#fic: Long Lost Love

[annabawritersdream]

My Long Lost Love

Sean Bean as Boromir

Julia Ormond as Thalindriel (Elf-OC)

The Captain of Gondor suddenly came to a halt as he heard a faint noise in the distance. He blinked repeatedly as his vision adjusted to the outdoors and hid behind a nearby tree, slowly unsheathing his dagger. For the first time since he had left his home for Rivendell, he took full notice of his surroundings. Two weeks had passed since he had entered the Valley of Imladris and, unlike so many others, he had not been able to appreciate the nature around him, his mind occupied by gloomy thoughts concerning the safety of the White City and that of its people. It was there that he longed to return, it was there that he wished to be. He wished to be with his father, he wished to fight alongside his countrymen. He wished to fight alongside his little brother who, now more than anything, was in need of his help and comfort.

Two weeks had passed since he had stepped into a realm concealed to those whom the One had doomed to die and for fourteen days he had suffered, his heart blind to the unwavering beauty of what had been and still was a sanctuary for weary travelers. He was now noticing all the details of the forest in which he had almost inexplicably found himself, his brain fully alert. His fingers were tightly wrapped around the hilt of the dagger, his muscles tensed as he prepared to attack. Though he was fairly confident no harm would come to him, he still did not trust the Elves. His heartbeat quickened, his breathing becoming labored as a feeling of intense anxiety grew within him. That mysterious noise had reached his ears once more and he could now hear it more clearly. It was a whistle. Someone was whistling and he was unable to see their face. He gulped as he remained still, his lips pursed and his brow furrowed.

And then he saw her. A tall woman was coming his way, her long dark hair styled in a tousled braid which caressed her back. She was holding a rack in one hand and some sheets in the other. Boromir lowered his weapon as he curiously watched the scene unfolding before his eyes. Who was that woman? What was her purpose? Was she a friend of Lord Elrond's? A daughter of his perhaps? Was she even an elf?

She walked calmly and Boromir resisted the temptation to look away. He knew it was not polite to stare at ladies, yet there was something in her ways which he found surprising and utterly fascinating. Her whistling soon turned into humming and her humming soon turned into a tune. Boromir did not know the language she was singing in but the marvel of her voice could not be denied. He felt as if he had strayed into a dream, the worries which had plagued his mind and tormented his spirit abruptly washed away. Minas Tirith, Gondor, his people, the One Ring...it all seemed irrelevant. Unable to take his eyes off her, he watched as stopped in front of a giant oak tree. She looked up and he followed her gaze until he noticed a small house, the branches of the tree serving as its main foundation. He scratched his beard pensively. Did she truly live in a tree house? Was it common among the people of Rivendell? Faramir would have known. He had developed a fascination for the Eldar early in his childhood and had read extensively about their customs. Boromir did not recall him ever mentioning tree-houses though. He frowned and sighed. She had placed the sheets into a basket fastened to a rope and then patiently removed a few dead leaves around the base of three with her rack.

Boromir stepped forward and the woman turned. He offered a polite smile as he noticed her pointy ears. She was indeed an elf.

"My lady? Are you well?"

The eyes of the Elf-maid were wide and Boromir was surprised to see how different they looked compared to those of the other Elves he had met until that very moment. While the eyes of other Elves were cold and gray, hers had a warmth to them and were as brown as the good, tilled earth.

He cleared his throat as he awaited an answer and lowered his gaze as he received none. She stared at him in fear, her hands clenching the rack.

“There is no need for you to be afraid. I will not hurt you," he said, hoping to sound convincing. "I only wondered..."

Her gaze shifted to his hands and Boromir realized she was actually looking at his dagger.

Forgive me. With your permission, I will put it away. As I said, there is no need to be scared."

The Elf-maid remained silent and Boromir ended up staring at the tip of his boots in embarrassment.

"Do you...understand me? Do you speak my language?

He took another step forward but, before he realized it, he fell to the ground, his head bulging. Something heavy had hit him and the Captain of Gondor whimpered as he very slowly opened his eyes again. The Elf-maid was still holding the rack and Boromir quickly figured she had used it as a weapon.

"Why did you..."

The Elf-maiden dropped the rack, her and eyes even wider than before. She quickly climbed the tree using the rope attached to the basket and pulled it up, disappearing into the tree-house. Still sore and confused, Boromir sat up and buried his face in his hands.

He wanted to see her again. He needed to apologize. He would wait for her. He had time. She had enchanted him and he knew in his heart that there was no going back.

So...I made this edit today and I immediately started writing this. Thalindriel (unnamed in this snippet) is Boromir and Erien's mom, Enna's cousins. They will appear in The Lady of Ithilien and Long Lost Love (I'd love to translate the title into Sindarin) is basically a spin-off telling the story of how their parents met. I honestly giggled so hard at idea of her hitting him with a rack so I kind of ran with it. Also, she didn't answer him because she doesn't speak Westron. And the tree-house is her safe place away from everyone. She's nice but very anti-social and shy. I suppose she just loves being on her own.

I hope you enjoyed this little snippet!

I'll post the full chapter (I think it will be the first) on AO3 when it's fully done (in a long, long while).

@tolkienocweek (tagging you because you said I could)

[saphstories]

one bed trope sonamy

As You Wish

The heavens would prove unkind tonight, she regretfully mused, wincing at the booming thunder that shook the skies and the carriage. “Not a fan of storms, Lady Amelia?”

Amelia Rose sighed and smiled awkwardly at her companion, sitting across the carriage from her. His emerald eyes were inquisitive, searching hers, while his posture was relaxed, chin in his hand, appearing almost bored. “Not when they impede the procession home, Lord Silas.” She replied, drawing her burgundy cloak tighter around her shoulders.

Silas snorted. “Aye, especially when I can run faster than the carriage.”

Amelia’s ears perked up. “Is that so?” She asked.

Silas nodded, a bit of a smug smile on his peach muzzle. “Aye, milady. I’ve obtained quite the moniker for my speed. My friends call me ‘Sonic’, and I overhear many of the townsfolk refer to me as ‘The Blue Blur’.”

“Sonic,” Amelia tested the epithet on her tongue, and smiled at him. “I must say, it suits you.”

Silas grinned at her, and warmth spread from Amelia’s stammering heart to her cheeks. “If milady wishes, you may address me so.” He encouraged.

Amelia smiled, and the carriage jolted and skidded to a stop. Amelia squealed and grabbed the upholstery to hold herself steady, alarmed at the slew of voices shouting amid the thunder and downpour outside. Sonic’s hand reached for her but hesitated from touching her. “Alright, Amelia?”

“Aye.” Amelia bobbed her head quickly. “What do you think’s happened?”

Sonic’s brow furrowed, a deep frown pointed towards the carriage door, his lithe body coiling tight as a snake. “Hopefully just a bumpy road, milady.” He lightly rested his hand on the sword at his hip, his thumb gingerly stroking the top of the golden circular cross guard. He shifted on the seat, angling himself towards the carriage door and creating a shield between it and Amelia, his hand now curled tight on the blade hilt. The carriage door creaked open. Sonic unsheathed his sword, the silvery blade somehow gleaming in the low light. “Keep behind me, Amelia. I will not let them harm you.” He whispered.

“I am not exactly helpless, Sonic!” Amelia hissed back, her cheeks flushing scarlet indignantly.

“Don’t I know it.” Sonic muttered to himself. Amelia frowned. The carriage door burst open.

“Sonic!” An echidna raised his mittens in surrender, his scarlet fur and bronze armor splattered with mud and soaked with rainwater.

“Chaos, Knuckles!” Sonic exclaimed, shaking his head and sheathing his sword. “You’re lucky I didn’t cleave you in two!”

Knuckles snorted. “I would like to see you try!”

Sonic rolled his eyes. “Perhaps now would not be the time, Knucklehead. What’s happened?”

“The storm has caused a flood in the valley; the carriage will not make it the normal routes, at least not tonight.” Knuckles grimly reported. “We spotted a tavern just a few minutes ride whence we came; it would be safer course if we took shelter for the night and resumed our travels at first light.”

Sonic considered those words and nodded. “Very well then, Knuckles.” The echidna dipped his head to Amelia and shut the carriage door, shouting at the others, and Sonic settled back into his seat as the carriage began moving again.

“Do you know the tavern Knuckles spoke of?” Amelia asked curiously.

Sonic shook his head. “It has been some time since I traveled this direction, milady. I just hope there are enough rooms for our company.”

#

“Well, if hopes were rings,” Sonic chuckled nervously, scratching a hand through his damp blue quills. Amelia’s cheeks blazed as rosy as her long quills, shifting nervously as she eyed the compact room outfitted with creaky wooden floors, a tiny wooden wardrobe, and one moderate singular bed in the center, outfitted with one singular ratty quilt. Sonic cleared his throat and gestured to the door that led to the washroom. “Ladies first.”

Grateful and flustered, Amelia fled, her decorum preventing her from slamming the door outright in her embarrassment. She covered her face with her hands and whined, practically vibrating with her nerves. This was not how it was meant to happen! She and Sonic may be betrothed and set to marry in a day’s time, certainly, but they weren’t meant to be in such close quarters yet! They should have arrived in Sonic’s villa by now, Amelia should have been formally introduced to his family as his chosen bride, and the preparations for their union were due to begin in the morning! But now, because of poor luck and a terrible monsoon, all that time meant to prepare her for-for intimacy with Sonic was forfeit!

Amelia took a deep breath. “Pull yourself together, Rose.” She muttered to herself. “’Tis only a small delay, and you are to be united with him at sunset tomorrow, what is one night early?” She nodded to herself and discarded her sopping cloak, reaching for a towel…only to find them missing. Lovely. She sighed and opened the door, poking her head out. “Sonic, are there-oh!” Amelia slapped a hand over her mouth, her cheeks now a permanent shade of red…but her traitorous eyes refused to look away.

Sonic faced away from her, his soaked shirt wringing out in his hands, ruffled blue fur glistening with mist in the candlelight. Strong but lithe blue shoulders gave way to thick blue spines glinting and sharp down a nimble back to narrow hips and a pert blue tail, still covered by sopping wet trousers.

Amelia shook herself and slammed the door, flushed and embarrassed and ashamed. What was she to ogle a man like a hound would a scrap of meat? Her mother would have her hide for such! Amelia sighed and shimmied out of her dress, wrapping her arms around herself to ward off the chill. At least her chemise was mostly dry; it would have to do for tonight. She hung her dress and cloak over the tub, then faced the door nervously, biting her lip. She huffed, lifted her chin, and marched out.

Sonic froze when he saw her, his emerald eyes wonderstruck, raking over her before he cleared his throat and refocused on her face with a tinge of pink on his peach muzzle. Amelia wasn’t much better, her gaze locked on the white shirt Sonic bore, the neckline a deep v that showcased the peach fur of his chest and the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, the length barely long enough to cover his thighs. “Y-You take the bed, Amelia.” He gestured. “I’ll take the floor.”

“What? No, Sonic, that is unnecessary.” Amelia protested, stepping forward.

“Amelia-,”

“Sonic, we are to be married in one day.” Amelia crossed her arms. “As unpleasant as these circumstances are, it is what we are contended with. And since you are my husband to be, and we will be sharing a bed permanently by tomorrow, I see no harm in doing so tonight when there is no other reasonable option.”

Sonic’s ears tipped back, and he nodded. “As...as you wish.”

Amelia pulled back the ratty quilt and slid into the bed, wincing at the lumpiness. Sonic dithered at the opposite edge of the bed before quickly climbing in, putting his back to Amelia. She tried to swallow the lump that left in her throat and turned away also. “Goodnight, Sonic.”

“…Goodnight, Amelia.”

Amelia laid there, watching the shadows dance on the wall. “…Sonic?”

“Aye?”

“Thank you…for preparing to defend me in the carriage.”

“…I will always defend you, Amelia. I need no thanks for it.”

Amelia bit her lip and sighed.

“Amelia?”

“Aye?”

“…I…regret that you think the marriage arrangement is unpleasant. If you so wish, we could…negate the contract and I shall escort you home at first light.”

Amelia nearly shot up out of the bed. “What?” Sonic refused to turn over and look at her, but Amelia was no mere damsel, and so grabbed his shoulder and forced him to meet her eyes. “Sonic, why would you assume I think such nonsense? If I thought it unpleasant, I wouldn’t have agreed!” She exclaimed.

Sonic furrowed his brow. “But, just a moment ago, you said-,”

Amelia flopped onto her pillow and groaned. “I meant the unpleasant circumstances of the storm delaying us here and forcing us to share close quarters before either of us were ready, silly man.”

Sonic’s eyes brightened, and a half-smile formed on his peach muzzle. “Oh. I see.”

Amelia snorted and smiled at him. “Do you not know better than to assume what a lady thinks, milord?”

Sonic laughed. Stars appeared in Amelia’s eyes. “I admit, my experience with the female mind is woefully lacking.” Amelia giggled, and the smile that flourished on Sonic’s muzzle fluttered her heart. “You truly are the most beautiful in all Mobius, Amelia.” Sonic whispered reverently, gingerly smoothing an errant pink quill out of her eyes.  

Amelia’s cheeks once again matched her name. “Is-Is that why you chose me?” She mumbled. “For my beauty?”

Sonic’s smile turned sad. “I chose you for your heart, Amelia. Your compassion, your grace, your courage, and your strength. After all, it was those things that saved a starving young boy with two apples fifteen years ago.”

“Apples? Oh!” Amelia gasped.

She remembered that day all too clearly. It had been raining then, too, but little six-year-old Amelia hadn’t been bothered, dancing in the downpour with a smile and muddying her fine dress. It was on one of her twirls that she’d spotted him, a tiny blue hoglet in rags, shivering and pale, hiding behind a post…but watching her all the same with inquisitive emerald eyes. Her heart had clenched for him, especially when he whimpered and clutched his belly, and she immediately snatched the first things she found: two bright red apples off a cart just a pace away. Amelia had thrown them to the hoglet and beamed at him when he picked them up despite their landing in the mud; went to throw him more…but had been caught and humiliated by her mother’s scolding. When she turned back to look back and beg her mother to take him home with them...the boy had vanished. Amelia had never seen him again.

Until tonight. “I would have starved if not for you, Amelia.” Sonic whispered, gently stroking her cheek with his thumb. “You inspired me to become the man I am today: the man that protects those that cannot protect themselves, a man that shows compassion to those burdened, lost, and alone, a man that has strived to be worthy of your heart…because since that day, you have had mine.”

“Oh, Sonic,” Amelia threw her arms around Sonic’s neck and buried her face in his chest, her shoulders shaking with sobs even though her heart sang with joy. His arms encircled her, his fingers stroking her quills, his lips whispering words of love in her ear. “We-We need to go to sleep now.” She declared, beaming. “We need to sleep so tomorrow will come and we can be married as soon as possible.” Sonic tipped his head back and laughed. Amelia giggled and pushed him down to snuggle into his chest, her arms tight around him. He pressed a kiss to Amelia’s forehead, closing his eyes with a loving smile. “As you wish.”

[weirdfishy]

gotta urgent need for some not-quite-yet punkflower where hobie is chillin in some rubble post-(successful) battle all knackered out n miles is visiting (idk bc he just told his parents abt spiderman n it went well so he's bursting at the seems with love at being accepted n all yea? he's gotta tell someone, and why not him? why not hobie? it's no one else but hobie he's gotta tell, if he's being honest with himself [denile is not a river in his egypt, ok pav?] so yeah, he finds himself on 138) n catches the tail end of the battle, tracks down where hobie decided to make a couch outta concrete and lands in front of him, buzzing with cheezy lovey dovey feelins of elation, top o' the fucken world, and asks on abt hobie, rambling until hobie just lifts a hand, a silent ask for help up, (always asking for connection always makin sure they're actually there) n miles, have i mentioned he's happy? he's straight up a sap, so he takes that hand.

he takes that hand gently, bending at the waist a bit, dramatically sweeping back his other arm, bowing, for hell's sake, n plants a kiss on the back of hobie's hand, nice n proper, with a cheeky wink to boot (he'd finally fixed the eye mechanisms last week, thanks to penny), before pulling up new london's own spiderman chest to chest with a bright laugh that puts a different kind of stars in hobie's eyes, half dancing half belting out a song in spanish he doesn't quite understand but knows all the words to (it's some continental dialect, nothing his mami speaks, but would filter out the headphones of that kid in his building he walked w in middle school everyday)

before the sirens start getting closer n hobie can feel the warmth of miles-- the warmth of his smile, his hair that's still sparking from transdimensional travel, his arms, chest, laughter, everything, n all at once it pulls every affectionate n pining bit of hobie to the surface, if he weren't wearing his mask his blush would be so impossibly visible it's straight mad how much hobie loves n adores miles, how much seeing miles be happy lights hobie's whole fucking world

and oh, hobie's never seen a god he didn't punch, never believed in any one he couldn't, but right now, with his fingers entwined with miles', aches leaving his bones like he's never felt his left shoulder twinge the second it drops below 21 just because miles just yelled fuck off to the approaching pigs, he could fall to his knees n swear pious fealty to milesmilesmiles.

but hobie is cool (never has a label stuck to him like the one miles has given him), and his real, livin n breathing god is starting to ramble, so hobie webs them upupup, heat along his back as god wraps arms around him, breath on his neck as home weaves tales into the leather wrapping it.

then miles hears hobie's stomach growl, so he starts pulling them away from the path of what he knows is towards hobie's flat, and towards what he swears is the only good puerto rican food in the whole of hobie's haunt, his excitement steamrolling over his usual stuttering spanish, exchanging shouts n jeers with everyone behind the counter

bc everyone knows him, like miles has lived here, earth-138, new london, his whole life, like hobie brown being dragged into the shop every other week by miles morales to get the same two plates (n an extra something for miles to gush over n hobie to taste) is how the rest of this life will go, like hobie n miles are together, in a way that the unsubtle looks the owner's kid at the register is aiming at miles' left hand are correct, but don't involve stuffy socially religious systems like marriage

but they're not, as much as hobie would love to kiss miles, gaze into his eyes for ages, hear his laughter, his off-key singing, his scritch-scritch of something on paper everyday-- bc he can't go abt this like he does everyone else, can't do it with half a foot out the door n a shrug as agreed; it's gotta be both feet on the floor, n it's gotta be for the rest of this life, so he'll take what he can get, and he'll take the distance n devotion, take the faith n the heartache. take what he can get from his god, glad to be touched by his god, glad to be loved by his god, across universes n the fall from his bed to the futon on the floor where miles decides to lay his head for choice holy nights

(hobie doesn't know miles is putting himself at the base of his god's shrine, hoping for his deity to fall into his arms, spikes n all, (ready, so ready to tear apart dimensions again for hobie, to bleed and cry n go to war for hobie) fingers splaying on the side of the mattress warmwarmwarm after hobie starts snoring, before they slip down softly, a prayer imparting from the pads, memorizing the patterns of his god's breath, the smell of the room, the borrowed shirt he wears, the sounds of a second city he calls home, thrumming full with a bass note plucked from an electric guitar, usually shaky hands sure n still picking out a different shape to hobie's eyebrow piercing, deftly screwing a star onto the bar. miles brings offerings to his god in pins n patches on clothing, stickers n torn out sketches decorating a shrine)

so they'll song n dance in new york, in new london; learning each other's cities, earths, haunts, people, arts, each other, like new scars for the collection- permanent and signs of living, odes to loving and protecting.

chest to chest, fingers entwined, warmth in the skies above cities, right on the edge of it all until they fall together, eyes wide open, gods broken down into blood and teeth and lovelovelove

not-quite-yet 2 - 3

. my ko-fi 💛

ao3 link

[fist-of-vengeance]

thinking about how essentially every relationship john locke formed in the early seasons of lost has completely disintegrated by the time of his death.

of course there's his relationship with jack, which starts tense but manageable and culminates in jack pointing a gun at john's head and pulling the trigger. but even his smaller, less narratively prominent relationships either implode or drift apart. he bonds with walt in season one but then walt leaves the island, which is itself a severing of their bond since it was mainly based on being the only two people who wanted to stay. still, he goes and visits walt off the island so this is probably john's most successful relationship. I dont think i need to explain how he fucked up with boone, "the sacrifice that the island demanded." charlie viewed john as a mentor and claimed to trust him more than anyone on the island, but after the events of fire and water, that trust is destroyed and charlie despises him. at the same time we get john bonding with claire and having a pseudo-paternal dynamic with her, but their closeness basically drops off the face of the earth as he gets less and less involved with the other survivors.

his arc in the series is essentially a gradual distancing from everyone around him. it starts when he abandons hunting (providing for the others) in favor of trying to get the hatch open (it's extremely clear his primary motive isn't any survival applications but getting answers to the mystery). when they do open the hatch, he spends more and more time inside, underground, cut off from other people. he spends more and more time interacting with ben, a human mystery box that he's obsessed with cracking even if it gets him killed. he follows the proverbial white rabbit deeper down the hole and leaves his connection to humanity behind. the island and its mysteries become more important to john than anything or anyone else.

then in season three we get him claiming to go undercover with the others only to unceremoniously tell sawyer that he's actually going to join them. and it doesn't feel shocking, it feels inevitable. because john has spent the entire series becoming less and less connected with the people he arrived with. in that sense he actually makes a fascinating foil to juliet, who is introduced as one of the others and yet never really fits, she's increasingly sympathetic and kind in a way the rest of them aren't, her redemption arc feels so natural that she actually starts referring to her old people as "the others" like she's been one of the crash survivors from the beginning. her and john basically have inverse arcs, which is probably accidental but very neat.

in season five john tries to convince everyone to go back to the island, and fails spectacularly. and of course he does, because he was so consumed by obsession that he stopped maintaining his relationships, and in many cases actively alienated people (this is also basically what happened with helen) and now he can't wrap his head around why they're all so hostile to him. i am forever obsessed with the scene where he confronts kate and she brutally calls him out for wanting to return to the island because he doesn't love anyone. it actually struck me on rewatch how well the two of them got along in season one, and how badly their relationship has degraded by this point. john repeatedly casts aside interpersonal relationships in favor of his obsession with destiny, so when said destiny actually involves persuading the people he once shunned, he's at a loss. this is because john treats purpose as a supplement for connection, destiny as an alternative to love.

as an aside, this aspect of john's character kinda ties into my opinion that several lost characters can be read as allegorically neurdivergent under a certain lens. i know this was absolutely not intended, but as an adhd former gifted kid who struggles socially, there is something uncomfortably familiar about a character who allows their relationships to burn around them because of a single-minded obsession, especially as a result of being promised the fickle status of "special."

tl/dr: john locke is a doomed idiot and i love him

[sysig]

Do you remember? Nope! (Patreon)

[treasureplcnet]

also quite obsessed with karl being as detached from the story as he is. there's nothing that makes him have to be the detective that has to be involved, but he unknowingly dooms himself by agreeing to work with the KYAL cult. every other detective basically deals with elias head on except weissman, who only meets him right before he kills him. like he's right when he says "by my choices" because everything that leads him to being mixed up with the mannix cult is himself. it's the gambling debts and the choice to do the dirty work for an organisation he knows nothing about. he's the only one that doesn't encounter that body doing police work and it's specifically because he's told to cover it up. he gets himself into the mess and eventually fixes it but the fact that esther always dies in the doomed timelines and he's always too late even if he starts wanting to change things ("till this child. esther.") it just makes me very ill

[isinuyasha-art]

[coldshrugs]

hi Azia! since I'll probably never play FFXIV but want to gobble up everything you've ever written or will write for Io and Estinien, I was wondering if you could kind of summarize or describe the context for their relationship in the canon universe. what do I need to understand about their history in order to better appreciate the way they fit? how do they meet and what brings them together? are there some universal truths for each WoL that heavily contribute to who Io is (kind of like how Hawke in DA2 loses half their family, or every Shepard in Mass Effect is deadish for two years)?

no pressure to answer if you don't have the time/energy or just plain don't want to! ok thanks love you bye 💙

🧍

Hi Ells. I am so sorry....

Understanding Estinio

General World Lore: The story of XIV begins five years after a Calamity (an event of large-scale devastation that leaves the land and people struggling to recover). This is the seventh Calamity over a period of 13,000 years. Other notable world happenings are:

the Dragonsong War: a war between man and dragon that has raged in and around Ishgard for one thousand years

the more recent advancement of the Garlean Empire: Garlemald is a technologically advanced nation seeking to "unite" the world under its rule

Warrior of Light Things: The player character is almost a completely blank slate. Their appearance and combat proclivities are entirely up to the player! Their backstory is not really mentioned, and the only thing we know about them from the start is that they're an Adventurer, which in this setting is someone who wanders here and there, helping with whatever odd jobs they can in hopes of earning a living and maybe some local fame too. A little network of unionized Hometown Heroes. But some things hold true for most WoLs (headcanons notwithstanding):

They have a gift called The Echo. A few other characters have the gift, but it can manifest differently from person to person. The WoL's Echo allows them to visit scenes from the past, sometimes through the eyes of another and sometimes as a kind of bodiless spectator, usually triggered by high emotion from a person or place. It also has a few other functions.

They join the Scions of the Seventh Dawn, an organization that's a bit of an open secret, determined to stop Primal summoning (Primals are replications of gods, the will of a people made manifest, and they are powerful and destructive. If most people venture too close, they become enthralled). Recruited for their prowess in combat (or healing, maybe, if you're not Io) and apparent inability to be tempered by Primals, they, of course, become the team's most powerful asset.

Io Laithe is my WoL, a viera born in the Garlean-occupied region of Dalmasca. When she was 19/20, her home village suffered a violent raid, and her family was lost. She managed to escape and flee far to the west. At the beginning, she's around 29 and an accomplished archer, among other things. Io endures more loss over her story, friends and lovers, and she blames herself over and over. She struggles to lay down her grief and represses her anger for so long that she almost loses herself to it at one point, but she claws her way back with the help of her friends. She's soft-spoken, and reserved, but is also deeply kind and surprisingly funny. (This paragraph is short but I feel like I talk about her so much lmao. Trying not to gush too hard)

Estinien Varlineau was born to a family of sheepherders, in a small farming community outside Ishgard. When he was 12, his village was razed to the ground in a dragon attack. He found the charred remains of his parents outside his home (his dad had tried to shield his mom from the dragon fire). His younger brother was inside, trapped under a collapsed beam but already gone. He was the only survivor, and was taken in by a man named Alberic who held the title of Azure Dragoon (the most powerful lance-wielder in the land, but I'll spare you the specifics. There's dragon-y magic and a literal dragon eye that gives them powers. This was supposed to be quick omfg). Estinien swore to avenge the deaths of his family and trained with Alberic, eventually becoming the next Azure Dragoon. Eventually, he gets his vengeance, but the cost is so much more than he expects. At the end of it, he is begging for his own death, but his friends (the WoL included) refuse to let him go out like that and save him. He's since been on a journey of self-discovery; who is he without the drive to avenge those he lost, without his duty or his post? In personality, Estinien is blunt and abrasive, he cannot read a room (but he would like to leave it). He has a sharp sense of humor and often teases his few friends, he's extremely sentimental, he's very protective of the people he cares for, and can't stop himself from helping a kid in need.

Relationship Summary

They overlook each other at first. Io finds Estinien too harsh and rude. He thinks (since she is seeing Haurchefant at the time, who is... affiliated with a noble house of Ishgard) that Io is another pretty girl grabbing at coattails--surely not the "great warrior" he's heard about. And it takes a journey into dragon country for them to warm up to each other, when he learns she can easily hold her own, and she sees how protective and kind he can be to their traveling companions. They become friends and it's easier than either of them expected. They don't talk about their loss with each other though, not for a long time. Both hear the other's story from someone else, and it endears them to each other, an unspoken, invisible bond in addition to what they've already faced together. Just as Io saved him at the end of the Dragonsong War, Estinien saves her when she faces off against the might of Garlemald and almost dies. It's a long time before she gets to thank him for that, but when she does, it's around the time he agrees to join the Scions too. They spend more time together, and they become almost inseparable. And as the world hangs on the brink of what seems to be another Calamity, they quietly fall in love and almost lose each other again. Neither confesses to the other until things have settled down. But once the confessions are out of the way, they easily fall into warm domesticity. They spend the better part of a year mostly in one place, living together, working together, making the smaller trips they need to but always returning to a home base. Now, there's the itch to travel again. They just pulled a stint of traveling separately but ended up in the same place. He very much wants to continue roaming, and Io does too, but part of her is starting to think about a family. I haven't decided when or if they talk about this lmao. They love each other so much, but both have a strong streak of wanderlust, and both are legendary heroes who belong to the world as much as they belong to each other.

Why they compel me:

I don't know if you guys know this about me but I love to think about grief :> It's the shared trauma, the love transformed into anger, and how new bonds can heal someone. I did not plan for Io's backstory to be so similar to Estinien's, and even before I shipped them, their friendship was a highlight for me. I love that they do most of their recovery on their own. I love that they always come back to each other. Big fan of people who might not appear outwardly soft all the time, but are just SO mushy for their partner.

They are both symbols of hope for their people, for better or worse. They understand that about each other, what it's like to have some of your personhood stripped away so you can embody an ideal.

Estinien is impulsive and straightforward, Io is cautious and thoughtful. He pushes her, and she grounds him. They both relish the peace the company of the other brings, and they are more certain of the other's ability and resolve than they are of themselves. They are best friends, they are family, and they admire each other.

Some key reads, chronologically:

close quarters | oh no, she's hot…

oblivious | a mutual friend notices io and estinien seem… different.

what i see in you, i hope you find in me | io realizes she is not in love with zenos

pang | estinien has his own realization

see you in the morning | the night before they depart towards unknown danger, estinien tries to soothe a worried io

in this state | io is unconscious, estinien keeps watch

mustering | estinien tells io about his brother, the first time he's talked about him in decades

take another step off the edge | FIRST KISS!!!!

And then their tag is filled with gposes I've made, art I've commissioned, writing prompt fills, fics from the two AUs I've written for them, and tons of quotes or poems that fit their vibe. I'd share a playlist but I don't have a playlist... there are five now T^T BYE!! 💗

[artemis-73]

Suptober Day 7: Thankful

It doesn't feel real. For the first time in weeks, the fog is lifted from Dean's mind, and his heart isn't an open wound in his chest. Cas is sitting in the backseat of the Impala as they drive back to the bunker. He's alive. Dean could reach across the backseat and touch him, and he'd be flesh and blood.

They catch Cas up on what he missed, though Dean redirects the conversation when Sam lingers too long on how much Dean had been drinking. What's past is past, and Cas is here and alive. As he drives, he spends more time looking at Cas in the rearview mirror than at the road in front of him.

When they get back to the bunker, after Cas and Jack have met for the first time, after everyone's starting to turn in for the night, Dean drags Cas down to the Dean Cave to watch a movie.

"Dean," Cas protests half-heartedly, "you need to get some sleep."

"I'll sleep when I'm dead."

"That's not funny."

Dean ignores him and grabs an old faithful: The Lost Boys. He knows he's going to fall asleep halfway through, anyway. "'Sides, you missed a bunch of movie nights. Time to catch up."

As they settle into their respective recliners, Dean turns to look at Cas and finds himself already being watched. Cas's soft, steady gaze makes his throat tighten dangerously. He wishes they were laid out in his bed, close enough to share a pillow.

His heart is beating loudly in his chest, a steady repeat of alivealivealivealive. He doesn't have anyone to be thankful to because Chuck sure as shit didn't do anything, but he's brimming over with it.

"I'm glad you're back, buddy," he says almost normally.

Cas's lips quirk into a small smile. "I'm glad I'm back."

Dean forces himself to look away first. He can feel Cas watching him right up until he falls asleep.

[lunarharp]

into the deep end - 30k T orufrey fic, focusing on memory trauma, disability, and romance.

the sweet oblivion of the victim, the poisoned freedom of the other.

for one moment - it had felt like two parts returned - the needed reunion of two disparate halves. no more secrets, no more pain.

the moment you get to give back what you never wanted to take. that moment, under the night-blooming flowers, when they had both let out the same single broken sigh of relief.

but they were never whole to begin with, were they?

qifrey swore he wouldn't say 'sorry' to this man any more if he could help it - sorry is cheap now. he didn't want to be in a position ever again where you only have 'sorry' left. so he just looks down into the threads of his blanket, strains his eye until it hurts, feeling his insides - his throat, heart and head - burn with pain. he expects more, but olly says nothing.

olly says nothing.

[pursuitseternal]

“Stripping,” a nsfw, hurt/comfort, and vengeance update to “Our Blood is Thicker:”

Astarion x Cordehlia (named Tav) | E | 6.3K

Summary: The fight for vengeance for her father comes at last to Ketheric, so long as Astarion is there to keep on hand on her, to keep her from getting lost in the bloodlust of the Bone Picker. Cordehlia needs healing… her burdens of her past too great to bear alone. That’s why her love is there, to strip away her old griefs, and all that covers her.

CW: Bloodlust, angst, revenge, hurt/comfort, allusions to battle-canon gore, Act 2 Spoilers, real sex, tadpole stripping (symbolic), very soft Dom!Astarion

Previous ch | Ao3 link | Masterlist

Chapter 13: Stripping…

💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞

Moonrise Towers. A curse nearly broken. The Moonmaiden Aylin freed, and the source of that monster's immortality unchained. Only one thing remained to their moving forward.

Ketheric had to die.

They had come close, so close. The rest of his bone-chilled undead fighters were dust at their feet. But then… there was that oozing orifice now in the top of the Moonrise Towers, the illithid stink rising from its bowels. A hole where Ketheric had vanished like the coward he was, threat on top of threat, into the putrid heart of the Absolute.

Cordehlia ran right for it, blade at the ready, pursuing after Ketheric alone. A battle cry tore through the air as she sprinted. Blood spattered. Breathless.

Hellsbent on revenge.

Two sets of feet ran for her… one shifting into a bear just to make sure he got there before she did anything rash. The Druid panted as he raised up on his massive hind feet. Cordehlia slammed into a wall of fur, two lean vampiric arms not far behind to catch her against Halsin’s big bear belly.

“Stop, stop, darling,” Astarion repeated over and over. But the She-elf thrashed even as her weapons were pinned to her sides. Even as she snapped her teeth and hissed in rage at them both.

Her eyes were pure black, dilated so wide with bloodlust. Her need to kill, to avenge.

To repay the debt she had carried for a century, the weight of her Father’s lost soul.

“Let me go, damn you both,” she snarled. Her voice was deep, scratched with all her battle screams.

“Not until you see sense, my love,” Astarion tried to cajole, tried to hold her armored body against his own even as she shook, the rush of her need to kill shooting down every muscle of her body. The bear grunted, a warning, and Astarion held her fast to turn them, to keep the splatter of mud from covering their already filthy bodies as the Druid shifted back.

“Your father wouldn’t want you to fall headlong into danger,” Halsin instantly interjected the moment he could. And for once, Astarion was a tinge glad the ancient elf could help. Especially as he felt her body slowly begin to still at the sound of reason. “You need to regroup, think of your strategy before you dive into the belly of the enemy. That place reeks of Illithids and pulses with the power of the Absolute,” Halsin’s deep voice rumbled, slow and soothing tones that rippled with persuasion and wisdom.

“Ketheric must die,” Cordelia thrashed again, back to her lover’s chest, elbows trying to free herself and making her vampire grunt and hiss in the process. “To break the curse, to end the Absolute, to avenge all that has been taken from me… all that made me this… weapon. I need…” her voice grew feral, threatening in a way that made every one of her companions quake in their boot, “to crush him… I need his blood.”

“Gods,” Astarion tried to gently stroke her face, “now which one of us sounds vampiric, darling?” He whispered, catching the edge of her long and pointed ear in his fingers. Something behind her eyes softened, something that turned that black back to singing silver, slowly, stroke by stroke of his fingers.

Until she stilled completely, limp in his arms, smiling gently as she looked into his face at last.

“There now, little Raven,” he whispered only for her ear as he caressed it.

“You’ll have your justice, little one,” Halsin drew closer. And Astarion fought hard not to bristle at the way his green eyes smiled at his love. “But we need to regroup, gather our forces before we dive into that Mindflayer colony to end Ketheric once and for all.”

“Fine,” Cordehlia stood on her own two feet, finally steady, calm enough that Astarion was pretty sure she wouldn’t launch down that stinking hole alone. “I hear wisdom in your words, my Father’s own sort.” She squared her shoulders, hands quickly resheathing her weapons with a metallic hiss. “We rest a few moments, then we cut him off… cut him down.”

The whole party gave a sigh of relief, finding places here and there to sit, to wipe the blood from their eyes and sharpen their weapons a moment.

Halsin left them to do the same, beginning his work of healing whatever little wounds they had sustained. And Astairon finally felt the peace of being with her alone, for that moment. Even with her back towards him, her eyes fixed on their next move of attack, he couldn’t leave her. “My love,” he bid her softly. “Come and sit a moment with me, won’t you?”

“No,” she replied, fixed forward still. “I won’t rest until his blood is shed and my Father is avenged.”

“Don’t be stupid, Cordehlia,” he tutted his tongue, moving to put himself in her line of sight. Those eyes at first scowled at him… the same way she once did when they first… stumbled upon one another again. There was loathing, hatred. Bloodlust even. It sliced through him, pain cutting right to his slow-beating, undead heart. “What’s wrong, my love?” he frowned, folding his arms across his own armored chest.

“What’s wrong?” she scoffed, vitriol in her voice and hate in her eyes. “I am so close to avenging my Father… so close to fighting my way back to who I once was before I lost my only family to Ketheric, so close to reclaiming what I was when you first loved me…. I am so close to cleaning my hands from all the blood I shed as the Bone Picker, so close to clearing my body of the damned mantle of my former self. My dark self.”

A warm voice cleared its throat at a distance beside them. “Well, that is most encouraging, I must interject…”

Astarion had to force his lips to stay shut, to keep himself from snarling and letting his fangs do the talking. “I don't think Cordehlia invited you to join our very private conversation… Gale… and I know I didn’t extend an invitation…”

“Well,” the Wizard shifted as Cordehlia turned to look into his own face. Her eyes still hardened, her mouth still turned in a scowl, “a fresh start… a new beginning, once this is all through, it’s what you deserve, Cordehlia.”

Astarion bristled. “Forgive me, but maybe what she deserves is to know that what she was has made her what she is… perfect and stronger and fiercer. Capable of bringing down the Absolute, capable of so much more than that.” He could hear it in his own voice, that edge of a hiss, that rasp of threat he hoped made Gale quake and shut his mouth. “Unlike those of us who tried to win the love of a goddess of magic to be cursed with some magical blight… Some of us have a sordid past that has made us embrace the monster we are and use it to our… advantage.”

Cordehlia turned, her love, her fierce defender… she felt something inside her ease as he braced his whole frame, ready to attack at her side. He never saw her as a monster, never condemned her for the blood that stained her past and dripped from her hands. He couldn’t chastise her without naming the same fault in himself. Not that he saw it as fault. Only suffering and torture and loss.

For what fault was there in him? Made to be tortured, made to seduce and use his body for his master’s delight…

And she… she had been formed like adamantine… stronger than a blade, more deadly than any spell. She would end this enemy… Ketheric, the Absolute…

Crodehila took a steadying breath, drawing closer to place one gauntleted hand on Astarion’s arm. “It is the darkest forces, the most devastating pressure that forms the sharpest weapons. And you can’t escape that darkness, that pressure or else… you become brittle ....”

She watched her words take hold, sinking into his chest, his heart, the source of his blight. Gale’s eyes fluttered closed to hear her speak. “None of us need to shatter, not even you, no matter what self-sacrifice has been demanded of you by your former lover. Embrace who you are, what you have learned in the dark, and we will make it out of this.”

Astarion smiled so softly down at her—his unshakable warrior. Every head nodding in approval.

Cordehlia took a trembling inhale, almost watching her reflection in her mind, covered in that fearsome armor of Lady Corvus, smiling back at her. Brighter. Part of her. But not in control. “We can walk from this side by side, once this is all through. And we will all be made that much sharper for it.”

Even that made Gale smile, spurned as he was, jealous or determined… it didn’t seem to burn so bright inside him anymore. “You’re right,” he shook his head, “damned wisdom of the elves… I can’t argue with that.”

The vampire sucked his teeth, a little cock of his head rife with sarcasm. “If only you’d listen with that same rapt attention to me, sometime,” Astarion sneered even as he laughed.

“Not sure you count as an elf…” Gale tossed back, “or wise…”

Karlach snorted with laughter, breaking what could have been tense silence. Chuckles, giggles filled the air, until even Cordehlia’s bubbly, medical laugh peeled beside him. And that made his own lips smile.

Besides, there would be plenty of time to shame Gale as the butt of many a joke soon. Once Ketheric was dead.

That event came with such relief. Came with lots of blood and vengeance and gore. But in the end, Cordehlia stood over Ketheric’s headless corpse, the blood of his undead body caking her boots.

Her blade hung at her side, having struck the death blow at last. Its tip dragged noisily on the ground behind her as she stepped away. The scraping echoing in the massive cavern. Her voice was hoarse as she tried to speak, sore from screaming at him as she had hacked his body, howling the name of her Father, unburdening all the things she had carried on her shoulders from her grief.

Her eyes were wet, wide, and sad as she looked at her bedraggled friends. Her love. “Let's move from here,” she scratched out. “We have more things to do.”

Cordehlia straggled, barely sliding one foot in front of the other. Her eyes looked hazy… distant.

Faint. Her vision swam… a weight off her heart, she could almost feel the Shadow Curse lifting from the lands, almost see her Father’s smooth, smiling face one more time. But there was so much more to do… more enemies to defeat, the chosen of Bhaal and Bane… an army of the Absolute to vanquish, not to mention a Netherbrain to somehow destroy.

It was too much for even her adamantine-hardened soul.

Her knees buckled, but before her body smacked into blood-covered stone, Astarion caught her. Somehow, that lean, vampiric, roguish body lifted her in his arms and over his shoulder, armor and all. Somehow, she could smell his scent of citrus and hers through the tang of blood and gore. Somehow, she could hear his soothing hush inside her mind as she drifted unconscious for a moment.

She had barely moved, still breathing, as she laid in his mess of blankets inside his tent. Halsin bent his hulking body over Cordehlia, and Astarion could only watch as the healing magic glowed around her unarmored body. He kept his lithe fingers in his love’s hair, brushing out snarls, stroking up and down her ears tenderly and slowly. Just to let her know he was there.

“There now,” Halsin grunted as he sat back on his haunches. “She should awaken herself. A bit lighter in the heart I wouldn’t be surprised, after finally finishing what she thought her Father started.”

Astarion couldn’t fight the instinct to have his hackles raised when the Druid spoke about her and her past. But all the same, he forced that well-practiced friendly smile. “Thank you, Druid,” he said. “I’ll take it from here, get her cleaned.”

“Using your tongue or do you prefer the dish and rag?”

“That’s rather impertinent,” Astarion let his fangs show this time.

“I’m only joking,” Halsin chortled, deep and low in his chest as he reached for the basin of water and a rag to bring within reach. “No one is trying to take her from you, you know. You’ve rekindled a bond so strong, so thick, I doubt it will sever even in death.”

The vampire felt his nostrils flare.

“Well, a second one in your case,” Halsin quickly added, that warm smile turning his scarred face.

“There is not much that can outlast even death itself,” he took the bowl from the Druid’s massive hands, busying himself with washing her face clean first. “Not unless you are undead… immortal.”

“I’m… forgive me, I believe I touched a delicate nerve.”

Astarion kept his hands busy; it always helped him think, rest, and concentrate. “Attachments are of little consequence to those who are not in them, Druid.”

“Attachment? You mean love, surely?”

Raising his head with a snap, he leveled his gaze at the massive, crouching Elf. “I do,” he snipped. “There is nothing I would not do to keep her now. After all the mistakes I have made, all the suffering I was forced to put others through.” He paused to wipe some more of the dried blood from her beautiful face. “She might be the one thing I have done right in my life, undead or before… as long as I don’t fuck it up again.”

“If you do… love her… then it is only natural to trust your instincts. You will protect her better than anyone or anything.”

For once, Astarion looked up at the Druid and didn’t feel jealousy or hatred or even annoyance. He was… grateful. “Thank you… Halsin,” he replied, wringing out the rag to get fresh water once more.

“I’d say ‘shout if you need anything,’ but I suspect once she wakes you will be shouting for other reasons, ones you won’t want… disturbed,” he chuckled in that deep bellied way of his before he left the tent.

Astarion couldn’t help the smile on his face, wiping the last steaks of grime from her chin before he placed a soft kiss on those lips. And as her eyes did flutter open, her breath deepening the moment their lips met, he did feel that thickening in his groin. “Welcome back, my love,” he whispered, savoring the way her lips gave a small smile.

Just for him.

She stirred, her shift and leathers shuffling as she moved stiffly. Looking at her hands cleaned, her armor removed, she even touched a hand to her slightly damp cheek. Washed skin under her touch. Cordehlia slowly sat, eyes that were so dilated with bloodlust not hours ago now shined with unshed tears, her pink lips trembling as she pulled her arms around Astarion’s neck. Hanging there for a moment, he breathed her in, listening to the symphony of her heartbeat in her veins as it increased in speed. That thickening and heat in his body only surged the more to have her so close, relieved at last once she pulled his body hard to cover her own.

She was more than reward… she was the one thing he had done right in all his tormented existence.

Tonight, like every night, was bliss now, his own personal reward each day and night to be at her side. Sometimes Astarion felt the bitterest of pangs when he started to think about being denied such pleasure and love and acceptance century after century. But those grumblings in his heart were always soon swept away by Cordehlia. The one who took him just as he was. Resentment was warmed by her adoration, distracted by her warmth and wet, wherever it was. Memories of torment and torture and knives and whips and flaying punishment grew dimmer, her beauty obscuring the flashes he would get of his blood pooling at his feet, her scent covering the phantom stink of the kennels.

It was her warmth that brought him back from the dead, and he was sure there was no grave now that could keep him away from her.

What was lost was found, and for gods sake, nothing would take it away. Now that he found something he finally deserved. Not that he believed it…

Not as he gazed up into her blushing face as she rode him furiously, her hands clenching into his. Not as he had to tighten every tendon in his arms to steady her since she wasn’t watching anymore. He laughed at her carelessness, too lost to the feeling of him inside her and the waves of pleasure he called to race down her spine.

“Fuck,” she let the uncouth curse slip from her rosy lips. Something inside his mind stirred, that old tickle inside him from before, from how freely she would let the word fly as a youth, as frowned upon as it was for her status.

“Such noble lips letting out such vulgar words, darling,” he growled, his breath thin as she pushed him closer with every slap of her body on his cock and thighs.

“Oh, you like… all the vulgar things my lips do with you…” Her words turned to cries, stilted and low, only half-stifled to keep their voices from giving too much away. Cordehlia shuddered, squeezing him as her orgasm swelled. He eased her softly as she collapsed against his chest, her forehead in that sweet dip between his muscles, the top of her red head tucking neatly under his nose.

His hand strayed to the back of her neck, softly and slowly rolling her over on the ground. Cradling her beneath him instead. His body cried out for more. Always more of her. But not before he inhaled that scent, the perfume of her sweat and life itself, verdant grass and blooming flowers. That scent triggered an instant sharp return of what they once had been.

What he wanted to find again more than life itself.

It wasn’t much longer, not as he chased that past feeling of being with her in their youth. Not as he pummeled into her channel, her legs splayed in the air over his shoulders, until there was no sound but the wet slap of flesh and their groans as they burst into their climaxes as one.

Astarion stilled, pulling from her wet to lay on their sides and wrap his arms so tightly around her. “My sweet…” his voice rumbled into the damp and errant strands of her hair where it clung to her sweating forehead.

Her warm and blushing face nestled perfectly into the dip beneath his chin. The bob of his Adam’s apple as he swallowed and caught his breath was so loud against her ear. “Almost ready for more?” she hummed, tracing her fingers slowly over his skin, brushing over the drying damp on his stomach.

“You… insatiable… minx…” he laughed as he kissed her head again. “I know I am an eternally young, handsome, well-fed, impossibly strong vampire… but even I have limits to my near-infinite well of endurance, my love.”

She flashed him those silver pools of her eyes, glinting with mischief. And then her lips pouted. “After all we endured today… you would make me take care of myself?”

His brows shot to his hairline, mouth twisting in a devilish smirk at her game. “And which one of us is acting the spoiled little elfling now?” he taunted, hand straying to ass to give that supple cheek a little slap. “Tch, naughty.”

“Going to chastise me… punish me for being so spoiled and demanding?” she purred, a slight tilt to her head in defiance, a wriggle of her rear as a silent plea for more.

Astarion lifted his head to slink one of his arms behind it. “Perhaps later… once I’ve regained some of my vigor after you’ve made every one of my limbs ache and since you’ve already taken… so much of my seed between your thighs, pet.” He pretended to close his eyes, watching through the lowered curtain of his long lashes as she pouted and crawled over his body until she pressed herself flush against his side.

“I’ll give you five minutes…” she whispered right into his ear. “Enough time for me to tend to my own needs, I suppose…”

Wet… slick little sounds laid under her voice. Her fingers touched herself, stroking in the thick mix of their cum so loudly, so obscenely squelching.

He turned his head with a dramatic sigh, opening that hungry crimson gaze only halfway so he could watch. “You really are a demanding commander aren’t you? So bossy… so dominating… I would have undoubtedly been constantly aroused by you if I had been one of your men.”

Her perfect white teeth bit at her bottom lip, fingers still teasing slowly between her legs. “If you were under my command, you would know better than to defy your commander,” she smirked, eyes shut tight as her hips began to ride her touch.

“If I was under your command, I’m pretty sure we would both be dismissed for fucking each other every night, darling…”

Her belly swirled at that, at the mere mention of how much they indulged now, how she chase her blood lust away with more lust for him, at how very much she craved their connection, rekindling what once was and discovering what would come next. Side by side. “You wouldn’t have made it one day without coming in your leathers at the sight of me in my armor, and you know it,” she taunted, a dark desirous smirk in his lips.

“Likewise, my sweet…” exhausted, he did let his hand stray a single finger down her side, stroking up and down over her curves with barely the tickle of a feather in his dexterous touch. “There is little you do that doesn’t make me unspeakably aroused, my love, my darling, my betrothed,” he grinned as her eyes fluttered open at that last loving title.

“Gods, I’ve waited ages to hear you say that again. Lived different lifetimes, dulled blades and threw my armor into the sea just to hear it again,” she whispered. Her voice tinged with that mix of sadness and longing. Her hand stilling as she slowed touching herself.

“What was it like, your fearsome mantle of the Lady Corvus, Bone Picker?” He watched her body tense, withdrawing into memories, and for a moment he wished he had just bit his tongue. Perhaps it was too soon after the blinding bloodlust today. Perhaps it was the exact right time. He waited, nervously.

Until she gave a wistful smile. “Black and hard and sharp. Little feathers etched into the metal of my breastplate and gauntlets. Pointed spikes darted from the shoulders, like talons ready to tear the flesh of my foes. My blood-red cape would billow in the winds that carried the ash of my decimated enemies. My helm was small, enough to let my hair hang wild and free, a crown of spikes encircling my head… spikes of iron I once replaced with whitened bone, plucked from the battlefield myself.”

Astarion exhaled deeply, sensing her mix of longing and grief. “Sounds fearsome,” he whispered. His fingers traced lazy circles up her back. “Show me,” he ordered. A curious tilt to her head, and he just sucked his teeth. “Use the tadpole, darling. And don’t you stop touching your sweet little body. In fact…” His mouth brushed against her lips, her eyes fluttering shut, “those fingers can only touch where I tell you… where I will show you…”

“I thought you were too tired…” she pouted, whining right into his mouth. And he silenced her with a bite of his teeth on her lower lip.

“You’ll be doing all the hard work, darling. Come on,” he purred, “it’ll be fun.”

Oh, there it was, that taunting, “I dare you” tone that hadn’t left his voice since his youth.

She could feel his mind sticking a finger into her own, just that little wiggle for her to open wide.

Air smelled of smoke, trees burned to stumps, rocks slick with blood. Astarion looked down from this high point at the field that sprawled below his feet… bones and blood already the feast of carrion birds. But behind him on this rise, she waited nearer to the trees, the ones that still stood, that still carried some blood spattered living leaves yet.

Warm wind swept her scarlet cape, fluttering it to the side, and her arm cradled that spiked helmet in its crook.

Her face, gaunt and pale and blood spattered. More than he had even seen at her side now. A wraith of vengeance, a weapon herself, sharp and deadly.

But it was her eyes that locked into his. Even in this hellish dreamscape. They sparkled like the starlight, growing wetter and brighter as he crossed beside her. “This was me, my love, the monster… the terror… the fighter.”

From the distance, he heard that same chilling deep voice they had all silenced for good today. Ketheric’s taunt, his final words, still embedded deeply in his lover’s mind it seemed: “You think to scare me… the fabled Bone Picker… the warrior of her people. She is but a puny, pale vestige of what her own father wanted her to be. Why do you think you can finish what the great General Aquilae could not?”

Cordehlia’s voice had rung back harder than steel: “Because I’m so much more than what any Father could ever dream up for their child. As if you know anything about that… traitor… deceiver….” She raised her blade for a final swing. “Failure!”

The voices were swallowed by the sickening sound of blade and bone.

And Cordehlia could only stand there before Astarion, arms just beginning to reach for her lover. To beg him to come closer.

“Darling…” he whispered, brushing the knotted strands of her hair from her cheek and shoulder. “You don’t have to fight anymore, your father is avenged at last. Nor do you need to fight to forget me. I’m right here.”

Her breath caught in her throat, cheek rubbing tenderly into the cup of his palm. “It was more than fighting to avenge my father. It was also about you… not to merely forget you… I fought to… punish you… to make you pay for leaving me, to destroy the memory of what we were. What we could never be again.”

Her voice was a hammer that struck his chest woven with her heavy guilt. Astarion winced, facing down that void of their separation, his sins staring back in that darkness. And he sighed, “It was probably far less than I deserved, my love.”

“No,” she shook her head, armor rattling from the quick little shakes as she trembled. “No, you didn’t know, you couldn’t remember. Enslaved and compelled. Forced to obey and forget. Who you were to me was stripped from you… but I… stripped myself from my soul on purpose.”

Her hand flung that bone-horned helmet far away, its clattering the only sound around them. She watched it tumble over the rock and blood.

“Well,” Astarion’s voice was pressed, careful, “we may have both suffered, drowning in our own versions of darkness…” He paused, turning her face up towards his, waiting until those sad, silver eyes finally looked at him. “But now, neither of us is alone. And our darkness will not determine our fate, darling.”

Warm and wet, he could feel her tears on her skin, sliding down her cheek.

He could feel it on his real palm, all visions aside.

“Kiss me,” she sighed, angling closer to his mouth, eyes shut tight against the sights of battle around her.

“Yes, my lady…” he gave his sweet submission, a little tender breath from her lips as they brushed softly. “But let me take you somewhere else… let me… strip away the pain that comes from this time... this armor.”

“Please, Astarion,” she groaned. Her hands suddenly clung into the back of his shirt. The metallic scent of blood dissipated into fresh grass, the sounds of fire crackling becoming the trickle of a forest stream. She knew where she was before even glancing through her lashes.

One more lingering, slow working of her mouth on his, and she pulled away with a contented sigh. Elven trees and moss and moonlight.

The perfect remembrance of their home. Of their little spot of nowhere. Far away, and long ago.

“No more battlefield to torment you from your past. No more fighting alone. Now,” he held her by her jaw, raising her face into his, “now, we fight together.”

Her throat bobbed under his hold, another tear forming and flowing from the corner of her eye. Her hand raised to brush the tear away. “You don’t know what it means to me for you to…”

“Shhh,” he quieted her with a kiss, trapping her hand in his. A spike of mischief in his voice and a hint of command in his touch. “I thought we agreed, darling, you would only touch yourself where I say…”

Oh… she shivered. That grief suddenly ignited inside her core to something hotter and fiercer. No more longing or anger… only them. And their needs.

“I stripped away your battlefield…�� he eased his grip, sliding back a single pace. “Now… allow me to relieve you of such armor, my lady, my love.” His hands skated down the exposed skin of her neck, lighter than breath. “Whatever this armor meant to you then, remember, everything is new again. You… me… we aren’t what we were.” His fingers slipped the buckles from her armor at her shoulders, barely touching her body. “We are better.”

Black metal fell harshly behind her, deadened by the moss at their feet.

Slow little strokes across that crook at the base of her throat, and he could feel her body melting under his touch in her mind. Her hands held fast against his back, edging him closer, longing to press her body firmly against him.

But he tutted his tongue. “Don’t touch me,” he taunted, shaking her hands away. “And remember, you’re the one meant to do the hard work, darling.”

He gripped her true hand from her belly, sliding it over her warm flesh to where his fingers danced over her skin in her mind.

“Let my hands be yours… and only do as I do, not one little pat or stroke more.” He growled as he caught her lips. “I’ll know if you disobey, pet.”

She arched under his fingers that traced under her neckline. Her neck craned into his touch. “You want some reward for being obedient, my love, won’t you? Still touching yourself like I asked?”

Her body shivered against him in his arms, just enough for him to feel it. But from his words or her own touch, he didn’t know.

Preferably both.

“Yes,” she moaned, drawing closer for more of his touch on his skin.

“Good girl,” he praised, feeling her shiver as another one... two pieces of jagged metal fell at their feet. “So fierce, so daunting…” he purred into her ear, tugging harder and faster through the latches of her breastplate.

“I became a lot of things to lose myself in my pain and anger…”

“Tch, you were always those things, my lovely Cordehlia. You still are, even stripped of this mantle…” He flung the metal from her upper body to the ground, letting it clatter obscenely loudly. And then, his fingers locked firmly around both her breasts, a low deep breath from his nose as he smirked down at her. “And don’t I just love you all the more for it.”

She raised on her toes for a kiss, but his hands were faster, holding her down by her shoulder, a chiding tut on his tongue. “Naughty,” he hissed and taunted. “You only touch where I show you. My hands are your hands, my pet. Nothing more, nothing less…”

She looked at him with those big, wet, silver pleading eyes. “But…”

“An excellent suggestion,” he smirked, giving his head a little nod, so pleased with himself. His hands ran down her back, caressing through the soft linen of her shirt, finally coming to rest along her rear. “Your perfect, rounded butt is still too covered.”

His hands traced around the crests of her hips, gripping into the buckle at her belly and yanking it open. There was so much to her, metal and layers, but he also couldn’t help but notice how with each little piece of her armor, her hardened shell of Lady Corvus that he pulled from her flesh, she looked younger. Happier.

Freer. Healed.

Her skin glowed, her lips smiled as she bit them sensually and slowly under his touch… her touch on her real body.

Whatever it was he was stripping her of, it was more than memory and metal. He searched her eyes for more, tried wriggling deeper into her mind for more, but she didn’t let him. She was too overwhelmed with the feeling of shedding that weight, of his hands on her skin, cold and dexterous.

Familiar.

He could feel her craving, how she was lost to the past, desiring nothing more than the future that once was. He knelt at her feet, pulling off the last metal braces from her shins. He pressed against the smooth leather that enshrouded her skin. He wanted nothing more than to tear it with his teeth. So he did. He nipped into her thigh, the salt of her breeches coated in sweat made him salivate. The little buck of her body to push closer into his mouth shook him out of his mind. He needed her. Need to have her see him, here and now, alive and loved in his arms.

Real flesh, he slid his real fingers where she caressed up her thighs. Where he had just been nipping in his dreams. A quick shuffle down her body, and he pierced the flesh of her bent leg, the tender skin of her thigh giving so easily. His mouth filled with pools of her blood. She cried, arching under him, unsure if she was dreaming or awake. Those silver eyes flew open, the tingle of their tadpoles releasing its hold.

Astarion only gave her a quick bloodied smirk before returning to have more of his fill. Her hand wove into his curls, as she always did. As she always had done.

But the way her pulse throbbed from that lower artery between his lips, she thrummed with life.

One last broad brush of his tongue over those wounds, as he crawled that chiseled body over hers again. “You are mine, Cordehlia, my raven, my love. And no armor will ever protect you better than I will.”

“Yours,” she sighed. “I feel lighter, empty of that weight.”

“Wouldn’t want you empty for long, darling. Need me to fill you with something instead of grief and anger?”

She buried her face beneath her arm for a moment, hiding that radiant smile, a moment just for her. A moment where she finally savored that weightlessness, that floating feeling he had given her as he stripped her from those memories. From the bile that had poisoned her all those many years ago. Of what she thought she knew from that time… from what she thought she… had known of him. And for a man who had starved, survived torture and assault and whoring himself out, now this man sucked the venom from her heart.

With a rogue’s dexterous touch, he had peeled off the painful layers that had built because of him, stripping her with his own two, living hands. He drew his fingers up her panting belly, his exhale deep as he stayed his hand to grip and knead her breast. Those eyes, fierce, possessive, drank in her every reaction. “Need something, Cordehlia?”

It was a simple question, but that purr in his voice, that heavy-lidded gaze that flitted over her neck, her lips, her breasts, it all spoke more than the simple words that he whispered.

“I need…” she whined, sliding her body to buck against him. Wanting nothing more than to be crushed and confined and caged by his body. “I need…” she panted. No words came to her tongue. So she thrust it into his mouth as it barely hovered over her own.

You. The rest of her words filled his thoughts. Even without the tadpole.

His hand cradling her neck, Astarion gave her everything, trying to fill that void he had seen, that agony he had witnessed with his own two eyes. The pain he wanted to carry for her, instead of her. He knew what it was to struggle under the weight of darkness and loss. He carried so many of his own burdens, but he would gladly take hers on too, if it meant she was lighter.

If it meant she was happy.

If it meant she was loved as she should have always been.

Gods, he groaned as he filled her again. It didn’t matter how many times they had done just that tonight… this week… it was never enough. He had centuries to make up for. His arms held on to her for dear life, wrapping around her shoulders, bracing his legs to keep her thighs wide. His to keep. His to protect.

Her body bent and pressed to mold to his throbbed with the feeling of him, of how he covered her every inch. With every thrust inside her, that chilling gnaw of her bloodied past receded, a flood that ebbed away. And all that was left was fertile ground for new things to grow.

[corancoranthemagicalman]

Imagine Angelica telling all her girlfriends about Johnny and them wanting to see him.

(Translated from Kkkkk.)

"So?" Tamara of the Hill inquires, her head tilted with curiosity but her mouth wide with knowing. "And how did you last meeting with Johnny of the Storm go?"

Angelica had never been so aware of her body until Johnny. The bodies of her people were simply that—bodies made for redundancy. Made for purpose. Tools. It does not feel practical the way that her face heats, but she enjoys it all the same. Because she is thinking of her Johnny, of the moon he gifted her, and of everything else that he gifted her, too, in the quiet of the evening that they spent together. (Though, with a thought, perhaps it was not that quiet.)

Jacqueline of the Wood gasps and then shrieks. Her clicks reach the peak of the highest mountains and she shakes with her excitement. "Angelica!" She laughs. "What did your Johnny do this time?"

Belonging is the way of her people. Although, perhaps one day they might be strangers, they have no intention of treating strangers in the way that the humans say strangers are sometimes treated. There is no fear of other nor scorn of different. There is sameness alongside the newness of their exploration. Of their knowledge. But they will always belong to Kkkkk and amongst her people.

That means that possession is not common amongst them. They belong, but not much belongs to them. It is their way to share freely, to share gladly. Angelica finds that, although she is no different, there are certain things that she would not share, now that there is Johnny.

Johnny of the Storm has a smile that must belong to everyone. That must be given freely. His laugh is a gift given without weight. Without effort. But the moon of his palm, that is Angelica's. The pressure of his...what was the word...fingertips? Those, too, are Angelica's.

"He gave me a moon," Angelica practices the click of her tongue. It is an odd, foreign word, but it had meant so much to Johnny when he spoke of it. It had meant so much to be gifted it.

"What's a moon?" Tamara inquires again, though this time the smile has softened and the curiosity has heightened.

Angelica hums for a moment in thought before her clicks resume. "It is romantic." This is a word that has a place in her tongue, but it has never had a place in her heart before.

"Can we see it?" Jacqueline attempts to peer behind Angelica, as if she is hiding it from sight.

"No," Angelica grins. "It comes from his hand."

Tamara's grin turns salacious. "I bet it's not the only thing that comes from his hand."

"Tamara!" Jacqueline shrieks again, though this time laughter has found its way into the excitement. "You're so terrible! Besides, Johnny of the Storm is a human. They have no kkkKkkk."

With a smile she must compress, Angelica shakes her head. "No, it is no kkkKkkk."

At once, Tamara and Jacqueline swivel their heads to meet Angelica's gaze. Their friendly bickering silenced. And although it was Angelica to initiate such talks about her intimacy with her Johnny, she feels all at once shy now. She clears her throat, but no clicks come out before Tamara and Jacqueline descend upon her.

"You mean you kkKKkkK before we've even met him?" Tamara gasps, though there is no offense in her tone. Only joy. It makes Angelica click in response, and Tamara laughs. "Angelica!"

"He is very sweet, and funny," Angelica says as she often has. "I am sorry that you haven't met him yet."

Jacqueline clicks in a tone that expresses humor. "You've been enjoying your time alone with him. We can't fault you that. But, can't we meet him now? It's been kkkkkk!"

"Months," Angelica clicks carefully. It's always been easy to learn new words from the humans. She treasures each one, sharing them with glee. This word is unique, in that its encounter is the only thing amongst the evening that Angelica is so willing to share. But, perhaps that is inaccurate, too, because Angelica wants everyone to know how her Johnny makes her feel. Even if she wants to be the only person to see him as he was. To kkKKkkK with.

"Months," Tamara repeats. "You talk just like them now! Shouldn't we see him, so we can kkkKK? Isn't that our right as your clutch without blood?"

Angelica hesitates for a moment. "I could ask him, if he would like to join us for dinner."

"If he is as you say he is, he wouldn't dare say no," Jacqueline pitches again, limbs jittering.

"No, I doubt that he would," Angelica jitters alongside her, and excitement is a new flavor on her tongue.

Tamara's smile dims as the dying lights do, and she tilts her head once again. "Have you spoken with him, about what will happen when he goes?"

There is a kindness to Tamara's words, even if they subdue the joy of the moment. Angelica understands her intent. "Not yet," Angelica answers with a click, "but that doesn't matter to me. I...think I love him."

Once more Jacqueline and Tamara giggle, clicking excitedly as Angelica's skin blooms with heat. And there is the future to think of, choices that must be made—but those are for the future. As for now, in the present, Angelica will experience joy. Laughter. Love. And, even if they are stars apart, those stars are Angelica's gift to Johnny. Just as his moon is to her.

[mistmarigold]

What if Sunjae doesn’t die the night before? (Lovely runner au) / Part 7

All other parts here.

—

Sunjae wakes up with a start.

With breaths coming out in gasps and sweat beading on his face, Sunjae grabs his heart, gently caressing it almost as if rubbing away the pain. He picks his phone and finds Sol’s contact, almost calling her before seeing that it was midnight.

Sunjae heads out of his room and pours himself a glass of water, his hand shaking to the point that he had to grab it with his other hand to settle somehow.

He walks to his balcony and steps out, breathing in the chilly air, the harsh wind slapping him back to reality. Sunjae sits on the bench and leans against the glass door, closing his eyes and trying to take deep breaths.

For a moment, he wonders if it happened because he stopped taking his pills - any pills. It had been some time since he stopped, it wasn’t an intentional decision and he didn’t even realise it until a week had already passed. So he never went back on them. He was sleeping better, eating better, and he was writing again. All three of those things he hadn’t been able to do without medication since his insomnia kept getting worse by the year.

It’s been so many years and yet it felt like everything happened yesterday. His nightmare was too real, with varied details but it all ended with the same outcome: Sol unconscious and bleeding while he’s helpless.

Sunjae shakes his head, trying to shake away the images even if his heart raged in his chest. He desperately wanted to call her. But it was far too late and she was probably fast asleep.

Lately, Sol had been working with Hyunwoo on their film and was quite busy. He heard a lot from Hyunwoo but rarely ever from Sol. They weren’t friends so it made sense especially with Sol so frustratingly adamant about their idol-fan relationship / neighbours that never met (as per her).

Last night, Hyunwoo had called him up just to sing praises about Sol. He talked less about work and more about how Sol had been a godsend for their project - it made him smile.

He realised he was smiling now too, his heart calming down gradually.

Sol had been the greatest mystery of his life. He felt strange thinking about her in those terms even though it was the truth. He knew her long before she ever knew him. Back then, he had known her schedule, her friends and even her crush. He knew the routes she used to take and where she worked. At one point, he was the human pillow for her even if it gave him cramps and ended up with renting a movie he had no business renting (as a teenager).

He was there for her in her most vulnerable moment.

But that’s where it ends. He had no idea how she spent all these years since then. He couldn’t tell her that she made his life better by coming back into it.

He couldn’t tell her that he had loved her since they were in school. Or that he was the one who had ruined and saved her life back then.

That he still gets nightmares of her accident, always ending with him losing her (before he even had her).

Sunjae sighs, his body still, even if frustration and yearning courses through him.

Sol was the greatest mystery of his life because he was never really sure about anything when it was about her. She turned him into a ball of knotted, conflicting emotions that had nowhere to go.

Sunjae knew sooner or later, they’d have to talk it all out. It was selfish. Because she didn’t need to revisit her past and why should she go through it just because he wanted her to know where it all began? Wasn’t it enough that he didn’t wake her up in the bus back then because he was a lovesick coward and ended up destroying her life?

There was never any clear direction or answer. He wanted to lay it all out so they can move forward, whatever it may be. But then, a part of him also feared losing her all over again. Yet, keeping all of this from her felt like a betrayal.

He didn’t think that way before but the more he got to know Sol, and vice versa, he constantly felt like he was betraying her by not telling her the truth. The entire truth, not half-baked story about being neighbours. She deserved to know the truth.

He just wished he knew if she wanted that. She seemed happy and settled with her life, even if there were a lot of struggles. She always puts on her optimistic, brave face with that signature beaming smile.

He didn’t want to do any damage, not any longer. Once was enough. If they hadn’t met again on that bridge that night, maybe it would’ve all been better for everyone.

*

Half an hour later, Sunjae found himself standing at the same spot they had met that night. The temperature had dropped more and the wind had picked up. He was chilled to the bone but he couldn’t find it in himself to go home.

He truly felt like his heart would burst open but his mind remained clinically empty.

“Sunjae?”

He really thought he hallucinated that voice. Given how his night was going, he wouldn’t be shocked.

Sunjae turned to the side to see Sol with her friend farther behind, talking on call.

“What’re you doing here?” Sol asked.

He gave her a small smile, “I was just getting some air.”

She looked around, “it’s a bit too chilly to do that, no?”

A pause.

“Are you okay?” She asked at last.

He nodded at her, with a reassuring smile, “everything is fine. Why are you out at this time?”

Sol got confused for a second, “oh, we were just walking back to Hyunjoo’s car where it’s parked. It was a lot of traffic earlier so we decided to walk to the festival and well let’s just say we got carried away.”

“Would you like me to drop you?”

She shook her head, “no need, it’s right around the corner!”

“It’s getting colder by the minute. Let me drop you. Maybe I was supposed to be here so I could do this,” he suggested, looking over at her friend who was finishing her call and walking towards them.

Sol chuckled, “interesting hypothesis but really, we’ll be fine.”

Sunjae looked over at Hyunjoo and asked, “can I drop you to your car?”

She spared a moment to Sol, hesitated, almost pleaded with her eyes before muttering a soft, “yes please, it’s too cold.”

“Sure, come on in,” the three of them walked to Sunjae’s car while Sol and Hyunjoo argued in hushed tones.

Sunjae opened the passenger door for Sol as Hyunjoo helped her in the car, Sunjae packing away the wheelchair and putting it in the trunk while Hyunjoo settled in.

Their car wasn’t parked too far and what would’ve taken them 15 mins to walk, they reached in 5.

“Thank you so much, Sunjae-ssi. I’m sorry for bothering you but I am very grateful - the cold was too much,” Hyunjoo said, about to get out of the car.

He looked at Sol, “is it fine if I drop you? It’s late already so Hyunjoo can go home and I can drop you?”

Sol looked at the time.

“Oh no, I’ll drop her. I got my car for her so it’s basically hers anyway. Don’t worry, thank you-“

“Sunjae can drop me. It’s fine, Hyunjoo. He’s right, it’s getting late and you live far from me,” Sol twisted around to say it to her.

“No, but-“

“It’s okay, really. I don’t mind,” Sunjae affirmed.

Hyunjoo looked at Sol, gauging her reaction. Whatever she saw on her face assured her enough that she said bye and went to her car.

“I’m sorry for bothering you, Sunjae,” Sol said.

He shook his head, “no, you aren’t. I offered.”

She gave him a small smile while he looked ahead, focusing on the road.

The silence was neither uncomfortable nor awkward. It was just there, existing between them.

For a moment, Sunjae thought it reflected all the years that went by between them, without Sol knowing anything. There was nothing to be said or done, time went by as it was supposed to. Neither was he waiting for her or expecting anything from her. Some days, he wondered if seeing Sol that night at the bridge was a fluke. A hallucination or a long dream that he’s supposed to wake up from.

“Thank you,” Sol whispered, fiddling with her hands.

“You’re welcome, it isn’t a big deal,” he took a quick look at her.

A pause.

“No, I- thank you for dropping me. But I meant to thank you more for introducing me to Hyunwoo. I’ve been working with him and it feels like a distant dream is finally taking shape.”

Sunjae could hear the wistfulness in her voice. He turned to find her smiling at her hands before looking up at him.

“I know I said things that day, and I just realised I never properly told you or thanked you about it.”

Sunjae smiled at her, “you don’t need to thank me, I just connected you both. Everything else took shape on its own. You are doing things yourself, Sol.”

She nodded, “perhaps. But still, thank you for trusting me enough to do this for me.”

Sunjae shakes his head, unsure how to respond. There was so much unsaid between them and he wasn’t sure how to say that trusting her was the easiest thing he has ever done in his life, without freaking her out.

So he let the silence be, basking in knowing that Im Sol was in his life, in his car, right next to him. And she was smiling.

As they rounded the corner to Sol’s apartment, her bag fell off her lap and on the floor of the car.

“Hold on, I’ll pick it up. I don’t want you to hit your head,” Sunjae brings the car to a stop.

“I can pick a bag, you don’t have to do that,” Sol replied in a small voice.

She bent down with her arm stretched, seat belt stretching against her, when Sunjae gently pulled her back.

Sol didn’t look at him.

Sunjae began, “Sol, I didn’t say that because I thought you couldn’t do it on your own. Of course, you can pick up the bag, what’s the big deal about that?”

Sol didn’t say anything.

“Can you please look at me?”

Sol closes her eyes for a moment before turning towards him.

“You’ve been following Eclipse for a long time, right? So I’m sure you know a lot about me. For instance, my love language-“

Sunjae realised his error a bit too late.

“I mean to say, every time I offer to do something for you, I’m not saying it because you can’t do it yourself or because I’m pitying you, or any such thing. I’m doing it because I consider you-“ Sunjae trailed off.

“Because you consider me?” Sol probed.

His hand clenches by his side, “Important. It’s because I consider you important to me. And I like doing things for important people in my life - that’s it. I know we’ve had this conversation before but I want to say it again: please don’t think I’m ever pitying you just because you use a wheelchair. You’re still you even if things were different.”

Sunjae opened his seat belt before leaning over to Sol, doing the same for her and gently putting the belt back in place to prevent it from snapping against her.

Next, he bends and stretches his arm to grab her bag near her legs. His thumb grazes against her leg and Sol moves a bit.

“Here you go, it wasn’t so hard, was it?” Sunjae teases.

“Still, I’d rather you don’t do this. I don’t want to keep owing you favours or bothering you or thanking you. It feels weird,” Sol bites her lower lip.

“What exactly?”

Sol takes a moment to answer.

“I know we were neighbours and everything but I’ve always seen you as a …star, far away in the sky. Someone unreachable, almost fictional. And then one night, magically, you are walking towards me with an umbrella and it feels like a dream.”

She chuckles, “You see, if you walk into my bedroom right now, you’d realise how truly …far you are from me. I literally have posters of you, Sunjae!”

“Strangely, I’m confused if I should be flattered or creeped out.”

(He couldn’t care less.)

“Exactly, exactly! I feel way out of my depth sometimes. Like it’s all happening to someone else and I don’t personally know Ryu Sunjae. I know you used to go to the school across from me but it is a different thing to know that as a fan, and different to know while you’re right across me. You’ve never really existed in my orbit until that day-“

“What day?” Sunjae interrupts.

“Huh? Oh, I don’t think you’ll remember but this one time you guys went for a radio show and I got a call from you,” Sol recalls, cringing in the process, “actually it’s good that you don’t remember because I was really out of it and super rude.”

That day never really left Sunjae, much like everything else when it came to Sol.

“And you basically…. made me want to live again,” Sol gives him a soft yet wide smile.

“I remember that day.”

It slipped out before Sunjae registered. Sol’s smile dimmed a bit.

“You do? But it’s been so many years…?”

He shrugs, “I guess some things stay with you.”

Hesitantly, she asked, “did you know it was me before this conversation?”

He wanted to deny - let the past remain where it was. They weren’t ready to go there yet. But he owed her truth.

“I did.”

“How did you know that?” She turned more fully towards him.

It was Sunjae’s turn to look away and stare ahead.

“You said I’ve never existed in your orbit. What if I tell you that you’ve always been in mine? I knew you since we were in school. Since before I was a singer, writer or or a celebrity - when I was a swimmer.”

Sol’s eyes widened a fraction.

“All these years later, I don’t know how or why we met again. But that night at the bridge, I knew who you were, Sol. You were in my life before I had anything at all. You even attended one of my performances back in high school. So you literally have been there all along, forever existing in my orbit.”

Silence stretched between them, with both lost in thoughts (Sol) and memories (Sunjae).

Sol’s phone buzzing in her lap got their attention as she says, “it’s getting late, I should leave.”

Sunjae nods and turns to open his door, Sol’s hand on his shoulder pauses him.

He looks at her hand first and then at Sol who was looking down.

“There’s a lot I don’t …remember from back then. Maybe I saw you and met you as well? Just like you knew about me, perhaps I did as well? We might not have been friends, sure. I know as a fan I would’ve loved to say that if I knew Ryu Sunjae back then, there’s no way I would’ve forgotten him!” Sol chuckled up at him. “But the truth is there’s a big period that I don’t remember at all.”

“Is there a reason?”

She shrugs, “I suppose there is, yes. A part of me wants to remember everything but the other part is fairly …scared even though I’m sure it wouldn’t be the same. Secondly, it isn’t that out of the blue I mean I’m in my 30s, surely it’s okay to not remember your high school stuff?”

Sunjae laughs and nods at her, “it’s okay, you don’t need to remember. You’re fine as it is.”

Sol smiles widely at him.

Sunjae gets out of the car and opens her door first before going to grab her wheelchair from the trunk. Once he was back by her side, Sol was ready to go with her legs on the side.

Sunjae holds out his hand that Sol wonders about for a second before grabbing it and clutching it tightly. With her other hand, she holds on to the car.

As she puts her body weight to shift to her chair, her coat gets snagged on something at the console, pulling back Sol and making her stumble. Sunjae’s arm instantly goes around her waist holding her up before helping her settle back in the passenger seat.

“Are you okay?” He asks, leaning over her with his arm still around her waist.

Sol nods at him, attempting to give him a small reassuring smile before saying, “it’s okay, it’s okay, don’t worry.”

Her death grip on his other hand was saying otherwise but Sunjae decided to keep that to himself instead.

“Okay, let’s do this again then?”

Sol nods at him.

“At the count of 3, 2, ..1.”

Before Sol had even registered properly, Sunjae had boosted her up with his arm by her waist and shifted Sol to her chair.

She blinked and shook her head lightly, still gripping his hand. Sunjae smiled down at her, leaning a bit over her while waiting for her to let go (but not wanting it one bit).

When Sol finally realises, she abruptly lets go and clears her throat, looking away. Sunjae wanted to laugh so bad but instead he picks up her bag from the car and hands it to her, their fingers brushing ever so lightly that he really thought it was his imagination. It was Sol’s instant gaze up at him for a breath of a second that assured him that it did happen.

“Thank you for dropping me,” Sol whispered.

“No problem, let me-“

She interrupted, “you don’t have to walk me to my door. It’s already super late and I don’t want anyone seeing you here and troubling you even more. Please, Sunjae.”

He was about to protest but sighed and gave in, nodding at her.

“Goodbye and get home safe,” Sol does a tiny wave before turning around to leave.

“Sol!”

She turned again to face him, her brows furrowed in question.

Sunjae takes a deep breath and goes for it, “trusting you was the easiest thing I’ve ever done in my life, I wanted you to know that.”

[firefl1ezz]

i just. hit s+ rank in splatoon and i never honestly thought this would happen?? am i cool now.. do i get to be a part of the s4? do i get to be watered down to my running joke all the time?

[fluffypotatey]

I reread your fic where wukong dies and macaque mourns for him, and it was very sad the first time. And it's still sad, but the second time I just had an image of macaque dying himself (no direct suicide, but being reckless in fights and throwing himself thoughtlessly in danger, and just not dodging or not doing moves that he knew would put him in an advantage). Then wukong somehow returning, dragging macaque ear bc he wasn't allowed to die again

see, in those fics, Wukong dies because he gives up his final and first attachment (his immortality) for the sake of those he loves. and Macky wouldn’t know how to reverse that (also the kings weren’t dead in the making of those fics lmao)

Macky dying????? not on Wukong’s fucking watch. because it’s not that Mac wants to die (he wants to live. he wants to live so much and see where this life goes), he is just at a point where he would put his own life on the line for Wukong and MK’s sake. but Wukong cannot allow it. he will wreak havoc once more, go into the Diyu and drag Macky back kicking and screaming if he has to (dead kings or no)

[queerdiazs]

snippet sunday 🫧

hi i hope everybody's had a good sunday <3 i'm ending it with corndogs and hot chocolate and having the time of my life

mm have a lil snip from eddie vs the hoa (that i've already posted before but who cares!)

He sticks his thumb beneath the lip of the window and pushes it all the way up. “All right.” Eddie claps Buck between his shoulder blades. “In you go.”  “What?” Buck frowns, looking between the raised window and Eddie’s face. It’s too dark for Eddie to catch Buck’s expression, but he’s sure it’s one of disbelief by the tone of his voice. “Fuck you. I’m not crawling through the window.”  “Why not?”  “It’s your house.”  Eddie scoffs—he hasn’t signed the papers yet, okay, so it’s not technically his house until tomorrow. Buck doesn’t need to know that, though. It’s semantics in the grand scheme of things and, anyway, Eddie really, really wants to show Buck the room he chose for him and the big ass kitchen.  “Okay, and?” He crosses his arms over his chest. “You’re gonna have your own room, so it’s, like, a quarter yours.”  “That’s not how this works.”  “Just crawl through the window, Buck.”  “No.”  Eddie sighs. “Rock, paper, scissors?” he proposes and Buck nods, a little too eager for somebody who always loses. “Okay, on three.”  Buck throws paper and Eddie throws rock. The shit-eating grin Buck gives him is wide and bright even in the lowlight of the neighborhood.  “Goddammit,” Eddie swears. He’s in no mood to crawl through a window—he’s wearing flip-flops, for fuck’s sake. Crawling through a window is not something one does when they’re wearing flip-flops. “Two outta three.” 🫶🏼

tagged by @thewolvesof1998, @jeeyuns, @disasterbuckdiaz, @monsterrae1, @wikiangela, @callmenewbie, @rogerzsteven, @try-set-me-on-fire, @loserdiaz, @eddiebabygirldiaz, @hippolotamus, @evanbegins, @daffi-990, and @exhuastedpigeon mwah

tagging @devirnis and @spagheddiediaz if either of you wanna