#easier to catch wind and fly at a moments notice

[verrixstudios]

Tribe a day except I forgot to post yesterday?

This one is just a simple skywing run cause I thought it’d be pretty cool to draw how I thing each tribe runs different!

Edit:

[ID: a sketchy animation of a Skywing from Wings of Fire running, referenced to a cheetah. Its large wings remain semi-folded but upright to let air go both over and under as it runs. The art is done with messy red lines on a pinkish background and the 6 frames are numbered. End ID]

[sokadraws]

It always happened at dusk. When the sun dipped below the horizon, the sky seemed to be crossed out with black, swift strokes. They seemed to be flying, fleeing the fire - quickly, not seeing anything around. Large ravens, nimble sparrows, starlings - they were all black as night.

Only Crosshair saw birds. At the moment of their appearance, everyone around behaved as usual. No one looked up, no one opened his mouth in silent surprise. And above them, seated on thin branches and wires, black silhouettes flickered. And each time they got closer and closer to the Marauder.

In one clone was lucky - he slept quietly. He breathed evenly, never woke up screaming. It was easier that way: he didn't have to tell the guys about his problems, to catch sympathetic glances. He doesn't need it.

Over the years of the same nightmares, the birds had become a kind of harbinger for him. Cross was wary of missions before which he noticed birds in the dense crowns of trees.

After order 66 the nightmares stopped. And there was nothing else to look at: the day before, the black creatures had completely occupied the ship. A dream in which his brothers were no longer there. Nobody even came to the call. In silence, a huge raven glided from the top of the shuttle, made a couple of circles around the clone, and landed on the back of its head. With a flourish, with a short nod, he pecked at his right temple.

Mayday quietly steps ahead, tearing apart the darkness with a beam of a lantern. The noise of a blizzard does not allow anyone to hear how the snow creaks under their feet.

Only the cry of a vulture breaks through the howling wind.

———

abt a headcanon where Crosshair's afraid of birds (ornithophobia)

[pocket-sized-nightmare]

my third entry for @mcyt-yuri-week!

prompt: hurt/comfort

ship: gem/pearl (hermitcraft)

The first few days after coming back from a death game are always the hardest.

Pearl is having an easier time with it than she did after Double Life, but she’s still struggling to adjust to her life on Hermitcraft. The sound of ticking clocks or the shimmer of enchanted items still makes her freeze up, and it takes several reminders from multiple Hermits before Pearl remembers she’s allowed to wear a helmet again.

Luckily, she’s not the only one in that position – all the other Limited Life hermits are experiencing the same problems. False jokes to Pearl a few days after they all get back that she can tell who played the death game by who’s wearing an incomplete set of armor. Pearl is glad to be able to laugh about it again, but she has the sinking feeling that she’s simply burying her trauma under bad jokes. Still, she can laugh off almost anything… except for storms.

If ticking clocks were a symbol of impending death, thunder showed its unavoidable presence. A clap of thunder and a lightning strike accompanied every final death in Limited Life, and Pearl has learned to associate the sound with the loss of someone she loves. She has her strategies for dealing with it – earmuffs, Otherside and Cat on repeat, and trying to sleep through the worst of Hermitcraft’s weather – but they can’t solve everything.

About a week after the end of Limited Life, this turns out to be a problem.

Pearl is mid-flight back to her base when storm clouds abruptly gather above her. She sighs and flies faster, hoping to make it back home before the rain starts.

Unfortunately, the rain starts less than five seconds later.

It quickly escalates from a few drops to a pouring rainstorm. Pearl rolls her eyes, pulls her hood over her head, and tries to keep flying. With any luck, she’ll make it home before the water weighs down her wings.

A few minutes pass, and the rain only worsens. Panic begins to build in Pearl’s chest. She knows what storms look like, and this doesn’t seem normal for one of them. As if to confirm her fears, a beeping alarm suddenly rings out from her communicator. She takes her eyes off the sky for a moment to check the alert.

<Hermitcraft EAS> ADMIN: EMERGENCY ALERT

<xisumavoid> hello everyone

(Despite her anxiety, Pearl almost laughs aloud at the tonal shift.)

<xisumavoid> i’m sure most of you have noticed this by now, but we’re currently experiencing a weather glitch

<xisumavoid> weather commands aren’t working, and the server keeps spawning storms

<xisumavoid> i’m doing my best to fix this as quickly as possible, but until then, it’s only going to worsen

<xisumavoid> everyone needs to take shelter as soon as possible. this is about to turn into a hurricane

There’s a moment of panicked silence, both in the chat and the server at large.

<xisumavoid> limited life people especially i am so sorry. this will be fixed soon

Right on cue, Pearl’s wings become too heavy to move. She glides to the ground and lands painfully in the mud. “Great. No more flying.”

To make things worse, she’s in the middle of an open field. She can just barely see the lights of the Soup Group bases from behind the fog, but her only way to get there is on foot.

An echo of thunder sounds behind her, and she panics and runs.

Pearl stumbles across the muddy field for a few blocks before she realizes she isn’t alone. There’s someone else fighting her way through the hurricane – someone else with bright red hair, deer ears, and antlers.

“Gem!” Pearl screams. The wind drowns out her cries.

Pearl tries to catch her breath against the raging wind. The world feels overwhelming and crushing, and it’s all she can do to hold onto a single affirmation of it’s fine, it’s fine, it’s fine. They’ll be fine. Gem will make it home, and Pearl will make it back to her alien base safely, and they have nothing to be afraid of–

A blinding flash of light and an enormous boom cut through her every thought as a bolt of lightning hits just a few blocks away from her. Gem, startled by the lightning, slips and falls to the ground with an awful thud. Pearl doesn’t realize she’s done the same until she reaches out to steady herself and her hands meet mud and grass. She instinctively reaches for her communicator to check for something, but it takes her a moment to remember what she’s checking for: Who died now?

There's no death message, but it still takes Pearl too long to remember that lightning is a natural phenomenon. She digs her nails into the dirt and takes shuddery breaths as Gem stands and stumbles towards civilization. It's fine. It’s fine, it’s fine, it’s fine…

A glint of shining blue catches Pearl’s eye as it moves slowly across the field in Gem’s direction. Pearl looks up, pushes her sopping wet hair out of her eyes, and freezes. An awful cry of terror fills her lungs and then dies in her throat. She can’t move. She can barely think.

There's a charged creeper after Gem.

Oh, void, Pearl’s mind screams in her ears. Oh, void, no. A charged creeper could kill her so easily, and then she’d be gone. Hermitcraft is supposed to have respawn on, but if the weather can be like this, who’s to say the death mechanics didn’t break too? I can't lose Gem. She means too much to me. I can't lose her. I won't lose her.

Pearl summons all the strength she has left and breaks into a run. The wind pushes her back, but she beats her wings fiercely and fights her way through the storm. Thunder echoes in her ears as she races across the grass, and the rain falls even harder until it seems to form a constant curtain enveloping the world.

The charged creeper hisses and flashes. Gem turns around and finally notices it. She’s experienced creeper explosions before, but a charged creeper is a new one for her. That amount of electricity won’t just kill her – it’ll hurt even after she respawns. Gem shrieks. She tries to run, but she’s fighting a losing battle with the storm. It feels like her feet are frozen to the ground. She’s going to die. Oh, void, she’s absolutely going to die–

Gem’s feet are suddenly swept off the ground as Pearl practically tackles her. As the charged creeper explodes with an earsplitting boom, Pearl wraps Gem in her arms and shields them both from the blast with her wings.

Even once the creeper is gone, Pearl and Gem stay on the ground for a moment, wrapped in each other’s arms as they try to catch their breath. Gem buries her head in Pearl’s shoulder and whispers, “Thank you.”

“Of course,” Pearl whispers back, trying to hide the pain in her voice.

Gem breathes deeply and pushes herself up to standing, then helps Pearl up. “Come on. We have to get out of here!” Before Pearl can say anything, Gem takes off running, leading Pearl behind her.

Their attempt to make it back to Gem’s house is a battle that seems even more intense than Limited Life. They dodge lightning, try and fail to shield themselves from the pouring rain, and catch each other when they slip on the flooded grass. Through it all, Gem and Pearl refuse to let go of each other’s hands. They’re Hermitcraft’s shiniest duo, the server’s most valuable treasure chest, and if they’re going to survive this storm, they’re going to do it together. (And if Pearl notices that Gem’s hand feels soft and warm in hers, or Gem can’t stop remembering the comforting feeling of Pearl’s arms wrapped around her and wings saving her life, neither of them say it out loud.)

After what seems like an eternity, Gem’s base comes into view. Gem sighs in relief and breaks into a sprint towards the door – only to realize Pearl isn’t holding her hand anymore.

Gem whirls around and sees Pearl collapsed on the ground.

“No!” Gem runs over to her. “Oh, no, Pearl! You took most of the damage from that creeper, didn’t you? Oh, Pearl, no, I wasn’t thinking…” She gently lifts Pearl up and slips her shoulder under Pearl’s arm, supporting Pearl as they both stand back up. “Come on. It’s just a few more blocks to safety. We’re not dying out here. I’ll make sure of it.”

Pearl takes a shuddery breath. “Okay. Let’s go.”

Summoning the last of their energy, Pearl and Gem struggle through the glitching storm and finally reach the safety of Gem’s base.

Gem throws open the door and pushes Pearl inside, then runs in and slams the door. 

Pearl sinks to the floor in pain. “Oh, void, that didn’t go well, did it?”

“It could’ve gone worse. One of us could’ve died.” Gem sits down on the floor next to Pearl. Now that they’re finally in the light, she can finally see the damage Pearl took from the creeper explosion. Pearl’s delicate wings are singed and fluttering randomly, as though there are still tiny currents running through them. From the way she winces when Gem puts a hand on her back, it’s obvious that Pearl’s back and shoulders are covered in even worse burns. Both Gem and Pearl are soaking wet, freezing cold, and covered in cuts and bruises. “I think I’m starting to understand what Limited Life was like,” Gem laughs awkwardly.

Pearl sits back and sighs, wincing with every movement. “Yeah, you’re right. I may have overreacted. I’m so used to associating thunder with permanent death, and then I saw you, and…” Tears involuntarily spark in her eyes, and she does her best to blink them back. “And everything was glitching, and I was worried the respawn code was corrupted too, and…” She can’t hide her tears anymore. “I didn’t want to lose you…”

Gem is about to hug her when she remembers that Pearl’s back is too burned to touch. She settles for cupping Pearl’s face in her hands and kissing her softly on the forehead. “You won’t lose me. You saved me, Pearl.”

“We saved each other,” Pearl whispers back.

They sit there for another moment, too anxious to move, until Gem finally stands up with a determined expression. “Alright, we didn’t go through all that just to die of hypothermia. I have a first-aid kit somewhere in one of these chests, I think. Can I get a health check?”

“Um.” Pearl refuses to make eye contact. “Two hearts.”

“Two?” Gem nearly screams. “Pearl, you have to say these things! I wouldn’t have just sat around here in my living room if I knew you were on the edge of death!” She immediately leaps into action. “Okay, I’m gonna grab you a towel and some dry clothes. I think we’re about the same size. I have some golden apples, healing potions, magma cream… let’s get you fixed up, alright?”

Pearl nods. Gem disappears for a moment, then returns in a new outfit with her hair wrapped in a towel. She carries a small pile of clothes and a purple shulker box with First-Aid Kit written in her signature messy cursive handwriting. “Okay, drink this first.” She hands Pearl a sparkling pink potion. Pearl downs the entire bottle in seconds and sighs in relief as the burning pain in her back lessens bit by bit.

“Better?” Gem asks, taking out two golden apples from the first-aid kit – one for her and one for Pearl. “Here, have one of these, too.”

They eat their golden apples at the same time. Comforting purple sparkles drift around them both, restoring health wherever they fall. Gem wraps Pearl in a towel. “I brought you some dry clothes, if you want to change out of what you’re wearing.”

“That’s really sweet. Thank you so much. It’s just…” Pearl’s voice trails off as she awkwardly gestures to her wings.

“Pearl.” Gem almost laughs. “Do you really think I would hand you clothes I know you can’t wear? Look.”

Pearl unfolds the clothes that Gem gave her. There’s a pair of fuzzy white socks and denim jeans embroidered with sunflowers, but Pearl notices the third item in the pile most of all: a soft blue sweater.

Pearl unfolds the sweater and holds it up. The phases of the moon are stitched into the front, the sleeves are the perfect length, and–

She flips it over and realizes something.

There are two perfectly moth-wing-sized holes crocheted into the back.

“Gem, did you…”

“I had a bunch of time while everyone was away on Limited Life. And also way too much wool. So I thought I’d try to make you something! I was going to give it to you at a more, um… opportune time… but I guess this works too.”

“Gem, this is incredible. I love it. I love it so much, Gem, I can’t believe this. It’s perfect. You’re perfect. I…” She trails off as she realizes what she’s said.

Gem blushes beet red. “I’m glad. I really wanted it to be good.” She chuckles. “Only the best for my– for the precious pearl of Hermitcraft, right?”

“Thank you. Thank you so much. I don’t know how to thank you enough for this. I’m gonna go try this on now.” Pearl disappears behind a door as her tears begin to fall again – not from pain, but instead from love.

By the time Pearl returns in her perfectly-fitting moon sweater, Gem already has two bowls of beetroot soup and a pumpkin pie on the table. “Late-night snack?”

“Yes, please.” Pearl happily sits down at the table and takes a sip of soup. “Oh, that’s so good.” “I do my best,” Gem says with a grin.

They sit and eat together as the storm outside slowly lessens. After a few minutes, a message pops up on their communicators:

<xisumavoid> weather glitch should be fixed!

<xisumavoid> i won’t change the weather before the storm stops because i want to make sure it’s totally resolved

<xisumavoid> but it shouldn’t be a hurricane outside anymore

<Grian> THANK YOU X

<ZombieCleo> you’re a lifesaver thank you

<PearlescentMoon> oh that’s awesome! thank you so much

<falsesymmetry> now please get some sleep x

<falsesymmetry> it’s long past midnight

“It is?” Gem asks, looking around.

“Oh, wow,” Pearl says, realizing the same. “I guess I didn’t notice it with the storm going on. I should be going home now, shouldn’t I?”

Pearl stands to leave, but Gem grabs her hand. “Want to stay for the night? The rain isn’t gonna stop anytime soon.”

That’s how they end up curled up together on Gem’s bed, resting in each other’s arms. Every so often, Pearl jumps in alarm at the thunder, but Gem’s quiet embrace is enough to ground her every time. They fall asleep together that way, keeping each other warm and safe until long after the weather glitch has passed.

It almost (not quite, but almost) makes Pearl and Gem wish there would be storms more often.

[savebatswingaus]

Scuffle on the sand dunes - 3rd Life SMP fic

Fic in the link or under the cut. :3 This too is a repost

Summary:

Grian is running from the Red Winter Prompt: Escape / flight / hiding Tw/Cws: Violence, referenced death, sort of implied shipping (Scarian)

Notes:

THERE IS NO WING INJURY!! (Needed to mention because there are plenty of otherwise great fics that I can't read due to not knowing if they contain my one and only trigger. *sigh*) Tw/Cws: Violence, referenced death, sort of implied shipping (Scarian) Words: 1,203

Grian panted as he ran, wings half extended as he tried to find a good place to take off from. The red army had been on his tail for at least a mile now, and though it was clear that both parties were tiring, neither seemed to be giving up so easily. (Curse this land! He had never been best friends with any of the red winter, but he had never been on bad terms either, what had this awful place done to them?)

He hopped over a pile of gravel, flapping his wings to send himself over the three there were. (But not quite flying yet, he would be too good of an arrow target so close for the others.) He heard Ren make a short yell of anger as he had to dodge around the blocks, for, even though it was only a few blocks of difference, he was fully armored and having trouble running in the sand, and this kept him behind by quite a lot.

Legs shaking with the effort to keep running, Grian powered on, hair and feathers flapping in the wind to join the bursts of sand that rose from his steps. He was tired, and he didn’t want to keep going, but the fear of death kept him running. Jumping around cactuses and over casums. (Every move slowed more and more of the group following him, though he did notice that Martyn was gaining. Those short-ish legs sure packed a powerful jump.) 

This didn’t make him feel very good. 

Martyn had already proved that he was willing to kill for Ren, even if it meant leaving him at a red life in the middle of a permadeath situation. (And it was obvious why the drops of sweat had escalated in amount, now not only was Grian tired almost to death and in the middle of a desert, but also not able to throw off one of the only Red Winter members he truly believed to be capable of murder.) But as it turned out, he didn’t have to run much longer, for he had spotted a good place to start flying. 

Grian felt a smile dawn on his lips as reached the edge of a dune, knowing that the extra space to flap his wings was always wanted in a high speed flying chase. (Much easier to take off if you weren’t either awkwardly fluttering or hitting your wings on the ground.) He braced himself for only a moment, so as to spread his wings and set up his jump. He would have wanted more time, but Martyn’s breath was now clearly audible, and as Grian jumped and beat his wings downward, he felt a hand catch around his ankle.

He screamed as he was dragged down, body hitting the soft sand with a loud pompf sort of noise. But he wasn’t paying attention to the honestly humorous sound of him hitting the ground, because he was too busy dodging the stomping feet being aimed at his head. He rolled from side to side, sand clogging his feathers and sticking to his sweatshirt as he struggled to get away from his attacker. But due to Martyn having a foot on either side of him, he wasn’t able to go very far in either direction. In fact, due to this, the man’s diamond boot came down on the center of his forearm. Pain instantly bloomed in a way that told Grian that he was going to have a bruise soon. 

Retaliating, he flailed out to either side, hoping to unbalance Martyn with one of his wings. On the first try, it didn’t work, Martyn instead reaching down to grab one of them, intending to hold him in place by it. . . .But this didn’t end up working for him, because the second the grimy finger of his enemy touched the red-brown fingers, Grian flailed again. 

This try was more successful, half due to how unbalanced Martyn had become (what with bending over to hold a wing in place) and half due to the panic caused by said grabbing-of-wing. Grian shoved Martyn off of him and hopped up to his feet. Listening to the angry shout from a now nearby Etho as Martyn tripped over the wing he had previously been holding. But Grian could not watch him fall, he had to get out of here. 

And so, he dove after Martyn, spreading his wings and gliding a few feet before beating the feather covered limbs downwards. (Arms and legs close to his body as he anticipated the change in speed he was about to experience.)

Instantly, he shot upwards, two small clouds of sand sparking up after him, momentarily blinding Etho as the polar bear hybrid caught up with him. Grian felt an instant relaxing of his legs as he began to spiral farther upward. (Hoping to get above cloud cover, and therefore out of bow range.) Below him, he could hear Martyn yelling angrily as he slid down the hill, and Grian could imagine the dune crumbling slightly as he fell down it. ‘Serves you right,’ he hissed to himself, still steadily climbing, ‘That’s what you get for chasing me for so long.’

Of course, Etho was smart enough to pull out his bow and begin firing, but due to Grian anticipating the move, the arrows didn’t do much to slow him down. (One whizzed past his face so close that it nearly took off his ear.) 

But Grian did manage to escape eventually, the ear shattering shrieks of anger from the Red Army muffling after him as he dove into a cloud. Internally, he did know that he wouldn’t be able to get much farther, as the air had begun to thin, and his already tired body just didn’t need to deal with that right now, but externally, the cold weight of the water droplets felt rather nice. 

He knew he should probably fly as far away as possible, but due to the ache in his wings (especially the one that he had overturned Martyn with) he knew that he was going to have to rest soon. It wouldn’t cause any long term damage, no not at all, but Grian was smart enough to overwork himself. Unlike how Ren treated those below him. The robin hybrid scoffed at that, Ren obviously did not understand the way that muscles worked, if he had, then Grian wouldn’t even be in this situation in the first place.

What did they all agree to do in this world? Collaborate to find a way out? Yeah, that plan hadn’t worked out. It should have been rather easy to just keep together, but here they were, chasing each other with Power Three bows and Sharpness Five swords. Grian scoffed at this too, ignoring the fact that he had been a major part of the decay of the normality in their group. (If he didn’t think about it, it wouldn’t be real.)

Instead, Grian shifted his path to that of his and Scar’s base, excited to tell him about his little scuffle on the sand dunes. (And inform him to maybe be more careful who he stole the pants off of.)

Notes:

This is sort of awful and only two pages in my google doc but whatever. (But I hope you liked it anyway!)

[baastetscribbles]

Saving the Priestess

The sun had just begun to bathe the land with its light when Velyn Alfyr stabbed an ornate gold and silver blade into the ground at the edge of a cliff overlooking Greenguard Forest. They pulled a jar full of ashes from their pack and smiled sadly down at it.

“See, dad? You knew we’d make it back to this spot.” They said quietly to themself as they pulled the lid off before dumping the ashes off the cliff. Almost as if on cue a heavy gust of wind came from behind Velyn, catching the ashes and taking them swiftly over the trees. As Velyn pulled the sword from the ground a shadow fell over them. Before they had a chance to look up, something large seemingly crashed into the ground at bottom of the cliff. Velyn held the sword toward the foe, hand held steady only thanks to years of training. A full grown red dragon slowly leveled its gaze on the human before lowering its head and revealing the two riding on its back. A small red Moglin, an almost catlike creature that stood like a person, and a woman wearing an ornate white and gold robe with a hood that obscured her features kneeling next to it. The moglin leapt from the dragon to the cliff with little effort, offering Velyn a nod.

“Hiyas,” he spoke before turning back to the woman, “The path is clear, Priestess!”

The woman stood, carrying an odd black box with her that Velyn hadn’t noticed before. 

“Pardon us, we’re just passing through.” She said as she walked after the Moglin, whom had begun to walk further into the trees, away from the cliff. 

Velyn stood blinking for a moment as they processed everything that had happened over the last twenty seconds. The dragon lifted its head slowly and stared at the human once more before it spread its wings and launched itself into the sky once more. 

After another minute of stunned silence, Velyn turned and began to lightly jog after the priestess. They had only gone thirty feet or so when the moglin came flying through the air back at Velyn, as if it had been thrown or kicked. Velyn threw the sword aside so they could catch the creature, almost being knocked off their feet for the effort.

“You okay?” They asked as they set the moglin down.

He seemed to gather himself before responding in a shaky voice, “No but I thank you for catching me. We were attacked by a gorillaphant, the priestess needs help!” He then began to sprint in the direction that he had just come flying from. Velyn scrambled to grab their sword before sprinting after the creature. Without thinking they ran at the large gray creature, barely registering the priestess standing off to the left. With a yell they swung the sword wildly around in an odd display that made them look larger to the gorillaphant but to any passerby would make Velyn look a little unhinged. The beast snorted then charged at the would-be hero, forcing Velyn to leap to the right. The beast crashed through the trees behind Velyn and continued onward, likely in search of easier prey. 

The Priestess turned to Velyn and spoke, “Thank you for saving us. May I know your name?”

Before Velyn could respond however, the moglin spoke up, “But Priestess, I thought you said their name was Velyn and that they’re the one destine-”

The Priestess cut the moglin off with a loud sigh, “Twilly..” She gave him an irritated look before turning back to Velyn, “Alas, we’re out of time. I must ask an important favor of thee. Would you please let Captain Rolith know that we're taking the shortcut? He's just ahead in Oaklore Keep,” she gestured in the direction she spoke of, “and worry not hero, I am certain we shall cross paths again.” 

“Especially since they’re is going to take that Black Dragon Box and-” Twilly began.

But with another heavy sigh and a much snappier tone, the Priestess cut him off again. “Twilly! We must be going now.”

With that, the two began heading deeper into the woods once more. Velyn stood a moment blinking and wondering what they were supposedly destined to do. With a shake of their head, they began to head in the direction the priestess had pointed out.

The first thing Velyn saw as they finally broke through the trees was the large brown dragon standing next to the main entry gate of the keep. Down by the dragons feet stood a man with a long black beard wearing some dark gray armor that gave him the odd appearance of being partially dragon himself. The keep itself was surrounded by a large stone wall, but the center of it looked as if the original builders used a very large tree as the foundation. As Velyn approached, a knight in silver armor waved them over.

“Hold, friend,” the knight said, “state your business in Oaklore Keep.”

“Oh, uh, sure, this lady in a white robe said to find Captain…Rith?” Velyn said, keeping an eye on the dragon.

“You must be talking about the Priestess. You’ll find Rolith just inside.” The knight said, a smile in his voice. “Open the gate!”

The large wooden gate began to rise, lifting just high enough for Velyn to enter before it began to lower once more. Just inside the gate was a courtyard with a large set of double doors leading into the base of the tree that the fort was built in and around, while to the left and right there were additional knights and doors. Standing just off to the right of the large doors was a man in shining grey plate armor, a large ornate silver and gold hammer sat head down by his feet. He looked over at Velyn with an heir of authority that led Velyn to believe he was the captain they were searching for. 

“Excuse me, sir,” Velyn began, but the other man cut them off.

“Captain Rolith at your service citizen, what do you need?” He gave a friendly smile as he spoke, though Velyn noted that he did shift his grip on the handle of his weapon in case he needed to swing it from its position on the ground.

“Ah, perfect, this Priestess in a white robe said-” But Velyn was once more cut off mid sentence.

“What!? You saw the Priestess?! Where is she?!” Captain Rolith was shouting so loudly that a couple of the other knights around drew their weapons and began to look for whatever the threat may be.

“I, uh, yeah, she said she was cutting through the shortcut to get to Falcronreach,” Velyn said.

“She’s in grave danger, we need to go after her,” Rolith said in a panic, “the forest is crawling with bandits that are looking for her!” 

Velyn nodded and turned around to leave through the gate as Rolith shouted for it to once more be raised. Captain Rolith charged forward into the trees, Velyn scrambling to keep up with him in his mad dash to reach the Priestess.

After a few minutes Rolith slowed, talking to Velyn quietly as he did so. 

“You go left, I’ll go right. Our mission is to protect the Priestess no matter what.”

And with that Rolith began to rush in his chosen direction, leaving Velyn to run the opposite way. After what felt like years but could have been only a few minutes, Velyn came across the Priestess standing with her back against a tree in a small clearing. The moglin Twilly stood between her and a group of bandits, his small staff raised defensively. Velyn hid quickly before peeking their head around the tree to get a more accurate read on the enemy. Three bandits stood across from the Priestess, two of them were in leather armor with hoods obscuring their features while the third wore a purple cape and an iron helmet that resembled a crown sat atop his dark hair. After a second Velyn realized the man was in the middle of speaking.

“Give us the box, Priestess,” he said with a sneer, “and we’ll kill you quickly.”

Without a second thought Velyn launched forward with a shout, drawing their blade as they moved.

“Velyn!” The Priestess shouted, “we must protect the black dragon box at all costs!”

“Leave them to me!” Velyn shouted back, “I don't know who you are or why you want that box, but you’d better-”

The bandit leader blocks Velyn’s blade, shouting, “My name is Drakath! I am the leader of the Darkwolf Bandits and the rightful ruler of this land! That box is the key to my throne, and there's no way that I'm letting a peasant like you keep it from me.”

Before anybody else could react, Rolith came crashing through the trees like an enraged gorillaphant while screaming “Priestess!”

He charged at the two remaining bandits, swinging his hammer with the same precision you’d expect of a sword user. The distraction of his arrival gives Velyn a chance to push their own attack against Drakath, slamming him with blow after blow of their blade.  Velyn’s blade slice at Drakath’s cheek, causing the man to leap back and snarl, “You got lucky this time, soldier!”

Velyn smirked, “Luck had nothing to do with it, and the name is Velyn. Remember it!”

Drakath glared as he continued to back into the trees while saying, “Oh, I will. You can count on that.” 

The two remaining bandits fled from Rolith, one dropping his dagger as he ran through the trees to escape. Velyn moved over to Twilly and the Priestess, keeping their head on a swivel as in case the enemies running away had been some sort of trap. 

“Are you two okay?” Velyn asked as they looked the others over.

“You arrived just in time, thank you,” the Priestess spoke, “However I must ask, would you accompany us to Falconreach Velyn? I would feel better knowing we had an escort what just happened.”

“Of course Priestess, I’d be happy to help.”

The Priestess seems to pause a second before smiling, “Ah my apologies, it seems I’ve neglected to introduce myself. I am Lady Celestia, of Sunbreeze Grove and this is my traveling companion, Twilly the Moglin.”

Velyn gives a smile and a nod of their head, “I’m Velyn Alfyr, though I believe you already knew that based on what Twilly said when we first met.”

Celestia nodded but didn’t respond as Rolith returned from his chase for the bandits.

“I couldn’t catch them Priestess,” he said, breathing heavily, “apologies.”

“It is okay Rolith,” She smiled at the captain, “you’ve brought me an escort to town. You’ve done more than enough to help.”

“Oh!” Rolith said, looking between her and Velyn, “well in that case, I’ll be returning to my post in Oaklore. Please send me a letter once you’ve reached town.” 

“Of course, captain,” Celestia said with another smile before turning to pick up the box, then to begin walking in the direction of the town. Velyn and Twilly followed behind her, the former holding their blade ready for anything.

[suofang]

Red swan (Thorfinn & OC)

•~~~~~~~~~~~~~~•

"Like a fallen angel washed away by the wind of time then fell

Into the starry night just like a (god)dess

Embracing me tight for eternity

Fly into heaven"

Those were his thoughts when he looked at him from behind, his heart beat with an incontrolable passion he thought was impossible. His heart beat at the rhythm of blond locks and scarred skin, it's the rhythm of a man with a battle-hardened soul.

He can't fool himself, since the first time he saw him, Thorfinn catched his attention. At first it was because he was his age, then it was his behavior, then those stolen moments of sincerity where his features looked more like the ones a teenager would have, and then, finally, that first time where he saw him smile at him, just, only for and because him.

Siegfried can't remember what did he said to see Thorfinn smile but since that exact moment, that smile were engraved with fire in his memory. Before he knows, he was drawing that smile and remembering it all the time. His own smile seemed to be more lovely each time he was with the blond.

And now, here they were, after Thorfinn's loss in his duel with Askeladd. The sun bathed the sky in gold like colours as the wind cares tenderly their hair.

"Oh, how beautiful he looks like this." Was his first though, but that was because Siegfried didn't saw him moments before, Thorfinn displayed his frustration towards every rock and tree in that hill, cursing at the sky, earth and the life itself for his defeat, ending up cursing at himself, remembering how weak he was, how foolish he was and how lonely he was, before he noticed his face was wet with salty pearls that rolled down his cheeks.

The long haired boy walked to him slowly and touched timidly his shoulder with his fingertips.

–Can I...?

The blond just looked at him with a frown, holding back his tears, silently allowing Siegfried to stay next to him.

–Are you ok...?

The answer was a shriek and a sharp breath. He knows how hardheaded and prideful Thorfinn is so, slowly and with a hidden hint of need to protect, Siegfried made him lay his head on his shoulder and caress his scalp just as he likes. Siegfried's heart breaks every time he sees Thorfinn like this, all beaten by life and his own chosen destiny, that's why he wants to make his life easier as much as he can with little gifts and as much confort as he can give, he wants to be his safe place where he can just pretend that everything is okay and live as the young boy he is.

That was his way to say him "I love you".

–Why... Do you keep standing by my side if I am like this? Pathetic... I couldn't even cut a single hair of his fucking balding head...– the rage, frustration and disappoinment flowed through each one of his words.

–Because I'm your friend, and I'll always be by your said no matter what...– Pain and love tinted his words, he smiles at that blond boy who owns his sinful heart.

"Like the scarlet night veiling the dark

You can hide your fear, can lie, my dear

Just dreaming forever like this

Those bloodstained wings, spread them wide"

•~~~~~~~~~~~~~~•

Angst again? YES PLEASE

I don't know why I keep doing this to me but every time I think about my boy I know he have to suffer from his love for Thorfinn.

Sorry, bud, you won't have your happy ever after.

[impulsivewcrewrite]

Chapter 4: Premonitions

With a brief stop to eat the herbs and choke down some fresh-kill, the quad started on their journey. They traveled mostly in silence. Thankfully, the cold wind warmed up as the sun rose, so by the time they had reached the moor, the chill was barely noticeable. 

Even though he was not Colonyborn, Rusty wondered how it would feel if ThunderColony had been chased out. Where would they go? Would he have stayed, like Pigeon, Rocky, and Wren did, in hopes that someday, his family and friends would find their way back? He hoped so. His heart ached at the idea of unwillingly leaving his Colony’s home, not knowing if he’d ever come back. Not to mention being exiled during a battle, after watching some of your Colonymates killed in front of you. 

“It’s really weird… the moor is so empty,” shivered Wren. At his words, Rusty winced. Being on their old territory, the WindColony cat seemed to have reverted to shouting. Pebbles had told Rusty that WindColony was known for being extremely loud, which hopefully would make them easier to find.

“Were you born in the Colony?” asked Rusty. He realized how little he actually knew about his friend. Besides the name of his mother, Aster, and his favorite prey being crow. Wren was a little older than Rusty, but he still had the playfulness of a young apprentice.

“Yep, after my grandmother joined,” Wren explained. “So supposedly I’m like half kittypet.”

“What’s WindColony like?” piped up Pebbles. He was furiously blinking in the wind. Rusty too found himself unable to keep his eyes open for very long. How could anyone live like this?!

“It’s pretty much the best Colony ever,” Wren casually bragged. He moved with ease across the springy ground, almost like he was dancing. “I mean, look at this place! It’s so beautiful. You have to see it in green-leaf, when all the heather and gorse is in bloom! All my Colonymates are really nice and friendly, it’s like one big family. Plus, my mentor is Cricket, the deputy. He’s so cool and brave. Once, he told me he threw a hedgehog at a ShadowColony cat!”

“You throw hedgehogs at ShadowColony cats!?” exclaimed Pebbles. “Why haven’t I gotten to throw a hedgehog?”

“Probably because you’d get poked, silly,” Rusty bumped his friend playfully.

“I can’t wait for you guys to meet my friends. Me and Rooster are practically the same cat, just in two different bodies,” continued Wren. “And Chirp is like, the smartest cat I know. She’s super pretty too. Someday, I want to be her spouse.”

“As long as I get to meet the hedgehog thrower, I’ll be content,” mused Pebbles wistfully. As they reached the top of a large boulder, the group paused to catch their breath. Rocky had been walking like a cat possessed. 

“Stop,” Rocky ordered, raising his tail suddenly. “I smell RiverColony.”

Rusty raised his nose into the air, and was hit with the fish smell. What was a RiverColony patrol doing so deep into WindColony territory? At the same moment, Rocky and Wren seemed to vanish into thin air.

“Get down here!” Rocky hissed. Rusty looked down. Under the boulder was a small pit. He and Pebbles slid down into it and held their breath.

Pawsteps thudded closer and closer. Rusty could hear a patrol fighting against the wind and brushes.

“Pwah! I think I swallowed a fly,” spat Snapdragon. 

“And whose idea was it to come hunting on Wind Colony territory?” purred a tom.

“Stuff it, Whirligig. At least I didn’t get scratched up by a rabbit,” snapped back Snapdragon. “Skylar, don’t you dare say anything either. It’s not like you were supposed to help him or anything!”

The pawsteps faded away quietly. After a few more moments, Rocky peeked out of the hole.

“We’re clear, let’s keep going,” he ordered. 

Picking up the faint WindColony trail, Rocky led the group up the moor and towards the farmland. From what little Rusty knew of farming, he gathered that the humans had collected their crops. Instead of fields of wheat, they were empty plots of dirt. Weeds poked through the ground here and there. 

“Do you think Raven is living in the barn?” breathed Rusty to Pebbles. His gray friend dipped his head. Raven’s departure had not been announced to the other Colonies. 

The smells of WindColony grew stronger. They were several moons old, but the potency of their fear remained. It led the group past the tilled farmland and into a small valley. What met them there was a fresh grave. A somber scene. 

After sniffing it, Rocky concluded that the head elder, Tranquil, had been buried there. Another loss. Rocky asked to sit alone by the grave for a while, so the youngsters waited under a bush. 

“I never really knew Tranquil,” Wren confessed. “But I know he was pretty old, from before Tatter even.”

“I’m sorry he died,” mewed Pebbles quietly. 

“S’alright,” Wren replied. His voice was also soft. “I’m just… a little scared. Y’know, like, if Tranquil died…” He pushed his face into his arms and took an unsteady breath. “I just hope mom’s OK.”

Wordlessly, Pebbles wrapped his tail around Wren. Rusty bunted him gently. “We’ll find her. I promise. And we’ll bring her home.”

He hoped that was a promise he could keep.

[itllsetyoufree]

“Does this help?” + kara being injured

All things considered, Lena’s Saturday has been startlingly unremarkable so far. The sun is shining, she’d had her usual cup of yogurt with sliced bananas for breakfast, she hasn’t gotten a single off-hours weekend call from work, and she’d even had time to read the Cooking section in the National City Tribune. The biggest thing on her calendar for the day is her weekly movie night with Kara, which she’d been quietly looking forward to since Kara had left her apartment after their movie night the week before.

There was a time in Lena’s life where the easy, almost leisurely flow of her day would have been alarmingly, disarmingly suspect. But with no attempts on her life and L-Corp running smoothly for the last year or so, Lena’s life has settled into something more… quiet. 

And on any other day, it might have continued that way. 

Because noxious gas-breathing, nine-legged alien dragons aren’t typically her problem.

She gets the notification on her phone, of course:

Emergency Alert: Rogue Alien Attacking National City Waterfront— alien is violent and unrestrained, exhales unidentified purple gas. Residents urged to remain indoors and to close all windows.

Lena sighs, rolling her neck to the side and grabbing her phone as she lifts herself off her couch to close her balcony door. Despite having a near-panoramic view of the water, Lena’s apartment is on the other side of town from the docks, but she winds her way around her apartment anyway and closes all of her windows just in case. She’s just shutting the last one when she fires off a text to Kara, telling her to stay inside and to not come over until the alien is taken care of, and don’t even think about going down to the docks to report on it, Kara, I know CatCo doesn’t have gas masks on hand.

She gets a single thumbs up in response, an unusually terse reply from Kara, who never sends one text message when three will do, but Lena doesn’t think much of it and just settles back down on the couch to flip on the news. 

She watches live as the alien positively obliterates several of National City’s piers with three of its arms. The video feed shows people diving out of the way as wet, splintered wood flies in every direction. The esplanade is littered with debris as the alien rears up again, swinging its tail against the surface of the bay and spraying rolling waves of water onto the shore. 

Lena blows out a heavy breath as she watches the destruction unfold before reaching out for her phone again. She’s just hitting send on an email to Jess, telling her to donate funds to the city to rebuild the docks, when the unmitigated panic on screen abruptly stops. 

She sits up straight on the couch as she watches the dragon puff out a billowing cloud of purple smoke. It unfurls along the embankment and the remaining parts of the boardwalk, and slowly engulfs the small crowd of people fleeing the waterfront and the remaining stragglers on the shoreline.

Lena watches, mouth parting in shock, as they all stop running en masse and slow to a halt. The newsfeed goes silent as the crowd stops screaming, even the newscaster losing his breath as everyone stands still, lolling around on their feet as if held up by rubber and not muscle, before they all calmly sink down to the ground and lay down. 

The sweeping shot of everyone resting on the ground seems to spur the news anchor back to life, and he resumes narrating wildly, jabbering and speculating like an auctioneer calling the Superbowl. 

The dragon stops destroying more of the docks to huff out another cloud of smoke at a helicopter nearby. Lena sucks in a breath as the helicopter wobbles in the air over the people on the ground, but it just floats softly down, landing gentle as a feather on the nearest open patch of grass. Lena pinches her eyebrows together, bewildered, but before she can think too much on it, there’s a red and blue streak zooming into the frame. 

Supergirl pulls up behind the dragon, and Lena only has a second to admire the sun glinting off her hair before Supergirl grabs the alien by one of its legs and flings it out toward the sea. 

From there it’s a whirlwind. Supergirl and the alien lunge and splash and swing at each other at a dizzying speed, spinning in the air and dragging each other under the water. The camera holds steady on them for several minutes until one final breathtaking moment. Both Supergirl and the alien breach out of the water and whirl to face one another. Supergirl’s eyes glow for a split second before her heat vision activates and scorches across the dragon’s abdomen. It crashes back to the water with a roar, but just before it sinks beneath the surface, it huffs out one final breath of smoke. 

It catches Supergirl visibly off-guard as she recovers from the fight, gasping for air just as it engulfs her. The newscaster goes silent once more, watching as Supergirl seems to go loose mid-air. She sways a little, drifting in the wind, a glassy, confused look on her face. Lena’s reaching for her phone, ready to call Alex to see if she can help, when Supergirl shakes her head and starts to fly, slowly and unsteadily, away from the scene. 

The newscaster and Lena heave a simultaneous sigh of relief, and Lena lets her phone drop back down to the couch. The news switches back to coverage of the dazed, lethargic people on the shore who seem confused but otherwise unharmed. Lena’s just relaxing back into the cushions, half a mind to open her windows back up to let in the breeze, when she catches movement out of the corner of her eye. 

She turns, watching as Supergirl floats shakily toward her balcony. 

When Supergirl lands, it’s with none of the elegance or athleticism Lena’s come to associate with her. There’s no graceful descent, no landing delicately on one pointed foot or shooting down from the sky to stop on a dime just before she hits the ground. Supergirl drifts closer and closer to her building, one foot outstretched as she reaches Lena’s balcony, but her foot catches on the top of the railing, and she topples over it, hands splayed out to catch herself. She spills over the banister and lands on her chest, legs arching up behind her and feet still hooked over the railing. She looks up at Lena through the glass window, eyes half glazed over and unfocused as her cape slides up the slope of her back to pool at the back of her neck. 

The sight of her, glassy and dazed and draped over her railing like a wet towel spurs Lena into action. She throws the balcony door open and rushes over, dropping to her knees and reaching out to run her hands down the length of Supergirl’s arms, cupping her cheeks and tilting her head to either side to look for bruises. 

“Supergirl! Are you hurt? Can you stand? Come, let’s get you to the DEO.” 

“Hi.” 

Lena stills, pausing her frantic checking of Supergirl’s pulse to actually take stock of the situation. 

Supergirl, seemingly unconcerned by her chin pressing into the concrete or being curled backwards over herself, blinks up at Lena. She looks untroubled, calm, her hair and suit still damp from the water but otherwise right as rain, but the expression on her face is… vacant. Her eyes are glossy, just slightly unfocused, mouth parted as she looks up at Lena. She looks open, unguarded, and completely unaware, and Lena recalibrates. 

“Supergirl, do you know where you are?”

“Your balcony.”

“And do you know who I am?”

“Lena.”

“Does anything hurt?”

“No.” 

“Can you untangle your feet so we can get you up?”

“Oh,” Supergirl remarks, like she hadn’t noticed her feet weren’t under her. She tries to twist around to look over her back at her feet, and she shuffles a little, unhooking the toes of her boots and falling fully onto the stone floor. 

Lena tsks and instinctually reaches out again, grabbing hold of Supergirl’s shoulders and helping her move until she’s sitting upright, propped against the balcony railing. Supergirl leans back against it, blinking slowly and looking blankly around, and Lena finds herself itching for the phone she left in the living room but unwilling to leave the woman in front of her while she’s so vulnerable. 

It isn’t like she hasn’t dealt with an incapacitated Supergirl before. Lena’s saved Supergirl from more than a handful of scrapes in the past couple years, but never like this, never while she was conscious, never while she seemed loopy and almost childlike. It’s easier to maintain her focus, Lena realizes, easier to put the worry aside and work on a fix when Supergirl is in grave danger, in desperate need of help. 

This, with her awake and seemingly fine but so disoriented is throwing Lena off guard. Normal citizens shouldn’t see their city’s hero downed and unconscious, but they shouldn’t see her like this either, unfocused and confused, almost as if she’d been drugged. It’s unsettling, deeply uncomfortable in a way Lena can’t put her finger on, and she can’t help but feel both protective and out of her element at the same time.

“Okay,” Lena says, keeping her voice soft and caring. “How about we get you over to the DEO so they can check you out?”

“No, thanks,” comes the quiet reply. “I’ll stay here.”

It’s Lena’s turn to blink confusedly back at Supergirl, but the woman is looking elsewhere. The soft breeze that’s been blowing all day blows an errant leaf off of one of Lena’s plants and into Supergirl’s lap, and Lena watches, latent sense of panic beginning to grow in her stomach, as Supergirl picks up the leaf and twirls it between her fingers.

“I really think we should get you over to the DEO. You seem a little… off,” Lena says, careful to phrase it as gently as she can to not cause any alarm. “What if I just have Director Danvers come here by herself?” Lena asks, half unsure why she’s humoring Supergirl before she realizes that Supergirl has probably never gone anywhere she didn’t want to go— on account of being strong enough to lift a space station. 

“No,” Supergirl responds again, simply, not rudely, “she’s not invited.”

Lena narrows her eyes at that, trying to sort out what kind of laughing gas this dragon has breathed out. 

“I think I’m in charge of that,” Lena retorts, but she sighs, because Supergirl just looks up at her and smiles dopily. 

“Okay,” Lena tries again. “Will you at least stand up and come inside? I can do some research on how to get these side effects to go away.” 

Supergirl acquiesces this time, or at least Lena thinks she does until Supergirl turns away from the open door to her living room. 

“I’ll stay out here,” she says, words slurring a little as she points to one of Lena’s deck chairs. “Need a little sun.” 

She sways on the spot, as if momentarily suspended by the breeze, before stumbling over to Lena’s deck chair and collapsing onto it. She trips on one of the legs and the chair breaks under her weight, but she doesn’t seem to notice, letting her eyes drift shut and tilting her chin up toward the sun. A small smile crosses her face as the sun warms her, and Lena finds herself unable to hold back a small smile of her own. 

“You’ve got twenty minutes,” Lena says, already planning out her research on alien dragons and a call to Alex in her head. “Then I’m making the call.” 

“Uh uh,” Supergirl hums, eyes still closed, and Lena raises both eyebrows. “Is’fine, Lena. Don’t call. Wanted to come here.”

The longer sentences are starting to ease Lena’s mind, but Supergirl’s response rattles around in her brain and she can’t help but ask.

“Supergirl?”

Supergirl just hums back at her again.

“Why’d you come here instead of going to the DEO?”

“Didn’t want to miss movie night,” she says, calmly while she exhales, like Lena had asked her what day it is and she’d said, ‘Saturday.’

Lena freezes. The pit of panic in her stomach drops out and her whole body clenches at the loss. She stands frozen, staring at the figure laying prone, sprawled out on her deck chair. Lena’s heart pounds. She feels the rapid thudding in her chest, hears it reverberate in her ears. She takes it in, the red boots and skirt, the blue suit, the cape, the blonde hair. 

Her eyes map the features on Supergirl’s face, and she realizes with some modicum of horror how familiar those features are. The point of her chin, the slope of her cheekbones, the nick of the scar above her eyebrow, the slightly upturned, charming pull of her mouth. It’s all— 

“Lena?” those eyebrows scrunch together and it comes out as a whine, and Lena is overcome. 

The panic disappears, instantly replaced by a tidal wave of worry, of affection, of bewilderment, confusion, and a little hurt.

“I’m here,” is what she blurts out in response, dropping onto the adjacent chair and wrapping her hand around Supergirl’s— Kara’s?— wrist, gentle, caring. “Hey, hey, I’m here. Are you okay?”

“Mhmm” Supergirl hums again, twisting her wrist to take hold of Lena’s hand. “Better already. Just need a nap and then we can watch a movie, okay?” Her voice is light and airy, and the smile droops off her face as she begins to fall asleep, but Lena can’t let her go, can’t be left alone with her racing mind. She needs to know, needs to be sure, and with a pounding heart, she presses on.

“Have—” Lena starts. Her voice cracks and she clears her throat and tries again, wiping the hand not enclosed in Supergirl’s tiredly across her brow. “Have you thought about what movie you want to see?”

“Which Star Wars are we up to?” Supergirl mumbles, half-asleep, and Lena feels her whole body clench with the confirmation as she sweeps her eyes up and down the figure in front of her with renewed worry, checking for injuries she knows aren’t there, because it’s Kara, it’s Kara, it’s Kara.

“Episode Six,” she whispers, tightening her hand around Kara’s. 

“That one. ‘S a good one.” Kara breathes back. 

Kara shifts on the chair a little bit, and small as the movement is, Lena thinks it looks the tiniest more purposeful, the tiniest bit less loose and floppy, and Lena feels her shoulders relax with it. It shifts something in her, the worry beginning to melt into a tender form of annoyance and she decides to push a little more. 

“Are you hungry?”

“Mm,” Kara hums, smiling again. Lena narrows her eyes at her. 

“Do you want Big Belly Burger for dinner like last time?”

“Mhmm yeah,” Kara murmurs, “and those fries that I like.”

Lena smirks, raising an eyebrow, but Kara is completely unaware. Lena squeezes her hand and stands. “I’ll order the food, and you can nap until it gets here, okay?”

“Mhmm thanks, Lena.”

“You’re welcome, Kara,” she says pointedly, but Kara doesn’t notice. Lena watches her smile in her half-asleep doze, her hand twitching a little until the smile droops off her face and she falls asleep just like that. Lena stands there, gaping at her for a moment, then makes her way inside.

Twenty minutes later, after a text to Alex and enough time spent slowing her racing heart, enough time spent with the news to know that the gas wears off on its own, eventually, she hears a sigh and a creak from outside. Supergirl— Kara, god, it’s Kara— is stretching on the deck chair, which appears to be hanging on for dear life, and Lena lifts herself off the couch, grabbing the bag next to her and making her way back outside.

She sets a glass of water down on the drinks table next to Kara’s head, watching as she shifts in the sun but doesn’t open her eyes. 

“How are you feeling, Supergirl?”

“Mhmm, good, sleepy,” Kara yawns.

“They pulled that dragon out of the bay,” Lena says casually, crossing her arms. “You did a great job. No one’s hurt. The effects of the gas seem to subside on their own.”

“Good,” Kara murmurs, tilting her head up into the sun again. “That’s good.” 

“The food’s here too,” Lena informs her, unable to hold back a smirk. “I got us a couple shakes as well.”

“Thanks,” Kara sighs happily. You’re the best.”

“But Kara?”

“Mmph?”

“You have to change out of your suit first. Wouldn’t want to get any residual alien goop on my couch.”

It’s exactly as satisfying as she thought it would be. Kara’s loose, floppy posture stiffens as her spine snaps straight, her eyes flying open as the chair finally gives out from under her. Lena watches the wheels turn once Kara hits the ground, sees Kara’s eyes bug out when they make eye contact. Kara’s flick down to look at her suit, then back up to Lena. 

Lena twists her wrist, letting the paper bag swing out toward Kara. 

“Your fries?”

[live-the-fangirl-life]

Twist of Fate

Aelin Galathynius x Rowan Whitethorn

Aelin and Rowan find second chances at love in each other. SongFic based on Twist of Fate by Olivia Newton-John.

Written for Rowaelin Month 2022 Day 1: SongFic

Masterlist | Read on Ao3 | Rowaelin Month

Warnings: a little sad, but mostly hopeful

1182 words

*******

Aelin awoke to light streaming in through the bedroom window.

Turning her head, she found Rowan sprawled beside her, his face relaxed in sleep. Slowly, so as not to wake him – it wasn’t often she was granted moments like this to appreciate the serenity that only sleep could bring – Aelin brushed aside a strand of silvery hair that had fallen across his forehead.

She’d done the same thing on the night they met.

It hadn’t been too late when she’d left her friends at the bar. They had tried their best to distract her, and while she appreciated their efforts, she hadn’t been in the mood to drink and dance.

It had been three years, but she couldn’t help the feeling of melancholy that fell upon her when Sam’s birthday came around.

It had taken her a while to grieve his loss. Most of the heartbreak had faded but there was still – and she expected always would be – the ache of the absence of a friend, a partner.

Months ago, when she’d unpacked an old box and found a photo of the two of them together smiling, she had loosed a long breath and made a promise to him that she would try her best to be happy. To move on and keep living her life. She knew it was what he’d have wanted.

It was easier said than done.

A few blocks away from the bar, Aelin had walked through a park near her apartment. The faint buzz of chatter filtered through the trees from one of the winding paths that stretched through the area. As she left, Aelin rounded the bend of one such path and collided with something solid.

What she’d never expected was to literally run into her second chance. That was when she met Rowan.

He had been lost in his own train of thought when they’d crashed and thankfully had the reflexes to catch her in a steady grip before she could fall back onto the hard pavement.

“Woah,” His grip loosened once she’d gotten her feet back under her, but he didn’t move away immediately. “Are you okay?”

His words were faintly brushed with an accent, his voice rolling the syllables and lifting her gaze upwards.

“Yeah. Sorry. Yes, I’m fine. Thanks.” Aelin fumbled briefly when she finally caught sight of his face. The tanned skin between his eyebrows was furrowed in concern and his deep green eyes scanned her face as she blinked, cleared her throat, and added, “That’s my bad, I wasn’t looking where I was going.”

His brow smoothed out and a small smile curled his lips. “Don’t worry about it.”

There had been an awkward moment of silence before he had realized his hand was still on her arm and he let go, stepping back. Aelin was surprised to feel a momentary flash of disappointment at the action. He cleared his throat, “Are you sure you’re okay…” he trailed off, not knowing her name.

“Aelin,” she supplied quickly and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear.

He nodded and his lips tugged upwards in a half smile. “Rowan.”

She wasn’t sure how they’d gone from standing in front of each other in the middle of the path to sitting down together on the bench Aelin had just vacated, but somehow, they found themselves caught up in conversation and before she knew it, she was noticing the sky turn darker as the sun went down.

When the wind picked up, Aelin had to hold her hair so it wouldn’t fly in her face. Rowan had done the same, brushing a hand up to hold back the front strands of his hair. When the gust died down, most of his hair stayed in place but a single rogue strand flopped in front of his eyes. Without thinking, Aelin reached up and brushed it away.

As soon as her fingers touched his skin, she realized what she’d done and pulled her hand back as her cheeks heated. “Sorry. Uh, it was nice to meet you, Rowan, but I should probably go…” she had trailed off, averting her eyes.

She felt strange. Nervous? Maybe. But not in a bad way. Aelin knew the feeling – the almost giddy, anticipatory butterflies in her stomach. It was the beginning of a crush. Gods, she’d just met this man. But she hadn’t felt like this in years. Especially not the sort of instant draw she was feeling towards him now.

And now she had probably ruined it by being weird and touching his hair.

She’d been out of the game way too long.

Before she could leave, Rowan caught her wrist and her eyes shot back to his. He hadn’t seemed weirded out, if anything the tips of his ears looked tinged with pink, but that could’ve been the light from the lamppost.

“Wait,” he asked, pulling out a piece of paper from his wallet and digging through his pockets before pulling out a pen. He scribbled something down and handed the paper to her. “This is my number. You don’t have to use it, you can throw it away as soon as leave if you want, but I’m glad I ran into you,” he flashed her a small grin that she returned, “so give me a call if you want to grab a coffee or dinner sometime.”

Aelin felt her grin widen as she carefully tucked the paper into her pocket. “I’ll think about it. Goodnight, Rowan.”

She felt his gaze on her as she walked away and couldn’t force away her smile as he called back, “Goodnight, Aelin.”

The next day, Aelin felt different. For the first time in a long time, she hadn’t woken up with her heart already hurting. She felt hopeful. Excited even.

She had called Rowan that morning, and when she eventually hung up, with a date to get ready for, she had a fresh spring in her step. She felt like she had a new beginning; like she was emerging back to the land of the living.   

One date turned into two which turned into ten and as time went by, Aelin found herself falling for Rowan.

She fell in love again. And so did he.

Aelin told him about Sam. Rowan told her about Lyria.

They had both loved and lost, and at times hadn’t believed they would, or could, find that kind of love again. But they had. In each other. Their love was deep and true, and something which they both worked hard to hold onto.

Life didn’t always allow for second chances, but they both realized that the other person was exactly that.

And neither took that for granted.

“Good morning,” Rowan’s gravelly voice broke through the quiet morning as his eyes cracked open. He hummed contentedly as Aelin brushed another strand of hair away, tightening his grip around her waist and pulling her more deeply into his embrace.

She smiled faintly and pulled her hand back. The morning light reflected off the emerald ring on her finger making the green jewel sparkle. “Good morning, my love.”

*****

Taglist:

@acourtofsnakes @allthebooksunderthemoon @astra-ad-mare @becarefuloflove @booklover41802 @charlizeed @cookiemonsterwholovesbooks @danibutterr @doubt-less @emily-gsh @enormousbooklover @foughtconquered @fromthelibraryofemilyj @hakunamatatazz @i-have-but-one-brain-cell @in-love-with-caramel-macchiato @jorjy-jo @lemonade-coolattas @mariamuses @mayhemories @midsizewitch @rowaelinrambling @morganofthewildfire @nerdperson524 @rowaelinismyotp @rowansfirebringer @sayosdreams @sheharahu @sleeping-and-books @stardelia @story-scribbler @superspiritfestival @themoonthestarsthesuriel @swankii-art-teacher @tomtenadia @westofmoon @whimsicallyreading @moodymelanist @realbookloverproblems @gracie-rosee @julemmaes @yesdreamblog @the-regal-warrior @rowanaelinn @thestoriesyoutell @autumnbabylon @sunflowermoonshinewrites @maastrash @annejulianneh111 @the-lonelybarricade @rowaelinscourt

[selfawarejester]

So, someone requested a fic where Blue Team rescues a Child!Reader from a war zone, but unfortunately Tumblr ate the ask. If you’re the one who requested it, please enjoy!

EDIT: found a screenshot! @simp-for-fictional-men-only, hope you like this!

Blue Team x Child!Reader (Halo)

It’s been a long “day”, even by Spartan standards.

Blue Team had been trying to repel Covenant forces on an Outer Colonies planet for over a week… but it hadn’t been enough. Command had called an evacuation, and after destroying a base to help the efforts, Blue Team had been ordered to help with final evacuation calls in the nearest town.

On the Pelican ride to town, there was a brief moment where they thought it was a waste of resources to send Spartans for an evacuation op, especially because the other Spartan teams were still doing the best they could to strike back at the Covenant; not necessarily to stop them anymore, just to hold them back long enough for the civilians to escape and maybe a little revenge. The events of the week, coupled with the guilt of their brothers and sisters still risking their lives, weighed on them heavily.

But at the end of the day, they’re glad they did: they found a group in the Rec center, a dozen people in the boroughs, twenty in an apartment complex — the Marines wouldn’t have been able to lift most of the wreckage that blocked them from escaping.

By the time they’d gotten to the outskirts of town, Blue Team had been left alone to sweep through the dead town. Chief considered just going to meet up with the Marines — surely, they could match the pace of the overloaded Troop Transports — and this area was just dilapidated factories and shady looking establishments that had long since been stampeded.

But a need to fulfil his task to completion stayed his hand… and thank god it did.

At first, it was just soft sniffles that sounded from the inside of the rundown factory. Chief and Kelly, who’d partnered up to search this side of the district, thought it was one of the many Jackals that had been posted in the previous sector wandering, or a Grunt that had been left behind after the Jackals had entertained themselves (in which case, they should probably put the thing out of its misery), so they go inside.

Chief goes first, moving carefully through the debris so as to not dislodge the wreckage, or disturb the corpses of the few soldiers and more civilians. He retrieves their dog tags, securing them in one of the compartments of the MJOLNIR, and Kelly follows, stepping where he does.

Slowly, the sound becomes louder and louder, wheezing and snotty sobbing. Definitely an injured Grunt, he thinks. It’s coming from under a slab of concrete propped up against a wall. Kelly flanks to the right, while Chief goes to the left. He signals that he’ll lift it on the count of three, and grips the edge of the slab. When the slab gets tossed aside, Kelly raises her shotgun, pointing directly at the small figure.

You shriek and bury your head in your knees, pulled up to your chest. You couldn’t believe that after all the gross, awful things you’d had to sit through, holed up in this corner, you were just going to die.

But when nothing happens for a solid five seconds, you chance a peek over your knees and gasp. S-117 and S-087 are emblazoned across the chests of the armored giants… Spartans.

Kelly and Chief exchange confused gazes, having no idea how to deal with children. The last ones they’d had any interaction with was the Castoffs on Netherop, but they were more feral gremlins than they had been children.

(Kelly and Fred still aren’t entirely sure that the whole incident wasn’t a heat-induced hallucination.)

John really doesn’t want to go through another episode like it, but on the other hand, it would be easier if you were pelting rocks at them.

Kelly, being the more personable of the two, kneels to your height (or as close as a Spartan could get) and softly calls. “You don’t have to be scared. We’re here to help.”

You knew that — they were Spartans! The greatest heroes Humanity ever possessed! You were just shocked that you were getting rescued by them.

“Y-you’re Spartans.” You whisper dumbly, but you couldn’t help it! How are you supposed to be cool when you grew up with Master Chief’s action figure on your nightstand. “Like Master Chief.”

You can’t see it, but John can sense Kelly’s smirk as she looks over at him and points. “Well, that’s the man himself.”

* Oh no. By the way your wet, moved eyes stare up at him, it seems you’re a fan.

OH MY GOD, OH MY GOD, OH MY GOD!!! You hope your pterodactyl screeching wasn’t external.

“Whoa.” This couldn’t be real. You’d passed out from exhaustion, and were dreaming all of this. That could be the only possibility!

John knows that this is the part where he says something witty or inspiring… but he really doesn’t know what to say, so he just awkwardly clears his throat. “Are you hurt?”

You shake your head violently, a burning need to not disappoint your childhood hero, and clamber up to your feet… only to wince and lean against the wall, something sticky on your leg.

Now that you’re standing, he can see the dried blood around your ankle. “Hold still!” All the softness is gone from Kelly’s tone as she works on bandaging you up, but you don’t mind, appreciating how careful she’s being.

Co-ordinating with Linda, who informs him that there are patrols scouting the areas — probably only to get any survivors, and not to catch them, but they should still move — and Fred, who tells him that the convoy is flying off-planet via Pelicans in half an hour, John makes some quick calculations.

With the pace you’d set, hobbling alongside Kelly, whimpering every time you put your weight on your left foot, it would take them at least an hour. Too long.

“Whoa…” The sound comes unbidden from Fred when Kelly emerges, with you clutching at her hip, all bloody and dirty. A pang of sympathy strikes as he looks around and realizes all that you must have seen. He was well aware that normal children weren’t nearly as resilient as he and his siblings had been.

“….” He stays silent as you arrive in front of him, staring up at him with slight apprehension, heart racing as he tries to think of something to say — and for some reason, he lands on an awkward, weirdly Southern-sounding. “Hey champ!”

John and Kelly both shoot him weird looks, and he wants to dig a hole and die, when they hear it.

A small giggle falls from your lips, tiny hands covering your mouth as you try not to laugh. Fred sighs in relief, but his anxiety returns when Kelly’s joking voice comes over the comms saying “Well, I guess we know who’s taking care of them.”

Linda drops out of nowhere, and nearly scares you to death as you shriek and bump into John, holding his leg tightly. You don’t really notice how he freezes, confused again.

“…sorry.” She doesn’t sound sorry, you think with a pout and drop from Chief’s leg, careful of your own busted ankle.

“That’s Linda, that’s Fred and I’m Kelly. You can just call him Chief. What’s your name?”

“Y-Y/N.”

“Alright. We won’t be able to make it if you’re walking, so you need to get on one of our backs.” Chief tells you, straight to business. “Which one of us do you feel comfortable with?”

He’s really hoping you pick Kelly or Fred. It wouldn’t exactly be a burden, you’re much tinier than the full grown people he’s had to carry out of a war zone, and you’re handling it much better as well, even though you’re barely ten years old.

“Um…” You look shyly up at Fred. “If you don’t really mind…”

*Aw. That’s… actually kind of sweet. Fred beckons you over, and hoists you up between his shoulders, giving you the rundown on what to do if people start shooting, and to hold on tight when he tells you to.

*You’re much more considerate than the freaked out VIPs he’s had to extract. But he still feels you twitch every time the wind causes something to clatter, so he decides to strike up conversation.

“So how did you wind up there?” It’s not until afterwards that he realizes that, unlike soldiers, civilians aren’t comfortable discussing stuff like that. But you answer that it was your dad’s factory, explaining that it was Bring Your Kid To Work Day.

The Spartans, specifically Kelly, asked you questions about it, having never heard of it themselves. After all, military settings rarely allowed such breaches of protocol.

You only trailed off as you got to the part where he told you to hide, and Fred lets it be.

When you finally get to the convoy, a nurse hurriedly tries to pull you away from the Spartans to help out, apologizing for not doing it sooner when Fred tells her it’s fine and that you can stay. After all, Kelly had fixed you up well, and you seemed terrified at the prospect of being left alone.

All that was left to do was fly up to the ship in outer orbit, with the rest of the survivors. Since there were such few Pelicans, everyone had been crammed into them, military and civilians alike. You’d simply wandered onto the one they’d been on, sandwiched between Chief and Fred.

Chief watches you picking at your shorts, and suddenly remembers the chocolate bar Sgt. Johnson keeps giving him - “you’re not yourself when you’re hungry, Chief” He’d snicker and then leave, Chief just standing there, not understanding the reference - but hey, chocolate was chocolate.

“Here. You did well.” Your eyes go wide, and for a second he thinks you’re going to refuse, but then you snatch it out of his hand and snarf it down. This is how it must feel to watch him eat.

“You’re going to like it up there.” Fred chimes in when your gaze starts getting distant again. “Space is really cool.”

In a twist of fate, you find one of your best friends when you arrive on the ship. Their parents promise to take care of you, and thank the Spartans.

When they start directing the survivors to their quarters, you hug every Spartan, even Linda… or their legs, since you couldn’t reach anything else. (Thankfully, you telegraph it pretty well, so they don’t accidentally smack you or something.)

John just stiffens and then nods, Fred pats you on the head awkwardly and shuffles away (he was very shocked by the affection), Kelly laughs and claps you on the shoulder, and Linda just hums and pets you on the head like a dog, walking away afterwards.

You go on to be a Marine yourself, finding yourself on the Halo campaign, where Chief and Cortana save you once more. You’re surprised he still remembers you.

You leave a bar of the same brand he gave you at his shrine, giving a heartfelt eulogy and catching up momentarily with the other members of Blue Team before you all leave again.

You almost faint when he shows up at Requiem, though. Don’t feel bad, as Lasky fanboys behind Chief for the whole campaign.

Palmer corrals you and Lasky into a break room to make fun of your behavior after it’s all over.

[gaegalsyd]

Tracing Footsteps in the Wind

summary: You are a peculiar who travels through different loops to help different ymbrynes in their loop and their children. But what will happen when you visit the loop of one ymbryne called Miss Peregrine. Will you find friendship, sorrow, or love?

Chapter 2: It doesn't matter where we take this road

1

The next morning, you decided to help Miss Kestrel make breakfast for the children so you made your way downstairs silently after changing from your sleepwear and fixing your hair. The smell of the waffles in the kitchen wafted in your nose, and the sizzle of the bacons was the only sound in the area. Miss Kestrel was there alone sipping her tea while making sure none of the food got burnt.

“Good morning Miss Kestrel, anything I can do to help?” the older woman acknowledged you by preparing another cup of tea for you “Good morning y/n you can set the table, and what’s your preference for your tea?” You took the plates and utensils before responding with a smile “the usual, miss.”

After setting the plates, one of the older children came down to help prepare for breakfast and after a while all of the children were seated at the table and were already eating.

While everyone is eating, the headmistress cleared her throat to catch everyone’s attention “children, Miss y/n will be leaving the loop after breakfast, I expect you would want to say a proper goodbye to her” the children looked at you in surprise and started asking questions like “will you come back?” “Can you send us photographs?” which you all answered easily.

After breakfast you gathered all your things and went downstairs and saw the children and Miss Kestrel waiting for you. The older woman patted your back while all the children gave you a hug. “Be careful out there y/n, you can send us a letter anytime you need anything” Miss Kestrel said while holding your arm.

You thanked her and everyone in the house, and once you’ve exited the loop you felt the vast difference in the atmosphere and time. Without looking back, you started your journey towards Cairnholm.

The travel from Brighton to Cairnholm would have been a lot easier without the war and trying not to get any attention for yourself. But while you are in the boat on the way to the island, you are starting to feel at ease and are already thinking of how the children are. And when you saw the shape of the island you noticed a bird flying, a peregrine falcon to be exact, you knew that there is a big chance that this is the ymbryne of the new place you’ll be calling home but you did not do anything to acknowledge it.

When the boat stopped, you immediately got off it and started walking around the island. You can feel that this island must have been through a lot just with the look of the houses with doors and windows closed, and with the people being in a hurry as if trying to get to their destinations to get out of the open area as soon as possible. The island is not that picturesque, not that you are expecting it to be picture perfect, the weather is gloomy and the air is a bit cold that matches the atmosphere of the island. Walking around, you did not see any hint of the loop or a place where the children may stay while they are on the island, that’s why you did not hesitate to enter the first pub you saw which is the Priest Hole.

“You there! You don’t look familiar, what brought you here? ``One of the men in a Welsh accent asked you, and when you were about to approach them, a woman asked “Are you here for the children?” which surprised you because surely they don’t know about peculiars or if they do then that could be troublesome, you thought. You said yes hoping that they did not notice the hesitancy in your voice, then one man approached you and placed a hand to your shoulder then said sorry for your loss. You sat on one of the chairs and took a drink, after listening and engaging to some of their conversations, you learned that the house was bombed and not one survived. “So the house was bombed but where is the entrance to the loop” you thought quietly, after a while you asked some questions in hopes that you’ll get some answer to where the entrance is but when you got nothing you just sighed and asked “Can you tell me the direction to their house?” after giving the directions the owner of the pub reminded you “The house was bombed just a few weeks ago, it might not be safe to wander too much and be careful of the bogs” You gathered your things and thanked the people “ I might leave as soon as I see the house, thank you for the directions”

The path towards the house is not an easy path, they must have stopped maintaining it after the house was bombed since it is the only house on that side of the island. And when you saw the home, your heart sank despite knowing that every occupant survived. The front part of the roof is completely shattered and some parts are just waiting to fall around, and it is reeking the smell of smoke and burnt woods but you walked closer. It was probably raining a few days after the bombs but you cannot bring yourself to come inside the home since from your inspection, the building is very unstable as of the moment and would need a few more weeks until anyone can safely come inside.

Assuming that the entrance of the loop must be close, you started to walk around the house until you felt a presence, then saw footsteps that ended just beside you. “Is someone there? I can feel you and you’re not so good in hiding” you pointed the footsteps, then you heard a sigh “You must be miss y/n, Miss Peregrine asked us to fetch you” you smiled towards the air where you think the voice came from and grinned “Why don’t you lead the way then” After saying those words, a girl with red hair and a leather gloves approached you from behind the trimmed bushes that you assume to be once a garden, with clothes in her hand which she handed to the invisible boy you were talking to “you were naked the whole time” you said in disbelief.

The girl with red hair giggled and said “ My name is Olive, that is Millard, and yes he was naked the whole time”

The only respond you had was an “Oh”

“My name is Bronwyn!” a little girl with brown curly hair said. You knelt in front of her “Hello Bronwyn, my name is y/n” you offered your hand to her which she accepted “I did not notice you immediately, young lady” you added and made Bronwyn giggle.

“Let’s go, Miss Peregrine would not appreciate not being on time” Olive said that prompted you to stand and follow her.

On the way to the entrance, you had small talks with the three of them while keeping track of every turn and step you took but you realized that you were approaching a cave near the beach. Realization hit you that if you were left on your devices to look for the entrance, it would take you so much time. After making sure that no one followed the three of you, you entered the loop and heard a ringing and a pop! That means you have successfully entered the loop. When you emerged from the small cave, you were surprised by the shift in the weather and atmosphere. It was sunny and everything was vibrant, there’s no sign of rain or fog, you could even hear the chirping of the birds and the laughter of the children as you neared the house. It was just a few weeks ago when this loop was made but this is perfect.

You saw the house in its glory and almost forgot what it looked like when you first saw it as a ruin. The sun had already set and lights were already lit but it did not make the grounds look less than perfect. When you stepped to the porch, the three children excused themselves to finish their chores, and when you were about to knock, the door swung open to reveal the silhouette of a woman about as tall as you with her hair done in an updo and she’s holding a pipe. The woman stepped outside and you finally saw what she looked like, and the first thought in your mind is that she’s beautiful and far from what you are expecting, her hair is dark with strands of dark blue which is probably a thing with the ymbrynes, her eyes are light blue reminding you of the sky and it is accentuated by her dark makeup around it, and her lips are rosy as if tempting you to kiss her. She took the pipe from her mouth and looked at you and you looked back at her and figured that comparing her eyes to the sky does not do her any justice for it also has some shade of green but can be mistaken for gray. But you still cannot remember where you first saw her.

“You must be Miss y/l/n. Alma Peregrine, delighted to meet you” she offered a hand which you accepted and the faster beating of your heart did not go unnoticed to you. “Yes, that would be me” the ymbryne looked from your head to your toe with a curious glint in her eyes before smiling widely “come in dear, welcome to our loop”

The smell of bread and vanilla inside the house was the first thing that reached your senses, you were welcomed by a house that gave you comfort and coziness.

“You have a very lovely loop Miss Peregrine” the woman smiled proudly and you thought that she looked even more beautiful when smiling “Thank you dear, and please call me Alma without the presence of the children”

“Then you can call me y/n” you smiled at her. She guided you to a room upstairs where you will be staying and before she left she placed a hand to your arm “The children are done for supper and I’ll bring some foods here, you may rest early if you wish”

You sat in the bed before responding to the woman “good night, Alma” then she smiled at you and closed the door. And you were sure that if she would smile at you often, you would already be a happy woman with that alone.

[ghirahimbo]

for the writing prompts, 30 with revalink maybe? It's perfectly fine if you skip this. Good luck finding inspiration!!! I love your writing <33

30. Saving them before they drown

Pre-Calamity. Link finally speaks, but they're not words Revali wants to hear.

(not angst. so very much not angst.)

--

The upside to ignoring Link was that he made it so easy to do. 

It wasn't as if he did much to call attention to himself, after all, trailing quietly after Zelda with all the expressive personality of a plank of wood. Revali had even started to suspect that the princess had forgotten Link's presence entirely, distracted as she was by the ancient shrine tucked to the side of Rito Village, which he couldn't help but envy her for. He himself could never seem to forget Link's presence, though he was content enough to pretend that he had right alongside her. Anyone who could so thoroughly ignore the majesty of Revali’s Gale deserved the same regard in turn, and Link would know that by the time Revali decided he was done ignoring him.

The downside was that neither Revali nor the princess noticed right away when Link slipped over the cliff's edge, his moment of idle curiosity turned abruptly deadly as the turf crumbled beneath his feet and he hurtled towards the lake below. Revali did hear Link's startled gasp the moment that he fell, which came out as a breathy 'hup!', but by the time Revali had connected that ‘hup!’ to Link and turned reluctantly to see what might have inspired such a 'hup!', the Hylian Champion was already halfway down the cliff.

Revali watched him fall, and felt his stomach swooping after him.

“Damn it,” he said once, and then again as he saw Link’s head bash against the rock on his way down. "Damn it!" 

"Revali!" Zelda gasped, though whether in response to his mild profanity or because she'd noticed the same thing he had, Revali didn't have time to discern. Revali was too busy throwing himself off the edge of the cliff after Link, summoning a burst of wind to speed his own descent even as he watched Link finally hit the water below, disappearing quietly beneath a churning spray of white.

All this undue hubbub over Hylia's appointed hero, and placid Lake Totori was going to defeat him before Calamity Ganon even had the chance. Worse, Link was going to die before Revali could ever prove himself superior.

"Damn it!"

Later, when Revali recounted the story of his daring rescue to captive audiences, he would leave out most of the swearing—and the flailing. Swimming was not considered one of the great skills of the Rito, after all, even if they were prodigious fishers. That was more a matter of skimming the surface of the lake with their talons, rather than fully submerging themselves beneath the water and… flailing. Still, some undetermined amount of flailing wings later, Revali had a sodden, unconscious hero of legend clutched awkwardly in his talons. Flying him up to the nearest outcropping of rock, Revali dumped Link unceremoniously onto his back, leaning in close to listen for breathing.

Nothing.

"Damn it," Revali whispered, thinking that the village elder would be washing his mouth out like a fledgling before long if he kept this up. He had no idea how to save a drowning Hylian, but... maybe it wasn't too different from saving a drowning Rito?

Pressing down on Link's chest until his ribcage creaked beneath him and certainly not panicking, Revali decided to give it a try before he wasted time flying up to ask. The rhythm of his pulses matched his litany of swears.

"Plucking Hylians… no wings… no gills. What are they plucking good fo—"

A spray of water erupted from Link's mouth, and Revali jerked in surprise, leaning back as Link proceeded to cough up half the lake beside them. He'd done it. He'd saved the idiot Hylian's life.

He felt what he decided was a normal amount of relief over this.

"You absolute twit," Revali said by way of greeting as Link's heaving finally settled down, and he stared up at Revali weakly. "What under Hylia's wings happened back there? Are you trying to make Calamity Ganon’s job easier?? Because I can't think of any more pointless method of throwing away your life than—"

"Revali," Link whispered, and the words vanished from his throat so quickly that his chest felt deflated. Over his own abrupt silence, the hammering of his heart felt abnormally loud.

"What?" Revali said eloquently.

"Revali," Link said again, or… slurred, maybe? His glazed eyes squinted up at Revali, not quite focusing on his face, and—okay, so maybe Link had a concussion. There was a rather large knot on his head—bleeding sluggishly, now that Revali noticed it, which would likely require attention. Still, Link could speak, and he was speaking to him. "Revali, there's… there's something I need you to know. I've… I…"

Revali leaned in close to catch his breathless whisper, feeling a bit breathless himself. Were these words of thanks? Of concession? Of…

"I think I've fallen for you, Revali."

Revali blinked, and leaned a precise three inches back. Maybe he had water in his ear. He must have misheard Link somehow, because his first spoken words couldn't possibly be a—

"Get it?" Link said, and Revali breathed in deeply. A pun. "Do you—"

"I get it," Revali said, his voice kept utterly neutral. Link shook his head, struggling to sit up.

"No! Actually, you're going to have to save my life again, because…" Link carried on relentlessly, his gaze slightly fevered now. "Because I'm drowning in your eyes."

Revali felt an unspecified muscle in his aforementioned eyes twitch, and he started to count backwards from ten.

"You have a concussion, Link," he said carefully—a reminder for them both. "It's best if you just—stay quiet. I'm taking you back to the village, where—"

"Hey. Hey, is your name Lake Totori?" Link asked, leaning further into Revali's space with a grin turned unbearable. "Because you just took my breath aw—"

Later that night, Revali would swear before the village elder that he did not push Link back in the water, whatever anyone else claimed to have seen. Link had clearly wandered back off the edge himself, still disoriented from his fall. Why would Revali push him in, after expending so much effort in saving him?

Zelda backed up Revali’s story, pretending a greater viewpoint on events than her position from above had actually afforded her. Privately, she held her doubts, but… well, all was well that ended well, right?

And Link, who remembered almost nothing aside from falling, but who couldn't help but wonder why his own cheeks flushed and Revali's feathers fluffed up strangely whenever their eyes met... he, characteristically, said nothing at all.

[cryptiql]

smoke signals

pairing: dabi/m!reader

warnings: smoking, mentions of anxiety and abuse, but otherwise okay. please do not read forward if any of the listed warnings might trigger you in any way, and stay safe <3

words: 6.5k

a/n: this is my first ever mha fic and the fact that i decided to do dabi first shows i have some massive balls but i'm giving it a try! if he seems ooc at all or i get some facts wrong, please lmk and i'll fix them. (heavily inspired by smoke signals by phoebe bridgers—would recommend listening to it or any of her other songs while reading)

dabi found the meaning of life in a simple strum of chords; a melody twisted by melancholy tunes that resonated deep within the gates of his mind. they haunt him—either by breaking his conscious from a much needed rest to bring him tossing and turning in the damp air of the loft, or making sure that he stayed wide awake during the late hours of the night and well into the creeping day. the lyrics are so surreal that he has to sit down and contemplate their meaning like an english teacher would to the color red, but they're painted saccharine and drip with honey flowing from the mouth that sings them and he hates it. he hates that he's wasted moments better spent wrecking havoc just to understand that stupid little ditty that clings to his heart like a leech. but this song did not come from his own craft—no.

dabi had known the putrid stench of sweat and vermillion blood when the flames licked at his skin, breaching the coarse flesh of his palms to rain hellfire upon all those who dared oppress him. he could weave lies with knots that would take years to unravel, and set whole cities ablaze with a mere finger. clawing oneself from a well built to drown them in their trauma does tend to leave scars on ones hands, and dabi's body was practically a canvas for mutilation, so he could consider himself an expert on the matter. he could attempt to make such a song by strapping in with his many hours of free time and diligent persona, but his hands were not made for music; neither delicate, sonorous tunes or dark, grating strains. they were made for war.

so if anyone had asks, "no" is his answer. "i don't play." and yes, it is while he's drumming a rhythmic beat that he claims this to be true, but the last thing he thinks about is donning a set of drums during his free time. he's far too distracted by the image of your taper fingers curled around the neck of your guitar to consider anything else.

the gentle but keen plucking of chords startles him from yet another ridiculously long-winded spiel by shigaraki, and dabi swallows a strangled groan behind his grinding teeth. it's in his head, now, and so far the only thing that has succeeded in reaping it from his memory—if only for a few minutes—is the blood stained battlefield that he's found himself fighting on far too many times this month alone.

what's he complaining about, though? it's not as though he minds getting down in the dirt. in fact, he's ecstatic to dig his claws into any gruesome ordeal so long as it benefits him in some way, so why is he so invested in this little to and fro game of twenty questions with the likes of you; someone as significant in the world as a paperclip without paper to hold? why come back, despite there being nothing in it for him besides a series of migraines?

not from you, a voice answers from inside. you're an absolute pleasure.

dabi nearly snarls at the confirmation that his own mind is turning against him, and as he does this, a plume of smoke erupts from his lips, billowing and curving to create intricate patters before dissipating into the atmosphere. a second time. a third. a fourth drag from the cigarette has completely obscured his face from anyone's view, and he relishes in the instant of privacy it gives him. however, it has also blocked him from seeing everyone else in the room, and while he normally would have considered that a blessing, it appears tomura has had enough of it.

you get headaches because you smoke too much, comes a second voice; yours, scolding in a way he'd only expect from a worried mother. dabi only has a split second to register it before shigaraki's head pokes through the fumes, red eyes alight with rage and lips pulled back into a snarl.

"would you quit doing that inside? it's fogging up my brain and i can't think straight." he grates.

"strange—i assumed there wasn't a brain in there to fog up in the first place." tomura's nostrils flare and dabi's pride spikes.

"besides, you came in here and looked directly at me as i was smoking—why didn't you ask me to stop then?"

"i was telling you with my eyes, idiot. you should know when it's time to either take it outside or put the damn thing out. there are ashtrays for a reason, and not everyone here wants to inhale that shit." he interrupts their intense staring contest only to wave his hand to clear the smog. now he can see the rest of the league clearly (oh joy, he thinks) and gives an indignant grunt when spotting toga at the bar table, covering her mouth and nose as a pitiful aim to block her lungs from the smoke. twice, who had unfortunately used up the last pack of his own cigarettes that morning, leans forward to take a whiff, exhaling soon after with satisfaction.

kurogiri stands at his usual spot behind the bar, seemingly unaffected as he idly scrubs away at grime infested glasses, while sako lounges at the opposite end of the room. his mask is on, leaving dabi to wonder if it's been like that all day, or if he just recently put it on to better fend off the fumes. he doesn't really care, whatever the case.

after a beat of silence, dabi wets his lips to respond, a lopsided smirk growing on his features.

"oh, i'm sorry your frail body hasn't adapted to a bit of vapor in the air. and with that flakey skin of yours, it's no wonder you're extra sensitive—"

shigaraki's hands come flying through the next waft to slam against the tabletop where dabi's feet lie, causing it to wobble and creak in protest. the ravenette doesn't even flinch as the harsh, raspy words are spat in his face.

"if you're not going to pay attention, then leave. actually, i'd prefer you do that either way."

and dabi would have happily disregarded his request if not for the faint ringing in his ears, rising higher and higher before receding back into his skull like the tide. a scowl morphs its way onto his once vacant expression as he puts pressure on his temple, rubbing softly where his eyebrows knit together. just for today, he'll indulge his so-called boss's whims. the piercing screech that emits from below when he pushes his chair back does nothing to help with the ever-growing headache, but it hardly matters now that he's headed out the exit. he's able to catch the last fragments of shigaraki's raving before the door closes, leaving him to stand amid the tumult of the city in all of its glory.

the alleyway is dark with looming shadows, but people are still milling about, so dabi considers himself lucky for already being dressed in his disguise. he flips his hood up, pulls the surgical mask over his nose and quickly slides on his sunglasses for good measure before slipping out into the traffic, sometimes going with the flow and then weaving past those moving too slow for his liking.

right now, his patience is a mere thread; hair thin and on the edge of snapping whenever someone bumps his shoulder. their negligence is infuriating, and he's tempted to roast them into a charred, mangled mess then and there—the consequences of blowing his cover be damned—but by some miracle, he manages to refrain from doing so. it takes about five minutes for his temper to shorten to the length of a matchstick, and he knows that one more shove will be what strikes it. dabi pauses for a moment to crane his neck, allowing the sea of people to flow around him like a stream to a rock as he searches for an alternative route. it appears as though he'll have to take his chances with the crowd until he hears the repetitive ringing of a bell and a man's voice calling for passengers to board. public transport was risky, what with him being a menace to society, but he can't possibly be the single most shady dressing person on the train, right?

he wouldn't bother answering his own question when daylight was burning, so dabi pushes himself from the swarm and leaps for the streetcar just as it begins pulling away from the stop. there's a shuddering jolt before the passengers settle in for their departure, and as his palms squeeze the metal railing in response, he notices the peeling red paint clinging to the car's exterior and finds himself staring at it for a ludicrous amount of time, not thinking about anything in particular.

the rickety trolley is semi-packed with civilians, none of whom regard his presence with anything more than a noncommittal glance. good—that makes his job ten times easier. to his chagrin, it runs over more than a few opposing train tracks or crudely paved bumps in the road, and this causes the whole cart to jostle before stilling completely, the process repeating itself over and over.

the knowledge that his trip to the outskirts of town is a short one is the only thing that calms his nerves.

when dabi finally arrives at his destination, the sun is gradually descending from its peak in the sky, and the clouds are more like wispy tufts than the luscious, cotton candy lumps they were just hours earlier. overhead, the baby blue hues turn to shades of opal; a forewarning of rain. the feelings of irritation and malice from earlier are still bound to him like chains that threaten to snap him in half when drawn too tight. the crippling weight causes his feet to drag along the gravel path at a sluggish pace, his own hot breaths fanning against his face from behind the mask. if anyone actually lived out here and they were to see him, their first impression would be that a living corpse had just waltzed onto their property. it was just his luck, then, that you were the only person out here, and by extent, the only one not deterred by his appearance.

even so, dabi's mind kicks into gear. was this a good idea? he doesn't even know why he came here—he just needed a place to blow off steam and his body had already made the choice on its own. this isn't any different from all the other times, though, and he can't ignore the fact when it sits in the pit of his stomach like an anchor. you're always the first person he goes to at times like these (dabi subconsciously rules out the man working at the local 7/11 who sells his liquor cheap, though he's still appreciative of the bottle to numb his thoughts). that tells him more than he wants to know.

your house is quaint, like those old country cottages he sometimes sees pictures of, and squats on a large, grassy mound of earth surrounded by heaps of rocks and sand from the neighboring beach. it merges with a towering lighthouse, and dabi notes that there must not be any sailors due to make port yet, otherwise the light would be on. the second thing he takes in are the flowerbeds sitting under your two front windows, and how they look withered and close to death.

"i wanted to add some color, but i can't keep plants alive for shit." you had said, huffing in amusement to yourself as you tended to the weeping alliums. "succulents are the only exception."

a small pot of them sits on the windowsill, but they seem to have gotten to big for it; the rubbery leaves spilling over the cracked rim. he hardly registers how much of a stalker he must look like until he stands on your welcome mat, peering through the dirty glass panes to find you nowhere in sight. the lights aren't on, so he can only see the outlines of furniture when bands of light stream in to reveal them.

sitting back on the balls of his feet, dabi curses under his breath. it's not like he was expecting anything. how was he supposed to know whether or not you were home when you had no way of telling him?

"jesus, patch!" a shout startles him from his brooding, but he doesn't let it show as he looks towards to ocean. you're hauling yourself over a large rock to wave him over, wearing a familiar grin. so that's why he couldn't see you. dabi makes careful work of leaping over jagged stones and threatening to bake any nosy seagulls as he makes his way to where you sit, with your favored instrument slung over your shoulder. the ghost of a smile graces his lips when he recalls how you would have scolded him for being mean to the birds, but that was before last week.

"pesky fucking bastards—they keep shitting on my music sheets!" another seagull waddles into your vicinity, only to squawk in distress as you shoo it away with your foot. "i wonder if this is natures way of telling me to quit while i'm behind. . ."

after breaching the treacherous terrain and nearly scraping himself in the process, dabi squats on the stone beside yours, looking up at you with hooded eyes. you meet his gaze with nothing short of merriment and a shake of your head.

"if someone had seen you, you would have been arrested on the spot for being a peeping tom." you chuckle, combing a hand through your hair with a smirk. "what? you lookin' you catch me in the nude or something?"

dabi scowls, choosing to ignore the question rather than give into the bait. as if i would be satisfied by looking at anyone but you in that state. he swats the air as if it would drive the notion from his mind like a bothersome fly.

"in the middle of fuck-ass nowhere? i'd never get caught."

"aw, don't be like that. if you really wanted a peek you could've just asked." the mocking tone in your voice spurs him to smack your thigh, which earns a hearty laugh in reply.

"ooh, don't treat me so roughly, or i might begin to like it!"

dabi has had more than enough experience with your flirtatious tendencies, and he feels he should have gotten used to it by now, but his heart still clenches every damn time. the worse part? he can't say that he minds. you don't give him a chance to respond, but dabi hasn't a clue what he would have said, so he lets you continue, watching intently as you rifle through your bag to fish out a guitar pick. shifting into a crisscross position, you perch the guitar on your lap and begin tuning the strings, idly talking about how uneventful the past days have been. dabi pretends not to have heard that it was because he wasn't there to visit, and instead gives his attention to the lighthouse in hopes that you won't see the faintest of reds dusting his ears.

five minutes pass before you actually start playing, and even then, it's only a few experimental notes here and there that help you build towards the perfected melody.

it's too sweet for his taste; dabi swears that's why his stomach turns so ferociously and prompts him to lean against the boulder to his right for some sort of stability. he won't even humor the idea that it's because of the way your lips twitch into a near half-smile before melding back into a concentrated frown the moment you strike a wrong cord. an embarrassed flush captures your cheeks as you study the music sheets, briefly pressing down on them when a sudden breeze flutters the pages. the pencil that was once tucked behind your ear now sticks out from one corner of your mouth, a flash of pink and orange melding together when you go to absentmindedly gnaw on the wood.

many more minutes fly by, and you've long since abandoned the new tune just to pick up an old one. dabi's back straightens at the first set of strings you pluck, and he recognizes them as the same ones that have been playing on repeat in his head since the day you met.

dabi's heart hammers in tune with every footfall that slaps against the pavement, tearing through the small pools of water that grow with every second. it hasn't stopped raining since the chase began, and there isn't an inch of him that hasn't been soaked through. still, something good must come from this little dilemma—the burning sensation that clings to his arms has almost settled down. the silhouettes of trees merge with inky blackness when he blinks, and he reaches with trembling hands to wipe the droplets of water clinging to his eyelashes.

a yellow square of what assumes to be light shines in the distance, contrasting wildly adverse to the darkness that sweeps him up from under his feet and pushes him forward. the sound of police sirens has been reduced to a mere memory in the time that was running, but he isn't about to risk going back to the league's base in fear of a stakeout waiting to get the jump on them. besides, why stop there when the possibility of shelter awaits him?

the bottoms of dabi's shoes are slick with mud, and blades of grass have snuck their way under the cuffs of his jeans to scratch at his skin. the sensations paired with the numbing cold are beyond uncomfortable, but he won't have to worry about that once he gets inside—that being if the person inside doesn't put up a fight.

he'd expect them to be mad if they did anything except that, no matter how welcoming the house looked. dabi's instincts tell him that someone out this far from the city doesn't a have a lot of connections, and thus killing them wouldn't cause an uprising if it were needed, but the minute he grips the doorknob, a thought occurs. if they have a quirk, its power could level my own or even surpass it. . . he grits his teeth. but like hell i'm going to let them win.

the hesitation vanishes in an instant as dabi turns the knob and thrusts himself inside, wielding a blue flame in his dominant hand to further illuminate the room. the wind is so fierce that it pulls the door shut for him, and the villain finds himself staring down the unperturbed figure of another man, perhaps around his age, hunched over a stove and glaring at a steaming kettle. they lock gazes, and almost immediately, the kettle gives a high pitched whistle. you look away first, lifting the pot and turning the burner off whilst opening the cupboard overhead to pull out two mugs, both of which adorn ugly christmas-themed patterns that dabi wishes he could forget ever seeing.

his glare hardens when you move to the table in the far corner and begin pouring what he assumes to be tea, taking one cup into your own grasp and leaving the other at his own disposal. your one mistake is grabbing your phone from the counter, but when dabi's flame enlarges, you hold your arms up in defense. then, before he can even formulate a proper threat, you toss the phone to him. he catches it easily and observes the dark screen, masking his astonishment with a more sinister expression.

the only other move you make is to drape yourself across a cushion on the window seat with an acoustic guitar in hand. you look more relaxed by the second despite being cornered by a dangerous criminal, and dabi has to refrain from voicing his shock when you address him with an almost bored tone.

"if the tea isn't to your taste, there's more in the cabinet. shower is down the hall to your left, and there's a spare bedroom upstairs to the right. do whatever the hell you want, just don't burn the place down or touch my freddie mercury records."

dabi is stuck to the spot for one of three reasons, he determines. one, your attitude has surprised him into a stupor that not even hiw own will can break. two, his refusal to believe that you're handling this situation in a calm manner is really just his defense mechanism kicking in, and he won't move until proven that you won't do anything when his back is turned. and three, you're quirk is similar to that of madusa's and you've successfully turned him into a fleshy mannequin.

"if you're worried about me calling the cops, what you're holding is the only working phone here. the power is out due to the storm, so my landline is dead, and the nearest form of help is a crippled old widow five miles west. i'm not going to risk running when i'm up against someone with a quirk."

dabi considers everything said, but never once allows his fire to dim. he took the surrounding area into account while making his escape, and he can see the landline is in fact out of service, so the male's assurances checked out. hell, the light source that guided him here was nothing but an old-timey oil lamp. the fact that you're quirkless does him a great amount of good as well.

with cautious steps, dabi makes a beeline for the bathroom, but he stops halfway to stare at you again. you respond by quirking a brow and kicking your feet up, something akin to mischief in your guise.

"i can take the shower with you since you're so afraid i'll make a break for it." you drawl, and dabi snarls, a fowl cuss bubbling in his throat as heat crawls its way up his neck.

"why, with a blush like that you might not need any drying off~."

dabi decides that he's had enough and storms down the hall, already peeling off his dripping clothes and and silently promising that he'll burn the guy to a crisp if he so much as tries to catch a peek. he can hear you calling out in hilarity even as he slinks into the shower and attempts to drown you out with the static-filled haze that captures his senses.

"the name's, y/n, by the way!"

try as he might, dabi had never been able to keep from coming back. now the reason why has been revealed to him on a silver platter, and he won't even spare it a glance.

your soft singing snaps him from his reminiscing as he stretches his legs, stifling a groan when something pops as not to disturb you. while digging through his pockets for a cigarette, he stops momentarily for fear of forgetting how to breathe when he lays his sights on you. you're in your own little world; everything else—him included— seems to have disappeared as you play from the heart. you need no standing ovation, no adoring fans or fantastic lightshows. you've said it once, that fame and glory mean nothing to you, and that you have all you could ever want or need right here, nestled in the beachside view of what you call home.

"and i have you." a cool breeze ruffles your dirt stained overalls as you reach up to wipe a bead of sweat from your forehead. the sun beats down on you, never shining half as bright as your smile, and the shore kisses the boulders with waxing and waning waves of aquamarine; frothy, foamy masses washing up with it to carry lone strands of seaweed. "otherwise i'd go mad without your company."

okay, that was lie. the truth is right there, practically spitting in his face how much of an idiot he is for trying to deny it, and dabi is glaring right back at it. he feels like an impatient kid on christmas eve, sneaking glimpses of gifts under the tree and feeling like he's committed a felony after getting caught. and you do catch him.

"penny for your thoughts, patch?" there it is—that stupid nickname. it's always been laced with mirth when you call him as such, but now it's replaced by genuine curiosity. and is that a hit of concern he hears? you study him with pursed lips and stony features that gradually morphs into that of concern when the silence stretches on. dabi forces himself to sneer at you, and something stirs inside his chest when you don't flinch.

he hates it. he hates you.

dabi nods to the sky, a guarded noise building in the back of his throat as he tugs on his earlobe.

"s'gonna rain." your jaw visibly clenches, but you humor his evasive habits just like you always have, looking to the clouds, which have darkened considerably in the last hour or so. it's around this time that the weather patterns become more unpredictable, but you've noticed the distinct lack of rainfall in spite of the gathering storm brewing overhead. you could sit out here for a while longer without much activity in the sky, and it would take more than a little shower to drive you inside, especially when you finally had the chance to enjoy some quality time with dabi. you notice the way his shoulders droop and the tension from his facial muscles all but disappears when he sits amidst the smell of fresh salt water and unpolluted air—the weight of his past slowly but surely ebbing away. you'd like to hope you have some part in that. oh god, do you ever hope.

you plead to whatever omnipresent being above that he's not just here to hit a blunt without getting reprimanded for it, or that he's making these daily visits out of pity.

"nah. it's been like this for a little while—looks like a storm will hit, but then it passes before it even begins." you sling the guitar back over your shoulder and gather up your music sheets, eyeing dabi from your perch. you're challenging him now, and normally you would never dare force him to speak if he didn't want to, but something about his aura is off. you can sense it in his words; the very air he breathes; and it compels you to hold him close, if only he would let you.

"so, you gonna tell me why you're avoiding the ques—" a deep rumble interrupts you, and dabi lets out a sigh of relief that you're thankfully too distracted to hear. a single drop of water hits your nose, followed by another, and another, and—

"you were saying?"

"oh shut it." you don't get to finish speaking, for a crack of lightning strikes the far end of the beach, scattering sand in every direction. you just barely manage to scoop up your belongings before sliding from the rock, but your footing betrays you and send you stumbling to the ground. dabi is there to catch you, wasting no more time in hauling you to your feet and rushing you as carefully as possible through the jagged maze. he can't refrain from smiling when you splutter a string of profanities pass poorly hidden laughter, an unmistakable "FUCK ME!" spilling into the cold evening when you accidentally stub your toe on a particularly sharp stone. it's pouring within seconds, and no sooner do you reach the doorstep do you both realize how sopping wet you are.

the last thing you think of is your chattering teeth, however, when you see dabi's spiky tufts of hair dripping with residue and his electric blue eyes gazing into yours. what you do think is that for the first time in your painfully ordinary life; your twenty three years of mediocrity and progressive isolation from the world around you; you have found the single person who understands your struggles and has chosen—for some unfathomable reason—not to abandon you. you wish you could say your parents were the same, but you also have scars from a distant childhood that brought you to this place.

this old lighthouse is your home, yes, but dabi is your sanctuary. he might as well be a god by how often you worship him from afar, wondering if ever you'd be so lucky; so eternally blessed; as to call him yours.

you don't register that he's opened the door to let you both inside until a cozy warmth envelopes you. no, wait, that's dabi's fire. it should terrify you that the same man who threatened you with those flames is now at arms length, but you trust him not to hurt you in any way, and so you lean into the gentle licking of heat on your skin, humming in content as your shivering comes to a halt.

dabi's fear of burning you diminishes when you flash him a grateful smile, a whisper of thanks echoing across the walls and pummeling his heart without resistance. he averts his eyes with a curt nod, a feeling like molasses weighing down his tongue and drowning the words he wants to say.

"you're welcome." is all he can muster.

half an hour later, your guitar is drying by the hearth and the two of you are huddled on the window seat, nursing cups of coffee and watching the storm in a comfortable silence. you haven't blinked in a while, meaning you've wandered off the tracks of consciousness as suspected, and pretty soon, you start singing quietly to yourself; the deep crooning used as background noise to your aimless meditation. dabi nudges your calf with his foot and is rewarded with a brief quirk of your lips and a nudge back. he doesn't have the patience nor the brain power to decipher how long this goes on for, but it doesn't matter.

this is fine. the image of red hair and a tall, intimidating figure invades his train of thought, and dabi curls inwards on himself. this is fine.

but it's not.

trembling, he places his mug on the table before retracting back into his seat, clasping his hands together. he tries visualizing the ties of his life coming together to form a rope. the fingers on his left—memories from his past—linking together with those from his right—memories made with you. his palms connect, bringing instant relief with the knowledge that he's here now, practically nestled between your legs, out of harms way. you're both fine.

dabi takes the swelling anxiety and pretends to crush it within his fist; clenching and unclenching it until his peace of mind returns.

"penny for your thoughts, patch?" you ask again, still in somewhat of a trance. this time, dabi answers.

"why do you call me that?"

you're caught of guard, half expecting him to ask why you haven't turned him in to the authorities. you've seen him without his disguise, you know his name, and for the past eight months you've been socializing with him like normal human beings do. that's more than both of you could have said in the past. of all the burning questions, he chose that one? "i've heard 'patchwork' and 'staples' and just about everything in between. why shorten it to patch?"

you gape at him, opening your mouth, then closing it, and so on. the pitter patter of rain against the window has ascended into relentless pelting. it sounds like gunfire to dabi; assaulting his ears in floods; but to you, it's nothing more than a waterfall hindering your view of the ocean. the deep breath you take seems to put more suspense in the atmosphere than needed, and it makes dabi's heartrate quicken for an entirely different reason, yet he makes no sign of stopping you.

"because my first thought whenever i see you is how much you remind me of a doll." oh. what?

you can tell by dabi's reaction that that wasn't what he was expecting, so you gesture for him to wait. he isn't sure he likes the forlorn expression you're wearing.

"typically, when kids first get a doll, they treat it like glass and make sure to tend to it with love. other times, doll owners are reckless and tear them apart just to stitch them back together like nothing happened. you use that camouflaged to blend in with the public, and i'm lucky enough to see what's under it. . .but sometimes i wish you'd keep the mask on so i don't have to see you upset."

upset? a fizzing sound erupts from his palms that he struggles to put out. he's not upset.

"don't try to hide it. you're always scowling when you think i'm not looking, or when you forget i'm even here, and i know it's because someone broke you without the intent of fixing you up."

once more, red clouds dabi's vision, and he moves to stand up.

"you had to clean up after their mistakes because no one else would, but instead of reusing the bits and pieces of your old self, you burned them. you destroyed any and all evidence of who you used to be and now you're patching yourself together with parts that aren't your own, because you don't want to hold onto what happened. though, something tells me you still haven't let go, otherwise you wouldn't be so angry."

"you don't know that!" he snaps, but he knows it's not true.

your hand closes around his wrist, and dabi recoils with such strength that it yanks you from your seat. dabi doesn't want you to let go, no matter how much he thrashes in place, because the sensation of your skin on his grounds him. somehow you know this, and you give a comforting squeeze to his pulse.

"but that's not all i see. because dolls are beautiful, and it's the ones who still love them after they're broken that they need the most. no one's told you they think you're beautiful, have they?"

dabi shakes his head, refusing to meet your gaze even when you cup his cheek with your free hand tilt it towards you. every touch is filled with hesitancy; feather light and more intimate than anything dabi has ever witnessed, let alone experienced personally. with the way you hold him like he's water in your hands, your eyes overflowing with a love he hasn't known in forever, dabi knows he won't find another feeling like it. you're not the embodiment of good—at least not by society's strict standards—but at least you can sit there and say you've committed a crime. you've never bloodied your hands by hurting others, much less gotten a thrill from doing so, and that's why he pulls away. he has to, because dabi is a harbinger of war, and if he holds you any closer it will only be to kill you.

he says something; a snarl mixed with a broken plea that he prays will make you stop; and you do. his silent victory doesn't last for long, though, because then you're using both hands to cradle his face and fuck, the pads of your thumbs grazing his scars feel like heaven. "won't you let me be the first?" how could he say no? how, when the taste of honey and whiskey is so addictive that he's already drooling into the kiss and willing to beg for more; when your mouth slots perfectly with his and dabi begins to wonder if he's stumbled right into the scene of a cliché wattpad story. the idea causes him to huff out a growl, and although neither of you can talk, he can imagine how strongly you must want to poke fun at him for the action. he can feel you smirking—the smug little bastard you are—and dabi ponders how long it will take to reduce that attitude of yours until you're submitting to him.

not yet. he chastises himself, completely unaware that you're currently thinking the same thing. dabi kneads the flesh of your hips through your jeans while you comb your fingers through his hair, gasping sharply between bruising, wet kisses and keening when he leans down to nurse your lips with soft pecks afterword. you're still trying to process the fact that you've coerced this devious criminal into making out with you in the pale glow of your seaside residence, but for the moment, you need not concern yourself with the details. you've forgotten all about dabi's ego and how this whole situation is no doubt feeding its flames. his grip on your waist is making you too delirious to care.

"fuck." dabi's breath is staggering when you finally pull back, an aura of clarity and desire hanging between the two of you.

"y-yeah. . .that was. . ." you can't produce a word, or even a paragraph to describe it. you know you're going to hit yourself later for admitting such a banal phrase in the midst of what could be classified as your very first kiss, but that is neither here nor there, and you would rather suffer an agonizing death than let dabi find out that he stole your first. you're too preoccupied envisioning all the other firsts to come, so you don't notice the way he stares at you like some precious jewel, but his fingertips brushing your bottom lip succeed in snapping you out of it.

"hm?"

dabi goes quiet, contemplating what to say as the thunder moves abroad and the rain comes to an end, leaving the house in a numbing state of tranquility.

"why not call me doll, then? it'd be easier."

you chuckle in response, playing with the hairs at the base of dabi's neck and making sure not to miss the way he melts into the affection. "i thought that'd be moving too fast." and dabi; still drugged from your kiss and what he can only hope is love; rasps out a genuine laugh, cupping your jaw with a tenderness that makes your knees weak.

"you offered to take a shower with me the night we met, and you think a nickname is moving too fast?"

you stick your tongue out at him, and dabi resists the urge to grab it, even if it's just a bluff.

"would you have let me call you that anyways?" you ask, something hopeful ridden in your tone. dabi feigns consideration as he looks to the ceiling, snickering when you smack his chest. eventually, he murmurs what you audibly hear as "brat" before resting his forehead on yours, an impish glint in his gaze.

"no."

you turn your chin up at him, giggling when he nips at the skin. dabi knows just as well that your attempts at escaping him are halfhearted, so he encircles his arms around your waist tighter, delighting in the flush that paints your cheeks.

"then i think i'll settle for my love, or darling, if that's alright with you."

dabi can't fend off the blush for his life, but he's not afraid if you acknowledge it. he can get you back easily, and he plans to. "fine by me, doll."

[railroad-migraine]

Could I request some hcs of the EXU crew reacting to a Dragon!Rider reader who comes from a completely different continent where it’s semi-common for select Humans to psychically bond with a Dragon and become partners for life? Most of the time the Dragon’s pretty lazy but affectionate with the reader but when a fight breaks out it turns into a flying whirlwind of claws, fangs and flaming breath.

👀 Sounds like a cool idea!!

Requests are open!

~ Poet

Dariax

Was so wary of your fire breathing companion at first - because of the mutual dislike for each other with Little Mister, Dariax was worried your dragon wouldn't like him either and he'd constantly have a scaly beast keeping him from getting to know you.

But one day while he was on watch with you, the dragon set its heavy head on his knee and let out a puff of air in a sigh, and the sweet dwarf fell head over heels for it.

If you ever offered him a ride in the skies, you'll find he's already on the harness, strapping himself in and asking you how to steer a dragon. He thinks you're so awesome and wants to learn to be like you - who knows, maybe one day he'll find one of his own!

Dorian

It's his first encounter with any dragon outside of storybooks he's read throughout childhood - thought he was seeing things when you introduced your companion to him, and actually rubbed his eyes because wow, dragons do exist? What?? And you have a deep, emotional bond that ties you to its will???

Is a little jumpy around your mount, but he's in constant denial. After a hike through some fields, the dragon's allergies must have been triggered and it kept sneezing on and off for about an hour. Dorian kept yelping, half expecting the crops surrounding you guys to catch fire. He's not keen on his outfit or hair being singed.

However, he won't deny how handy it is to have a dragon in your party. It makes him feel a bit more secure about journeys on the road. And campfires are so much easier to light now.

Fearne

Fire familiar play dates galore! Your dragon and Mister get on brilliantly, and Fearne feels like the proudest mama when they play nice together. Sometimes they get a little rowdy with their play fighting, which often result in scorch marks on floors and walls, but they're so darn cute together they rarely are scolded.

One time when you were up in the air, you felt a little tug around your waist - looking down, you saw Mister had mounted with you and had his little monkey arms wrapped around you, letting his tongue flop out of his mouth in the wind like a dog with its head out the window.

Fearne admires the feral nature and dangerous side to your dragon as much as she appreciates the adorableness. On more than one occasion, she (polymorphed as a direwolf) and your dragon have fought in perfect harmony in battle - it's in these moments that she learns so much about herself. Oh, and what's the most efficient way to tear a baddie to shreds :)

Opal

Has little to no fear of the dragon, and immediately goes in for a belly rub. It's scaly, and that fact alone reminds her of that fey gator she thinks of fondly from time to time - she's relieved that it's friendly enough that she doesn't have to tie it up.

Loves the lazy nature of this seemingly ferocious beast. She'll cuddle up into its side when you guys have set up camp (cause it's like a living furnace and it's cold outside), and gives it so many chin scritches. At some point you remind her that it is in fact a dragon and not a big dog. She waves a hand at you and continues to baby your fire breathing, killing machine.

You've noticed that whenever Opal yawns, your dragon does too. It's a pattern that started only recently, and at times you can't actually tell which one is copying the other. Nevertheless, it's weird, endearing, and it makes the others laugh. Opal doesn't get what's so funny.

Orym

Fascinated is a word to describe the halfling fighter of the group. A majestic beast of destruction and strength has bonded to one of his party members - it's the stuff of legends, and yet you hop on its back with such grace and ease he almost stands in shock.

Your dragon probably likes Orym's company best - he's quiet, observant, and keeps to himself. He's the perfect companion to lean into after a tough fight, or sit with while on watch. Sometimes when you're falling asleep on your bedroll, you can faintly hear the halfling murmuring to your familiar, telling stories or just insights from the day. Your dragon can only understand a little Common, but it's the thought that counts.

Politely declines your offer to fly for a portion of your journey - as the shortest party member, he thinks it's best that he stays as close to the ground as possible.

[annie-mit-ie]

Glimpses: Part 9 (Kathryn Hahn x Fem!Reader)

Part 1 // previous chapter <<< >>> next chapter 

Summary: Are you... finally having a date?

Word Count: 2.6k

A/N: Hey y’all! Again, I apologize for the delay but uni didn’t allow for me to have some free time to write. I’ll try to upload something earlier next week and hope you enjoy the new chapter until then! xxx

_____________________________________________________________________________

“Wish I could've seen your beautiful face on my screen tonight, sweetheart.“ You stare at your phone. Is she… flirting? By now it’s too late, so you can’t ask Alex for help since she is already sound asleep on her side of the world. You ruffle your hair and let your head fall to the back to look at the ceiling. Taking in a deep breath, you close your eyes and consider your options. Tonight, it’s only you, your phone and Kathryn. 

Unsure of what to do, you opt for the safer way and start a conversation rather than flirt with her right away, because honestly, you don’t even know what to do. “You know, we all actually hoped you guys would be able to see us, too.“

You are not sure if you blew it with that, but then again it’s not like you and Kathryn haven’t talked about things the fans think before, not that you are not one of them, but that’s a different story. She takes a while to respond and you throw your phone on the bed before lying down on your back.

Looking up at the stars on your ceiling, you reflect on what happened within the last week until your phone lights up again. You lie there for a short while waiting for Kathryn to respond and think about what plans you have for the rest of the week. You train of thought gets stopped when your phone lights up. You turn to your side to look at it and realize it lit up, yes, but this time there is no new message. Instead, additionally to lighting up, your phone starts to vibrate as hold it in your hand - a familiar face looking right at you. Yours. She is calling you. KATHRYN. On Facetime. 

Shocked as you are, you throw your phone across the room and as you try to catch it you hit it again, which only makes it fly further away. You immediately jump after it and fall from your bed in the process, taking a tumble before rolling off on the floor. Typical you and you would roll your eyes at yourself right now, if only you weren’t so busy reaching out for your phone.

For a moment, you think about how you could’ve hit your head pretty hard just a second ago, but somehow your body went into god mode and you managed to roll off pretty quickly. Phone in hand you are lying on the floor, all sprawled out as the time runs out to pick up the call. Gladly, you remember you should and take it as you still lie on the floor.

“Kathryn?“, you try to catch your breath. “Sweetheart, HEY!“, you catch a glimpse of her as you’re getting up to sit on your chair and hear her laugh. “What exactly are you doing, Y/N? You look… You are a mess, honey! WHAT HAPPENED?“

You immediately stop in your motion and look at her while running a hand through your hair trying to look more presentable. “I…“, you stutter. “I… I.. My phone… Floor. I had to… It’s…“

“Sweetheart you gotta take a breath for me now.“, she looks at you concerned.

“Yes, thank you Kathryn, yes. Hello there! I’m sorry. I might’ve hit my head actually. I’m not sure.“ She smiles once again while she is looking at you with her warm, blue eyes, as she gives you another minute to calm down after you ramble. “Well, I’m glad I get to see you now. I hate those one sided video things, especially since I’ve missed your face.“ She winks.

“You saw me like… 5 days ago. You’ll live.“ You can’t help but laugh at her antics once again and the both of you sit in comfortable silence for a moment until she breaks it. “Anyway, I am calling because I wanted to know if you will come and spend some time in my garden again this weekend.“ The words leave her mouth and you hear her but your brain seems unable to comprehend what is being said. How can this be your life right now?

While you are caught up in your thoughts Kathryn continues talking. “I promise this time we’ll stay at my place. No surprise gigs or anything to attend. Just the gals hanging out.“ You want to ask her if this is a date, you really do, but you can’t get yourself to be bold like that. Instead you just shoot her a wide smile as she waits for your answer and nod. “Yes! Absolutely! I mean… We never got to finish that bottle of wine we opened, so…“

Now it’s her turn to nod and you both fall silent again. Even though you are fully comfortable sitting in silence and just spending time with her in real life, it feels different on Facetime. Kathryn seems to notice rather quickly and breaks the silence again.

“Well, Sweetheart. I’ll let you go because I’m sure you’ve got other things to do. I will send you details for the weekend as soon as I know what my schedule looks like and then I’ll have Peter pick you up again?“

“That sounds amazing!…“ And you should've stopped there but at the same time you feel  a little adventurous, so you throw a common phrase in there that Alex uses any chance she gets. Realizing you could always say you don’t mean it that way makes it even easier - after all Kathryn doesn’t know you actually do. “It’s a date!“

Her smile turns into a wide grin. “It’s a date. I’ll see you on Saturday then.“

“Not if I see you first.“

—

You don’t see her first. Kathryn would never admit it, but she is in fact very nervous and paces up and down the house waiting for you. She fully cleaned all of it last night already, knowing that you would come over today. 

When she hears Peter and you arrive with the car, she walks up to the front door immediately and opens it right as you exit the car. You're wearing a flow-y summer dress again and your hair falls your shoulders in beautiful curls. A pair of sunglasses is propped up on top of your head and she can see you squinting your eyes against the sun.

Kathryn is leaning against the door frame as Peter sees you off and the two of you laugh about a dad joke he makes. She likes how you get along with everyone around her so well and her heart skips a beat as you turn around and your eyes meet. She is beautiful. A dark green pantsuit, that Kathryn combined with a white shirt (including the rolled up sleeves, of course), is hanging loosely off her shoulder. Her hair is in its usual curly mess and slowly moves in the wind as a fresh breeze hits her face.

Faster than anticipated you make your way up to her and wrap her up into a hug that, according to your consideration, is a little bit longer than a usual hug. She holds onto you just as tight and her hand wanders up to the back of your neck. When you finally let go of earth other you forget to put distance between your bodies again, so you find yourself just a couple inches away from her face once again.

“You look… stunning.“ She says as her hand softly pushes back a strand of hair behind your right ear.

“THANK YOU!“, you say in a high pitched voice as your eyes widen because of how embarrassing that voice raise was. “You look beautiful as always yourself, Kathryn.“

The smile on her face tells you that the compliment is sitting very well with her and you decide to keep a bit of the mystery, so you brush against her as you walk inside the house and make your way to the door thats leading to the garden.

Stunned, Kathryn stays in the doorframe for a moment before following you out onto the patio. She reaches you before you can reach the seating area because you purposefully strolled a little and appreciated the beauty of her backyard.

“I love your dress! That color and fit is just… you look beautiful, Y/N.“ You blush and it doesn’t go unnoticed by her as she has just caught up to you. The two of you have reached the couch and she offers you to sit first and makes sure you have a drink and everything you need before she makes herself comfortable. Just like last time, she sits down across from you first, keeping the mystery and all. 

The Kathryn you get to meet now is not that much different from the Kathryn you met within the last two weeks. She is funny and open and, if anything has changed, then it is the fact that she is much more relaxed without all the other people around.

As she tells you about her latest interview fails and gives you inside on her life, you can’t help but fall for her a little more, especially whenever she throws her head back as she laughs wholeheartedly. 

When it’s your turn to tell stories, you tell her about your childhood hobbies and how does might effect your future. She is very interested in arts and you immediately agree to meet up again to create something together. Talking about how you spend your free time, you finally mention Alex and talk about how fast she became your best friend. Just as always, she makes you feel like you are the most important person on the planet as you talk and somehow you feel like Alex becomes important to her as well, the moment you talk about how important she is to you.

With every glass she pours, Kathryn scooches a little closer to you until your knees nearly touch. Whenever you laugh about a joke, she reaches out to put her right hand on your leg and as you finish the first bottle of wine and she decides to order pizza as the sun starts to set, she plops down right next to you after getting the menu off the kitchen table.

Being fully comfortable with her now, you let yourself sink into her shoulder as the two of you browse the pizza names to see what you want to order. Luckily, you make a decision rather quickly while Kathryn needs some time, so you can enjoy the moment of closeness for a little while longer.

For the very first time, you realize how good her hair smells and how calming her aura is. You close your eyes to take it all in and smile to yourself about the sheer happiness that you are feeling in this very moment. 

Kathryn notices how calm you have gotten and leans back as her left arm sneakily finds its way across your shoulder to hold you close to her. Leaning back into the couch, she pulls you with her and the both of you sit in silence as you listen to her heartbeat. 

After a while, you hear a deep growl and Kathryn gets startled out of her meditational state. “Oh I’m sorry! I must be hungrier than I thought I am.“

She takes out her arm from behind you again and reaches for the menu and her phone to call the delivery service. When the pizza arrives and she comes back from the front door, she sits down on the other side of the couch once again and you immediately miss being by her side.

The pizza is nice, maybe even the best pizza you’ve had from any delivery service before, and by the time you finished eating, the sun has fully set. Not sure how she is going to react, you fiddle with your fingers for a moment before making a proposal.

“I.. actually arranged something. I looked up Peter’s agency and asked for his number and asked him if he could take us somewhere tonight. I mean.. If you’d wanna go?“

Once again speechless, Kathryn looks at you with wide eyes and raised eyebrows as her face is beaming from excitement. “Absolutely! Do we… need anything or are we good to go right away?“ It’s nice that she wants to help, but she doesn’t have to. Alex and you have planned for this very moment all week and talked it all through several times, so that Peter and you could arrange the surprise for Kathryn.

You help her up from the couch and lead her back into the house, where a filled basket, that has magically appeared, is waiting at the front door. Peter is already waiting in the car ready to take you to the stars.

It’s a rather short drive as he takes you to a little meadow on a hill where you can look over Los Angeles in between rocks and trees and actually see the stars as well. Naturally, he stays in the car and ready a book as the two of you walk up to the corner of the hill, where a small spot suggests that lots of couples have spent some time there. 

“This is perfect, Y/N. I….“ She looks at you before looking up at the night sky and stops talking as she feels your eyes on her. Your fingers on the blanket are close enough to hers that you can feel her warmth and you slowly move them closer. Neither of you breaks eye contact as your hands touch and a tingles move through all of your body.

You bite the inside of your lower lip in anticipation as you cup her hand with yours completely. Giving it one last squeeze, you let go and cup her face instead. Slowly, you move closer until you can feel her breath on your lips. Looking into her eyes for one last time, you overcome the remaining inches and capture her lips in a longing kiss as your hands find their way into her long hair.

Leaning into the kiss with a little too much force, combined with the fact that she is so focused on the way you make her feel, makes her lose balance and she falls backwards onto the blanket. Before you can do anything about it, you find yourself on top of Kathryn who is grinning and goes in for yet another kiss. Now she is the one who is holding onto you and her hands glide all over your body as she takes no measures to get you off of her.

You make out with her in that position for a short moment, before she stops in her tracks. “We can’t. Not like that. Not out here. I’m sorry, Sweetheart.“

“Oh no, don’t be sorry. You are absolutely right.“ You smile and kiss her shortly for one last time before getting off of her. “Let’s go back home? It’s getting rather cold anyway.“

“Home? Are you… Staying over tonight?“ She looks at you, unsure of what to expect.

For a moment you consider if you should play it save, but thinking about everything that happened tonight, you decide to go into full offense and shoot your shot while you wink at her. “Well, Ms. Hahn. Seems like you are asking me to stay, so I might as well.“

She looks at you and you can tell she is biting her lip before she looks back at the lights in front of her as she grabs your hand. “Please stay, Y/N. I would love that.“

[shurisneakers]

shut in [8]

Summary: When your high profile mission goes terribly wrong, you’re forced to hide in a safehouse with a man you’ve never met before. With seemingly nowhere else to go, you’re forced to work together to figure out who is trying to have you assassinated before it’s too late. (Sam Wilson x Reader, Hitman AU)

Warnings: cursing, implied abuse, death, implied ptsd, injuries, guns, anxiety

Word count: 4.2k

A/N: oh my god oh my god sam stans how are we feeling djkghdfjkhgdf. no thoughts only sam wilson in ep1 of tfatws <333

i also appreciate feedback so if you would like to, please consider dropping me an ask or comment ly guys!! 

here’s my ko-fi if you’d like to support my writing <333

Previous Part || Shut In Masterlist

“Hey, I’m just going to step out for today.” You looked up from the doodle you were making on the corner of the paper. “Catch you later? Just find me if you need anything.”

“You okay?” You automatically sat up straighter, blanket creasing under you. Something was amiss in his body language.

“Yeah, just-” He seemed like he was struggling for words. “-Brooklyn.”

You didn’t get what he was making a reference to until it suddenly dawned on you.

It was the codeword he had suggested right at the beginning of your time in the house. If he was in danger you were sure he’d tell you, at least an inkling of information.

But no, this was for some time alone, further confirmed by the distant look in his eyes.

“Oh.” You blinked. “Take all the time you need. I’ll be here if you need.”

He gave you a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes, turning around and leaving the room.

You were left staring after him, the drawing you were making of the house layout discarded on the bed. You were working on strategies, vantage points- anything that could help in case something went wrong.

Was it because of the dumb ‘moment’ you had shared two days ago? It didn’t seem like it because he hadn’t brought it up at all and God knows you would never. Was it something else that had happened, something you did?

Stop overthinking. He probably just needs a day to himself.

You had spent almost a month in each other’s company and he had never once complained. He had a tendency to be petty about minor inconveniences, like you trying to watch a movie when his favourite segment on the local news channel was going on. He liked the cooking show they hosted.

He had never made it a point to specifically tell you that he needed some time to himself, much less use the word.  

“Get yourself together,” you whispered to yourself, shaking off the nagging feeling you had.

If he had an issue, he would have voiced it. He never shied away from doing that before and you knew he wouldn’t start now.

You forced yourself to think about something else, grabbing the copy of American Gods you had already gone over once before but were subjecting to a reread. Opening the page you had last left it at, you were determined to distract yourself.

Nearly twenty minutes later and exactly zero pages since you had started, you realised that no matter how much you forced yourself to get into it, you went over the same line over and over again, not a single word registering in your head.

“Motherfucker,” you groaned, letting the book fall on your face. You took a long look outside the window, mind drifting.

It was a nice day out. Maybe some sun would help.

You lifted your legs off the bed, taking your book with you to the kitchen. You could get a nice sandwich-- the same as the last three fuckin’ weeks but you digressed-- a glass of water, and you could sit outside for a while. A mini picnic.

You opened a new packet of sliced bread, taking two out before stopping. You pondered over whether you should make him a sandwich for when he returned, knowing that he didn’t eat lunch before he left.

You thought about it for a good minute before rolling your eyes, pulling out two additional slices to make him one as well. It was just a sandwich. It wasn’t a big deal.

Tucking your book under your arm, you carried your lunch and a glass of water to the patio around the back.

The wind rustled the leaves and the sun wasn’t harsh. The low buzz of insects was the only sound that kept you company.

The air was crisp and you instantly felt better than you had all day in the room.

Setting your stuff down on the bench, you sat down, inhaling deeply.

The book suddenly didn’t seem so impossible to complete as you tried once more, slipping into the pages easily. Even after you finished your food, you continued to lounge about there, too engrossed and content to move.

You didn’t notice the afternoon go by, evening coming and going just as swiftly. You swatted at the occasional fly but nothing else bothered you.

It felt like summer break. At least what you thought it would feel like. You never had one, being homeschooled about things from various people in the organization. There wasn’t a singular, long break. You were just forced to adapt.

You didn't know how to deal with the suffocating realisation of knowing there were so many things you missed out on. It grew the longer you spent time away. You just shoved it away, forcing yourself to deal with it another day.

He comes back when the sky is slipping into shades of orange, a backpack on his shoulder. There was a patch of sweat around his neck and his head was hung low as he walked.

“Hey,” you hoped it didn't look like you were waiting for him. It could easily be taken as you camping out there, waiting for your husband to return from a hard day in the fields.

Sam looked up at your greeting. You noted that the bruise on his nose was starting to change colour but the swelling had reduced from how bad it used to be.

“Left you a sandwich on the counter if you’re hungry,” you added. He nodded in acknowledgement, making his way up the stairs and into the house without another word.

You let out an exhale, feeling a little better knowing that he was at least back in one piece. No reason to believe otherwise other than the anxiety you had developed over imagining the worst case scenarios.

You picked up your book again, intending to finish off the last bit before you went back inside for the day.

About half an hour later Sam re-emerged from the house, your attention snapping to him as the door opened and shut. He had changed into a new pair of clothes, looking a little cleaner like he was fresh outta the shower. He had a sandwich in his hand that he had already taken a few bites out of. You wondered if it was the one you left for him.

You didn’t expect him to take a seat next to you on the bench. He didn’t look at you or open his mouth to talk so you followed suit. You continued reading, or at least tried to, as he just sat there, finishing his sandwich without any kind of other interaction.

There was a strange tension he wasn’t addressing. He instead leaned back, arms crossed behind his neck to support his neck and closed his eyes. His foot tapped against the wooden floor and rather than getting annoyed, you found solace in the repetition.

“They recruited me on this day,” Sam said to no one in particular. His eyes were still closed and his feet still tapped against the ground. “Parents died when I was a kid, I got shifted around orphanages and homes a lot. Finally Ransone had someone pick me up.”

You closed your book softly, setting it down beside you. That’s what was bothering him.

Secret adoption is what they called it officially in the business, but around the organization it was just known as the recruitment process. Every record of Sam being alive would have been destroyed to maintain anonymity.

To the world he just… disappeared.

It was a day that clearly brought with it so much pain. You were too young to remember when you joined, and no one had kept track either. You supposed it was for the good.

It was supposed to be a happy day, one filled with new beginnings. Maybe that’s what he would have thought when he got picked. It’s what you did.

“I’m sorry,” you said, not having anything else to offer. You relieved your memories everyday in your head. Having a morbid anniversary of sorts would no doubt drain the life out of you; remembering one singular day that would trigger the rest of the decisions you made in your life.

He didn’t say anything in return. You turned your attention to the sky, finding it easier to look at that than the disturbed look on his face.

“Do you regret this?” he asked out of the blue.

“All of it,” you replied, without skipping a beat.

“Every single one, huh?” Sam’s one eye opened to peer at you.

“It wasn’t up to me to take someone’s life away.” You were just a child. You knew nothing other than what you were taught; so then why was it so fucking hard to forgive your past self for straying into this. “Even once I realised that I couldn’t leave.”

You didn’t form any relationships while you worked with Ransone. Whoever you did allow yourself to care for ended up dead or worse, sometimes as a cruel lesson to not make friends in the organization you worked in because all they served as were distractions and liabilities. Others were plain scum; people who you knew were using you but you didn’t care. The loneliness hurt worse.

“What about you?”

“I’d give anything to go back and change things,” he admitted. He didn’t have a say either. It didn’t make things easier.

“You regret all of ‘em too?”

“Mostly,” he said. “One of them I don’t.”

“That one must have deserved it then,” you deduced. It was the only logical explanation you could think of; the worst of the worst.

“Nah. I let him go.”

It took a while to register what he said.

“What?” You twisted your body to look at him.

“First mission I ever did.”

His hands were shaking lightly, barely holding on to the gun. This wasn’t what he was taught. Stay calm. Stay calm. Stay calm.

He had already managed to get his way into the house through the back. His partner had taken care of most of it and Sam only had to knock people out. He hadn’t had to kill anyone yet.

But now his partner was injured outside the door. Quick shot to the leg, a punch in the face and he was out cold. Sam was already in the master bedroom by the time it happened. He had no idea about where his partner was, only the crippling fear of being left alone and the nerves from the threat posed to him if this didn’t go right.

He knew he didn’t have enough time. He had only a few minutes to kill him and get out of there before his family returned.

The man itself was sitting at the study table, his back towards Sam. Just pull the trigger and get out of here. It was deadly silent.

“I know you’re here to kill me,” the man said suddenly. Sam nearly jumped but instead tightened the grip on the gun.

“Stay where you are.” He sounded confident.

“I’m not planning on going anywhere.” His chair swiveled around, letting him face Sam. His hair was white with a beard that matched. He was dressed down in his pajamas, a robe covering him. He didn’t look nervous.

“Stop talking.”

“You’re younger than what I expected,” the man observed, not paying heed to what Sam was in. He was a considerable distance away. “You’re not even legal yet, are you? I got kids, I would know.”

Sam didn’t say a word, only lifted his gun up to align with his forehead. “I said, stop talking.”

“I’ve made mistakes. Several, actually,” he mused, “It’s why your boss sent you here. I’ve accepted my fate.”

“Then it should be easy.”

“Oh, it never is,” the man chuckled. “It doesn’t get lighter. You learn to ignore it but it’ll weigh on you for the rest of your life.”

Sam’s jaw clenched. It would get easier. It had to.

“I doubt that’s what you heard, however,” he continued. “Ransone’s a bit… unstable. It’s in his blood, but you- you don’t look like you could live with it.”

Ransone’s history was well known enough that rival gang leaders knew it too, apparently. The man would have been delighted at his infamous reputation.

Just shoot him. Just shoot him and end this.

“What’s your name?” the man asked, taking a sip from the tumbler he had in his hand. “You’re going to be the last person I talk to. It’d be nice to have a name.”

“Sam,” he whispered, inwardly cursing himself.

“Sam. That’s a strong name,” the man said, clicking the roof of his mouth with his tongue. “Are you sure this is what you want to do, Sam?”

It wasn’t.

“I don’t have a choice.” He hated how defeated he sounded. It was a weakness.

“They want you to believe that. It takes away your freedom. I would know, I’ve used it.” The man smiled, setting down his glass. “I’ll tell you this though, Sam. You always have a choice.”

“Stop talking, man.” Sam pulled the safety off.

“Once you go down this way, there’s no way you can escape. Someone will always have to die; either him or you.”

“That’s not true.” He could leave at any time. He just needed-

“You’ll see for yourself.” The man leaned back on his chair, resigned. “But for now, go ahead. I’ll make it easy for you.”

He simply closed his eyes and sat back.

You waited for Sam to continue.

“Couldn’t do it,” he said, shaking his head lightly. “Son of a bitch got in my head and I knew what he was doing too. Told him to get the fuck out before my partner shot him in the face.”

“Does Ransone know?” You were still reeling from the incident he recounted. You didn't know what else to say.

“Holds it over me every damn day,” he scoffed. “Some fucked up way of saying that I owe him one.”

To be frank, you were surprised Sam was still alive to tell you. Everyone knew that Ransone forgiven the first mistake someone made, but this was huge. If it were anyone else, he would have had someone try out a hundred different ways to push Sam to the brink of death and back; having him begging for the release that death would bring.

“He hasn’t ever cashed in that favour?”

“He did. Had me take out the leader of the Ten Rings after that.”

“So then why did you still continue?”

“I did something extremely dangerous a couple of years ago that he found out about recently. Used that to get me to come for this mission.”

He didn’t elaborate what he meant and you didn’t ask him to. You supposed it was a story for another day. This was heavy enough.

“He wants to get rid of me as much as I want to get away from him, trust me. We’re the weird, toxic relationship those self-help Instagram pages warned you about.” Trust Sam to make a dumb joke during a conversation like this. “Probably the only time someone from the gang let their target go and not died.”

That wasn’t as true as he thought he was but you didn’t want to seem like you were one-upping him. You didn’t want him to think you were making this about you.

“You remember the big break you were talking about?” you tread carefully, gauging his reaction before you continued. “The one that pushed me up the ranks or whatever.”

He gave a small hum of acknowledgement, bringing his hands from behind his head to fold across his chest.

“Similar story, ‘cept Ransone doesn’t know.”

“What?” His eyes shot open. “How?”

“I was so tired of him treating me like a child. Everyone around who joined after me was out there doinghardcore missions and I was stuck with petty shit.” You didn’t know any better. You wished you had. “So he told me if I made it through this one, he’d send me on more.”

This wasn’t your first mission. You had handled hits before, mostly in the shadows, from a distance.

This was different. It was broad daylight, waiting behind a wall near the gated entrance of the house for a car to pull up.

A challenge, Ransone had posed, with strict instructions to do it in broad daylight. If you got out of this undetected, he’d consider sending you on more sophisticated missions.

“Highly stealthy. They’re dangerous,” you were warned. “You won’t know what hit you if you’re caught off your game.”

The low rumble of the car outside the gate alerted you of your target’s arrival. The gates weren’t going to open, the guards were dead.

The car stopped, waiting for the path to open up. When it didn’t the car’s engine slowed to a stop. The man in the driver’s seat got out to open the gate, giving you a clear shot.

You took a deep breath, clenching your eyes shut for a second before taking aim.

The body hit the gravel and you quickly made your way to the car. You could see the woman in the backseat gaping at where the man was standing a few seconds ago. She was struggling against the door, trying to escape.

She finally succeeded, the door opening suddenly as she stumbled over herself trying to get out.

“Stay there,” you commanded. She slowly looked up at you, face white as a sheet.

“Please,” she croaked. “Don’t hurt us.”

“I’m sorry.” You truly were.

Her face changed, dropping the facade immediately. She just looked on in acceptance, not making an effort to move. Manipulative. She almost had you convinced

You held the gun over her, pulling the trigger. A single shot. Her body slumped over.

You stared at her in silence, expressionless. You let out an exhale, tucking the gun back into the waist of your pants, stepping over her body to leave.

A small, staggering breath made you stop in your tracks. It was so slight you barely heard it. You took a step back, trying to trace where it came from.

You ducked your head to peer into the car, your heart stopping. Your hand instinctively reached for your weapon.

“What the-” you muttered, facing a boy who looked only a few years younger than you. He was staring straight ahead, muscles in his jaw tight.

The son wasn’t supposed to be here. He was supposed to be abroad, according to the case file. Unless there were two of them you didn’t know about, this boy wasn’t supposed to be here.

“Listen,” you began, but he didn’t look at you. Just stared straight ahead, body trembling. He was scared. He didn’t show it.

“Show no mercy,” Ransone’s voice rang in your head.

“He’s a child,” you murmured to yourself. Your gun felt heavy in your hand.

Show no mercy.

You could only imagine what would be in store for you if you returned to Ransone with some tale of sympathy. This boy was only a few years younger than you. He didn’t have anything to do with this.

Show no mercy.

“Kid,” you called out. He slowly turned his head. “Go on. Get out of here.”

“What?” he asked, voice hoarse.

“Leave. You can’t be seen if someone comes back,” you urged. “I won’t be able to help you.”

“You killed my mom,” he jeered, unmoving.

“I’m sorry. I had to.” Your voice was quiet. Your hand clutched at the hood of the car to keep your balance. “But I don’t want to hurt you. Go.”

When he didn’t shift, you slammed the hood of the car, scaring him enough to pull at the door and stagger out of the car.

You turned your back to him, not waiting to see where he was going. The more deniability you had, the better.

“Did he make it?”

“He did,” you divulged the information you had found out a while ago. It was a messy confrontation to say the least but you got out unscathed.

“And Ransone doesn’t know.”

“There’s no record of this kid. He thinks he was at boarding school.” You shrugged. “Wasn’t going to correct him either.”

“If he did find out-” Sam trailed off.

“I’d be dead,” you concluded. “Being his favourite wouldn’t matter.”

“Why was it such a big deal, this mission?”

“She was a part of a major gang that Ransone was losing to.”

Sam just nodded knowingly, looking ahead again. You knew he’d done missions like this as well. Things like this were common so it didn’t need further elaboration.

“This job sucks,” he let out.

You gave a short laugh. That was an understatement.

“I want out. Can’t keep doin’ this for much longer,” he continued, however, to your surprise. “Don’t wanna keep doin’ this.”

You bit your lip, eyebrows knitted in concern. “You will.”

“How?” You hadn’t seen him like this before, this hint of desperation in his tone that left as quickly as it came. “I’ve tried, everything just comes up short.”

“I’ll help you.” You wanted to, God you did.

“You gonna kill him for me?” He looked at you. “‘Cause that’s really the only way out of this.”

If you were pushed to the limit, if he was on his knees in front of you and there was a gun in your hand pointed at him; would you be able to pull the trigger? Would you be able to kill the only constant you’d had for more than half your life?

“I can’t,” you muttered, dejection making its way into your thoughts.

“I know,” Sam said softly, “I wouldn’t ask you to either.”

You took a moment to observe him. The sun did him good. There was a soft glow to his skin, the colours of the sunset dancing in his dark eyes. Laugh lines were becoming more prominent around them, only adding to its charm.

He was a good man. He deserved better.

“I’ll find a way,” you sounded determined, “I promise.”

You didn’t say that very often. Your word didn’t mean a lot to people in the business, but it seemed to, to him.

“Thank you.” He appeared taken aback but didn’t show it in his words.

You simply sent him a smile, a reassurance. You knew what you had to do, just weren’t sure how.

He was right. There wasn’t a way out of it other than the one he proposed, but it wasn’t an option. You had to find another.

You would. You’d figure it out.

“It’s Cinnamon, by the way,” he said without any context.

You looked at him in question.

“My embarrassing nickname.” This was not where you saw the conversation heading but you were delighted all of a sudden. “My ma used to call me that all the damn time. Mortifying.”

“Cinnamon and Buttercup.” You didn’t bother hiding the grin that spread across your face. “World’s best assassins.”

“If that name ever leaves this conversation, I’ll know who to murder.”

“You couldn’t even if you tried,” you said playfully, nudging his shoulder.

He shrugged, face relaxed. “T’was worth a shot.”

An unintentional pun you snickered at. You didn’t tease him any further, just filed the name away as a memory. Maybe you’d use it later.

“Have you ever let anyone go after that?” You didn’t want to keep coming back to this conversation but you liked having someone to relate to.

“No.” Sam shook his head. “Didn’t want to test my luck.”

“Me too.” One had been enough. You lived in fear for so long, waiting for someone to pull the plug and tell him what you’d done. That fear only grew everyday, finding a place at the deepest corner of your mind to fester.

“It’s what I meant when I said Serpentine had a motive to want me dead,” Sam said, piquing your interest once more.

“Huh?”

“The man I was supposed to kill- he was their old head. He disappeared after that and no one heard from him but it pissed off everyone, right from Ransone to their stupid gang’s janitor,” he explained, your eyes going wide with every word. “So the irony is, if we’re right, I might have led us into this situation. They’re looking for revenge.”

“Holy shit,” you uttered under your breath.

“I just assumed he died of old age if someone didn’t get to him first. He looked like he was one birthday away from the grave anyway.”

“How are you still alive, Sam?” you asked in wonder.

“I’d do it again.” He laughed, a deep one from his stomach.

He was reckless, clearly. Happily and unashamedly so. And if you continued to hang out with him after this was over, he’d probably get you killed in some stunt or two.

But maybe you’d deal with that if the time came. 

He leaned back again, this time no creases on his forehead from stress. He looked at peace.

You sat together in silence. You occasionally stole glances at him as the sun set in front of you, a small smile on your face.

You leaned your head on his shoulder tentatively. You could feel him tilt his head to look at you and you prepared to have him ask you to move.

It never came. Instead, he scooted closer to you, letting you rest against him more comfortably. Your heart skipped a beat; barely but surely. 

A realisation quickly hit you, suddenly before consuming you. Your stomach sank.  

“Fuck.”

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