open in the fading light of a high altitude sunset he nearly chokes on a mouthful of trail mix. There, on the inside cover, is a note in Kelly’s neat-but-cramped handwriting, just like in every other book he’s ever gifted to Buck. Why do you always pick the most fucking depressing topics to take an interest in? Tell Kidd where I should ship the other 3 books about internment camps when you get off the trail, I’m never going to reread them.

Buck closes his eyes and tips his head up to the sky, staring at the wash of red and orange the sunset paints behind his eyelids until the sting that threatens tears fades away. By then it’s nearly dark - too dark to read, but not too dark to thumb through the pages to find the ones that are dog eared, the passages with stars next to them, the notes in the margins careful never to overlap with the text or images. He doesn’t open it again for almost a week, spends another few days reading it slowly, savoring the notes in the margins and writing his own in return. It’s the continuation of a silent conversation they’ve been having since the first time Kelly picked up one of Buck’s dog-eared, highlighted, scribbled-in books off of the nightstand and returned it to him with three questions and an opinion Buck absolutely had to argue with scrawled inside the back cover.

Except this time...this time Buck can’t read his commentary aloud to Kelly at the end of the day, or ask him to expand on one of the thoughts jotted down at the bottom corner of a page. This time he can’t talk to Kelly at all.

Instead he takes a selfie with the PCT mid point sign and then backtracks to hitchhike into town. He celebrates with a motel room, a shower, and a night in an honest to god bed. Pancakes at the local diner taste like heaven in the morning, he calls Kidd from a curbside bench with a beautiful view of the mountains, and he’s in too good a mood to question it when his feet lead him down the street and into a shop advertising printing.

He has two copies of his selfie printed. One goes into an envelope addressed to 51, alongside a postcard of Mt. Lassen thanking Cindy for the cookies and Mouch for the hockey themed wool socks in his latest resupply. The second he addresses to his old Kelly’s apartment. Thanks for the book. I think I’m going to visit Manzanar after I finish the trail - it’s only a few hours from LA. Maybe I’ll climb Whitney while I’m out there. Hey, did you know Lassen and Shasta are part of the Pacific Ring of Fire? The volcanic landscapes out here are awesome.

Buck almost doesn’t put the second envelope in the mail. He almost puts the book in a box and sends it to Stella instead. But in the end he mails the card, tucks the book deep into his bag where it will sit undisturbed but impossibly heavy with emotion for most of the next two months, and hitchhikes back to the trailhead.

By the time he makes his first stop in Oregon there’s another package: food, socks, a newspaper clipping of Truck 81 saving a little girl and her dog from an overturned car, and a book. Surviving the Stone Wind, clearly purchased used, the cover fraying at the corners and the spine cracked. Inside, beneath a faded note indicating it was once a gift for someone else, Kelly has written Don’t get killed by a volcano. That would be a stupid ass way for a firefighter to go out.

Buck sends a picture of himself from central Oregon tucked inside the cover of the book when he returns it, his handwriting a barely legible scribble beneath Kelly’s sharp letters. At least if I die in an eruption it’ll be quick. I’ve been thinking - there’s a lot of time to think out here - about how we would survive if the Yellowstone Supervolcano ever erupts. The answer is that we probably won’t, but if we did, living through the endless winter afterwards sounds pretty nasty. You know how I hate to be cold.

I bought more hand warmers for the emergency kit, Kelly replies, weeks later, from between the pages of a book about Yellowstone. But I think you’re right. I’d rather go in the explosion.

Buck has another hiker take a picture of him on the Bridge of the Gods, smack in the center of the Columbia river, and scrawls on the back of two copies before sending them off in the mail. The Columbia used to have the largest Salmon run on Earth. I never realized how much we’ve fucked up the environment before spending all this time out in the middle of nowhere. Not that the trail is even the middle of nowhere - thousands of people walk every part of it every year. I wonder what it all looked like before we colonized the West.

The Organic Machine: The Remaking of the Columbia River gets to Buck when he’s a couple of hundred miles into Washington. He flips the cover open eagerly, touches his fingers to the only form of communication he’s had with the love of his life in months. Seems like people have been changing the environment out there since long before white colonizers showed up. They just made it a lot worse. This isn’t going to be one of your “if I had a time machine” obsessions again, is it?

If I had a time machine I’d only go back 10 months, Buck writes inside of the cover. He shoves the book deep inside of his pack, beside the first, and mails back a generic postcard of the Cascades instead.

[lynettethemadscientist]

Concept: An Alternate Universe(?) Saeran x Reader fic based on the 50s sci-fi movie The Alligator People. 

~

I’m standing on a train station platform in Louisiana swamp country. Alone.

Nearby me sits a box labeled radioactive. It’s been hours but surely someone will come for their mail. So I wait.

An old pickup arrives. A mint-haired man wearing dark shades steps out of the truck to pick up the package.

I ask him if he knows of the place I’m looking for and if he’ll take me there.

“They don’t usually have visitors.” His voice is low and cool. “Are they expecting you?”

“No. Not exactly. But they will know who I am.”

The bluenet smiles before telling me to hop in and loading the crate onto the truck. 

The drive through the swamp is rough. The man introduces himself as V and gives me a kind smile. Perhaps in an effort to ease my apprehension. But my unease does not come from him.

When V stops to remove a large branch from the roadway, I see two men attempting to wrangle an alligator.

“Have you ever been in bayou country before?” V asks as he returns to the truck.

I shake my head, still staring at the gator thrashing and hissing in the grasp of the men. “It’s so wild and primitive.”

“And deadly. You ought to be careful around here.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

The rest of the drive is no more smooth and no less tense than it began.

We soon reach a plantation house. V drops me off and drives away. 

I knock on the door. 

The door opens and I’m greeted by a stunningly beautiful white-haired man with scarlet eyes dressed in butler attire. He flashes a charming smile but before he can speak, I hear a cheery male voice from within the house.

“Who is it, Zen?~” The voice chimes.

“It’s a fine lady.” Zen answers as he effortlessly tosses me a wink.

“Well don’t be rude, let her in!~”

I step inside and see a man with racecar-red hair dressed like a Southern belle. His face looks strangely familiar.

“Is this your place?” I ask.

“Of course!” He flourishes an ornate fan. “Welcome to my lovely manor!”

I catch a glimpse of the butler rolling his eyes before I respond. “Well...maybe you can help me. For a long time I’ve been looking for my husband. He disappeared the night we were married. I’ve searched everywhere. I’ve tried everything. And this is my last hope.”

The vermillion-haired belle’s face is still plastered with a silly grin but his eyes show no mirth. “But, why here? Surely you can’t expect to find anything in a swamp but alligators~ And snakes~ Hisssss~”

I hesitate, trying to process the unorthodox demeanor of this man. “I received a mysterious message stating that my husband lived at this address.”

“What is your name?”

“Mrs. Saeran Choi.”

His expression falters for a moment. “Well, there’s no one by that name here~ Some charlatan must have been playing a cruel prank on you.” He touches a hand to his cheek. “But no matter~ There’ll be another train tomorrow~ May we offer you the hospitality of the manor for the night?”

“I suppose…” This man is so absurd, I cannot determine if he is mocking me or just ill-mannered. 

“Terrific!” He claps his hands together. “Yoosung!”

A door opens to reveal a blond man with violet eyes wearing a maid outfit. He exits what appears to be a kitchen. “Yes, Master Luciel?”

“Show Mrs- what was your name again?”

“Mrs. Saeran Choi.”

“Show Mrs. Choi to the guest room please~”

Luciel whispers something into Yoosung’s ear before I follow him upstairs. 

~

I distractedly unpack in my room amidst thoughts concerning the strange owner of this house. I’m tempted to dismiss his behavior as merely the eccentricities of a man who’s lived in the swamp too long. But I cannot help but feel that his odd behavior is merely a ruse. 

I hear gunshots outside.

I rush to the window and see a blonde woman in a black dress cackling and firing a pistol wildly at gators. I run to the door but find it locked. 

I retreat to the bed. I’m trapped here. If I were really a guest they wouldn’t have locked me in. 

The gunshots stop.

The maid enters carrying a tea tray.

“Yoosung,” I plead. “Those gunshots. What were they about?”

“Oh...” He throws a mildly contemptuous glance at the window. “That’s the swamp witch. She hates gators.” He sets down the tray and stares at me for a tense moment. “I have to go.”

“Wait please!” I tug at Yoosung’s arm. “Somebody has to help me. Is it true what he told me? Have I come to the wrong place?”

“I can’t- I ought not to say anything, ma’am.”

“Can’t you tell me anything?”

I see pity surfacing in his lavender eyes. “I’m sorry, ma’am. It’s not my secret to tell.”

He slips a key into my hands and leaves the room.

I hear a door slam and look out another window to see Luciel leaving in a car that looks ill-fitted for the terrain. 

~

I wake up to the sound of a piano playing a sorrowful tune. I feel as though I’ve heard this theme before. I unlock my door and walk softly down the stairs. I can hear the music coming from behind a door to my right.

I open the door and the piano stops playing. In the dark I can barely see a male figure turning to see me before he flees out a side door and into the swamp. I turn on a lamp and see muddy footprints on the floor. Upon approaching the piano I find the keys are wet. 

~

In the morning I stand outside the front door. A man drives up in a fancy boat with wheels. He introduces himself as Jumin Han, the local doctor. 

“Is Luciel inside?” He inquires.

“He hasn’t come down yet. Has he been ill, doctor?”

“No. I have some other business with him.”

I pause for a moment before introducing myself. “I’m Mrs. Choi. Mrs. Saeran Choi.” I examine his face as I enunciate my words. “That name doesn’t mean anything to you?”

“No. Should it?”

“I don’t know. Let me explain, doctor. Since my husband disappeared I’ve done nothing but search for him. And I’m going to keep on asking questions.”

“What brings you here?”

“A mysterious message.”

“You came all the way down here. Traveled thousands of miles. On nothing more tangible than that.”

“I’ve traveled much farther, on even less.”

“I see.” The flash of conflict in his eyes is brief but unmistakable. “You found no other evidence?”

“Why? Is there other evidence?”

“Of course not.”

“You did know Saeran didn’t you? I can tell. What is it, doctor? Why won’t any of you tell me about him? What are you all trying to hide?”

“You are obviously overwrought. But that’s understandable given the circumstances. I wish I could help. Please tell Luciel I couldn’t wait, but I’ll stop by later.”

Even as he walks away I’m sure that man did not come here to see Luciel at all but instead to interrogate me.

When Zen brings a car around to bring me to the train station I refuse to leave.

Luciel returns home to find me rifling through the paperwork in his desk.

“What are you doing??” He hikes up his dress and rushes towards me.

“Looking for answers.”

“Get out of there. You’ve no right to look through my things. You were supposed to leave on the train.”

“I’m not leaving here until I get the answers to the questions that brought me here.”

“I told you yesterday you were mistaken.”

“I think you’re lying.”

“Get out of my house.”

“I will not. Who was playing the piano in the dark last night? Someone who left wet footprints on the carpet.”

“You’re imagining things-”

“No I’m not. Anymore than I’m imagining that you want to get rid of me. That you’ve got something to hide.”

His expression hardens. “Just leave it alone. It’s none of your business.”

“The hell it isn’t! What have you done with my husband?”

“Your curiosity will get you nothing but trouble. You need to leave. Now.”

“Saeran is my husband. I’m not leaving until you tell me whatever terrible thing you’ve done to him.”

“I don’t give a damn if he’s your husband! He’s-” His breathing is frantic.

“He’s what?”

Luciel heaves a weary sigh. “He’s my brother.” His eyes glisten. “I have to protect him. No matter what.”

I am halted at this revelation. My confrontational demeanor is whisked away.

~

As night falls, I wait for Saeran in the piano room. I sit concealed in a large cushioned chair. Behind me I hear the door open and a gravelly voice speak.

“Saeyoung, is she gone?”

“No Saeran, she isn’t.” I stand from the chair and face him.

He covers his face in an instant and flees. I call out to him, but he disappears into the dark, rainy swamp. I take off after him, pleading for him to come back. 

“Saeran! Saeran!” I wail. The mud is above my ankles. My arms and legs are bruised from the logs and branches. I have to find him. I call out for him over and over, desperately trying to scream above the storm. But I can’t see him. I can hardly see anything.

I stumble upon a snake that strikes at me and I shriek in fear. The blonde woman I saw earlier appears from the foliage and uses a stick to push away the snake.

“You ought to have better sense, dear.” She coos into my ear. “Nobody goes out into the swamp on a night like this.”

She wraps her arm around my shoulders and leads me into a cabin.

“I don’t understand. Why did you bring me here?” I shiver.

“Well, dear, I thought you’d appreciate me saving you from that snake.” She smiles. It is not a kind smile.

She offers me a drink. It doesn’t look like any alcohol I’ve seen. It’s bright blue. I try to decline, but she insists I take a sip. It’s very bitter. I cough and she chuckles.

I’m sniffling. More from the renewed loss of my husband than from the cold.

“You poor dear. You’re so cold. Here, have another sip.” She says cloyingly as she attempts to push the flask into my hands.

I utter a brief response amidst my tears. “I’ll be alright. Thanks.”

“Alright dear.” She sets down the flask and lifts up a blanket. “Here. We’ll wrap you in this then. So you don’t catch a cold.”

I stand up and she wraps the blanket around my body. She doesn’t let go. Her arms curl tightly around me. She presses her cheek against mine.

“Please let go.”

“Oh now, don’t say that. We’re only just getting to know each other.”

I struggle against her embrace. “Let go!”

She chuckles and tightens her grip.

I start struggling more frantically as she restrains me. But I can feel my movements becoming more sluggish. I hear her cackle through my screams.

The door slams open but I can hardly react to see who it is before I’m thrown onto the bed. 

I can hear a struggle. I try to roll over and see who stopped the witch, but I can barely move now.

I feel cold, rough hands lift me into their arms and carry me back out into the rain. But for some reason I am not afraid. Before my vision goes completely dark I try to look at my rescuer’s face. He has white hair, but his skin is olive green and leathery.

The last thing I hear before I lose consciousness is a woman screeching: “I’ll kill you alligator man! Just like I would any four-legged gator! You hear me? I’ll kill you!”

~

In the morning, I am told that Dr. Han wishes to see me and I’m escorted to his laboratory in the swamp.

As I enter the building, a shapely brunette leading two cloaked figures approaches me.

“You’re Mrs. Choi?”

“Yes,” I responded, watching the two figures as they walk away. They’re completely concealed. Even their hands and faces. “Dr. Han is expecting me.”

“Please follow me. You may wait in his office.”

From his office I can see Dr. Han overseeing several men carry a gator from a gurney onto a table underneath a large, strange apparatus. They strap the gator down as Dr. Han turns to leave.

I watch silently as he enters the office and begins to operate the apparatus. A high-pitched noise fills the room as Dr. Han stares at his watch.

After a few seconds, the sound is stopped and Dr. Han speaks through a comm.

“Take him out. Put him in a cage alone. We’ll run the test series on him in an hour. And bring in another specimen.”

He turns to me before speaking again.

“Excuse me, Mrs. Choi, for the wait. This experiment is very urgent.” He pauses for a moment to adjust his tie. “Remarkable creatures aren’t they?” He gestures to the alligator being carried away from the table.

“I suppose.”

“I’ve been conducting experiments for years, exploring the possibility of accelerating the healing process of humans using extracts from these creatures. And about two years ago, I thought I’d found the answer. I conducted an experimental treatment on those who had been badly mangled in accidents. The results were miraculous. Bones, tendons, muscles, even nerves and skin mended completely in a matter of weeks.”

“That’s very interesting, doctor, but what does that have to do with my husband?”

“I’m afraid it has everything to do with your husband. I’m sure you’re aware of the plane crash that nearly killed him?”

I slowly nod.

“Your husband was the worst of the lot. He was on the brink of death. Completely broken. And horribly disfigured.”

I vaguely remembered telling my husband before he vanished that he hardly looked like he’d been in a crash at all.

“Sadly, several months after his recovery I became aware of some unintended effects-“

The brunette assistant entered the room.

“Doctor, come quickly. It’s #6 again.”

“I see. Mrs. Choi please follow me.”

As I followed the pair down the hallway I could hear growls. Upon entering the room I see a snarling man on a bed, writhing underneath the grip of three men. The left half of his face is covered with green leathery scales.

Dr. Han performed a brief examination.

“Another sedative, doctor?”

“No. It seems the brain tissue has been affected. Use the ice pack and monitor him.”

The assistant left the room and returned with a large heavy blanket which was draped over the struggling man. Shortly after, his muscles relaxed and he became calm.

“Who is this?” I asked.

“One of my patients.”

“Then this is…” Horror crept into my heart.

“The aftereffects.”

“I don’t understand- how-“ My voice trembled.

“I do not know. I have been trying to find out for the past several months.”

“And the ice blanket?”

“Reptiles cannot internally regulate their temperature, so cold has a depressant effect on them.”

“Reptiles? But these aren’t-“

And then I understood. Or rather I was forced to accept it. As much as I didn’t want to. Dr. Jumin Han’s patients were turning into alligators as a result of his treatment. And my husband was one of those patients.

I should’ve been distraught. Or maybe angry. But all I could think of was how Saeran felt he needed to carry this burden himself. I couldn’t imagine how scared and alone he had been these past several months. I needed to see him.

As the doctor walked me out I asked him whether there was any hope of reversing these effects.

“There is a slight chance. But my testing is far from complete. Against my advice, your husband insists upon taking that chance tonight. The risk is extremely great, Mrs. Choi. This treatment could worsen his condition or kill him.”

“I will talk to him.”

“Please do.”

~

As night fell, I waited for Saeran to arrive at the doctor’s office. 

When he saw me he once again tried to conceal his face and flee. I grasped his arm.

“Saeran! Please don’t run away! Not again. Dr. Han explained everything. Including why you’re here tonight.” I tugged at his arm, trying to get him to face me. “Please, Saeran. It doesn’t make any difference. I’m your wife and I love you.”

Saeran still wouldn’t look at me. “You know about tonight?” 

“Yes. Please don’t do this, Saeran. The risk is too great. Please just wait. Wait for Dr. Han to complete the tests. Please I can’t lose you. Not again.”

“I’m sorry, darling. I’m so sorry. I didn’t want you to see me like this.” His voice was gravelly but choked with emotion. “I’d rather have died.”

“Please don’t say that, Saeran. I love you. No matter what. You know that, right?”

“…yes.”

“Then please trust me. I’ve been so worried about you. I’ve missed you so much. Look at me please.”

Saeran turned to face me at last. Revealing his crocodilian face. His eyes shone with tears.

I cradled his face in my palms.

“I love you. And I don’t want to lose you. Even if it means being married to an alligator man. Please don’t do this.”

He muttered my name in a half-sob and I embraced him. He felt so cold to the touch. And his soft skin was replaced with scales. But none of it mattered. He was still Saeran, so he was perfect. He sank into my embrace as if he had existed for an eternity without being held. His hard hands clung desperately to my back. His ridged face buried itself in my neck. 

“Are you sure?” His breath shuddered against my skin. “You can love an alligator man?”

“As long as the alligator man is my Saeran.”

[birdylion]

Mass Effect & Andromeda AU

I couldn't think of a ME + Andromeda fusion as suggested in the prompt for day 4, so this is something else:

Mass Effect (Andromeda) Polar Exploration AU

And because it’s my favourite expedition, I’m making it a Shackleton AU. Historical inaccuracy intended because I don’t want to make the story sexist. So here you go.

There’s an expedition to the antarctic. Several big ships sponsored by various countries (the arcs) set out to prepare the bases at the coast. The goal is then to find a way through the antarctic continent. That’s what the pathfinder and his team is meant to do.

in this universe, the Ryders are a disgraced but once influential and still wealthy family; the expedition is meant to restore their reputation

The whole story is conveyed through the documentation provided by the journal of Alec Ryder’s personal assistant Sam (who is loyal to Ryder because Ryder has saved him some time in the past). It’s part nautical journal, part personal observations, part personal commentary.

The Hyperion gets trapped by the ice. They live on the ship, on the ice, and work to get their ship free but ...

The ice crushes the Hyperion. One Ryder twin is severely injured in the incident / during evacuation (I’m going with Scott now)

Alec & Sara Ryder, Cora Harper, Liam Kosta, Sam, and some other helpers go out scouting, they go looking for a bit of land where they could lead the rest. But as Sara is about to get caught between floes, Alec saves her and sacrifices himself instead. His last words make her his successor. They all witness the scene and later, Sam provides a heartfelt account that shows that his loyalty is now to Sara

Sara Ryder now has to find a way to save the crew of the Hyperion (who has by now set up tents on the ice)

She leads them towards where she judges the landmass should be. They all travel slowly, especially with the wounded (who they put in the lifeboats and then tow the lifeboats on ropes they pull themselves). It takes ages. Sam’s journal entries show the hardships of what now is their daily life

She gets to Elephant Island, and finds another encampment there: The Nexus. But they too are shipwrecked and starving. It’s clear Andromeda Antarctica is not being kind to them

Pathfinder Ryder lets her people get settled in the encampment. Things are not good, they might not even survive the winter, and since they’ve all been caught in the pack ice nobody else knows where they are. Sure, they can tell their own position, but nobody knows where to come looking for them

so Ryder sets up a team on the Hyperion’s lifeboat Tempest: Cora and Liam, Sam, Vetra as their contact to the people they want to reach out to for help, Kallo as helmsman, Suvi as navigator, Peebee as technician, Drack is the only one to have already sailed these seas before so his experience is the reason he’s with them, and Lexi as a doctor of course.

now starts a journey into the dark and unknown: for weeks they travel over the sea, one goal in mind: a whaling station several thousand sea miles away, the only place in reach. This is where the team bonding really starts. Sam’s accounts are short but heartfelt

the Tempest does not have good equipment. It’s a rescue vessel, made for short term transport, not for traveling through the roughest sea known to humankind. They are called the Furious Fifties for a reason

their life support breaks: potable water supply is cut by half as seawater gets into the other barrel. They have to ration it and it’s still not enough

they have to navigate by the stars, but that’s difficult to do when you are on a tiny nutshell in a sea with waves several meters high, tumbling up and down from wave peaks to troughs and back. All they can do is hope that they’re still on course because if not, if they miss that one island, they have lost their one chance of survival, and have forfeited the lives of all the people they left behind on the Nexus on Elephant Island

they succeed. Ryder and her crew arrive on the island. At first, they are not met kindly: they arrive at the wrong side of the island and have to cross a mountain to get to the whaling station Aya. There, they finally get help, and Jaal joins them, even though the whaling station has their own problems to fight (supply and getting through the winter, mostly)

(I thought about making it a arctic exploration, but the idea of making real world humans (Inuit) the equivalent of a fantasy/scifi species (Angara) is not a route I want to go down, especially with how European explorers have treated the people they met in the arctic, so, Antarctica and no symbolical real world connections is the better choice)

it isn’t over yet. They take a bigger boat, but they still have to get to Elephant island and the Nexus, and the days are getting shorter, the sea wilder. they have to try several approaches. they even have to wait another year. But finally they succeed in reaching the Nexus

as if by miracle, everyone is still alive, even Scott

Ryder is not the pathfinder who crossed Antarctica, but she’s the pathfinder who got everyone (on her side of the expedition) home safe and sound

How does the Mass Effect trilogy play into this?

the Endurance Expedition started on the cusp of World War I. Many of those who went with the expedition offered their service to the British crown instead to help with the war effort, but were sent on the expedition because conquering crossing Antarctica was seen as equally important

they didn’t expect the war to last as long as it did. The expedition started in 1914 and they all returned in 1917 (imagine going on an expedition, barely surviving it yourself, only to return and find the whole continent in flames and ruins)

so in the AU, the Mass Effect trilogy crew would be fighting for the triple entente powers in WW I

that means that the Reapers would be Austria-Hungary, Germany etc

in this universe, the Andromeda Antarctica expedition would have started some time around ME1, and they would have returned after ME2 I guess? I’m not that far in the trilogy

I don’t know enough about WW I to say who Shepard would be in that AU

I won’t ever write this - 1. it would take too long, 2. I don’t have the stylistic range in English to convey what I would want Sam’s journal entries to feel like. So here’s this concept instead, I hope you enjoyed it

[temptingempress]

The Mafia’s Princess (3)

Summary: “I can’t loose you because if I loose you I loose myself. You’re all I have left.” she begged him to put the gun down. Her bloody knees splashed into the mud. Helicopters surrounded them and the sirens were getting closer and closer but she could think about was him. The man whom she fell in love with, standing in front of them. Gun pointed towards his head.

This is a HoseokxOc story but feel free to think of her as y/n. I just didn’t want to call her y/n so I used my own character that you’ll see in a lot of my stories but her mood and temperament will change in each story. The character depicted in the photo is my imagination of her, you can depict her anyway you would like.

Warning: Injuries, swearing, knife mentions, mafia mentions (obviously), a little bit of angst. 

Previous: https://temptingempress.tumblr.com/post/641614237353099264/the-mafias-princess-jhs-2

“Almost there.” Hoseok huffed as they climbed the hill that led to the abandoned garage. The garage was originally popular amongst the civilians but the town turned into a ghost town, which made it the perfect place for mafia’s to meet up for certain things. 

Areum’s P.O.V

I let out a slight giggle hearing Hoseok’s huffs and his struggles to make it up the hill. For a big buff mafia man you’d think he could walk thousands of miles but he could get out of breath just by opening a jar of pickles. “Come on Muscle Man. Just a few more feet to go.” I teased earning a hearty chuckle back from him. “You gotta remember that I hauled your ass for like 3 miles.” He poked my head gently but still managed to make me flinch. “Scaredy cat, ah, there it is.”  Hoseok’s P.O.V

Oh thank goodness, I was about to fall face down out of exhaustion, It’s been hours that I’ve been on my damn feet. The large garage was right behind the abandoned mall aka the drug trade. I leaned against the concrete wall showered in explicit graffiti. Taking out my phone I dialed the driver’s number. I took Areum’s hand and pulled her closer to me “Stay close, the crackheads lurk.” The phone then picked up and he said his usual phrase “Annyeonghaseyo jeoneun bangtan sonyeondan hwanggeum maknae jeon jungkook imnida”  “Where are you.” I asked him bluntly, too tired to deal with his absurdness right now.  “Ahh, I’m in the garage.” The sound of the engine rumbles in the background making it hard to decipher what he was saying  “I’m with Cynthia and we are on the fifth flight!” Letting out a low groan, I sure didn’t have it in me to walk five flights up. My legs would surely give out or possibly crack in half. “Drive the car down, the damsel in injured.” Areum crossed her arms as her cheeks puffed out like two balloons “Why do I have to be the damsel? Do I look like I’m in distress? Why can’t I be the hero or the even the black widow!” she went on and on but her words begun to blur out. I was only focused on how to get into that damn car and get back to the house as fast as we humanly could. “I can’t boss, someone might catch us!” “Jungkook that’s a demand not an order. If anyone sees us then we’ll just send an assassin out or something.” “Ah! Quiet down boss. I’m comin I’m comin. You’re gonna get us caught one day.” he then hung up on me which made me slightly irritated. “I should’ve never hired that damn maknae.” Areum slouches next to me but she still with held the smile lurking on her lips. Times like these, it gets comforting to see especially from her. “How do you do it huh?” I chuckled a bit and took her wrist, pulling her closer to me so we could warm each other up in this cold weather. “How do you manage to smile in the most fucked up situations?”  “Well, as long as I’m with you the situation isn’t that bad. Besides, I like to see you struggle.” She jokes with a slight laugh giving me the answer I should’ve anticipated. 

“Ha ha.” I sarcastically laugh along, ruffling her hair up with my rough fingers. Then, the car finally arrived. It was a old and dirty truck which suits this place very well. I opened up the back door for Areum to go in first. If anyone saw us pull up in a brand new red convertible they would know something was up. Jungkook then put his foot on the gas and pulled off rather very fast. Areum rushed to put her seatbelt on while everyone else just sat there exhausted. It was just the wee hours in the morning, nobody was on the roads so Jungkook cranked the windows down. As long as nobody recognized Areum or me, we should be good. We took the back roads just to make sure. Jungkook turned on the speakers to his favorite songs then spoke loudly “How’d your little getaway go!”  Cynthia, the co leader of this mafia, turned down the speakers to allow Areum and I to rest. “Jungkook, why do you have to be so loud all the time?”  I knew Cynthia every since I inherited this whole mafia business. She’s always been like a sister to me. She was there whenever I needed her and whenever I didn’t. 

I put my hands behind my head and let out a long sigh “It was nice until someone called the damn cops on us.” I let the wind cool me off as I closed my eyes “That part really spoiled the whole entire thing.” Areum hummed to the country music playing in the background. “But it wasn’t anything we couldn’t handle! Right Hoseok?” “Mmhm.” I felt myself falling into a deep sleep. My energy to perform anything at this point was drifting away. 

Areum’s P.O.V

I took a cover from the floor and draped it over Hoseok he looked like he was passed out. I couldn’t blame him. “I’m sure Hoseok took good care of you... as always.” Cynthia sighed to herself.  My face scrunched up as I felt slightly offended, I tried to calm myself down, trying not to get that stuck up princess attitude I always tend to have... I’m working on that. I am. “I guess.” I felt my leg start to sting a bit. The adrenaline was running out and the pain was setting in. Letting out a quiet grunt I held my leg close  “I got bit and scratched by dogs.” Jungkook turned back to see the blood beginning to drip down my leg again. I must’ve injured it when I got back up to walk. “Yikes.” Jungkook spoke “Don’t worry, we’re almost there.” He passed me a box of tissues “Here”.

 Cynthia looked at me then back to the road “You have to stop being so careless whenever you’re around him.” “Careless?” I took the tissues and started to wipe off as much blood as I could. Once I saw the cut, it only stung even more. I couldn’t think of a smart response because of it. It hurts like hell but I wanted to keep my composure. 

Strong women don’t cry right? 

Besides, I wanted to be strong for him. I wanted to be strong to Hoseok and to prove everyone that I deserve to be here.

As we drove up to the big mansion where the mafia resided in Jungkook parked the car and I was cared for immediately getting escorted to their little medical room by her assigned nurses. Out of the corner of my eye she saw Cynthia caring for Hoseok, walking him back inside with one of his arms draped around her shoulder. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t feel a hint of jealously inside my heart. Ever since I’ve met her she’s always given me ‘Oh, I’m better than you’ vibes but I’ve been trying to brush it off. I don’t want my own jealousy to get in the way of Hoseok and I. I never did. I looked up to a girl with a silver necklace hanging down her neck. It was Lisa, Hoseok’s sister.

-

“Follow me” she hums as she takes the mysterious criminals hand. They were rough and she noticed that they were also tatted. She couldn’t get a full glimpse but it looked like part of a dragons tale. The man spoke up as the princess led him through the endless maze of twist and turns.

Hoseok’s P.O.V

“Why are you helping me?” This could be a big trap but then again I have no choice. If it wasn’t for her I’d be surrounded by this damn kingdom and if she pulled anything stupid I have a gun right on my hip and I’m not afraid to shoot little miss princess. A person who gets anything and everything under her fingertips. People like her is the whole reason why me and my family rebelled. People like her enforced the stupid laws society has, People like her ruin everything I’ve worked for but here I was holding her hand. Her grip was tight so it wasn’t like I could let go. “Because I want to help you.” She hums with a slight smile “Besides the castle needed a little action.” We then came to another dead end, this time we were surrounded by vineyards of roses and fine grapes.  “And you do realize that you are helping the number one felon in Korea right now?”

Before the princess could respond she ripped the bottom half of her expensive dress off so she could have more freedom in her strides which threw me off a bit. Her thighs are now fully exposed and she had not problem with that. “So?” She took the fabric and tied it along her thigh “You do realize that the wealthiest girl in Korea is helping a felon out right?” She echos. “Do you have a knife?”  I pulled out a pocket knife and handed it to her, even though I probably shouldn’t of. This was getting pretty interesting and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want to know where it was going. The princess went up to the vines and cut them open. I chuckled as she did so “Very smart princess,  but wouldn’t they follow us inside-” After she was done cutting the vines a door was revealed. She twisted the golden knob and it led us inside what seemed like to be a small bedroom, with a tv, bed, and a large bookcase. There were paintings on the wall but they seemed like they were either drawn by her or someone else. 

The princess pressed on a red button and the vines attached to one another again as if nothing even happened. The princess smiled at me, feeling proud of herself for helping a person like myself out. “You’re welcome.” she beams I scoffed to myself and looked around her mini hideout “You led me to a bed. I’m not interested in making out with you right now, I need to get back to my base.” “Make out?” She crosses her arms and a light blush appears on her face “I wouldn’t t-touch you with a ten foot pole!”  I looked down at her hand still attached to mine but she quickly let go of it. I sighed as I started to look around. Thinking about how I could ever get out of here without getting caught. I didn’t want to escape in the morning because that’s when small children flood the maze. It wouldn’t be a good look for a grown man with a gun attached to his hip be in it with them. And besides, I’m on a time schedule.

 The princess spoke once again, her arms not leaving her chest “Who says I don’t have a way for you to get out!”  “Look sweetheart.” I took out my gun and pointed it towards her head, I really didn’t have a choice. “Stop playing games, get me out of here now or I will shoot you.” She froze once I pulled out my gun but the same smile appears onto her face. What was this girl? Some type of psychopath? “You wouldn’t kill me Mister. If you did you’d spend more time in prison or possibly the dungeon than you’d intend to. Ah, who am I kidding they’d possibly put you to death.”  I didn’t drop the gun but she did make a point. I know at some point in my life that I was going to go to jail or die but it’s too soon in the game. I plan to hold my father’s legacy until I die. “Show me the exit now.” My voice rose to stir more fear in her but it failed.

“Not until you tell me your name.” She looked me straight in the eyes. “I.. I want you to be my friend.” “I’m not a good friend.” I chuckled at the how naive this woman was. “I’ll tell you what. You show me the exit and you get a name. Deal?” She thought it over for a moment, lowering her arms she nodded and walked to her bookcase. she pushed it aside and there was a window. It seemed to be led to the woods. I wondered why there was even a such thing in a whole kingdom. Why was she the only one who knew about this.  “Can I get-” Before she could say another word I pushed her to the floor, causing her to loose her balance and fall. She shouted at me before I made a run for it. I should’ve killed her. The window was already unlocked to that made it easier for me. Did I feel bad about it?

No, I didn’t. 

It was my sister’s birthday and I’m already running late. I checked if I still had the necklace in my pocket and it was still in it’s pretty velvet box. -

Areum’s P.O.V

Lisa helped me onto a bed then got her gloves on. She was very careful not to hurt me anymore than I already was. I trusted her, so I allowed my eyes shut. She was a certified nurse even before this whole mafia deal begun. Lisa accessed the bite and scratches “That dog left a pretty big mark on you.” She informs as she sterilizes her equipment before she uses them. “But it’s nothing I can’t handle.” I chuckle and look down at her “You sound so cool when you say that.” She gave me a smile as she starts to apply alcohol which stung even more. I winced but held in my pain. “You can scream if you’d like. I’m not here to judge.” Lisa hummed.

Well, If I had her permission...

-

Hoseok P.O.V

“Where’s Areum?” I asked as I held onto Cynthia’s shoulder. I didn’t even notice that we were already to the quarters. I must’ve fell asleep. “She’s getting treated.” Cynthia laid me on my door post allowing me to catch my composure again. Cynthia sighs as she dusts off her red dress that she always wears whenever she’s going out. Unlike me, she could go out whenever she pleases. Her identity hasn’t been given out yet so that’s why she’s our lurer. She lures people with her “charm”  so we could eventually handle business with  them. “You know.” She walks a little closer to me, feeling my cheek to make sure that the small cut would be okay “If she keeps getting you in danger like this then I’m not sure if she’s the perfect cut for this mafia.” “Cynthia.” I sighed and pulled away from her fingers. “Not this again. Areum is just as deserving as you are.” “What Hoseok, we all know it. She can’t even fend for herself. What makes you think she could fend for you? You’re only putting her in danger, not only her us! The whole mafia empire.” She got a bit mad but she soon calmed down by the look I was giving her. “I’m tired alright, can’t we talk about this some other time?”  Cynthia gave me one last look before she went her own way. She had a mission this morning but I had a whole bunch of overdue sleeping to do until I get back on my feet again. I went inside of my room, not even caring to turn on the lights. I just kicked my shoes off and threw my body on the big master bed awaiting me. It felt amazing but yet so empty without Areum lying by my side. As I wrapped myself in the covers I couldn’t help but to think about Cynthia’s words. She was right, if people found us out then it would be over for us as we know it but...

 I guess I’m a sucker for her love but I know that this chapter will soon come to an end. It’ll take a miracle if it’s a good one. ~

I hope you guys enjoyed, if you want me to add something more spicy my dms and asks are always open :) Please like this so it gives me motivation to go on! Also, do you like the cover work?

Your friend,

                  TemptingEmpress 

[thoseofgreatambition]

DEAR GEORGE || DIAGON ALLEY

chapter 1 || ten miles farther

chapter 2 || gred and feorge

chapter 3 || diagon alley

description: There was never a doubt in Gwendolyn’s mind that one day she’d be famous. One day she would be known through the United Kingdom as the most skilled Healer. However, she never would have thought that those things would start today. 

warnings: none 

pairing: george x oc

wordcount: 4K

“I need you to get to work, Gwendolyn.”

Gwen’s brown eyes flickered up from George’s letter towards her father. “I will in a second, Dad.” When George said that he’d write her immediately that night, she hadn’t truly thought that he would. Not that she considered him a liar, but it was exceedingly rare that a patient of hers actually took her advice right away. Usually they continued on in their own way for a while before realizing they needed to listen to her.

Good on him, Gwen thought, he’ll be falling asleep easier if he follows all my advice.

“Gwendolyn!” her father’s voice was sharper this time, and Gwen set down the letter with a scowl.

“Alright Dad!”

She loved her father, she did, but having your father as your boss could be a huge pain in the ass sometimes. Once he retired she’d get to run the shop the way she wanted, which was one of the few things that helped her handle the little moments like this.

They were truly lucky their dream was the same, to open up a chain of apothecaries in their family name. If it weren’t for that Gwen was sure there would be much more clashing between the two of them.

With a small huff, she set down the letter carefully next to the cauldron, cautiously eyeing her father who worked across from her. Something was going on. She couldn’t put her finger on it, but there was a certain sharpness to her father that wasn’t quite normal.

Granted, most would say her father was already quite edgy, but something seemed new.

Most children would be more deferential to their fathers, however after working so closely with him, Gwen couldn’t help but see him as more of a business partner than a father. She supposed that would seem sad to most people, but it was what she knew.

Besides, it was quite nice to say she was her father’s business partner, rather than she worked in the store. She’d be taking over soon after all.

Gwen’s knife made quick work of the mandrake root, and she didn’t bother to watch what she was doing as she looked up to speak with her father. She’d done this thousands of times after all. “What’s going on?”

If she was feeling cheeky she’d call him Afon, but today didn’t seem to be the day for that.

“I’m not retiring.”

Gwen’s knife fell with a loud clang onto the floor, as she looked at her father absolutely gobsmacked. She didn’t bother to hide the fact that her heart felt like it was falling straight out of her chest.

He wasn’t retiring? That had been the plan! No, that was what he’d promised her. He’d do what his father did and retire before she turned twenty three, so she could take her turn at the helm. Afon would work behind the scenes, coordinating orders and small things, but it would be Gwendolyn who was the front. She would be in charge, it would be her store.

Gwen had to lean forward a bit, her hands rooting her to the table as her knees began to tremble ever so slightly. It wasn’t often that she had to face her ambition head on like this, but now the part of her that had dreamed for so long of proving herself to be the one that would put the family name on the map was roaring about how unfair it was that she was losing her chance.

For a long moment, Gwen couldn’t speak. Her throat seemed too dry, too tight to really force out any words. The ground seemed ready to tilt itself until it was over her head. Finally, under her father’s expectant and ever so slightly concerned gaze, she managed to choke out a single word.

“Why?”

“Don’t panic Gwendy.” It was rare now that he called her that, but Afon whipped it out when his daughter seemed particularly upset over something. He gestured to the knife on the floor that she’d dropped. “You’ll still get your chance, sooner than you think. I found us a storefront in Diagon Alley. I’ll be leading this shop, and you’ll go and run the new one.”

Relief flooded her like a tidal wave, tears of relief pricked at her eyes. “Dammit dad.” Gwen pinched the bridge of her nose, and took a long breath with her eyes closed. “Couldn’t have worded that better instead of scaring the hell out of me?”. Determined to hide the fact she’d almost cried, Gwen picked up the knife and resumed her chopping, fixing a scowl towards her father.

“Sorry about that.” Looking towards Afon it was easy to see that he didn’t seem terribly sorry. He looked rather proud of himself actually. “I figured you’d like the surprise better. You’ll be running the bigger store Gwendolyn. Think about it.”

Slowly, she stopped her chopping and allowed the thought to settle into her. She’d been teased, even by her Slytherin classmates for her ambition. For saying she’d be the best healer in all of Britain. If she hadn’t been consistently top of her class for potions, she reckoned Professor Snape would have mocked her too.  

Her family did fairly well in Wales, and many of the wizards and witches in the country came to see them for healing or potions. Diagon Alley would be an entirely different situation. She would be in charge of a shop in the most frequented center in the wizarding United Kingdom. It wouldn’t just be the Welsh, it would be everyone.

“Did you tell Gwendy the good news?” Ada couldn’t help but beam as she walked into the workroom, sitting down across from her daughter with a wink.

Afon kissed his wife’s temple before continuing to stir his potion, “I was just telling her, love.” His eyes twinkled in amusement as the implications of everything appeared to just now be hitting their daughter. “She’s still processing it, I believe.”

Gwen could hear her parents switch the conversation to bookkeeping, and their profits for the month. Vaguely, she was aware that she’d added the mandrake root and was now stirring her potion, but her brow was still furrowed as she thought about what all of this meant.

They’d always talked about opening another shop, it was the goal after all, but Gwen hadn’t thought it would be this soon. She’d always assumed it was something she’d have to do, a torch she’d have to pass onto her children.

Now was her chance though.

“Which store front in Diagon Alley are we using?”

She’d interrupted them, Gwen realized too late after she spoke. Her mother smiled with a small roll of her eyes—Ada was far too used to her family’s priorities at this point to be bothered with things like this. “It’s catty corner to that joke shop…” Ada had been to Diagon Alley quite a few times when Gwen had been going to Hogwarts, but that new joke shop had gone up right when Gwen had graduated. As such, Ada had only seen it once. She looked for her husband for assistance with the name.

“Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes.” He tried not to chuckle at the look on his daughter’s face. “Would you like to go see it now? I’ve already got the keys. You’ll be able to see your flat above the shop, that should be nice.”

Briefly, Gwen wondered how long this had been going on for her father to have already scouted out a location, and apparently bought the damn thing to have keys. At the moment though it was a bit too hard to find words. Instead, Gwen nodded dumbly and accepted the keys from her father without comment.

Still deep in thought, Gwen excused herself from the room, pausing at the threshold to look back at her cauldron, “The potion—“

“Go, we’ll take care of it.” Afon waved her off, seemingly quite pleased at pulling the rug out from under the daughter. He knew the chance of their shop taking off laid on her shoulders, and he was very happy to give her the chance to do show her skill.

Gwen threaded her finger through the key ring, trying to sort her thoughts. As the seconds passed the shock faded into giddiness. This truly was going to be her shot at greatness. In a rush now she shoved on a jacket and heaved her bag over her shoulder before apparating into the middle of Diagon Alley. She glanced to her left, staring upwards at the large statue of George (or Fred?) that stood in front of their shop. Before the war, he would raise his hat and lower it, but now he seemed to be stuck halfway through the motion, staring blankly at something too far away for Gwen to see.

She tried to ignore the shudder that ran up her back, there was something disturbing about the giant man. With the windows of the shop boarded up, and the alley much less alive now that so many shops had closed, he seemed less like a promise of joy within Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes, and more of a reminder of times gone by.

It was with a very conscious shake of her head that Gwen was able to tear herself away from looking at the silent giant and turn towards her new shop. The key slid into the keyhole with a bit of wiggling, and with her heart pounding in her ears, the Slytherin took her first step into what would be her home.

The light filtered in through the large windows adjacent to the street, lighting up the particles of dust that danced as the air stirred. The floorboards were painted black, with footprints littering the space. Gwen was able to trace some unknown persons path through her store, and saw that they led towards a black staircase that was attached to the back wall of the store. She followed the path of the stairs up to a trap door that was about twenty feet above the ground.

Presumably, that would be the entrance to her flat.

Gwen let out a long breath that she didn’t know she was holding. Her footsteps further into the store seemed to break the spell that she was under, and with a flick of her wand she shut the door behind her. There was quite a bit of black in the store, the shelves that lined the tall walls were all black as well, and with closer inspection she could see small nicks in the paint that revealed the wood underneath was actually a light maple color.

The walls were painted a light dusty blue, and Gwen could already guess her father would suggest they paint them a shade of green.

This seemed a nice color palette though. She’d be keeping it.

She turned her attention back to the wall of windows that faced the street, the shop was absolutely flooded with light. The shop itself was two stories tall, with one wall completely made with windows, and the other three covered completely with shelves. The stairs in the back had a landing on the second story, with a catwalk wrapped around the three walls with shelves so customers could peruse at their leisure.  

There was plenty of room for inventory, Gwen thought, before noticing a small door in the back of the shop behind the counter. She ran her hand over the smooth wood of the countertop, digging her finger pads into a nick on the corner.

Gwen paused before opening the door, unsure of what caused the hesitation. There was something special about going to a place the first time. They said first impressions were the most important, but Gwen would argue that the difference between what you expected a place to look like and what it actually looked like was the most important.

She wanted to savor it.

Finally, Gwen rested her hand on the brass doorknob, taking in the cold feel of the metal before turning the knob.

She was met with a narrow staircase that led down towards the work room. Briefly Gwen was reminded of her time spent in the potion dungeons back in Hogwarts. There were three little windows to supply light to the dark space, and judging by the dried wax on the floor, the rest of the light was to be supplied by candles. Briefly Gwen felt a surge of fear of running the shop by herself, this would need a lot of inventory, and she couldn’t imagine supplying it all by herself.

Perhaps she could hire someone else to work with her.

Did Victoria have a job? Maybe she could be roped into the family business.

Gwen shrugged off the anxiety and apparated to the flat upstairs, unsure of what she’d find. She wasn’t sure what she expected, but it wasn’t this. The walls were half painted, either left in the original plaster white, or the same blue from downstairs. The floors were unfinished, in the maple wood that was painted black in the shop.

It was a small apartment, the kitchen bled into an open space that Gwen assumed was supposed to either be a dining area or a den. There was an open door across the room from the kitchen, and upon closer inspection it seemed to be a bedroom. It was a good enough size, no bigger or smaller than the one in her home now.

She let out a hefty sigh before settling down on the floor, her back against the wall. Gwen didn’t mind the dust that turned her black work pants grey. For an unknown amount of time, she simply let all of the events of the day set in before digging through her bag and fishing out a piece of parchment and a quill. Now was a good of time as ever to respond to George’s letter. Probably better actually, once she got home her father would set her straight to work.

Hello George,

Hello,

Hey,

George,

You’ll never guess where I’m writing from. The empty building catty corner from yours. My father just told me today, it’s where we’ll be opening the second shop. You and I will be neighbors soon. It ought to make writing to each other a bit more interesting, don’t you think?

Sorry if the writing is a bit messy, I’m sitting on the floor writing this at the moment, there’s no furniture in the flat yet.

I really hope you slept well last night. I’m glad to see that you took my advice and actually wrote a letter, you’re already a better patient than most of the ones back in Wales.

I’m sorry the potion tastes like piss, but to be fair Weasley, were you expecting butterbeer?

If it doesn’t work though, I’ll try and find you a better tasting one.

It’s good to hear that Fred’s doing better, and to be perfectly frank, how you’re feeling sounds normal. Many of the caretakers I see tend to invest themselves wholeheartedly into their roles, and when they no longer need to take care of someone, can feel a bit lost. I don’t have a potion for mixed feelings, but once I move into Diagon Alley we can grab a drink. It ought to help the same.

You’re good men for making Concentrating Candies. Already sounds like something useful. They’d probably be quite helpful for students, especially when it comes to a History of Magic.

Let me know about that Quidditch game, that sounds like it’ll be quite fun. Though I hope you and Fred don’t hit me with bludgers again. I’ll spike your potion if that happens, George.

Was it hard to open up a shop?

Of course it was, that’s a stupid question. I know it took a long time to make all of inventory, and to scout out the location, along with coming up with business models.

I didn’t know about this second shop until today. I was working on a potion at the (old) shop when Dad dropped the bomb on me. He said he wasn’t retiring and let me have a small heart attack before telling me it was because we were opening up a new shop here in Diagon Alley.

Truthfully, I’m a little nervous.

Well scared is more appropriate. A good kind of scared. Like when you get onto the Hogwarts Express and wonder what the next year is going to be like.

Was this what it was like for you? I always wondered how you two did it at seventeen.

Though I suppose you two had the benefit of months of planning to prepare yourselves. Dad did all of that by himself.

I hope I don’t sound ungrateful. This is more than I could have ever dreamed for. All I hoped for when I was in Hogwarts was to take over the old shop one day, and figured that it would be my children who got to open the new shops.

People from all around the United Kingdom coming to my shop though? It’s an amazing prospect. I can’t wipe the grin off of my face. If you saw me now you’d think I’d have eaten one of your candies. This is everything I knew would happen one day decades from now, landing in my lap today. Outstanding.

I hope a response before the day is up is quick enough for you. Truth be told I’m half tempted to apparate up to your flat and drop off this letter, but I’d hate to be rude and barge in like that. I’ll send it by owl.

Keep taking the potion! I’m glad it made you tired the first night, and I expect to hear how well you slept with your next letter. You have to keep up with the medication though, don’t just assume you can go off because you start to sleep well. A lot of people make that mistake, and it always ends poorly.

Don’t worry about me hiding away in Wales anymore. It seems like within the next few months I’ll be a Londener like you. Won’t that be fun?

Sleep well.

--Gwen

Lacking a candle to seal the letter with wax, Gwen scrunched up her face in a frown before simply folding it up. She could seal it when she got home she supposed. Briefly she wondered how her father would take to her using the family owl presumably every day until she moved out.

Perhaps this was the time to purchase an owl of her own.

With a shrug she lifted herself off of the floor and dusted herself off the best she could. Apparating back to Wales was the easiest way home, but Gwen didn’t quite trust herself to do it twice in one day. She’d hardly passed the exam after all. The floo at the Leaky Cauldron would have to do.

That goal in mind, Gwen trudged downstairs and out of the shop, locking up behind her. Spinning around to walk onto the street, she bumped into a rather tall man. “Goodness! I’m sorry—“ she cut herself off, taking in the shock of red hair and cane in the man’s hand. “Oh, Fred. Sorry about that again. Did I hurt you?”

“Don’t worry. I’m rather tough.” Fred flashed Gwen a smile, before looking at the building she just left. “Let me guess, checking out the real estate?”

Gwen nodded with a laugh, “You could say that, we’ll be opening up our new shop here. We’ll be neighbors soon.” She resisted the urge to look him up and down like she would a new patient. People who didn’t come looking for medical advice hardly appreciated it after all.

If he was a patient, she’d have him on a pain management potion and something to ease joint stiffness. That would ease the pause in his gate and hopefully wean him off the cane. Just guessing from his original injury, she’d assume that his back probably bothered him, and there was some head trauma. More potions to ease any problems from that.

“Well I’ll be damned.” Fred eyed the shop in surprise, he hadn’t expected his joke to actually be true. True to his nature, a grin spread across his face. “This ought to be fun then, I expect you to be healing Georgie and I whenever we have an accident in the shop now.”

Gwen couldn’t help but laugh, knowing very well that joke would probably become true very soon. “I wouldn’t expect anything less.” The thought of George brought the letter she’d just written to the forefront of her mind. She fumbled through her bag, ignoring the slightly confused yet very amused look on Fred’s face.

He eyed the letter she withdrew from her bag with interest. Fred adjusted his weight on the cane, shifting uncomfortably. Most days he could manage fine, but as it got colder his joints began to ache. Regardless, his jokester nature couldn’t be contained. “Are you an owl now? Am I keeping you from flying off to your next delivery?” Fred stepped back a bit out of Gwen’s path, giving her a good natured smile as he bowed a bit before gesturing with his cane. “How very rude of me.”

“Actually, I was hoping you’d be the owl. This is for George. He wrote me a letter last night and this is my reply.” Gwen tidied up the folds of her letter, frowning a bit at how sloppy her handwriting looked from her writing on the floor. “I’m sorry to put you out, but could you pass this along to him?” It made more sense to have Fred do it after all, than to go all the way back to Wales, send an owl, and wait for a response.

It was hard not to smirk, but Fred tried his best. He’d have to tease George about this later. “He mentioned writing you a letter last night. I’m glad you responded with such enthusiasm.”

Gwen raised an eyebrow at Fred’s tone, and let out a very small sigh. She should have known that there’d be some teasing for this request. It was Fred after all.

Everything was in good fun after all.

“He’s my friend. Just like you are—I’d respond just as quick if it was you Fred.”

Fred couldn’t help but grin, he could see where this was going. Just like George to lean into something like exchanging letters every day. “Is that a promise Birdie?”

“Birdie?” Gwen had been called quite a few things in her days. Gwendy. Gwendolyn. Gwen. Chaser. That Slytherin. Birdie hadn’t made the list quite yet. “Why Birdie?”

Carefully, Fred slipped the letter into his coat’s inside pocket, patting his chest where it now laid. Despite his teasing he’d take good care of something meant for his brother. “You’re an owl, aren’t you? So you’re Birdie.” He winced a bit, it was hard to stay on his feet for this long in one place.

If he said that he was in pain and needed to leave, Fred knew that Gwen of all people would understand. She was a healer for Merlin’s sake.

However, there was a thing called Gryffindor pride, and Fred wasn’t about to admit that he couldn’t stay on his feet for very long.

Gwen noticed as he leaned more heavily onto the cane, and noted the white knuckle grip he had on the silver handle. “Well, this Birdie does have to fly off to Wales.” She couldn’t be for sure that he was in pain, but in her experience as a healer, she reckoned it was pretty likely. Either way, it was probably safer to politely excuse herself so Fred could get on his way.

She patted Fred on the shoulder and gave him a smile, “Thank you again for sending along my letter. I’ll come by around soon, we should all grab a drink. I’ll see you later Fred!”

“Bye bye, Birdie.” Fred watched Gwen trudge towards the Leaky Cauldron, a thoughtful smile on his face despite the pain he was feeling. If Lee was there, or hell, even Ron, Fred would have made a bet that by Christmas, the letters between Gwen and George would turn into love letters.

Instead he let out a small chuckle, made his way down the street, and gave the letter in his pocket one last pat for safe keeping.

tag list: @harrysweasleys @geeksareunique @insearchofnewdreams @notstandingstill-imlyinginwait @lumos-barnes @thatfuckingliardavidtennant @slytherinqween @xinyourdreamsx @skiving-snackboxess @wildfire-whizbangs @dwarfwizard-from-panem @diary-of-an-onliner @answer-the-sirens @woakiees @black-widow-fangirl @theheirofnightandday @summerstardust @whysoseriouspadfoot @chocok22 @myhopesareanchoredinyou @siriusblackisme @illusivedaydreamer @zeeneee @writingwitchly @wolfpotter12 @obsessedwithrandomthings @carolinesbookworld @shadowsinger11 @pit-and-the-pen @summer-writes @peachesandpinks @ickle-ronniekins @gweaslvy @alpinewinchester @parker-potters

want to be tagged in my writings? click here to add yourself! 

[clairebeauchampfan]

Mr and Mrs Henry Windsor

I was asked by a Tumblr-friend what I thought of Dook  Harry and the Duchess of Sussex, or as I now prefer to call  them, Mr and Mrs Henry Windsor, or Ms Markle and her espoused husband, Mr Meghan Markle.  I’m not going to fall into the trap of criticising Meghan Markle, and therefore proving my innate “White British Racism” and snobbery for all to see. Ms Markle is above criticism now – and rightly so!  Even if she did a JK Rowling and cast nasturtiums on the trans community, no one (outside of the snapping curs of the English tabloid press)  could or should criticise that poor, much maligned and traduced woman. I’m glad to see that President Joe Biden even has praised her ‘courage’ in confessing on global television  that she had suicidal thoughts whilst pregnant , and it would be incredibly churlish  of me to suggest that true courage is shown by those who have indeed  had suicidal thoughts but don’t feel the need share them with  anyone, let alone  7.8 billion people on global television.  Still, a Nobel prize and a personal visit to the Vatican for a papal blessing  must surely now be in order? And an Oscar, or at least an Emmy. Was there ever a more heart-rending, touching  performance by this much loved actress?

Poor Ms Markle never stood a chance, did she? As any Hollywood-raised child brought up on a diet of Disney Princesses would do, she set out to charm herself a real-live Prince and live in a fairy-tale castle in Merrie Olde Englande. How we loved that ‘fairy-tale’ wedding. A breath of fresh air ! A modern woman shaking up those dull and worthy Royals!  Only she found that she had to settle for being a mere Duchess rather than a Princess, her son wouldn’t automatically  be a Prince, the castles were cold and draughty,  the shabby genteel cottage she was expected to live in didn’t have a yoga-room, hot –tub and a Jacuzzi, the in-laws were frigid and nasty snobs who didn’t take kindly to her Californian notions of ‘monetizing the brand’ , old fashioned (and racist!) fuddy-duddies that they are, and that  she was expected to display  fortitude in the face of the baying hyenas of the British tabloid press and an increasingly hostile British public.  Paralysis of the upper mandible, or as we Brits call it, keeping a stiff upper lip just isn’t her style, poor darling. No friendly, understanding Beverly Hills  shrink to pour her heart out to, an estranged Dad,  and Mom five and a half thousand miles away . My heart bleeds for her, no really it does. Stranger in a strange land. Been there, (almost)  done that.  

  How dare the British Press   suggest that she was a social climbing, calculating, designing  little madam who discarded her inconvenient first husband like a used toilet tissue   and had her eye on ensnaring our beloved Prince from the moment she met him? How dare Palace officials now suggest that she was a demanding bully? When everyone knows what a kind hearted, gentle soul she is, who wants only to protect her young family’s privacy  from the prying eyes of the world’s press and  7.8 billion viewers around the world!   She cares nothing for titles and riches, and, as a good  American, brought up on the promise, I mean the premise,  that all men are created equal, I trust she will now, rightly,   throw her title back in the face of those snobbish, racist Royals and declare that from now on, she and her husband are going to be plain Mr and Mrs and live forever  in the  land where snobbery and racism don’t exist.

As for our once beloved Prince Harry, well, naturally I’m disappointed that, just like his great great Uncle David (Edward VIII) he too has put love before duty, and instead of marrying someone  useful to this disunited  realm, as Princes ought to do,  like a Scot, a Welsh or Irish woman, or better still, the daughter of a British Bangladeshi or Jamaican immigrant, or even - in extremis-   a European Princess with a face like a boot and a Habsburg lip, he chose to marry yet another beautiful American divorcee.  Well, love conquers all , and I ‘ll have nothing said against beautiful American divorcees, gor bless ‘em, and unlike the fragrant Wallace, the beautiful Ms Markle has only been married the once before.  It’s just that being old fashioned  (it comes with being old, and British ) I have outdated notions of how Royalty ought to behave, and things like duty and service to your country, and not running away in the face of the Enemy, and all that nonsense.  And the duty and respect due to your family. For as Shakespeare said: “ How sharper than a serpent’s tooth, it is to have a thankless child” .

I wish Mr Henry Windsor well in the new life he is carving out for himself  No more uncomfortable, itchy uniforms, Afrika Korps or Brigade of Guards. No more interminable State dinners with dubious Foreign presidents and dictators. No more boring foreign tours  and keeping a rictus grin whilst watching folk dances.  Just bare feet and jeans, and rubbing shoulders with film  stars. How William must envy him!  

[imtryingthisout]

Sunglasses and Serenity

[a fic inspired by @nachosforfree @sanderssides-magicalgirlau check them out]

[Warnings: Descriptions of a Panic Attack]

[Pairing: Sleepxiety]

[Word Count: 2283]

——————————————————————

It was not a quiet night. The sky above was dark, the pearly stars hidden behind the neon verbosity of downtown. 24 hour shops and businesses had windows that never dimmed, pinpricks of artificial lightings blurred together creating an abstract mess of blended color.

The moon itself was distorted by the light pollution. It’s natural autumn glow paled in comparison to the vibrancy of the busy streets.

Remy both loved and hated it.

Growing up with summers spent in his family’s old Villa in Italy, secluded in a valley side miles away from the nearest approximation of a town, he had always known how the sky was darker blue than black. He and his cousins loved to climb upon the rooftop and find the stories hidden in the stars. The earth around them was quiet and peaceful, but never silent. The symphony of crickets and other night creature laid in the background of every night spent there. A distant murmuring, Tellus’s lullaby.

Moving to the city had been akin to dunking his head in a bucket of ice water and screamo pop.

Shocking, painful and utterly disorientating. But after the ringingness faded- strangely exhilarating.

Remy has thrown himself headfirst into the city’s night culture. Staying up late partying, trying all the best coffee houses, hanging around the hidden-and-not-so-hidden drag shows,gaining a reputation and a caffeine addiction along the way.

But this was not a night where he would be going out, not when everything he needed was with him.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

Virgil really was a sight to be seen, his skin was pale, like the white-petaled sunflowers that grew by the valley, that seemed to glow in the moonlight. But his starkness fit in perfectly with the gleam of the industrial lights. Heterochromatic eyes, green and purple, stunning as murano glass and pulsing as strobe lights.

Achingly familiar, yet enticingly foreign. Home and longing rolled up in one boy, a boy who has stolen one of his sleep shirts for his own nefarious (adorable) use.

And who probably wanted an answer. Quick Remy, think of some witty remark to be entertaining!

“You ever notice how bright it is sometimes?”

Damn it! Guess we’re being genuine.

Virgil quirked his head to the side, giving Remy a piercing look, before nodding his head slightly . “Yeah,” he said, “Used to overstimulate the crap outta me when I was younger.” Then he paused, debating with himself over continuing- but decided to press forward. “Is that why you always wear those stupid shades?” The last words said in jest.

A surprised laugh escaped his through before he could stop it- Virgil almost reaches out to comfort him, but tensed up, too many bad memories stilled his arm.

“Girl, I’ll have you know these are designer glasses right here” he made a gesture around his face, “Iconic one of a kind Remy Hypnos Original Shades. Don’t go dissing my brand babes”

Virgil just snorted and rolled his eyes, “Uh, I’m pretty sure the designer thing on your face are those-eye bags you have hidden under there.”

“Damn right, even the bags under my eyes are Gucci”

“Oh Gods did you steal that off tumblr you sleep-deprived asshat? Oh don’t give me that look you totally did.” Virgil’s words had started off biting, but slowly devolved into a giggling mess.

(He really was just too cute for this world, Remy thought)

“Oh Ha ha, laugh it up” he snapped, ignoring his blushing cheeks and hot ears.

(Virgil could always tell how flustered Remy was by how red the tips of his ears were. A dusty pink for flirty, A warm rouge signaled embarrassment or arousal. Virgil loved watching the colors bloom on his skin. Memorizing what each shade meant- he could take any cochineal-colored paint swatch and map out Remy’s mood in the margins. It made him so easy to read, and so much fun to mess with.)

Soon the laughing and jeering subsided, and Virgil turned to look at Remy, “But seriously man, Is that why you always have those things on? Photophobia?”

“Can’t it be enough that I look rad as all Hell’s in them?”

“Not with that deflection it can’t” Virgil wasn't giving up it seemed, so Remy let out a deep sigh and gathard his words. “Remember highschool?”

“Kind of hard to forget.” High school was an absolute trainwreck for Virgil, he’d been on and off meds that screwed with his moods- making the already hormone fueled circus that was over a thousand teens trapped in one building, like a pack of sardines- even more emotionally taxing.

But if High School was a disaster for Virgil, it was absolute Hell for Remy.

Remy and his cousins had been homeschooled by their many relatives since they were children. Growing up learning in his family’s study. Rich mahogany floors, dim golden lighting bouncing off the variety of nick-nacks and treasures that line the shelves. Learning to read in his grandfather’s library, his worn and wrinkled hands guiding his young fingers along the words.

His cousin Alessia longed to go to a public school, and pleaded with her mother for ages before she relented. With the condition that she would allow her to go- but only if one of their own went with her.

So Remy, proving himself as her favorite, offered to accompany her.

The blinding smile on Alessia’s face as she squealed thank you , thank you amata cugino, favorito benedetto, was totally worth it. ‘It’s only one year’ he thought, ‘how bad could it be?’

Until he actually got there.

Virgil could think back and recall in semi-perfect clarity the day Remy Hypnos graced the halls of Sandershore High. Roman had become a central hub for gossip , and he’d heard whispers that of new transfer students, which in of itself wouldn't be news. But Hypnos was a household name, owning some of the most ridiculously pretentious Itialian Restaurants in the country. The kind people got engaged at, those levels of nice.

Needless to say when Remy and Alessia strolled into Sandershore’s gate. With perfect olive skin, rich brown hair and clothes nicer than Virgil’s single mom income could ever afford. Virgil fell in hate easily.

(The kind of hate that has him staring at him out of the corner of his eye during Calculus. Thinking about what his eyes looked under those darkened glasses. The kind of hate that wasn’t really hate)

Remy had all the perfect components to rule to school. Pretty, rich, with a startling amount of charisma and people skills for someone so unsocialized.

(Know one knew how he picked up slang so fast in an attempt to hide to slight foreign tilt that laced his words. Never knew how when he first heard someone mock Alessia’s body he punched the guy’s lights out without ever thinking. No one knew how he hadn’t had a night's sleep since school started. How fake he felt, his mannerisms esageraged and twisted to suit the liking of the student body- till he felt like a caricature rather than a person.)

By second quarter Virgil and Remy’s seeming distaste for one another had spread far and wide. They couldn’t be in the same room together without having some sort of verbal showdown. If you asked Virgil he would say that Remy was a self absorbed prick with an ego the size of Mt. Rushmore. If you asked Remy he’d say that that Virgil was a clingy mood-killer who couldn’t see past his own issues.

(Remy didn’t know how empty Virgil felt. How much the crushing weight of his own thoughts threatened to pull him down under. How his dependency on Patton was more sinister than a clingy best-friend. How sometimes his nightmares left him gasping and clawing- begging for them to come back. How his mother never really could fill the emptiness in his house. How Virgil sometimes felt like a puppet going through the motions.)

As the eye bags under their eyes grew darker and heavier, and autumn grew colder and colder. Both boys felt the pressure crushing them under its weight.

(Turns out they both used their arguments as cathartic release from the world around them.)

(Some things never change.)

It was winter when they found each other. Both on the verge of a breakdown-

(It was always too bright. There were no warm wooden floors just chilled title and harsh- fake- lights. The entire building smelled like body odor and cleaning supplies. The teachers were strangers, uncaring distant- he heard what the girls were saying about his cousin. He just felt so-)

(Empty. Hopeless. Patton was gone where did Patton go? He was lonely. And so so pathetic. He needed to get himself under control needed. Don’t be a burden- they all hate him- don’t slip up. They’re going to leave him. Everything felt so distant- drowned out by the static- he was drowning-)

Where the fate’s looking down on the two powder keg boy. A spark away from igniting. Weaving their strings together for a happenstance in counter. Or was it merely coincidence that they went to the same storage closet, to have a moment's respite.

Was it just chance that the door was automatic-locked.

“This is just great” Remy hissed under his breath, he just wanted one moment- just one! Of some cooled peace and solitude. Away from the buzzing gossip and fake friends. Away from the sensory hell outside. A little kernel of bitter anger swelled within the pit of his stomach. One moment, just one.

Then he turned to look at the other person in the room.

Remy had seen lots of sides of Virgil Anxiti, the sarcastic commenter, the horrible-yet oddly insightful- student, the debater .

(He hadn’t seen the devoted son, the caring brother, the friend who would do anything for his loved ones)

But he’d never seen him… blank.

Curled up in the corner of the closet, arms hugging his knees as they were pressed into his chest, was Virgil. Eyes dead and dulled as stone. The muscles in his face were relaxed completely- which unsettled Remy more than crying would have.

Remy wasn’t a Knight in shining armor, or even a comforting person in general- but unqualified as he may be, he couldn’t just let his favorite rival just sit there and do nothing to help.

Alessia needed physical touch when she was upset , their whole family was practically comprised of touchy people. So when one of them was sad, it was a one way ticket to hug time. Somehow Remy didn’t think that would be well received.

“Hey, babes I’m going to touch your arm- that good with you?” He didn’t reply, not that Remy thought he would- but still. So slowly, cautiously, he layed a single hand on Virgil’s arm.

The change was gradual, but noticeable. Hear bloomed under Virgil’s complexion, bringing back warmth into his skin. The glassy oversheen of his eyes subsided, and his entire posture just… relaxed. And so did Remy.

When he had gathered enough of himself, Remy guided Virgil though his breathing exercises. In and out, In and out. Hand never leaving his arm- grounding him to the world.

The door was still locked when Virgil regained his senses. “Guess we have to wait until someone notices we’re missing” Which nearly set Virgil off into another spiral. Until they rembered that technology exists. And so they used Virgil’s phone to text Logan to come and unlock it.

“He’s the only one who won’t make a big deal about us being locked in a closet together”

But there was time between then and there. Time to talk, if only to fill the awkward silence.

To talk about school.

“Girl I have no idea what they put in those ‘school provided lunches’ but they are not food.”

“What rock have you been living under? I once got food poisoning from drinking some of the milk in 6th grade- and that still wasn’t the worst thing I’ve eaten from there.”

About Friends.

“I met Patton when I was six and we’ve been best friends ever since. Dee joined in when we were all about nine and we first saw Lo’ and the twins when they started freshman year”

“I cannot honestly tell you the names of half the people who hang around me”

About Family.

“Hon you could bust down every wall in this building and still wouldn’t have enough room to put all my fam”

“It’s just been my mom, little brother and Patton since I was eight and my dad walked out. Still don’t know who I hate more for it- him or me”

If Logan took just a tad longer route to the closet- he didn’t mention it. He also didn’t mention when Remy started joining their table for lunch. Matching Roman and Remus in all their theatrics- offering to set up a ‘play date’ between some of his younger cousins and Dee’s many siblings.

(If he noticed how much happier the two were after that, how much more healthy Virgil seemed, how more secure in himself Remy acted...well that was just one more thing he didn’t mention.)

Present Day Remy took off his glasses, letting them rest gently in his hand. “My Nonna gave them to me the day before I started school. Said they would come in handy. They did of course.. they just kinda.. became more” he rubbed along the temple’s rubbery tip. Eyes focused in on the way his fingers move up and down the slender frame.

Virgil gently takes the glasses into his hand, and sets them down on the bedside table. He has to stand on his toes to reach Remy’s face, but when he does he tenderly places a hand onto his cheek, gazing into his deep brown eyes- the same shade as his espresso cups and just as rich.

And Remy melts into him. Allows himself to be led away from the window. From the bright lights and traffic noise, and into Virgil’s embrace.

[redfoxwritesstuff]

Mom (Original Story)

Good morning, happy Friday, Did you miss me?

Sorry for disappearing on y’all for almost a month solid. My husband took a job in Montana and we scheduled a move with all of 5 weeks notice. Annnd then a viral disease became a official pandemic, school got canceled and this bitch still had to move us halfway across the country.

Readers of Dust: I plan on having us resuming biweekly updates starting next week. We’re moved in as of Monday, furniture put together as of Wednesday and mostly unpacked as of Today. All that is left to distract me is two boxes, home schooling annnd the fact that my sister is a 5 minute walk from me. 

Below is a short original story. My second posted here. Weird, right?

Warnings: none 

Summary: The title ‘Mom’ shifts and changes over one’s life. The word we use to refer to the woman who gave us life can change with age and our emotions. Yet for many of us, that woman is always there, standing firm regardless of if we want her until, one day, she isn’t. 

Mom

The lights where too bright, reflecting off the white of the walls and floors. There were voices in the hall but the people in the room couldn’t make out their words. The voices didn’t matter. All that mattered, all that would ever matter was in that too bright room. It smelled of sanitizer but just as the words were lost on them, as was the smell.  

The woman wearing bright blue scrubs smiled at the woman on the bed and the man leaned over the bed. Her job here was done. She wasn’t needed here anymore so she would leave the room, off into what felt like another world to do just what she had done here again and again.  

They didn’t notice her leave. They didn’t notice the bird that landed on the tree outside the window. They didn’t notice the fluffy white clouds in the sky. All there was in their world to notice was the puffy pink cheeks, little button nose and dark eyelashes framed by a sea of white.  

“I’m ‘mama’” the woman whispered as big, dark eyes blinked up at her. A tiny little mouth stretched open in a yawn, exposing the tiny little tongue that pushed out.  

~~~~~<3

The moon was high in the sky and stars shone down on the snow outside. It was peaceful night not matched by the fussy baby in her arms. The woman rocked and sang just the same while her husband worked the long night away.  

“Mama.” babbled the baby and the woman smiled. She knew it was too soon. She knew the baby was too young to use the word properly. She knew the little one was simply practicing her sounds. She knew all of it and yet her heart sang with the sound.  

~~~~~<3

“Mama!” She said, little legs taking her toward the woman standing at the stove. The rich smell of stew wafted in the air. She was hungry and maybe, just maybe if she was sweet enough she could get food now.  

The woman turned from the pot and swooped down, scooping up her little body. The woman shook her head, smile soft on her lips. Little fingers wove though the woman’s brown hair as little lips moshed a sloppy kiss to the woman’s face. The laugh that the action brought from the woman was perhaps almost as good as any treat she had managed to earn for herself.  

~~~~~<3

“Mom!” The voice rang out over the sea of small bodies all lined up on the asphalt. She waved her arm over her head as her lopsided pigtails danced around her head. They’d been even in the morning but that was a lifetime ago.  

There was so much she wanted to tell the woman making her way through the sea of adults. The backpack was puffy on her back but she held it with pride as she waited for her very first teacher to motion her over.  

When she saw the wave, just like they practiced, she skipped up to the teacher and curled her little fingers into a fist. Softly, she bumped her knuckles against the teacher’s much larger hand. The cracks on his worn knuckles scratched at her tiny hand but she didn’t mind. He was the teacher, the first of many. With a smile and a nod, he sent her on her way.

“Mom!” She cried as she lunged herself into the woman’s legs. Warm arms wrapped around her and pulled her up as if she weighed nothing. It didn’t matter that they were in the middle of the schoolyard, surrounded by strangers and new friends. The instant the woman’s arms wrapped around her tiny frame, she was home.  

~~~~~<3

“Momma?” The woman came running at the sound of her strangled voice. She’d tried to hold herself together for as long as she could. All she had wanted was to keep the pain inside until she made it through that door.  

The woman paused in the doorway, gazing down with the warmth of the sun at her tear stained face. That was all it took for her to crumble and spill the hurts of the day. Kids were not always nice to one another and hurt feelings were a part of growing up.  

The knowledge that this too would pass did nothing to cool the warmth from the woman as she wrapped up the small girl in her arms as if she were little still. The woman wouldn’t say it, not right now, but the she was still little. She grew with each passing blink of the eye but the woman would hold her in her arms for so long as she could.  

When tears slowed, the woman left the girl alone only to come back with her keys. There was nothing the woman could do to undo the hurts of the day. There was nothing the woman could do to work out childhood politics for her. But she did know that ice cream in the park while tossing small bits of carrots for the ducks could soothe any hurt, at least for the afternoon.  

~~~~~<3

“Mom!” She shouted as the woman stood stone still as the she hurdled vial words at her. Words meant to cut deep seemed to glance right off the woman. She tired to chip away her resolve but no words seemed to work.  

Finally when words ran out, she settled for sulking in her room. She wrote words of how unfair her life was on lined notebook pages. Line after line, she wrote of how much better it would be when she was free from this home. While she wrote, she was unaware of the woman crumbling in the living room.

The woman held her head in her hands, tears dropping down her wrists. This was a part of the process, she knew it but that did nothing to make the words hurt less. The girl who had once been a tiny baby, held within her arms was fighting to fly before she’d even learned how to spread her wings wide enough.  

Through the pain in her heart, the woman reminded herself that this storm too would pass. Seemingly a lifetime ago, before she had been the woman, she could remember what it had felt like to be trapped in that stage of between.

~~~~~<3

“Mother.” A exasperated sigh sounded across the dinner table. The girl and the woman were failing to see eye to eye, once again. Still, the girl was now a woman herself in so many ways. If she wanted to marry, she could.  

The woman had a hard time swallowing the choice just the same. It felt like the table between them could have just as easily been an ocean. The woman reached out, resting her reaching hand against the center of the table. A peace offering.  

Regardless of the girl’s choices, the woman would always be there. She would always be her baby, even if she no longer fit in her lap. The girl stood up, schooling her face and walked out of the room. The woman’s hand rested empty as a she listened to the front door close.

~~~~~<3

“Ma?” The voice came through the speaker from well over a thousand miles away. Technology had done wonders to keep them together even as she had grown up and moved away.  

The woman wasted no time getting on the first flight out. The laundry needed to be done and there were dishes in the sink but it could wait. Her daughter needed her to help show her how to pick up the shattered pieces of her heart.  

Though she was grown now, the girl had spent much of the night held in her mother’s arms. When the sun rose on them with the promise of a new day, together they worked as they packed her things. Heartbreaks were a dime a dozen, the woman would tell the girl though she wished she could take the pain herself.  

~~~~~<3

“Mama.” The woman cooed as her daughter sat on the bed in the too white room. Her hair was a mess and she looked tired but the woman knew the glow. She held her own little bundle in her arms, wrapped in pale blankets and a pale pink cap on her head.  

The woman didn’t feel old enough to be here, holding her daughter’s daughter. They’d been through life together, ups and downs. They’d watched the world change around them and now she was watching the girl’s life change in the same way hers had changed so long ago.  

The girl rolled her eyes but smiled down at the bundle. She would make a good mother, of that the woman was sure. Still, she would take time to find her feet.

~~~~~<3

“Mom?” The girl’s voice was thick with sleep and confusion. It was the middle of the light and her new husband’s eyes reflected the light of her cellphone. They shone full of the concern that she was sure was reflected in her own eyes.  

The woman tried to say she was fine, that it was nothing to worry about. She tried to say that it could wait till morning.  

The girl wouldn’t hear it. The man nodded to her as she slipped from the bed. The phone beeped as she flipped on the light. It’s harsh radiance banished the shadows of the night, revealing her large wet eyes and pale face.  

The woman had said it was nothing, that she would be fine. The woman said it could wait for morning but it didn’t sound like it would be fine. It didn’t sound like it could wait.  

She tripped over a laundry basket and crashed to the floor as she struggled to get dressed in her rush. The man would stay behind and watch the little one. Her arm was bleeding from where it scratched against the bed frame but she had hardly noticed.  

“Mama?” A small voice called out. She clutched the limp stuffed bunny in her arms. It was nearly as big as she was and well loved.  

The girl looked from her child, look of worry and fear on her small face to the man. He nodded at her. She needed to go, he would deal with the little one. The mother took a deep breath and steadied her mind for a few moments longer as she pulled the tiny body into her embrace. No one could say who needed the comfort more in that moment as tiny arms wrapped around her neck.  

The little one was passed on to the man and she rushed out the door and into the night.  

~~~~~<3

“Mama.” The word was choked. It hurt to say it but the woman who had once been a baby in this very hospital a lifetime ago felt like she had to say it.  

Trembling fingers wrapped around a too still hand. No one should ever be that still. Hands shouldn’t be that cold. It was wrong. It was all wrong. The girl pushed back the silver hair from the woman’s face. It felt like yesterday that the woman was standing in the kitchen of her childhood home, long brown hair tied back in a braid.

It wasn’t right. It wasn’t fair. It was too soon. She needed her still.  

The woman collapsed forward over the still body and her chest and shoulders shuddered as she clung to the body on the bed. In the doorway, the man stood holding onto the girl as they watched on with sad eyes.

“Momma?” The girl asked, worried. She’d never seen her mother cry like this. Her tiny mind couldn’t process why her grandmother was so still on the bed, why she wasn’t waking up but she knew something was very wrong.  

“Momma?”

“Mama.”

-End-

Everything Tag List: @winterisakiller, @alcoholic-muffin, @theoneanna, @alexakeyloveloki, @toozmanykids, @j-u-s-t-4, @missaphrodite23, @bambamwolf87, @nonsensicalobsessions, @tinchentitri, @xoxabs88xox, @queenoftheunderdark, @jeremyrennerfanxxxx123, @wegingerangelica, @myoxisbroken, @faemapfae, 

[queenpersephonesgarden]

the heart wants what it does not have

Wangxian Week Day 1: Family

In the daylight the thought comes and goes, infrequent but so predictable it’s almost laughable.

There are times when he can ignore it, convince himself it was just nostalgia and old flights of fancy coming back to haunt him like lingering smoke from a bonfire. He gets better at not letting it sneak up out of nowhere to hit him unexpectedly, learns to anticipate it more often than not.

But it still stings, whether he expects it or not.

Jin Ling’s loud, cheeky banter with Jiang Cheng that echoes through whole rooms with both aggravation and affection so interwoven it is hard to tell apart.

Lan Sizhui’s quiet, respectful nod to Lan Zhan as he joins him for guqin practice every afternoon, his wide smile and Lan Zhan’s peaceful expression making for a perfect complement as they played.

Young married couples flitting through the streets of Caiyi with a small child in tow, both tiny hands clasped firmly by one hand of their mother and father as they are led wide-eyed in between stalls brimming with colorful toys and sweets.

Wei Wuxian sees these things, and he wants.

Can also be read on AO3

He wants so, so badly, half-formed dreams of a man leading a stubborn donkey along a winding road by the reins as his husband and child rode along after him, cheerful laughter ringing in the sunlight melting into the waking world to be splayed beneath his fingertips.

He could…. He could have that.

He could, if he would just open his mouth and ask for it.

Just having the option was enough to make him breathless, make his heart race like he’s run a thousand miles with still no end goal in sight.

Wei Wuxian watches a man on the side of the street scoop his daughter up and deposit her laughing into his wife’s arms, and wants.

“Lan Zhan!” he spins right around to face his husband determinedly.

Lan Zhan focuses on him instantly like he always does when Wei Wuxian opens his mouth, and he has to fight down the immediate flush that tries to crawl up his neck. “Lan Zhan, I’ve been thinking-”

The words are right there.

All that’s missing is a little one.

Such simple words, they’d been so easy to say before-

‘Wretched, ungrateful thing,’ some deep, insidious voice that he shamefully refuses to admit is just the slightest bit reminiscent of Madam Yu hisses in his ear. ‘You have so much more than Jiang Yanli, than Jin Zixuan, than all the Wens you let die, and still you dare wish for more?’

A bright flare of pain erupts in his heart, dulled only the slightest bit by time but no less agonizing. His eyes sting, but he refuses to let any tears truly form.

The vitriol isn’t anything he hasn’t thought of before, but it still manages to trap the words behind his teeth once more, grinning widely in the face of Lan Zhan’s questioning look when the silence stretches.

“Ah, it’s nothing. Nothing important!” For a moment he dares to think he may be able to get away with it, that it really will remain a subject to discuss in the distant nebulous future that he simply never has to bring up again.

But then he catches Lan Zhan’s lips pursing out of the corner of his eye, and he knows there’s no way they won’t talk about it now.

--

He manages to stall the conversation for the rest of the day, though he is self-aware enough to know this is only because Lan Zhan recognizes this as a subject best saved for the privacy of the Jingshi.

Still Wei Wuxian does everything he can think of to avoid the inevitable, taking extra long in the bath after dinner, scrubbing exaggeratedly at his skin until it’s worn pink and wrinkled from the water, all the while keeping up a stream of nonsense chatter as it comes to mind.

“-and the time delay could probably be extended if I added another stroke in the opposite direction-”

“Mn.”

“-I’ll have to ask A-Yuan and Lan Jingyi if they’d be willing to help me test it-”

“Mn.”

“-course, we’ll probably have to find a bigger target range this time in case it catches fire again-”

“Wei Ying.” A towel appears draped over the privacy screen, right where it normally would be if Wei Wuxian had not purposefully left it behind to be cause for a bit of distraction once he stepped out of the bath, dripping wet and naked with nothing to cover himself with.

Wei Wuxian grins sheepishly even as he sinks a bit lower into the lukewarm water. “Ah, gege is so attentive today,” he lets his voice go sly and teasing at the end. “But is he sure he wants his husband to cover up? I thought he might enjoy a little show once I finished-”

“Wei Ying. The water is going cold.” The man manages to radiate disapproval even without looking behind the screen.

The confident smirk he’d been trying for slid off of Wei Wuxian’s face like rainwater.

He wraps himself in the towel and empties the tub in silence, listening to the distant shuffling of footsteps and fabric as Lan Zhan readied for bed across the room. Wringing his hands while his husband changed felt too strange, too- too distant, and Wei Wuxian did not like it at all, so he clenched his fingers and circled around the privacy screen, padding across the room in determined silence.

The Jingshi feels simultaneously too large and too small for the quiet, the shadows at the corners of the room stretching into silent nothingness as his footsteps bring him to the bedroom.

Wei Wuxian finally slips into bed and feels more nervous than he has for a long time. It takes him one moment, two, before he can raise his eyes to his husband.

Lan Zhan’s gaze was unwavering. “You are unhappy.”

Sudden panic jolted Wei Wuxian into blurting out, “No! I’m never unhappy with you!”

Lan Zhan’s entire face softening infinitely at the quick rebuttal was so unexpectedly endearing Wei Wuxian couldn’t help smiling helplessly, nerves abruptly melting with the force of his joy. Winding his arms around Lan Zhan to press close as he whispered softly, “How could I ever be unhappy when er-gege loves me so much? When I love him so much?”

A shaky breath that could have been a laugh as arms wrapped around him in turn, before lips pressed softly to his temple. “You are… upset,” Lan Zhan gently corrects.

Wei Wuxian hummed noncommittally, then cringes guiltily when the arms around him tighten minutely.

“Not… exactly, but I guess I am, a little.”

“Why?”

Wei Wuxian sighed gustily, a great, explosive breath as the same want from the marketplace surged through his ribcage and rather impatiently forced its way out of his mouth:

“It’s just…. This is more than I could have ever asked for, in a life. You, and A-Yuan, and Jin Ling and all the other juniors, Lan Xichen; even Jiang Cheng when he’s in a good mood! We already have a wonderful family. I wouldn’t change it for anything! I just-!” Here he bit his lip hard, relieved that the tears from earlier don’t resurface even as his heart clenches painfully.

“I would- love, love to have another child with you. To raise one with you, properly this time. Not that A-Yuan isn’t proper! He’s the most Lan-ish Lan I’ve ever met! You did an amazing job with him! But- just-!”

“To raise them with me,” Lan Zhan said quietly, and Wei Wuxian bit his lip even harder.

Nodded fiercely with his eyes squeezed shut.

“How many?”

Wei Wuxian’s eyes popped open. “Hah?”

“How many would make you happy?”

Fond surprise lit up his heart, before exasperated amusement berated him for being surprised at all.

Wei Wuxian hummed in exaggerated thought, gaze fixed on a certain point on the ceiling and ignoring his husband’s steady gaze; he knows if he meets Lan Zhan’s earnest, determined gaze now, he’d likely start either laughing or crying.

“A dozen. No, two dozen. Boys with your eyes and my smile. Girls with steady calligraphy like yours and loud laughter like me. Uncouth hellions that run carelessly through the Cloud Recesses and give your uncle a few new gray hairs before he reaches seventy. Dozens and dozens of little ones to equal the horde of rabbits you have stashed away in the meadow.”

Grinning far too wide at the images his words painted across his mind, Wei Wuxian chanced a glance down at Lan Zhan’s face. “Aiyo, but too many at once would probably send your uncle into a qi deviation. I don’t think my happiness would be worth that.”

“Wei Ying deserves to be happy,” Lan Zhan says, matter of fact, and though Wei Wuxian had meant it to be a joke, Lan Zhan’s voice was so serious that suddenly Wei Wuxian’s eyes were stinging again.

“Lan Zhan. You know you can’t just suddenly say things like that!”

Lan Zhan huffs in amusement, and Wei Wuxian cannot resist hugging him again.

“Would… would raising a child with me make you happy?” he asks, just to be sure, because Lan Zhan is far too often in the habit of focusing on Wei Wuxian’s happiness before all else, and this was a bit too huge of a decision for just one of them to make.

There was no response for a long moment. Wei Wuxian reluctantly pulled back from the embrace, just enough to look at his husband’s face.

The small, awed smile lighting Lan Zhan’s face is utterly devastating.

Wei Wuxian’s jaw goes slack when Lan Zhan offers a wordless, joyful nod, and for a moment they’re both too overwhelmed for words, foreheads pressed together and breathing the same air in a different, softer quiet than before.

Yes. Yes, yes, yes. Silly imaginings of a little one with two parents and a donkey wandering the country no longer seem so silly.

It’s only a long time later that Lan Zhan’s eyes spark in the half-light, pale gold shining in a way that most people would believe to be far too devious a look for the illustrious Hanguang-jun to wear. The man who had married him knew him far too well to be surprised by it.

Wei Wuxian squinted in suspicion. “What is it?”

“Hmm.” Graceful fingers cupped Wei Wuxian’s jaw in a familiar soft gesture that had him instinctively, foolishly sliding his eyes shut at the painful warmth that touch awoke in his chest. “I was simply thinking that we should get started, then.”

Honest confusion made Wei Wuxian blink his eyes open and stare. “Hah? Started?”

Only the slightest tilt of Lan Zhan’s lips suggested his amusement when he said, “On the little ones. I’ve been led to believe they take time to make.”

Startled laughter burst out of Wei Wuxian’s mouth, only to be half muffled when Lan Zhan covered his lips insistently with his own. Still, even amidst such an onslaught of affection, Wei Wuxian felt the need to try and point out the obvious flaw in this logic. “Aha Lan Zhan, unlike most couples, we’re not going to be able to do this the old-fashioned way- ah! Ah!”

--

A/N: Mo Dao Zu Shi broke into my home and beat my writer’s block over the head with a mallet. It feels good to be back. ~Persephone