#everything else about Thatch sound great

[deadpoetsocieteaparty]

Look, Thatch, I love you but if you jump scare me I will drop kick you so hard your own sperm will retaliate against you. You won't be able to get yo girl pregnant no matter how hard you try.

You'll go to the doctor and it'll be evident that it is very much you that's holding the bun in the oven up but nothing is actually wrong? Doctor is so confused.

Secretly your body is just rebelling. "Boys, he's trying baby making again! Send in the dead weight!"

Your own body will never forgive you for scaring me like that. I will put the fear of womankind into you.

~Thatch~

•Good natured prankster

•Quite funny but also kind of a dork

•Has a motherly mode, he's very caring and tends to worry. Safety is his thing.

•Takes as much care of his hair as he does his kitchen knives. They are both very important to him.

•Loves food. He's an adventurous eater, there are very very few things he doesn't like. One of those things is oatmeal - it's the texture.

•Has horrible handwriting

•Gardens. Likes to grow as much of his own food as he can.

Romantically-

•Super affectionate.

•Doesn't have a problem letting you take over in bed.

•Has no problem being clingy and saying he loves you in front of everyone.

•Falls in love fast and hard

•You aren't exempt from pranks - he'll hide around corners and hop out to scare you.

•He's very thoughtful, your date nights are always amazing.

•He'll teach you to cook or have you teach him your hobbies so he can spend more time with you.

•Don't worry, if you need space just say the word and he'll let you have as much time as you need.

•Would be a great dad, he'll teach the kids to help him cook so they won't be picky eaters. He takes an open communication approach so they'll feel comfortable asking or telling him things when life gets tough.

[synintheraven]

✵pairing: sihtric kjartansson x fem!reader

✵summary: the crew goes raiding in an attempt to gain riches and reader keeps taunting Sihtric as he's still reluctant to her being there at all.

✵tw: mentions of blood/violence, violence, fire (as in provoked fire, burning stuff?)

✵word count: 1,5k (note: will try to keep chapters about this long so I can divide the story into many chapters hehe)

characters info | part one | part three

It was raining. The air smelt of wet grass and damp earth, filling my nostrils. Watching as water drenched the timber of the floor, or how drops fell from the thatched roof over our heads.

It was a cold, dark night and I missed the warmth offered by fire and a dry cloak over my shoulders. But everyone was sleeping and no one suspected a few wolves were quietly wandering among sheep.

We had managed to find a small village, still safe from the clutches of the Great Army’s Danes. It lay on the Black Bourn River, hidden behind willow trees and yellow reeds: looking like no more than an old ruin from afar, but with enough riches to fill our ship.

The place was scattered with small houses going inland, following the road through empty fields and skinny farm animals, stopping where a sad tree marked the entrance. There were no guards, no fighters; only a few old hounds and a single rusty bell to the far side of the village, near the deserted docks.

Yggr was standing by the entrance of the hut, peering outside as we waited behind him. The place smelt like animal dung and water was passing through the holes in the thatch. But we had swords in our hands and eyes sharp, ready to surprise sleeping Saxons.

—Sihtric, Y/N: you two, go. —He beckoned towards the thegn’s house, whose position was given away by the bigger size of its estate.

We went fast, but quietly. Keeping hold of our weapons and avoiding puddles, walking carefully through the bushes.

Sihtric went first, guiding me through the village as he avoided the light from torches and bonfires. Searching for a way into the hut, for doors creaked and we couldn’t risk getting caught, at least not until we had seized the thegn.

We had managed to find an uncovered window, revealing a small area with a table and leftovers from supper still scattered around. It was our way in, though we needed to remain unnoticed.

I jumped through, and scooted the room to ensure there was no one else around, looking for spying eyes before Sihtric came through. Yet the darkness of the room hid no one, not even when thunder brought some light through the wooden window.

The man we were searching for was resting only a few steps away from us, a poor straw wall being the only thing in between us and the four of them; two children, the man’s wife and our target. I moved slowly, approaching his wife and kids, while Sihtric stood behind the man.

He held his short sword to the man’s throat, awakening him with a soft blow on the chest before speaking. —Where’s the silver? —He said in English, but to me it sounded like he was making up words.

The Saxon’s answer was decisive, for it was up to him whatever we were to do next: he could either scream, therefore have Yggr burn everything and everyone to the ground, or he could stay calm and save everyone by giving us a simple answer. Yet by the Dane's reaction, I suspected his answer wasn’t the one we wanted.

—You lie! —He bellowed with a frown, awaking the man’s family. —Tell me where the silver is or she will kill them.

The man remained calm, despite the cold steel threatening the flesh from his neck. His wife, however, looked around with eyes wide open and sat on the furs determined to cry for help, though my sword pointing towards the kids made her reconsider.

—Burn in hell, heathen. —The thegn snarled back, spitting on Sihtric’s face while his kids and wife felt nothing but terror.

Whatever he had said set the Dane’s eyes ablaze and, all of a sudden, there was nothing but rage in his face. Stumbling on his own feet and with his eyes fixated on his poor wife’s worried expression, the man had his wrists tied together and was then forced out of the hut.

Rain drenched their clothes as they stood in the front yard, both facing the burning huts and Yggr’s warriors as they looted the place.

—You chose your pride over your people, now you’ll see them burn! —He spoke loudly, kicking the man’s legs and forcing him on his knees. Then, I suppose, proceeded to repeat what he had said in English, causing the man to twitch around and try to get rid of Sihtric's hold.

But there was no way back. Yggr and his men had heard us and set the thatched roofs ablaze.

It was quite a sight; fire burning bright in the dark night, as the storm and the villagers tried to stop it from spreading. Some men attempted to go after our crew and tried to use hooks, small axes or whatever they could find to defend their belongings, their land. And they died or got seriously injured, fighting with skilled warriors and not mere farmers like them.

Yggr was standing only a few steps from us, stopping his frenzy for a moment to look at the thegn. The light from the fire lit his blonde hair and the fresh blood running down his axe, which he pointed towards us.  —Is this what you want, Saxon? —He said with a deep voice, loud enough to be heard despite the heavy storm and screaming warriors around him. —Show me the silver and I’ll spare your life and those of your people.

Sihtric held the man’s head, forcing him to look at our Jarl. He must have been trying to seem strong and unbreakable, looking somewhere into the sky while murmuring unknown words; but a man’s pride has limits, and we had pushed his too far.

—Enough! —He pointed with his head, sighing as my Dane companion forced him to stand once again. —It’s inside the well, there!

The formidable Norse swung his axe around, allowing the water rain to wash the blood from the steel as he moved it towards the startled Saxon. The man was brought closer to the well, which was covered in mush, grass and a few rocks, a subtle cover for the hoard hidden inside.

But as the men searched for treasure, I remained next to the house; still pointing my sword at one of the kid’s throats, his sobbing mother watching as her husband surrendered what little wealth they had to us.

One full bucket of trinkets and the few horses we managed to steal, that was all. Merely enough to buy dirty furs or grain, far from Yggr’s dream to become a proper lord on his first week raiding East Anglia.

The Ragnarsson’s Army had scourged Britain and rid it of the bigger, wealthier riches, and there was nothing we could do about it. We had too little a number to fight them, let alone to try and invade the only territory that remained Saxon and clean of Danes: Wessex.

That was the country’s jewel, the only one that couldn’t be taken. A kingdom that promised the dreamiest treasures and plenty of big, fertile lands for each and every warrior following the brothers.

There was word that King Alfred’s kingdom was stronger since the King’s brother passed, but we Danes and Norse thought the bastard was only lucky; for there were more ships navigating the rivers each day, all of them coming from their homes in the North.

I was sitting next to Sihtric, silently watching the dancing flames in front of us as he sharpened his sword. While Yggr sat near the crumbling wall on the far side of the camp, staring somewhere into the foggy land around us.

It was a dark cold night, without a single star in the sky. The thick fog covering the land around us and the heavy rain falling on the river, deafening every other sound.

Our hiding place now had a timber wood floor and a poorly built thatched roof, along with a small bonfire to warm us. Though we still had no walls, the tall pillars built by giants being the only kind of cover against wandering strangers and the autumnal weather.

—Those tall buildings with old men in dirty robes. That’s where the good stuff is at. —Said a man sitting behind us, loud enough to be heard despite the storm. —We won’t survive long here, trapped in these muddy ruins like a hare surrounded by wolves.

—Soon, hare, you’ll become the wolf. —Sihtric paused, his eyes fixed on a deep nick over the sword’s blade. —But there’s nothing left for us in those places, or here in East Anglia.

—Where are we going, then? —I interrupted, taking the weapon from his grip. —To put this big boy knife of yours to good use, I hope.

Sihtric barely showed a smirk, but I could tell he wasn’t happy sharing his belongings with me, nor with my teasing jokes. —Until the scouts come back, nowhere. —He slowly took his sword back then cleared his throat awkwardly, but kept his bold, mismatched look on me.

—You’re going spying. —Said Yggr, joining us to stand beside the fire, his hands hovering over the warmth. —I can’t sit and wait for them to return, so you’ll join Ivar Ragnarsson in Mercia. Just the two of you.

[quinloki]

Birthday Request Event

"It's my birthday and I'll write what I want to \o/"

Gift Details ♥ Reader: AFAB!reader Character: Portgas D. Ace Kink: #19 Hypnosis Prompt: #1 "Beg for it." Gift Giver: @mungbean-aoi

Summary: Ace says he's learned how to hypnotize people from Thatch, and you're not buying it.

Content Notes: Really fluffy actually. This did not follow the prompt request as I would've liked, but I think it was still good. My apologies to Mung, I hope you still like it. ^_^;

This birthday party is 18+, consensual unless explicitly stated otherwise, and BYOB

“A… pocket watch?” You question as you watch Ace spin it in circles with his finger.

“Yup.” He grins. “Thatch taught me how to do it.”

“Hypnosis.” You sound completely unconvinced. “C’mon Ace, everyone knows it’s just like, an easy out for marks that are willing but don’t want to admit it.”

“Uh huh,” he intones, still grinning at you. “You’re just afraid it’ll work.” He goads you, wiggling his eyebrows at you. “Or is there something under the surface you want to confess to me secretly?”

You try your best to keep any reaction off your face, pulling Ace’s hat into his face and pushing him away. “You wish.”

Ace chuckles. “C’mon, if you don’t have a deep dark secret longing for me, then you have nothing to worry about, right?” He teases, righting his hat. “I promise, we won’t leave this room. Anything embarrassing you do will stay between us.”

You consider things. If you didn’t acquiesce, Ace was liable to tease you about it in front of the crew. Worse, crewmates would be lining up to be hypnotized, just to prove how silly and fun it was. There wouldn’t be any cruelty in it – it was all in good fun when you ribbed one another, but…

“Swear to me, Portgas D. Ace.” You say, leveling a stern look at him. “On your little brother’s life, that you’ll tell me everything I did, and you won’t breathe a word of whatever happens to anyone else.” You emphasize certain words by poking him in the chest.

Ace takes off his hat and puts his hand on his heart. “I swear.” He replies seriously, giving you a grin after your expression softens.

“Alright then.” You sigh and sit down in front of him. “What do we do?”

“I’m going to start this sound dial so it’s recording, and you’re going to watch the pocket watch.” He says, letting it dangle in front of your eyes, swinging it lazily back and forth. You noticed flickers of light and realized that Ace was adding fire and sparks to the routine as the soft click of the sound dial barely registers in the back of your mind.

Ace’s voice takes on an even, steady cadence, and he talks to you about relaxing and trusting him. Not to worry, just breathe steadily, and keep your eyes on the watch. Don’t think about anything else, just that you’re safe and relaxed and –

All your worries and cares were gone. There was nothing to be concerned about, except answering the voice before you. It was a warm voice and you wanted nothing more than to please it.

“There we go.” Ace says with a smirk. “You with me (Y/N)?”

You nod almost numbly. “Yes, Ace.” Your voice is content and even and a little soft. Your eyes are unfocused, and you have no urge to move your body unless compelled by someone or something else.

“Are you feeling good?” He prompts.

You nod. “Safe.”

“Good, safe is good.” He reaches out to caress your cheek but stops short. You two hadn’t gone into great detail about just how much consent there was to be had. “What do you think of me, (Y/N)?” He asks, almost unintentionally.

“You’re… beautiful.” You say after a moment. You barely register Ace’s eyes going wide, and his face going red. Your unfocused eyes seemed to be looking at a memory as you continued. “The shape your freckles take when you smile, and the glint in your eyes when you’re truly happy. The warmth of your hand on my shoulder is more reassuring than anyone else’s, and even though I can’t ever seem to say it I -.”

“Wait! Wait!” Ace nearly yelps, putting his hands over your mouth. “Oh, by the seas, do not confess to me right now.” He mumbles to himself, his hands on your shoulders. He considers everything for a moment before leaning back and looking at you, fire flickering through his hair despite his efforts.

“Do you want me?” He questions.

“Yes.” You answer without hesitation.

“… Er… how do… you�� want me?”

“Looming over me and in control, teasing me until I come undone underneath you, crying and gasping from pleasure, begging you to just rail me until I can’t walk.” You answer evenly. The flat tone in your voice somehow makes it more embarrassing to hear as far as Ace is concerned, but he’s nearly biting through his knuckle to keep from combusting in the middle of the room.

“That’s… explicit.” He admits.

“It has been a frustratingly recurring dream.” You admit flatly.

Ace puts his hands to his face and lets out a sigh. “I’m going to count back from three and snap my fingers and you’ll go back to yourself, understand?”

“Yes, Ace.”

“Three, two, one.” Ace snaps his fingers and watches as you visibly change back. Your eyes come into focus, your muscles tighten a little, and you look around in confusion.

“I really expected to find myself out on the deck or something,” you grumble, giving Ace a crooked smile for a second before you notice his disposition. “… what happened?”

Ace hands you the sound dial, dark eyes nearly looking into your soul. He doesn’t say anything, and just indicates the activation button before he sits back, giving you a little more space than he usually does. You give him an odd look before pressing play and letting the dial repeat what had happened.

What you had said.

What you had almost said.

When you admit the recurring dream you’d been having, you nearly drop the dial. Ace gets up and dims the cabin lights as the recording finishes. He stands as far away from you as he can, but even in the dim light you can see he’s nearly red to his shoulders despite the calm look on his face.

“You can leave, and… and I won’t say a thing about this ever again.” He says quietly. The idea of being further apart after this makes your heart twist, and you’re worried for a second that you’re going to cry, but Ace continues. “But… if you stay… I’ll do my best to make that dream come true.”

He’s looking down at you with a hopeful expression and a crooked smile. You’re not sure what face you’re making back at him, but he seems to take it as a positive because his smile grows. You feel the heat rush through you, and you hide your face in your hands for a moment.

“… stay.” You say quietly. “I… want to… stay.”

Ace grins, and you can feel the shiver slip sweetly down your back.

“Good,” he says, voice low. “I’ve always dreamed about this.”

[darkhorse-javert]

Flufftober Attic

@flufftober

I followed attentively, watching as Holmes paced through the house, feeling, stamping, giving everything the most minute examination. He even waited for me as he scrambled into the attic; one with an actual floor although crowded with things. He paced that around, running fingers over whitewashed wall edges, before going back to the ladder head. Just before he reached the square, he caught my eye hard and held up a hand

Stop, stay there. I stilled my walking, a few steps from the ladder myself, able to see down there. Holmes climbed down neatly, settign his feet on the landing. The police gathered around.

"There's nobody up there, inspector, unless you count a mouse or two."

Hrrm The police officer croocked his neck to look up at me "Doctor, can you confirm that?" He barked up at me.

"There's nobody up here, but me Inspector." there's a scratchign sound and I look around, then back down the ladder, "but I think he's right about the mouse."

The inspector huffs and adresses Holmes "Well, everyone says you're the best in the business at spotting the most minute signs Mr Holmes, and you've looked it all over... So that foreign reporbate must have moved on, perhaps was never here berfore.

"An old grudge on the owner, perhaps," I heard Holmes muse aloud as they all moved off along then landing and then down the stairs.

There was more scraping. it didn't sound quite like a mouse, but what else could it be. It's very quiet, now they've gone. The thump of the big door, a great distance away, travels through the wood to my feet first, rather than my ears.

Then there is the patter of feet, two pairs, bounding up the stairs. One I know to be the long-limbed leap of Holmes, the other,- i discover when he appears at the foot of the ladder- is Mr Harcourt himself. His face is white, sickly

Holmes eases him aside and climbs up the ladder like a monkey to join me, turning to offer Harcourt a hand as he climbs up afterwards

The man is shaking, white as a sheet and postively sick. Holmes face curls into a tiny smile, as he strides across to the end wall of the attic, and knocks on it with a light fist.

"Vous pouvez sortir Monsieur, c'est sûr maintenant," he calls, apparently to thin air.

"Andrei, c'est bien." Mr Harcourt says into the silence afterwards, slightly louder, and his voice far steadier than he himself looks.

What until then seemed to be part of the wall, right next to Holmes, moved a little, then swung outwards into the attic.

Eyes gleaming against the darkness, then thin cheekbones and a thatch of hair darkened with sweat, a man worn thin and living onj his nerves, comes out. His eyes, they're the eyes of fear, darting between Holmes and Mr Harcourt, and the ladder.

"C'est bien Monsieur." Holmes repeats softly, his eyes slightly down, figure quiet

"How, how did you know, about the wall?" The man croaks, with a slight accent.

"A very slight imperfection where the door was." Holmes looks the wall up and down "You'd only know it with fingertips, not by the eyes. other than than, it was very neatly done."

"And, you would not turn me in, to be sent back?"

Holmes shakes his head, "No sir, I do not think you are a threat, or a spy to be turned out."

And then he offers his hand, which the thin man grasps with both of his own. "I wish you luck."

"Thank you Mr Holmes," Mr Harcourt croaks, creeping step by step across the attic towards the other man. Holmes inclines his head, in silence this time and signals to me with his hand.

It's time to go

[ah-scheisse-its-you]

Got inspired to write a ficlet for Bee's oc Carys and Marco after she showed me a super sweet holiday comm that set my mind rolling. Happy holidays Bee 😘🐝

Continue on to read ❤️

"So it is called Christmas?"

"Yeah, it's a holiday in a lot of islands we look out for. They all have different traditions that we've cobbled together for the crew."

"Like this," Carys started as she reached down and pulled at the brightly patterned wool covering her torso, "sweater?"

Marco laughed. "Yeah, Jozu brought that one to us from the West Blue. Thatch is a pro at finding the most awful ones and always wins, no matter how hard Haruta tries."

"That's very brave of him. What else is there?" Carys ran her hands over the green pine branches wrapping around the doorway, curious at how these tied into a celebration.

"Well that's garland, a kind of boring decoration, but it matches the tree. You saw that on deck near Pops, covered in lights and ornaments. We have a couple smaller ones spread throughout the ship too."

Her hand paused as she thought back to when she arrived, trying to place it in the rush of greeting people and finding Marco.

"Oh! Yes!! It was so pretty and some of them were very sparkly."

"Most of those are the one's Haruta's division covered in glitter. All the pieces are handmade because they represent each of us."

"That's very sweet for your Father."

Marco's eyes softened as he answered, "Pops loves it. He picks some to put up himself every year and then lifts one of the newest crew members up to put the star on the top."

Carys smiled and put a hand on Marco's arm, tugging at the scarf wrapped there. "It sounds great for bonding as a clan."

"It is. You'll have to make an ornament this year, Carys, since we're allied and everything."

She smiled, happy to be included so easily into their clan, happy to be Marco's side.

"I'd like that. Is there anything else I should know about, just in case Thatch tries to trick me?"

"You already know about most of the food, since it's no different from our parties. The kitchen does some more baking for it though, like cookies. Oh, a lot of people exchange gifts around this time of year. Normally it happens between families or loved ones, but it's agreed upon beforehand. The commanders all give things to each other, so don't let Thatch goad you into a gift."

"Should I have gotten you something? As mates?"

"Carys, you being here is the greatest gift of them all," Marco said, backing up and tugging her into the doorway. Carys followed, confused but pleased that she was what Marco wanted.

Her mind still caught in that train of thought, she was surprised when Marco's hands settled on her waist and he pulled her in for a soft kiss.

"One last tradition: mistletoe," Marco stated, pointing upwards and dropping a peck on Carys cheek as she followed his finger. "You kiss whoever you meet under it."

"This tradition is far better than the sweaters were. As long as it's you I am with."

Marco let out a grumble and pulled her into a hug. "Only me."

Carys grinned at Marco's rare showing of jealousy. She was happy she'd made it up to celebrate with the crew and learn all this new stuff.

Loud caterwauling came from somewhere a few walls away, bouncing through the halls and Marco groaned.

"Ugh, I guess I forgot one— Christmas carols. Thatch becomes the worst singer ever for them, don't let him rope you in to any."

-

Art by the amazing @dailyrebranded Fic for my darling @secretsnailor love you, hope you enjoy (again)

[cyborg-franky]

Hello,

Could you do a day at the Water park with the Whitebeard pirates from the summer prompt list B, please ? Chaos perhaps

Thank you and have a nice day

Oh this one was so fun, cus it was the wbp I made it a headcanon type post. I hope you enjoy <3

After being stuffed into Pops minivan, squished against everyone you finally got to the water park, it was huge and everyone was already chattering about what they wanted to do first.

You decided to stick with your usual crowd while everyone else split off to cause havoc.

Pops going to sunbathe on one of the fake beaches and maybe flirt with some pretty ladies.

You were basically dragged to every high, fast, fun looking slide by Ace who was wearing his flame print swim shorts and nothing else. The sound of his flip flops low key driving you mad as he led the way.

Marco and Thatch would line up with you both, ready to go down on it.

Izou was dragged along, warning everyone that he didn’t want to have to do his hair again so nothing that splashed too much.

Ace and Thatch would lie about what ones would do that.

The first time Izou was dunked into a pool and his hair came out from its up-do was when you knew he was going to drown you all at some point today.

Even Thatch had let his hair down and didn’t mind how wet it got.

Everyone kinda mesmerized by his long hair.

Everyone was rather into Thatch when his hair was down it would seem.

Marco with his pineapple shorts and equally ugly shirt would always point out the calmer ones, he liked to float lazily along and enjoy the water at a more casual pace.

You’d go on everything with them all, taking it in turns to pick which ride was next.

Sometimes there were little places to eat and arcades along the way.

Marco was very good at rhythm games, Ace at racing, Thatch at the claw games and Izou was a master at the stalls, anything with aim really.

The day was long and great, sometimes you’d bump into other members of the crew, waving and making chit chat in passing.

Sitting down for lunch half way through before Ace was bored of sitting still and dragging you all to the other side of the park.

You and Ace passed out on the trip home, warn out and happy.

[taleasnewastime]

Dating advice | Part two

Summary: It’s been months – ok, it’s been years – since you last went on a date. And you’re sick of it. Sick of seeing couples kissing and holding hands in the street. Sick of your friends settling down. Sick of everyone buying houses and having families. You’re going to do something about it. You’re going to snap up a man, you’re going to tie someone down, you’re going to finally commit, you’re going to – you’re going to need a bit of advice.

Pairing: Yoongi x reader

Genre: fluff; angst; smut

Word count: 2.1k

Warnings:  Drinking, low self esteem, eventual smut, I think that’s all for this chapter.

Authors Note: Part two is here! 

Previous | Next | Series masterlist

You’re buzzing as you walk into the pub. It’s been a little over a week since you were last here. You went away and thought about everything they said, talked to your best friend like Priya suggested. He helped set up you up on a dating page, he was actually a tad annoyed you hadn’t come to him sooner, but that was Jimin all over, given half a chance he’ll be annoyed at anything. You’d selected five good pictures, drafted a bio that Jimin had swiftly ‘edited’ aka deleted and rewrote.

You were nervous before but that was nothing compared to the feeling of pressing submit. Fully putting yourself out there to be judged in whatever capacity that might be. You were happy with how you were portraying yourself but that didn’t mean anyone else would agree. You might have no matches, or you could get a handful, all of them not people you would date. Or you could match with someone great and then have to talk to them and potentially meet and that was possibly the scariest outcome.

It’s the joys of dating, Jimin said, it’s scary and awkward but it’s all worth it when you meet someone you like. How is that ever going to happen if you just sit in your flat day and night? Plus, it’s not like you have to actually date every person you match with, you don’t even have to message all of them – though you have to message some, he emphasised knowing you’d easily use his words against him in the future.

He made a good point, it’s not like you were committing yourself to something. This is what you want. To not be alone. To have someone. And to get that you needed to do this, however grim it sounds.

But here you are, a little over a week later, and you already have a match. And more than that, you have an actual date.

You feel like you’re walking on air. You know that just because you have a single date, that doesn’t mean that all your hopes of having a boyfriend are solved, in fact, if anything, you’re slightly terrified of meeting the man for the first time. But that’s all in the future, for now you’re just riding on the high of having a date.

Priya and Yoongi are behind the bar as you walk towards it. Priya serving a customer, Yoongi absent minded doing something you can’t see. You haven’t seen them since seeking their advice and while you hadn’t really planned to come back, when you got the confirmation of the date you didn’t really think as you started heading here. You wanted to at least thank them for giving you the confidence to go for it.

Now, waiting for Yoongi to notice you, you wonder if they’ll even remember you. It’s not been long, but then they must meet a lot of people doing this job, sure you had a conversation, but that doesn’t mean you were a standout customer.

Before you can over think it much more Yoongi spots you.

“One sec,” he says, eyes going back down to the book you can now see, finishing off whatever he was writing before placing the pen down.

He pushes away from his spot, takes the few steps towards you and when he stands in front of you, eyes firmly on you, there’s no recognition there. Your stomach drops. Of course he wouldn’t remember you, why would he?

“What can I get you?”

You try not to show your disappointment, eyes searching the bottles and taps behind him as if deciding what to drink rather than because you can’t look at his face.

“Pint of Thatchers please,” you say with a small smile.

He nods, picks up glass before he starts to pull your pint. You watch as the veins strain against his skin, don’t notice his eyes flicking back to look at you.

“So how’s the dating going?”

Your eyes widen before shooting to him. His lips pull back into a small joyful smile at your reaction. He does remember you; the fact causes way more joy than it should.

You rearrange your features, try to look nonchalant even though he’s just seen your shock and then subsequent joy.

“Actually, I have a date,” you say, beaming smile easily coming to your lips.

Yoongi continues to smile at you, eyes searching your face before focusing on your pint as the last centimetres of liquid pour in. He places it delicately in front of you.

“In that case, it’s on the house.”

“What?” You question, knowing what he meant but needing a second for your brain to fully compute. “You don’t need to do that.”

“I want to,” he shrugs.

“But I want to pay,” you argue.

He shrugs again, doesn’t even try to argue. He’s not going to let you pay.

“I’ll just pay Priya later,” you mutter, taking a sip of the cold cider.

“And I’ll tell her not to accept,” he says, stepping back towards the book, picking up the pen to continue writing. “I’m the boss, she can’t go against my orders.”

So that explains the book, he’s the manager. Still, you’re not sure why it irks you that he’s not accepting your money. You should just say thank you and leave it but you push your cider down the bar and take the seat opposite him.

“What are you, some sort of dictator?”

He doesn’t reply but you see the way his lips curl slightly at the edges, something you’ve realised means he’s trying to hide his amusement but struggling.

It’s silent for a few seconds, Yoongi not talking, only the low murmur of the room around you. He’s so focused on filling in that book that you wonder if he doesn’t actually want you here. He is doing work after all and you’ve just invited yourself to accompany him. You sip at your drink more for something to do, eyes wondering around the room. You wonder if you can slip away and take the empty table in the corner of the room without looking too awkward when Yoongi speaks.

“So are you going to tell me about this date?”

You look back at him, his eyes still on the book.

“Oh, I didn’t realise you wanted to know.”

You can almost picture his eyes rolling even though you can’t see them.

“I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t care.”

Fair point. The excitement starts to buzz inside you as you start to think over what to tell him. You don’t know how much or little detail to tell him, eventually settle on not giving too much to look too keen. You can build the detail depending on how interested he sounds.

“It’s a guy –”

“Great start,” Yoongi mutters still focused on his book.

“His name is Erik,” you carry on as if he hasn’t spoken, getting used to his dry sense of humour. “He works in marketing and is taking me out for some drinks this weekend.”

Yoongi hums, the noise giving you no hope. He doesn’t sound impressed or particularly pleased by the arrangement so you carry on, determined to sell Erik.

“We’re both into reading and he has a cat. I mean it’s not ground-breaking stuff but he seems really nice.”

Yoongi’s eyes flick up to you before he once again focuses on his book, only for a second though before he’s putting his pen down and fully focusing on you. A small smile flutters to his lips but you can see it’s not genuine, like he’s only doing it to make you think he’s happy for you.

“It sounds great.” You wait for the but, but it never comes.

Is that all he has to say? You know you’re basically strangers, but you’d been so excited to come and tell him and he asked you about it and that is all he has to say? Yoongi must read the disappointment and annoyance on your face because he’s once again trying to rectify it.

“Seriously, it sounds great. I mean a date in just over a week? It’s good going.”

“Why do I sense sarcasm in your tone?”

“Yoongi couldn’t get a date in a year let alone a week,” a female voice cuts in before Priya enters your vision, saddling up to Yoongi’s side, the same wide smile on her lips from last week. “He’s just bitter.”

“I’m not bitter. And, what’s wrong with being happy alone?” Yoongi defends.

“Nothing misery guts,” Priya beams at him while he scowls, their dynamic is interesting. Priya turns her attention to you and while Yoongi still looks less than impressed he remains where he is, listening in. “Anyway, more importantly, what’s this about a date?”

You beam back at her, spirits rising once again now you have a better audience. You repeat what you told Yoongi and rather than a blank expression you’re happy to see the same beaming smile looking back at you.

“Amazing. But most importantly, have you got pictures?”

You tug your phone out of your jeans, open the dating app and click onto the message section. This is the part you hate when telling people. It’s all well and good giving a name and details, but it’s another thing providing photos. It’s one of the good things about the human race, not everyone is into the same thing, what you might find incredibly hot someone else might find a massive turn off. But there are still things that society as a whole deems attractive and unattractive, and while in your eyes Erik fits on the attractive side, that doesn’t mean that Priya and Yoongi aren’t about to massively judge your date.

You swipe through Erik’s five pictures until you land on the one you think he looks best in. Look up to see Priya’s waiting hand and Yoongi trying to look disinterested but failing. You take a small breath before you drop the phone in Priya’s hand.

Even though you selected the best photo for them to look at, you can see Priya swiping through the pictures at will, zooming in on particular details. And though Yoongi was trying to not look interested, he’s completely given that act up now, leaning over Priya’s shoulder to get a look at your phone.

You’ve already shown the pictures to Jimin, had his nod of approval and though you wouldn’t class these people as friends, you strangely feel the need to seek their approval.

“He likes football, hence the second picture. And his friends in the last picture are well over six foot, he’s not short they’re just giants.”

“He’s cute,” Priya says simply, handing the phone back. “Seriously, he looks nice.”

Cute. Nice. Neither word particularly inspiring, but you lap it up. Like you thought earlier, just because Priya didn’t think he was hot didn’t mean you couldn’t.

“Thanks,” you reply. “I’m excited for our date.”

“Just make sure not to drink too much,” Priya warns.

“And don’t invite him back to yours,” Yoongi chips in making you frown.

“Ignore him.”

“No, don’t ignore me. Don’t invite a guy you hardly know back to your place.”

“I’m not the sort to sleep with someone after a first date,” your voice comes out meek despite wanting to say it firmly.

“Not particularly what I meant,” Yoongi carries on, seemingly unbothered. “You don’t know these guys, they could do anything to you and knowing where you live isn’t a good idea.”

The warning makes you blood run cold even though nothing would suggest Erik would be like that and it’s not like you’re even going to invite him back to yours anyway.

“Ignore him,” Priya repeats, a warning seeping into her tone. And though you listen to her words, try to push Yoongi’s words away, the thought has still planted itself in your mind. “You’re going to have a great time.”

Your smile feels smaller now, doesn’t come as easily to your lips.

“I’m excited,” you say.

“So come on,” Priya has way more enthusiasm in her tone then anything she says before. “What’s he said so far? Where’s he taking you for drinks? I need details.”

You know she’s doing it to make you feel better, but you still indulge her. Find yourself telling her about how Erik was the first to say hi and asked you out for drinks after a day of talking. And while Priya mocks being a good audience and Yoongi silently slips away, you try not to let it ruin your mood. You are excited for this date.

[sleepyac3]

One piece characters during your exam season

genre: headcanons, platonic, maybe modern au??, gn reader

characters: Katakuri, Ace, Kid, Killer

warning: none

note: Anxiety is killing me because of my language exam that i'll have pretty much the whole weekend and the ammount of tests i'll write the next week so uhh, yeah, i wrote this out of comfort with my favs, enjoy!! (it's also kind of a practice for the grammar part) Sorry if the title makes no sense, i don't know if these are the right words.😭💔

Kid

He hates school and the education system, doesn't cares about it to be honest.

But when it comes to you he tries to be as supportive and understanding as possible.

He may be bad with words, so might come off as harsh, but he really tries to encourage and motivate you to push yourself through this.

He'll fight anyone who dares to say a word about how you should had studied harder and those who shame you for your grades. Yes, even teachers.

If you don't get your desired grade he'll comfort you with bashing on the system and praise you for trying your best, he's genuenly proud of you.

Will 100% offer you to throw a party and drink away the stress and anxiety.

"Stop caring so much about those stupid numbers and let's get wasted already, doesn't that sound much better than stressing about shit like this?"

Ace

Your no.1 hype-man!!!!

Studies with you even if he might not understand everything.

Tries to help you as much as possible, offers you calling up Marco, Thatch, even Pops, since they're older and have finished school a long time ago.

If your mental health is getting worse in this period, he will immediately make you drop every single one of your tasks and take you out somewhere where you can have fun.

Either if you pass or don't, he's so proud of you, he'll hype you up no matter what!

Will buy you anything that comes out of your mouth. New clothes? Sure. Food? Sure. That stuffed animal you saw at a store in the other half of the city? Sure! You deserve everything for your hard work.

"No matter what the results will be, I'm proud of you, you did everything you can and worked so hard for this!"

Katakuri

He literally acts like a dad, but in the best possible way.

Will scold you in a loving and worried way if you stay up to study for too late.

Brings you a lot of snacks and drinks to keep your mind fresh.

Helps in making your studying easier with trivia cards, highlighting the important things for you and even lending you some of his notes that he kept since his days in school.

Will sit with you in a comfortable silence, ready to help you in anything that you may not understand.

He'll take you out and do anything you'd like after the exam season is over, and will praise you every couple of minutes for doing so great </3

The best in comforting you if something goes wrong

"Grades does not define your worth, i understand you're sad about it, but that won't change anything about you and how much you put into this."

Killer

Another good choice to seek comfort from in such a hard time.

Home-made snacks all the time, you just need to ask and he'll make you anything you wish.

Does not let you study after 8pm, will invite you to watch movies or do anything else to prevent you from overworking yourself

He'll buy you something small that can remind you of him when you're stressed, like a matching charm to put on your pencil case or a funky pen he found funny.

Makes a huge home-made buffet for you after you finished all your exams, celebrating you and your success

If you want to, he'll invite over Kid and the others to throw a party for you to forget about this whole exam season.

"You know you can always come to me when things get hard, I'm really proud of you for pushing through this."

[lumosinlove]

Relic Keel

(Warnings in tags)

part i

Sirius woke up with the sun for one reason only. He wanted to see the far off, white sails of Lupin’s boat.

Some people came to Hogwarts Island for the yearly trade show in Helga. Some people came for the resorts. Some came for the waves, perfect for surfing. Some came for the history.

If Sirius hadn’t already lived there his entire life, he would have come for those white sails. But he’d always been here. This island didn’t let many go. Not even Lupin’s boat truly went. It always stayed in view, never even close to a dot on the horizon. Sirius only ever saw the tourists really leave. And they didn’t count. They were strangers.

Sirius pushed himself up from the mattress he’d dumped on the floor one day and never bothered with again, and glanced at Saint, who had fallen asleep on the porch hammock. A book was clutched to his chest. James got them for him, from the island bookstore or his father’s library. Anything he wanted. He even told Saint to keep them sometimes, but Saint never would.

“If I’ve read it, I’ve got it up here,” Saint would say. “I don’t need people asking questions about how I got them anyway.”

“Tell them the truth,” James would say. “I got them for you.”

Saint would just laugh. Everything about Saint was sunny, all the way down to his honey brown skin and bright smile, his golden hair and his amber eyes. Sometimes his laughs weren’t though. Sometimes things about Saint promised storms.

“Or one of the Gods,”—a Hollow word for Godric’s inhabitants— “could say I stole them,” Saint would always reply. “And it’d be all over from there for this St. Clair.”

St. Clair was the name given to all the kids of the island who didn’t have one. It was the name of Godric’s church and orphanage, and Saint Clair was the saint of the island. They thought they were doing a nice thing, giving orphans a name.

The Hallow called him Saint because he wasn’t one, though, and that was why Saint liked it. He wasn’t a St. Clair. He was no saint. No one was.

“Pretty fun,” Saint would laugh. “To be known for what you’re not.”

“Not to mention,” was another one of his sayings, “I get to go around telling all the people of the island that they can worship me in bed.”

Only Sirius knew his real name.

Hogwarts Island had four neighborhoods. Hot all year round, and just off the coast of Guadeloupe in the French territory of the West Indies Islands.

Your island paradise! said the sign on the main port dock in Rowena.

Sirius had spray painted that sign. More than once. Saint liked to replace the dice with site, just to freak people out a little. The tourists took pictures of it anyway, and then of each other. Zinc covered faces, or barely covered girls on spring break. It didn’t matter. They would all be gone in, at most, two weeks. Hogwarts was small, and the neighborhoods kept to themselves. Tourists were both a part of and outside the dynamic.

First, and northward, there was Godric. Money, money, money. Great manors lined the streets, built in the days of French occupation. They were still mostly filled with the old families—Potter, Lupin, McKinnon, Evans, Deveaux. Sirius always swore that more money went to these peoples’ golf courses and gardens and swimming pools than to food and water. It was also where the main hotels were. Griffin Beach was lined with villas and hotels and resorts, all either pointing outwards towards the endless ocean, or inwards, towards the pools and bars and Gryffindor Golf course.

In the western part of the island was Rowena. Rowena was where the island’s port was. It was where the tourists came in, only to get swindled into paying too much for crappy hotels, for their drinks, and for surfboard rentals.

To the East lay Helga. Anything anyone needed, they found it in Helga. Rows and rows of the finest craftsmen. Helga held the other part of Hogwarts’ main income. What the tourists didn’t cover, Helga’s treasures and their yearly trade show did. 

Finally, there was Salazar. The snake of the South, people called it, because it wound all the way out to the skinniest, most pointed part of the island. Salazar was equal part money and dirt. Salazar held more old families, more old money. The Montagues and Capulates, Saint liked to say, the Jets and Sharks. Lestrange, Carrow, Meadowes. Black. The houses, Gothic and looming and built within inches of each other, were the maze of the drug dealers. One quarter of it, at least. Normally, Sirius Black would have nothing but hatred for his home arrondissement, the one he hadn’t re-entered in almost seven years now, for fear of never escaping again, but Salazar had produced Dorcas, after all. And Dorcas was one of Sirius’ closest friends. Doras gave Salazar, if not a redeemable image, proof that it wasn’t a complete hell-hole. There were rarely any cross-over. Godrics stuck to Godric, Salazars to Salazar, and so on. Unless there was trouble.

But then there was The Hollow. It was a sliver of a place, right on the northern-most shoreline. Ironically placed beside Griffin Beach, just outside of Godric. A small slice of land dedicated to…no one really knew who. Runaways, like Sirius? Do-what-you-wants, like Dorcas? Godric-rich-boy-looking-for-a-thrill, like James? Or had you been born there, like Saint?

To the island, they were like the poor of Ancient Rome, slanting wood against the outside of the city’s walls for shelter. But it didn’t feel that way. Not to the people inside.

Some knew what they had done to end up there. Some didn’t. Everyone knew that was it though. You didn’t make it out of The Hallow. Saint liked to say that you had to make it in. Like some A-lister Godric club. A tangle of too low wires, stollen cable, junk yards and thatched, patched houses. More surfboards outside of houses than cars.

They called their little piece of wood leant against the Roman wall Grimmauld Place. Grim old place, in French. Sirius didn’t know why. It wasn’t grim to him. It had always been called that, forever, named by just another somebody that no one knew. A shelter, gorgeous and haphazard, built by different inhabitants over the years, that was half on the ground and half in the trees. Rope ladders, rope bridges. Spirals and spirals of it. Warm, hanging lanterns all the way up into the branches of the biggest oak tree Sirius had ever seen. Like fireflies. None of Godric’s window screen mania. You wanted the sun on your face, you wanted the ocean breeze, you’d deal with a few mosquitoes. Sirius knew that the sun, the sand between his toes, his friends, just a level below…it was worth it. He’d never forget the first time he’d seen it, Saint looking over the railing, much younger, and telling him to fuck off. He’d take it over the dark halls he had grown up in any day.

Sirius planted his feet on the floor and pushed himself up, going to the sink for a glass of water and so he could stare out the window some more. There it was. Sirius loved that boat. The sailor sailed it like they were trying to escape, too. Only, Sirius couldn’t think of a reason a Lupin would want or need to escape. He’d seen their house plenty of times, almost everyday when he went to work at the Potter’s. But that boat…it didn’t fit anything else about the Gods, except perhaps that they could afford it. Sirius loved that boat, he loved its billowing sails, and the looping script reading, Wolfsbane, its name, across the side.

The sky was just beginning to give up dawn, and Sirius wanted to be closer.

He put his glass down and shoved his feet into his flip-flops. Saint was closer to falling out of his hammock now, and dappled in the pale light between palm trees. Sirius gave the hooked fabric a kick, and Saint flailed awake.

“Fucker,” Saint said, one eye open and voice groggy.

“I can’t sleep,” Sirius said. “Let’s go do something.”

“What time is it?”

“Almost dawn.”

It was all Sirius needed to say. Saint threw a hand over his eyes before rolling to his feet and stretching his back. Sirius stared out over one of the railings of Grimmauld and all he could see was ocean. He looked for his boat, his white-sailed perfect thing, and then turned away. He’d have time to watch again at the beach.

The Hollow was grand to Sirius, mostly because it was the farthest away from Salazar that one could get. At this point, Godric, as much as Sirius hated it, felt like a point of protection. If Salazars hated the Godrics, they’d hate having to go through them to get to the Hollow even more. But the Hollow was great for other reasons.

Shack Beach was theirs. No tourists. No villas or hotels that shooed you away from the private bars and lounge chairs. It was empty, and so it was full. And the waves. Oceanic rollers that pushed you up, that let you get your feet under you, or forced you down beneath the surface in a tumble of salt and sand. Not so great during a hurricane, but glorious for this.

Sirius hefted his board under his arm before throwing it into the sand and stretching his arms back, then up above his head. Saint was doing the same beside him, his wooden, sea-soaked cross hanging around his neck.

“D’accord, Black,” Saint said. “Wagers?”

“Whoever gets the most air has to play lookout for Dorcas,” Sirius said. “And dinner.”

“High stakes,” Saint whistled lowly. “Fine.” Saint’s smile was sharp. “Go.”

They took off at a run.

The water, although warm, was the shock Sirius needed. Saint beside him, as always, and the unknown weight of creatures and water below them. It was terrifying and thrilling. The ocean floor was dark this early, but Sirius stared down at it anyway as they sat on their boards, waiting. They didn’t need light for this part anyway. Sirius could recognize the telltale pull of the tides in his sleep.

“Oh,” Saint drew out the sound, tilting his head back. “I feel it, baby.”

Sirius turned wordlessly back towards the shore, Saint following with a flash of a smile, as they began to paddle. Sirius felt the lift, the curl, heard the water begin to rush and rush, faster and faster. The water kissed his feet and hands. Sirius jumped himself up and let out a long whoop, laughing as he gained his footing with a few twirls before pushing himself up towards the crest. He curled around the top of the wave and there was the Wolfsbane again, just for a moment, before it disappeared to the sea again. Sirius, for a moment, had felt like he was sailing beside it, with it.

They could stay out there for hours, always had been able to, but Sirius had work soon. They went until Sirius felt thoroughly salt-drenched, lips parched. Dragging their boards, they collapsed together in a small thicket of palm trees, up the beach a little. It was like a small cave of bark and wind-rustled leaves. There were still a few stars visible, and Sirius closed one eye and connected them with his finger.

“Dipper?” Saint said.

“Just Orion,” Sirius sighed and dropped his hand. “We learned that in school.”

Saint snorted. “When’s the last time we went to school?”

“True,” Sirius laughed, then, “You should steal the Wolfsbane for me."

Saint looked over at him. “What is it with you and the Lupins’ boat?”

Sirius just shrugged. He didn’t know. “I miss sailing, maybe.”

“You know Kris will let you take one of his out at the marina,” Saint replied.

“I don’t want to get him in trouble. He already lends us the motorboat, anyway.”

“You’re all trouble,” Saint said, and then he knocked their ankles together when they had been quiet for a few moments.

“Well?” he asked quietly as the sun began to warm them.

Sirius turned to look at Saint, sand in his hair. He laughed. They both knew what that meant.

“That sort of day, huh?” Sirius said.

“I’m asking for you,” Saint said. “I can go wherever I please, Dorcas has Marlene, but you…” Saint made a tisking sound. “Oh, Sirius Black. You lonely creature of the sea.”

Sirius scoffed. “You’re always so romantic.”

“Come on,” Saint propped himself up on an elbow and pressed a warm palm to Sirius’ bare chest. “It’s nice. It’s nice because we know each other.”

“Why do you always do this to me in public places?”

Saint raised an eyebrow and looked around the empty sands.

Sirius knew Saint could feel his chest rising and falling beneath his hand, knew that if he dragged it down some he would feel Sirius stirring in his swim trunks. Saint was his best friend. It was easy with Saint. There was no risk of losing Saint. Except maybe to Saint Clair, but they never went to Salazar, and Salazar had yet to come to them.

“Come here,” Sirius sighed, as if he was entirely put upon, and Saint made a pleased noise and leaned down for a kiss. He tasted like the sea, salty and smooth. Sirius pressed a hand to his back, coated with sand.

“Sandy hand jobs,” Sirius grumbled into his mouth. “My favorite.”

“There’s no sand in my mouth,” Saint breathed out and threw a leg over Sirius’ hips, mouth moving down to suck at Sirius’ neck. Sirius let his eyes close, hand squeezing around one of Saint’s strong shoulders.

“That’s true,” he said.

The barely there light in the sky cast Saint’s skin in blue, his light curls taking on the color, too as he kissed down Sirius’ chest, whose breathing was coming faster. He bit playfully at Sirius’ hip when he reached the band of his swim shorts and Sirius laughed, hitting his head lightly.

“We gotta go soon.”

“So?” Saint looked up with one of his sharp smiles, his freckles sprinkling his brown skin and honey eyes.

Sirius did love Saint. They loved each other, in their own way. For a long time now, they had been all each other had. Some type of love had to grow out of that. It just had to.

He was warm and felt safe as Saint’s mouth slipped over him, nursing him slowly. Sirius threaded his fingers into Saint’s salt-tangled hair and let his head loll back in the sand.

Sirius didn’t relax often. Saint knew that because he was the same, even if he pretended he wasn’t. The closest Sirius got, besides this, was in the ocean. Something to focus on. Something to look for and be careful about. Something to love.

He breathed out slowly, trying to quiet his mind and pass all his attention to Saint. He was stiffening quickly to full hardness from the wet heat, and his hands in Saint’s hair moved with his movements, sounds soft.

Sirius let himself stare out at the ocean again. The Wolfsbane was filled with wind, the double pontoons tilted so that one was a little ways out of the water. He could only barely make out the sailor’s silhouette. He didn’t know which Lupin it was. They was skilled though, very skilled. Sirius would do anything to have a sailboat of his own that he could take out every single day. He envied the sailor.

It didn’t take him long to come, not with Saint knowing his body so well. Soon, he was open mouthed, back arching as Saint pulled his orgasm from him.

Saint smiled when he leaned back, sitting on his heels and tucking Sirius back inside his shorts. “Worship me yet?”

“Always,” Sirius panted. “What do you want?”

“Have you seen your mouth?”

Sirius hummed and surged up to kiss him before knocking him back into the sand. They wrestled, rolling and laughing together in the dune, before settling with Sirius on top, hands pinning Saint’s wrists.

“Go on,” Saint grinned, then parroted, “we gotta go soon.”

“So romantic.”

Sirius reached into Saint’s suit and took his cock, hot and throbbing into his hands, biting his lip at the way Saint’s mouth dropped open. Saint really was beautiful. Sirius thought there must be something wrong with him to not want him in the way that he should.

“Life’s not too bad,” Saint sighed after, as Sirius rolled to lay next to him again. “Island. Surfing. Sex. We’re basically The Beach Boys.”

Sirius laughed. “Basically.”

Saint made a disgruntled noise. “Is it weird that we aren’t in love?”

“Yeah,” Sirius replied. “It sort of is.”

“Do you wish we were?” Saint looked at his profile.

Sirius returned his gaze, their noses close. He nodded, sand shifting in his ear. “Sometimes.”

“Gosh, we suck.”

“We really do,” Sirius patted near where Saint’s swimsuit was still askew. “Literally.”

Saint let out a loud laugh, pulling his trunks up, and Sirius a long groan.

“Gotta go to work.”

“Poor baby,” Saint said.

“You also have to go to work.”

“Poor me.”

“You also owe me dinner. And your Dorcas’ look out. I won.”

Saint sat up. “Then I gotta go to work.”

Sirius smiled and looked back out over the waves. The white sails were pushing back West, towards Lupin House to dock. He’d have to wait until tomorrow to see them filled and tilting again.

~

Dorcas slung her backpack on while Saint all but forced the Jeep into park. She hopped out of the door-less side and turned to grin at him, elbows resting against the hot metal of the rusty blue sides.

“One hour,” Saint said, already kicking his seat backwards and pulling out his earbuds. “Then I have work. Don’t think I won’t leave you here.”

“You’re a saint, baby, really.”

Saint flicked his sunglasses down over his eyes. “Don’t I know it.”

Dorcas waved him off before jogging lowly around the back of the McKinnon’s gardens, skirting the gate until she found the bent out posts. She threw her backpack through first, before sliding through herself on her stomach. The manicured grass stained her tank top green in places, but Marlene wouldn’t care. Marlene was an angel. Dorcas was positive.

Marlene’s father, not so much.

Dorcas kept away from the vast windows until she could pull herself up one of the drain pipes that led straight to Marlene’s bedroom window. She crouched, sneakers wedged against roof tiles, and tapped on the glass.

At first, all Dorcas could see through the window was Marlene’s familiar bedroom, the sunlight partially reflecting herself back at her, her chin length dark hair, backwards hat and tank top. In the rest, Marlene’s bright walls, once white but now covered with posters and Marlene’s paintings. Concert posters, random letters from the Hollow’s old abandoned movie theater marque that Dorcas had brought her, and the oil paint in swirling shapes or stroked to form friends’ faces. Dorcas saw her own face many times, and the sight was warmer than the hot sun.

Then, Marlene was there, blonde hair falling over her shoulders. She pressed her forehead to the warm glass briefly before pushing the window, sticking with the heat, open.

“Hi, sweetheart,” Dorcas said.

“D,” Marlene sighed, and pulled her in.

Marlene was an angel. Dorcas was sure.

~

Saint felt uneasy in Godric. He probably always would. He kept his earbuds in, but tapped off beat and nervously, glancing back at the McKinnon house every once in a while. All these houses looked the same. The lawns were so green that they rivaled the sea, aqua and glimmering in the sunlight. He didn’t like that. He didn’t like the women, seemingly ever out for a morning speed-walk with each other, died blonde hair piled high on their heads, who stopped to ask, Do you do lawns? What about pools?

Saint merely slid his sunglasses off, smiled at them, and they were lost. Their eyes went bright, their mouths giggly. Boy from The Hollow, they would whisper to their friends later, so sad to waste such a face—

Saint had always been beautiful. He knew that. But it didn’t matter so much when you were from where he was. In Godric, beauty was key. Anywhere else, it was a waste.

And then they’d see his neck. The cross with the 7 singed there, hanging around his neck.

Oh, they’d gasp, oh, sweetheart, you’re one of those St. Clair Church orphans aren’t you?

A waste. A waste.

The nuns—waste of space, wasteofspacewasteof—

Saint hated the Godric men, with their linen pants and green juices. Walking their property lines and greeting each other each morning, like Roman elite on their salutatio.

Saint was here for Dorcas, who for some reason had decided to love one of those men and women’s daughters. He could never.

That was the surest way to be a waste. Why love them? Why love anyone who was raised like this? By these people?

There was an excitement that came with The Hollow for the Godrics. A strange fascination, animal and exotic. Marlene, to her credit, didn’t have it. She loved Dorcas, too. James Potter…Saint liked James well enough. But both he and Marlene could still go home every night. They didn’t live it. Not like Dorcas, not like Sirius, not like himself.

Yes, Saint would say. I do lawns. I clean pools.

Saint grinned sweetly. Sultry.

He’d also steal their favorite gold necklace.

~

“So, Remus, what do you plan to do with yourself this summer, sweetheart?”

Remus looked across the dining room table at his parents. His mother was looking at him expectantly, knife and fork poised, and his mind had still been with the wind and the sea.

“I know the history museum is always looking for volunteers, which looks wonderful on a college application,” his mother continued when Remus had paused for too long.

Remus nodded, hoping to keep his expression pleasant, and cut his pork chop. “Maybe. I was hoping to lean in a little bit of a different direction.”

“Oh?”

“Just sailing, I mean. Racing. There are prizes, some of them with money attached. Good for scholarships, or…”

Remus’ father chewed slowly. “Oh. Well, yes. But you have the mornings to do that. Something more productive with your day, maybe. What are the other boys on the team doing, for example. Maybe ask James or Luke or Thomas. Well, maybe not Luke, given everything that happened this year.”

Remus only nodded again, biting down everything else. But he wanted to race sailboats, run with them, he wouldn’t say. What could be more productive?

“Yeah,” he said instead. “I’ll look into some options around town.”

That, made his mother and father smile.

Julian sat to Remus’ left swinging his legs and looking between them all.

“Can I go out on Wolfsbane?” Julian asked hopefully. Julian, through Remus, had developed an incredible love for Remus’ sailboat and wanted nothing more than a ride.

“Absolutely not,” Remus’ mother said. “Not until you’ve finished your lessons at the Club.”

The Club. Dreaded words. Gryffindor Club, what Remus and Marlene secretly called The Yacht, was the most prestigious private club on the island. You needed a two-member invite. It was beautiful, but it was all walls. Closed off from the rest of the island. People came here, stayed at the club, and didn’t even see. The pools were not the ocean, and the cuisine was not Hogwarts cuisine. Remus wasn’t even sure his parents knew anymore, although he knew they had once. Early on. He didn’t know what had changed. You fall into a crowd, maybe.

He would get Julian out and about one day, when he was old enough. Remus himself spent his time on all parts of the island, in all neighborhoods—almost. He loved Helga more than anything, with its nicknacks and beautiful, dream-like creations.

Except The Hollow.

He’d never gone. Almost, once, on a dare from James when they were thirteen. There were nasty rumors. He’d only seen it from the sea, the deserted sands of Shack Beach and clusters of houses. And the rumors looked true enough. He knew James went sometimes, knew who he was friends with. The only reason he didn’t get shit for it at school was because everyone liked him too much. Remus thought they liked the fact that James could get away with it, too. James could get away with anything. He was a Potter.

Everything except me, Lily always said, and Remus smiled at the thought.

They’d all be out of here in a year anyway. At least for a while. College was like a promise-land. Remus was so sick of this island, but not the ocean. He’d miss the ocean.

The Lupins had been on Hogwarts for nearly one hundred years—a short time, compared to the Evans and McKinnon families. An even shorter time compared to the Potters and Deveaux. One hundred year old new money? Remus thought it was a ridiculous statement but, compared to the other Godric families, they were new. It was relative. Relative money. The Salazar families had been there even longer, Remus couldn’t quite remember their stories.

Remus couldn’t imagine how no one had wanted to go out and see the world. This island was his home. He loved its every shore and nook. But he…wanted. He wanted with the sea and the wind and his Wolfsbane with its twinning pontoons and white sails. It’s tiny below deck cabin that snugged in a bed for nights lulled by the waves. Nothing outside but water and the stars.

After dinner, Remus climbed up the tall, winding stairs to Bane Tower. It had been named by his great, great, great, grandfather, also named Lyall, like his father. A play on words. Lupin, wolf. Wolfsbane. Bane Tower. Sometimes Remus felt like he was just another word game. Remus and Julian. Raised by the wolves.

“It kept him sane, the stars,” Remus’ grandfather had always said. “Quite literally, I mean. Madness runs in our family, Remus. Who knows when it might pop up again. And they kept him almost sane, I should say.”

The stars kept Remus sane, too. They were a map on the ocean, and an escape on land. He didn’t have to think when he looked at them. Maybe that was what was dangerous about them. Hypnotic. Mirrored by the haphazard lights of The Hollow, right along Godric’s shore.

Remus’ grandfather had died of madness. That’s what they said. Remus had watched him go. He missed him.

It didn’t stop Bane Tower from being the perfect place to see the stars.

~

For Gods, the Potters were good people. Really, for anyone the Potters were good people. They were kind to Sirius, and payed him well. Mostly he looked after their boat, but he would also do chores around the house, run errands for this and that for Mrs. Potter.

It was how he had met James. Really met him. School didn’t count, Sirius had disappeared when he was eleven from his old life and that meant, what friends he might have had at Hogwarts Academy were no more. No one liked a run-away. No one really liked a Black.

The Potters weren’t prejudice. Did they have more money than Sirius could picture? Yes. But they were good. It was the only reason Sirius had even considered liking James again. And still, that didn’t mean he understood why James still hung out with him—them. James was the only one from Sirius’ old life who had decided to reconnect. It was strange. Sirius had nothing to offer him.

It had only gotten stranger when, about two years ago now, he’d brought Lily Evans, who had in turn brought Marlene McKinnon. The boys and the girls had been taught separately when Sirius had still be there, and so Lily and Marlene were vague memories for Sirius. Dorcas—homeschooled—and Marlene were gone for each other almost immediately, and Sirius had theories about Lily and James. None of them had ever brought anyone else, so, Sirius assumed, the rest of his old schoolmates had turned out to be the assholes he expected. Gods in their own territory, up on Olympus, reaping their spoils on the backs of others. Lacrosse playing, secret addicts to something, who drank too much, lived for the summer, and liked boobs more than themselves. Then again, James hung out with those people, too. It was hard to figure out.

But weren’t they all.

“Black!”

James, in all his leather boat shoes and pink swimsuit galore, was jogging up the dock to meet him. Sirius gave a nod, but kept sweeping last night’s rain from the decks, the morning sunshine hot on his neck.

“What’s up?” Sirius said.

“Throwing a party,” James said. “Thought maybe you and your crew would want to come.”

Sirius raised an eyebrow. “You’re inviting us to a party?” They were famous, Godric’s boisterous parties. Drugs, alcohol, swimming pools, and the ocean. The best mix.

James nodded. “That I am.”

Sirius laughed. “Pots, that place will be crawling with Gods.”

“I thought you liked that sort of thing.”

“Yeah,” Sirius said. “On our turf, where we aren’t so outnumbered that, when the police show up—because they always do—we’re the ones who get blamed just for existing. And for the Crucio that’ll be there—and don’t try to tell me someone won’t bring some.”

Crucio. Hogwart’s powdery nightmare.

“Fine,” James said. “We’ll make it one of yours, then. Your turf, you name the place.”

“Why?”

James grinned. “Maybe I like transcending boundaries.”

“Maybe Marlene wants to see Dorcas.”

“Maybe.”

Sirius straightened and leaned on his broom, looking at James squint at him in the bright sunlight reflecting off his glasses. He was wearing a navy Castle Lacrosse t-shirt that decidedly did not go with his shorts.

“Maybe,” Sirius said. “But it’s gotta be at Shack Beach.”

James whistled. “That’s pretty deep territory. You know Felix will make its rounds.”

Crucio was the island’s greatest gift, and its greatest curse. Some people called it Crucio, some called it Felix. The drug wasn’t very addictive chemically, but its effects were powerful. Sirius had heard that it allowed the user to hallucinate memories. Past, distant or near. It could keep people coming back for more, time and again, hoping to relive things—or desperate to see something different. Crucio wasn’t addicting, but memories definitely could be. Good thing Sirius didn’t value his past.

Sirius stuck to the name Crucio. It was torture to live like that, not luck.

Crucio meant a good and steady cash flow for the suppliers. Like Dorcas. Sirius and Saint basically lived off of her income—not that she could do much without answering for how she accumulated it. It was a strange gift, a tedious life, but Dorcas seemed to like it.

Sirius stared James down. “And if it does, no cops will show up to tell about it.”

“Deal,” James sighed. “You’re fucking hardcore, Black.”

“Sure,” Sirius said.

“Potter,” came a voice from the end of the dock.

They both looked and Sirius stiffened as soon as he did, feeling self-conscious clutching his broom. Remus Lupin and Luke Deveaux were standing there, aviators on and Castle Lacrosse tank tops. Luke’s flashy Jeep was waiting in the circle driveway of James’ house. It was Luke who had spoken. Remus stood a few steps back. With their sunglasses, Sirius couldn’t tell where they were looking.

“Let’s go,” Luke said simply.

Sirius turned away before they could, pushing rain water harshly into the sea.

“Yeah,” James said, voice softer this time. “Coming.”

Pity. Sirius could practically feel it.

“Ten tonight?” James said to Sirius. “Sound okay?”

“Okay,” Sirius said without turning around.

He felt the vibrations of James jogging back down the dock, but didn’t turn to watch the three Gods go.

[the-huntress]

Little Moth - Chapter 4 - As The Snow Fell

[Thank you so much to everyone that has read, liked and re-blogged the chapters and master list of my fanfic so far, I really appreciate all the support!]

Masterlist

Y/N Protagonist, female. Reader X Karl Heisenberg. [18+]

Summary: You’ve barely even set foot into the village and have already had a taste of the unusual residents and otherworldly beings. Is there anyone that you can trust?

Trigger Warnings: Threat, theft.

Soundscape Ambience Suggestions:

Medieval Ruins Ambience

Quiet Tavern Ambience

[Photos are my own]

You woke with a start, the white canvas of the morning sky blinding you as a crow cawed from above. You cast you gaze about bleary eyed, taking in your surroundings. You were back at your camp, but mightily dishevelled, half your clothes on, half off, and various parts exposed to the elements. The last embers of the fire burned, soft wafts of smoke dying down.

What the hell happened last night? You wondered, casting your thoughts back and rubbing your face, feeling almost as if you had a hangover. Fixing your clothes, you turned your attention to your equipment and the camp. Anything that wasn’t necessary to have on you today you bagged back up into your luggage bag and pushed into the hollow of the tree that you had camped against; mostly some clothing, sleeping bag, tarpaulin… you paused as you got to the bow that the Duke had gifted to you, eyeing it up. As much as you felt safer with it, today you would have to try to be inconspicuous, and this weapon was not going to help with that. You stuffed it hastily as far bag into the hollow as you could, hooking it on a knot on the inside of the tree so that it hung safely, completely out of view, and then threw leaves over the bag.

The distance seemed shorter this time going towards the cliff edge that overlooked the village. You took out your binoculars from a pouch on your hip and got down onto your stomach to scout the area. From where you were you could easily see the castle with its spiky turrets in the distance, slightly shrouded by a fine mist at this hour. If it weren’t for the whole situation that you were in and the very obvious unease that this place was already causing you, you’d have maybe even called this gothic monster ‘beautiful’. Leading up to it were many small houses, each made slightly differently to the next, but somehow all similar. Some with thatched roofs, some tile, some metal. You were only at the brink of this village, but you could sense poverty from here, being used to living in a modern world and never feeling like you’d had to struggle too much for food or material needs. Your eyes were drawn to a route that should give you access easily into the village by way of going behind some of the closer buildings, and with a quick sweep, checking that no one was currently about, you decided to go now.

The village had a spattering of snow, less than a foot for sure, and for the most part it had been trodden down and thinned. Coming up to the first house you crouched down behind a small brick wall, which looked as though it had started to tumble over. Again, you couldn’t see anyone here, but you could definitely hear livestock; a pig and maybe some chickens. Peering over the top of the wall towards the house you noticed a washing line, its contents bouncing slowly in the slight breeze. There were yellowed white briefs, a petty coat, bonnets, a dress made out of material that looked itchier than it looked practical, and also a hooded cloak. You pondered for a moment if taking an entire line of clothes to disguise yourself was a good idea or not and then decided against it; you whipped the cloak down, it being very dull and drab in both colour and fabric, with no distinguishing features, and threw the large hood up over your head. It was big enough even to hide your eyes, the swells of fabric wrapping around your arms and body, providing more warmth as well as what you hoped would deter anyone from making too much notice of you. Your boots and trousers were visible, from the knee down, but nothing out of the ordinary.

Nearing the centre, you started to hear the sounds you’d expect to hear in a small village like this. The day was light enough to see everything clearly; a statue of a lady holding a sword and shield. Something about it sent a shiver down your back. It wasn’t that it looked creepy, it just felt… familiar somehow. This looked as though it was perhaps the centre of the village; a woman sat on a bench knitting, a couple of children played with a stick and hoop. That felt weird too. It was the turn of the millennium, and yet here children were playing with really outdated toys. A little way up you could see a hill rising with some gravestones dotted here and there to the left of it. Already you could feel the eyes of the children staring at you and the quiet clacking of the knitting needles had stopped. Keeping your head down, you carried on walking, your feet choosing to take you up the small hill, past the gravestones. You passed a strange wooden shine on your right, not daring to turn your head to look at the details right now, for you’d hoped that they people here might assume that you were one of them thus letting you become invisible. You’d had undercover jobs before that you’d excelled at, but things felt very different here. Every step you took made the feeling of foreboding grow stronger in you. Up ahead was a door depicting two characters, one looked like a woman, the other, you weren’t too sure, but it looked sturdy and as though it might lead to the great castle, so that didn’t seem like you’d be unnoticed if you tried that door. To the right a long alley way, but it looked to lead away from the village, and to the right again the iron gates into the grounds of a small church, with a bubble of people emerging from its doors now. Yes, you had to lay low and try not to turn heads, but you also needed information, maybe if you passed through this crowd as if you were going somewhere you could eavesdrop some clues.

You made your way over and saw a man dressed like a vicar of sorts standing at the church doors while the villagers left, his hands raised in the air and a grin on his face. His eyes were eerily shadowed with darkness, but this didn’t seem to deter his congregation.

“Thank you for coming to today’s assembly to pay our respects to our beloved saviour, Mother Miranda. Volunteers and the Heretic’s Judgement are to be held tomorrow at Mother’s church.”

Just then you accidentally bumped right into someone emerging from the crowd, the impact making you both exhaled audibly, and the villager dropping their item to the ground.

“I’m so sorry, are you ok?” You asked, seeing her face as she looked up to see whom she had bumped into. You mentally kicked yourself for being automatically nicely mannered when you could have just trundled past. Instead, you stopped to pick up what you saw now to be a small bouquet of flowers, seeing her smiling at you as you handed them to her.

“Oh yes, I’m quite alright.” She said warmly. She looked to be in her forties with grey blue eyes, mousy brown hair and bangs. “Are you?”

You were taken aback for a moment; you didn’t expect anyone to ask how you were. In all honesty you’d been better. “No damage done.” You smiled, making sure to pull the cloak over any item of clothing that might give you away for being from further afield than the next village or so. The church doors had closed, and the rest of the crowd had now disbanded into the rest of the village.

“You look to me like you could do with a hot meal and a warm bath. If you beg my pardon for saying so.” She took a step back and extended her hand. “I’m Luiza by the way.”

“Y/N.” You replied, shaking it. Is this a good idea? You asked yourself, but you couldn’t help but trust the woman.

“I was just about to lay these down in the cemetery, if you’d like to join me Y/N.” Luiza offered, indicating to the small bouquet. There was a look in her eyes, like she was trying to tell you something.

“Yes of course.”

The two of you made your way a little past the church and through some more iron gates, this time into a space that was on a slight slope with a couple of crypts and tombs. Checking around her to make sure that no one else was around, Luiza turned her eyes back to you slowly.

“You’re not from here.” She stated. You swallowed.

“No, I’m from the next town over, I’m passing through to –“

“Please. You’re not from here, your accent, your boots… but your eyes, your eyes are what really gave it away. If you’d ever lived near here, you’d never have the damn nerve to even come.” She waved a hand in the air, and yet looked remorsefully subdued. You didn’t quite know what to say.

You looked down to the ground, shame seeping in as if from the snow at your feet.

“I’m searching for a friend.” You said solemnly. “He’s here somewhere, at least, I think. I think that he came here on a lead; whether he’s here to help someone or it’s to do with something that concerns us… I’m not sure. But he’s been gone a while now, and I’d like to get him back home.” Saying it made it all the more real, and you could feel your throat growing tight. The whole time that you’d been speaking Luiza had listened intently, yet her face remained soft. Something twinkled in her pale eyes, a knowing.

“Do you have a picture, of your friend?” She asked.

“Yes.” You unzipped the RPD bag hanging at your side and carefully pulled the photo from the wallet inside. “His name is Leon, Leon Kennedy.” Luiza took the photo into her own hand carefully, studying it and then handed it back.

“You should come over for some dinner tonight Y/N. See that gate over there?” She pointed back towards the church but the opposite side from which you’d entered. “Through that gate, turn left and all the way up the hill. My husband and I are having goulash tonight, if that might tempt you.”

“With dumplings?”

“I can do them if you’d like.” She smiled, turning away to face a small gravestone. “Come after nightfall but be careful on your way.”

“I will.” You started heading back towards the church and then turned to ask, “Who is it? That you’re visiting I mean.”

“My daughter.” She replied.

You left Luiza at her daughter’s grave and felt your stomach rumble. The last 24 hours had been gruelling on your body, you were cramping with no pain relief, nor for your knee, which was already aching, a reminder of the stress you’d put it through the day before fighting that… beast, and then you remembered; the dream… what had happened? That was the same beast as the one you’d slain. But what, you’d resurrected it? You wondered what it meant, and then you started to recall what had happened after. Your cheeks burned red in an instant, spreading over your neck and ears. Confusion ultimately taking over. Well at least I’m warm now, you sneered at yourself, and then felt another rumble. I need food.

Luiza seemed like she could be a good ally to have here, and something told you that she recognised that picture of Leon; even if she was the only person that would help you out you felt happy that you had at least something potentially to go on. You headed back into the centre of the village, with the intention of heading back to your camp for another preserved snack and then it hit you; the smell of eggs and bacon. It was drifting up from somewhere a little way past the statue to the left and you followed it around without a care.

“The Fat Goose” The sign read above the door. It looked to be a small inn of sorts with a few townsfolk coming in and out, and in seemingly good spirits. You made sure that your hood was pulled back up over your eyes and made your way in. It was like many other humble pubs that you’d frequented here and there, mostly when visiting back home in England. A long bar at the back of the room, a door leading somewhere at the back, and the clientele sat hunched over round tables upon stools, leaning close to the fire, or shouting above one another at the bar itself. It wasn’t the busiest, but it seemed to be where the majority of the village had decided to spend their day if they did not have work to be done. You could see a couple of the villagers did indeed have meals here of all sorts; chicken, bread, cheese, and most importantly eggs and bacon. You could feel yourself salivating.

Keeping your head low you approached the barkeep, the Lei ready in your hand, and slid it across the surface towards him. “Eggs, bacon and ale, thank you.” You pushed your coin over to him. You’d been lucky, upon meeting the Duke he’d brought up local currency and exchanged what you’d made the mistake of purchasing at the airport.

The barkeeper was quietly suspicious, evident in the way that he eyed you up, taking a moment to pause cleaning the tankard in his hands to take the money and gave a nod back.

“We’ll bring it over to yer table.” He said, turning back to what he was doing. You chanced a glance around the room and decided to take a seat at a vacant table by the window. It felt like a safe spot; you could see the door and the bar, but you were also tucked into a corner out of the way, the only light cast by the fire on the other side of the room and a couple of candles over head in brackets.

The ale was with you in no time at all. You’d never actually drank ale before and weren’t expecting it to be the tastiest of drinks, but there wasn’t much choice here. The eggs and bacon shortly followed, filling the room with a smell that made you stomach growl again.

The door flew open and you suddenly noticed the difference between the warmth of the inn with the bite of the outside air. The chill swept into the pub with the figures of two men, both tall and brawny, but one much larger than the other. They seemed to be deep in conversation but trying to keep their voices to a murmur that they could only hear between themselves.

They were dressed similarly; the taller man’s clothes had more of a darker and subdued palette. He had a head of grey hair, and a beard to match, a broad forehead, kind eyes and a nose which looked as though it had been broken at least once. The shorter of the two, but by no means lacking in height had a similar long coat but in more earthy tones. His face was hidden by a dark brown leather hat of sorts, well-worn with a mess of dark hair streaked with grey. The other patrons went quiet as the men entered and then began nodding at them, some even tilting a hat, before going back to their business.

Something began stirring in your stomach and you looked down at your food, maybe the eggs were off? You looked up again, unconscious of being unable to stop watching them, or more specifically, the man with the hat. He definitely felt your gaze right at that moment as he slowly turned his face over his right shoulder to look at you from behind dark, circular shades hiding his eyes from view. Time seemed to stop. He was really looking, and you felt as though you were tumbling backwards down through the biggest chasm carved into the stars.

“Oh boy.” You breathed as the man suddenly turned his head back to reply to something that his towering friend had said, who in turn, then noticed you, glancing over his friend’s head. The feeling in your stomach had grown so intense that it felt as though it had now pummelled its way into your chest too. This felt like danger and sickness all wrapped into one. You had half a mind to leave now, but you knew that not only would that rouse more suspicion, you just also didn’t want to.

“Urias, Karl.” The bartender came over to the two men at the bar, “What can I get you?”

Sometime later a beautiful, red haired girl came to take your plate away. Despite being so hungry when you first came into the establishment, once the men had entered, you’d felt so nauseous that you’d barely been able to manage another bite. You tried to channel your thoughts, calm the storm in your stomach and ease your breathing. You were getting there, managing to ground yourself, but every few minutes your eyes were drawn back to that man, was he Urias or was he Karl? Which name suited him most? Urias sounded strong and noble, well he certainly looked strong. He pulled out a cigar and lit it, suddenly emitting raucous laughter from something that his friend said which shocked you out of your trance; and then he fell silent, starring at the other man so intensely that it scared you.

“You’re fucking kidding me?” He asked. The pub fell silent. You were so focused on the scene, as was everyone else that you neglected to notice the way your tankard had started to slowly drift up into the air along with everyone else’s.

“I’m sorry my friend, I am not. I am going to marry her.”

“God fucking damnit Urias!” He bellowed, slamming a fist down on the bar. Everything fell with a bang, ale sloshing over the tables and with that he stormed out of the pub. Urias rubbed a giant hand over his face, the skin gathering in mounds between each finger. The bartender brought over a new tankard, about three times the size of the regular ones and let it thud down in front of Urias.

“On the house, chief.”

Urias took it in his man-paw and without hesitation turned towards you, walking over.

“Are you going to tell me who you are then, fabled traveller. I can tell you come from very far away.” He sounded like how you imagined a talking bear to sound, deep and rumbly. He had a big, square chin, his jaw jutted out slightly, strong teeth, big lips and kind eyes. He poured a little of the ale from his giant vessel into your own, indicating for you to stay put. No one else in the pub seemed to be paying attention, at least not with their eyes, this man must have some hold or power over them.

“My name is Y/N, and I am looking for my friend.” You told him truthfully, face down, but eyes looking up at him. You were scared, for sure, but you wouldn’t let it show. You were here for a reason, you’d come this far, you weren’t going to leave without Leon, and you meant it. You slid the photo across the table to him and he took it tenderly, bringing it closer to his face, all that way up to take a look. He tilted his head to the side.

“Have you spoken to anyone else?” He asked, eyes flitting between you and the photo.

“One other.” You replied, not mentioning who.

“Y/A my name is Urias, as you might have heard my friend eloquently let the world know earlier. I am the chief of this village. My brother and I-“ He paused and looked down at his hands. “My brother and I came from a mountain clan, our blood line has been chief there for generations, but we wanted to see more of the world and make our mark, learn trades and earn our keep. We came to this village when we were both merely men grown, that was a long time ago now.” He had a faraway look in his eyes, turning now to look out of the window, it was already beginning to grow dark and a drift of snow had begun to descend once more. “We climbed the ranks here, doing what we could to help protect the village and its population…” He paused again in thought. “To help, however we could. It’s just me now, but I still want that, I still want to do what’s right for my people”

He took a deep drink from the tankard, which now that you were looking at it closely, looked more like a small barrel with a makeshift handle.

“Y/N I will help you however I can, but please understand this; this is no normal village, there are things at work here even I can’t quite explain. Tensions are very high, and an outsider coming in looking for a missing friend,” He tilted his head and gave a small chuckle, “Well, that’s not going to go down so well with some of the villagers, and especially not with the higher ups.”

“You mean Mother Miranda?” You asked bluntly. He swung his head to look you dead in the eyes.

“How do you know her name?”

“I did my research before I came; I don’t know much about her Urias, but I have a bad feeling about her.” Your cheeks burned from being so forward.

He laughed again, “You’re not the only one.” He muttered, casting you a careful sideways glance, taking you in some more. He looked like he was pondering or considering something. “There are a seldom few here that you can trust, so be careful. You can find me at my house, some of the folk they call it ‘the chief’s hut’, or else I’ll likely be here, at least for now.” His mind seemed to trail off somewhere else.

Noticing that night had indeed now fallen you bid your farewell and shook the giant’s paw and made your way outside into the chill of night, thankful for the stolen cloak wrapped around your frame.

You started around the side of the pub, back towards the route that would take you directly to Luiza’s house when something wrapped around your throat and shoved you against the wall. The breath was choked out of you upon impact and your hood fell, your hair falling down in-front of your eyes as you blinked them open, trying to see what had happened. Pain started spreading in your body; the cuts on your torso, your knee blazed and the cramps starting up again like knives. The thing around your throat was a hand, larger than your own but not huge, nails digging into your flesh.

You tried to say something, a warning a threat, but whoever it was, was closing your throat.

“Don’t pretend I didn’t see you making eyes at me in there darling,” A man’s voice drooled. “We don’t see tourists all too often around here, but I’m sure an outsider like you will be carrying something of value.”

You didn’t recognise the face in front of you at all. A man in his twenties, maybe, fairly non-descript with short mousey brown hair and some stubble. He absolutely reeked of alcohol. Your right hand shot instinctively towards your knife and he twisted your wrist anti-clockwise immediately disarming you, shoving you back against the wall with the force of his body and then reaching for any other weapons. Of course, he found the pistols, kicking one aside and holding the other to your temple.

“These will bring me a pretty Lei or two, I’m sure the Duke would be happy to pay me handsomely. What other souvenirs have you got under that cloak of yours?”

You scrabbled against his hands, trying to execute the self-defence you’d been taught for situations such as these. You tried to get to his weak points; wrist, elbow, knee, balls, but he had you at his mercy. The number of tight spots and situations you’d come up against in your time and you couldn’t do a damn thing if someone had you pinned when their strength was greater than your own. Your hands gripped against his arm, legs kicking.

“Hand it over and I won’t hurt you. Much.” He pressed the cold of your pistol harshly into the skin under your chin.

“No!” You rasped, suddenly being thrown down for a second but caught by something before you hit the ground. Strong, hot arms held you up from falling.

You dared to open your eyes, looking over the arm at the man’s fate. He was sprawled on the ground, blood gushing from his nose and mouth.

“Get the fuck out of here.” A voice rumbled from above you. You looked up. It was Karl. You winced again and the younger man tore off into the darkness without looking back. Your body trembled from pain, cold and something else.

You looked up again. Although you still couldn’t see his eyes you could see some sort of unearthly glow behind the glasses. His skin looked fairly tanned, smooth but worn, tired maybe, and small scars scattered here and there. You were still in his arms, entranced, and so warm.

“Thank you.” You breathed. He swallowed hard and blinked, turning his face away from you, he let his arms drop now that you were on your feet, but you were still close against his body, which now felt so tense. Was he shaking?

“Go.” He exhaled. You faltered, putting a hand to his arm, he flinched, his breathing deepened. “Please.” He shut his eyes. What was this man fighting?

You gulped, stepping back, not understanding, pulling your cloak around you, and stooping to retrieve your weapons.

“Karl, Y/N what’s going on?” Urias lurched out of the pub doors, “What was that commotion?”

A couple of moments passed where you were staring at Urias, holding your cloak to you and expecting Karl to answer, but nothing happened. You turned around to look at Karl, but he wasn’t there.

Urias offered to escort you himself to Luiza’s from there. You told him what happened and although he was furious at what had happened, swearing he’d try to find the culprit and have them punished; he did not seem surprised by Karl’s sudden disappearance. To say you were shaken up was an understatement, but you at least felt safer being with this humungous man of the mountains as you made your way through the snowy night.

Song Suggestion: ‘Stumble and Pain’ by Joseph Arthur

[silenceofthecookies]

Izo x reader - tea shop

This was requested by @girlofmiricalstoshi​ in DM a good while ago now. The request was a scenario where Ace and Thatch tried to help Izo to confess to a lady that works in a tea shop. I made it a modern AU, I hope that’s ok! Enjoy! 💖

Once again, Izo stood in front of the local tea shop with his colleagues during their break. He had dragged Ace and Thatch here before.

It started when the younger men wanted to go to a coffee shop during their first break together, when Izo started training them. Izo instantly rejected the idea, saying that they had enough energy already. He’d probably strangle them if they became any more energetic, though he didn’t add that last part. So instead of the coffee shop, Izo dragged them to his usual tea shop. What Izo had not thought of, is that the men would eventually find out he was single. And so were you, the beautiful waitress. Izo honestly adored you. You were always so nice, your smile was contagious, and your voice was like music to his ears.

However, he was content watching you from his seat in your shop. He didn’t know you aside from the professional interactions, and you didn’t know him either. Expressing what effect you had on him would certainly be inappropriate and most likely unwanted. A customer telling the waitress she’s pretty, he’s heard many waitresses complain about unwanted flirting while they’re trying to work. He wasn’t about to become one of those men.

Ace and Thatch had different plans though.

They wanted Izo to confess to you, saying they were 100% sure that you felt the same. Izo doubted it, and rejected their ideas several times. And yet, time and time again when they visited your shop, Ace and Thatch would bring it up. Izo briefly considered not visiting your shop anymore, but he couldn’t bring himself to. He greatly enjoyed the tea and the small interactions he had with you.

“Izo? Hey, earth to Izo!”

Ace’s voice broke through Izo’s thoughts and he turned to the younger man.

“What?” “Finally! Were you thinking about miss Y/N again?” “Shh! I was not. So, what is it?” “I think you should tell her. Today. Right now.” “Ace, no. I will not tell her.” Izo sighed. He should’ve known. “I also think you should, Izo.” Thatch added. “Not you too.” Izo sighed. “Well Izo, if you don’t, I’ll tell her. I think she deserved to know the way you look at her when she isn’t looking.” Thatch grinned, and Izo’s eyes narrowed. “You wouldn’t.” “You think so? Should we find out?” Thatch feigned innocence with his words, but the little grin on his face told Izo he would. “Hey, miss Y/N!” Ace suddenly yelled.

Izo’s head snapped towards Ace and he felt the panic rise. He wouldn’t. They wouldn’t dare. He watched with wide eyes as you came over to the table.

“How can I help you?” you asked with a smile once you arrived at the table.

Ace made eye contact with Izo for a few seconds before turning back to you.

“You see, Izo here-“ “Ace!” Izo interrupted. “-would like another serving of dango, is that ok?” “Of course! Anything else?” “No, that’s it. Thank you, miss Y/N.”

You smiled at the men and returned to the kitchen to make the dango. Izo glared at Ace who smiled innocently.

“What? I thought you could one some.”

Izo leaned his head in his hand. What were these idiots doing? Thatch continued to grin at him.

“So, gonna tell her yet, or shall we?” “Fine. I’ll tell her.”

Ace and Thatch cheered silently and high-fived each other while Izo sighed. What had he gotten himself into? And why did he have these meddlesome colleagues?

The rest of their stay at the tea shop, Ace and That behaved very well. They didn’t bother Izo about you anymore, nor did they bother you. When the time came to leave and get back to work though, they patted Izo on the back and wished him luck as they left the shop already. Izo sighed. This was probably going to turn out very awkward, but he knew those idiots would tell on him if he didn’t and that’s the last thing he needed. He was an adult, he could very well ask the lady out without the help of people half his age.

He asked the bill and you came to him with it a little while later. He paid for everything they ate and drank, long live the company card, and took a deep breath.

“Y/N? Do you have a moment?”

You looked around the shop and saw it was rather calm and that none of the people who were in needed you.

“Sure, is something the matter?” “No, not at all. It’s just that I was wondering if you’d like to go on a date with me sometime? If not, I completely understand and that’s fine, no hard feelings.” You didn’t miss a beat in answering, as if he was just asking you what kind of tea you had. “I’d love to.” Your answer took Izo by surprise, but definitely in a good way.   “That’s great. You’re free on Wednesday, right? Want to go for dinner together?” “Sounds good.” You took a napkin and wrote your number on it. “Text me the details, ok?”

Izo nodded and you said your farewells. As you watched the door close behind him, you couldn’t help but start laughing.

You had known all along. You knew that once he thought you weren’t looking, he’d be staring at you. You had overheard many conversations between him and his coworkers. The confession was no new information. In fact, you had been waiting for him to speak up about it. At the sound of another customer calling your name your snapped out of your laughter and went back to work.

[stardustryewriting]

New Year’s Revelation

When Marco and Ace talk about their respective crushes, they're both surprisingly mostly sober. They give Thatch a headache anyway.

Also on AO3: here

New Year’s Eve on the main ship of the Whitebeard Pirates - and on every minor ship, Marco was sure - has always been a big thing. While they couldn’t do the fireworks tradition, because of the safety on board, and because neither Marco nor Newgate trusted their drunk crew mates with it, they did virtually everything else. Which always included drinking like it was the end of the world, eating a banquet that seemed to get larger every year and just generally partying like the were no worries in the world. New Year’s Eve has always been a big event.

And then Ace came along.

Suddenly they didn’t only have to celebrate making it through another year, but they had a birthday on top of it. Well, it was Ace’s birthday, but everyone else ate and drank like it was theirs, too. Marco was torn between reprimanding them (some of them had to stay sober, in case they were attacked, but no one seemed to understand) and joining in as lively as they were, because Ace seemed to be truly happy. And Ace’s happiness was something to behold.

Not that it was a rare occasion. Ace was almost always seen with a smile on his face. (When he wasn’t sitting over a ton of navigation maps, his forehead wrinkling in concentration and he was cute then, too.) But usually there was some kind of darkness underneath it. Like Ace carried a secret big enough to be his doom, one day. He knew, in fact, that Ace did have a secret, he refused to tell them about. But he also knew, that Ace told Pops and Pops said not to worry about it. It was a big thing for Ace, but it wasn’t something that would impact the crew. Marco trusted Pops and he trusted Ace, so he wouldn’t be prodding. Even though he couldn’t help but be curious.

But on nights like these, when Ace once again proved that he could eat more than half of the crew together, and laughed with them like he’s always been a part of their big, weird family, Marco didn’t have the heart to try and coax something out of Ace. He was so happy, his smile so radiant, Marco could spent the entire night just looking at him from afar. In fact that was his plan for the night, until Thatch came along. How his brother could afford not being in the kitchen, with the rate their food was vanishing, was beyond Marco. But he hadn’t had a good talk with Thatch - that didn’t involve either of their divisions or the provisions needed for the celebration - in days, so when his brother took a seat next to him, he didn’t want to talk about the kitchen.

„You know, today would be the day to finally kiss Ace“, Thatch said, grinning like a madman - or like someone trying to get a raise out of his brother - and Marco decided he would much rather talk about what’s happening in the kitchen. Not that that was likely, now that Thatch has already started a conversation about Ace. Which seemed to be Thatch’s new favorite thing to talk to Marco about. (And Pops’, and Izo’s and Vista’s and even Jozu’s. They should find another topic to gossip about in Marco’s opinion.)

„Nah, with the amount of alcohol he’s consumed, I’d rather not“, Marco argued, in hopes Thatch would accept this better, than his usual argument.

(I’m twice his age, Marco would argue. We’re pirates, Thatch would shrug it off, like it gave them a free pass for everything. It didn’t.)

„You“, Thatch said sternly instead, pointing an accusing finger at Marco, „are just a coward. You know Ace can’t get drunk. His fire burns the alcohol. Or something.“ Or something. Even though Marco was the ships doctor, he never quite understood how the alcohol vanished from Ace’s body. He just knew that most of it did, in fact, get lost, so getting Ace drunk usually involved an amount of alcohol that would haven even killed Pops in his prime. Not that that ever stopped Whitebeard from trying to drink with Ace until they were both wasted.

„Alright, I’m a coward“, Marco agreed easily, because really it wasn’t as insulting as Thatch thought it was, „my point remains, I’m not kissing anyone tonight.“

„Who is Marco not kissing?“, Ace asked, looking at Thatch with a curiousity only someone as young as Ace could still possess. Marco really needed to stop drinking, he didn’t even feel Ace coming over to them. But also, other than Thatch he didn’t falter in surprise, he just tensed up. Unfortunately Thatch seemed to find his voice faster, than Marco could come up with some kind of coherent answer to Ace’s question.

„Someone he’s been having a crush on for a really long time.“

„Marco has a crush?“, Ace asked, sounding surprised and Marco would have liked to argue about that. Yes, he has feelings, too, thank you very much. But this talk was going into a dangerous direction, so instead of protesting Marco had to look to divert their attention elsewhere. Ace might not be the fastest on the uptake, but he was smarter than people gave him credit for, and Marco wasn’t really interested in finding out how fast Ace could come to a conclusion with minimal evidence. That was if Thatch wouldn’t spill the beans before that.

„Yeah, he’s been pining for so long, it would be funny, if it weren’t that pathetic“, Thatch answered dramatically and made a show of throwing his arms around Marco’s shoulder and giving him a look full of pity. He really did spend too much time with Izo.

„He thinks he’s not good enough, so instead of being a man and confessing, he pines. It’s the worst“, Thatch added  and Marco had the sudden impulse to knock him into the ocean.

„That’s bullshit“, Ace protested rather passionately, „Marco is a great guy. Who wouldn’t think you’re great?“ And really, it warmed Marco’s heart that Ace would defend him like that. Especially considering that barely over a year ago, Ace’s goal was to kill Pops and effectively end the Whitebeard crew. But still Ace didn’t know what he was talking about.

„It’s not that. There is just an age difference that I can’t ignore“, he tried to explain. And reached deaf ears again. Ace really did fit in with them, all too well.

„So? We’re pirates“, he shrugged, not unlike Thatch always shrugged that argument off. Thatch looked entirely too pleased with himself sitting next to Marco, gloating as if he wanted to say I told you so.

„I’m twice their age. I’d feel like a cradle robber“, Marco tried to argue with Ace again and it was entirely too reminiscent of his usual arguments with Thatch, and Pops and Izo.

„There is someone else around my age on the ship?“, Ace asked excitedly and Marco felt like he messed up. Ace wasn’t supposed to know that. At the same time Thatch’s palm met his forehead with quite a lot of force behind it and he muttered to Ace: „Be glad you’re good-looking.“

„I am good-looking“, Ace answered with a confidence that he usually had to play, but that was entirely real this time, „it’s one of my few redeeming features. People especially like my freckles.“ Yeah, Marco could see that. They were cute and fit right onto Ace’s face, even though they made him look even younger. What was Marco even doing here? Prying on their youngest crew member, that’s what.

„Yes, you are“, Thatch agreed, „but you are also way too slow on the uptake.“

„Well, what’s the uptake here, then?“, Ace demanded sounding increasingly frustrated, whereas Thatch looked like he just lost all hope in humanity. Marco could admit that Ace was a bit slow-witted right now, but it still was adorable to him.

„Forget it. It could hit you in the head and you still wouldn’t see it“, Thatch announced and then stood up, „I’m going back to my kitchen.“ And suddenly Marco was alone with Ace, who still seemed determined to find out who Marco’s crush was. Curse Thatch, for bringing it up.

„Come on, we’re friends right? You can tell me. I promise I will take it to grave with me!“, Ace declared and while Marco believed him, there was still no way he could tell Ace. Not if he wanted to keep face in front of him, anyway.

„It’s not that important, go back to celebrating your birthday. I promise you’re not missing out on anything here.“

„Alright, I tell you about my secret crush and then you tell me about yours. That way it’s fair and you can be sure, I will keep your secret“, Ace declared and didn’t even wait for Marco to agree with him, before he continued, „My crush is someone, who is in love with someone else. Not that it matters, as soon as they find out who I really am, they would avoid me anyway.“

„They don’t know you’re a pirate?“, Marco asked surprised, because you would have to be really detached from the pirate world to not know Ace is a pirate. He was a notorious rookie, he was offered a place among the Seven Warlords and he fought Jinbei for five days straight. He also made a name for himself as Whitebeard’s Second Division Commander already and he only had the spot for a few months. If you were even remotely knowledgeable about pirates, there was no way you never heard of Ace.

„They know I’m a pirate, they don’t know the other big thing. The one only Pops knows“, Ace explained and Marco could feel the curiosity again. Damn Ace and his big secret.

„You think that’s big enough to make someone hate you?“, Marco asked, because he really couldn’t imagine it to be. Pops would have told him, if it was something that big.

„I know it is. People hated me for it all my life. It’s not even my fault.“

This secret of Ace just got more confusing the more information he got out of him. Luffy knows, Ace had told him once and it didn’t really surprise Marco. Ace loved his little brother to pieces. Luffy wasn’t mad about it either, I don’t know why I thought he would be. Which was the confusing part, because apparently Ace expected the entire world to him for this secret and Luffy was the singular exception to that. That must be some kind of brother Ace had.

„Honestly, I don’t think there is anything that would make me hate you“, Marco said to Ace instead, because he seemed like he needed it and because it was true. Ace was such a sunshine, with so much sadness lurking beneath, you just had to love him. It’s not like Marco had much of a choice in that matter and the rest of the crew adored him, too.

Ace seemed to think about something and it was quite between them for a long time, before he whispered: „Even if I was the Son of Gol D. Roger?“

„Even then“, Marco answered without hesitation, „It doesn’t matter where you come from, anyway, we’re -“

„- all children of the sea“, Ace finished, seeming somewhat relieved, „Pops said the same thing.“ And then he smiled that brilliant smile at Marco, that seemed to take his breath and Marco didn’t even have the time to consider that Ace really was the son of the Pirate King, because he was so beautiful, illuminated only by the dim lights on the ship and Marco really was smitten.

„So, you don’t hate me. Too bad you’re still in love with someone else“, Ace said, seemingly not catching the implications of his own words. But Marco did. And suddenly the only thing he could concentrate on was how soft Ace’s lips looked, and how his freckles brought out the sad look in his eyes - that really shouldn’t be there, Ace looked better smiling. And how much he desperately wanted to kiss Ace.

So he did just that.

And only mid-way trough, when his brain caught up with his actions he realized that never asked for permission So, interrupting their kiss he asked: „Do you want to do this?“ And instead of answering, Ace reclaimed his lips more passionately than before and made it into an even deeper kiss.

[rouiyan]

𝘈𝘕𝘋 𝘞𝘏𝘌𝘕 𝘐 𝘍𝘈𝘓𝘓 [ 𝘭.𝘫𝘯 ]

⧏ the fourth volume of rouiyan’s debut series, till death do us part ⧐

synopsis: and when i fall, will you be there to catch me by the waist?

✧ prince!lee jeno x crown princess!reader ✧ royalty au

✧ genres : angst, fluff ✧ word count : 7.4k ✧ disclaimers : disclaimers — violence in the form of attempted assassination/murder, bloody/gory scenes, mentions and allusions to character death, malintent

✧ author’s note — this is the one where i romanticize everything.

read volume three here: dearly departed.

prince donghyuck is running. he's sprinting almost, and his strapped bow and quiver hits his back with each of his coming strides. his hands are furious in breaking away the tall grasses that surround him on all sides with a blunt blade. cutting through them with swift flicks of his wrist. the dirt beneath his feet crunch and the blades of grass he's cut sway to the ground with slow and deliberate motions, avoiding the drag of gravity like paper in the wind. donghyuck is aware that he's leaving an obvious trail but there isn't time to spare if he doesn't want to meet death at his destination. he wished he'd been smart enough to take a horse, though he knows he would have had to abandon it as he drew close. 

the skies are clear today, rare for the winter that has made itself evident in the past few weeks. there are no clouds to stir up a storm, and no threat of rain to muddle his sight. donghyuck pulls a compass from beneath his armored chest. his feet are still moving fast though his arms are now pulled in to read the display on the device. the grass that's no longer pushed back springs up and brushes the skin of his forehead, the skin under the cut of his hair, obtrusively. the needle points south albeit a tad east. he continues forth. the sun is just about setting, flakes of purple beginning to bleed into the blue and donghyuck swears he can hear the ocean. he swears it's near. 

he breaks out into an open expanse, sudden in the way the grass stops short, but he sees soon enough that it stops short at the curb of a trodden dirt path. his hand against the ground, he feels the soil fine in between his fingers, sifting almost as finely as sand does. donghyuck's face tinges with the slightest annoyance in the realization that thin soil meant that tracks were covered up all the more easily, something that'd indeed be in his favor, if only there were tracks left to follow in the first place. the compass resurfaces again, the fine chain on which it hangs sloshing in the wind in conjunction with his hurried movements. lee donghyuck bites the bullet and recedes back into the mass of grassland, this time hurrying along the edge of the road whilst ducking once again in the cover of the reeds.

the sun is fast in waning and it's as if the prince is chasing it. he is on the descent of the hill himself when he begins to hear it clearly, the sounds of waves crashing against rocks, sputtering along the shore. he wishes he had time to go down and relish in the feeling of the water lapping between his toes, the salt and sand it carries shrugging off his dead skin. the sight he's first met with is the thatching of the roof, worn down and sodden through days of heavy rainfall. it sits like a weight upon the rest of the structure that soon forms in his line of vision. a decrepit shack, almost, or a sizable shack. the shiplack that holds the siding in place is doing the exact opposite, lifting off of its holds and fraying downwards into the ground, carrying pieces of the inner insulation of the walls with it. the shutters are absent in barricading the gaping holes the windows have abated to, the awning of the porch creases earthwards, blocking most of the front door. the visage reads, 'seaside home succumbs to the inexorable confines of loneliness and lack of care.' there is no other way to describe the forces that keep the assembly upright except the willfulness of a wicked hand.

donghyuck pauses and crouches to the roots of the turf. he peers between the strands to see a guard, no, two placed just before the widest cavity in the side of the house, the only way in he supposes. his fingers are quick to pluck the end of an arrow, to slot it in its place, to draw and arm back, an eye squinting. he's quick to duck under the cover of the grass once again when the arrow pierces the left of a guards' eye. he's quick to avoid ruffling the grass that would otherwise be giving away the whereabouts of his presence away to the other, frantic, guard. prince donghyuck is crouched at the foot of a tree when he draws another arrow, slots it, draws back, releases. he knows that death meets wherever the point of his arrows land, he's accustomed to it, he feels pride in knowing that one shot is all he needs to become the greater version of him, to decide who lives and who doesn't. one shot is all he needs to play god. at least, that is what you had told him on a lonely day of his fifth summer, the first summer he had spent at the northern palace but definitely not the last. 

"and you'll keep staring from afar, will you? you in the creepers," you turned your head in exact to where he'd been crouching, "as if i wouldn't know." young donghyuck removed himself effectively from the brush, dusting off bracts from his trousers in effort to present himself with a little more ease. sheepily, he treaded across to a few yards behind where you were stood, stance rigid and facial muscles pulled taut when staring into the bullseye. you plucked an arrow, turned it over in your hands, fingers running along the ridges to inspect. prince donghyuck knew that you were the same age as him, he'd been taught of the four, of which he was one, who were birthed in the same year, in each of the kingdoms. he knew this, yet with the aura you're giving off, he couldn't help but think that you've been around for much longer. the arrow split the previous arrow in a clean half. both lodged into the red-marked center, fifty or so meters away and barely visible to the eye at such distance. 

prince donghyuck stumbled to take a bow from the stand beside you. he placed an arrow clumsily between his fingers, strangely he felt the need to prove himself though he does just the opposite by fumbling. the arrow launched after his third try, but rather than taking on a straight course, it gave a feeble arc and lodged itself into the soil before him. the prince was a sight of vexation at this point, "my instructor said- he said…"

you crossed your arms over your chest, bow tucked neatly in between. "oh, i bet he said a whole bunch."

you taught him all you know and he learned with a newfound respect, though he was unwilling to admit to himself. you had him practice on a bird first, a bigger target than the red dot, so tiny that frustrations would surely be easy to come if he'd started there. donghyuck gave you an apprehensive glance behind his shoulders but you nudged him along with a nod of your head. it's the first time he hasn't missed. he never misses a shot after that. "is- is it dead?" donghyuck didn't dare peer over, afraid of what he might see.

"of course it is."

the five-year old boy was rendered a stuttering mess at this point, "d- did i just commit a felony?" shrugging, you plucked a stone from the shore of the creek, tossing it light across the water, "hunting is legal, if that's what you're asking."

"but i just killed a- a living thing!" he exclaims as if you hadn't said what you had said moments before. sighing, the next thing that comes from you left the boy in confoundment and annoyance at how curt you were, like an grown up he thought. "well, there are times where we are left with no choice but to comply with the blurred lines of right and wrong. there are times where we are left with no choice but to play god.”

his snappy attitude is all too quick to arise, no clue as to even what you were referring to and only in the knowledge that he disliked talking to you. "you're only five, just like me. what do you know?"

"i know a great deal," you turned abruptly to face the boy. you stepped in slow, paced motions, eyes strong and unwavering. he gulps as you spoke though unsure of why. "i know because i look for all my answers from what's put before me, not from my instructors."

prince donghyuck bites down on his lip, he wasn't nearly done with you yet, "so you're saying that you've learned all you know? then when will you learn that you don't have to act all high and mighty when you're already crown princess."

"i don't act. i am not an entertainer." he could not count the amount of times you've rendered him unable to process his thoughts. donghyuck can only retort back, "then what are you?"

"i am crown princess y/n, just as you've said it."

it's years later when he realizes why the earth seems to quiver beneath you, it's years later when he understands that it's because unlike the earth, soil that is bound by the pull of gravity, you've never allowed yourself to be limited to what something, someone, anything else subjects you to. you are a subject to no one, and that is why you will be queen one day. 

he thinks this even as the second of the guards drop dead. he thinks this because he has never had less of a reason to carry out a task, yet he finds himself doing so with attentiveness to detail. donghyuck by no means could categorize you as manipulative, nor persuasive. he simply understands the way you work, the things you desire, the people you need by your side. even he, as much as he disagrees with the likes of prince jeno, he knows that only he can be your king.

the dust settles thick as he crosses through the threshold, one leg after another. he doesn't need to breathe to know that the air could suffocate if he didn't have his arm sleeve pressed into his nose. the inside of the cottage, the wreck that it is, seemed to be intact, for the most part. donghyuck even thinks that if you were to run a thick duster across the tapestries, the carpet, the counters, the armoire,  most everything, that the place could live up to the coziness of just about a decade ago, minus the blatant hole in the wall and the condition of the walls itself.

donghyuck does his best, he's sure, but the halls twist in ways meant to confuse and he ends up at the same stairwell all too many times to count. he finds it soon enough, just as the sun regresses into night. the one stairwell that led down in the midst of all the ups. the absence of light is the only noticeable thing by sight, the moon isn’t nearly upon the horizon, but he uses all that he knows to make out the shine of the door at the foot of the steps. 

skipping the last few steps, he rams into it with all his body weight. the brass, weakened through weather and age, cripples beneath him revealing the darker of night. 

the first thing donghyuck does is cough, there is no way around that. his arm is back by his nose but this time his mouth also clamps tight onto the roughened fabric of his sleeve. he has a short blade in hand, his least favorite weapon of choice but a sword would have been too inefficient and a single arrow too thin. besides the heavy air that hangs, the room is also dead silent. four paces in and his foot hits a solid, a clang, a metal. he drags it along in the same direction, clang, clang, clang. bars. metal bars. a cage, an imprisonment of sorts.

the last bar he's hit escapes him, it swings open. the door, he supposes though he wonders why it hadn't been locked, why the door to the very basement hadn't been locked, why the whole vicinity was put under the supervision of two, poorly trained guards. donghyuck understands when his eyes do their part in adjusting to the dimness of the room and he sees the prince, slumped and unconscious, out cold. 

perhaps, death really was waiting for him at his destination.

time is running thin as donghyuck dismisses his urge to check for a pulse, he figures he'd have to bring the body back anyways, alive or dead, and furthermore he has a deadline. long gone is the dagger, tucked away on the side of his left thigh, replaced with a metal arrow that clangs itself with each time it strikes the wall adjacent to it. to prince donghyuck, picking a lock with a sharpened point of an arrow is second nature; he's done it as many times as little boy scouts practice their square knots and soprano's run through their warmups. but even then, he hates the feeling of picking a lock that binds two wrists, he hates the feeling of how the wrists fall when they are no longer bound, and he hates the feeling of the chains as they clatter and clump at his feet. more than that, the dead weight of a man on his shoulders, void of all vicarious pretenses, is the worst among all feelings.

the sun carries with it shadows as it sets. it draws them like a coachman and his horses, a dog on its leash, a flock of baby geese and their mother. the shadow of the cottage, in particular, is seven feet from where it was when donghyuck entered. he doubts he'll have much time to get back into town on foot, running wouldn't work well with his already depleted stamina and the hunk of a man on his shoulders. he plays it safe with a jog and his compass in hand, the shine of the needle becoming harder to decipher in the fast-coming shadows that drown out his sight.

the first break he takes under a tree a little ways down from the cottage, shoving the weight of jeno under the cover of a few tendrils of vines. he almost wants to kick his figure in annoyance but under the guise that he was trying to wake him. prince jeno is very poor company when he's knocked out, or dead, he supposes now is as good of a time as any to check. fingers against his wrist, he feels the faintest of a pulse and is relieved in the most concealed way, though there is no one around for him to be concealing from. donghyuck thinks, with sureness, that if he were to let the boy wilt in his arms, to deliver him dead when he might as well have been alive, he himself would be dead in your eyes. he shakes his head and brings his flask to the lips of the older, slightly older.

the first few drops of water do nothing except sit in his dry mouth but the rest is gurgled, choked, swallowed. the prince, and soon to be king, lunges at donghyuck with his eyes still shut closed. he has his fingers tight around the eastern prince's neck when he finally regains the will to peel open his lids. the sun is long gone at this point and the moon has still yet to appear over the horizon. jeno is startled when he realizes that the ground his knees are rubbing against isn't dusted concrete but thick soil and stones. he draws back at that though his arms wind back as well, as if to drive into his unknown captor's cheek, to knock him out. donghyuck is a whirlwind of coughs as he barely registers the fist that's approaching fast, he's glad he still has it in him to roll to the side and croak out an, "it's me."

two princes are panting under the span of a tree, the roots that jut out slashing the backs of one of them and the twigs that litter the ground cutting into the kneecaps of the other. their breaths alternate, loud sighs and sharp inhales, as they regain their bearings enough to acknowledge each other. two princes sit side by side under the span of a tree, glancing at each other, or what they believe to be each other, in the shroud of darkness that envelops them. they wait for the moon.

jeno finds himself reaching for the flask that lays discarded a few feet away. he chugs and donghyuck eyes him in disgust, feeling how his own throat is clenching up with the same thirst. jeno must sense this because he holds it out for him when he's had his fill, "how much time has passed?" donghyuck throws back the rest of the water. they are bound to come across a freshwater stream on the long way back, he's sure and he swallows, "a week in approximation."

a week, he's sure a lot of things could've happened in the week he was gone. possibly, you'd know of his absence. surely, you know of the death of your father. no doubt were you in mourning and he was halfway across the region and in no state to comfort you. his brows furrow, "anything notable that's happened?"

there are many things donghyuck could say in response. he hasn't left your side since the day after your father's body was found, the day he'd arrived at the palace, ready to comfort. he'd never have expected you to lash out in rage with no one to blame. he'd been there when the maid had delivered news of the anonymous tip that'd made your knees go weak in an instant. a hell of a week it had been, indeed. he prefaces with the general. "the coronation has been moved up, three days from now you will be crowned king."

jeno nods in understanding. it's all his parents have ever wanted from him, to marry off into golden blood, to become golden blood, for their immediate family to bathe in golden blood. he sighs knowing that he feels it's fine if it's with you, that your presence in his life simply mocks that of his parents. but he needs answers, the yearning to see you is set alight in the pits of his stomach. "and how is she holding up?" 

disgruntled, prince donghyuck answers curt and vague, the exact opposite of what jeno needs to soothe his worries, "she's holding up just fine." neither of them are in high spirits when they set off into the night. they suffice with the silence and when they come across the expected stream, donghyuck fills the flask, they bathe. the moon is kind that night, outshining all nights before and illuminating the compass needle, the guide into the outskirts of the southern kingdom.

the sun is on the rise when the two princes are met with the sight of buildings in the distance, small shacks, roofs thatched but unkempt and messy unlike that of the seaside cottage for royalty. the people bustling about are donned in the plainest of clothing and donghyuck is sure that his combat gear and jeno's days old and crinkle suit would draw unwanted attention from the commoners, after all, he's almost sure that they wouldn't recognize the faces of two royalty if they were dressed down, not here in the southern kingdom where the prospects of royalty are told like a fairy tale.

like how any disguise is gained, donghyuck sneaks through the bushels of the nearest house and snatches two pairs of trousers, two plain cotton tops, and a tweed satchel, leaving four golden coins under the back awning. they change before the sun arrives to clear the air of fog  and mist and they bustle and weave within the crowd with ease when the sun peeks over diagonal, mid-morning.

they don't make it far on foot, there is still a ways to go before they can safely make it past jeno's homeland without being noticed. the farther they delve into the heart of the kingdom, the closer they mingle with the nobles, the higher-ranking families, those who would recognize them almost immediately. 

a first of many close calls come when they are at the back end of a manor, a huge estate, spanning about half the palace itself. whoever the owner was, the individual jeno was rambling on about, wouldn't suffer the loss of two horses. that is, if they could be stolen in the first place. the stables were a mile into the plot of land from the back and though donghyuck could be so efficient in simply shooting dead all the guards that lined the outer premises, he really did not wish to cause a ruckus, not when he's sure the officials of the southern kingdom are aware of the escape of their second prince. and if jeno is correct in labeling this very estate as the abode of the capital governor, he wouldn't be keen in taking chances where it could hurt most. 

night falls for a second time and, under the cover of darkness, jeno slashes the calves of two of the guards, a stroke that could easily be mistaken to be of a running and wild badger if timed correctly. he ducks between the electrical cords of the fencing, donghyuck just behind him, as he gets on all fours to survey the grounds. the guards that are left mill around the stables, the only structure that'll provide them light during their break. they are jolly and big-bellied when they laugh and jeno finds it all too easy to slip past the commotion to the back of the stables where the gates open onto the track. donghyuck moves with practiced stealth to the opposite end, foot looping on the edge of a table where kegs of beer are stood tall. he steadies himself, centering his movements around his breaths and not his impulses. retrieving his compass, he doesn't stop to crack it open this time, angling the sleek alloy cover in such a way that it glints in accordance with the glass of the window, left side of the stables that's illuminated inside out. 

they count to three. the kegs meet the earth and while some roll, others simply spill. donghyuck leaves a mess in his wake. he'd like to stay back, admire his work, the looks of shock on their faces and the realization that'll come when they check the stables a little later. he gets this feeling each time he completes a mission, and very rarely is a prince allowed to do so. prince donghyuck loves the rush, the adrenaline, the anticipation and the satisfaction of completion. he knows that jeno feels the same. although as much as he would love to linger in the shadows to bathe in his victory, he knows that if he doesn't remove himself from the scene he will have a great deal more things to be worrying about. perhaps, his head on a stick.

with the horses accompanied by night, an ever-so-welcome friend, they are able to make haste. their course deviating the slightest to avoid the boundaries of the royal palace. jeno is familiar with the towns that lay just a little beyond and just a little before the middle glade. his familiarity means he knows where to book a rest for the night, where to get the needed replenishments for themselves and the horses and where to stock up for the coming day that will be spent entirely in the middle glade. his familiarity is helpful, but deemed futile when they arrive to see that each stall, selling food or goods, has a banner hung on the overhead. the prince's face is printed on each one, a lost prince, help needed! captioning each notice.

the pitstop, originally jotted to span a whole of two hours becomes a series of laborious tasks that involve intricate planning of thievery, indirect thievery as they make sure to leave, in their ructions, the rest of their gold coins, distributed evenly. they enter the middle glades with relieved and wearied hearts and sacks upon sacks of provisions.

the middle glade is the right place for any wearied heart. the grass is knee-length here, and it stays that way for a day's trip worth of land. the edges are crowded by a thick forest of trees with trunks too wide to hug and roots so big that traversing the land on foot is treacherous enough. but just beyond the thickets of trees and boughs that hang low is the glade itself. the four kingdoms were built to accommodate the livelihood of the grasses, wildflowers, gentle ponds that stretched only a few feet deep. the glade is a sight for sore eyes, and a marvel for all traveling through. it's where the four kingdoms diverge, and also where they meet.

rays of sun are harsh on their backs, it's been a little over an hour and though the looming threat of the southern kingdom has been left in the dust, the road ahead proves bleak, grasses the run along the horizon and, seemingly, endlessly beyond. jeno thinks of what he'll say when he sees you. he thinks of the smile that's sure to grace your features and he thinks of your warm embrace. jeno is patient when he thinks of you.

"she's been troubled."

jeno looks over in surprise at the sound of his companions voice, he notes the lilt and remains silent for him to go on. 

"the princess and i, as i'm sure you know, we've been well-acquainted for a long time now." donghyuck steals a glance of his own and finds that jeno's sights are held to the front but his brows are drawn in consideration, deliberation. "and i've always known her the best, loved her the best, been the best for her. we've both been, for each other i mean. we both also knew that there would be a day where the same would be said for someone besides the other. i don't mean harm when i say that i didn't think it'd be this soon, not for her."

"why not for her, distinctly?"

prince donghyuck gives a moment to think of an answer that he knows all too well from being by your side for the good majority of his life, "because she's not one to talk. she prefers to listen." nudging his point along, jeno makes it known, "she talks to me."

"that's how i know you're the one for her." jeno smiles to himself. he lets himself relish in the feeling of your love, even indirectly. his lips stay turned upwards, even when he wills them back down. he can't help but feel a little silly so he disguises his countenance with another question,  "did she ask this of you? to come for me?" a question that he already knows the answer to.

"of course," a playful grin spreads with ease across donghyuck's face. he supposes that the taut strings between them have loosened up ever so slightly, either that or the dreariness of traveling for days on end with only each other's company have done the trick, "i'd have never gone out of my way for you." jeno's expression is gruff but his tone is light when he quips back in agreement, "neither would i."

"i'll have you know though, she's beyond excited about the wedding preparations. the coronation as well but i can sense that she's more apprehensive to take the throne so early on. it's a relief to know that you'll be by her side when the time comes."

"as i should be."

"you know, i've heard some rumors about you, just picked them up here and there. and while i have made sure of your sincerity by means of this," he gesticulates, "this trip of ours, i would like to confirm that you're not...after her for the throne, are you?"

"not i, but i wouldn't put it past you to see it as so. much of my family sees her for only her blood," he doesn't bother to palliate the resentment in his expression as he spits out the last half. the other in the conversation is thrown into thought, once again. the moments he gives himself to respond are filled with the sounds of horse hooves fast on the crimpling grass.

"the death of her father, were you aware that it was dawning upon us?" donghyuck airs prudently, "in the assumption that it was of your lineage's doing."

jeno replies dismissively, not in the context that he is avoiding the inquiry, but more so that he found the case scenario obvious, "i was not aware, no. it had certainly been staged so that i could not have been there to prevent it, unfortunately." his eyes slide from the grassy hills ahead to his friend beside him, he lets new information fall from his lips in the face of someone he has come to trust, "i'm also apprehensive about her taking the throne so young, and not because of her duties. i have an inkling that she might be stolen before her throne is."

"another scheme of your parents, the king and queen? or is that past my bounds to be asking?"

the dismissive tone laces his voice again, but only for a few cumulative seconds, "not at all, there are many times a day where even i find it hard to identify as one of them." a turning point is reached where he gazes grows stern and the dismissiveness is replaced with an air of officiality, "but yes, i believe it to be one of their schemes to place a crown atop my head."

donghyuck considers jeno's words with heavy thought and a heavily-ladened question, "would you take it if it was offered?" he takes his answer with an equally heavy understanding.

"at the cost of her, i would give it up in a heartbeat."

you've lost count of the nights you've spent staring at the same ceiling you were faced with now. even turning onto your sides you know that you'll be met with all too familiar scenes. your mind, instead of relenting to the rest it needs, replays the same track over and over of prince jeno asking for you not to stay up too late, ironic in the sense that that's simultaneously exactly what you've succumbed to. you miss the way his locks bunch in between your fingers, something you haven't quite grasped the reasonings behind your liking of. it's just hair, but it being his hair supposedly makes all the difference. would it be foolish for you to be thinking of his hair when he might as well be taking his last breaths in the same second? there wouldn't be a way to know, the wall that you've encountered each time you venture down the glum alleyways of 'what if.'

"acceptance disempowers fear, darkness, shame." (my co--star day at a glance 1119).

you wallow in acceptance because the fear, the darkness, the shame stands too tall against your thin spears of hope. they've dwindled with each day that you've spent circulating between those three emotions in a hopeless and never-ending circle of self-induced torture. somewhere in between your fourth and fifth hour of intermittent lapses between sleep and wakeful exhaustion, the inner door of your chamber is burst open and you swear under your breath. murder is in the night.

or rather, it's your lady-in-waiting, her eyes bugged out and a coat haphazardly thrown over her nightgown. "your highness!" that's when you see the smile on her face, that's when a similar one begins to light your own. "the guards down in the valley, they say they've seen them!"

legs kicking up the blankets that hold you down, you scramble out of bed, even slipping on a coat is deemed too much a time-consuming task when the raptures that have enveloped you for the past weeks are now coming to a close. your fingers barely catch onto the door frame just as you skid out, peering back in to get another word for your maid, "them, them as in two. both lively and well?"

"i've been told of two men, both on horseback."

a grin splits your cheeks wide as your bare feet clap down hard on the frigid marble flooring. it echoes unlike the sound of your nightgown flitting between your form with each step, the whistling of wind curling your insides with warmth and joy. your heart sings like a village girl, whose love has just returned safe from the battling seas. perhaps you were a juliet, in the pretense that 'star-crossed' meant that you and him were written in the stars, not torn apart by them. your lungs welcome the morning air as you inhale as much as you can, replenishing the depths of your spirit, invigorating you down to each cell that you were built of.

the guard at the foot of the steps implores you not to go any further, the crisp winds that sift through the orchard would be far too dangerous with how little you are wearing. he sends for your lady-in-waiting, who had just arrived behind you, panting with all her might, to head back in to retrieve a coat or two for you. you tell her to take her time.

you're on your knees weeping when they come into view, the sight is unsuitable for the weak-hearted. head in your hands, you're making frantic motions to swipe away the furious tears that trace down your cheeks when the soiled dust from a sudden break of hooves lifts into the air before you. prince jeno dismounts as if it were his life's duty, his strides are long, as they have always been, and when he takes you in his arms, collecting your listless limbs and wearied bones in place, you find home within his embrace.

at the crack of dawn, on the bottom steps of the northern palace, a man clad in plain white and a woman in a silk nightgown rejoice in the name of love. his fingers never let the goosebumps on your skin stay for as long as he smoothes them over, you are absent of the wintry weather on your bare skin. at the crack of dawn, on the bottom steps of the northern palace, the up and coming king and queen of the northern kingdom rejoice in the names of each other, alive and so, so full of life.

you're looking up in curiosity at him as he crosses the room to the side of the bed, opposite of yours. jeno has a book in his hand, and rather than looking at you, his sights are on the pages, a finger skimming along with his eyes. he's by your side when he looks up, satisfied, "i brought something to read to you, love."

your eyes sparkle in the moonlight that slips undisturbed through your open balcony doors, "and what might it be?"

"you'll know when you hear, i assure you." he extends an arm and your back is pressed against his chest without a question, his arms encircling your frame, both hands converging to hold the book in front of the two of you. he spoke the truth when he said you'd recognize it. a smile makes its way to your face before you can even take notice. and when you do indeed notice, you mouth the words along with his voice.

“i will love you if i never see you again, and i will love you if i see you every tuesday. i will love you as the starfish loves a coral reef and as kudzu loves trees, even if the oceans turn to sawdust and the trees fall in the forest without anyone around to hear them. i will love you as the pesto loves the fettuccini and as the horseradish loves the miyagi, and the pepperoni loves the pizza. i will love you as the manatee loves the head of lettuce and as the dark spot loves the leopard, as the leech loves the ankle of a wader and as a corpse loves the beak of the vulture. i will love you as the doctor loves his sickest patient and a lake loves its thirstiest swimmer. i will love you as the beard loves the chin, and the crumbs love the beard, and the damp napkin loves the crumbs, and the precious document loves the dampness of the napkin, and the squinting eye of the reader loves the smudged document, and the tears of sadness love the squinting eye as it misreads what is written.

i will love you as the iceberg loves the ship, and the passengers love the lifeboat, and the lifeboat loves the teeth of the sperm whale, and the sperm whale loves the flavor of naval uniforms. i will love you as a drawer loves a secret compartment, and as a secret compartment loves a secret, and as a secret loves to make a person gasp…i will love you until all such compartments are discovered and opened, and all the secrets have gone gasping into the world. i will love you until all the codes and hearts have been broken and until every anagram and egg has been unscrambled. i will love you until every fire is extinguished and rebuilt from the handsomest and most susceptible of woods. i will love you until the bird hates a nest and the worm hates an apple. i will love you as we find ourselves farther and farther from one another, where once we were so close…i will love you until the chances of us running into one another slip from slim to zero, i will love you until your face is fogged by distant memory. i will love you no matter where you go and who you see, i will love you if you don’t marry me. i will love you if you marry someone else–and i will love you if you never marry at all, and spend your years wishing you had married me after all. that is how i will love you even as the world goes on its wicked way.”

(Lemony Snicket, The Beatrice Letters)

the book is discarded, but unforgotten, to the side when the curtains are pulled back. the moon is at its height. renjun has a lot of work to do.

the scene is as expected, the princess, inseparable from her prince is on the bed and clasped on all sides by his form. he regrets that he did not have the guts to ask for the murder of them both. his orders strictly called for the death of one, a much more tedious task when a possible witness, such as the prince, could hold a hefty punishment over his head if he were to be caught. renjun knows that isn't likely to begin with.

his first mistake is waking the prince. perhaps going in for a knife to the heart was the most efficient but the least accessible, seeing as the man clung to you like no other. renjun doesn't bother hiding though he knows his face covering and hood aren't enough to cover his unmistakable stature. the prince charges at him once he's gained a sense of his surroundings. renjun dodges his sleepful fit easily and uses this opportunity to strike at you. a quick blow to the side should do enough damage for his job to be considered completed.

his second mistake is misconstruing the sheer amount of power the prince possesses. in truth, the prince does not know himself, especially if that power is being drawn by the prospects regarding your safety and wellbeing. renjun is pulled back with veined arms that encase as if to wrestle him into surrender. he's experienced enough to worm his way out and to position himself opposite of the bed where you're now beginning to stir from all the commotion, the prince standing in front of him, shaking his head in disgruntledness as he tries to fight off the waves of post-awakening exhaustion and strain.

renjun knows a lot of things. he knows much about caged animals, he knows even more about greedy men, specifically greedy and powerful men, he knows of hierarchies and classes and exactly how to get what he wants from them, but in this moment, he knows nothing more than the fact that prince jeno will duck. and that he will regret.

when one is young and naive and still in the belief that their blanket will shield them from the monsters in the dark, they simply disregard that it will not. the flimsy, flimsy blanket, made of nothing more than woven, and likely processed, fabrics will do nothing against the demons that await, under your bed, in your shadows, from your ceiling. you are not young, nor are you naive, and it's in your understanding that these demons, they are a breed of sorts, fallen angels. perhaps, you will never understand. and in their line of work, they have never halted at the sight of a blanket. you toss it aside and you charge even as your prospects of living dim as the dagger parts the air, the air that scampers away and leaves an open trail for the dagger to the dead center of your abdomen, the very spot your father had been punctured with.

there is a part of renjun that wishes he missed.

the man in the moon frowns as the beams that foam and froth and bubble behind him are poured down from the heavens onto the west wing of the palace solely, the west-facing windows, a specific west-facing, wrought iron traced door that gives into the expanse of your room, your bed. it illuminates you, it bares its shine upon you, unabashedly, unashamedly. and it is also the sole reason jeno can see, with such clarity, the shank that slits your silk nightgown with ease, that embeds itself within your now-withering body, that in turn, makes his blood run cold.

renjun is long gone when jeno begins his cry for help. there are guards just outside but it would take a miracle for a medic to arrive before you bleed out your internal organs completely. the white of your sheets is stained with your blood, the strands of your hair are strung together with the stickiness of the substance, jeno's hands, the beds of his fingernails are deluged in the blood that spurts from where he is desperately trying to press down on. the hole in your front gushes with each breath you take and jeno could only wish that he could breathe for you, in your stead. 

prince jeno cries, in the most literal and figurative senses, for help, for someone to wipe away his tears and to tell him that you're alright. to shake him awake as he dissolves further into the abyss of his fears. to kneel by his bedside and tell him that it was all a nightmare, that you're fine, really, that you've just gone to get a cup of earl grey with honey, that when you come back, there will be no dagger struck between your intestines and no red staining your nightgown. lee jeno cries because as time drags, and the guards that scramble about, fruitlessly counting on a distant and frankly unprepared medic, you are in his arms taking your last breaths.

"acceptance disempowers fear, darkness, shame."

and so he accepts.

volume five, the final installment: heaven belongs to you will be updated whenever the author sees fit.

copyright © 2020 rouiyan all rights reserved.

✧ end note — i hope this piece brought back some cherished memories of 'a series of unfortunate events,' personally, such a great memory of my childhood, reading-wise. i say this a lot but, this has got to be one of my most favorite things i've ever written. i think i did quite well with this. it makes me happy. i hope it made you happy, i love you, have a nice day.

[omgrachwrites]

Baby, I’m Yours - Sirius Black

Pairing: Sirius Black x Reader

Request: Could I please request a blurb where the reader is Sirius’s wife, and she keeps him company while he’s grumpy during OOTP and helps him celebrate Christmas with the Order and the Weasleys? @fand0mfantasies 

Warnings: fluff, fluff and more fluff!!

Words: 1504

A/N: Thanks so much for requesting @fand0mfantasies, I hope this is okay! I hope you guys all enjoy and please let me know what you think, I love you all! xxx

You smiled as the bacon sizzled in the pan as you flipped the rasher over; you were a firm believer that magic and cooking didn’t go well together – unless you were Molly Weasley. So, you much preferred doing it the muggle way. As the bacon was cooking in the pan, you set your sights on making a cup of tea. You hummed a pretty tune beneath your breath as you added two cubes of sugar and a couple of teaspoons of cinnamon.

By the time you had finished making your husband’s tea, the bacon and eggs were done, you smiled to yourself as you loaded everything onto a tray and carried it up the winding staircase. You hated the fact that Sirius was trapped in this dark house all over again – though he had you to keep him company this time – he had spent so many of his teenage years trying to escape. Once he was free, you would find a quiet little village in the countryside where you could both live with Harry, but for now it was only a dream. Though, it was the sweetest dream.

As you walked into the bedroom you shared, he was sitting up scrubbing a hand through his thick hair as he looked at you with tired eyes. Butterflies filled your stomach as he gave you a gorgeous sleepy smile; it was amazing that he could make you feel like you were sixteen all over again.

“I woke up and you weren’t here,” he pouted, making you giggle and roll your eyes as you approached the enormous bed.

“I’m sorry handsome, I was making you breakfast,” you giggled as you passed him the tray.

He beamed at you as you got back into the warm bed, “and what did I do to deserve breakfast in bed and such a beautiful wife?” he grinned and wrapped an arm around you and took a sip of his tea, closing his eyes in bliss.

You smiled and kissed his cheek, “I wanted to cheer you up, you’ve been grumpy ever since Harry went back to Hogwarts,” you smiled and snuggled into his chest.

His handsome face fell slightly as he sighed, toying with the ends of your hair, “I know that I’ve been a grump and I’m sorry. Thank you for being so patient with me,” he chuckled, “I’m just going to miss him, this house was so full of life while he was here with his friends.”

You nodded understandingly, over the summer Sirius had been the happiest that you’d seen him in ages, “I know, I’ll miss him too but he’ll be home for Christmas, you know he will.”

Sirius nodded, smiling at you as he ate his breakfast. When your husband had finished his breakfast, he decided that he was still hungry so he decided to have his fill of you and you didn’t mind one bit. Once you were both sated and satisfied, he propped his chin up on his hand, smiling down at you, gently trailing his fingers over your skin. He looked so beautiful like this, with kiss bruised swollen lips and sparkling eyes.

“What are your plans for today then darling?” he asked.

You smiled up at him and kissed his cheek, smoothing your hands over the tattoos on his body, “I was thinking, maybe, I could try and get that portrait of your mother down.”

He let out a short bark of laughter as he pressed his forehead against yours, “I wouldn’t bother if I was you, that bitch has probably made it so that it couldn’t be removed, it was so like her,” he groaned, rolling his eyes and sighing.

“I don’t care, that woman is torturing you from beyond the grave so I’m going to try because I would do anything for you. I love you Sirius, I always have,” Sirius grinned as he pressed a long lingering kiss to your lips.

“I truly do not deserve you,” he chuckled when you scoffed at his words, “I love you too Y/N.”

The next day, it seemed that Sirius was right. Your mother-in-law had made it so that couldn’t remove her portrait from the wall. Unfortunately, after a few hours, you decided that it was futile and you had to give up, you hated being defeated by a portrait of a dead woman. It was like she had won from beyond the grave. You sighed and pointed your wand at the curtains, making them cover the portrait.

Sirius wrapped his arms around you from behind and rested his chin on your shoulder as you stepped back into his chest, “I’m sorry Sirius.”

He pressed a kiss to your shoulder, “don’t be sorry baby.”

You looked up and down the dark hallway, deciding that it needed some life, “we should decorate this place for Halloween next week. In honour of James and Lily.”

Sirius chuckled, the sound warming your body, “that sounds like a great idea, I’m sure they would have loved it.”

Christmas came in no time and it was a little different this year. Harry had saved Arthur from sudden death so everybody had a lot to be thankful for this year. You stood back and let your husband spend time with his godson and you admired the way that Sirius’ beautiful face lit up as he talked with Harry. His cheeks were flushed from the wine he had been drinking with dinner. It was like he had his best friend back.

Christmas day was wonderful but when Molly suggested going for a walk in the snow, Sirius’ face dropped and that was when you realised that you had forgotten to give him one of his Christmas presents. You ran up the stairs to get it.

“What’s this?” Sirius asked, confusion etched into his features as you handed him the bright blue potion.

“It’s a glamour potion, I’ve been working on it for a while now, it’s really tricky to make. If you take it, you’ll look the same to us but everyone else who sees you won’t recognise you, they’ll think you’re someone else. I wanted you to have your freedom,” you flushed.

“Y/N,” his voice broke as he teared up and looked from you to the potion and back to you again, you could see the pure love and adoration in his eyes.

“What are you waiting for? Drink it,” you giggled.

Sirius nodded and downed the potion in one, wincing at the taste, he frowned after a couple of minutes and he rubbed his hands over his face, “I don’t feel any different.”

You laughed, rolling your eyes as you gave him your compact mirror to look in, when he saw his reflection he gasped, “Merlin, Y/N! My gorgeous looks are gone,” he teased, pulling you closer and kissing you, “thank you for doing this for me, I love you baby.”

“I love you too,” you smiled as you cupped his cheek, “and you still look beautiful to me,” you grinned as you played with the ends of his hair.

“Please, let’s go!” Harry laughed; it seemed he had been watching this whole exchange, Sirius beamed as he wrapped an arm around you and Harry as you walked out into the cold Christmas air.

Sirius let out a deep breath, his breath coming out in smoke as he looked up at the white sky, his face lighting up as the snowflakes landed on his cheeks and melted against his warm skin. He was a vision beautiful to behold as he looked at you with snowflakes in his hair and on his eyelashes.

“I can’t remember the last time I was out in the snow,” he smiled, looking at the snowflakes that landed in his hands.

You smiled as you wrapped your arms around him, leaning your head against his chest, “when you’re free, we’ll get a cottage together and we’ll go out for walks in the snow all the time,” Sirius grinned and dipped you slightly, kissing you deeply.

A couple of years later you were cooking alongside your husband in the little thatched cottage in Godric’s Hollow, around the corner from where James and Lily lived. The cottage that you lived in before you got married wasn’t available and you were so sad because you loved that house. Sirius had a fair trial about a year ago when the Aurors managed to bring Pettigrew into the Ministry and under the influence of Veritaserum he told them everything.

“I didn’t think we’d ever get here,” Sirius grinned as he looked up from chopping his onions.

You wrapped your arms around his waist and rested your cheek against his back, “I knew that we would and as soon as Harry defeats Voldemort he can come and live with us,” Sirius turned his head to grin at you and pressed a kiss to your forehead. You were so happy, you had everything that you had ever wanted, you had your true love, he was free and he was yours.

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

@fand0mfantasies​ @smiithys​ @elayneblack​ @amelie-black​

[hysterialevi]

Reið - A sequel to Naudr

Fanfic summary: Sigurd visits Valka after having a vision about Eivor, and finally admits his love for the man.

Point of view: third-person

Pairing: Sigurd Styrbjornson x Male Eivor

Author’s note: WOW. I can’t thank you guys enough for the support you gave on my other fanfic, Naudr. I wasn’t planning to write more for that one, but quite a few people were asking for a sequel, so here it is. It’s a bit longer than the first part, but I really wanted to conclude the story between Sigurd & Eivor. Hope you enjoy :)

RAVENSTHORPE

AFTERNOON

Hovering his fist over the door to Valka’s hut, Sigurd found himself frozen by hesitance as he pondered whether or not this was a good idea, admittedly tempted to turn back around.

He wanted to find the answers to the endless list of questions that had been troubling him lately, but with the amount of possible outcomes that could’ve transpired from this visit, Sigurd couldn’t deny that he feared whatever awaited him in the future.

What if the dreams were right? He wondered. What if they signified that of which he already suspected? What if he didn’t need Valka’s interpretation to begin with?

For an entire month, these incessant dreams had kept him preoccupied. They crept into his thoughts; dug into his life. They distracted him during a time of war, and drifted him away to a place where there was no reason to be found.

And even worse, there seemed to be no remedy for them. No matter how much mead he drank, or how many extravagant tales Dag regaled him with, they always seemed to linger in the back of his mind, clawing at him like an itch that just wouldn’t go away.

It was exhausting, at this point. Sigurd could hardly get a wink of sleep at night anymore, and with the same questions repeating themselves over and over again in his head, he felt desperate to find some sort of clarification that would put his mind at ease.

Fortunately, there was one more option that he had yet to try.

And it was waiting for him on the other side of this door.

Finally deciding to go through with his plan, Sigurd briefly knocked on the wooden surface and patiently waited for a response, pacing back and forth in anxiety.

He had no idea if it was foolish of him to open up about his inner conflicts like this, considering how controversial they were, but Valka had never been a woman to judge him based on his private thoughts.

He just hoped the seeress would have some answers for him today. These visions had disrupted his life for long enough, and the longer he allowed them to fester beneath the surface, the more Sigurd feared they would eventually break through.

Odin willing, it would never come to that.

“Sigurd Jarl,” Valka’s voice suddenly said from behind, causing the man to whip around. “What a pleasant surprise to see you here.”

Sigurd smiled at the völva, trying to hide the unease he felt within. “Valka. I didn’t know you were out. I hope I’m not interrupting anything.”

She held up a reassuring hand. “Have no fear. I was simply collecting ingredients for my rituals. Normally, Eivor helps me gather them, but the man appears to be occupied with other matters today. I did not wish to disturb him.”

Valka stepped closer to the jarl, tilting her head in an inquisitive manner. “But set all that aside. What brings you to me, Sigurd? I must admit, it is a great curiosity to find you on my doorstep. Are you in need of my services?”

The viking sighed in fatigue. “I’m afraid so, old friend. I’ve been having... dreams, lately. Visions. They haunt me in my sleep, and consume my thoughts during the day. Their meaning continues to elude me, but I suspect there is something of great importance behind them. I’d like to hear your opinion.”

Valka nodded in understanding, eyeing Sigurd with a newfound interest. “Indeed. I sense a great burden resting on your shoulders; a battle being fought inside your heart. It would be wise to unravel the messages your dreams are attempting to convey, for one cannot fight while a war wages inside them.”

She beckoned Sigurd, gesturing to the hut’s door. “Come, my friend. Let us see if we can decipher your dreams together.”

Walking through the entrance, Sigurd stepped into the serene atmosphere of the hut as he followed Valka from behind, craning his neck downwards in order to fit through the short archway.

Inside, he was immediately welcomed by a strong mixture of aromas that consisted of incense and herbs, and the delicate clings of multiple wind-chimes could be heard dancing throughout the breeze. 

It was peaceful in here, Sigurd thought. Valka always seemed to give off a meditative aura wherever she walked, and now that they were in a more secluded area, he felt better suited to share his thoughts.

Though, that didn’t mean he was free of his skepticism just yet.

“Now, then...” Valka said, placing her freshly gathered ingredients down, “let’s talk about your visions, Sigurd. How often do you experience them? And when do they come to you?”

Sigurd leaned against a wall, crossing his arms in a casual manner. “They plague my dreams every night, I’m afraid. In spite of all my efforts to block them out.”

Valka rubbed her chin in thought. “And what of the images you see in them? Are they always the same?”

“Mostly. There are slight differences every once in a while, but ultimately, they seem to be variants of the same vision.”

“Then it would be foolish to ignore them,” Valka concluded. “One does not experience such persistent dreams as a coincidence. Especially ones that seem to be so strongly connected. The gods are trying to speak to you, Sigurd.”

The jarl shrugged in confusion. “But what are they saying?”

“Well,” Valka approached the man, “why don’t we find out? Tell me what happened in your most recent vision. And please, be as descriptive as possible.”

Sigurd took a deep breath and thought back to his latest dream, trying to recall every single detail.

“I remember... it started in a forest. The trees around me were tall and dense, and the space between them was filled with a fog so thick that it obscured everything in its path. It felt as if I was walking through the depths of Niflheim itself. I didn’t know where to go, or how to find my way out, but eventually, I came across a wild boar. It was alone in the forest, and... it seemed to be beckoning me. So, I followed it.”

Valka raised a brow in curiosity. “Oh? And where did this boar take you?”

“It led me through the woods, as if it knew the way out. But our journey was not without delays. First, the boar took me to an opening in the forest. There was a group of runestones there, all of them arranged in a circle. And in the middle stood a statue of the god Forseti, gazing down at me.”

That piqued the seeress’ interest. “Forseti? The god of justice? Most curious...” she paused for a moment, contemplating the vision. “Tell me, where else did this boar lead you?”

“Its next destination was a great bridge,” Sigurd remembered. “It spanned across a large river, and was thatched with glittering gold.”

“Gjallarbrú.” Valka instantly recognized. “The Bridge to Hel.”

Sigurd agreed with the statement. “That’s what I thought as well. But what could it mean? A boar leading me to the gates of Hel?”

The völva shook her head in uncertainty. “I do not yet know, but the message behind your dream becomes clearer with every word. Please, continue. Did this boar take you anywhere else?”

The man nodded. “Yes, there was one more location. In fact, the events that happened there are the reason I come to you now.”

“Then tell me, and let us hope that it offers some form of clarity.”

“Well, the boar led me deeper into the woods,” Sigurd carried on. “By now, the mist had become so thick that I could hardly see where I was walking. I had nothing but the sounds of the forest to guide me, and the boar had abandoned my side, leaving me alone. After a while of wandering though, I found myself standing in front of an ominous cave. The inside was shrouded in darkness, and the nature around it seemed to be devoid of any life.”

Valka posed a question. “Did you approach this cave?”

“Yes,” Sigurd answered. “I meant to search it. But before I could enter, I heard a horrible squeal coming from the inside, as if the boar had just been attacked. The stench of blood filled my nose soon after, and just as I reached for my blade, I heard a menacing growl rumbling from the shadows. Before I knew it, the head of a black dragon had emerged from the cave’s mouth, and its teeth were covered in red. But instead of finding the boar in its grasp as I expected...”

Sigurd paused, admittedly feeling somewhat disturbed, “...I saw myself. Dead, and clamped between its jaws. That’s when the dream ended.”

Taking in everything the jarl just told her, the seeress fell into a concentrated silence and paced around the hut for a moment, gazing blankly at the floor as Sigurd waited for a response.

“...Valka?” The viking said, walking closer to her. “Do you have any idea what this could mean?”

The woman turned to face him, briefly explaining her thought process as she analyzed his peculiar vision.

“Indeed. This dream speaks very plainly to me, Sigurd. Though, I must warn you -- you will not like what it has to say.”

The man sighed in nervousness, bracing himself for her interpretation. “I can’t say I’m surprised. These dreams have always given me a grim feeling. Very well, then. What do you think the message is?”

Valka walked him through her observation, addressing each of the key moments. “This forest you spoke of -- the one shrouded in mist -- it sounds like a labyrinth. A maze with no clear beginning, and no clear end. It seems to me that you are feeling lost, Sigurd. That you are uncertain of your direction in life.”

“...As for this boar,” she continued, “boars are often a symbol of fertility. Or love. They are even sometimes sacrificed during weddings to ensure good fortune for a new marriage. So the fact that this animal was the only way you could navigate the forest intrigues me...”

The seeress gazed out one of the windows in thought, speaking mostly to herself as she unraveled Sigurd’s vision. 

“And the appearance of Forseti -- that is no coincidence. As I said before, he is the god of justice, so I believe his presence indicates a feeling of being judged, or tried.” 

Valka faced the jarl, placing her hands on her hips. “Do you feel remorse for something you have done, Sigurd? A sense of guilt, perhaps?”

The man shrugged. “No, for I have done nothing wrong.”

“Not yet,” the völva corrected. “But you will.”

Sigurd couldn’t deny that he was alarmed by the statement. “And... what exactly do you think I’ll do?”

Valka skipped to the end of his vision. “Well, in order to answer that, we must first understand this dragon you encountered. You said it attacked the boar when you arrived at the cave, yes?”

“Yes. But as I later revealed, it was my own corpse being held between its teeth.”

“Hmm... then I believe this dragon was Nidhogg.”

“Nidhogg?” Sigurd repeated in surprise. “You mean the dragon that resides in Hel?”

Valka gave him a firm nod. “Yes. As you know, Nidhogg feasts on the corpses of the souls that occupy Hel -- specifically those who have committed the most egregious crimes. These crimes can include murder, oath-breaking, or...” she threw a glance at the jarl, “...adultery.”

The seeress stepped in front of Sigurd, closing the distance between them as she explained her final conclusion to him.

“The message is clear. You are in love with someone who you know you shouldn’t be. Someone who isn’t Randvi. You feel disoriented in life because you do not know how to confront these emotions, but you know that this person is the only one who can clear the way. Unfortunately, however...” 

Valka’s tone softened with sympathy, “...since you are spoken for, you understand that it is forbidden to chase after these feelings. This explains the presence of Forseti, and why Nidhogg would feast on your corpse.”

Valka placed her hands on Sigurd’s shoulders, looking him in the eye. “You are fighting a war against your own heart, and it is destroying you. You know you cannot endure this battle for much longer... and that is why you will betray Randvi.”

Sigurd’s eyes widened in shock at that. “What...?”

He pushed the völva’s hands off, backing away from her. “N-No. I wouldn’t do that. No matter how strong my feelings may be. Randvi is a good friend. I would never hurt her like that.”

Valka crossed her arms, unsurprised at the man’s defiance. “You would not be the first to fight against the Nornir, but heed my words, Sigurd. It is an effort doomed to end in futility. You will betray Randvi, and you will do so in the name of whomever truly has your heart.”

Still, Sigurd refused to believe her. “But I am a jarl, Valka! I have duties to carry out. People to take care of. There’s an entire community depending on me! Surely, I would not sacrifice it for something as... as reckless as this! No matter how strong the temptation is.”

“A man’s love can only be restrained for so long, Sigurd. You must learn to accept this. For your own sake.”

The viking’s shoulders slouched with worry. “But we are talking about adultery, Valka. One of the most severe betrayals of a person’s trust. My love may not rest with Randvi, but even then... I could not harm her in such a manner. I could not jeopardize this clan for my own passions.”

The seeress let out a sigh, worried for the future of her jarl. “The gods have spoken with this vision, Sigurd. The more you struggle within the threads of fate, the more you will simply hinder yourself.”

Valka returned to the ingredients she collected earlier, preparing them for her next ritual. 

“I have given you all the aid I can. Do with my words what you will, but remember... the gods are always guiding us.”

~~~~~~~~~~

ONE WEEK LATER

NIGHTTIME

Sitting quietly on a wooden crate, Sigurd watched the soothing movement of the river in front of him as its waters gently rippled past the harbor, filling the air with a soft trickle that seemed to harmonize with the chirping of nearby crickets.

At the moment, the rest of the clan was celebrating the success of a recent raid and helping themselves to an abundance of food, all of which had been freshly provided by the newfound facilities in their settlement.

Joyous laughter could be heard echoing in the distance, and despite the overwhelming darkness of the blank English sky, the longhouse only seemed to shine brighter in its shadow, radiating like a beacon.

Unlike his fellow clan members however, Sigurd had little room in his mind left for celebrating. His thoughts still lingered on what Valka told him the previous week, and in spite of all efforts to fight against his feelings, Sigurd knew deep down that what the völva said was true.

He was in love with Eivor. And there was nothing he could do about it. 

That man was just... everything he wanted.

His personality, his spirit, his passion for poetry -- it all clicked with Sigurd in a way that he had never felt with anyone else before. There was a certain warmth that filled his heart every time he laid eyes on the man, and with each passing day, Sigurd found it harder and harder to hide his true emotions.

But why couldn’t he forget about this? Why couldn’t he just bury his thoughts and ignore them like he always did with previous men?

Why couldn’t he just... be normal?

Gods above, Sigurd cursed to himself. what would Styrbjorn have thought about him if he could see him now?

The last time he saw his father, he had left him behind to deal with the politics in Norway right after scolding him about giving up his birthright. He had forced Eivor and the rest of the clan to follow him into a hostile territory, and now, he was about to ruin his own marriage for the sake of his love life.

Everything was falling apart in his world... and as much as he may have wanted to scream at the gods for allowing him to go down such a path, Sigurd knew it was ultimately his fault.

And someday, the consequences would catch up to him.

“...Sigurd?”

Jolting his head in the direction of the sudden voice, the redheaded man turned around to see who had approached him, only to find none other than Eivor himself watching from a short distance.

“Brother.” Sigurd greeted bleakly. “I should’ve known you’d find me sooner or later.”

The younger man smiled, attempting to lighten his sibling’s foul mood. “What are you doing out here, silly bird? Everyone at the feast misses you.”

The older man brought a hand up to his temple, rubbing it in stress. “Now’s not a good time, Eivor.”

Still determined to cheer his brother up, the blond viking paused for a moment before taking a seat next to Sigurd, gazing at him with a humorous twinkle in his eyes.

“...What about now?”

Sigurd sighed. “Eivor, please.”

The younger man frowned, suddenly worried about what was going on.

“Not even a chuckle, huh. Must be pretty serious.” He leaned closer to the man, his voice quiet with concern. “...Care to share your thoughts?”

Sigurd let out a breath, unsure of how to broach the subject with him. 

“No. Not really. I have much on my mind right now, and I fear it would not do either of us any good to put them into words.”

Eivor’s expression sank with unease. “If that is what you wish. But I must admit, Sigurd... I’ve been worried about you lately.”

That caught the older man’s attention. “Oh?”

“Indeed. You’ve... changed this past week. And not for the better. You’ve become more distant. Reserved. Sometimes, I feel as though you’re trying to avoid me.” A realization crossed Eivor’s mind. “...Have I done something to upset you, brother?”

Sigurd shook his head, quick to reassure the man. “N-No, Eivor. It isn’t you.”

Eivor’s brow remained furrowed. “But it is something.”

The redheaded man turned away from his brother, annoyed with himself.

“Listen, Eivor... I appreciate what you’re trying to do, but I need to be alone right now. My thoughts are caught in a haze at the moment, and being with you does nothing except tangle them even further. So, please... just leave me be.”

The younger man fell silent at the response, admittedly somewhat hurt by Sigurd’s words. Was he truly that much of a burden?

Picking up on Eivor’s discontent, Sigurd instantly felt a tinge of guilt tugging at his heart as he took a moment to recompose himself, hoping to reconcile with the man.

“Forgive me, Eivor...” he said softly. “I... I did not mean...”

Eivor slowly began to separate himself from his brother, not wishing to provoke him any further.

“...I understand, Sigurd.” He murmured sorrowfully. “I’ll... I’ll go now.”

Sigurd immediately rose from his seat and gripped Eivor’s arm, stopping him in his tracks.

“Wait!” He urged. “I...”

The older man trailed off into silence, uncertain of how he was going to explain his feelings.

“...I had a vision.” He finally admitted, deciding to open up. “Many of them, in fact. They had been bothering me ever since we left Norway, and so I asked Valka for clarification. I hoped she would be able to put my mind at ease.”

It didn’t take long for Eivor to catch on. “...But that’s not what happened, is it.”

“No. She was able to decipher my vision, but the message behind it was... unnerving, to say the least.”

The blond man turned back towards Sigurd, patiently waiting for him to continue.

“Speak plainly to me, brother.” He encouraged in a comforting tone. “What happened in your vision? Why are you so troubled?”

Sigurd took a deep breath, unable to hide behind this facade any longer.

“I’ll spare you the details of my dream,” he said, sitting back down, “but Valka claimed it was a warning of what was to come. She believes it indicates that I’ll... betray Randvi. That I will commit adultery.”

Eivor sat beside his brother, clearly surprised by the explanation. “Adultery? That’s a serious crime, Sigurd. Do you know whom you’ll commit it with? Did Valka say?”

The older man shook his head in a dour manner, his expression heavy with heartache. 

“No. But she did not need to. For I already know the answer.”

Lacking the willpower to explain his visions any further, Sigurd simply brought his gaze to Eivor and stared at the man with a prominent sense of despair in his eyes, wishing desperately that he could rid himself of these feelings.

“Eivor...” Sigurd whispered, not knowing how else to describe his emotions, “I...I think I’m in love with you.”

Taken aback by the sudden confession, Eivor froze on the spot and felt his body turn to ice as he processed what he just heard, admittedly unsure of how to respond.

“You’re... in love with me?” He repeated, still in shock. “But when I kissed you that night in Norway, you said--”

“--I know what I said.” Sigurd interrupted, his shell cracking with every word. “But I was wrong. I realize that now. The truth is... I’ve loved you for a very long time. I think I’ve always felt this way, even before our conversation in Fornburg. But I was never willing to admit it.”

Eivor listened intently. “And now?”

“Now...” the older man choked up, despite his efforts to conceal it, “I... I don’t know. I don’t know what to feel. I don’t even think it matters.”

Sigurd turned to face his brother, his tone sharp with frustration. “I’m a married man, Eivor. And a jarl. I have responsibilities to take care of. Matters to attend to. There is an entire clan watching my every move; reflecting my every thought. It doesn’t matter if I love you or not. The simple fact is... I can’t. I was never meant to.”

Eivor sensed the pain in the other man’s words, wishing he could help. “What do you mean you were never meant to?”

Sigurd chuckled, though not out of amusement. “Isn’t it obvious? We are both men, Eivor. When was the last time you saw a marriage between a couple like us? Or a jarl waltzing around with his husband in tow? It doesn’t happen because it was never supposed to.”

He dragged a hand down his face, shutting his eyes in embarrassment. “Can you imagine what my father would think if he saw me now? His only son -- the man who would’ve taken his place as king -- throwing away the marriage that he arranged for the sake of being with the man he adopted. What a joke.”

The younger man offered some insight, trying to heal his brother’s wounds. 

“...I understand if you’re concerned about betraying Randvi, Sigurd. But there’s no shame in loving another man. You wouldn’t be the only one who’s felt this way. And you won’t be the last.”

Sigurd remained obstinate. “That doesn’t mean it’s right. I need to set an example for our clan, Eivor. I need to be the one to guide them through this war. How can I do that when I feel like this? When I’m...” his voice began to tremble, “...when I’m in love with you?”

The redheaded man rose from his seat, pacing around the pier in annoyance.

“I just don’t understand why the gods would afflict me with such a nuisance. Is this my punishment for leaving my father’s side? Is this their way of testing my resolve? I know it isn’t right for me to feel this way, but...” Sigurd’s eyes became misty with tears, and he looked hopelessly out at the river, “...it’s just who I am. And I don’t think I can change it.”

Standing alone at the edge of the harbor, Sigurd buried his face in his hand as he silently stared down at the water, feeling as though he were already drowning in it. 

What kind of mess had he gotten himself into? Not only was he on the verge of endangering his marriage with Randvi, he was also one step away from turning Valka’s prediction into a reality.

He couldn’t love Eivor. He just couldn’t.

Too much was already at stake with the war against the Saxons -- and considering how they had next to no allies in Mercia at the moment, Sigurd knew he couldn’t afford to divert his focus.

But his heart had a mind of its own. No matter how much he tried to suppress these emotions, or pretend they didn’t exist, they always seemed to come right back up. Like a tide crashing against the shore.

Eivor was the only one he wanted. The only person he had ever longed to be with. There was a type of love between them that Sigurd had never felt anywhere else, and with the Nornir constantly pushing him to confront his fate, he wondered if there was any point in resisting it by now.

But it was a feat much easier said than done. Even though Sigurd knew this was something he couldn’t simply wish away, he was still hesitant to face it head-on.

There were too many risks. Too many unknowns. The future remained obscured by fog -- just like the forest in his dream -- and the deeper he found himself venturing into this dilemma, the less Sigurd was certain he’d be able to climb out of it.

Snapping back to reality, Sigurd’s head perked up in surprise when he suddenly felt a pair of arms wrapping themselves around his chest, drawing him into a tight embrace.

Eivor’s head was resting on his shoulder at the moment, and despite the harsh words Sigurd threw at him before, the man didn’t appear any less determined to help him through this.

“...I understand how you feel, Sigurd.” He reassured. “If I’m being honest, it wasn’t too long ago that I felt the same way. I hated myself for how I saw the world, and I wanted nothing more than to be like everyone else.”

Eivor gazed up at the sky, watching calmly as a blanket of stars flickered above them. “I remember I used to dream of the day when it would all make sense. When... everything would fall into place. But it never happened, because I was never willing to make the sacrifices that came with it.”

The younger man looked back at Sigurd, holding him close.

“The truth is, brother, there is no easy way out of this. The journey ahead of you is going to be full of denial and judgement, and there are going to be times when you’ll wish you never said a word about this to anyone. But when you find yourself trapped in those moments, just remember...”

Eivor brought a hand up to Sigurd’s cheek. “The best gift we can give ourselves is acceptance. It won’t always protect us against those who may wish us harm, but it will offer us peace. And sometimes, assurance in our identity can guard us better than any amount of armor can. After all, it is difficult to harm a man who does not fear pain.”

Sigurd took in everything his brother just said, admittedly a tad overwhelmed by it all, but feeling more content.

“...You always know the right thing to say, Eivor.” He replied with a small smile.

The younger man chuckled, separating the hug. “Not always. But as I said before, I understand your struggle. And I know a few other people who do too. You are not alone in this, Sigurd.”

The redheaded man placed his hand on top of Eivor’s, gripping it securely. 

“Thank you, Eivor. I mean it. It will take me some time to fully accept this, but... I think I’m ready to try.”

Eivor beamed brightly at the statement. “It gladdens my heart to hear it, Sigurd. You know I’ll always be here if you need me.”

Sigurd stepped towards the other man, his voice gentle with affection.

“I know.”

Pulling Eivor’s face closer to his, Sigurd suddenly placed a loving kiss on the man’s lips and held him tight, embracing him under the soft light of the stars that dusted the sky above them.

Every fiber in his being was screaming at him to stop, but in spite of the protestations, Sigurd felt more at peace than he had ever felt in his entire life.

There was a genuine sense of love between them. A sense of security. Everything about Eivor made Sigurd feel safe, and the shell he once wore had completely fallen apart.

Though, he knew he was going to regret this, come the next morn. The world always seemed to realign itself with the arrival of daybreak, and Sigurd had no doubts that their relationship would summon a storm in the near-future.

But this was what he needed. It was what he wanted.

A new path had finally revealed itself in the mist that often clouded Sigurd’s dreams, and even though he knew it would be full of obstacles just like the one in his vision, he now understood that it was necessary to traverse it.

No matter how harshly people judged him, or how drastically their view of him changed, Sigurd was prepared to face the challenges that lay ahead. He may have carried a heavy sense of dread in his heart, but now, he realized that Eivor was the key to his happiness.

That man was the greatest gift Freyja ever gave to him, after all.

And he had no intentions of letting him go.

[domesticblisss]

By My Side | Pt.02

Timothy Thatcher x Female Reader (Nicknamed ‘Baby’) Rating: Mature (Minors DNI) Word Count: 2257 Warnings: Smut, angst and fluff. PiV, oral (female receiving) rough sex, relationship discussions, alcohol mention and language. Inspired by INXS’ song, By My Side. Pt.01

“Welcome to NXT, Thatcher.”

Timothy turns around and stops for a second, staring at her. Baby looks him in the eyes, not blinking once. Silence is shared between them for what feels like an eternity. Tim hugs her as tight as he can, knocking the wind out of her, but Baby doesn’t reciprocate, her arms limp by her side as Tim holds her. 

“You have no idea how much I’ve missed you.” Tim breaths on her hair.

“Fucking liar.” she whispers back to him. 

Tim releases the hold he had on her, but still keeps her close by keeping one hand on her shoulder. “Can we talk? I feel like we need to talk. I won’t force you to do anything you don’t want to, I understand that you hate me, you have all the right to. But can we please talk? I’m staying at Junior’s, if you want to...”

“Fine. I’ll be there at 7.” and she leaves before hearing his answer. 

Dakota and Rhea find her a few minutes later on the locker room, crying.

“Baby, what happened? You were talking to Thatcher and vanished from the gym. Did he do anything to you?” Kai says as she wipes her friends face clean.

“Do you want me to beat him up? You know I’d anything for you...” Rhea offers her.

“God, Rhea. No! But thank you. I don’t think I ever told you guys about this part of my time in Germany, yeah?” she tells them everything. About how they met, them touring together, all the happy moments and their downfall.

“We never fought, not once. Whenever something the other did bothered us we would just sit and talk. He always told me how great I was, how I was one of the best professionals he had ever seen. We talked about our dreams. I still can’t understand why he didn’t believe I couldn’t get here.” her voice breaks at the end and Baby starts crying again. Rhea hugs her, dries her cheeks once again, while saying “First of all, you need to stop crying, he doesn’t deserve it. Second, you guys really need to talk.”

“You do, babes.” Kota intervenes, “You guys need to have some closure to it. You left without even officially ending your relationship.”

“I know. He asked me to meet him tonight. I agreed to it. I don’t know why I got so shaken up after seeing him. I thought I had gotten over it, you know?” Baby sighs.

“Look, it’s normal. Just go, talk to him. If anything, call us and we break his nose again for you, yeah? Ripley offers.

“Okay, I love you guys.” 

The day goes by way too quickly and when she realises, it’s almost 7. Sometimes, it’s a good thing that her and Junior live on the same Condo, being so close to each other really makes things easier when they want to do something together. Right now she is regretting that nearness. She wishes she had some little time to give herself a little pep talk before seeing Tim again. 

She arrives just as Marcel leaves his apartment with Fabian. Both of them hug her and tell her to call if she needs anything as Tim waits by the door.

“Hello again, Timothy” she says, entering the apartment.

“Timothy. Wow.”

“Can’t call you chocolate eyes like I used to, can I?”

“Well, technically you can, my eyes hadn’t — “

“No technicalities here, Timothy. Let’s get this over with, please.”

“Right, I’m sorry. Please sit.” he begins. “Do you want something? Water? Beer? Also, I ordered take out from that Lebanese place Junior said you like so much.”

“Tim...” she sighs, exhausted. “I’m not hungry or thirsty. Can we please get over with it?” Noticing how harsh she was and the sad look on his face, she continues “Fuck, I’m sorry. I appreciate your efforts but I really can’t do this. Not right now, I can’t pretend everything is fine and dandy and eat and drink like nothing happened.”

“No you’re right. I just... I really need to apologise to you. I was so frustrated that everyone I knew was getting what they wanted and I kept stuck in one place.  It felt like I was getting on a dead end road. I panicked when I noticed you were leaving, I felt like I was losing the one good constant thing in my life, the most important thing in my life. And I fucking did because of how much of a prick I was to you. I am so, so sorry for that. I won’t ask you for your forgiveness, it would be nice, but I understand if you don’t want to.”

“We could’ve worked out the whole ‘long distance’ thing you know... anyway Tim, you fucking broke me. I don’t think I ever loved anything, anyone more in my life than I loved you. I thought we were going to be together forever, you know? I couldn’t imagine my life without you... and you just insulted me, insulted the only thing I was proud of, the only thing I’ve ever felt I was good at when my dream was becoming a reality. The truth is I’ve already forgiven you. I did it as soon as I calmed myself down because I knew how much in distress you were. But you’ve broken me and I don’t feel like things can come back to how they were. I’ll try to stay out of your way as much as I can in the PC, I would appreciate if you did the same. I really don’t think we have anything else to say to each other, so goodbye.” She kisses his cheek and leaves before he can say anything else. 

It has been months since they talked and Baby was able to stay away from Tim. She made sure to workout whenever he wasn’t at the Performance Centre. Whenever they had classes together, they would stand on the opposite sides of the room, far from each other. She never looked at him, but could feel his eyes staring at her. She was also very thankful to whatever high power that exists that they never got paired together. She had finally moved on. 

Whenever she wanted to see Marcel or Fabian, they would either go to her place or the three of them would meet at a bar. For some reason, today’s bar date felt like a deja vu. They were on a booth, her with her back to the bar’s entrance, nursing a beer while Junior and Fabian took shots. The boys were in front of her, laughing when she felt her anxiety creep in. A few moments later, a presence is felt and Tim stands there, in all his 6ft3 glory. 

“Good evening, guys.” Tim says to everyone, but his eyes never leave hers. Baby answers him back, while scooting a little far into the booth so Tim can sit by her side.

They never directly talk to each, their interactions only happening when Marcel and Fabian say something that requires an answer from the both of them.

She can feel Tim is nervous, his leg bouncing like crazy by her side, the fabric of his shorts rubbing on the skin her skirt didn’t cover. Baby has lost count on how many times she has held herself back from putting her hands on his knee to rub her thumb on it, like she always did when he was nervous.

The night went on like this. Soon enough, Junior and Fabian were shit faced, making Tim and Baby take them home together.

They arrive at the boys place, the both of them taking their designated drunk to their respective room and meeting back again on the living room. Tim speaks first before she tries to leave.

“Does this feels like deja vu to you too?

“God it does! Except it was Mack instead of Fabian last time.” she laughs softly back at him.

“I guess the next thing should be me raiding his fridge for a beer, right?” he asks reluctantly, afraid of her answer.

“Yeah, I’ll wait for you on the balcony.”

Tim is back a few moments later, “I don’t know where Junior finds all this european stuff.”

“Oh, there’s a store nearby that sells foods and drinks from around the world. The day we first went there he was so excited I thought he was gonna pass out.”

“That does sounds like him. Look, I didn’t know you would be at the bar tonight, if I did, I wouldn’t have gone, as much as I want to see you. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. I know it was Axel’s fault. But yeah, I wanted to see you too.” She tells him, a bit ashamed and they both smile at each other. They share a few moments of silence together, just appreciating their beers and the light breeze they were getting tonight. 

She’s moves around on the balcony to stand somewhat in front of him, and is the one to break the silence. “The PC is doing great things to you. Your ‘Thatch-as-Thatch Can’ segments are incredible. You’re better at talking, more confident, it really suits you.”

“Thanks. I saw you’re doing moonsaults now. I remember you always wanting to do it but afraid of. They look great. Everything you do is impeccable. I always knew you would be able to.”

They stare at each other in silence for what feels like ages, the breeze picks up again, making her hair fall to her face. Tim brushes the hair out of her face, glides his thumb across her right cheek and then her lips. On impulse, Baby grabs his t-shirt and crashes their lips together. When Tim feels her letting go, he holds her close, trapping her in his arms and deepening the kiss. 

It’s a raw, desperate kiss. Teeth clashing and tongues fighting for dominance. She moans when he lets go of her lips, leaving a wet trail of rough kisses from her face to the sweet spot on her neck, giving little bites to the space behind her ears.

“Fuck, I’ve missed you so much, Timmo.” She says, rubbing her core on his hardening length.

“Me too, doll. C’mon, let’s go to the bedroom”. 

They are attached to each other, stumbling on furniture, knocking down the living room lamp. When they get to Tim’s bedroom, they don’t bother on wasting time to take their clothes off. Tim pulls his shorts down and snakes Baby’s legs around his waist, lifts her skirt up enough to easily shove her lacy panties aside and fuck her against the wall.

It’s angry and rough, the result of one year worth of pent up rage and regret. They don’t care about the noises they’re making, fuck the neighbours, fuck Marcel, fuck Fabian, they are in their own little world now. Tim pulls the straps of her bra down, enough to attach his lips to her left nipple.

“Tim, babe, please don’t stop, I’m almost there. FUCK!”

He goes in harder, rougher and in no time she comes, flooding their clothes with her juices. Tim only stops when he feels her spasming against him, letting her gain some strength back. They move to his bed, taking the rest of their clothes off and Tim on her again, kissing her heat, sucking on her clit while he fingers her, mercilessly. It’s not long before she comes again, stronger than before, while gripping her hand on his hair, tears involuntarily streaming down her face.

He comes up to her lips, lays his body on top her and kisses her sweetly. “I’m sorry, doll. Was I too rough on you?” She lazily nods her head, silly smile on her face, still speechless.

Meanwhile, she strokes his still hard cock, lining it on her entrance, Tim asks if she still can take it, she only nods and lets out a soft “Mhmm”.

This time, Tim is gentle, rocking his body in an almost teasing motion, all while kissing her, telling her how much he missed her. They come together a few moments later.

Tim tumbles to his side of the bed, bringing Baby to lay her head on his chest, both of them coming out of their highs, just cherishing this moment together.

“I love you.” Baby finally breaks the silence. “I love you so much it hurts. I’m sorry I’ve been such a stubborn idiot.”

“Doll, you have all the right to be stubborn, I was a prick to you. And yes, I love you too. I love you more than anything, you still are the most important thing in my life.”

“So… do you want to try this again?” Baby offers.

“More than anything.” 

Baby wakes up around 07am, their limbs tangled together. She tries to get up without waking Tim up, failing. He holds her hand and asks where she’s going, “Breakfast”, she answers sleepily.

“Your famous eggs and bacon?”

“If Marcel has any on his fridge, yeah.”

“Yes!!!” she laughs at his attitude and goes to the kitchen. 

A few moments later Marcel appears in the kitchen, stops in his tracks and asks “What are you doing here? Did you fuck Fabian???”

“She didn’t fuck Fabian, dipshit.” Tim says as he walks past the german, who has a confused look on his face. He eyes Tim’s back, all red from the scratches she left behind last night, and it comes to him.

“What do y – oh my god, yes! FINALLY!”