#but sometimes i do like to imagine an AU where he's fine and ash was there in the hospital room when he finally woke up | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

djarinsbeskar · 3 years ago

Text

Foul - Boxer!Din AU

Definition - To break one of boxing’s rules (i.e. hitting an opponent below the navel, ear or while they are down), which can ultimately lead to point deductions if they are repeated.

A/N: The results of my Boxer!AU poll told me that the majority were interested in a jealous/protective boxer so I hope I have delivered! As always, relaxed fit = unedited, no beta. We also have a sneaky introduction to Paz in the Boxer verse which is super exciting! His concept art has been completed by the insanely talented @ronnieiswriting when I said I saw a mix of Jason Momoa and Winston Duke as our heavy. PLEASE heed the warnings in this chapter. There is nothing explicit but the topics hinted at might be triggering.

Word Count: 7k

Rating: 18+ (NO Minors)

Warnings: SMUT! (unprotected sex), blood and violence, toxic masculinity and derogatory speech, hints at discussions of non-con, somewhat possessive behavior, spanking, dom!Din and everything that comes with it.

Main Masterlist | Boxer Materlist

He might as well have been in hell. A colosseum of decaying humanity and dirt floors that erupted in a burst of dust like poisonous ash every time his next opponent fell. The hollow thump of pure muscle meeting the ground of the makeshift ring only drowned by the cheers of spectators. Masked, shadowed—unseen as they dropped hundreds – thousands sometimes – on which gladiator would remain standing in the end.

He felt like a king, a god among men within the confines of his realm of rope and canvas. It was easy to forget—standing under the spotlights that highlighted the sweat and blood and sculpted beauty of primal masculinity that it was a hollow victory any time he fought in the seedy underground rings of Akiva.

Every gladiator was a slave. Even the victor.

Why the fuck did he think it was a good idea to let you come to one of these fights?

“Enough!”

Paz’s unassailable strength banded around Din’s chest, pinning his arms to his side—attempting to contain lightning in a glass jar. Sweat, blood—it all dripped into Din’s eyes as he growled at his opponent, passed out in the middle of the dirt ring—face swollen and puffy from Din’s fists.

Laser focus and animosity spilled from charcoal eyes as he tried to break free of his friends hold with a vicious yank forward of powerful shoulder and an unfaltering purpose. The bastard had it coming. One round a few punches wasn’t enough to slake Din’s anger, the fumes of rage seeping into his skin and clouding his senses until all he could think of was making the asshole on the ground before him pay.

The practiced speed that Din wrapped his hands slowed at the rowdy group on the other side of the room. Dammit, for all the money they brought in, could these cheapskates not provide separate fucking changing rooms so he didn’t have to be subjected to idiots jacking themselves up on testosterone and false hope?

But pissing contests and fragile masculinity weren’t what caught his attention. He could tune that bullshit out like a fine art. What caught Din’s attention was the obvious death wish one of his possible opponents had – if he even managed to get that far up the ranks to Din – when he waved a red flag in front of the boxers’ metaphorical bull.

“See that one in the front row? You know the one I’m talking about.”

Bawdy agreements and asinine gestures raked up Din’s spine, thorny—and prickling nerves of instinct that made him pause the music blaring in his ears. He fucking hated the scum he came across in these fights. Gang members, criminals—the dredges of humanity he sometimes worried he was part of.

“Gonna get her on her knees choking on my cock before the night is out. Sluts like that love titles, champions—why else do they attend? Good excuse to win tonight, eh fellas?”

“Do you wanna completely destroy your career?” Paz yelled over the chortles and raucous cheers for more, for revenge—for everything under the poor fallacy of a sun that strung in dim, bald bulbs along the notoriously infamous Avika fighting ring.

Din thought you would be safe, arrogantly assuming people would avoid even looking at you once they saw who you were with. And you had been—you were safe, but even he couldn’t protect you from the thoughts of others.

The larger man struggled with him, dragging him out of the ring when it was obvious his words were falling on deaf ears. All Din could hear was the little pricks voice in his head from hours before.

Din stood.

Inhaled, exhaled—tried those bullshit breathing exercises that were supposed to focus his mind before a fight. Help to rein in a temper like his from overflowing in devastating tidal waves to destroy all around him. Din didn’t lose his temper often—but when he did, it was lethal.

The breathing exercises didn’t work.

Because the idiot kept talking.

“Did you see the ass on that?”

Leers sounded from his group of friends. Encouraging the vile words that Din always knew came from a man who felt entitled to a woman’s body. He had seen enough of the underbelly of the world to know what that led to time and again. Din might have been shameless in his youth and even until recently when it came to sex, to one night stands, to women—but he fucking respected the girls he fucked or didn’t fuck.

“Traipsing around in a dress like that? She’s looking for the attention,” the asshole defended himself when one of his party voiced an alternative point of view. They were promptly shut down and didn’t speak again.

Din’s blood turned to ice. An image of you running a hand down his arm on your way to your seat when you parted ways for him to get ready, dress sinfully tight but effortlessly classy—a zip front he was dying to pull open with his teeth later that night.

“It’ll look so good with my cock buried in it…”

The ice in his blood turned to fury, white hot and molten as he tied off the tape at his wrists—throwing the roll into the dingy locker he had been given for the evening. The clatter of noise from where it slammed against the metal back was the only warning he was planning on giving them. The lull of conversation was fleeting, his warning going unheeded—when dim-witted morons didn’t read the murder in his gaze.

Looks like they weren’t nearly as intelligent as the pigs he thought them to be.

Grabbing his water bottle and phone, Din stalked towards the chipped door—distracting himself with a text of “don’t go anywhere alone in this place, sweetheart. Ask Paz to go with you” sent to you without a second thought.

The immediate response of “Yes yes I know, for the thousandth time. Don’t worry and focus on yourself” did little to assuage the roar of blood in his ears. There was only one thing he heard over the noise, one thing as his vision became hued in red and fixated on a single target.

“Wonder if she’ll let me fuck her there too—can’t imagine she’s a virgin but her ass will still probably be tighter than her cunt.”

Bald headed and littered in scars and tattoos of a gang known for their viciousness, the other boxer – if he could even be called that – thrust vulgarly into the air, mimicking the hold he would have on the girl. Din’s girl.

The fucker had a death wish.

And Din was only too happy to play the part of the grim reaper.

His friends voice hardly registered over that same ringing in his ears, the roar of protective aggression at the lecherous sneer on the other man’s face who now lay in a heap in the dirt, the filth he spewed about his masseuse, his girl. How beady eyes, cold and villainous dared to drift away from Din before the bell sounded—over his shoulder, to where he knew you were sitting. Knowing your body had been tainted by the gaze of a man who would sooner take what he wanted from you by force than look at you with anything akin to the respect you deserved—it made something snap inside of Din.

And he attacked.

He was lucky he had only been disqualified.

He was damn lucky no one called the cops.

But the perks of underground fighting, was that everyone who attended had something to hide. And no one wanted to be caught in the middle of shady transactions or betting on fighters to beat each other to a pulp. Hell, the savagery Din subjected the other guy to was exactly what half the fuckers who showed up hoped to see.

Din wasn’t just a nameless street fighter though, not anymore. He had something to lose. Any smear on his record for assault and he would be suspended from tournament participation quicker than the asshole’s body dropped after a crushing blow under the jaw by Din’s right uppercut.

Thank fuck Din’s main sponsor was equally as shady. A good man by Din’s logic, but merciless when it came to succeeding. Din being benched was the surest way to make his benefactors patience run out. No, Paz was right—Boba even more so when he clocked Din good in the cheek after Paz wrestled the irate male out of the ring.

“You fucking idiot, bloodlust is an ugly image, boy—”

“I am not a boy—” Din snapped at Boba, teeth bared and bloody from his split lip, neck straining when he spat the words viciously at his long-time coach. He ran his tongue over the metallic tang of blood before spitting it out of his mouth onto the dirt flooring by the chaotic rows of metal seating.

“You almost killed a guy in the ring, you little shit,” Boba snarled with equal venom, matching the anger reflected in Din’s gaze with furious sense Din didn’t want to witness.

“Let me go,” was all Din growled, eyes never leaving his coach’s even when Paz loosened his arms around his chest. Heaving, coal black eyes darkened dangerously and stabbed the former boxer with a dare to try and restrain him again. The other man shook a rope of dreadlock that had come loose from the strip of leather he kept his hair tied in and made to say something when Din interrupted,

“Where is she?”

Paz closed his mouth, heavy brows furrowing over his eyes as recognition dawned in their dark hues,

“Is that what this is about? Dammit, vod—it’s not like she’s your girlfriend, isn’t that what you always say?”

“Don’t fucking try me tonight—” Din snapped aggressively, the threatening hum between the two men charged to dangerous voltage.

“Din?”

Your voice washed over him – aloe on the burns his fury had scorched his skin with – and he was making his way over to you in the next moment, mind battling with instinct as he ignored the calls and curses of his friends.

Mine.

Not yours—

Mine.

He moved with feral grace, parting the sea of people who bleated from the sidelines but cowered in his presence once his attention was facing them and there was no canvas or rope to separate boxer from spectator. They were lucky. He didn’t see them. Would step on them if they were stupid enough to stay in his path. All he could see, was you—watching him with confusion and concern marring those pretty features, absent of fear in the face of an incensed, adrenaline fueled boxer post fight.

He exhaled a growl as he came to stand before you, the sound cavernous and deep in his chest—the hands you had lifted to examine his face intercepted by his own when he grabbed them. His fingers wrapped fully around your wrists, and he was reminded of how fragile you were – even if you worked out whenever you could and had a will of iron that would make you whack him for saying that – and just how easily a man like him, any of the fighters here tonight—could hurt you.

Never.

They wouldn’t dare.

Not with him around.

But how could they know?

How would they know to stay the fuck away from you?

Knuckles stained with dirt and blood; his hand rasped against the softness of your palm as he dragged you in the direction of the unused backstage waiting room fighters had been offered as a changing room. Where this whole fucking thing started.

“Din—Din, what the hell happened up there?”

You jogged behind him to keep up with his pace, long legs taking him farther than your shorter ones could when confined to the heels you had worn for the night out. He stalked through the dimly lit corridors to the flaky, chipped door with a temporary sign on lined paper with “ATHLETES” scrawled along the front of it like some ironic joke.

He almost bent the worn, cheap metal handle in half—nearly pulled it from its socket with how hard he tore the door open and dragged you over the threshold inside.

You whirled on him with a huff, eyes flashing and hands planting on your hips in growing annoyance.

“Din will you just—”

You didn’t get another word out.

His wrapped hands cupped your cheeks between them, his mouth on yours hungrily when he bent over you. Biting, clawing, desperate—the kiss was more a battle of tongue and teeth than anything else. There was nothing soft, nothing slow or affectionate about the way his teeth sank into your bottom lip so hard you gasped. The way the blood seeping from his split lip painted yours in a crimson rouge—smeared and varnishing you in a visceral mark of his claim.

“Mine,” he snarled unknowingly into your mouth, lapping his tongue along the prairies of your tastebuds, plundering the depths of your mouth to brand every inch of you he could reach. Inside and out. His hands had the same idea, forming down over the shape of your curves as he walked you back blindly to the disused vanity pushed against the closest wall. Topped with a row of mirrors undoubtedly used by performers for whatever this place had once been used for, the glass was now aged with discoloration.

It didn’t matter.

He didn’t have eyes for anything but you as he hiked your legs up to perch you on the edge, your fingers curled into the taut muscles at his neck and clawing down over the sweat slick muscles of his pecs—catching on flat nipples that made ripples of pleasure heat his body further. Mad him tangle a hand in your hair, yank your head back harshly and meet your eyes with dark desire before dropping to your neck. His newest target.

“Din…” your irritated, questioning tone had morphed to fervent sighs. His tongue mapped a trail from the corner of your mouth – tasting the tang of his own blood – to the rapid tattoo of your pulse, a delicate sheen of perspiration beginning to shimmer on your flushed skin from the arousal. Another layer of flavor for him to get drunk on.

So fucking hot under his hands.

So beautiful.

So his.

“Mine,” he repeated into the curve of your neck, framed by tremulous stretches of muscle either side that he carved with scrapes of his teeth to leave tracks of slow fading pink grazes before he bit into it. Your legs – already open and inviting him to settle between them – crossed at the ankles around his narrow hips to keep him close. It was fucking intoxicating the way he could make you feel, the desperate need he had for you.

Months of sleeping together, of knowing his body so intimately had given you a rare insight to his emotions whether he knew it or not. And you knew he didn’t need to talk right now, he needed to fuck. To work through whatever had affected him so badly in hard kisses and rough hands on your soft flesh. It didn’t stop your stomach from flipping at his possessive words though, deliriously spoken but whispering the unacknowledged desires you had for him beyond his body.

“Yours,” you admitted before you could stop yourself, your hand cupping under his jaw to lift his mouth back to yours. His raspy moan at your agreement turned positively filthy when you carded short nails through his damp hair. Din was weak to having his hair stroked, his staunch dominance buckling in violent shivers of pleasure when you dragged those skilled fingers down the back of his skull and neck.

Traipsing around in a dress like that…

His eyes flew open, and he broke the kiss—ripped his mouth from yours to press his forehead to yours, eyes searching while his free hand ran indulgently up your torso to the neckline of your dress,

“Never let anyone disrespect you, sweetheart—” he rumbled, his fingers already undoing the zip of the dress, the nude pink material tempting to the eye and celebrating those features you were most proud of—that he found irresistible to know you loved. That someone could make you uncomfortable in those clothes… fucker. He snarled and pressed a long kiss to your mouth, large hands spreading the sides of the dress open wide – no underwear, baby? – and shucked the material down your arms to leave you bare before him.

His appreciation for your body – fucking gorgeous – was only tampered by the frustration he had with himself at the noise of confusion you made at his words. Of course, you hadn’t heard anything that asshole had said thankfully—but fuck, he couldn’t get it out of his head. You read his desperation somehow, and nodded slowly with puzzled eyes, teeth sinking into your swollen bottom lip as you leaned back on your hands.

So trusting…

Fuck.

It made alarm and something akin to fear rise swell uncomfortably in his throat.

He tried again.

“Never let anyone take advantage of you,” he whispered against your mouth in earnest, his hands running up your bare thighs to press his thumbs into the seams of your legs and hips, “tell me—”

His mouth dropped to your collarbone, funneling those feelings into lapping down to your heaving breasts, sucking a nipple into his mouth with a groan and befuddling your mind to his request until he nipped the swollen peak – say it, baby – and caused your head to fall back against the mirror,

“Yes—yes,” you moaned, “I won’t—”

He snarled internally, dammit. Hearing you say it didn’t help. He wanted to say how he wouldn’t let anyone disrespect you, how he wouldn’t let anyone ever take advantage of you. But he couldn’t. Had to frame it like advice he would give any woman he knew instead of speaking it like the promise he wanted to make.

Din had been fucking you for the last few months now, exclusively after only a few months—but it never went beyond that. He had no reason, no excuse to be worried over your life or safety or what you did when you weren’t in his bed. He wasn’t expected to be involved in your life the way a friend or family member was. Not the way a boyfriend was.

He didn’t do relationships. Never had. Too much trouble and frankly—he liked his privacy, his space—and liked not being accountable to anyone but himself. The consequences of any shitty decisions he made would fall on him and him alone. If he demanded that of the women he slept with and then insisted on inserting himself into their lives in the next breath, he would be a hypocrite. And Din hated hypocrites.

He couldn’t.

But fuck. He never wanted to hear someone speak that way about you, never wanted them to think they had the slightest chance with a woman like you. His blood boiled at the notion of someone else’s hands on you, his tempered flared when he imagined your pleasure or smiles, or laughter give to someone who didn’t deserve you.

Like he did?

Fuck no, he knew he didn’t.

He never said he wasn’t selfish though, and he coveted you with sinful greed.

“Fuck me, baby—please, please—” you mewled into his neck as your hands that had started all of this with that first massage, fit into the sliver of space between your bodies to stroke along his cock over his shorts impatiently. His head fell back, and his mind blissfully emptied for a moment, grunting your name at the frisson of pleasure before those damned memories resurfaced again.

Look at the ass on that.

That.

Her. You weren’t a thing, a possession. You were—

He snarled. Misplaced anger manifesting in aggressive passion as he grabbed your wrist from where you stroked him to pin behind your back on the vanity.

“Always so eager, aren’t you—” he grinned darkly when you nodded, “turn around.”

The command was delivered low and dangerous, more a rumble of noise—deep echoes of jungle predators crackling like the kindling of threat, inspiring awareness that one wrong move would be fatal. But you never made a wrong move—not for as long as he had known you. Whether it was alleviating a pain deep in his muscles that had bothered him for months or pushing yourself slowing off the vanity to your feet as you were now—you always knew what he needed.

Wisps of hair fell into his eyes as he watched you—the decided turn of your naked body to dace the mirror—eyes never leaving his even as they caught them again in the aged glass. Bending forward, your ass pressed into the front of his shorts, and you rested your elbows on the vanity.

Perfect.

He didn’t realize he had whispered the word as he pressed his mouth between your shoulder blades, tongue trailing down the arch of your spine while his hands kneaded plush cheeks—spreading them and exposing your slick cunt to the cool air. The hitches in your breath, small squirms of your hips for relief—they all fed into his desire for you.

And he desired you. Constantly.

“I’m gonna eat your pussy until you can’t stand, baby—and then I’m gonna fuck you until you can’t speak,” he muttered against the shell of your ear, massive bulk bowed over your back and shadowed eyes – the duality of warm walnut and lethal obsidian – bore into yours through the glass.

“I want them all to know who you belong to,” he nipped your ear, flicking his tongue along the cartilage—the black ink on his back catching the light as his muscles rippled with movement, a roll of pleasure from your ass grinding back against him with a whimper of his name, “so don’t be quiet this time, sweetheart.”

Your eyes fluttered open molasses slow from where they had dropped closed at his words,

“What—what hap—” you tried to turn your head, the concern mingled with lust in those gorgeous, honest eyes making warning bells blare painfully – too close – and he silenced you with a kiss. Swallowing the worry that hinted at feelings that surpassed those expected from a fuck buddy, he buried it deep inside himself, in the shadows like a coward. To be locked away where he would remain safe from it.

Your tongue grew sloppy with a moan when he ground his crotch into your ass—dragging the solid thickness of his clothed cock between your soaked folds and up against your tight rear entrance.

Wonder if she’ll let me take her there…

Bastard.

He sucked on your tongue with a groan of your name, hand releasing your cheeks to fan up your ribcage and cup your breasts. You jerked in sensitivity when rough hands pinched sore nipples – he fucking loved how sensitive your tits got just before your period. The cry you released was nothing short of musical, tempting him lower as he kissed down your spine—wrapped hands sanding down over your ribs again when he lapped around the rim of your ass, circling it before he traced lower.

You were dripping.

He dropped to his knees behind you, eyes drunken with an ingrained pride that he was the one in this position, looking at the petals of your swollen pussy glistening with arousal he inspired from just a few kisses and rolls of his hips. He kept his eyes on the steady trickle of wetness from your twitching entrance, his teeth grazing distractedly down the back of your thigh as he did so.

A finger ruddy with flecks of dried blood caught a string of your arousal – don’t waste a drop – and he sucked it between his lips with an approving groan, the noise of your whimpers the perfect accompaniment. Blood and lust. The essence of humanity, that was what he tasted when he sucked his finger clean. It tasted like life. And he wanted more.

A sharp crack echoed through the room when his hand came down hard on one cheek, and again... and again—each strike making that dripping wetness gush until he couldn’t hold back anymore. He buried his face in your cunt, nosing at your entrance and tongue spreading puffy lips apart so he could trace in pitter patter swipes through your folds—greedily gathering anything he could get on his tongue before swallowing. Dehydrated on the sands of depravity and sordid company—your cunt was an oasis of relief where he eagerly drank his fill.

You tried to move, your hips slamming up against the edge of the vanity – that’ll bruise – and you keened with a shuddering cry when his mouth simply followed your attempt to escape the onslaught of pleasure that was too much too soon.

“Fuck—fuckfuckfuck—” you gasped, dropping a hand back to tangle in his hair, dragging him closer despite your protests. Mm, he loved when you got like this—overstimulated from the first touch. No matter how much you whined, no matter how many times he wiped tears that smudged your makeup when he unraveled orgasm after orgasm from the knots inside you—he knew you loved the intensity as much as he did.

He spanked you again – take it – your cheeks red and beautiful when he spread them side for him to spit directly onto your quivering cunt. His saliva dribbled and mixed with your juices to gather over your clit, his mouth forming over the little bud enthusiastically, urged by your slow ruts back against his face to streak his face with your essence.

“More—” you whimpered.

“Greedy—” he growled back.

The sound of your breathless laugh meshed delightfully with the swallow of a moan – guttural and primal – and made his cock twitch in his shorts. His hips snapped up uselessly from where he was kneeling—finding no purchase or warm embrace to bury itself in as his tongue took that pleasure for itself.

It licked and curled with practiced, seemingly illogical strokes along your clit and up to your entrance—sloppily kissing it before his tongue dove into your tight depths, thumb working in quick circles over your clit. He knew exactly what to do to make you come undone.

Your first orgasm was sudden—strong and surprising. He hadn’t even fucking fingered you and you were already spasming around nothing. Your muscles tensed as you went on your toes to lean even further on the vanity, trying to escape his tongue that worked you through each wave—drowning you in the pleasure he knew only he could give you. You were his. His his his his h—

You sobbed his name, a raw answer to his internal mantra his mind struggled against and failed to overcome.

Din wanted you.

He wanted your body, your mind, your time—he wanted what Paz had.

Fuck.

The way the older man mooned and gazed with shameless adoration for the little baker he had fallen for in so short a time. Hell, Din teased him over it constantly. And maybe he didn’t want that—but he wanted something. Din wanted something with you. Wanted you to visit him in the gym and stop him mid set just to kiss him and tell him that you would wait for him to finish so you could go home together. He wanted to buy you flowers without having to think of a fucking excuse like last time to distance himself from the sentimentality. He wanted to open his front door and feel our presence as more than just a visitor. That a toothbrush and the stray pieces of clothing you forgot at his place would turn to shoes at the door and your taste in décor mixing with his.

Din wanted you.

But he had no idea how to do anything but fuck you. He didn’t know how to date or be romantic. Was clueless to things like companionship—to the softer emotions he knew you craved. That all people craved. Din had no idea how to do any of it.

You lay with your cheek on the wooden surface of the vanity, eyes half-closed and spacey as you watched him lift his head from your pussy, face shiny from your release and when he licked over his lips, still hungry for more—you mewled.

“Don’t tap out on me yet, sweetheart.”

You shook your head, a whimper and almost childish refusal while your cheek remained plastered to the vanity, all strength having left your body and an adorable pout trying to lie and tell him you couldn’t take any more.

“Mm, yes you can—” he answered you, dragging his mouth back up your slit and along your tight ass where he lapped at the rim again. Later. It took time for him to stretch you to take his size—it was better left for when he had you in his apartment and could take his time.

His hand followed his mouths direction as it continued up to meet your mouth—smirking against your lips at the whimpers you made from the slaps he gave your pussy—the obscene, wet sound filling the area with each slap slap slap until his hand was damn near slipping every time he struck your cunt from how wet it was.

A bang on the door—a harsh slap to your pussy so you would moan just right for him, and he growled out a threatening “occupied” to whoever was outside. You were too high strung to even notice.

“No one else can have you,” he rasped darkly into your temple, his free hand tangling in the strands to pull your head back against his shoulder—the position no doubt edging on uncomfortable with the way your spine and neck were arched back—moUlded into his hard frame. Your eyes fell to half mast even as your lips parted—still smeared with specks of blood you hadn’t yet licked or chewed off—and he bit your jaw in warning.

“No one else—” you parroted, your hot breath fanning over his cheek even as you rocked back against him, a steel confidence entering your fucked out gaze—mercurial in the swirling heat, “just like no one else can have you.”

The boldness of your words, the conviction spoken in that voice of wooden flutes and bubbling creeks made his blood light with fire—yes. As much as he anted you, he yearned for you to crave him in return.

“No one else,” he repeated your words back to you, rutting his hips against you when his cock pulsed with a negligent ache that demanded to be addressed. He kept one hand in your hair when he pushed his shorts down enough to free his leaking cock, the turgid length swollen and angry as he rubbed the tip between your lips.

Maybe he would buy you flowers tomorrow, after all.

Din gave you no time to prepare yourself – that’s my girl – sliding inside you with one brutal thrust that had you pushed up against the mirror and his cock engulfed in fiery bliss. He felt the heat run up his spine, a volcanic metamorphism into marble as his muscles froze in an immediate pause to stop himself from spilling inside you after one damn thrust.

You weren’t doing much better—one hand clawing for purchase on the mirror and the other digging your nails into his hip as you panted his name, an incoherent string of curses and praise as your sensitive walls convulsed around him. The position had him pressed right against that one spot he cock curved up against that could make you see stars and your care for being caught dissipate in cries of ecstasy.

“Baby—fuck please, so—too deep—” you whimpered in inane babbles, tightening in residual spasms from your orgasm and the sudden intrusion of his cock, still a stretch after all these months. Too deep… he snorted, rolling his hips hard to try shove himself deeper still. He could never get deep enough, always wanting more—always seeking to conquer the untouched lands of your body.

“Mm, want me to stop?” he teased, dragging his hips back with a smirk at your immediate rejection of no no no fuck—please, no—hand pathetically trying to drag him closer to you by the hip. Lovely little thing… thinking you were strong enough.

“That’s better…” he purred, relief washing over him when he pulled out—the walls of your cunt stretching around him, refusing his exit, and trying to keep him nestled inside you. The pace he chose was brutal. He fucked you like he fought tonight. Violently, mercilessly—and deaf to the calls to relent. But where he wanted his opponent to suffer, he wanted to devastate you with pleasure, enrapture you with ecstasy and leave you moaning his name where others would curse it.

Wet cock slapping as he pounded into you in short, frantic ruts – need you baby… fuck I need you – there was no time for you to catch a full breath before he was knocking it out of you again. His fingers had to tighten in your hair to keep you up – your body trembling under his as he sank his teeth into the taut muscle at your neck and his cock sank into your welcome body – exposed and waiting for him to litter in his signature.

He would never get enough of the way his marks looked on your skin—the way you decorated him in yours. You were powerless to do much else than accept them right now – likely getting him back later – boneless and weak under the attack of his mouth and the dominance of his body.

He would make sure everyone in this fucking shithole of a place knew who you were with. They would have to be blind not to notice the blotches of poppy bruises snaking down your neck with the elusion to more hidden from unworthy eyes. The smudge of your mascara as tears pearled like crystals in the corner of your eyes when you glanced at him in strung out bliss.

“M-more—” you begged, dropping one of your hands between your legs to rub at your clit—fingers splitting around the girth of his cock as he fucked you to feel the thick length disappear into you over and over, the soaked mess amassed from your frantic desire for each other trickling down your thighs.

“Yeah?” he grinned, breathless and sweating for much more pleasing reasons than he had been in the ring, a languid kiss to your neck as he hiked one of your knees up onto the vanity—spreading you wider for him to sink deeper.

You spasmed, your head falling back against his shoulder with a cry.

“Yes—there, there baby, fuck you feel so good…” you rambled, fingers working feverishly over your clit in wet strokes, grazing his balls every time they slapped against your skin and making him muffle his moan in your neck.

Rolling a nipple between his fingers, his large—bloodied hand completely swallowed your breast, squeezing it and tickling sounds that belonged to him from you and into his mouth when you kissed him. One last kiss before you collapsed back onto the vanity, and he stood to his full height so he could ruin you with his cock.

His name was the only thing you remembered as he split you open with full, hard thrusts—the entire length of his cock stretching your tight walls around it and playing along raw nerves already on the brink of another orgasm.

“Gonna cum, sweetheart—” he strained, desperate for release as he watched himself fuck you in the mirror—him behind your smaller body, squirming under the pleasure while his muscles bunched and relaxed with each snap of his hips—the veins in his forearms prominent and tendons taut as he poured all that training and dedication and determination into you, into pleasing you.

“Inside—inside, Din fuck, please—”

His mind emptied. Nothing else mattered about tonight—not the fight, not the disqualification, not the rage. Your eyes—cloudy with lust and achingly trusting as you looked back at him were all he could think about. Nodding without even realizing, the thought of filling you running in his mind on a loop.

“Fuck—!”

He wanted you to cum before him, he always did—but he was so high strung, so tense that he couldn’t stop himself, burying himself to the hilt with several punched out moans—exhaled rapture with every pump of his seed against your waiting womb. Your eyes rolled closed at the amount, bloating you with his release and as he came, you worked your clit frantically—chasing that addictive edge you gladly hurled yourself over at just the thought of him coming inside you.

Din dropped his forehead to your shoulder with a gasp, your spasming walls too much on his sensitive length but he had to stay inside—the contractions of pleasure, the gush of your release might push his out. He couldn’t have that. So, he gritted his teeth, mumbled husky praise – good girl, that’s it—just like that, soak me – to work you through your orgasm and pressed open mouth kisses to sweaty skin, the salt tickling his tongue as he caught his breath.

His mouth worked over the sweep of your shoulder, up your neck to your jaw when your orgasm subsided, purring your name and nonsensical strings of words he had no idea made sense or not. He finally eased his softening cock out of you slowly when you shifted your hips—testing your strength and finding it lacking when you realized both he and the vanity were what kept your legs up.

“Feel… feel better?”

“Mhm…” he confirmed noncommittally, nuzzling the marks beginning to bloom and darken like a forbidden garden only he was allowed indulge in the scent of. One of his hands ran absently down the back of your thigh, feeling for his release—pleased to feel nothing but your sticky arousal, his own still nestled inside your sore cunt.

“Want one of those crepes you’re always raving about from that twenty-four hour place?” he purred, helping you stand—going so far as to pull the straps of your dress back up so that zipping the metal teeth would be easier. Your eyes brightened despite the lazy, satiated fatigue hiding in their orbs.

“Gino’s?”

“Mm,” he nodded, looking down from his greater height and lips quirking in an annoying desire to smile when one – bright as daylight – broke out on yours.

You nodded quickly, looping your arms around his neck to drag him down to your mouth, kissing him good and proper while his hands fell under the still open sides of your dress to settle on bare hips,

“Are you ever going to tell me what set you off tonight?” you mumbled against his lips cautiously, the ghost of a smile from the promise of dessert still lingering but a hesitant worry entering your gaze, unsure if his mood would sour again.

It didn’t.

He nudged his nose along yours, aquiline curve slotting along yours as he hummed in thought, thumbs rubbing lazily into your hips,

“Maybe later,” he settled on and captured your lips again.

You left the changing room together, his gym bag slung over one shoulder and his free arm wrapped around your shoulder—nose never leaving your temple or nuzzling into your hair with blatant affection as you blushed at how obvious it was to anyone who saw you what you had been doing.

You had both tried to tidy yourselves—cleaning the corners of your makeup and trying to flatten your mused hair was about all you could do. Din didn’t even attempt to cover the freshly fucked look of messy hair and heavy eyes as he pulled an unzipped Mythosaur Gym hoodie on over his muscle shirt.

A group were passing in the corridor as you asked him something—his former opponent with one eye swollen shut from the bruises forming around his eye, jaw, and cheeks. Din answered you easily, an automatic response to whatever you were asking as his eyes met his opponents, cold fury and arrogant pride flashing in their depths.

You remained none the wiser as you passed the group, Din’s body protectively placed between you and them. He probably should have told you; he knew you wouldn’t be swayed by it—comfortable in your body as you were, but he couldn’t bring himself to. He could protect you from slander and toxicity at the very least—and he planned to. Even if he had to do so in the shadows for now.

For himself, the swelling and bruising on the idiots’ face weren’t the only thing he had to satisfy himself with. He was the one whose cum was still buried inside you, clinging to your thighs and keeping you slick and wet for him to add more to later when he got you back to his place. And as you glanced up at him with a disarming smile after he dropped his hoodie over your shoulders without a thought once you both were outside in the crisp air of the early morning darkness—he secretly hoped that he would be the only one to have that privilege from then on.

Taglist | Form

@geannad @ayamenimthiriel @sarahjkl82-blog @gracie7209 @pychedelic-star @nova646 @theflightytemptressadventure @wantingtobekorra @computeringturtle @slayerette26 @kesskirata @greatcircle79 @boxdyeblonde @fangirl-316 @niiight-dreamerrrr @tanzthompson @theamuz @gallowsjoker @helmet-comes-off @jesfreedark @amyk-37 @altarsw @feminist-violinist @spideysimpossiblegirl @lazybeeches @shameless-h @girlimjusttryingtoreadfanfics @mamacitapascal @the-ginger-hedge-witch @disgruntledspacedad @asta-lily @aesnawan @frannyzooey @gaiuswrites @beskarboobs @honestly-shite @sherala007 @cats-are-a-girls-bestfriend @missminkylove @pedros-mustache @headinthestarz @leannawithacapitala @sharkbait77 @radiowallet @danidrabbles @magpie-to-the-morning @mandocrasis @juletheghoul @javierpinme @voteforpedro09 @theorganasolo @aprilqueen84 @Prostitute-robot-from-the-future @wanderlustmags @darnitdraco @castleamc @outlawedmando @lawfulgranola @jaime1110 @c-a-v-a-l-r-y @taticalsparkles @chasingdreamer @beautyagegoodnesssize @pintsizemama @recklessworry @tarolovesyoo @xgoldenjenny @prideandpascal @amneris21 @mylovelycomandante @ohhersheybars @heartsofbeskar

A few who might be interested! @thepoisonofgod @absurdthirst @highsviolets @astroboots

#din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #din djarin smut #boxer!din #the mandalorian smut #mando smut #din djarin #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you #mando x reader #mando x you #pedro pascal #din djarin fic #din djarin fanfic #the mandalorian fic #the mandalorian fanfic #star wars smut #star wars fic #star wars fanfic

712 notes · View notes

theepisceswriter · 4 years ago

Text

Jealous!Reader with AOT characters pt.2 (Porco, Bertholdt, Pieck, Zeke)

A/N: y’all really liked the first one I made here, so here’s a pt.2 with different characters

TW: none really apply, sort of suggestive for Zeke, Modern AU, GN!reader

PORCO GALLIARD

I am a firm believer that in a modern AU, Porco and Reiner would be the type of people to go to sport restaurants like Hooters, Buffalo Wild Wings, or Twin Peaks. They give me that macho man type of vibe. Of course though, Porco would make you tag along with him almost every time he went. He feels that it’s a very nice way for the two of you to bond. Which honestly it is.

You have a deep sense of security within yourself and enough trust in Porco to not be bothered by the waitresses there, as you should, knowing that it’s only their job to be enticing like that. Hell, you even enjoy it when the waitresses would flirt with you sometimes or you’d get the really pretty ones who look like they’re straight off of a magazine. Not to mention that you visit places like this often, so most of them know you and know that you and Porco are in a relationship together.

They all respect your boundaries and don’t try to push at them at all.....until this one waitress comes around. You can quite obviously tell that her flirting is different from the “trained” flirting that the other girls often do. She lingers at your table a little longer than she should be trying to talk to Porco to the point where other waitresses have to tell her to go check on other tables and she’s disregarding you completely, asking Porco questions that should be aimed at you and being very rude in general.

Porco is hardly paying her any mind, too focused on the game to really pay attention to what’s going on, but any piece of attention he gives to her she latches on too it. But still, you remain cordial and calm on the inside. Not wanting to come off as one of those significant others and cause a scene that doesn’t need to be caused. If someone looked at you for too long they might notice an eye twitch or two coming from you.

Really it’s Porco’s hand holding underneath the table that’s keeping you sane and reminding you of how secure your position in your relationship is. You almost calm down entirely, but of course the waitress has to come back and try desperately to get his attention again. At one point he zones out into the game and to try and get his attention she attempts to tap him on his shoulder.

Strong on the attempt because you grabbed her wrist before she could even brush her fingers against his shirt and gave her a stern “Aht! Aht! That is not going to be happening tonight and definitely not in front of me.”

And Porco, this menace to society, finally speaks up like, “I was wondering when you were finally going to say something. I was getting afraid that I didn’t mean anything to you anymore.” He would’ve eventually intervened himself though if she was actually successful in touching him.

The waitress gets the hint for the rest of the night, but just incase she doesn’t he holds you close to his side with his arm draped over your shoulders.

BERTHOLDT HOOVER

Despite his soft spoken nature and personality that sometimes falls on the shy part of the spectrum, Bertholdt is actually an easy person to come up to and start a conversation with. Of course, you have to be the one to start the conversation, but after that it’s like he can’t shut up, likes he’s compelled to answer back to everything and keep a conversation going.

It’s a trait of his that you’ve come to love, but also come to hate on days when you’re out in public with him and can just see the twinkle in a girl’s eyes when she’s getting ready to come over to him to flirt. It’s usually in awkward situations too like when you’re out shopping and he’s standing off to the side because he has no business looking at what you’re shopping for, so the fact that he’s kind of alienated from you and doesn’t know how to respond to flirting all that well in the first place really has him in an awkward chokehold.

He’ll get asked for his number and instead of saying flat out no, because he doesn’t want to be harsh, he struggles to let words out at all as he tries to think of what to say. And people really prey on his shyness and don’t even give him the chance to respond before they’re forcing themselves on him more, handing their phone out to him just waiting to input a number.

Imagine the shock and anger on your face when you turn around from your shopping happy ready to show Bertholdt what you got and instead you see a girl trying to get his number! You’re over there in an instant, legs carrying you as fast as they can and a scold on your face as you go over there and the first thing you do is push that phone as far away from him as you can.

“I know my BOYFRIEND and something tells me that he is not interested in the direction this conversation is going with you whatsoever, so I suggest you leave him alone before I make you 😤” The girl leaves like immediately after that.

Bert is just behind you the whole time with a ☺️ look on his face like “Yes, that is indeed my significant other!” Which is so funny because he’s like 6’3 and towering over you, but you’re the feisty one!

He does feel kinda guilty for not cutting off the interaction before it got that far, so he wraps his arms around you and nuzzle his face into your neck all like, “I’m sorry baby 🥺🥺 you know I don’t like anyone else but you 🥺🥺 I was trying to tell them no thank you but it wouldn’t come out 🥺🥺”

You couldn’t stay mad at him even if you wanted to, that’s all it takes for you to forget about it altogether.

PIECK FINGER

It’s almost impossible to see someone as fine looking as Pieck and not shoot your shot. If I saw Pieck out in public the first thing I would do is shoot my shot.

It happens allll the time whenever you two go out. Out at the mall shopping for clothes? Someone’s going to come up to you two and try to hit on Pieck. At the club minding each other’s business and trying to have a good time? Some guy is going to come over and try to ruin that for you too.

At first it was like a bragging rights thing for you. Everyone noticed your hot girlfriend was hot but you were the one who went home to her everyday and not them, but at some point it switched from a bragging right to down right annoying. It’s like you can’t leave her alone for more than a couple of seconds because here comes someone breathing down her neck being a weirdo!

Poor Pieck doesn’t even know what’s going on half of the time because she be baked out of her mind, thinking about nothing but how some ruffles and ice cream can really hit right now. So she’s just going along with the conversation like “mhm, yeah ☺️” every ten seconds hoping that they’d get the hint that she’s not thinking about them at all and to leave her alone. But, of course, they don’t.

Her body language becomes stressed out and agitated, not knowing what to do because you’re in the gas station buying snacks for the two of you while she’s far away at the gas pumps doing her best to get an ending with this weirdo where they don’t kidnap her.

Luckily, just on time you exit out the gas station and even before you get any closer to Pieck you’re already pissed off at the fact that someone is probably hitting on her, but after you see her do that awkward little shuffle with her feet signifying that she’s uncomfortable? You’re over there in a heartbeat.

See, maybe you would’ve been a bit nicer if her body language didn’t tell you that they had been pestering her for a while despite how everything about her screamed ‘not interested.’

So what do you do? You take the bottle of sprite you bought and bop them on the head with it. Head empty no thoughts just ‘protect my stoner girlfriend.’

Pieck is so messy too, she’s in the background like “Ohhhhh shit *giggle* fight! Fight! Fight!” You were ready to rumble too, but if you were so ready to hit them in the head with a sprite bottle the other person definitely didn’t want to know what else you were confident with doing. So they recuperated from their sprite bottle hit and went running to their car.

This was a proud girlfriend moment for Pieck the whole drive home. She could not stop talking about how much of a badass you were and how she loved that you would do anything for her.

ZEKE JAEGER

I wrote soft Zeke already, so now it’s time for me to give y’all the menace Zeke y’all have been waiting for.

Zeke is the type of significant other who’s big on teasing and messing with his partner is general. There’s something about seeing them all flustered after he does something to embarrass them, like fake propose to them in public or something, that really cracks him up. That being said, he’s not opposed to flirting with someone in front of you to get you riled up and see your reaction.

Let’s set the scene; He drags you to Sam Ash with him, because we’ve all just collectively decided that modern day Zeke is a music pretentious asshole, to go get something for his guitar or at least that’s what you assume he was complaining about. You weren’t even listening, just excited to go and mess with the drums and guitars there. It’s the first thing you do once you get there and Zeke sees this as his opportunity to finally mess with you.

He goes over to the drum set display you’re playing on and calls over and employee with “inquiries” about the set you’re playing on. He pretends to ask a few genuine questions at first but eventually he’s able to get the conversation to shift to something a little more personal. Which isn’t terrible, but once he starts throwing out lines like “Oh you like (said band)? I’ve always found myself gravitating towards people who like them. They’re always the most attractive people, I’ve found 😏.” Is when you start getting agitated.

You’re just trying to play We Will Rock You on the drums and here he goes killing your vibe immensely. And it’s hard to ignore when they’re standing right on the side of you. Not to mention how the employee is eating all of this up, blushing and all. It’s at the first mention of numbers being exchanged that you’ve decided you’ve had enough. Without a word to Zeke you get up and storm out of the store.

Was this a dick move on his end? Absolutely, but you’re a couple who’s relationship is filled with debating and bickering, bickering especially, so part of him thought you would play along with his little game and be like “Whatever. I don’t care.” But instead, you were genuinely upset. You didn’t even know where you were going but you were going somewhere. And that somewhere was the outside of the Sam Ash store because you realized you really didn’t have a choice.

Sorry guys, but I have to switch over to soft Zeke now.

He comes running after you, “y/n! Y/n it was a joke!” But that just makes you even more mad and oops, a year drops down your face and he feels terrible.

Kisses all over your face, words of assurance spilling out his lips, and a tight ass beat hug.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I’m such a dick I know. I didn’t mean to make you this upset though.” He would get down on his knees if he had to!

I guess you can forgive him just this once, but only on the terms that you get Sub!Zeke tonight and get to act as a pillow princess/prince cause he has a lot of making up to do.

#sorry if there are any typos i was kinda rushing #aot x reader #attack on titan x reader #porco galliard x reader #bertholdt hoover x reader #pieck finger x reader #zeke yeager x reader #zeke jaeger x reader #aot imagines

294 notes · View notes

pomegranates-and-blood · 4 years ago

Text

Love, fear, peace.

My Masterlist

Pairing: Ivar/Reader

Summary: “I wanted to request an imagine where the reader and Ivar have a 4-5 year old daughter. And while Ivar is usually very cruel, he'll do anything for his little princess. And she asks to paint his nails and have him join her for a tea party, so he does, as long as it's a secret between them but the reader ends up seeing them and her thoughts on it? I'm in a big mood to read Ivar fluff”

Word Count: 2.6k

Warnings: A lil bit of angst, my best attempt at fluff, just soft stuff all around, probably ooc

A/N: My friends, may I interest you in an AU where all five sons of Ragnar are alive and happy? We call it ‘denial’ where I’m from, but yeah, in this universe they’re all alive, Sigurd married off to some Saxon Princess, Ubbe in Dublin, Ivar King of Kattegat and Hvitserk with him with a family of his own goddamit, Björn fuck-knows-where avoiding commitment like he was born to do, and that’s it. Ta-da.

Ástríðr is a name derived from the Old Norse elements áss "god" and fríðr "beautiful, beloved"

Taglist: (If you wanna be added or removed lemme know!) @youbloodymadgenius @xbellaxcarolinax @1950schick @ietss @peachyboneless @encounterthepast @maggiescarborough @chibisgotovalhalla @receptionistfromhell

Hvitserk greets you with a kiss on your cheek, and you thank the gesture with a smile, though your eyes are scanning the main hall.

“Where’s Ivar?” You ask as he walks at your side, greeting a few people with false smiles and courteous nods.

Hvitserk only shrugs, “I thought he was with you.”

“No, we were supposed to talk with one of the earls about the effect of a high tide, but he wasn’t there.”

“And how was it?”

“Dull,” You reply sincerely, “But I have an idea of where my husband is.”

The other man betrays a smile, “Can you blame him? It is hard to say no to her.”

Oh, you know that. She has him -and you- powerless to deny her anything since she first came to this world.

Try as he might to deny it, to keep the idea of the ruthless king that loves nothing alive, to mantain the façade of how nothing makes Ivar the Boneless falter; your daughter is an adorable force to be reckoned with, capable of making even the King of Kattegat surrender.

It is no secret, for you or any soul that encounters your husband, that Ivar loves his family, his wife and daughter, like nothing else.

The world will never forget the battles he’s won and lost, the wars he started, the kingdoms he reduced to ash, the lands he conquered. The world will never forget of all he did in the name of his ambition, in the name of his fame.

But the world will never forget what he did in the name of love either. Countless deals made, countless fights, countless plans devised and even more sacrifices made so that he could grant his daughter the safeties she deserved; so that he can give her the world and, when time comes, have her step sure, knowing the very earth and the very skies are hers.

You don’t know how much time has passed when you blink past the sleep that weighs on your lids. You find yourself as you were, resting comfortably on a seat that has progressively become just a pile of pillows and furs since the start of winter.

You still feel the comfortable weight of Ivar’s head on your lap, and you can make out his voice speaking quietly. Looking down you find him talking to the small bump on your stomach, the evidence of your child growing inside of you.

At the feeling of your fingers running through his hair, Ivar looks up and offers you a smile, before scooting even closer to your stomach.

“Tell your mother to go back to sleep. You and I aren’t done talking, Princess.”

A part of you is tempted to taunt him about how the might Ivar the Boneless is so smitten by a child not even born yet, but you choose instead to bask in the softness in his expression, in the happiness that curves his mouth.

Still, after a few moments, you offer, “They could be a Prince. Ivarsson.”

Your husband hums, presses a kiss against your stomach and settles again on his back with his head on your lap.

“We will have sons, I know,” He tells you, smile faint as he closes his eyes, “But first, we will have a daughter.

He speaks with such certainty that you cannot help but huff a laugh. Still, it is a nice thought, to have a Princess to call your own, a little girl, blessed by the Gods.

“She will be just like her mother, and she will be ours to spoil and take care of.”

“You speak as if you wouldn’t spoil our sons, Ivar. Someone else might believe that lie, but not me.” You tease, eyebrows lifted.

“Mhm, but a father grows jealous of his sons, and their fame, their triumphs.”

“No daughter of mine, or of yours, will be content without her own triumphs and conquests.”

“I know,” He replies without hesitation, proud smile widening and eyes opening to gaze up at you, “Like I said, she’ll be just like her mother.”

It was never a secret, a surprise, for you to witness Ivar love your child before she was even born; to feel his joy and his anticipation and his love in the way he spoke of that daughter you’d have, and all the sons and daughters that would come after.

You learned to love him years ago, and found beneath the cruelty and venom and bloodthirst a man that loves intensely, that willingly gave his heart to you to keep safe the day he made you his wife. So his love doesn’t surprise you, his devotion to his family doesn’t make you falter.

There were still many things that made you falter, that made you see everything with new eyes, during those months while you carried Ástríðr and in the years you’ve been fortunate enough to have her.

One of them was how the sons of Aslaug, much to your surprise and despite all their other failings, had been raised to be utterly devoted to their families. Hvitserk was almost giddy at the possibility of a niece or nephew that he could keep close to him, unlike Ubbe’s children all the way in Dublin. Ubbe, always the father figure, visited more than once and kept watchful eyes not only on you and his brother, but on everything, as if from Dublin he could look over all of you like he did while growing up. To your surprise, even Sigurd, past the animosity between him and Ivar -and all the disagreements he has had with you over the years, of course- sent word from Northumbria wishing you three the protection of the Gods.

Another of those discoveries, sadly not as heartwarming, was to witness the burden your husband carried and not being able to do anything about it. The more easily-soothed fears, like what your daughter would think of him, or whether she would be born healthy, were quietened by your voice promising him over and over that any child of yours would love him like no other, or by the soft kicks of your daughter against where his palm rested on your stomach, making tears shine in Ivar’s eyes every time.

There were deeper fears, and fears that plagued you too, that you couldn’t so easily soothe. The whisper in the back of his mind that happiness is nothing, that everything you love eventually you lose, that all his cruel ways and his mistakes would one day cost him what he holds dear. The blue eyes of the man you love, so used to seeing what others cannot, so used to planning ahead and seeing the world like his enemy does, seeing a world where at any time his fame and his conquests could cost him your life or your daughter’s.

For a man as cruel and vicious as Ivar, it is easy to forget he is not something otherworldly, some demon like the Christians say, some beast like your own countrymen claim. Sometimes, in all his rage and all his chaos, it is easy to forget he is a husband, a father, a man.

And like any man with a beating heart, especially a heart so wholly owned by his wife and daughter; Ivar fears.

Ástríðr blinks big and strikingly blue eyes, and you smile widely, unable to keep yourself from bringing your daughter closer and pressing a kiss on her head, delighting yourself in the familiar and comforting smell of your baby.

“Good morning, little one.” You whisper, and she coos in response, as if she understands.

“Is she…is she alright?” Ivar asks, moving closer to you and looking at her over your shoulder.

“Of course she is,” You smile down at your daughter, your finger tapping the tip of her tiny nose. “Our beautiful girl, she’s more than alright. She’s perfect.”

“She was…coughing.”

“That’s something babies do, Ivar, she’s fine.” You reassure him, only slightly bothered by the fact that he woke you up because your daughter coughed. You adjust your grip on Ástríðr, let her nuzzle against the column of your throat and find her sleep again.

Ivar drops his head to your shoulder, sighing against your skin and laying quite a bit of his weight on you. You sit there, your daughter against you and your husband letting you hold him up as he releases a tension you didn’t realize was there, and feel a pang of something in your heart.

After a few moments, you hold back a sigh, you try biting back your worry, and whisper, “You should sleep, love.”

“Mhm,” Ivar mumbles, but it is an argument, even if he doesn’t find the words to voice it yet. “Later.”

He has taken the awful habit of not sleeping at night. Each night when you settle in bed with Ástríðr nestled close to you, and Ivar holds you both close in his embrace; he remains awake, vigilant and expectant, watching the shadows for ghosts and enemies. You’ve noticed him faltering during the day, worsening his pain by not letting himself rest like should.

And it has only been worse since Hvitserk has been gone.

You know there are few people Ivar trusts fully, even fewer he entrusts the safety of his wife and daughter to. With just being here, Hvitserk granted his brother a peace nothing else can, a certainty that there was someone’s back to lean his own against, a promise that he could lower his guard and rest assured he wasn’t alone.

It is just a matter of days before Hvitserk returns, but you refuse to let Ivar run himself ragged.

So, you use your and not holding Ástrídr to wrap around his waist, and slowly move the three of you, as well as you can manage, back to lay on the bed.

With a slightly startled breath Ivar opens his eyes, focuses almost frantically on you and Ástríðr. You sigh again, but make use of the loss of his weight against you to settle against the pillows, holding your daughter better against your chest, your hand covering her back and holding her gently.

When you’re certain she’s comfortable, you lift your free arm and run your fingers through Ivar’s hair.

“You’ll rest.” You order, your eyes on your husband’s. He wants to argue, you know he does, a war between exhaustion and stubbornness, but it seems the pull is strong enough to even make him cave.

Ivar settles on your opposite shoulder from your daughter, his hand warm and rough as it settles over yours on her back. You chase tension off his back by running your hand up and down his back, and as both he and your daughter sleep safe and warm against you, you allow yourself a whisper of gratitude to the Gods.

You never knew what the Seer had meant when he told you so many years ago that ‘he can only use one hand and chooses to hold the sword, and for that you’ll need to hold the shield’, but now, as you hold your world close against you, you dare think that you understand the Ancient One’s words.

Eventually, the fear of something stealing her in the middle of the night passes. It always returns, that irrational fear he has that he will lose it all, that frantic paranoia that if he doesn’t plan, if he doesn’t prepare, they will take you both from him.

But as Ástríðr grows healthy and lively, the fears dwindle, or maybe they just change. And for a man that scorned the very uttering of the word, Ivar finds peace.

Through the halls, you follow the familiar sound of Ivar’s war cry, though quieter, and the adorable giggles of your daughter. Walking into your rooms, you make sure to remain hidden as you watch Ivar on the floor, holding himself up on his arms, mocking a taunt towards your daughter, daring the little shieldmaiden to attack.

A part of you is glad that this is a secret, a side of your husband, of your family, that the world will never know of. The world needn’t know of how easily Ástríðr makes her mother and father cave to her every wish, the world needn’t know of how fiercely and uncondicionally she is loved; only she needs to know of it, andn you and Ivar have made sure she lives a life knowing how loved she is.

You lean your shoulder on a pillar near the door, arms crossed over your chest but still betraying a smile.

Ástríðr brandishes a wooden sword at her father, big eyes strikingly alike Ivar’s when she focuses and finds her determination.

“I will defeat you!” She exclaims, the seriousness in her expression making your chest warm.

“You’re just a shieldmaiden, you can’t defeat me!” Ivar replies without missing a beat, faking a monster’s swipe with a hand that tries grabbing at her small foot.

Your daughter jumps out of the way with a squeal, but quickly furrows her brow adorably and lifts her chin, stubborn and arrogant.

Gods, Ivar is right, she looks so much like you.

“I am Ástríðr Ivarsdottir, I’ll always win!”

“Ah, you will, won’t you?” Ivar teases, letting go of the role of whatever beast he was supposed to be, grabbing onto your daughter and falling on his back with her in his arms, lifting the girl up and making her giggle. “Mighty shieldmaiden you’ll be, my sweet.”

“I know.” She replies without hesitation, startling a laugh out of you.

Two pairs of blue eyes turn to you, and Ástríðr wastes no time in calling out for you, squirming her way out of her father’s grasp and skipping towards you.

You kneel on the ground and welcome your daughter’s enthusiastic embrace, even if it was only this morning you last saw her.

“Did you defeat him, little one?” You ask her, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear.

“Of course I did, mama.” She replies, almost offended. Of course, look whose daughter you’re asking about a victory in battle, imaginary or not.

You catch Ivar’s eyes and whatever intent you had on chastising him for leaving you to deal with the earl alone vanishes at the softness in his gaze at he looks at you both.

Not many know of Ivar the Boneless’ love. Even fewer know of his fear.

But there’s only a few lucky ones that have seen his happiness, his peace.

You two share a look, a look that speaks not only of gratefulness for one another, but of gratefulness for this perfect blend of the two of you, of your stubbornness and his drive, of his eyes and your hair.

Ivar betrays a small smile and his eyes go to the discarded wooden sword at his side.

“Oi, shieldmaiden!” He calls out, and Ástríðr turns to him without hesitation. “You never leave your weapon behind. It is the one thing, besides your mother and me, that you can trust blindly in this world.”

Ivar motions for the sword, and your daughter dutifully goes to pick it up, only to be ambushed on the way, Ivar’s eyes trapping her to his chest.

She is startled, and lets out a loud and adorable laugh as her father once again drops to the furs at his back, his smile blinding.

“You see? If you’d had your sword, no monster would have gotten you.”

Ástríðr grumbles an argument, but Ivar only snorts a laugh. His eyes lift to yours, and he lifts his hand, calling for the touch of yours, calling for you to join them.

You sigh, but still walk to them and stretch on the furs near the fire, accepting the embrace Ivar offers you when he lifts his free arm.

You nuzzle your nose against his throat, reaching with your hand and taming Ástríðr’s wild hair.

“Do you think one day I could defeat a dragon, like the warriors you tell me about?”

“Mhm, of course. You’ll be the most famous shieldmaiden who has ever lived.” He promises her, pressing a kiss against her hair, his arm tightening and trying to bring you closer even if it is impossible.

___

I struggled a lot writing this, I don’t really know why bc it was a lovely request. I tried my best :)

I hope you liked this, lovely anon! And I’m sorry it took me so long to get it done! I love you!!

#ivar the boneless x reader #ivar x reader #ivar the boneless imagine #ivar the boneless #ivar

364 notes · View notes

troped-fanfic-challenge · 4 years ago

Text

TROPED: JATP MASTER LIST

And for our encore, the Master List of all 53 (fifty-three!?) fanfics written for our FIRST Julie and the Phantoms TROPED event!! It was such a treat for us to see how a new fandom took on our prompts! We, here at TROPED, love it when our authors push the limits of what a trope can be, and this fandom kept us on our toes, and we loved every word! We hope you enjoy these trope bending, phantastic fics as much as we did!

New rockstar writers joined us for the first time for this event, which is the coolest thing for us! We love getting to see how different fandoms interpret our prompts and how you see these stories through the lens of different characters. We learned a lot about how to run an event this round, with new voices helping us to make TROPED better, which was so exciting. We came out of this event with new ideas, and we’re pumped for what’s next! We hope you’ll join us again soon ;)!

*Some summaries have been edited for length. Tumblr has a max post length. Who knew!

ROUND 1: ANGST FICS

The Tropes:

Character discovers they’re not human

Coffee Shop AU

Poorly Timed Confession

Character A catches Character B crying

————

the sky was gray and white and (cloudy) (Rated T) [Alex x Willie] by @screamin-amuseum

Summary: “I’ve got you,” Willie’s whispering over and over, panic creeping into his voice. “Alex, I’ve got you, okay? Come on, baby, come on, it’s okay, I’ve got you, you’re gonna be okay, I love you–”

Alex spits out what feels like a clot of blood and gives Willie a tired grin, probably looking completely insane.

“That’s pretty gay of you,” he says, just as his vision clouds over and he passes out.

Honey, You’re Familiar (Like My Mirror Years Ago) (Rated T) [Julie x Luke] by nik_knows_nothing

Summary: Luke works at a coffee shop, which is normal, quietly pines after his coworker, which is normal, and also occasionally steals people’s faces without really meaning to.

It’s probably that last part that moves him pretty solidly out of the “normal” territory.

But that’s fine, that’s totally cool.

He’s handling it super well.

You Can’t Value People Less Than a Good, Hot Cup of Bean Juice (It Just Seems Rude) (Rated T) [Julie x Luke] by nik_knows_nothing

Summary: Julie gets a job at a coffee stand in the middle of nowhere.

It’ll help to pass the time, if nothing else.

And if there’s a cute guy who works the shift after her and sometimes leaves her ridiculously endearing messages on an ancient tape recorder?

Well, that’s just a bonus.

honest to god I’ll break your heart, tear you to pieces and rip you apart (Rated T) [Julie x Luke] by @tonightthestarsalign

Summary: the siren!Julie AU no one asked for

new instincts (Rated T) [Luke x Reggie] by @comeonpeters

Summary: Reggie is fine with being the only human member of his band, Julie and the Phantoms (tell your friends!), just like he’s fine with being the only single member. It doesn’t make him feel lonely, and he’s only picking up more shifts at the coffee shop because he needs more money, not because he’s avoiding being alone. And picking up more shifts at the coffee shop is making the work easier! He’s only a little confused by the fact that he can now touch the espresso machine mid shift without burning himself… must be all of the experience.

you look like you’ve just seen a monster (is that what i look like to you?) (Rated T) [Bobby x Alex x Luke x Reggie] by @aroacethetic-shitpost

Summary: it’s angsty tiefling bobby time, folks!

We Are Monsters, We Are Proud (Rated G) [Flynn x Carrie, Julie x Luke] by @americanhoney913

Summary: Carrie finds herself at a college like no other in search of her dad and some answers. Julie’s not feeling good and maybe staring at roses wasn’t the best idea.

Monster College/Coffeeshop AU

sending forth their beautiful voice, and my heart was fain to listen (Rated G) [Julie x Carrie] by @madeline-kahn

Summary: Months after the death of her mom, Julie prepares to sing again and makes an upsetting discovery.

rise from the ashes (Rated M) [Alex x Willie] by @willexxmercer

Summary: At a time when everything was going wrong for Alex, the one bright spot in his life was the charming barista at the coffee shop he frequented. At least, it was the bright spot until everything went up in flames. All he could do was hope that they could rise from the ashes and figure things out together.

Siren’s Song (Rated T) [Ray x Rose] by hufflebibin

Summary: The Scopuli was never meant to be a permanent arrangement. Rose had taken the job straight out of school just looking to make a little extra money before the tour kicked off.

That was four years ago.

After a string of bad luck befalls Rose and the Petal Pushers, she can’t help but wonder if she is the problem. Or is there something more sinister at play?

Yellow (Rated T) [Julie & Reggie] by @tmp-jatp

Summary: Reggie just wanted to get some new guitar strings. A shapeshifter!Reggie au

Angels Like You (Rated T) [Luke x Reggie] by @sunsetcurveofficial

Summary: Reggie is having a bit of a weird day. It gets worse when he figures out that it’s because he died in his sleep and has somehow been walking around as a ghost without realising it. Meeting Luke helps. Luke says he’s a fellow ghost, and there is something about him that Reggie just feels drawn to. Falling for him is the easiest thing Reggie has ever done, but Luke is a little more than he lets on, and it turns out that their story actually started long before Reggie thought it did.

look into my eyes (it’s where my demons hide) (Rated T) [Flynn x Carrie] by @fanfics-she-wrote

Summary: Hiding out from demons was never a desirable nightmare. Of course, Carrie would much prefer a run-for-my-life nightmare than actually running for her life. Having Flynn around is a very welcome soothing balm, though.

Bring All The Monsters Out To Play, Let All The Red Erase The Grey (Rated T) [Bobby & Reggie] by @kennysbirthday

Summary: Mythologicals, Reggie realised, were kind of like queer people. Sometimes your Token Human friend turns around one day and admits that actually, there was something they were suppressing all along, and they hadn’t realised.

–

Reggie’s final exam has been pushed forward at the most inconvenient time. Bobby is sick, Alex is missing, and now he needs to help a selkie get their ‘Happily-Ever-After’ in order to scrape a passing grade. Oh, and if his boss catches him handing out more free coffee, he’s gonna get fired.

————

ROUND 2: FLUFF FICS

The Tropes:

Exes

Time Loop AU

Camp Counselors

Prank Wars

————

Okay, Campers, Rise and Shine! (Rated T) [Julie x Luke] by nik_knows_nothing

Summary: The Groundhog Day meets Gravity Falls meets Summer Camp meets The Author’s Own Distaste For Prank Wars AU that no one asked for. Ever. At all.

Starting To Forget (Just What Summer Ever Meant To You) (Not Rated) [Flynn x Carrie] by bi_magic

Summary: Last summer didn’t end on a positive note for Carrie Wilson - she and her girlfriend broke up on the last night of camp, and she’s been miserable since. But it seems that the universe is intent on having her fix that this summer. Even if that means she has to live through the same day over and over and over again until she does.

Creative B.S. Was No More, Was No Less (Look Around, You’re Gonna Miss What You Found) (Rated T) [Alex x Luke, Flynn x Reggie] by @americanhoney913

Summary: Alex and Luke go undercover on a mission to a summer camp in order to find a talisman that could endanger the camp and all the kids. While there, they bond with the kids and make peace with the fact that they broke up.

While Alex and Luke are away, Flynn accidentally fucks with time.

bitch but like romantically (Rated T) [Flynn x Carrie] by @screamin-amuseum

Summary: or: flynn gets stuck in a time loop. {for troped jatp round 2}

down by the bay (Rated T) [Alex x Willie] by @sunsetcurbed

Summary: Over time, Camp Phantom has simply become known as a selective summer camp: one that took only the kids that Caleb saw promise in. And Caleb wasn’t exactly lying. He really did take only the ones he saw promise in, he simply looked for different traits than others might.

For example, say, hypothetically, a boy who could see the future. Or, hypothetically, a girl who could interact with ghosts. Or, hypothetically, a boy who could summon objects to him with a simple thought. Or, and this is completely hypothetical mind you, a boy who could manipulate time.

Those might be some traits that Caleb saw promise in. Just, like, as examples.

Time will tell (But only if you do it right) (Rated T) [Flynn x Carrie] by @malecacidd

Summary: Carrie had been acting a little off for a week or so, but Flynn was pretty much known for seeing something in nothing, and that was probably what they were doing then. If something was going on, Carrie would tell her eventually.

Who knew all it took was a little bit of miscommunication to mess up time itself?

and so it begins (Rated T) [Bobby x Reggie] by @comeonpeters

Summary: It’s the first day of their second week at Camp Carolling (they’re spending an entire month, and they’re getting paid to be there!) when Reggie gets a little lost in the woods. During this misadventure into the woods, he finds an egg shaped rock, an inhabited cabin that may or may not be riddled with signs, and something that might be magic. He probably doesn’t get paid enough to discover magic.

or, when they were thirteen years old, four boys met at camp carolling and eventually became a band that almost became something legendary. now, all four boys are coming back as counselors, three boys in one band and one boy in his own solo act.

so begins the reunion, though it doesn’t go how any of them imagine.

Porcupine Day (Rated T) [Bobby x Ray x Rose] by @wr0temyway0ut

Summary: It’s been fifteen years since Trevor broke up with Ray and Rose and they’re… not fine, but managing. But when Trevor to adds insult to injury and buys the camp across the lake from the one they once owned together, the two camps become locked in a bitter rivalry. With neither side willing to set aside their pride and work out their issues, the universe decides to settle their fates itself.

Day After Day (After Day After Day) (Rated T) [Alex x Willie] by hufflebibin

Summary: When Alex met Willie just after their senior year of high school, they spent a wonderful three months dating before their relationship ended in a blaze of glory. Now, four years later, they meet again as counselors at a summer camp. The only problem? Alex keeps reliving their first day together. The day that Luke had declared “Prank Day.”

This is not how Alex pictured his summer going.

clocks move faster (it’s all we’re after) (Rated G) [Julie x Luke] by @willexxmercer

Summary: Julie likes it when her friends are happy, so when she realizes she’s stuck in a time loop, she uses her knowledge to make sure everything works out for everyone… except she conveniently forgets to factor herself (and Luke) into the mix.

Touch of Magic (Not Rated) [Alex x Luke] by @williexmercer

Summary: When everything stands in Luke and Alex’s way of getting to be with the people they love, they have to repeat the day over and over until they can get the happily ever after that they want.

the play’s the thing (that goes wrong) (Rated T) [Alex x Willie] by @madeline-kahn

Summary: Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow creeps in this petty pace from day to day for Macbeth, but not so for Alex and the production of Hamlet that he is directing and starring in. And while he’s stuck repeating the day of the performance over and over, mishaps of all kinds befall the cast.

anything, anything (for another run with you) (Rated T) [Alex x Willie] by @aroacethetic-shitpost

Summary: the camp counselor/exes/prank war/time loop fic of your dreams (unless you read all of the other troped round 2 fics lmao)

there’s a glorious sunrise, dappled with the flickers of light (Rated T) [Julie x Luke] by @tonightthestarsalign

Summary: ex-best friends Luke and Julie, working as camp counselors at rivaling camps, find themselves stuck in a time loop

the daughter of apollo (Rated T) [Julie x Luke] by @the-most-beautiful-broom

Summary: the JATP x Camp Half Blood AU that nobody asked for

maybe the world isn’t ending (maybe it’s been postponed) (Rated G) [Julie x Luke] by @tmp-jatp

Summary: It’s the last day of camp and Julie has one more prank planned for Luke. He just doesn’t know what it is.

Here We Go Again (Rated T) [Julie x Luke] by @kybee1497

Summary: Julie blinked as she stared at the place Euterpe had disappeared. What did that even mean? What journey? Old places and lost faces? What was she talking about? But before she could dwell on the questions swirling around in her mind, the sky full of stars began to move, shifting in place and descending until they were all around her. Julie felt her feet leave the ground as she rose up and up. One star in particular was burning brighter than the others, growing bigger in front of her.

It grew and grew, until the light was blinding and Julie had to throw a hand up against the harsh light. She closed her eyes as the light surrounded her and then she was falling. Falling down, down, down.

————

ROUND 3: CANONVERSE FICS

The Tropes:

Secret Places

Neighbors

First Kiss

Time Jump

————

Just say you won’t let go (Rated G) [Julie/Luke] by @fanfics-she-wrote

Summary: Hey, Julie

You're the heart and soul 'round here, it's plain to see

in which Julie has a second chance with her boys, and then a third

we will fight to shine together (bright forever) (Rated G) [Bright Lighting Guy/Rob from the Orpheum] by @screamin-amuseum

Summary: the rob/bright lighting guy fic literally nobody asked for but i wrote anyways. enjoy gays, bring ur tissues

what happened when (Rated G) [Alex/Luke] by @janaikam

Summary: Before Julie and the Phantoms, before the guys became ghosts, before Sunset Curve – they were Luke and Alex. Not 5 feet apart cause they’re totally gay.

who cares if one more light goes out? (in a sky of a million stars) (Rated T) [Ray/Rose] by @tonightthestarsalign

Summary: The first and the last time Ray ever kissed Rose.

we can forget the world (just you and me) (Rated T) [Alex/Willie] by @sunsetcurbed

Summary: “This was the first place I ever came out to someone,” Alex says, spinning around and taking in the tree house.

together we can take on the world (Rated G) [Alex/Reggie] by @comeonpeters

Summary: Alex Mercer meets Reggie Peters on October 8, 1983, which means that two days have passed since Reggie’s sixth birthday, because Reggie is a Libra according to the magazines that his mom reads when she gets Reggie to paint her toenails. He’s also just moved to Los Angeles, California from his hometown of Gatlinburg, Tennessee, a small town in the mountains, and he’s told Alex Mercer about all of this in the three minutes that they’ve known each other, and he might be the loudest, most obnoxious boy that Alex has ever met, and he absolutely has to be Alex’s new best friend.

The Peters family moves in down the street from the Mercers in 1983, and so begins the rest of their lives.

Long Live (Can I start another life with you?) (Rated T) [Julie/Luke] by @smolfangirl

Summary: It’s all too much for one day: first a muffin, then more heartbeats. Julie just needs some time to think. If Luke runs after her to sit by her side so she doesn’t lose it, she won’t complain.

Except afterwards, he starts acting weird. Very weird. And months later, she’s tired of letting him keep his distance.

She can’t do this. Not right now. Not today.

She jumps back on her feet.

The excited grin falls from Luke’s face. She doesn’t try to catch it.

“I – I think this is too much. I need some time. Alone. Sorry.”

Then she runs. She runs past the calloused fingers reaching out to her. Past Reggie and the door, past carved pumpkins on porches and Cornelia Street.

She just runs.

Roses (Rated G) [Emily & Luke, Alex/Luke] by @americanhoney913

Summary: It becomes a sacred place she shares with her son. Mitch is usually off at work from dawn until six o’clock, but Emily’s working from home for now. She works as a florist’s shop right outside the neighborhood. So she brings home seeds and little flowers and other cuts from the store; she and Luke will spend hours out in the dirt, planting seeds and making mud pies and Luke will babble about whatever happened in daycare and make up stories about the different flowers.

Somewhere Only We Know (Rated T) [Nick/Carrie] by hufflebibin

Summary: A journey through Nick Danforth-Evan’s life as experienced in the safety of his backyard hide away.

The Itty Bitty Details (Rated T) [Alex/Willie] by @williexmercer & @futurearchaeologyprof

Summary: 5 times Willie knew Alex and one where Alex knew Willie

you’re the only one who makes me (my wildflower) (Rated T) [Bobby/Reggie] by @willexxmercer

Summary: The tree was Reggie’s safe space, and Bobby was his safe person. He could escape all his troubles there, except for one nagging thought - did he have feelings for his best friend?

Dying complicated things.

because i’ve known you so long, i know every cadence and what they mean (Rated G) [Alex & Julie, Julie/Luke] by @tmp-jatp

Summary: the Juke 5+1 fic from Alex’s POV.

Someday (I’ll See You Again) (Rated T) [Alex/Willie] by @kybee1497

Summary: They’re wrong. Alex, you are not a failure. You’re incredible. You’re smart. You’re funny, and the best friend I could ask for. You’re a wicked talented drummer and you have a beautiful voice. And more important than all of that, is that you’re you, Alex. And the you you are is wonderful, and lovable and perfect. If your parents can’t see that, that’s their own fault. But I swear, Alex. If you’re afraid of them, I need you to tell me. You have to be safe.” Willie’s voice had gone desperate by the end. Alex deserved to know how freaking amazing he was and the fact that his parents didn’t bother to tell him, and actively worked to tear him down instead, was infuriating.

But Willie also worried about him. He’d worried about Alex since the first time he heard Mr. Mercer shouting through the window, a worry that never really went away. Not with the way Alex automatically straightened up when his parents were mentioned, as if he could hear his dad lecturing him about appearances from miles away. Not with the way Alex looked when he was with them, perfectly pieced together and falling apart at the seams, eyes distant and shoulders tense. Willie was pretty sure he had worrying about Alex etched in his bones by this point.

The Energy Never Dies (Rated T) [Gen Fic] by @americanhoney913

Summary: Four moments across time in the loft of the Molina’s garage.

————

ROUND 4: FINAL!

Theme: Author’s Choice

Tropes:

Royalty AU

Soulmate AU

“Long Story Short…”

Author’s Choice

———

Look, Steal From the Rich. Do It. (Rated T) [Julie/Luke] by nik_knows_nothing

Summary: A Julie and the Phantoms Star Wars AU that kind of looks into the ramifications of soul marks in a turbulent society, but mostly just focuses on the gang infiltrating a fancy Core World party.

take my heart (and take my hand) (Rated T) [Alex/Willie] by @sunsetcurbed

Summary: The stranger smiles. “I’m Willie,” he greets.

“Alex,” Alex nods back.

“Sir,” Willie says pointedly, and smirks up at him as he bows exaggeratedly.

“The word sir is coming out of your mouth directed at me, but I don’t feel like you just addressed me as a sir at all. And please, call me Alex.”

“My apologies,” Willie hums, straightening back up. And then, pointedly, he lowers himself back into the same bow and makes deliberate eye contact with Alex. “Sir.”

Alex blinks. “You’re not going to call me Alex, are you?”

“Absolutely not, Sir.”

the princess and the lord (Rated T) [Julie/Luke] by @the-most-beautiful-broom

Summary: a JATP x Princess Diaries 2 AU

Diamond in the Rough (Rated G) [Julie/Luke] by @tmp-jatp

Summary: The JATP Aladdin AU

Okay, So You’re Interrupting the Political Guy Again, So Think About That (Rated T) [Julie/Luke] by nik_knows_nothing

Summary: Julie and the Phantoms meets The Goblin Emperor meets a soulmate AU meets the author’s stunning lack of what I assume is basic knowledge on how monarchies work.

i had the time of my life, fighting dragons with you (Rated T) [Julie/Luke] by @tonightthestarsalign

Summary: luke gets hired by some noble to bring back the princess that was kidnapped by a dragon

born to be yours (Rated G) [Alex/Willie] by @willexxmercer

Summary: “Hello. It feels strange, resorting to notes like this, but I couldn’t think of any other way. I know you’re here, somewhere. At the ball. I’ve tried to find you for the past few nights. My parents always told me never to believe in looped days and soulmates, but I think this just proves that they were wrong.

My name is Willie. I don’t know how to find you, but sometimes I feel like I’m drawn to you. Like I can just sense you nearby. I don’t know if you’ll find this, but if you do, I’ll try to wait for you on the balcony.

Until we meet.”

our best days are yet unknown (Rated T) [Alex/Reggie/Willie] by @aroacethetic-shitpost

Summary: When Prince Alexander of Sacuria meets his fiance, Prince William of Coterra, he’s astonished to discover that he recognizes his daemon. He recognizes it as one of the other shapes that his own daemon is able to take… as his soulmate. The only problem? Alex already has a soulmate: Reggie Peters, his childhood best friend. What should he do about finally meeting his second soulmate?

Panic and run away? Yeah, sure.

Little does he know he’s about to have a bigger problem than that…

————

Please take the time to read of all these incredible fics! Leave the authors some kudos/comments! They worked so hard this whole event. Thanks so much!

Just as a reminder, our non-anon collection is always open and we are always so excited to receive any submissions! The TROPED: JATP official collection has been CLOSED but if any of our prompts inspire you, please share your fics with us in our non-anon collection! Simple put ‘TROPED_Non_Anonymous’ where it asks for the collection name, and be sure to put what round you are writing for in your notes so we can be sure to tag it appropriately when we share! Also, just as a note, fics submitted to the non-anon collection do not have to follow the word limit and do not require the same strict adherence to the tropes, though we do ask that you comply with our other rules regarding no rape, incest, negativity, and things like that! Happy writing!

TROPED JATP AO3 Collection: https://archiveofourown.org/collections/TROPED_JATP_1

TROPED Non-Anon AO3 Collection: https://archiveofourown.org/collections/TROPED_Non_Anonymous

#troped: jatp #jatp fanfiction #troped: masterlist #julie and the phantoms #long post

39 notes · View notes

moonbelt · 4 years ago

Text

𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐮𝐬 [ᴍ]

↳ classical mythology au | the story of icarus au

⇢ pairing: chanyeol | reader

⇢ genre: angst + smut + fluff

⇢ word count: 14,101 (this one’s a lil beast)

⇢ description: on the day of the summer solstice a piece of the sun crashes down to earth and perhaps it was fate that led him to you.

⇢ warnings: handjobs, a bit of a size difference kink, small dom/sub undertones, butchering classical mythology to fit the plot.

It felt like the world was burning at your feet.

That was understandable. It was the morning of the longest day of summer after all. But for the ground to be so hot that the heat speared through the soles of your work boots? That bit was new. You were quite sure your town was hitting an all-new high record for the hottest day of the year.

Even as you cooped yourself in your basement workshop, the sun still seemed to boil you to death. You could only imagine how awful it was outside. But you couldn't afford to stall on your invention. It was either now or never. You were a go big or go home type of person.

Today was the big day. The Summer Solstice. And even though you couldn't be bothered by your town's usual theatrics and a false sense of grandeur, this was the one event you loved. The one event in which you got to showcase your creations and earn a bucketload of exclusive offers from neighboring patrons that came to visit.

The longest day of summer was a huge festival. For one night you got to experience the finest things the world had to offer in your small, somewhat average life. And you loved it. For one day the townspeople put away their reservations towards you and your father and for one day, you allowed yourself to dream of flying away from this tightly-knit prison.

Forcing things into being from scraps and the dregs of society was something that gave you purpose. Something that in a tiny way puts you on the map. Fueled your somewhat childish dream of someday crawling your way out of this labyrinth-Esque settlement.

The first time you snuck into your father's workshop hadn't been by accident. Even though your father had cautioned you away from the basement because he was scared you'd interfere with his process or perhaps worse; injure yourself. But at nine years old there was only so much that could keep your mind from wandering away and the townsfolk weren't exactly forthcoming with letting their heirs and next of kins play with you.

Well, to be honest, most of them didn't welcome you at all. Not that you minded. Not that you cared. They called your father a genius to his face but a madman to his back. But that was fine too. There was a fine line between the two. You thought Little Tommy was quite literally the ugliest baby to be born in the whole wide world and when Little Tommy's mother did something you hated like shoo you away from the front of her bakery, you let her know exactly that.

So yeah, no hard feelings.

But your father's workshop had always felt like the hottest place on earth. If not for that fact that you'd been so utterly bored with schoolwork and the fantasy book you'd been able to sneak out of the library, you doubted you'd even have wanted to step foot in the dark, sweltering ass crack of hell. But if you were anything it was determined.

Some might call you stubborn. Some may even call it foolishness on your part. But you know that it was destiny. A reckoning. Fate. Maybe even a homecoming of sorts. Because in there you found your true passion. Something that tied you ephemerally to this world.

In that workshop, you saw your father create things that no one had ever dared or tried to before. But of course, he did. That was the whole reason they called him a madman by night.

In fact, you were quite certain that the townspeople revered and feared him at the same time. After all, there was still a rumor going 'round that he'd been the one to orchestrate and invent the quintessential labyrinth town you lived in. But that was a different story, one you didn't care to tell. And one you believed — at the time — didn't affect you at all.

You've been wrong about many things. Your father had made it a point to let you know in every way of what you lacked and in what you failed in. But also in what you thrived. And building, no, inventing, came easily to you. Like you'd been born for it. More than destiny, more like preordained. You didn't have a choice, didn't even want one. And you'd been helpless to stop it.

But now the workshop was your life. You lived in it, breathed it and in a sense maybe you worshipped it. It gave you a sense of being after all. The whole town could isolate you, and that they did expertly, but they still hammered down your doorstep for your helpful creations that helped ease the way of life.

You both loved and loathed how much they depended on you but it was what it was. You tried not to let it bother you much anymore.

After numerous hours of grinding at your workstation, and perfecting your latest design, you climbed out of the heated workshop basement and welcomed the fresh breeze of the cool air outside.

You'd been working on a new device that would help speed up the process of washing your daily wear. At the moment the mechanics were quite frankly the best they could ever be, but you were tinkering with it for the utmost perfection for tonight. Hell, you'd already picked out an apt name for it: The Washy-Washer. Okay, yes, it did sound a bit silly, a bit ridiculous, but you weren't going to call it the hand-washer. You cringed solely at the thought.

But you needed a break. Your back was killing you and you were quite literally tired of washing all of your socks. Even if the machine did do most of it.

You took a deep breath and fixed your gaze on the sun. It was calm and quiet in this part of town. The outskirts. But the sun was always loud. At least to you. It always felt as if the sun was trying to burn out your eyes and no matter how much you wanted to look away, you couldn't. It demanded your attention. And you gave it because what else could you do?

It wasn't like the sun was especially pretty, or particularly different than any other sun you'd seen in the last early twenty-something years of your life. But it wasn't like the sun was ugly either, so you didn't mind looking at it. Even if it did hurt your eyes.

And just like every other day, you raised a palm to the sky and imagined yourself grasping the burning sun in your hands. You imagined it would feel like a hot coal on your skin, a little bit reinvigorating but with a whole lot of pain. You wondered if it was a good thing that you thought you'd like that.

And like what had become your new normal, you daydreamed of creating wings like the birds you envied. Wings that could take you anywhere you wanted. Wings that could actually fly. The dream had been plaguing you for weeks like a disease. Visions of you donning on misshapen not-even-close-to-sturdy wings and just soaring. You weren't quite sure where you'd fly to. Maybe you'd just go until you were too tired to move.

"You are going to turn into a field of ash," the charismatic yet sarcastic voice of the town's resident homebody (and the only person that responded to your flyer looking for a housemate) yelled from inside the house.

You guess you were getting predictable these days. Too much staring at the sun and getting almost sunburnt and less of hiding in your workshop.

"The weather's trying to murder me out here," you grumbled as you pushed the creaky front door open and tapped the dirt from the bottom of your boots. "And that's how you treat me?"

Kyungsoo looked up from stirring the pot he had on the stove to shoot you an exasperated look. You had half the mind to tell him of how domestic he looked just to mess with him. "I'm preventing you from dying a sudden and painful death."

"I put a roof over your head."

"Well, I pay rent and I feed you."

It wasn't like you could you beat that. You couldn't cook for the life of you. When your father had been alive he had handled all the cooking for fear of you burning water. And when he'd married, his new wife Nau had taken over the role.

Nau was a nice woman. Although you thought sometimes that she treated you a bit too much like you were her biological daughter and not her extended family. It was fine though because at least she talked to you. Plus she told all her townie friends about the stuff you created. And she made a bomb fish-tail soup.

When your father died, she'd resorted to dropping off a weekly supply of cooked meals at your door. But with Kyungsoo around, the need had for it had practically stopped. And even though you would never tell her, Kyungsoo's cooking was way more phenomenal than hers. But you had manners, albeit a little rusty.

"You can't hold food over my head. That's just wrong." You made your way to the sink and washed the grime off your hands and face. "Plus, I gave you a friend discount when I fixed your calculator last week."

"True. But it is easy to get the friend discount when I’m your only friend," he easily replied as he moved and dumped two servings of what looked like and smelled like his signature fried rice.

You smiled to yourself. If only your dad could see you now. Making friends? Well, a friend. Singular. The town wasn't completely shitty. But Kyungsoo wasn't fond of the place either. You weren't exactly sure what caused him to uproot his life from the middle of the town where he was revered as a young chef-like god. But when he'd taken you up on your offer to be housemates to help reduce living costs six months ago, you can't say you minded.

He was a pretty easy going person and all he ever seemed to do was cook.

"So, are you still not going to have your own stall for the solstice?" You asked after you thanked him for the food and the two of you had retreated to the table set for two.

Kyungsoo shrugged, dropping his utensil to run a hand through his cropped short inky hair. "No cooking for large people ever again. They never appreciate it anyway. I'm going to be a normal person at the festival. You know, I hear the fireworks at the end are amazing."

They were. Your father used to be in charge of the mass production of them for the event. "Yeah. They're like big exploding balls of magic."

He smiled ruefully. "Can't wait."

The two of you finished your food in silence and by the time you were done you were already back to absently dreaming about wings and flying. It was abnormal the way you were fixated on it. Building wings won't be easy, heck if they were even remotely doable someone would've done it already. But it felt like an itch on your skin. Almost like you had to at least try.

Perhaps when the party was over you'd dive headfirst into it and start researching how you would even go about it. It wasn't like you had the arm strength to keep flapping your arms like a crazed person through the damn sky.

If Kyungsoo noticed your lack of speaking, he didn't mention it. And when you'd finished washing the dishes and placing them to dry. You turned to find him sifting through a handful of mail on the table. He'd been getting a ton of letters from former customers that begged him to come back and reopen his restaurant. He promptly discarded them in the bin immediately after.

"Hey, can I ask you a question?"

"You'd just ask me anyway, regardless of my answer."

True. But you like you'd said 'manners.' "You ever think about flying?"

He peered up from the littered papers. "Thinking about inventing some kind of flying death trap?"

"Hah hah hah. Jokes on you when I actually do it." You scoffed at him. Did he think you couldn't do it? You'd show him. You weren't sure how but you would. "You'd beg me to make one for you to fly out of this hellhole too."

"Well, when you put it like that I can't, in good conscience, discourage you from it. Even though I know it's a very bad idea."

"A bad idea? Nay, I say. It's the best I've ever had!"

Kyungsoo rolls his eyes at your boastful demeanor. "Where would you even fly to?"

You didn't even have to think about it. "The sun."

You'd get up close and personal with the beast that beat down on your skin day in day out. It'd hurt like hell, you knew that. But you didn't care. You weren't planning on kissing the sun or anything. Just somewhere close to it. Maybe it'd cure you off your dreams of having your body floating in a bright, hellish landscape.

Maybe flying close enough to the sun just once would be enough. You'd come back down. It'd be the greatest achievement of your whole life. Your magnum opus. You weren't trying to die but there was a whole world up there that was calling out to you like a siren at sea. And you were going to fly. You swore on it.

Even if it meant you crash-landed from space back to earth.

The Summer Solstice celebrations had already been in full swing for a few hours by the time you and Kyungsoo made it to the heart of the town. The festivals were never all that lavish or even truly a feat of major grandiose but more of a holiday to the small community. The neighboring towns visited annually and it made good to the vineyards when everyone was drunk around the bonfire with golden and russet marigolds braided into their hairs.

Colorful streamers were erected around the sides of the cobblestone roads, the sun was on the precipice of setting with the sky marred in a beautiful match of blue, orange and purple. You watched as little kids you didn’t know and old people you did flocked round in queues at various booths marveling at the creative food options.

You stopped by numerous stalls and stands that piqued your interest. Maybe it was because it was the solstice that made all the snacks taste even more heavenly than normal. Or maybe the bolstering heat had finally fried your head.

You were having fun hauling the Washy-Washer around and having people ask you what the hell it was. You’d packed a bountiful amount of socks for the demonstrations.

And when you walked away with a cold snack in your hand and a customer swearing from here to the moon that they’ll be at the shop tomorrow to pick up an order; a burst of pride swelled in your chest. Big enough for you to join in on the crowd’s summer singing. A while after you’d finished your word-of-mouth promotion, you even sold the very one you’d brought out with you.

Kyungsoo and you watched as hundreds of fellow young adult townsfolk flooded the streets decked out head to toe with the most glitzy, sheer and barely covering cloths available. It was hot and it was a festival, so no one particularly cared.

But you guess you stuck out like a sore thumb in your practical shorts and thin tank. But you weren’t part of the show so it didn’t really matter. Plus the outfits of the solstice attendees were so bizarre that you dressing a tad normal wasn’t cause for alarm. And you guessed Kyungsoo was having fun because he was running his mouth talking about the essence and the umami of a popsicle… He was learned like that.

Pushing through the crowds, you made the most of the festival. It was a bright thing. With paper lanterns floating around and above. People didn’t make an effort to seek you out in conversation but you cracked enough jokes with your friend to forget about that. Later on, Kyungsoo had been rightfully cornered by his old friends and you had given him your permission to go forth and get ultimately wasted. You promised him that you’d get drunk telepathically as well. He’d laughed.

By the time you had made it to the bonfire in the middle of the Town Square, you almost felt as if you were like everyone else. Paying for overpriced solstice marketed booze, your body felt like you were soaring. Free. You got close enough that you felt the flames of the bonfire licking and dancing across your skin and it was almost ironic how homely you felt with it.

And like year after year, the solstice let everyone shed their inhibitions. But just as the night was getting even wilder, you knew it was time for you to head back home. You could tell when you weren’t wanted. And You were pushing it without Kyungsoo by your side. People thought you were a bit mad like your father.

You won’t lie. He had been dedicated to his craft and defied the world at every turn. But he had also been a little insane. Perhaps that was where you got your stubbornness bordering on self-destruction.

You were already busy crocking up ways in which you’d start building your wings on your way back home. It was going to be a long journey to get something even manageable but you’d do it. The closer you got to your house, the less of the bustling town you heard. It was almost as if the bright festival didn’t reach your part of town. Like you were hidden in the ultimate cloak of darkness.

But that was fine. Because one day you’d have wings. One day you’d fly out of here like a bat out of hell.

And just as a droopy smile made its way to your face there came a blinding light followed by a loud and resounding thud. It shook the very core of the earth, all the way up to the enamel of your teeth.

You could swear that the sheer brightness of the light alone burnt your retinas clean off. Before you could even process what was going on, your body felt like it was incinerating from the inside. It was so hot around you that you weren’t just sweating profusely, you were melting. There was no other word for it. You clawed at your arms in a bid to do something, anything, but the mass of slick sweat on it caused your palms to slip and slip.

God, you were going to burn to death. You were screaming before you realized it. It felt like the sun was right next to you. Instead of you flying to it, it had come right down to you. And you were going to go out in a cloud of ashy dust.

But just as quickly as the heat had flamed your skin, it was gone. Leaving only the stinging sensation of your skin and tears cooling on top of your cheekbones. The cool night air caressed your skin like a salve and you whimpered a little.

What in the burning hell was that?

You were afraid. You squeezed your eyes and hugged your body. You hadn’t even realized that you had fallen to your knees. To make matters worse, your heart was beating so loudly in your ears that it overpowered all the weak sobs from falling from your lips.

Gods, you absolutely did not want to open your eyes to whatever was out there. You’d rather run blindly all the way back home.

Maybe you were cursed? Your father had told you that the gods’ anger and wrath were fickle things. Easy to provoke and swift to enact. But what on earth could you have done to deserve it? Ah, maybe if you could just open your eyes a little bit. A tiny fraction. Practically minuscule. You won’t even notice.

But when you finally managed to peel your eyelids open, you were confronted with someone kneeling right in front of you. His frame was so big that it dwarfed you and made you feel even smaller. It was undeniable that this person right in front of you wasn’t from around here. You’d never met him, never even seen him before. You’d know if you had. He had a kind of face people got mesmerized by and subsequently spent years trying to recreate it in all their art or died trying. Dramatic shit like that.

“This was not supposed to happen,” he said, his voice breathless and airy like wind and yet deep and soul bending like rock.

Huh, funny how just as you were finally catching your bearings, the hair on your arms decided to prickle to prim attention like he was inspecting them.

“Yeah?” That’s all you got? A yeah? Gods, someone throw you in a hole. You cleared your throat as you turned your gaze anywhere but his face. “Well, I swear I don’t usually burst out crying on the street like a madwoman.”

“No, no. That would be my fault.” Now that captured your attention with vice-like intensity. “I didn’t anticipate just how much heat I would give off when I reached down. Humans are sensitive. I’m very sorry if I hurt you. It is my first time on land. I’ll do better next time,” he sounded remorseful but your face scrunched up more as his words registered.

Huh. Maybe your hearing was off because what did he mean by literally anything he’d just said… Firstly, him? Hurt you? Sure he was as big as your bed frame back home and yeah, you’d never met him before. And of course, you were wary of strangers but him? He looked like he could barely hurt the ground he walked on. Squinting your eyes at him, you scrutinized his all-white attire.

Frankly, he looked like a prince. With the way, he held himself up with a dignity that just screamed regality. And even his knee that was on the ground didn’t appear to have a single stain on the white slacks. There was no royal court in your town but from the books you’d read, you imagined he was what they dressed like. With pearly white rings adorning his fingers and a tiny strip of an embellished white gold band wrapped around his tanned forehead that was framed by his blondish almost white hair.

You swiped the back of your index finger above your top lip to remove the sweat that had built up there. “There’s going to be a next time?”

He smiled, a wild thing it was because it felt like the sun was beaming straight out from his teeth. Gods, how white were those things? Did he bleach them?

“It depends. If I don’t do anything stupid while I’m here I’m sure Father would allow me to come back. He allows my siblings to fly down all the time.” He sounded almost petulant at the fact and then like he was talking to himself, his voice quieted but perhaps he’d never practiced whispering before because his voice was still way above hearing range. “But I’m sure even they have never almost charred a human down to nothing.”

“You felt that too, didn’t you?” You barely understood what was going on as is, but he was right in front of you. Like he’d been born out of the heat.

His eyes fluttered from the top of your head to your shaking hands to your knees now scuffed from the ground. “Felt what?”

“Oh, you know the blazing inferno that just swept through here.”

“Ha, I do not know of what you speak of.”

“I’m a lot of things… dumb isn’t one of them.” You forced yourself to ignore the stinging in your knees as you rose to your full height. He did the same. “Now, I don’t know what you are and I don’t really care but, did one of the gods send you? I hear Zeus can be a bit of a bitch.”

You were right about one thing, this man towered over you for sure. You always thought you were kind of tall, but he would need to lift you by your armpits to even be on the same eye level. You didn’t know how to feel about that but you weren’t scared.

“No one sends me except Father. Sometimes it is necessary. Like now,” he said not even remotely disturbed by your accusations. “I do not speak ill of Zeus but he can be, how you say bitch but respectfully?”

You gawked at him with half the mind to laugh. Actually, you were pretty sure a few giggles escaped your lips. You? Giggling? This night was only getting trickier and weirder. You blamed the booze. It was the only reasonable culprit in all this. Surely, this man did not just ask you for a more polite version of such a nasty word.

“You’re a funny one.” You tried and failed to keep the amusement out of your voice.

“Or perhaps humans are just easily entertained,” he replied but he was smiling as well. He angled his head and peered around the dark road, almost like he was expecting to see something extraordinary burst out. “I thought tonight is the first day of estival? That is why I chose today to come down.”

“Oh, you mean the solstice festival?” You followed his gaze around the steep and vanishing road behind you. “If you still want to catch the end of it, you’d have to walk a long way deeper.”

There wasn’t much to look at down these parts of town. A scrap metal yard was located a few miles to your right behind another valley. But there was a good number of brick houses milling about. Not everyone could afford to live in the affluent and bustling heart of the town and not everyone even wanted to. Your house was about ten more minutes away but you couldn’t see it from here.

You wondered what this very strange man thought of when he looked around the land especially when the lanterns that outlined the street were few in between and flickering like their lives were one breath away from being completely snuffed out.

He turned his gaze back to you and you felt as his eyes commanded your body to attention. For some reason, he seemed a bit sad. “I see.”

“Well, if you run you could probably still make it. If that’s the reason you came into town then you shouldn’t miss it. The fireworks go on for most of the night. You can see them from here but it’s always better up close.”

“You will not go?” He asked, his head cocking to the side.

You grinned. “Nope. I’ve got to sleep the alcohol out. Tomorrow I start on my magnum opus.”

You weren’t sure if he quite understood what you meant but he nodded his head all the same. And it was then you really realized that even though the night was dark and the lanterns were dim, he seemed to glow. His skin alone appeared to shimmer and bleed light. And although it wasn’t bright enough to burn, it felt to you like he was blazing.

He didn’t say anything in response and when you started to feel the trickle of awkwardness slip down your spine you swiveled your eyes to the side. “I’ll just get going now.”

Quickly, you pivoted on your heel and began the stroll to your house. It wasn’t like you needed to know this mystery man. And you could chock the burning episode your body experienced earlier to the alcohol messing up with your system. Yeah, that was it. Of course, it was! If after a night of fitful rest it came again, then and only then would you make a big deal out of it.

You hummed to yourself on your way back and for some inane reason, you had a bit more pep in your step. Like your talk with the mystery man invigorated you or something. But that couldn’t be true, you’d only just met him and you didn’t even know his name.

Hah, you felt like you could start on your wings project right this second. A clear mind and non-intoxicated emotions be damned. You’d already started preliminary sketches of how you wanted it to look like. Soon, you were going to head out to the scrap yard and sift for materials. Hopefully, you found things good enough.

You were in a good mood. One of the bests since your father died last spring. Your father had been your only companion for a long time. And he’d been your everything. Your role model, your shining light. The one that believed in you more than you believed in yourself. And although you’d admit, he had fueled your stubbornness to the point of annoyance, but he’d been your best friend.

And today, almost a year and a half later it felt like you were finally releasing a breath you’d held in for so long.

But you must have been crazy out of tune with the outside world because you did not realize that there was a second silhouette following closely behind you. It wasn’t until you’d fished your copy of the house keys from your pockets and had already begun the act of shoving them into the keyhole that the presence behind dawned on you.

You flipped around, ready to claw the person’s eyes out with your bare hands if it got down to that only to meet the same brown eyes you’d just left down at the crossroads.

It appeared that this man was getting more tangled with you than you’d anticipated.

“Did you get lost or something?” You sighed as you relaxed your stance a tad. The sleepy part of drinking was quickly catching up to you. “This is really far from the festivities.”

He blinked at you. Once. Twice. And then scanned your old mismatched, creaky door that you’d sworn you’d get changed after your father had died but procrastination got even the best of you. He didn’t seem repulsed by it but you thought it contrasted too deeply against his pristine white clothes. Was it possible for the wood to scuff his fitted embroidered mantle? He stuck out so much in front of your house but he didn’t seem to care about that at all.

“The first person we meet on land is our fatum. I stay with you till I find what I was sent for.” He said in lieu of an explanation. He poked a finger into the sliver of space between his neck and his collared shirt and pulled the garment nervously. “At least that’s what Father and the rest of my brothers said.”

Fatum? You weren’t quite sure what that word meant. But you remembered that he’d spoken about this mission he’d been sent here for. You wondered if he was like you in a way. Perhaps he only had his father and his siblings. Maybe this was his first time leaving his village?

Sure, his sentences were a bit weird and it sounded like you and him were on way two different pages. Because what did any of that have to do with you? You had yet to leave the town. That was probably why you were obsessed with the notion of flying over. But he didn’t look poor or desolate. If anything, he looked like a king surveying over his subjects.

“I still don’t get what you mean by any of that but okay, let’s say I believe you. What were you sent for?”

He cocked his head to the side innocently. “I do not know.”

Gods, you were getting a headache. You suddenly wished you hadn’t partaken in some of the indulgences of the night. Alcohol was definitely not helping your situation right now. You weren’t drunk per se but you could already feel a truck of nausea knocking on your door.

“Then how would you know when you’ve found what you were sent over here for?” Never mind the fact that you couldn’t babysit this man you’d never met. You were going to be super busy fulfilling orders and building wings. “Plus normal people don’t just let random strangers follow them around. I don’t even know your name! Some might even call this stalking.”

“I have many names,” he slid his index finger away from bruising the collar of his shirt, ignoring your first question. “But you may call me Chanyeol. And I will not stalk you for I do not really know what that is.”

“Really?” You raised an eyebrow at him.

“Truly.”

“Okay then, Chanyeol. How long are you in town for? And just so you know, I still don’t buy whatever it is your selling.”

“I will be here ’til the end of summer.” Looking you up and down like he suddenly questioned your sanity, he added. “I am not selling anything.”

Odd. This man was very odd. But you had no idea why his oddness was causing the corners of your lips to tilt upwards. Maybe it was because of how serious yet endearing he looked. Or maybe the heat did fry your brain and all your sense of self-preservation and reasoning.

“Is this about the house-sharing offer I put up in the community board?” You rolled your eyes as you crossed your arms across your chest. “That was months ago and I already found someone. I’m sure if you ask someone else they’ll let you room and board with them if you’re willing to pay rent.”

“What about you?”

“What about me?”

You swore on your left boot that you saw a ghost of a smirk dance across his lips. “Would you let me stay with you if I pay rent?”

Hah. You couldn’t tell if the booze was making everything funnier or what. But he really was funny, this Chanyeol. And dazzling. You would’ve thought he was a living, breathing star.

“Maybe.”

And like you were in a trance, you watched as he reached up to his forehead and carefully unclasped the white jeweled crown-like headband. He held it out to you like you’d even know it’s worth. You stretched out a palm and he dropped it gently. The lingering heat from his body slithered up the skin of your arm.

Chanyeol beamed at you as if he’d just solved all the problems. “Would that be enough?”

To be honest, you weren’t sure. It wasn’t like you carried a human gem to a currency calculator in your head. But when you looked at the band closely, you could tell that the gems were at least real. And the gold wasn’t fake either. Maybe you’d take it downtown and get it looked at. Maybe.

Wait, you couldn’t possibly be considering his offer, could you? And what were you going to tell Kyungsoo? That you just upped and got a new housemate on a whim? Plus no one in town even knew him. Or at least you didn’t. You could handle yourself in a fight but you wouldn’t be able able to do anything if he killed you in your sleep.

Gah, you were tired.

“May I ask what Fatum goes by?” Chanyeol was still smiling. Almost like that was his default setting. You wondered if he truly was happy about all this.

Fatum this. Fatum that. What the ever-loving hell did Fatum even mean?

“You mean what’s my name?” You turned back to your front door and kicked it open. After you’d told him, you let him enter your home. “My name is not Fatum.”

Chanyeol’s tall and lithe body made the space inside your home feel that much smaller. In fact, he seemed to make everything next to him appear to shrink. But he looked around your old house like it was a thing of beauty. You were beginning to doubt if he saw the things you saw. Your house wasn’t ugly by any means but it had definitely seen better days.

“Okay, [y/n],” he conceded but you could hear the barely thought Fatum at the end.

Shaking your head you pointed at the longest couch you had that was placed right in front of the window. “You sleep there tonight.”

He nodded and you didn’t wait around to see if he settled in nicely or not. You weren’t going to think about this weird night any more than necessary. Instead, you were going to go pass out and tomorrow you would kick him out. It left an awful taste in your mouth to leave him stranded and abandoned outside in a foreign town. But that was the extent of your generosity.

And it was with great effort that you decided to not crawl up the stairs to where your room was situated. It took, even more, to not fall on your face. Gods, you swore you’d never drink again.

Tomorrow you would hand him his, clearly expensive, headband back and ask him to leave your mundane life in peace.

But there was a thought nagging and poking you incessantly in the back of your mind. That there was something about him that was tied to you. And the just the fact that you’d already accepted his price meant something you couldn’t yet fathom. Like you’d sold your soul to an unknown.

That night you dreamt of flying like you always did. Soaring and nimbly twisting through an orange and purple-hued sky. It was beautiful. But then you’d reach a point where no matter how many times you pushed yourself upwards, your body kept falling. The wind pressure feeling like crushing boulders on your neck as you struggled. Over and over again.

That night you dreamt that the wings you hadn’t even built yet had already broke.

You woke up with a scratchy throat and a light strum in your bones.

Last night felt more like a personal hallucination than reality. There was no way you’d allowed this Chanyeol person to stay in your house. Your brain didn’t even let you dive into dissecting the meanings of his words yesterday.

He was so freaking weird, you thought to yourself as you stifled a yawn and sat up on your tiny bed. Your hair was a mess since you’d been so out of it that you’d forgotten to braid it in for the night. So that meant you spent a good half an hour teasing the strands out of its convoluted mess. It was a torrid and teary affair.

By the time you’d washed up and gotten ready for the day it was already close to noon. You doubted Kyungsoo would’ve come hone already which meant you had to go down and scavenge for something to eat before you headed down to the scrap yard.

Today was going to be great.

Whistling to yourself mindlessly, you took the stairs two at a time. But when you jumped the last step and landed at the foot of the staircase you belatedly realized that two voices were coming from the kitchen. But that couldn’t be right.

Feeling like you were an intruder in your own home, you gingerly crept closer to the open door that led to Kyungsoo’s claimed area only to see the man you’d told yourself was a hallucination and your housemate. And to make matters even more bizarre, Kyungsoo didn’t look like he was even a tiny bit disturbed by his prescience. What?

“If you’re going to stand there and pretend like you can’t see us, breakfast for you goes straight to the dogs.�� Kyungsoo was the first to pierce through your confusion.

You stepped into the kitchen, eyes wide as you stared at Chanyeol like he was wrong to be here. You pointed a finger at him. “You.”

The piece of bread that he was about to stuff in his mouth hung idly from his fingers. It bothered you how at home he looked at your house. And now that you looked at him from the glow of the midday sun, he didn’t look as princely as he had last night. What with his white garments traded for a very comfortable blueish loose pants and a baggy shirt. You wondered where the hell he got a change of clothes from.

Chanyeol’s spine went ramrod straight in the dining chair. “Me.”

Your left eye twitched. “You can’t stay here.”

“I-”

“Sure he can,” Kyungsoo interrupted from his seat at the table. “He says you took his rent for three months.”

You gawked at Chanyeol and you almost threw yourself across the table when you noticed how smug his smile looked. This couldn’t be happening. You didn’t even have an extra room.

“I can stay on the couch. I don’t mind,” Chanyeol replied.

You must have posed your question out loud. Gods, you were going insane. And since when did Kyungsoo side with random strangers over you?

“He’s not random.” Kyungsoo didn’t look up from his food as he pointed to the plate he’d fixed for you on the counter. “And you can’t kick him out. You were complaining last month about being short on money. Maybe you should use him. No offense, Chanyeol.”

Chanyeol nodded and you almost threw your shoe at the side of his head. “No worries, Land Brother.”

Land brother… yeah, maybe you shouldn’t think too much about all this. ‘Cause the more you tried to rationalize it, the more bizarre the whole situation got. If Kyungsoo was okay with him, maybe he truly was harmless? It was true that you were running low on funds. So many things in the house needed repairs and repairs cost a pretty penny. Plus, he was okay with the shitty couch. He couldn’t be that bad, could he?

Muttering to yourself, you grabbed the plate of eggs and toast. You hated eggs but you could never bring yourself to seem ungrateful. So, you dumped your butt into the third chair and begrudgingly had your first meal of the day.

Chanyeol looked eagerly from you and Kyungsoo and when you couldn’t take it anymore you barked out a “What?”

He cleared his throat. “What do we do we do today, [y/n],” he said your name carefully like it was something delicate.

You scrunched your nose at him. “We do nothing. I, on the other hand, will be going scrapping.”

“Scrapping?” He titled his head to the side. He did that a lot. Like you were the confusing one.

“I’m searching for materials I will need to create a set of wings.” You forced the last bit of eggs into your mouth and swallowed without breathing. “You can do whatever you want.”

You finished the rest of your food in record time before thanking Kyungsoo. Chanyeol thanked him as well. You adjusted the buckles of your overalls. Chanyeol retied the laces of his stretchy pants that you still wondered where they’d come from. You stuck your socked feet into your boots that you’d placed next to the front door. Chanyeol gracefully wore his white shoes from last night.

You pretended he wasn’t right next to you but it was impossible with how broad he was. His height alone blocked the sunlight and cast a shadow upon you. But he was smiling so eagerly like a puppy that was being let out for the first time.

Pushing through the front door, you allowed him to catch up with you. Reluctantly at first, you began pointing out your neighbors’ houses and the few things about your side of town that you thought were interesting enough. But every time you peered you at him for his reaction, he looked amazed. And soon enough, you got into your role as a self-appointed tour guide.

“Over there’s the Old Well. I fell into it when I was a kid and it hurt but it wasn’t too bad. I wasn’t afraid of the water or anything. My father got me out pretty quick too.”

A few of the townspeople had stopped to stare at Chanyeol but you were beginning to understand that he didn’t understand his effect on people. Maybe he was used to it, but you weren’t. The feeling of many eyes leering at you made you feel off.

“You only have your father. Like me.”

“Yeah.”

“Is that why you want to fly?” He halted his steps and although you were the one in the lead, you complied. “This magnum opus of yours. Does it have to do with your father?”

You laughed. “’ Course not. I’m doing this because I want to. Actually, it’s more like a calling. I feel like I can’t rest until I’ve done this.”

“Hmm,” he lifted his palm and laid it on your head. It didn’t feel weird. It felt more comforting and soft than anything. You didn’t breathe. “You and I, we’re more alike than you think.”

“H-how so?” You stammered.

Chanyeol leaned in closer and even though you were already holding your breath, you seized up completely. “Yesterday you asked me how I would know what I was sent for, correct?” He did not wait for an answer. “My mission is like a calling. I feel it and I am helpless to stop it. So, I follow it.”

You understood that. That was the one cryptic thing he’d said in hours that you fully understood. You did not dwell on the implications of that. You were too busy staring at his lips. It looked like clouds and when he smiled, sun rays shine through the gap between them.

He pulled his fingers away from your hair and you almost begged him to put it back. What the hell was wrong with you? You were going mad. Chanyeol clasped his arms behind him and tilted his head to the sky and you watched, mesmerized. Even in regular clothes, doing the most normal of things, he appeared almost godlike.

“You can help,” you found yourself saying. “I need all the help I can get anyway.”

His head snapped to you at a dizzying speed. “I accept.”

Time stood still once you’d made this pact with him. You didn’t hear the birds chirping, you didn’t feel the breeze swaying around the two of you as you stood in the eye of a hurricane. Just his eyes on you. Your eyes on him. Nothing else seemed to matter. And that sense of falling vibrated deep in your bones like a warning.

You did not heed. You did not run or cower. For some reason, you embraced it.

It was unprecedented the way Chanyeol slid into your life like a missing piece you didn't know you were missing.

And it was funny how his presence no longer bothered you because he was everywhere. When you woke up in the mornings and hauled ass downstairs. He was right beside you as you delivered Washy-Washer orders. Most of the time he did all the heavy-lifting of materials you found while scrapping. He truly was everywhere.

The only thing that bothered you was how easy it was with him.

Sometimes you found yourself going throughout the whole day preparing for a singular joke just to simply see your best smile of the day grace his face. He laughed at every and anything, granted. But you felt pride when his loud, deep laughs turned into guffaws that shook through his body. The kind of laughter that made him clap his hands together like a seal.

Chanyeol was thoughtful in a way you’d never experienced before. He was always on your side and you couldn't understand why. Or rather, you’d begun to tell yourself that it didn't matter. Because the more you were around him you realized that you didn't particularly mind.

He didn't mind being in the ass crack of hell, AKA your workshop. And to be honest, you thought that was his favorite place in the entire house. But he was always complaining about having to wear a shirt. And not because it was so hot he wanted to shed his skin. It felt like it was the other way around. Like he fed off the heat.

So, it came as no surprise to you when one month in he walked into your workshop shirtless as the day he was born. You almost smashed your finger with the hammer you held.

“No, get out,” you barely managed to speak. “You have to wear a shirt in here.”

“Says who?” These days he was smugger, bolder, and clearly did not care if you spontaneously erupted in a nosebleed.

You struggled to find apt words as you looked everywhere but his damned face. He was way too beautiful for his own good. And careless about it too. You didn't have the most prolific experiences with the opposite sex. None of them really were all that attractive to you.

But Chanyeol. O gods, Chanyeol. It was like he’d brazenly stepped into the starring role in all your fantasies. His chest resembled the washboard you’d previously used to wash your clothes. And by every will of your body, you wanted to lick it. Ah, you were going insane. He was making you insane.

“No. Nope. I’m not doing this with you.” You threw the hammer down and pretended like the haphazard clump of wood and made feathers was phenomenal work compared to the godlike creature you refused to look at.

You could feel his insolent smirk from a mile away. “Come on. You should do it with me.”

“You want me to get naked?” Gods, you were killing yourself here.

He placed a veiny hand on his waist and chided you. “Well, I meant shirtless but I won’t stop you. You can do whatever you want, I won’t mind.”

Please, you were about to commune with the dead at this rate.

Your whole body was on fire. This wasn't the first exchange like this between the two of you. It was getting more and more unbearable. You were going to kick him out of the house before you dissolved into a puddle of embarrassment.

Chanyeol moved closer to you and you swore his body heat was making you dizzy. He used the tip of his finger to lift your face and when your gazes connected, he let go. You still felt the sizzling pad of his finger on your chin.

“You know, I’ve learned a lot of things while on land,” his voice slithered up and down your spine like a wandering serpent. “You like when I’m shirtless. That’s why I continue to do it.”

You’d also learned that Chanyeol was straightforward like that. He didn't beat around the bush much and you wholeheartedly believed that he could not feel embarrassment. Or anger. He was his own filtered bubble.

“Your face never lies, [y/n],” he laughed like the tempter he was.

You glared at him. “Are you making fun of me right now?”

“Never.” He replied instantaneously as he tried to suppress his snicker. He utterly failed.

Hah. This was a very fine line he was dancing on. You didn't think. You crossed it.

“Yeah?” Your voice was getting huskier. You unhooked the buckles of your overalls and let the top of it fall like one big petal around your waist. “You mean if I take this off right now, you won't mind?”

You needed him to call you crazy. You’d never been forward with anyone before. Hell, you weren’t even sure if you were coming off as sexy or demented. There was a thin line between the two. But Chanyeol gulped, visibly. His Adam's apple bobbled with the action. And there was that unknown feeling again. You wanted to bite it. Actually, no. You wanted to bite all of him.

You had no idea where this day was leading but you thanked foresight for the fact that you hadn't been welding today. Not that you ever thought about doing anything secondary in your workshop. But you didn't want to accidentally burn your ass when you threw your inhibitions out of the window.

“If you take it off, I would try not to mind,” he sighed out. All of a sudden, his breath was fanning your forehead, like oxygen to a flame. “And I would fail, miserably.”

“You should mind then. You should mind a lot.”

And like that was your sign to go, one of his hands slipped around the back of your neck and cradled it. “You know I’ve been reading.” He applied enough pressure to bring your face closer to him until your lips were a breath away. “I think I like you a lot more than I know what to do with. You… you feel like home.”

“What?” You said into the silence.

“A star. You feel like the star at the center of my universe.”

“Like the sun?”

He did not answer. And even though your temperature was raging like an inferno, when his lips landed on yours it felt like a calm before the storm.

It took a millisecond to register before your body was pushing into him. Hot desire dancing alongside your veins like an essential need. He was breathing fire into your body. And you were burning spectacularly.

He groaned and you swore the sound alone woke up every nerve ending in your body like a spell. You demanded more. No, you needed it. So you took it. And he gave it to you. He accepted you like it was only natural. Your tongue dived in callously. His tongue was pliant, weak against yours. There was nothing reserved about the way you kissed him. All those lingering looks as the two of you worked side by side. That yearning ache that had dug a hole in your stomach. He’d felt it too. He kissed you back like a man that wanted to engrave his very being into your soul.

“I really like you,” he said as the two of you caught your breaths. Your bodies were so close. So close that when he jutted out his hips, his hardened cock flattened against you like an iron rod. “And I need to know if you like me too because I believe I’m going insane without knowing.”

Sucking in a long breath, you bring your lips back to him and kiss him again. Impossibly deeper now. You hooked an arm around his neck and pushed his body even closer. You did not care anymore. You had no say over your body. It was a monster that acted on its own accord. It ground against him like it was trying to weld the two of you together.

You didn't say this often but, fuck.

Maybe you were a fool. You wanted to ask him a load of things. What did he like about you? Wasn’t he scared? Where did he even come from? Wasn't this all moving too fast? What if he regrets meeting you later on? What was going on? But looking into his eyes it felt like there was only one thing you could say.

“I like you too. Gods, I like you.”

A slow grin lit across his face and it quieted your demons even more. You decided then and there you’d go anywhere it took to bring that smile on his face. Always. It did something to your chest that made it impossible for you to not smile at him like he was a star. The star. The baddest of them all: the sun.

“As I said: I’ve been reading,” his voice a low beat in your chest as his fingers gripped your waist and clenched. You needed out of these clothes. Now. “I want you.”

Then he was going to have you. Every single part of you.

It’s embarrassing fast how the two of you rushed back into the main house. Bursting through like a dam at full capacity with his hands roaming all over you as you kissed. You were floating and you were pretty sure your eyes were dilated to all hell. The inside of the house was a fast blur as you clasped his hand and led him up the stairs to your room.

It wasn't the first time he’d ever been inside but your room was small. Made for one. Chanyeol made your room look like a hermit’s hole. But that didn't matter. Because as soon as you kicked the door shut, your clothes were flying off your body in between kisses that struck your body bolts of lightning. And before you knew it, your back was slammed into the mattress.

Goosebumps pierced through your skin as his fingers came in touch with your naked skin. The sexual tension between the two of you was going to suffocate you but. You. Did. Not. Care. You were suddenly very thankful for your father’s ex-wife, Nau, and how she’d embarrassingly taught you about contraceptives. You’d been steadily taking a local one to help with your period pains. Thank fuck for that.

With a knee on the bed, Chanyeol’s fingers trailed a path from your thighs to your hips to rest like a featherlike band at your ribcage. Your heart wanted to jump out and devour him.

You reached up and undid the piece of string holding his loose pants to his waist with one hand. The other hand was too busy wandering around his chest. Fuck, you moaned louder than you thought possible when his forehead fell against yours. Chanyeol was burning up. Like you but exponentially.

His head shifted into the crook of your shoulder as you began to pump him softly and he groaned so deep that it ricocheted off the walls and it felt like the whole room shook. “Gods, I’m going to die.” His words were accentuated by one of his hands tentatively brushing against your breasts and like he couldn't help it, he splayed his whole fists against them and squeezed.

“If you die, I’ll bring you back,” you said darkly. “You’re not allowed to die.”

Chanyeol smirked slyly down at you. “An honor it would be if I died for you though.”

And then he lowered his head and sucked one of nipples and rolled the bud between his teeth. You didn't think. You couldn't. Your back arched off the bed like a bow ready to release and he didn't stop. He teased one of your breasts with his mouth as he worked the other with his nimble fingers and then he switched. You weren’t going to let him die for you for he was killing you already.

You wanted to cry when he released your bruised tip from his lips but that was nothing compared to the hand teasingly made its way to your clit and ghosted around almost as if to check if you were wet. You were dripping. It wouldn't shock you if you found out you soaked the bed.

Slowly, his hands retracted from your body and gripped the headboard of your bed so hard you saw the veins in his arms bulge and you swore you heard the wood splinter at his fingers just as he pushed into you. He thrust so deep into you that your eyes closed on impulse and you had to hold your breath.

Fuck, you were being split. He was big. Longer and girthier than you’d expected. Gods, you were going to die. His thrusts were slow. Painstakingly. You couldn't breathe. You couldn’t think. You were falling apart on his dick.

“Open your eyes, fatum,” he demanded and you complied without hesitation. “Look at me.”

You thought he was going to go slow for a bit longer as you caught your breath in pants but just as you were getting used to his pace; he hooked one hand across your hip and flexed. He pulled out, shattering fragments of your very soul with him before he slammed back into you with rougher, deeper, and more possessive strokes. He did not move any faster but his rhythm choked you. The force of him broke you down and demanded you submit. And you did, gladly. Without question. You needed him to breathe you like air. You wanted his lips around your whole body all at once. You needed him to not stop. You were on the verge of going cross-eyed with how hard he was fucking you.

His kisses were like savage beasts as he pushed into you. You clasped your legs around his waist and dug him deeper. You could hear yourself whimpering but that couldn't be you. Since when did you whimper?

“Fuck, fuck, Chanyeol.” You sounded like you were praying.

Chanyeol invaded you like an asteroid crashing and yet it felt like you were receiving a gift.

And then his fingers found your core once more and you saw stars dancing in the moonlight as you cried around him. Your whole body trembling from the impact. And like you undid something in him, his whole body tightened as he leaned forward and swallowed your cries with his lips, groaning as he released inside you.

He collapsed on top of you and for a moment you breathed in his intensity. In the silence, there was only the two of you with hearts pounding and mouths panting.

Your stomach caved in when he finally made a move to pull himself out of you. You couldn't even begin to explain the feeling that sparked and ignited in your chest. You’d always believed that sex was just sex. But this was different. Chanyeol pulled you deep into his chest and held you there like you were a piece of his heart.

You didn't realize teardrops had slipped past the corner of your eyes until Chanyeol turned your face to him frantically.

“Are you okay? Did I do something wrong?” He was so concerned it almost made you want to cry even harder.

“Nothing.” That was the problem.

Maybe you had finally crossed the bridge but somewhere you felt that this, whatever this was with Chanyeol wouldn't last. It felt like you were at the starting and breaking point of everything. You had no idea what you meant and you didn't want to tell him anything.

You wanted to be next to him until you couldn't be anymore. That was all you could do anyway.

“Nothing’s wrong,” You repeated.

“Yeah?” He laughed into your forehead as he leaned into your forehead and kissed it softly.

Yeah.

The three months Chanyeol spent with you felt like three years and then some.

It was almost funny how much time the two of you spent outside in the sun because he absolutely hated being inside. And even though your bed was the tiniest thing, somehow the two of you made it work because he no longer slept on the couch.

But then the end of his stay was rapidly approaching and you weren't exactly sure how to bring up the dilemma that had been poisoning your tongue for weeks. Was he going to just leave you? Did he need to go back home? Couldn't you leave with him? You wanted to leave this hole of a town anyway. Sure you would miss Kyungsoo and Nau but you would send them a carrier pigeon or something. If Chanyeol said the word, you would go anywhere.

However, he wasn't saying anything. In fact, it was as if he’d forgotten that he’d told you that he was only supposed to stay here till the end of summer.

As the two of you tested out your fifth set of redone and recalibrated wings at the large expanse behind your house, you decided to just let it out.

“The last day of summer is soon. Would your father still need you?” Now, why did you sound like a textbook? Gods, this was awkward. Why were you even bringing it up when he didn’t? What were you? A masochist?

Chanyeol stopped helping you fasten the body of the wings to your torso. You couldn't put a finger to the emotions flickering across his face. There were so many of them. For the first time, you saw that he was in turmoil.

“You can tell me anything,” You said, turning your body so you could place a hand on his shoulder. “You know that, right?”

He sucked in his lower lip for a moment before he expelled a long breath. And like he usually did, he fixed his eyes up at the sun. But the sun never seemed to hurt him the same way it did you. “I know it’s just…”

“Come on. I’m here in my wings and you still won’t tell me? What if I fly away from you forever?” You meant for it to be a joke. In fact, you’d already pictured the smile that would grace his beautiful face but you were met with restrained anger.

“Don’t say that,” he spat the words out.

Wait, what? Had you said something wrong? What? This was the first time you’d ever seen Chanyeol angry. You never even knew he had the range. But he looked like what you’d said set him off. He looked furious with his eyebrows drawn so close to the center of his face that it resembled one white block. And if you didn't know any better, you’d say it looked like he was angry… at himself.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” You squeezed his shoulder even tighter as if to remind him that you were there.

Chanyeol’s breathing came out hard but it wasn't from physical exertion. You had no idea what you were supposed to do. “You can’t joke about that. I…” words seemed to fail him because his shoulders slumped and he closed his eyes tightly. “What if I leave you? You know I’m not from around here. What if I leave to a place I can’t come back from? What if I’m never able to come down here again? What if — ”

He cut himself off abruptly and shrugged off your hand. Something ugly and vile twisted in your belly.

“We can go together?” You proposed even though it felt like your gut was being shredded. “If you can't come back here, I’ll just come with you. I can build stuff anywhere. It doesn't have to be here.”

Sorrow. That was the look that washed over Chanyeol’s face like a dark cloud. You couldn't understand what was going on but you were trying to. Where you not allowed where he was from? Maybe it was like a gendered village? That was okay, you could hide or something… You weren't exactly sure what you would do but you were smart. You’d find something. Anything.

“You can’t come.”

“Well, why not?”

“Because you would die, [y/n],” He didn’t, couldn't, look at you. “If you follow me back. You won’t be able to make it because you would die. You can’t die for me. I will not allow it.” His resolve was strong and cutting but he would not look at you.

Your words. He was throwing your words back at you but… “Where is your home, Chanyeol?” You asked the one question you should have asked the first day you met him. Gods, you were so stupid!

“You.”

Funny, a simple word was like a knife being stabbed into your heart. Emotions bubbled up to your lips, so many that you thought you were suffocating. Your heart was begging you to just stop. Ignorance was bliss. Whatever Chanyeol was, it was not peace.

“Where is your home?” You weren't screaming but it felt like your throat was parched and scrubbed raw.

And when he finally looked up from the ground, you thought for the last time that he was a prince. No, a King.

He did not speak but he lifted a hand that you had numerous memories of fitting yours into the sky and pointed to the glaring sun. And you did not understand but you immediately knew and you hated it. And at this very moment in time, you hated him. You wanted to push him and pull him closer to you at the same time.

You looked up at the sun and you had half the heart to spit at it.

“Please tell me I did not fall in love with a piece of the sun.” Your bottom lip quivered and you hated that too. “You’re human. You don’t belong to the gods. I know you, Chanyeol. You're not… you can’t be from there.”

You were holding in your tears like they were the end of the world. To you it was. You won't cry. You dared not to. This wasn't happening. Crying made it real. Crying meant your heart was breaking right unto the sandy floor under your feet in your very own backyard. On your turf.

From your gaze at the ground, you saw as Chanyeol’s bare feet scuffled away from you till he was a good seven feet away. What was up with this stupid distance?

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” There was no way he was crying but was that a hitch you heard in his voice? You raised your head to check and you almost laughed.

The two of you were way too alike for your own good.

There he was; standing prickly straight as he sucked in his breath so much that his chest brazenly prodded his loose shirt. And you couldn't hate him. Not when he was struggling through the same thing as you. He was the only one that understood and he was doing his best to not fall apart in front of you. And you didn’t even need to see them to know that he was holding back his emotions with an iron fist that was cracking.

“Don't apologize. You didn’t lie to me. You were honest. I just didn't understand. You said some very weird things but that was you. It didn't matter in the grand scheme of things. I thought it didn't.”

“But if I go Father…” he tore his gaze to the side but quickly brought it back to you. “I don’t know what he would do. Gods’ are a bit bitchy, you know?” He smiled half wry, half in irony.

You let out a sound in between a cry and a laugh. “That’s fine. We’ll work it out. We’ll — ”

You never got to complete your sentence. Like a novel that did not have an ending, you watched as, in the bright light of noon, Chanyeol was struck with a bolt of light so bright that you had to close your eyes for a second and throw your hands up blindly. The heat was scorching even from this distance. And when you opened your eyes as fast as you possibly could, you realized that the light was from him.

It was then that you understood everything.

Chanyeol was the sun. Not a part of it. Not a piece. It was his being. His core. His very sense of self.

But why did he look so terrified?

“What’s going on?” You screamed at him as he maniacally clawed at his skin like he was on fire. But the sun could not burn, could it?

“I do not know!” He looked at you and his terror became your own.

Something was wrong. Something was happening and you didn't know how to stop it. You wanted to hug him but when you made a move to him, he screamed raw bloody for you to not take a single step. You were in between a rock and a fiery place.

“You can’t come next to me, [y/n].” He was in pain. You felt in from the curl of your hair to the leather of your boots. “I can't control what’s going on. But I’m okay. I don’t know what’s wrong but I’ll be okay, yeah?”

Chanyeol was combusting. He was burning out right in front of you and he wanted you to stand still? Fuck that. Fuck everything. You loved him. You would do anything. You were going to hold him down to this world even if you had to give up your hands that you loved so much.

However, all of a sudden Chanyeol tilted his head and you swore you saw the moment he communicated with whoever was above because he looked furious for one second, and the very next he shot you a calming smile. Like you mattered. Like he was trying to placate you in all this.

You were running before you couldn't think about it.

And your hand was reaching out to him with every breath you had and just as your fingers clutched the fabric of his blazing shirt, you felt the warmth he released close around you. It cradled you through your pain. It felt safe. It felt like you were dying. It felt like forever.

Instantly, there was a loud boom, a bang and then the hottest rush of air that blew past you like a caress.

Your palm was burned. His love burned. You were wailing at the world. You hated everything. You loved him so much. Your palm was bleeding. GODS, EVERYTHING HURT. Make it stop, you were begging. Please. I’d do anything Please. The pain was making you scream like a bitch.

You didn’t know what to do. You wanted to die. You wanted to be reborn. But the world did not give second chances. You were going to pry it out with your scorned hand and strangle your chance out. You were going to beat your destiny with a stick. You vowed it. As you cried out in pain, you promised that you would break every rule. You won't wait. You’ll fly.

Kyungsoo was the one to find you.

Passed out, dehydrated and bruised in more ways than one. But you were a phoenix that was born out of the ashes.

You knew a part of you was gone as Chanyeol was taken from you. Your emotions were all over the place. One minute you were unfeeling and the very next an overwhelming sense of rage inflamed your body. You wanted to burn the very ground you walked on. You rummaged through your room until you found the tiny piece of him you had left. His white gold headband. You made Kyungsoo tie it ‘round your head and you never took it off.

It did not help that your palm took longer than three weeks to heal. It was an ugly scar. But it reminded you of him so, when you slept at night, you gritted through the pain and the memories and held the palm close to your chest. Right over your heart. It was fitting.

And by the time your palm had healed enough, it felt like you’d aged a thousand years. Kyungsoo could not understand what was going on and you refused to talk. If you told him, he would only discourage you. And you would truly lose your mind if someone told you what you could and could not do.

But your friend was right there. He never left. Even when you were mean, he still hoped that one day he won't need to drop food outside of your bedroom door because you would not come downstairs. How where you supposed to sit at that table and not see the ghost of Chanyeol falling over the chair as he laughed like a bear?

Maybe someday you would get better. Today was not that day.

For the first time in ages, you walked into your workshop and inhaled. It was time to work.

You built and rebuilt your wings from scratch. The wooden ones never got off the ground, not even for a second. The metal one almost sawed off your arm completely but you never gave up. You were restless and you couldn’t sleep. When you slept you saw him and your hand burning. You were plagued by it. It hurt, so you did not do it anymore. Sleep only came when you were exhauseted.

The hybrid wings weren’t beautiful. A mismatch of wood and alloy. But when you jumped off the roof of the tiny shed at the back of the house. You flew. Or maybe the right word is floated. You floated for a good thirty seconds before you landed painfully on bloody knees.

“Fuck,” you spat.

Your knees hurt but it took your mind away from the present. You had to come up with something fast, You had to do something before you ran out of gas, before you burned out.

Perhaps that is why from the dregs of your mind you remembered something your father had done when you were younger.

When you were nine, you stepped into your father’s workshop for the first time. It was hot as if the middle of the earth was right there in the basement. And when you walked in, after banal arguments about safety with your father, he let you watch him as he created the greatest thing known to man.

Your father had been creating wings.

He’d never completed it and you’d been so young that it didn’t matter to you that he never did. But now as you rush back down the steps into your basement, you wonder if maybe this is fate. Maybe fate wasn't something spontaneous but rather a series of unfortunate events that we only hoped ended in less pain.

You pushed open the back door within the basement that led to your father’s workshop. You hadn't set foot in here since he’d died. It smelled like him. You wondered if he was watching you right now. You wondered if he thought you were a bit too stupid.

It took a while to find it beneath the layers of dust and junk but when you found it, you sighed in relief. It wasn't made from metal or wood or even a combination from the two. But wax. The frame of the left-wing was nonexistent while the right-wing looked like it had melted. None of that registered and that was how it became your new project.

“You need to eat,” Kyungsoo said as he brought a plate of sandwiches out to you.

Days had passed since you’d started working on the wings and for the first time in a long time, you felt hopeful. Not happy but somewhere in between. You’d poured blood and sweat into molding the wax into the right frame and meticulously preserving the feathers.

You picked one of the sandwiches and bit into it. These days you hated working inside. “Thank you.”

“You'd tell me if you were doing something risky, right?” Kyungsoo eyed the wax suspiciously.

Shrugging, you stuffed the rest of the bread in your mouth. You couldn't give him the answer he wanted so you pretended not to hear. You knew he was angry and you knew it wasn't fair. But you were angrier. Kyungsoo didn't understand. You were going to fly. You had to. You fucking had to get up there.

It took longer than you wanted but when you were done, your wings were perfect.

They looked perfect and you just knew that it wasn't going to let you down. It wasn't going to break. Wax wasn't like wood after all. You were drunk on the feeling of sunshine. It felt like for the first time in months you could breathe. You did not wait for another day.

It was already the middle of Fall. The sun was out but it wouldn't be there for much longer. Sunset was fast approaching.

You climbed up the roof of the shed with the new set of wings attached tightly to your back. You wondered if Chanyeol was looking down at you right now. You wondered if he could see. You hoped he did. You stood on the ledge of the roof and let the wind build and rest before you took a breath.

You prayed and then you jumped.

And like in your dreams, you flew. And it was glorious. It was like the wings were your very arms. Your body — your invention — defied physics, defied the very aspects of anatomy. But you were flying through cloud nine at breakneck speed. You were gliding and nimbly twisting through a bright orange sky. It was so beautiful. You had tears in your eyes.

The wind whipped your face painfully as you pushed your wings up and up and then some more. You couldn't hear anything and to be quite honest, you could not see anything either.

You followed the blinding light in front of you like an addict. You wondered if the townsfolk down below could see you. You didn't care.

You kept flying, even when you got tired. Even when your arms begged you to stop because any more and they would break, you pushed. You pushed yourself until you entered a wave of encompassing heat that instantly reminded of you that day. You were so close. Your heart felt like a match in your chest and as the temperature rose, it struck and lit.

In your drunkenness, you swore you saw Chanyeol. He was right there and you were going to reach him. Tears were falling out of your eyes without pause. You’d been reborn not as a phoenix but as a river.

And just as your body felt the pressures of being burnt alive you suddenly felt nothing. Like you were nothing but a speck in the universe. You were nothing and everything at the same time. You were not sure how long you spent in the state but the next thing you knew, you were falling.

No, plummeting. You were being thrown back to earth in a ball of fire.

You were screaming. Your wings were on fire and… the wax was melting. You’d come so close and you still couldn't make it. Your dream was sifting through your empty hands. You couldn't believe it. You were falling so fast that soon enough all you saw around you was crisped air and shattered reality.

Your body was burned. Physically and mentally. Your soul was leaving your body and you knew that you won't survive this. Who could? You were going to die screaming.

It must have been a second before your body engraved itself into the dirt when you felt hot hands cradle your battered body. You were weak and you were tired but he was like a siren. He called and you answered. You fought and he appeared.

It must have been fate that you had been the first one he’d met. He was your bright and warm star.

“You idiot,” he cried as boiling tears landed like rain on your dried, desert-like face. “I was coming to you. I was coming. I was coming. I was coming.” He held you into his chest, injuries and all be damned, as he cried.

If you could smile you would but it hurt just to wheeze. “Because you love me?”

“More than anything. More than anyone.”

And you loved him back. Love was not guaranteed at all, you knew that, but he was the reflection of your soul. He had a part of you wrapped around his heart like a vice. You won't let go. You tied him ephemerally to this world and he connected you to the largest star of them all. You could feel his soul like it was a breathing thing.

“Then I go wherever you go.”

He pulled you away from his body and through your slitted eyes, you saw the most beautiful man. The man who wore the sun like a coat. The man who reminded you of gods and how weak mortals were next to them. You’d flown into the flames and he was here.

“No, I need you to understand.” Chanyeol’s lips were moving in a way that told you he was serious. But it dawned on you then that in his arms, the burns did not hurt. It was like licks on your skin. “You are the greatest star of my universe. You are all of it.”

You understood. “And I would fall again and again. It’s all or nothing with you, Chanyeol. Do you understand?”

Maybe he did because he hooked his face into your shoulder and let out a laugh. It was rusty. He hadn't laughed in ages but it felt right. His soul had fallen down to earth first, and he had come right after. He had been searching for you for a long time, for such a long time that he had forgotten. To him, you were like the vast space beyond the sun.

You’d flown to him, even if it killed you. Nothing else mattered after that.

“You. I came down for you. I was sent to you. I am sorry, so sorry, that it took me so long to reach back down.”

At first, you did not know what the hell he was talking about. Several minutes passed before you did. And that was when you grinned as tears poured from your eyes.

He finally knew.

a/n: ahh if you made it down here, thank you. im so happy you read this and i hope you enjoyed it, and yes i cried while i wrote this. i have been wanting to do this since i listened to Zayn’s 2018 Icarus Falls album. and i hope i actually did my imagination justice. pls dont hesitate to tell me what you think! :)

⇢ masterlist

©️ 2020 kai, moonbelt [aka high-on-food]

511 notes · View notes

wiltingofthewhitelily · 3 years ago

Text

{Hetalia Platonic Ships Week 2021} Day 7: Free Day - Iceland & Latvia

A/N: Submission #7 for @hetaliaplatonicshipsweek!

Aaaaand the last day! I was originally planning to do Canada and Cuba (a platonic pairing I just adore) for this day until I realized I didn't actually have any solid story ideas for them :')

Sooo I chose Iceland and Latvia instead, because I imagine the two to be pretty good friends. This is just a high school au (bc as many of y'all know I'm a sucker for them) that I came up with one day while sitting in class lol. You can choose to see this as taking place in the same universe as the fic I wrote for family week (the Anko Family submission for Day 5, Embarrassment) if you wish, bc everything lines up pretty much to a T. Also, my demiboy Iceland hc is back, so he/they pronouns again.

Also, here's the reference for human names again (though most of these characters are only briefly mentioned):

Emil - Iceland

Raivis - Latvia

Leon - Hong Kong

Michelle - Seychelles

Mei - Taiwan

Lili - Liechtenstein

Ok, I hope you guys enjoy!

»»————-　➴　————-««

Being a librarian's aide at a high school wasn't nearly as bad as it appeared on the surface—well, at least for Emil it wasn't. It was always nice and quiet (for obvious reasons, since it was a library), and it allowed him to get out of a couple of boring classes which he didn't even need to take since he'd already received all the credits for them. Plus, the librarian herself was always very nice and even gave him free coffee and donuts from the teacher's lounge on most days. So, needless to say, Emil actually liked being her aide very much.

It wasn't even that much work, honestly. Not that much work at all. Usually just stacking returned books back on the bookshelf and taking out papers from the printer and giving them to students and teachers. Emil didn't have to interact with too many other kids as there were only a couple of other aides—a senior girl who was the librarian's secretary, and a boy named Raivis who Emil was pretty sure was a sophomore. Raivis basically did the same tasks as Emil, placing books on the bookshelf and whatnot.

Raivis was a curly-haired brunet who was very short for his age, barely even coming up to Emil's shoulder; he had a round boyish face that added to his middle-schooler look. Though he seemed to be a pretty quiet kid, just like Emil, since the two worked together they evidently had to communicate with each other sometimes—and honestly, Emil really enjoyed talking with him. He seemed to have a lot of the same interests as Emil—video games, indie music, hell, he even liked science fiction novels too—and a similar personality to them. Emil wouldn't exactly consider themselves close enough to Raivis to consider him a friend, probably just a very good acquaintance; however, they definitely saw the potential for friendship. It was there.

Sometimes Emil wondered if Raivis even had any other friends, as they'd never seen the boy really talk to anybody else. They wondered where he sat at lunch and tried to recall countless times if they'd ever seen him at lunch with anybody else (at their school, all juniors and sophomores had the same lunch period, so Emil knew that they had lunch with Raivis).

Anyway, on one Thursday morning Emil and Raivis were in the library, organizing books in the—what do you know—science fiction section. They had set their uneaten donuts and coffee on a nearby table and were just talking and laughing among each other, as well as sharing some of the good books they'd found that they happened to have read in the past. Emil made a mental note of all the reading suggestions Raivis had given him. I'm gonna have to check out those books when Mrs. Newman lets me pick some out again, Emil thought to himself (Mrs. Newman referring to the librarian). Another perk to being a librarian's aide was that they got to pick out more books than the other students, about three to five every other week.

Everything was going okay until these two boys who Emil had never seen in the library before casually walked up to the table that had the two's donuts and coffee and sat in the chairs.

However, Emil just kept their attention on Raivis, who was laughing as he told them about this one dystopian book, holding it up so Emil could see. "Yeah! And the best part is when—" Raivis stopped talking abruptly when he noticed the two boys there; his eyes grew wide and he got a...scared look on his face? Hurriedly, he shoved the book back in its spot on the shelf, averting his eyes from the boys and holding Emil's arm loosely, trying to guide him away from the section they were at. "Um...how about let's go sort out the encyclopedias," Raivis suggested quickly.

Emil cocked his eyebrows, now very confused. "But what about our food?"

However, Raivis didn't respond and instead continued to try to push Emil away from the boys.

"Hey, short stack!"

Raivis visibly cringed at the voice of one of the boys. This prompted him, as well as Emil to lift their heads up. One of the kids was cackling annoyingly, while the other one had carelessly taken a bite out of one of Raivis' donuts.

Seeing this latter action immediately caused Emil to furrow their eyebrows. "Hey, what the heck?" they said sternly. "That's Raivis' food."

The kid who'd eaten Raivis' donut snickered. "Yeah, no shit, Dad."

"Emil, just leave them alone..." Raivis said quietly, still holding onto their arm.

Emil ignored him and, though his heart was pounding nearly out of his chest with nerves, he continued to try to set the two boys straight. "I'm going to tell Mrs. Newman if you two don't stop," he threatened.

The other boy, who'd started to drink Raivis' coffee, set his cup down and made mocking jazz hands. "Ooo—Mrs. Newman. I'm so scared," he said sarcastically.

Emil shot the two one last glare and went up to the front of the library to do what he'd just said he would do—tell Mrs. Newman. As he began to walk, he heard the sounds of pounding footsteps, splashing, and then a high-pitched wail that could only belong to one person. Emil whipped his head around and gasped. The kid with the coffee had dumped the entire beverage onto Raivis' head; it was dripping from his hair, and onto the floor.

Now simmering with anger, Emil stomped up to the two kids—he was about to yell something until he heard one of the boys snort loudly and then run up to place the now-empty cup of coffee into Emil's hand. The ash-blond didn't have time to be too confused; he was much more concerned for Raivis at that moment. He prepared to yell at the two boys to get the hell out (he honestly didn't care at that point that they were in a library) before he heard a voice behind him: "Hey! What are you two doing?"

The teens all looked toward the voice and saw Mrs. Newman standing there, hands on her hips, her expression very angry looking—though not at Emil and Raivis, rather at the boy that'd spilled coffee on Raivis' head, as well as his friend.

The two boys, though they'd just mocked Mrs. Newman a mere few minutes prior, stood there, scared, until they glanced at each other briefly and then dashed out of the large library doors. Emil smirked internally as they saw this. Now they're afraid, huh? they thought to themselves.

Mrs. Newman stared at the boys like a hawk as they ran out into the halls, but once they were out of eyesight she turned to Raivis, her face instantly growing from full of anger to full of concern. She walked up slowly to the boy, gently placing her hand on a part of his arm that'd been untouched by the coffee. "Oh, sweetheart," she said, "I'm so sorry that happened to you."

Raivis shrugged his shoulders slowly, his face looking so solemn, so pitiful. "It's fine..."

The tall blonde woman turned to Emil then. "Honey, will you take him to the office to get a fresh change of clothes?" she asked. "He will probably need to use one of the showers in the gym too...can you walk with him, please?"

Emil nodded instantly. "Yeah. Sure thing."

Mrs. Newman smiled back. "Thank you."

Soon, the two teens were walking off to do just that. Raivis was very quiet all the way to the office—which Emil could understand one hundred percent. Poor kid must've felt so embarrassed. He decided he wouldn't make the situation any worse for him and kept his mouth shut, too. They swiftly went to the office to get some spare clothes and then got the clear to go down to the gym bathroom so Raivis could wash up.

The two got to the gym and were standing in front of the door to the bathroom; Raivis glanced up at Emil, his face a little pink. "Um," he began, holding his hand out a little, "could you give me the clothes?"

"Oh, yeah," Emil replied, handing Raivis the sweatpants and t-shirt.

Raivis nodded his thanks and headed on in. After he shut the door, Emil just decided to sit against the wall and wait for him while he showered and changed.

Nearly thirty minutes later, Raivis finally came back out. Emil looked up, put his phone back in his pocket, and then stood up. "How was it?" he asked the sophomore.

Raivis sighed deeply; his eyes were very close to watering, even though he looked and smelled as fresh as a daisy. "Um...okay I guess," he answered, voice quavering a little. "There was a lot of coffee on me."

Emil nodded, but tsk-tsked. He began to walk out of the gym, and Raivis followed close behind. "Who even were those kids?" Emil asked.

Raivis shrugged, looking down at his toes. "Eh, just some kids from my grade. They're jerks."

Emil bit his lip. "Seems like it. I can't believe they put that coffee cup in my hands like they were trying to frame me or something," he said. He laughed, a bit bitterly.

Despite himself, Raivis managed to chuckle a little. "Yeah. Don't they know Mrs. Newman has cameras in there? She could've checked them if she really wanted to."

Emil snorted. "I know, right?"

It was silent for a moment afterward, with Raivis gulping loudly every now and then. Emil turned their head, noticing this. He cocked an eyebrow, concerned. "Are you okay?"

Raivis (who Emil could tell now was definitely on the verge of crying) sniffled and rubbed at his face. "Yeah," he answered, voice hushed. "It's just...thank you, Emil. No one has ever stood up for me like that."

The boy's voice was so sincere that Emil had to grin. "It's no problem—really."

"You're a great friend," Raivis added.

Emil's heart was warmed at that—they didn't know if it was just the way he said it, or the knowledge that he actually thought of them as a friend. He answered warmly nonetheless. "Thank you. You are too."

Raivis glanced at him and gave the most genuine smile Emil thought he'd ever seen on the younger teen.

"Hey, where do you normally sit at lunch?" Emil asked Raivis, just out of curiosity.

Raivis' smile fell a bit. "Oh...well, I normally just sit outside," he said quietly.

"Alone?" The word seemed to echo in the empty hallway, though it might've just been Emil's imagination.

Raivis nodded a bit solemnly. Emil grew the same solemn expression for a moment before asking, "Hey, would you like to sit with me and my friends at lunch?"

Raivis looked up then, eyebrows shooting up. "Really?"

Emil nodded, cracking a small smile. "Yeah. I sit with my best friend, Leon, and then my other friends, Michelle, Mei, and Lili. Leon's really cool; Michelle and Mei might seem a bit...much at first, but they're really nice and cool too."

Raivis' expression slowly began to brighten the more he heard Emil talk, until he paused. "...Are you sure that's okay? I wouldn't wanna ruin your guys' lunch..."

"Trust me, you won't," Emil assured instantly.

The sophomore paused for a minute, as if thinking. "...Okay. I'll sit with you guys."

Emil grinned. "Good. I'm sure they'd love to meet you."

The two continued to walk back to the office to get passes for their next class in comfortable silence, the content feeling one feels after finding a new friend overwhelming both of them.

#hetalia #hetaliaplatonicshipsweek #hetalia event #hetalia fanfiction #fanfiction #aph iceland #hws iceland #aph latvia #hws latvia

14 notes · View notes

mittensmorgul · 4 years ago

Note

Hi, I have a question, and I hope it would be interesting for you too... Could we talk about angel's wings and feathers?..

I always thought that angel's wings were a part of their true form, a kind of energy which we can only see as a shadows or electric sparks or ash or something like this.

And I didn't think that it could be a real wings with feathers as bird's. Until, while rewatch, I've noticed that angel's feather were mentioned in SPN at least twice (maybe you've noticed more?):

1) In 8.12 when Henry Winchester time travels he uses an angel feather in spell. And then Dean tells that Henry stole an angel feather from the trunk of the Impala. So feathers are reall??? Why did the Winchestets keep the feather in the trunk of the Impala and where they get it? (ok, maybe they found it in the bunker)

2) In 12.13 Sam uses a white feather in spell returning Gavin back in time (we know this spell needs an angel feather)

So now we can see how the real angel feather looks like???

Does that mean that the angel's wings can be presented in physical world like a real wings with feathers and this is not fanfiction? I like this idea so much.

I think that the creators of the show didn't let us to see it, as many other great things, that is sad...

I would really like to know your thoughts about this.

(Sorry for my bad english, it is not my native language...)

Hi there! First off, your English is fine! (lol it’s my native language, and I just typed it “Inglish” by accident, so you’re already doing better than I am :’D)

ETA: DON’T REBLOGGY THIS YET. I forgotted something that @thayerkerbasy just reminded me of, and I’m editing this post... brb... okay NOW YOU CAN REBLOGGY!)

As far as I know, those are the only times in canon we ever see or hear mention of an angel feather, and both times it’s for the same exact spell. They reference that it’s Henry’s spell when they use it again in 12.13, but make no mention in dialogue of it being an angel feather. Yet Sam had a whole jar of fluffy little pin feathers, so the assumption is that they’d been collecting them for a while (unless those were either found in the Men of Letters’ spell ingredient stockpile when they moved into the bunker, or otherwise given to them by Cas at some point).

It’s weird, because they seem like a very limited commodity, especially after the angels fell and their wings all burned up. Even after Cas got his original grace back, his wings never seemingly recovered. When we did finally see his wing prints in 12.23, they were still... not healthy... So my thinking is that any spell that would require them will become impossible to cast when their current supply runs out. All the other angels-- at the end of the series-- were either dead or locked in Heaven with their broken wings. We never learned any of their fates. Maybe they were all rendered obsolete under the Heaven Remodel?

A little behind the scenes from the early days of SPN as a bonus, since it’s tangentially relevant:

When they were filming the very early episodes of SPN, they had a lot of choices to make about what to show us based on what their budget would allow them to portray. Think of an episode like Wendigo, 1.02. One thing I see people say often was that it was a shame we didn’t see more of the monster, but only saw like... bushes shaking, or a vague form moving through the underbrush, or a blur. They made a stylistic choice right there to keep it within budget.

The options they faced were showing us a “dude in a rubber mask” type monster and showing it more, versus one really terrifying shot of a Proper Monster™ dying in spectacular fashion. Rather than go full-on cheesemonster, they chose to leave most of it up to our imaginations, giving us glimpses or hints of the monster.

They went back and forth on this a bit over the years, attempting to show us more on occasion, but most of those times the audience reaction has been varying degrees of wtf... Think about some of the scenes where they attempted to give us more than a glimpse at the supernatural, or a blood splatter, or whatever. It didn’t always work well. Think: the wire fight from 13.23...

I mean, it took us until 11.14 to ever see an angel “flap away,” when we saw Casifer zap Dean off the exploding submarine.

For the most part, I appreciate the fact that they understood the limitations of their own budget and didn’t give angels cheap little wings just to be able to show them on camera. Over time, only being able to see them as shadows, or as char after the angel died, became part of the lore of the show.

I blame Adam Glass for writing that spell, because he probably thought it sounded cool or whatever, that it was effectively a throwaway line because no other spell they’ve ever used has required an angel feather as an ingredient, and in story it was only linked into this larger Men of Letters Legacy plot that in retrospect feels like Chuck tying up loose ends and putting previously “deactivated” plotlines back into play.

I do find it kind of interesting that both iterations of this spell (the second resurrected by Bucklemming) were both tied to Abaddon. Henry’s spell in 8.12 brought her into the story from the past, she eventually travelled to the much further distant past to bring Gavin into the present (presumably with her own power alone, no angel feather required), and then after she was killed, they used the spell to return Gavin to his own time. So in a a way, the spell was part of a closed narrative loop, never to be referred to again.

Kinda wild that we’d never heard of angel feathers being a thing for spells until we learn that Dean apparently had some just stashed in the trunk, though... :’D

As for how corporeal angel feathers are/were, they exist in the earthly plane enough to leave char marks when they burn, when an angel is killed, so they must always have had the potential to manifest physically. I can’t imagine they ever would’ve had a budget to show us anything more than what we usually saw, though. It did give them a LOT of flexibility over how exactly they presented them to us when they DID show us. And I can’t even imagine the suffering Misha would’ve endured as an actor spending all those years wearing some weird wing harness rig. It would’ve been... impractical. And the CGI the show could’ve afforded-- especially in earlier days-- would’ve been... bad...

But what they were able to show us? Was often awesome. Remember when Raphael showed off his wings in 5.03? LIGHTNING!

And when we finally did see actual corporeal-appearing wings in 8.23... it was Dramatique™

And for More CGI Is Sometimes A Bad Thing Science, please have the attempt at Michael’s “true form” from 14.01:

It’s kinda a super-letdown after AU!Michael’s previous shadow wing displays from 13.01, but more specifically from 13.22:

those... were... badass...

Even the pre-wire-fight wing shadows on Dean were badass:

But if they’d tried to show us more of them, to make them move through action scenes for example, it would’ve been... bad...

So what we’re left with is the knowledge that there is some sort of corporeal element to wings that we simply can’t see most of the time, but clearly angels have the ability to show or hide them at will, even from other angels. Could it be an act of will on the part of the angel that manifests a bit of their grace in the form of a physical feather? Honestly, that’s the theory I’ve personally adopted toward canon. In fanfic, I’ve read tons of various headcanons about what angel wings are and how they function-- everything from “a manifestation of their true form” to “angels share a lot of traits with birds” to “an extension of their grace,” and everything in between.

I personally, in canon, like to think of it as akin to how they’ve used angel grace for other spells. I mean, when we recall that angels haven’t been on Earth much for the last few thousand years (aside from at least a couple of known incidents where angels interfered with humanity, like Ishim and Company in 12.10, for example, and the presumptive extension that the Men of Letters knew of the existence of angels and likely summoned one up a time or two the same way Lily Sunder had, giving one explanation for how Henry Winchester knew of this spell and had an angel feather to use for it, but also recontextualized when Lily Sunder taught us that humans can use their own souls to power spells in the same way angels used their grace... which sort of makes the notion of needing an angel feather AND his own soul to charge that particular spell in 8.12 a bit redundant unless Lily’s knowledge of angelic magic was more advanced than Henry’s... hrmpf.... so much tangent... back to the point)...

We did eventually learn of other spells that required an angel’s actual grace, not concentrated in the form of a feather. The Angel Fall Spell in 8.23 being the prime example. Metatron took ALL of Cas’s grace for that one, even if he didn’t use all of it for the spell and left a “fragment” (Metatron described it as “not a lot, but enough.”).

ETA: HECK. I have 9.03 on the tv right now and it’s distractedly made me disgusted enough to have forgotten something that Thayer just reminded me of: Lucifer’s “fossilized feather” in 12.07. It held enough grace to restore and heal him after Rowena’s spell in 12.03 had degraded him. Which really only adds to the theory that “feathers” are simply bits of grace that have been rendered solid somehow, but that can be transformed back into grace as needed.

And then there was the Rift Spell for travelling to alternate universes that required archangel grace, as well as the time travel/ward breaking spell that Sam found in 11.14 that ALSO required archangel grace specifically. Would these spells have worked with an archangel “feather?” Possibly, if material feathers are somehow just crystalized bits of grace, but since we never got a full explanation in canon, and never even really saw corporeal feathery wings that dropped feathers or could be plucked, and never even had mention of corporeal feathers outside of their use in this single spell, it’s really up to our own interpretation. And I kind of like it that way, because that way we get to have fun little discussions like this one. :D

I know this isn’t a definitive answer, but it’s how it all makes sense to me, in the hand-wavey sort of way that all of canon works. :’D

#spn 8.12 #spn 12.13 #spn 8.23 #on the nature of angel grace #angels and souls #sigils and symbols #heck i know i used to have a spells tag...#spn 11.14 #spn 5.03 #spn 12.10 #spn 13.23 #spn 13.22 #spn 13.01 #spn 14.01 #Anonymous #spn 12.07

35 notes · View notes

winryofresembool · 4 years ago

Text

Things We Lost in the Fire, ch 32

aka Caleo uni au

Fic summary: Calypso starts studying at a new university, but to her annoyance her new flatmate is a loud mouthed mechanic who also likes to sneak his dog in whenever. But as she learns to know him better, she realizes they might have more in common than what she first thought. Eventually, even the darkest secrets come out…

Chapter summary: At Waystation (again) and a bit elsewhere too

A/N: We're (finally) getting closer to the end of the 'Waystation arc'. I don't think I have that much to say about this chapter, but I'd like to dedicate it to Cecid as a late birthday present, because she has really kicked my butt to continue this story!

Enjoy, and let me know what you think!! It's super important (<- Lizzie Bennet Diaries reference)

(Ps. Fellow Europeans, vote for Finland in ESC!!!)

Words: 2950

Genre: romance & hurt/comfort

Warnings: none

previous chapter / AO3

...

The silence that fell into the room after Leo stormed out got more and more overwhelming until finally, Calypso couldn’t take it anymore. She could feel the two women and their daughter stare at her, but they were too astounded to say anything.

“I… I don’t understand what I did wrong,” Calypso mumbled eventually. “They were just matches. I didn’t mean that he should use them immediately; it was just my way of trying to tell him that I believe he can get over his fear one day.”

The women exchanged dark looks.

“Georgie, could you play with Festus outside for a moment? He looked like he needed to burn some energy,” Emmie suggested, wanting to get the girl out of the hearing distance.

“Ugh, fine,” Georgie pouted because she would have preferred admiring her gifts, but left anyway.

Once she was gone, Jo sighed. “About what just happened… you did nothing wrong, Calypso. It’s just…” She stopped to contemplate her next words. “Christmas is always a hard time for Leo. He tries his best to participate and make his jokes and all that, but his eyes betray him. He’s just… not there.”

“I want to understand…” Calypso stepped closer to Leo’s mothers. “Did something happen to him on some Christmas?”

“Yes, you could say that,” Emmie replied sadly. “Leo’s mother died on Christmas day several years ago.”

Calypso’s eyes widened as she understood what Emmie was trying to say.

“Oh gods… And she died in a fire, right? He did mention it once… No wonder he didn’t want to touch the matches, especially today.”

“Yes,” Emmie confirmed. “She did die in a fire. But there’s more to it. Leo probably wouldn’t want me to tell you this but in this situation it might be better that you know: he blames himself for the fire.”

“I probably shouldn’t ask, but… why?” Calypso asked, feeling more sickened every moment as she pictured a young boy mourning his mother and his home. “What happened?”

“We have only gotten some bits and pieces from here and there, but it seems the fire most likely started from some papers he had left near a fireplace. Accidentally, of course, but he doesn’t see it that way,” Jo sniffed. Suddenly Calypso realized that Leo’s pain must have hurt his family more than he probably even realized. They really cared about him a lot… She couldn’t help but feel just a tiny bit jealous because at least Leo had people supporting him. But she quickly pushed that unnecessary thought aside.

“That’s awful… I guess he’s afraid that he might accidentally make something like that happen again and that’s why he doesn’t want fire near him.” Calypso knew the fear of hurting someone she cared about and the guilt all too well. She would never forget the flashing lights and the loud crash that followed. Her nightmares made sure of that.

“Yes, it’s likely he feels that way. Since he moved here, he’s been seeing a therapist every once in a while but it’s clear he’s still a work in progress. He doesn’t talk about his mother a lot to us either. Just when we ask something general, and even then the answers are usually quite short.”

Bitterly, Calypso thought that was how she acted when someone brought up her family.

“I realize now that the matches were a big mistake,” she finally said. “I wish there was something I could do… I hate just watching helplessly when someone I… um...” She stopped mid sentence when she realized what she was about to reveal too much.

“Just be there for him,” Emmie suggested, luckily ignoring Calypso’s stuttering. “Despite everything, I think he’s still shown good progress the past few months. Sometimes time and patience and care can do amazing things.”

“Yeah. I think you are right there.” Calypso agreed. She herself had asked her friends, including Leo, to be patient with her as well. It was only fair she’d do the same with him.

“And Calypso?” Emmie eyed her worriedly. “Remember to take care of yourself as well.”

Calypso didn’t understand how the woman had seen through her that well. There was no way she could know what was going on in her mind because she hadn’t told even Leo everything. And Emmie and she had only known each other for a couple of days so far.

“I… sure. I will try my best!” she promised, instead of questioning Emmie’s comment.

“Good. I can’t say I know you all that well yet but know that people who are important to Leo are important to us.”

For a moment Calypso imagined what it would be like to have a mother like that. For some reason the thought made her emotional. “Thank you. You are so kind.”

“No, just doing what’s necessary. Now, I suggest you go and get dressed for the day and do what else you need to do; we might need some help with lunch soon. Besides, Georgie might need some supervision because she gets hyper when she eats too much chocolate. Funny how she and Leo are not biologically related but they still have a lot in common,” Emmie ended with a slightly amused remark.

Calypso did notice that she didn’t say anything about trying to find Leo, but she understood. He probably wanted to be on his own for a moment, and she’d respect that. Hopefully she’d get to talk to him eventually, but until then it was better to try to do something helpful rather than spend the whole day worrying. But even while she was doing her morning chores, she could still see Leo’s angry eyes when he saw her gift in her mind.

…

Leo didn’t know where he should go so he just followed his instinct. He didn’t want to hide inside; the pictures from his nightmare were still too fresh in his mind and he needed to be somewhere where he could breathe fresh air. As he was crossing the yard, Festus tried to follow him, and he wagged his tail cheerfully to make his favorite human happier, but this one time Leo didn’t want his company. He apologized to the dog and told him that he’d take him for a walk after getting his thoughts cleared.

He kept walking until finally, he reached a certain park where he and Jason used to jog often. Seeing a log bench on the side, he decided to sit down for a moment. Someone had made a campfire nearby earlier and Leo glared at the remaining ashes like they were the reason for all his troubles. He could feel the panic rise up his throat as he was reminded of the fire again, but he challenged himself to stay there for at least a moment. Finally, he sighed.

He knew he had totally overreacted to Calypso’s gift. Surely she had meant good but she didn’t know why fire and Christmas were not a good combination when it came to Leo. If he had just ignored the matches, nothing would have happened. Now he’d have to explain to her why he had freaked out like that and that wouldn’t be easy.

He wasn’t sure how long he had been staring into nothing when he suddenly felt a knock on his shoulder. Having not heard anyone arrive, he startled at the touch, but quickly recovered when he recognized the newcomer.

“Pipes! What brings you here?” he exclaimed, briefly noticing that her brown hair was now shorter than it had used to be and somehow her whole demeanor seemed a bit different. He attempted to put on a smile for her but he knew he was probably failing.

“Funny, I was gonna ask you the same question,” Piper noted, sitting down next to Leo. “I thought you would be at Waystation with your family. It’s Christmas day, after all.”

“Oh, yeah, I was there.” Piper raised her eyebrow so he quickly added: “You know me; this holiday and I don’t exactly walk hand in hand so I needed to get out for a moment.” Leo hoped that would be a sufficient explanation. She did know what had happened to his mother, even if not to the full extent.

“But Calypso was there with you. I thought that would cheer you up,” Piper pointed out.

“Funny you should say that,” Leo chuckled, although there was nothing amusing about the situation. “If you wanna know the truth, I’m kind of trying to escape from her right now.”

“You’re trying to escape…” Piper repeated with confusion. “Why? What happened? I thought things were going fine between you two. Especially after what happened after the party…”

“Not everything is how it looks to outsiders, Pipes,” Leo stopped her. “Things haven’t been amazing lately. I mean, in many ways. Yeah, I like her and somehow she also likes me, apparently. Yeah, I know, pretty unbelievable.”

Piper gave him her best ‘wow, you’re really breaking the news there, Leo’ look. He didn’t get disheartened, though, instead continuing: “But we have, um, decided that we shouldn’t get together for various reasons so we’ve been trying to find some kind of a golden mean where we can still continue being friends but it hasn’t been working out that well. One sec we are at each other's' throats for whatever stupid reason, and the next we’re acting all flirty and ignoring the rules we set. I was hoping that this Waystation visit would give us a chance to get to know each other better in an environment where we have others around us… And I think it was actually working for a while. I feel more comfortable there, and I think she was feeling more comfortable too… But today I went and messed things up again.”

“What did you do?” Piper sighed disapprovingly.

“I may or may not have gotten mad about her Christmas present,” Leo confessed finally, cringing because he realized how bad it sounded.

“Oh, Leo…” Piper shook her head. “Why would you get mad about something like that? You’re not usually someone who’d get mad that easily.”

“Yeah… I know I’m not, but… I had a pretty rough day to begin with. Not that that’s anything new to me, but…”

“But what?” Piper inquired.

“I saw a nightmare about my mom’s death right before I woke up. I was still kinda on the edge when we were opening the presents so when I saw the matches…”

“She gave you matches?” Piper tilted her head slightly as she was trying to figure out what Leo was saying.

“Yeah,” Leo shrugged. “To be clear, though, they were only a part of the present. She had made me a real nice tool belt, probably way better than any of those that they sell in some stores. The matches were in one of the pockets. And now I can see you’re gonna say: ‘well, maybe she just wanted you to try to get over your fear’, and maybe you’re right, but the timing…”

“You have not told her about the anniversary,” Piper concluded. “I’m sure you have figured out by now that you can’t blame her for something she didn’t know about. That’s not fair.”

“I know that!” Leo exclaimed. “I’m not really blaming her; I just overreacted! But how will I explain that to her? ‘Sorry I yelled at you; I just happened to burn my entire house 11 years ago today so I’m not exactly fond of fire right now?’”

“You know what I’m thinking?” Piper interrupted Leo’s unhealthy thought process. He didn’t answer. “I think you two have some serious communication issues. I know that Calypso isn’t good at opening about her past, and she has also admitted to me she has a tendency to push people back if she’s afraid they’re getting too close to her. But guess what, Leo? You’re the same. I’ve noticed that even though you’re kind of loud sometimes and you like to tell bad jokes…”

“Hey!” Leo protested.

“Shh, let me finish. My point is, you don’t often tell us what you’re really thinking. When you’re having one of your rougher periods, you withdraw into your workshop for days. All I’m trying to say here is that please talk to us. Specifically, talk to her. When she notices that you trust her enough to talk about something that personal, she might open up to you more as well. If she really likes you, she’ll understand.”

“Beauty Queen, I hate it when you see through me that well,” Leo muttered. “I dunno. I guess I’ll have to talk to her when I go back. If my moms don’t murder me first.”

“Nah. They wouldn’t. I mean, you may not get any presents next Christmas but that’s a small price to pay when you stormed out like that,” Piper teased him.

“You sure know how to make a man regret his bad deeds.” Leo rolled his eyes. “Anyway, we’ve established why I’m here right now but what about you? Shouldn’t you be with Jason or something?” Suddenly Piper didn’t seem as determined to scold Leo anymore.

“I… Jason and I are having a break.”

“A break? As in…?” Leo asked with confusion.

“As in a break,” Piper repeated more firmly. “What part of it you don’t understand? He and I are seeing if we are happier apart.”

Leo spent a moment taking the information in. “But I don’t get it. You guys have always been the most stable couple I’ve known. Why this kind of a decision all of a sudden?” He couldn’t say that he was entirely surprised by this piece of news after his talk with Jason before Christmas, but it still felt different to hear it from Piper. More final.

“I don’t think it’s all of a sudden. It’s been coming for a while now,” Piper confessed.

“Really? And you’re telling me only now?” Leo raised his eyebrow.

“It was something I needed to figure out on my own. Now, please don’t think I’ve just been playing with him, or something. I do love Jason. He’s my best friend. But… I’m starting to feel we’ve progressed too fast. That there’s a whole world out there for me to see that I missed because I was so busy getting together with Jason. I want to get to know who I am and where I really belong.”

“But… you have a house and everything together…” Leo said, suddenly feeling like a child whose parents were telling him they were breaking up, forgetting his own problems for a moment. “How are you gonna deal with that?”

“The plan is for now that we both keep living in our house until we make our final decision. I don’t want to go back to my dad and Jason would want to live with his dad even less. Of course it’s possible that we decide to continue our relationship, but if not, then we’re going to sell the house. But we are not rushing that. For now, we’re just trying to be friends, and not… exclusive.”

Leo was slightly relieved to hear that at least his best friends were still on speaking terms.

“Alright… if that’s what both of you want, then I’ll support it,” he said. “It’d suck to lose touch with either of you because of this.”

“Don’t worry,” Piper reassured him. “You won’t.” She ruffled his hair a little as if he was her little brother. “Everyone needs a Super-sized McShizzle in their lives, don’t they? It’d be pretty empty otherwise.”

Leo gave her a lopsided smile. “Glad you admitted that.”

“Anyway, enough about my boring relationship issues!” Piper decided to change the topic. “So, you told me Cal got you a tool belt and matches, but what did you give to her? It’s important, Leo.”

“You really think I’m gonna reveal it to you, Beauty Queen? I’m smarter than that,” Leo pointed out.

“I know what you did at our uni’s freshman party and I’m not afraid to tell it to Cal if I need to.” Piper winked at him in response.

Leo rolled his eyes. “Pshhh, that was freshman year. That excuses everything.”

“Alright, don’t tell me then.” Piper turned to leave.

“If you really must know,” Leo said before Piper got too far, “it was a jewelry box. With a bracelet in it. But it was not new so it wasn’t a big deal.”

“Not a big deal?” Piper asked with amusement. “You know things get serious when you give a girl a piece of jewelry.”

“Wait, what? For real?” Leo was shocked for a moment until he noticed Piper had a hard time not bursting into laughter. She was just messing with him. “OK, remind me to never tell you anything serious ever again.”

“You know you can’t resist my charm,” Piper chuckled. “Once you have forgotten what you just said, please tell me what really has happened at Waystation recently.”

Leo couldn’t help but shake his head at Piper’s enthusiasm but eventually started to tell her the whole story. He noticed that it helped him to forget about the negative thoughts for a moment so he didn’t really mind even though Piper had a tendency to be a bit pushy when it came to his feelings towards Calypso. And he assumed that Piper welcomed the distraction happily as well, because she must have felt conflicted about the whole Jason situation. When did things get so complicated, he wondered briefly before chuckling at his thoughts ironically. His life had never been simple. But even so, he would keep fighting. Because that’s what his mom would want, and that's what his family and friends would want.

#caleo #leo valdez #calypso #heroes of olympus #percy jackson and the olympians #trials of apollo #my fics #caleo uni au

16 notes · View notes

thepetulantpen · 4 years ago

Text

Two Librarians in Armageddon

(Day 5 of @shadowgastweek! Only had time for one fic this week, but after I read this prompt my brain said Pacific Rim AU and would not leave me alone until I wrote this. It’s pretty long, so here’s the ao3 link.)

(Pacific Rim AU, featuring the wizards as scientists!)

Caleb would not say he’s fond of working with others, let alone sharing his lab.

Solitary work is more in his nature, but after years of sharing close-quarters with Veth- and after getting adjusted to Jester, in general- he’s learned to tolerate, even enjoy, having company while he’s working. His friends have more than prepared him for anyone else he’ll have to work with; they’ve ensured that he’ll be hanging onto his habits of keeping anything important secured, in the event of an unexpected explosion, and of guarding his coffee with his life, in the event of poorly-timed pranks.

He does not think his new lab partner will be bringing any unstable explosives, or sugary abominations to replace his coffee with.

From what he’s been told, the new addition to their little pre-apocalypse team is a physicist working on tech for a competing company, someone far outside Caleb’s scope. The fact that they still have competing companies of mech-developers while there are aliens bursting from the sea to eat them is a nightmare all its own, but the writhing horrors of capitalism are a beast that science, and the Kaiju guts strewn across the table before him, has proved ineffective against.

The truce between them, in the interest of allowing powerful Jaegers to work together, is an uneasy and temporary one. Caleb, personally, doesn’t think it’ll last beyond one or two failures. He just hopes they won’t fall back into the slew of sabotages that plagued them at the beginning of their downward spiral, before everyone realized the world may actually be ending.

The rather small detail of imminent Armageddon has made his preference, or lack thereof, for company inconsequential. In the long run- or short, if they don’t manage a major breakthrough soon- his opinions as an introvert are insignificant.

It’s not all bad- as an innately curious person, the opportunity to meet someone just as experienced as him in the field of Kaiju is fascinating. Particularly considering that their specialization is so different; he’s almost looking forward to the new insight. He’d even be excited if it wasn’t for the subject matter.

It can be challenging to be enthusiastic about the driving force of the apocalypse.

He digs deeper into the partially collapsed chunk of Kaiju ribcage in front of him, no longer bothered by his poor choice of distraction. It’s a misnomer to call it a ribcage, given that the Kaiju do not have bones in the classical sense, but it’s close enough in location to approximate. He’d rather have a brain to work with, though he’ll settle for what he can get. Storing Kaiju is difficult, with their accelerated rate of rot once exposed to the air- if he’s not careful, his work could be reduced to ash in an hour.

He needs to catalogue the differences between this corpse and the last, pinpointing patterns in organ placement. The work is dull, while still requiring his full concentration to avoid puncturing any of the many, many inexplicably acidic organs. If he wasn’t already good friends with the base’s medics, he would’ve been taken off this job long ago.

Once he’s elbow-deep in a Kaiju, he stops paying attention to the door. He does not notice the knocking, nor the quiet greeting, nor the faint whir of machinery as his new colleague hovers through the doorway.

“Should you be touching that? It looks toxic.”

Caleb jumps at the voice beside him and the scalpel in his hand jerks, cutting into the mystery organ he’d been considering removing. Something vaguely liquid hits his wrist above the glove and he waits two seconds to see if it’ll burn, before deciding he probably doesn’t need to run screaming to the nearest med station.

“It’s fine,” he mutters, partially in response and partially to himself. “I know what I’m doing.”

He looks down, towards his new colleague, who, at first glance, is thoroughly unimpressed at that lie.

He sits in a wheelchair- minus the wheels, as it hovers gently off the ground, coming to about the same height the wheels would give it. Clearly a new model- hovering technology aside- it’s a sleek, minimalist white, matching his equally sleek, swept back white hair. The high turtleneck and overly formal coat allow Caleb to immediately peg him as somewhat uptight. Near-apocalypse has made formality rare.

Caleb hurries to wash his hands, finding the nearby sink labelled for nasty, potentially lethal chemical disposal. “I was told you’d arrive today, but,” he glances up at the dingy lab clock, the glass cracked from Veth’s last visit, “I didn’t imagine it’d be so soon. It’s, uh, a bit of a mess.”

“I’ve seen worse,” he says, unconvincingly, and changes track, “That desk is mine, yes?”

There’s only one other desk in the room, moved there sometime yesterday after Caleb, under threat from his superiors, managed to shift away some of the boxes that line the walls. It’s only a small space, but it’s the cleanest part of the room.

The question, he reasons, is rhetorical, but Caleb nods anyway. He considers that answer enough- though the other man doesn’t move, staring at him expectantly. He’s oddly expressive, his attempts to keep a completely straight face only making any slipups, like the annoyed twitch of his eyebrow, more obvious.

It makes it easy to see the exact moment his patience runs out.

“I’m sure you were informed, but,” here, he looks to the side, dodging Caleb’s returning attention, “for the sake of introductions, I am Essek Thelyss.”

Ah, so that’s what he’d forgotten. Caleb thinks it’s unfair that he had to fail miserably at one of the last introductions he will have made before the end of the world- surely, he could’ve had just one go smoothly.

“Oh- I’m Caleb,” he reaches out a hand, meeting Essek’s already extended one for a brief shake- his hands may be clean now, but Essek doesn’t look thrilled at the prospect of touching Kaiju guts, even indirectly, “Caleb Widogast.”

Something unidentifiable passes over Essek’s expression- disappointment or judgement, perhaps, at not recognizing the name. Widogast is not printed on any books, nor is it associated with anything high-profile like Thelyss; strictly, it doesn’t exist at all.

That, or the smell of the rotting Kaiju getting to him.

As he watches Essek pause halfway across the room to clear his path, and again to widen the space around his desk, Caleb is hit with the vivid realization that this isn’t going to be an enlightening, academic experience, nor an uncomfortable few days of socialization. It’s going to be more than a bump in the alien-fueled crisis that is his current existence.

This is going to be a disaster.

…

“Widogast, do you have any idea where my notebook’s gone?”

It has only taken Caleb three days to be able to identify the various tones for annoyed in Essek’s voice. There’s this is a minor inconvenience and this is a major inconvenience and this is one of many annoying things I haven’t pointed out yet today, including, but not limited to, the ever-present stench of Kaiju flesh.

He can say, with relative confidence, that this falls into the latest category.

“Have you tried all your desk drawers?” he calls over his shoulder, knowing the question is unnecessary but stalling for time as he heaves the last of the Kaiju parts- partially burned and fragmented limbs, today- onto his work table.

Essek, unlike Caleb, is meticulously organized, never misplaces anything and files according to system that escapes Caleb, no matter how many times he tries to decode it. From Essek’s perspective, the rest of the lab is a dangerous no man’s land of abject chaos- though Caleb has never lost anything. He knows, precisely, where everything is, no piece of preserved alien fading from his memory. An organization system is pointless, when one has a photographic memory.

That is, until one has to share a lab with someone who bothers to keep track of their belongings.

He doesn’t wait for a response, already able to picture Essek behind him, sitting with his arms crossed and looking deeply disappointed by Caleb’s suggestion, which amounts to did you turn it on and off again? Leaving the still sealed Kaiju parts where they are, he turns back to his own desk.

After exonerating himself and Essek, the list of suspects for meddling with their desks is very short. The base, these days, is not the hub of activity it used to be, back when there were far more Jaeger pilots alive and far better morale. Their lab is typically empty, aside from Caleb and Essek, as few people are inclined towards the smell of dead Kaiju. Even the corporals, some of the rare higher-ups with clearance, can’t be bothered to visit more frequently than their mandatory check-ins.

He can only think of two people who clearance would not be an issue for.

“Is he handsome, Caleb?”

“I don’t think it would be professional—”

“He definitely is, Jessie.”

Before today, he’d thought that Jester and Veth hadn’t gotten around to the visit they’d been threatening; clearly, they’d taken the liberty while he wasn’t in. Veth knows better than to steal notebooks- she wouldn’t be interested in them, anyway- and Jester isn’t in the habit of taking things, only misplacing them.

Caleb hardly ever uses his own desk, preferring to leave his notebooks scattered over the lab tables, in easier reach. Only the older ones are still perched on his desk, in a precariously tall pile- but one notebook stands out from the rest, not quite as ratty and overstuffed as his own.

“Ah, here it is,” he holds it up, gesturing Essek over and trying not to look too sheepish- it is not, after all, his fault. As he hands it over, and quickly turns back to his work, he can only hope that Jester hasn’t doodled anything too embarrassing inside. “Jester must have misplaced it, while exploring the lab.”

“Jester?” Essek asks, eyebrows furrowing in something that would be irritation, if his expression wasn’t trained to be so stoic, “Is she supposed to have clearance here?”

“The medical staff have free reign, in case of incidents with hazardous material.” He glances back at Essek, who still looks confused, and remembers that not everyone is on a first-name basis with the medics. “Jester Lavorre. You might know Caduceus- that is, Mr. Clay- better. He’s the more… healing inclined, of the two.”

“Jester Lavorre,” Essek starts, slowly as he unpacks his own question, “regularly comes here to… explore? What, she just, rifles through your things?”

He is not sure how to explain the idea of Jester to someone who doesn’t know her.

Essek already looks delightfully confounded- a considerable a departure from his typical stern concentration. Caleb almost wants to thank Jester for pulling Essek away from the handheld chalkboards he spends his days bent over, lines of nearly indecipherable equations appearing and disappearing with only the smudge of chalk on Essek’s hands as evidence of their existence. Distracting Essek has proved to be a challenge- even the sounds of saws and the number of other unpleasant devices involved in Kaiju dissection don’t get Caleb so much as a glance.

He does not try to explain Jester, opting to shrug, instead. “She knows she can find me here, so she stays until I show up. Sometimes she gets bored.” It occurs to him that other people haven’t been prepped for company in the same way he has. It occurs to him that it is abnormal to brace for a scavenger hunt every time he enters the lab. “I suggest you leave your important documents in a locked drawer.”

He refrains from telling Essek that Veth can pick locks and that Jester has broken open desk drawers before (there was an incident involving a prank war, smuggling, and increasingly desperate hiding places). None of it seems particularly reassuring.

Essek gives him a strange look, but nods. “I will keep that in mind.”

“You might also find things that aren’t yours by your desk.” Caleb looks over his shoulder to see Essek still watching him. “Consider them gifts.”

“Like what?”

“Like…” Caleb pauses, realizing that none of the things he was about to list are work-appropriate, “Well, it could be anything.”

Caleb’s starting to worry that he might end up causing the rift between companies that leads to the end of the world- with his terrible first impression, and equally bad secondary impressions- but when a parasol shows up at Essek’s desk a day later, he does not ask Caleb where it came from.

He does, however, quietly ask Caleb to send along his thanks to Jester.

…

“I am not imagining that it smells particularly bad today, yes?”

Caleb has acquired, in part thanks to Veth, partial halves of two Kaiju hearts. Partial is the best they could manage, on account of the massive holes blown in the beasts’ chests. Nonetheless, he’s ecstatic- an opportunity like this, for a direct comparison, is rare.

Kaiju barbecue, as it turns out, does not smell very appetizing. It is what he would think a bucket of cleaning supplies set on fire would smell like, though it leaves the air with the unpleasant aftertaste of cheap fruit snacks.

“They’re a little charred,” he says, hiding a smile- they are far more than a little charred, “Veth’s testing out different chemical combinations for the Jaeger ammunition. I don’t think she’s quite nailed it yet.”

Essek scoffs, cautiously approaching the table with one hand over his nose and mouth, the other resting on the chair’s controls. “How many people of wildly different departments are you on a first-name basis with?”

“Just a few.” Thoroughly distracted with cutting away the burnt pieces, Caleb doesn’t look up. “There’s also, uh, Fjord. He captains one of the boats, works on deployment.”

“Somehow, that doesn’t surprise me.” A soft whir, as Essek hovers a few inches higher, putting him at a better height to peer over the table with Caleb. “Do you need any help?”

Caleb blinks, surprised, and almost drops the scalpel he was sanitizing. “Aren’t you busy?”

Essek, with his old-fashioned chalkboards in the place of far more convenient holograms, never leaves his desk, never so much as turns around to bounce a theory off of Caleb. It seems like there’s a new pack of chalk and fresh notebook on his desk every other day- clearly he’s making progress, but the bubble of focus around Essek is too intimidating for Caleb to investigate.

“I’ve reached a stopping point,” Essek frowns when Caleb looks at him, waiting for him to elaborate, and sighs, “I’m stuck on the particle displacement we’ve detected at the mouth of the rifts, which only seems to effect the Kaiju, not the pilots. It’s- I don’t think you’d be interested. I need something else to do, while I brainstorm.”

Caleb manages to bite back his disappointment at not getting to hear the rest and points towards the sink- the one safe for normal use, that doesn’t currently have corrosion scars from caustic acids. “I can definitely give you that.”

Essek, unsurprisingly, is incredibly helpful. He might not fully understand the process, but he’s precise in following Caleb’s instructions and doesn’t complain when he has to touch the gross, slimy parts. He generously interprets Caleb’s just put them over there to mean place them very carefully in straight lines. It only takes him a few minutes to get the hang of it, effortlessly following Caleb’s lead as they work in parallel on their respective halves of the hearts.

“I can’t say I understand the appeal,” Essek starts, after many minutes of silence, “but there’s certainly something to working with the actual thing, rather than theory.”

Caleb is working at a particularly tough piece- the Kaiju are, if nothing else, heavily armored, inside and out- the exposure to oxygen making everything harder to pull apart, to cut up and catalogue. He doesn’t look up at Essek’s words, but finds his attention easily split.

“It’s all about,” Caleb pushes down, again, and the muscles finally give, “manipulating the body, finding what makes it tick. From there, we can change it.”

“Like,” Essek pauses, hesitating, “change it from living to dead, you mean.”

Caleb huffs, almost under his breath, “In this circumstance, perhaps.”

To his side, he sees Essek’s hands still, briefly, and feels eyes on him as Essek looks up. Essek has this way of looking at him, like he’s waiting for something, until an invisible tell gives him away. He feels both studied and seen through.

Caleb can’t say he hates it.

“You don’t sound as happy about that as I’d expect. Normally, people are thrilled at the thought of dead Kaiju,” Essek gestures, with one gloved hand, over the table, “More for you.”

Caleb looks firmly down at the heart, imagining the many cross-sections and pieces still unmapped, in the burned away absence. “I just think that more can be done.”

“I suppose that’s one thing we can agree on.” Essek is already looking at him when Caleb looks up, so their eyes meet, “The other side of the rifts are far more interesting. There’s no telling what we could find, how we could progress- but we need those doors closed, if we’re going to be alive to enjoy that progress.”

“I don’t think it’s as simple as leaving them open or closed.”

Essek leans back over the heart, having found what he was looking for in Caleb’s expression, and mutters, almost to himself, “You might be right about that.”

Caleb doesn’t say anything else, just watches as Essek finishes with his portion of the heart. Essek’s hands, even with the borrowed plastic gloves, do not look like they belong amongst the controlled carnage of the lab table. Made for spinning chalk between fingers, and gliding across the holograms.

He lines up the scalpel again, just a bit off-target, just a bit too close to the arteries. “Ah, don’t—”

Caleb grabs Essek’s hand, stopping him before he pierces something he shouldn’t- the faint burns on his own hands are proof of this lesson learned. Essek freezes, startled by the contact, and grips the scalpel a little tighter before he catches up to what’s happened and pulls back.

Caleb lets him go, with some reluctance. “The blood is, uh, acidic. You have to cut around carefully, or it– you get the picture.”

“It’s good that you were watching, then,” Essek doesn’t smile, but his face suggests that he might have, if he possessed less self-control, “I owe you one, Widogast.”

Caleb does not possess that same control- he’s not sure what Essek hears in his voice as he says, “It’s no trouble.”

He thinks, in the end, he may have been more successful in distracting himself from his work, than he was in distracting Essek.

…

Caleb has reached the point where the crick in his neck from leaning over his work, the pages and pages of pieced together neural pathways and conflicting experiments, is threatening to make the hunch of his shoulders permanent. Essek cannot be in a much better place- Caleb glances over to catch him with his head in his hands, again, a half-filled chalkboard laying forlornly on his desk.

Caleb stands with no warning, letting his pen clatter on the table and pushing his chair away with more force than necessary. Essek looks up, alarmed and- unless Caleb’s imagining it- intrigued.

“Do you want to get out of here?”

Which is how they’ve found themselves on the steel catwalk above the Jaegers, high up in the hanger and out of sight of people who know they shouldn’t be here. Neither of them are stealthy enough to pull this off for long- the equivalent of two librarians, tiny amongst the massive machines that represent their only hope against Armageddon.

“It’s always weird to see them from up here.” The giant, unpiloted mechs seem to stare back at Caleb as they’re shifted into place. Empty eyes, visors with no life behind them. “Feels like we shouldn’t be looking at them eye-to-eye.”

Essek hums, and leans forward slightly, as close to the rails as he dares. “I’m more used to seeing them in diagrams.”

Caleb had known, in theory, that there must be a tangled web of physics behind the engineering of the Jaegers, but it’s different to know that Essek holds those secrets. He’d love nothing more than to pick his brain about it, even if it’s far outside his field. It’s a shame the hanger feels like an inappropriate place to host a high-detail physics lecture.

“It must be interesting, working with us. Thelyss has been, uh,” he hesitates, unsure if this is rude to point out, “forgive me for saying, rather at odds with Dwendalian interests.”

Essek is quiet for a moment, almost long enough for Caleb to pull the ripcord and apologize, before responding, “It has been interesting. It is… an opportunity, for me, to work for something greater than I have in the past.”

“In the past?”

“We have not been as,” he pauses, searching for the word, “kind as we should have, in sharing our designs. Many have failed to consider the state of the world in our quest for progress.”

Corporate sabotage in the race for mechs is something of a well-known secret. The extent of it is hidden, mostly, behind the veil of the destruction that it coincided with. Trading the right secrets to the wrong person could take you far- it just might mean leaving burning cities in your wake.

Essek, overlooking the last of the Jaegers, the vestiges of hope for the world, suddenly looks so tired, older than Caleb had seen him before now. It reminds of Caleb of his own reflection, at night when the manic layer of end of the world is wiped away to reveal exhaustion. Essek’s formality, the organized face he presents, functions as just another mask.

“I have made many mistakes. I am hoping-” Essek shakes his head, correcting himself, “All I can do is try again. To be better.”

Caleb cannot absolve him, cannot lift the weight of things unsaid, guilt anchored deeply. He can only stand there, at Essek’s side, and carry his own guilt.

“Leave it to the end of the world to show us that we can only move forward, until we run out of road.” Caleb tries for a smile, one Essek doesn’t match. “Sometimes, I’m not sure there’s still road. Feel like I’m drifting over the dirt, these days.”

Essek’s response, agreement or disagreement, is drowned out as they start shifting another of the Jaegers, the dragging of metal and old supports strained to their limits forming a din that has passerby covering their ears. Caleb watches its pilots stare up at it, unflinching in the noise.

He finds himself talking as the noise stops, filling the vacuum of silence, “I was almost one of them, you know.”

After he says it, he immediately regrets it. In one moment, it feels like the thing to do- share something personal, after Essek had taken the first step- and in the next, it feels like an entirely unnecessary can of worms. Because, of course, the next question is-

“Under who?”

Caleb swallows and considers lying. He could do it. He could keep it vague- he should, it should stay buried like his name. He’s not entirely sure why he doesn’t want to.

“Ikithon.”

He sees it, the second he says it. He sees the recognition, the surprise, the fear. Essek knows that name, more than anyone in passing knows that name. To Essek, he is not simply an unpleasant teacher.

He doesn’t want to see Essek as someone who worked with Ikithon- he doesn’t want to know what it means that he would forgive Essek, in a heartbeat, but can’t do same for himself.

“I wasn’t able to drift,” Caleb continues, and almost believes that’s the whole truth, the entire, uncomplicated reason, “Dropped out of the Academy.” Not before the damage was done.

Essek looks down, studying the grimy floor beneath them. “Probably for the best.”

“I’m starting to think we should’ve put our funding into time machines, instead of Jaegers.” Caleb sighs, and feels a part of himself leave with his breath. He looks to his side, where Essek remains silent. “Should’ve gone into physics, I guess.”

People rush around below them, preparing for another Jaeger to enter. The gate is cleared, the runway lights up, and various maintenance teams stand at the ready. Caleb wonders how they can stand this, how they can keep going through the motions every day, even as less and less pilots return.

He supposes he could say the same about himself, about anyone still coming to work on this base. For the first time in a long time, they’re all working towards the same thing. They’re all looking to the pilots, spending what’s left of their lives to stack the deck in their favor.

“I know a few of them,” Caleb pauses, and clarifies, “The pilots, I mean.”

“You failed to mention that, in your list of people you know.” Essek tries to laugh, though it doesn’t quite come out right, and looks back up at Caleb, “Which ones?”

“I’m not sure you know them.” People in their position don’t generally interact with the pilots, directly. Caleb would say it’s strange for him to have friends in the Academy, but it’s not the weirdest connection he’s made recently. “Yasha and Beau on the Cobalt line. They’re only just out of the Academy.”

Only just out and making a formidable reputation for themselves. He’s only skimmed the statistics, but if there was a leaderboard, he’d say they’re pulling ahead. Knowing Beau, that’s greater motivation than the potential for saving the world.

Essek’s façade falls away completely, showing his surprise. “The two terrifying women in the Expositor?”

“Those are the ones,” Caleb leans against the railing, out of the shadows. A little more bold, now that most of the people below are distracted. A massive Jaeger, with chipping blue paint and massive jets affixed to its back, steps in through the gate, tracking in water around its heels. “Speak of the devil.”

He can imagine Beau and Yasha working in tandem, seamlessly, to bring the mech into the hanger, ducking its head slightly to make it under the doorway. One hand is occupied, clenched around a scaly leg, metal fingers dug into the fallen Kaiju’s flesh. It’s oddly small, not the fully grown beasts Caleb is used to seeing them drag through.

“Is that-“ Essek doesn’t finish his question, perhaps because he can see the answer in Caleb’s expression.

The Kaiju’s head is entirely intact, its skull spared at the expense of a hole in its chest. A full brain, no shrapnel or missing pieces. Exactly what Caleb has been waiting for, exactly what he’s been trying to piece together.

Essek follows at his heels as Caleb dashes for the stairs, stealth forgotten altogether.

…

The whirring of saws and grim, grinding sounds of bone being cut come to an end, at long last. There’s a tube prepped, filled with foul-smelling chemicals intended to preserve and suspend alien flesh. The sound, as the brain is deposited, is somehow worse than the grinding noise.

Essek looks at him, watching silently for a long moment. It is difficult, to feel his eyes on him and not look back, but Caleb manages it, keeping his gaze focused on the mass of nerves before him.

“I understand the temptation.”

Caleb laughs, with no humor. “Do you?”

The headset is light, almost flimsy, in his hands. He passes it between them, running his hands over the familiar metal and wires. It looks like it might fall apart any second now, not at all like it’s made of expensive, stolen equipment. Not all like Caleb’s been thinking about it for months, like it could save them all- if he can pull this off.

The Kaiju’s brain floats in the container in front of him, wires trailing off of it. Essek sits beside it, the filtered green light through the tube casting harsh shadows over his face. He’s not supposed to be here, but Caleb should’ve known that Essek wouldn’t stick to his scheduled breaks.

“I know more about temptation than you, Caleb.”

It’s rare to hear Essek angry- figures that he chooses a time like this to finally call Caleb by his first name.

“Then you should know that I can’t pass up this opportunity.” Caleb clicks the final pieces into place, watching the lights on the headset start to glow. He loses the fight against another temptation and glances over to Essek, who looks to be fighting fiercely not for a neutral expression, but to keep back tears. “I will not have more lives on my conscience. If this could win us the fight, I have to do it.”

He reaches for the control panel, lifting the headset with his other hand. He has to get this over with before he loses his nerve, before Essek decides to find someone who might actually be able to stop him, before Jester or Veth or anyone else stumble upon him

Essek grabs his wrist, stopping him. His eyes are wide, a little surprised at himself, but he meets Caleb’s stare dead-on.

“I don’t want to lose you to this,” he clears his throat, and looks down, away, “We all still need you.”

Even now, they can’t help but lie to themselves.

“I have to do this.”

Essek looks back at him and for once, seems frustrated to be unable to peer behind Caleb’s eyes, to get the answers he always does. He looks to the side with a heavy sigh, and Caleb thinks for a moment that he’s given up, that he’s going to agree, when Essek lets go of his hand to reach behind them, to the lab table still covered in wires and abandoned tech.

Many drafts of the headset sit amongst the wreckage, the results of late nights spent working with a collection born of Veth’s sticky fingers and Caleb’s hoarding. Essek grabs one, easily picking out the most functional of the bunch, and presses it into Caleb’s free hand.

“Fine,” his face sets, not in the neutral that Caleb’s come to expect, but in a determination that feels almost dangerous, “Then I’m coming with you.”

Essek’s eyes are a dare, waiting for Caleb to find a reason to deny him. He knows, as well as Caleb, that two of them would increase their chances of surviving this. He also knows, maybe better than Caleb, that none of that matters. Caleb would always rather take the brunt of it, than allow his friends to hurt.

This feels, distinctly, like an argument Caleb can’t win. Essek looks a few seconds away from hooking it up himself.

Caleb sighs, a faint smile escaping him. “Didn’t think you’d be repaying that favor so soon.”

Essek only pushes the headset more firmly into his hands, though it’s hard to tell whether he’s safe-guarding against Caleb losing his nerve, or losing his own nerve.

Caleb puts Essek’s headset on first, taking longer than necessary to adjust its fit, before putting on his own. They sit across from each other, in the distorted shadow of the brain. Essek’s gaze, fixed on Caleb, doesn’t waver and just before Caleb hits the switch, he holds out his hand.

Caleb takes it and turns on the machine.

The drift hits him immediately, like a weight falling on his brain as something too big climbs into his skull and pushes his mind out to the edges, pressed against bone. Everything else, outside of his mind and Essek’s mind and this new intrusion, disappears entirely. Sensation, apart from a terrible, sourceless pain, leaves him.

Essek’s mind bursts into focus like a searing light in the abyss, a star far above him. Caleb reaches for it, as the mind of the Kaiju, oppressive and all-consuming, threatens to swallow him up.

He feels their connection like entwined hands, before they collapse into each other, blurring into one. Warm and cool colors mix together in threads that wind and wind around until they are one inseparable string. Shared pain is conducted through it, a wire of strange electricity.

He is hearing a city on fire, screaming, and imagines he can pick out familiar voices in the chaos.

He is shaking a hand like a corpse, bony and terrible as its fingernails dig into his skin.

He is on a cold tile floor, aware that he is alone, alone, alone—

Somewhere, outside of himself, he squeezes Essek’s hand.

The Kaiju bears down on both of them and he finds himself standing beside Essek on a destroyed city street, its features a mashed together version of Caleb and Essek’s childhoods. It is too much for either of them, even standing together, but when he looks down at Essek, he sees only his smile, sharp and confident.

Everything begins to dissolve as the mind- the many minds- of the Kaiju falls over them.

…

Waking up is not fun.

Once, in grad school, Caleb stayed up for 52 hours, subsisting on diabolical combinations of energy drinks and pure spite for his professors. After turning in his last assignments, including a paper that served as a major breakthrough in his field but was so manic it was incomprehensible to anyone except Caleb, he crashed hard and did not wake for another day, when Veth checked to see if he was still alive.

He could’ve sworn, at the time, that the headache he felt upon seeing light for the first time that day was the worst he’d ever experience.

This headache easily doubles it.

The lights are, mercifully, left completely off, with only the dim sunlight leaking out from under the blinds turning the infirmary room a dull grey. He’s sat, partially upright, on the thin mattress of the hospital bed, a place he knows well. Outside the room, he can just make out the quiet, constant noise of their busy med station, conversation and machines overlapping.

To his right, similarly propped up, is Essek.

He wakes at the same moment as Caleb and they both turn, surprise mirrored in their faces. At seeing each other, at being alive at all- it’s anybody’s guess.

Objectively, Caleb is sure they both look absolutely terrible, but he can only see the light in Essek’s eyes and his tired smile. There’s a drowsy kind of comfort between the two of them, relief of tension being let go. They lived- they both lived.

“This is not the warm welcome to the land of the living I was hoping for.”

Caleb laughs, even if it hurts, a little. “This feels less like a welcome party, and more like breaking a window and climbing back in.”

There’s no connection between them anymore, no wires or drifts, but he still feels it faintly, a buzzing at the back of his head. Essek’s pain feels like an echo of his own, and his warmth is still there, as if he’s still holding his hand. It’s stable, an anchor to new wakefulness.

“They should’ve known better than to put two of us in the same lab.” Essek shakes his head, and winces at the movement. “It could only ever have ended in disaster.”

Caleb grins and is pleased to see Essek do the same, just as unguarded as he was in the drift.

They only have a few minutes before Jester comes in to yell at him for being stupid- possibly, the whole crew is lined up somewhere outside, lists of grievances in hand. Shortly following that, he assumes there will be a small battalion of military personnel waiting to hear what they’ve discovered.

Until then, he has time to do more stupid things, mostly unsupervised.

He drags himself out of the bed, pretending that he doesn’t nearly collapse as soon as his feet hit the floor, and wheels the bed closer to Essek’s, carefully maneuvering the wires still attached to his chest and arms. Once they’re an arm’s length away, Caleb stops and climbs back in.

This time, he holds his hand out first and knows, without a doubt, that Essek will take it.

#shadowgast week 2021 #caleb widogast #essek #shadowgast #critical role #ahhh this so long #do not have time to edit tonight #but i swear itll be up on ao3 tomorrow #ignore the many times i misspelled physics #im very tired

19 notes · View notes

tataswish · 4 years ago

Text

❝ familiarity / one.

━ ♡ ・ paring: kim taehyung x reader. ━ ♡ ・ genre: soulmate!au, non idol!au, fluff (with a little angst!). ━ ♡ ・ word count: 2.7k. ━ ♡ ・ summary: you didn’t believe in soulmates. once. that all changed when you met yours; all thanks to one little drawing.

author’s note: hi! i haven’t written in a while so excuse the small mistakes, but i hope you enjoy! if you’ve played bts world before, some of the stuff in this chapter might seem a little... familiar (no pun intented). i also plan to have the reader be connected to every member somehow in this fic, so they will come soon! hope you all enjoy, feedback is always appreciated. <3

“Shit,” you murmured under your breath, glancing at the rows of baked dough that were left in the oven for a little too long. Rather than its usual glossy, golden brown finish—it was dull, and… sad.

It’s been almost a year since you’ve been miraculously hired as the pastry chef’s assistant at Hotel Mudrin. You say miraculously, because even without any sort of culinary knowledge outside of cooking shows, you still managed to land the job. The chef was somehow impressed by the basic strawberry pancake dish you presented during your interview, and instantly saw growth potential in you.

That was also when you met your best friend, Seokjin. He was a newly hired intern at the time, and with the two of you being the only staff members in the hotel within the same age bracket, it didn’t take that much time for a bond to form. Seokjin was always getting into trouble by his boss Mr. Im, because to him, this intern could never do anything right. But with you there, you were able to lend a helping hand when tasks got a little too overwhelming—and things got a little easier from there. You and Seokjin began to spend time together on and off the clock since.

You weren’t sure if it was the adrenaline or the mixture of raging hormones from being together, but the two of you decided to give dating a shot not too long after. It lasted for a solid two months—and while it had to come to an end, you both concluded that you were happier as friends.

And it was true. You and Seokjin have been inseparable since.

“____,” you heard the head chef call out your name, which instantly reeled you back to reality. Glancing down at the burnt dough on the tray, you felt a surge of warmth rush through your cheeks, knowing that you were about to be scolded at any second. “Are you okay? Ever since you came back from your lunch break, something’s been off.”

“No chef, nothing’s wrong,” you lied, walking over to the nearby garbage can to throw the current batch of dough away. A reassuring smile soon formed across your lips. “Just tired.”

If it wasn’t for you spiraling during your lunch break after Seokjin had left, maybe you would be in a better head space. But of course, spending the last ten minutes of break thinking about what went wrong in all of your relationships didn’t exactly help anyone at all.

The head chef could see through your lies too. And rather than questioning it, he only continued piping cream on the freshly cooled pastries on his side of the counter. “Maybe you need some fresh air,” he added with a shrug of his shoulders, eyes concentrated on his work. It was evident he was still invested in the conversation with you, though. “There should be a shipment of mangoes coming in in about twenty minutes, do you mind bringing those boxes in here? Take all the time you need. I’ll work on making another batch of dough.”

“I can make the dough, chef!” you tried to protest, mostly as a way to convince your boss that you weren’t feeling too off (when in reality, you were). “It’s okay, the mangoes can wait.”

As you were about to reach for the measuring cups in a nearby counter top, you were met with a look from the chef that clearly said: Go get some fresh air. Now.

So, rather than questioning it, you did.

After washing your hands and hanging your apron by the door, you made your way outside of the kitchen and into the main hallways of the hotel. It was emptier than usual—mostly because it was a weekday afternoon, and the guests who were staying at the hotel were out. It was also the midst of October, and the influx of guests don’t usually start to come in until around Christmas-time. Which was fine, because you weren’t met with the stress of having to make hundreds of fruit tarts in a span of an hour. Instead, you were able to step out and take a small stroll, which was always nice.

Upon exiting the area where the stairs were (staff weren’t allowed to use the elevators, per Mr. Im’s orders), you finally arrived at the ground floor. You always felt so out of place in the main lobby, with or without your work uniform. With the spacious area matched with gray marble flooring and sleek interior design, it was never a place you imagined yourself staying in. Only the richest of the rich could afford even one night in this place, and you? Couldn’t even afford a proper meal for dinner on some days. Hotel Mudrin was known to be a hub for millionaires, celebrities, or rich families alike—not for struggling university graduates like yourself.

But sometimes, it was nice to dream.

Quietly humming to a tune of a song you heard in the radio earlier this morning, you casually strolled through the floor, making your way towards the back door where the shipments would be. The subtle smell of lemon from the newly mopped floors was an odd favorite of yours. From time to time you’d flash a friendly smile towards the guests or staff members you’d pass by. But before you could exit through the back and meet with the shipment truck, you decided to take a small pit stop to the front desk and say hi to your best friend.

“Dude,” you began the minute you saw Seokjin behind the front desk. His eyes were on the computer screen in front of him, typing and clicking away, but you knew him well enough to know that he was probably playing a game of Minesweeper like he always does. Crossed arms resting on the desk, you then rest your chin on them as your eyes look up to your friend on the other side of the counter. “Remember when I wanted to cry because I realized I’ll probably be single and alone forever? Well my boss—”

As you continued to ramble on, Seokjin’s eyes finally met with yours. They weren’t eyes that meant he was ready to listen to you vent, no… they were wide. Like he was in a state of shock.

He quickly began to shake his head, which caused you to raise an eyebrow in slight confusion. Did he want you to stop talking? Shut up? Right as you were about to say something though, his lips began to mouth the words ‘I’m busy’ over and over again.

That was when you knew, you fucked up.

The truth was, Seokjin was still busy tending to a guest, and you interrupted him actually working. Turning around, you briefly spotted the guest he’s been helping, and god—it was obvious by the look of your face that you had just embarrassed yourself into the next century.

“Sorry sir!” you apologized quickly, heat beginning to rush through your cheeks while you bowed for the hundredth time in the span of thirty seconds. Rather than making proper eye contact like any normal person would, your view was glued to the floor. “I honestly didn’t see you, and I know I should’ve, but—”

“It’s okay! Don’t worry about it,” he soon interrupted by providing reassurance. Once you heard a string of laughter from his end, you knew that he was understanding enough of the situation. “I get it.”

While you still couldn’t find the strength to really look him in the eye, you only returned with a sheepish laugh. It wasn’t every day you found yourself acting like a complete fool in front of a hotel guest (that was more of Seokjin’s speed in all honesty), so you didn’t exactly know how to fix the situation. Instead, you ended up sitting there in silence until Seokjin rescued the conversation.

“Alright!” he chimed in with the clasp of his hands, which was obviously your cue to slowly walk away. “You’re all checked in until the 31st, Mr. Kim. Let me grab your bags and take you to your suite.”

As you were about to leave, of course, you couldn’t go without embarrassing yourself one last time. Just as you were about to make a beeline towards the break room—also known as the place you were going to scream in—you managed to bump into this guest in full force.

Looking up, you finally had the chance to take a good glimpse of the person in front of you. He was tall, muscular, with ash blond hair that was parted in the center. His almond eyes were practically gleaming behind his silver frames, and it paired well with the two dimples perfectly placed on each cheek.

In other words, he was gorgeous. And completely out of your league. Which is probably another reason why you were feeling flustered beyond belief at this very moment.

“Are you okay?” he asked softly. It felt like a movie—with both of his hands gently placed on each of your arms to provide support, gentle eyes locked on yours. You could’ve sworn you felt your heart stop, whether if it’s from being embarrassed or… swooned, even.

Swallowing thickly, you managed to let out a small “yeah,” before fixing your stance. He eventually let go, and the two of you were able to laugh it off for a little. “But are you okay, sir?”

“Didn’t even hurt,” he reassured, flashing that smile that accentuated his dimples really well. An open then was reached out as an offer. “You can call me Namjoon. Do you work here?”

But before you could even keep the conversation going, of course, Seokjin had to butt in. Literally. “Let me help you with that, Mr. Kim,” he urged with a friendly, yet painful smile as he walked in between you and Namjoon. He then reached down to pick up the leather suitcase that was sitting right beside the guest’s leg. Eventually, Namjoon had to retract his hand.

You took it as your cue to leave, so you excused yourself from the two without saying goodbye.

Thankfully there wasn’t anyone in the break room to look at you quietly take a moment to freak out over what just happened. If Namjoon wasn’t so good-looking and one hundred percent your type on paper, maybe you would’ve shrugged the interaction off by now. But you kept thinking over and over about how you were going to run into him again in one way or another—especially since he plans on staying at the hotel for over three weeks. All he had to do is walk into the hotel’s dining area to have dinner, and you’d be there. Not even as you off the job, but you in that stupid apron and chef’s hat.

Head dug into your arms as you leaned on the table, you tried to think of something—anything to get your mind off of what just happened. Letting out a deep exhale, you decided to take your phone out of your pocket and scroll through your e-mails. The first thing that caught your attention was an opened one, the one you received from that psychic about your soulmate.

Your soulmate is a man who is hard-working and bright, he will constantly continue to prove that he can be trusted and counted on by your friends and family…

Your eyes continued to read through the reading the photo was attached to, which was oddly comforting. To know that there was someone out there who could potentially be everything you’re looking for.

He is understanding, forgiving and respectful, even when you sometimes make mistakes…

Deciding to skim through the rest of the reading, you opened up that picture once again. You couldn’t help but notice something you didn’t the first time you saw it, and that was the small details on his facial features. He has three beauty marks: one sitting on the bottom of his eye, on his cheek, and one placed perfectly on the tip of his nose. You could’ve sworn those weren’t there before.

“And I thought I was the one who’s always the embarrassment at work,” you heard the familiar voice barge inside the break room, which obviously belonged to Seokjin. He walked over to where you were sitting and rested his chin on the top of your head, arms dangling from each side of your shoulders. “Jesus Christ bubs, you were a mess out there.”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” you murmured grumpily, placing your phone back in your pocket. “Do you think he’s going to tell Mr. Im? I can’t be blacklisted from this place, I need my job.”

Seokjin only laughed. “Stop being so dramatic. He seems too nice to do that.” Shaking his head, he sighed. “Plus, I’m eighty-five percent sure he was hitting on you.”

“Ha ha, very funny,” you retorted while rolling your eyes. “As if he found my dirty uniform and the flour in my hair sexy.”

“You’re right, there’s nothing sexy about you,” he playfully joked back, which made you elbow him in the stomach. And all he did was laugh after. “What are you doing out here, anyway? Aren’t you supposed to be helping Chef Seong making those pies for tonight’s desserts?”

You sighed, nodding your head in response. “I’m supposed to be bringing a shipment of mangoes in from the back. Are you on your break? Do you want to come help me?”

With your best friend agreeing to accompany you to your trip to get the mangoes, the two of you head out of the break room and towards the back entrance of the hotel. As you opened the door to go outside, you noticed that the truck was already parked in front, with a few boxes of mangoes neatly stacked on top of one another. So, you decided to get to work and grabbed the first two boxes you see.

“Are these all of it?” you heard Seokjin ask (possibly the driver of the truck). You couldn’t really see, because the boxes were obstructing your view.

“There’s two more left,” the other person, who sounded like a man, replied. “Let me get those out.”

You made about two rounds in and out of the hotel before all of the boxes outside were brought in. Seokjin had to do the absolutely most as usual bringing way more boxes in than he could carry, and while he tried to play it cool as much as possible, you could tell he was struggling. His trembling arms were a clear tell that he could drop everything at given moment.

“Are you sure you don’t need any help?” you asked him, trying to suppress the laughter bubbling inside you.

“Does it look like I need your help?” Seokjin scoffed, which only made it harder to keep your laughter in. He couldn’t even look at you as he tried walking inside, because he was far too concentrated in keeping all of the mangoes inside these boxes. “Go away, you’re distracting me and my strength.”

As he continued to carry the boxes inside, you watched a couple of mangoes fall out and roll on the ground in front of you. He didn’t even seem to notice, because he kept walking. You only shook your head before bending down to quickly pick them up before they get too dirty.

Assuming that you’ve picked everything off the ground, you stood up and tried to catch up to Seokjin, who was already by the door. But rather than joining him, you were stopped. “Excuse me, miss!” you heard the foreign voice enter your ears. “You forgot these!”

You turned around to grab the mangoes out of the driver’s hands. “Thank you,” you replied with a soft smile. “Sorry about my friend, he’s—”

When you looked up to meet his gaze, it was as if what you were about to say next was thrown at the window. The person standing in front of you looked familiar. Even with the brim of his large straw hat hovering over his eyes, you could clearly see the prominent beauty marks on his features that resembled the ones of your soulmate in that one drawing.

It was him. It had to be.

#kim taehyung x reader #kim taehyung imagine #bts fanfic #bts imagine #taehyung fanfic #v x reader #bts fluff #taehyung fluff #v fluff #kim taehyung #bts #bts series #bts fics

81 notes · View notes